Always and Forever (26 page)
“I don’t want you to go to Texas.”
He kissed the top of her head. “I know.”
Grace didn’t remember falling asleep, but when she awakened the next morning she was alone.
O
n the twentieth day of the journey, the brides spent four hours ferrying their wagons across the Mississippi River and into the state of Missouri. They were wet, exhausted, and drained, but glad to be in Missouri at last. However, by the twenty-third day, their elation turned to misery as they were forced to travel through a cold, bone-chilling rain. The thick, deep mud slowed travel considerably and they spent more time pushing wagons out of the axle-deep mire than they spent driving.
“We look like a tribe of mud women,” Grace called out over the blowing and driving rain, as she and a good many of the women set their shoulders against the back of the Mitchells’ wagon to try and free it from the mud.
“Remind me why we’re going to Kansas City again?” Fanny wailed in mock misery.
“I don’t remember!” Tess Dubois shouted in response.
It rained for three long days, and in those three days they covered barely twenty miles.
Day 26 was a Sunday, and after a few Bible readings, the women gave thanks that no one had contracted a disease or suffered tragedy. They spent the balance of the day rearranging wagon loads and airing out and straightening up the interiors.
A few days later, three of the mules were stolen during the night. The two women on watch (members of the Mitchell contingent) had fallen asleep. An angry Jackson wasn’t pleased by this turn of events and decreed that all night watch members from then on be armed. Those lacking firearm skills were given training by him and Dixon. Those who couldn’t abide weapons armed themselves with cast-iron skillets instead.
The next day, Jackson had Loreli call the brides together. Once they were gathered, he and Dixon reported on four mounted men who seemed to be trailing the wagons.
“Do you think they might be the ones who stole the mules?” Grace asked, as many of the women shaded their eyes against the noonday sun to peer out at the horizon in hopes of seeing the mysterious riders.
“Hard to tell,” Dixon said. “They’re hanging back just far enough to keep from being seen clearly.”
“Who else might they be?” Loreli asked.
Jackson answered, “Drifters looking for a meal—out-laws.”
That word set up a buzz of worry.
“Now, I’m not saying they are, but if they are, you ladies need to be prepared to defend yourselves. Those confident with firearms, check your rifles and keep them close by. Maybe they’re not trailing us, maybe they’re just taking a parallel route, but either way, keep a sharp
lookout. If you see anything unusual or suspicious, let someone know.”
Dixon added, “Coyotes usually work at night, so if they are planning something, it’ll probably be after dark.”
For the rest of the day, the women each kept one eye on their teams and one on the horizon. The ride was an uncharacteristically quiet one. There was no calling back and forth, no visiting amongst those walking beside the wagons as they rolled, and no communal singing of hymns as they made their way. The thought that there might be men out there somewhere waiting to prey on them made everyone tense.
When they circled the wagons for the night and lined up for the dinner meal, the mood was still subdued.
Suddenly, they heard Jackson call out, “Ladies, here they come, they’re riding in slow, get ready, and let me and the marshal do the talking.”
Then Dix added, “If anything happens to us, do whatever it takes to protect yourself.”
Loreli jumped up and ran toward her wagon, but no one knew why. Putting her flight quickly from their minds, the other women checked their guns, then sat at the trestle tables as if this was just another meal. Only they knew that there were long-nosed Colts nestled in skirt pockets, rifles hidden beneath tables and in the folds of skirts. A few of the women casually got up and walked to their wagons and sat quietly inside, rifles at the ready. They may have been women, but they were armed women, and most were not afraid to shoot if it became necessary.
Illuminated by the light of the fire, the four men rode slowly into the camp. They were some of the dirtiest men Grace’d ever seen. The soiled clothes were patched and worn, the boots in their stirrups mud caked and run
over. They were looking around discreetly, as if assessing the encampment and the people in it. The women at the tables looked up at their entrance, but no one made a sound.
One of the men, a thin-faced White man who hadn’t seen soap or water in some time, showed off a gap-toothed smile, then called out cheerily, “Evenin’, folks. How you all doin’?”
Jackson, rifle held at his side, walked up, and nodded easily. “Evenin’.”
Dixon came out of the shadows and stood a pace or two behind him.
“Name’s Luke,” he said, introducing himself as he eyed Dixon. “Luke Wordell.”
Grace could see Luke’s companions looking around at the women. The brides were watching them just as closely.
Jackson didn’t offer his own name. “What can we do for you, Wordell?”
“Call me Luke, everybody does.”
“All right, Luke. How can we help you?”
“Just looking for a meal, hoped you got a bit extra.”
One of the companions, a Black man wearing a battered brown hat low over his eyes, asked around the toothpick in his mouth, “Where’s all the men?”
Before Jackson could say anything, he heard, “There aren’t any others.”
Sarah Mitchell.
Two dozen sets of angry female eyes shot Sarah’s way. Had she not heard Jackson say he and the marshal would do the talking? Grace wanted to know. Suppose the men thought they could outgun Jackson and Dixon and all hell broke loose?
“Well, we should tell them,” Sarah said huffily, com
ing to her own defense. “If they know we’re out here alone, maybe they won’t bother us.”
“There ain’t no other men here?” This was from one of Luke’s other riders. He was a young White boy with red, patchy skin. His clothing and hat looked as battered as the other’s. “Well, hell, what’re we waiting for? I’ll take that shy-looking little thing over there,” he said, indicating Belle. “I’ll bet she ain’t never had a real man.”
Jackson and Dixon both raised their rifles, and Jackson voiced coolly, “Yes, what are you waiting for?”
The Black man said with a grin, “Mister, there’s four of us and only two of you,” and the four raised their guns in unison and aimed back. “Drop ’em.”
Tension filled the silence.
Dixon, gun still aimed, said, “I’m a deputy marshal.”
Luke, his smile gone, replied coldly from behind his own rifle, “Well, then, somebody’ll make sure you have a fancy funeral. Lower that gun,
Mr
. Marshal.”
He then told Jackson, “You too.”
Grace could see the anger on the face of Katherine Wildhorse as she stood across the glade, powerless to help her husband. The two women shared a look, then Katherine made a gun with two fingers, intimating that she was ready, but Grace shook her head. Something told her to wait.
The tense silence was shattered by the distinct and deadly click of a trigger being cocked, and in response, a now wide-eyed Luke froze in the saddle, then straightened up like a board.
“Evenin’, Luke,” said Loreli’s death-cold voice from behind him. “This here’s a buffalo gun in your back, and it’s loaded for bear. “If your friends even
breathe
in my direction, I will blast your foul guts all over the night.”
Every armed woman in camp took that split second to draw her own weapon, and when Luke’s companions turned back, they too froze. They were now facing raised colts and rifles, derringers, and pistols. There were armed women beneath wagons and leaning out the backs; women gripping frying pans and lengths of wood; and they all had fire in their eyes.
Luke and his men, overwhelmed by the odds, tossed down their weapons.
Jackson crossed his arms over his chest and chuckled. “Well, now. Looks like you boys picked the wrong camp!” He was so proud of Loreli.
Dix picked up their weapons. “And I’m not even going to arrest you, because Loreli’s the duly elected constable here. I’m sure she can come up with a suitable punishment.”
The men’s eyes widened.
Dix handed the weapons to Grace and Katherine, who immediately began removing the bullets.
He then added, “But I am going to confiscate your horses.”
“What?” they yelled.
“Would you rather I take you down to Fort Smith and have you talk to Judge Parker about your attempt to attack a wagon train full of women?” he asked in a quiet but steely voice.
They hastily intimated that they did not.
“Loreli, they’re all yours.”
As she stood in front of them, the contempt and anger in her golden eyes was plain to see. “When I was fourteen, I lost my virginity. It was not by choice.”
Silence fell over the camp.
“I swore then that I would never let myself or anyone I love be taken advantage of in that way again.”
Her blazing eyes then settled on the man who’d
wanted to harm Belle. “That little shy one you wanted to get your hands on is one of those people I love. Now, because the marshal probably won’t let me
geld
you—”
All four men jumped.
“This is what we’re going to do. Give me your clothes.”
They stared at her with wide eyes.
“Now,” she said. “And quickly. The ladies and I drove those teams sixteen miles today and we’re ready to go to sleep.”
The men looked to Dix and Jackson as if for help, but found no support there.
Dixon said, “Do as the lady says or it’s Judge Parker. Hanging Judge Parker.”
An angry Luke and his gang began undoing buttons.
Loreli turned to Grace and the other women looking on. “Anybody offended by the sight of
real
men had better head to their wagons.”
Belle, a few others, and all of the Mitchell contingent chose to leave. Everyone else stayed to watch their constable dispense her unique brand of justice.
By now the gang were down to their filthy union suits.
“Those too.”
“No!”
“Yes. Isn’t that what you had in mind when you rode in and saw all these women, taking off your clothes? Why should it be any different now?”
Grace shared a smile with a grinning Katherine, and both women turned their backs. Neither had any desire to see “real” men.
Grace heard Jackson laughing, and the shocked, humor-filled squeals of the women who’d been bold enough to watch.
Grace heard Loreli say, “Now, I’m going to let you
put your boots back on, and then I want you boys to start walking.”
“You can’t send us out in the night like this!”
“Sure I can,” she countered coldly. “I’m the duly elected constable here. Now, get!”
Grace couldn’t resist and so turned just in time to see the cringing, naked men, wearing nothing but boots, disappear into the night.
Cheers went up as the women mobbed Loreli. She’d saved the day.
By the thirty-fifth day, they reached the small city of Kirksville. They camped outside of town and a wearier and dirtier bunch of women Grace had yet to see. Their lack of cleanliness made them ripe pickings for the mosquitoes and biting flies, and everyone was covered with red, itchy spots. Their only consolation was that Kansas City was only a mere hundred and sixty miles away.
The Mitchell sisters started the thirty-seventh day by demanding that a meeting be called. Accommodating their request was the last thing Grace wanted to do, but she grudgingly agreed.
That evening, after the wagons were circled up, dinner shared, and the first opportunity to wash in days taken advantage of, everyone convened around the fire to hear what the Mitchells and their friends, aptly named the Seven Deadly Sins by Loreli, wanted to discuss. Weariness showed plainly on everyone’s face.
Since Loreli headed up these gatherings, she didn’t waste any time. “What do you ladies want?”
The thin-faced Molly said, “We want to end this fiasco and find a train that’ll take us the rest of the way to Kansas City.”
Grace’s jaw tightened. “How do you plan to get there?”
“By wagon, of course,” Sarah said in a patronizing tone.
“No, you won’t. The wagon you’re in has been purchased by the men in Kansas. If you leave, you and your things leave without it.”
Fanny’s voice was filled with sarcasm. “Have you ever traveled Jim Crow, Sarah?”
“No.”
“I didn’t think so.”
Fanny then looked to Loreli. “Permission to go back to my wagon, Loreli. I’ve no desire to even discuss the merits of riding in a cattle car filled with dung. I’ve ridden Jim Crow.”
Loreli nodded her understanding. “Permission granted, Fanny.”
Fanny rose, gave the Mitchells a disgusted look, then left the circle.
Zora weighed in. “Suppose we did agree to do that, Sarah. What’re we going to do if the conductor decides to put us all off the train? What about our possessions? Where would we go? Who would aid us, out in the middle of nowhere?”
Neither Sarah nor Molly nor any of their followers seemed to have a ready answer.
Ruby O’Neal cracked, “You and your friends must have been living in a foreign country for the last few years. Do you have any idea how things are going here for folks like us?”
Molly looked offended. “Of course, we read the papers.”
“Then why are we having this discussion?” Grace asked coolly.
Sarah snapped, “Because I’m tired and sore and sick of looking at the backside of a team twelve hours a day.
I want a real bed to sleep in, and hot water, and a meal that doesn’t include rabbits!”
Loreli didn’t buy it. “Grace told you how it was going to be before we left Chicago. We’re all tired and sore and sick of everything you’re sick of, but I agree with Fanny, Jim Crow is not an option—at least, not for me.”
Then she added, “Yes, this is probably the toughest task any of us has ever had to do, but I refuse to have a bigoted conductor banish me to a cattle car or ask me to leave in the middle of the night simply because of my ancestry.”