Kate studied the slight smile on his face. “Have you found anyone to expose to the gospel?” she asked, knowing his fondness for speaking of his faith.
“Just the usual congregation. Most of them ain’t too eager to hear about their sins, but I keep trying.”
“I admire you,” Kate said. “If every Christian were as outspoken as you, Good News, the kingdom of God on earth would be people. The family of God would be enlarged.”
“Well, it seems like I don’t do a lot of good, but I just keep trying. Right after I got saved I promised the Lord I’d be a voice for Him, even if it was a sorry one. So now when I put my left foot down, I wanna say ‘Hallelujah!’ and then, when I put my right foot down, I wanna say ‘Praise the Lord.’” He took another bite of the sandwich then nodded. “I appreciate your words though. I do get a little bit discouraged.”
“I’ll tell you what I got on my mind for today. As soon as we camp, you and Joss put that tarpaulin up. I’m going to set up and make fried pies.”
“Fried pies? Why they ain’t nothin’ but my favorite!” Good News exclaimed.
“I brought dried apples and peaches. Which is your favorite?”
Good News laughed. He liked this woman very much. Actually, he was rather shy with women. He was not a handsome man. He had little of this world’s goods and was uneducated. Still, there was something about Kate Johnson that made him feel warm inside. “There ain’t no such thing as a bad pie, ma’am. The worst fried pie I ever had in my life was real good.”
Kate suddenly laughed. She had, indeed, a warm rich laugh that came from her heart, and she said, “Well, you’ll be an easy man to please. You come by, and I’ll make one of each for you.”
“You can count on it, Miss Kate.”
* * *
KATE RODE IN THE wagon for the rest of the day. Leland was silent, and she knew he was discouraged by the steady downpour and by the misery of the trip. From time to time she would make an encouraging remark, but he merely answered in monosyllables. Finally she gave up the attempt and sat there watching the mules as they struggled to pull the Conestogas through the mud.
The hours passed, and Rocklin went down the line shouting, “Make camp!” When Leland put their wagon into place and Kate stepped down, Rocklin came over. He had a small deer over the pommel of his saddle. “Fresh meat tonight. Pretty fat, too.”
“Good. I’ll dress the thing.”
“No need of that, ma’am.” Addie Joss had appeared, his smile lighting his face. “Give me that varmint, Mr. Rocklin.”
“You can have my part of it. I’d rather shoot ’em or eat ’em rather than dress ’em.” When Joss moved off to some distance and began dressing the deer, Kate asked, “Did you expect all this rain, Chad?”
“Sure didn’t, but it’s not unseasonable this time of year. April brings these spring rains. We’ll be wishing we could have some of it when we cross the Arkansas and hit the desert country.”
The two talked for awhile, and finally Kate said, “Well, I’ve got to start making my pies.”
Rocklin stared at her. “How are you going to make pies without an oven?”
“You wait and see. Don’t eat too much of that deer. Fried pies are my specialty.”
* * *
ROCKLIN VISITED EVERY WAGON and spoke with most of the men. He saw that they were in a bad humor, and that was understandable. Wiley Pratt, a short, muscular man, was outspoken. “I wish I had stayed back in St. Louis,” he complained.
“Oh, Wiley, this is fun!” Stuffy McGinnis was grinning widely. He winked at Rocklin and continued to tease Pratt. “Look here. This is just like a vacation. We got plenty of rain and good food and a good chance of bein’ scalped by Indians. What more could a fellow want?”
“I wish you’d shut up, Stuffy. I’m tired of listenin’ to you!” He gave Rocklin a hard glance and said, “He’s not kidding about those Indians though. I hate Indians. The only good one’s a dead one.”
Rocklin was accustomed to this attitude from many men. Wiley Pratt was speaking what many a frontiersman felt. His years with the Comanches had changed his attitude, but he knew it was useless to argue.
“Well, you boys enjoy those steaks.”
“I don’t know how we’re gonna cook ’em,” Pratt complained, “with it rainin’ like this.”
“You’ll find a way.”
“Eat ’em raw. That’s what I say,” Stuffy grinned. “It won’t hurt you none, Wiley.”
The darkness had fallen as Rocklin made his way back to the canopy that shaded the fire and the Hayden family. “It smells good,” he said.
“Sit down here,” Kate smiled. “I saved you a good, juicy steak.”
Rocklin seated himself, crossed his legs, and took the tin plate. There was only the steak and bread, but hunger had sharpened him, and he ate it quickly. As he ate, Carleen sat beside him peppering him with questions. Rocklin had grown to expect this from the young woman. “What was it like when you were a boy?” she asked him.
“About like it is for you.”
Carleen shook her head. Grease coated her mouth from the steak, and she didn’t bother to wipe it off. “No, boys have it better than girls.”
“How do you figure that?”
“They can do all kinds of stuff. All women can do is wear long dresses and cook.”
“I think there’s a little bit more to being a woman than that,” Rocklin said, winking at Kate, who was smiling at Carleen’s remark. She persisted, however, asking him about his boyhood life, and as he finished his steak, he told her several stories. “You know, Carleen, once we had a mule on our place that was downright cantankerous. He didn’t mind doin’ light work, but whenever we tried to hitch him to a heavy plow he pitched a fit. Anytime he saw a heavy tool he would rear up and break away and run into the barn. One of my jobs when he did that was to go put a trace chain around his neck and have a bigger mule drag him outside. He was pure poison to hitch and hated heavy work worse than any man I ever saw. I think I was kind of like that mule.”
“Sounds to me like you’ve done a lot of work,” Leland muttered.
“Oh, I have all right, but I’ve got a lazy streak in me.”
“Here,” Kate interrupted. “Everybody can have one pie.” She had put back two for Good News, but she did not mention that. “Which do you want, Rocklin, peach or apple?”
“I purely hate makin’ decisions, Kate. You just give me whichever one’s the closest.” She handed him a pie, and he cautiously bit off the end. “This is the best peach fried pie I ever had. That was one of the things I missed living with the Indians. They weren’t much on making pies.”
“What did they eat?” Carleen demanded.
“Mostly puppy dogs. Nice fat juicy ones,” Rocklin said with a straight face. He saw Jori staring at him and gave her a wink. “Puppy dog stew. That was my favorite.”
“You didn’t really eat puppy dogs!” shrieked Carleen.
“Sure did. Indians like puppy dogs the way you like that pie there.” He looked over and saw that Leland was slumped with his back against the wagon wheel. He was wet and miserable, and Rocklin said, “It looks a little bad right now, boss, but the sun will be out pretty soon and it’ll be better.”
Mark spoke up for the first time and said, “I didn’t think it’d be like this.”
Rocklin shrugged his shoulders. “That’s what I have to say about most things that happen. I remember once I was pinned down by a bunch of Kiowa Indians. They was out to get my scalp, and I remember thinkin’, When I got up this mornin’ I didn’t think it’d be like this.”
Carleen laughed and said, “You made that up.”
“Maybe I did. I know you like made-up stories.”
“Can’t we wait until this rain slacks off?” Jori asked abruptly. “It is wearing the animals out and us, too.”
“No, that won’t do, Jori. If we stopped every time we had trouble, we’d never get to Santa Fe.”
“I keep thinking about back ho
me with warm beds and nice food cooked in a stove and sitting down at a table to eat it,” Mark said. He pulled his sodden jacket closer around his shoulders and said, “I dreamed about that last night.”
A silence fell across the group, and Rocklin said quickly, “You know, Mark, the best thing I can think of is not to look back. There’s a story in the Bible about that.”
“You mean about Lot’s wife?” Kate smiled.
“Yes. That was one stubborn woman. Lot told her plainly not to look back. She did and turned into a big block of salt.” He took another bite of the pie, savored it, and then looked across at Jori and grinned. “I wonder if she’s still there.”
Jori could not help but smile at his imagination. “You like to make the best of things, don’t you?”
“Seems best,” Rocklin said. He finished his pie and lifted the tin coffee cup and drank the last drop. “When I was in jail once there was a fellow there that was a piano player. Well, he loved that piano, but, of course, we didn’t have one in the jail. So this fellow made him a keyboard out of a piece of wood and used some ink to paint the keyboard. He’d just sit there for hours with that thing on the table. I never will forget it.”
“What was he doing?” Carleen demanded, her eyes big.
“Well, his fingers were going over that keyboard just like it was a real piano. Of course, it didn’t make any noise. It was kind of spooky. He’d sit there for hours, and I guess there was music in his head, but he about drove me crazy. But,” he reached over and pulled Carleen’s pigtails, “he was doin’ the best he could under the circumstances.”
“And that’s what we’ll have to do,” said Kate. “I declare you’re a comfort, Chad. Here, I’ll reward you with another pie.”
“I want one, too,” Carleen begged.
“You can have half of mine,” Rocklin said. He broke the pie in two and gave her half. “It’ll be better pretty soon.”
* * *
KATE HAD MADE A stew after the steaks from Rocklin’s deer had played out. The train had another hard two days, and she was crouched in front of the fire stirring it. She looked up and saw Good News come toward her. “Sit down and see what this stew tastes like.”
Good News at once sat down beside the fire, took his hat off and placed it beside him. He took the spoon she gave him, tasted the stew, and said, “That’s prime, Miss Kate.”
“You don’t have to call me Miss Kate. Just Kate’s enough.” She looked at him oddly and turned her head to one side. She was a healthy, strong-bodied woman and had long, composed lips that held back some hidden knowledge and a way of studying people that sometimes disturbed them. “Is your real name Good News?” she asked abruptly. “I can’t imagine naming a baby that.”
“Sure is. Like I told you, my mama wanted me to proclaim the gospel, and she figured that’s a good way to get started.”
“I imagine people look at you strangely when you tell them your name.”
“Almost always,” he agreed, “but then that gives me a chance to tell them about the Lord Jesus.”
They sat there for awhile, and he spoke for a time about his experiences with his name. Suddenly he looked at her and asked directly, “Have you ever been married, Kate?”
“No, I never have. Have you?”
“No, I haven’t. Of course it’s not odd about me, but I just wonder about you. Why didn’t you ever marry?”
Kate was silent for a moment, then she held up her maimed hand. “Most men want a whole woman.”
Her answer and the gesture shocked Good News. He straightened up and shook his head and then said with disbelief, “Why, Kate, you’re as handy a woman as I ever saw! That wouldn’t mean a thing to a man with sense.”
Kate did not answer him. It embarrassed her to talk about her infirmity, and she quickly changed the subject. “Tell me about which part of the Bible you like best.”
“I guess I like the Psalms and the Gospels, and I like Revelation, too. My uncle had a dog once, and he named it Revelation. I asked him why, and he said it was because he didn’t understand a thing about him. That’s about where I stand. I like it though.”
“One of my favorites is that part of Hebrews that talks about people who had great faith.”
“That’s one of my favorites, too.”
She got up and went to the back of the wagon and pulled out a Bible and came back and opened it. Finding the place, she read the first verse of Hebrews 11: “‘Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen.’”
She handed him the Bible and said, “What do you think that means, the evidence of things not seen?”
He took the Bible and held it but did not look down at it. He was silent for such a long time that Kate asked in a puzzled tone, “What’s the matter?”
“Well, I love this Book but—”
“But what?”
“But I can’t read.” He looked up and there was pain in his eyes, and suddenly Kate Johnson saw that underneath the rough exterior of Good News Brown was a sensitive man. She knew that he was intelligent, and she had heard him play his fiddle and sing in a clear tenor voice. He was good with mules. She had heard Rocklin say as much, but now he had revealed a side of himself that she had not dreamed of.
“How did you miss out on learning to read?”
“My folks didn’t put no stock in it, and it’s too late now.”
“Why, don’t be foolish, Good News,” Kate said sharply. “It’s never too late! You’re a smart man.”
“Me? Nobody ever accused me of that!”
“Well, you are.” She studied him for a moment and said, “There’s a verse of Scripture that says nothing is impossible with God. Do you believe that?”
“Yes, I believe it. I believe everything this Book says.”
“Well, I’m going to teach you how to read.” She watched as Good News lifted his head and hope came into his eyes. “Do you really think I could learn, Kate?”
“I know you can.”
“I’d give anything if I could read this Book.”
“Well, you can do something for me.”
“For you? What can I do for you?”
“You can teach me how to use that whip of yours,” Kate Johnson smiled. “Who knows, I might have to use it on someone one of these days.”
Chapter Eleven
CALLIE PULLED HER HORSE up and straightened in the saddle. The mules, for once, were fairly well behaved, but she knew them too well to trust them much. Her eyes went across the level plain. To her left was the river bottom about two miles away, and scattered trees to her right broke the monotony of the plains. Pedro had kept her informed of their progress, pointing out that they had crossed One Hundred and Ten Mile Creek, which was ninety-five miles from Franklin, and then Bridge Creek and Big John Spring. Council Grove lay just ahead, and she knew that, according to Pedro, they would reach there in two days. “Council Grove,” he said, “is about a hundred and fifty miles from Franklin. We’re just getting started.”
Letting herself sway with the smooth gait of her mount, Callie glanced forward to where the wagons were sloshing through the muddy ground. She heard Stuffy McGinnis, the most amiable of all the skinners in her mind, singing:
I’ll tell you how it is when
You first get on the road;
You have an awkward team and
A very heavy load.
You have to whip and holler, but
You swear upon the sky.
You’re in for it then, boys,
Root hog or die.
A smile touched Callie’s lips, for most of the songs that the mule drivers sang were obscene beyond belief, as was their language. She knew that Rocklin had laid the law down to them all that on this drive they would have to forget about their cussing.
“Let me ride with you, Callie.”
Callie turned and looked down to see Carleen looking up at her, bright eyed and excited.
“All right. Put your foot in the stirrup.” Callie kicked
her foot out of the stirrup, helped the girl get on behind her, and then felt the girl’s arms go around her waist. It gave her an odd feeling, for she was not accustomed to being hugged. “They’re pretty, aren’t they?”
“What’s pretty, Carleen?”
“The wagons. Look at them. They look like ships, don’t they?”
Indeed, Callie had had this idea herself. The Conestogas were enormous wagons with high prows and sterns. Rocklin had told her that the wagons were built with curves like a ship so that the goods stored inside would hold steady. He also informed her that they were practically waterproof and could float.
“The covers look like sails,” Carleen said.
“They do a little bit.”
“How old are you?” Carleen demanded.
Callie was accustomed to the girl’s incessant questioning. “I am seventeen years old, me.”
“Why do you say me at the end of your sentence?”
“It’s the way Cajuns talk.”
“Say me some French.”
“What do you want me to say?”
“Anything. I just like to hear it.”
Callie smiled and described the prairie scene in French. “How you like that, little one?”
“I’m not little. I’m ten and I’ll soon be eleven, and I’m big for my age.”
“I should say young one then.”
“Seventeen. I wish I was seventeen.”
“Enjoy yourself. This is a good time for you, cherie.”
“What does cherie mean?”
“It means dear.”
“You mean like with horns?”
Callie suddenly laughed. “No, I mean like you call your mama dear mama.”
“My mama’s dead.”
“Well, your sister then.”
“When I get to be seventeen, I’m going to get married. And I’m going to have two boys and one girl. The boys will be named Charles and Thomas, and the girl will be named Eloise.”
“That would be nice. What about your husband?”
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