She hurried inside to help with the trunk. She had to get to the courthouse now, and meet the kind family whom Rafe had paid to accompany her on a wagon train west. They would move out today, loading wagons onto flatboats and steamboats that would carry them along the Missouri River to Independence. She knew the route well. She had studied maps and made every arrangement necessary. At Independence they would load their wagons, hitch up teams, and head for Sapling Grove, where they would organize into teams and trains and find scouts to lead them into new lands.
But they were not really new lands to Mary, at least not Wyoming and the Rockies. She knew that part of the country well. It amazed her to consider how far she had traveled and all she had been through. And she was still only twenty-two. How old was Sage now? Thirty-three? Thirty-four? What would it be like to see him again? What would she do if no one at Fort Bridger knew what had happened to him? Maybe she would stay right there, at least for one winter.
Sage! He was her only hope now for happiness. She would always have little James to remind her of him. But she wanted her family to be complete. She had to find Sage MacKenzie. And she would brave the dangers of that wild land to do it.
She traveled under the name of Mary MacKenzie, and that was the only name others on the train knew her by. The Nelsons, the family with whom she traveled, knew her real name but were sworn not to tell, especially if men came looking for her. Mary did not doubt her father would send men looking for a Mary St. Claire Cousteau. They would not find such a person.
Just as she suspected, not long after they left Sapling Grove and got under way, a small army of men, some lawmen, some just volunteers, converged on their wagon train looking for her. The men had already searched two other trains ahead of their own, finding no Mary Cousteau.
Mary stayed inside one of the wagons, listening as people answered very honestly that they knew of no Mary Cousteau in their wagon train. Ida Nelson, a woman Mary quickly came to like and befriend, gave no indication there was anyone extra inside her own wagon. Mary waited with impatient nervousness until the men finally left.
Ida stuck her head inside the wagon. “How did I do?”
“Wonderfully! Thank you so much.”
The plump, friendly woman frowned. “I don’t know why you don’t want to be at home with your folks, but it’s not my business. Your ex-husband gave us a pretty bundle to see you safely to California, or wherever it is you intend to leave us. But now that I know you better, I’d have done it for nothing, Mary. God knows we women will need each other’s companionship before this journey is over.”
Mary hugged James close. Already she could see what a difficult journey this would be. “That’s true, Ida. I’m glad Rafe picked you for me to travel with. He knew I would like you.”
The woman chuckled, crow’s-feet decorating her eyes as she smiled. “With my five little ones along, you’ll earn your way just helping me with them,” she answered.
Mary moved to the back of the wagon and climbed out. “I don’t mind. It’s good for James to be around the children.”
Ida studied her closely. “What is it, Mary? What makes a pretty young thing like you, an educated, mannered woman who obviously knows wealth and comfort, go into an unsettled land where there are so many dangers—and traveling alone at that?”
She watched the woman’s eyes. They had already become good friends. Did she dare tell her?
“I’m going to find James’s real father, Ida.”
The woman’s eyebrows shot up, and she glanced down at James, who suddenly ran off, chasing a butterfly. “Real father? You mean that man who paid us to accompany you isn’t his pa?”
“No.” Mary looked down. “It’s a very long story, Ida.” She met the woman’s eyes again. “I’ll tell you tonight, after we clean up from supper, if you really want to know.”
The woman’s eyes showed her sympathy. “I see in those pretty violet eyes a young woman who’s done a lot of living in her young life,” she said, nodding her head then. “I was wondering how it was you were so good at setting up camp fires and cooking outdoors. Fact is, I’ve learned things from you, and that seemed kind of strange to me—you being so well-bred and all. You’re rich enough that your father sends men looking for you, and I saw how your ex-husband dressed. And here you are struggling along with us common folks, headed for a land something pretty as you shouldn’t be heading for.” She smiled. “Only love would make a woman do something like that—just like I’m coming along on this trip because my man has a dream, and I go where he goes. It must be quite some man you’re looking for.”
Mary smiled. “He is. His name is Sage MacKenzie.”
The woman patted her arm. “We’ll get supper and get these children settled down for the night. Then you can tell me all about it.”
“Not all of it is easy to tell—or easy to listen to,” Mary answered.
Ida smiled. “You can tell me anything, Mary. It might be good for you to tell me, and I’m a good listener.”
The woman walked to another wagon to take down some pans from where they hung on hooks on the wagon’s side. Mary watched her, wishing her own mother could have been more like Ida Nelson. It actually felt good to be away from that life, where a woman had to act just so and there were so many rules. She hadn’t realized until she had lived with Sage how much fun life could be, how good it felt to be free of strict social standards and tight, poking undergarments, batting eyelashes and fake smiles. If she ever settled down again, she would have a modest home, and she would do more chores by herself. Life would be very different, and that was how she wanted it to be.
But first she had to survive this trip, and already they were experiencing deep mud, bee and snake bites, and assorted injuries and arguments. The days were growing warmer, and there was a lot of open country ahead, with its mosquitoes and hot sun. She would have to be strong, very strong. She would do this for Sage.
For weeks they traveled, the weeks turning into two months, through Kansas and to Fort Kearny in Nebraska. Then came the long, long journey through wide, open country, through tall prairie grass and through spring mud. Ida, her husband, a widowed brother-in-law, and the Nelson’s oldest son, fifteen, took turns driving the three wagons. Mary helped watch the rest of the Nelson children, and together they all battled heat and bugs, almost constant sun and no shade except what could be found under a wagon. To sit inside was too hot. People got sick, and some died.
Mary began to fear for James. He was a strong, happy, healthy boy. But what if he got sick? There was no doctor along. People used their own remedies, but those remedies did not always work. Every time another grave was dug, she held James close to her breast, especially when that grave was a small one.
Few of those making the trip had any idea of the hardships they would encounter. Nor did they realize just how big the country was into which they would travel. Mary knew. She had traveled through similar country before, with Sage. And she had lived in Texas. Sometimes it seemed all those things had happened a hundred years ago, and other times it seemed like yesterday.
One man accidentally shot himself several days after leaving Fort Kearny. He died of infection several days later, leaving a widow and three small children who would have to continue without him. Mary’s heart ached for the poor woman, and she wondered if she would ever really find Sage. She struggled not to let her hope dwindle. After all, there was a long way to go. They were not really in the country where she hoped to find Sage. She had to survive. She had to get there and she had to make sure James got there with her. If only she could find Sage, she knew she would be safe.
After Fort Kearny they often spotted Indians and Mary struggled against old memories, reminding herself that not all Indians were like the Comanche who had nearly destroyed her. She fought to be strong in mind as well as body, remembering lessons Sage had taught her, struggling to never let herself slip into that mental abyss in which Sage had found her. Little James needed her. She would have to keep her sanity f
or his sake, have to stay in control through all the hardships. And she could not let the sight of Indians make her reach that breaking point that too much concentration on horrible memories might bring.
The scouts assured everyone that so far the plains Indians had brought no harm to emigrants. The most they would do was try to barter with them for tobacco or sugar. Mary thought of Red Dog, reminding herself that not all Indians were bad. Sage had helped her understand that not even the Comanche were all bad, but she would always find it difficult to think of them with any kindness. She tried to be brave for James, tried to explain to him about Indians. If he was going to end up living in this land, he had to know. He had to understand.
They were several days from Fort Laramie when a danger worse than Indians overtook them—measles. It seemed that almost overnight more than half the children and several adults came down with the dreaded disease, including little James Cousteau. So many were sick that scouts had to halt the train completely. It was a huge train, comprised of at least forty wagons. Those who had no sickness were not allowed to continue on, for fear of carrying germs to Fort Laramie. They were forced to wait until the sickness was mostly over. That meant a delay of several days, and time was precious. Mary worried, both for her son and for the trouble they all could be in if they didn’t get to the mountains in time to cross them before the weather turned too cold and snow would halt their progress.
Snow. How well she remembered that winter in the cabin with Sage. She held her little son’s fevered head in her lap, remembering, hoping that thinking about Sage would somehow transfer the man’s love through her hands to her sick little boy. She wondered sometimes where she continued to find her strength and determination, but she knew where—from a simple memory, from Sage MacKenzie, who seemed to be with her even though she had not seen him in nearly three years.
She prayed fervently for James. She could continue to face anything as long as she had her little boy. If anything happened to James, how would she bear it? A few children had died, as well as four adults. By some miracle she had not gotten the disease, and she thanked God she was well enough to take care of James.
“Mommy…Mommy,” the boy fretted. “Hot.”
“I know you’re hot, honey. It will get better.”
He dug at his face with fat little fingers, and she was constantly pulling his hands away, afraid he would scar himself. She wondered now if she had done the right thing. She couldn’t bear to see James suffer this way and knew she would not be able to forgive herself if her son died on this miserable trip. Sometimes he was all that kept her going. Without James she would surely give up on life completely. She would never be able to go on searching for Sage.
It was ten days before they could get under way again. By then people were arguing over leadership, arguing with the scouts; the men were complaining that they had been unable to find enough game to replenish their supply of meat. The scouts assured them there would be supplies at Fort Laramie, as well as medicine.
James lived, but he had been very sick, and he was thinner. Slowly some color returned to his cheeks, and a brightness to his eyes. He had only two small scars on one cheek, and Mary slept with him close beside her every night, praying that nothing else would happen to her little boy. Surely she had done the right thing in coming out here. Surely his survival and returning health were a good sign that she would find Sage. Surely God had led her here, had given her the strength she needed to keep going, had saved her little boy’s life.
But there was so much ahead. The journey was barely half over, and they had been delayed. The Nelsons were wonderful people, Ida a dear friend. But she was feeling more and more alone. If she didn’t find Sage, she would be settling far from family and old friends, starting life all over. And yet what else was there for her to do? It was the only way to get away from those who knew her past, to protect James from gossip. If she didn’t find Sage, she would just have to start a whole new life for herself, make something up about James’s father. At least people wouldn’t stare at her, wondering about the woman who had been raped by the Comanche and sold to a whiskey trader.
They were close to Fort Laramie now. She walked with James, letting him soak up some sun. She carried a bucket with her, picking up anything that would be useful in making a fire that night, mostly buffalo “chips.” At least that was what the emigrants graciously called them. They were really dried manure, and the chips made excellent fires that burned hot with very little smoke. But the vapors they gave off were not the most pleasant.
James started running, chasing another butterfly. He was better, getting stronger. She tried to look at the positive side of things—James had lived and was regaining his strength. She had been spared the disease. The sun was shining and today the temperature had cooled from the torturous heat they had been experiencing. Cooler weather meant fewer mosquitoes. For once no cattle or oxen or mules had run off in the night, and the men had shot two deer the day before. Tonight they would eat fresh meat. And no matter what happened, she had her son. If she never found Sage MacKenzie, she would have a part of him with her forever.
Chapter Thirty
Sage watched the wagons roll into Fort Laramie, wagon after wagon. An even bigger train had left the fort two days before. He continued to be overwhelmed by the great numbers of people moving west. The quiet, untouched land he had always known was changing, and it was disturbing to a man who liked it just the way it was.
He could understand the growing restlessness and anxiety of the Indians. There had been more and more trouble with them, and now there was talk of a treaty, a great meeting right here at Laramie within the year that would involve several Plains tribes and would lay out boundaries for them.
Sage had to shake his head at the thought of boundaries for Indians. There was going to be trouble, treaty or no treaty, and plenty of it. He intended to be here at Laramie next year to witness the gathering of so many tribes. It was bound to be an event a man wouldn’t want to miss, and he had to grin at the thought of bringing Crow Indians together with Cheyenne and Sioux. “Those damned people in Washington don’t know what they’re in for,” he muttered.
He turned to talk to Sweet Bird, a young Sioux woman he had found living among the Crow when he had come through the Rockies. She had been a captive for several years and longed to go back to her people. She had been forcefully married to a Crow man but had produced no children, and since she was apparently barren, the man agreed to sell her to Sage for some tobacco.
Sage had no personal interest in the woman, other than the fact that he felt sorry for her and understood how important it was to an Indian to be among his or her own people and family. He had promised to bring her here to Sioux country, and now he hoped to scout for one of the many trains of emigrants coming through the fort. It was the only way he could continue with his now-empty life—stay as busy as possible doing what he did best.
He shared some words with Sweet Bird in a mixture of Sioux and sign language, telling her there was a Sioux camp not far east of the fort, and he would take her there before the day was out. She nodded, feeling sad to leave the handsome and kind white-eyes who had brought her back to her people. She had returned his kindness by serving him well on their journey, making his fires and his meals, and warming him inside his bedroll at night. The white-eyes knew how to please a woman, and she would miss him.
But Sweet Bird knew Sage MacKenzie had only taken advantage of her generous offers because he had manly needs. The white-eyes loved a special woman whom he could not have, and he was resigned to wandering through life and never loving another. This Sage MacKenzie was a man who preferred to travel alone, though he yearned for the mysterious white woman he would have taken with him if he could have had her.
From what Sweet Bird could understand of their conversations, he had had one good friend since losing his white woman, but his friend had died, and Sage MacKenzie was alone again. She would not have minded staying with him longer, but she was Indian,
and he was white. She belonged with her people, longed to be with them. And the white-eyes belonged with his own kind. But she felt sorry for him, and now she told him she would pray often to Wakan Tanka for his spirit to be happy again.
Sage smiled sadly, wondering if people would just move in and out of his life like this forever, none of them staying long. He had lost Mary, and it would be a long time before he got over Randy’s death and the guilt he felt over it. Now he had grown to like this Sioux woman very much, enjoyed her quiet company. But she belonged with her people, and he didn’t have the kind of feelings for her he had had for Mary. There would never be another Mary.
He put an arm around Sweet Bird and walked with her to the supply post, while the wagons continued to clatter past, preparing to circle outside the fort.
Mary stood at a distance, staring at the tall man in buckskins. He so resembled Sage, but she supposed that she was going to think that about every man in buckskins she spotted. It had been three years, and sometimes the small details of his face became distorted in her mind. Surely Sage wouldn’t be this far east, and the man who had turned to walk away with his arm around an Indian woman walked with a limp.
She walked to the Nelson wagons then, helping Ida remove and shake out bedding, then building a fire and making lunch. They would stay here just two days. Normally it would have been longer, but the sickness had slowed them too much. They would wash bedding and clothes and pray this was the end of the measles, and they would stock up on supplies and be off.
After lunch they bedded down the children for naps, and Mary found herself as sleepy as the children. Ida insisted she rest. The woman would make a list of needed items and in the evening they would go inside the fort and see if they could find the supplies they lacked.
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