Angel Train

by Gilbert, Morris

  Charity and nearly everyone else knew the hard time Nolan Cole was giving his wife. She made it a point to go by at least once a day and help with the new baby. She also found time, whenever possible, to encourage York Wingate. “I know it’s hard,” she said once when they had stopped beside a thin trickle of a stream, “but it will be over someday.”

  “I don’t know what to do, Charity,” York said. “He’s cruel to Marzina, but the baby needs her. I guess I need her too.”

  Charity laid her hand on his arm. “She’s a fine woman married to a bad man.”

  He gave her an intense look and said, “That’s kind of final, isn’t it?”

  “It’s bad, but the Lord will take care of your son. He’s a healthy baby, and Marzina’s doing a fine job.”

  Wingate shrugged his shoulders and walked away.

  Charity knew there was no way she could help him except to offer encouragement, and she was determined to do that.

  “Well, there it is. Fort Hall. What’s the date?” Tremayne asked.

  Charterhouse seemed to add up in his head, “I think it’s September the nineteenth.”

  The two led the train in, and Tremayne stepped off his horse and watered him in a trough. He saw Wingate walking wearily along and said, “Doc, if you need anything, this is one place you can buy it.”

  “Not much, is it, Casey?”

  “No. Built by a man named Nathaniel Wyeth—owned by the Hudson’s Bay Company. Not far up there, the trail turns off and winds its way down to California. A lot of people give up here and just go on there.”

  “You think any of our group will?”

  “Some of them are pretty tired. Yes, and the animals are tired too. I’d like to rest them, but we’re late. We’re liable to get caught in snow or ice if we don’t get out of here.”

  Tremayne went to the store, bought a few supplies, and when he came out, he saw Charity. “Hello, Charity. Here to buy a few things?”

  “Yes. Where are you going?”

  “The Indian camp over there. I want to see what they know about how the trail is, on down the way.”

  “Could I go with you? I’ve never seen any Indians up close.”

  “Come along.”

  The two made their way out of the trading post, and he spoke of the Indian problem. “We’ve been lucky,” he said. “All we had to do was meet a Cheyenne war party. There wouldn’t be as many of us now.”

  Charity listened until they got to the Indian camp, and she stared at it with disgust. The camp stank to high heaven, and she had never seen such dirty people in all of her life. They were friendly and talkative but apparently also rather slow minded, dirty, and almost naked.

  Finally they left, and she said, “Well, there goes all the romantic notions I had about Indians.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Well, I’ve been reading books about how noble the savages are. I had an idea they were tall, brawny, strong people with piercing eyes. These don’t look like that at all.”

  “You’re talking about the plains Indians, Charity, like the Blackfeet or the Sioux. These fish eaters are something different.” He grinned. “You ought to see what they eat besides fish—lizards, grasshoppers, stuff you would think would choke a man.”

  They moved back, and Charity was amazed at how at ease she felt with Tremayne. It hadn’t been that way earlier. She nearly commented about it, but they were interrupted by York Wingate. He came hurrying with a worried frown on his face.

  “We’ve got a problem, Casey. We got three people down sick.”

  “What is it?” Tremayne demanded quickly.

  York shook his head. “I think,” he said regretfully, “it may be cholera.”

  “I hope not. That could be bad.”

  * * *

  THE CHOLERA HIT THE train suddenly. The first victim was Nolan Cole. He died a hard death. Marzina stayed with him, and Dr. Wingate did all he could. When the man drew his last breath, Wingate looked with sadness at Marzina, “I’m sorry I couldn’t save him, Marzina.”

  “He was an unhappy man,” she whispered. “He would never look to God, and now he’s gone to give account.” Tears came to her eyes, and Wingate wanted to put his arms around her and comfort her but knew that was not the thing to do.

  “You’ll have lots of help, Marzina,” he said gently. “We’ll all help you.”

  “I feel so alone, Dr. Wingate!”

  “I know. I feel the same way.” He touched her arm. “We’ve both lost something, but we’ll help each other.”

  * * *

  CHOLERA ALSO CLAIMED ELIZABETH Douglas, ten years old, and Tom Brand, age fifteen. It also took Konrad Dekker and his wife, Minna. Several others had it, including Jack Canreen, but lived through it.

  Helga Studdart, daughter of Karl and Freida, died the second day after getting sick. Charity was with her when she died. She had been bathing her face with cool water, and Helga began crying. “I never had anything. I never had a husband. I never had babies. My whole life is gone, and I’ve never done anything.”

  Charity felt tears in her eyes. Later she told Tremayne, “She was so sad. Crying out because she had missed out on everything. I think she liked Ringo Jukes.”

  “Poor girl,” Tremayne murmured. “So pretty.”

  “She wanted so much and got so little.”

  “Well, there are people who say eat, drink, and be merry for tomorrow you may die, but I don’t think that’s any way to live.”

  “No, it’s not. Helga’s parents were afraid that she was going wild, but she was like all young girls. She was interested in young men and in marriage, courtship, and things like that.” She found her eyes filling up with tears. They were at the edge of the camp now, and it was dark. There was a bright moon but no stars. Suddenly, the thought of the young girl full of life only two days earlier but now cold and dead moved her. She began to weep.

  Casey stared at her for a moment and saw the depth of her suffering. He knew she was a woman of intense compassion. He simply stepped forward and put his arms around her. “I know it’s hard. Life is hard.” He held her until she stopped crying.

  When she looked up, she said, “Don’t—don’t take advantage of me, Casey.”

  “I’d never do that. I think you’re the best woman I ever knew. I wouldn’t do anything to hurt you.”

  Charity was very much aware of his arms around her. She knew her will was weak and that if he held her tighter, and even if he kissed her, she wouldn’t be able to resist. His words comforted her, but she was unprepared for his question.

  “Do you think you could ever consider me as a man you might learn to care for and want to marry?”

  Charity couldn’t answer. She looked up, and his face was coated with the silver light of the moon. His eyes were piercing, and there was a gentle expression on his face, “I know you won’t give yourself to a man who doesn’t know God.”

  “No, I couldn’t.”

  “I can’t hunt for God just to get you. That would be like trying to trade with God. I can’t do that. It would be a lie.”

  “No, you can’t do that, but you need to seek God no matter what happens with me or any other woman. Seek Him, Casey, please.”

  She turned and walked blindly away, and when she got to the wagon, she undressed and went to bed, but she lay awake, looking up at the canvas overhead and thinking of what Casey had said. And the question burned in her mind: Could you consider me a man you might learn to care for? She suddenly knew that had already happened, but she saw no good ending to this situation.

  Chapter Seventeen

  THE ANGEL TRAIN REACHED Fort Boise, and the animals were in such poor shape that Tremayne decided to rest them. There were livestock traders at the post, and many of the Way traded their sore-footed animals for fresh ones. It was a common practice on the trail, for many trains arrived there in poor condition.

  Later that afternoon, Tremayne started into the fort to buy a new knife because he had broken his. He paid for
one he liked, and when he stepped outside, he saw Charity accompanied by Bronwen and Meredith.

  “Well, ladies, it’s good to see you. Have you been shopping?”

  “Just for a few things.” Charity smiled. She feared Casey would reveal something about their last encounter—when she had wept and he had embraced her—but he said nothing, and she drew a deep sigh of relief.

  Meredith piped up, “You know what, Tremayne? You ought to get married.”

  “Why should I do that?”

  “Because you need a little girl just like me.”

  Meredith’s answer delighted Casey as most of her remarks did. “Why would I need a little girl just like you?”

  “Because little girls like me are pretty and smart.”

  Charity laughed. “Well, you’re not broke out with modesty.”

  “No, you’re not!” Bronwen snapped. “Why don’t you be nice?”

  Meredith hit Bronwen on the arm. “I am nice. You’re the one that’s always causing trouble.”

  “Wait a minute. Let’s not fight about it,” Tremayne said.

  “Why don’t you get married?” Meredith insisted.

  “Why, I don’t think I could find a woman who would marry an ugly fellow like me.”

  “You ain’t ugly,” Meredith said. She looked at Tremayne carefully and shook her head. “You’re not very pretty, but you’re not ugly.”

  “Thank you. I appreciate that.”

  Meredith glanced at Charity. “I know. You can marry Charity. She don’t think you’re ugly, do you, Charity?”

  Tremayne was amused, and Charity was flustered. “Well, come on, out with it. Am I ugly?”

  “Don’t be silly and don’t listen to this foolish girl!” she said.

  “I’ll tell you what. Suppose we go in that restaurant over there and get us some store-bought food?”

  “I want some store-bought food,” Meredith said.

  “Come along then.” He led them into the café, which was fairly rough, but the food was good. They had beef stew, boiled potatoes, and green beans along with biscuits and apple pie.

  During the meal Meredith had been talking about things she wanted to do when she got to Oregon. “Are there any bears in Oregon, Tremayne?”

  “You mustn’t call him Tremayne. Call him Mr. Tremayne.”

  “All right. Mr. Tremayne, are there bears in Oregon?”

  “I think so. Black bears and grizzly bears. Why?”

  “I’m going to shoot one. I had a storybook about a girl who shot a bear so I’m going to shoot one. Will you let me use your gun?”

  “Well, Miss Charity or your father will have to talk to you about that. Maybe you can start shooting something easier like a porcupine.”

  Charity listened, amazed that anyone as hardened and as tough as Casey Tremayne could make himself at home with a six-year-old. Meredith doted on him and so did Bronwen. Finally she said, “Well, it’s getting late. When will we be leaving, Casey?”

  “Probably day after tomorrow. This is the last chance if you want to buy anything.”

  “No, I guess we’ve got everything. What’s at Walla Walla?”

  “Just another military post, but we’re not going there. I decided to skip that and go on for the Dalles.”

  “The Dalles? What’s that?”

  “It’s a little settlement on the Columbia River. We’ll have to camp out there while we build rafts.”

  “Why do we need rafts?” Bronwen asked. “Are we going to fish off of them?”

  “No, I don’t think so. You see, Bronwen, there’s no way to get to Oregon City except down the river. The mountains are too steep, and there are no trails for wagons. So we’ll build rafts. We’ll put the animals and the wagons on them, and we’ll float down.”

  “Won’t that be fun!” Bronwen said.

  “Well, if the river is low, it will be. If it’s high, might be a little bit too much fun.”

  “Is it dangerous?” Charity inquired.

  “It can be. Depends on how high the river is.”

  He paid for the meal and they left. When they returned to the wagon, Charity said, “You girls get on to bed. I’m going to get ready for breakfast.”

  Meredith came over and said, “You can kiss me good night, Tremayne.”

  “Well, I’ll just do that.” He leaned over, kissed her cheek, and then said, “What about you, Bronwen?”

  “No, I’m too old for that.”

  “I guess you are. Well, I missed my chance. Good night, girls.”

  “There’s some coffee left,” Charity said. “Let’s heat it up on the fire. I hate to go to bed this early. I’m afraid I might miss something.”

  “Not likely to miss anything out here.”

  She heated the coffee, and he sipped his while she prepared the elements for breakfast. Then she sat on a box next to him. “That was so good for my sisters, and for me too.”

  “A store-bought meal is good after cooking on a campfire.”

  “No, I mean it was good for them to spend time with you.”

  “They’re fine girls. All you Morgan girls are fine. Are you like your mother?”

  “They say so. She died when Meredith was born, but I remember her. She had a good singing voice, and she was always ready to listen to my troubles.”

  They sat quietly for a time, and finally, she said, “Have you thought about God since my father’s sermon?”

  “Yes, I have. It got to me.”

  “I think God is after you, Casey.”

  “You make me sound like a varmint somebody’s trailing with a dog.”

  “Well, in a way that’s true. Jesus said, ‘I’ve come to seek and to save that which was lost.’ So, Jesus is on your trail, I think.”

  “Well, I’m ready to be caught.”

  Their silence continued. She thought with amazement, It’s like we were an old married couple. “You asked me if I thought of you as a man I might care for and marry. What kind of woman are you looking for, Casey?”

  “Well, a man gets pictures in his head, Charity. He sees one woman who is beautiful, another who is sweet, another who is smart, another who is clever. He sees all these things in different women, and out of all of them, he makes a woman up in his head. That’s what he’s looking for.”

  “That’s not very fair to the woman,” Charity said in a sprightly tone.

  “Well, most of us take what we can get, the good with the bad.” He rose and said, “It was a good evening. You looking forward to getting to Oregon?”

  “I suppose so. It’s what we set out to do.”

  “It’ll be hard. Hard getting down the river. Hard finding a place, building cabins, putting in crops, clearing land—a lifetime of work.”

  “I know that’s so, but I’m just glad to be this far along.”

  He leaned over and put his hand on her cheek. He didn’t say a word, but she saw something in his eyes that kept her quiet. His touch thrilled her, and then he said, “Good night, Charity,” straightened up, and left quickly.

  She watched him go and wondered what sort of mental picture he had about her.

  * * *

  YORK WAS WALKING ALONGSIDE the oxen and daydreaming when he heard the call come out for nooning. “Whoa, Jesse!” and the oxen obediently stopped. He began to water them and feed them. Then he heard his name called. He turned to see Marzina approaching quickly, holding David in her arms. “What’s wrong?” he said.

  “It’s Benjamin. He’s got a fever.” She was frightened and she whispered, “It can’t be cholera. It just can’t be.”

  “Let me have a look.” He walked to her wagon and stepped inside. Benjamin was lying on his back, and his face was flushed. York felt his pulse and his forehead and then jumped down from the wagon. “It’s not cholera. I’m almost sure of it.”

  Relief washed across Marzina’s features, and she said, “Thank God. I thought—”

  “I know. We always think the worst about our children. I’m already the same way about Davi
d. I worry about him when there’s nothing really to worry about. I’ll tell you what. Let me get my bag. I’ve got a tonic that might help Benjamin a little bit, and then you need to keep his fever down with cool cloths. I’ll show you how.”

  Ten minutes later the two were back in the wagon, and York gave the tonic to the boy. He then began to show her how to wet the cloth in the coolest water available and put them on the boy.

  “I think he’ll be fine,” he said.

  Wingate covered her hand for a moment, and when she withdrew it, he tried to smile. “You’re a wonderful woman, Marzina. Your husband doesn’t know what a treasure he had.” Marzina watched him walk away. His words had given her hope. She picked up David and held him close to her heart.

  Chapter Eighteen

  TREMAYNE AND JACK CANREEN were riding ahead of the train. They had seen no game, and for most of the time, the two had hardly spoken. From time to time, Tremayne glanced at his companion’s expression. Canreen’s face was blunt, brutal, and battle scarred around his eyes from barroom fights and other quarrels. Tremayne was somewhat surprised at the behavior of the big man. He’d had him pegged from the first as a troublemaker, and there had been trouble between them at the beginning of the journey. But especially since Canreen had overcome cholera, a silence had fallen over him almost like a curtain. Tremayne never asked him about it, but now as their horses moved ahead at a slow walk, Canreen suddenly began speaking.

  “You know, Casey, I nearly died with that cholera.”

  “You came pretty close, Jack.”

  “I’ve heard stories that I thought were lies about people dying who looked over and saw something on the other side. I never put no stock in that sort of stuff. I never had any reason to.” He fell silent and then turned to face Tremayne. “I ain’t saying I had any kind of a vision like that, but I was so weak, I couldn’t even lift my head, and I thought I was going to die.