White Wolf

by Susan Edwards

  “As I was saying—James—don’t think me ungrateful, but you needn’t worry about me and mine. The children and I will manage on our own. I do appreciate your willingness to share your food and being able to store my mother’s things in your wagons. I will repay you when I’m able. Some of my mother’s fine linens, china and silver should fetch a tidy sum in Oregon.”

  James nodded, refraining from telling her that he would not take her money or allow her to sell her prized possessions to repay a debt. He knew she had her pride, but the only thing he wanted was her happiness. One genuine smile was worth more than anything he could buy. But he had a problem: she was understandably wary of him. He’d have to go slow.

  Eirica stumbled over a hidden rock and cried out in pain.

  “Damn,” he swore beneath his breath. Reaching out with one hand, he caught her gently around her shoulders. When she regained her balance, he handed Ian back to Jessie. “Woman, you’re in no condition to walk. Why aren’t you riding in the wagon?”

  She took several shallow breaths, then grimaced. “No, thanks. I’d rather walk.”

  James stared at the wagons ahead of them, noting how they bumped and swayed. He took the reins back from Jessie. “Ride, then.”

  Shaking her head, Eirica pointed to his saddle. “I can’t.”

  James tipped his hat back, frustration showing in his features when he realized that with her skirts, she needed a sidesaddle. Determined to ease her suffering, he mounted and held out his hand. “Then you’ll just have to ride with me.”

  The emigrants reached the lower California crossing at noontime, and by late afternoon the last wagon was hitched with ten yoke of oxen. Wolf led the last group into the swollen and raging snow-fed water of the South Platte River. Crossing at an angle, he forced the oxen downstream. Men plunged in after the wagon to keep it moving. Sand gave way beneath the wheels, jarring the wagon something fierce, but he kept the oxen moving. Wolf knew that if they stopped for even an instant, the wheels would bog down. Reaching the middle of the river, he turned the oxen upstream to finish the crossing.

  By the time all the wagons were safely on the other bank, the oxen were exhausted. Each yoke had been double-and even triple-teamed, used and reused to haul all nine wagons safely across. They would go no farther with their loads. He gave the go-ahead to make camp, then kept watch for Birk, who likely wasn’t that far behind. They’d had a two-hour start, but Birk would catch up to them before the night was over.

  Sure enough, four hours later Birk’s wagon came into view. Even with the fading light and the half-mile distance between them, Wolf could see Birk beating the oxen with his whip, urging them to go faster. Wolf stayed at the edge of the bank and waited for the man to reach the river.

  “I’ve come for my family. Ya ain’t got no right to take them,” Birk yelled.

  Wolf heard the hush behind him when it became apparent that Birk planned to cross with only three yoke of oxen. Although he despised the man, he had no desire to see him drown. He cupped his hands around his mouth. “Don’t be a fool, Macauley. It’s too dangerous to cross in the dark. Wait until morning. I’ll have some men help you.”

  “No good, you damn half-breed. I’m coming for what’s mine.” Yelling vile curses, Birk jumped onto his wagon tongue and lashed the backs of his oxen with his whip, sending them protesting into the dark, swirling river.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Listening to her husband’s shouts, Eirica wrapped her arms around herself. Fear slid up and down her spine. If Birk got his hands on her, he’d kill her. She shook.

  “Don’t worry, Momma,” Alison whispered. “Pa won’t hurt you no more, will he, Jessie?” The need to be brave warred with fear as Alison looked at Jessie.

  Jessie knelt down and hugged the little girl. “No, sweetheart. No one will hurt you or your momma ever again. Now, stay here and watch over Lara and Ian. I’ll be right back.” Jessie turned away but Alison’s trembling voice stopped her.

  “Aren’t you gonna take your whip?”

  Alison’s frightened question penetrated the fog of fear that held Eirica in its grip. She stared at her young daughter then straightened. It wasn’t Jessie’s place to protect her children. It was hers. She drew a deep breath. Even though she was grateful for Jessie’s help, sooner or later, she’d have to take a stand. It might as well be now. Birk was her problem and her children were her responsibility.

  “That won’t be necessary, Alison. Wait here with your sister. I’m going with Jessie.”

  “No, Momma, he’ll take you away,” Alison screamed, grabbing hold of her mother’s skirts.

  Eirica bent down. “No, sweets, he won’t. Now, look at me.” She waited until Alison’s frightened blue gaze met hers. “Dry your tears, no more crying. You and I must be brave from now on. We can’t let others do our talking. I must tell your pa that we won’t go back to him. Now, be strong for your ma.” She turned away before she lost her courage. Falling in step with Jessie, they went to the edge of the river and peered into the murky darkness.

  When she saw Birk trying to cross on his own, fear chilled her heart and paralyzed her. If he came after her, there’d be trouble between him and Wolf. She’d felt so guilty when she’d gotten a good look at Wolf that morning. The oxen faltered but Birk refused to let up on the whip. When he spotted her, he shouted angry curses. She nearly turned tail and ran but remembered her own words to Alison and stood firm.

  “—yer mine—” she heard him call. “I’ll make ya sorry—comin’ for you—”

  Her resolve strengthened when he shook his fist at her. She took a deep shuddering breath and stepped forward, the water lapping at her shoes. “You won’t harm me or my children ever again, Birk Macauley,” she shouted.

  He shook his fist at her. “Yer mine, woman. Them brats is mine. I’ll take them from you. A man’s got a right to his children.”

  Eirica fell back, the pain caused by his words like a blow from his fist. Jessie’s arm slipped around her shoulders. Eirica turned away, her moment of bravado gone. “Oh, Jessie. He’ll do it. He’ll take the kids from me.”

  “He won’t get close enough, Eirica. He’s just trying to frighten you.”

  Another voice joined in. “He’ll have to go through me and every man here.”

  Eirica turned to see that James had joined them. She swallowed her fear, again feeling safe and protected. She fought the feeling. “Mr. Jones—” A sudden cry rose from the bank. Whirling around, she saw that Birk’s oxen had stopped in the middle of the river.

  “Macauley, you god-damned fool. Keep the oxen moving,” Wolf yelled, plunging into the fast-moving stream. Lars, his sons, Elliot and James followed. But before they reached Birk, the wagon wheels lodged, sinking deep into the quicksand-like bottom. The oxen bellowed as the current smashed against the wagon.

  Maddened, Birk shouted and swore at them, but it was too late. The wagon was mired. The water continued to swirl around them. The oxen thrashed and bellowed in fright. Men from the bank reached the animals and unyoked them as their struggles were rocking the wagon back and forth. Wolf tried to reach Birk who clung to the front of the wagon but before he reached him, a large piece of wood caught in the strong current slammed into the back wheel. Horrified, Eirica watched Birk disappear into the murky waters.

  For the next two hours, Eirica paced the bank, waiting, watching and wondering. When Wolf and the men finally returned, wet and weary, she ran to them. At the slight shake Wolf’s head, she turned away, dazed and shocked. Arms cradled her shoulders and led her to the fire. Cold and numb, she sat, staring into the flames, her thoughts rolling like a tumbleweed. Birk couldn’t swim. He was gone. Gone for good. She was widowed. Alone. Safe. Safe from his beatings.

  Shivering, she moved closer to the fire. Her eyes burned, and her head ached, but she felt no sorrow. No joy. Nothing. Sitting for hours, unable to eat, unable to talk, she tried to dredge up a bit of sadness, an ounce of compassion—something—anything—for the man who’d
been her husband and the father of her children. But all she felt was an overwhelming sense of relief that she was free. It made her feel guilty and scared.

  She was so far from her family, alone in a strange land and heading for the unknown. A spray of sparks from the fire popped and floated before her. Watching them drift back to the earth, she rubbed her stomach. She had three children and one more on the way. What was she going to do? How would she provide for them? She had no training and no skills, except those of a farmer’s wife. Eirica glanced over her shoulder at her wagon. Maybe she didn’t even have a wagon. A fire flickered nearby, providing extra light for the Jones brothers who were trying to repair two of the wheels while Jessie and Coralie dealt with the wetness inside.

  Panic rose within. How would she survive? It didn’t matter that she’d left her husband that morning and was already on her own. Somehow, his death made it different, more final. She now faced a different kind of fear, a different type of loneliness. With Birk gone, there was no reason for anyone to help her, or offer protection. These men and women had their own survival to worry about. She dropped her head into her hands.

  Wolf joined her. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Macauley. We did our best.”

  Eirica stood. “I thank you and the others for your efforts,” she whispered, staring at her hands as she wrung them in her lap.

  Wolf took hold of her fingers. He rubbed them until they warmed. “You’ll make it. You’re a strong woman.”

  Startled, she stared up at him in disbelief then shook her head. “No, I’m a coward. Jessie’s strong, but not me. I allowed the father of my children to beat them. I should have been stronger but I wasn’t. I failed them.”

  Wolf shook his head. “The white man’s world places a woman under her husband’s dominance. A woman and her children belong to the man. What he decides to do is law whereas with my people, the tipi and all within belong to the woman except for a warrior’s possessions. If the wife chooses to divorce her husband, all she has to do is set his belongings outside. She doesn’t lose respect. My people revere women and children.

  “Today, you took the steps needed to divorce yourself from a husband who had no honor. You chose to protect yourself and your children by stepping off the path Birk walked to go your own way. Those actions took courage. Now you must be stronger for the way turns rocky. You must continue on your chosen path, drawing strength and courage at each fork. The direction is yours and only yours to choose.”

  Looking into the wagon master’s serious and compelling gaze, Eirica felt the first stirring of hope. Could she do it? She glanced once more at the men working on her wagon. Pride and the desire to be in charge of her own destiny replaced her crippling fears. She stood and smoothed her skirt. In her present condition, Eirica knew she would still need help and could live with that. She squared her shoulders. But as of now, she would take charge of her life. Never again would she bow to the domination of a man.

  “I thank you for your words of wisdom, Wolf. I believe there is much to be done before the new day. And I would be pleased if you dropped the missus and called me Eirica.” With head held high, she walked away, feeling a weight lifted from her shoulders.

  The next morning, Jessie and Rook started up California Hill. The steep terrain between the south and north forks of the Platte River was pitted with imposing ruts, making it a long and arduous climb. After climbing for what seemed like hours, they reached a high plateau. Wolf pushed them onward, allowing only a short rest. By midmorning of the following day, they reached the end of the plateau, a high tableland between the South and North Platte rivers. Jessie tied Shilo to the back of her wagon, then joined Eirica and her two girls at the edge. Ian was asleep inside.

  Jessie stared down at Windlass Hill and beyond. The steep land descended into the ravine that formed Ash Hollow, the gateway to the North Platte Valley.

  “Oh, Lord,” she whispered, staring at the wreckage littering the hillside. Splintered wood, torn canvas and other debris bore testament to the risks in descending. Coralie waved her hand in front of her face. “I’m so tired. That climb yesterday did me in. I do hope we’re stopping for the day.”

  Jessie grinned. “Don’t think so. Looks like the fun’s not over yet.” Though it was a bit mean of her, she couldn’t help teasing her sister-in-law. “But not to worry, Corie. It’s all downhill from here.”

  “Oh, good—good Lord,” Coralie said in a squeak, her tone changing to one of horror as she glanced down the hill. “We’re not going down that, I hope.” She pressed a hand to her heart.

  Rook patted her on the shoulder. His blue eyes twinkled and he winked at Jessie, who was trying not to laugh at Coralie’s horrified expression. “Yep, lass. Only way down. But jest wait until we get to Ash Hollow. I figure ya gals will love that place. Pretty as a picture.”

  Coralie stepped back, arms crossed. “Well, I’m not going down this way! Surely there’s a much safer way.”

  Jessie shook her head. “Nope.”

  Narrowing her eyes, Coralie pushed out her lower lip, “This isn’t funny, Jessica. The wagons will never make it. They’ll be smashed to pieces.”

  Jessie took pity on Coralie. “We’ll be all right, Corie. Don’t start fretting. Won’t be that bad.” Secretly, though, Jessie had her doubts. How in the world would they descend this slope?

  James joined them, with Ian still sleeping in his arms. “Here, Eirica. Jessie’s wagon is first in line. We need you to take the boy.”

  Eirica held out her arms. “Lord help us,” she said. “It looks straight down.”

  James peered over the edge. “Whoo-ee, that it does. What a ride.” Whistling, he headed back to the wagons.

  The three women stared at one another. “Men,” Coralie grumbled. “Trust them to think this a lark.”

  Rook coughed. “Reckon we’d best get outta the way. Gonna take the rest of the day jest to get them wagons down this hill.”

  Jessie watched him go, rolling her eyes when she noted the spring in his step. Standing to the side, she watched James lead her wagon to the edge. Her heart hammered. Surely the wagon would plunge down the hill and break into a thousand splinters. Thinking of her ma’s rocker, Bible and china, Jessie decided to unload them and carry them down—but it was too late. The men were already tying everything down in the front of the wagon so nothing could fly out on the descent. Then the oxen were unhitched, leaving only the wheel yoke in front. Brakes were set, and hind wheels were locked with a chain attached to the body of the wagon. Last, a log chain was wrapped around the wheels to cut into the ground. “Oh, be careful,” she bade her brothers.

  James and Jeremy hitched the remaining oxen with their heads facing the rear of the wagon. Silence fell as long lengths of rope were tied to the wagon and all available men took up their positions, the ropes wound around their gloved hands. “I can’t look,” Coralie said, turning away.

  Eirica grabbed Jessie’s arm and they watched the scene unfold with bated breath. The oxen in front were urged onward, and the oxen in the rear were pulled along. Unaccustomed to this sort of treatment, they bellowed in fear and rage and tried to resist the downward pull, slowing the wagon’s descent. But even with all the precautions, the men holding on to the ropes were dragged down the deeply pitted hill. They dug in their heels, arms straining to hold on to the ropes, their voices loud. It seemed to take forever before the bumping and jarring wagon finally came to a successful stop.

  Jessie released her breath. “Come on, Coralie, Eirica. There’s not much we can do here but watch and worry with our hearts in our throats.” Anne and her daughters joined them, and together they slowly descended the steep hill. By the time Jessie reached her wagon, the oxen had been rehitched in their correct positions. The chains and ropes were unfastened to be reused on the next wagon. The men trudged back up the hill.

  As Jessie was taking up the reins to continue on toward Ash Hollow, someone shouted her name. Turning, she saw Rickard limping toward her. His face was pale, his lips
pinched with pain and his limp pronounced. He reached for the reins but she held them away. “Why don’t you wait down here to help after the wagons are lowered? I’ll go on ahead.”

  Scowling, Rickard grabbed the reins. “I’m fine.”

  “Boys,” Jessie muttered. “Always trying to prove themselves.”

  Rickard flicked his whip at the oxen. His hazel eyes suddenly twinkled. “Like you don’t, huh, Jess? Heard Jordan talkin’ ’bout the time you went to that social all dressed up fancy and landed yourself in the punch bowl.”

  Hands on her hips, Jessie glared at him as he walked away, whistling. Coralie snickered behind her back. Jessie whirled around and narrowed her eyes. Where once Coralie would have run screaming from that look she now stood her ground, her own blue eyes glittering with laughter.

  “He has you there, sister dear.” Coralie linked their arms together. “Now, come on. Let’s go. I don’t want to be anywhere near this spot when they lower the next wagon.”

  Still smarting under Rickard’s retort and the remembered humiliation she’d suffered at that long-ago social, Jessie decided a few words with Jordan were in order. “You go on ahead. I’ll stay here and help.”

  Coralie grabbed Eirica and Anne by the arms. “Come on, ladies. I can assure you we don’t want to be anywhere near here when Jordie comes back down.”

  Biting back her own laughter, Jessie watched the three women walk away, giggling. How well her sister-in-law knew her.

  With California Hill, the high tableland and Windlass Hill behind them, the wagon train followed the Oregon Trail down into the deep ravine between the North and South Platte rivers. Tired and thirsty, Jessie ached all over from repeatedly climbing up and down the hill. She stopped to rub her knotted calves. For once, she’d been the one to fall behind.

  Spotting a large boulder, she gave in to the temptation to sit and soak up the wonderful cool breeze washing over her. After weeks of traveling across the hot, dusty, barren land of the Great Platte River Road, it was sheer heaven to be surrounded by the lush greenery and cool shade provided by the fifteen-foot-high ash trees that gave the six-mile-long plain known as Ash Hollow its name. Hearing the sound of a horse behind her, she put her hand on her whip and turned. She relaxed when she saw it was only Wolf.