by Carré White
“You’re soaked, Tom. That’s just crazy talk,” laughed Samuel.
“I’ve seen you sweet on a woman before. Wasn't you in love with Milly Saunders?”
“Nope.”
“Geraldine Baker?”
“Don’t insult my intelligence.”
“What I wouldn’t give for a parlour house, boys. I’d even pay for the whole hour.” This announcement was met with laughter.
“Denver City’s callin’ your name, Will.”
“She sure is.”
“What about that pretty miss in the bonnet? You seem to have taken a fancy to her.”
“The one with the baby?”
“No, that’s the other woman. This little lady’s not married. She’s traveling with that older couple.”
“The one with the doll face?”
“That’d be the one.”
Samuel was quiet on this subject, sipping his drink while staring into the flames. From my vantage point, I could only see the back of his coat and the top of his hat. I’d moved to the side of a wagon, listening intently.
“Come on, Sam, spill the beans. What she like? You talk to her often enough.”
“I got nothin’ to say to you boys on this particular subject.”
A chorus of snickers went around. “Oh, boy. It’s worse than I thought.”
“He’s keepin’ this one close to his chest.”
“What that purdy lady have to say, Sam? Is she one of them mail order brides?”
“Nope.”
“A widow? They do make ‘em that young, ya know.”
“No widow. Just a woman headin’ west is all. You fellas can speculate all you want, but that’s about as simple as it gets.”
“She’s not going to California, is she?”
“Nope.”
“Too bad. You might’ve had a chance then.”
“I’m not lookin’ for complications. I got enough to worry about.”
“Since when is a woman a complication?”
“I’d love to sneak a pretty little thing like that into my tent.” Laughter resounded, with murmurings of agreement.
“You and me both, Will.”
“By the time we get to Fort Laramie, she’ll be ripe for the pickin’. I’d make your move then, Sam.”
He got to his feet. “All right, that’s enough. I’ve gotta make the rounds and check the horses. We could lose ‘em, if they’re not secure. The Indians could care less about the livestock, but they’ll steal a horse, lickety-split.”
I moved away from the wagon, heading towards the latrine. Mr. Carter had yet to emerge, and I lingered at a distance waiting for him. My mind reeled with what I had heard. I’m not lookin’ for complications…
“Waitin’ to use the privy?” asked a familiar voice.
I jumped slightly. “N-no.”
“Why aren’t you at your camp?” He towered over me. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”
“I’m waiting on a friend.”
“Oh, I see.”
“How is your evening, sir?”
“Better now.”
Those words resulted in a heady buzz. “It’s a lovely night.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Is it true that Indians steal horses?”
An eyebrow shot up. “You were listening to our conversation.”
Oh, dear. I had spoken without thinking. “Um…I…not really.”
“How long were you standing there?”
“N-not long.”
His look was considering. “They’ll steal horses and worse, Ms. Hoffman.”
“I’ve heard some things.”
“That’s why I don’t recommend small groups of travelers. It’s like asking to be attacked. The bigger the group, the safer everybody is. We’re perfectly safe.”
“I hope so.”
“Now, do you normally eavesdrop on people?”
“I wasn’t eavesdropping…I…was just waiting for a friend.”
Quincy Carter strolled towards us, his expression bland. “I’m so sorry, my dear. I didn’t mean to keep you waiting.”
Samuel glanced at him, his jaw tightening. “Ah, so this is the friend.”
Although my experience with men was limited, it was possible that Samuel might see Quincy as a rival for my affections and, therefore, a worthy adversary. I couldn’t help it, but I wanted him to be jealous.
Moving towards Mr. Carter, I said, “Then we can continue our stroll, sir.”
“Indeed, we can. I have yet to show you the view from the southern most point.” His grin was teasing.
“I’m sure it will be delightful,” I giggled.
“Well, at least I won’t have to worry about you gettin’ back to your wagon in one piece.” Samuel tipped his hat. “Evenin’, folks. You enjoy yourselves on this fine night.” He sauntered off, walking towards a nearby campfire.
Disappointment registered most acutely; the ploy to make him jealous had fallen flat. “Goodbye, Mr. Tucker.” I doubted he had heard me.
Quincy offered his arm. “Come, my dear. Let’s be on our way. The smell is rather pungent here.” He indicated the tented latrine.
I couldn’t agree more.
Early the next day, I filled a small bowl with water and scrubbed myself with lye soap and a cloth. I was in my tent; the rest of the camp had only just begun to stir. My hair was in desperate need of washing, but that would have to wait. Once breakfast was made and things were stowed securely, we set off again. The prairie seemed to stretch out endlessly on all sides. The heat of the sun this early was an indication that today would become unbearable. I sat with Mary for long spells in the wagon, while Abner rode a horse, sharing it with a farmer he had befriended. I alternated between walking and sitting, my back aching by midday.
In the evenings, Quincy came to call, escorting me around the enclosure, as if we were courting, but that was the furthest thing from my mind. I made sure we were seen by Samuel, leading Mr. Carter towards wherever he sat, surrounded by his second and third in command. His eyes would follow me, his expression flat, but I sensed his attention and, furthermore, his irritation that Quincy and I seemed to be growing closer. Only I knew the truth. I felt nothing for the dapper railway man, nor did I harbor any wish to further our acquaintance.
Several days later, clouds gathered in the distance, huge, billowing structures, growing by the hour to an astonishing degree. I sat with Abner while Mary walked; her companion was a woman from a wagon up ahead. The morning had progressed smoothly, although, by lunchtime, the wind had begun to howl, the gusts blowing over tin cups and empty water jugs. Seeing Samuel trotting in our direction, I stepped from the wagon, mindful of the wheels. I’d already walked for several miles, my toes sustaining more blisters, adding to the ones from the day before and the day before that.
“It’s getting worse.” I glanced up at Samuel, who looked concerned.
“We might have to stop soon, until it blows over. I’m about to give the order.” He pressed his heels into his horse’s flank, spurring the animal into a gallop. “We’re stopping up ahead!” he shouted. Tom Meek and William Baker heard the call, and their horses took off towards the front of the line, alerting the rest of the travelers. “Bad weather’s comin’!”
I glanced at Abner. “We should set up the water jugs to catch the rain.”
“Good thinking, Paulina. Once we’ve come to a stop, that's just what we’ll do. That and the cooking bowls, even the pots and pans. We need as much of it as we can get.”
While conditions worsened, Abner and I dug through the belongings, finding the items we needed, placing them on the ground beside the wagon. Mary clucked her approval, helping us find anything open to receive water. The wagons had ground to a stop, the oxen voicing their displeasure, tails flicking, as they too sensed a change was upon us.
The first drops of rain were welcome, and it was marvelous to see our cups and bowls filling with the precious fluid. We huddled on the bench, with the canvas over our heads, w
aiting for the storm to pass, but it continued to rain, the track beneath the wheels gushing like a muddy river.
“Oh, lordy,” said Abner. “Look at that.”
Terrific wind tore loose a portion of the canvas; the top of the wagon was suddenly exposed to the elements, our bedding drenched almost instantly. Abner and I struggled to secure the roof, while wetness pelted my face, soaking the material of my dress. It felt wonderful to be cool for once, but I worried that we would lose the canvas completely. To add to the calamity, hail began to fall, the tiny dime-like pellets growing in diameter, the larger chunks smacking into the wood with loud clops.
“Oh, Abner!” shouted Mary, holding a book over her head for protection. “Heavens to Betsy!”
We had lost control of the canvas, the wind tearing it from our hands. I struggled to stand, the wagon moving from side to side, as if it were upon an ocean. My bonnet having untied itself, was picked up with the wind and blown to an unknown place. Drenched, I did all I could to hold onto a portion of the canvas, while Abner clutched the rest, the entire tarp in danger of blowing away all together. Others were in similar straights, although there were many wagons that were not as unlucky.
“Stand aside!” shouted a male voice.
I glanced over my shoulder to find Samuel, soaked through, his face dripping with water. He grasped the canvas, and, with Abner’s help, they managed to secure one side, while I held on to my portion, lest it upset all their hard work. It was mildly astonishing how quickly Mr. Tucker fastened the damaged covering, although it had torn on one end. That would have to be sewn back together again once the storm passed.
Chunks of hail, the pieces becoming larger and larger, pelted the wagon. The surrounding area had begun to look almost white, as if snow had fallen. I had never seen so much hail in my life, and it worried me. Instead of lessening, there were some fragments that were the size of small apples.
“Take cover!” shouted Samuel, who I stumbled into, falling over a crate. We were under the frame, as Abner and Mary sat on the wooden bench, holding onto the canvas at either side. The wind wasn’t as strong now, but the pounding of hail had become just as damaging. I was struck on the side of my face, the icy nugget stinging.
“Ouch!”
Samuel grabbed me, as we fell to our knees, ducking our heads from the onslaught. Sections of the canvas now began to cave inwards, the heaviness of the hail causing this collapse. I knew the storm would not last indefinitely, as it was already beginning to ease. Being this close to Samuel had replaced my fear with something else entirely. We were on our knees, and I sat before him, safely between his thighs. His arm was around me, a hand upon my head, shielding me from the hail. I sent up a silent plea that God might prolong the storm…only for a few minutes, which was shameful.
…but my prayers weren’t answered, and the worst of the hail ceased almost immediately. Samuel’s hand lifted from my head, and our eyes met. He’d come to our rescue, but I sensed it wasn’t accidental. A woman’s intuition on these matters was seldom wrong. He’d been worried about me, having ridden over quickly to help us with the wagon.
He would leave now. “Oh,” I said. “It’s over.” There was disappointment in my voice. He blinked in surprise. I hadn’t meant to speak so plainly. “I mean, it’s good that it’s over, of course. Storms are…horrible.”
His grin was enigmatic. “Yes. That one was a doozy.”
Chapter Five
Nearly a day out from Fort Kearny, we came upon a discarded wagon that looked like it had been burnt. Helen and I were walking together. I had Laura in my arms, as the wreckage came into view.
“What happened?” I asked.
“I’ve no idea.”
William Baker, one of the wagon captains overhead this question, as he was trotting past. “Indian attack. They like to set the wagons on fire afterwards.”
I shivered, wondering what had happened to the people. “Where are the owners of the wagon?”
“I reckon we might find the bodies somewhere.” This didn’t seem to bother him at all; his expression remained neutral. “We’re liable to see more of that, just to warn you.”
“Gracious, how awful,” said Helen.
“Those poor people.” My eyes strayed to the ground, wondering if we would come upon the remains of the settlers, who had meet an untimely end.
Knowing that we would be able to send letters, I’d been busy detailing our journey, scribbling on paper at night by the campfire. I had four letters that needed to be sent, and I eagerly anticipated this event, desperately wanting to see something that resembled civilization. I’d grown weary of staring at nothing other than prairie and blue sky, which seemed never-ending.
The blisters on my feet had blisters, and my clothing hung from me, my body having thinned out considerably from the hours I spent walking. How I longed for my mother’s chicken dumplings or grilled fish or cherry cobbler. I craved lemonade or ice tea, yearning to drink something other than tepid water. Our supplies were dwindling rapidly; the bacon was nearly gone, the fruit was gone, and we were down to our last bag of flour. Sometimes, when I gazed into the distance, I thought I saw a shimmering lake, the look of the horizon casting false impressions, my mind making up the rest. I’d give anything to fling myself into a vat of water, to scrub the filth from my hair and wash my clothing. Everyone was in a similar predicament, and the camp reeked of unwashed bodies. Luckily, the breeze helped to alleviate the odors, yet nothing could take the stench away completely.
By the time we had brought the wagons in, forming a large circle, I set out to find the privy, passing Helen’s wagon and hearing the sound of a woman weeping. Rounding the front, I spied Helen by the back wheel, clinging to it, while her face was hidden beneath a bonnet.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
“Did you and Jason have a disagreement?”
“No.”
“Are you ill?”
“No, can’t I just cry in peace?”
“I didn’t mean to disturb you. Everyone’s tired. We’re all sick of this.”
“I want to go home. I’ve had enough!” The vehemence in her voice betrayed frustration.
“Things will look better tomorrow after we’ve arrived at Fort Kearny. It won’t seem so bleak then.”
“How can you stand this? Day after day…nothing but dust and flies and endless road. I can’t stand it.”
“Don’t give up now. We’ve come nearly three hundred miles. That’s quite an accomplishment. It’s further than most people will ever travel in their lifetime. We’re truly on the edge of a new frontier.”
“How romantic.” Her expression had hardened. “I didn’t want this. I was perfectly happy in St. Louis. I didn’t need to do this, to…better myself.” She moved away from the wagon. “Excuse me.”
She was at the end of her rope, as were quite a few people. I had spoken to Samuel regularly, and I knew that the true test of our mettle lay ahead. Those conversations gave me strength. To add to this, attending church on Sundays fortified me for the week ahead; the services that Jeremiah Kelley presided over were well attended. It was a pleasure to listen to his stories and the selected readings from the Bible. Last Sunday we were reminded of the glory of patience and perseverance, as we shall one day reap the rewards of our hard work. I had been at a weak point, and I had needed to hear that. It was comforting to know that I was exactly where God wanted me to be, even after a long day, hours on the trail…my muscles protesting in agony. This was my purpose. I would not look back now. We could only go forward.
Alas, we didn’t reach Fort Kearny until midday the next day, the wagon train slowly moving towards what looked like an assemblage of adobe structures in the distance. Abner and Mary were beside themselves with excitement, their expressions keen.
“We’re buying supplies, my dear, and in the nick of time too.”
“There are others there,” she pointed, “look.” Another team of settlers had arrived before us,
their line of wagons about to depart. “I hope there’s something left to buy.”
“I see plenty of freight wagons. It’ll be fine, my dear.”
Cottonwood trees had been planted around the perimeter, which would not deter an Indian attack. I was mildly surprised by the lack of fortifications; the buildings were exposed from all sides. We approached, the wagons breaking off from formation to surround the fort. I spied Samuel on his horse, trotting towards one of the structures. There were soldiers waiting, as several approached him in conversation.
Abner clutched his billfold. “I’ll need your help, Paulina. Mary’s looking after the animals. Let’s go shopping while the gettin’s still good.”
Excitement raced through me. “I’m ready.”
He grinned. “You’re a good girl. She hardly ever complains about anything, and she walks like a soldier.”
“That she does.” Mary squinted under the heat of the sun, her bonnet providing little shade in that moment.
“I sit just as much as I walk.” Several children ran by, excited to see what was inside the buildings. Dozens of settlers headed in the same direction, hopeful to be able to buy something worthwhile.
Clutching my letters, I was ready to mail them. “Let’s not wait another minute then.”
Nearing the fort, I spied what looked like fresh graves. They had been marked with a type of bulletin board, explaining their deaths. Shocked to see this, I stopped to read, realizing that Indians had murdered this group.
A woman had come up behind me. “Freezes the blood, doesn’t it?” Her look was grim. “Those poor people. The men scalped…the women taken.” She crossed herself. “There for the grace of God.”
This was indeed troubling, adding to the level of danger that surrounded us. I joined Abner, who waited for me by the door of one of the buildings. “Don’t let that worry you too much, my dear. Those people were simpletons for traveling in such a small party. There’s safety in numbers. We have that.”
“It’s dreadful.” I clutched the letters. “I need to mail these.”
“And so you shall.”
The fort bustled with activity; the soldiers directed the homesteaders towards the provisions, while others checked for mail, hopeful that something had come in, but most only sent letters. The storehouses were remarkably well-stocked, and Abner happily bought provisions, even some fruit, although it was on the verge of going bad. None of it would be wasted. I helped him bring these things to the wagon, but it required several trips.