Angel Train (7 page)

Studdart turned to face Gwilym squarely for a moment, then he turned to face the congregation. “When I left here yesterday, I was convinced this was a mistake, a terrible mistake.
I was convinced that Miss Charity Morgan had missed God and that to follow up on what she had discovered was to ignore the will of God.”

Charity closed her eyes and waited for the deluge, but she was surprised to hear Studdart continue. “I must tell you that when I began to pray, I was trying to tell God what to do, but He shut me up at once.” Suddenly Studdart smiled and even laughed. “He told me that I was a proud man, and that I was to obey His voice and to be a part of the Pilgrim Way as we go to Oregon. I encourage the rest of you to join those of us who will be going.”

“Glory, hallelujah!” The words burst from Charity’s lips before she could keep them in, and Studdart gave her a quick glance and smiled as he sat down.

“I want to hear from every man, the head of every family,” Gwilym said. “Those who go must know that we are headed into danger, but our God will go before us. Now, who will speak first?”

The meeting was not long. In the end eighteen families agreed to sell out and go to Oregon. Eleven decided not to go.

Gwilym said, after the last man had spoken, “Let us ask the Lord to bless those who have chosen not to go. That God will put them in the place He has for them, and let us pray for those who will go that God will give us courage and strength, and that we will be obedient to His will. Let us pray.”

* * *

TREMAYNE WAS IN HIS cell when a guard appeared. “You’re wanted in the warden’s office, Casey.”

“I’m getting to be a regular visitor there.”

Tremayne rolled off his bunk and followed the guard down the corridor. When they reached the office, the guard knocked, and Casey heard the warden say, “Come in.”

When he entered the office, he saw Warden Bryce standing beside his desk—and with him was Miss Charity Morgan. He saw the excitement on her face and said, “I take it you got your miracle, Miss Morgan.”

“I think it’s our miracle, Mr. Tremayne. The group has agreed.”

“Well, I think it’s a miracle, and it’ll be another miracle if you get there with this group you’ve chosen,” Paul Bryce said. “But I believe that God has been in it. I’ll leave you two alone to talk this thing over.” He left the office.

Before she could speak Casey said, “I’m happy for you. I’m glad it’s worked out this way, and I—well, I’m grateful for the chance at a different kind of life.”

“I’m hoping that God will touch your life, Mr. Tremayne.”

“I think Casey will be fine, but I want to warn you that these are rough men. I’ll keep them in line. They’ve been warned already, and they know they’ll mind me, but this is going to be a hard, difficult journey. It is for everyone under any circumstances.”

Charity smiled brilliantly, and he was aware what an attractive woman she was. She was tall and shapely, and her eyes mirrored a wisdom he did not completely understand. She was watching him, and he wasn’t sure what the expression in her eyes meant. It pulled at him like a mystery. He suddenly felt a slow run of excitement as though he were on the edge of a discovery.

There was a fire in this girl that made her lovely and brought out the rich, headlong qualities of a spirit otherwise hidden behind the cool reserve of the lips. She was, Tremayne
saw, a woman with a great degree of vitality and imagination. He saw the hint of her will or of her pride in the corners of her eyes and of her lips. He had not been around a woman for a long time, and he was intently aware of her body, against the folds of her dress. Suddenly he realized she affected him powerfully. It fanned the hungers he had suppressed for years, and he thought there might be more problems than he had imagined.

“I know it will be a difficult journey,” she said quietly. “Do you believe in God, Casey?”

He smiled and nodded. “I’ve given up thinking on Him, Miss Morgan, but maybe after all this, I’ll have to change my mind.”

DR. YORK WINGATE LOOKED up from the plate of ham and eggs and watched his wife who sat across from him. At the age of thirty-five, he looked hale and healthy. He had light brown hair, dark brown eyes, and craggy features. He had been told that he was not a handsome man often enough that he believed it, but the warmth and quick intelligence in his eyes made him seem attractive. He studied his wife, Helen, who was a small, delicate woman—almost too delicate for the child she was bearing. He had seen enough women with her physical characteristics to be certain she would have a hard time when the child came, but she seemed never to fear that part of bringing a new Wingate into the world. He picked up a biscuit and nibbled at it for a moment.

“I’ve been thinking, Helen, about this trip to Oregon.”

“What about it, dear?” Helen looked up and gave him a quick smile. “It’s going to be wonderful! We’re going to love it there. There can’t be many doctors, so you’ll have a large practice.”

York shook his head. He had tried to explain to her that Oregon was not like Boston, Pittsburgh, or other large cities. He tried again but without much hope. “It’s a rural place,
Helen. The biggest town in the area is Oregon City, and it’s fewer than a thousand people. There aren’t many women there. Mostly it’s built by men who’ve gone to find their fortunes in a new country, but the more I think about it, the less I want to make the trip.”

“I don’t want to be separated from my family and from our people.” She had always had a close tie with her family. The world of the Pilgrim Way was all she had ever known, and although she would never admit it to her husband, she felt an insecurity at the very thought of being parted from people she knew. Now she reached across the table and seized his hand. “I know what it is. You’re worried about taking me on a trip when I’m expecting a child.”

“Well, it’s a rough way, and you’re not a big, strong woman, Helen.”

“I’m strong enough to have this baby. God gave it to us, York. He’s going to be a child of promise exactly like Isaac was to Abraham and Sarah.”

“I believe it’s of God that we’re starting our family, but you have to remember that riding into the wilderness over bumpy roads or no roads at all is not what I’d advise for a woman having her first child.”

Helen shook her head, and her hand tightened on him. “We’ve got to go with our people. I won’t be left here all alone.”

Wingate knew argument wouldn’t change Helen. She was amenable to most of his suggestions, but ever since the Oregon trip had come up, she had refused to listen to anything except making the trip. He made one more try, however.

“Dr. Goldsmith in Pittsburgh has offered me a partnership. There’s even a house I’ve found that would be just right for us.” He spoke urgently, but even as he did, he was aware that
his words were wasted. He saw his wife, who was always ready to obey him, was not going to accept anything but going to Oregon. He tried again. “Each family can only take one wagon. Maybe two for the larger families, but no one will be able to take all their furniture.”

“We could get furniture after we get there. We’ll sell what we have. Furniture is not a home, York. Home is a man and a woman and babies, and that’s what we’re going to have.” Jumping up from the table, she threw herself into his lap. He held her, almost desolate to feel the fineness of her bones and know the torment that would be coming. She held on to him fiercely, and he was nearly ready to weep. York Wingate gave up—again.

“We’ll talk about it later,” he said.

“No,” she said, “we’ll talk not about whether we’re going or not, but how wonderful it’s going to be when we get there. Now,” she straightened up, kissed him, and said, “you have calls to make?”

“A few. I’ve got to go by the Morgans. Bronwen’s got a cut on her hand that was pretty bad. I’ll need to change the bandage.”

“Tell Charity to come by and see me.”

“All right, I’ll tell her.” York got to his feet. Words formed as he tried to think of a way to convince her that she should not make such a trip, but those words would not come out, and he said, “I’ll be back early.”

“I’ll cook mutton tonight. You always like that, and we’ll make a list of what we can take with us.”

“It’ll be a short list.” York shrugged. He turned and left the house, and since the Morgans lived only three streets away, he didn’t bother to hitch up the buggy.

The April sunlight was bright in the sky, and large banks of fleecy clouds drifted slowly across the clear, azure dome.
A group of blackbirds rose from a field, their guttural cries contrasting with the twittering of the song sparrows that always seemed to be in the Novaks’ yard. He waved at Irene and Daniel, the two youngsters, and they waved back.

When he reached the Morgan house, he turned in the gate and was met, before he could get to the door, by Meredith. The very sight of her brought a smile to Wingate’s face for he had a special fondness for the child. He had brought her into the world, and she seemed to feel that gave her a special claim over him.

“Hello, Dr. Wingate,” she cried. “Are you going to fix Bronwen’s hand?”

“I expect I’ll change the bandage.”

“You’ve got to look at Sam. He’s got a sore foot.”

“I’ll be glad to take a look.” As usual, Meredith chattered as they went into the house. He wondered what it would take to get her to be silent, but then she never had been, so he pushed the thought away. Inside, he was met by Charity.

“Good morning, Dr. Wingate.”

“How are you this morning, Charity?”

“I’m fine. I’m worried about Bronwen’s hand.”

“Well, let’s take a look at it.” Charity stepped aside, and Wingate set his black bag on the table. “Let’s see that hand, Bronwen.”

“I don’t want to.”

“Come now. I’ve got to change the bandage and see how it’s doing.” He waited until Charity said sternly, “Let him see your hand, Bronwen. Don’t make a fool of yourself.”

“I won’t hurt you. I’ll be very careful.” He took the hand she reluctantly extended and began to remove the bandage. When it was off, he looked carefully at the cut and nodded.
“It’s doing fine. We’ll have to put a clean bandage on it, and you’ll have to be careful not to bang it around.”

Meredith had crowded in as close as she could and was staring down at the wound on her sister’s hand. “I don’t see the bones.”

“Well, thank God for that. The cut wasn’t down to the bone.”

Meredith watched closely, and Bronwen turned her head away, not wanting to see the cut. She had been splintering firewood with a sharp ax, and it slipped and cut her hand. As soon as he put pressure on the wound and wrapped it again with a fresh bandage, Wingate said, “There, Bronwen, you’ll be good as new in a few days.”

“Sit down and have some coffee, Dr. Wingate.”

“That would go down all right.” He put the supplies back in his bag, fastened it, and sat at the oak table that had been made, like nearly everything in the house, either by Gwilym or his father, who had been a fine carpenter.

Charity poured his coffee and said, “I’ve been trying to make a list of things to leave behind, and every time I put something on it, somebody insists we have to take it.”

“I’m not leaving my bed,” Bronwen said. “My grandpa made it, and he gave it to me. It’s mine.”

“I know it’s yours, but wait you until we get to Oregon. Pa will make you another bed.”

“I want my old bed.”

Charity shook her head with a look of disgust. “It’s a battle for everything. We’ll have to start all over again, girl. Can’t you understand that?”

“It’s going to be hard in a lot of ways, this trip to Oregon,” Wingate said. He sipped the coffee and blinked. “This is hot.”

“Coffee’s made to be hot. Who wants to drink a cup of old, cold coffee?”

Wingate smiled for there was a sharpness about Charity that everyone noticed sooner or later. “I’ve been trying to talk Helen out of going.”

“Because of the baby?”

“Yes. It’s not a trip for a woman expecting her first child to make. Unless we made very good time, which I doubt, she’d have the child somewhere on the journey. It’s not something I would recommend.”

“How do babies get born, Dr. Wingate?” Meredith piped up, looking up in his face.

Wingate couldn’t resist a grin. The child would ask anything that came into her mind without any thought of decorum.

Bronwen spoke up at once. “You’re not supposed to ask questions like that.”

“Why not? How am I going to learn anything if I don’t ask questions?”

Charity started to speak, but Wingate looked at her and winked. “I’ll tell you what. You ask your sister Charity about things like that. There are some things that are private and intimate that should be talked over by women. Men are too rough and don’t have good enough manners.”

“I don’t see what good manners have to do with it. Your manners are good enough for me—most of the time.”

Wingate laughed. “Don’t tell me about those other times, but you just ask Charity.”

“She doesn’t have any babies.”

“I know,” Wingate said, “but she’ll tell you all you need to know right now, and then later on—” He broke off as Gwilym entered the room. “Hello, Gwilym.”

“Hello, Doctor. How is that girl?”

“Very good. No problem.”

“Glad she didn’t chop her hand off.”

“Sit down, Pa. Let me fix you some coffee. Is it too early for a little cake, Doctor?”

“Never too early for your cooking, Charity.”

Charity brought the cake, and as he bit into it and complimented her, Wingate saw that Gwilym was unhappy. “What’s the trouble, Gwilym? You worried about this trip?”

“No, not about that but about getting rid of things here. We all need to sell our property, but who’d pay anything for a town that’s going down as fast as ours is, and I doubt if we can even sell our furniture and the things we won’t be able to take.”

Charity had taken a seat and looked over her cup of coffee. “I’ve had a thought about that. What we need to do is to get everybody together, and just before we leave we’ll have a sale in Pittsburgh. We’ll advertise it in the paper, and everyone will come to get bargains in furniture and tools and all the things we can’t take.”

Gwilym had never had such a thought. His mind had been full of the trip itself, but now he said, “Well, that might not be a bad idea. I’ll talk to the men about it. It would be quite a sale.”

“How many families are committed to the trip, Gwilym?”

“Eighteen. The Johnsons weren’t going, but they changed their mind at the last moment. That’s a good thing. He’s a handyman and a staunch elder too.”

Wingate finished his cake. “By the way, when will the prisoners be coming in?”

“I got a letter from Uncle Paul yesterday. He says that the parole board approved the plan, and the men will be released this week.”

Wingate shook his head slightly. “I feel a little bit dubious about these men.”

“I think Uncle Paul made it pretty clear to them that they’ll behave and get us through, or else they’ll go back to prison. He said if any of them tried to run, he’d have the law run them down and put in jail for life for trying to escape.”

“Well,” Wingate said as he rose to his feet, “I hope they’re good men.”

“They’re not good, or they wouldn’t have been in jail,” Meredith said severely.

Wingate winked at Charity. “Well, you’ll have to straighten them out and make good men out of them, Meredith. Just preach at them a little bit.”

“All right.”

Charity walked to the door with Wingate and stepped outside. “I wish we were leaving right away.” She studied Wingate’s face and said, “I know you’re worried about Helen, but we’ll all help.”

“That’s good of you, Charity. She’s a fragile person, not only in body but in spirit. She has no idea about the hardships this trip involves.”

“I’m not sure any of us do, but I’ll stay right with her all the time.”

* * *

WARDEN BRYCE STOOD IN front of the group of men who had gathered, and not for the first time wished that he had never mentioned this possibility to Charity. It was too late now, however, for the board had already approved the conditional parole, and the wheels were moving. He had called them for one last meeting before they left to join Gwilym and
the other members of the Way. He wanted to be stern but not discouraging. They would get enough of that, he was certain, on the way to Oregon.

“You men are now officially conditionally paroled.” He stressed the word
conditionally
. “I’ve told you all this before, but I’ve written it all up and have copies for all of you. Basically it says, if you get the wagon train through to Oregon and cause no trouble along the way, the parole will be made final. It also says that if you run or refuse to obey Tremayne’s orders, you’ll be given to a local sheriff and sent back to serve a life sentence.”

The men listened as Casey’s eyes ran over the faces of the men he would be bossing on the trip. He knew them fairly well and had already made up his mind he would be fair, but they would have to obey him instantly and without reservation. The only two he was really certain of were Elsworth Charterhouse and Billy Watson. Young Watson was excited at getting out of jail and had developed a severe case of hero worship for Tremayne. Casey couldn’t move without finding Billy at his side, and that suited him very well. The young man was immature, but there was good stuff in him, and Casey was determined to bring it out. As for Elsworth, he would be of little use on the drive, but he’d persuaded Tremayne to take him along.

“I can quote Latin to the stock,” he’d said. “It’s been scientifically proven that Latin has charms to soothe the savage beast.” Tremayne had agreed, for the Englishman could make him laugh, and he knew he’d need humor on the journey.

Warden Bryce finished his brief speech and then said, “Come along with me.” He moved quickly. Casey motioned with his hand, and the others followed as he brought up the rear. They left the building and walked into another one, and
when they stepped inside a large room, Tremayne saw that it was a supply room. “This is where we keep all the clothing and supplies that men bring with them. I’ve also requisitioned a little from the local sheriff’s office,” Bryce said. He motioned toward a table. “There’re some good firearms. Rifles and side arms. Tremayne, you go through them and see that each man is well armed.”