by Debra Samms
Then, late one Thursday afternoon, a note arrived up at the Sawyerville Ladies' House. It was for Hattie and it came from John Gilbert, asking her to come down to the Mercantile on the street below and speak to him.
At first her spirits soared at the sight of John's note. It had been over a month since she'd heard from him, but she had refrained from asking after him or trying to find him.
Now, though, she brushed out her curls and put on her new yellow patchwork skirt and her dark blue work shirt, and then strapped on her pistol and walked down the hill to the main street and the Frost Mercantile.
Hattie was delighted to see John Gilbert waiting for her, sitting on a bench on the wooden walkway in front of the store. She never tired of seeing his black hair and soft brown eyes and very strong arms and shoulders.
But when he stood up to greet her, she could see that he only looked solemn and serious today. "Thanks for coming," he said. "I just wanted to tell you that me and Stanley Ritter and Bill Becker are all driving a supply wagon to the coastal docks tomorrow, to meet the steamship."
"Oh," Hattie said, trying to keep calm and matter-of-fact. "Well, you do that from time to time, don't you?"
"I do."
"It's not such a bad drive. I made the trip myself when I first arrived here, as all the women did. Twenty-five miles over a good dirt-and-gravel road." She tried to smile, ever conscious of her somewhat protruding front teeth. "You'll be back in Sawyerville before you know it."
He drew a deep breath. "That's what I wanted to say to you. We're going partly on a supply run, but mainly because we're taking Sarah Weatherall and Lydia Sweet to meet the steamship for San Francisco."
San Francisco.
The words fell between them. Hattie began to feel weak, but then made herself stand up straight. "Don't try to spare my feelings, John Gilbert," she warned. "Are you going to San Francisco, too?"
He looked away. "Haven't made up my mind yet. Would depend on what sort of work I could get out there. There's even more opportunity out there for a blacksmith than there is here."
But Hattie just stared at him. "Can't believe what I'm hearing," she whispered. "I thought you loved this forest. Loved living out here in these mountains, along this river."
"Sure. I like it. But I've got to think of my future. Now, you said you didn't want to go to the city. Didn't you?"
"Yeah. I did say that. But – "
"But that means you'll want to stay here, and I've got to think of my future," he repeated.
She could only look at him, stunned. "You're telling me you're leaving. Tomorrow. To take Sarah and Lydia to the docks. To get on a ship for San Francisco. And you're taking two other men with you."
"Yes. That's right."
"Two men who can drive the wagon back here if you don't return."
"Hattie . . . " John just looked at her, and she realized she was not going to get any more answer than that.
She turned and walked away, heading back down the street to the switchback that led up to the high road where the Ladies' House was. "Hattie! Hattie Mary! Wait!" he pleaded, but she only kept walking, and never did look back.
***
The next morning, staying close beside her friend Ruby, Hattie walked down the switchback from high road and towards the livery barn. The first thing Hattie saw as she and Ruby walked inside was the loaded covered wagon waiting outside the barn – waiting for the horses to be hitched to it and the driver to take up the reins.
Down in the aisle were the two big black horses that she recognized as Raven and Coffee. Three men worked around the horses to get them cleaned up and harnessed. She saw John Gilbert, Stan, and Bill.
At least Sarah and Lydia did not seem to have arrived yet.
John looked up from tightening Coffee's harness, and gave her a quick nod. "Glad to see you, Hattie Mary," he said, walking towards her. "And Ruby. Though I don't know when I might see you again. I – "
"John! Stanley! Bill! We're here! And we just can't wait to get there!"
Sarah and Lydia stood close together in the doorway of the barn, wearing pretty curls and bright muslin dresses and looking fresh as flowers. They giggled and waved, and Hattie just stood and watched as the men walked over to greet the women.
"Hattie, come on," Ruby whispered, trying to lead her away. "They're almost ready to leave."
"No," said Hattie, pulling her arm back. "I want to see them go. Otherwise, I won't believe it. It'll help me put it to rest."
Ruby sighed, but let go of her friend. "All right."
The two of them got out of the way as John led the team out of the barn aisle and backed them up to the wagon. Then, as soon as the horses were hitched, the men helped the girls into the back and then the three of them got up on the driver's bench.
All Hattie could do was watch as John Gilbert took up the reins, kicked off the brake, and set the team on the road heading west.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The covered wagon rolled along in the warmth of the August day, and the hours passed pleasantly enough. The road was good all the way in, being well built with both packed dirt and plenty of gravel, and by early afternoon John Gilbert, Stan and Bill – along with Sarah and Lydia, riding in the back of the wagon – had reached the East Ravine covered bridge.
"Oh, I remember this bridge from when we first arrived!" said Sarah brightly. She leaned forward and placed her hand on John Gilbert's arm as he drove the team towards the sixty-foot-long bridge. "It looks just like a barn sitting there."
"Or even a house," laughed Lydia, "with that pretty cedar siding and cedar shingles on the roof. I'd like to have a house so nice!"
Both girls laughed, while John just tried to concentrate on lining up the wagon with the bridge. "It's so narrow it seems a wonder we can fit on it!" giggled Sarah.
The two big black horses pulling the wagon seemed to think so, too, because they slowed and stopped as they always did in front of the dark and narrow structure. Raven raised his head and started to turn away, while Coffee just braced himself and snorted.
John Gilbert glanced back at Sarah. "We'll fit all right, Miss Weatherall. Get up there, Raven! Get up, Coffee!" John caught up his long bullwhip just in case, but as the horses heard him reach for it they got over their hesitation and stepped up onto the solid wooden floor of the bridge.
Their hoofbeats echoed loudly in the darkness of the covered space. The horses continued to lower their heads and snort, but kept on walking forward towards the open end and the solid ground beyond it.
"Looks like some cracking in those floorboards," remarked Stanley, looking down from one side of the wagon as it rolled across the bridge. "They're only a few years old. Seems like they ought to be holding up better than that."
"Well, it gets some heavy use with all the supply wagons," said John. "With Sawyerville being where it is, there's several wagons going over it at least a couple of times a week now."
"Aw, I wouldn't worry," said Bill. "It's a good bridge, built by some good lumbermen. It's got iron stress rods and wooden trusses. All that cedar on the sides and roof helps keeps the bugs and rain away. This bridge'll be here for a long time to come."
"Well, in any case," said John, "I'll have someone talk to the camp boss about it. The ground could be settling on either side of this ravine. He ought to send a team out here to look at it and shore it up before the weather turns in the fall. I know it's a good bridge, but I just don't trust that cracking."
John Gilbert slapped the reins on the horses' rumps again, to keep them going forward. "Get up, there!"
***
Hattie somehow got through the rest of that night and most of the next morning, but by noon she and all of the other women were huddled together in the parlor and kitchen and dining room of the Sawyerville Ladies' House as a huge summer storm passed overhead.
"That's a very strange storm," said Ruby, sitting close beside Hattie on the floor. "It's whirling from east to west! Usually they come the other way out here."
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br /> But as the wind howled and the rain lashed the trees and the thunder rattled the windows, Hattie just closed her eyes. "Doesn't matter to me which way it's going. I'll just be glad when it's gone. I think I'd rather go round the Horn again by whaling ship than to sit underneath this storm."
But finally the noise lessened and the wind grew calm. Hattie got up and walked out on the front porch, very glad to see that the sky was beginning to clear in the east.
As most of the other women walked back upstairs, Ruby came out to stand beside her. "You really think he'll come back tonight?"
Hattie nodded. "The wagon's due back tonight. I'm looking forward to seeing him again." She smiled tightly. "Even if I shouldn't expect to."
"But wasn't he talking like he was going to leave for San Francisco? Go to work there? And wasn't Sarah Weatherall – "
Hattie turned away from her and walked down the porch. "I'll see him again. I cannot think he's that shallow. Maybe he does want work in the city – or thinks he does. Maybe he does like the way Sarah Weatherall looks. But all the men do."
She turned back to face Ruby. "It's just that – if John Gilbert was leaving for good, he would have said so. He would have had the decency to tell me. But he didn't say anything of the kind. I'll see him again, one way or another. I'm certain of it."
CHAPTER EIGHT
Sunset came. Hattie took a small lantern and some of her sewing and walked down the hill to the livery barn. Once there, she sat down on a little footstool inside the doorway and continued her work on another patchwork skirt.
Nightfall came. She turned the lantern up a little brighter. But there was still no sign of John Gilbert or the other two men or their wagon. Her only companions were the horses in the stalls on either side of the barn aisle.
Eventually, Hattie lost track of the time. She concentrated only on her sewing and on listening for the sounds of hoofbeats and wagon wheels and jingling harness coming into town on the road from the west.
But all she heard, after a long while, were footsteps at the barn door.
"Hattie Norton! Whatever are you doing out here at this time of night?"
It was Molly Strong, standing beside her husband, Sheriff William Strong. Next to them was Ruby. All three of them looked very puzzled and worried.
Hattie set aside her sewing and stood up. "I'm just worried about the wagon. They should have been back by tonight."
"We're all a little worried, Miss Norton," said the sheriff. "If they aren't here by dawn – and I don't think they'd travel through this darkness – I'm going to take a few men and go out first thing in the morning."
"I want to go with you," said Hattie, facing the sheriff head on. "I'm sure John Gilbert was just talking to the birds when he said he was going to live in San Francisco. I can't see him living in any kind of city, let alone one that big. He'll be back. I'm sure of it."
"Miss Norton, I can't let you go with us. I've got my hands full already."
Hattie could feel her anger rising. "Sheriff, I have to – "
But Molly and Ruby each took Hattie by one arm and led her quickly down the barn aisle, just past the pool of light from the lantern.
"Hattie, you must listen to us," said Molly, in a fast whisper. "We know that you've got your heart set on Mister John Gilbert."
"And we also know that he has eyes for Sarah Weatherall – and not for you," said Ruby.
But Hattie only pulled her arms away from them and raised her chin. "That's what everybody seems to know – that he wants Sarah, not me. I'm not as rock-headed as I look. I've seen the way he looks at her. And I know darn well that if he does go to San Francisco, it won't be for work. It'll be for her."
Both women were silent. Molly sighed, and Ruby looked down and nodded.
"Please, Hattie," said Molly. "Please just let it go. He'll be back when he's ready to come back."
"But you've got to realize," said Ruby, "that the two of them – or three of them, with Lydia Sweet – are most likely on their way to San Francisco together right now, on the steamship."
Hattie closed her eyes. "I can always count on you for the cold truth, Ruby," she said, and tried to smile. "But isn't it true that the supply wagons sometimes have to stay a day or two over if the ships are running late? Or if the men just feel like having a late-night game of poker?"
"I don't know about that," Ruby said. "All I can say is that they'll be back when they're ready to come back."
But Hattie just set her jaw and turned around to face the two women. "I just don't – I just can't believe that. John Gilbert said he was coming back. Maybe he'll leave for the city at some other date, but not now. He said he was coming back."
"I know you care for him," said Molly. "I know he's captured your heart. But – "
"But that's why I'm so sure there's something more. Maybe something's gone wrong. Maybe he needs help. And if he does, I want to give him that help even if it's the last time I ever see him. That's what love is – isn't it?"
The other two women were silent. Hattie looked up to see that Sheriff Strong was standing there beside them. "All right, Miss Norton," he said. "In the last few weeks, I've heard enough about you and John Gilbert – and even seen the two of you together enough times – to know that you deserve to know for certain what's happened. But please try not to be too disappointed if you find out that he's gone."
***
Early the next morning, Sheriff Strong and three other men – three loggers by the name of Ben, Zachary, and Allen – rode out to the west to try to find the supply wagon.
With them was Hattie Norton, jogging along on the big black work horse named Big Joe. He was Molly Strong's horse and she had kindly loaned him to Hattie for the ride to the coastal docks and back.
They kept the horses at a brisk walk or a steady jog most of the time, and by about noon they were getting close. "We're nearly at the East Ravine," said Sheriff Strong. "Soon as we round this curve and go across the bridge, we've only got another three miles or so to the docks."
Hattie just nodded, and looked ahead as they went around the curve in the road – and then all of them pulled their horses to a sudden stop.
"Gods above," Hattie whispered. "What happened here?"
The covered bridge over the ravine, which Hattie remembered traveling over when she'd first arrived at Sawyerville, now had the scorched pieces of an enormous Douglas fir tree lying right across the middle of its caved-in, cedar-shingle roof.
"That tree must be two hundred feet tall," marveled Sheriff Strong. "Or was."
"Hit by lightning, sheriff?" asked Zachary.
"Had to be. The trunk is all scorched and broken. Still smoldering a little, too, there in the middle."
"That bridge'll have to be rebuilt," said Allen. "Floor looks intact, but I'd never trust it again – not after being hit like that."
"So this is the work the storm did, after it left Sawyerville," said Hattie. "Now we know why the wagon train never came back."
Hattie slid down from the horse and gave the reins to Ben. She walked over to the smashed and broken bridge, getting as close as she dared.
The bridge was only about sixty feet long, and the ravine only some forty feet wide, but it may as well have been forty miles wide for all that they could get to the other side – the other side of the ravine where John Gilbert had gone. She could only hope that she'd find him over there somewhere, if it wasn't too late and he'd already left forever.
And then something on that other side caught her attention.
CHAPTER NINE
"Sheriff Strong! Look there!"
Hattie pointed across the ravine to the very steep ridge that ran beside the road. "Is that their wagon, sitting right there on the side of the road?"
"Sure looks like it," said the sheriff, stepping up beside her. "No horses. No people. But the wagon looks like it's facing west, towards the docks."
"Then – were they still on their way out when the bridge went out right behind them?" asked Hattie.
"But the storm was yesterday, in the early afternoon. They should have been on their way back to Sawyerville by then."
"I can only think they must have unhitched the horses and walked back to the docks," said Sheriff Strong. "They could make three miles with no trouble."
"They could," said Hattie, "but how would they get back across the ravine with no bridge, horses or no horses?"
"If they're even coming back," the sheriff said, glancing sideways at her. Then he walked back over to the other three men, and Hattie followed him.
"All right," said the sheriff. "Here's what we'll do. We'll camp right there until morning and see if anybody comes back for this wagon. I'm hoping they just had to turn around because of the bridge being out, and they'll be back with a work detail as soon as they can. Or, at the very least, come back for the wagon."
"But – if they just turned around on account of the bridge," said Zachary, "why take the horses and leave the wagon?"
"Yeah," said Ben. "Maybe they were robbed. Maybe the horses were stolen."
All of them were silent. Hattie glanced up into the thick forest on either side of them, and then down at the wide and fast-moving river far below.
***
The wind made hissing sounds in the fir trees high above, blending with the rushing of the river at the foot of the ridge. Hattie began to awaken to the gray light of the early morning sky. She stirred on the bedroll on top of the soft earth – and suddenly sat up.
It was dawn. She was out in the forest with Sheriff Strong and his three men, sleeping on the ground near the crushed and lightning-struck bridge – hoping against hope that John Gilbert and his two men would return, even though she was the only one who seemed to think they would.