A Light in the Wilderness

by Jane Kirkpatrick

  Smoke from cooking fires rose then flattened in the heavy overcast sky, causing soft coughing in the midday mist. Letitia kept a close eye on the Bowman children while she bounced young William on her hip, allowing Sarah to catch her breath.

  “I declare if I am puny all the way to Oregon I will surely die.” Sarah pressed her hand against the wagon and lowered her head to rest it, flattening the front of her bonnet as she did. She’d been sick twice since they’d arrived at the gathering site. She stood, wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “I’ll take William now. You dump the thunder bucket, Letitia. See if you can rinse it out too, and before you go, find me a bit of dried fruit to take this puny taste from my mouth.”

  Letitia did as she was asked. Or ordered.

  As she was on her way to the makeshift latrine with bucket in hand, Sarah’s brother shouted at Letitia to help his mother wrestle a barrel lid. No reason he couldn’t help his own mother ’cept he was a man, busy dealing with man things.

  “I’m tendin’ Missus Bowman right now, suh.” Letitia lifted the thunder bucket so he could see.

  “You can do more than one thing, girl,” he said, a bite to his words as he passed her by. She wasn’t supposed to have priorities, or if she did, her priority was well down on anyone else’s list.

  Yes, she could help more than one person at a time, and did, with the two of them lifting the lid to cover the flour.

  “Thank you, Letitia,” Sarah’s mother said. A child cried in the nested quilts in the back of the wagon. “Oh, could you watch James for a bit while I catch my breath. I declare I’m too old for this birthing.” Sarah’s mother had a newborn while her daughter dealt with morning sickness. The older woman sank back against the wheel.

  James cooed in Letitia’s arms, his mother sighed, and she heard Sarah calling for her. Here was the truth of it: Both women headed west. Both gave orders. So would everyone else. She’d be straddling freedom and different kinds of chains. Every day. They might be in new territory, but it would be with the same people bringing what they knew to wherever they were going.

  “But you can’t do that!” Sarah wailed. “I need your help, Tish. You were promised to me. And with the children and the baby coming, I have to have you along!”

  “Don’t harsh on me now, Miss Sarah. I have my paper and maybe this be the best time to let it speak.” It was dusk and they remained at the staging area amidst the hustle of other wagons pulling in, toddlers crying, men riding from the port area where they’d all be boarding a ferry to cross the Missouri in the morning.

  “Talk to her.” Sarah struck at her husband’s shoulder. “Make her come along.”

  “I don’t know how she’ll make it here on her own.” He glared at Letitia but spoke to his wife. “These people think better of themselves than they are. My daddy did wrong freeing her afore he died. Me?” He shook his head. “I’m glad not to have the extra expense of her coming. Already have a driver I’ve got to wage.” He sounded disgusted. “Her leaving is better all around.”

  “You’ll have help with driving and the cattle, but I’ll be on my own with the children? That isn’t fair. It is not.”

  “You expected fair, woman?”

  Sarah blushed a deep red. She cast a begging glance at Letitia and then, as though catching herself, lifted her chin, set her jaw, and said: “I will contest her paper and the court will make her come.”

  “No you won’t.” Mr. Bowman tore a plug of tobacco from the twist and pushed it into his lower lip. “We’ve no time for court doings, and besides, I heard my daddy say he gave her freedom. For the work she did. For her losses.”

  “What about my losses? What about what I’ll have to suffer without her along?” Sarah stomped her foot, casting a puff of dust onto the white leather shoes.

  Artemesia stamped her foot too and giggled, letting the dust puff up. The sound of the child’s laughter caused an ache in Letitia’s heart. Maybe she couldn’t stay behind, not with the children tugging at her.

  “You’ll find a friend or two. Got your mother.” Mr. Bowman patted his wife’s shoulder. “Got to meet up with the wagon master. They’ll be choosing up captains.” He tweaked his daughter’s chin, then turned and walked away.

  “Can I go with?” Artemesia ran along beside him and he allowed the girl to join him.

  Sarah turned back to Letitia, her dress with the pillars swinging over her crinolines. “Then go now. I can’t abide the sight of you. I thought you cared about me and the children, I truly did. But now—just go.”

  “I care, Miss Sarah. I’ll miss the children. I loves them like I loves my own before they taken from me. But I survive that, so I ’spect I survive this leavin’ too.”

  “I never ever imagined you’d do this to me.” She cried then, tears marking the powder on her cheeks. “Please . . .”

  That root-bound knot tightened in Letitia’s stomach. To be the cause of someone’s sorrow was not what she’d been taught by her mother. It was not who she was and yet . . . “You’re stronger than you know, Miss Sarah. I watch all your movin’ from Kentucky to here. This Oregon be the biggest journey, but you got your faith and you got your chillun. You be all right.”

  “Just because I have my parents with me doesn’t mean I’ll have help. I’ll be helping them out. Her baby’s younger than mine!”

  “Mistah Bowman right. Your sisters and mama take good care of you.”

  Sarah’s sobbing grew louder, drawing a woman from another wagon.

  The new neighbor put her arms around Sarah. “There, there. It’ll be all right whatever it is this colored woman’s done to bother you.” She glanced at Letitia, dismissed her, and turned back to Sarah. “You come over here with me now. I’ve got hot mint tea brewing against this April chill. You tell me what that nasty girl did and I’ll punish her myself. Here, let me help with that little one. So sweet.” She reached for the baby’s pudgy hands.

  He tugged at his mother’s skirts as the neighboring woman invited him to follow with her eyes.

  To Letitia she barked, “You, girl, get on with what your mistress told you to do. Come along now, Missus—?”

  “Bowman. Sarah.”

  She patted Sarah’s shoulder. “These are such stressful times.”

  Letitia had no one to comfort her—but perhaps she wasn’t entitled to such. After all, she’d made the decision. What right did she have to the reassurance that all would be well? It never had been well in her life except for the promise of the paper. The precious free paper. And now she had let it speak for her at last.

  She untied Charity, picked up her bag and bedroll from the back of the wagon, when the woman came storming back.

  “Where do you think you’re going with that cow!”

  Letitia stepped back. “She mine. This cow. I bought her.”

  “How could you earn enough for a cow? You leave her.” She grabbed for the rope.

  “Ask Missus Bowman.”

  “She’s the one told me to come over here and prevent you from thieving it.”

  Letitia’s eyes grew wide. “Sarah knows I bought her.”

  The woman slapped Letitia’s face, the surprise greater than the sting. “Don’t you use her Christian name,” she hissed. “And don’t you lie to my face.”

  Letitia stumbled back.

  Sarah stood now and walked toward them, crossed arms over her narrow chest.

  The woman asked, “Can she take the bag she’s holding?”

  Sarah nodded yes.

  “But Charity is mine. You know that . . . Sarah.” Letitia flinched, awaiting another slap, but Sarah held the woman’s arm.

  “Let her go,” she said, eyes triumphant, bright. “But keep the cow.”

  3

  Property Claimed

  Letitia had made the right choice, but she was without Charity, her property. Still, Charity was the least of her worries. She had nowhere to go, no place to stay. She headed up the bank toward the back of the hotel. If she huddled down beside the
barrels and bins of trash, she might hide herself until morning when she could talk with Mr. Bowman. He didn’t want to take her or the cow anyway. Yes, that’s what she’d do. Or better, wait until dark when everyone had settled down. She’d unhitch the cow and take it. It was hers. The property belonged to her. Yes. She’d rest and then return to make her claim.

  Davey Carson set the half-bucket of water before Rothwell. The Carolina hound’s pointy ears stood alert and straight as he lapped. Davey didn’t hear the woman until she was upon him, breathless.

  “Mistah Carson, suh.”

  He startled at the husky voice and turned. “Miss Letitia. Ain’t you all chipper this morning.”

  “No, suh, I am not.” She swallowed, caught her breath, her fingers resting against her throat.

  “Something wrong with the Bowmans? They’re leaving today if me memory serves?”

  She nodded. “I needs your help.”

  He frowned. She was a comely woman with eyes the color of beaver fur, deep and soft. The woman wasn’t much bigger than a shagbark twig. Sturdy enough from what Bowman said about her, though. Good in the field and in the house. “What do the Bowmans need?”

  “It’s what I need. I ain’t goin’ with ’em and Missus Bowman claims Charity, my cow.”

  “Does she now. Doesn’t seem like one to take advantage.”

  “She . . . upset I decide to stay. But I can choose.”

  “You’re free then? I didn’t know.”

  “I choose to stay. I get work at the hotel, laundry and such, but Charity’s all I got.” She talked of the cow as though it were a family member on her way to dying.

  He wasn’t sure he wanted to get into this woman-fray, but the girl looked desperate. And he’d known the Bowmans to be good people. “Let’s see what we can negotiate.” He kicked manure from his boots, patted the hound. “Haven’t had my morning coffee though.”

  “Please. They’re at Capler’s Landing and will board the ferry or steamboat out of Weston and my chance be lost. Charity’s expecting a calf. I give that to you, in exchange for your help.”

  He’d bought the cow from Henry Knighton with Letitia’s money a year ago. Davey didn’t have a milk cow to sell when she came asking. He raised beef stock, for food. But Letitia had asked him to find her a milk cow and given him the money for it. Charity was the result.

  “Not to worry about that. Let me saddle a mule and you can ride pillion.” She was so small she could sit behind him, both legs off to one side.

  “I’s grateful,” she said. “Yessuh, I am.”

  He nodded. She must have walked the eight miles from Weston, dodging the patrollers last night.

  She fingered the dog’s ears as he saddled the mule, strapped on the pillion frame, mounted, then he pulled her up behind him. Part of him hoped no one would see them. If they thought she belonged to him, she should be walking, not riding. That was the code. But then people would also see that he treated slaves well—if they thought Letitia was his—not making her walk, and maybe the bad taste about that little minx Eliza and the court case would offer a sweeter aftertaste to consider.

  “I tries to take Charity back, but guards around make it so I can’t get at her.”

  “We’ll see if we can’t make arrangements.” Davey always did have a sympathy for folks held in bondage.

  Truth was, in the hinterlands people didn’t wonder what place a woman took in a man’s life because they could see how hard the women worked. Men took Pawnee wives and no one said a hoot. It was how he imagined Oregon to be, open to new ways, and why he considered going there himself, liked talking it up for others. It reminded him of those times when he’d been young and trapped distant rivers of the Missouri. But he was getting on in years. Forty-four already and Oregon was a place for young men and farmers. He was a stockman and not at all sure there were places that welcomed old men with that trade in Oregon. Farmers would be more successful, and he had an aversion to plows.

  The sun was high when the hound started barking, and up ahead Davey saw a woman leading a cow, carrying a child with three younger ones plodding behind. It looked like Mr. Bowman’s wife. Before he could howdy her by removing his hat and waving it, Letitia had slipped off his horse and hurried toward them, though she stopped well short, bent down, one of the children rushing to her and holding her at the waist. That gave Davey time to catch up.

  “Mama says you’re not going with us, Tish. Is that for certain?”

  Letitia stroked the girl’s hair. “Certain, yes. But we meet again one day, Artemesia, I feel sure.”

  “I’m not sure what I was thinking,” Sarah Bowman said. She bounced a baby on her hip. She looked at Davey, not at Letitia. “I know the cow is hers and that you got it for her.” She still held the hemp lead rope in her gloved hand. They’d walked a good mile; Davey and Letitia had ridden seven.

  The cow licked its pink nose with its wide tongue, shook its head of the circling bugs.

  “Mr. Bowman says it’s not right to keep you from your property earned fair and square. And that Charity will be one more mouth to feed. I was just—”

  “Disappointed.” Letitia’s husky voice interrupted. “I feels the same when that woman say I can’t take Charity.”

  Sarah’s eyes dropped. Letitia was so small, she looked up at the brim of Mrs. Bowman’s bonnet.

  “That was wrong of me.” Mrs. Bowman cleared her throat. “I’ve had time to consider. Mr. Bowman said I’d erred.” She smiled now, lightened her voice, stood on her tiptoes as though making a pronouncement. “With generosity in my heart, I gift Charity back to you.” She handed her the hemp lead rope, the cow attached.

  “Cow was never yours to have. And I spend the night fearin’, sleepin’ beside the hotel, walkin’ through the night hopin’ to come retrieve my property.”

  “Where you slept last night is not my concern. And she wouldn’t be your property if we hadn’t paid you for your work, so the cow is partly ours. Remember that.” Mrs. Bowman didn’t mention Letitia’s midwife work, or maybe it didn’t count in that woman’s eyes.

  Davey hoped the women wouldn’t fire things up; the smoke between them was bad enough. He sat with his hands crossed over the pommel, reins loose in his fingers. He didn’t like being witness to this sort of woman talk, but he did wonder how Miss Letitia might feel being told that Mrs. Bowman was gifting her back a cow she had no right to take in the first place. At least Letitia didn’t have to sue her for it. Days in court were a waste, he’d found, even when he initiated a lawsuit, which he had a time or two. Sometimes justice demanded a courtroom, but there was never a guarantee that justice would be served in one. What people hankered for was an apology and a recognition of dignity, but they used the courtroom to get it. Miss Letitia would have no courtroom recourse, so he guessed she’d take the cow without an apology, though she deserved it.

  “Looks like you’ve come to an amiable decision. I’m sure Miss Letitia thanks you.” He didn’t wait for her to respond. “I can offer you a ride back to your wagon, Mrs. Bowman. Curious about how the gathering’s going. Though one of you girls will have to walk beside me. Maybe Miss Letitia would lead her cow back to . . . ” He pushed his hat back, elbow akimbo. “Where are you headed with that bovine?”

  The woman pursed her lips, then her face lit. “Could I keep Charity at your place, Marse Carson? That help me fine.”

  He didn’t hesitate. “Sure enough. Might be nice to have a little milk now and then.” Cow seemed to get on well with his Carolina hound too. The dog sniffed at the cow’s nose, its fishhook-shaped tail high now in a gentle wag.

  “Help me get Mrs. Bowman here to the pillion, would you please?”

  Davey hopped down and Letitia held her hands like a cup. Mrs. Bowman stepped up, her shoes dusting up Letitia’s pale palms. He reached to help Mrs. Bowman settle herself on the pillion, then he lifted the baby to her and then the younger girl, who straddled the mule. He stood back. “I believe there’s room for you too, young lady.
” He helped the oldest girl sit behind her mother. His tan and white dog sat and scratched himself in his hinterlands, and Letitia caught the cow’s lead rope before Charity wandered away.

  “Good-bye, Sar—Miss Bowman.” The graveled voice of Letitia spoke. She shaded the sun from her eyes with her hand, her straw hat not being enough as she looked up. “Good-bye, my chillun.” She patted the girls, looked about to cry.

  Oh bare-fisted boxing, are tears going to pump out? “We best be going,” he said. “Don’t want your man to think something untoward has happened to his family.”

  “No, we wouldn’t want that.” Mrs. Bowman had a tinkling little laugh. Quite a contrast to the deep-as-backwater voice of the colored woman. The hound stood, ready to move. The children waved. “Take care, Letitia. Look after Charity.” Mrs. Bowman’s voice broke and Davey thought she must care for the woman after all. Or the cow.

  He was surprised when the dog followed Letitia and her cow, leaving him to walk beside the Bowmans by himself.

  4

  Shadows

  The rains continued in Missouri that spring.

  “I trapped the rivers and streams winding their way to the Missouri River, when the idea of families bringing lives in trunks and wagons was the imaginings of a madman,” Davey told Letitia as the two sat at the table in Davey’s home, eating the evening meal of stewed rabbit. Corn pone and sorghum molasses sweetened the finish.

  These were meals Letitia had cooked in Kentucky too, and she had found a ready eater in Davey, her work done in exchange for her cow’s grazing and a mat on the floor in his larder to sleep on. Letitia listened in silence to Davey’s Irish lilt as he spoke of 1844 as the wettest spring he’d ever witnessed. It was good that he had land on upper hills to graze his stock and, like everyone else, let his pigs run free. His house sat back from any creeks. He had a good spring for drinking water and that May they didn’t even have to worry about it flowing well enough to water the cows. Water stood everywhere, brown lakes breeding mosquitoes. Davey was a chatting man full of stories.