The Long Way Home (13 page)
‘‘I got a question.’’ Nate Lyons leaned forward.
‘‘Of course.’’
‘‘I heard rumors of Indian trouble. The Sioux don’t like all of us passin’ through their huntin’ grounds. We’d be up in their country, right?’’
Jesselynn nodded. ‘‘But Wolf isn’t concerned about that. Red Cloud, one of the more well-known chiefs, is a distant relative of his. That’s who he was going to go live with.’’
‘‘Has he talked with Red Cloud yet?’’
Jesselynn shrugged. ‘‘I’m not sure. I know he wants to help his tribe with supplies and such.’’
‘‘Seems, well, perhaps they would take offense at so many of us comin’ in one party.’’
Jesselynn scratched under the sweatband of her hat. ‘‘I wish I knew the answer to that.’’
Why didn’t I ask Wolf some of these things? Because all you could think about was him
. The two voices in her mind argued back and forth. ‘‘You’ll be able to talk with Wolf about those things when you see him.’’
The silence coming from Aunt Agatha screamed a thousand protests.
Mrs. McPhereson cupped her coffee mug in both hands. ‘‘Seems we’ll be seein’ plenty of changes comin’ ahead. Like a stout tree, if’n we don’t bend we’ll break. And you got to admit, life out here can be one big storm after another.’’
‘‘So are you thinking on returning east to your folks now that . . .’’ Jesselynn let her voice trail off.
‘‘Now that I’m widowed?’’ Mrs. Mac shook her head. ‘‘No, me and my boys here talked it over. There ain’t nothin’ for us back there, but in Wyoming or Oregon we can homestead and get our land for the workin’. That was Ambrose’s dream for us, the land, that is. I don’t pretend to think it will be free. We’ll earn every rock and tree. But we ain’t afeered a hard work. So we’ll go where you go. Good friends is worth more than gold, as the Good Book says, and I do believe it.’’
‘‘Well said.’’ Nate Lyons nodded with a look over to where Agatha sat, her knitting needles screaming of her displeasure. ‘‘And this way, we’ll get a jump on winter. Can even put up some hay for the horses, maybe.’’ He turned to where Meshach sat working on softening a tanned hide. ‘‘What about you?’’
Meshach continued pulling the hide back and forth over a chunk of wood he’d smoothed and laid in a frame of crossed poles. The silence stretched like the hide he worked.
Jesselynn tossed a couple of twigs from the ground into the fire, keeping her full attention on the orange-and-yellow dancing flames. She would not beg and plead. If Meshach felt going west was best for him, she would give him her blessing and one of the wagons along with the oxen to pull it. Daniel and Benjamin would have to make up their own minds too.
Meshach looked up from his handiwork. ‘‘Me and ’Phelia, we had big dreams for Oregon, but no reason why those dreams can’t be here in Wyomin’. Free land is free land.’’
Jesselynn fought the burning at the back of her eyes, wiped her nose with the back of her hand, and cleared her throat. ‘‘Thank you, my friend. I wasn’t sure how I was going to say good-bye to all of you.’’
‘‘Daniel and Benjamin, dey say stay too. Be tired of travelin’ wid no end in sight.’’
Mr. and Mrs. Jesperson looked at each other, and the mister shrugged. ‘‘We ain’t made up our minds yet. Can I tell you after we get back to the fort?’’
‘‘Whatever suits you.’’
‘‘Do y’all mind me comin’ along? I ain’t got no menfolk no more, but I can work hard. Won’t be just another mouth to feed. I can sell my wagon at the fort or not, as you think.’’ Mrs. Jones stammered over her last words.
Jesselynn kept from looking at Benjamin. Should she ask if Mrs. Jones found the body of her husband they had dragged into the bushes? And what happened to Rufus?
‘‘I . . . I think I better tell you a little story, so’s you know I . . . I’m a safe addition to the party.’’ Darcy Jones hung her clasped hands between her knees, her ragged skirt bunched around her legs. ‘‘Few days ago Rufus, that’s my husband’s brother, ya know. Well, he come stormin’ back into camp sayin’ Tommy Joe be dead. Found his body in the bushes, been stabbed.’’ She sniffed, but her eyes remained dry. ‘‘I could hardly believe it. I mean . . . But I ’’—she wiped her nose on her shirttail—‘‘I was goin’ to get him and give him a decent burial, ya know, when Rufus laughed like it were the funniest joke he ever heard. He come after me then, and I knew by the look in his eyes, he weren’t goin’ to stop until . . . well, you know. But afore he could throw me down, I ran. When he caught me, I grabbed the knife from the sheath at his side and . . . and . . .’’ She sighed and shook her head. ‘‘I hope the dear Lord can forgive me, but I couldn’t go on livin’ like that. I mean if’n he . . .’’ Her voice trailed away. ‘‘I dug one hole and buried them both.’’ She hid her face in her hands. ‘‘C-Can I come with you?’’
The snap of fire eating sticks sounded loud in the silence. They could hear the cattle grazing. Crickets sang in the grasses.
Jesselynn got to her feet, crossed the circle, and knelt down beside the woman who sat with hunched shoulders, the bones poking out like angel wings on her back. ‘‘Of course you can come with us. Why once we feed up your oxen, they’ll be plenty strong enough to pull the wagon.’’
‘‘Tommy Joe . . .’’ Darcy started and stopped, heaving a sigh that creaked her bones. She looked up to Jesselynn beside her. ‘‘He weren’t bad back in the beginnin’. He just never seemed to have any luck, you know. He said the whole world was agin’ him. He weren’t bad unless he be drinkin’.’’
Jesselynn kept her thoughts to herself. Knowing how close she’d come to suffering some of Tommy Joe’s rage herself, she could feel nothing but pity for the woman beside her. Maybe this just proved the old saw that true love is blind.
So, Lord, do I tell her? Wouldn’t that be cruel?
‘‘Rufus said ’twas prob’ly Indians what killed Tommy Joe.’’ Darcy shook her head. ‘‘An’ I kilt
him
. Do you think the good Lord will ever forgive me?’’
Jesselynn put her arm around the shivering shoulders. ‘‘I do believe He will. All we need do is ask. Jesus died to save sinners, and we all sin.’’
‘‘But . . . not . . . l-like I did.’’ The shuddering sobs sounded worse as she tried to subdue them.
Jane Ellen brought a square of cotton around for a handkerchief. ‘‘Here.’’ She tucked it in the woman’s hand.
Jesselynn let Darcy cry in her arms. No matter how much she’d despised the two brothers and could find no way in her heart to feel bad they were gone, sorrow was sorrow, and she’d felt a mighty lot of it herself. She glanced up to see Aunt Agatha wipe her own eyes and return to her knitting.
When the sobbing ceased, Jesselynn eased her leg out to release the cramp that had come from sitting on her foot all this while. ‘‘How about I take you back to your wagon, so you can go to sleep. Things always look better in the morning.’’ She more felt than saw the brief nod.
After settling the woman, who was not much bigger than Jane Ellen, in her bedroll, Jesselynn strolled back to the fire. ‘‘Let’s bring the herd in for the night.’’
Meshach folded the now softened hide and, after handing it to Ophelia, dismantled his roller and put it all back in the wagon bed. One more skin to sew into shirts or vests or whatever was needed most. ‘‘We do it.’’
‘‘All right.’’ Jesselynn looked around their small circle. Hardly room for all the oxen and horses, but they were much safer this way, and one person could stand watch rather than two.
‘‘I’ll take first watch,’’ Nate Lyons said from just behind her.
‘‘Good. Keep Patch with you. And watch Ahab if he gets restless. He’s the best watchdog around.’’ She wasn’t sure why she was telling him all this. He’d stood watch countless times and knew it all as well as she did.
‘‘She’ll get over it.’’ He kept his voice soft, for her ears alone.
‘‘Mrs. Jones?’’
‘‘Her too, but I meant Miss Agatha. Give her time, and she’ll come around.’’ He hunkered down at Jesselynn’s side. ‘‘She’s been through some rough changes.’’
‘‘As have we all.’’
‘‘True, but it’s harder for us older ones to adapt than you young’uns.’’
Jesselynn felt a chuckle rising. ‘‘Young’uns?’’ She shook her head. ‘‘I’m old as those hills around us. Leastwise it feels that way.’’
‘‘You been through a lot. Now perhaps God is restorin’ the years of the locust for you.’’
‘‘The years of the war, you mean?’’
‘‘Them too. I got me a feelin’ we’re goin’ to see that valley where He pastures His sheep. He’ll have a place just for all of us, our new home.’’
‘‘Mr. Lyons, I do hope you are right.’’
‘‘Can’t you call me Nate, my dear?’’
‘‘I guess, but I like Nathan better.’’ Jesselynn smiled into his eyes, which were so much easier to see now that he’d been barbered. Such a fine-looking man they had found under all that hair.
‘‘Nathan it is, then.’’
‘‘Good night and sleep well. Tomorrow will be a better day.’’
Since she didn’t have to take watch, she did just that, waking with the first sleepy birdsong. Three more days and she would see Wolf again. Her betrothed. What a wondrous word.
In the morning Aunt Agatha looked through Jesselynn like she was invisible. Jesselynn shrugged and went to saddle Ahab. Nathan’s suggestion to give her aunt time echoed in her mind as she rode out of camp. From the way it looked, eternity might not be long enough.
The drive back to the fort passed uneventfully, just the way Jesselynn liked it. She rode much of the way, topping the crests of the hills away from the wagons, alone for the first time in what seemed like forever. Thoughts of Twin Oaks intruded at times, but mostly she thought of Wolf, of all that had happened in the time since she first saw him at the camps in Independence. They had come so close to not being allowed to join his wagon train.
That thought made her turn back to her small plodding wagon train. If only they could pick up the pace. She’d been engaged once before. But John went away to war before they could be married, and he never came back, his remains buried in some battlefield.
So many things could happen in the next few days. If only there were some way to hurry the wagons. And get Aunt Agatha speaking to her again.
Please, God, keep Wolf safe until we can be married
. She thought about that prayer and shook her head.
God, please keep him safe for the rest of our lives
. Now
that
was a real faith-stretching prayer. But asking God to change Aunt Agatha’s mind—that would take a miracle.
Would she never return to the fort?
‘‘Wolf, have you heard a word I said?’’ Rebeccah Jensen planted her hands on her hips and tapped her foot.
‘‘I believe so.’’ He turned back from staring out the window.
‘‘Well, I’m sure your coffee is cold by now. Here, I shall warm it up.’’ She extended a hand for his cup and saucer.
Instead of handing it to her, Wolf drained the cup and almost made a face.
Cold coffee, ugh. And weak enough to be tea
.
‘‘I warned you.’’ Rebeccah shook her head, rose, and poured him a refill. ‘‘Land sakes, you’re worse’n kids nearin’ recess.’’ Rebeccah had been a schoolteacher before she married and still carried fond memories of her children. Since then she’d pretty much figured out that men were only boys grown larger.
‘‘Sorry.’’ Wolf sipped the new cup and nodded his approval, although it could still stand some backbone. ‘‘Now, what was it you wanted my opinion on?’’ His father had taught him whiteman manners, along with those of the Sioux. One did not preclude the other.
‘‘I asked if you wanted to borrow my husband’s black suit for the wedding.’’
Wolf noted her discomposure and glanced down at the stained buckskin shirt he wore. He did have one shirt of what used to be white material. ‘‘I . . . I hadn’t thought of that. Thank you for reminding me.’’
Do I go buy something? Or is my money better spent for supplies?
No question. ‘‘Yes, if you think it would fit me, I’d be more than pleased to borrow the captain’s suit.’’
‘‘It doesn’t get worn much out here, so I shall have Clara brush it up.’’ She held out the plate of cookies. ‘‘Have another. Now, regarding the food—’’
‘‘I thought we’d have the ceremony and then leave for the Chugwater.’’
Rebeccah shook her head. Her smile reminded Wolf of his mother’s, warm and full of love.
‘‘If you think we are goin’ to miss this chance for a shindig, you, sir, are sadly mistaken. There will be supper and dancing and gifts and . . .’’
Wolf held up a hand. ‘‘Whoa, slow down. When did all this come about?’’
‘‘When Jesselynn said she’d marry you. Now, how many weddings do you think we’ve had here at the fort?’’
Wolf shrugged. Surely she didn’t expect an answer.
‘‘Two in all the years we’ve been stationed here. We have far more funerals than weddings, so this is an opportunity for you and your new bride to get to know more of us here at the fort. Two days’ journey means we are neighbors, and neighbors do for each other. Captain Jensen says that when he leaves the military, he wants to establish a home right up the river from here. This valley and this land have snagged his heart, pure and simple.’’
Wolf kept one ear on the conversation and the other listening for the entry of a wagon train. He nodded. ‘‘Wyoming is a good land. Room here for both white man and Indians.’’
‘‘Well, be that as it may, your wedding is what we were discussing.’’ Rebeccah shook her head at Wolf ’s obvious restlessness. She clasped her hands in her lap and leaned forward. ‘‘May I make a suggestion, Mr. Torstead?’’ May I make ‘‘Wolf.’’
‘‘All right, Mr. Wolf.’’
He shook his head but didn’t stop her again.
‘‘Would it be all right if we women here at the fort just do what we think best?’’ At his nod and sigh of relief, she continued. ‘‘I know Jesselynn will not be disappointed. Nor will you.’’
‘‘Mrs. Jensen, I am deeply indebted to you for your thoughtfulness. I know that whatever you choose to do will be perfect and far beyond what we could have done.’’ He set his cup and saucer on the whatnot table, sketched a bow, and with a ‘‘Thank you, ma’am’’ hightailed it to the door as if a pack of howling predators were on his trail.
