Authors: Shirley Kennedy
Next morning, Lucy gathered with the rest of the somber members of the Schneider party around the hastily dug grave of Roxana Potts. Earlier, when she awoke and looked in her mirror, she cringed at the sight of her drawn, pale face. She really did look bad and could only hope everyone would attribute her wan appearance to her grief over Roxana. At least Abner’s slap hadn’t left a mark. He’d offered no apologies, nor had she expected him to. This morning he acted as if yesterday’s terrible scene never happened.
Now, standing by Roxana’s grave, she forgot her own troubles and listened while Reverend Helmick gave a eulogy, followed by Abner reading from the Bible. When he came to “Dust thou art, and unto dust shalt thou return,” she couldn’t hold back her tears. Hard to believe only yesterday Roxana had been a vivacious young girl, her whole life ahead of her. Now she was gone forever, doomed to lie in a forsaken grave by the side of the trail.
There had been no wood available for a coffin, so they’d wrapped Roxana’s remains in a blanket before placing her in the ground. When Abner shut his Bible and stepped back, Bessie said in a choked whisper, “Not even a coffin for my little one.”
John Potts, subdued and quiet, wiped his tears away. “My God, I hate to leave her here.”
“
We must move on,” Abner said.
“
I can’t just leave her,” Bessie cried. “She’ll be all alone, and I’ll be so far away.” She sank to the ground and laid her head close to the board placed at the head of grave. Its inscription read, “Roxana Potts, born April 14, 1835, Died June 22, 1851.” “I can’t bear to think of her here, all alone. What if the wolves get her? Or the Indians? Or—?”
Charlie stepped forward, his hat in hand. “We buried her as deep as we could.”
Bessie bowed her head in resignation. “I know.” She gazed up at her grieving friends. “I’m sorry for being such a pest. It’s just so hard, leaving your dear child alone in the wilderness, knowing you won’t even be able to bring flowers to her grave.”
John Potts turned to Abner. “We need to stay another day. Bessie will be better by then. Only a day.”
“
We cannot wait.”
Lucy’s heart sank. She could tell from Abner’s stern, unbending expression he’d never soften.
“
Every moment counts,” Abner continued. “You’ve heard of those unfortunate wagon trains caught in deep snow in the mountains? Horror stories abound.”
Bessie rose to her feet. “Please, Captain.”
“
Sorry.” Abner addressed the assemblage. “We leave in an hour. Come, Martha, Lucy.”
“
I’ll be there in a moment.” Lucy turned to her weeping friend. “I know it’s hard, and I’m so sorry.”
Bessie stood with her head bowed and, for a time, remained in an attitude of frozen stillness. When she looked up, her eyes were dry. “Don’t you worry. I’ll be ready. I don’t know how I can bear it, but I will.” She lifted her head. “We must endure like good soldiers. My mother taught me that.”
Lucy’s heart wrenched with grief, not only for Roxana but for brave Bessie, laden with sorrow but willing to carry on.
Before they left, Lucy went to Bessie’s wagon. Hannah, her plain face pale and strained, stood outside as if on guard. “She’s asleep. Best leave her be. Oh, what are we going to do without Roxana? How could God let her die in that terrible way? I wish we’d never came on this horrible journey.”
Lucy could only nod over the lump in her throat. Of the two sisters, Hannah was the strong one, yet even she showed signs of breaking over the death of her pretty young niece.
Hannah went on, “I’m not blessed with children of my own, so I guess I can’t exactly feel Bessie’s grief, but ...” Her eyes moistened. “I loved that girl.”
“
We all did. Poor Benjamin couldn’t even come to her burial ...” Lucy proceeded to tell Hannah about the young man’s grief, how she’d heard him sobbing during the night.
Hannah listened intently. At one point she seemed to see Lucy’s face for the first time and gave an almost imperceptible start. When Lucy finished, she said, “You look bad. Your face is all strained and white.”
“
Well, Roxana’s death—”
“
Abner done that.”
Lucy put her hand to her face. “There’s a mark?”
“
No, there’s no mark, but we all know what happened just the same.” Hannah’s face twisted into an angry scowl. “That no-good bastard! There’s some as don’t like the captain. There were some who didn’t like Jacob, either, but at least he wasn’t quite so self-righteous and smiled once in a while. Abner not letting Bessie stay an extra day didn’t set well with a lot of us.” Compassion filled her eyes. “I guess you know we all heard how he yelled at you and slapped you, and, bless your heart, you didn’t let him give you anymore sass and stood right up to him.”
She could almost laugh. “Is nothing sacred?”
“
Not around here it ain’t.”
“
Please, don’t say anything more.”
“
You think I don’t know you have your pride? Don’t worry. I’ve had my say.”
Lucy raised her chin. “It won’t happen again. I informed Abner in no uncertain terms that I—”
Hannah’s scornful laughter cut her off. “You think he’ll listen to you? These men! Well, you’re not the only one.”
“
Has your husband ever—?”
“
Elija? He’d better not, the little runt.”
Lucy couldn’t suppress a quick smile. Hannah was a big woman, taller and heavier than her husband. Come to think of it, Hannah could probably knock the poor little man flat if she had a mind to. She wished she could do the same with Abner.
Hannah patted her shoulder. “You’ll be all right. You’re strong, and you’re smart enough to know how not to rile him again.”
Lucy nodded silently.
“
I know he’s got a hold on you. It’s Noah, ain’t it?”
She could only nod again. How very perceptive of Hannah. “It’s Noah and a lot of things. I feel so trapped. Out here in the middle of nowhere there’s no place to run. I couldn’t leave now, even if I wanted to.”
“
You’re right, you can’t leave.” Hannah’s voice was practical. “My best advice to you is, stay with Abner for now. You’d best be very, very careful. You know what I mean.” Hannah cast a knowing look, as if she knew every shameful secret Lucy harbored in her head concerning Clint Palance. “Meanwhile—” the animation left her face “—say a prayer for Bessie, will you? I worry about her.”
“
Of course. I know how she loved Roxana.”
“
It ain’t only that. My sister’s having problems this time. We used to joke about how the seventh would just pop out, but lately I’m not thinking so.”
“
I’ve noticed her feet and legs are swollen. Is there anything else?”
“
She’s having sharp pains. Not labor pains, just the kind of pain she shouldn’t be having.”
Not Bessie
. Lucy’s heart sank at the thought her dear friend might be in trouble. “We can only hope for the best, out here in this God-forsaken wilderness.”
Hannah sadly shook her head. “Sometimes I think God truly has forsaken us.”
“
Bessie said it best. ‘We must endure like good soldiers.’”
“
Yes, our mother used to say that. ‘Like good soldiers.’ ”
Mere words ceased to be adequate. Lucy and Hannah embraced and stood silently for a time, each drawing strength from the other. When they finally drew apart, Lucy had a wistful smile. “I am
such
a long way from Boston.”
“
I’m sure as heck a long way from Possum Creek, Tennessee.”
Together they shared a moment of laughter, a small consolation on such a dark day.
For days, mile after mile, the bare plain stretched before them. Here and there the Platte River, their constant companion, divided into thread-like sluices wending through the open prairie and through the occasional clumps of woods that relieved the monotony.
Not nearly enough clumps of woods. These were days when not one single tree, bush, or hill broke the horizon. Only endless miles of flatland that stretched on forever. As a result, the lack of shelter made life a daily agony of embarrassment for the women. Their long, full skirts supplied the only privacy for “nature’s call.” The best arrangement was for at least two or three women to stand together and hold their skirts out, but even one woman extending her skirt was far better than nothing.
“
I allow, I’m getting mighty tired of hunkering down in the middle of the prairie,” Bessie complained to Lucy and Hannah one day while they stood patiently, their skirts fanned out.
Hannah retorted, “It wouldn’t be so bad if you didn’t have to go every fifteen minutes.”
“
Just wait ’til you get pregnant, my fine sister!”
Lucy could surely commiserate with Bessie, as well as her shy sister-in-law. As the weeks went by, Martha’s pregnancy had caused more frequent treks to the bushes. At first she’d suffered agonies of embarrassment. Now, with no bushes at all, she’d grown accustomed to relying heavily on her women friends. Not one woman complained, though. The spirit of camaraderie and helpfulness never ran stronger than it did when each provided the other her privacy.
The lack of any kind of plant life forced even Cordelia to make use of the curtain of skirts. She hadn’t changed, though, and acted as if every minute she spent with those-of-a-lesser-standing was a great sacrifice she must endure. By now her popularity had dipped even further. Bessie said it best. “If I didn’t have such a kind heart, I’d drop my skirt at just the right moment and let the men get an eyeful of Mrs. Stuck-up squatting just like the rest of us.”
Not a day went by that Lucy didn’t see at least one grave dug by the side of the trail. Not surprisingly, Agnes kept a record of each and every grave site in her journal. “The road that runs beside the Platte River is like a graveyard,” she wrote in her usual glum style. She wasn’t far from wrong. They had yet to reach halfway to their destination, but already she had listed over eighty graves. She also took note of the cause of death, included on many of the inscriptions carved into rough boards that marked the graves. “Died of cholera,” was common, or “Died of typhoid ... died of measles.” Every day, Lucy gave thanks that so far no one in the party had been stricken with one of these deadly diseases. Still, there were always the accidents to worry about. She was keenly aware of the ever-growing list of tragedies in Agnes’ journal: “Died of a rattlesnake bite ... died from drinking poisonous water ... died when he accidentally shot himself ... drowned in the river ... killed by a grizzly.”
One cause of death was never noted. “Died in childbirth” was much too delicate a subject to identify, but when an inscription listed the names and birth dates of a woman and baby who died the same day, the cause became obvious. Lucy did her best to divert Martha’s attention from such grave markers. Each time she saw one, Martha became visibly shaken. “What if me and my baby were the ones buried under the little mound of dirt, with only a rough board for a marker? How awful to lie in a cold, dark hole for all eternity with never a loved one to come and leave a flower, shed a tear, or say a prayer.”
Lucy could only attempt to assure her sister-in-law she’d never suffer such a fate. She knew she didn’t sound too convincing. After all, she’d lost her own baby, and she wasn’t nearly as tiny and frail as Martha. She tried her best to appear confident. Worry was a useless emotion, and besides, she was far too busy to indulge herself. Simply surviving each day on the trail took all her energy.
As the days went by, and the Schneider wagon train rolled on, the shock of Roxana’s death faded, along with the memory of the horrible scene with Abner. Lucy felt better. Her color returned. She continued caring for Noah as before. As for Abner, he never mentioned the slapping incident and acted as if nothing had changed between them.
Now she was beginning to look ahead and wonder what would happen when they reached California. Would she have no other choice but to remain with Abner and Martha? Her mind rebelled at such a thought, but the dilemma remained. She would
not
spend the rest of her life with a man she’d come to detest, but on the other hand, how could she face losing Noah? Somehow, some way, she’d solve her dilemma, but at the moment, she could find no easy answer.
To her constant frustration, because of Abner, she strove to steer clear of Clint. The irony hadn’t escaped her. She wasn’t a married woman anymore, yet because of her brother-in-law’s self righteous wrath, she didn’t dare go anywhere near Clint. That didn’t prevent her from constantly thinking about him. In those moments when she looked into what seemed a dismal future, all she had to do was think of Clint Palance, and her spirits lifted. She pictured him riding Paint, so easy in the saddle, so confident, so honorable and trustworthy, so handsome, too, despite the scar. She thought of the times they talked, when he looked down at her with that glint of humor in his eye. His eyes told her a lot more, too. They said he wanted her. It was so very plain. How unfair life was, never to know the feel of Clint’s arms. Now, because of Abner, she must avoid him. She blamed herself for being stupid enough to marry Jacob in the first place, especially when both her father and sister had warned her not to.
If she hadn’t married Jacob, she never would’ve been on this wagon train, and if she hadn’t come on this wagon train she never would’ve gotten to know Clint Palance.