Heartbreak Trail

by Shirley Kennedy

  “Baby?” For a moment the dullness lifted from Abner’s eyes.

  “She had the baby while you were out in the woods with your broken leg.”

  “A boy?”

  “Girl.”

  Abner’s response, a slight sniff of scorn, fueled Clint’s contempt, but he kept his voice level. “You’re lucky the Butler Brothers agreed to come back with us. They’ll drive your wagon, as well as their own.”

  “This is your doing, not mine, Palance!” Abner tried to sit up, winced with pain, and fell back. “I’ve no choice but to return. Mark my words, though, you’ll rue the day you

  ever—”

  “Schneider, I know you’re hurting, but don’t be a bigger prick than you already are.”

  Clint left the tent in a hurry. If he stayed, God only knew what he’d do to that lily-livered bastard. However, nothing could be as bad as the fate God had in store. Abner’s twisted leg jutted at an odd angle. A jagged bone fragment poked through the skin. Ugly black streaks tinged with red had already crept beyond his knee and up his thigh. Clint had seen bad breaks like this one before. Abner would be lucky if all he lost was his leg.

  Clint was struck by the sorry irony of it all. He was about to make an all-out effort to save the life of a man he not only detested, but a man who had, up till now, controlled the fate of the woman he loved and made her life a living hell. Ought to leave him here to die.

  He wouldn’t, though. Gentlemen called it honor. He called it downright stupidity, but, like always, he’d do the right thing.

  * * *

  That night, as the hours crept by, Martha’s condition worsened. Wracked by the raging fever, she lay dull-eyed and weak on her makeshift bed. Clint and Lucy did everything they could, but without medicine they were helpless. In a futile attempt to bring the fever down, Lucy spent hours sponging Martha’s burning skin with cool water. It didn’t work. The fever raged on. In the end, there was nothing left but prayer.

  In the middle of the night, Martha grew delirious. Soon after, she lapsed into a coma. At dawn, the self-effacing “little mouse” who had never harmed anyone in her life quietly passed away.

  Just as the sun rose over the trees, Lucy made the sad trek to Abner’s tent to tell him Martha was gone. Even though numb with grief herself, she actually felt sorry for Abner. First, his terrible leg fracture, and now the death of his wife of ten years. Surely he’d be devastated.

  She needn’t have worried. Hearing Lucy’s news, Abner turned his face away. Were there tears in his eyes? She couldn’t tell. When he finally spoke, he asked in a steady voice, “Will the Butler Brothers dig her grave?”

  “Yes, I suppose, along with Clint.”

  “Well, tell them to dig it deep, like Noah’s. I don’t want the wolves to dig her up.”

  “Are the wolves all you care about?”

  Abner winced, groaned, and glared at her. “My leg! Can’t you see I’m in pain? Leave me alone!”

  Lucy could not contain herself any longer. “Just look at what your insane decision to take this stupid shortcut has done. Noah’s dead. Your wife’s dead. Your leg’s broken, and it’s all your fault.”

  Abner turned his head away and didn’t answer. No surprise there. Of course, he’d never admit to being wrong. She left the tent without another word. Of course he was suffering, but even so, never had she known a man so calloused, so uncaring.

  Shortly after, everyone but Abner stood beside Martha’s hastily dug grave. Erasmus, hat in hand, spoke for the Butler Brothers. “She was a good woman. She didn’t deserve to come to such a bad end.”

  Lucy spoke of her kindness and gentleness. “We shall never forget her.”

  Clint, Bible in hand, finished the service in an infinitely compassionate voice. “Rest well, Martha Schneider. Dust thou art, and unto dust shalt thou return.”

  Death, nothing but death. Beyond tears, Lucy stood by the grave watching the men shovel dirt over the remains of Martha Schneider.

  A wail from the newborn reached her ears, causing her to set her morbid thoughts aside. The baby needed her. Sorrow and despair were luxuries she couldn’t afford right now. “All right then,” she whispered to herself with a decisive nod of her head. They’d be leaving soon, but first she must find something to feed the baby.

  “Clint, I don’t know what to feed her.” Lucy held little Amy in her arms. “We have no milk. She can’t take solid foods when she’s just barely been born. We can’t—”

  “Here, let me have her.” Clint took the baby and held her with practiced ease. “She won’t be too hungry for a day or two.”

  “You seem to know a lot about babies.” She had always thought babies were strictly a woman’s province. She had hardly ever seen a man hold a baby, much less met one who knew how to care for them. She wondered if perhaps he’d had one of his own, perhaps with an Indian woman.

  He grinned. “Let’s just say I’ve learned a lot in my time.” He gazed at the sleeping infant in his arms. “For now, Erasmus has the best advice. Get a clean rag, soak it in sugar water, and let her suck on it. That should be enough for two or three days.”

  “And then?”

  “You let me worry about that.”

  He seemed so positive she asked nothing further. Where, she wondered, would they find food for a newborn in this total wilderness?

  Chapter 18

  During the trek back, Lucy felt torn between joy over seeing her friends again, grief at the loss of Noah and Martha, and concern for Amy—although for the first two days the infant seemed to thrive on the sugar water. Then there was Abner. Much as she detested him, she’d need a heart of stone not to be moved by his constant moans and occasional screams whenever a bounce of the wagon jarred his mangled leg.

  His suffering increased whenever one of the Butler Brothers drove his wagon. They didn’t like Abner, never had, and made no effort to avoid bumps on the trail. That he was badly injured and had just lost his wife made no difference. With ill-suppressed glee, they aimed for the largest bumps they could find. Clint drove the wagon whenever he could, and Lucy was grateful. Abner’s moans and screams subsided when Clint held the reins.

  The baby seemed fine until the fourth day, when she began to fret and turn her head away from the rag soaked with sugar water. Lucy asked Clint, “How much longer before we get back?”

  “At least two more days, possibly three.”

  “The baby could starve by then.” She tried to keep the panic from her voice. Already, Amy had claimed her heart. “We can’t let her die. We can’t—”

  “Stop your worrying. Guess it’s time. We’ll stop for the day.” Clint went to tell the Butler Brothers they were stopping. Shortly after, rifle in hand, he disappeared into the thick woods. Hours later when he returned, he carried something loosely wrapped and held it up for Lucy to see.

  “It’s an elk’s liver. We’re going to boil it and make a broth. Then we’ll strain it, add cod liver oil, if we have any, and feed it to Amy with a spoon. That should keep her from starving until we get back.”

  After a few tiny spoonfuls of the liver broth, fortified with a bit of cod liver oil donated by the Butler Brothers, Amy stopped fretting.

  Holding the contented baby in her arms, Lucy mused how once again Clint had come to the rescue. What a magnificent man he was, in so many different ways. Just then, Abner let loose one of his many screams. She put the baby down and went to tend him. As she bent over the stricken man, her resolve strengthened.

  Just wait until this is over, Abner. You won’t have a hold over me anymore. It’s Clint I want and Clint I shall have, and I won’t let you or anyone on this earth get in my way.

  When they finally caught up with the wagon train at Fort Hall, Lucy sat on the wagon seat, the baby in her arms. Despite her grief, her heart lifted at the sight of Hannah, Inez, Cordelia, Agnes—all the dear friends who crowded around the wagon to greet her. She held up the baby for all to see. “Meet Amelia Catherine Schneider, everyone.”

 
; “Oh, what a beautiful name!”

  “See how pretty she is!”

  “What a sweet baby!”

  Agnes’ sharp gaze swept over the wagon. “Where’s Martha? Where’s Noah?”

  Lucy related the sad events of their ill-fated journey. By the time she finished, tears were shed amidst grim shaking of heads. She tried to conclude on a bright note. “The baby is fine, but we need a wet nurse for her right away. We need a doctor for Abner.”

  Not only was there a doctor at Fort Hall, but two women in the wagon train had recently given birth and were happy to share.

  Agnes commented, “You’ve been through a lot, haven’t you?”

  Lucy nodded, gazing fondly at Amy in her arms. “She was born in the middle of a rainstorm.”

  “Abner helped?”

  “No.”

  “Not the Butler Brothers!”

  She knew Agnes would ask. She’d already decided to tell the truth because they’d find out anyway. “Clint delivered her.”

  Everyone gasped. Mouths dropped open. The questions came thick and fast as she filled in the details. Just then the doctor arrived, a distraction for which she was most grateful. After the earnest young doctor had finished his examination, he came over to talk to Lucy, frowning and shaking his head. “Gangrene’s set in. The leg has got to come off. Otherwise, Mister Schneider will surely die. I can’t guarantee he won’t die anyway.”

  Six men held Abner down. Even though he’d been well fortified with whiskey and laudanum, his anguished screams echoed throughout the campsite, causing Lucy to cover her ears in a futile attempt to block the heartrending sounds. Afterward, the doctor explained, “Had to take his leg off above the knee. He’s not in good shape. Frankly I don’t hold out much hope.”

  Because of Abner, the wagon train stayed on at Fort Hall. Despite the exorbitant prices, nearly everyone shopped for supplies. Lucy remained at Abner’s side. It was hard seeing a man once strong and vigorous lying weak and in pain. He was feverish and groaned constantly. When he spoke, it was only to bemoan the loss of his leg. Apparently he’d already wiped poor Martha from his memory.

  She always tried to sound cheerful. “John Potts has volunteered to make you crutches. Soon you’ll be able to get around just fine.”

  Late on the third day, she was taking a brief break outside Abner’s tent when Agnes walked over to talk. “I wanted to tell you how sorry I am about Noah and Martha, and Abner, too.” Lucy was about to say thanks when the skinny, sharp-nosed woman went on, “Now tell me, how do you really feel?”

  Lucy was slightly taken aback. “About what?”

  “About Abner, of course. If he dies, I mean.”

  “That’s a really rude question.”

  “Of course it’s rude. Don’t you know why I’m asking?”

  “Why don’t you tell me?” Lucy knew what was coming. Damn Agnes and her eagle eye.

  “I just think it’s sad you have to sit there acting like the grieving family member, so anxious for your dear brother-in-law, when the reality is that you wouldn’t be unhappy if he died.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Easy. He’s an obnoxious, domineering man you never liked in the first place. Didn’t he have a hold on you because of Noah?”

  What a nosey woman! How very perceptive. Words of defense rushed to Lucy’s lips. She didn’t say them, though, because she recognized the truth in Agnes’ remarks. She would never wish anyone dead, even Abner, yet since he broke his leg she couldn’t prevent the occasional stray thought that her life would be a thousand times happier if he were gone. She wasn’t about to admit her secret thoughts to Agnes, though. She certainly wasn’t going to admit to being relieved that Abner no longer had a hold on her because of Noah. Instead, she raised her chin, assuming all the dignity she could muster. “What’s the point of all this? Assuming you have one, of course.”

  Thick-skinned Agnes wouldn’t be deterred. “The point is this. You and Clint are so hot for each other, it’s a wonder smoke doesn’t arise when you’re together.”

  “So?” She wasn’t about to deny anything.

  “We still have a long way to go. Six hundred miles to the Humboldt River, then that trek across the desert everyone fears and talks about. Right now you’re still in a state of shock from that awful shortcut, and you have a baby to care for. But soon you’ll be getting back to normal, and when you do, there you’ll be, stuck with a one-legged, scripture-spouting fool when with all your heart and soul you long for Clint. Will you be able to resist? I wonder.” Agnes stepped back and folded her arms across her chest. “You may not think so, but I’m your friend. I’d risk our friendship in order to tell you what you need to hear. Now tell me if I’m wrong.”

  No, she wasn’t wrong. Lucy could only stare at the blunt woman, utterly speechless. “Don’t concern yourself. I know right from wrong, and I know how to handle myself.”

  “I hope you do, dear. I’m mainly concerned because I suspect Abner isn’t going to die. He harbors a lot of hate in his heart, and I fear he’s going to take it out on you. He still has a hold on you, now more than ever.”

  “What do you mean?” Her heart sank because she knew what Agnes was going to say.

  “Amy. Abner’s very own child, so he’s got you in his clutches again because it’s plain to see you love that child as you would your own. Am I not right?”

  Yes, Agnes was right. All along, in the back of her mind, she’d known Amy belonged to Abner. She had no right whatsoever to the child. Now Agnes had forced her to face the truth. She lifted her chin. “I have nothing more to say on the subject.”

  Concern filled Agnes’ eyes. “Are we still friends?”

  “Of course. I always welcome your opinion.”

  * * *

  “Only the good die young,” said Charlie Dawes. He and Clint sat with their coffee before the dying embers of their campfire. “That’s why I’d put my money on Abner to pull through.”

  Clint responded with a noncommittal, “Hmm.”

  “There ain’t no use pretending you don’t care.”

  Clint shifted his gaze from the fire and regarded his friend. “All right, you’ve got my attention.”

  “You give me one good reason why you’d want that dumb son-of-a-bitch to live.”

  In deep thought, Clint lingered over his next sip of coffee. “I’ve never wished anyone dead. Even the Indians I’ve killed, I did because I had to.”

  “I’ve never relished killing Indians, either, not like some. What if Abner pulls through, which to my way of thinking, he probably will.”

  “So what if he does?” Clint pretty much knew what was coming, but there was no stopping Charlie when he wanted to have his say.

  “You’re in love with Lucy.” At Clint’s quick, sharp glance, Charlie continued, “No use denying it. Just the way you two look at each other, it’s plain as the nose on your face.”

  “She’s got a lot of responsibilities right now. I’d never—”

  “Oh, I ain’t doubting for a minute you were the soul of propriety on that trip back, what with a newborn to care for—and I hear you saved the little tyke’s life, besides having that sorry-ass religious lunatic in the back of the wagon with his leg broke. What happens now?”

  “Nothing happens now.”

  “What if Abner dies?”

  “Then ...” Clint’s eyes narrowed under a furrowed brow. “I never thought I would marry. That was before ... A muscle quivered in his jaw. “Yes, it’s crossed my mind the son-of-a-bitch might die.”

  “You wouldn’t be human if it hadn’t.” Charlie’s voice was suddenly gentle. “What if he lives? You know damn well he still has a hold on her.”

  “Whatever happens, I won’t do anything until we get to California. If Abner’s still around, I’ll deal with him then.”

  Charlie burst into scoffing laughter. “It ain’t going to work, old friend. Don’t give me a bunch of bull. What with six hundred miles to the Humboldt, and then across t
he desert, and then the Sierras, human nature being what it is, I’d wager a quart of Old Orchard you won’t be able to keep your hands off each other for that long a time.”

  * * *

  On the morning of the fourth day after Abner’s surgery, the young doctor emerged from the tent and spoke to Lucy, a big grin on his face. “Good news! Looks like Mister Schneider is going to pull through.”

  “Why, that’s wonderful news. I’m so very grateful.” Lucy watched the doctor walk away, pleased with himself for a job well done. Little did he know. Of course, it was wonderful news. Just wonderful. Maybe if she kept repeating those words enough times, she’d believe them. She’d be a terrible person if she thought otherwise.

  The wagon train split at Fort Hall. After a well-needed rest, those bound for Oregon continued on a northwest course that would take them to Fort Boise, the Columbia River, and on to the Oregon Territory. Those headed for California turned southwest. They’d cross a blistering hot desert, then the Sierra Nevada Mountains before reaching the golden shores.

  The split brought heartbreaking farewells. Hannah Richards, about to continue on to Oregon, bid Lucy goodbye with sad reluctance. “You’re one of the best friends I ever had or ever will have.” She hugged Lucy tight, unabashed tears rolling down her cheeks. “We can’t even exchange addresses.”

  “I know. Chances are, we’ll never see or even hear from each other again.” Lucy couldn’t control her own tears. “I’ll never forget you.” She stepped back and clasped Hannah’s hands in her own. “We’ve been through a lot, haven’t we, dear friend?”

  Hannah nodded. “It’s going through all the hardships together that makes dear friends.” She hesitated a moment. “Can I give you a piece of advice?”

  “Of course.”