A Secret Refuge [02] Sisters of the Confederacy (31 page)

When the rooster, carried in a crate attached to one of the wagons, crowed, her eyes felt like burning coals, so intensely had she been staring into the darkness. Slowly, gently, dawn stole across the land, turning black to gray and washing the land in silver. By the time the sun broke the horizon, they were all near to ready for the wagons to pull out.

Didn’t look to her like some of the others had had much more sleep than she had.

The second burial of the journey took more time for the digging, but the end results were the same. The slight mound of dirt would disappear under the wheels of the train.

“You seen that scum Jones?” Agatha asked in an undertone as they set the cooking things in the wagon box.

Jesselynn shook her head. “Don’t care to neither. I just feel sorry for that poor woman to be married into such a shiftless bunch.”

“I know. Poor white trash through and through.” Agatha heaved herself up over the wagon wheel and settled on the seat she had padded with a quilt, thanks to Jesselynn’s insistence. “You riding or walking today?” she asked.

“Depends on what Ophelia would like. Walkin’, I guess. Most likely I’d fall asleep on the wagon. Could fall under the wheels thataway.” Jesselynn touched the brim of her hat with one finger. “You get to be first today, so enjoy.”

While she’d rather watch out across the ever changing prairie, she took her knitting out instead. Since the boys were playing in the back of Ophelia’s wagon, she and Jane Ellen strode companionably along, both with their needles clicking as they turned wool into socks and sweaters for the winter. The cold in Oregon was more intense than that of Kentucky, or so they’d been told.

Jesselynn mulled over the events of the night before, her thoughts always returning to the feel of Wolf’s skin under her fingertips. Knowing such thoughts were decidedly unladylike was no deterrent. She had to admit he’d been sneaking into her thoughts more and more lately, in spite of her good intentions.

She forced herself to think on the verse Meshach had given them for the day.
“Not by might, nor by power, but by my spirit, saith the Lord . . .”
That’s all the further she got from memory. If only she could sit down with the journal and catch up on the letters she’d started for the family. The Lord himself had promised to watch over them. With that thought came another. But what about poor Mr. McPhereson? And his wife and family now left to fend for themselves? The Lord had promised to watch over them too.

She glanced up at the screech of a hawk, lost to her sight in the blue of the sky.

“Hey, you seen what’s ahead?” Billy asked her from the back of his horse.

She shook her head, then looked to where he was pointing.

Far in the distant shimmering haze two rocks rose from the floor of the plain, one like a huge round table.

“Wolf says that’s Courthouse Rock to the north, Jail House to the left. Immigrants been cuttin’ their names in the sandstone for years. Like to be a hunk o’ history right there for all to see. Mr. Wolf says maybe the Whitmans even signed it on their way to Oregon.”

Jesselynn glanced up at the young man riding beside her just in time to catch one of the looks he slanted at Jane Ellen. Ah, no wonder he was paying such close attention to her. Another young pup sniffing around the females. She turned her attention to Jane Ellen to see her studying on her yarn, studying so hard she missed a hillock of grass and stumbled, catching hold of Jesselynn’s arm to keep from falling.

Jesselynn kept a giggle inside. Indeed it must be spring.

Wolf rode back, stopping to talk with Aunt Agatha on the wagon, then rode over to her, his left arm hanging straight at his side.

“Keep a watch out. There’s Indians trailing the train.”

Her heart took up the staccato beat from the night before, but now she knew fear to be the culprit. Fear wore the same metallic taste as blood.

Chimney Rock

The Indians trailing the wagon train kept everyone on edge.

“What do you s’pose they want?” Jane Ellen glanced over her shoulder, fear eating at the edge of her mouth.

“To drive us all stark ravin’ mad.” Aunt Agatha shuddered as she answered. “If a horse gets loose or an ox, they’ll get it. They’ll steal whatever we don’t nail down.”

“How can you say that?” Jesselynn stepped over the wagon tongue, carrying two buckets of water from Plum Creek that flowed into the Platte River. She hated skimming bugs off the Platte River water. Besides, many had come up with diarrhea from drinking from the South Platte. “What’s come up stolen so far?”

Agatha
harrumphed
and shook her head again. “You mark my words.” She wagged her finger for emphasis.

Jesselynn looked over to the Lyonses’ wagon, where the children were gathered for their evening lessons. “I bet this is the only wagon train that carries a schoolmaster along with it.”

Agatha harrumphed again, louder this time and, muttering under her breath, strode to the back of the wagon and stuck her head inside, ostensibly searching for something. Ophelia chuckled and shared a private glance with Meshach, who was repairing a piece of harness for one of the other wagons.

Sammy held a bug up for Ophelia to see, and Thaddeus brought one to Jesselynn.

“Grasshopper?”

“That’s right. Daniel is using grasshoppers for fish bait.”

“Dan’l catch fish for supper?”

“I sure do hope so. Buffalo and beans is getting a bit monotonous.” At home the greens would be growing heartily in the gardens and the snap beans they started in the cold frames beginning to blossom. Here they didn’t dare even go out looking for greens since the Indians began following them. Dandelions and poke would go far toward making the supper more palatable.

“We be thankful for good food. Leastways we get enough to eat.” Meshach smiled up at her to take any sting out of his words.

“I know.” She felt like snapping but refrained. The restrictions of camp made everyone restless, just knowing there was danger near and not being able to do anything about it. None of the women and children had been allowed out of camp for the last three days. Even picking buffalo and cow chips had been curtailed.

Wolf wasn’t winning any popularity contest by the tighter rules. “Seems like they blame him.” She said it without thinking.

“Who?”

“Wolf. Like the Indians following are his fault.”

“Make no sense, do it?” Meshach hammered home the final rivet and slung the harness over his shoulder. “Be right back.”

With the supper cooking, Jesselynn dug her writing case out of the storage box and made herself comfortable, or as comfortable as possible on the wagon tongue and the braces that bolted it to the wagon bed. Uncorking the ink, she made several entries in the journal before beginning a letter to her sisters. Since they would be in Fort Laramie in the next few days, she wanted the letters ready to go back east with the mail.

My dearest sisters
. That part was easy, but how could she describe life on the trail so they would understand, when they had never done anything more exertive outdoors than go on picnics? Anytime the Highwood women traveled overnight, the carriage had stopped at inns and way stations with beds and hot meals, or they stayed with friends and relatives. Jesselynn looked up at the sky bowl above them, the sun edging toward the horizon, the flat shallow river over a mile wide, the valley, if one could call the slight depression of the Platte River Road a valley, and the wagons in their nightly circle with the herd grazing near enough to hear the oxen chewing their cud. Since the Indians had begun following them, Wolf ordered camp earlier at night because the herd couldn’t graze out farther where the grass was better.

She stared at a heap of possessions that someone had dumped beside the trail—a trunk, a spinet piano, and a breakfront—apparently finding them too heavy to carry any longer. Furniture that had once graced someone’s home now lay weathering in the prairie sun and rain. No one else had room to pick it all up. Thanks to the cave living they’d done all winter, they had no fine furniture to cart along. Just the bare necessities.

She read her opening words again.
Dearest sisters
. That sure covered it. She shook her head.
And brother
. How could she have forgotten Zachary? She brushed the feathered end of the quill pen across her chin. What was left of her dashing big brother? His wounds had sounded hideous. Missing his right foot, his right hand and right eye, along with a gash down the right side of his face. How he must be suffering.

She added his name in the salutation and continued.

We are still following the Platte River. Platte is French for flat, and it most certainly is that. Must be like Daddy said Louisiana is but without the levies.

She told them about the Indian trying to steal horses and about Wolf’s injury, not that it had slowed him down for long.

I am feeling hemmed in, which is hard to figure, since we can see forever. It took two days from the first sighting of Courthouse Rock until we drew near, and even though it looked close enough to touch, those who insisted on going out there took a day to get there and back. The air is so clear and the land so flat that distance is impossible to figure. Each day’s journey looks pretty much like the day before. Never thought I’d be able to walk along, knitting and chatting, and not fall over my feet.

We’ve buried two so far, a man and a little boy. The boy’s mother was so stoic, grateful she had a nice outfit to bury her baby in. I wanted to run screaming, since none of the herbs and such I used to help him did any good. Death came so fast. The mother said our Father must have wanted her son up in heaven, but I think He has plenty of babies there already. Burying anyone is hard, but burying children is especially hard. If I didn’t know there was a heaven, I might go stark raving mad.

The horses are holding up well, much to everyone’s surprise. I believe the real challenge will come when we get to the mountains. As Wolf says, “We are on the easy leg of the journey now.”

I hope and pray there will be a letter from you when we reach Fort Laramie. Thaddeus no longer asks to go home, and I am beginning to think he has forgotten Twin Oaks. He thinks he is old enough to join the other children in school, which is conducted by Mr. Nate Lyons in the evenings. Don’t ever let on to Aunt Agatha, but I think Mr. Lyons is sweet on her. He brought her some wildflowers he had picked the other day. She still calls him Brushface, but I hope she can look beyond the wild hair and whiskers to see the value of the man within.

She almost wrote more about Wolf, but after rereading what she had written, she realized she had mentioned him too much already. The thought made her pause. Did she write about him because he was on her mind so much?

May our God and Father keep you in his tender care and grant you peace.

With all my love,

Your sister Jesselynn

and all the rest

P.S. I forgot to tell you that my secret is out. They all know I am a female in men’s clothing, and many of the ladies will not forgive me for the deception. So be it. JH

She let the ink dry and folded the paper. She’d have to use another sheet of paper to make an envelope, since she had run out of that nicety.

Aunt Agatha invited Wolf to join them for supper.

Jesselynn made her way to the Lyonses’ wagon and asked him to come too.
Tit for tat
. The thought made her smile.

“Thankee, but we already got an invite fer tonight.” His eyes twinkled under brushy eyebrows. “We could come tomorrow.” One eyebrow arched.

“That would be fine.” She stopped herself from making the invitation a permanent one. As much as he was helping all those with children, he shouldn’t have to cook his own supper on top of that. Maybe she should mention that to Wolf, and he could bring it up at one of the meetings. Sure as shooting, if she offered the suggestion, it would be voted down on general principles. Unless, of course, she took to wearing dresses.

Dusk shadowed the camp when Wolf joined them for supper. After Meshach said the grace, Ophelia dished the fried fish onto tin plates, and they all found a place to sit, mostly cross-legged on the ground.

Seemingly without his volition, Wolf found himself between two women—Jane Ellen with adoring eyes and Jesselynn who refused to look at him.
Now what have I done, or not done, as the case may be?
He slanted a peek to his right and saw Jesselynn helping her little brother cut his meat. How could he ever have bought her story that she was Marse Jesse? Surely if he had paid more attention he would have seen her tenderness with the children, her caring for her aunt, and the young woman on the other side whose doe eyes made him want to squirm.

“Seen anythin’ of Jones?” Meshach looked up from his plate.

Even the thought of the worthless Rufus made his jaw tighten. “No. He most likely hightailed it on to Fort Laramie.”
If the Indians didn’t get him first
. Any day he expected to come across a carcass, minus the scalp. It would be a fitting end.

“Good fish.”

“Thanks to Daniel.” Meshach nodded to the young man sitting beside him.

“I strung out a trotline. Why don’t de others?”

“Perhaps you could teach ’em how.”

Daniel shrugged. “Mebbe.” But his look said far more.

“We’ll come on Chimney Rock soon, then a couple days to crossin’ the South Fork of the Platte.”
Because he’s black, the others don’t want to learn from him, then they mutter and grumble about how the Highwood wagons eat better than the rest. Yet they always share. I’m sick to death of this insane backbiting
. Visions of high country with cool winds singing through the pine trees, Indian tepees instead of white-sailed wagons, his people laughing and dancing after the day’s hunt. Home. He could almost smell it on the air.

Could he leave the wagon train at Fort Laramie and head north? Who would take it on?

He looked up to see those around him staring at him. “Could you repeat that?”

“I asked how many days to Fort Laramie?” Aunt Agatha covered her hand with her apron and picked up the coffeepot. “Anyone else ready for this?”

Wolf held up his cup. “Should be there in four to six days, depending on how the river crossing goes. We’ll be at the ford tomorrow. California Hill after that.”

“I see to the caulkin’ den.”

“You have any grease left?”

“Yes, suh. We brought plenty like you said back to Independence.”

If only the others had listened as well
. He wouldn’t ask anyone to share with the Joneses. But theirs was the wagon that would cause the most trouble. He was sure of it.

By late afternoon the sprinkles turned to heavy rain, so that by the time they circled the wagons near the ford, man and beast were sodden. With thunder rolling and lightning forking the sky, Wolf ordered everyone to bring in their own animals and tie them on long lines to keep them from stampeding.

Jesselynn clamped her legs to keep Ahab under control. Head high, the stallion snorted and shifted beneath her. “Easy, old son. You’ve been through a lightning storm before.” The rain ran cold from the brim of her hat and down her neck. Could have been ice, the temperature had dropped so fast. She tied him to a rear wheel of their wagon and climbed inside to sit cross-legged on a box and eat dried biscuit and dried buffalo with the rest of them. There’d be no fires this night.

The rain continued through the night, raising the river a foot by morning. Brown froth rushed toward the east with the opposite shore shrouded in rain sheets.

Jesselynn rode up to the three men gathered on the bank.

“I vote we go on over. Two feet deep ain’t much. We crossed deeper.”

“I heard there could be holes runnin’ deeper. Sure did pick up the pace some overnight.” They both looked to Wolf.

Jesselynn tried to read some expression on either face or body, but Wolf stood still as a well-sunk fence post.

The sounds from the circled wagons were blurred just like her vision. Ahab snorted and dug in the mud with one front foot.

Wolf looked toward the west from where the storm blew in. He sniffed the air, turned slowly to study the sky in all four directions, then nodded. “Looks to be breakin’ up. Give it an hour, and then we decide.”

Two hours later the first wagon entered the rushing water. A whip cracked. The driver yelled orders to his four oxen. Two men rode by the lead team, one on either side.

Wolf gave last-minute orders. “Now, if your wagon starts to float, go easy with the current, but keep angling toward the shore. Just keep a steady hand on those reins. Your oxen can swim if they have to.”

One by one, the wagons entered the river. Some floated, some angled upstream, some floated down. Jesselynn pulled up behind the Jones wagon. Benjamin on Ahab and Daniel on Domino rode point.

Wolf stopped his horse next to Jesselynn. “Wait until they get over that sandbar before you start in.”