Passage West (33 page)

“Do you think Nancy has been touched by a demon?” Doralyn Peel asked one Sunday morning after their brief prayer service.

“She certainly does her share of talking—to God,” one of the men said.

Everyone burst into laughter.

“I think Nancy Garner is a sad, lonely woman who has lost direction,” Violet said softly.

Evelyn Coulter nodded. “My husband would have counseled us not to judge, lest we be judged in the same way. I pray for Nancy. And for her son Timmy.”

Abby kept her silence. Her heart ached for Timmy Garner. Each night since their return to the train, the little boy crept to their wagon, where she and Aunt Vi fed him, bathed him, and told him stories until he grew sleepy. Then they cautiously returned him to his own wagon and tucked him into bed. Both women were fearful that they might be caught by Jed or Nancy. In their present condition, the Garners might forbid the women to see Timmy. And, Abby knew, she and her aunt were his only source of comfort.

Late at night, Abby found her thoughts confused and distracted. As she drifted into sleep, she saw visions of a beautiful Lily, wearing a gown of spun gold, carrying a baby. The baby had long dark hair, and the face of Two Shadows. As if in a mist, Lily slowly dissolved into a grown-up Abby, and the child she was carrying was Timmy Garner. He was crying and reaching out to her as someone snatched him from her arms. Crying aloud, she woke, and sat up in the darkened wagon.

The dream left her too disturbed to go back to sleep. Taking up a shawl, she pulled open the canvas flap and stepped down from the wagon.

Though the days were still warm, there was a coolness to the nights that was welcome. Wrapping the shawl about her shoulders, Abby walked to a clearing and sat on a smooth, round boulder. The night sounds were different here, in the forests of the Sierras, than they had been on the floor of the desert. Here were insects, birds, the gurgle of water. The snap of a dried twig.

She turned at the sound. Rourke was standing at the edge of a row of pine trees, studying her.

“Don’t you ever sleep?” she asked.

“When I can. Sometimes there’s no rest in sleep.”

There was a time when she wouldn’t have understood what he meant. But because her dream was still so vivid, she merely nodded in silence.

“What about you? Why are you out here?”

She shrugged. “It’s so cool and pleasant. I just want to enjoy it.”

“Don’t let the beauty of this land fool you, Abby. The worst part of our journey is still ahead.”

She thought about the miles behind them, the Indians, the cholera, the fear, the suffering, the death. “Nothing could be worse than what we’ve been through.”

“You’ve heard about the Donner party?”

Abby nodded. “Everyone knows that most of them froze to death in the winter of forty-six and forty- seven.” She shuddered. “And that the survivors were forced to turn to cannibalism. But we’ll be clear to California before winter sets in.”

Rourke put one booted foot on the rock and leaned forward, resting his arms on his knee. “The only thing certain about this part of the country is that there will be snow. Lots of snow. But we never know when it will fall. There have been blizzards here in late summer, which last clear into early spring.”

“Are you trying to frighten me?”

He shook his head. “You’re not someone who scares easily. But you show common sense.”

Ordinarily those words would have made her happy. But she sensed his concern.

“Right now, the only thing Mordecai wants is to get this wagon train across the Sierras as fast as possible.”

“Will it be a difficult crossing?”

His tone was ominous. “They’re the most awesome mountains I’ve ever seen. And we’ve lost four strong men to cholera. I know their widows are doing all they can to carry on, but the labor of four men will be sorely missed.”

“We’ll endure.”

He studied her face in the moonlight, chin jutted defiantly, nostrils flared. “God,” he murmured, stroking her cheek. “You’re magnificent.”

It happened so quickly, she had no time to react. Pulling her roughly to her feet, he crushed her against his chest and savaged her mouth. Her shawl fluttered to the ground and was forgotten.

How could the feel of one man’s lips on hers be so devastating? Why was it that every time he held her she lost all ability to think?

On his tongue, she could taste the passion, the desire. It drove him. Drove them both until they were weak and clinging. And still he continued to kiss her, his lips warm and firm, his tongue seeking the endless delights of her mouth.

God, she was so small, so slender. Her bones were so fragile, he could break her with the slightest pressure. Yet there was such strength in her. Such discipline. Such drive. And buried far beneath was a slumbering passion that he was determined to awaken.

Without realizing it, his kiss gentled. It would be so easy to take her too far, too fast. He wanted to taste, to touch, to savor. Trailing his lips across her cheek, he tugged at her earlobe, then darted his tongue until she caught at his head and forced his lips back to hers.

She moaned and whispered his name as he kissed her again, swallowing down her words. He loved the sound of his name on her lips. Their breath mingled, hot, quick breaths that revealed a control that was beginning to slip.

He brought his mouth to her throat and ran kisses along her shoulder. Burying his lips in the little hollow of her throat, he felt the wild hammering of her pulse.

Was this what it had been like for the beautiful Lily? Abby wondered. Had a man made her feel so special, so loved, that she was willing to turn her back on everything, everyone, to be with him? Oh Lily. Mother. How do I know what to do?

Pushing against his chest, she took a step back. Looking up, she saw Rourke’s eyes, dark and heavy- lidded with passion. She felt a sudden thrill, knowing that it was she who could bring him to this point. Still, she was afraid. She needed time. Time.

“Rourke.” As he reached for her, she resisted. When she took another step back, she heard his hiss of frustration.

“Dammit. This is what we both want. It’s right for us.”

“Maybe.” There was no sense lying to him or to herself any longer. “But I’m afraid. I need time.”

Time. The one thing he would never be certain he had.

“Walk me back to my wagon, Rourke,” she said, bending to pick up her shawl.

When she turned and took his arm, he found himself grinning. All his anger and frustration evaporated. She might have lived a sheltered life. She might be completely inexperienced. But there was no doubt about it. She was enjoying his attentions. She was making him court her. And though he called himself every kind of a fool, he had to admit he was enjoying it too.

*  *  *

The train had made camp under a stand of giant cottonwoods. The morning sun filtered through a leafy canopy. Lines of brightly colored clothes, washed the night before in the clear mountain stream, danced in the fresh breeze. The air was clear and clean, with just a hint of coolness. The women pulled on shawls and bonnets. The men turned down the sleeves of their shirts as they hitched up their teams.

It was a day made for smiling, a day made for hope. There was no hint of disaster.

Mordecai called out to his team, and the crack of the whip could be heard. Behind him, each team pulled slowly away from the camp and followed in a long, straight line.

The Garner wagon, hitched and ready, pulled out just in front of Abby’s team.

“Abby,” Timmy Garner called, waving.

Abby waved back, then turned to say something to her aunt. The next thing she heard was a piercing scream. The Garner wagon ground to a halt, and people from neighboring wagons began running.

Dropping the reins, Abby and Violet followed the others. As the crowd parted, Abby could see the body of little Timmy, crushed and bleeding.

“He fell from the wagon,” Jed was sobbing as friends gathered around. “It happened so fast, I couldn’t stop the team in time. The wagon rolled right over him.”

Mordecai and Rourke hurried from the cook wagon and stopped at the sight before them. No one moved. The weary group of travelers seemed numb from the destruction of so many lives. The others had been sick. But this child … No one seemed to know how to offer consolation for such a tragedy.

“Oh God. My boy. My Timmy,” Jed began shrieking. Tears streamed down his face.

Violet moved forward and drew him into her arms. He clung to her, crying hysterically.

Abby glanced at Nancy Garner. She was standing very still, staring at the battered body of her son. Her eyes seemed glazed, as if seeing nothing. Her face wore no expression.

She turned toward her shattered husband, who wiped his eyes and blew his nose in the handkerchief Violet offered. Her voice was deadly calm. “He is testing us. You of little faith,” she said, pointing a finger at Jed, “will be found wanting. But He will not be displeased with me. I will be strong enough for both of us.”

The crowd shifted uncomfortably as she moistened a rag and began washing her son’s bloody body.

Looking up, she said, “Are you going to just stand there? Dig a hole.”

Snatching the boy away from her, Jed growled, “I need time. Time to look at my son. Time to hold him. Time to tell him I’m sorry.”

“You both need time,” Violet said softly. “Time to grieve.”

“He grieves enough for both of us,” Nancy said, picking up a shovel. “He had time to be with Timmy. And with me. But he wasted it on liquor. Go away. All of you. I’ll bury my son.”

“Mrs. Garner,” Mordecai said, taking the shovel from her hand firmly. “You go inside the wagon now and lie down for a little while.”

“So you can all go on without us? You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” She sneered. “That’s what you’d hoped to do if we got the cholera. You would dump me like you dumped my piano. But we beat you. All of you,” she shouted, turning to glare at the crowd. “And now you think, while we grieve, you can leave us behind.”

“We wouldna’ do such a thing,” Mordecai said in his sternest tone. “When we leave this place, we will leave together. But for now, we will prepare a place for the lad. And after you and Jed have had some time alone, we will have a proper burial.”

Relieved, the crowd drifted away.

*  *  *

They buried Timmy Garner beneath a leafy cotton-wood. As sunlight filtering through the leaves formed a kaleidoscope on the fresh earth, Abby felt hot tears sting her eyes and clog her throat.

She had not grieved when she and Violet had laid James Market to rest under the light of a full moon.

She had felt no grief, only a numbness, and afterward, a sense of relief that her life would be in her own hands. Later, those feelings had left her with a sense of guilt.

Timmy. So young. So innocent. He had tried so hard to please. And his parents, caught up in something that was draining all feeling from them, had neglected his needs. And now, even if they awoke from their long sleep and began to care once more, they would find it too late. Too late for Timmy. Too late to give him all the love he deserved.

As Abby and Violet clung together in their grief, Nancy Garner stood alone, dry-eyed, watching as the final shovel of dirt was tamped on the grave. Then she turned and walked back to her wagon, leaving Jed kneeling alone by the mound of earth.

*  *  *

It wasn’t really a town. It was no more than a cluster of shacks and a couple of wagons. These were people who had lost the strength to go on. Nestled here in the foothills of the Sierra Nevadas, it housed men who had harbored dreams of California but who had given everything to the desert. This was as close to the promised land as they would ever get.

Ordinarily, Mordecai shied away from this kind of people, preferring to make camp in a safe, protected area. But the day had been hard. The loss of the Garner boy hung heavily on the travelers. All day they had endured the strained conversations, the muffled laughter of frightened, confused children. Maybe the sight of other people would cheer them.

As the wagons pulled into a circle, they saw the faces of the curious peering from shacks. Most of the faces were men, Mordecai noted. In fact, he hadn’t seen a single woman yet.

When the aroma of supper wafted from the camp, men began wandering toward the wagons. Every one of them carried a rifle.

“Check your weapons,” Mordecai warned as he passed among the wagons.

“You expecting trouble?” Aaron Winters dropped a protective arm around his daughter.

“Just being cautious. I dunna’ know what sort of men these be.”

Hearing him, Abby checked her handgun and rifle before sitting down to supper with her aunt. Nearby, she could hear the exchange of conversation between the strangers and the wagon master as Parker invited them to share their meal.

“We don’t get many visitors,” the leader of the group said.

“How long have you been here?” Mordecai asked. He noted that the men ate quickly, stuffing the food in their mouths like starving dogs.

“A year. Some of us longer. Some just stay awhile, to lay in supplies before going on. Most decide to stay on.”

“How do you survive?”

“We hunt, mostly. The widow Barlow is trying her hand at farming.”

“A widow? There’s a woman among you?”

“Two,” the leader said proudly. “We hope to have more by next year. With women, we could have a real town out here.” He glanced around the wagons. “You seem to have an abundance of women.”

Mordecai shifted uneasily.

“We have a saloon,” the man said, loudly enough for his voice to be heard by the entire company. “You’re welcome to come by for a drink after supper.”

As the strangers walked away, Mordecai glanced at Rourke. “We’ll be staying with the wagons tonight. I wouldna’ trust these men with our women.”

Rourke nodded. He’d had the same idea himself.

After supper, several of the men drifted toward the shacks, searching for the saloon. Among them was Jed Garner. His wife Nancy, he said, had refused to make supper, falling asleep almost as soon as they made camp.