CHAPTER SIX
The Party
A huge sycamore with a massive, hollow trunk grew about twenty fiveyards from Joe's barn. It was a very old tree and taller than mostsycamores. Because it was all alone, and received no shade orinterference from other trees, it had many branches and all of them werealive. Full-leafed, the sycamore cast comfortable shade over a widearea.
Joe had his forge and anvil set up beneath the tree. Barbara stood readyto work the forge's bellows and the horse mule was tethered near by.Putting new shoes on both mules was the last necessary job before theycould start for Oregon, but Joe was pensive as he prepared to go aboutthe task.
For a while after deciding to go to Oregon, heightening excitement andenthusiasm of the older members of the family had communicated itself tothe younger. Carlyle still wanted to know, at least fifteen times a day,when they were leaving and how soon they would arrive. Joe, Emma, andAlfred, had come to accept the journey as a matter of course. But Tadremained the only one whose spirits had not been even slightly dampened.
Leaving for Oregon remained a glorious adventure. But all except Tad haddiscovered, when it came time to decide just what was going with themand what would have to stay behind, that to break off an old life andstart a new one would cause even more wrenches than they had expected. Ahouse was big, and if another room were needed, one could always beadded. But a wagon box had definite limitations.
Joe had taken the wooden handles from his hoes, rakes, and peaveys. Ofhis harrow, he was taking only the metal parts and he had even removedthe wooden handles from his beloved plow. There was little likelihoodthat he'd be using some tools on the Trail and he could replace themissing wood when they got to Oregon. Even so, his tool box was filled.They had to have an ax or how would they chop wood? He might need hisscrew drivers, awls, chisels, augers, wrenches, saws, any time at all.They couldn't be made more compact than they already were. Naturally,the rifle had to be in working order. Joe had limited himself strictlyto that which they could not do without on the Trail or would need forstarting a new life in Oregon, and he sold or traded everything he couldspare. It had cost him a pang to part with hammers, chisels, wrenches,and other tools which he had used so many years that their handles wereworn to the shape of his hand. But he was more keenly aware of thesacrifices made by Emma and Barbara.
With an eye to Barbara's future needs, Emma had packed the wedding dressand a few other items which could not be classed as utilitarian. Forherself she had taken only her sturdiest dresses and had packed onlynecessities for each of the children. As a final indulgence, and onlyafter a deep inner struggle as to whether or not she was doing the rightthing, she had packed the first pair of baby shoes each of the childrenhad worn.
Helping her mother, Barbara had quietly slipped two of Emma's prettierdresses into the trunk and Emma had promptly removed them. Barbara hadpacked a battered rag doll that was greatly treasured by little Emma, astring ball that was Joe's play-thing, a set of fading wooden blockswith animals pictured on them for Alfred, and a bright picture thatCarlyle adored. She had argued Emma into accepting these by remindingher that, though the children would have toys in the wagon, they wouldbecome tired of them. Then these could be brought out and they wouldarouse complete new interest.
Those were some of the minor problems. But there had been majorheartbreaks too and Joe knew that only one of them centered around thestove. Emma was equally proud of an exquisitely made chest of drawerswhich probably had been brought to Missouri by a trading party sent outby the migrating Mormons. They had left the Mormon Trail and had comeinto Missouri for food, and because they hadn't any money they tradedthe goods in their wagons for bacon or grain. Joe had traded a shoat forthe chest of drawers some six or eight years ago.
Emma said nothing about leaving it behind, but because Joe knew her heknew what it cost her to do so. Then, with sudden inspiration, he hadpointed out that the chest of drawers could be lashed inside the wagonand would be a convenient storage place for the clothes they would needday by day. Emma had paid him with a grateful smile, but that was notwhat Joe thought about right now.
He'd been repairing the wagon when he went to the house for a drink ofwater. Chance had taken him past the kitchen window, and unseen by her,he had observed Emma sitting at the kitchen table. Arranged on it wasall her lovely, delicate china. Joe spent an uncomfortable momentwatching her adore with her eyes and caress with her hands the mostexquisite and beautiful things she had ever owned. Then he had slippedaway as quietly as he came, and when he went to the house an hour laterthe china was all back in the cupboard.
It had stayed there while the days passed, and Joe said nothing becausehe could think of nothing to say. Emma was fighting day by day, wantingto keep the china and yet knowing that she could not. Finally, and onlyyesterday, she had asked Joe, all too casually, if he would take it overand give it to Helen Domley.
Doggedly, Joe continued his preparations to shoe the mules. He hadn'tgiven the china to Helen Domley. He had carried it to John Geragty's sawmill, nailed a box together, tenderly packed each piece of china insawdust, covered the box, and sneaked it into the wagon. Now he worriedbecause it seemed that, somehow, he had both deceived Emma and cheatedHelen Domley.
Barbara asked, "Is something the matter, Daddy?"
"Nope," Joe evaded. "Start the bellows will you, honey?"
Barbara hesitated a moment and Joe waited. The past days had wrought achange in his daughter, making her all the more difficult to understand.At times she seemed to have a new maturity, as though she were already awoman, and at others she was a trembling child. But she had neverexpressed anything except enthusiastic interest in the forthcoming trip.She began to work the bellows steadily, neither too fast nor too slow,and the smell of the hot charcoal in the forge was a good thing.
With a pair of iron tongs, Joe held the mule shoe he was fashioning inthe glowing charcoal until the shoe partook of the fire's color. Stillgripping it with the tongs, a blacksmith's maul in his right hand, Joeshaped the shoe on the anvil.
Some people didn't care how they shoed their mules; they simply nailedshoes on and let the hoofs grow out to fit them. Joe had never believedin such slipshod methods. He gave painstaking consideration to thetemper and weight of the shoe, and the conformation of the hoof it wasto fit. Correctly shod draft animals did not go lame easily and theyworked harder because they were comfortable. Joe trusted no one else toshoe his mules for him.
He looked critically at the shoe, then reheated it and gave it aslightly wider curve. The mule's hoofs were nearly alike. But they werenot exactly alike and each shoe must be designed accordingly. Finallysatisfied, Joe plunged the shoe in a pail of tepid water and approachedthe mule.
The mare mule, at shoeing time, literally went wild. She became soterrified that she had to be dragged to the forge and roped and hog-tiedafter she was there to keep her from injuring the blacksmith. But thehorse had a streak of vanity that took peculiar directions. He was proudto wear new shoes, and after they were nailed on he spent hours walkingabout to test them. Usually a full day passed before he no longer gavehis new-shod hoofs any attention.
When Joe approached, the mule lifted his rear hoof voluntarily and heldit. He did it gracefully, taking all his weight on his other three legsand never at any time endangering Joe. Joe tried the shoe, and when hesaw that it was a perfect fit he nailed it on. The mule swung his headto look approvingly at his hoof. Joe rose and wiped the sweat from hisforehead.
Everything except the mule shoeing was done. The wagon had a new box,and all the parts that had seemed even slightly weak or worn had beenreplaced. They knew exactly what they were going to take along, andamong other things they were going to take six of Emma's best hens plusa rooster, and there was a place for everything. New, double-thickcanvas covered the wagon, and Joe had even arranged a canvas dropcurtain so that, if it were necessary to camp inside, the male andfemale members of his family could have their own compartments. Joe hadninety-eight dollars in cash, a
nd an uneasy feeling that it would not benearly enough. But he did not know how to get any more.
As soon as Pete Domley came--and he should be here any minute--theycould rope and shoe the mare mule. There they could start, and thesooner the better. Joe had dreamed of the Oregon Trail so many timesthat, if he wasn't on it soon, he felt that he would begin braying likea mule himself. He smiled at his daughter.
"I think we'll leave tomorrow morning, Bobby."
"Oh, Daddy! May I stay with Marcia tonight?"
Her lambent eyes glowed with pure delight, and Joe noted with approvalthe fire in her voice. Though it was not an unmixed blessing, Barbarafelt all of everything that touched her. Her temperament, Joe felt, wasnot unlike the glowing fire in the forge. He said,
"It's all right with me if it is with your mother."
"Are you happy, Daddy?"
"Sure am! I--What the dickens!"
Pete Domley's white horse had appeared on the path leading from Tenney'sCrossing, but Pete was not alone on the horse. Ahead of him, clutchedfirmly in Pete's strong hands, was Tad. Pete was also packing a rifle,something he seldom did unless he intended to go hunting. He reined hishorse to a halt beside Joe.
"I figure this is your business!"
"What's my business?"
Pete said firmly, "Tell him, Tad."
Tad's face was sullen and angry, with every freckle livid. He staredalmost haughtily at his father and Joe's eyes narrowed. He said,
"That's my rifle too, huh?"
"Right."
Tad snapped, "If a man's goin' west he'd better know how to fightIndians. And I didn't hit him."
"That's right," Pete agreed, "but you couldn't have shoved a knife bladebetween the place where that bullet hit the wall and his head."
Joe felt hot anger rise. "Who did he shoot at?"
"He came into the Crossing lugging your rifle," Pete asserted, "andbefore anybody could stop him he took a shot at Lard Head."
"I didn't take a shot at him," Tad denied. "If I had, I'd of hit him."
Joe said grimly, "Bobby, you go help your mother. Pete will work thebellows for me when we shoe the mare."
The girl left, not looking back, and Joe faced his son. "Get off thathorse."
Tad obeyed, but his chin was outthrust and his eyes flashed. Joe flexedhis right arm.
"Take down your britches."
Tad's pants slid around his ankles, and Joe grasped him with his leftarm and turned his bare buttocks upward. With carefully measured forceJoe brought the palm of his right hand down, and the mule turned to lookcuriously on this strange scene while Pete's horse danced skittishly.Tad's normally pink seat assumed a fiery hue, but he did not cry out.Finished, Joe set the boy gently on his feet.
"If ever, except in your own self-defense, you shoot at another man, behe red, white, yellow, or black, you're going to get this over again andthree times as hard."
Tears welled up in Tad's eyes, but his jaw was still outthrust and hisshoulders were squared as he walked away. Joe scratched his shaggy headin wonder.
"I'll be doggoned! Can you tie that one?"
"Nope," Pete admitted. "I can't."
"What would you have done?"
"Same thing you did, Joe. I will say, though, that it's some of theneatest shooting I ever saw. Lard Head was standing against FrawleyThompson's fence, and that bullet whistled close enough to curl hishair. I'll bet there's one Indian scared sober."
"Was he drunk?"
"He's always drunk."
"Makes no difference," Joe declared. "That kid of mine has to have somerespect for people, Indians included. And he's got to realize thatrifles are dangerous."
Pete said dryly, "I kind of think he's beginning to. Shall we bring yourmare mule in and shoe her?"
"Reckon."
They roped the mare mule, dragged her to the forge, threw her, and shoedher. She struck viciously when they let her up, but Joe had expected theattack and he dodged it. They put both mules back in their pasture andJoe looked uneasily at the house. Emma never struck any of the children,and Joe had just administered Tad's first spanking. If there were to berepercussions, they might as well be faced right now. Joe said,
"Excuse me a minute, Pete."
"Sure."
Joe walked nervously toward the house. Beyond much doubt, they wouldstart for Oregon tomorrow and he had had few arguments with Emma. Hefelt uneasily that beginning their trip with a quarrel would be a badomen, and sure to bring bad luck. Joe quailed when he looked in at thedoor, for Emma bristled to meet him.
"What did you do to Tad?"
Joe braced himself, then became a little angry. "I paddled his hinderfor him, hard as I wanted to lay it on!"
"If you hadn't, Joe Tower, I'd have paddled yours! The idea! Shooting atthat poor, besotted Indian!"
Joe asked in astonishment, "You're not mad at me!"
"I would be, if you hadn't done a father's duty!"
He put his hand on her shoulder for a moment, and gave her a wry smile."Did Tad tell you?"
"Tad hasn't been near the house. Barbara told me." She wilted into hisarms. "Oh, Joe, do you suppose--?"
Because he knew her so well, Joe knew what she was thinking. At eightyears of age all youngsters were harmless, but at eighteen some might bebad and some good. Joe crushed his wife to him.
He said, "We'll teach him. It's just that he has to learn some thingsthe hard way."
"Oh Joe! I'm glad we're going! Oregon will be good for him!"
Joe's heart skipped a beat with delight at hearing her say this. "Itwill give him a chance to work his vinegar off. I'm not so sure he coulddo that if he stayed here. He'd want a farm of his own, and Elias wouldhave to loan him some of the money to buy it, and the first time Eliaspressed him there'd be fur flying. It wouldn't be Tad's either."
They felt a tender intimacy, a closeness that made them cling together.Joe cleared his throat. He had deceived her, and now he must undo thatdeception.
He said, "I didn't give your dishes to Helen."
"But," her eyes puzzled, "I asked you to."
"I know. I made a box for them and put them in the wagon instead."
A little anguished shadow flitted across her face. "I couldn't bear tohave them broken."
"They won't be broken," he assured her. "The Casper's broke because theyjust didn't know how to pack. We're taking eggs too, aren't we? Everypiece will get to Oregon with us."
The anguished shadow faded and she cast him a glance of purest love. Butdoubts remained, and she was a bit ashamed.
"We have so much to carry and so little room."
"There's room for that little box. You'd like to have your dishes,wouldn't you?"
"I'd love to!"
"Then they're going to Oregon with us. I'd better get the rifle. Left itoutside."
Joe walked out to get the rifle, which was still leaning against thesycamore, and he returned to the house with it. He smiled whimsically.The pegs in his and Emma's bedroom were no longer a safe place for therifle; they hadn't been in the first place or Tad never would have beenable to smuggle the weapon out of the house. Joe set his jaw. Tad wouldhave to use the rifle; it was an indispensable part of any man'sequipment on any frontier. But he would have to use it properly. If hedidn't, if there was any more irresponsible shooting, he'd feel the flatof his father's hand again.
For the time being, Joe hung the rifle back on its pegs. He turned tosmile at his wife.
"The mules are shod, and there's not a darn thing to do except start forOregon."
Emma clasped her hands together, her one gesture of apprehension. "Itdoesn't seem possible, does it?"
"Nope. Seems like there must be a hundred things to do yet. We'd bestremember to catch your hens and rooster while they're on the roosttonight. Oh my golly!"
"What's the matter?"
"I left Pete standing outside!"
Joe went to the door to call Pete, and just as he did so Yancey Garrowrode up on his gaunt brown horse. He held a package across the
saddle infront of him, and his fiddle case was over his shoulder. Grinning, hedismounted.
"Lucy thought you might like to take this along. It's a ham and a sideof bacon."
"You butchering now?"
"We always," and Yancey voiced what Joe knew was a bald-faced lie, "killone hog in summer." Joe gulped. With the possible exception of JohnSeeley, who could afford it, nobody butchered in the summer. But theGarrows had wanted their departing friends to enjoy ham and bacon. Joesaid,
"That's right good of you, Yancey."
"It's nothing," the other said airily. He carried the package of meatinto the house.
Emma greeted him. "Hello, Yancey."
"Hi, Emma. I swear you get prettier every day. How you ever fell for anold he-coon like Joe is something I'll never understand." He shifted thefiddle to his other shoulder. Pete stood in the doorway, and seemed tobe waiting.
"Play something, Yancey," Emma pleaded. "Play some music for us."
"Sure. What do you want to hear?"
"Anything."
Yancey Garrow took his fiddle out of its case, tucked it under his chin,and drew the bow across it a couple of times. He began a livelyrendition of "Yankee Doodle." Her face flushed with pleasure, Barbaraemerged from her room.
"Long while since I've danced with a girl as pretty as you are!" PeteDomley declared. "Come on, Bobby."
He whirled her around the room while Yancey increased the tempo of hismusic. Grinning, Joe took Emma in his arms. A shadow darkened the doorand Fellers Compton was there.
"Stretch my ears and call me a jackass!" he breathed. "You people getthe best ideas of anybody in Missouri!"
He had a wrapped parcel in his hands and he put it down on the table."Caroline put up too much strawberry preserves and she hopes to unloadsome of it on you, now that you're going away. Keep playing, Yancey.I'll be back."
While Joe danced with Barbara and Pete Domley with Emma, Yancey played"Oh, Susannah," and then another of Foster's songs. Putting his fiddleaside for a second, Yancey dipped himself a drink of water. Barbara'sand Emma's eyes were glistening, for the air was tense and expectant.This was the way most parties started. Yancey put the gourd dipperbeside the bucket of water just as old Tom Abend drove up with his wife,his three youngest children, his two married daughters, their husbands,and their children.
"Fellers said we might come over here to see what's goin' on," hegreeted.
"Right good idea," Joe said.
Tom continued, "One of my boys shot a buck last week, and we made jerky.Lot more'n we can use so I brought some for you to take along."
"Thanks, Tom."
Joe saw Tom's amiable wife and daughters chatting with Emma. In additionto jerky, meant to go along with the departing wagon, they had broughtfour pies, several pounds of butter, some fresh venison, and twolanterns. Yancey swung into the plaintive melody of "Ben Bolt" and Joefound himself dancing with one of Tom Abend's daughters while herhusband danced with Emma.
The neighbors came on horse- and muleback, in wagons and carts, and onfoot, with those who lived nearest arriving first. All bore gifts, andall explained that they simply had too much at home. The Towers wouldreally be doing them a favor to take some of it off their hands. Inaddition, all brought whatever had been ready for a hoedown in themaking. They overflowed the house and spilled out into the yard, butsomebody had stretched a rope between the house and the barn and hunglighted lanterns on it. Tonight there would be no thought of savinglantern oil. Tonight was for fun.
Yancey played until he was tired, and then Les Tenney spelled him. Whilenot as expert a fiddler as Yancey, Les knew a great many tunes,variations on those tunes, and when he could think of nothing else heimprovised his own music. Joe saw Barbara dancing with Marcia Geragty,but only for a second. Grinning, two of Tom Abend's big sons separatedthe girls and danced them away. Dancing with eight-year-old CeliaTrevelyan, Tad was having a wonderful time and even the babies dancedwith each other.
Inside the house, the table groaned under its weight of food and a hugepot of coffee, and those who were hungry could help themselves to asmuch as they wanted any time they wanted it. But nobody lingered insidefor very long. Old Tom Abend tapped Joe on the shoulder.
"My sons-in-law got a coon treed behind the barn. They want you to comehelp shake it out."
"Sounds like fun."
"It will be."
Joe followed old Tom out of the light cast by the hanging lanterns andinto the dark shadows cast by the barn. Tom's two husky sons-in-lawstood beside the barrel of whisky that they had set up on blocks of woodand tapped. The crowd around the barrel increased as more men slippedaway from the dance, and cups rattled as they were filled and passedaround. Old Tom said clearly.
"We'll drink to the Tower family and Oregon!"
"All right!" they chorused. "To all the Towers and Oregon!"
Joe stepped back into the shadows, raised the cup to his lips, andmanaged, unseen, to spill it onto the grass. But he felt as though hehad drunk all of it. His feet were light and airy, and his head seemedclearer than it had ever been before. He laughed unrestrainedly, andrejoined the party just in time to choose Emma as his partner for asquare dance which Lance Trevelyan was calling;
"Alamen left and you git around, Hand over hand like a merry-go-round."
As the dance gathered tempo, all the younger children were put to sleepin either the beds or in whichever wagon was not already crowded withsleeping youngsters. Joe danced on, and at intervals cups again rattledbehind the barn while the barrel became lighter.
Because it seemed to him that the dance had just started, Joe was amazedwhen the sun rose.
The Lost Wagon Page 6