All Together in One Place Page 24

  Suzanne shook her head. “Bryce may have put some somewhere. What did you hurt?” she asked Mazy noted it was the first time—other than about Pig just now— she'd ever heard the woman ask after the welfare of another.

  “She lost her baby,” Elizabeth said, choking in the telling.

  “Oh ” Suzanne said “Oh—maybe if the dog had been here, he would have broken your fall instead of mine. You might have saved—”

  “He wasn't,” Mazy said.

  “And me, not able to keep one child safe. I'm not deserving of two.” Elizabeth told her, “Not good for a baby to hear such thinking.” “No sense lying about the kind of life he'll be born into.” ”Don't you have family back east where you come from?” Elizabeth asked. She watched Zilah roll the striped top now to Clayton, who giggled. “Those ties were severed,” Suzanne said. She hesitated before continuing. “Bryce had opportunities with his father in Missouri.” She pronounced it with the gentle ah sound at the end. “When Bryce chose to take us west, his father said to not expect him to be part of our future. He said his son had died to him. I don't even know how to tell him his son is truly gone Or if I even should.”

  At least she didn't have that task facing her, Mazy thought. Jeremy had no family, none she knew of. His family grieved him here. “And your own kin?” Elizabeth asked

  Suzanne took a long time to answer. “I've a brother in Michigan. He has eight children and an overburdened wife who I'm quite sure would not open her door easily if at all. Our parents are both dead. Cholera. Isn't that ironic? Epidemic of‘ 32.”

  They had been riding for several hours, Ruth on Koda and Mariah sitting high on Jumper, Ruth's stallion. Low, scudding clouds brushed the sky above them, cast gray shadows over ground already darkened by the rain. The wind had lessened but struck them with little blasts as a reminder of its power.

  Mariah grinned. She looked over at Ruth and sat straighter, as the woman did, moved the reins so she held them just like Ruth. She adjusted her hat.

  “Feels more like October upstate than June,” Mariah said.

  “At least it's stopped raining,” Ruth said She reined up, scanned the horizon for the tenth time.

  “I didn't remember seeing so many ravines and knolls and hills when we came through here before. I must not have paid attention,” Mariah said.

  “I rode out this way looking for Elizabeth,” Ruth said, “and it looks different to me too.”

  “There were places on our farm like this, where cows could hunker down and we'd ride right by ‘em,” Mariah said. “Had to almost go over them to get them to move.”

  “That's when a good horse is worth his weight. Some of them can almost smell cows out. We need that now—if we're to get out of this mess intact.”

  Mariah kept her eyes on the ground as she talked. “We relied on old Buck for help lots,” she said. “Pa's dog. He passed on just before we started west or we'd have brought him with us.”

  Ruth's horse slipped on the slickened earth, recovered. “I know this ground lets us track good, but I'll be glad when it dries up some.”

  Mariah nodded. She rode astride as Ruth did, her knees pressed tightly against the horse's withers, giving him direction with her legs, her weight, and position as well as with reins. “I've ridden since I was old enough to walk,” she told Ruth, who guessed she just wanted to keep the conversation going. “Mattie helped me”

  “You miss your brother already, don't you?”

  Mariah nodded. “Almost more than Pa.” She bit her lip as it trembled.

  “I miss Jed, too, though my brother drove me crazy sometimes,” Ruth said. She straightened, scanned the hills poking over the low, stringy fog. “He was a comfort for me, though…” Her words trailed off before she changed subjects. “If we find one or two cows, we're sure to find more.”

  Mariah's hair was held back with a blue ribbon. Ruth thought she'd never seen her without braids before and smiled when she realized Mariah had done her hair up like her own.

  “They might try to find where they last fed. That'd be back our way,” the girl said. Mariah pointed to the ground. “See there,” she said. They rode several more minutes on either side of what looked like the tracks of three or four oxen before Mariah pointed out a change. “Looks like mules have joined in.”

  “Good. The Wilsons’ wagon still stands, so if we get their mules, that'll be one complete unit at least. It'll be a miracle if we get all of the stock back.”

  From the advantage of the higher hill and distance, Ruth could see wagons heading west like dots and dashes beside the Platte, even on the south side. The river ran dark and muddy as barley coffee what with the rain and the wind to stir it. She shook her head. The cold air pushed against her yellow slicker. The air smelled fresh of wet sage.

  “Looks like those tracks over that way; they go into that ravine with the trees,” Mariah said. “I'll roust them out if they're there. You keep following these, all right?”

  “I won't separate,” Ruth said.

  “Aw, there's nothing to worry over,” Mariah said. “I'm a good rider.”

  Ruth assessed the source of her reluctance. “It's not your skill I'm concerned about,” Ruth said. “Or the horses. It's just…if something goes wrong, this is a disorienting place. One of us could get turned around and lost worse than the oxen. No, we need to stick together.”

  They altered course and rode together up, then down a tree-pocked ravine toward a cluster of cottonwoods, hoping to find the familiar cattle bedded down inside.

  It wasn't what they found.

  She would have to stop pretending, tell someone what was happening with Tipton, then ask for help. But who? They'd surely judge her, Adora Wilson, from then on, judge how poorly she had provided for her daughter getting skinny as a stick, how deplorable her own morals must have been to have raised up a child so selfish and self-indulgent. A flash of anger coursed up through her, heated her face. That child! How could she do this to me?

  She'd said those exact words the day Tipton informed her they were heading west, that it was all arranged between her papa and the Bacons.

  “How could you?” Adora had screamed, losing her composure.

  “Because I want to and because Tyrell wants me to and because were going to marry someday We would marry right now if—”

  “Over my dead body!” Adora shouted.

  She should have let it happen; then she'd have detoured around this.

  She found the empty laudanum bottle beneath Tipton's pillow. Another hidden in the girl's folded parasol and still another in between the layers of lace they'd so carefully laid in her own mother's dresser drawer. What would people say when they found out? Hopefully, Mazy would recover without need before they were back in Laramie or Kanesville or wherever they were going and could buy whatever was needed.

  She hadn't found her wrist purse, even with all the looking for laudanum. It wasn't where she'd left it. In the chaos of the storm, Hathaway's death, and Charles's untimely departure, she'd misplaced it. Maybe Tipton stumbled onto it and put it somewhere for safekeeping, away from prying eyes. Those foreign girls might not speak much English, but she guessed they knew what currency and coins were good for. Zilah'd spent a fair amount of time with access to the inside of their wagon. Perhaps she should refuse the girl's help, make Tipton come around and drive the mules. Though now, they had no mules.

  She'd have to ask Tipton about the missing purse when her mind was clear, when she was…present. That was what she was trying to accomplish, bringing Tipton back to the present, whether she found it inviting or not.

  So who could she talk with about all this? That Betha woman might know. She was neat and tidy and seemingly kind. She had two daughters and might understand a mother s dilemma. Perhaps she could begin the subject somewhat hypothetical so Betha wouldn't know exactly what worried her. Yes, that was a plan, and so much better than just coming right out and saying that her daughter had developed some problems and, lacking a resident doctor,
had begun to treat herself.

  Adora caught a glimpse of her face in the oval of mirror. She looked gaunt and uncared for. Well, that was understandable what with the storm, but she'd have to correct that, put glycerin on the wrinkles of her neck and around her eyes. She pressed her fingers on the newly lined skin beside her mouth. This so-called dry country sucked up moisture from her skin, then suddenly drowned a soul in its downpour. She'd have to find her powder and fill the wrinkles in.

  “Missy Esther wish to know you come to meeting?” Naomi asked. “She say come. We decide next things.”

  “Let's wait until Ruth and Mariah return,” Mazy said. She felt achy and warm. There'd be no purpose in sitting and talking until they knew if they'd have stock or not. The thought of others’ pitying eyes on her, futile efforts to salve her new loss was too much. She felt tired and empty and alone.

  “She probably just wants to see how everyone's doing,” Elizabeth suggested.

  “We're not doing well,” Mazy said.

  “You're always good at assessing things. We can take a gander at what's left.” Elizabeth turned to Naomi. “Tell her we'll be there.”

  “Missy Mazy not good?” the girl asked. Elizabeth noticed that Naomi had darker skin than the other girls she traveled with. The sun had blistered lines at her higher cheekbones, and she had straight, even teeth.

  “She's not, but we'll be there. You tell Esther.”

  The girl stepped off Betha's wagon box so lightly Elizabeth continued to talk to her until Mazy motioned that she was no longer there.

  “You have to go.”

  “Why? What difference does it make?”

  “Because you insisted on your meeting at a time that did not seem convenient for others, child. Now it's turnabout, and that's fair.” Her voice softened. “A little fellowship and faith will be healing. Let's get you settled in a chair looking out, at least.”

  “There's no reason until the girls get back. We don't even know whether we'll be driving oxen or walking with packs on our backs until we know if there are oxen.”

  “Or leadin or drivin those Ayrshires,” Elizabeth said.

  “Those Ayrshires,” Mazy said. “We're here because of them.”

  “Because you did what you thought was best Now things've changed. It's part of living.” Elizabeth stopped herself. “Well, those cows know where their stomachs got filled last, so I'm countin’ on ‘em to just amble on in here come feedin time Might just lead the rest back.”

  “If they're still in the country.”

  “Mazy, it don't do no good to dwell on the possible worst. We are still alive, and there's something to be said for that.”

  “Not all of us,” Mazy said. She spoke so low her mother had to lean in. She started to ask her to repeat it, then knew what she'd said.

  “I know, I know. It's a grievous loss you've been handed. But handed it you have. Staying in here, waiting and wondering, won't make any of it come back. Might as well try to sit a spell in the chair. We'll face it looking out of the wagon, so if you want to say somethin you can. See everythin that way,” Elizabeth said, already moving one of Betha's high-back chairs toward the wagon opening. She reached for a feather pillow, felt its dampness, set it aside. She found a fat picture album, placed it on the chair, wrapped one of Betha's sweet-smelling quilts over it then wiggled her fingers at Mazy. Putting her arm around her daughters ribs, she pulled Mazy up and helped her to the chair.

  They heard the gunshot from a distance. A repeat, and then it seemed as though they listened to a war.

  “Get down!” Ruth said, pulling Mariah from the horse. They'd brought the animals into the thick growth around a spring that accounted for the cottonwoods and huckleberries. Wild roses grew among the mix, and though they were beautiful and fragrant, Ruth would have preferred they'd found trees instead. Koda already had one long scratch where he'd stepped within the roses’ grasp and jerked back. Then they'd heard the shots.

  “Who are they?” Mariah hissed.

  “Pawnee, most likely from their dress. The others—not many of them, are there?—must be Sioux. We just best stay right here as quiet as we can ‘til this is over.”

  And they had stayed, watching the bloodshed, the screams, and the men felled like rootless trees from their horses, their bodies splayed across the ground. Mariah had her fist in her mouth as though what she watched were more frightening than snakes, though the skirmish did not involve her. They crouched and watched, listened to gunpowder exploding and the whoosh of arrows through air. Each woman held her horse's nose and hoped the sounds and cries of death around them would cover any cough or whinny they might put forth.

  Ruth tried to remember if the woman who had befriended Elizabeth was Pawnee. Ruth thought she was. And while there were more Pawnee, they appeared to be losing. The Sioux had many rifles and better ponies, and the Pawnee swung hatchets, the crunch of blade to body causing Ruth to cringe.

  Deaths. Destruction. Murders. Was there no end to the madness humans inflicted on each other and themselves? Ruth didn't think there was, and now here, in this land of vast and natural beauty, as far from conflict as one would hope to be, she'd stumbled onto it again. This time between two groups she would have expected to be allies if not friends.

  What could these Indians possibly hope for with this battle?

  The noise, the cries of people dying, powder exploding, horses thundering and smashing to the ground pressed against her. She reached an arm around Mariah, pulled her close, feeling guilty for not protecting her from witnessing such horror. “I'm sorry,” she whispered. Mariah nodded, and then her eyes enlarged in terror. “What is it?” Ruth said and turned to where the girl pointed.

  Lura pawed through her trunk She knew she'd put those pearl combs there after Matthew left No, she'd put them there before he left, before he and Joe Pepin took the cattle west. She'd given them each coins, packed food for them, seen the combs, the expensive gifts Antone had given her, and put them inside the folds of her good silk dress inside this trunk. She must have put them somewhere new and forgotten. She did do that sort ofthing, more so in recent years But she had never forgotten anything so important.

  “Are you joining us?” Sister Esther called out.

  “Yes, yes. I'm on my way. Just wanted to check on something.” Lura reminded herself to ask Mariah just as soon as the girl returned. She crawled out of the wagon, such as it was, and walked to the cooking area Ruth and Betha had set up before she and Mariah left “Is that gunfire I hear?” Suzanne asked.

  The group stood silent. “Don't hear a thing, child,” Elizabeth said.

  “Oh, it's there, all right,” Suzanne said. Pig barked then, as though to confirm it. “Lots of gunfire, horses.”

  “Oh, pooh,” Adora said walking out from behind their wagon. She had Tipton in tow, a parasol twirling over the two of them. “I dont hear anything.” They walked near Suzanne, Tipton almost stumbling on her. “You must be daydreaming,” Adora told Suzanne.

  “Not something I do, actually,” Suzanne said, “though others here might recognize the syndrome.”

  Lura shrank from the heat of the blind woman's tongue even though she was sure it wasn't directed at her. She surprised herself by speaking up. “Now, we just don't know what others can hear. I have the worst hearing, for example,” Lura said. “Oh, I can hear sounds all right, but I run them together Why, one time I remember someone handed me a bowl of black-eyed peas and they looked me in the eye and said, Tat it ‘ Well, I did wonder why anyone would want to pat a pan of peas, but I tried to oblige I patted the sides ofthat tin treating it like a baby's bottom ‘til they looked at me as though I was a worm and said clear as could be that time: ‘I said pass it, not pat it.’ So Suzanne just might hear what others of us can't.”

  She'd never spoken so much at once in her whole life, she didn't think. And about what? Nonsense. Antone would have said it was all nonsense. He said that often, now that she recalled. It may have been why she had stopped talking and j
ust started knitting. And forgetting. Her lip trembled but she didn't cry.

  Swipes of black and white and red streaked across the Indian's face. His eyes, vacant and moist, stared up at them. A dark patch of red oozed from behind his throat. The body lay twisted and still glistening from the sweat his fear and anguish had produced just moments before his death. The skirmish raged around him, but for this man, this warrior, it had ended.

  Ruth put her finger up to her mouth to signal silence to Mariah. How she wished the girl had not been here! Ruth held Koda, brushing his soft nose as a reminder to be still, but he stood uneasily, the smell of blood and death and uncertainty moving in the muscles of his chest, in the tilt of his ears, and the rolling of his eyes.

  The dead mans horse had found him.

  They II come for the horse and see us, hear us, Ruth thought. Ruth noticed a rider approaching. Arrows whizzed by before him. He ducked, his head dropped to the side of the pony he rode. He started down the hillside toward Mariah and Ruth.

  Better here than at the wagons She didn't think the wagons were in danger What did they have that anyone would want? The stock was most desirable, and it had vanished, scattered, except for these two they held. These might be of value, but not likely. Emigrant horses didn't acclimate well to this prairie grass.

  What did it matter now? He was on his way to where they hunkered down.

  The mans black hair flowed out behind him as he rode hard toward the cluster of brambles and roses then slipped off his pony in one fluid motion One hand held a long knife, and with the other he lifted the dead mans head, prepared to cut the scalp with a quick slice.

  Mariah whimpered, her fist tight inside her mouth. She almost swooned. Ruth stepped in front of Mariah to shield her from the slaughter. Then the man looked up.

  “We shall begin in prayer,” Sister Esther announced, louder than she needed, Mazy thought. Who would protest? It did no harm; just did no helping either.