Wagon Train Sisters (Women of the West) (9 page)

Now Sarah sat by the campfire with her father, both exhausted after the horrible day. She’d finally persuaded her distraught mother to go to bed. Becky, too, thank God. Her sister-in-law had proven totally worthless as far as helping her husband was concerned. Wrapped in her own turmoil at seeing her husband so badly injured, all she could do was wring her hands and wail. The worst part of the day occurred when Dr. Webster set Hiram’s leg. Thank God, Jack hadn’t left yet. He and three other men held Hiram down as the doctor set the bone in place and splinted it with two sticks and strips of cloth. Despite the strong dose of laudanum, Hiram didn’t stop screaming. Jack and the others held fast, offering calm encouragement.

Pa sat with his head bowed, his body slumped in despair. “First Florrie, now Hiram. I wish to God we’d never come on this journey.”

Sarah had to bite her tongue.
This was your idea, Pa. We didn’t want to come
. “The doctor thinks Hiram will be all right.”

“If he doesn’t get gangrene. Even if he does get well, he’ll never be the same. He’ll walk with a bad limp.”

How could life be so cruel? She’d never forget her last image of Hiram’s final moment before he fell from the wagon—her golden-haired brother, so tall and lean, so very handsome. Now he’d be a cripple for the rest of his life—if he lived.

Her father threw up his hands. “What are we going to do? I can take care of the oxen, but I can’t drive both wagons, and Hiram will be laid up for weeks, I suspect, completely helpless.”

She’d driven the wagon occasionally, just for fun and only when the trail was flat and easy. She dreaded the thought of driving across the Humboldt Sink, the treacherous forty-mile desert that stretched ahead. Beyond that lay the mountains, but now wasn’t the time to let her apprehension show. What choice did she have? “I can do it, Pa. I’ve driven the wagon before.”

Pa shook his head. “No, daughter, it’s too much for you. I won’t have it.”

“Then how about Becky?”

The vision of selfish, incompetent Becky driving the wagon to California brought about the only laugh of their grim day. It didn’t last long. They were still discussing what to do when Jack appeared. In all the excitement, she’d forgotten he and Ben were supposed to leave today. “You’re still here,” she said.

“Yep, still here.” Jack seated himself. “Mr. Bryan, you’ve got a problem. You’re going to need a driver for Hiram’s wagon. That’ll be me. I volunteer.”

* * * *

Next day, Hiram was in so much pain Albert Morehead declared another day of rest. The following day, the train moved on with Pa driving one wagon, Jack the other, Hiram lying in the back. The jouncing of the wagon caused him agonies of pain, even though Jack drove with as much care as he could. The train made good time the next day, traveling twenty-two miles on an easy trail. That night, after most everyone had gone to bed, Sarah and her mother sat by the glowing remains of the campfire. Luzena sighed with relief. “I’m so glad Mr. McCoy and Mr. Longren are staying with us.” After Sarah nodded in agreement, she continued, “My goodness, we wouldn’t have made it if it hadn’t been for Mr. McCoy. He’s done so much for us—saving you from that awful Josiah Peterson, curing my asthma, getting that Indian to give up Florrie’s necklace.”

“And coming back to dig us out of the mud when he didn’t have to. Now this.” Sarah didn’t need to be reminded. “He’s a remarkable man. He’s done so much for us I don’t know how we can ever repay him.” She refrained from adding not only did she find Jack remarkable, she found him perplexing as well. Since their one kiss, all that time ago, he’d been friendly, polite, and that was all. Yet she sensed he was attracted to her. She wasn’t sure of her own feelings except she couldn’t get him off her mind. Even worse, despite her best efforts, she kept track of his whereabouts throughout the day. Utterly foolish. Why waste time on a man who had clearly stated he was leaving?

Ma looked at her thoughtfully. “It’s been over a year since Joseph died. I know you’re still grieving, but don’t you think it’s time to…well, you know…consider getting married again?”

Luzena’s question came as no surprise. Like all mothers, she wanted the best for her daughter. Of course “the best” was another husband. Sarah took time to think before she replied. So far, she’d lied about her true feelings for her husband. Not only was she tired of lying, she had little desire to keep it up. She looked up to where the moon lit the tops of towering pine trees silhouetted against a sky full of stars, a sky so much bigger than she’d ever seen in Indiana. At another time, another place, she might have continued to hide her feelings. Not in this beautiful spot, though. It was as if God hovered close by, listening, and she’d better not let anything but the honest truth pass her lips. “I fell out of love with Joseph a long time ago. At the end, I almost hated him. Maybe I did hate him, and here’s why…”

Ma sat quietly while she talked. Even when she finished, her mother remained silent for a time before she spoke. “I’m so sorry. It must have been awful for you. I’m not as surprised as you think. I don’t want to say I told you so, but—”

“You don’t have to. Both you and Pa warned me. I should have listened.”

“But I hope you’re not soured on marriage. There’s lots of good men out there. Just look around you.”

“Are you thinking of Jack McCoy?”

“Absolutely not.”

Sarah sat back in surprise. “Why not?”

“Because marrying Jack McCoy would be a disaster. He’s a wonderful man in so many ways, but he’s a drifter. He’ll never settle down. Remember what he said to your Pa? ‘I’m a wanderer. Left home when I was twelve and haven’t put roots down since.’” Ma sighed with regret. “He’ll never put any roots down. It’s a shame, but he’s not for you, and you know it.”

“I know.” She mustn’t let on how a sudden sense of loss had just twisted her heart. Ma was right. Loving a man like Jack McCoy was a waste of time. He would never want a wife and children. “I’m not thinking of any man right now. All I want to do is get to Mokelumne City and my nice quiet life.”

Ma smiled with relief and stood. “I’m glad to hear you say that. Guess we’d better get to bed.”

“Good night, Ma.” Sarah hurried to her tent where she could be alone with her misery. Dammit, she did care, but Ma was right. Jack McCoy might be the most wonderful, caring man in the world, but he wasn’t for her and never would be.

* * * *

Hiram suffered so much the next few days that there were times Sarah wanted to cover her ears to block his tortured groans. As often as she could, she visited her brother as he lay in the back of the wagon. At least his broken leg showed no signs of the dreaded gangrene, but even with generous doses of laudanum, he winced and gritted his teeth whenever the wagon hit a hole or bump. Thank goodness, Jack was driving. No one could have driven more carefully, but not even he could avoid all the rough spots on the trail.

A week after the accident, Hiram was still in great pain when the train stopped at the end of the day. As usual, Becky showed more interest in visiting with her neighbors than helping her husband, so it was Sarah who climbed into the wagon to bring him some water. What a pitiful sight: Hiram’s splinted leg propped on a pillow, his face so pale and haggard she could hardly remember the handsome young brother with the bright eyes and charming smile. He raised his head to drink the water she offered, groaned, fell back on the pillow, and turned away.

She clasped his shoulder. “I’m so sorry it’s still hurting, but you’re getting better. And just think, no gangrene!”

“My life is over.”

“It is not over. How can you say such a thing?”

Hiram turned to look at her with torment-filled eyes. “So I’ll live, so what? You know this bone won’t heal right. You know I’ll be a cripple the rest of my life.”

So hard to remain cheerful when he was probably right. “A little limp isn’t all that bad.”

He laughed bitterly. “I’m a failure, Sarah. Always have been, and now this.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean I’m a disappointment at everything I try. Even this accident was my fault. If I hadn’t been so clumsy and stupid, I’d never have fallen off the wagon. Becky said so, and she was right.”

How dare Becky say such a thing! At least a dozen answers rushed to Sarah’s lips, but what was the use? Hiram would never listen, the mood he was in. When she left, she slipped from the back of the wagon so furious with her sister-in-law she could hardly wait to find her.

As she started away from Hiram’s wagon, Jack appeared and took one look at her face. “You’re upset.”

Sarah looked to where Becky sat gossiping with neighbors. “It’s my sister-in-law. You know how little she’s done to help him. Now she’s telling him the accident is all his fault. That’s so…so outrageous!”

Jack nodded with sympathy. “She’s not helping.”

“I would love to wipe that smile off that smug face of hers.”

“But you’re not going to, are you?” The look he gave her was half amused, half admonishing.

She breathed a sigh and willed herself to calm down. “No, I’m not.”

“Of course you’re not.” His eyes filled with admiration. “You remind me of a woman I once knew. She was brave and independent, just like you. She took whatever misfortunes came her way—there were plenty—and never let her emotions get out of hand.”

She shouldn’t ask, but his flattering words emboldened her. “That gold ring you wear on a chain around your neck, is that hers?”

He laughed and nodded. “I admired her and I admire you, very much, actually.”

He’d caught her unaware, especially since he’d pretty much ignored her after that night they talked when she was in her nightgown. “And here I thought you’d forgotten I existed.” She spoke in a casual voice, even though his praise made her feel all warm inside.

His mouth curved with tenderness. “I haven’t forgotten you existed, Widow Gregg, even though…”

“Even though what?”

His gaze swept over her, his dark eyes smoldering with unspoken desire. “Don’t you know I’m trying to stay away from you? Don’t you know it gets harder every day?”

He turned and left abruptly, leaving her with a pounding heart. She wanted to go after him, but half the camp was watching, or so it seemed, and she wasn’t about to set tongues to wagging.

Becky’s shrill laughter came from a campfire two wagons away where she was visiting. Sarah clenched her fists and turned away. Jack was right. Much as she wanted to confront her sister-in-law, now was not the time. Someday, though. She wasn’t sure when or how, but the time would come when Mrs. Becky Bryan would get her comeuppance.

Standing at the back of the wagon, Sarah’s knees went so weak at the thought of her conversation with Jack, she had to clutch the backboard for support. Jack wanted her. Despite her mother’s most practical and logical advice, she wanted him, not in the girlish way she’d wanted Joseph, dreaming of his kiss and she wasn’t sure what else. She wanted to make love with Jack McCoy—to lie in his arms, hear his breath coming fast while his hands and lips explored every part of her body…

“Sarah, is that you?” Ma called. “You need to make the biscuits for dinner tonight.”

“Yes, Ma.”
Oh, my God
. She looked around the campground. Children playing, a couple of dogs barking, people building their campfires, others sitting around gossiping. What would they think if they knew at this moment the very proper Widow Gregg was so weak with desire for the very unavailable Mr. Jack McCoy she could hardly stand?

But where would they go to be alone? How could they escape prying eyes? She must pull herself together. Get practical. This was all just a fantasy, and she’d better get busy making the biscuits for dinner.

* * * *

Days later, the Morehead wagon train reached the beginning of the forty-mile stretch of desert that everyone dreaded. In preparation, they stuffed the wagons with what they hoped was enough hay and water to last until they reached the mountains. When they started out, Sarah had high hopes the crossing would be an easy one, but by noon the first day, she knew the horror stories she’d heard were true. As they trudged along in the blazing heat of the day, mirages from the heat shimmered ahead of them—pools of cool, inviting water taunting them because they seemed so very real. Whorls of dust tortured their eyes, causing constant irritation. The animals suffered greatly, the hooves of the horses and oxen swelling and festering as they plodded through deep alkaline dust.

Nearly everyone had packed too much. Loads had to be lightened no matter what the cost. Pots, pans, mattresses, chests of drawers, food, clothing, and everything imaginable had to be abandoned beside the trail. To her disgust, Sarah discovered much of what was left behind had been rendered unusable.
If I can’t have it, nobody can have it
. Piles of sugar soaked in turpentine—heaps of flour purposely sprinkled with dirt—wagons chopped to pieces. Ma had a hard time believing what she saw. “How could people be so selfish? How sad we’re seeing the worst of human nature.”

Pa had to dump his leather-bound
Complete Works of William Shakespeare
, as well as his beloved copy of
The Vicar of Wakefield.
He left them in good condition, gallantly declaring, “Perhaps someone will have room for them.” Sarah doubted it. Everyone was abandoning items they’d thought they couldn’t do without. Ma cried when she discarded her treasured Tiffany sterling flatware and French Haviland china, both inherited from her mother. Sarah threw away all but one of her extra dresses. A gold-plated hand mirror her grandmother gave her also got tossed, along with shoes, hats, reticule, and nearly everything else she didn’t need to survive. She, too, wanted to cry. So hard to bear—seeing all their lovely possessions, some of them heirlooms, lying deserted in the dust.

In the wagon behind, Becky was throwing away most of her clothing. She had a pair of scissors in her hand. Ma looked closer and gasped. “Becky, what are you doing?”

Her daughter-in-law jutted her chin. “What do you think I’m doing? I will not have some strange woman wearing my clothes.”

Ma and Sarah could do nothing but exchange disapproving glances. Nothing they said would change Becky’s selfish attitude. Besides, neither had the strength to upbraid her. Like everyone on the train, it was all they could do to keep going. The dust was ankle deep. Water was scarce. They resembled convicts in chains as they shuffled along, lips parched and swollen, their faces, hair, and clothing looking as if they’d been rolling in heaps of dry ashes.