The Promised Land (Destiny's Dreamers Book 2)
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Authors: Kathleen Karr
DESTINY’S DREAMER
BOOK 2: THE PROMISED LAND
By Kathleen Karr
For Anne Severance
The Oregon Trail
Johnny and Maggie Stuart and their young family are enroute to the Oregon Territory. Unlike other emigrants seeking land, the Stuarts carry with them books and a printing press to bring the written word of God and man to new lands. The conclusion to their epic journey begins after Maggie has been freed by Johnny from her brief captivity among the Pawnee Indians of the plain.
Several miles from the Pawnee village Maggie and Johnny came upon their relief party. The band of a dozen men from the wagon train were hot, tired, dusty and frustrated. Their horses looked worse. Johnny reined in.
“I see you’ve got her back again,’’ Chandler commented, wiping a ring of dust from the neck beneath his great beard.
“What happened, Johnny?’’ Irish was pent-up excitement. “You’re bleeding!’’
Johnny swiped a hand at his forgotten wound. “It’s a long story. I kind of figured you’d be trailing a little closer, once I realized you’d chase after us one way or the other.’’
“Took a wrong turn. Got lost.’’ Sam was disgusted. He spat the travel grit from his mouth and they all watched the moisture curl into a dustball on the prairie. The horses fretted. They were as uncomfortable as the two parties, both fearful of offering or hearing what had actually transpired.
“Are the children all right, Max?’’
Max inspected Maggie’s beaded buckskin with interest. “Hazel will have that under control. We haven’t been back since before dawn ourselves. It’s a fine rescue posse we turned out to be.’’
“We’ve all had a bad night, Max. But I’m fine.’’ Maggie raised her voice so all the party might hear. “Thank you for your thoughtfulness, all of you. Johnny made it~just in time.’’ They would never know just how much in time he’d been. Her eyes gleamed at her husband.
Johnny felt suddenly shy. He felt something else, too. It was a need to be absolutely alone with his wife for a little longer. “Can you find your way back? If you can, I’d appreciate it if you’d spread the word we’re on our way. My wife’s had a rough time of it, and I’d like to go easier~’’ His words were placating, but his eyes gave them a direct order. Head on back, and leave us alone!
Sam picked up the message loud and clear. He nudged his horse.
“Guess the women are gonna be plumb distraught, all this time with no word. What do you say, Chandler? Maybe we can get a shot at one of them deer we left unmolested on the way over. It’d make us a nice feast tonight. A proper homecoming feast.’’
Chandler grunted something into his beard and tipped his hat at Maggie. “Pleased to have you back safe and sound, Missus Stuart. I trust you’ve had the wandering yen gotten out of your system.’’
Maggie blushed through her sunburned face. “Indeed, I have, Mr. Chandler. It will not occur again.’’
“Damned right it won’t. I’m gonna double sentry duty and read the women and children their rights and duties.’’ Chandler kicked his horse and led the posse back toward the Platte.
Johnny sat astride his horse studying Maggie, but said nothing. They’d said nothing to each other since they’d left the village. At first it was in the sheer relief of escape, but now Maggie could feel it build into something else, something different. She returned her husband’s gaze.
“We’d better put more distance between us and the Pawnee.’’ Evading the subject of their unspoken conflict, Johnny led them into motion again.
By late afternoon they saw the line of the Platte shimmering brightly like some mirage in the distance before them. They could also make out the bluff near their camp. The wagons would be beyond. Johnny reined in next to a small stream that was struggling to meet the same river they were bound for.
“The horses need a drink and a rest.’’ He slid from the stallion and began to lead it to the water.
Maggie tried the same. Suddenly she felt weak, felt herself faltering.
“Johnny!’’
He looked up, then came running to help.
She stood in his arms as the horses made for their drink.
“Forgive me, Johnny. Please forgive me for everything. I’m so tired.’’
His arms held her, but there was little strength in them. They tightened marginally. “It’s I should be asking for forgiveness. After the day and the night you’ve had.’’
“We’ve got to talk, Johnny. Without the others around us. Can’t we steal another few moments here? Alone?’’
Johnny lead her to a clean piece of stream upcurrent from the animals. He eased her down next to it gently, but his movements were still stiff, almost foreign. He stood staring at his wife while he unwound the bandanna around his neck, ignoring the blood thickened on it. Carefully rinsing it in the stream, he brought the cloth to her face. He dabbed the cool liquid over her eyes, her nose, her throat.
“What’s the matter, Johnny? Why are you so distant? Have I changed that much in a night and a day?’’
“Your clothing is certainly different.’’
Maggie glanced down at the forgotten buckskins. “It was Corn Girl’s best outfit. Now she’ll have to make herself another.’’
Johnny was not listening. “All duded up for a wedding.
My wife.
Prepared to take another man.’’
“Johnny! There was no choice! How could you think I would willingly~’’
“Why did you go to the spring last night, Meg? In your nightclothes! Even Winslow was aroused by your performance!’’
“Winslow has been spying on every half decent female in the train, and well you know it.’’
“It’s not Winslow I am talking about, but you. Not any other woman in the train, just you, my wife!’’
“It was hot, and I missed you, Johnny.’’
“Is that sufficient reason to break security, to break the decent bonds of convention?’’
“I wasn’t thinking about any of that. And how was I to know that Red Eagle hadn’t given up?’’
“You should have known! Were I Red Eagle, I would never give you up! I’ve been chastising myself all through the long search for you, wondering where I’d gone wrong~’’
“But Johnny, you haven’t gone wrong! You’re still my husband, my only husband. I still love you more than the world itself!’’
He raised damp hands to his hair, shoving fingers through the coal-black curls in frustration. “It’s not enough. Can’t you understand? You must
know
, know what you’re capable of doing to a man!’’
“But I don’t want to
do
anything to any man but you!’’ It came out as a wail. They were arguing in circles. They were fighting about something that Maggie was only beginning to grasp. They were actually
fighting
, for the first time. And so soon after she had been saved.
Johnny’s voice rose, too.
“I killed a man today~because of you! He may have been an Indian, and an evil one at that, but he was still a man~a human being. I offered to kill another one. A better man. For you, Meg. For you!’’ He shook his head despairingly, adding softly, “I never thought I would bring death to a living soul. I hoped only to be the bearer of light, of knowledge! Doesn’t that give you some idea of your power?’’
Maggie reached out an arm to touch him, to comfort him. He was hurting, too.
“Not my power, but the strength of our love. You were magnificent, Johnny . . . and frightening. You were all control and energy. Elemental. I’ll never forget the look in your eyes when you entered the lodge to find me. To challenge Snake.’’
He shrugged off her gesture. He wasn’t listening. This woman with hair like the sun and eyes like lightning. Did he really know her at all? Had he ever known her? He reached to touch her breasts. She cried out.
“Johnny! They hurt! The milk~’’ Her milk had been waiting to be given all the long day. It was a gift of love she had for her child, a gift that pained when it couldn’t be given.
Johnny was confused. Impulsively she was drawn into his arms. She could feel a new wetness. It was his tears streaming down. Suddenly she was no longer afraid of this man. Her arms went out to enfold her husband against her, to love him.
Afterwards they washed each other in the little stream. Maggie gave healing kisses to the long gash in Johnny’s neck, to other gashes yet unspoken of in his defending arms. He would carry scars till the end of his days to remind him of this particular day. Maggie would, too. But her scars would be carried more silently, within.
They returned to their horses in silence. It was a different kind of silence: the silence of rekindled peace, the silence of love and understanding. There would be time for words later.
The campsite awaiting them held a festive air. Deer were roasting at the spit. Clean laundry waved like welcoming flags from the whitetops. Men, women and children were tending their tasks with energy and smiles. It was a different vision than that which had greeted Maggie so many worlds away at the Indian village that morning, but she could not help being struck by the sameness of it. A crowd gathered around the two on horseback, greeting them like returning conquerors. But Maggie’s mind switched back to realities quickly. She was no heroine. She only wanted to see her children.
Helping hands reached to bring her down from the horse, then Jamie was hurtling into her buckskin skirts, and Hazel was coming into her vision, arms filled with Maggie’s own baby. Visions of Corn Girl’s empty cradleboard filled Maggie’s mind unwanted. Tears filled her eyes as she knelt to hug Jamie, to reach for her daughter, to thank God for her deliverance.
“Where’d you get the clothes?’’
“Are you all right?’’
“What did they do to you?’’
“Did those savages . . . Did they meddle with you?’’
Maggie stared through blurred eyes at the questioners around her. She was news. She was excitement coming into their closed daily existence. The women surrounded her like so many buzzards picking at the bones of a bloodied carcass. She couldn’t handle them. Not now. Not yet.
Maggie stood up. She was vastly encumbered by her two clinging children, but gloried in the encumbrance.
“I’m sorry. I’m not quite ready . . . I’ll answer your questions when I’m more able. I promise. Red Eagle and his wives were courteous and . . . yes,
civilized
. Johnny can tell you more.’’
But Johnny was not about to tell anyone more. He gathered together his family and herded them to their own campsite, where a joint of meat had been left cooking for them. Trying to find some semblance of privacy, he finally led them all into the hot closeness of the caravan and shut the door. He leaned against it, wiping sweat from his brow.
“Thank God. We made it through the press.’’
Maggie gave him a worried look. “You’ve broken open your wounds, Johnny. Let me tend to them.’’
“No. Care for the baby first.’’
Maggie shook a leg in an effort to extricate Jamie and Bacon both.
“At least take a pan and boil some water in it. When it’s ready we’ll clean the cuts properly.’’
“You really want me to go back out there again?’’
Maggie smiled. “It’s not the Pawnee waiting, Johnny. It’s our own people.’’
“At this point I’m unsure which is worse.’’
They laughed together, shared a hug, and made the moves necessary to return life back to normal.
Over the next several days Maggie shared her story slowly with Gwen and Hazel and Grandma Richman. To Gwen, who was growing into love with Sam she shared the most: her ambivalence about Red Eagle, his poetry, the kindnesses of Corn Girl and Evening Star. Most especially she tried to express Johnny’s transformation from a man of dreams into a man of action. A man of bloodlust.
Gwen swallowed her stories piecemeal and digested them with relish.
“Heavens, Maggie, being made love to by an Indian chief!’’
“Unwashed, Gwen, unwashed.’’
“It couldn’t be worse than some of the men around here. Take Al Jarboe. I’ll bet he hasn’t been out of his longjohns since stepping into them last autumn.’’
Maggie wrinkled her nose. “His wife can take him, although how she does evades me.’’
Gwen glossed over Maggie’s distaste, still concentrating on Red Eagle. “All those feathers woven into his hair. I wonder if he takes them out before bed?’’
“I really haven’t the faintest idea, Gwen. And why this sudden interest? I was under the impression that most men frightened you.’’
“They still do. Except for Sam. He’s not most men, after all, although he doesn’t know it yet.’’ Gwen sighed from the heart. “It’s the romance of it, Maggie. Like those novels written by Mr. Cooper. Johnny is just like Natty Bumpo, saving you from the Indians. And your Corn Girl is a little like Dew-of-June. Then there’s the chieftain Chingachgook~’’