Westward Hearts (7 page)

“The lemonade made you sick?”

“Not the lemonade, but it was likely in the water they used to make it. Thinking back, I remember that I didn’t like the taste of it. But I thought perhaps it was just me. So I didn’t drink too much. But it was a hot day, and your father and uncle were very thirsty. I’m sure they had plenty of lemonade. It wasn’t until we came home the following day that we realized something was wrong… very, very wrong.”

Jamie’s expression was so serious that Elizabeth felt badly. Perhaps this was too much to put upon a boy. What had she been thinking? How could she turn this around? “So…” she pointed to the oak box. “What did you read in there?”

He admitted to reading letters and the supply list.

“What did you think?”

He brightened. “Could we really do that, Ma?”

“You mean go to Oregon?”

He nodded eagerly. “Could we?”

She pressed her lips together.

“It would be so exciting. Traveling like that, seeing new places, exploring new land…like a real adventure!”

She couldn’t help but laugh. “It would certainly be that.”

“I could help drive the wagon,” he offered.

“Yes, I’m sure you could.” She looked at the clock. “But it’s very late now, Jamie. Is your stomach better?”

He nodded, setting the empty mug on the table.

She tapped the box. “I’ve been giving it serious thought, son. And I must admit it sounds exciting to me too.”

“Really?” He looked hopeful.

“So, there’s something you can do to help.”

“What?” His eyes lit up.

“Ask God to lead us, son. Pray about it. If it’s the right path for us to take, God will have to show us. And if God shows us, I will gladly go.”

“I’ll do that. I promise. I’ll pray about it a lot.”

“Good.” She stood and reached for his hand. “You get back to bed, and you can pray about it tonight.”

“I will, Ma.” He scurried toward the stairs. “Right now.”

Encouraged by his enthusiasm, she tossed a couple more logs on the fire, blew out one of the lanterns, and headed up to her own chilly bed.

T
hanks to Jamie’s exuberance about the possibility of becoming Western explorers, Ruth soon figured things out. “Is it true, Mama?” she asked the next evening as the three of them sat around the dining table together. “Are we going to Oregon to live with Uncle John and Aunt Malinda?”

Elizabeth exchanged a glance with Jamie and then smiled. “I honestly don’t know, Ruthie. But if you want to pray about it with us, maybe God will show us his answer.”

Ruth looked around the room. “If we went to Oregon, would we ever come back here again?”

“I… uh… I don’t really know for sure. But if we went to Oregon, we would have to sell this house and the farm. Sometimes people come back, but it’s a very, very long trip.”

“How long?”

“More than a hundred and sixty days,” Jamie told her.

Ruth’s blue eyes got big.

“We would leave in the early springtime,” Elizabeth explained. “And we would travel until the early fall.”

“Would we still go to school?” Ruth asked.

Jamie laughed. “No, silly.”

“We would still do lessons,” Elizabeth explained. “We would take your schoolbooks and work on reading and writing and arithmetic.”

“And we could learn a lot of things on the Oregon Trail,” Jamie said with eager authority. “About animals and birds and plants and all sorts of interesting things.”

“That’s true.” Elizabeth got an idea. “Perhaps we could write about what we see. And we could draw pictures. We could make books about it.”

“That sounds like fun,” Ruth said happily. “I’m going to ask God to send us on the Oregon Trail.”

As Elizabeth washed the dinner dishes, she felt slightly overwhelmed—as if she had truly gotten the wagon ahead of the horse—and she hoped she was not mistaken to get her children’s hopes up like this. At the same time, she knew this was a good life lesson. Just because one wanted to do something did not make it right. Her children needed to see for themselves that God was able to lead and direct them. To add emphasis to this, she looked in the family Bible for a particular scripture, something she planned to read to them at bedtime.

So it was that after the children were tucked in and their prayers were said, Elizabeth opened the big black book to Proverbs and read these words: “
Trust in the L
ORD
with all thine heart; and lean not unto thine own understanding. In all thy ways acknowledge him, and he shall direct thy paths.”
She looked from one bed to the other, making sure they were listening. “Do you know what that means?”

Ruth looked uncertain.

“It means we should trust the Lord,” Jamie answered.

“That’s right.” She nodded. “It also means we don’t have all the answers, so we shouldn’t lean on our own understanding. But if we acknowledge God—if we believe him and listen to him—he will direct our paths. He’ll show us which way to go.”

“On the Oregon Trail?” Ruth asked hopefully.

“If that’s the way he wants us to go.” Elizabeth closed the Bible. “Or he might show us that we need to stay right here.”

Both of the children looked dismayed by this.

“So it’s up to us to trust God and pray for him to lead us.” She smiled and stood. “And whichever way God shows us to go, it will be the best way.” She kissed each of them, and with the Bible in one hand and the lantern in the other, she told them goodnight and slipped from the room.

The topic of the Oregon Trail came up a few times in the following days, but as the week progressed, Elizabeth knew that Jamie and Ruth were distracted with the planning and preparations for their annual New Year’s Eve supper. It was a tradition that James had originally begun early in their marriage, something his parents had eagerly passed down to him. But even after his parents and John went to Oregon, and after James’ passing, she had continued this hospitality at the insistence of her children. It involved a lot of work, including roasting a pig out in the farmyard, which Brady took responsibility for. There were also treats to bake and other chores to tend to. Still, it was an evening that family and neighbors and friends had grown to appreciate over the years, and Elizabeth felt it was a lovely way to welcome the new year.

As usual, Elizabeth’s mother came early in the day in order to help with food preparation. But when she arrived, she seemed to be in a bit of a fluster. “I told the children to empty my carriage for me,” she told Elizabeth as she hurriedly peeled off her hat and gloves. Then, tugging Elizabeth with her, she led her to the spare bedroom in the back of the house, closing the door behind them.

“What in the world is wrong?” Elizabeth asked with concern.

“Oh, my word! I don’t even know where to begin.” Clara sat down on the edge of the bed, waving her hand in front of her face as if she was too warm, although the room was chilly from having been closed off.

“Tell me,” Elizabeth urged. “Is someone ill? Is it Father? Matthew?”

“No…no, not exactly.” Clara took in a deep breath. “I had a dream.”

“Oh.” Elizabeth nodded, sitting down in the chair across from the bed. This didn’t seem too serious. “What sort of dream?”

“Oh, dear!” She shook her head. “A very bad dream. I almost hate to say the words out loud, dear.”

Elizabeth didn’t know how to respond. “Then perhaps you shouldn’t.”

“No, I must tell you. I’m afraid I’ll burst if I don’t confide in someone.” She took in a deep breath and began. “There was a war—or so it seemed, although I heard no gunshots. But it was right here in Selma…I could tell a very bad battle had occurred because there was row upon row of dead soldiers, lying throughout the streets, right in the middle of town. And there were flies buzzing around them and blood everywhere…oh, my, it was so gruesome!”

Elizabeth’s hand went over her mouth. “That’s horrible, Mother.”

“I know—believe me, I know.” Clara looked at Elizabeth with frightened eyes. “But it gets worse.”

“How can it get worse?”

“I was walking among the dead, and I saw Matthew lying there too.”

Elizabeth felt a rush of panic. “But—but it was only a dream, Mother.”

Clara shook her head grimly. “But sometimes dreams have meanings.”

“Or else they are simply bad dreams. Perhaps you ate something that disagreed with you before going to bed.”

“Sometimes dreams are warnings.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I’ve had this happen before.” Clara looked truly disturbed, first wringing her hands and then fanning her flushed face.

Elizabeth was confused. “How so? What are you saying, Mother?”

“I never told you this…” Clara pulled a lace-trimmed hanky from her sleeve, using it dab her forehead as if she were perspiring.

“Told me what?”

“The dream I had before you and James and Peter went to Paducah that summer.”

Elizabeth cringed. “What sort of dream?”

“It was about Peter. To be honest it seemed nothing much at first. Certainly not anything like last night’s dream.”

“Tell me what it was.”

“I dreamed Peter was sleeping peacefully in his bed. And then someone reached down and placed two silver coins over his closed eyes.” She shuddered.

“You dreamed he was dead?”

“That’s what it seemed to be…” Clara looked on the verge of tears. “At the time I passed it off as a foolish dream. It wasn’t until you children returned home and were sick with cholera that I realized it had been more than just a dream. Of course, it was too late by then. I never told you—or anyone for that matter. What was the use?”

“So do you honestly believe your dream is warning you that Matthew is going to die in some untimely fashion?”

“I know it must sound fantastic, but I’m terribly worried.”

Feeling frustrated and overwhelmed, Elizabeth tried to make sense of this. “But Matthew isn’t going to war. He’s not enlisting in any sort of army…
is he?”

“No, not that I know of. But there has been fighting in Kansas. Your father told me of it.”

“Perhaps that’s what’s behind the dream. You were worried about Kansas, and you’ve been worried about Matthew. Certainly…that makes sense.”

“It was more than that, Elizabeth. This war happened
right here.
And there are many people, including your father, who truly believe war is coming.”

“That may be true in some places, like the deep South. But this is Kentucky, Mother. We are in the middle. I’m sure we will remain neutral.”

Clara shook her head. “I don’t know.”

Elizabeth let out a long sigh. “I really don’t know what to say, Mother. And really, I need to get busy. There’s so much to be done today.”

“Yes, yes.” Clara slowly stood. “I know, I know. I just needed to tell someone…I needed to get it off my chest.”

Elizabeth put a hand on her mother’s shoulder. “I don’t know what to say to you. But since war is not imminent and since Matthew isn’t joining any army, at least that we know of, I don’t see any real cause for concern right now.”

“I know you’re right. But it was so upsetting.” She shuddered again. “It seemed so real.”

Now Elizabeth hugged her. “It will be all right, Mother. Don’t think on it anymore. Just come and help me with the bread pudding. No one makes it quite as tasty as you do. And I need to get the shortcake rolled out.”

As they worked together in the kitchen, no more was said of Clara’s strange dream. However, those images now felt etched into Elizabeth’s imagination, almost as if she had endured this nightmare herself. What did it mean?

Fortunately, the house grew busier, and she was too distracted to fret. And before long, guests began to arrive. Busily tending to them, Elizabeth was unable to dwell on her mother’s strange dream. However, she felt dismayed that her brother hadn’t come. And the party wasn’t as merry as it should have been. She understood his reasoning, but she missed his cheerful fiddle playing just the same. No one lit up a party quite like Matthew Dawson. And it grieved her to think he was home alone…still feeling hurt and betrayed by that senseless Violet.