The Long Way Home

by Lauraine Snelling

  The next day, as soon as Louisa had her men working at their assignments for the day, she took her writing case out under the magnolia tree. Shaking the ink, she set the square corked bottle back in its holder, dipped the quill, and started the first of at least two letters for the day.

  Dear Mrs. She stopped and forced her brain to remember the name of the young man who had died under their care. How she hated writing letters like this.

  . . . Benson,

  My name is Louisa Highwood, and I had the honor of knowing your son, Adam. He was brought to our house for care, but we were unable to quench the fever. He died praising you and his Lord. His last words indicated what a fine young man you raised. He said, ‘‘Mother, I did what you asked. I did my best.’’ I am so sorry, Mrs. Benson, that our best was not good enough to save your son. Please know that he is in a far better place. The look on his face as he died made me sure of that. With this letter I am enclosing his personal effects.

  Sincerely,

  She signed her name and wiped away a wet spot from her tears. At least she had not smudged the ink.

  Hearing a strange sound, she looked around her. Aunt Sylvania was reading from the local newspaper about how many Union prisoners had been exchanged for Confederate ones. Psalms would come next, and Shakespeare would be last. Yesterday one of the men had spoken the part of Petruchio that he’d memorized long before from The Taming of the Shrew.

  After a few minutes Louisa heard the noise again. She turned to look under the peony bushes. Surely it sounded like a kitten. But seeing nothing, she returned to her letter writing.

  In the letter to Jesselynn she told about her trip to Washington with Zachary, glossing over the frightening parts and trying to make her sister laugh about the dead possum.

  I am concerned about our brother though, dear sister. He confesses to no longer believing in our God and Savior, and at times a black cloud hovers over him that makes me fear for his soul. One minute he can be nice and the next nasty. I sometimes feel I am walking on eggshells with him. Please keep him and us in your prayers, as we do you. Your journey sounds exciting, and I am grateful you found a good wagon train. How I will bear having you on one side of this country and us on the other is more than I can comprehend.

  There now, I am getting maudlin and I promised myself not to do that. Right now you would get a laugh here, for Aunt Sylvania is reading The Taming of the Shrew, and one of our guests is playing Petruchio from memory. I keep looking around for a kitten that seems to be crying, but perhaps it is a mockingbird.

  Give Thaddeus a hug and plenty of kisses from all of us. He will be half grown before I see him, so tall I will not even know who he is.

  She deliberately kept the ‘‘if ’’ out of the sentence. Surely God would not be so cruel as to keep them apart forever. She signed her name, added the others, and prepared her letters for mailing.

  The cry came again. This time it was so close at hand she put down her case and began to crawl on her hands and knees, the better to peek under the low-lying bushes.

  ‘‘Oh, look.’’ She parted the spirea boughs to reveal a ginger kitten, so small it could fit in her palm, hiding in the shadows.

  ‘‘What is it?’’ One of the men stood and crossed to look down. ‘‘A kitten! Looks about six to eight weeks or so. How’d it get in here?’’

  ‘‘There are lots of places something so tiny could squeeze under our fence.’’ Louisa reached to pick up the kitten, but it backed away, hissing like it were grown rather than teacup sized. One tiny paw struck, scratching her finger.

  ‘‘Ouch! You little rascal.’’ She grabbed the animal before it could strike again and cupped it in her hands.

  ‘‘You want I should dispose of it?’’ The man beside her kept his voice to a whisper.

  ‘‘No, I think not. We all need a baby around. He’ll calm down, you’ll see.’’

  Louisa had to promise to scour the neighborhood looking for its owner before Aunt Sylvania agreed they could keep the kitten.

  ‘‘Might help keep the mice at bay. Sure is a feisty little thing.’’ Sylvania shook her head. ‘‘I don’t cotton much to cats, but if no one claims it . . .’’ She shrugged. ‘‘I reckon it is yours.’’

  While the kitten started out sleeping that night in a box in the pantry, it ended up with one of the soldiers sleeping on a pallet on the floor.

  The next afternoon when Louisa petted the purring kitten on her lap, she lifted the sleepy, limp golden body and looked into the kitten’s face. ‘‘I sure wonder why God brought you to us just at this time.’’ She rubbed the kitten’s pink nose with her own. ‘‘Bet He has something real important for you to do, hmm?’’ The little kitten yawned, his pink tongue curling, showing all the barbs that helped keep his short coat so shiny. ‘‘But you don’t care, do you? Give you a nice lap, gentle hands, and you’ll purr anyone to peace.’’

  But the feeling wouldn’t go away. Something was coming.

  CHAPTER TEN

  West of Fort Laramie

  The burn ignited in Jesselynn’s middle.

  Thaddeus started to cry. Sammy added a wail.

  Ophelia threw her apron over her head. ‘‘Lawd, have mercy.’’

  Meshach gathered the sobbing Sammy into one arm and his rocking wife into the other. ‘‘Shush now, both of you.’’

  Thaddeus threw himself against Jesselynn’s knees.

  Why is it that everyone feels they can tell me exactly what to do? Jesselynn held Thaddeus close, patting his back while she studied on her aunt’s words. She could feel the older woman’s flaming-iron gaze burning into the top of her bent head.

  Lord, right now I need wisdom beyond Solomon’s. And I need a good answer right now. She wanted to stalk off into the darkness. She wanted to scream at her aunt. She wanted others to share the joy that she felt inside.

  ‘‘Gray Wolf Torstead is a fine man.’’ There, that was peaceable rather than incendiary.

  ‘‘That is not what we are talking about!’’ The lash of the whip could not crack more fiercely.

  Jesselynn set Thaddeus gently away from her, waiting until Jane Ellen took the little boy into her lap. Ordering her reluctant body to obey, she rose to her feet, as if locking each joint as she stood so that her body would hold her upright.

  ‘‘Aunt Agatha, I know my mama and daddy would agree with you, but they are dead and gone—’’

  When Agatha started to interrupt, Jesselynn held up a re- straining hand. ‘‘Please allow me to have my say.’’ Agatha clamped her arms across her heaving bosom. Jesselynn nodded and continued, her voice as calm as if discussing the weather. ‘‘We left the South, and the war, to seek a new life. Part of that new life is to no longer judge men and women by the color of their skin.’’ She paused, letting her words sink in, but continued with her answer when Agatha appeared about to interrupt again. ‘‘I am going to say this only once. Wolf and I will be married at the fort. I want your blessing, but I don’t need it.’’ She turned to the rest of the folks gathered around the fire. ‘‘You are all invited, both to the wedding and to continue north with us, if you would like to. If any of you would rather wait and go on with another train heading west, that is up to you. You have about three days to decide before we make it back to the fort, unless another train comes along in the meantime.’’ However, since she’d not seen a westward bound wagon train on her journey back to the fort, that was unlikely.

  ‘‘I got a question.’’ Nate Lyons leaned forward.

  ‘‘Of course.’’

  ‘‘I heard rumors of Indian trouble. The Sioux don’t like all of us passin’ through their huntin’ grounds. We’d be up in their country, right?’’

  Jesselynn nodded. ‘‘But Wolf isn’t concerned about that. Red Cloud, one of the more well-known chiefs, is a distant relative of his. That’s who he was going to go live with.’’

  ‘‘Has he talked with Red Cloud yet?’’

  Jesselynn shrugged. ‘‘I’m not sure. I know h
e wants to help his tribe with supplies and such.’’

  ‘‘Seems, well, perhaps they would take offense at so many of us comin’ in one party.’’

  Jesselynn scratched under the sweatband of her hat. ‘‘I wish I knew the answer to that.’’ Why didn’t I ask Wolf some of these things? Because all you could think about was him. The two voices in her mind argued back and forth. ‘‘You’ll be able to talk with Wolf about those things when you see him.’’

  The silence coming from Aunt Agatha screamed a thousand protests.

  Mrs. McPhereson cupped her coffee mug in both hands. ‘‘Seems we’ll be seein’ plenty of changes comin’ ahead. Like a stout tree, if’n we don’t bend we’ll break. And you got to admit, life out here can be one big storm after another.’’

  ‘‘So are you thinking on returning east to your folks now that . . .’’ Jesselynn let her voice trail off.

  ‘‘Now that I’m widowed?’’ Mrs. Mac shook her head. ‘‘No, me and my boys here talked it over. There ain’t nothin’ for us back there, but in Wyoming or Oregon we can homestead and get our land for the workin’. That was Ambrose’s dream for us, the land, that is. I don’t pretend to think it will be free. We’ll earn every rock and tree. But we ain’t afeered a hard work. So we’ll go where you go. Good friends is worth more than gold, as the Good Book says, and I do believe it.’’

  ‘‘Well said.’’ Nate Lyons nodded with a look over to where Agatha sat, her knitting needles screaming of her displeasure. ‘‘And this way, we’ll get a jump on winter. Can even put up some hay for the horses, maybe.’’ He turned to where Meshach sat working on softening a tanned hide. ‘‘What about you?’’

  Meshach continued pulling the hide back and forth over a chunk of wood he’d smoothed and laid in a frame of crossed poles. The silence stretched like the hide he worked.

  Jesselynn tossed a couple of twigs from the ground into the fire, keeping her full attention on the orange-and-yellow dancing flames. She would not beg and plead. If Meshach felt going west was best for him, she would give him her blessing and one of the wagons along with the oxen to pull it. Daniel and Benjamin would have to make up their own minds too.

  Meshach looked up from his handiwork. ‘‘Me and ’Phelia, we had big dreams for Oregon, but no reason why those dreams can’t be here in Wyomin’. Free land is free land.’’

  Jesselynn fought the burning at the back of her eyes, wiped her nose with the back of her hand, and cleared her throat. ‘‘Thank you, my friend. I wasn’t sure how I was going to say good-bye to all of you.’’

  ‘‘Daniel and Benjamin, dey say stay too. Be tired of travelin’ wid no end in sight.’’

  Mr. and Mrs. Jesperson looked at each other, and the mister shrugged. ‘‘We ain’t made up our minds yet. Can I tell you after we get back to the fort?’’

  ‘‘Whatever suits you.’’

  ‘‘Do y’all mind me comin’ along? I ain’t got no menfolk no more, but I can work hard. Won’t be just another mouth to feed. I can sell my wagon at the fort or not, as you think.’’ Mrs. Jones stammered over her last words.

  Jesselynn kept from looking at Benjamin. Should she ask if Mrs. Jones found the body of her husband they had dragged into the bushes? And what happened to Rufus?

  ‘‘I . . . I think I better tell you a little story, so’s you know I . . . I’m a safe addition to the party.’’ Darcy Jones hung her clasped hands between her knees, her ragged skirt bunched around her legs. ‘‘Few days ago Rufus, that’s my husband’s brother, ya know. Well, he come stormin’ back into camp sayin’ Tommy Joe be dead. Found his body in the bushes, been stabbed.’’ She sniffed, but her eyes remained dry. ‘‘I could hardly believe it. I mean . . . But I ’’—she wiped her nose on her shirttail—‘‘I was goin’ to get him and give him a decent burial, ya know, when Rufus laughed like it were the funniest joke he ever heard. He come after me then, and I knew by the look in his eyes, he weren’t goin’ to stop until . . . well, you know. But afore he could throw me down, I ran. When he caught me, I grabbed the knife from the sheath at his side and . . . and . . .’’ She sighed and shook her head. ‘‘I hope the dear Lord can forgive me, but I couldn’t go on livin’ like that. I mean if’n he . . .’’ Her voice trailed away. ‘‘I dug one hole and buried them both.’’ She hid her face in her hands. ‘‘C-Can I come with you?’’

  The snap of fire eating sticks sounded loud in the silence. They could hear the cattle grazing. Crickets sang in the grasses.

  Jesselynn got to her feet, crossed the circle, and knelt down beside the woman who sat with hunched shoulders, the bones poking out like angel wings on her back. ‘‘Of course you can come with us. Why once we feed up your oxen, they’ll be plenty strong enough to pull the wagon.’’

  ‘‘Tommy Joe . . .’’ Darcy started and stopped, heaving a sigh that creaked her bones. She looked up to Jesselynn beside her. ‘‘He weren’t bad back in the beginnin’. He just never seemed to have any luck, you know. He said the whole world was agin’ him. He weren’t bad unless he be drinkin’.’’

  Jesselynn kept her thoughts to herself. Knowing how close she’d come to suffering some of Tommy Joe’s rage herself, she could feel nothing but pity for the woman beside her. Maybe this just proved the old saw that true love is blind. So, Lord, do I tell her? Wouldn’t that be cruel?

  ‘‘Rufus said ’twas prob’ly Indians what killed Tommy Joe.’’ Darcy shook her head. ‘‘An’ I kilt him. Do you think the good Lord will ever forgive me?’’

  Jesselynn put her arm around the shivering shoulders. ‘‘I do believe He will. All we need do is ask. Jesus died to save sinners, and we all sin.’’

  ‘‘But . . . not . . . l-like I did.’’ The shuddering sobs sounded worse as she tried to subdue them.

  Jane Ellen brought a square of cotton around for a handkerchief. ‘‘Here.’’ She tucked it in the woman’s hand.

  Jesselynn let Darcy cry in her arms. No matter how much she’d despised the two brothers and could find no way in her heart to feel bad they were gone, sorrow was sorrow, and she’d felt a mighty lot of it herself. She glanced up to see Aunt Agatha wipe her own eyes and return to her knitting.

  When the sobbing ceased, Jesselynn eased her leg out to release the cramp that had come from sitting on her foot all this while. ‘‘How about I take you back to your wagon, so you can go to sleep. Things always look better in the morning.’’ She more felt than saw the brief nod.

  After settling the woman, who was not much bigger than Jane Ellen, in her bedroll, Jesselynn strolled back to the fire. ‘‘Let’s bring the herd in for the night.’’

  Meshach folded the now softened hide and, after handing it to Ophelia, dismantled his roller and put it all back in the wagon bed. One more skin to sew into shirts or vests or whatever was needed most. ‘‘We do it.’’

  ‘‘All right.’’ Jesselynn looked around their small circle. Hardly room for all the oxen and horses, but they were much safer this way, and one person could stand watch rather than two.

  ‘‘I’ll take first watch,’’ Nate Lyons said from just behind her.

  ‘‘Good. Keep Patch with you. And watch Ahab if he gets restless. He’s the best watchdog around.’’ She wasn’t sure why she was telling him all this. He’d stood watch countless times and knew it all as well as she did.

  ‘‘She’ll get over it.’’ He kept his voice soft, for her ears alone.

  ‘‘Mrs. Jones?’’

  ‘‘Her too, but I meant Miss Agatha. Give her time, and she’ll come around.’’ He hunkered down at Jesselynn’s side. ‘‘She’s been through some rough changes.’’

  ‘‘As have we all.’’

  ‘‘True, but it’s harder for us older ones to adapt than you young’uns.’’

  Jesselynn felt a chuckle rising. ‘‘Young’uns?’’ She shook her head. ‘‘I’m old as those hills around us. Leastwise it feels that way.’’

  ‘‘You been through a lot. Now perhaps God is restorin’ the year
s of the locust for you.’’

  ‘‘The years of the war, you mean?’’

  ‘‘Them too. I got me a feelin’ we’re goin’ to see that valley where He pastures His sheep. He’ll have a place just for all of us, our new home.’’

  ‘‘Mr. Lyons, I do hope you are right.’’

  ‘‘Can’t you call me Nate, my dear?’’

  ‘‘I guess, but I like Nathan better.’’ Jesselynn smiled into his eyes, which were so much easier to see now that he’d been barbered. Such a fine-looking man they had found under all that hair.

  ‘‘Nathan it is, then.’’

  ‘‘Good night and sleep well. Tomorrow will be a better day.’’

  Since she didn’t have to take watch, she did just that, waking with the first sleepy birdsong. Three more days and she would see Wolf again. Her betrothed. What a wondrous word.

  In the morning Aunt Agatha looked through Jesselynn like she was invisible. Jesselynn shrugged and went to saddle Ahab. Nathan’s suggestion to give her aunt time echoed in her mind as she rode out of camp. From the way it looked, eternity might not be long enough.

  The drive back to the fort passed uneventfully, just the way Jesselynn liked it. She rode much of the way, topping the crests of the hills away from the wagons, alone for the first time in what seemed like forever. Thoughts of Twin Oaks intruded at times, but mostly she thought of Wolf, of all that had happened in the time since she first saw him at the camps in Independence. They had come so close to not being allowed to join his wagon train.

  That thought made her turn back to her small plodding wagon train. If only they could pick up the pace. She’d been engaged once before. But John went away to war before they could be married, and he never came back, his remains buried in some battlefield.