Land of My Heart (8 page)

They sat in silence for several moments until Sam Wilson came stomping back, still cussing and as mad as when he’d left only moments before.

“Now I’m wet clear through and cold as a dog left out on Christmas morning.” He ignored Trenton and Robbie and threw open the door, letting out another string of curses. “Jerry, I’m tellin’ you, I ain’t going out again tonight, so don’t even think of bossin’ me around or I’ll take my knife and—” He slammed the door behind him, muting the words.

“I sure could use a drink,” Robbie said, ignoring Sam. “Too bad it’s raining. We could ride into town and settle in for a night of fun.”

“You know I don’t go to saloons,” Trenton replied. “My ma would ride all the way back from the Idaho Territory just to box my ears if she thought I was drinking.”

“No doubt she’d highly approve of your joining up with Jerry’s gang,” Robbie said sarcastically. “You’re a man now, Trent. Your mama ain’t got any say over you now.”

Trenton knew the truth of it, but still he hated that they’d all parted on such bad terms. “I know that’s true,” he said softly, “but I still respect some of my upbringing.”

“Why? I remember my ma and pa dragging me to Sunday school to learn the Golden Rule. Then I watched all the rest of the week while folks tried to cheat my pa and my pa tried to cheat them. I don’t see much good in any of it. Why respect a man who ain’t never showed respect to anyone or anything—unless you count the bank.”

“I miss Dianne. She always seemed like the voice of reason.”

“I miss Dianne too. But not like you,” Robbie said, laughing. “She was growin’ into a right fetchin’ young woman. I kind of thought we might end up together.”

Trenton laughed at this. “Dianne is too good for the likes of you.”

Robbie snorted again. “You’re probably right about that. Especially given our habits of late. Neither one of us is fit to polish her boots.”

That thought weighed heavier on Trenton than anything else Robbie could have said. What would Dianne say if she saw him now? No doubt she’d be horribly disappointed in him. She wouldn’t approve of his choices, even if it was to honor their father’s death.

Most likely, she’d ask him too many questions and make him think. Questions like, “When will you know you’ve done enough to avenge Pa?” and “How can killing another man or taking what’s rightfully his make Pa’s death right?” Trenton always ended up thinking too much when he talked his problems through with Dianne.

“Robbie, are you sure about what your pa heard? I mean, thinking the Yankees are the ones who killed Pa.”

“He said he talked to Captain Seager and he said your pa stepped out in front of Corporal Johnson’s gun. I think that’s pretty good evidence.”

“But we can’t be sure.”

“I suppose not,” Robbie said with a shrug. “But does it matter? I mean, you hate what the Yankees have done to the town same as me.”

“Yeah, but I wasn’t for the Union being destroyed. I can’t say I honestly support either side.”

“So don’t join a side. I’m not planning on favoring anybody but myself.”

They fell silent for several minutes before Robbie spoke again.

“Do you think you’ll ever see ’em again?”

Robbie’s question brought Trenton back to the moment. The rain had lessened and the thunder now rumbled off in the distance. “Who?” Trenton asked.

“Your ma and sisters. Morgan and Zane.”

Trenton crossed his legs and toyed with the sole of his boot. “I don’t know. There’s a part of me that wants to join up with them when I get the chance. I feel bad for sending Ma off west without my help. Pa would never have liked that. Still, once Dianne made it clear they needed to move quickly, she wouldn’t listen to reason and wait awhile. It was like Ma suddenly had a job to do.”

“My pa said she was afraid you and your brothers would join up to fight the war.”

“Yeah, I know she was worried about that. With things the way they are, the Yankees were always pestering my pa to put us boys into service.

Pa wouldn’t hear of it, and I guess I’m kind of glad for that. Everyone else was joining up, splitting into sides. Folks are never so mad at one another as when they’re discussing politics and war.”

“I know. My pa made a deal with the Union commander. I don’t know for sure what transpired, but I knew I wouldn’t have to worry about going to war. I think he paid him off.”

Trenton smiled at his less educated friend. Robbie had infuriated his parents by refusing to continue his education after the tenth grade, and he still refused to be educated about the world. “You can pay three hundred dollars and send a substitute. Your pa probably found someone to go in your place. My pa didn’t have to worry yet, ’cause the draft starts at twenty and I’m just nineteen. ’Course if I wanted to fight in the war I’d be wearing a Confederate uniform already. They take boys at seventeen now, you know.”

“Still, it’s right here in our own backyard.”

“There haven’t been any major problems since this time last year,” Trenton threw out. “I doubt there’ll be much interest here in Missouri. So long as the Union can get up and down the Mississippi, I doubt they’ll pay much attention to us.”

“That’s not the way my pa hears it told. He believes there are major battles planned for this area within the year. Lincoln just gave over command of the troops to General Grant and Pa thinks that’s signaling a change. Things have been quiet for a while, but that’s probably just so they can build their forces. After they do, Pa says the Union will just make a clean sweep of things and crush the South. He thinks they’ll come here in even bigger numbers because of all the guerilla activity.”

Trenton didn’t like the sound of that. He didn’t like anything at all associated with the war, but he especially didn’t like thinking the war might come their way in full force. “Then I guess it’s a good thing we’re planning to blow up that supply house tomorrow night instead of next month.”

Robbie got to his feet and walked to the edge of the porch. “It’s always a good time to blow up Yankees. I just hope there’s a whole bunch of ’em that go up with the building. I want them to hear us loud and clear.”

“I’m sure they will,” Trenton murmured. The cold permeated his body to the very core. No doubt his friend’s words didn’t help. Robbie and the other members of the gang were intent on killing, just as if they had joined the ranks of a private army. Taking a life wasn’t really what Trenton had planned when he spoke of avenging his father. He had only meant to make life miserable for the Yankees. Make them as uncomfortable and unhappy as possible, then see them retreat back to the North and leave Missouri for good. Now, listening to Robbie, he felt na
ve and stupid. This group of cutthroats wouldn’t be happy with merely wreaking havoc on the Union. They wanted blood. And if Trenton wasn’t careful, his own blood would be spilled in the process.

CHAPTER 5

T
HE WAGON TRAIN LEFT ST. LOUIS IN A MISTY SPRING RAIN, SOMETHING
Dianne thought rather quaint and almost fitting. At least for the first few miles. After that, the mist turned into a steady rain that drenched everyone in misery.

Betsy and Ardith rode with their mother in the wagon while Dianne struggled to keep her footing and guide the oxen. She followed behind Morgan’s wagon, watching constantly for any sign of complications. Twice they forded small shallow streams, and Dianne’s discomfort was complete as her leather boots became soggy with water.

The next day was somewhat better, although Dianne learned an important lesson about campfires. While her brothers tended the milk cows for her, Dianne worked to assemble some breakfast. Their mother lay in the wagon, sick with a stomach complaint, so Dianne made her first real attempt at cooking.

Taking the bacon, as she’d often seen her mother do, Dianne positioned it in the cast-iron skillet and balanced the pan on some stones Zane had arranged for her at the fire’s edge. Feeling rather proud of her ingenuity, Dianne then gathered eggs from the chickens, grateful to see they were still laying, and proceeded to scramble them in a bowl.

“That’s a real waste,” a male voice announced from behind her.

Dianne looked up from her work to find Cole Selby scowling at her. “What are you talking about?”

“You. Wasting eggs on breakfast.”

“It’s not a waste. My brothers and sisters are hungry. This won’t even make a good portion.”

“You could have fed them three times over and used half the number of eggs by making flapjacks. You’ll have to learn sooner or later that life on the trail is all about making do and doing without.”

Dianne stood up indignantly. “I think not.” She whirled around so quickly she didn’t even realize she’d edged too close to the fire. In moments the hem of her skirt was aflame, and she screamed out in panic.

Before she could take another step, however, Cole Selby picked up the blanket she had shared with her sisters the night before and wrapped it neatly around her legs. He beat at her as if trying to pound the dust from a cushion.

“You’re going to have to learn about campfires too,” he said, checking to see if the fire was extinguished.

Trying her best to hide her embarrassment, Dianne examined the scorched hem and sighed. “Thank you for your help,” she said, biting back a sarcastic reply. The man might be infuriating, but he had saved her life.

He nodded, not offering her so much as a smile. “Where’s your mother? Why isn’t she taking care of this?”

Gone were any feelings of generosity Dianne might have had for the man. She stretched herself up to her full height and replied, “She’s resting, not that it’s any of your concern. Fixing breakfast is my job, and I’m fully capable of—” Just then the bacon burst into flames. Dianne’s eyes widened in shock. “Oh no!” As she rushed to remedy the situation, she kicked over the bowl of eggs. Now caught between tragedies, she looked back to Cole, knowing he would have something to say about the matter.

He appeared for a moment to be trying to contain a smile. Once under control, however, he turned to go. “Like I said, it’s a real waste.”

Dianne’s lessons on life on the trail had just begun.

The newspaper date read April 19, 1864, when the wagon train pulled into Independence, Missouri. Dianne felt a thrill she’d not ever known in her life. For the most part, the days spent in travel from St. Louis to Independence had been exhilarating, almost pleasurable. Although her feet ached and bore blisters from her time spent walking, Dianne thought nothing could have been more exciting.

They’d added a few families along the way, but Mr. Keefer had told her mother that they would add enough wagons and families at Independence to push their number into the hundreds. She couldn’t even begin to imagine. Just the string of some twenty wagons heading west through Missouri had been marvelous to watch. At night, they’d practiced putting the wagons in a circle, their nights of sleeping on the ground or in a crowded wagon beginning in earnest.

Susannah Chadwick maintained a frugal attitude after their expenses in St. Louis and chose to stay with the wagons and animals. Dianne’s first night sleeping under the wagon with her sisters had been a cold one to say the least, but they soon warmed up sharing one another’s body heat. Their mother had instructed the boys to sleep one on either side of the wagon to protect their sisters, while she made sure the shotgun was loaded and by her side as she slept inside. The hardest part hadn’t been the cold or learning to sleep on the hard ground, however. Dianne found it almost impossible to get used to all the noises going on around her.

Often Dianne would awake to find people walking nearby. Once she heard a mother chastising her child and then the unmistakable sound of the child being hit. Another time a man and his wife argued over his using too much tobacco. Then there were the kinds of sounds that came with the open night—hoot owls and the creaking of branches as the wind rustled through the trees. But even with these noises, Dianne managed to drift off to sleep with thoughts of how this would be her life for the next few months.

“It’s not a bad life,” Dianne told Morgan as she stirred the oatmeal. “It takes some getting used to, but I actually find it pleasurable in spite of the hard work.”

“I could live like this the rest of my life,” he commented as he took up a couple of biscuits. He bit into one and nodded. “Say, these aren’t bad at all. A little burned on the bottom, but that’s no problem. Where’d you learn to do this?”

“From a friend I’ve made—a black woman named Faith. She’s really nice. She and her husband were slaves, but they were freed and decided to move west. They heard about the gold in the Idaho Territory.”

“Ma won’t think much of you associating with folks of color.”

“Oh, I think Ma will have to put that behind her. The slaves were freed by Mr. Lincoln and even Pa said it was time for a change of heart.”

“Just the same, I don’t think Ma’s heart is going to change that quickly.”

Just then Zane came up with a bucket of water. “Smells good. Is breakfast ready?”

Dianne nodded. “I think so. Looks like the oatmeal is about as good as it’ll get. It’s a little lumpy—I’m still not sure what I’m doing wrong there, but I think it’ll do. Sure wish I’d known more about cooking before we left on this trip.”