All Together in One Place (56 page)

“Sason.
Lovely. Musical and strong. With his father s middle name. Sason Bryce Cullver.” She repeated the name to her son, her fingers memorizing. “Let me see your face, Sason,” she said. “Let me see your face.” She looked up, and Mazy realized she did not have her glasses on. “Describe him, Tipton, would you?”

“Dark hair, like yours,” Tipton said. “And a mouth that's perfect and lifts upward at the ends. Bright blue eyes, the color of a spring morning. Your nose. Looks like he's got everything, all his fingers and toes He's so alert,” she said then in wonder. “Just watching you and your face, your eyes. I didn't think a baby could be so watchful, so early on,” Tipton said.

Elizabeth had wrapped the boy in a portion of quilt, but Tipton handed over now a fringed shawl the color of snow. She'd taken it from the single trunk still remaining in her mother's wagon.

“That's your best shawl,” Adora said, pushing against her daughter's hand. “You'll need it when we reach—”

“It's a gift, Mother,” Tipton interrupted, extending the cloth. She tucked the silky alabaster wrap around his tiny face, and the baby cuddled into the cloth. “See? He likes it Look at how he stares at you, Suzanne.”

Suzanne clutched at her eyes then, patted around for her glasses.

“No. Let him see you,” Mazy said. “You're beautiful. He knows.” She thought of something “Let's plant a columbine seed in Sason's honor. I'll get my seed gourd, grab up a handful ofthat Wisconsin soil, and plant it in a cup. You can plant a new one every year, no matter where you are, and when they bloom, you can think of us.” Suzanne nodded her approval.

Jessie made her way over then, shy behind Betha, holding the cup while Mazy retrieved dirt and pressed a seed deep inside.

“First time I ever saw you holding back,” Betha said, pulling the girl into her skirts.

“He won't break,” Suzanne told her. “Bryce always said they don't break unless left untended.”

The girl stepped forward. “I got the seed,” she said and ran a small finger over the baby's forehead. Clayton squeezed between the women and came to lean into his mother, pushing Pig to the side.

“Meet your brother,” Suzanne said, and she lifted the toddlers hand and placed it like a summers leaf drifting, caressing the baby's head. “Feel your brother's fuzzy hair?”

“Fuzzy hair?” he repeated.

A thin scar marked the spot where Jumper had struck Claytons head. Mazy thought it a miracle he walked and talked and laughed. Sason was a miracle. She looked around. They were all miracles together, in one place.

Lura made up a batch of hot cakes and bacon, and Clayton ate his fill. Then he led Naomi and Deborah, and they clustered around Suzanne suckling her baby. Behind them rose the final discards from their lives back home including a tidy stack of men's clothing bearing the sign: “Please take.”

We needed this time of rest
, Mazy thought.
This pushing, pushing doesnt make the gains that stillness does
Perhaps it was having something to celebrate first that gifted them with vigor. She would try to remember that, to look for moments of gratitude and joy and convert them into fuel to propel her through difficult days.

Deborah turned to the group. “I tell bees of baby,” she said. “They rest.

“Praise the Lord,” Sister Esther said, lifting her eyes and hands to the heavens.

“Bees go way if not like you,” Deborah told her. “They—”

“Choosy about their traveling companions,” Mazy said.

“Aren't we all?” Betha laughed.

“Or should be,” Adora said, stretching as she walked toward the
newborn baby. Zilah walked with her wide, flat-footed gait to hand Adora a cup of hot coffee, her eyes lowered as she made the offer. “If truth be known,” Adora said, taking the cup, “we couldn't have selected a better crew than what got chosen for us.” She sniffed at the coffee. “I do believe I can almost smell this brew,” she said. “Now, wouldn't that be a miracle?”

They began now the hard labor of the day. Mazy thought of Adoras words as she and her mother lifted the heavy yoke around the oxen's necks They had been given a gift with these women, chosen as though for a reason. Despite their uncertainties and irritations, they each had gifts offered just as they were needed. Even she offered something that had nothing to do with gardening, with planting seeds of columbine or peas. She could sort things out, excavate the gifts of others, encourage people to reach beyond their usual hesitations, work together as one.

And she'd discovered another: There was nothing wrong with wanting to please, to care for others as she did, to be ready to listen to Ruth or Tipton. But it was meant to be a gift freely given, not one offered out of obligation. She wished Jeremy were alive for her to tell him that, to show him that she was still learning, that seeds had been planted in her soul that had not yet begun to germinate. The world needed people who could both till fresh soil and break new ground to expand the boundaries of a field, but who could also nourish the turned clods of worn-out dirt. Both promised places for seeds to grow with proper tending. She had found something essential.

Emigrants moving on by offered to assist them.

“Do we take their help?” Mazy asked. “We've had delays.”

“Could do it ourselves,” Rudi said. “But I guess being independent doesn't mean being alone, just being responsible.”

“Even you're willing to accept the help of men?” Adora asked. “Well, that is a sign of things changing.”

They accepted. With a word from Mazy, Ruth began hitching Lura's wagon to go up and over first because it was the sturdiest, her oxen the steadiest wheelers. Eight animals were engaged to pull and they entered the loose line of wagons moving toward the mountain. The women cracked whips over the oxen's heads and pushed at the wagon at the same time, though the latter merely gave them something to do while the dust swirled around their feet, hung on sweat-stained wool

Tall pines with barklike thick scales rose on either side of them. Rocks spit from underfoot; animals strained against the wagon weight. The air hovered hot and heavy. Dampness seeped at Mazy's seams, and she longed for a breath of wind to cool the bloomers that hung from her hips. She pressed the woolen jacket against her breast to pat some of the moisture.

At the top of the grade, even Ruth cringed.

“What'd you think?” Mazy asked

“It's going to be a killer ” Ruth leaned toward her. “But I'd only say that to you.”

“We'll make it, ladies.” One of the men helping at the top pointed over the side, at wagons already setded safely. Mazy guessed his face hadn't seen a razor since he'd left Missouri. “Be surprised what can be accomplished with tobacco and spit.” He signaled and other men removed their hats, wiped their brows with their forearms, then began the task that would consume the remainder of their day.

“Zilah, you best go help Mazy and Ruth,” Adora said. “I lack your strength, truth be known. I'll look after Clayton and Sason when he wakes.”

“Miss Suzanne, too?”

“Of course.” She motioned with her fingers until Zilah handed her the baby, who slept in Tiptons alabaster shawl. Adora tucked the fringe beneath his tiny chin, and the child yawned in his sleep. “Go on,” she told Zilah, and the Celestial left, looking back over her shoulder.

Adora tied the shawl so a big knot formed over Sasons body, making a handle for carrying. She walked toward the last wagon, set the baby down in the shade, then leaned back against the wheel. Drool formed at the corner of her mouth as she sank into sleep.

Ruth chocked the wheels, then helped unhitch the oxen, careful not to step too close to the outer edge of the rockface. Mazy walked the oxen off to the side, patting and talking to the faithful beasts while Naomi and Sister Esther moved to the back of the wagon, swapping ropes with Ruth and Mazy. Even Tipton began throwing parallel lines, then tying them underneath. The callused hands of two men reached and tightened beside them.

The wagons would swing out and away from the rockface like a child's toy sliding across two ropes stretched between the trees high on the cliff and others down below. But these would be real wagons, not toys, holding all that they had. The men tied huge knots buttressed out to the side, and then they brought the ropes to the trees, already showing yellowed, jagged scars around their girths.

“Others have done it before,” Ruth said, reminded by the marks on the trees

“Wish that were more comforting,” Tipton said.

More activity as four oxen were hitched to secure the rope around the cliff tree. Mazy looked down the slope at Sister Esther, who seemed to be praying. Then with a massive thrust and jerk and a shout from the men, the wagon eased over the sheer face.

Elizabeth and Betha waited at the bottom, staring up. They'd walked the mile or so around the mountains base on a shady trace too narrow for wagons. Their shoulders rubbed against the inside rock wall. Following behind, Mariah rode Jumper and pushed the cows, mules, and oxen single file along the path.

Betha pressed pudgy fingers against her mouth, still staring upward. The wagon swung out and then, like a spider suspended on a double strand of web, it was lifted by the wind, then pushed back against the rockface.