First Dawn (17 page)

“Well, a doctor must be able to travel in all types of weather. It’s been nice to make your acquaintance, Mr. Benson. I’m certain we’ll see you again when we’re in Ellis.” Samuel directed his family toward the door.

“Hope you won’t be buying tickets home the next time we meet up,” Mr. Benson said as he waved good-bye.

Loading the wagon had taken time, patience, and the assistance of Will Southard and Chester Goddard. Though her father had helped the men, Macia and Harvey had been quite content to sit and watch. By the time they actually departed Ellis, her father appeared strangely invigorated. Macia was now certain her father was attempting to live out some pathetic dream; had she not been forced to participate, she wouldn’t have cared. However, her father’s dream had now become her nightmare!

Citing the family’s inexperience at traveling by wagon, Mr. God-dard suggested her father hire Thurlow Wilson to act as their guide to Hill City. Mr. Wilson supposedly possessed all of the necessary abilities to assist the small family with their thirty-five mile trek to the north and west of Ellis. And although Macia doubted whether the scruffy-looking man would be of any assistance, her father immediately offered him the job. He appeared even less energetic than Harvey.

Mr. Wilson led out on his large bay mare while her mother rode in the buggy with Harvey; Macia sat wedged near her father in the covered wagon with a crate of squawking chickens tied near her side. Though she had repeatedly begged her father to leave the noisy birds behind, he had argued they would all be pleased to have eggs once they arrived in their new home. Mrs. Hepple had been no help—she’d readily agreed with everything her father said. In fact, the storekeeper and his wife had even convinced her father to purchase four cows. But when her father had requested that Macia walk behind with the cows and keep them moving, she had adamantly refused.

Harvey guided the buggy alongside Mr. Wilson’s mare while Macia and her father followed behind in the lumbering wagon. They’d traveled only a few miles when Macia waved to Mr. Wilson. “When will we arrive?”

He slowed his horse until the wagon caught up with him and then spit a stream of tobacco juice across the grass. “Ain’t gonna be today, sis.”

Her father slapped the reins and gave her a sidelong glance as they continued onward. “We’ll sleep out in the open tonight and arrive sometime tomorrow. Quite an adventure, don’t you think?”

Her voice caught in her throat as she gasped at his reply. “You’re jesting.”

“No. It’s more than thirty miles to Hill City. We have a loaded wagon and four cows. In fact, as slow as we’re traveling, we’ll be fortunate if we’re there by tomorrow.”

“Then move more rapidly. I don’t want to sleep out here,” she said, waving at the expansive prairie that surrounded them.

“It’s impossible to complete the journey today. We’ll be out at least one night, Macia. As for tomorrow, time will tell. With our frequent stops to keep the cows moving, it’s bound to take much longer than I anticipated.”

Once again she waved and hollered to Mr. Wilson. “You need to keep those cows moving,” she admonished as he reined his horse alongside the wagon. “They’re straying and slowing us down. Make your horse do something to keep the cows moving.”

Mr. Wilson laughed at her command and patted the gun holstered at his hip. “I was hired to direct you to Hill City and protect you, if need be. If you want those cows kept together, you get down and do it yourself.”

Her face turned bright red, and she glared at Mr. Wilson’s back as he resumed his position ahead of their wagon. “Aren’t you going to make him move those cows along, Father?”

He shrugged. “He’s right. I hired him for protection and to lead us to Hill City. I don’t think a few coins will convince him to herd the cattle.”

“Stop the wagon and give me a stick! I’ll do it myself.” Macia jumped down, and with the use of threatening yelps and an occasional slap to one of the cows’ rumps, she managed to force the animals into a somewhat consistent pace throughout the afternoon.

Her only satisfaction was Thurlow Wilson’s look of surprise when she began to herd the wayward cows. The hours passed in slow monotony until at last the countryside unfolded into the grandeur of a rose-tinged prairie twilight. Macia sighed in relief as they approached a small meandering creek, toward which she and the cows began to move with well-defined purpose. The thirsty animals were anxious to drink their fill, and Macia was eager to soak her blistered, aching feet. By now, one thing was absolutely certain: she detested the lumbering cows as much as the squawking chickens.

Mr. Wilson waved his hat high in the air. “We’ll stop here for the night.”

Much as she disliked the idea of sleeping outdoors, Macia didn’t argue. Her entire body longed for rest, and her throat was sore from shouting at the lumbering cows. She soaked her feet while the animals lapped the water. They would need no encouragement to drink or graze this night. While her father unhitched the horses, Harvey gathered wood from near the creek, and though Mr. Wilson laid and started the fire, he did little else except care for his horse.

A short time later the smoky aroma of frying bacon filled Macia’s nostrils. Although she would not admit it aloud, she was thankful her father had insisted upon stopping to purchase the bacon, ham, and eggs from a farmer outside Ellis who had been recommended by Mr. Hepple.

Her mother turned away from the fire and gestured with a fork. “Dry off your feet, put on your shoes and stockings, and unpack some of those eggs. They’re packed in straw in a small crate near the back of the wagon, so be careful as you work. We don’t want to break any,” she warned.

Unwilling to force her swollen feet back into the shoes, Macia ignored the first part of her mother’s instructions and walked barefoot to the wagon. She carefully unwrapped the eggs and placed them in her bonnet.

“Is this enough?” She held her sunbonnet at arm’s length.

Her mother nodded but noticed Macia’s bare feet. “You should wear your shoes, Macia. You’ll step on a nettle or a sharp stone.”

“Or a snake,” Harvey added.

Macia glared at him as she hobbled off, anxious to sit down again. Her father hunkered down beside her and examined her feet. “You shouldn’t scowl—it causes wrinkles. Why are you so annoyed at Harvey?”

“Because he sat in the buggy all day. Perhaps I should drive the buggy tomorrow and he can herd the cows. We’ll then see how much he likes his new life.”

“We could try that,” her father agreed.

“Truly? You’ll actually make Harvey herd the cows? And I can drive the buggy?”

“If that will make you happy.”

She hesitated. “It won’t make me happy to be here, for I will never be happy to live in this desolate place, but it will at least make the day more bearable.”

She continued rubbing her feet as her father strode off toward the buggy. Moments later he returned with a small jar of ointment. “Try rubbing this on your blisters. It will help.”

She dipped her finger into the salve. “Where will you and Harvey sleep?”

“We’ll sleep near the fire with Mr. Wilson so we can hear if anyone approaches. Mr. Wilson warned that there could be horse thieves lurking about. He’s going to hobble the animals for the night. We don’t want to take any chances.”

“Horse thieves? We’ve seen only two other riders and one wagon all day. And they were both anxious to return east.”

“Perhaps. But Mr. Wilson says sometimes riders scour the countryside watching for settlers they judge to be easy prey. He tells me a team of horses is worth its weight in gold out here on the prairie. Now, let’s go have our supper.” He offered his hand and helped her up.

Macia hobbled alongside her father, remembering Mr. Wilson’s refusal to help with the cows earlier in the day. “I think Mr. Wilson is likely spinning tales in order to make you believe he is truly worthy of the money you’ve paid him.”

Her father smiled, but he didn’t acknowledge she might be correct. And though the hired man had done little around camp, Macia was quick to note he was first in line for supper. The simple fare of bacon and eggs tasted better to Macia than anything she’d eaten in ages— including the fancy farewell meal she’d been served at the Kincaid home the evening before they departed Georgetown. Even the coarse rye bread spread with butter that her mother had purchased from Mrs. Hepple tasted better than the buttermilk biscuits prepared at home by their old cook.

It had grown dark by the time Macia washed the dishes in the creek water and dried them with an old linen towel. She hooked the wet towel onto a nail at the rear of the wagon before crawling inside and wedging herself into the small space beside her mother.

“How will we ever survive this ordeal, Mother?” she whispered.

“I don’t know, but we will. God will protect us.”

Macia stared upward. The star-filled sky was hidden by the rough piece of canvas that covered the wagon. She was at least thankful she wasn’t forced to sleep on the ground like Harvey and her father. Soon her mother’s soft snores mingled with the hoots of owls perched in the cottonwoods along the creek. A coyote howled in the distance, and she wondered if her father and Harvey feared for their lives or trusted that Mr. Wilson would protect them. She pictured wild animals circling their wagon, slinking low with their stealthy bodies blending into the shadowy darkness that surrounded them, and wondered if they could jump inside the wagon. The thought of being attacked by one of the drooling fang-toothed animals caused her to shudder. With a quick yank, she pulled the blanket until it covered her head. Her lips quivered as she prayed they would all be alive come morning. If God truly wanted their family to survive in this barren land, He surely had His work cut out for Him!

Weary from a full day of travel with no more than a brief stop at a settler’s dugout, Macia shaded her eyes and gazed across the plains. Now void of its lush springtime greenery and occasional summer blooms, the prairie had cloaked itself in the dull shades of ecru and brown—a sign that winter would soon be upon them.

Macia shifted her weight. She was tired from sitting in the buggy, although she was certain that Harvey would gladly exchange places with her. As the day had worn on, her mother had become quiet and withdrawn, and Macia wondered what she must be thinking.

“At least we won’t be forced to live in one of those awful dugout dwellings we saw near that last creek,” Macia commented.

Her mother merely nodded as the buggy jostled along the rutted path. She sat up straighter and stared to the west. “That must be it.”

“Where?” Macia asked. “I don’t see anything.”

Her mother pointed. “There! Near that ridge!”

Macia reined in the horses until the wagon had come alongside them. “Is
that
it, Father? Is
that
Hill City?”

Before he could answer, Mr. Wilson hollered over his shoulder and announced Hill City was in the distance. “I’m going to ride ahead to the livery. I’ll meet you there.” And with that, he spurred his horse to a trot.

A broad smile curved her father’s lips, and Macia wondered how he could be happy. From what she could see, there was little cause for joy. In fact, there didn’t appear to be much of anything except a few houses and several sad-looking buildings that appeared as if they might be part house, part shop. Surely this couldn’t be the town.

“Perhaps Mr. Wilson has never been here before. Perhaps we’ve turned the wrong direction.”
Please don’t let this be our final destination
.

Her father jumped down from the wagon and surveyed their surroundings as a woman with a child resting on one hip stepped outside a small soddy. “Welcome!”

Without waiting for her father to take charge, Macia greeted the woman and said, “We’re looking for Hill City.”

“You’ve found it. This is Hill City.” She turned away and directed her attention to Macia’s father. “Are you the new doctor?”

“Indeed,” he replied.

“I been watching after your place ever since Mr. Hepple brought your furniture up here last week. Feeding the pigs, too.” She tilted her head at the crates of chickens tied to the sides of the wagon. “He should’ve brought the chickens when he brung the pigs. I would have been glad to take care of ’em for you.”

“That’s very kind of you. I’m Dr. Samuel Boyle, and this is my wife, Margaret, and daughter, Macia,” he said while helping them down from the wagon. “And that’s Harvey back there with the cows.”

“I’m Betsy Turnbull. My husband Levi’s gone to help the Bentleys. They got a place about five miles to the north—problems with a young’un that was bit by a skunk. You folks have come well prepared. Not like the rest of us.” There was a forlorn look in her eyes.

Macia truly did not want to stand around conversing. She was anxious to get settled into her own room as soon as possible. “Do you know where our house is located?”

The girl gave her a queer look and pointed down the street. “Why, that’s it right there. The only wood house anywhere nearby—unless you count the few made of logs. Ain’t many of those, either—not many trees in this part of the country.”

Macia watched her father and was certain he was guarding his reaction. No doubt he was as stupefied by this place as the rest of them. And yet he said nothing. When she could bear the silence no longer, Macia addressed Betsy Turnbull. “That
can’t
be the house. Mr. Hill told my father the house was a grand two-story home with spacious rooms—more modern and lovely than any home in these parts.”

Betsy bobbed her head up and down with enthusiasm. “And it
is
! Why, you have wood floors and glass windows, and there’s a sod barn out back for your animals. That barn is bigger than my house. And your furniture will look ever so grand once you get it all arranged. Mr. Hepple said he placed all of it in the parlor and dining room, and I’d be proud to help you.”

“How kind you are,” Mrs. Boyle said. “And what a sweet little girl. Your first?”

“My third. The other two died shortly after birth, but Sarah’s a healthy little girl.” The baby grinned in spite of the flea bites that covered her chubby arms and legs.