Angel Train (18 page)

THE DAYS WERE FAIR with no hint of snowfall, at least not yet. As Charity walked toward the Dalles, the small town that was the end of this part of their journey, she could feel the approaching winter. She saw it in the dead grass and the leaves fallen to the cold ground. Memories of the hard trail they had traveled came to her, and she knew that for the rest of her life she would remember the journey from Pennsylvania to Oregon with the sharpest detail. But now it was nearly done. There was no question whether they would reach Oregon. They had conquered the desert, rivers, and mountains, and only one obstacle lay ahead—the Columbia River.

An eagerness seized her as the travelers approached the town they had been seeking for so long. She saw the Methodist mission Tremayne had said was there. It was merely a small log building nearly hidden in a mountain notch, a secure place between the heights and the river. The buildings gave the look of a settlement, but she saw that the missionaries, the schools, and the church hadn’t changed the Indians much. They were as primitive, dirty, and dull looking as those she had seen earlier.

The wagons halted, and most of the people were fixing a noon meal, but Gwilym wanted to find someone in town who could tell him more about the journey on the river.

“I suppose we’ll be breaking up now,” he said, his voice breaking the silence. “Everyone taking their own way, but I hope we can stay close to each other and have a church as we did back home.”

“Not home anymore,” Charity murmured, and that was true. The only home she had ever known, she found to her amazement, was growing dim in her mind. All of the memories from there, she supposed, were hidden deep and would return later, but now it was what lay ahead that mattered—a cabin not yet built, fields not yet cleared, marriages not yet performed, and children not yet born. The future occupied her mind.

Gwilym had been watching Charity sharply all morning, and he asked abruptly, “Something bothering you, Daughter?”

“Not really. We’ve made it through safely. I guess I’m just tired.”

“Not like you to be so quiet. Your mother was quiet now, but you’ve always been a talking woman. Can’t you tell me what’s troubling you?”

Charity hesitated, and her father turned to face her. For a moment she sorted through the thoughts she had kept within her breast, but now they seemed to beg to be told.

“It’s something that happened that’s bothering me. I’ve meant to tell you, but I wasn’t sure it was right.” She hesitated again, and an uncommon soberness came over her. She had a way of holding her lips together when she was deep in thought, oftentimes on the edge of a smile. She often observed her life, events, and people, absorbing them but
seeming not to pass judgment. Finally, she said, “It’s something about Casey.”

Surprise, for a moment, showed in Gwilym’s face, but then he asked quickly, “Tremayne is bothering you?”

“He—he asked me if I thought he was a man I might marry.” Now it was out. She had said it, and she saw her father’s thoughtful eyes fastened on her. She knew him so well, exactly what he was thinking.
What kind of a man is Tremayne? Was he a man of God? Would he be good to a wife? Would he make a good father?
He would be mulling all these over in his mind; however, he surprised her not by speaking of Tremayne.

“What about you, Daughter? How do you feel about him? What have you told him?”

“I haven’t told him anything. I couldn’t, Pa. He’s not a man who knows the Lord, and the Bible is very plain on that.”

“Yes, it is. A woman needs a Christian husband. There are decent men who aren’t Christians, but the Bible says, ‘Be ye not unequally yoked together with unbelievers.’ And I can vouch for the fact that no yoke brings two human beings closer than the yoke of marriage. How do you feel about him?”

“I don’t know. I do feel something for him, but how can I answer him when he’s not the kind of man I’ve always vowed to marry?”

For a long moment Gwilym Morgan stood there, and his compassion, deep love, and respect for his daughter were obvious in his face. She was so much like her mother! He finally said, “I’m going to tell you something, Charity. You probably don’t know this, but when I asked your mother to marry me, I wasn’t a Christian.”

“Why, Pa, I thought you were saved long before you met Ma.”

“No, I went to church all my life, and I suppose people got the idea that I was a believer, but I wasn’t. It wasn’t until after I got to know her, and she began to witness to me of the inner life of Christ that I found Him. All I had known was the outer elements of religion. I knew what was right, and I could quote Scripture, but at one point she finally came to me, and she talked to me about giving my life over to Jesus completely. I still remember that day clearly. She had tears in her eyes, Daughter, and she was beautiful to me. She asked me to call on the Lord, and I did, confessing my sins, and that was the beginning of my Christian life.”

“I’m glad you told me, Pa. I didn’t know that.”

“I hope it helps you. Of course, the man can’t become a Christian just to get a wife, but when God wants to do so, He can convict someone. He wanted the apostle Paul so bad He knocked him to the ground to get his attention, so you and I will pray that Casey Tremayne will find his way to God. Then he can talk to you about marriage, and if you love him, you’ll know what to say.”

* * *

SEEING WHAT THERE WAS of the Dalles did not take long, for it was, indeed, a small place. Its main claim to existence was its location on the Columbia River. Beyond there, those who wanted to get to Oregon City had to pass dangerous rapids, for the mountains barred the way, forbidding travel by wagon, though individual animals could make it.

The travelers had spent the night resting and talking about what lay before them, but early the next morning Gwilym and several of the other elders met. Tremayne waited while they
prayed for guidance, and then he accompanied them to the river. They stood on the banks and looked across it, and all of them fell silent. After a time Gwilym said, “Well, the river is bigger than I’d like, but it doesn’t look too bad.”

Karl Studdart shook his head. “I never did like boats or water, but I’m going to have to put up with it. Do you know how to build a raft, Tremayne?”

“No, I’m not a river man. We’ll have to find someone.”

“What about that fellow over there?” Nelson Brand, one of the elders, pointed to a man trimming lumber that lay in a neat stack. “Looks like he’s building a raft right now. Let’s ask him.”

They moved across the open broken ground, and when the man saw them, he laid his ax down and approached. “Howdy. Just get in from on the trail?”

“Just yesterday,” Gwilym said. “My name’s Gwilym Morgan.” He introduced the others. “We’re wondering about how to build a raft.”

“My name’s Bob Crutchfield, Mr. Morgan. I’ve been here for about a month.”

“Where did you come in from, Crutchfield?” Tremayne asked. He liked the looks of the man for the fellow was tall and strong. His hands were toughened, and he looked like a worker.

“We came from St. Joe, Missouri, with a train, but my wife got sick just before we got to the Dalles. She wasn’t able to make such a rough trip.”

“Sorry to hear that,” Gwilym said. “How is she now?”

“She’s doing much better. I’m building this raft for myself.”

“We’d appreciate it if you could teach us how to do that. None of us know how to build a raft.”

“Be proud to help you all I can. Some people abandon their wagons here and pack what they can on a horse and go over the mountains. But you have to leave everything.”

“I don’t think we’d care to do that,” Studdart said. “Is it hard to build a raft?”

“It takes a lot of work. See those logs? That’s about the size you need. You just cut ’em, and using your animals, drag them up here and fasten them together. That’s about it.”

“How do you carry the animals on a raft?”

“Well, most people don’t. They put their wagon on the raft, take the wheels off, and tie it down, and then they have some of their menfolk take the herd through the gap. Rough going, but you can make it with animals like that. Then they’re waiting there when the raft floats down and gets to Fort Vancouver. Be proud to show you how to build them.”

“We’d be mighty obliged to you.”

“You can talk to some of the other men around here who’ve watched a lot of raft building. They know the river too. It can get a might dangerous when it’s high, but it ain’t too bad right now. I figure you can get your rafts made in a week or maybe two, and the river is falling so it ought to be fairly safe.” He laughed, showing his white teeth against his bronzed skin. “I can’t swim a lick so I’m going to carry a barrel or something to hang on to if I fall off. Here, let me show you how this raft building goes.”

* * *

BUILDING RAFTS KEPT THE men busy from early morning until dark. The women were busy with their chores, but since
there was no traveling, they had time to wash clothes, sort out their foodstuffs, and cook better meals. There was time for talk, too, and, of course, plenty of that went on.

Marzina was washing clothes when York Wingate approached her. “It’s getting colder,” he said.

“I don’t mind. I like the cold.”

York smiled abruptly. “You better like the rain. From what I hear from the folks around here they had a drought in Oregon that lasted nearly all day.”

Marzina laughed. It made a pleasant sound. “I’m dreading that trip on that raft. It looks dangerous.”

“Crutchfield says it’s not really so bad at this time of the year. It’s a good time we got here when we did. If it were snowing and freezing, it would be a different story.”

“I’ll have to hire someone to build my raft,” she said.

“I already done that. I hired Crutchfield to build us two rafts. He’s done it before, and he said he’d hire some help. I’m not much good with my hands like that—building things, carpenter work.”

“Well, your hands are for other things like healing people, York. And you use them for that, which is important.”

“Well, I want to do some good for people here.”

“What are you going to do when we get there?”

“I’ll open an office in Oregon City.”

A faint line of worry creased Marzina’s forehead, and she said at once, “We won’t be having a doctor then.”

“Yes, you will. I’ll have a buggy and a team, and I’ll make rounds regularly.”

Relief came to Marzina’s face, and she smiled. “That’s good, York. The men have agreed to build me a cabin. Isn’t that nice of them?”

“Well, you can’t stay by yourself.”

“I can if I have to.”

Wingate looked embarrassed and then troubled. “What’s wrong?” Marzina asked.

“Well, I’ve been thinking. I’ve got to have an office, and I’ve got to have a place to live. I’m no housekeeper, and I need somebody to work in the office to be there when I’m not. I was hoping you would stay in Oregon City. You could do my housekeeping for me, take care of the office, clean it up, and, of course, you need to be close for David. There might be a nursing mother available, but David’s used to you, and you’re so good with him.”

“I’m not sure that would be the right thing to do.”

“Why not? What’s wrong with it?” he asked.

“Are you talking about living in the same house? That would cause gossiping tongues to wag.”

“We could have different places. I want you to be close. I’d like to help you, Marzina. We’re tied together. We both lost someone, and we each have a baby to rear, and I don’t know the first thing about it. That’s another thing you could do— keep David while I’m working. We’re yoked together like a pair of oxen, I guess.”

For a moment Marzina hesitated, then she said, “We’re not exactly the same, you and I. We both lost someone, but you loved your wife. I’m ashamed to say it, but I never cared for Nolan the way a woman should care for a husband.”

“I guess I knew that.”

“Marriage wasn’t my choice, and I never felt really like a wife. I felt more like a servant. That’s an awful thing to say.”

The two were silent for a moment, and then York said, “You think on it, Marzina. I need you, and David needs you. We can help each other.”

Marzina smiled. “It’s like you to think of me that way, of my good and of my children’s. I will think on it.”

He took her hand and held it in both of his. “I’ll be hoping you will stay because I need you something fierce.”

The words soothed Marzina. They were words she had never heard from her husband. He had never told her he needed her, and now this man—such a good man!—was saying words she had hungered for. She was aware of his strong hands holding hers, and then York suddenly turned and left. Marzina knew that she would think about what he said. And in her heart that was what she had longed for.

* * *

THE CREW WAS GATHERED by the river, ready to cut logs. The men had brought saws, and all of them had axes. Now as Tremayne looked at them, he was surprised to find he had almost a fondness for them.

He laughed suddenly and said, “You know. I hate to tell you this, but you men have done a good job. I don’t think anyone could have done better.” He saw their pleased expressions and added, “One more chore here. Build these rafts. Float down the river to Fort Vancouver. It’s a short way from there to Oregon City, and as soon as we get to Oregon City, all you men are free.”

“We don’t know how to build rafts,” Jack Canreen said.

“Well, I don’t either, but this is Bob Crutchfield. He’s built plenty of rafts, and he’s willing to boss the job. So you just listen to him. Bob, give us the outline of what we need to do.”

Crutchfield had been standing slightly to the side of Casey, and now he said, “Well, you men may not have built rafts, but I imagine you’ve felled trees. All we do is fell the right-sized tree, trim it up, cut it to length, and have the oxen pull it down to the river. We use some pieces of timber or else short lengths of smaller trees to fasten it together. You use mostly pegs and cables.” He explained how the wagons were placed on the rafts, and the wheels removed to lower it and give it more stability. Finally, he asked for questions.