Authors: Shirley Kennedy
Bessie’s words sent a chill through Lucy’s heart. How could she comfort her friend when she harbored the same fears? Bessie had every right to worry. Bad enough to be pregnant, but what could be worse than having your baby by the side of the road? At least they had Inez, but that was small consolation.
Hannah arrived, then Agnes and Inez. They gathered around Bessie. With clucks of sympathy, they soon had her drying her tears. “Sister, you just come with me,” said Hannah, “You need to rest, so don’t be worrying about that baby.”
Agnes chimed in. “It’s the seventh, isn’t it? Then it’s practically going to drop out.”
“
Besides,” Hannah added, “you’ve got Inez here to look out for you. Ain’t that right?”
The midwife firmly nodded her head. “You have absolutely nothing to worry about, my dear.”
Lucy liked Inez. With her matronly manner, she acted as a mother figure to them all. When she dispensed her herbal and medicinal advice, she gave the impression of great confidence, almost to the point, Lucy had to admit, of being a bit smug, as if she did indeed know all the answers. Did she really? Did Bessie have absolutely nothing to worry about? Several women in the wagon train were with child. So far, none had delivered, so Inez had yet to demonstrate her midwifery skills. Lucy could only hope she was competent, because the time might come ... no, don’t even think it! She would be in California long before her own baby was born. She would never need Inez.
After the women left, Lucy climbed up to the wagon seat again. She was sitting, soaking in the sunshine, when Clint rode up. Thank God she looked her best, and felt her best, too. So did he, judging from his smile and the twinkle in his eye. After a greeting he inquired, “So, what do you think of the Platte?”
She tossed her head. “You call that a river? After all I heard, I thought it would be ... well, majestic. Instead, it’s full of mud. Not only that—” she pointed toward a cow standing in the middle of the sluggish current “—I thought the Platte was supposed to be swift and deep. Then I saw that cow. Look, the water’s hardly above her ankles.”
“
What! It’s up to her knees, at least.”
She smothered a grin. “Her knees then, but that river’s shallow no matter how you look at it. I’m
so
disappointed.”
He grinned. “The Platte may not look like much, but it doesn’t have to be beautiful. We follow it, and it gives us a clear road west.”
“
For how many miles?”
“
Never mind miles. If you start in April, you get to California by October,
if
you’re lucky.”
“
Will we be lucky?”
He shrugged. “No telling.”
“
Oh.” Her spirits dipped. Would her baby be born on the trail? Without thinking, she touched her hand to her stomach. “Such a long way.”
His tone was gentle. “You may very well have that baby before we get there. Better be prepared.”
She felt herself blush crimson. Certain subjects were never discussed, even within the family, Jacob included. Only once had she tried to express her concerns to him, but he’d stuffily countered with, “Lamentations three, Verse thirty-two, ‘Though He cause grief, yet will He have compassion.’ ”
It was nice to be reminded she had God’s support, but she hardly felt comforted. Now here she was, chatting about her delicate condition with a man she hardly knew. To be honest with herself, she shouldn’t be shocked. She’d known from the day she met Clint that he said what he pleased, and she shouldn’t expect otherwise. Perhaps ... was his honesty the reason she found him so fascinating? Well, she didn’t live in Boston anymore where manners mattered, so she wouldn’t act like a ninny. If he could be honest enough to speak his mind, she could, too.
She glanced at her bulging stomach, then at him again. “I worry a lot.” It felt good, openly discussing the forbidden. “I don’t want my baby born somewhere in the wilderness.”
He nodded with understanding. “We’ll get you there if we can. If not, you’ll have lots of help. I’ll see to that.”
“
Thanks, that’s reassuring.” His words gave her a sense of comfort she’d never received from Jacob.
Just then Benjamin came trotting by on one of Jacob’s horses. Bessie’s daughter, rosy-cheeked Roxana, sat behind him, arms tight around his waist. “Going for a ride, Mrs. Schneider.” Benjamin spurred the horse, and off they went toward the river, both laughing.
Clint looked after them, amused. “Young love. Benjamin and Roxanna. Lately Benjamin’s been acting like a lovesick calf. Looks like your husband won’t get much work out of him for a while.”
“
Still, love is a wonderful thing.”
“
Yes, it is.” His gaze traveled over her face and searched her eyes. Here it came again, that look between them loaded with … what? Was she crazy? Was he just being friendly, no more interested in her than any other woman in the company? Or did his eyes reveal forbidden feelings between them that could never be expressed? Here came that jarring, tingling feeling in the pit of her stomach. Oh, he was so disturbing, sitting so easy in the saddle, his every movement so full of grace. Each time she saw him, the pull was stronger.
She forced herself to break their gaze. Frantically, she searched for the first subject that came into her head. “Benjamin’s such a nice young man.”
One corner of his mouth pulled into a slight smile. “That he is, and Roxana’s a fine young lady. They make a good couple. Good day.” He picked up the reins he’d rested across the saddle horn and was about to start away when he paused, let the reins drop again, and peered at her intently. “You’re a remarkable woman, Mrs. Schneider.”
Her pulse leaped. She searched wildly for an answer. “There are a lot of remarkable women in this wagon train.”
“
None like you.” Tipping his hat, he rode away.
She sat on the wagon seat, heart pounding, and faced the truth. This was what it was like to want a man. She had never known before, but now she realized the desire she’d once had for Jacob faded to nothing compared to the searing, nonstop longing she felt for Clint. A desperate shiver of want ran through her. She shut her eyes and instantly imagined his arms around her, his kiss, and then somehow they were entwined together, in bed, and she was beneath him, only it wasn’t like with Jacob. It was like Sarah said ...
“
Lucy, why are you just sitting there?”
Jacob
. She opened her eyes. “Uh ... how was the hunt? Did you shoot anything?”
“
What’s for supper?”
Fool
. “I’m baking a pie, and we’re going to have beans and bacon.”
“
Better get to it. After supper I’ll need your help greasing the wheels.”
She climbed down from the wagon seat, thinking she ought to feel guilty about her foolish daydream, but she didn’t. Maybe she was a terrible person. Maybe she’d rot in hell, but Jacob would never know she wasn’t the perfect wife. No one would know, so she’d allow herself her futile dreams. After all, aside from her baby, and a family she’d never see again, she didn’t have much else.
True to his word, that night after supper Jacob informed Lucy he needed her help greasing the wheels.
“
Can’t you ask Benjamin or Henry to help?” She was highly annoyed. She had many chores to complete before bedtime.
“
They’re busy with the cattle. I want you to hold the grease bucket for me.”
“
Oh, very well,” she said none too kindly.
Jacob had finished one wheel and was lying under the wagon, starting the second, when a shot rang out, followed by two more. “What was that?” He rolled out from beneath the wagon.
“
The damn fools!” Charlie Dawes came charging up to the wagon. “This foolishness had got to stop.”
“
What were those shots?”
Charlie gestured toward the nearby woods. “Some of the young nincompoops in this camp thought they saw a bear and took off after it. Now they’re running around the woods like a bunch of idiots, shooting blind, bullets flying all over the place. Nobody’s safe.”
Jacob drew himself up. “This must stop at once. Come on, Mister Dawes.” He glanced back at Lucy. “Keep hold of that bucket. I’ll be right back.” Lucy watched the two men head toward the woods. Jacob had better not be gone long. She had better things to do than stand around holding a grease bucket.
Before Jacob and Charlie got to the woods, another volley of shots rang out.
Charlie is right
,
those young men are fools, shooting their guns off so close to the camp ... but something is wrong.
Jacob was clutching his chest and staggering. Why? Her hand flew to her heart. She watched in disbelief. Jacob staggered again, fell to his knees, slowly keeled over, and lay face down on the ground.
“
Jacob!” Lucy threw down the bucket, gathered her skirts, and started running across the open field. Halfway there, she tripped and fell hard, but she picked herself up, hardly noticing, and continued to run. By the time she reached her husband, Charlie had knelt by his side, grasped his shoulders, and rolled him over to his back. She flung herself down beside him. “What happened? What—?” It was then she saw the gaping hole in the middle of Jacob’s chest, blood oozing out, staining the front of his shirt. “Oh dear God, Jacob!” Her gaze traveled to his face. His open eyes stared, still and sightless, at the sky.
Charlie laid two fingers on the side of Jacob’s neck. For a moment, suspended in time, he felt for a pulse. When he finally withdrew his fingers, he shook his head. “He’s gone.”
“
You mean ... Jacob’s dead?”
“ ’
Fraid so, ma’am. Danged if one of those stray bullets didn’t go straight through his heart.”
Jacob’s dead.
Jacob’s dead.
The words kept ringing through her head, yet she could hardly believe that in one stunning, incredible moment she’d lost her husband. She vaguely recalled the cries of shock as people crowded around, little Noah shouting “Father!” running toward his father’s body, stopped in time by Clint Palance who scooped him up in his arms and carried him away.
She remembered Abner arriving, kneeling beside his brother’s body, tears streaming into his long, black beard. Finally, he thrust a fist into the sky and roared, “God, why did you let this happen?”
Charlie Dawes spoke up. “ ’Twas just one of them mindless, stupid accidents. One that only God knows the reason for, and he ain’t telling.”
She vaguely recalled Hannah and Bessie leading her away from the scene, murmuring words of comfort, their strong arms around her. The next hours passed in a blur. She had a vague recollection of people coming and going, of Cordelia bringing a cup of tea, of Hannah quieting a sobbing Noah and taking him off to her own wagon to care for.
Sometime during the evening, John Potts, hat in hand, visited Lucy’s wagon where she sat by her cooking fire surrounded by her friends. “We’re all truly sorry, Mrs. Schneider. The captain was a good man and will be sorely missed. If it’s all right, we’ll bury him first thing in the morning.”
“
That would be fine.” She heard a hollow voice that wasn’t her own. As if it mattered. As if Jacob wouldn’t be just as dead no matter when they buried him.
John continued, “We don’t know who fired that shot, ma’am. We tried, but—”
“
It was an accident, wasn’t it? Then I’m sure whoever shot him is very, very sorry, and we should just let it go.” Why lay blame? What good would it do?
“
I’m sure he is, Mrs. Schneider. Sorry, that is, if he even knew he’s the one who done it. But that’s water under the bridge now.” John fumbled with the brim of his hat. An odd expression came over his face, as if he was about to say something he didn’t want to say. “You might like to know the committee has elected its new captain.”
“
Oh?” She couldn’t care less.
“
Abner Schneider volunteered. We thought it was only fitting, him being the captain’s brother and all.”
How very odd. She remembered when Jacob was elected, how he’d told her the committee definitely didn’t want Abner. Now, no doubt sympathy had played a part in their decision. “Well, I think that’s fine.”
Agnes spoke up. “It won’t matter to Lucy who’s elected captain. She can go home now.”
John Potts fumbled with his hat again. “I expect that’s so, ma’am.” He addressed Lucy. “You’ll be going back then?”
“
I haven’t had time to think, but, yes, of course, Noah and I shall return to Boston.”
John nodded in agreement. “It’s for the best. No need for you to continue on now that Jacob’s gone. As you know, hardly a day goes by we don’t meet a wagon heading back. We’ll see what we can arrange for you as soon as possible.”
Grateful though she was for the support of friends, Lucy welcomed the moment when she finally found herself alone, crawling into the tent Jacob had erected by the wagon. How strange he wasn’t there. How strange she could crawl under the covers without fear of his hand creeping under her nightgown. The knowledge gave her no comfort. Instead, regrets assailed her. Why hadn’t she been more agreeable when he asked for help greasing the wheels? Why, only hours before Jacob died, had she sat on the wagon bench, daydreaming about another man? How wicked could she be?
Oh, Jacob
...
She had held back her tears, but now she let them flow. Maybe she hadn’t loved him as much as she should, but he was a good man, in the prime of life, father of her unborn child, and now ...