Wolf cantered back to meet her. “Good morning.” He touched the brim of his hat and nodded to Aunt Agatha driving the other wagon.
Jesselynn could see him looking around, and she knew for whom. The question didn’t surprise her.
“Where are your men?”
“Jenkins begged and pleaded that they stay on one more day to finish out an order. They’ll catch up with us.” Keep this up and pretty soon she wouldn’t know truth from lie or what she told to whom. But this one was partly true. Jenkins had pleaded for them to stay on. They had chosen not to. He’d offered them year-round work at a real fair wage, but Meshach said no. He was going west for the free land.
The look Wolf gave her promised more questions to come, but right now keeping the train moving was more important. “You file in at the end. The wagons will take turns eating dust with a new one in front every morning.”
“Mr. Wolf, we goin’ to Orgon.” Thaddeus stood on the seat beside Jesselynn. One thing for sure, no one would accuse Thaddeus Highwood of being shy. If she hadn’t a firm grip on the seat of his pants, he would have been down the wagon wheel and racing over to the horse.
“That we are.” Wolf tipped his hat again and reined back to answer a call from one of the drivers.
Thaddeus and Sammy waved to those on the wagons and those walking beside. Some called greetings, some didn’t, but all wore a look of expectation, as if they would see Oregon next week.
Five months it would be, and that was if all went well.
A baby cried and was hushed. A dog barked. Patch trotted stiff legged out to inspect another that advanced in the same manner. Tails wagged in the tentative way of dogs. They sniffed each other, one darting away, then back again. Patch stood his ground with hackles raised.
Jesselynn watched the ritual. “Get on back here, Patch.” She wasn’t in the mood to have to break up a dogfight, although she was sure there would be a number of those, the same with the cows and horses, as all the critters set up their pecking orders. Patch ran back to the wagon, tongue lolling, and gave a quick yip to announce his arrival.
Same with the folks. There was sure to be trouble somewhere along the trail.
When all the wagons passed, she flicked her whip out over the backs of the oxen, getting a satisfying pop without touching a hide. The wagon lurched forward for the second time that morning, but she held back in the line, waiting for Agatha to pull in front of her. With the extra ox tied on the rear, she was indeed last, except for the spare horses and oxen that formed a herd following off to the south where the animals could snatch a mouthful of grass once in a while. Several young men, mounted on horses, were keeping the herd on the move.
Children waved from front porches as the caravan passed by, farmers from out in their fields. Their route took them down the streets of Olathe and Lawrence, heading them southwest until the Oregon Trail left the Santa Fe Trail. Then they’d turn north and cross the Kansas River at Topeka. The noon stop was short—no campfires allowed—but it gave the oxen and horses a rest, as well as those walking alongside the wagons. Since they stopped by a creek, the animals drank their fill, and the children waded in the water.
They were barely on the road again when the threatening storm hit with teacup-size raindrops. All the walkers scurried for the wagons, leaving the drivers and the animals to brave the elements. Jesselynn was soaked within seconds. I shoulda had Jane Ellen take over for Aunt Agatha. But it was too late now.
“Leastways the canvas ain’t leakin’,” Jane Ellen said from behind her shoulder. “That greasin’ we did makes the water run off slicker’n off a duck’s back.” She lifted her face to the rain sheeting down. “Smells good, don’tcha think? All clean and fresh.”
Jesselynn had to agree. The world always smelled better after a rain, and it wasn’t like this one was so cold. Chilly yes, but not bone-deep freezing like earlier in the year.
“Rain like this makes the grass and flowers just leap outa the ground. I love springtime.”
Jesselynn had to smile. Not often did Jane Ellen say this many words at one time without someone having asked her questions.
“Sure do hope Meshach and the boys got a place to stay dry. How soon you think we’ll be meetin’ up with ’em?”
“Long about sunset.” Jesselynn flipped the reins to move the oxen along better. The gap had widened between them and the wagon in front. She touched the right rear oxen with the tip of the whip, and he lunged into the yoke. “You just stay up there too. No room for a lazy ox here.”
“He’s the purtiest one though, ain’t he?”
“Isn’t he.”
“I think so.”
“No. I mean, you don’t say ‘ain’t.’ The proper way is ‘isn’t he.’ ”
“Oh. That’s right. He is right purty, ah . . . isn’t he?”
“Guess so. But he’s lazy.” Jesselynn popped her whip over him again. “Got to keep on him all the time.”
The sky lightened, and off to the west a band of light broke through just above the horizon. The rain changed to a drizzle, then stopped.
“You think we’ll see a rainbow?”
“Good chance.” Jesselynn was hoping she’d see Meshach. But the rider coming toward them was definitely not he. The horse’s red chest and white-spotted rump were a surefire giveaway.
“You all right back here?” Wolf sat his horse as if born attached.
“Hey, Mr. Wolf.” Jane Ellen leaned across the seat to wave.
“Just Wolf, no mister.” He pulled up alongside the wagon.
“Is Wolf your whole name?” Jane Ellen slid one leg across the seat and, with a lithe twist, took up sitting beside Jesselynn.
“Nope. Between my father and my mother, they named me Gray Wolf Torstead.”
“So you are Mr. Torstead.”
“Guess so, but most folks call me Wolf.” He nudged his horse into a trot and waved back at them.
“Ain’t he beautiful?” The reverence in the words kept Jesselynn from making a smart retort. When she glanced at Jane Ellen, the thought hit her. Jane Ellen was becoming a young lady. One who showed an interest in the male of the species and whose heart could be trampled by a crush.
“Isn’t.”
“He is too.” Like a fluffy hen defending her chicks, Jane Ellen went on the attack.
“No, I mean, remember I said not to use ‘ain’t.’ Use ‘isn’t.’ You asked me to teach you proper English, and that’s what I’m tryin’ to do.”
“Oh, sorry.” But the stars had left her eyes, and she wrapped her arms around her middle, leaning forward to check on the squeaky wagon tongue. “Meshach will want to know about that squeak. He said if it squeaks, grease it.”
Thankful for the change in topic, Jesselynn breathed a sigh of relief. Far as she was concerned, Wolf might be a striking man, but all he did for her was make her mad. Overbearing, stubborn—she had a long list of words to describe him, not many of them complimentary.
“Speak of the devil,” she muttered under her breath.
Wolf rode back into view, stopping at each wagon to speak to the driver. When he got to her, she waited a tick before looking up.
“We’re stoppin’ for the night about half a mile up the road. There’s water there and plenty of pasture. Your wagon will be the last into the circle, so will be the most difficult. We’ll be forming circles every night for safety’s sake, even though right now there’s nothing to fear.”
She wanted to ask more about the circle but refrained. If he thought she couldn’t maneuver this wagon, he had another think coming. But what about Aunt Agatha? After a long day on the wagon seat, she might be all stove-up. Besides, she hadn’t driven four up before, let alone oxen.
“Thanks. We’ll manage.”
“I can get someone else to drive your aunt’s wagon in.”
“I said we’ll manage.” Don’t go doin’ us any favors. We can handle things ourselves.
The look he gave said clearly what he thought of her bad manners. Wh
ich wasn’t anywhere close to what she thought about his. My mother would have an attack of the vapors, and I never once saw her go into a spell like that. She didn’t have the vapors.
Jockeying the final wagon into place took several men giving conflicting advice, oxen more well trained in backing and, as Meshach would say, “a heavy dose of prayer.” More than once she wished he were there, beginning to be concerned as the sun set fire to the western sky and gilded the edges of the remaining clouds. They’d just dropped the wagon tongue in place when the horsemen trotted up to the wagon.
“Coulda used you a few minutes ago,” Jesselynn said by way of greeting.
“Sorry, thought you be farther up de road.” Meshach dismounted, signaling for the others to do the same.
“These are your men?” Wolf nudged his horse closer to where she stood.
“Ah, yes.”
“And your horses?”
“Yes.”
He leaned over to say softly, “And why wasn’t I informed that we would have seven horses along?”
Jesselynn squared her shoulders. If there was to be a fight, she was ready.
He waited.
So did she.
“I remember askin’ if you had any other livestock.”
“I know, but I’ve had to keep the horses hidden. They’re all that’s left of Twin Oaks breeding farm. We need good blood to start over.” She knew she was talking too much and sounding breathy on top of it. But they had to be part of the train. Who knew when another would form up?
“They’re Thoroughbreds.”
“Yes, sir.”
With eyes narrowed so his gaze was even more piercing, Wolf stared at her. “Does that big stallion have anything to do with winning a race a day or two ago?”
She couldn’t think of a lie quick enough. “Yes, sir.” Good. Telling the truth felt good.
“Remember when I said you had to be able to take orders?” At her nod, he continued. “One of my most important orders is that no one will tell me a lie. Only the truth.”
And I am living a lie. “Yes, sir.”
“I will decide by morning.”
“Decide, sir?”
“Whether you and your horses will be continuing on with the wagon train.” He turned and rode off before she could sputter an answer.
“You can come on one condition.”
Jesselynn stood straighter in the predawn gray light. “What is that?”
“If there is any trouble that can be laid at your door, you wait for another train.”
“Trouble?”
“With your horses or your men.”
“With you” was implied.
While dark eyes can become obsidian, green eyes turn to steel. Her jaw matched. “There will be no trouble.”
“No racing.”
“Do you take me for a fool? Of course there will be no racing. I wouldn’t have done so then if we’d had the money for the supplies.” She felt like adding a few well-chosen names but clamped her tongue between her teeth to keep it from further flapping.
“Thoroughbreds are too high-strung for a trip like this. You’re going to lose them.”
“Over my dead body.” He has no idea what we’ve gone through to get this far. I will not lose them. Thoroughbreds are far tougher than he thinks. She refused to think about the foals. She’d carry them in the wagon if she had to.
“Suit yourself. I would recommend turning back now.”
“We’ll be ready when the others are. Thank you for your concern.” She couldn’t resist the sarcasm.
The look he gave her, other than finely honed anger, asked a question too. Only for the life of her, she couldn’t figure out what it was. She was still puzzling on that when he rode off.
The wagon that had been first the day before fell in behind her as the circle straightened to a long line. Jesselynn waved to the driver, a woman wearing a sunbonnet dangling on a ribbon down her back. A black shawl hugged her shoulders and crossed in front.
“I’m Abigail Brundsford.”
“Jesse Highwood. That’s my aunt Agatha ahead.” In spite of the three men now in attendance, Agatha had asked if she could drive again for a while. Since Jesselynn didn’t want her walking, she agreed. She’d rather be riding but knew that after the noon break, Meshach could drive. Right now he kept the mares on lead lines and tied Roman and the spare ox behind the wagon. Once they were out of such civilized territory, Daniel would use Roman for hunting.
Daniel had snared two rabbits during the night, and Ophelia rose early to fry them for breakfast. The folks in the wagon in front of them had sniffed appreciatively as they ate their mush.
Throughout the day, other members of the party wandered back to introduce themselves, so that by noon Jesselynn’s head was filled with a mishmash of names, trying to remember which went with what face. One family had enough children to start their own town.
When Wolf signaled the stop, Aunt Agatha’s hands were blistered from holding the reins.
“Why didn’t you put on gloves?” Jesselynn cupped her aunt’s hands in her own.
“I don’t have any gloves. That’s why.”
“Ophelia, please get out some of that salve that I bought in Independence.”
Agatha tried to pull her hands away, but Jesselynn didn’t release them until the salve was rubbed in and two strips of cloth bound the oozing sores.
“All we need is for this to go putrid on us.”
“Pshaw, I’ve had blisters before. Paid them no nevermind, and they healed up just fine.”
“Good. Let’s hope these do too.”
That night after supper, one of the men brought out a fiddle and another a harmonica. They started with music to sing by but moved on to dance tunes. Jesselynn and Agatha sat together on the wagon tongue, Jesselynn clapping while Meshach and Ophelia danced a jig.
“Hi, my name’s Elizabeth.” Suddenly appearing in front of Jesselynn, the no-longer-a-girl-but-not-yet-a-woman shifted from one foot to another after introducing herself. Her strawberry hair hung in a thick braid down her back, and the same color eyebrows shadowed her eyes so that the color was hidden. But her flaming cheeks matched the fire that now burned in embers.
Agatha prodded Jesselynn so that she turned to her aunt with a question that drowned in the laughter in her aunt’s eyes. Jesselynn looked back to the visitor.
“Pleased to meet you. I’m Jesse Highwood.”
“I know.”
“She wants you to ask her to dance,” Agatha whispered.
Jesselynn felt her face flame. She glanced down at her boots, wishing she were out with the horses where it was safer. “Ah, which wagon is yours?”
Elizabeth looked over her shoulder. “The one with the table and checkered cloth. My mama says even though we are on the way to Oregon, we don’t have to give up all the comforts of home.”
“Oh.”
The fiddler changed to a reel, and all the dancers lined up, partners facing each other with some distance between them.
“Do you know how to dance the reel?” Her hands bunched the folds in her skirt.
“Ah, ah . . .”
“You could learn real fast. I taught my brother.”
“’Scuse me. I better go check on the horses.” Jesselynn got up so fast she nearly tripped over the wagon tongue in her hasty departure.
“He’s just shy,” she heard her aunt say before she was out of earshot. Agatha Highwood, I swear I’m going to make you pay for this. She didn’t return to the circle until long after the fiddle had been put back in its case and most of the bedrolls been laid out under the wagons.
Dodging Elizabeth over the next few days took some doing. Jesselynn chose to ride Ahab as a line of defense. She didn’t dare knit or help too much with the cooking. Even braiding rawhide might be thought of as women’s work.
Wolf set up an order for night watches, and the men all took their turns, including Jesselynn.
By the time they turned off at Topeka, the train had fall
en into the rhythm of the road. Up before daylight, a quick breakfast, hitch up, and move on out as the sun broke the horizon. Then a short noon stop without fires, stopping for the night where there was water and pasture for the cattle and horses. With the scarcity of wood, it became the job of those who walked along to pick up any wood they found, or dry cow pies. Dried cattle dung burned hot and slow.
They paused only long enough on Easter Sunday for one of the men to read the Easter story and everyone to sing a hymn, closing with the Lord’s Prayer. For dinner they ate dry biscuits and dust. For grace at supper Meshach announced, “Christ is risen.” The others answered, “He is risen indeed.” Jesselynn went to bed murmuring those words again, adding, “Thank you, Jesus.”
They’d been on the trail two weeks when they neared Alcove Springs.
“We’ll do an extra day or two here,” Wolf announced as he rode down the line that afternoon. “This place has a good spring, the folks who live here are friendly, and there’s plenty of available pasture. There’s even some shade, with the big oak trees they have.”
“Ah, we can wash clothes.” Aunt Agatha turned to Ophelia, who walked beside her wagon. “We have plenty of soap?”
“Yessum.” Ophelia snagged Sammy up and set him on her shoulders. “Come on, baby, we got water ahead.”
Thaddeus ran back to her. “Play in the water.”
“And take a bath.”
His smile disappeared. “No bath.”
Jesselynn chuckled. “If that isn’t just like a boy.” Looping the reins around the brake handle, she leaped to the ground to pace alongside the slow-moving oxen. Even Buster, the lazy one, had learned to lean into the yoke and keep a steady, plodding pace. Since they were midway in the line of wagons, they just kept the pace unless something really unusual spooked the animals. And she could walk along beside. Some of the men used a goad and rarely rode the wagon seats. Anything to make the loads lighter.
A Secret Refuge [02] Sisters of the Confederacy Page 22