A Dream Unfolding (36 page)

Reverend Read opened the ceremony with one of his long formal prayers, so different from the way Hannah talked with God.
 
Then, one of the judges swore in Governor Goodwin, Secretary McCormick, and others.
 
After everyone was sworn in, Secretary McCormick stood and read the Governor’s Proclamation.
 
Odd that the secretary should read it instead of the governor himself, Hannah thought.

Secretary McCormick continued reading with great animation.
 
He announced a census that would take place in the coming months, outlined the judicial districts that would be formed, and mentioned a forthcoming election for members of the legislature.
 
He confirmed that the seat of government would be located near Fort Whipple.
 
Then, for some length of time, he read the governor’s plan for making the territory safe for settlers, at great expense to the natives, using such strong language such as “extermination.”

Hannah barely felt her feet, for the temperature continued to drop.
 
Just when she thought she might return to the wagon, Secretary McCormick waved the Union flag and cut the ceremony short.
 
Shivering uncontrollably, Hannah accepted Drew’s assistance back onto the wagon seat.
 
The Arizona Territory now had an official government in the middle of a cold and dreary snow storm.

The rest of the journey for the day, Hannah spent huddled under layers of clothes, coats, and a blanket on the seat next to her husband.
 
Did the governor really plan to kill all of the natives?
 
Was it a matter of survival?
 
Would she and Drew not be safe unless the Indians were all killed?
 
It seemed rather extreme to Hannah, but then women had no mind for politics—at least that is what she had been taught all her life.

The image of the floating woman’s head returned from her nightmares.
 
This wilderness held frightening dangers, threatening to rob her of any security she felt.
 
She pleaded with God that she and Drew would be safe in the small settlement that would become their new home.

Home.
 
It was almost within reach.
 
Just a few more weeks away.

Miles of flat, treeless terrain stretched before them.
 
The dark clouds hanging low in the sky continued pouring out a steady stream of snow.
 
By the time the wagon train stopped for the night, the cold crumbled Hannah to exhaustion.
 
Though she longed for a fire, she did not put up a fight when Drew asked her to conserve their wood and prepare a cold meal instead.
 
For days, they had seen no trees or wood for fire.
 
Unlike the prairies, there were no buffalo chips to act as a substitute.
 
The only wood they had for fire was what little remained from their stay at Fort Wingate.

Since the snow still fell at a rapid pace, they ate the meal under the protection of the covered wagon.
 
Winter days in Ohio had been this cold, but there Hannah had the advantage of a warm house and glowing fire to comfort her.
 
Here, on the open desert plains, the wind howled and snow swirled relentlessly.
 
The most comfort she could hope to find was wrapped in her husband’s arms as they shivered together under the weight of layers of blankets and clothing.
 
What happened to the moderate climate reported in that Santa Fe newspaper?

 
After a quick cold breakfast, the team lurched forward creating the familiar sway of progress.
 
It had been over a month since they left Santa Fe.
 
Again the weariness of the trip weighed on Hannah.
 
Cold and frustrated, she kept to herself.
 
It took too much energy to stay warm, much less talk.

There was nothing about this forsaken frigid desert that Hannah found to be comforting.
 
She longed for the cozy nights by the fireplace in the parlor of their home.
 
She missed waking up in the morning and walking to kitchen to prepare breakfast, where everything was in order and simple.
 
Here, everything grew more difficult, rather than easier the farther they traveled from home.
 
Tears pooled in her eyes and she tried to hold them back, lest they freeze on her rosy wind-kissed cheeks.
 
Since leaving Fort Wingate, she had yet to do laundry.
 
It took too much firewood.
 
Back home, she had the luxury of doing laundry several times a week if needed.
 
She never thought about how blessed they had been in Ohio.
 
Now she guiltily acknowledged how much she had taken for granted.

Several days passed in a similar icy blur.
 
Each task was completed slowly and deliberately in the howling wind.
 
Day after day, Hannah could not think past how chilled she was.
 
There was nothing, save their wagon, to block the wind.
 
Even after snow stopped falling from the sky, they were still pelted with snow being picked up by the wind.
 
Would this misery ever end?

The next morning, the sun finally peeked through the heavy snow laden clouds.
 
The respite from the weather gave Hannah an opportunity to bank a small fire.
 
As she started making breakfast, she suddenly felt very ill.
 
The flapjack she flipped mimicked the motion of her stomach.
 
Leaving it, she quickly ran to the outside of the wagon corral and lost the contents of her stomach.
 
She stood there a moment, taking a few deep breaths.
 
When she thought it passed, she started to walk back toward the cook fire.
 
No sooner had she taken another step and she felt the bile rise again.
 
Heaving, she doubled over.
 
She could smell the flapjack burning from here and it caused her to gag again.
 
If suffering through the cold was not bad enough, now she had to endure sickness.

“Hannah!” Betty called running to her side.

“Here,” she managed to weakly reply.

“Oh dear!
 
Here, brace yourself against the wagon and rest a moment.
 
I’ll go get some water.”

Betty rushed back to the campfire and removed the flapjack from the heat.
 
The burning smell dissipated by the time she returned with the water.

“Slow sips,” she admonished when Hannah tried to gulp the water.
 
Placing her wrist on Hannah’s forehead she concluded Hannah did not have a fever.
 
“How long have you been feeling ill?”

“It just came on suddenly this morning,” Hannah said, her voice frail.
 
She wanted to collapse on the ground.
 
Betty’s sturdy arm around her waist steadied her.

“Why don’t you lie down and I’ll see that your husband is fed.”

The world spun as Betty helped her into the wagon, making sure she was covered with warm blankets.

Drew returned and Hannah could hear Betty’s muted voice explaining what happened.
 
In seconds he was at her side, as both a worried husband and a confident doctor.

“How long have you felt ill?” Drew frowned.

“Just this morning,” Hannah said.

He repeated the steps Betty already took, ensuring that she had no fever.
 
He placed his hands on her abdomen and asked her if she felt any pain when he pressed in different areas.
 
Hannah felt fine—except she was going to be sick again.
 
She sat up quickly and managed to lean over the side of the wagon just in time.
 
Worry etched deep lines in Drew’s forehead.
 
She had seen this look before, usually when he was not certain what was wrong.
 
Of course, he was probably worrying too much since it was his wife who was ill.

“Let me make you some tea to settle your stomach,” Drew offered.
 
“I could give you some laudanum, but that is probably unnecessary.
 
I think you should just rest in the wagon today.”

Lying back down, Hannah pulled blankets to her chin.
 
When the
tea
finished steeping, Drew propped Hannah up so she could drink.
 
After the soothing liquid was gone, he pushed her hair back from her face and kissed her forehead.
 

“Get some rest,” he said, the worried look still wrinkling his brow.

Hannah did as she was told.
 
Although she faded in and out of sleep in the morning, she was much improved when the wagon train stopped for dinner.
 
When Drew pulled the wagon to a halt, Hannah appeared through the opening.
 
Still feeling slightly dizzy, she waited for Drew to help her down.

“Your color looks much better.
 
How’s your appetite?” he asked.

Her stomach growled, answering for her.

Hannah set about making a quick meal for them, of which she ate a double portion.
 
In the afternoon, she sat on the wagon seat next to Drew despite the cold air.
 
As the day wore on, the queasiness dissipated and she felt better.

Looking at the scenery around her, Hannah soaked in the beauty letting it lift her downtrodden spirit.
 
A few multi-colored mountains rose to the north, jutting from the flat valley floor below.
 
Painted in pinks, reds, oranges, rust, and gray, the mountains had bands of colors stacked one on top of the other.
 
For miles the vibrant colors danced in the sunlight, contrasted sharply by the pure blue sky.
 
Snow capped the upper most peaks, while shadows obscured the crevices.
 
She stared mesmerized until the scene faded in the distance behind them, leaving a momentary serenity covering her.

Sighing, she watched as the endless flat desert dominated the landscape once again.
 
She wondered what caused her bout of sickness that morning.
 
Perhaps she had taken ill due to the numerous days of unending cold.
 
Deciding to think on it no more, Hannah gave in to the soothing rocking of the wagon.

Over the next several days, Hannah continued to waver between heaving in the morning and being famished in the evening.
 
What was wrong with her?
 
Did she have some sort of weird sickness that only attacked her in the morning?
 
She was growing concerned, but surely Drew would be able to tell her what was wrong?
 
Or perhaps he already knew and she was dying?
 
In that case, she was certain she did not want to know.

The governor’s expedition had been stranded in the San Francisco Mountains for several days following the new year.
 
A blizzard struck without warning, dumping more than a foot of snow on the chilled travelers.
 
For days, Drew huddled next to his wife, not leaving the minimal shelter of their wagon.
 
The conditions outside were so harsh that neither he nor Hannah braved the weather except when it was absolutely necessary.
 
Unfortunately, necessity was more frequent than he hoped, as Hannah continued to be sick each morning.

“Drew,” Hannah’s weak voice whispered next to him.

The lamenting tone sent him into motion.
 
He hopped out onto the springboard seat and waited for his wife to follow.
 
Then he jumped down, reaching up to ease her onto the soft blanket of snow.
 
When her feet touched the ground, she swayed, leaning on him heavily for support.
 
Placing his arm around her waist, he helped her hobble a few feet from the wagon.
 
Dropping to her knees, she doubled over, retching violently.

His breath caught in his throat.
 
She had been so sick and weak and cold.
 
Kneeling in the snow was not wise, but she had no strength for standing.
 
Rubbing her back, he waited at her side while her stomach settled.
 
For nearly twenty minutes she sat there, wavering between shivering and retching.
 
He could not even offer her some tea, as they were completely out of firewood.