by Ginny Dye
“What a relief,” Carolyn said brightly.
Carrie looked at her sharply. “What?”
Captain Marley was staring at Carolyn, as well. “Excuse me?”
Carolyn grinned, letting go of her distressed expression. She tossed Carrie a look of haughty disdain. “Do you think you are the only one on this wagon train who knows how to read?”
Carrie laughed. “The book?”
“The book,” Carolyn agreed. “It seems it was quite a wise choice for someone to turn the trail over Raton Pass into a toll road when the war ended. It must have taken so much effort to make the trail passible in all seasons. I can only imagine the grading, blasting and clearing that has been done in the last two years. And the bridge building,” she cooed. “What a wonderful thing they have done, Captain!”
Captain Marley chuckled. “So you knew all along…”
Carolyn nodded serenely. “You were so caught up in your storytelling that it seemed a shame to cut you off.”
Captain Marley chuckled again. “How could I know you had the secret weapon of a thirteen-year-old who was going to give you the information to ruin my fun?”
“Is the toll road profitable?” Carrie asked.
“What does your book tell you?”
“It doesn’t cover that,” Carrie admitted with a smile. “It seems to me, thought, that it would be wildly profitable.”
“It is,” Captain Marley responded. “The only ones who rue its creation are the wagon and wheel repair businesses down in Fort Union at the bottom of the pass because they can no longer count on steady business. Of course, it will only be profitable for a limited time.”
“Why is that?” Carolyn asked.
“Because of the train. It won’t be long before the train follows the same route as the trail. Wagon trains will become obsolete, and the toll road will not be used very much.”
Carrie felt sadness swell in her. “I know it will be much faster and easier for people to take the train, but I have fallen in love with wagon travel.” She was surprised how much she meant it. The long days of quiet and solitude had settled something deep in her soul. She had also realized just how magnificent the western part of the country was. She had fallen in love with the flat plains, the plateaus, the limestone cliffs and the soaring mountains clothed with great forests. The air was crystal clear, and the skies at night were a miracle. She could only imagine how thrilled Felicia would have been to experience the stars the way she had. There were so many times they seemed close enough to pick them out of the sky the way she picked apples at home.
Captain Marley nodded. “I understand how you feel. There is something special about it, but it will surely become a thing of the past. I’m glad I’ve been able to experience it. My children will only know it through the stories I tell them.”
Carrie looked at him thoughtfully. “Our country is changing so fast.”
“Most of it for the good,” Captain Marley responded.
“I wonder,” Carrie mused. “Oh, I know many of the changes are for the good, but I wonder at the price being paid for progress.”
“You’re thinking of the Navajo.”
Carrie shrugged. “I’m thinking of all the Indian tribes who have been pushed out of their homelands because white men believe it is theirs to take. I’m thinking of millions of slaves who had their lives stolen for profit. The blacks… the Irish… the Indians.” She’d had time to do a lot of thinking on the trail. “It saddens me how much is lost in the push to gain.”
She shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts. It was a beautiful day, and they were finally in New Mexico. She glanced upward at the pass they were riding toward and stiffened at the sight of dark clouds gathering in the distance. “Am I correct that even with a toll road travel across Raton Pass would be dangerous in the snow?” She fought to keep her voice casual but knew she had failed when Carolyn tensed.
“Snow?” Carolyn echoed, following Carrie’s eyes.
Captain Marley looked up as well, his eyes turning grim. “We will not attempt to cross Raton Pass in the snow. We’ll go as far as I feel we safely can, and then we will wait for a break in the weather. Nothing may come of this,” he added. “Clouds can scatter as quickly as they gather, but I need to communicate with my men.” He nodded his head graciously. “Thank you, ladies.”
Carrie watched him canter off before she turned to Carolyn. “After we get over the pass, I believe it will be easy for the rest of the way.”
“After we get over the pass,” Carolyn repeated dryly. “I believe after is the most important word there,” she said, but then she shrugged. “I’m not really worried. We’ve made it this far. A few more challenges will just add to the stories when we get home.”
*****
Carrie sighed with contentment as she watched the flames flickering from campfires all around the circle of wagons. Two huge cooking fires had served up bubbling cauldrons of venison stew and steaming biscuits.
“Venison stew,” Matthew murmured, leaning back against the wagon wheel, his long legs stretched out in front of him. His red hair curled from beneath his hat. “Did some of the men go hunting today?”
Carrie shook her head. “A Mexican trader came through. He wanted gun powder and bullets. Captain Marley was going to turn him down until he revealed he had two fresh deer. He decided it would be worth the trade to give everyone venison stew while we are crossing the Pass.”
“I thought they couldn’t trade gun powder and bullets,” Melissa replied. “That it was too dangerous.”
“They can’t trade with Indians,” Nathan said. “Mexicans are all right.”
“Even though Mexicans have caused so many of the problems here?” Carrie protested. “They have stolen so many Indians to become their slaves. If I were an Indian, I would fight back, too.” She shook her head heavily. Despite the brief afternoon snowstorm, it was obvious spring was coming to New Mexico. Once the snow had stopped, a warm front had melted it as quickly as it had fallen. She knew once they came down the other side of the pass, the temperatures would warm substantially. Her thoughts drifted to Bosque Redondo.
“How far are we from the reservation?” Janie asked.
Carrie took comfort in the knowledge that Janie could still read her thoughts. “Two hundred and fifty miles. The blizzard, and taking the Mountain Route, has added almost a month to our trip, but once we are through the pass we should have no trouble making twelve to fifteen miles a day. We will be there by the end of April.” She understood the silence that fell on their campsite as they all tried to imagine what they would find. Their world had become the wagon train, but that would all change when they reached their destination.
“Have any of you ever heard of Frank Aubry?” Matthew asked.
Carrie knew he was trying to change the subject and take their minds off Bosque Redondo. Since thinking about the fort holding the Navajo only distressed her, she realized a new topic would be welcome. “No,” she answered. “Who is he?”
“Someone with more endurance than I will ever hope to have,” Matthew said lightly. “Frank, whose real name was Francois, was a French Canadian guide and trader on the Santa Fe Trail. He went to Santa Fe early in the spring of 1848 to do some trading. American troops had just taken control of the country so business was booming. Frank sold all his stock for over one hundred percent of his original investment.”
“Impressive,” Randall commented.
Matthew nodded. “Impressive enough to make him want to see if he could repeat it again that year. He decided to return to St. Louis and bring out another load of stock before the cold weather made it impossible.”
Carrie shook her head. “What was impossible was believing he could get back to St. Louis in time to make it back down the trail again before winter. He could never have gotten back over the Raton Pass then.”
“It was only possible if he could get back over the trail and to St. Louis in eight days,” Matthew responded.
“It took
us two months to get this far,” Carolyn objected. “Even without the blizzard, it’s not possible to do it that fast.”
“Except that he did,” Matthew stated quietly.
Carrie leaned forward. “This is going to be a good story.”
“It is,” Matthew agreed. “Frank Aubry was not a large man, but he had iron nerves, and he didn’t understand the meaning of the word ‘quit.’ Once he had made his plans, he found four other men willing to attempt it with him, and he carefully selected a small herd of horses.”
“I think I already feel bad for the horses,” Carrie protested. “How in the world could he ask those animals to do what he was proposing?”
Matthew shrugged. “I agree with you, but I’m just telling the story—not riding the horses.”
Carrie smiled slightly. “Go on.”
“All the men left at the same time, but Frank outrode all of them. He rode his own mare, Nellie, for the first one hundred and fifty miles, only stopping for food and water. He left her with a settler who agreed to care for her, and then jumped on another horse. By the time he reached the Arkansas River crossing in Kansas, about halfway down the trail, he had left everyone behind. He had also worn out his last horse.”
“What did he do?” Carolyn asked.
“He left his horse with someone else and kept going on foot,” Matthew answered. “The best anyone can figure, he had to walk about twenty miles to reach Mann’s Fort.”
“When did he sleep?” Melissa demanded.
“He didn’t.”
Carrie stared at Matthew. “He did all that without sleep?”
“And apparently without much to eat either,” Matthew replied. “Once he got to Mann’s Fort he was able to get another horse. He didn’t eat hardly anything before he hit the trail again. He was almost to the Pawnee Fork crossing when a band of Indians came after him.”
“Oh my,” Carolyn exclaimed, but then smiled sheepishly. “I already know he got away from them, or you wouldn’t be telling this story.”
Matthew chuckled. “You’re right, but his escape was very narrow. When he plunged down the twenty-foot bank into the Pawnee River, the Indians left him alone, but probably only because they thought the flooded river would finish him off. Somehow, he and his exhausted horse made it across and on into Independence, Missouri.”
“In the eight days?” Nathan asked.
“Nope,” Matthew answered with a grin. “He made it in five days and sixteen hours.”
“Brutal,” Randall grumbled.
“Brutal indeed,” Matthew agreed. “It is said that when they helped him out of his saddle it was stained with his blood.”
“He made it back with his next load?” Carrie was impressed, in spite of how she felt about the horses being pushed so hard.
Matthew shrugged. “I guess so. No one really talks about that part—they were just impressed with his ride.”
Janie cocked her head. “Is that where the idea for the Pony Express came from?”
“I don’t know,” Matthew answered, “but it’s certainly possible.”
“The Pony Express?” Carolyn asked.
Carrie stared at her. “Were you so absorbed in city medicine that you don’t know about the Pony Express?”
“Evidently,” Carolyn retorted. “I make no apologies, but I would very much like to fill in that gap of information.” She turned to Matthew. “Will you tell me about it?”
“Oh sure,” Carrie scoffed. “Ask the one who can’t resist spouting how much he knows.”
“Jealousy,” Matthew said smugly. “Pure jealousy.”
“Nonsense,” Carrie answered, tossing her long hair back over her shoulder. “I know as much about the Pony Express as you do.”
“Do tell,” Matthew invited in a dubious voice.
Carrie was relieved that this time she truly did know what she was talking about. “The Pony Express was only in operation from April, 1860 to October, 1861, but I suspect it will always be talked about. As more people moved to the West, it became obvious there needed to be a faster way to get mail to them. The Pony Express ran from St. Joseph, Missouri to Sacramento, California.” She paused for better effect. “The men who rode the Pony Express covered eighteen hundred miles in just ten days.”
“What?” Carolyn’s eyes were wide with disbelief.
“It was quite the operation,” Carrie continued. “There were more than one hundred stopping stations, four to five hundred horses, and enough riders and station agents to make it happen. The Pony Express set it up so there was a new horse every ten to fifteen miles, and a fresh rider every seventy-five to one hundred miles. It required seventy-five horses to make a one way trip, at a speed of about ten miles per hour. Weather was a factor, but it was probably Indian attacks that were the scariest part of the rides.”
Matthew raised a brow. “I believe you know more than I do.”
Carrie grinned. “Felicia gave me a book about the Pony Express last year. She knew I would be fascinated.”
“What happened to it?” Melissa asked
“The telegraph happened to it,” Carrie said. “The Pony Express was terribly expensive and very difficult to operate, but as long as it served a purpose, it continued. Just ten weeks after the Pony Express began operations, Congress authorized a bill to build a transcontinental telegraph line to connect the Missouri River and the Pacific Coast. It was finished in October, 1861, during the first year of the war. On October twenty-sixth, San Francisco was in direct contact with New York City through the telegraph. The Pony Express was terminated that day, ending another part of history.”
Carolyn smiled. “I bet the riders have great stories to tell their children.”
“They do,” Matthew agreed. “I remember seeing some of the first ads for Pony Express riders. They called for boys under the age of eighteen who were skinny and wiry. They had to be expert riders, and willing to risk death daily. They preferred orphans.”
“No,” Melissa protested. “That can’t be true. They were just boys! They actually said they wanted orphans?”
“It’s true,” Matthew assured her. “Orphans didn’t have to worry about parental permission. Anybody choosing to be a Pony Express rider was always in grave danger. From a business perspective it made sense to hire orphans. It was dangerous, but probably preferable to donning a uniform and fighting the war.”
Carrie was struck by the truth of his statement. If she had been a young man with that choice to make, she would most certainly have chosen the dangers of the Pony Express.
“Was sending mail through the Pony Express expensive?” Nathan asked, obviously fascinated.
“Only if you believe five dollars for a half ounce of mail is expensive,” Carrie said wryly.
Nathan whistled. “So mail was only sent by businesses and rich people.”
“Most of it,” Matthew agreed. “Very few people, especially during the war, could afford that kind of cost. There were many businesses that considered it a justified expense.”
Silence fell on the group again. The whispers of the past seemed to lift on the flames and echo through the mountains surrounding them. Carrie was content to lie back in silence, feeling the embrace of the mountains. It was cold, but the air no longer carried the harshness of winter. Just like she could at home, she felt the tender promise of spring swirling in the air. She had always been able to predict the final snowfall.
“What happened to Frank Aubry?” Carolyn asked after a long while.
Matthew frowned. “He was killed in a bar fight in 1854.”
“Fame couldn’t protect him from death,” Carrie mused.
“He was a hard man,” Matthew replied. “He lived hard, and he died hard.”
“I wonder if he was ready,” Carrie said quietly. “I wonder if he knew he was dying.” She was aware she was no longer talking about Frank Aubry. She was also aware the rest of her team was watching her carefully. She forced a smile. “I’m all right,” she assured them.
“I
believe Robert knew he was dying,” Matthew said evenly. “I believe he was ready, and I believe if he had to make the choice again to save Amber’s life, he would do it.”
Carrie stiffened. Would Robert have made the choice to save Amber’s life if he had known it would mean leaving Carrie and losing their daughter? She knew it was a pointless question that she had no hope of answering, but she couldn’t keep it from spinning through her mind. She wondered if she would ever find peace in the not knowing. One thing was certain; she was glad Robert had not had to make that impossible choice. He had simply acted from his best instincts, saving the little girl who had first saved him…The little girl he loved like a daughter.
Janie reached over and grasped Carrie’s hand, squeezing it tightly.
Carrie squeezed it back, letting her mind travel over the last year. She could hardly believe that in just a few weeks it would be one year from the day Robert had been murdered. She could never have imagined she would endure the anniversary on a wagon train in New Mexico. For much of that time, she had not been able to imagine enduring at all. Her prayer for death had been constant. Her anger at being alive had almost consumed her. She was able to embrace life a little more now, and with a little less resentment.
“I bet the plantation is beautiful right now,” Janie murmured.
Carrie nodded, knowing she was right. The mares would all be delivering their foals. Anthony would have picked up the yearlings. She wondered if he had buyers for the new ones, but it would be months before she would know. She found a strange solace in the enforced separation. She could not keep the plantation out of her mind, but it had little to do with her life now.
“When we get through the pass we should be able to start collecting plant specimens,” Carrie said, determined to take the focus away from her. “I’ve been studying the information Chooli sent. She drew pictures and had Felicia write down what she knew about the plants. I can’t wait to get to Bosque Redondo and meet her family, especially her grandfather.” She fell silent again, wondering if the old man had made it through another harsh winter.