Bright Morning Star

by J. R. Biery

  After a rousing round of applause there were calls for faster tunes and she picked The Yellow Rose of Texas, and all the couples began to dance. The men playing the instruments joined in singing the next songs as one by one the girls were lifted down from the wagon. Claire’s first partner was the Lieutenant who had pestered Father all afternoon, asking silly questions about how he knew what to do to repair the wagon. The man was polite and was from Connecticut. Claire easily talked with him about the bustle and activity back in the civilized part of the world. She wondered why he was here if he missed it so badly.

  Next, she danced with each of the would-be miners who had been on the wagon train since Missouri. Although she had talked and walked with each before, always with a chaperone, none had seemed promising to her in any way. When she looked up as the players were joined by a harmonica player and changed the song to a Virginia reel, she saw Henry Lambton being drug onto the rough dance floor by Faye Brewer.

  He had seemed sad minutes ago, now he was actually blushing as the two girls seemed to fight over which would get to dance with him. Mother and Father had already joined the dancers. Mary Anne had danced with her brothers and the young boys on the wagon train. Claire noticed there was a little redheaded boy who seemed the same age, about seven or eight, who was trying to catch her eye. He was one of the new members of the wagon train and she planned to tease the little girl later if she danced with him. She could see the lovely child looking his way as she got ready to dance with her brother Tom.

  Claire’s new partner was a tall man with sergeant’s stripes on his uniform who was gushing about how she was the prettiest little thing he had ever seen. She gave the man a bright smile and together they led off the swirling reel. During the wild dance, she seemed to dance with each of the suitors again, as well as the Connecticut Lieutenant and her own Father. It was the Sergeant who led her through the arched arms and back to the beginning while others danced through.

  As soon as the dance ended, the sergeant lifted her back onto the wagon bed. “Sing the Rose of Killarney, darling, just for me. She would have refused, but the harmonica man played the opening bars and one or two in the crowd clapped. As sweetly as though she had sung solo her whole life, Claire sang the lilting Irish song. When she stumbled over some of the words, the fiddler player beside her would call out the next line. Somehow she managed to finish it without too much embarrassment, but she certainly had no gift for memorizing music the way her Irish friends did.

  On the last words, “Sure I love you,” she was lifted roughly from the stage by Leray Raglon. She could smell whiskey on his breath and it was clear he had been down at the other end of town.

  “Come on, you’ve danced with everyone else. Now it’s my turn. Play us a good one boys,” he yelled at the men on the wagon.

  Claire pushed at his hands on her waist and shook her head. “I don’t dance with drunken fools, let go of me.”

  Instead he leaned in, trying to force her head up to kiss her. She screamed at him and the soldiers in the group rushed up to take him in hand. Claire stepped back between her parents, struggling to keep from crying. The girls who had sung with her at the beginning crowded in and Claire suddenly shook her head and smiled.

  “It’s alright, I’m all right now. Come on girls, let’s sing another song for these nice people.”

  This time it was Dorothy who called the tune and the girls sang, Shall We Gather At The River. They closed with Goodnight Ladies as Father reminded everyone they would be leaving early in the morning.

  <><><>

  Claire walked back to her wagon surrounded by the children and her parents. After giving each a hug Goodnight, she accepted a boost up over the tailgate by her father.

  In the dark, she could see Henry walking back beside both the Brewer girls. They were talking to him and if she wasn’t mistaken, giving him an invitation to call on them. Her father watched her eyes narrow and when the girls left Henry at his wagon, he waited until the man disappeared inside to warn his daughter.

  “Henry’s a man of property. They will all be pursuing him now he’s a rich widower. Best make up your mind what you want girl, before he’s taken again.”

  Claire’s jaw dropped, ready to protest, but her Father was gone. Had he just given Henry his blessing? Was he right, if she didn’t say anything, Henry would be married again and out of reach mere weeks after his wife died? Did she want to say something to him?

  “Come to bed, Claire, I’m tired,” Mary Anne called.

  Claire scrambled in and shed her dress, corset, and voluminous petticoats. Sitting on the edge of the bed in her shift, she worked her dancing shoes off with a groan, then pulled off her stockings. “I’m sure you are. You danced every dance,” Claire said around a yawn.

  “Um-hum, all of them. Why are some boys so shy?” Mary Anne complained.

  Not bothering with a gown, Claire climbed beneath the quilt and reached out to tickle the sleepy child. “Some little redheaded boy in particular.”

  Mary Anne giggled and flipped over to catch her hands and stare at her. “It’s always the good ones that get away, isn’t it?”

  Claire snuggled the sighing child against her as she sighed herself. Was he really about to slip away again?

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  It was worse than she had imagined, the last weeks of the trek toward Utah. Every morning, she was disappointed that another day had come and gone without any sign of Bonnie. She tried not to notice, but Henry seemed changed since the dance. The terrible melancholy which had him moping about, ignoring his food and everyone’s efforts to talk to him, were over.

  The first thing she noticed was how he was arguing with Father again. Then she noticed he looked different. She tried to figure out what it was, but it was such a small change she wasn’t sure. Finally, one day Mary Anne asked him at the breakfast campfire. “Why did you trim your mustache, Uncle Henry?”

  The twins elbowed each other and smirked. Claire stood paralyzed as she realized that was it. Always a handsome man, she had admired him from the first time she saw him. He had a full head of sandy hair, a manly square face with twinkling blue eyes and an adorable mustache. Of course he was married to Bella, her boss, so she had tried to ignore all that. She told herself it was only because she favored a tailored man of fashion. Henry was a dapper man, and that was why she found him nearly impossible to ignore.

  On the trail, she had watched him change. At first, he seemed to hate the trail life as much as Claire. At the beginning, it was one of those things they shared, a willingness to listen to each other complain. Bonnie had told her he was a whiner like her, and that was what Claire liked about him. But during the trek, she had noticed him grow leaner, more muscular than before, and less likely to grumble. It was a good thing for a husband and she felt Bella was lucky. Now Bella was gone.

  Henry looked handsomer than ever, hair blonder, his eyes bluer in comparison with his browner skin. But these days she had noticed his face was always smooth shaven again, like it had been in Boston, except for his mustache. Staring at him, she saw it. He had snipped his mustache close, so the hair didn’t hide his upper lip like before. It made his mouth look even more, more kissable, than before.

  Claire felt her stomach sink. Ever since the fight they had in front of Calum Douglas, where she accused Henry of planning to kill the boy as soon as Bella was gone, he had acted like she was poison. Claire had tried to apologize several times, but Henry always had somewhere else he needed to be, something else he needed to do. He never had time to talk to her. What hurt most was he never wanted to make eye contact. In the same brown dress every day, her face and hair covered by the long-brimmed bonnet, maybe she had disappeared. The dress was the same pale color as the cloud of dust she walked through. She felt invisible to Henry.

  As she stirred the beans, Claire rubbed her fingers over the back of her hand. They used to be the softest hands at the mill. Now they were rough and dry. She was glad there wasn’t a mirror handy. />
  She looked up in time to see Faye Brewer beside the Lambton wagon. “I know you’ve probably had breakfast, but I just made donuts and thought you might like to eat them later.”

  Henry smiled at the girl and Claire sank onto the abandoned bench. The boys and Mary Anne were already rushing, Mary Anne to drive the wagon for Henry, the twins to help him and Father with the two wagons. Mother smiled at her, “You need to hurry making lunch. I’ll put away these dishes.”

  Claire pointed to Henry Lambton, still standing and talking to the awkward girl who had brought him food. “I don’t even know what a doughnut is, let alone how to make it. It sounds awful.”

  “Not sure, but I think it’s some kind of fried sweet. I’m sure if you asked, Faye would share her recipe.”

  Claire rolled her eyes as she stood in a rush. Father scooped up the empty bench to load on the wagon and stared at Claire’s peeved expression. He shook his head, then called over his shoulder. “Get a move on girl, we’re heading out.”

  Claire started to sit down and realized too late the seat was gone. As she sank to the hard ground, she heard Faye laughing as she walked away. For a moment, Claire felt like she might cry in frustration. Henry stared at her, shook his head and put the doughnuts beneath the bench, he had just secured to his wagon. Mary Anne sat there primly, watching as the boys moved the yoked oxen into position to chain to the wagon.

  Awkwardly Claire rose, accidentally putting her hand down on one of the blackened stones in the cold fire pit. Worse, she stepped on the hem as she stood and heard a tearing sound. She wiped her cheek and stepped back to free the hem. Carefully, she raised the skirt of the dress she had grown so weary of anyway. There was just a dusty footprint on the hem and as she tried to look behind her, she hoped there was no stain on the skirt. Satisfied, she released the full skirt and looked up to see Henry standing there, grinning at her.

  “What, you never saw anyone fall before?” From a distance, Claire saw her father already mounted and directing the wagons into position. Today they would be wagons seven and eight, but still, she didn’t have time for all this nonsense.

  She looked back at Henry, ready to snap at him again, when she saw his hand covering his mouth and a tear leaking from his eye. Surprised, she instinctively raised a hand as though to touch him and he caught her wrist. He turned it so she was looking at her black palm. She stared at him in horror, then looked down to see the black handprint on the side of her skirt.

  Before she could touch it, he raised her wrist again. Taking the dirty tea towel she had used to grip the skillet, he poured the last of the cold coffee over it. Nudging her bonnet back, he barked. “Stand still, hands out to your side. I’ve got this.”

  Quickly he scrubbed at her face while she rolled her eyes, trying to see what he was doing. Satisfied, he took her hand, her rough, dry hand, and carefully wiped the greasy black soot from her palm. He was rough and impatient. Claire heard the Raglon’s quarreling as they moved their wagon into line. When he finished, he studied her small face, noting the red area where he had scrubbed it so hard. He released her. “Worry about the smudge later. Have you loaded everything?”

  Claire grabbed the empty coffee pot, the filthy towel and her fire-dried skillet. Henry took the skillet, but kept a firm hand on her elbow as they rushed to the back of her wagon.

  As soon as he released her, Claire raised the stained skirt onto the tailgate and frantically scrubbed with the reverse side of the dirty cloth. All it did was smear. Henry moved quickly to block anyone’s view of her, but still when the gold-miners wagon drew abreast, James and George both hooted at them. Cheeks flaming, Claire dropped the damaged skirt and made sure her bonnet was secure to hide her flaming face before walking around to the side of the wagon to take her position.

  The wagon gave a lurch and she almost fell again. Looking heavenward, trying not to swear. Claire rushed to follow along beside her own wagon.

  <><><>

  Humiliated, Claire knew she would probably never be able to get the soot from the wood and the buffalo chip fire out of the fine woven cloth of the dress. Then there would be gossip. Faye had laughed when she saw her fall. What would she have to say if she knew Henry had washed her blackened face like some mother cat cleaning her kitten? Finally, the four men who had courted her unsuccessfully had clearly seen her with her skirt raised and her petticoat showing. Worse, she had been standing in broad daylight beside Henry Lambton, even though his back was turned to her.

  James or Cobb might never say anything to the others, but George would race to tell Faye. He still wanted the other girl for himself. Worrying, Claire was unaware of her mother’s voice until she grew irritated. “Claire, stop being a goose and answer me. Get up here beside me right now.”

  Claire would have argued that she had a job to do, but when she looked, she was walking along the outside edge of the trail, far from the oxen she thought she was switching.

  <><><>

  When James Temple rode back to check on her, Claire was once again sitting with her skirt raised and her petticoat exposed. Claire tugged at it, but Mother was so focused, she never released it. Claire blushed, but spoke as James raised his hat and then gave another of his hoots. Her mother jumped at the loud noise beside her and quickly lowered Claire’s skirt hem.

  Claire swiveled and leaned to look back through the wagon. Sure enough, James was now riding beside Faye. Whatever one cousin knew, the other knew almost immediately.

  Mother saw her face and asked with disgust. “Now what?”

  Claire described everything, from the fall, to the smeared blacking on her hands, face, and dress. She even described how when the four miners rode past, she had been trying to clean the smudge on her dress.

  “Whatever could be wrong with that?”

  Claire stared at her mother and then asked her if she knew why James had hooted at them as he rode past.

  “I don’t know, I was trying to clean your dress,” Mother's voice faded away as she realized what she had been doing. “Oh, oh dear.”

  Claire smiled for the first time all day. “Well, at least I’m not the only goose. You did the same thing Mother. We were both so focused on saving my dress we forgot about my reputation.”

  “Surely people will understand. My goodness, if one doesn’t realize it in time, you can always be looking at someone exposed in some way or other. There is just no privacy with everyone out in the open all day, or inside a lamp-lit tent at night. Why, you can see the outline of everything at night if you look. People know not to look, and they certainly know not to talk about what they see if they do look.”

  She tilted her head to stare at her Mother’s puffed cheeks and eyes sparkling with outrage. “I saw James ride over to talk to Faye Brewer as soon as he passed our wagon. She saw me fall and laughed at me this morning. But no, she wouldn’t gossip, not her.”

  “Well, who cares if they do? You did nothing wrong…,” she hesitated and stared at Claire, “… did you?”

  “No, Mother, I did nothing wrong except act like an idiot. May I get down and do my job? Are you satisfied?”

  “Yes, but be careful darling. It might be the vapors, they do leave one addled when it’s that time,” she whispered.

  Claire climbed down carefully and took the whip Mother handed back to her. She would have reminded her that her monthly was last week, but James was trotting past again. He tilted his hat as he passed, his mouth smirking in satisfaction. Claire shouldn’t have, but she let the ox whip drift just enough to land on his horse’s flank with a bright snap that sent the animal bucking for a second. This time she hid her own smile as he looked back at her with suspicion.

  <><><>

  The lead wagons were filing into the campsite for the night when they heard the first shouts. Each wagon behind them cheered as the troopers appeared, running at a trot toward the head of the wagon train. Claire stopped, careful to not move into their path, straining to recognize any of them. It was Ian and Shawn, who rode ba
ck to greet her as the other troopers helped the wagon form up a circle for the night. Calum Douglas pranced by on his big chestnut stallion, stopping when he reached their wagons to ask. “Has Bonnie arrived, she was headed this way?”

  Claire raised a hand to cover her mouth. “I thought you were bringing her back to us. Oh Calum, haven’t you found her?”

  The soldier removed his hat, sat restlessly on the big horse, and tried to find a smile. “She’s fine, wonderful. We rescued her from Chief Washakie’s camp a week ago. We’ve been at Fort McPherson together, it’s well, you know Bonnie. She heard there was a wagon train heading out, coming your way, and she wanted to rejoin this party. I couldn’t convince her that I needed her back at the Fort more than you people did on the wagon trail.” His voice faded away and he coughed to clear it before Mary Anne held up a dipper of water to him.

  He smiled down at the pretty, gray-eyed girl and sipped the warm water slowly. While he drank, he studied Claire. The little blonde was covered in dust from head to toe, her curls hidden by her bonnet. There was a rough red patch on her cheek, a big black stain on her dust colored dress. He noticed there was a gap where the dress had been torn near her waist. She certainly didn’t look like a porcelain doll. There was a worried frown on her face now, with the news about her friend.

  “I’ll leave the men to help you get set-up. We passed a train coming up, but none of them knew anything about her. I’m going back to check again.”

  “If she’s not in danger, why did you bring so many soldiers to find her?” Father Wimberley asked beyond his daughter’s shoulder.