Journey of Hope: A Novel of Triumph and Heartbreak on the Oregon Trail in 1852 (28 page)

“But I did, Brenna,” Ben said quietly.

“Yes, I know that!” she cried. “But will it happen this way the next time?” Her face was streaked with tears. Ben folded her in his arms.

“Brenna, we can’t think like that. If we do, we’ll never have the courage to do anything.”

“Marry me, Ben.” Her words were muffled in his shirt, but he heard what she said. He pushed her at arm’s length and looked at her closely. She noted the characteristic twinkle in the corners of his eyes. He smiled broadly then, his eyes slanting upwards.

“I think I’m supposed to ask that question of you,” he said sweetly.

“I don’t care, Ben. I just know that I want to be with you always. I want to be your wife and have your children,” Brenna said passionately.

“Whoa! Let’s not have children just yet.” He suddenly grew serious. “For now, let’s say we’re engaged, and if you still feel the same way about me when we get to Oregon City, I’ll ask you properly.”

He bent his head and gently kissed Brenna. It was the seal on a verbal contract that she had every intention of holding him to in Oregon City.

Medicine Bag

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Umatilla
September 24, 1852
Mile 1769

The wagon train was on a much-needed lay-by after crossing the Blue Mountains. The ascent had been difficult, with everyone having to help each other get the wagons up the steep and rocky trail. Then the descent had been treacherous. Ropes had been tied to the backs of wagons to keep them from hurtling downhill. People and stock were exhausted. When Captain Wyatt announced the lay-by, a few of the travelers objected.

“We’re so close. I say we push on through!” one man said vehemently. Others were agreeing.

“This is not a vote, Mr. Peters,” Captain Wyatt said evenly. “We’ll spend a day here and rest up for the final leg of this journey. We’re still two weeks from The Dalles. Then we’ll either float down the Columbia River to Fort Vancouver or take the Barlow pass over the mountains. We’ve had it easy compared to what’s up ahead.”

Everyone looked nervously at one another. They had grown to respect Captain Wyatt, and no one said another word of objection.

In the Benson’s camp, Ruth was nursing baby Mattie and keeping a watchful eye on the pot bubbling over the fire. Deborah wanted attention from her mother, but Ruth was trying to prepare dinner and take care of the fretful infant. “Deborah, stop pestering me! Can’t you see I’m busy? Now go and find Tommy.”

“My head hurts, and I hurt my biggest toe…see?” Ruth barely glanced at the petulant girl. This had been a regular scenario since Mattie was born. Every day Deborah had a new complaint. Ruth was amazed at how many problems a four-year-old could come up with. If it wasn’t a physical ailment, it was boredom, or Tommy was teasing her, or the horse had looked at her funny.

She had expected two-year-old Annie to be the one to protest the new addition to the family, but Annie had turned into her mother’s little helper, wanting to be close to Mattie, her new sister. Ruth was pleased that Annie was so enamored with the baby, but it was frustrating to have her underfoot all day long, insisting on helping with all of the baby tasks and keeping up a steady stream of mostly indecipherable conversation. Mattie was colicky, and although Rebecca and Mary were helpful, Ruth was the only one who could feed her, and it seemed like this baby wanted to be fed every waking moment.

“Deborah, go and find Tommy or Mary. They can look at your toe and wash it for you.”

Deborah shook her head, her blond curls bobbing. “Mary’s not here. I don’t want my toe washed. That will hurt. I need some medicine,” Deborah whined.

“Don’t be silly, child. You don’t need medicine. Tell Rebecca to come and take the baby. I have to get dinner ready.” Ruth frowned at the stormy face of her third youngest. It had been a long day, and there were still many chores to do before she would be able to catch a few hours of sleep. She was in no mood for Deborah’s theatrics.

Deborah opened her mouth to protest, but Ruth was quicker. “Go, Deborah. Find Rebecca.”

Deborah stuck her lower lip out as far as she could, but her mother wasn’t looking. She turned and left the campsite, shoulders sagging, small feet dragging in the dirt.

She found Rebecca with James Cardell, Sam, and her father. They were all attempting to settle the colt so that Thomas could doctor its foot.

“Hold that can closer, Sam,” Thomas said. He had the colt’s foreleg bent in his arms. James had mixed a concoction of herbs, camphor, and neat’s-foot oil to dry out the foot and hoof. The wet weather had been hard on the stock, and the colt had been favoring his foot for a few days.

“Rebecca, my toe hurts,” Deborah said when she got close to her big sister.

The colt struggled, and James and Rebecca tried to hold him steady while Thomas cleaned the foot.

“Deborah, get back!” Rebecca yelled. Deborah stepped back a few paces. She was a little frightened of the big animal that now looked menacing. His eyes were wild and his nostrils flared with the smell of the unfamiliar unguent. He snorted loudly while he attempted to free his leg, but Thomas held on.

“Rebecca, Mommy needs you!”

“Hold his head, Rebecca,” Thomas yelled.

“I’m trying, Dad—he’s very strong!”

“James, pick up his rear leg on the other side. Sam, be quick now. As soon as I finish cleaning out the foot, paint the stuff all over the inside, and then get the hoof. Ready everyone?”

“Rebecca, did you hear me?” shouted Deborah. She watched the four of them struggling with the colt, and that made her even more fearful of the animal. She backed up a few more paces. If four big people were having such a hard time with the horse, he must be very powerful. She momentarily forgot about her toe while she watched the struggle.

“Okay—let him go, James,” Thomas gasped. “Let’s take a break for a minute before we try again. Sam, you have to be quicker.”

“Dad, I’m trying, but he won’t stand still!” Sam’s frustration showed on his face.

“Rebecca, my biggest toe is hurting.” Deborah began to cry piteously. “Mommy won’t give me medicine. No one is listening to me! My head hurts, too!” Her voice rose to a high-pitched squeal.

“Deborah, go tell your mother that Rebecca will help her in a few minutes. Stop your crying now. Can’t you see we’re busy?” Thomas said sternly, wiping the back of his head with his neckerchief. Sweat dripped down his face. He looked at the colt that now stood calmly.

“Okay, let’s talk this through before we try again.”

Deborah walked dejectedly back to their wagon. It was hard for the four-year-old to understand why no one was paying attention to her when her head and her toe hurt. Everyone was too busy. She leaned against the back of the wagon and considered what she could do to help herself. Sometimes Mommy put a wet rag on her forehead when she wasn’t feeling good. She climbed into the back of the wagon to find a cloth to use. There on the shelf was the medicine bag. She had seen Mommy use medicines from the bag many times. Once she had taken the bag off the shelf to look inside, and Mommy had taken it from her and told her not to touch it. Maybe there was something in it that would make her feel better. Her small fingers closed around the little bottle of laudanum. It was a powerful narcotic that had many uses to pioneers. In moderation, it could mask pain and calm nerves. Deborah unscrewed the cap. It was medicine, so it would help her toe feel better.

An hour later, everyone was gathered at the campfire for the evening meal. Rebecca was dishing up the biscuits and gravy and the wild onions Mary and Tommy had dug. Mattie was in her usual place, sound asleep in a makeshift sling around Ruth’s chest.

“Sorry I couldn’t come and help you, Ma,” Rebecca said. “Deborah told me you needed me, but I had to help Dad with the colt.”

“Yeah, that horse is really strong and stubborn!” Sam added.

“Where is Deborah?” Ruth queried, looking around at all the faces.

“She’s sound asleep in the back of the wagon,” Tommy quipped.

“Thank goodness for that,” Sam said. “She was really crabby.” They all chuckled, recalling Deborah’s latest drama.

“I asked her to help us dig onions, but she said her toe hurt,” Mary added.

“She’s had a rough time of it with the new sister,” Thomas said, getting to his feet. “I’ll go see if she’s hungry.” He walked towards the back of the wagon as Sam began to tell the story of how they finally got the medicine on the colt’s foot.

Suddenly there was a strangled scream from the wagon. Sam stopped talking. All heads turned towards the sound. The scream came again, and Ruth jumped to her feet spilling her plate. A terrible sense of dread came over her.

“Thomas! Thomas, what’s wrong!” She rushed to the wagon. The rest of them jumped up. Plates of food and cups of tea spilled into the dirt. Thomas stepped from the wagon with the limp body of Deborah in his arms. His face contorted in pain as he looked at his wife.

“She’s not breathing!” He bent his head to the little bundle and sobbed.

Ruth screamed and took Deborah’s face between her hands. “Wake up! Deborah, baby, wake up!” But the little head fell softly against her father’s chest.

“Thomas, give her to me!” James cried, and he laid the limp little girl on the ground and put his head on her chest, hoping for a heartbeat. He placed two fingers on her neck but there was no pulse. He lifted the eyelids, and blue eyes rolled back into the small head. The little body was cold. He looked from Thomas to Ruth and shook his head.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“No!” Ruth screamed. She flung herself on the ground, gathering up her daughter. Mattie, awake in her sling, cried fitfully, suffocating under the weight of her older sister. “She was just fine. How could this happen? She was just fine!”

Thomas knelt down and took Deborah from Ruth. His face was tortured and he could barely get the words out.

“I found the medicine bag and the empty bottle of laudanum next to her in the wagon.”

For a moment, there was shocked silence from the little group hovering over Thomas, Ruth, and Deborah. Then realization set in, and Ruth, head back, eyes squeezed shut, opened her mouth in a silent scream.

The sound that finally came from deep within Ruth was a sound none of them would ever forget. It echoed off the canyon walls and penetrated the darkness. It was the sound of a mother grieving for her lost child. It was the sound that sorrow would make if it had a voice.

Grief

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Much later, the Benson camp was quiet. All the children were finally asleep. Next to Ruth, Thomas was still, but she knew he was awake. There were no more tears, and no words—only an emptiness along with exhaustion. She was more tired than she had ever been, but she knew she would not sleep. She heard one of the horses whinny, and another answer from a wagon close by. An owl hooted softly in the distance. The sound brought back a memory of a night not long ago when Deborah had come to her in the early morning hours, afraid of the owl sound.

“It’s just a bird, Deborah. It’s an owl. They sleep during the day and they’re awake at night.”

“It doesn’t sound like a bird.” She rubbed her eyes with her small fists and crawled next to her mother. Ruth remembered the warmth of her little body snuggled close. “Why doesn’t it say ‘chirp-chirp’ like the other birds?”