by Jan Drexler
What would Mamm do?
Pray, of course.
God would hear Mamm’s prayers, and Naomi’s. They were good people who would never go off, leaving their family and the community behind.
But Mattie had gone her own way, in spite of her pledge to Jacob. She had turned her back on everything God had given her, and for what? A dream of something more?
God wouldn’t listen to her prayers. She wasn’t worthy to ask him for anything. She wasn’t worthy to go back to the camp, even if she could be free of Cole’s bonds. She could only sit in the dirt and filth, her head uncovered and her hair unbound, and wait for Cole’s return. Then he would take her west.
A short laugh pushed its way past the lump in her throat. For as long as she could remember, she had wanted to travel to the West to see the high mountains, the vast prairies. Everything the poster in the store in Somerset had advertised. “The land of milk and honey,” it had claimed. And now she would go with Cole.
It was as if God had opened his hand and let her fall into the pit of her own desires, out of his protecting grasp.
Tears trickled down her face and dropped from her chin, and she let them flow. She closed her eyes again. Everything she had ever thought she wanted lay before her. But at what cost?
“Please.” She whispered the word. “Save Jacob from Cole. Save my family. Keep them safe. I’ll do anything.”
She stopped herself. Anything? Would she spend the rest of her life with Cole, if that would keep her family safe?
Mattie drew up her knees, making herself as small as possible. She was trying to bargain with God, but God didn’t bargain. He bestowed his grace and mercy where he chose, and nothing she said or did would change his choice.
It was only by God’s grace that Jacob and her family could be kept safe from Cole. It was only by his mercy that she could hope to see any of them again, but she didn’t deserve any mercy from him. She deserved to be taken away by Cole, to whatever fate he had planned for her.
“Dear Lord,” she whispered, “have mercy on me. I’m not worthy to be your daughter, not worthy of your notice. But please, have mercy.”
Cole made his way east through the dark woods. It was best if he avoided the road. By the time daylight broke, he’d have a nice string of Conestoga horses to add to the four Clydesdales. Once he had come back for the team and the girl, they’d have to head cross-country, straight south until they hit the Wabash River.
When they got to the river, he’d use Pa’s money to buy a barge big enough for all the horses. By then that Mattie-girl should be used to him. Very used to him.
He rubbed sweaty palms on his trouser legs.
The Wabash to the Ohio, then to the Mississippi and St. Louis.
He stopped in his litany. St. Louis. Once they got there, they’d have to go up the Missouri River to Independence, and that was work. He could leave the river there and travel the rest of the way on horseback, or maybe get a wagon.
His pace picked up as he found a deer trail, his feet pointed toward the Amish camp, but his head in Missouri. Missouri would be dangerous. If he ran into anyone who knew him, word could get back to Pa. But once they reached Independence, they’d be set until they were able to join up with a wagon train heading for Oregon. He’d be living high on the hog with the money from selling the horses, and he’d have the girl to keep his bed warm at night. Not a bad plan at all.
When he reached the Amish camp, he circled it, staying close enough to watch the movers. He only counted two men, but the women were busy, gathering up the children for bed. He had spent enough evenings watching them that he knew the routine as well as they did.
Why were there only two men? If he waited until the camp was quieter, he was in danger of the other men returning. But if he moved too soon, there were too many people around and awake who could spot him and raise an alarm.
He decided to wait. He found a log farther back from the road, within sight of the horses, and settled in. He fished his chaw of tobacco out of his pocket and wrenched off a piece with his teeth, keeping his eyes open. The horses grazed or stood quietly, close together. It seemed the movers had learned their lesson and were keeping a better watch on their horses. But as long as there were only two men in camp, he wouldn’t have any problems.
The camp quieted as the women took the children into the wagons. Cole risked moving closer until he could see the two men sitting at the fire. He looked again. There were three now. The third one was talking, but Cole couldn’t make out what he was saying. He held a bucket in his hand and was pointing down the road toward the west. Cole spit out his tobacco, all his senses alert. If all three of the men headed down the road, the horses would be easy pickings.
The third man left. Cole strained his eyes to see past the fire. It looked like he went back to the road heading east, while the first two men stayed in the camp.
He made his way toward the rear of the clearing so that when he came out of the woods, the horses would be between him and the fire. He reached the first animal, his exploring hand finding a bony hip. A cow. It moved away from him, then fell to grazing again. He reached for the next animal, its silhouette against the stars showing the horse’s head clearly. He pulled the picket, then led the horse into the trees . . . except that the horse didn’t follow. Going back to it, he saw the problem. White rope tied around the front legs gleamed in the moonlight. Each horse was hobbled with cotton ropes.
Cole cursed under his breath, then glanced toward the fire. The men hadn’t moved. He pulled his knife out of its sheath at his belt and sawed through the hobbles. The gelding kicked at him and whinnied. Cole froze, his knife in one hand and the horse’s picket rope in the other. He looked toward the fire again, but the men were gone.
Spilling curse words into the horse’s ear, he went to the next horse, cut his hobble, and pulled the picket line out of the ground. Two down, but where were those movers? They couldn’t just disappear.
He reached for the next horse, but a figure loomed out of the dark to his right. Cole lunged toward the man, stabbing him with the knife, and his target fell back with a cry. He pulled two more picket pins, slicing through the hobbles. His knife, slippery in his sweating hand, slid out of his grasp to the ground, but he couldn’t take the time to look for it. Five horses were better than none. It was time to leave.
Starting for the road, Cole pulled the reluctant horses after him. Finally, one broke from a walk to a trot, and then they were all on the move. He led them past the fire and toward the road, running with the horses close behind. Once he was clear of the camp, he could mount one of them and ride. Taking the road would be risky, but it would give him the speed he needed.
Then a man appeared in front of him on the road, standing in his way. Without his knife, and with the horses’ lead ropes wrapped around both hands, Cole had only one alternative.
“Out of the way, or I’ll run you down,” he yelled, his voice hoarse. He cursed when he heard his own fear floating into the night.
The horse at his right shoulder spooked, jumping to the side and pulling Cole’s hand backward with a solid jerk. The pain in his shoulder was white-hot, with a sickening quiver that spread through his stomach as the horse tossed its head again. Cole sunk to his knees, black fog covering his vision.
He heard the figure step close to him and Cole shook his head. He had to see his enemy, he had to get away.
“Whoa, whoa,” a gentle voice spoke in the dark, and the horses turned in a circle, toward the man, dragging Cole with them until he came to his senses enough to let go of the ropes.
Cole staggered to his feet, cradling his useless right arm with his left.
“Now, you would be having horses that are not yours?” The man’s voice, heavily accented, held a note of amused interest.
“What is it to you?” Cole spat the words as another wave of nausea washed over him.
“We haf need of these horses, but you do not. If I understand good, then you already haf a team of h
orses, ja? The Clydesdales from the freight company.” The Amish mover stepped closer to him. “You don’t need more horses, but I think you are needing our help.”
“Leave me alone.” Cole twisted away and staggered, falling to one knee.
“Easy, Bates. Easy.” It was a new voice. Now there were two of them. “Come back to the fire with us. My wife will see to your arm.”
“No you don’t. I have to get out of here, and I’m taking the horses with me.” The men lifted him to his feet and turned him toward the camp, but he jerked away, setting his teeth against another wave of pain. “I’ve already used my knife on one of you, and I’ll do it again if you don’t listen to me.”
“Andrew is fine. Your knife only cut his arm a bit, but you left a hole in his shirtsleeve. We have some supper left, and we will take care of your arm.”
Cole backed away. The first mover had gathered the horses together and was leading them back toward the camp. What was wrong with these people? If he had caught someone stealing his horses, one of them would be dead.
“I am Isaac Schrock,” the man said. He grasped Cole’s left elbow and started toward the camp again. “We have been running into each other ever since you stopped by my father’s farm in Brothers Valley. We know you, and you know us. We will show you the hospitality we can.”
Cole pulled his arm out of Isaac’s grip. He reached for the pistol in his coat pocket, but his left hand was clumsy and he dropped the gun on the ground. Isaac picked it up, emptied the ball and wadding out of the barrel, and handed it back to him. Cole threw the useless piece away from them both.
“You don’t know me. You don’t know anything about me.”
Moonlight gleamed on Isaac’s teeth as he smiled. “For sure, we do. You are missing your brothers, though. Will you meet up with them again soon?”
Not if he could avoid it.
“Leave me alone.” Cole stumbled back as Isaac reached for his left arm again. “Leave me alone and let me get on my way. I won’t try to steal your horses again.”
“If that is what you wish. Although it pains me for you to leave without aid or food.”
When Cole swung back to the road, excruciating pain hit him again and he fell face-first onto the road. The last thing he knew was the grinding of stones into his cheek.
25
The moon had spanned the open sky above the road and was lowering near the western treetops by the time Jacob drew near the end of the trail he was following and caught the scent of horses. Someone was up ahead, most likely Bates. Jacob lowered the torch in his hand. Without its light, he would have a hard time following the trail, but the flame announced to anyone ahead that he was coming. He thrust it into the damp grass at his feet, extinguishing it, and went on.
As he came closer to the horses, he slowed. There was no sign of a campfire, and no noise or movement other than from the horses. If Bates was there, he was asleep. He stepped closer, placing each foot with care. Any noise could spook the horses and bring unwanted attention. He came to a tree where the first horse was tied and stroked its nose when it turned toward him. Using the horse as cover, he looked past it toward a narrow space between the trees. He counted three more horses in the moonlight, and from the strength of the odor rising from the ground at the horses’ feet, they had been here for at least a day, maybe more.
Jacob circled around the small clearing. Going from the first horse to the second, he could tell they were the same size and color. The horses had matching white blazes on their faces and matching white feet. These were the horses that had been stolen from the freighter. They had to be.
As his eyes grew used to the darker shadows at the edge of the small clearing, he could see a mound next to another tree. He moved past the horses and bent over—Mattie!
He crouched next to her sleeping form.
“Mattie.” He ran his hand from her shoulder to her elbow and found where her hands were tied together behind the tree. He cut the rope and said her name again, but there was no response.
Jacob looked around the space beneath the trees. No one else was there. Bates had left her here, helpless.
Lifting her hair, he pushed it behind her neck and tilted her chin toward him. The moonlight was bright enough to show a bruise on one side of her face, dark against her pale skin. Jacob clasped her in his arms and pulled her to his chest, bending down to lay his cheek on her head. His eyes stung as tears filled them. Mattie. His Mattie. He had failed her, and she paid the price.
She jerked as she came awake, pulling back from him, then reached toward him as she recognized him.
He pulled her close again. “It’s all right. I’m here.”
Mattie pushed her way free of his arms again and to her feet, leaning against the tree she had been tied to. “Cole. He went to steal our horses. He won’t let anyone stop him.” She gasped for breath as her tears turned to sobs. “I’m afraid he’ll hurt someone like he killed that freight wagon driver.”
“We’ll go back to the camp to warn them.”
“Ne, it’s too late. Cole has been gone long enough . . .” She looked over his shoulder toward the west. The moon had disappeared behind the trees, but the sky was turning pale with the coming dawn. “He’ll be back here soon.” She pushed at him. “You must go before he comes. Go!”
Jacob shook his head. “Not without you. Even if you think you want to go with him, I’m not going to let you turn your back on everyone who loves you to go with a man who would do this to you.” With one helpless gesture, Jacob included her bruise, her muddy dress, and the cut rope.
“It’s too late. If you take me with you, he’ll just come after us and kill you.” Mattie hung her head so low, he had to lean toward her to hear the next words. “I’m not worth you getting killed over.”
He pulled her toward him, ignoring her struggles to free herself until she was finally quiet in his arms. “It doesn’t matter what he’s done to you, Mattie.” She struggled again, but he held on tight. “It doesn’t matter. Your worth is far above rubies, and I would gladly die to keep you safe.”
She sagged in his arms at these words, then clung to him, clenching her fingers in his shirt. He let her cry until her sobs subsided into shuddering breaths.
“I don’t want to go with Cole.” She pressed her face into his chest and he held her tight. “But I don’t want to lose you, either. He’s a dangerous man. A murderer.”
“I know.” Jacob looked at the team of horses tied to the trees. Bates had paid a terrible price for them. “You and I will take these horses, and then we’ll start back toward the camp.”
“If we run into Cole, he won’t hesitate to shoot you.”
Jacob released her and smoothed her tangled hair back from her face. “We’ll pray that he doesn’t get the chance.”
By the time Mattie helped Jacob untie the draft horses and lead them to the stream to drink, the night had turned to pale dawn. The team was docile and well trained, and they followed Jacob willingly as he tied them in a line.
“Now it’s your turn.” Jacob stood next to the lead horse and laced his fingers into a makeshift stirrup.
“You want me to ride?”
“You’re hungry and exhausted, even more than I am. I’ll feel better if you ride back to the camp.”
“But I’ve never ridden a horse before.”
Jacob straightened up. “With all the things you’ve dreamed of doing, all the places you’ve dreamed of going, and you’ve never ridden a horse?”
Mattie felt a bubble of laughter rise in her throat, and she smiled, the pain and fear draining away as she looked into his eyes. Eyes that held the promise of home. “I’ll ride.”
He leaned over again and she put her foot in his hands. He boosted her onto the horse and she grabbed the golden mane. The horse’s back seemed as wide as her bed in the wagon, and her fingers clenched the coarse hair as the animal shifted under her.
“Don’t worry. All you need to do is hold on.”
A crackling
sound came from the underbrush and Mattie froze. Jacob reached for her hand and held it as the noise came closer. Mattie sighed with relief when she saw a horse’s head poke through some leafy branches. It limped toward them with a rumbling nicker.
“That’s Cole’s horse, but it’s lame,” Mattie said. “Cole must have set him loose.”
Jacob squeezed her hand, then let go to take the lead rope. “He can follow us back to camp if he wants to. Josef will know how to help him.”
He clucked to the team of draft horses and led them down the trail toward the road. Mattie turned around to watch the bay fall into line behind the bigger horses.
When they came to the road, the sky had already turned to the golden blue of sunrise. Mattie closed her eyes and let the sunshine bathe her with its light. As the horses settled into the rhythm of their steps, Jacob fell back to walk next to Mattie’s knee.
“We need to be alert. If Bates was successful and stole the horses, he’ll be coming this way.”
“He would have come back for these other horses—and me—by now, wouldn’t he? Something must have happened to delay him.”
Jacob’s mouth was set in a grim line, but he continued walking.
Mattie held tightly to the horse’s mane as they went along, every step becoming a jarring bump. Her seat would be sore by the time they reached the camp, but she put that thought in the back of her mind. Her biggest concern was what had happened in the camp overnight.
Henry was the first to see them coming. Mattie stretched as tall as she could to answer the wave of his hat by flinging her arm back and forth in the air. As he turned back to shout the news to the others, she sagged down again and started crying with hiccuping sobs.
“I don’t know why I’m crying now,” she answered Jacob’s glance. “I’m so relieved to be back.” She hiccuped again.
“It’s all right.” He patted her hand, tangled in the golden mane. “You go ahead and cry.”