Dreams and Nightmares

by Shirley A. Roe

  “What do you think of Wyoming so far Martha?” Mrs. Mueller noticed the far away look in Martha's eyes. This one will have problems with this desolate place, she thought to herself.

  Brought back to the present by Mrs. Mueller's question, she stored her memory of the handsome Sergeant away for later. “I am reserving judgment until I see where we end up Olga.”

  “This will be a hard life. I feel very unsettled with all of these Indians in the area. I know they are under control right now, but what if they decide to rise up against us?” Margaret interjected.

  “Let's hope that doesn't happen. I suppose we will be living on a powder keg for some time. ” Martha returned her thoughts to the present conversation but continued scanning the area as the fort started to disappear. There were several soldiers working outside the fort and she carefully took in each face, hoping desperately for a last glimpse of the handsome Sergeant.

  “Did you hear those soldiers when we were loading the wagons, talking about the young sergeant who was found dead outside the fort? Someone slit his throat.” Margaret added shaking her head. “ They found him yesterday. Horrible, I am sure it was those savages.” Martha turned abruptly and looked at her, a sick feeling growing in the pit of her stomach.

  “Which Sergeant was it? Do you know his name?” she asked but she already knew the answer.

  “Dwayne or Dwyer, something like that. Why did you know him? Martha you look like you are going to be sick. Are you all right?”

  Martha's face lost all color. She felt as if she were tumbling into a deep dark well. The two women supported her, each one taking her by the elbow. They held her for a few minutes until the color came back to her cheeks. Regaining her composure and seeing the worried looks on the faces of her friends, she made the excuse that it must be the heat and the excitement. Satisfied, they walked along in silence. She held back the tears remembering the handsome young man. She tried to deny it but she knew what had happened. Sergeant Dwyer was dead. His throat slit. It was a savage all right, but not the kind they are thinking of. Goosebumps rose on her arms as the cold fear filled her very soul.

  Jebediah, Martha, Isaac, Abraham and Ezekiel arrived at their chosen acreage early in the morning. The walking had helped her stow Sergeant Dwyer's memory safely in the back of her mind along with the fear for her own life. She convinced herself that she must accept the situation and do her best not to aggravate Jebediah. By the time they arrived, she had herself under control. The boys were elated with the open plains. Martha, making a conscious effort to be positive, noticed the beauty and serenity of the area. She was almost relieved to be here. Green grasses moved in the wind like waves on the ocean. The cloudless sky was bright blue. Jebediah had chosen well and the river flowed through their property and then on to the other homesteaders. She did not realize that Jebediah had chosen this land as another form of control. Being in control of the water source put him at a definite advantage. Acres of green prairie grass spread out before them as far as the eye could see; a faint sweet scent of wildflowers blew on the wind. Foothills could be seen in the distance and the vastness of it put Martha in awe. Everything she had encountered in the Americas was foreign to her. Because the properties were large, no neighbors could be seen from the location of their homestead. Martha became conscious that this was going to be a lonely life.

  “You realize that we'll be living in the wagon for a few more weeks until our sod home is finished. We'll all have to pitch in to build this home and that means you Martha.” Jebediah grasped her arm, turning her to face him. “You may not want to hear this but your fancy lifestyle is over. You will work side by side with the boys and I until this home is finished.” Jebediah's tone as always was sharp and abrupt. She avoided his gaze, fearfully gulping down the bile that rose in her throat. His grip tightened on her arm. He was sending her a silent message and she understood completely. She was alone. There was no escape.

  “Fine, I just want to have a home to sleep in and a place to take a bath in privacy. Ezekiel, come back here. There are snakes and savages and who knows what out there.” Jerking her arm from Jebediah, Martha started off after Ezekiel. She moved in his direction distancing herself from Jebediah as much as she could. She knew that this was going to be another trial in her life and suddenly wished for the camaraderie of the wagon train. Sergeant Dwyer was dead, she was sure that it was because of her. Tears pooled in her eyes as she made her way through the long grass. He just talked to me- that was all. He didn't deserve to die. What kind of a man am I married to? She offered up a prayer of apology to the dead soldier. She rubbed her arm where the red welts left by Jebediah's fingers were beginning to appear. The thought of living all alone with Jebediah, with no distractions or company loomed like a nightmare.

  The next morning, the men gathered together to discuss the building of the sod homes. “First thing we have to do is cut bricks out of the ground. Then turn the grass side down and stack the bricks up to make walls. The roof will be made from thin logs and sod and we can put a layer of straw on top to help keep the water out. I have built a few of these and they work quite well. Nothing fancy but after living in a wagon even the women should be happy with their new homes.” James Brown led the conversation since he had lived in the west the longest and the men were soon planning to get together and build all of the homes over the next few weeks.

  Women, children and men all worked together gathering sod for the homes and soon the new community was taking shape. Greased paper was used for windows and dirt floors were the norm. Martha was surprised at her endurance as she worked cutting and carrying sod. At night she fell into an exhausted sleep and dreamt of Graystone. Often she dreamt that she was waltzing with Sergeant Dwyer, around and around they would whirl. The harmonious music lifted her up like the comforting arms of a lover. His handsome face smiling at her, she looked deep into his eyes. Suddenly his head would fall to the side, a huge gash across his throat. Blood poured from the gash over her gown like a river of red death. A silent scream exploded in her ears. Night after night she awoke, perspiring and terrified.

  Within a fortnight, their sod home was built and they had shelter from the wind and dust. Martha thought that the home was not much better than the root cellars back in England but she didn't express her opinions out loud for fear of angering her husband. She had overheard Jebediah say that they would build a log home once the timber was available from the nearby logging mill and he calculated the state of their finances. Jebediah was determined to blend in with the other homesteaders and most of them had little or no funds. The ones that survived the winter would live in sod houses for years to come. Martha, not knowing the state of Jebediah's finances, simply hoped that building the log house would be soon. She clung to the thought that the log house would provide some comfort. Fighting the darkness of depression, she convinced herself that once the log house was built, things would improve. She needed something positive to cling to. Sitting in the tiny sod hut she looked around at her surroundings; walls made of sod and mud, rough- cut lumber and planks made up what little furniture they had. The house smelled damp and earthy. The smell brought back early childhood memories. She and Austin, hiding in the root cellar back in England not a care in the world. It was their medieval fort and she was the princess with her prince beside her. Childish laughter echoed in the recesses of her mind. How long ago and far away it all seemed now. Stop it Martha, think of something positive. She told herself, first her trunks would arrive with decent clothing and then they would build a log house to live in. Everything else about the situation was negative and frightening. Her foot caught on her torn petticoat when she rose from the chair. Sitting back down she tore the bottom three inches off the soft silk garment. Martha lifted the torn silk to her face. Tenderly she pressed it to her cheek as tears formed in her eyes. Tearing to shreds, just like my life. Thread after thread, my very self is wearing away. She put the crumpled silk in her pocket. Sadly, she left the sod house and went in search of the boy
s.

  To Martha, the sod house seemed to disappear into the landscape when you walked away from it, maintaining the impression of vacant, uninhabited plains. She thought of how lovely her home was in England and no matter how hard she tried to be positive like Margaret, her depression and feelings of separation continued.

  Pioneer's days were spent digging wells; building fences for cattle, planting crops and helping the other homesteaders build their homes. It was hard tiring work, taking every ounce of strength and determination. Soon the homesteaders were settled and a celebratory party was planned.

  “Now don't be late getting in from the fields, you know the party is this afternoon. I have waited all week for this and I'll not be late.” Martha, now inured to drudgery and distress, instructed the two younger boys as they left for their chores. She was looking forward to seeing Margaret and sharing some female conversation and companionship. “I wish my trunks would arrive from the east, I'm almost out of clothes to wear.” She looked down at her skirt. The grass stains permanently etched into the faded fabric.

  “Don't be waiting for those trunks, they aren't coming.” Jebediah sneered as he left the house.

  “What do you mean they aren't coming, you told me you made arrangements to send everything before we joined the wagon train. All of my dresses and personal belongings were in those trunks.” Martha, hands covered in flour, left her piecrust and followed Jebediah who turned and glared at her as he stopped in the doorway. She quickly realized her mistake in taking that tone by the glaring look on Jebediah's face. She swallowed the lump that was forming in her throat.

  “Cost too much to send them so I just left them with the hotel manager. I'm sure they have disposed of them by now. No place to wear fancy ball gowns here anyways.” He stepped toward her and she quickly retreated. “ Now try and make a good job on those pies for the party, I don't want to be embarrassed.” With that, Jebediah abruptly turned and climbed on his horse. Isaac, on his own mount stared at Martha with distaste. His words stung like a slap.

  Tears pooled in her eyes as she prepared the food for the party. How could he have done that to me, what does he want from me? She recalled how he watched as she looked desperately for any sign of the wagon that would deliver her things. He never said one word about them not coming until now. No trunks, no clothes, no shoes or petticoats, what am I to do? Even the books that she hoped to read to Ezekiel were lost. Jebediah had books for the boy's lessons but she wanted Ezekiel to hear wonderful stories of England. The small, blond boy had grown much closer since his accident and although her feeling for the other boys remained neutral, she could honestly say she loved little Ezekiel. The thought of receiving her belongings was the only thing that kept her going. She waited each morning for the wagon to pull up in front of the sod house and deliver her trunks. Patiently she waited. For nothing-I have been waiting for nothing and Jebediah knew all along. He probably enjoyed watching me waiting and waiting. Is there no end to his cruelty? Suddenly she realized that her mother's portrait was amongst the lost belongings. Her body shook. She sobbed uncontrollably. After all she had endured thus far this was the final blow. She wore the same three dresses for months, patching, sewing and washing them over and over. Martha realized that her ball gowns would have no place in this environment but her day dresses would have suited her perfectly. With her newly honed sewing skills she could have converted the material from the gowns into wearable clothing. Now even this was taken from her. Why bother? she thought to herself. I tried to be positive. I tried to look forward, believing things would be better when the trunks arrived, where did it get me? Things just keep getting worse. In desperation, she took out a letter she had been composing to Austin from its hiding place and read her last entry:

  At last we have arrived at our destination. The words “we are finally here,” have a hollow ring, when “here” is the same vast uninhabited wasteland that we have traveled for the past months. The spirits of myself and the other women spiraled downward when we came to the realization that our trials had just begun now that we are finally “here”.

  Several days ago the men returned from the buffalo hunt. After witnessing the devastation I cannot believe my eyes. Such a wanton destruction of buffalo, the main source of food and pelts for the Indians, is reprehensible. The men cannot suppress the desire of engaging at least once in the buffalo chase. Even Isaac longs to go with Jebediah and the other men to partake in the senseless slaughter. So much like his father is Isaac, serious, silent, lacking in emotion.

  Taking pen in hand, tears staining the paper, she added:

  I have just learned that my belongings have been left behind in the east, including my mother's portrait. How I have waited for those trunks. Anticipating their arrival was the only thing that kept me sane. I'm devastated Austin, my life is a shambles. I'm here in the desolate Wyoming Territory with a man I despise, rags for clothing and no hope for the future. I have honestly tried to be optimistic but one thing after another drags me back to my sense of hopelessness. Oh Austin, what is to become of me?

  Although, Martha knew that Austin would not receive this letter for at least six to nine months, if she could get it to the Pony Express rider at all, it made her feel closer just to write to him. Perhaps she would include this letter in a letter for Aunt Phoebe and was very careful to keep her letters well hidden. Jebediah forbade her to contact anyone. She folded the paper and returned it to its hiding place.

  Trying to shake off her feelings of desperation, Martha regained her composure and set herself to the tasks at hand. The dough was soft against her kneading fingers and the smell of cooked apples filled the tiny cabin. Thank goodness Emma taught her to make a decent pie. After receiving the last blow on the trail, angering Jebediah was something she learned to avoid. Martha came to realize that Jebediah's expectations were for her to portray the simple, supportive wife in public. Any animosity that existed was not to be revealed to others. She learned quickly to repress both her urge to argue and her emotions if she wanted any contact with the outside world. The demise of Sergeant Dwyer loomed like a dark shadow in the back of her mind. If Jebediah is capable of that, what else will he do? She shivered as fear ran down her spine turning her cold. Rubbing the goose bumps that were forming on her arms, she knew she would have to be very careful around Jebediah. Refusing to give in to the terror that was starting to envelope her, she set the pies on the table and took out her sewing box. She would have to sew the tear in the dress she was wearing and patch the others that she wore on the trail. Oh, Lord, is this torture never going to end?

  Chapter Five- Back in London

  “Don't you walk away from me John McGuire. I demand to know why you have condemned your only child to a life of hell with that horrible Jebediah Whittaker.” Aunt Phoebe screamed in the face of her surprised brother-in-law, John.

  “Come in and stop that screeching. The servants will hear you.” John stepped back to allow the furious, tiny creature to enter the manor house.

  Phoebe Hunter at only five feet tall was in spirit, much larger than most men. She swept into the room with her finger pointing towards John's face and her demeanor reminded John of an angry wet hen.

  “Have a seat and tell me what has gotten you all worked up, Phoebe. I'll have Emma bring in some tea and pastries.” John reached for the cord that hung by the fireplace, which would summon Emma from the kitchen.

  “Never mind your pastries, Mr. McGuire, I demand to know what you have done to my sister's daughter and I'm not leaving until I find out.” Phoebe stomped her tiny foot and glared at John McGuire with a face so like his dead wife's that he shook his head in disbelief. Although smaller in stature and two years younger than Lillian, the two sisters bore a startling resemblance.

  “I have not done anything to Martha. She simply married Jebediah Whittaker and traveled with her new husband and his three sons to the Americas.” John was starting to recover from Phoebe's irate entrance. Not wanting to give Phoebe any more information th
an was necessary, he tried to skirt around the facts. He paced the room, avoiding eye contact. Choosing his words carefully, he kept the tiny tyrant from asking too many questions. The entire group of investors was meeting this afternoon to discuss the development of the huge parcels of land they had purchased from Jebediah. He had no intention of letting Phoebe in on any of that information. It was important that he satisfy her curiosity and get her settled before he could go to his meeting.

  “Young ladies do get married, you know Phoebe. I really do not understand your attitude. Oh good, Emma you can set the tray by Phoebe, she likes to pour herself.” The silver tea service was placed on the small table in front of Phoebe. The astute Emma, once again sensing trouble quickly exited. “Besides, you know what a handful Martha can be. I really think this is for the best.”

  “My niece sent a message that she was coming to stay with me in London and next thing I hear is that you have married her off and she is gone. I think I'm entitled to some answers and I'm not leaving until I get them.” Slowly and carefully she poured the steaming tea into the china teacups. “Austin Wells called on me last week and he had no idea that any of this had happened. We both know that Martha and Austin never make a move without the other one knowing about it and he and I both demand some answers.”