“You see the stars, Robbie?” she whispered into his hair. “So many stars, way up in the sky, see? The Bible tells us that God knows each of their names. And He knows each of our names too. He knows yours. And He loves you. He’s going to take care of you and your pa.”
“And Ma?” Robbie drew a stuttering breath.
“Yes.” Forsythia held him close. “He’s taking very good care of your ma too.” She swayed to and fro under the stars, humming snatches of hymns and lullabies until Robbie’s breathing evened and the limp weight in her arms told her he was finally asleep.
She returned to their campsite and lay down with Robbie under her blanket till the sky lightened toward dawn.
Lark came back with Little Bear following. “Little Bear will help us track Durham. We’ve got a few other men to help search also.” She checked and loaded the rifle. “Hayes has agreed the wagons won’t start out till we find him.”
“Go with God.” Forsythia sat up, blinking back exhaustion, and checked to be sure slumbering Robbie was warm enough. Please, Lord, don’t let this be another day of tragedy.
“I can’t abide a man who would just run off and leave his young’un.”
Lark gripped her rifle and bit her tongue, keeping back a retort. Otis Bane, the man from the wagon behind theirs who had complained about Robbie’s crying, certainly was free with his opinions. Too bad he’d joined the search party.
“We about ready to head out?” Otis spit a stream of tobacco juice into the grass where they’d gathered by the Durhams’ wagon. “I don’t want to hold up the wagon train any more’n it has been already.”
“We’re just waiting for the doctor.” Lark kept her voice steady. “If Mr. Durham is injured, it will be wise to have him along.”
“Have to say, that family’s had their share of bad luck. Should’ve stayed behind in the first place, wife ailing and all.”
Lark clenched her jaw. Hurry up, Dr. Brownsville, or you may have another injury to treat.
“Come now, that’s a bit harsh,” Martin Wheeler said. “They were just seeking a new start, like the rest of us.”
Lark shifted her attention to Little Bear, who was examining the ground by the Durhams’ cold campfire. “Find anything?”
“He crouched here awhile, then headed that way.” Little Bear tipped his head to the east and stood.
“Think you can find him?”
“We will see.” Little Bear nodded. “Here comes the doctor.”
With Dr. Brownsville added to their number, they set out, a couple of men on horseback, the rest on foot. Birds rose from the dewy grass around them, twittering morning songs. Scattered tufts of cloud were gilded and pinked in the east above them. Such a beautiful morning, if it weren’t for the weight of worry. Father God, be with us. Guide us to Thomas.
Little Bear led the way, tracking quickly over soft bare ground, then more slowly when they entered the tall grass. Lark marveled at all he could tell by a bent grass stem, a faint impression in the dirt.
Little Bear circled back to speak to them. “He’s tired. Heading toward the creek.”
“Maybe he’s resting down by the water.” Martin seemed to have taken the role of encourager, bless him.
“Maybe.”
“And leave his son like that?” Otis shook his head. “Terrible careless.”
Little Bear slowed, the trail harder to find as the grass thickened.
Otis grew impatient. “We should spread out, use our numbers.” He reined his horse. “Can’t tell if this Indian fella even knows what he’s doing.”
And he did? Lark kept her tongue in restraint with effort.
“I’m heading up the creek. Anyone with me?” Otis asked.
“I’ll go with you.” Dr. Brownsville gave Lark a look that said he’d keep an eye on Otis.
She nodded, grateful. She’d just as soon not have Otis along. He’d certainly be of no help whenever they found Thomas.
“There’s the trail.” Little Bear bent over a matted patch of grass. “He stumbled here. Not far now.”
Moving quickly, she and Martin followed the young Pawnee man into the trees skirting the creek. The bubbling of water reached their ears.
Little Bear paused on the creek bank, examining the damp earth, then headed south, following the stream. His moccasins swift and silent, he climbed onto a couple of boulders, then paused at the top, gazing at something on the other side. He turned and motioned to Lark. “Here.”
Lark followed, leaping over stones in her path. She scrambled up beside Little Bear, then froze.
Thomas Durham lay facedown in the creek.
“Oh no. Lord, no.”
Lark and Little Bear clambered down into the water and hauled Thomas up onto the bank. With Martin’s help, they flipped him over. Blood and creek water soaked Thomas’s head and shirt. One look at his face, and Lark knew he was gone.
“Is he dead?” Otis crashed through the bushes, leading his horse. The doctor followed.
“I’m afraid so.” Lark swallowed. How much heartache could this family endure? Or rather, how much could Robbie? He was the only one left.
Dr. Brownsville came forward and checked Thomas for a pulse, looked in his eyes. He shook his head. “He’s been dead several hours.”
“What, killed hisself?” Otis spit into the creek.
“Hit his head.” Little Bear touched the gash on Thomas’s head, then motioned to a nearby rock smeared with blood. “Stumbled, then fell in the water.”
Had he been drinking, found liquor somehow? Or was he just crazy and exhausted with grief? He’d talked about not being able to go on without his wife, but Lark hadn’t known . . . She pushed back the guilt trying to clamp her chest. This wasn’t their fault. They’d done all they could.
“We’d better get him back to camp.” Martin closed Thomas’s eyes and stood. “He deserves a decent burial.”
“Hope we can make it quick.” Otis swung onto his horse. “The sun’s climbing, and the wagon train’s been delayed enough already with this nonsense.”
Lark shot to her feet and leveled a glare at him. “A man has died, Mr. Bane. Have a little respect.”
“Respect, eh? Guess you never heard of respect for your elders, young fella.” But he fell silent after that.
“Put him on my horse.” Dr. Brownsville rose and helped Martin and Lark haul Thomas’s waterlogged body over his saddle. Then they started a sober procession back to camp.
Little Bear touched Lark’s arm. “I’ll go ahead and tell Mr. Hayes.”
“Thanks. For everything.” Lark thought of something else. “Warn my sisters, too, would you? I don’t want his little boy to see.”
Little Bear nodded, understanding in his eyes, then darted ahead.
Mr. Hayes met them at the outskirts of camp, shaking his head. “Such a shame. I’ve set some men to digging another grave.”
“Thanks.” Lark swallowed, her throat aching. “I’ll go see about his son.”
Del met her before she even reached the wagon. Wordless, her sister held out her arms, and Lark walked into them. They held each other tight.
“How are we going to tell Robbie?” Del stepped back and wiped her eyes.
“I really don’t know.”
In the end it was Forsythia who told him, holding Robbie on her lap in the shade of the wagon while the others stood nearby. The midmorning sun already burned hot.
“Sweetheart, you know how we couldn’t find your pa this morning?”
“Uh-huh.” Robbie turned his wooden sheep in his hands. Jesse had been busy.
“Well . . .” Forsythia looked up at Lark, tears in her eyes.
Lark shook her head. She didn’t know how to do this either. Lord, give her the words.
“Well, your pa was missing your ma an awful lot. So he went to heaven to be with her.”
“Pa’s gone too?” Robbie twisted to look up into Forsythia’s face.
“I’m afraid so, little one.”
“I wanna
go see Ma.” Robbie’s lip trembled.
“I know.” Forsythia held him close. “But your ma asked us to take care of you until someday when we all get to go to heaven and be together. So we’re going to do that, all right?”
Robbie sniffled, staring up into her eyes. Then he dropped his gaze back to his sheep. “Okay.”
Well. Lark drew a long breath. Maybe the child was too full of grief to endure any more. Or his father had wandered away too much lately. Or this was simply God’s mercy in the moment.
The sun had passed well beyond noon by the time the burial was ready. Once again, Reverend Green spoke over the grave.
“Thomas Durham follows his wife and child far sooner than we would like. In these times, we are reminded that ‘our light affliction, which is but for a moment, worketh for us a far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory; while we look not at the things which are seen, but at the things which are not seen: for the things which are seen are temporal; but the things which are not seen are eternal.’ As we move forward into the unknown on this journey, may we fix our eyes on what lasts for eternity.”
Standing beside Forsythia and Robbie, Lark breathed in deeply through her nose, keeping back the unmanly tears. So much loss already. What had she brought her family into?
The reverend said a final prayer, and shovelfuls of dirt hit the wrapped body in the ground.
“Now can we get movin’, Mr. Hayes? We’ve already wasted the better part of a day.”
She didn’t need to look to know who was speaking.
“I’m afraid it’s a bit late for that.” Ephraim Hayes squinted up at the sun. “Not enough hours of daylight left to reach another good campsite with water. We’ll wait until tomorrow.”
More grumbling voices joined Otis this time.
“We’re already late in the season, you said it yourself,” said a man Lark didn’t know.
“Next time a fool gets hisself killed, let him stay where he lies. Not worth punishing the rest of us for it.” Otis raised his voice.
“Quiet,” Mr. Hayes roared. “You’d do well to remember who’s in charge here. Everybody back to your wagons and behave yourselves. We move out at first light. If anyone else feels reason to complain, be grateful it’s not you lying in the ground.”
The families dispersed, still murmuring among themselves. The sisters headed back to their camp, Robbie in tow.
Martin’s wife, Thelma, crossed over from their wagon carrying a covered dish and a spider skillet. Her little girl tagged at her heels. “I thought you folks could use a hot meal.” She lifted the towel on the dish. “I brought you some fried squirrel and fresh corn bread.”
“How kind you are.” Forsythia reached for the food. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“Well, you folks have been taking care of that poor family like they were kin.” Thelma rested her hand on her child’s head. “’Bout time someone took care of you.”
The kindness in her voice brought a lump to Lark’s throat. “Thank you, ma’am. We surely appreciate it.”
The scent of crisply fried meat and fluffy corn bread brought on a hunger she didn’t know she had. Together they sat, gave thanks, and ate in grateful silence. Even Robbie perked up enough to eat a big piece of corn bread and half of Lilac’s squirrel before falling soundly asleep in Forsythia’s arms. Exhausted, poor little man.
Lark set aside her plate and leaned her head against the wagon, suddenly too tired to hold it up. Lord . . . She was asleep before she finished the prayer.
“Lark?” Lilac’s hand on Lark’s shoulder startled her awake a while later.
She raised her head, blinking.
“Sorry.” Her little sister sat down beside her. “I was thinking maybe some music would lift everyone’s spirits. All right if Del and I invite folks to our fire tonight? I’ll ask Mr. Hayes.”
“Sure.” Lark rubbed her stiff neck. Leave it to Lilac.
The sisters had started preparing supper when Mr. Hayes walked up. “Do you folks have a few minutes we can talk?”
“Of course, but can we talk and fix supper at the same time?” Del’s smile could welcome any stranger, let alone a person she had already met.
Lark turned from splitting wood from a dead tree they had downed and cut with the crosscut saw. Anders had insisted they needed one and hung it over hooks on the outside of the wagon. That saw had become mighty popular. “How can we help you?”
“It’s about the Durham wagon.” Hayes tipped back his flat-brimmed hat. “I know you were traveling together, but with both the mister and missus gone . . .”
Forsythia spoke up. “Before she died, Alice asked if we would care for Robbie. I guess she knew her husband’s weakness. I told her we would.”
Hayes nodded. “I see. So, then, you should have the wagon and supplies to help care for the boy.” He looked to Lark, who nodded.
“I—we figured that when we get to where we’re going, we’ll try to contact members of their families.”
“I planned to search through a box Alice mentioned in the hope there are some names and addresses there,” Forsythia added. “I know their family Bible is in that box. She asked me to read from it often. That’s a place to start.”
Hayes slapped his knees and nodded as he stood. “Good, glad to hear that. You might get some questions or complaints from others, but as far as I’m concerned, the matter is closed.”
“Thank you.”
After supper, a small group gathered around their campfire. With the familiar feel of the mouth organ in her hands, Lark harmonized to her sisters’ playing. They started with Robbie’s favorite, “Oh! Susanna.”
Voices joined in from the circle, some tapping their feet. Lilac smiled across her fiddle, and Lark nodded at her sister. They played a few more folk tunes, and then Forsythia picked a quieter melody and started to sing.
“Come, thou Fount of every blessing,
Tune my heart to sing thy grace;
Streams of mercy, never ceasing,
Call for songs of loudest praise.”
More voices joined from surrounding wagons. Folks came to stand close, mothers holding small sleepy children, fathers’ impatient faces softened by the music.
Lark closed her eyes, something unwinding in her middle as she played.
“Here I raise my Ebenezer;
Hither by thy help I’ve come;
And I hope, by thy good pleasure,
Safely to arrive at home.”
Hither by thy help we’ve come indeed, dear Lord. Guide us through the rest of the way. And please, let today’s grave be the last for a good long while.
16
It sure was pleasant sitting around a fire, surrounded by friendly faces.
Adam Brownsville took the cup of coffee Forsythia held out to him with a nod of thanks. Miss Nielsen, he should say, even in his head. Yet she had quickly become Forsythia to him. How had that happened? He stroked his beard, once a dark rich brown like his hair but now shot with silver, a habit he had when pondering. His right leg, wounded in the war, ached something fierce at times, and he hated to spend his meager collection of medications on himself. Perhaps the Nielsens had an herbal remedy in their stores.
Clark, the older brother, had invited him and Jesse to join them for supper tonight after a long day on the road. Mr. Hayes had pushed the train harder to try to make up for the lost time, and a weary haze hung over the darkened campground.
Here, though, in the Nielsen circle, he felt the first lifting of his spirits since he’d laid his Elizabeth in the ground. Could that only have been a few weeks past? It felt like a lifetime ago. Yet sometimes he still woke in the darkness, reaching for her beside him, and the pall of grief took his breath once more.
“How did you learn to carve like that, Jesse?” Lilac, the youngest Nielsen sister, drew little Robbie onto her lap. Together they examined his nephew’s latest creation—a rooster or duck, from what he could see.
“One of m-my other uncles.” Jesse ducked h
is head and fiddled with his pocketknife. “I l-lived with him before Uncle Adam, till he p-passed on.”
“Well, you are certainly gifted.” Clark picked up the cow and studied the detail. “You might sell these for good money someday.”
“You th-think?” A shy grin crept over Jesse’s face.
Adam’s chest warmed. The poor boy had known a rough life. This journey would be a good new start for him, please God. Even if not the fresh start he had hoped for himself and Elizabeth.
“That was a mighty fine supper, ladies.” Adam held out his empty bowl as another of the sisters—Delphinium—collected the dishes. “Best venison stew I’ve had in a long time.”
“Where did you grow up, Doctor?” Forsythia sat down and clasped her hands around her knees. Her golden hair caught glimmers of the firelight.
“Illinois.” He sipped his coffee, savoring the hot brew. “Lived there all my life till now, except for medical school, and had a practice of my own. Then I was conscripted into the Union army, but thank God I was wounded and sent home. The war ended not long after that.”
“What started you west?” Clark asked.
“My wife, Elizabeth.” He hesitated, warming his hands around the tin cup. “Her lungs had been weak since childhood, and she was getting worse. We thought the air out west might help—that it was a chance for her. But she took a cold not long after we left home, and it turned to pneumonia. We made it to a boardinghouse in Independence, and I tried to treat her there. But her lungs . . . I suppose they were just too damaged.”
Silence fell around the campfire.
“Sorry.” Adam cleared his throat and attempted a smile. “Didn’t mean to bring everyone’s spirits down.”
“No.” Forsythia’s voice came tenderly with compassion. “Thank you for sharing with us.”
“We’re so sorry for your loss.” Lilac hugged Robbie. “It seems like there’s been too much of that lately.”
She was so right, and somehow they had managed to be caught in the middle of it all.
“You folks certainly have a gift for music.” He tried to lighten the mood. “That gathering last night was something. Have you always played together?”
The Seeds of Change Page 14