Authors: Shirley Kennedy
“
Don’t you question me. Ecclesiastic three, Verse twenty-two: ‘There is nothing better than that man should rejoice in his own works.’ ”
She chose not to reply. If she did, she was sure to show her disgust, as well as her fear. How long could their luck hold out?
Chad appeared, followed by Cordelia, lines of worry etched across her forehead. “We’re next. Look who’s already on the skow—Nathaniel! He doesn’t have to, but the fool claims he’s going to ride it across. That’s insane.”
“
He shouldn’t,” Lucy agreed. Nathaniel Benton might have lost his dreamy-eyed view of the world, but still, he was a small man, over fifty, and frail. “He should let the younger men handle it.”
“
I’m going to help Father!” Chad darted toward the skow and jumped aboard.
With a horrified gasp, Cordelia chased after him. At the water’s edge, she stood, hands on her hips, as angry as Lucy had ever seen her. “Nathaniel Benton, you get off that raft right now! And bring Chad with you!”
Nathaniel bent and spoke in Chad’s ear. Lucy could see the boy argue, but his father appeared adamant. Soon Chad jumped angrily to shore.
Cordelia glared at her husband. “Well?”
He had a gentle smile. “Sorry. See you on the other side.” He turned his back, the conversation closed.
Two other men boarded the skow: Carl, one of the Applegates’ young hired hands, and Benjamin, who had just ridden back across. They secured the wagon with ropes and placed blocks of wood under the wheels. They grabbed their poles and shoved away from shore. Lucy came to stand by Cordelia, who stood watching, her face tense with anxiety. “The damn fool’s going to kill himself.” Lucy hadn’t heard her so upset since the night Sukey had run away.
“
I’m sure he’ll make it.” She spoke in a soothing voice. “All the other wagons have.”
Together they watched as men on either side of the river began to tug on the ropes, starting the loaded raft on its treacherous journey.
All went well until they were halfway across. Lucy saw it coming—a large tree branch floating swiftly in the middle of the river. Before anyone could yell a warning, it smashed into the skow, causing it to spin around. A rope snapped, then another. The skow began to tip. “Oh, no!” Lucy cried. This just couldn’t happen. The skow continued to tip. Suddenly it flipped over, hurling men, wagon, everything aboard into the frigid water.
An instant later, Lucy saw two heads bobbing in the current. One belonged to young Carl. Flailing his arms, he fought to reach the shore. The other head belonged to Nathaniel. Was he in shock? He didn’t appear to be moving. Where was Benjamin? No sign of him. She clutched Abner’s arm. “Do something!” She knew there was nothing he could do, nothing anyone could do.
Amidst the helpless yells and screams of the bystanders, Lucy watched the raging waters carry the two men farther downstream, then around a bend and out of sight. For one more agonizing second, she looked after them, then leaped to catch the arm of Cordelia, whose sagging knees would no longer support her. Young Chad, tears streaking down his cheeks, caught her other arm. They lowered his mother to the ground where she lay in a crumpled, sobbing heap.
Lucy looked to where the line of solemn-faced Indians still watched quietly from above. Suddenly, without a sound, they turned their horses around and disappeared.
Clint, Charlie, and a party of men immediately set out to search for the three missing men, but it was the Indians who found them. As dusk fell, they came riding into camp with three bodies slung on the backs of their horses. According to Clint, who interpreted, they’d found the bodies on a sandbar down river. Benjamin had a big gash across the forehead. “Looks like he was struck and knocked unconscious when the wagon turned over,” Clint said. “That’s why he never tried to swim ashore.”
Lucy recalled that sunny day when Benjamin, Roxana behind him, rode jauntily by, so full of life, so much in love. Now both were gone, and Bessie, too. Oh, how could she bear it? She grieved for Nathaniel and Carl, but most of all, she grieved for dear Benjamin, who was so kindhearted and good. How could God have meant for him to die like that?
How many more? When would it end? “We must endure like good soldiers,” Bessie once said. Lucy wasn’t sure she could endure much more. But then, what choice did she have?
“
Dust thou art, and unto dust shalt thou return.”
A dreary rain fell as Abner read his Bible over the three freshly dug graves by the river. If he noticed the hostile looks cast his way, he didn’t let on.
“
It was all his fault,” some said.
“
He should never have insisted on crossing there.”
“
He killed those men, same as though he shot them. All to save a little time.”
Lucy stood by the graves with her head bowed, keenly aware of the hostile muttering. Next to her, Martha whispered, “They’re angry at Abner.”
“
Yes, they are.”
“
I don’t blame them. He shouldn’t have had us cross there.”
Martha was speaking out against her husband? This was indeed a new Martha. Lucy, too, found herself dismayed over Abner’s poor decisions. The irony was that she, more than anyone, blamed Abner for the tragedy, but family members were supposed to stay loyal to one another. That was the rule. She must play the part of the loyal sister-in-law, despite her personal opinion.
After the service ended, Lucy spoke to Cordelia, who stood with Chad beside her husband’s grave. “I so admired Nathaniel. We’re all going to miss him.”
In a sorrowful voice, Cordelia read slowly from her husband’s wooden grave marker, “‘Nathaniel Beauregard Benton, 1798 to 1851. Drowned in the River.’” Her eyes filled with tears. “He’ll never see California now.”
Lucy held back her own tears. “He was a good man.”
“
He was, and so were Benjamin and Carl. They didn’t deserve such a fate.” Cordelia gripped Lucy’s hand. “You need to know this. I’ll be blunt. Resentment runs high against Abner right now.”
“
I’m aware, and I’m so terribly sorry.”
“
It’s not your fault. I want you to know that. You’re a good woman. Everyone loves you and respects you for all the help you’ve given. Not one single person blames you for what the captain does.”
“
Thank you for that.” She could say nothing more without revealing her own feelings about Abner. “Are you going to stay with the wagon train? I do hope you will. Everyone will help.”
“
Oh, no!” Cordelia’s jaw tightened. “I’m going to turn this wagon around today and go
home
, back to Atlanta where we belong.”
“
No, Ma!” Chad stepped forward. “I don’t want to go back. Pa would want us to go on. He’d want us to settle in California just like he dreamed we would.”
Clint stepped up. He’d overheard. “I wish you would reconsider, Mrs. Benton. We’d all be willing to help if you decided to go on.”
“
Thank you, but I prefer to go home.” Cordelia put a protective arm around Chad’s shoulders. “My son is too young to know what he wants.”
“
I am
not
too young,” Chad protested. “I want to go to California!”
Clint addressed the troubled boy. “You must do what your mother says, but meanwhile—” his gaze shifted to Cordelia “—give it a few days. Then if you still want to go back, don’t go alone. We’re sure to meet someone headed east who wouldn’t mind if you joined them.”
Lucy silently applauded Clint’s advice. The Turners weren’t the only returning family they’d met. Every few days the train met others who’d decided to turn back. They had given up for various reasons, like a death or illness in the family, or fear of an Indian attack, or just plain discouragement over the unspeakably hard conditions they found on the trail.
Despite Clint’s attempt at persuasion, Cordelia declared she would never change her mind. She would, however, continue on until she could join a party heading east. After she and Chad left, Lucy found herself alone by the graves with Clint.
“
How are you?” His eyes were gentle, contemplative. “You’ve been through a lot, haven’t you?”
His concern made her want to cry. Since yesterday’s drownings, she’d acted like a member of the captain’s family ought to act: dignified, in control, ignoring the scowling glances cast at her brother-in-law. Inside, though, grief intermingled with rage in what felt like a seething caldron about to explode. Abner was responsible for those deaths. How could she be civil to him now?
She couldn’t pretend with this shrewd, unpretentious man who stood before her. He knew her too well. Besides, she didn’t want to pretend. “Abner was at fault. Everybody knows it. I see how they look at him.”
Clint returned a grudging nod. “In his eagerness to get to California, he’s made some bad choices.”
“
Bad choices?” She couldn’t control a burst of ironic laughter. “You are most kindhearted.”
“
It doesn’t matter how I feel. Like it or not, he’s your family.”
“
I know. For Noah’s sake, I must live with him and make the best of it.” She couldn’t keep the edge of bitterness from her voice.
He didn’t reply. What could he say? Overwhelmed by the futility of it all, she asked, “How long will we be here?”
“
We’ll have to find another place to cross, and that takes time. Then the actual crossing ... I’d say two or three days at least.”
“
Time is getting short for Martha. I’m beginning to think she might have her baby on the trail.”
“
She won’t be alone. She’ll have Inez and you, and I’ll be there, too. I promise I’ll help in every way I can.”
“
Thank you for that. I do worry.”
“
After Bessie, of course you would.”
His kindness was almost more than she could bear. A lump rose in her throat. She wanted to throw herself into his warm, sheltering arms and cry, but instead she backed away. “I must go. Good day.” Grief and despair tore at her heart, but never could she let it show. She walked away from Clint with shoulders squared and head held high.
In a sad, melancholy mood, the members of the Schneider wagon train took the better part of three days to cross the river in a safer spot downstream, then pressed ahead toward the Rocky Mountains. Like everyone else, Lucy set her grief aside. Life went on. What with the never-ending perils of the trail, no one could spare time to mourn.
One day around noon, she was riding with Henry in their wagon, directly behind Abner in the lead wagon. The oxen were plodding along when she saw a cloud of dust. Clint and Charlie had gone ahead to scout the trail. Now she saw them racing back.
“
Stop right here,” Clint called. He and Charlie pulled their horses to a quick, dust-billowing stop beside Abner’s wagon.
“
What is it?” Abner sounded annoyed. Everyone knew he hated to make an extra stop unless he absolutely had to.
Charlie swung his grizzled head from side to side, as if he’d just seen something he couldn’t quite believe. “Captain, there’s a wagon up ahead that’s been attacked by Indians.”
Lucy called, “Is it bad?”
“
Bad as it can get, ma’am.”
“
People dead?” Henry asked.
“ ’
Fraid so. Most likely a raiding party of Shoshones done it. They took everything they could get their thieving hands on. There ain’t much left except the bodies.”
Lucy asked, “Do you think they’re still around?”
“
Hard to say,” Clint replied in clipped tones. “It’s a bad scene. We’re going to gather a few men together to ride ahead and dig the graves. No sense the ladies seeing more than they have to.”
By the time the wagon train reached the burnt-out wagon, four bodies lay discreetly covered with blankets beside newly dug graves. Thanks to Agnes, Lucy and the other women soon learned the gruesome details of the tragedy. Agnes’ husband, William, one of the first to reach the grisly scene, returned to his wagon pale and shaken. Not surprisingly Agnes made him tell all.
“
William says it was a family of four that was killed.” The group of women were gathered around the Applegate wagon. For once Agnes didn’t seem to relish relating the morbid details. “Mister Palance said they’d been headed east, going back home. When the Indians struck, they plundered the wagon and set it afire. All four of those poor folks were stripped of their clothes. The father was hacked to death. The mother had her head beaten ‘to a perfect jelly,’ according to Mister Dawes, and she bore marks of brutal treatment and had been scalped besides.”
Amid shaking heads and clucking tongues, Agnes continued, “William says the daughter was a pretty girl of seventeen or so. She also bore signs of the most brutal violence.” Agnes lowered her voice. “He says they thrust a hot iron into her person, down
there
I mean, doubtless while she was still alive.”
For one suspended second, the little group of women sucked in their collective breaths, then broke into horrified babbling.
What if that were me?
Lucy knew every woman there was thinking the same thing.
After Agnes finished, Hannah asked, “Are you sure about all that?”
The grim-faced woman jerked her head toward her wagon. “William’s still in there, sick as a dog at what he saw. I’ve never seen him so upset.”
“
It could happen to us,” a woman cried in a near-hysterical voice. “Oh, this is terrible. We’ll all be killed.”