A Man for Temperance (Wagon Wheel)

by Gilbert, Morris

  “Hello, Rena and Bent, and you, too, Bess.” Temperance managed to smile. “Are you ready to go?”

  “I don’t wanna go nowhere,” Bent said flatly.

  “I don’t either,” Rena said.

  “Now, that’s no way for you two to talk,” Carl Benton said. “Here Miss Peabody’s going to all this trouble to get you to your uncle and aunt, and you ought to be more grateful.”

  Quickly Temperance said, “We’ve got to hurry. We’re getting a late start as it is. Do you have your things ready?”

  Rena glared at Temperance and, turning quickly, went back into the cabin followed by Carl. Elmus Benton stared at the door and shook her head in despair. “I declare I’ve seen stubborn, rebellious children before in my life, but never a pair like this! They’re going to drive you crazy, Miss Peabody.”

  “Oh, I expect we’ll get used to each other. I want to thank you both for taking care of them. I know it must have been hard.”

  “I’d rather take care of a bunch of wild apes,” Carl muttered. “You better think again about this trip.” Benton was still arguing when the two came out carrying bulging feed sacks.

  “Just put them in the wagon, children. Here, let me take the baby.”

  Bess woke up as Temperance took her, took one look up, and began squalling at the top of her lungs.

  “She don’t like strangers,” Rena said coldly as she reached over and took the youngster. “Come on, Bess.”

  Temperance made her final remarks to the Bentons, who both warned her again she was making the worst mistake of her life. They almost had her convinced, but as she climbed back into the wagon and glanced back, she saw that the two older Overmeyers were sitting bolt upright staring at her.

  “Why don’t you come and sit with me on the seat? Plenty of room.”

  “This is good enough for me,” Rena said defiantly.

  “I don’t want to ride with you neither,” Bent echoed.

  “All right. We’re going to go pretty fast, so hang on.”

  Temperance drove the team at a fast trot, hoping that one of the two would speak, but they kept a flat silence. Billy and Rose woke up, and Rose stared at the three newcomers. “My name’s Rose Abbott. This is my brother, Billy. Who are you?”

  “None of your business,” Rena said coldly.

  “Don’t be mean, Rena,” Temperance said, turning to glance over her shoulder. “This is Rena Overmeyer, her brother, Bent, and her little sister, Bess. You’re all going to be great friends on the trip.”

  That had been all the conversation until finally, when they were almost in sight of the farm, Temperance turned and said, “Do you remember your uncle and aunt at all, either of you?”

  “Bent don’t. He was too little, but I remember them,” Rena said. “They’re meaner than snakes, both of them.”

  “Oh, I’m sure you just don’t remember well.”

  “I remember ’em. My uncle beat me with a stick, and my aunt, she just laughed when he done it. I ain’t gonna stay with them. We’re all running off.”

  There seemed to be no answer for that, so Temperance tried not to think about traveling nearly two thousand miles with two outlaws like this in her company.

  * * *

  BRENNAN LIFTED THE JUG in the crook of his arm, tilted it, and drank four healthy swallows. The liquor bit going down. He grinned sourly as he put the cork back in the jug, thinking of how Temperance Peabody had argued with him about carrying liquor on the trip.

  “This ain’t no temperance meeting, Peabody,” he had told her. “Either I get the liquor or I don’t go a step.”

  Brennan put the jug back under the wagon seat, then walked to stand beside the lead oxen. “Well, Babe,” he said, “we got a far piece to go. I sure hope you don’t play out.” He stroked the large beast that turned to look at him soulfully. “One thing about it, if you quit on me, we’ll have to eat you, so you watch what you’re doing. All right?”

  He had already looked over the wagon carefully and despite himself had been pleased with the sturdy construction. It was one of the better samples of a Conestoga, having been built in Pennsylvania. The wagon was important because it had to be light enough not to place undue strain on the oxen pulling it, yet it had to be strong enough not to break down under heavy loads or under the rough terrain it would have to cover. Most of it was made of maple, hickory, and oak; because of weight, iron was used very sparingly.

  He leaned over and examined the undercarriage, which was always the most difficult part of the wagon to maintain. The undercarriage was composed of the massive wheels that were three inches wide with bands of steel about them. He checked over the axle assemblies that included the reach, which connected the two axle assemblies. The hounds fastened the rear axle to the reach and the front axle to the wagon tongue. He shook the bolsters that supported the wagon bed and gave a grunt of satisfaction.

  Moving to the back, he opened the lid of the grease bucket, dangling from the rear axle, and he satisfied himself that it was full. The grease was used to lubricate the wheels. Moving to the front, he opened the jockey box and checked the tools he had carefully selected, including an ax, hammer, augers, king bolts, linchpins, chains, heavy ropes, and other necessary equipment.

  Fastening the top of the jockey box, he walked around the wagon. The cover was made of new canvas and was supported by frames of hickory bows. The canvas, tied to the side and extended beyond the bows at either end of the wagon, could be closed by drawstrings. Clambering up in the back end, he checked the food supplies. These included flour, bacon, coffee, baking soda, cornmeal, hardtack, dried beans, and dried fruit. Peabody had added other things he considered unnecessary, such as molasses, vinegar, pepper, and eggs packed in jars of sand. There was also a plentiful supply of rice and tea.

  He had argued with Peabody about the cooking utensils; she had insisted on bringing a Dutch oven, kettle, skillet, coffee grinder, a coffeepot, butcher knives, and tableware.

  “Fingers is good enough for travelers,” he had insisted, but she had ignored him and packed the things anyway.

  Brennan moved then to check the weapons, which he figured were more important than the coffeepot. He had taken the double-barrel percussion-lock shotgun that had belonged to Temperance’s father. He had also added another rifle, a fine .44 Henry, a knife, gunpowder, lead, bullet mold, powder horn, and a bullet pouch. “A fat lot of good these’ll do us if we get jumped by a bunch of crazy-drunk Cheyenne,” he muttered.

  He checked the blankets, ground cloths, and pillows and sneered at the tent with the poles, stakes, and ropes the woman had insisted on taking. He had argued that they could sleep in the wagon or on the ground, but she had fought him on this and then had her own way.

  The sound of a wagon coming caught his attention, and he waited until she drove in.

  “You’re late,” he said.

  “I’m sorry.” Getting down from the wagon, Temperance gave the names of the Overmeyer children, but Brennan gave them a sour glance, saying only, “I’ve got to unhitch the mules.” He grabbed the harness and led the team off, and Temperance saw that he was even drunker than usual. He wore buckskin pants and a pair of black boots that looked ready to be thrown away. His wool shirt was torn and unbuttoned halfway down his chest. A black felt hat was settled firmly on his head. He drove the wagon to the barn, turned the mules loose, and stomped back to say, “Get in the wagon.”

  Temperance had gone to get Ruth the goat. She was tying her to the back of the wagon when Brennan came up with Judas and fastened the horse with a long line. “That goat,” he grinned, “won’t make it, but we can eat her when we can’t get any other grub.”

  “We’re not eating Ruth!”

  Brennan snorted, “If you’re going, you better get in that wagon because I’m headed out.” Without another word he started toward the front of the line of oxen. He did not look back, and Temperance said hurriedly, “All you children get in.” They scrambled into the wagon seat, and Rena said angrily,
“I don’t like him.”

  There were no lines to the oxen, a fact that had surprised Temperance. She was accustomed to animals being harnessed and controlled by lines, but Brennan had told her that oxen had to be led by somebody astride the lead ox or walking alongside. Now she watched as he slapped Babe on the shoulder and said, “Git up, Babe!” The big animal lurched forward, and the others followed suit. The wagon swayed with the weight in it, and as they left the yard, Temperance, who had picked up Timmy, turned and stared at the house that had been her home for so long. A startling thought came to her.

  I may die on the trail. Lots of people do. This may be the last time I ever see this house. The thought troubled her, and she watched the house until the wagon turned around a group of trees that shielded it. She pulled her gaze away with an effort, and looked ahead, watching as Brennan sauntered alongside Babe, weaving somewhat drunkenly and singing a ribald song he had learned in a saloon. Turning, she looked at the children. Her voice was not quite steady as she said, “Well, we’re on our way to Missouri.”

  * * *

  THE TRAVEL WAS SLOWER than Temperance had expected. The oxen plodded along in what seemed like a slow walk, and Brennan informed her they were slow but steady. “They can keep going when mules and horses quit, but when they’re played out, they just lay down and you can’t get ’em up with a pitchfork. They’re good beasts though.” He added, “I like ’em better than mules.”

  They had been on the road for two hours, and Bent said loudly, “I’ve got to go.”

  “Me too,” Billy echoed.

  Temperance called out, “Brennan, stop!”

  “What for?”

  “The children have to go to the bathroom.”

  “They’ll have to hold it until we get to Missouri. If we stop every time they want to do business, we’ll never get there.”

  “You do what I tell you, Thaddeus!”

  Disgustedly, Brennan put his hand on Babe’s head and said, “Whoa now, Babe.” He slowed the beast and said, “Well, hurry up and get it done.”

  Temperance took the children into the bushes where they relieved themselves, and as they moved back toward the wagon, she said, “Rena, aren’t you a little bit excited about your new home?”

  “No, I don’t want to go there.”

  Temperance shook her head. “You’re lucky to have somebody to go to.”

  “No, I ain’t. They’re, both of them, meaner than the devil, and I ain’t gonna stay with them. And I’ll tell you something else.” Rena stood upright and glared at Temperance. “I ain’t gonna be your slave on this trip, so you might as well forget it if that’s what you got on your mind.”

  “I didn’t expect you to be.”

  “I ain’t your slave either,” Bent said, coming to stand beside Rena.

  “There are no slaves on this trip, but it’s going to take work by all of us. Come on. Let’s go back.”

  “Yeah,” Bent said, “the drunk will be getting nervous.”

  They climbed on the wagon, and Brennan glared. “Well, your majesty, will it be all right if we make another couple miles before we have to have another break?”

  “Go on, Brennan. That’s enough talk.”

  For the next three hours the wagon moved ahead steadily. Brennan came back once and took the jug from beneath Temperance’s feet. He grinned at her, took two swallows, and then turned. “You kids want a little whiskey?”

  “Stop that, Brennan! Put that jug back.”

  He laughed, wiped his mouth with his filthy sleeve, and wove his way back toward the head of the line. The oxen had kept on going at their usual pace, not even slowing up.

  Finally, after what seemed like a long time, Brennan drew the oxen to the side, turned, and said, “You got anything to eat?”

  “Yes. Everybody out.”

  Brennan had stopped beside a small stream, and Temperance pulled the basket out. She had cooked everything she could that could be carried, and they all feasted on fried chicken and biscuits, the last batch she would make in her home. Brennan sat cross-legged, staring off into the distance. Rose edged up closer to him and said, “Where are the Indians?”

  “Indians? There ain’t no hostiles around here, not any we need to be worried about anyways.”

  Rose continued to fire questions at him, stopping with, “Were you in jail for doing something bad?”

  He answered in a voice slurred with liquor. “They don’t put people in jail for doing good things. Now shut up about it! Get away from me ’cause I’m tired of your fool questions!”

  “Why don’t you be nicer?” Rose said.

  “I don’t like to be nice. It disturbs my indigestion. Besides, this is Monday. I ain’t ever nice on Monday.”

  “I bet you ain’t never nice no time,” Bent said. “Can I shoot your gun?”

  “No. Be just my luck if you shot me.”

  Rena laughed. “Wouldn’t do you no good to shoot it, Brennan. You’re so drunk you couldn’t hit the ground with it.”

  “That’s what you think. If you kids all shut up, I’m trying to enjoy my chicken.”

  Temperance had wondered about Indians. She had heard stories of the terrible torture they inflicted on their captives when she had made the trip West with her parents. They’d seen few Indians on that trip, but she had heard of the horrors that happened to many settlers attacked by the savages. “There’s bound to be some danger from Indians,” she said. “Everybody knows that.”

  Brennan finished gnawing the meat from the chicken bone, then tossed it over his shoulder. “When we get a little farther, we’ll have to be a mighty careful. Everything north of us on the trip is Pawnee country. No danger there.”

  “Aren’t they savages?”

  “Not to me. I’m a blood brother to Little Bear, their war chief. I lived with him for a couple of years. We’ll be all right with them if they give us a chance to talk before they kill us.”

  “What about other Indians?”

  “Well, down south there’s the Cheyenne. Now, that’s a different story. They don’t like me.”

  Rena snorted and glared at him. “Nobody likes you, Brennan.”

  “Well, they like me even less than most. And don’t be uppity. It ain’t fittin’ for children to speak that way to their elders.”

  “Why don’t they like you?” Temperance asked.

  “When I was living with the Pawnees, we had a brush with them. We’d gone down to steal some of their horses, and in the fight I killed the son of Black Eagle, their war chief. Ever since then, they’ve been sort of put out with me.” He got to his feet saying, “I’d just as soon not run into any Cheyenne for that matter. Come on. Let’s get going.”

  They all got in the wagon except Bent. “I’m tired of that wagon.”

  “You want to ride one of the oxen?” Brennan asked.

  “Yes!”

  Brennan went over, picked the boy up, and set him astride the ox next to Babe. “There. Don’t fall off.”

  “I want to ride too,” Rena said.

  “Wouldn’t be ladylike. Besides, you’ve got to take care of that baby sister of yours.”

  The trip started again, and the hard seat began to wear on Temperance. She got one of the blankets, made a bolster, and sat on it. Rose grinned up at her, “That seat’s hard on your bottom, ain’t it?”

  “It sure is and it’s a long trip.”

  An hour later Temperance was surprised when Brennan led the oxen off the road toward a group of trees a quarter of a mile away. She said, “Where are you going?” But he did not answer. Finally, when they had reached the trees, Rena said, “Look, there’s a wagon train coming.”

  Looking back, Temperance saw, indeed, there was a wagon train. Brennan came back to get a drink of whiskey, and Temperance said, “Why are we off the road?”

  “I don’t want anybody noticing us. They’d remember me, and I don’t want to wake up some morning with Joe Meek standing up over me.”

  “You’re going to dodge peopl
e all the way back to Missouri?” Temperance demanded.

  “If I have to. This trip’s going to be bad enough without having Meek on my trail.”

  * * *

  IT WAS LATE IN the afternoon. The shadows were growing long when Brennan pulled the oxen to a stop. “We’ll camp here for the night,” he said. “You, kid, what’s your name?”

  “Bent.”

  “You go find some firewood, and you help him, girl.”

  “My name’s Rena, not girl. I ain’t working for you.”

  “You want to eat? You’re going to have to work, both of you.”

  “Better do as he says, Rena. We’re all going to have to work. You find some wood, and I’ll cook up something fresh to eat tonight.”

  Rena shook her head with disgust but then said, “Come on, Bent, they’re going to make slaves out of us. I can see that.”

  “Rose, you watch out for Bess. You’re the nursemaid.”

  “I’ll do that.”

  The Overmeyer children quickly found enough wood to get a fire started, and by the time Brennan had unhitched the animals, Temperance had a pot over it. Brennan leaned over and sniffed at it. “What you got to eat there?”

  “Some stew. I brought the meat and the vegetables along.”

  “If there was any Indians around here, that fire would sure bring ’em.”

  “You mean we can’t have fires on the way?”

  “Sure we can. Just means a better chance of getting scalped.” He grinned at her and then sat down. The stew was soon ready, but dark had fallen. The children were fussy, and by the time they had eaten the stew, most of them were ready for bed. “Rena, do you want to give the baby his bottle?”

  “No. I don’t care nothing about babies. He ain’t no kin to me.”

  “Why do you—” Temperance broke off suddenly. The girl was determined to be unpleasant, and there was no help for it.