A Dream for Tomorrow (12 page)

“One—draw as much water as you can today. Fill every bucket and barrel and pickle jar and teapot. You might even soak some blankets and clothing in water too—that’s what I plan on doing. And remember your water must be carefully guarded and rationed while we’re crossing Devil’s Backbone. And even though you’ll be thirsty, do not forget that your first priority is to keep your team watered.

“Two—gather as much livestock feed as you think your animals will need for the next three days. As you can see, we have grass growing abundantly round here. Some of it’s been cut near our camp, but if you wander out a spell, you’ll find plenty more to be had.

“Three—see to your livestock and wagons. Check hooves and hitches and axles and wheels. Oil what needs oiling, fix what needs fixing. The last thing you want is a breakdown out on Devil’s Backbone. We can’t afford to waste any time out there. Time is water. We run out of water, and we run out of time.”

“Four—check your wagon’s load. I know, I know…we’ve been telling you this all along.” Asa glanced at Mrs. Taylor. “Some of you listened and got rid of your weighty items. Some of you did not, and it has cost you dearly.” He shook a feisty fist in the air.

“Hear me loud and hear me clear. You will be carrying extra weight due to the water, so you must do whatever you can to lighten your load now. Your animals are your only lifeline out here in this forsaken wilderness. If you’ve got them pulling too heavy a load, especially in a stretch like we’re about to encounter, you are risking precious lives—and not just your own. Believe you me, there are plenty of emigrants’ gravesites along Devil’s Backbone. I don’t want anyone in my unit to be joining them.”

He paused to look across the crowd of serious faces. “And now I want you all to bow your heads with me while I ask the Lord’s blessing on our upcoming travels.”

For the rest of the afternoon and into the evening, everyone in their unit made trip after trip hauling water from the creek. “Do you think the creek will run dry?” Ruth asked as she and Elizabeth walked together with more full buckets.

Elizabeth laughed. “I don’t think so. Not today anyway.”

Back at camp they had supper and then took a quick inventory of their water supply, and Asa seemed pleased. “But we all need to go out and cut more grass,” he told them. “By my estimation we have only half of what we need.”

Even Mrs. Taylor went out to cut and bundle grass. It was backbreaking work, but they stayed at it until Asa was satisfied. “Good work,” he told them. “In the morning, before we hitch up, the boys and I will walk all the livestock down to the creek for one last good drink.”

Tired from a long day plus all the extra work, Elizabeth was glad to call it a night. She wasn’t even too concerned that she was still sharing her bed with Mrs. Taylor. And she was determined to say something encouraging to her before she slipped off into slumber. “I appreciate how much you’ve been helping out,” Elizabeth said carefully as she brushed out her hair as she did every night. “It’s good to see you out there pulling your weight with the rest of us.”

Mrs. Taylor looked up from reading her Bible, which was her nightly routine. “
Pulling my weight?”
Her voice wavered.

Elizabeth set her hairbrush aside, trying to determine what she’d said wrong. “It’s good that you’re working with the rest of us.”

“You believe it’s my fault, don’t you?” Mrs. Taylor said quietly.

“What do you mean?” Elizabeth now began to braid her hair.

“You believe it’s my fault that Horace died…because I wouldn’t give up my piano. You and everyone else believe that, don’t you?”

Elizabeth tied off the braid and let out a long sigh. “I’m not sure it’s important what I or anyone else believes in regard to your husband’s demise.”

“I see them looking at me…” she continued in a shaky voice. “I know that they all blame me. I hear them whispering. They think I killed my husband.” Now she was starting to cry.

“Mrs. Taylor, over the years I have learned that what people think of you is not nearly as important as what you think of yourself.”

Mrs. Taylor pulled a rumpled hankie from her sleeve, wiping her eyes. “Do you know what I wish?” she said quietly. “I wish that I had been in the wagon with Horace. I wish that I had died with him. Then no one would be saying I killed my husband.” She sniffed. “In a way we would be martyrs.”

“
Martyrs?
”

“We would have both died for our faith.” Mrs. Taylor stuck her chin out. “That would make us Christian martyrs.”

Elizabeth was tired and longing for sleep, but something in her could not allow Mrs. Taylor to believe this without at least challenging it. “I’m sorry,” she said gently, “but I do not believe that would make you martyrs.”

“Well, of course it would. We would have both been killed on a mission for God.”

“You would have both been killed because you refused to follow your councilman’s orders. My father warned you, Mrs. Taylor, that piano was too heavy for your team. And you know it.”

Mrs. Taylor pointed a bony finger at Elizabeth. “See! You do believe I’m responsible for Horace’s death. You as much as admitted it. Tell the truth, Elizabeth Martin, you blame me, do you not?”

Elizabeth looked up at the canvas overhead, wishing there was some gentle way out of this. “Yes, it’s true that I believe your stubbornness over that piano contributed greatly to your husband losing control of the wagon…I believe your overloaded wagon was partly responsible for the accident that took your husband’s life.” She let out a long sigh. There. She had said it.

And now Mrs. Taylor began to sob again. Even louder this time. Elizabeth could only imagine what Brady and JT, sleeping beneath the wagon, must be thinking.

“I’m sorry.” Elizabeth placed a hand on her shoulder. “You demanded the truth from me.”

“I know…I asked for it…and I’m sure you’re right. It’s what everyone else believes.”

“But only God knows the full story.” Elizabeth softened her tone. “Well, God and Mr. Taylor. There might have been other factors involved.” She tried to think. “Perhaps a snake frightened your team and made your husband lose control. Or maybe the axle broke or a harness snapped. Or…perhaps it was simply Horace’s time to go.”

Mrs. Taylor looked at her with red-rimmed eyes. “Do you think so?”

“I honestly don’t know. But I do know this…”

“What?”

Elizabeth pointed at her. “You will have to come to terms with this. It’s obvious you feel guilty. And you should feel guilty. It was selfish to hold onto that piano.”

“I know.” She nodded sadly. “And I do feel guilty. Believe me, I feel very guilty.”

“I find that reassuring.”

Mrs. Taylor looked confused by this.

“It just shows that you’re human,” Elizabeth explained. “And it makes me like you more.”

“Truly?” Mrs. Taylor looked surprised.

Elizabeth nodded.

“But what shall I do with all this guilt?” Mrs. Taylor held her hands up helplessly. “I feel as if I’ve been buried alive with it, as if I can hardly breathe at times. And I find myself wishing I were dead. I even considered jumping into the river the other day when you were crossing the North Platte. But I knew that would be a sin. Oh, dear, what can I do?”

“Being that you’re a Christian woman, I should think you would know what to do, Mrs. Taylor. But perhaps it’s a bit like the shoemaker’s children.”

“The what?”

“Surely you’ve heard the old saying that the shoemaker’s children go barefoot.”

Mrs. Taylor shook her head. “No, I have not. What does it mean? Their father is a shoemaker, so certainly they would have shoes.”

“Yes…you would think so. But perhaps the shoemaker father, so weary from making shoes all day, came home so tired that he overlooked his own family’s need for footwear.”

“Well, yes, I can imagine that.”

“And perhaps someone in the clergy…someone such as yourself…perhaps you have lost sight of who God truly is.”

“What are you saying?” Mrs. Taylor seemed offended now.

“I’m speaking of the gospel—the good news. I should think you of all people would have great need of it just now.”

Mrs. Taylor’s brow creased as if Elizabeth was talking of some great mystery. But Elizabeth felt as if she were finally getting someplace. Was it possible that with all the Taylors’ focus on serving God as missionaries, Mrs. Taylor had actually lost her grasp on God’s true character—the simple truths that Elizabeth’s father had taught his children from the cradle? Perhaps Mrs. Taylor had never understood them. And as Elizabeth remembered the Taylors’ negative sermons, railing against everything, predicting hell and damnation for everyone, she knew it must be so. Mrs. Taylor had been so full of condemnation and judgment, she had been blinded by it. Elizabeth had never once heard Mrs. Taylor make mention of God’s love or grace or mercy.

“Surely you are aware of the gospel,” Elizabeth continued patiently, as if speaking to a small child. “You do know that God sent Jesus to take away the burden of sin and guilt.”

“Yes…” she murmured, “of course.”

“But you feel as if you’re being buried in guilt and you even felt tempted to take your own life?”

She nodded. “I even imbibed and became drunk and danced like a fool for the whole world to see.” She started sobbing again.

Elizabeth patted her on the back, suppressing the urge to chuckle. “Quite honestly, I think that is your most forgivable offense of all, Mrs. Taylor. No one here will ever hold that against you. In fact, it might have softened some hearts toward you. We all knew you were in pain over losing Mr. Taylor.”

She just nodded, sniffling again.

“But you do need forgiveness for the guilt you’re carrying in regard to Mr. Taylor’s death. It’s only natural that you blame yourself. And you’re right, there are others who blame you too.”

“I know…I know. But what can I do?”

Elizabeth reached for her own Bible now, flipping to the back. “I’m sure you’re familiar with this scripture. It’s from the first book of John, chapter one, verse nine.” She began to read. “If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just to forgive us our sins, and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness.”

“Yes. I am familiar with that.”

“Just like the shoemaker was familiar with boot making.” Now Elizabeth read the verse again, slowly and clearly. “Don’t you see, Mrs. Taylor? You need to confess your sin—you need to admit what you did wrong and take responsibility for it. Then you can hand it over to God so he can forgive you…and cleanse you.”

She pressed her thin lips together as if she was trying to grasp this. Elizabeth suspected that this was a new challenge for Mrs. Taylor. She was probably unaccustomed to confessing any of her shortcomings. Before losing her husband, she probably didn’t even realize she had anything to be forgiven for.

“I know you are a proud woman, Mrs. Taylor. At least you were before…but God wants you to be humble. He wants you to admit that you were selfish and stubborn about your piano. When you admit to these things, God will be able to pour out his forgiveness and mercy on you. God will give you a new beginning, but only if you admit to your own sins and shortcomings.”

Mrs. Taylor sighed and with downcast eyes just sadly shook her head.

“I hope I haven’t worn your ears out.” Elizabeth turned the wick down on the lantern. “I know we’re both tired, and we have a long hard day ahead of us tomorrow. If you want to discuss this further tomorrow, I am more than willing.”

Mrs. Taylor remained silent.

“Good night.” Elizabeth crawled into bed and closed her eyes, saying a silent prayer for this poor lost woman.

The first day on Devil’s Backbone was long and hard and hot and dry. The pale sun-baked alkaline soil seemed to suck the moisture out of everything around it. Nothing grew in this hellish wasteland. When they came across a small bog of brackish-looking water, Elizabeth knew from her father’s warning that it was toxic, and the bleached bones of unfortunate livestock seemed to grimly confirm this.

Mrs. Taylor had continued being very quiet today. But at least she got out and walked for short spells. Elizabeth could tell the travel was hard on her. It was hard on everyone. Even the children seemed dull and slow as they plodded along. The sooner they all escaped this dangerous desert, the happier she would be.