Читать книгу Wagon Train Sisters - Shirley Kennedy - Страница 7

After the last wagon departed, Sarah spent the rest of the day in the woods calling for Florrie, listening for an answering cry that never came. By evening, her appreciation of her brother had grown by leaps and bounds. She had never realized how much of the workload fell on Hiram’s shoulders. Pa, who’d never done hard labor in his life, had little to no aptitude for the hard work involved in driving a wagon across the country. It was Hiram who yoked and unyoked the oxen on both wagons, greased the wheels, built the campfire, found feed for their eight oxen and two horses, pitched the tents at night, and so much more. During the day, Pa drove their wagon because he had to. Other than that, he’d been content to let his son attend to the chores while he sat around the campground with similar-minded neighbors, discussing such topics as “manifest destiny” and why the United States must extend across the entire continent. He frequently quoted his favorite poet, Henry David Thoreau, with phrases such as “Go confidently in the direction of your dreams. Live the life you’ve imagined.”

Lately Ma greeted his remarks with a scornful sniff. “Right now the life I imagine is a soft bed and a roof over my head.”

With Hiram gone, Sarah assumed Pa would take over the tasks that needed to be done. Instead, when they returned from their search, he wearily sank to a seat by the campfire and waited for his supper. That they might need firewood never occurred to him. He looked so tired and drawn she didn’t have the heart to complain. Instead, she gathered sticks and branches herself, clumsily chopped them with an ax, and built the fire for their supper. Ma usually did the cooking, but tonight Sarah fixed biscuits, beans, and bacon while Ma sat silently by, occasionally throwing an angry glance at Pa. Not like her at all. Luzena loved her husband dearly, and he loved her. They never quarreled, but it was plain to see Ma was getting agitated. Each glance seemed angrier than the last until, while Pa was taking the last bite from his plate, Ma declared, “This is all your fault, Frank.”

Startled, he asked, “What’s my fault?”

Ma bristled. “All of this.” Her sweeping gesture took in the camp and surrounding forest. “You’re the one who insisted we come on this horrible journey. If it weren’t for you, I’d be sitting in my beautiful home in Indiana, and Florrie…Florrie…” She choked and could not go on.

“But that’s not so, my dear…”

Sarah shut out their voices. This whole disaster was her father’s fault, yet Ma wasn’t being fair. Never a good businessman, he couldn’t recover when his newspaper went bankrupt. Deep in debt, he was forced to sell the family’s home. Perhaps they could have stayed and somehow survived, but with unaccustomed firmness, Pa announced they were moving to California. Everyone assumed he, along with thousands of others, wanted to rush to the newly discovered goldfields, but his motive for moving was far less exciting. Mokelumne City was a small town in California, not far from Sacramento. When his brother offered a partnership in his general store there, Pa gratefully accepted. Others might get carried away by the prospect of picking huge gold nuggets off the ground, but he valued peace and security far more.

Like most of the women on the wagon train, Ma hadn’t wanted to go. Sarah didn’t either, although after her disastrous marriage, she would have been grateful to be back with her family, no matter where they went. No one suspected how awful her marriage had been. She’d never told. Even after Joseph died, she played the part of the grieving widow, fooling everyone. Well, not quite. Her perceptive brother guessed how miserable she’d been. Before they left Fort Wayne, Ma had wondered why she showed no interest in the suitors who’d begun to call. One of these days, she’d be honest and explain why.

Sarah slept fitfully during the night in the small tent pitched beside the wagon. Along with the eerie howling of the wolves, an unending swirl of unanswered questions kept her awake. Would they find Florrie? How much longer would Ma want to stay and search? Would they be able to catch up to the Morehead train? Loneliness gnawed at her. She missed her friends back home and the new friends she’d made on the train. She missed her brother, Hiram, the only member of her family who could even begin to understand her troubled heart. “Do you really miss Joseph?” he’d asked the day after the funeral.

“Why do you ask?”

Hiram got a quirky eyebrow-raised expression on his face. “They all think you’re grieving, but I know you, and I’d wager you’re not.”

She and her younger brother had always been close. She gave him a vague answer but wasn’t the least surprised he’d seen the truth. “I’ll tell you all about it when I’m ready.”

“That’ll be soon, I hope.” He eyed her with concern. “All you do is read and paint your little pictures. You need to get out more. Why throw the rest of your life away because of one bad experience?”

“I’m content as I am,” she’d told him, and she was. What more in life could she want than her watercolors, her books—she loved the works of Jane Austen—and feeling safe and secure in her parents’ home? This trip was simply an unpleasant interlude. When they reached Mokelumne City, she’d take up where she left off. Back home, she’d belonged to the Thursday Afternoon Ladies Literary Club. Maybe she’d start one in Mokelumne City. She would go to church on Sunday and do good works for the sick and poor. That was all she wanted out of life.

The next morning, she was up at dawn, had a fire going and coffee boiling by the time her parents emerged from the wagon. “What shall we do today, Ma? Shall we catch up with the train?” She held her breath, hoping her mother had decided to give up this hopeless search and get back to safety.

“We’ll keep looking.”

Sarah hid her disappointment. “All right, then. Maybe Florrie decided to go back the way we came. That’s where I’ll ride today.”

Pa looked skeptical. “Don’t know why she’d do that.”

“Neither do I, but do you have any better idea?”

Of course he didn’t. After breakfast, while Pa scoured woods they’d already searched, Sarah saddled Rosie, their chestnut mare, and set out on the barely discernable trail from which they’d come. If not for her worry over Florrie, she would have enjoyed her ride through the thick forest of pines, firs, and white-barked sycamores while the sun warmed her face and the pleasant scent of the evergreens wafted into her nostrils. Thank goodness, she didn’t have to ride sidesaddle anymore. Pa had sold her sidesaddle before they left, and she hadn’t been the least bit sorry to see it go. How nice to plant both feet firmly in the stirrups. One good thing about a wagon train journey was many of society’s old, tedious rules were forgotten. Good. She was finding she liked it that way.

Every once in a while, she’d rein in her horse and call, “Florrie?” Nothing followed but silence, broken only by birds chirping and the gurgle of a nearby stream. Where is my sister? Anguish tore at her heart. Oh, Florrie, what has become of you? Are you all right, or has something awful happened?

She rode for at least an hour. Far enough. Better turn back. She’d rest a while, drink some water from the stream, and then return. She tied Rosie to a tree and was sitting on a rock by the gurgling water when a group of men on horseback, followed by a single wagon, came into view. As they drew closer, she searched for a woman in the crowd, but no, this wasn’t an ordinary wagon train. These were all men, moving at a fast clip. This must be the company of gold seekers Mr. Morehead had warned them about. Her first impulse was to run and hide, but one of horsemen had already caught sight of her. Her heart beat faster as he rode to where she sat by the stream and dismounted. She rose to greet him, immediately catching a whiff of whiskey mixed with stale sweat. How disgusting. His looks were disgusting, too. Unkempt black hair sticking out from beneath a battered hat, big red nose, scraggly, tobacco-stained beard, wrinkled, spotted clothes that could use a good wash.

“Well, look what I found!” the man called to his companions. His insolent gaze swept her up and down. “Hello, little lady. What are you doing here?”

She didn’t like the way the man was looking at her with his bold, beady eyes. Anxiety shot through her. More than ever, she wanted to run, but she’d been raised to observe the social graces. She’d be polite if it killed her, and maybe it would. Good manners decreed she give him a polite answer. “Good morning. My name is Sarah Gregg. I’m with the Morehead Company. My sister disappeared two days ago, and that’s why—”

“Your sister!” The man let out a raucous laugh and addressed the eight other horsemen who’d ridden up. “Do you hear that? There’s more than one of ‘em out here.” He stepped closer. “Are you all by yourself?”

His rotten, whiskey-laden breath made her want to wretch, but she kept the smile on her face. “My wagon train is right up ahead.”

With a smirk, the bearded man looked back at his friends again. “Do you believe that, boys? I say there ain’t no wagon train up ahead. I say this pretty little lady’s all by herself.”

As the men on horseback replied with hoots and jeers, sick fear coiled in the pit of her stomach. They all looked as slovenly as this man, most with unkempt beards, not one friendly face among them. No more polite conversation. She was in trouble. She must get away. If she didn’t…

“Give her a kiss, Josiah,” one of the men shouted.

Oh, no! This loathsome man was going to hurt her. She bolted, began to run, but the bearded man ran after her and grabbed her arm. She tried to yank her arm back, but his grip was as strong as iron. “You let me go!”

His grip tightened. He pulled her toward him. Oh, God, she’d rather die than feel those slobbery lips on her mouth.

A deafening crack filled the air. The man let out a scream of pain and let go his grip. He uttered a cuss word and clutched his arm, now encircled several times by a whip’s thin leather thong. “God almighty, Jack!” The man named Josiah glowered at a tall man in a wide-brimmed black hat who’d just ridden up. “Hell, I was just playin’ around.” He unwound the thin leather strip that had cut into his arm. “You didn’t have to use that whip.”

“Looks like I did.” The man named Jack pulled back the thong and wrapped it around the handle. Whip in hand, he slid off his horse and addressed Sarah. “What are you doing out here by yourself?”

“I…” Her voice shook and her heart pounded in her chest. The man with the scraggly beard was bad enough, but with his hard, dark eyes and unfriendly voice, this man with the whip was just as frightening. But she mustn’t show fear. She gulped and steadied herself. “I’m looking for my sister.”

“Out here?” His gaze swept the tall pine trees. “In the middle of nowhere?”

She looked up at him. He was tall and lean, somewhere in his thirties, she’d guess, with brown hair hanging nearly to his shoulders. At least he didn’t have an unkempt beard like the others. His deeply tanned face was all rugged angles, sharp planes, and high cheekbones. It would be a handsome face if he didn’t look so grim. “My sister disappeared from our wagon train two days ago…”

She explained how her mother would not give up, how the rest of the train went ahead and left them behind to continue searching.

When she finished, he shook his head and said sternly, “This is dangerous territory. You should never have stayed behind.”

Did he have to sound so hostile? “My sister is missing. What were we supposed to do?” She’d defend her mother against this stranger, even though she, too, thought Ma was wrong to stay behind. “I want to thank you for saving me from…” The image that presented itself to her mind was so horrifying she couldn’t find words. “From these men,” she ended lamely.

“Any time.” Hastily he turned to address his fellow riders who were still gawking at the scene. “That’s all there is to see. Get going. You’ve still got a lot of miles to travel yet today.” He gestured at the bearded man who by now was back on his horse, holding his arm in pain. “That means you, Josiah.”

The man sneered. “I don’t take orders from you.”

In a velvet soft voice, the man in the black hat replied, “No, you don’t, but you’ll take orders from this.” He raised the whip he was carrying.

Hatred blazed in Josiah’s eyes. Sarah held her breath while she waited to see what he’d do. After a long moment, he grasped the reins and turned his horse. “Let’s go, boys.”

Except for an older man with salt-and-pepper whiskers, the men turned their horses and headed up the trail. The older man watched them go, then looked down at his companion, his expression holding both amusement and amazement. “Jumpin’ Jehoshaphat, Jack! What are you doin’ tangling with the likes of Josiah Peterson? He’s killed two men that I know of and probably more.”

“He didn’t kill me, did he?” The man with the whip looked at Sarah. “Get your horse. We’ll take you back to your parents.”

She commanded her voice to come out strong and pulled back her shoulders. “And you are?”

“I’m Jack McCoy.”

Where had she heard that name before? She held out her hand. “I’m Sarah Gregg, and I’m pleased to—” Albert Morehead’s words popped into her head. Lost all their money thanks to that card shark. Goes by the name of Jack McCoy. A scoundrel and ne’er-do-well if ever there was one. “Oh, it’s you!” The words popped out before she could stop them.

He looked puzzled. “Do I know you from some place?”

She so wished she’d kept her mouth shut. “No, but I’ve heard of you.”

“Good or bad?”

She disliked lying and wouldn’t lie now. “Bad. I heard you were a card shark and a scoundrel.”

The faintest glint of humor flickered through his eyes. “So what do you think?”

“I think where there’s smoke there’s fire.” She didn’t care for the way her words came out sounding prim and proper. She’d said them, though. Too late to take them back. “I don’t need an escort, Mr. McCoy. You needn’t bother.”

“No bother, Miss Gregg. Get your horse.”

“It’s Mrs. Gregg. I don’t like gamblers, Mr. McCoy.”

“I’m not going to leave you in the wilderness, Mrs. Gregg. Get your horse.”

The cold firmness in his voice told her he wouldn’t accept no for an answer. Well, she’d ride back with him and his friend if that’s what he wanted. Maybe she should. She didn’t want to be alone while Josiah Peterson was still in the area. “All right, then.”

After she untied Rosie and mounted, she watched as he got on his own horse. How graceful, the way he swung his lean, sinewy body into the saddle. He held a commanding air of self confidence about him, as if he would never hesitate and blunder around like Pa did sometimes. As if she could always count on his strength, and he’d never let her down. Her pulse quickened, ever so slightly, but what was she thinking? She didn’t want a man, especially one like Jack McCoy. Once they got back to camp, she’d have nothing to do with such a scoundrel and he could be on his way.

* * * *

Jack got a fast glimpse of bare leg when the girl got on her horse and her skirt billowed. Women were crazy not to wear pants. At least she wasn’t using one of those nonsensical sidesaddles the ladies doted on. When they started out, she rode ahead as though she didn’t want to talk, and that was fine with him.

Riding beside him, Ben Longren chuckled. “Stuck up little thing, ain’t she? She ought to be more friendly, considering you saved her from the likes of Josiah. That could have been bad, Jack.”

He threw his friend a look of disgust. “You think I care if she talks or not?”

Ben stayed quiet for at least two seconds. “Did you notice how pretty she is?”

“I noticed how stupid she is to be out in the wilderness by herself.”

Ben remained silent. Good. He knew how to keep his mouth shut. His friend was right, though. Yes, he’d noticed how pretty Mrs. Gregg was with her long, auburn hair and warm brown eyes. She was dressed like most women on the trail—faded homespun dress, white apron, and sturdy boots. Those plain clothes couldn’t hide her tall, slim figure, though. Full breasts, tiny waist. Riding behind her, he had a fine view of the pleasant curve of her hips and the easy way she rode without bouncing or slouching, as if she’d spent a lot of time on a horse. If he was looking for a woman…

But, no, he wasn’t looking for a woman. Furthest thing from his mind. He turned to Ben. “After we take her back, we’ll catch up with the rest.”

Ben didn’t answer right away. When he did, a troubled expression rested on his weathered face. “Don’t know as I want anything more to do with those jackasses. Why’d we join up with them in the first place?”

“Don’t you remember? They were hell-bent for California with nothing to slow them down. Had a chuck wagon—”

“Yeah, the grub’s been good, but I don’t much care for that Josiah Peterson. All he wants is to get to California and get his share of the gold. He don’t care who gets in his way.”

“They’re all the same.” Never in his thirty-four years had Jack seen anything resembling the crazed rush for riches that had swept not only the country but the world. Thousands of men were headed for the goldfields to make their fortune, each a fool if he thought he’d get rich. He, too, was a fool, but an eyes-wide-open fool.

* * * *

Sarah’s parents were sitting by their campfire when she and her two companions rode into the meadow. “Any luck?” Pa called.

She wearily shook her head as she dismounted. “No, nothing.” She nodded toward Jack and Ben, who remained on their horses. They’d be riding on, so no need to introduce them. “These gentlemen were kind enough to escort me back. I…just happened to come across them.” Nothing would be gained by telling her parents how that man had attacked her. They had enough to worry about.

Pa looked up at Jack. “Were those your friends who just rode through here?”

“We’re riding with a group of gold seekers. Can’t say we’re friends.”

“Is that so?” Pa eyed him suspiciously. “They were a rowdy bunch, had no manners. I suspect they’re the ne’er-do-wells our wagon master was talking about.”

Ma rose to her feet. Back in Fort Wayne, she was known for her gracious hospitality. Despite her grief, she hadn’t changed. “Won’t you gentlemen stay and have something to eat? In fact, you’re welcome to spend the night by our campfire.”

Oh, no. Sarah didn’t want them to stay. “I’m afraid they’re behind their schedule, Ma. They don’t have time to—”

“Don’t mind if we do!” The old man with the whiskers dismounted and addressed her parents. “The name’s Ben Longren.”

Pa stood and shook his hand. He looked toward the second rider. “And this is?”

“This here’s my friend, Jack McCoy.”

The fleeting raise of Pa’s eyebrows told Sarah he recognized Jack’s name and remembered the wagon master’s warning. But being that Pa was first and foremost a gentleman, Sarah expected he’d be polite.

She was right. Pa managed a tight smile. “We’re having simple fare today, just beans and cured bacon, but you’re welcome to join us.”

They said they would, and soon everyone had filled their plates and were sitting in a circle around the campfire. Sarah heartily wished they’d declined Pa’s invitation and gone on their way, but despite her unease that a notorious gambler was in their midst, she soon became engrossed in the conversation. At first, Ben Longren did most of the talking—all about the Gold Rush and how he and his fellow group of gold seekers could hardly wait till they got to California and staked their claims. Jack McCoy sat silent until Ben flicked a glance at him and remarked, “But not my friend here. You won’t find him with a pick in his hands. He’s got higher ambitions.”

“And what might those be, Mr. McCoy?” Pa asked.

The tall man in the black hat took his time answering. A thoughtful look came over his face. “My friend says I won’t touch a pick. That’s not so. I leave all options open. I have a lot of reasons for making this journey. One’s called manifest destiny.”

“You’re absolutely right!” Pa practically leaped off his chair with delight. “I’m happy to find a person who sees that, Mr. McCoy.”

“Of course I do. This country is bound to grow. Sounds crazy, but I want to be a part of it.”

Soon Sarah sat fascinated as her father and Jack McCoy got into a lively discussion over manifest destiny and the reasons why the United States must spread across the continent to form one nation. From there, the conversation drifted to the reasons half the men in the country were rushing to California. “They want to get out of their dreary lives,” said Pa. “Imagine if you were a low-paid clerk spending twelve hours a day, six days a week, with a quill pen in your hand, copying wills, mortgages, whatever else, in duplicate and triplicate.”

Jack nodded in agreement. “They can only dream of riches and adventure, a change of scenery. Then one day they hear if they head for California, they can make their fortune. It’s not just an empty dream.”

Pa leveled a piercing gaze. “Aside from being a part of our manifest destiny, why are you headed west, Mr. McCoy? Why aren’t you dead set on finding those gold nuggets they say are yours for the taking?”

Jack’s answering laughter held a dry, cynical sound. “I’m a wanderer, Mr. Bryan. Left home when I was twelve and haven’t put roots down since. I’ve run cattle in Texas, worked on steamboats on the Mississippi. I’ve already found gold, not in California but up in Wyoming Territory on the Sweetwater River. Found it, but couldn’t keep it. The Shoshones drove us away.”

“My, my, you’ve had an interesting life,” Ma said. “Where did you grow up?”

“Back east.” The abrupt manner of Jack’s answer clearly signaled he’d prefer a change of subject.

Ma caught on fast. “Are you familiar with this area?”

“Been through a few times. For a while, I ran cattle up north of here.”

“Can you tell me about the Indians?”

“The different tribes, you mean? You’ve got the Cherokees, Blackfoot, Chippewa, Shoshones—”

“Just hope you don’t meet a Comanche,” Ben chimed in. “They butcher babies and roast their enemies alive. Why, down in Texas I hear there was a woman kidnapped—”

“Ben!”

The older man looked sheepish after Jack’s sharp warning. “Sorry, ma’am, hope I didn’t upset you.”

Ma gasped and clutched at her throat. Sarah said quickly, “The Comanches are far away in Texas, aren’t they, Mr. McCoy? Not around here.”

Jack looked at Ma. “Not within a thousand miles, Mrs. Bryan. I don’t know what happened to your daughter, but she wasn’t kidnapped by a Comanche.”

Too late. Ma started to wheeze—that awful sound Sarah dreaded to hear. She went to her mother and clasped her shoulders. “Relax. Just breathe easy.”

Ma stared at her with frantic eyes. She tried to speak but all that came out was, “Can’t…breathe.” Her face lost its color as she began fighting for breath. The wheezing got worse, gradually turning into a rasping, desperate struggle for air that sounded as if it was tearing her insides apart. Sarah called to her father, “It’s another asthma attack. Did we bring the eucalyptus oil?”

Pa shrugged helplessly. “She hasn’t had an attack for quite a while. We couldn’t bring everything.”

Jack McCoy sprang from his seat. He knelt by Ma’s side and said softly, “You’re going to be all right, Mrs. Bryan. Don’t panic. That only makes it worse.” He stood and gripped her arms. “You and I are going to walk, very slowly and very carefully, around the campfire. Moving should make your breathing easier. Have no fear. If that doesn’t work, we’ll try something else.”

He pulled Luzena to her feet. She slumped against him, continuing the desperate, deep wheezing. Her skin gleamed with perspiration as Jack, his arm securely around her waist, began to walk her slowly, one step at a time. “Good, you’re doing fine. No hurry…and we’re not going to panic.” After one circle of the campfire, her wheezing eased but didn’t stop.

Sarah stood by, helplessly watching. One of her cousins had died of an asthma attack. It could happen again. Ma had these attacks before but none as bad as this one. “Is there something we can do?” she called to Jack. “Shouldn’t she lie down?”

“No, that makes it worse. She’s going to need something more. Do you have any ginger?”

“No.”

“Mustard oil?”

“No.” She hated saying no. Had they nothing that might help?

“Honey?”

“Yes!” Thank God. She hastened to the wagon and retrieved their jar of honey and a spoon. When she returned, Ma was still fighting for breath, and Jack was easing her back in her camp chair. He took the honey, poured a big spoonful and held it under her nose. “Breathe deep. This is going to help.”

As her mother inhaled the fumes from the honey, Pa stood by, face strained with anxiety. “What does the honey do?”

Jack didn’t look up. “It soothes the mucous membranes in her airways.”

Minutes passed while Ma continued to inhale the vapor from the honey, Jack still holding the spoon directly under her nose. “Take your time,” he kept repeating. After a while, she stopped struggling for breath. The wheezing lightened its intensity and finally ceased. Breathing normally again, she sat back in her chair and smiled. “I do believe I’m better now. Mercy, all that fuss. You can take that spoon away now, Mr. McCoy.”

A cry of relief broke from Sarah’s lips. “You had us worried, Ma. Don’t do that again.”

“I’d wager it’s all that worry over Florrie,” Pa said. “That’s it, Luzena. We shouldn’t be out here by ourselves. We should rejoin the train. We’ll leave first thing tomorrow.”

Ma folded her arms. “We’re not going until Florrie gets back.”

Pa threw up his hands. “You’re not thinking clearly…”

When Sarah’s parents started arguing, Jack McCoy turned away and headed for the nearby stream. She went after him. He had just saved her mother’s life. He might be a notorious gambler, but she had to thank him. He was bending over the stream, washing his hands when she found him. His shirt was off. A gold ring hung on a chain around his neck, a ring so small she doubted it would fit his little finger. It had to be a woman’s.

When he saw her, he said, “Hello,” and leisurely pulled his shirt back on.

“It seems I must thank you again, Mr. McCoy.”

“Don’t bother. No trouble.”

His clipped words told her she need say nothing further, but she couldn’t let it go. “How do you know so much about asthma?”

He straightened, casually wiping his hands on his pants. “Someone I once knew had asthma.” A glint of some undefinable sadness appeared in the dark depths of his eyes. “It was a long time ago.” She started to answer, but he interrupted. “Let’s get back. Got to get some sleep.” One side of his mouth lifted in a slight smile. “Your notorious gambler will be leaving first thing in the morning.”

She thought of the ring she’d just seen on the chain around his neck. Where did he get it? There must be a story there, but something told her this wasn’t the right time to ask.