The Man from Shenandoah (16 page)

The party lasted until very late. Carl could not sleep, and he lay staring into the dying coals of the fire. Ida had not danced with him for the remainder of the night, though she smiled and claimed it was not her fault, but that “the boys” wouldn’t let her go for even a minute. Carl made a show of bowing to the superior numbers of “the boys,” and did not press her. Once he turned his head suddenly and caught her staring petulantly at him, but usually she kept a smile on her face.

Ellen had appeared toward the end of the party, but she didn’t speak to Carl. One time he walked toward her to ask her to dance, but she turned her back and he pretended to be on another errand.

Now Carl rolled onto his back and saw by the left-hand position of the Big Dipper that it was past midnight. The air was warm and still he could not sleep, though he turned in his blankets and shut his eyes.

Half an hour later, Carl tossed the blankets aside and reached for his boots. He shook them upside down in case anything had crawled inside, then pulled them on. Grabbing his gun belt, he stood and strapped the weapon around his hips as he walked toward the edge of camp.

Edward Morgan was on guard, and turned as Carl came up to him. “I thought young Tom was going to take the next watch.” Ed yawned and rubbed his neck, then squinted at the stars. “You’re an hour early, Carl.”

“It isn’t my watch, Mr. Morgan. I can’t sleep. I reckon I’ll go down to the riverbank for a spell. Maybe take a swim.”

“It’s a nice night for swimming, being so warm.” Ed sounded sleepy. “Keep a watch for them snakes.”

“I brought my shooter,” Carl replied, walking down the sandy slope in the darkness.

The closer he got to the river, the louder he could hear the rush of the water over the sandy bottom. The continuous sound felt easy to his ears, and he sat on the bank watching the stars’ reflection in the endlessly rolling water.

Carl gazed at the ripples before him, and thought of Ida and her laughing eyes, how they sparkled when she was happy, and the curve of her lips when they entertained a smile. Then he recalled her shocked state while he fought the fire, her lack of help, and fear of getting scarred. Remembering her panic brought back the feeling of protectiveness.

I don’t wonder she didn’t want no scars
, he mused.
A pretty-looking young thing like her don’t care to be disfigured.

He thought of her lips, and how soft they had been back on the meadow outside Kansas town. Carl stretched out on the sandy bank, arms behind his neck, and closed his eyes and recalled how it had been, holding her in his arms, feeling her heart pounding against his chest. He felt again the sting of fire leaping through his veins as he touched her flame-like hair. He remembered her trembling perplexity, her flight back to the safety of the dance, and he opened his eyes, confused at the vision.

Suddenly he sat up, realizing he dreamed of Ellen in his arms. He groaned, then said aloud, “No! I’m bound to marry Ida!”

He got to his feet. Blood pounded through his temples as he stared into the sky. “Pa arranged it, but we both agreed,” he shouted into the void. “I’ve said my piece to her, and she agreed to be my wife. I won’t go back on my word.” He shook both his fists at the stars. “I can’t betray my brother,” he added, his voice dying away to a whisper.

Carl’s arms fell to his sides, and for a long time he stood there—the pulse of his pounding heart moving his torso slightly—listening to the water surging past him. He half expected Ed Morgan to come investigate his outcry, then realized his words had been covered by the sound of the waters.

At last, disquiet seeping out of his veins and his resolve firmed by the regular rhythm of the river, he turned and went back to camp.

~~~

Carl avoided Ida during the next two days that the travelers spent alongside the big river. He spent his time caring for the team and riding Sherando out into the Great American Desert, a place of wind-whipped plain and short buffalo grass. There was no more tall, waving, blue-stemmed grass, no brilliant wild flowers, no escaping the eternally blowing wind. At the end of the second day, Carl returned from his hours of solitary riding ready to accept responsibility for his actions, willing to make the best of his future with Ida.

He went to Ida that evening, quietly insisting that she walk with him along the river. She followed him reluctantly, and he sensed her resentment toward him.

Carl walked along with his hands in his pockets, thinking over his words. Finally he stopped walking and turned to face the silent girl.

“I reckon you’re unhappy with me, and I figure you’ve got a right. I left the dance the other night with another girl, and I owe you a mite of explaining. Ellen Bates went to get something for me from her wagon, and I tagged along.”

He stopped, leaving the telling at the bare bones, deciding to spare her the shame and the pain of his struggle, his turmoil over divided loyalty.

She stood with arms akimbo, head thrown back to fully see his face. “Well, I reckon I am a mite peeved with you, Carl. I know we’re not wed yet, but folks know it will happen sometime. I expect you to burn your bridges.”

Her words hit a guilty spot in his soul, boring into it, and a cloud passed over his lean brown face. “We’ve both got some making up to do, Ida. You were having an almighty fine time with the boys, seemed like.”

“It just looked like it to you,” she said, tossing her head, making her curls bounce. “My heart was a-sorrowing something pitiful.”

“Well, my heart is turned to you, Ida. I have a powerful liking for you, and I still want you for my wife, if you’re willing.” He held his breath.

Ida looked at her feet for a moment. She looked up. “My heart’s feeling some better. I reckon I’m still betrothed to you.” She beamed her most brilliant smile upon Carl.

He sighed, then took her arm to escort her back to the wagons.

~~~

The next morning, Rod Owen got his party moving again. The wagons toiled along the sandy valley of the Arkansas, day after day. From time to time Rod sent two or three men to hunt for fresh meat. Often they were gone for several days, returning with heavily laden pack horses.

One day toward the middle of September, James came tearing back from the hunt, riding a lathered horse, with Albert and Clay hard on his heels.

“Pa,” James yelled. “Hold up them wagons. There’s a herd of buffalo headed this way.” He stopped his horse and jumped off, then caught the alarm in his mother’s eyes. “Great snakes of the sandy hills, I didn’t mean to scare you. They ain’t stampeding or nothing like that. They’re just moving along, grazing, but there’s a powerful lot of them, and it makes an awesome sight.”

“Well, Julianna,” Rod said over his shoulder to his youngest. “Here’s your chance to see a buffalo up close.” He took off his hat and scratched his head. “I reckon we’ll make camp here, for I been told a buffalo herd can hold up a train for days.”

Julianna shook her head. “Papa, I don’t want to see no buffaler. Clay says they’re ‘most as big as monsters, and have long hairy claws coming out of their feet. He says they got a humpback, and make a screeching sound that’ll raise the hair off my head as good as any red Indian might. I don’t want to see ‘em.”

“Clay is teasing you, daughter. I heard some of them stories he told you that night, and he’s put a mighty lot of nonsense into your pretty little head. Buffalo isn’t nothing to go having a fit over. Calm down and enjoy the sight.”

The great, hairy, humpbacked creatures came from the north, and browsed slowly along, crossing the trail and the river as though nothing was in their way. For the next two days the women camped, washing clothes and baking. The men stood with their rifles at the edge of the passing herd, shooting any buffalo that strayed too close to the camp. The gunfire only disturbed a few of the shaggy creatures, and they loped off deeper into the herd. After the dead animals were butchered, the women gratefully added the meat to their larders.

On the third day the trail cleared, and Rod gave the order to break camp. The days slowly blended into dusty sunsets as they followed the river through western Kansas, until on the last day of September they crossed the border into Colorado Territory.

When given the news, Ida looked around at the same flat, endless plains and asked, “Is this all there is? It’s so empty, and there ain’t no hills, neither. I don’t think I like Colorado.” She crossed her arms and leaned back against the seat of the freight wagon.

“Let’s see what comes up ahead. I heard there are mountains a large sight grander than those we left behind, Ida. You won’t lack for hills.” Carl glanced over at her, and saw that she wore a petulant look on her face. “You got no call to frown yet. We ain’t stopping here.”

“Carl, I am so tired of traveling that I could fairly scream. I want to find a pretty place to live, where you won’t be always toting your rifle and your gun belt against those Indians your pa worries about. I’d favor a nice town, or even a little city.”

“I promise you, you’ll have a pretty place by and by, but it won’t be in no town, nor city neither. We can’t raise cattle in the city.”

Ida sighed and gave Carl a long look. “You’re sure about the cattle? You’re bound to raise cattle?”

“Yup.” His tone left no chance of argument.

She sighed. “Then I guess I’m bound to live where you raise your cows. But you will take me to see Denver City, won’t you, once the cattle get sold?” Ida turned on the seat, using her most winsome smile.

Carl laughed. “Yes, we’ll go see the sights. I reckon we’ll go hunt up my Uncle Jonathan ‘fore too long.” He looked at her eager face. “If our house is up by then, likely we can go there on a wedding trip.” The delight he saw in her eyes made him laugh again. “You surely do sparkle when you’re happy.”

“I declare! You do bring out the best in me, Carl Owen.” Ida beamed. “I’ll really sparkle some once we’re wed, and away from all these prying eyes,” she finished, looking around at the men, boys, and children on horseback.

Carl’s blood pulsed harder in his veins, and he flicked the whip over the heads of the mules to cover the creeping red blush he felt moving up his face. He swallowed once, then matched her boldness with candor of his own.

“I don’t reckon I’ll be a shy feller, once we’re in our own place and you’re in my arms. There’s going to be no campfire betwixt you and me, nor anything else.”

Ida clasped her hands tightly together. “I reckon I’m having a mighty hard time waiting for that day.”

“You’ll wait.” Carl nodded once, firmly. “I’ll do you no wrong.”

Ida dropped her hands into her lap and shrugged her shoulders. “Carl, what do you aim to use to build our house? I suppose brick ain’t very plentiful hereabouts?”

“I’ll have to see what’s close to hand, Ida. Depends mostly on where we settle, I reckon. If Pa picks a spot this side of the mountains, there won’t be logs nor lumber around. I heard tell of something called a soddy, though.”

“That’s a curious name. What’s it mean?”

“It’s sort of a cabin built of chunks of sod and earth.”

“Sod? You mean dirt and grass? Carl,” she cried out, appalled. “That ain’t no better than a slave shanty!”

“ ‘Tain’t forever, Ida. I aim to build us a nice home once the beef starts selling.”

“That’ll take years,” she wailed.

Chapter 11

Fort Lyon began life as William Bent’s second trading post, but by the time Rod Owen’s group reached the fort, the Army had acquired it, changed the name three times, fortified it, and installed a small company of troops. Rod called on the commandant and found that the Indians were busy up north along the Platte.

“That’s a mighty relief to us all, I reckon,” Rod said. “We been expecting to have a fight on our hands any day.”

“Well, it’s safe enough right now. If you’re going to take up land hereabouts, you’d best get on with it,” the Major advised. “Winter’s not far off, and you’ll need shelter. When those freezing winds hit, you’ll wish you were back in the States.”

“Thank you kindly for the advice, but we’re going on. I promised my wife she’d have trees.” Rod tipped his hat and turned to leave, but the major spoke again.

“In another day or two you should catch sight of the mountains. Keep heading west, and you’ll run into plenty of trees.”

Two days later, before the travelers broke camp for the day’s journey, Ellen walked over to Marie and pointed to the cloudy far-western horizon.

“Marie, I been looking at those clouds, and ever so often there’s something that looks like a blue cloud amongst the rest. Do you reckon it could be one of them mountains your pa keeps talking about?”

Marie’s eyes followed Ellen’s finger. The sun had risen enough to sparsely light the brown prairie around them, and a hint of chill pervaded the breeze that tugged at the girls’ skirts. Marie shivered as she stared toward the west.

“I don’t see anything.” Then the clouds parted, revealing a far distant peak thrusting up into the sky. “Oh, Ellen, that’s a real mountain. I ain’t never seen anything so beautiful! Let’s go tell my pa.”

The girls found Rod hitching his team to the wagon. Marie tugged on his arm, trying to get him to go with her to see the mountain, but in her excitement, her words spilled out faster than she could arrange them into sentences.