First Dawn

by Judith Miller

  “I received a letter from the owner of the Ellis mercantile earlier this week. He advised me our shipment has arrived. In fact, even the new items I ordered have been delivered to his store.”

  “You ordered new furniture?” Margaret’s face registered disbelief.

  “No, not furniture. But I did order farm implements, a wagon, additional medical supplies, a buggy, and runners to replace the wagon wheels when the winter snows arrive—and livestock, of course.”

  She grimaced at the news. “I fear you’re spending all of our savings on items we won’t even need if we return to Kentucky.”

  He jerked around in his seat. “We are not returning to Kentucky, Margaret. If anything happens so that we’re unhappy in Hill City, we will decide upon another place to live, but it will not be in the South. If this doesn’t work out, I’ll think of something.”

  “No need to raise your voice, Father,” Macia said, arching her brows. “I’m certain the people in the next coach aren’t interested in your nebulous plans for the future.”

  He met his daughter’s cold stare. “You may recall that on many occasions, I’ve attempted to discuss our move in a civil manner. Unfortunately, it seems the only way I’m able to convince any of you that I am earnest is when I speak in a harsh manner.”

  “There’s never been any discussion.” Harvey slouched down into the seat. “Whenever any of us voiced an objection, you immediately rejected our arguments. You made yourself abundantly clear from the beginning: we’re being forced to live wherever you decide. I never considered your declaration an invitation to discussion.”

  Samuel stared at his son and daughter. Though only a few feet separated him from his children, it seemed as if the narrow space had grown into a yawning abyss.

  Samuel leaned back and rested his head upon the cushioned seat in their private compartment. He’d spared no expense in travel accommodations. It had been a meager attempt to mollify his family, though he should have known it wouldn’t help. For a brief moment he considered once again voicing his genuine need to live somewhere other than in the South. Dare he tell them how desperately unhappy he’d been all these years, how he’d yearned to live anywhere but among those who had embraced slavery as a way of life before the war?

  Samuel closed his eyes and knew he should remain silent. What good would more words accomplish? After all, to truly explain the depth of his feelings would likely cause wounds that would never heal—especially with Margaret. Oh, she knew of his unhappiness, but she had tucked away any thoughts of his discontent in the same manner she packed the children’s outgrown clothes—hidden out of sight and far from mind.

  Perhaps his decision had been unfair. He’d been wrestling with that thought since purchasing the acreage in Hill City. However, he truly believed that years of deference to the children’s desires had caused their undeniably selfish behavior. Perhaps if he had told them no more often during their formative years, they would have accepted his decision to leave Kentucky without fanfare. Both Macia and Harvey had been willful from an early age. They should have been reared with a strong hand, but that hadn’t occurred—nor had their conduct changed. All of this left Samuel to wonder whether he had failed miserably as a parent. But then there was Carlisle, who was neither spoiled nor selfish.

  Samuel bent forward and rested his forearms across his thighs as if to close the chasm dividing him from the children. “You are both very young with your entire lives spread out before you. This is an opportunity for you to see what God has created beyond the borders of Kentucky. You may be pleasantly surprised. And if you are intrinsically unhappy in the West, you should explore other places before rushing back and settling in Kentucky,” he urged.

  “I didn’t realize the depth of your distaste for the place of my birth,” Margaret said, her voice barely audible above the train’s clacking sounds.

  Pain reflected in her eyes, and Samuel realized that his short discourse had done exactly what he had wanted to avoid. “Please don’t misconstrue what I’ve said, Margaret. I find Kentucky a beautiful place, but like the other southern states, its beauty is tainted by bigotry. I know in my heart that it is time to leave. I believe there is a God-given purpose for this move.”

  When he looked at his family, he saw that his explanation had not helped. The children stared through him as though he hadn’t spoken at all, and Margaret’s pained look remained. He closed his eyes and silently prayed that his family would eventually come to love their new home and that he had truly understood God’s leading.

  Throughout the remainder of their journey, the family exchanged only necessary information as they switched trains or when they stopped for meals at a depot. Even shopping and an overnight stay at a fine hotel in St. Louis did not help breach the gulf. For the most part, each one silently watched the passing scenery and remained lost in private thought.

  CHAPTER

  13

  Samuel flagged the weary-looking conductor as he entered the car to validate their tickets. “How far to Ellis?” he inquired.

  The trainman pointed toward the north side of the rails. A smattering of small wood and limestone buildings was partially visible through the smudged train windows. “That’s it coming up.”

  Samuel straightened, tugged his suit jacket into place, and did his best to look enthusiastic. “Not much longer now.”

  Macia stared at the flat, desolate prairie and then gave her father a dour look. “It’s good that I hadn’t raised my expectations.”

  The train screeched to a stop, and Samuel stood to assist his wife along the aisle. As they stepped down from the train, a stiff wind whipped their clothing, and they hastened inside the train station without prompting.

  “Quite a wind stirring out there,” Samuel commented to one of the men seated inside the train station.

  The haggard old man laughed and, with amazing precision, spit a stream of tobacco juice into a brass spittoon near the counter. “This ain’t nothing. Jest you wait until we get us a real windstorm.”

  Samuel glanced at the billowing dirt cascading down the street and then peered at his wife from beneath the narrow brim of his felt bowler. It was obvious she’d heard the old man’s comment—they all had. “Sounds as though we’re in for some new experiences.” His attempt at cheerfulness fell flat. “No need to look so grim. It appears as though this good man has survived the elements.”

  The man gave a hearty nod. “There’s plenty of us that have survived. Course, there’s them that ain’t, too.”

  Samuel turned his attention to Harvey. “Why don’t you see if you can locate our luggage while I set about finding the livery and general store.”

  “There’s only one street,” Harvey mumbled under his breath as he trudged off toward the station platform.

  “Wait here,” Samuel instructed Margaret and Macia before making his way to the ticket counter, where a railroad employee was busy counting money and tickets. “Excuse me, could you tell me how far it is to the livery and the general store—the one owned by Mr. Hepple.”

  The clerk placed one hand atop the pile of money and looked Samuel up and down before actually meeting his gaze. “Hepple owns the only general store in Ellis, and it’s down the street thataway.” He pointed his thumb to the right. “The livery’s directly across the street,” he added.

  “Thank you,” Samuel replied.

  The man continued to examine Samuel before his eyes drifted to Margaret and Macia, who had followed him and now stood a few feet away. “By any chance are you the new doctor moving up to Hill City?”

  Samuel smiled and extended his hand. “Yes. Samuel Boyle. And this is my wife, Mrs. Boyle, and our daughter, Macia. That’s our son Harvey bringing in the baggage.”

  The man shook Samuel’s hand. “Pleased to meet you. I’m Jim Benson. You sure have had a lot of goods arriving here lately. My wife made a special trip over to Hepple’s just to have a looksee at your furniture. She said she’d never seen anything quite so fancy.”
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  Samuel nodded politely, uncertain how he should respond to such a comment. “I’m . . . I’m glad you’ve been enjoying it.”

  “Oh, she didn’t sit on it or nothin’, just looked. My missus said she was particularly fond of a velvet corner chair.”

  Once again, Samuel smiled and nodded. “Well, we had best get over to the livery and pick up our wagon. We’ll need to get loaded up so we can head out to Hill City.”

  “Mr. Hepple took most of your furniture up there last week, though from the looks of things, you got plenty of other goods to haul. You ought to consider living here in Ellis. Ain’t no train service up in Hill City—ain’t much of nothing in Hill City, as a matter of fact. I think you’d be much happier in Ellis, and we could use a doctor.”

  Macia immediately stepped forward and tapped her fingers on the counter. “You mean Hill City is even more desolate than this place?”

  “Far as I know, though there’s more in Hill City than Nicodemus. Both them towns was platted out by W. R. Hill, but I don’t know as he’s done any more than sell the land. Only a few weeks ago there was maybe three hundred coloreds come out here from Kentucky and Tennessee— all of ’em fixing to make their homes in Nicodemus. Few days later, more than half of ’em were on the train headed back home. Can’t say as I blame ’em, neither.”

  “Surely you’re wrong! Coloreds wouldn’t want to head back to the South, where they were so poorly treated,” Macia sarcastically countered, her eyebrows raised in a questioning arch directed at her father.

  “They were afraid they couldn’t make it through the winter—didn’t come prepared. Now, you folks, you’ve done the right thing. You ordered your supplies and shipped your belongings ahead of time. You’ll do mighty fine through the winter. Mr. Goddard said you even had the forethought to order a sleigh.”

  “Well, a doctor must be able to travel in all types of weather. It’s been nice to make your acquaintance, Mr. Benson. I’m certain we’ll see you again when we’re in Ellis.” Samuel directed his family toward the door.

  “Hope you won’t be buying tickets home the next time we meet up,” Mr. Benson said as he waved good-bye.

  Loading the wagon had taken time, patience, and the assistance of Will Southard and Chester Goddard. Though her father had helped the men, Macia and Harvey had been quite content to sit and watch. By the time they actually departed Ellis, her father appeared strangely invigorated. Macia was now certain her father was attempting to live out some pathetic dream; had she not been forced to participate, she wouldn’t have cared. However, her father’s dream had now become her nightmare!

  Citing the family’s inexperience at traveling by wagon, Mr. God-dard suggested her father hire Thurlow Wilson to act as their guide to Hill City. Mr. Wilson supposedly possessed all of the necessary abilities to assist the small family with their thirty-five mile trek to the north and west of Ellis. And although Macia doubted whether the scruffy-looking man would be of any assistance, her father immediately offered him the job. He appeared even less energetic than Harvey.

  Mr. Wilson led out on his large bay mare while her mother rode in the buggy with Harvey; Macia sat wedged near her father in the covered wagon with a crate of squawking chickens tied near her side. Though she had repeatedly begged her father to leave the noisy birds behind, he had argued they would all be pleased to have eggs once they arrived in their new home. Mrs. Hepple had been no help—she’d readily agreed with everything her father said. In fact, the storekeeper and his wife had even convinced her father to purchase four cows. But when her father had requested that Macia walk behind with the cows and keep them moving, she had adamantly refused.

  Harvey guided the buggy alongside Mr. Wilson’s mare while Macia and her father followed behind in the lumbering wagon. They’d traveled only a few miles when Macia waved to Mr. Wilson. “When will we arrive?”

  He slowed his horse until the wagon caught up with him and then spit a stream of tobacco juice across the grass. “Ain’t gonna be today, sis.”

  Her father slapped the reins and gave her a sidelong glance as they continued onward. “We’ll sleep out in the open tonight and arrive sometime tomorrow. Quite an adventure, don’t you think?”

  Her voice caught in her throat as she gasped at his reply. “You’re jesting.”

  “No. It’s more than thirty miles to Hill City. We have a loaded wagon and four cows. In fact, as slow as we’re traveling, we’ll be fortunate if we’re there by tomorrow.”

  “Then move more rapidly. I don’t want to sleep out here,” she said, waving at the expansive prairie that surrounded them.

  “It’s impossible to complete the journey today. We’ll be out at least one night, Macia. As for tomorrow, time will tell. With our frequent stops to keep the cows moving, it’s bound to take much longer than I anticipated.”

  Once again she waved and hollered to Mr. Wilson. “You need to keep those cows moving,” she admonished as he reined his horse alongside the wagon. “They’re straying and slowing us down. Make your horse do something to keep the cows moving.”

  Mr. Wilson laughed at her command and patted the gun holstered at his hip. “I was hired to direct you to Hill City and protect you, if need be. If you want those cows kept together, you get down and do it yourself.”

  Her face turned bright red, and she glared at Mr. Wilson’s back as he resumed his position ahead of their wagon. “Aren’t you going to make him move those cows along, Father?”

  He shrugged. “He’s right. I hired him for protection and to lead us to Hill City. I don’t think a few coins will convince him to herd the cattle.”

  “Stop the wagon and give me a stick! I’ll do it myself.” Macia jumped down, and with the use of threatening yelps and an occasional slap to one of the cows’ rumps, she managed to force the animals into a somewhat consistent pace throughout the afternoon.

  Her only satisfaction was Thurlow Wilson’s look of surprise when she began to herd the wayward cows. The hours passed in slow monotony until at last the countryside unfolded into the grandeur of a rose-tinged prairie twilight. Macia sighed in relief as they approached a small meandering creek, toward which she and the cows began to move with well-defined purpose. The thirsty animals were anxious to drink their fill, and Macia was eager to soak her blistered, aching feet. By now, one thing was absolutely certain: she detested the lumbering cows as much as the squawking chickens.

  Mr. Wilson waved his hat high in the air. “We’ll stop here for the night.”

  Much as she disliked the idea of sleeping outdoors, Macia didn’t argue. Her entire body longed for rest, and her throat was sore from shouting at the lumbering cows. She soaked her feet while the animals lapped the water. They would need no encouragement to drink or graze this night. While her father unhitched the horses, Harvey gathered wood from near the creek, and though Mr. Wilson laid and started the fire, he did little else except care for his horse.

  A short time later the smoky aroma of frying bacon filled Macia’s nostrils. Although she would not admit it aloud, she was thankful her father had insisted upon stopping to purchase the bacon, ham, and eggs from a farmer outside Ellis who had been recommended by Mr. Hepple.

  Her mother turned away from the fire and gestured with a fork. “Dry off your feet, put on your shoes and stockings, and unpack some of those eggs. They’re packed in straw in a small crate near the back of the wagon, so be careful as you work. We don’t want to break any,” she warned.

  Unwilling to force her swollen feet back into the shoes, Macia ignored the first part of her mother’s instructions and walked barefoot to the wagon. She carefully unwrapped the eggs and placed them in her bonnet.

  “Is this enough?” She held her sunbonnet at arm’s length.

  Her mother nodded but noticed Macia’s bare feet. “You should wear your shoes, Macia. You’ll step on a nettle or a sharp stone.”

  “Or a snake,” Harvey added.

  Macia glared at him as she hobbled off, anxious to sit down
again. Her father hunkered down beside her and examined her feet. “You shouldn’t scowl—it causes wrinkles. Why are you so annoyed at Harvey?”

  “Because he sat in the buggy all day. Perhaps I should drive the buggy tomorrow and he can herd the cows. We’ll then see how much he likes his new life.”

  “We could try that,” her father agreed.

  “Truly? You’ll actually make Harvey herd the cows? And I can drive the buggy?”

  “If that will make you happy.”

  She hesitated. “It won’t make me happy to be here, for I will never be happy to live in this desolate place, but it will at least make the day more bearable.”

  She continued rubbing her feet as her father strode off toward the buggy. Moments later he returned with a small jar of ointment. “Try rubbing this on your blisters. It will help.”

  She dipped her finger into the salve. “Where will you and Harvey sleep?”

  “We’ll sleep near the fire with Mr. Wilson so we can hear if anyone approaches. Mr. Wilson warned that there could be horse thieves lurking about. He’s going to hobble the animals for the night. We don’t want to take any chances.”

  “Horse thieves? We’ve seen only two other riders and one wagon all day. And they were both anxious to return east.”

  “Perhaps. But Mr. Wilson says sometimes riders scour the countryside watching for settlers they judge to be easy prey. He tells me a team of horses is worth its weight in gold out here on the prairie. Now, let’s go have our supper.” He offered his hand and helped her up.

  Macia hobbled alongside her father, remembering Mr. Wilson’s refusal to help with the cows earlier in the day. “I think Mr. Wilson is likely spinning tales in order to make you believe he is truly worthy of the money you’ve paid him.”