The Long Way Home

by Lauraine Snelling

‘‘He says they’ll be ready.’’

  Jesselynn didn’t even try to stop the snort that put paid to his comment. ‘‘You could give these people one more day of rest.’’ She held up a hand when he started to answer. ‘‘I know, you got to get over the mountains.’’

  Pushing against the unrest that weighed on her, she got to her feet with a sigh. ‘‘You know, I think we’ll go the other way. Anyone wants to go with us, they’ll be welcome.’’ She pushed a coal back in the fire with the toe of her boot. ‘‘And you know what else? I sure do hope you learned your lesson about circling the wagons at the first roll of thunder. Might save a number of lives that way.’’

  At his first move toward her, Meshach insinuated himself between them. ‘‘Time to be movin’ on, suh.’’ His voice, though gentle, held a flicker of steel.

  ‘‘You think you know so much, I wouldn’t let you come with my train if’n you paid double.’’ His growl and scowl narrowed her eyes and drew her hand to the knife at her side.

  ‘‘Good night, Mr. Cobalt. Go with God.’’

  He glared again, spun on his heel, and strode away. Jesselynn wondered if he could feel the daggers she was sending him.

  ‘‘You think I made the right choice?’’ She glanced up at Meshach.

  ‘‘Yes, suh, I do.’’

  ‘‘I sure hope so. Dear God, I hope so.’’ But what if I didn’t? The thought kept her staring at the stars, seeking an answer that never came.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  ‘‘I’m goin’ back for Wolf,’’ Jesselynn announced two days later.

  ‘‘How will you ever find him?’’ Aunt Agatha stared at her niece with a look of utter confusion.

  ‘‘Perhaps he stayed on at Fort Laramie. I know he needed to purchase supplies for his family.’’

  ‘‘Maybe we should all go back with you. It safer’n stayin’ here.’’ Mrs. McPhereson stared around at the ridgetops, as if expecting Indians to ride down on them from all sides.

  Jesselynn ignored Mrs. Mac’s comment, looking instead to Meshach, who made no comment.

  ‘‘But what if he ain’t there?’’ Aunt Agatha said.

  That was the hole in her bucket all right. What if Wolf had indeed gone north to only God knew where? Jesselynn looked around at her troop that had seemed adequate until the other wagons pulled out. Could they make it to Oregon with only five wagons? Surely there was safety in numbers, but this is what they had. Could they make it without a guide?

  It would be hard to miss the trail.

  ‘‘We could always wait for another train to come along. Could wait right here in fact.’’ Aunt Agatha stirred the coals and moved the coffeepot back over the heat. ‘‘I can always think better over a cup of coffee. How about the rest of you?’’

  Meshach looked up from testing the shoes on the oxen. He’d already reset Ahab’s. ‘‘You can’t ride dere alone.’’ He made the statement with a ‘‘no argument’’ look.

  Why does everyone think they can tell me what to do? I’m supposed to be in charge here. Jesselynn looked up in time to catch a glance between Aunt Agatha and Meshach. What in tarnation did that mean?

  ‘‘I can make better time on Ahab alone than with everyone else.’’

  ‘‘Domino go just as fast.’’ Meshach nodded at Benjamin. ‘‘Him too.’’

  Jesselynn sighed. Of course he was right. But if something happened to her, the rest of them could go on, and they’d need Benjamin. But one glance at the set to Meshach’s lower jaw and she knew better than to argue. When had he become their leader? She was the eldest Highwood. She rubbed the side of her face where the mosquitoes had feasted the night before. Since no one had elected her wagon master, or mistress in her case, she realized she needed to ask everyone’s opinion.

  As soon as they all had cups of coffee, she cleared her throat. ‘‘Y’all know that I think I should ride back for Wolf. I need to know what you think.’’ She looked to Nate Lyons, then to Mrs. McPhereson, and finally to the Jespersons, who were still having trouble with their wagon and had decided to join them at the last minute.

  ‘‘Seems to me the choices are to wait here, head on west, all of us return to the fort, or you and Benjamin ride for help.’’ Nate ran his tongue over his teeth and, squinting, nodded. ‘‘Guess now that you asked, I’m in favor of all of us returnin’ to the fort. Just in case Wolf can’t be found or, if he can, refuses to come.’’ He looked to Mrs. McPhereson. ‘‘What say you?’’

  Mrs. Mac glanced over her cup at Jesselynn, then to her near-grown son. ‘‘I say wait a day and start back in the mornin’. Give the Jespersons here time to work on their wagon so two oxen can pull it. Perhaps they can find another span back at the fort.’’

  ‘‘Thankee. That would be good.’’ The husband and wife, he with a sling and her with a limp, both of them blue with bruises, nodded to each other and then to the others.

  More people, Lord. You’ve added to our troop again. How will I feed them all, get them to Oregon safely? Jesselynn felt the weight of the load settle about her shoulders, heavy like a buffalo cape.

  ‘‘Should pray ’bout it before doin’ anythin’.’’ Meshach’s words carried the simple truth of all the ages. ‘‘We be in God’s hands.’’

  ‘‘We be in God’s hands.’’ Thanks, Lord, for the reminder. I almost took it all on myself—like I used to. What do you want us to do?

  Meshach stood and, with an arm about Ophelia’s shoulders, drew her into the circle that formed without conscious action on anyone’s part. Heads bowed, and a silence settled over the group. Even Sammy, who jabbered constantly, stuck his finger in his mouth and leaned against his father’s shoulder. Thaddeus one-armed Jesselynn’s leg and leaned against her, Patch next to him. Jesselynn dropped her head forward, relief stealing from the top of her head to the heels of her boots. She closed her eyes, the better to concentrate. Father God, thank you, thank you. I know I don’t have to do it all, that you will. You are right here with us. You never left. No matter how big this land is, you are bigger. She let the tears seep without wiping them. She wanted to hug herself, to sing and dance and shout for joy, to run up the hills and throw herself down in the grass to roll back down. The black anxiety that threatened had been blown away.

  ‘‘God is in His heavens and on this earth, and all will be well. All will be well. We are His and the sheep of His pastures. He is the shepherd, and He guards the sheep. If anyone hear His voice and comes to Him, He will come in and . . .’’ Meshach’s deep voice rose on eagle’s wings.

  Jesselynn sniffed and blinked hard. Music bubbled inside her, a meadowlark trilled on the breeze, the wind sang in the grasses. The sky arched above them and on forever, the deep blue of a rain-washed summer day.

  ‘‘ ‘The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want.’ ’’ Aunt Agatha began the psalm, and around the circle each one added a phrase.

  ‘‘ ‘He maketh me to lie down in green pastures:’ ’’

  ‘‘ ‘He leadeth me beside the still waters.’ ’’

  ‘‘ ‘He restoreth my soul:’’

  ‘‘ ‘He leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name’s sake.’ ’’

  As one, their voices lifted. ‘‘ ‘Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me. Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies: thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over.’ ’’ The voices ebbed, then swelled. ‘‘ ‘Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life: and I will dwell in the house of the Lord for ever.’ ’’

  The meadowlark sang liquid notes, pouring peace over their heads and into their hearts.

  ‘‘Amen.’’ Thaddeus’s voice rang out, strong and firm beyond his years.

  Jesselynn picked him up and buried her face in his shirtfront. She sniffed again and used his sleeve to dry her eyes.

  Thaddeus put a chubby hand on either side of her face and looked deep into
her eyes. ‘‘Don’t cry, Jesse. Jesus be here.’’

  The tears burned again behind her eyes and filled her nose. ‘‘Yes, Thaddy, Jesus most certainly be here.’’ She settled her little brother on her hip and looked to those around the circle. Everyone was either blowing or wiping, but their smiles wavered only a little. ‘‘Well, what do we do?’’ she asked.

  ‘‘Go back to the fort. But you and Benjamin ride on ahead.’’ Nate Lyons glanced at the others to get their nods of agreement. ‘‘if’n Wolf is leavin’, you might could stop him, so’s he can listen to us.’’

  Jesselynn nodded. ‘‘We leave before sunrise, then?’’

  Again more nods.

  Meshach tossed the dregs of his cup into the fire to sizzle and steam. ‘‘Mr. Lyons, you want I should check your oxen shoes?’’

  ‘‘If you would be so kind.’’

  A humph came from Agatha, and she stuck her head in the back of the wagon, ostensibly searching for something. Jesselynn, leaning against the rear wagon wheel, could hear her muttering.

  ‘‘Butter wouldn’t melt in that man’s mouth. ‘If you would be so kind’, indeed.’’ She mimicked his rusty voice perfectly.

  And here Jesselynn had thought perhaps a truce had been called, or that her aunt had finally realized what a fine man old Brushface, as she called him when he was out of earshot, really was. She’d heard Meshach and Ophelia laughing about them one night. Ophelia was sure Nate was sweet on Aunt Agatha and that all he needed was a little encouragement.

  The look on Agatha’s face brooked no encouragement. Or doth the lady protest too much? Jesselynn dug her knife out of the case and used the newly sharpened tip to clean her fingernails. What would happen if they threw Mr. Lyons in the creek along with a bar of soap and instructions not to come out until both he, including hair, and his clothing were scrubbed clean? Surely he had another pants and shirt in that wagon of his.

  She pushed away from the wagon and went searching for Mark, Nate’s thirteen-year-old grandson. Her fingers itched to use the scissors on Mr. Lyons’ hair and beard. If her plan worked, Aunt Agatha would no longer be able to refer to him as Brushface.

  ‘‘I ain’t a’gonna! I look fine just the way I am!’’ Nate waved his arms, trying to grab hold of those behind him.

  ‘‘Shush, you want her to hear you?’’ Jesselynn managed to speak around the laughter exploding around her.

  ‘‘Don’t care. Stop, please, I gotta get my watch out.’’

  They let him dig his pocket watch and fob out of his leather vest, and his grandson accepted the offering with appropriate reserve. But the light dancing in his eyes earned him a sock on the shoulder from his glowering grandfather. With that taken care of, Meshach and Benjamin each grabbed an arm, Daniel pushed from behind, and Nate Lyons splashed into the waist-deep pool surrounded by drooping willows and whispering cottonwood.

  ‘‘Here’s the soap, Grandpa.’’ Mark waded out to hand the spluttering man soap and a washcloth. ‘‘Your towel is up there.’’ He motioned toward a tree limb. ‘‘Me ’n Patch, we gonna stand guard.’’

  ‘‘Yer clean clothes are waitin’ dere too.’’ Benjamin pointed to the same tree limb.

  ‘‘Bring him back here when he’s dressed,’’ Jesselynn hissed from behind the tree. They were far enough from camp to not be overheard, but she was taking no chances. She’d even found a stump for him to sit upon in her impromptu parlor. With ivory comb and sharpened scissors in her hands, she was ready to go to work.

  When Lyons clumped through the brush, the look he sent her from under shaggy brows made her smile and swallow her laughter. His wet hair hung in curling locks to his shoulders, and his beard did the same on his chest.

  ‘‘You sure you know how to cut hair properlike?’’

  ‘‘Learned at my mother’s knee, just like I learned most everything else. Got so’s my brothers would rather have me cut their hair than Mother, said I got it more even.’’ Jesselynn studied the mass before her. ‘‘This is going to take some whacking.’’

  ‘‘Whackin’! You said—’’

  ‘‘Just teasing.’’ She clamped her elbows into his shoulders and pushed him back down. She leaned forward just a bit and whispered in his ear. ‘‘Don’t you know I’m trying to help you?’’

  He cranked his head around to peer up at her. One hand came out to push back the locks that obscured his vision. ‘‘Help me what?’’ He huffed as he turned forward again.

  Jesselynn lifted a lock and snipped, then repeated the action with the next, starting with the top of his head.

  ‘‘Help me what?’’

  ‘‘Sit still or you’re going to have a mighty funny haircut.’’ She snipped as she spoke.

  He sighed, a heavy sigh that rocked his shoulders. ‘‘Sometimes help is awful painful.’’

  ‘‘You know, you have very nice hair, thick, and now that I can see it without the dust, a fine color.’’ How old are you? Maybe I shouldn’t think of you as ‘‘old man.’’ There didn’t seem to be much gray in the fox red mass.

  ‘‘Thankee, I guess.’’ His shoulders slumped. ‘‘You wouldn’t mind tellin’ me what kind a help I’m needin’, would you?’’

  Now it was Jesselynn’s turn to sigh. ‘‘Ophelia seems to think you are sweet on Aunt Agatha. . . .’’ She waited for some sort of answer. When he didn’t respond, she shook her head and continued snipping. Now all the ringlets lay in a pool at her feet. With the comb she lifted the hair, held it between two fingers and cut. Slowly but surely, snip by snip, a well-shaped head appeared. ‘‘So are you?’’

  ‘‘Are I what?’’

  ‘‘Dear Lord, preserve us.’’ She combed his damp hair back to reveal a broad forehead. The hair fell in waves, glinting in the sunlight. ‘‘Well, I’ll be . . .’’

  ‘‘What in tarnation are we talkin’ about?’’

  Jesselynn stopped her barbering, leaned forward, and whispered in his ear. ‘‘Are you sweet on Aunt Agatha?’’

  ‘‘The way she treats me? What kinda idjit you think I am?’’ He spun around to stare at her.

  ‘‘You need your eyebrows trimmed too. I’ll do them when I work on your beard.’’

  ‘‘I kin cut my own beard.’’

  ‘‘But you didn’t, so I will.’’ She leveled a gaze at him that would stop a charging buffalo. When he clamped his eyes shut, she tapped him on the nose. ‘‘Relax. I promise not to stab you.’’

  ‘‘ ’Sides, she don’t like me.’’

  ‘‘Maybe so, maybe no.’’ She trimmed the sides of his face. ‘‘You want to keep the mustache?’’

  ‘‘Yes.’’

  ‘‘Why? You have a well-formed mouth. You know, I think there’s been a handsome man hiding behind all this hair.’’

  His skin took on the tone of the hair and felt hot. He closed his eyes.

  Jesselynn made one more pass with the comb and scissors, then stepped back. She tilted her head, studying him from all sides. Using her fingers, she fluffed the hair and combed the sides back. ‘‘Sure do wish I had a mirror here for you to see.’’ She removed the sheet she’d tied around his neck and brushed the hair off his shoulders and shirtfront with it.

  ‘‘There now, that didn’t kill you, did it?’’

  He studied his hands before looking up at her. ‘‘You think there could be a chance for me? With Miss Agatha, I mean.’’ His voice was so low, Jesselynn had to lean forward to hear him.

  ‘‘I’m thinking there might. You read her some of that Shakespeare every night and just be your sweet self in general, and how could she not enjoy your company?’’ And besides, she might have to beat off Mrs. Mac when they see what a handsome man we’ve been driving with.

  Nate nodded, slapped his hat against his thigh, flinched at the dust cloud that billowed, and let out a breath. ‘‘Guess I better wash the hat too. No tellin’ what water might do to it.’’ He stared at the relic that looked like mice had nibbled off nest lining from its brim.

&
nbsp; Jesselynn stepped back. ‘‘Glad you see it thataway. Maybe a dunking would suffice. Get rid of the dust at least, though how your hat can be so dusty after that rainstorm we had—’’

  ‘‘Ingrained, I ’magine.’’ He turned the hat in his hands, poking a finger through one hole. ‘‘Goin’ to have to be soap.’’ Shaking his head, he got to his feet. ‘‘Thankee, Miss Jesselynn. You done me a world a service.’’

  Jesselynn ignored the ‘‘Miss’’. Nate Lyons had always called her Marse Jesse like the others. Looked like they’d become friends at last. After all, from now on, she could go by Miss Jesselynn again, britches or no britches. ‘‘Thank you, and you are most indeed welcome.’’

  Agatha never said a word when Nate Lyons presented himself back in camp, but she poured him a cup of coffee and handed it to him without a harrumph or even that stitched look about her mouth.

  Nate drank the coffee down and hung the cup back on the row of mugs.

  ‘‘Where’s your hat?’’ Agatha moved the coffeepot into the cooler coals.

  ‘‘Gave it a drubbin’.’’

  ‘‘Might be I could patch that hole in the crown.’’ She didn’t look at him as she spoke but studied the potholder twisting in her hands.

  ‘‘Bein’ as it’s wool felt, you s’pose I could trim up that brim with a scissors?’’

  ‘‘Perhaps. But you might want to put it back on your head so the crown don’t shrink.’’

  ‘‘Thankee for the good advice. I’ll go do that.’’ Nate Lyons left the cook fire whistling.

  Jesselynn, standing out of sight behind the wagon, used every bit of her self-control to keep from whooping and hollering. Those two had spoken more words to each other in the last five minutes than in all the rest of the trip combined.

  She strolled out and, taking a mug off the rack, poured herself a cup of coffee. ‘‘Old Brushface surely is looking good.’’

  For that she did get a humph but an exceedingly weak one.

  Meshach winked at Jesselynn when she passed by his forge and anvil, and Ophelia giggled behind her fingers.