The Seeds of Change

by Lauraine Snelling

  “As long as we can remember.” Clark stirred the fire. “Our ma always said music was good for the soul.”

  “That it is.”

  “So where are you headed? Oregon?” Lilac cuddled Robbie as he sleepily shifted in her lap.

  “California was our plan. Better climate for my wife. Now . . . I don’t know. Still heading there, I suppose. I’ve left everything of my old life behind, and doctors are in demand wherever one goes, fortunately—or unfortunately.”

  “We’ll be leaving you in Nebraska, then.” That was Delphinium. “Our oldest brother has told us of some homestead land for sale there.”

  “I’ve heard there’s good farming in that country.” Nebraska—there was an idea. Maybe he and Jesse didn’t have to go all the way to California after all.

  Two wagons sure were a lot more difficult to manage than one.

  Striding along beside their oxen, Lark wiped her forehead with her sleeve and sighed at Del’s holler for help from the wagon ahead. The Durhams’ span was giving her trouble again.

  Lark called for Lilac to take over beside Sam and Sadie and jogged up to help. The oxen tossed their heads and bellowed beneath the yokes.

  “Settle down, now.” Lark smacked the near ox on the rump. “Behave yourselves.”

  “I guess they miss Thomas.” Del cracked the whip and shouted sternly. “Hup!” The oxen lurched forward but still shook their horned heads in protest.

  “We should check their yokes tonight, make sure nothing is rubbing their necks.” Lark swatted at a fly. “Who knows how well Thomas was keeping things up at the end.”

  “Good idea.”

  Forsythia peeked out the front of the Durhams’ wagon. “Settled them down?”

  “I think so. What are you up to?”

  “Robbie’s napping on his ma’s quilt. I’m looking through the box where she had their Bible, seeing if there are any papers that will tell us about their family.”

  “Find anything?”

  “Just a letter with the address of a great-aunt so far. I doubt she would take Robbie, but we can write to her and ask if she knows of anyone else with a claim.”

  With the oxen settled down for now, Lark headed back to their wagon and untied Starbright from walking behind.

  “Want a little exercise, girl?” She swung up onto the mare’s back, scanning the prairie surrounding them. It would be time for another hunting party soon.

  “Still hassling with that dead man’s oxen?” Otis Bane called, flicking his own whip. His voice grated on her nerves. Too bad he had to have the wagon right behind theirs.

  “They’re just getting used to new handlers.”

  “You’d better not slow us up none. It’s bad enough Hayes won’t let us travel on Sundays. I’ve been talking with some of the other men, and we agree it’s a fool shame to waste one day out of every week.”

  Lark tipped her hat to the man’s sour-faced wife, Louise, on the wagon seat and nudged Starbright with her heels. She trotted out of earshot of the man’s complaints, riding alongside the wagon train. Lord, I know you want us to love all people, but some of them sure do try the soul. No wonder his wife looks like she’s perpetually sucking on a lemon.

  They ate supper that night with Martin, Thelma, and their daughter, who were quickly becoming good friends. After eating, Robbie and Sarah made a barn for their animals under the wagon.

  “It’s so nice for her to have a friend.” Thelma collected the dishes.

  “For Robbie too.” Lark sipped her coffee.

  A bellow of pain cut across the camp.

  Lark dropped her cup and stood. What in the world?

  “Help—please, someone help!” A woman’s cry this time, and not far—the Banes’ wagon behind them?

  Lark and Del rushed over.

  “His leg.” Louise bent over her husband. Otis lay groaning on the ground, clutching his thigh. “He was chopping wood, and the axe missed.”

  Even with only firelight, Lark could see blood streaming onto the ground. She yanked off her belt. “Del, give me your kerchief.” They had to slow the bleeding, or Otis would bleed to death right here. “Louise, go for the doctor.”

  Fretting, his wife hurried off.

  Lark wrapped Del’s kerchief around the wound and cinched her belt tight above it.

  Otis swore. “Tryin’ to cut my leg off?”

  “Trying to save it.”

  The doctor arrived, and Lark stepped back as Martin ran up too.

  “Quick thinking with the tourniquet,” Dr. Brownsville said after a brief examination. “Let’s move him over by the fire, and I need light, several lanterns at least. The wound will need stitching once we stanch the bleeding. Mrs. Bane, do you have flour?”

  The small woman nodded and hurried to her stores.

  “And Clark—” the doctor hesitated— “might your sister Forsythia be willing to assist me? She was very skilled with Mrs. Durham.”

  Lark nodded. “I’m sure she will.”

  Together she, the doctor, and Martin hauled Otis onto a blanket by the fire, him fussing and cussing all the way. Then Lark fetched Forsythia while Martin collected lanterns.

  “Good.” The doctor nodded, satisfied when they had assembled four lanterns around the leg. “Now, Miss Nielsen, if you will help me clean the wound, please. I’m going to loosen the belt.”

  Blood spurted as soon as he removed the tourniquet, but he and Forsythia worked well together, quickly cleaning the wound and stanching it with flour despite Otis’s groans and protests.

  “Now, Mr. Bane, we’re going to stitch up your leg. Clark, would you help Forsythia hold him steady?”

  “Tarnation. Can’t a man get a lick of whiskey first?” Otis growled.

  The doctor sighed. “There’s some medicinal brandy in my bag, Miss Nielsen.”

  Despite the swig of liquor Forsythia brought, Otis hollered plenty through the stitching. Practically lying on the man’s ankles to hold him down, Lark shook her head. Some men could be such babies. She guessed that was why God gave childbearing to the womenfolk.

  “Quite a character, isn’t he?” Martin said as they parted ways once Otis was snoring in his wagon.

  “That’s one way to put it. ’Night.” Lark nodded, and she and Forsythia headed for their bedrolls.

  “Never a dull moment, is there?” Forsythia yawned and slid her arm through Lark’s. “Maybe tonight we’ll actually get a decent night’s sleep.”

  If only.

  The next day, after checking the oxen carefully for any tender spots, Lark took a turn driving the Durhams’ team. They seemed calmer, adjusting to the new routine, new masters. Thank you, Lord. She drew a long breath, trying not to inhale too much dust.

  “Indians!” The cry passed along the wagon train. “Behind us.”

  Lark twisted her head to look. Sure enough, a small group of figures on horseback had just crested a grassy knoll behind them. Her scalp prickled, but more from fear or intrigue, she wasn’t certain.

  “What do we do?” Forsythia called from driving their own oxen.

  “Wait for Mr. Hayes, I guess.” Lark looked back again. Already the riders were closer.

  A few moments later, Mr. Hayes came riding up. “Circle the wagons.”

  Her heart pounding, Lark brought the oxen around as Forsythia did the same with her spans. Quicker than she would have thought, the wagons formed a passable circle. She guessed their practice those early nights was paying off.

  The Indian riders had come within a hundred yards now. A dozen men, some shirtless, some wearing woven hunting shirts like Little Bear’s. Most had shaved heads with a slicked-back scalp lock and a few feathers.

  With her sisters and Robbie tucked safely into their wagon, Lark gathered with the other men, rifle in hand.

  “Get a look at them,” John Manning said. “Would make good target practice.” He cocked his firearm and sighted through it.

  “Enough. There’ll be no shooting today, please God and if I can help
it.” Hayes leveled a glare at Manning, who lowered his rifle. “They look to be Pawnee. Little Bear is going to talk to them. Most likely they just want food or to trade.”

  “Trade for what? Our women?” Grumbling and murmurs spread among the men till another glare from the wagon master made them subside.

  Hayes nodded at Little Bear, who approached the group of riders. He communicated with them in a mixture of spoken and sign language, from what Lark could tell. The riders consulted with each other, then handed something to Little Bear. He strode back to the circle of wagons.

  “They want food. And guns.”

  “Guns? They think we’ll arm them just so they can shoot us and take our scalps?” The murmuring rose louder this time.

  “And what food? We need all the provisions we got just to make it to Oregon.”

  Little Bear held up his hand. “In return, they offer these.” He held out an elaborate belt of intricate red-and-blue beadwork.

  “What are we supposed to do with that?” That was Manning again.

  “Can’t eat fancy beadwork.”

  Hayes raised both hands for silence. “We’ve got to give them something, folks. We want to keep this friendly.”

  “They also like that mare.” Little Bear inclined his head at Starbright.

  “No.” Lark’s throat squeezed. Please, Lord. “She’s the only horse we’ve got. Won’t they take anything else?”

  Little Bear met her gaze, then nodded. “I will speak to them.”

  “All right, what provisions can we spare?” Hayes surveyed the group. “Anyone got an extra sack of flour? Side of bacon? Milk cow?”

  Some men averted their eyes. Others reluctantly headed to their wagons.

  Lark hurried to her family. Between their wagon and the Durhams’, surely there was something they could spare. Del helped her dig through their stores. They found a bag of beans in the Durhams’ wagon, and a sack of cornmeal and one of salt from theirs.

  She hauled the goods over and added them to the growing pile outside the circle of wagons. Not every family had contributed, but hopefully it would do.

  Little Bear approached the group again. The men’s voices rose louder this time, and by their gestures, they weren’t happy.

  Lark’s stomach tensed. She tightened her grip on her rifle. Please, Lord, let this not end in bloodshed. On either side.

  Their Pawnee guide came back. “They still want a horse. Or a cow.”

  The men shook their heads, shifted their feet. “Let ’em fight for it.”

  “Quiet, you fools.” Hayes’s patience was drawing thin. “Nielsen, if you won’t spare the horse, what about an ox?”

  “We need them, sir, to pull our wagon. Unless . . .” Could just one ox pull the Durhams’ wagon with no one riding in it? Perhaps some of the belongings could be emptied out and left behind to lighten the load further. “What if we gave them one from the Durhams’ wagon?”

  The wagon master nodded. “Do it.”

  Lark ran to the wagons as Little Bear went back to make the proposal. She explained the situation to her sisters, and Forsythia and Lilac helped her unyoke the ox while Del held a confused Robbie.

  Little Bear appeared beside her. “They will take that.”

  Lark nodded, fighting resentment. They could manage, but any loss of animals was a huge one. She didn’t like the other men’s attitudes toward the Indians, but it did seem an unfair exchange for a few pieces of beadwork. But for everyone’s safety . . .

  Little Bear helped her lead the ox over to the band of Pawnee. Two men dismounted to receive the bellowing animal being dragged away from the others. They patted the animal over, smiled, and nodded. The other Indians collected the gathered provisions and handed their beaded items to Hayes.

  One young man handed an intricately decorated purse directly to Lark, with a gesture she didn’t understand. She glanced at Little Bear.

  “For you, he says.”

  Shock coursed through her at the feminine gift. Did he . . . ? She looked up at the smiling young Indian.

  “For your woman,” Little Bear continued.

  Oh. Her scalp heating, Lark nodded her thanks.

  The band rode away, horses laden with goods, the ox trailing behind.

  Lark watched them go with a mingling of relief and heaviness in her chest.

  “Thank you.” Little Bear walked alongside her as they returned to the wagons.

  “Didn’t seem I had much of a choice.” Lark glanced back at the riders disappearing over the prairie. “Those were your people?”

  “Different band. They are South Band. I am Skiri. But we’re all what you call Pawnee.”

  “So that was why you needed sign language to understand them?”

  He tipped his head. “Some. Our languages are similar, but not quite the same. But they need food. That is the same.”

  Lark frowned. “Your people are short on food?” For the first time, she thought about how thin the bare chests and shoulders of some of the men had been.

  “We used to eat buffalo. Now many are moving west because of the settlers. My family is on a reservation in Nebraska. The government is supposed to give us food, but it doesn’t always come. We need to go west to find the buffalo but cannot leave the reservation.”

  “Oh.” She’d never heard Little Bear talk so much. “Is that why you work as a trail guide? To help your family?”

  He inclined his head in acknowledgement, then hurried off at a call from Hayes.

  Lark slung her rifle over her shoulder and headed back to her own family. They might have lost the ox, but she’d learned a bit. And maybe made a friend.

  Heading to a nearby stream to draw water after they made camp that night, Lark passed a small knot of men gathered around Otis Bane, who sat on his wagon seat with his injured leg on a pillow. Though he’d missed all the excitement today, he seemed full of opinions, as usual.

  “I say Hayes doesn’t know what’s best for this wagon train,” Otis was saying. “You can’t just give Indians whatever they ask for. What if they ask for our women and children next?”

  “And we’ve already lost far too much time.” Manning leaned in. “Tomorrow’s Sunday, so you know what that means.”

  “That’s what I’m saying. A whole ’nother day we could be on the trail.” Otis raised his voice as Lark passed. “And a good ox, eh, young fella?”

  Lugging her buckets, she ignored him. She hated the sense of unrest that hung over the camp. What would Hayes do about it? What could he do?

  The next morning, families gathered in the sunshine for the worship service. Sitting beside her sisters near the front, Lark breathed in the sweet scent of dew on grass. A meadowlark warbled nearby, singing its song of praise even as the Nielsen sisters tuned their instruments.

  “Let’s begin with ‘Fairest Lord Jesus.’” Forsythia strummed a chord.

  At first only their family’s voices raised in song, but little by little, more joined in, swelling the sound into a chorus.

  “Beautiful Savior! Lord of all the nations!

  Son of God and Son of Man!

  Glory and honor, praise, adoration,

  Now and forever more be thine.”

  The darkness and heaviness over the wagon train lifted away under the beam of sunshine and praise.

  Thank you, Lord. Lark closed her eyes. Maybe we’re going to make it after all. If Mr. Hayes can shut down the complainers.

  17

  Somewhere they had crossed into Nebraska. Forsythia hupped the oxen, taking her turn at droving. Her sunbonnet flapped against her face in the hot prairie wind. They were making progress toward the land that would be their new home.

  Anders had sent the same letter to Topeka that he had to Independence, wanting to make sure they received it. He’d included the address of the attorney he wanted them to meet in Salton, with instructions for Lark to see him when they arrived. But there was no further word of that awful gambler, Ringwald, nor of Deacon Wiesel. Thank you, Lord.


  “Guess what.” Lilac came riding up on Starbright, her hair windblown, and slid off the horse. Her eyes sparkled with excitement. “Little Bear just sighted a small herd of buffalo ahead.”

  “Really?” Forsythia craned her neck to try to see around the wagon train, but the billowing clouds of dust blocked her vision. “What will we do?”

  “Mr. Hayes says we’ll stop till it passes. Some of the men are trying to get him to let them shoot a couple, but he says no, we’re not prepared for a proper hunt.” Lilac pushed back her sunbonnet. “I just want to catch a glimpse of them up close if I can.”

  “That would be something, all right.” As the wagons ahead of her rolled to a stop, Forsythia flicked her whip to halt the oxen. “Whoa.”

  “What’s going on?” Del called from driving the Durhams’ ox behind them. They’d decided to switch positions so the Nielsen wagon drove ahead of the other.

  “Buffalo.” Lilac led Starbright back to explain to Del.

  Lark strode up. “Want to go see the herd?”

  “I know Lilac wants to.” As a distant rumble reached their ears, Forsythia’s stomach fluttered with excitement despite herself. “But I should stay with the oxen.”

  “You girls go ahead. I’ll stay with the animals.” Lark smiled, her dark eyes full of big-sister generosity. “Never know if you’ll encounter a sight like this again.”

  Del didn’t care, so Forsythia and Lilac hurried to the front of the wagon train, hand in hand, lifting their skirts as they ran. The ground shook now with the thunder of the approaching herd.

  They pushed their way into the crowd of travelers at the front of the train, everyone jostling for a view.

  “Look.” Lilac pressed Forsythia’s fingers. “Aren’t they something?”

  Above the din of their hooves, the huge dark heads and shoulders of the beasts rose amid clouds of dust like moving mountains in mist. They tossed their wooly heads and snorted, but thankfully kept their thundering path across the trail, not toward the wagons.

  Forsythia squeezed back and nodded. Lord, thy creation never ceases to amaze.