Heartbreak Trail Part 6

"It's time for me to wash the dishes, sweetheart. Be a love and help me."

"Yes, ma'am." Noah hopped nimbly from the wagon to the tongue, then to the ground, eager to do her bidding. Once again, this sweet little boy, so kind and loving, so eager to please, touched her heart. He was smart, too, and immensely curious about everything, sometimes spouting questions a mile a minute until the adults tired of answering. "Is Father mad?"

Lucy tousled Noah's blond curls. "He was mad, but just a little bit. Everything's fine now."

She busied herself with cleaning up after the noontime meal, thinking everything was not so fine. She'd already discovered there was no such thing as privacy in a wagon train. Gossip spread fast as lightning. Everyone would pretend otherwise, but Jacob's tirade, muted though it was, had been seen, heard, and carefully noted. Surely tongues would wag. She'd wager that by sunset the whole world would be aware Jacob Schneider had roundly upbraided his wife over her behavior with Clint Palance.

Just what had she done? So unfair! Why couldn't she have a conversation with a man without tongues wagging, without her husband raging at her? After grimly mulling for a while, she forced herself to face the truth. Clint Palance wasn't just any man. He was a man she was drawn to, could not stop thinking about, no matter how hard she tried. Strange, how her unimaginative husband sensed the truth. It was almost as if he could read her mind.

Well, regardless of how harmless this foolishness was, it had to stop. Absolutely, she'd mend her ways. Even though Jacob couldn't read her mind, from now on she wouldn't care if he did. She was a good Christian woman who loved her husband. From this day forward, she wouldn't waste one more thought on Clint Palance.

In the late afternoon, they came to a river so wide and fast-flowing that Clint and Charlie called for all to gather so they could discuss how they were going to get across.

Lucy, standing on the bank with a small knot of women, heard a lot of gloom and doom.

"My stars, how will we ever cross this one?" Bessie watched the water's swift flow with dismay. "It looks so deep."

"We shall all be drowned," said Agnes.

"Do you think so?" Martha's voice sounded small, scared. Lately she'd come out of her sh.e.l.l a bit, Lucy had noted with satisfaction, and now occasionally spoke her mind. Perhaps her pregnancy had given her more confidence.

Only ever-positive Hannah offered hope. "Fiddlesticks! Let's just listen to what Mister Palance and Mister Dawes have to say. I trust they'll get us across."

Lucy agreed with Hannah. She gazed at the two experienced guides sitting casually atop their mounts: clean-shaven Clint lightly holding the reins with strong, practiced hands; grizzly-bearded Charlie regarding the crowd with his old, snappy eyes. Between them, they must have tackled dozens of rivers. They knew what to do. She was not afraid.

After gathering them all together, Clint said, "Folks, so far, the rivers we've crossed so far have been shallow. We waded across, both us and the cattle, and drove the wagons through without getting stuck or losing one wagon or animal."

"This here one's a mite different." Charlie nodded toward the dark, swiftly flowing water. "You got a river what's deep, running fast, and dangerous."

"Can we get across?" someone yelled.

"Of course we'll get across," said Clint, "but you must listen carefully and do what we say. First, you've got to unload the wagons."

"Everything?"

"Everything," Clint answered over groans from the crowd. "Then you've got to take the wagons apart, piece by piece, and that means wheels, canvas, tongues, all of it. Then we water-proof the wagons with wax."

Another groan.

"Then we stretch a strong rope across the river with a tight wagon-bed attached to the middle of it. We'll have men standing on either side to keep the rope tight and pull each wagon across, one by one. When we get all the wagons to the other side, we build rafts to haul the goods from the wagons, same way, attached to ropes. Everything a little at a time. When that's done, we bring the women and children, then we'll swim the cattle and horses."

Shaking his head in disapproval, Jacob stepped forward. "Sounds like a lot of work to me. Surely there must be an easier way. Perhaps we could find a spot where the river isn't that deep and we could simply drive the wagons across."

"Not possible," Clint answered firmly. "Every part of that river is treacherous. Do it the way we said or you'll have drownings on your hands, and I mean people as well as animals."

"I see."

Lucy knew from the cold exactness in Jacob's voice he wasn't happy with Clint's answer. He argued no further, though, aware that he had no choice but to bow to Clint and Charlie's judgment. He called to everyone, "Very well, let's get to work."

The crossing took two days, during which every man, woman, and child over the age of five pitched in to help, all focused on the momentous task of crossing the river. Lucy toiled along with the rest, helping to unpack the wagons and take them apart. She also caught up on other ch.o.r.es. After baking a supply of biscuits, she heated water in a large kettle and poured it into a big wooden wash tub, set up by the river. In a line of other women, all busy with their laundry, she scrubbed a sizeable batch of wash, spreading clothes and linens to dry on bushes that lined the banks. She was doing Martha's wash as well. The poor woman was suffering greatly from early pregnancy nausea, so Lucy constantly tried to lighten her load.

"Ain't it a pleasure to have hot water to wash in?" Bessie was doing her wash beside her. Up to now, they'd had little time for heating water. Mostly they'd done their wash in cold water.

Lucy agreed what a pleasure it was, then found herself remembering another time, another place that now seemed so remote. Had there ever been a Miss Lucy Parker who lived on Beacon Street in Boston? Whose servants did her wash while she, spoiled creature that she was, never gave it a thought? Lucy looked about her, at the raging river crashing over rocks and huge boulders, at the surrounding forest thick with pine trees. Was there really a Boston? Her former life seemed a million miles away. She extended her hands- red and swollen from backbreaking scrubbing, hard soap, as well as the endless days of sun and wind. "They'll never be the same," she whispered, sadly shaking her head.

Bessie held out her own hands, equally red and roughened. "We'll be out in the weather for months to come. There ain't no way to prevent it, far as I can see. At least you've got your face covered."

Lucy reached up to touch the blue cotton sunbonnet Bessie had made for her. At first she'd resisted wearing one, even though all the other women did. They were so unattractive. The brim poked out over her face in such a ridiculous fashion! What would her stylish friends in Boston think? After a few days in the outdoors, she gave in, forced to admit the ugly sunbonnets were the best protection against the hot rays of the sun.

Bessie looked to a spot along the bank where a woman, separated from the rest, struggled to wash her clothes alone. "Poor Mrs. Benton doesn't want to a.s.sociate with the likes of us. I've helped her some with the cooking, but she mostly turns up her nose and wants to be left alone."

"I feel sorry for her." Lucy wondered how she could carry on without the friendship and camaraderie of the other women. Even now, in the midst of washing clothes, her companions' jokes and chatter made the backbreaking task infinitely more bearable. Everyone helped one another. Even Agnes, ill-natured though she was, had just helped her spread a bulky wet blanket over some bushes without being asked, not expecting any thanks.

The journey had only just begun, but already Lucy felt a strong bond with these women, even more than she ever felt with her dear Boston friends. Her present companions came from all different backgrounds-some rich, some poor, some educated, some illiterate. Wherever they came from, however imperfect their English, each woman had two things in common: each shared the same heartbreak at leaving her home and family behind. Each worried over the dangers that lay ahead, not so much for herself, but for her husband and children. What a shame Cordelia had chosen to isolate herself. She had no idea how funny Agnes could be with her vinegary outlook on life. Nor would she learn from Inez Helmick, the midwife, who was sharing her vast knowledge of the uses of herbs and other medicines.

Poor Cordelia. Lucy decided she'd try again, just one more time.

When all her wash was done, she made her way up the riverbank to where Cordelia scrubbed her clothes. She had even put Chadwick to work. Face clouded with twelve-year-old resentment, the chubby little boy was busy spreading Cordelia's wash on the bushes to dry. With silent amus.e.m.e.nt, Lucy noted he wasn't quite as chubby as when she first saw him. No doubt he wasn't eating as much, what with Cordelia's lack of cooking skills. Not only that, Clint had taken the boy under his wing and taught him to ride. Chad, mounted on one of his father's horses, followed Clint around whenever possible.

"Cordelia?" Lucy pressed the back of her hand into the small of her back. It ached after hours of bending over the wash tub. "I just came by to see how you're doing."

Visibly annoyed, Cordelia looked up from her wash. Her expression softened when she saw who it was. "How'm I doing? How does it look like I'm doing?" With a wet, soapy forearm, she shoved a bedraggled curl back off her forehead. With disgust, she looked down at her soiled, wet skirt. "I cannot believe this is happening. Back in Georgia, I wouldn't have allowed my scullery maids to look like this."

"Well, we're not in Georgia now." With an unladylike grunt, Lucy sank wearily to a log and stretched her boots in front of her. "You should join us. There's no sense isolating yourself."

Cordelia's mouth pulled into a bleak, tight-lipped smile. "Thank you, but I have nothing in common with those women."

"You can't ignore them the whole trip."

Cordelia crossed her arms. "Yes, I can, and I will."

"They're lovely women. Granted, some don't have a good education, and some are not, as you say, refined, but never will you find women more generous, more kind and thoughtful, more-"

"I have my standards." Cordelia's voice rang with finality.

Hopeless. Lucy knew when she was defeated. "Well, I hope your standards get you through the next fifteen hundred miles." With another unladylike grunt, she pushed herself off the log. "Meantime, if you need any help, let me know."

"Oh, I will. You know I want you for a friend."

Lucy found herself too tired to argue the foolishness of Cordelia's last remark. Instead, she nodded a quick goodbye and started walking through a heavy growth of trees to the wagon. Not walking ... limping would be more accurate. Her back hurt. Her feet hurt. Her whole body ached, and all she wanted was to get back to her wagon and lie down, if only for a little while. Ahead she heard the clop of a horse's hooves. Clint Palance rounded a grove of pine trees. Dear Lord, what if Jacob saw them together? Not only that, her appearance! Never had she looked and felt so bedraggled. Of all the people she did not want to see, it was him.

Clint rode close and reined in his horse. "Good afternoon."

In a panic, she threw a glance over her shoulder. "Uh, good afternoon."

He looked down at her, apparently amused. "You're safe. He's across the river."

"So you know."

With one swift, graceful move, he swung off his horse and faced her. "Haven't you found out yet, there are no secrets in a wagon train?"

"Then I guess you know my husband said I shouldn't speak to you."

"Your husband is no fool."

It took a moment for the meaning of his words to sink in. When they did, she felt her face go crimson. How could he be so blatantly honest about what to her was her deepest, darkest, most shameful secret? In the world she came from, certain subjects were never to be discussed. "Mister Palance-"

"Don't worry." An easy smile played at the corners of his mouth. "If your husband doesn't want us to speak, then we won't speak. You should know, though, I find you ..." His smile disappeared. His gaze traveled over her face and searched her eyes, just like the day he helped with the firewood. Her heart jolted as the same intense message flashed from him to her and back again. She had to fight a near-overwhelming urge to lean into his arms and close the s.p.a.ce between them.

"Good G.o.d." His voice sounded strange. Abruptly, he broke his gaze, stepped back, and let his eyes travel down to the swelling beneath her ap.r.o.n, larger now, too big to conceal. She didn't even try. For a moment, he squeezed his eyes shut, as if surprised at himself. Next moment, his foot was in his horse's stirrup. An easy swing returned him to the saddle. "Time to go."

She knew she shouldn't ask but couldn't quell her burning curiosity. "You haven't finished your sentence. I should know you find me ... what?"

"I'll save my answer for another day."

She knew better than to ask again, much as she wanted to. Best to change the subject. "Will we be safe, crossing that river?"

"Don't worry. I'll be there for you." He rode away.

Chapter 7.

Throughout the next day, straining, cursing men, using all their strength, hauled forty wagons safely across the river's swift current. Following that, they brought the rafts across, piled high with goods from the wagons. Women and children came next. At dusk, the final group, Lucy and Noah among them, waded through shallow water at the river's edge and huddled together on what would be the last raft to cross.

Lucy held Noah in front of her, arms locked around him. The child twisted his head around and stared wide-eyed at the fast current. "Will we be all right?"

She wished she knew. She was every bit as nervous as Noah but hoped it didn't show. "Of course, we'll be all right. Didn't you see how the wagons got across safely, then all the other people on the rafts? We've got your father to keep you safe, and Mister Dawes, and Mister Palance, and all the other men. This is going to be fun. Think of it as an adventure."

"Adventure, my foot." Bessie's face was taut with fear. She sat by Lucy, clutching her three little boys.

Roxana, Bessie's oldest daughter, sat on her other side, her fair-skinned face flushed with excitement. She kept a firm grip on her two younger sisters. "Ma, don't worry, Mrs. Schneider's right. The others traveled safely, and we will, too."

Lucy thought that if she had a daughter, she'd want her to be like blond, sixteen-year-old Roxana, who was not only pretty but level-headed and always cheerful besides. She glanced around at some of the others on the raft. Agnes sat cross-legged like the rest, surrounded by her brood of six. For once, her caustic mouth remained firmly shut. The raft hadn't yet left the water's edge, but already she was hanging on for dear life. Inez Helmick, minus her usual self-confident expression, clung to three of her children while Bessie's sister, Hannah, who had no children of her own, held the other two. And, of course, timid Martha, who sat with her eyes squeezed shut, muttered her prayers.

Cordelia sat by herself. Over her objections, Clint had enlisted Chad to work with the men on sh.o.r.e. Chad had gone gladly, happy to get away from his mother's smothering care. Lucy noticed every woman on the raft had one thing in common: fear in her eyes. True, the other rafts had crossed safely, but two of them had almost tipped, one when the rope caught on a rock, and one when a log struck it midstream. The men managed to pull both to the far sh.o.r.e without further incident, but Lucy easily imagined what would've happened had the women and children aboard been flung into the icy water. Most of them couldn't swim.

"Everybody ready?" Charlie Dawes shouted from the bank. "Let's get this raft across."

The men started hauling on the ropes. They started across, everyone hanging on tight. All went well until the middle of the river ... when one of the ropes snapped. Amid frightened cries, the raft spun around and tipped. Lucy gripped Noah tight while a spray of cold water from the river drenched them. They were going to tip over. Were they going to die? Her heart raced. Seconds later, the raft righted itself, and they were again underway. She saw Clint, atop Paint, fighting the swift current but hanging tight to the rope.

"Just look what Mister Palance done," Bessie cried as the raft floated to sh.o.r.e. "Rode his horse right into the river and saved us all."

"Yes, it looks that way." Lucy remembered Clint's words, Don't worry. I'll be there for you. He'd been there for the others, too, but somehow she knew he'd been watching over her especially, determined to keep his word.

When Clint got back to sh.o.r.e, his partner gave him a funny look. "That was a dang foolish thing to do. You could have been killed riding into that swift water."

"I wasn't, was I?"

Charlie took his time answering. "Looks to me like if a certain person hadn't been aboard that raft, you never would've taken such a crazy chance."

"Every life is precious."

"Even so ..."

After a swift and definitely annoyed glance from his partner, Charlie closed his mouth. Both still astride their horses, they watched Lucy, Noah in hand, and the others wade to sh.o.r.e, all of them wet, bedraggled, and shivering from a sudden chill wind.

"Thank G.o.d, it's over." Bessie called to Charlie Dawes. "I surely hope we don't have to do this again."

Before Charlie spoke, he exchanged a rueful glance with Clint. "There's many a river to cross afore we get to California. This here's just the beginning."

In the hours that followed, Lucy found herself so busy she barely had time to change from wet clothes to dry or even sit down. Along with Jacob, Benjamin, and Henry, she helped rebuild and repack the wagons. Despite her pleas, the men showed little regard to how, with her tidy nature, she'd originally insisted upon a place for everything and everything in its place. Now they heaped in everything in a complete jumble, causing her to wonder how she'd ever find clothes, dishes, pots and pans-anything at all. Too tired to complain, she collected firewood and built a fire, then fixed a hasty dinner of biscuits and beans. By the time she hauled water from the river, washed the dishes, put them away, and put Noah to bed in the wagon, she crawled into the tent Jacob had erected, totally exhausted.

Jacob lay in bed, sound asleep. Thank you, Lord. After such a day, surely he wouldn't wake up now. She would have a whole, wonderful night's sleep without having to endure his near-nightly attentions. Silently, she slipped into her nightgown. Stealthy as a cat, she slipped between the covers and lay next to her snoring husband. Please don't wake up now.

Jacob kept snoring. Ah, she counted her blessings. She savored the thought of a few precious hours of peaceful sleep and was just drifting off when she heard the patter of light rain. Drowsily, she hoped it wouldn't get worse, but soon, the patter turned to pounding. Not long after, she felt something damp seep from underneath. She stuck her hand out of the covers to touch the ground. Wet. "Jacob!" She shook her husband awake. "It's raining! Water's seeping into the tent!" As if to punctuate her words, a huge clap of thunder broke over their heads, so loud the ground shook. Seconds later, the heavens let loose with such a deluge of rain the tent sagged in, and a stream of water came running through.

"Lord Almighty!" Jacob leaped up and stared at the water.

Lucy cried, "Take the bedding. We must get to the wagon."

They grabbed the mattress and what blankets they could. Through what seemed a wall of water, they ran for the wagon, just as a barrage of hail struck.

Inside they found Noah awake and sitting straight up, shivering with fright. He watched as Lucy and Jacob hastily climbed inside, both soaked to the skin. "Father, will we be all right?"

"Of course, Son. We're under a heavy rainproof canvas, double thickness. Nothing can get through."

Lucy couldn't quite believe what her husband said was true, not with hailstones big as her fist pounding on the cover. Not with the enormous peals of thunder that a.s.saulted her eardrums and the jagged bolts of lightning that flashed nonstop, as if to rip the sky apart. She gazed upward in time to see a split appear in the very top of the canvas, and then another. Water began to pour through the front and back, despite Jacob's tightening the flaps. Soon mattresses, blankets, clothes, everything not packed in the trunks, was soaked through. A chill wind lashed the wagon, so hard she feared it would be blown apart. She was drenched and shivering. "Jacob, what shall we do?"

His face carefully blank, Jacob reached for his Bible, kept dry beneath his coat. "We shall pray."

"Pray?" Sudden rage shot through her. "Here we sit in the middle of nowhere, cold, wet, and the cover ready to rip off any second, and that's all you can do?"

He shook his head as if gently admonishing a child. "Psalms thirty-seven, Verse eight: 'Cease from anger, and forsake wrath.' "

Oh, she could kill him! "You've got to do something. Not just sit there and quote the Bible."

"Are you mad at Father?" Noah's voice was small and frightened. His teeth chattered. He was shaking now, his little face white from the cold.

She must calm down. Ranting at Jacob wouldn't do a bit of good. "No, I'm not mad, sweetheart. Here, let's try to get warm." She gathered her stepson and lay down with him on the soaked mattress, pulling him close in her arms. No use pulling the covers up. They were soaked, too. "Jacob, there's a piece of canvas in the trunk that might help. Get it and lie on the other side of Noah. We'll put the canvas over us. Between the two of us we can try to keep him warm."