“Amen,” she whispered.
Ethan didn’t let go of her hand. He walked her to a small knot of folks who suddenly tried to appear occupied in anything other than observing them. Cricket skipped up. She wound her arms around his legs and looked up at him. “Pa, are you and Miz Davis gonna get married?”
“Sweet pea, we haven’t decided yet. It’s in God’s hands.”
Chapter 7
A woman could hope. Charity threaded her strongest thread through the needle. With great care, she stitched the button to the wagon bonnet. Seven. Eight. Nine stitches to secure the shank to the fabric. No, ten. She couldn’t resist putting that one last extra stitch in for good measure. She’d carefully chosen the place to sew the button so she’d see it first thing upon waking and last thing at night.
“Delight thyself in the Lord, and He will grant thee the desires of thy heart.” She whispered that verse as she knotted the thread and cut it. Heavenly Father, You know the desire of my heart. If it is not in accordance with Your wishes, please let me know right away.
She gently, almost reverently, touched the piece then turned to put away her sewing supplies. As much to avoid others as to get supper, Ethan suggested she drive the wagon in the afternoon while he went hunting. The time they had allowed others to gossip or speculate, so she and Ethan both hoped folks would be circumspect in the days and weeks ahead. Ethan had come back with a bighorn sheep, so as she sewed, he went to the edge of the campsite and dressed the meat.
Fresh meat was meant to be shared. When someone made a good-sized kill, he divided it up as he saw fit. Banner hadn’t exaggerated that first night when she praised Ethan’s prowess with a rifle. Most of the folks in the train had benefited from his hunting skills.
They’d seen another wagon train where folks strung strings across the wagon bows and hung thin strips of buffalo meat on them. Their guide, Mr. Patterson, spat in disgust over that practice. “Smells of blood. It invites wolves to close in. Indians, too. They depend on the buffalo for everything; white man wastes a good part of the beast. I know most of the other trains slaughter ’em, but I don’t want anyone bothering buffalo unless there’s no other meat to be shot.”
By now they were in the mountains. Obtaining water wasn’t a problem any longer, but the terrain became much more difficult to cover, and the nights grew cold. Buffalo and their chips were mere memories. Other kinds of game abounded, but men still didn’t hunt to their hearts’ content because of the sheer work it took to get the wagons up and down the steep mountain grades.
“Charity?” Ethan’s voice came through the wagon cover clearly. She closed her eyes for a moment and savored the sound of his voice. Like his velvety brown eyes, his voice held a depth that soothed and comforted.
“Yes?”
“I thought perhaps you’d like to decide how to divvy up the meat. I’ve already spitted half of this, so we’ll eat freshly roasted meat tonight. If you don’t mind my asking, I have a hankering for meat pie. I’ll set off some of the smaller slivers and hunks of meat in the stew pot. Pies would make nooning easier tomorrow since it looks like it’s going to be a grueling day.”
“That does sound good.” Thankful he’d given her a mundane conversation topic to ease their time together, she went to the end of the wagon and allowed him to lift her out. Was it her imagination, or did his hands give her a tiny squeeze a split second before he let go?
“Clara needs to build up her blood after the birthing. Do you mind if we give them the liver?”
He smiled. “No. I’ll take it over.”
“Oh, I’ll fix it for her! She shouldn’t be getting up yet.”
“I’d like to give the Legacy wagons a hind quarter to share if that’s all right with you. Abigail and her mama are both feeling poorly. I’m sure Hyacinth can cook for all of their family, and they can use the excess for tomorrow’s meals, too.”
Charity nodded. She nervously pleated her skirt and asked, “Would you mind if we asked the Laswells to join us for a roast? I want to be sure Banner knows I hold no hard feelings and don’t feel she’s to blame. Besides, the meat will spoil before we use it all ourselves, and they’ve got eight mouths to feed.”
“You may as well ask Myrtle and her brood, too. She’s looking fretful as a ready-to-foal mare. Best we calm everyone else down right away. We’ll have enough meat for that, and all of you women can make meat pies with the leftovers afterward.”
Lard buckets hung from the wagons. While the women cooked, Tad and Banner’s two sons went from wagon to wagon and painted the axles to keep the wheels spinning easily and reduce the chance of the axles splitting. The boys saw to the milking and several other chores each day. After eating, they went off to the side and shot marbles. Charity mopped Cricket’s grimy hands and face and tucked her into bed. After a prayer and a kiss, Charity touched the button and whispered a quick prayer before going back to her tasks.
A man could hope. Ethan rose earlier than usual the next morning. He’d stayed up late praying. Just as he finished his devotional time, he’d seen Mrs. Jason scurrying toward the Legacy wagon. She carried her small box filled with glass bottles of medicinals. That fact let him know things had worsened.
Rob Laswell had quietly roused him this morning. He rose with a heart heavy. The task ahead was not an easy one. Jed Turvey joined them, and they headed off to a place beside the path. Silently, they dug three graves.
All yesterday Ethan had hoped a miracle would happen and Charity would consent to be his bride. Today his thoughts traveled a different path. He hoped they’d all survive. So far he’d tried to ignore the deaths. Last night their guide, Patterson, grimly stated the toll thus far: five women, three men, four children, and two babes … but Abby, her mother, and Hyacinth’s father all succumbed to a wretched fever. Seven, four, four, and two … seventeen dead. That kind of ciphering put the fear of God into a man. God, I beg of You, wrap Your mantle of health and protection around Cricket and Tad and Charity.
Travel that day was quiet out of respect for the grieving family. Men chopped down small pine trees and leashed them to the rear axles of wagons to help slow their descent down a steep road. Even with that precaution, the Adamses’ wagon careened out of control and crashed.
A burst flour barrel left an explosion of white, and splinters of wood affirmed that the wagon and what little furniture in it were beyond repair. A trunk, shattered bits of china, and a dented washtub bore testimony to the devastation. Gracie sagged to the ground and melted into a puddle of tears. Steven knelt beside her, gathered her in his arms, and Charity heard him say in a hoarse voice, “Darlin’, we’re all fine. You and the kids—you’re what matters.”
A small group took sticks and beat about the rocks and shrubs to scare away any snakes then set about trying to salvage what they could for the Adamses. Ethan took one of the shattered wheels and walked off a few paces. Soon thereafter, he took out some of his tools and started to tinker around. Charity and Leticia kept all of the children off to the side.
Soon other women made nooning meals for their families. The day had already proved disastrous. Funerals and a decimated wagon left them all apprehensive, and sticking to a routine helped keep a sense of purpose. Though the train was full of believers, the midday prayers grew more ardent than usual.
Charity gave Ethan one of the meat pies. He mumbled a hasty thank-you, gobbled it down, and barely paused from his work. She handed him a second, and he twitched her a grateful smile. Even after he’d finished eating, she watched a few more minutes as he fastened the altered hub between a few square pieces of wood with a big bolt. He nodded to himself then paced off toward Jason with the odd-looking device in his hands.
As block and tackles went, it was crude as could be. Still, Ethan felt certain it would be of assistance if they’d secure it around a tree and the men would thread the rope through it and lower the wagons in a more controlled fashion. “I grant you, it’s not much to look at; but I’m certain it’ll serve its purpose,
and it could spare us another disaster.”
Jason grimaced. “Are you willing to try it out on your own rig?”
“Yes.”
It took more time than using the tree-drag method, but Ethan’s contrivance worked. They lowered four more wagons, but six still remained at the top of the incline as dusk approached. Tonight there’d be two camps and two sets of guards.
Charity tucked the kids into bed; then Ethan drew her off to the side. “Before we pray, I’d like you to see if you could spare a bit of lye soap. The two Legacy wagons are going to combine as we did. They’ve offered their other to the Adamses, but we’re worried since the folks in that wagon perished from fever. Mrs. Jason thinks if they empty it out, air it overnight, and scrub it with lye soap, it’ll be all right to use.”
“Lye soap?”
“She read something by Dr. Semmelweis about hand-washing and soap stopping childbed fever. She vows washing seems to stop many fevers from spreading. I’m not sure I put any store by it, but Gracie is already so upset, if it makes her feel better …” He shrugged.
Charity opened the dish box hanging from the rear of their wagon and pulled out a cake of soap. Since Ethan used lye soap for everything and she’d brought along glycerin soap for bathing, they had a bit extra. “I’ll take it to them.”
Ethan curled his hand around her wrist. “No, Charity. I don’t want you to be exposed. I’ll take care of delivering the soap. Since we have two camps, I’ll pull duty the first half of the night. Could I trouble you to put on some more coffee?”
“It’s no trouble.”
Ethan paced away with the soap.
When he returned, he sat on a felled log and patted the spot next to himself. “Prayer time.”
Charity sat down, leaving discreet space between them. Unsure of what to do, she busied her hands by pulling her shawl more closely about her shoulders.
Ethan frowned. “Are you cold?”
“Not particularly. It will get much colder tonight. You’ll need another quilt for your bedroll when you turn in.”
“I’ll be fine, Charity. Keep the quilt and share it with the kids.”
His protective ways and concern for her warmed Charity’s heart. Lord, I know I’m supposed to be taking this time to seek Your will. It’s so hard, Father, because my heart is already set. Please, give us Your blessing. I’ve already lost Mama and Daddy. I couldn’t bear to be parted from Ethan and his children.
Ethan reached out. “While we speak to the Father about our future, I’d like us to join hands.” As soon as she placed her hand is his large, calloused palm, his long fingers curled around to engulf hers. His strength and warmth made her heart beat faster. He gently squeezed and asked, “Are you ready to pray?”
“I already was,” she blurted out. Charity felt her face go warm.
A rich chuckle rumbled out of him. “Oh, gal, you weren’t alone. Heaven’s gate must be atilt from all of the supplications I’ve been stacking up against it!”
Since Gracie needed to scrub and pack the wagon they’d been given and the Legacys needed to combine, the wagon council decided to take the next morning as a “rest and catch-up time.” By afternoon the men would lower the last wagons down the incline. The scout reported there was a good spot less than two miles ahead for stopping.
The sky hadn’t even gotten a touch of gold to it when Charity rose. She made triple portions for breakfast and went over to the spot where the Adamses spent the night. “Gracie, bring your family to eat. I’ll watch the children while you tend to matters.” Gracie’s eyes filled with tears, and Charity felt her own well up. She gave her friend a quick hug and a wobbly smile. “I know what a help that was when you minded the children the morning Ethan and I packed our wagon.”
Ethan used the morning hours to inspect the Adamses’ broken items. Without a blacksmith to forge new bands or straighten out bent hoops, it made no sense to try to repair barrels. He salvaged parts of two chairs and said he’d be able to construct one from them. A bit of clever patching fixed one trunk, and new leather “hinges” and a strap closed another. A few nails, and two crates came up to snuff.
By late afternoon, they’d gotten all of the wagons down and traveled to their evening campsite. A meandering creek outlined one side of the place. The scout insisted the water be used only for livestock and washing. “It’s too slow-moving. Folks get sick when the water isn’t white or tumbling over rocks.”
“I’m afraid Cricket will take a sip if I bathe her.”
Rob Washington rested his hands on his hips. “What say we string laundry lines betwixt trees and a wagon to make up a bathhouse? The water’s chilly, so we could collect enough dead wood to make a fire and heat it a bit.”
“Women ought to go first,” Rick proposed. “I figgur they’ll want to wash their hair, and if they wait till later, they’ll catch a chill.”
Myrtle giggled. “Are the menfolk offering to bathe the children?”
“Sure are,” Ethan said as he hoisted Cricket into his arms.
Cricket squirmed and shook her head. “Wanna be with Miss Davis. She gots pretty flower soap, Pa. Makes me smell good.”
“Don’t be stubborn, Cricket. We’re trying to do something nice and spoil the womenfolk.”
“I’m a womenfolk, Pa. I even gots ninety-’leven buttons on my string!”
Charity laughed. “I’ll take her, Ethan. It’s no trouble.”
“You deserve to be spoiled,” he said under his breath. The look in his eye and the tone of his voice warmed her more than the hot water in the bath she took a short while later.
Breakfast, nooning, and supper, they said grace before their meals. Now Ethan and Charity snatched a bit of time out each evening to set their future before God. She noticed he’d sometimes touch the spot on the bonnet where the button was sewn when he passed it outside. Once he gave her a scampish wink when he knew she’d seen him do it.
Nothing momentous happened to give them a sense of direction. “Waiting on the Lord isn’t an easy task for me,” Ethan confessed one night.
“I’m not a very patient person, either.”
Ethan looked at her and shook his head. “Gal, I can’t believe you said that. You’re more long-suffering than a saint. I can’t imagine for the life of me how you’ve listened to Tad’s endless soliloquies about wanting a jackknife, carried Cricket when her little legs got too tired to walk, and settled their squabbles. You’ve put up with me when I’ve been grumpy after a long day, too.”
Charity looked at him at length. “Ethan, I grew up as an only child. You simply cannot know how much I relish spending time with the children. To my way of thinking, a man who misses half a night’s sleep and drives a team of oxen all day is entitled to being a shade moody. I tried to drive for just a few days, and I was a weeping mess.”
“You’d just lost your pa and ma, Charity. You’ve gone through terrible hardships on this trip.”
“I won’t pretend it’s been easy.” She averted her face. “But my trust lies in the Lord.”
Ethan cupped her cheek and gently coaxed her to look at him. “Do you think you could learn to trust me, too?”
“I already do.” Her lashes lowered. The intensity of his gaze made her heart beat far too fast.
“You must know you have my complete trust. I’ve put my children in your care. A man cannot show his confidence in a woman more plainly. I believe it’s my turn to pray tonight.
“Our praised heavenly Father, we give You our gratitude for seeing us through another day safely. Each night, Lord, we’ve come to ask for wisdom in the matter of our hearts. You abide in each of us, but we still wait for the assurance of Your blessing or the clear sign that You do not will the union of marriage betwixt us. Grant us courage and composure as we endure. Prepare our hearts so we can carry on Your will. We pray in Jesus’ precious name. Amen.”
He lifted her into the wagon for the night. Charity curled around Cricket with his prayer still threading through her mind. As fa
r as she was concerned, marriage to Ethan was the only way God could make her happy. How was Ethan able to lay the matter before the Lord day after day so impartially? Though he spoke well of her and to her, could it be he fostered no deep, heartfelt affection for her? She buried her face in the pillow and wept over that notion.
Chapter 8
In the middle of the night, Charity knew something was amiss. She lay still and tried to decide what woke her. Tad mumbled something and thrashed. She smiled. He was a restless sleeper. Ethan had made a bundling board to divide the bed to protect Cricket since Tad never stayed stationary. Charity started to caress Cricket’s hair but stilled at once. She was burning hot!
Charity whisked on her wrapper. She felt for a lamp and hastily lit it as she called out, “Ethan! Ethan! Wake up! Cricket’s sick.” Her voice broke. “It’s a fever.”
They quickly established Tad was well, so Ethan moved him under the wagon. Charity hastily stripped Cricket out of her nightgown and sponged her off. She glanced up at Ethan. “She’s so hot! Oh, Ethan, she’s so hot.”
“Willow bark,” he decided. “Willow bark tea works fine on her. We’ll give that a try. I brought a bit.” He brewed the tea, but Cricket barely roused enough to take a few scant sips.
By morning, Mrs. Jason paid them a brief visit. “She doesn’t have a rash, and she doesn’t have dysentery. There’s nothing to be done but to give her plenty to drink, sponge her off, and try to knock that fever down.”
Charity and Ethan exchanged anguished looks. They’d spent the whole night doing precisely that—to no avail.
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