The Fugitive Son

by Adell Harvey

  Kanosh held out his hand. “Miss Hettie. She friend of mine. Told me to look after you so nobody hurt you.”

  With a huge sigh of relief, Andy took the proffered hand. Sitting beside Andy on the riverbank, Kanosh explained in his broken English that Miss Hettie had befriended him and his warriors many times, exchanging her jellies and jams for animal skins to cover her floor, baking them bread and helping with herbal medicines when his children became ill with white man’s diseases. “Others, they ignore Indians. Turn us away. Don’t like us. But Miss Hettie good to us. So we escort you to prophet. Going that way, anyway.”

  Before resuming their trek, his new friends challenged Andy to some of the well-known Indian sports – spear-tossing contests, arm wrestling, and log rolling. When Andy’s log got away from him, landing him with a “splash!” midstream, Kanosh and his band nearly rolled on the ground laughing. “White boy not such good stand-up man!” they hooted.

  At the moment, he wanted to be a “sit-down man.” He mounted his horse and headed it back north, oblivious to his soaking wet clothes and dripping hair. The Indian band followed his lead and rode in relative silence for a couple of hours. Now that Andy had companionship to occupy his mind, he could keep all his doubts at bay and enjoy the company of his new friends.

  Cherokee Trail, Kansas Territory

  Elsie watched in amusement as children continued to climb out of the wagons to join their friends in play. The little boys headed for the nearest piles of dirt; the girls found grassy spots to sit and play with their ragdolls. Many of the older girls watched over the youngest children while their mothers fixed the meals.

  The children were rambunctious, full of pent-up energy from the day’s long journey, but amazingly well-behaved. And judging from the way they were dressed, Elsie surmised their families did, indeed, have money. She looked around at the beautiful broadcloth, poplin, and muslin dresses the girls wore, complete with full hoop skirts, petticoats, ruffles, and flounces. If these were their everyday traveling clothes, what did their dress clothing look like? Even the boys, unlike the untidy ragamuffins she had seen in Kansas City and on the miners’ train, were dressed more like her kin back at the plantation. Her mother had never allowed her brothers and Isaac to wear dirty, torn shirts and trousers, even for work or play.

  The young mothers milled around, and like their daughters, most of them were well dressed. Some swirled around the campfire, carefully holding back their voluminous skirts; others had donned casual, more practical skirts for the journey. Elsie giggled aloud. She herself had put away her flowing skirts and ruffles after just one day of climbing in and out of the wagon and trying to hop up on the driver’s seat. How long would it take these women to get rid of their petticoats, buttons, and bows?

  As if reading her thoughts, Cynthia Tackitt came alongside, laughing with her. “We women surely do love the effect of a tiny waist with a huge skirt, for sure. Still, didn’t stop me from ditching my metal hoop and crinoline a day or two after we left Arkansas!”

  “I tossed mine under the bed after one day on the trail,” Elsie admitted. “Way too much trouble along with everything else we have to contend with. If it weren’t so unladylike, I think I’d choose to wear britches like the men to make it easier gathering wood for fires and climbing around on wagons.”

  The two ladies glanced at the children, who seemed to be having the time of their lives. “But how do they manage to keep the children so clean?” Elsie asked. “How can anyone look so tidy amongst all this dirt and dust?”

  “Just like we love the elegance of our own dresses so much that we sacrifice comfort and practicality in the name of fashion, we’re equally as extravagant and frilly when it comes to dressing our children.” Cynthia paused and batted a pesky fly from her side curls. “Sure does make for a heap of laundry, though.”

  During dinner, the travelers sat down near their own wagons to dine as families. The Fancher group, which included the captain’s own passel of children, plus a number of in-laws and out-laws, as he called them, was very large and jovial. The camaraderie among them spoke of a close-knit clan, but they all worked hard at including Elsie in their conversations, explaining people and places they were talking about so she could follow the flow of talk.

  Sally Poteet, whom Cynthia had introduced as a cousin whose family planned to leave the train early to head for southwest Texas, brought her plate and plunked down next to Elsie. “Looks like we’re about the only unwed spinsters in this group,” she confided, “so we should stick together.” She flung her head enough to bounce her sun-kissed sausage curls and laughed. She reminded Elsie of many of her friends back in Kentucky at their coming-out parties. Vivacious, spunky, and full of life.

  Catching her playful spirit, Elsie joined in the fun. “Spinsters? You mean we’re old maids before we even hit twenty?”

  “Won’t be for long. This train is loaded with young bucks who would be more than willing to take that title away from both of you,” Cynthia interjected. “I think I’m probably one of the oldest women on the train,” she added. “And I’m still in my forties.”

  She turned to Elsie and explained, “You’re probably noticing this train is mostly made up of young folk. Many of our young men served in the Mexican-American War a few years ago, and they don’t want to get caught up in another war back home. So they’re hankering to take advantage of the federal land grants out West.”

  Her eyes swept over the young ladies gathering around and their swains following close by. “Judging from the looks of things, I’d venture to guess that my son Pleasant will be performing a few weddings on this trip,” she said with a grin.

  Cynthia reached out and affectionately patted Sally’s hand. “And if these old eyes serve me right, the way Marion looks at you no doubt means yours might be one of those weddings.” She turned toward Elsie, “Marion’s one of my younger sons. You’ll be getting to know him well in the days ahead, as he’s volunteered to help with your wagon. Which means you’ll be seeing a lot of Sally, as the two of them are never far apart.”

  Sally blushed. “Speaking of the Reverend Pleasant,” she said, “here he comes, fiddle in hand. Do we get to sing around the campfire again tonight?”

  A distinguished young man approached, followed by two toddlers.

  “That’s Pleasant and his little boys,” Cynthia said by way of introduction. “Let’s spread our quilts and make room for the others.”

  Before long the prairie was alive with the sound of happy, joyful music. Several others had brought guitars, dulcimers, and a few instruments Elsie had never seen before. She soon found herself tapping her leather lace-up boots to the rhythm.

  She had rarely experienced such joyful hymn singing. The hymns they sang in her church back home were uplifting but dignified. Nothing like this toe-tapping, boisterous, spirited music. She poked Sally and whispered, “What kind of religion are these people?”

  Sally grinned. “Religion? I guess most of us are Baptists or Methodists. Reverend Pleasant is a Methodist preacher.”

  “He must be a ‘Shouting’ Methodist then.”

  Unable to contain her mirth, Sally burst out laughing, causing quite a few eyes to look their way. She covered her mouth with her hands, trying to curtail her giggles. “Shouting Methodist? Where in the world did you hear that?”

  Abashed, Elsie looked apologetic. “That’s what Papa called some of our neighbors. I supposed it was a separate denomination or something. We’re Methodists, but our music never sounded as lively as this.”

  “No need to apologize,” Sally replied. “In fact, it’s a pretty good description of us. We do get pretty noisy sometimes.” She glanced up at the young pastor, who looked like he was about to start preaching, Bible in hand. “And when Reverend Pleasant gets revved up, preaching hell fire and damnation, he does get to shouting some!”

  Elsie listened intently as the young preacher and the crowd got “revved up.” Unaccustomed to his kind of sermonizing, she was fascinated
as he began to explain the Word of God amidst a constant chorus of “amens” and “hallelujahs.”

  “The very word ‘religion,’” he said, “means to reconnect. And that’s what man has been trying to do ever since Adam and Eve sinned in the garden – reconnect with the Creator.” He went into a lengthy discussion on man’s attempts to reach God, beginning with Cain’s offering of the works of his hands, while his brother Abel brought an acceptable sacrifice.

  “The Bible clearly says without the shedding of blood is no remission, no forgiveness, for sin!” He thundered, pounding his Bible across his palm. More “amens!” and “hallelujahs!” echoed through the crowd. As the reverend warmed to his topic, the crowd got more excited and loud. Shouting Methodists, indeed! But Elsie rather enjoyed it.

  That night’s campfire was just one of many Elsie would experience along the arduous trail. On most evenings, if it wasn’t storming or if the travelers hadn’t had a rough day forging streams and pushing up hills, they gathered together for worship. And always, despite the weather, worship services were held every Wednesday and Sunday. These folks took their faith seriously.

  The fun and fellowship of all the Fanchers, Tackitts, Bakers, Dunlaps, and others turned the long, tedious journey into an exciting time of making new friends, sharing confidences, and just plain good times. The days passed swiftly, and even the physical hardships of the trail and her constant worries about Isaac were made better because of the horseplay and joyful moods of her many new friends.

  Even when a huge swarm of locusts had darkened the sky and frightened the little ones, Captain Fancher and Reverend Pleasant made light of the situation. “God just sent those nasty insects along to help us appreciate the beautiful sunshine he’s been blessing us with,” the reverend explained.

  “So let’s crawl up into our wagons and enjoy the darkness. It will help us all sleep better,” suggested Captain Fancher. “We’ll pray the locusts get their tummies full of food here and take off for greener pastures tomorrow.” As an afterthought, he added, “Or maybe they’ll gorge themselves so much they’ll founder like an old horse and lie down and die.”

  And they did. The next morning the travelers gave thanks for the brilliant sunshine, while stepping gingerly around the camp to keep from squishing the thousands of dead locusts that covered the ground.

  Elsie watched the tall, gaunt captain in awe. She fully understood how he had earned the nickname “Piney Alex,” which most of the travelers called him. He stood ramrod straight like a pine tree, head and shoulders above most of the others. Sally had told her it wasn’t just his posture and height that earned him the name, however.

  “Uncle Alex is such a straight guy in all his dealings,” she said. “His word is his bond, and he’ll never let you down. He’s already made this trek to California three times, and when he suggested that some of us might want to come with him this time, look at all the folks who signed on! They sold their farms, houses, and businesses and are ready to start a whole new way of life, just because they know they can trust him.”

  The huge caravan moved slowly but steadily westward, stopping occasionally to send out a hunting party or for the men to fish for fresh meat when they came to a river with abundant wildlife. The women took advantage of these lulls in travel to wash their laundry along the stream banks and catch up on the current gossip.

  All along the way, Elsie searched for signs that Isaac might have passed through. When they encountered freighters or stagecoaches heading east, she asked Captain Fancher to inquire if they had seen anyone fitting Isaac’s description. The answer was always no. What could have happened to him? Surely a man like Isaac wouldn’t just disappear off the face of the earth.

  Despite her increasing concern for Isaac, Elsie allowed herself to be drawn into the life of the wagon train. As Cynthia had predicted, she became fast friends with Marion and Sally. Marion insisted on doing most of the driving, so Elsie spent many of her days walking beside the wagon with Sally. It was easy to see the love growing between Sally and Marion. Elsie hoped some day she would find someone with whom she could enjoy that same kind of deep friendship, trust, and respect.

  Although Sally and Marion always made her feel welcome, Elsie sensed their need for moments of privacy. She’d frequently come up with a pretext to wander off to talk with Cynthia or some of the other women as the wagons inched their way across the never-ending prairie.

  She found mornings were the best time of day to catch up with the mothers who took advantage of the morning coolness to bring their infants outside for fresh air. Elsie had always loved babies, and this group was full of them. On one such stroll, she struck up a friendship with Captain Fancher’s wife, Eliza, who invited Elsie to join her in her carriage. With its fine leather upholstery, it was much more comfortable than bouncing along in a wagon.

  As they rode along, Eliza nursed her chubby daughter Triphenia while keeping a watchful eye on the five-year-old Kit who, with his playmates, was running alongside the slow-moving carriage. “We’ve been married twenty-one years and have ten children,” Eliza explained. “Seems like I’ve always been pregnant.

  “But out of all of them, Kit is the most rambunctious I can remember. His curiosity is going to be the death of him,” Eliza said with a proud smile that belied her words. “And if this one is anything like her brother, I’m in for years of trouble!” She looked down lovingly at the baby who had just finished feeding. “Would you like to hold her?”

  Elsie eagerly took Triphenia into her arms and cuddled her close. “But she’s so cute. You should have ten more just like her!”

  “Bite your tongue, woman!” Eliza joked. “Alex and I don’t call Triphenia the tail end for nothing! I’m just looking forward to settling down in California and having a passel of grandchildren all around me to spoil.”

  Occasionally, the routine of the slow journey was disrupted by the happy news of marriage bans, as another young couple invited the weary travelers to a wedding. Cynthia smirked when the first bans were read. Nudging Elsie, she boasted, “See, didn’t I tell you? These young bucks couldn’t travel all the way across the country without finding a sweetheart!”

  The weddings were generally scheduled for Sunday afternoons, a time when the wagons were stilled and both stock and humans rested for the Sabbath. Charles Mitchell and Sarah Baker were the first to tie the knot. Then came the fateful day when Cynthia gloated as the bans were read: “Sally Poteet has agreed to wed Marion Tackitt on Sunday next following the morning service and the midday nooning.”

  Elsie rushed over to hug her friend. “You didn’t tell me!” she chided. “You didn’t even hint!”

  Sally laughed. “I didn’t make up my mind until just last night. Marion’s been begging me to marry him this whole trip, but I wanted to make sure he was the one.”

  “One only has to see you two together to see that you’re made for each other,” Elsie chided playfully.

  “We’ve been best friends ever since we were toddlers. Sometimes I feel that I love him more like a brother than a sweetheart,” Sally confessed. “And to leave my family and loved ones when they head for Texas and the Tackitts go on to California, I had to know Marion was worth it.” She grew wistful. “That’s going to be a sad parting for all of us.”

  The upcoming wedding aroused considerable excitement. Cynthia used up some of her precious flour to bake an elegant wedding cake. Several of the seamstresses helped Sally’s mother sew a gorgeous gown of watered silk, a bolt of fabric that someone had thoughtfully brought along in hopes of just such an event.

  Adorned with a crown of wild flowers, Sally’s golden sausage curls bounced in the light breeze. She carried a huge bouquet of matching flowers, picked fresh that morning. Standing up with her as maid of honor, Elsie was beautiful in a pink organdy dress and soft black kidskin shoes. She chose to wear her metal hoops and petticoats for the occasion, bowing to fashionable elegance rather than drab practicality.

  Seaborn Tackitt – resplende
nt in a broadcloth suit, a shirt with a white collar, and a string necktie – belied his age, looking much more like a sophisticated businessman than an eighteen-year-old best man. Flirting with him in harmless fun, Elsie was thankful that Seaborn had agreed to spell his older brother as her wagon driver. It could make for an interesting few days, she thought.

  When the wedding party had assembled in the center of the circled wagons, Reverend Pleasant began the traditional vows, “Dearly beloved, we are gathered together here, in the sight of God and this company, to join together this man and this woman in holy matrimony… Elsie let her mind wander momentarily. Would she ever be a bride? Did God have a match for her out in the wilds of New Mexico Territory?

  The sound of sobbing brought her thoughts back to the ceremony. Sally’s mother, Matilda Poteet, seemed to be having a hard time dealing with the marriage that would likely take her youngest daughter away from her forever. Elsie realized that once the train split, Matilda might never see her beloved daughter again. This surely was a bittersweet moment for both mother and daughter.

  Elsie smiled sympathetically as Cynthia put a motherly arm around Matilda. Her sobbing quieted, and the only sound other than the minister’s voice was the sighing of the breeze. Just as the sun dipped below the western horizon, Marion kissed his bride, and his brother pronounced them man and wife. With a wide grin, Marion hugged Sally.

  “Welcome to the Tackitt clan, young lady!” the reverend said.

  The crowd cheered, and the women hustled to serve the wedding meal, an assortment of fresh fish and game accompanied by whatever offerings the guests could dream up out of their fast-disappearing food supplies. While the celebration was at its height, the newlyweds slipped away to one of the Tackitt wagons, and mothers took their weary toddlers off to tuck them in for the night.

  Elsie pretended to a gaiety she didn’t really feel. She was delighted for Sally’s happiness but immensely sad that she would be losing her new friend. For the rest of the way across Kansas, Sally would be occupied by her new husband, and rightly so. Of course, in just a fortnight or so, their paths would forever part company as Sally and Marion headed for California and she would go on her way to Santa Fe.