The Promised Land (Destiny's Dreamers Book 2) (10 page)

“Is he being taken in seriousness?’’ The voice was next to her, and the scent of bay rum. Just imagine Johnny even considering packing bay rum to travel West. Maggie could not help but glance at the gambler.

“I fear so.’’

Gentry smiled wryly as Winslow continued.

“Shall we dig our way deeper and deeper into the dust, both physically and metaphorically? I say no! As your leader I shall guide you~through the Lord~past no cut-offs of dubious origin and end. I shall take you only through the straight and narrow. To the very edge of the Columbia River! Be not mislead by easy ways. There is no easy way in this life. Just as there is no easy way to heaven.’’

Gentry was murmuring again. “I note that your husband survived our introductions. He looked quite healthy the last I saw him with the widow Lorcum.’’

Maggie didn’t answer. How could she? The gambler was trying to further undermine her currently frail tie to Johnny. Things between them had been questionable since Red Eagle, but never as bad as since the so-called
introduction
to Gentry.

“Ought he not be at your side? The fair Annabelle is, after all, ensconced in her tent with a megrim.’’

Maggie tried to push farther into the crowd, away from Gentry. She did not need to hear about her husband’s affairs from an almost total stranger, a stranger with morals more questionable than Johnny’s. Johnny hadn’t yet committed himself to the widow. He’d just gone where her own temperament had pushed him.

If only she’d laughed over the incident the day after the Fourth! If only she’d taken his aching head into her arms and comforted him for his silly exuberance in over-celebrating the holiday! She’d been the one responsible for blowing the dance all out of proportion. Now it was almost too late.

“ . . . I can promise you my whole heart and soul and mind and strength in all our future endeavors. I can assure you as well that the Lord will be travelling with me and mine!’’

Winslow had finished almost before Maggie realized it. Secular politicking must be mellowing his oratory. And wonder of wonders, not a word cast in vain against the Mormons!

Before she knew it Gentry was at her elbow again, sweeping her along with the crowd to another wagon, another speech. This time it was Al Jarboe, shoved up atop his traces good naturedly by his cronies. Jarboe didn’t waste many words. He just gave his reasons for wanting to take the cutoff tomorrow, “and them that wanted to follow with him would be welcome. And maybe if they chose for California after that, it would be all right, too.’’ This was followed by a few loud cheers. The crowd swung a final time.

There were shouts of “Stuart!’’ “Stuart!’’ But still Maggie gasped when she saw Sam and Max hoist her own husband onto a third wagon. Gentry noticed her reaction and put an arm protectively around her waist. She shrugged it off, but it returned, the fingers closing firmly on her right breast. Maggie gasped, this time in response to the man’s unprincipled advances. She broke away from his hand violently, but remained shivering from the touch as she tried to focus on her husband. Johnny was grinning, running his fingers through that curly hair she so longed to touch once more. Finally, he spoke.

“It seems to me that politics is the only serious subject that men think themselves qualified to act upon without any previous education or instruction whatever. I guess maybe in that way I’m no different from any of you. I know what we’re talking about is leading us the rest of the way to our new homes as best as possible. All of us could do it in a pinch. The politics part comes in being elected to the role of
Captain
.’’ He smiled. “Sounds mighty fine,
Captain
. Josh Chandler was elected to that role way back in Independence at least ten years ago.’’

Laughter bubbled from the crowd.

“He did his duty well, as he saw fit, and I’m up here first to thank him for that.’’ Johnny paused and waited for the burst of applause that followed.

“I’m also here to publicly apologize for any treading I did on Captain Chandler’s toes through general youthful high spirits.’’ He sought out Chandler’s face in the crowd and nodded at him. Chandler finally cracked a smile through his beard.

“It wasn’t my fault I hit it off with Jim Bridger, any more than it was my fault I didn’t personally take to Lansford Hastings and his California scheme a few days back at the Pass.’’ Johnny stopped again to gather in all of his audience.

“Gentlemen. I’ve had a dream ever since I could remember. That dream has been taking me farther and farther West all of my life. The dream was fed on books and words for years. More lately it’s been fed on buffalo steaks and cornmeal mush and~dare I say the dread word~
porridge
.’’ He waited for the groans to subside before continuing. “But the dream has still got only one word at the end of it, and that word ain’t
California
!’’

A roar of appreciation enveloped Johnny. He was thoroughly enjoying himself. He scratched his chin and looked out on his audience like a child playing a guessing game. “Anybody care to venture what that one word might be?’’

“Oregon!’’

“Oregon!’’

It was picked up and passed around like a chant until Johnny raised a hand to calm the crowd.

“
Oregon
. The great Columbia River and the Willamette beyond. Cool rains that keep the grasses green for pasturage all the year round. Lands open for the taking. Lands that will suit us. I’m going to Oregon, and I’m going by the tried and true path. I’ve gotten a strong taste for adventuring lately, but it strikes me that you don’t have to take cut-offs to find adventure on this journey. It’ll be there when we least expect it. And I’ll try to make decisions suited best to the time and place to get us through each new adventure. More than that I cannot promise.’’

Like the handsome sprite he seemed sometimes to be, Johnny bowed to the crowd and jumped down into it, disappearing within a sea of backslaps and cheers.

Maggie began to breathe again. She hadn’t noticed when she’d stopped, but she seemed to need the cool night air badly just now. If she hadn’t been in love with the man before, this would certainly have clinched it.

Johnny was youth, vigor, excitement. He was life to her. When would she have him back again? The gambler’s recent attentions were forgotten, no more important than the constant dust which spread across the trail daily, obscuring clear sight. She wanted her Johnny.

Maggie headed back for her own wagons, not waiting for the voting which would soon begin. In her eyes there could be no contest. Not between Johnny and Winslow. Jarboe didn’t count. He’d trot off on the cutoff tomorrow anyway with three or four of his best friends following. They’d muddle along and maybe make it intact to where the two trails joined at the Bear River. Or maybe they wouldn’t. She couldn’t worry about all of them.

At her own fire Maggie was about to put her hand on the book wagon door. A shape emerged from the darkness. It was the gambler again. She took the first step up. His hand pulled her back.

“Your husband speaks well, as if he’d been born to it. It seems he can handle all the problems of our little world save his beautiful young wife.’’

Gentry swept her into his arms and captured her lips. He took them without asking, and let them go only when Maggie gathered together enough wits to shove a knee, forcefully, into the man’s private parts. When he broke away with an intensely pained expression on his face Maggie finally spoke her mind.

“I realize our wagons shall be in close proximity to each other for at least another hundred miles Mr. Gentry. After that, thank God, you shall head for California. I wish you well, but I do not want to see you again between this time and that. Do I make myself clear?’’

He was standing tall again. His hands shot out to grasp her once more. “Vixen! I, too, shall make myself clear. You intrigued me from the start, and I shall have you yet.’’

“Never willingly,
Mr
. Gentry. I’ve met Indians with better manners than you.’’

Maggie wrenched open the cabin door and called for Bacon. The coyote had grown large since his adoption, and he knew from whence his meals came. Maggie merely pointed at Gentry and the animal leaped at him with a low growl, fangs exposed. Gentry reached for something within his frockcoat. Maggie feared it might be a gun.

“Bacon. Enough! Stay!’’

The coyote stopped, but he fixed on his new enemy. Maggie knew he wouldn’t forget. Gentry gave a weak smile. It made him a little older, a little more debauched than Maggie had remembered. Returning the pearl-handled pistol to his pocket, he disappeared into the night as a loud shout rent the air.

Maggie turned from the caravan steps toward the commotion. Someone was being hoisted onto the shoulders of the men, being paraded about. From this distance, and from the nature of the general hullabaloo, she surmised that her husband’s head size would be expanding once more, this time to encompass the title of
Captain
. Fighting off mixed emotions of pride and sadness, Maggie shut herself into the wagon.

The newly named Stuart Party was four wagons weaker because of Jarboe’s defection for the Sublette Cut-off. It trailed the Donner group to the rear and took a week to make the next hundred miles to Fort Bridger. There the Donners had high expectations of meeting with Hastings and being personally guided the rest of the way to California.

Winslow kept to himself and his family, appearing in public with a face grown even sterner from rejection. Or so it appeared to his fellows. Privately, the Reverend was congratulating himself for having made his point. Now considering himself almost home free, he tried to put his Mormon troubles behind him and concentrate on what even he could recognize as a potentially equal problem ahead of him. He’d made his bed and covered his tracks. Now he’d have to actually set his mind to saving the red-skinned heathen. The Whitman Mission would be before him sooner than he’d like.

As for the Stuarts themselves, young Jamie found himself leading oxen for longer periods and wandering less. His father’s new duties kept him mounted on Dickens a fair part of each day~keeping the wagons together, giving advice and aid where needed. The family suppers were interrupted more often by emigrants worried about this or that. Before several nights had passed, Maggie began to understand why Chandler had so readily given up the dubious honor of his captaincy. Even if she’d wanted to make peace with her husband~and she had started to do so on several occasions, noting that he’d had neither time nor the inclination to wander toward the widow’s camp~each conversation was sure to be shortened by some new emergency.

Then Hazel had her miscarriage the night they camped by Fort Bridger.

The grass and water were good where they lay by near the Green River, but the fort itself was a bigger disappointment than Laramie. It was nothing more than a collection of hovels surrounded by a ten foot wall that seemed barely defensible. Somehow they’d all expected something more impressive from the hands of their hero Bridger. The fort had little to offer in the way of amenities, either: only a blacksmith shop, a herd of questionable-looking goats, and a set of savage layabouts who appeared as if they’d welcome Jack Gentry and his talents with open arms.

Maggie took in the sight before her as she set about her usual supper preparations. Sam had bagged several jackrabbits that day. Their stomachs would be full for once, but those goats in the distance~scraggly or not~were taking on more and more of an interest in her mind. She was stirring a little flour into her stew to try to thicken the broth when Jamie ran up, distressed.

“Ma! You gotta come quick! Mrs. Kreller’s sick bad!’’

Maggie paused only to scoop up her daughter and run to Gwen’s wagon. Gwen was sitting on the backboard, her seamstress pad hung over her neck, giving her already ample breasts a puffy, pin-cushion effect. Her mouth was filled with needles. Maggie plunked Charlotte down next to her.

“You’re in charge of the baby and the meal. Johnny’s nowhere and Hazel’s sick.’’

Before Gwen could clear her mouth to voice either protest or concern, Maggie had flown. At the Kreller’s wagon she found the children milling about anxiously. Maggie took one look at Hazel writhing on a bedroll within and took over.

“Jamie and Matty, front and center!’’

The two eldest jumped to stand before her.

“I’m giving you a very important job. You must run to the fort together and look for your fathers. Tell them they’re needed back at once.’’ Before she’d finished, they’d begun running. She shouted after them. “Hold each other’s hands! Don’t talk to any strange men!’’

Maggie searched for Hilda next. The child was waiting, eyes large with fear. “Take little Irene to Gwen. You know Gwen? The lady with the yellow hair?’’ Hilda nodded. “Next run and get Grandma Richman. Can you do all of that?’’

“Yes, ma’am.’’

“Go!’’

Maggie poked at the fire Hazel had started and put up some water to boil. Finally she was ready to enter the wagon with damp bits of cloth in her hand. Hazel was groaning, her eyes vacant with pain. Maggie opened her dress, bathed away some of the sweat, and held her friend’s hand. She was very small and frail lying so before her, her dark hair swept about in the disarray of fever. Maggie knew she’d have to undress Hazel, but was praying Grandma Richman would come to give her some support. In answer to her prayer, a strong voice came through the wagon opening.

“How’s she doing?’’

“Not as well as I’d like.’’

“Shove yourself over, dearie, and give me some room for a look.’’ Grandma bustled in and wasted no time. In a moment the skirts were raised.

“
Tisk
. Don’t look good atall. The baby’s a goner for sure. Bring me that hot water and a pan. Gotta mop up some of this blood afore I see about saving Hazel.’’

It seemed forever before Max and Johnny arrived. By then Grandma had taken over completely. As she put it, there “weren’t enough room in this here wagon for no sightseers.’’

Maggie made coffee for the men, serving it first to the distracted Max. He was pacing, even his pipe offering no solace. Every few minutes he’d poke his head into the wagon after one of Hazel’s more prominent shrieks. He’d shake his head and renew his pacing. Finally he paused before Johnny, oblivious of Maggie’s presence.

“I can live without the baby. Even if it was a boy.’’ Pain etched grooves into his comfortable face. “Grandma said it was a boy.’’ His feet circled the fire yet again. “I can learn to live with that. I can’t learn to live without Hazel. We been together since we were just children seems like. She don’t look like much to most folks, but she’s part of me . . . A good woman. A good mother.’’

Johnny faced Maggie. Their eyes met for an eternity. Suddenly he tossed down his cup and went to her. His arms reached out and she entered into them willingly.

“God help me. Help
us
. I’ve been a complete fool. Can you ever forgive me, Meg, love?’’

“It takes two to keep a fight going. I’m every bit the fool you are.’’

“May we start over again?
Please
? It may not be as comfortable for a while. Not with this captaincy chore hanging over me. It seems like I’m never with you when I want to be anymore. And I did want to be. But you looked so angry all the time, or sad. The sadness was even worse, knowing I’d brought it on.’’

Maggie burrowed deeply into his embrace. “If I know you’re with me in your heart, I can survive anything, Johnny. I just wasn’t sure anymore . . . And I can help you, Johnny. With your new work. I should have told you that sooner. How proud I was when you were elected, and I never told you~’’

Maggie was crying softly into his shoulder. They were gentle tears, pent up from her worry over Hazel. She would not let them become vicious, a leftover from the weeks of friction between herself and Johnny. Just healing. His arms tightened around her and they stood there, together again as the night darkened around their vigil. Grandma’s voice parted them.