Unconquerable Callie (10 page)

Phyllis Monroe and Callie worked side-by-side filling cracks, cutting rushes, and lending a shoulder when needed to push a wheelless wagon into the water, watching as it floated across like an ungainly boat.

Wagons were sealed good and tight and not a one developed a leak. Men on horses rode beside each wagon, steering the makeshift boat across. Children grinned, unafraid from their seats in the wagon, waving to those watching. This was an unparalleled adventure, one Callie knew they would tell over and over in the years to come. After the jarring roughness of a wagon on wheels, the water offered a smooth and tranquil ride.

As the day wore on, there was much more laughter and calling back and forth as, one-by-one, wagons made it safely across. There were almost finished and a sense of accomplishment filled everyone. People congratulated each other on crossing the Missouri without misfortune.

There were only two wagons left to cross. Callie and Phyllis would be riding across on the scow carrying the last wagon.

Like a queen riding high on her thrown, Henrietta Widden sat on the wagon bench, seemingly unaware of the rise and dips the raft made as Tom dug in his pole and the men waded yet again into the water to give the raft a push, freeing it from the bank.

Tom’s “thank you” carried back to the shore, but Henrietta never bothered to thank the tired men.

Callie watched until the raft floated to the middle of the river. She rubbed her tired back and thought longingly of hot coffee and her bed. She had just turned away when she heard a shout.

Turning around, she saw the raft listing to one side. Heart racing, Callie joined the others and ran to the edge of the river. Her hand flew to her mouth, stifling a moan as helplessly they stood, unable to reach the raft from this side of the Missouri. It was caught in the middle of the river, too far from either bank for help. Callie knew this was the deepest part of the river and, in spots, the current whirled and pulled. The Missouri took on a life of its own as it sucked in and spit out that which it found alien.

Callie put her hand to her forehead, shielding her eyes. Nausea coiled in her stomach as a wave of fear swept through her, raising goose bumps along her arms. The back of the raft was riding lower in the water. Tom valiantly stuck his long pole deeper into the swift water, vainly searching for the river’s bottom.

The wagon shifted and they saw him throw his pole down and brace his back against the wagon, his feet lodged as he tried to keep the wagon from sliding further into the lapping water.

From the far bank, Seth saw that the raft was in trouble. The weight of the wagon was proving to be too much for the raft. The Missouri had turned cranky, as if it had been pushed far enough.

Seth turned Buck once again into the water, knowing that he was too far to get to the raft in time. Still, he urged the horse on while he watched the unfolding drama before him.

The wagon slid more, moving Tom, feet braced, with it, closer and closer to the water’s embrace. Then when it seemed matters couldn’t get worse, they did. Hattie stood up on her seat, threw her arms to the sky, and started jumping, screaming. Up and down she jumped, her frantic motion acting as a rocker, giving the wagon momentum.

Frantic, Callie cried out, “Hattie, sit down. You’re going to tip the wagon over. Sit down!” But it was of no use. Callie’s words fell on deaf ears.

Seth yelled into the expanse for Hattie to be still, to sit back down and not move. His words dropped into the river, unheard.

Then Tom abandoned the back end and, gripping the side of the wagon, fought his way to his mother. It was apparent he was trying to reason with her, his hands grabbing at her skirt. Ever typical, Hattie ignored what anyone else said or did and continued with her flaying up and down.

Tom reached again for his mother just as she kicked out. Her foot caught Tom under his chin. His head snapped back and he fell backward, unconscious, into the swiftly moving water.

Seth released his feet from the stirrups and threw himself from his horse. He didn’t hear Callie’s fearful shout. With bold strokes, he swam toward Tom, only to see him sink into the water. Seth swam harder and harder, reaching out with his arms, slicing through the water. Tom was nowhere to be seen. Then the river had a change of heart and like a capricious child, spit Tom back up to the surface only to pull him back down again. But this time, Seth was closer and with a surge of power grabbed for Tom’s shirt. He missed and grabbed again. This time his fingers closed around Tom’s collar and he pulled the lifeless body toward him.

As Seth secured one arm around Tom’s neck, keeping his head afloat, a screeching groan rent the air. The raft could no longer carry the burden of the heavy wagon and the water of the Missouri. It was breaking apart. Seth called out again to Hattie, but before his words had died on the air, the wagon slipped off the raft into the whirling current carrying the woman with it.

Seth hooked his arm tighter around Tom and kicked to the side away from the wagon and the poles that had broken free from the raft. He couldn’t leave Tom to help Hattie. Tom would surely drown. He kicked and pulled with his free arm, dragging Tom with him, taking care to keep the man’s face upright. His legs felt like weights and his arms were lead as tiredness overtook him. He was battling the river, knowing that to weaken was to fail. Not daring to look at the shore, fearing the distance would defeat him, he kicked and edged closer by inches. Then when he thought he couldn’t give another kick, he felt someone take hold of Tom and pushed as he pulled. He couldn’t see who was on the other side but knew that without this person’s help, he and Tom both might have been lost.

Then Seth felt bottom under his feet. Wearily he stumbled toward the bank. Someone took Tom’s other arm and, draping it over their shoulder, together they made it to the bank where willing hands reached out and took over. Someone wrapped a blanket around Tom and propped him up against a log. Someone else wrapped a blanket around Seth and guided him to a seat. After catching his breath, he looked to see who it was who had come to his aid. And there, sitting beside him, wrapped in a blanket, was Callie, water dripping down her face.

Before Seth could utter a word, Tom started coughing and retching water. Each cough, a symphony that brought a weary smile to Seth’s face. He met Callie’s eyes, saw the anguish lingering in their depths, then both of them looked out to the river. There was no sight of the wagon and only a few poles floating toward the bank gave evidence that there had been a raft. Nothing was said, but he knew that the river had claimed one person. With each cough from Tom, he knew just how close they had come to it being more than one.

A woman hastened up to Callie and gently laid a rolled up petticoat at her feet. Seth watched as color rushed across Callie’s cheeks. She had obviously shucked her outerwear before diving into the river, knowing its weight would pull her down. She’d done what no others had, and had likely saved one life. He glanced back at the river, its current having nearly doubled in the time they’d gotten out. Maybe two.

Seth looked at this woman that had done what others were hesitant to do. She’d thrown personal safety aside to come to another’s aide.

“Well, Callie,” he said, “you up to crossing that Missouri again? But this time let’s you and I load Tramp on the scow and let it take us and the last wagon to the other side. I think I’ve drank enough of that blasted river. How about you?”

Callie nodded, her throat working up and down and her eyes growing watery. “Seth, Hattie—”

“Gone,” he said bluntly. “I know it ain’t right to speak ill of someone, but her stubbornness took her life and darn near took her son’s. Put me, and you, in danger, too. We’ll cross over and I’ll get some of the men and we’ll look for her. I doubt if we’ll find her body, the current is strong and hard telling where she’ll wash up. I feel bad about this, Callie, but along with the bad is thankfulness that I don’t have to face Becky Widden and tell her she lost Tom, too.”

Callie saw sadness mixed with fatigue on Seth’s face. The Oregon Trail was tough and they had all just found out how quick fate could step in. Seth had told them how they all had to work together. Well, today they had all worked together. They’d lost one of their own and Tom and Becky had lost more than that. They’d lost their wagon and a lot of their possessions. But, they had each other and Callie knew that, tonight, Becky wouldn’t be thinking of what she’d lost, but of what had been spared.

Callie raised her head and saw Seth watching her, a smile on his face, his eyes full of understanding.

“Don’t know how to thank you, Callie,” he said, taking her hand in his. His finger wrapped around hers, lending his strength. “You’re quite a woman.” He held her cool, petite hand tight in his large, warm one, then reluctantly released her palm. Her eyes widened and color streaked across her cheeks. Had she felt it, too, that surge of heat when they touched?

He faced the river again, not sure of what to do with the strange energy racing through him. He was coming to care more each day for this spirited woman. What would he do when they reached Oregon City and he had to let her go?

A pall hung over the camp. Although Henrietta Widden wasn’t particularly liked by many on the train, everyone felt the loss of a fellow traveler. Dusk brought with it the reminder that they were all a long ways from home, vulnerable candidates for the hand of fate.

Earlier, Callie had sat with Becky while Tom, against urgings to rest and regain his strength, went out with the other men to search the riverbanks for his mother. They came home quiet and empty handed. Seth had been right. The Missouri had carried her to a destination known only to the currents.

Becky held Callie’s hand while they watched Tom and Jacob Monroe fashion a wooden cross, then secure it in the ground near the bank of the river, high enough so the spring waters wouldn’t wash it away, a memory to Tom’s mother, but also a reminder to all at the unseen dangers of the Mighty Missouri.

The evening meal over, Callie headed back to her wagon. Her feet were heavy, but her heart was more so. And Henrietta’s death wasn’t the only reason. But she wasn’t ready to acknowledge or give voice to what really troubled her.

Maybe she should leave the train at Fort Kearny. Maybe she should return to Aunt Bertha and marry Wilmer Staton, that is, if he still wanted her. The thought made her stomach churn. She might as well give up living. It would be a kind of death living under the stifling rule of a man she didn’t love or respect.

If they were able to travel as many miles a day as they had been, they would arrive at Fort Kearny sometime next week. The thought of leaving the train filled her with a weeping sadness. She would be abandoning her goal, her dreams, and . . . and . . . “Oh, go ahead and say it, Callie,” she admonished herself. “Seth.”

His name rolled around on her tongue like sugar candy. How could she give up seeing him each day? How could she give up their morning cups of coffee? How could she? She shook her head.
I have no right to think like this. I can’t have feelings for Seth McCallister. I lied to get on his train. I lied about
my fiancé. What would he think of me if he ever found out the type of person I really am?
He would never forgive her. Anger would be the least of his emotions.

When she reached her wagon, she hung the lantern on the hook outside the entrance. Its faint glow pushed the night back with a circle of light. Beyond it, black shadows gathered, dark and filled with a brooding life that could be felt but not seen. Night animals rustled in the bushes and night sounds filled the air. A cool breeze caressed her shoulders, making her glad of the shawl she had thrown on.

Callie knew that some of the coldness was seeping from within. She was so mixed-up. A few weeks ago, there were no doubts in her mind as to what path she should take.

She glanced up into the star-filled sky. Had she developed feelings for this powerful man whom she’d known for such a short time? She tried to push the fearsome realization away, but it hovered like dew-laden smoke. Seth. She did not dare think of what leaving him, never seeing him again would be like. She had no right to think that way, no right at all. She had become a victim of her own lies. She wasn’t free to have feelings toward Seth. She was shackled to a product of her imagination, her fiancé, Frank.

Then, as if the shadows had conjured up the man, Seth stepped out of the dark into the yellow lantern glow.

Callie jumped, fearful her thoughts were visible on her face.

“Sorry, Callie,” Seth said apologetically, “didn’t mean to startle you.”

“No, you didn’t. I mean, I was startled, but it wasn’t your fault.”

Seth studied her lovely face. Her uncovered hair lay long and silver on her shoulders, the lantern making a halo of light around her. It was all he could do not to reach out and touch her. She seemed so ethereal, so unobtainable.

He realized he was staring and Callie was speaking.

“The night is spooky isn’t it, Seth? I feel as if we’re not wanted here on the riverbanks. I-I feel as if the darkness is speaking to us.” Callie gave a small laugh. “I’m sounding crazy, aren’t I?”

“Not at all. I know what you mean. I’m feeling the night spirits talking, too,” Seth said softly.

“Night spirits. Yes, that’s exactly what I feel. Today was a rough day. I think we’re all on edge. I wish we were miles away. I don’t want to lay over here an extra day even if it is an ideal spot to do washing and rest up.” Callie spoke the words, hoping that Seth would understand her disquiet.

“Well, Callie, seems you’re not the only one with those thoughts. I’ve been asked to see if everyone would be agreeable to moving on in the morning. No one wants to spend the day with the constant reminder of today’s loss. Camping here on the riverbank won’t let our minds rest easy. I know Becky and Tom feel that way. How about you? Up to moving out at first light?” Seth’s voice was low, his words gentle, his eyes full of concern. She seemed lost tonight. Her aloneness hurt him.

“Yes. Yes.” Callie smiled for the first time that night. “There’s nothing I would like better than to put the Missouri River behind me.”

Seth smiled, relieved to see some spirit come back into her face. “Don’t need to think it over, huh?”

“Nope. Have you gone by the Monroe wagon yet?”

“On my way there now,” Seth replied. “But I’m sure they’ll feel the same way as everyone else does.”

“Would you mind telling Caleb . . .?” The words were barely out of Callie’s mouth before they were drowned out by the sound of running feet and someone coming closer calling her name.

“Callie, Callie.” Caleb ran into the lantern’s light, his eye wide in his face, his hair standing on end. “Callie, Ma said to come fetch you real quick like.”

At first sound, Seth stepped in front of Callie, shielding her with his body. “Caleb, what’s wrong? Take a breath. Now, why does your mother want Callie? What’s the problem?” His strong, sure voice worked magic and Caleb responded.

“It’s Hattie Benson. She’s having her baby. Ma’s already at her wagon, but she sent me for you.”

“Me?” Callie sputtered. “Me? I don’t know anything about birthing a baby.” Seth watched the myriad of emotions cross her face before she said, “I’ll do whatever I can.”

“Caleb, grab the lantern,” Seth said. “Callie, give me your hand. Watch for rocks and logs, the riverbank can be treacherous this time of night. Caleb, hold that lantern out as far as you can reach and go ahead of us. Callie and I will follow the light.”

He took Callie’s hand and held it firmly in his strong, warm clasp. For a moment the world stood still as hand–in-hand he felt that spellbinding flow between them. It was only a moment, but he knew they would both remember, the warmth of each other’s hand, that connection.

Hattie’s sharp cry carried into the night, reaching them before they reached their destination. Several lanterns widened the glow of light around the wagon. A few other men stood beside John as he worriedly ran his large hands through his hair. John came running toward them.

“Thank you for coming, Callie. Hattie trusts you. She made me promise that when her time came, I was to get you.” Wild-eyed, he grabbed Callie’s shoulders. “I can’t lose her, Callie, but I’m afraid. She wasn’t like this with Charlie. She was stronger, rested, and in her own home with a doctor in attendance. This is my fault,” he said, brokenly, shaking his head. “My fault for moving her away from the comforts she grew up with. I wanted my own land. I wanted something to work with my own hands and with my sons. Something I could look at with pride and hand down to our children. I can’t lose her, Callie. I can’t.” He looked away, tears filling his eyes. “I’m afraid,” John whispered into the night.

Callie glanced up at Seth, her eyes filled with concern and maybe a little fear. “The woman who jumped into the mighty Missouri can’t possibly be afraid of a babe.” He kept his tone light, as he squeezed her hand, offering encouragement, then reluctantly released it. He gave her a nod and stepped over to John.

“John, Hattie’s stronger than you think,” Seth said. “Let’s you and I get us a cup of coffee. It might be a long night. Seems every birthing I’ve been around, the guest of honor doesn’t show up until he or she has worn everybody out with waiting. I expect your son or daughter will do just the same. Now, Callie’s going to go inside the wagon and you and I are going to do what menfolk do best at this time . . . wait.”

Struggling to remain calm, Callie watched as Seth and John walked toward the campfire. A lump formed in the back of her throat. How could she do this? She didn’t know anything about babies, let alone how to help bring one into this world. Just then, Seth turned around to face her. He tipped his head and gave a reassuring smile, one that filled her with the hope that she, Callie Collins, could really do this..

Callie eased back the canvas and stepped inside the wagon. There seemed to be less room here than in hers, but maybe only made so by the jumble of barrels, boxes, and necessities for the small family to take with them to their new start. Bedding from the night before hadn’t been rolled up and put away. Clothing lay about along with a few wooden toys. Callie made her way through, then felt a pang of anxiety for the frightened woman lying on matt, her eyes wide in a too pale face.

Tears streamed down Hattie’s face. “Callie, thank you, thank you,” she said over and over, rolling her head from side-to-side.

Phyllis knelt at her side and looked up as Callie drew closer, a worried look on her face. Hattie held Phyllis’ hand tight and with each pain, she squeezed until Phyllis’ fingers were white.

Callie leaned in close to Phyllis’ ear and said quietly, “How is she?”

Phyllis shook her head. “She won’t help. I can’t get through to her. She wouldn’t let me send for one of the more experienced women. I’ve heard Mrs. Franklin has doctoring skills. But Hattie’s refused to let me send Jacob for her. It’s as if she has made up her mind to die having this baby. She fights my every suggestion.”

“Is there a problem?” Callie whispered.

“No. At least I don’t think so. From every indication, this is a normal birth and I think the baby would come if she would only help us.” Phyllis’s words were fraught with frustration.

At that moment, Hattie gave a cry that pierced the wagon walls and escaped into the night.

“Hattie,” Phyllis said, pushing the woman’s shoulders back down, “please, you can’t carry on so. You’re wearing yourself out. You can have this baby, dear, if you’ll work with me.”

Hattie dug her fingers into Phyllis’s arm. “I don’t want anyone here but you and Callie. I don’t want this baby,” she gasped. “I don’t want my baby born in the back of a wagon in the middle of nowhere.” She turned to Callie. “Please help me, Callie. I need a doctor. I need to be in my bed in my home not here in this terrible place. I can’t,” she cried, “I can’t.” Then she uttered the words that put a cold knot in Callie’s stomach. “I want to die. Just let me die.”

Anger filled Callie, replacing any sympathy she felt for the frightened woman.

She pried Hattie’s fingers from Phyllis’ arm. “How dare you, Hattie Benson? How dare you say such hateful, spiteful words?”

“Callie,” Phyllis gasped.

“Well, they are hateful,” Callie shot. “Hattie, you look at me. This baby will be born. You have a man waiting outside. A man who loves you. A man who blames himself, and his only guilt is that of wanting to give you a home in a land you can call your own. How can you talk of death when you have a little boy that needs his mother? Are you that selfish you would leave a baby and another child for John to raise by himself?”

Hattie’s eyes went wide, her teeth biting into her lip as she cringed. She sucked in her breath as another pain hit her. But before she could cry out, Callie grabbed Hattie’s arm and applied light pressure, enough to demand the distraught woman’s attention.

“Don’t you dare scream. You do exactly what Phyllis tells you to do. Now! We won’t be leaving another cross on the banks of this river, Hattie Benson. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

At first it seemed as though Hattie would ignore her, just as she had been ignoring Phyllis. Then, almost imperceptibly, she nodded and a determined look filled her eyes, replacing the lost, defeated one.

Phyllis leaned toward Hattie and spoke softly, telling her what to do. Callie moved back out of the way, yet remained close enough to do Phyllis’ bidding.

Seth stirred the fire, hoping all was well and that Callie had been able to help. No more cries pierced the air. The men stole anxious glances toward the covered wagon where shadows played on the canvass and undistinguishable murmurs teased.

The night wore on. The shadows became more animated, lively, and the murmurs grew. Then, into the night, came a feeble cry. Weak, then stronger until the sound filled the night air. John looked at him, as if he couldn’t believe it. Then, as realization dawned, he raced to the wagon, Seth holding back so John would be first. They waited outside. Seth found John’s excitement contagious and suspected he wore as foolish a grin as John.

The back of the wagon opened and a disheveled Callie stepped out. “You have a beautiful baby daughter, John.” Then, as if knowing what else the young man was hungry to hear, she added, “Hattie is asking for you. She’s doing fine.”

John let out a
whoop
and pushed past Callie. He entered the wagon and slowly, stepped toward the pallet on the floor. Hattie watched him, tired and jubilant. “She’s beautiful, John,” she said, lovingly gazing down at the baby cradled close to her chest. She lifted one tiny hand for her husband to see.

“So’s her mother. A daughter,” he said with wonder. “We were so sure she’d be a boy we don’t have a name, Hattie.”

“Yes we do, John. We’ll call her Hope.”

And there on the banks of the Missouri River, Hope was born. No one minded the layover while Mother and daughter rested. More babies would be born on this trek to Oregon, but none as welcome as the fair-haired daughter of Hattie and John Benson named Hope.