One True Love (9 page)

F
or some reason when the train pulled out the next morning, Copper was ruminating not on the Newsomes, who were still following, but on angels. Despite the answered prayers of finding the lost child, it seemed the angels were still weeping. Of course, now they were weeping for joy. Not that angels, as far as she knew, had human emotions. Nor would they need them to fulfill their role as God's messengers. With Carrie tucked safely in her folks' wagon, the rain did not seem nearly so menacing.

“Guess the old saying doesn't hold true,” Copper remarked.

Adele maneuvered the wagon into line. “What saying, honey?”

“About when it's raining the angels are crying. Nobody in this train is sad this morning.” Only relief and prayerful gratitude filled this party. Little Carrie was firmly enthroned on Lil's lap, cradled by a strong right arm. Last night's cel
ebration had lasted well into the evening, and this morning the travelers had found it a mite hard to climb out of bed. Yet the moment Copper opened her eyes, she breathed a prayer of gratitude; the Sniders' nightmare had ended as they had all prayed it would. Once again Copper's morning prayer centered on her own healing and relief from pain as soon as possible.

The rain let up enough for the daily school lesson at noon, but it soon intensified again. Copper had grinned when little Carrie had brought her picture book
Mother Goose
and climbed on the teacher's lap as the session ended. Copper barely had time for more than a few hurried pages before Redlin called for the wagons to move out.

“This rain is shore going to affect the river,” Adele fretted.

“Maybe by tomorrow it will be over.” Copper settled snugly under the blanket. She'd done what she promised herself she wouldn't do. Moments before the wagon train moved on, she'd snuck a dropperful of laudanum, and now the medicine had begun to counteract the persistent inferno in her right foot.

Soon, Lord. Soon. Let this be finished with the best possible outcome. I'll accept whatever you will, but I cannot imagine how I can live in this pain forever.

Did God care about one woman's anguish? Copper believed that he did. Without that belief she couldn't have mustered enough strength to continue this journey.

“Those wagons are still following us,” Adele noted.

Copper, too relaxed to talk, murmured, “I told Josh that he should have let me handle it.”

“Josh, is it?”

“Redlin, then.” She yawned. “The Grand Potentate.”

“You should be ashamed of yourself.”

She yawned. “I am.”

By mid-afternoon the downpour slackened to a faint mist. Redlin gathered the travelers for a short meeting.

“We reach the river tomorrow. Mike tells me it's running pretty hard but crossable. That's the good news. We should have all the wagons across by late afternoon.” His gaze sought Copper's. “We'll reach Fort Riceson by mid-afternoon the next day. I'm going to stay behind with Miss Wilson until she's well enough to make the return trip to Thunder Ridge.”

“You'll take her back?” Sadie asked.

“Dyson will provide an escort. It's only a few days' ride to Thunder Ridge on horseback.”

“What about those snobs behind us?”

“What about the Newsomes?”

“They're still on our tail.”

Redlin removed his hat and drew a hand through thick reddish hair streaked by the sun. “I'm well aware they haven't left us.”

“What do you intend to do about them?”

“Nothing. They've made their choice. We'll cross the river and move on.”

Copper seriously doubted his commitment to the plan. This much she knew about Josh Redlin; he had a heart as big as all outdoors. The only way he'd ignore the needs of those fancy pants was if the good Lord struck him blind.

When they reached that river, there'd be trouble. Copper didn't have a doubt in her mind.

 

At eight
A.M
. the wagons rolled out, and by mid-morning Copper could hear the faint sound of rushing water. Anxiety about the unknown began to build inside her.

Directly ahead, the Buffalo was out of its banks and running fast. Swallowing hard, she studied the sight. Scant hours beyond the turbulent barrier lay relief, the end of this constant, grating hurt.

Redlin halted the wagons several hundred feet back from the rising waters. Grass grew rank along the roadside.

Several men climbed from wagon seats and joined Josh and Richardson at water's edge.

This morning Adele's wagon traveled mid-center of the pack. Copper leaned out of the seat to peer back at the dozen or so wagons following. In the distance she spotted the Newsomes' party.

Copper whirled, lips firmed. “Those people are planning to cross with us.”

Adele shook her head. “Wanting and doing are two different matters. Redlin warned them to stay back.”

“Yes, but it's one thing to issue a warning and another to carry it out.” If it was up to her, she'd make that pampered Milly Newsome get out of bed and swim across the river with those frivolous dresses strapped to her back.

But then she wasn't as caring as Josh, actually. The thought gave her pause. She was selfish. Willful. She didn't care for the sudden comprehension, but short of shooting the Newsomes, Copper didn't see how Josh could stop them. He didn't have to give protection but he couldn't prevent them from following in their wake. Her temper churned.

The intruders' lead wagon gradually drew near. A black man reined up behind the last Redlin wagon and wrapped
the lines around the brake. Climbing off the seat, he walked to the water's edge and approached the wagon master, hat in hand.

Copper reached for her crutches. “Come on, Adele. And hurry.”

“Oh Lordy me. I knew I shouldn't have got up this morning.”

By the time the two women reached the men they were deep into conversation. Josh's deep timbre remained collected. “I told Mr. Newsome that he's on his own.”

The Negro man worried his hat in his hands. “Yes sir, I heard it myself, but Mr. Newsome says I'm to tell you that he's ready to join up now.”

Join up? Of all the—Copper bit down hard on her tongue. If Redlin agreed, she would personally wring his neck!

Josh shook his head, and then after a moment said, “Tell Mr. Newsome that he's welcome. We'll get him and his family safely across.”

The black nodded, then turned and nodded to the women.

Copper's jaw dropped. She confronted Adele. “Did he say what I thought he just said?”

The older woman nodded. “Unless my hearing's going, along with everything else.”

The men broke up and Copper hobbled to Redlin, heat creeping up her cheeks. “How could you!”

Settling his hat on his head, Josh kept walking. “Better find something to occupy your time. We got a long day ahead of us.”

She trailed along behind him, so angry she was nearly
speechless. “How
could
you let those…those people do this when you clearly told them to keep their wagons back.”

“I haven't got time to argue with you, Copper. Go find something to occupy your time.”

She was in his face now. “You promised, Josh. You promised to take care of this situation. Those wagons will delay us.” And the pain in her ankle didn't permit her to accept even the slightest hitch in plans.

He snapped, “Go to your wagon.”

“You promised—even God would object to this.”

He paused. Then turned and met her eyes. “Your God or my God? My God is a God of peace.”

The remark stopped her short. Of all the—Her faith had never been questioned. “As is my God.” Her God was just as big as his God, but God had rules. Didn't Redlin have rules? Rules he kept?

“Then go to your wagon. We're about to cross the river, and we'll need your cooperation.” He walked away, leaving her to stew in her own juices. And yet guilt filled her, the spiritual kind that stings the conscience. The kind where you know you're wrong and the other person's right and your behavior has just shown you are no better than the person you've condemned.

She didn't like the emotion. She didn't like the feeling or herself in general. And she sure didn't like Redlin for his part in causing the sensation and not keeping his word.

Getting what now had grown to thirty-two rigs—counting the three families the soldiers had added—across the roiling Buffalo was more difficult than she had allowed herself to imagine. As she studied the turbulent current she suddenly realized, with her heart more than just with her head, that
lives might be lost in the next few hours. The river was still rising. By evening the river would be up so much that crossing might be impossible. For the first several yards of the passage the water was only knee-deep, but it was anybody's guess how bottomless it was in the middle of the stream.

The men unpacked cross saws and cut down enough thick, sturdy trees growing along the riverbank to build a raft that could hold one wagon and two horses. That was all that could be taken across at one time. If a family had four horses, two were unhitched and made to swim across. The raft was drawn close to the bank and a rig and team were driven on board. Some of the horses refused to step onto it and had to be unhitched and replaced.

Several men worked to pull the raft across the river by ropes attached to the opposite shore. Two men would stand on the front part of the platform and get a firm grip on the rope. Turning their backs to the opposite shore, they would start walking toward the back. As soon as they reached the stern two more men would do the same thing. This arduous relay was repeated until the raft reached the other side.

Copper sat on the bank all day, watching the activity, still seething inside at the Newsomes' waiting rigs.

Once, the black man started to the river to help and Newsome summoned him back with an angry retort. By late afternoon most of party was across, with only Adele's and the Louisiana rigs waiting to cross. Adele told Josh to get the Newsomes' wagons across before she lost her mind. They'd wait to cross last, grateful for the silence.

Granted, it was getting near suppertime and no one had much extra patience, but Milly Newsome was a disgrace.
Shortly after lunch she tired of the slow crossing procedure and began to complain loudly and often.

Around four she demanded that the Negro servants build a fire and cook thick steaks and fire-roasted potatoes, while the Redlin party, hungry, tired, and wet, grunted and hauled wagons across the water. Reginald Newsome stood back with one hand in his watch fob pocket and watched the activity.

Florence Newsome prowled beside their wagon dressed in silks and a large hat with a billowing black feather. Her carping echoed up and down the riverbank.

Milly's strident demands carried across the water. “I am tired of this! When do we cross? Father! Why must we cross last?”

Occasionally Florence would seem to be struck with some adult impulse and make a weak effort to quiet her daughter, but it was to no avail. Reginald seemed not to notice any of it. The long afternoon wore on Copper. At times it was like seeing a mirrored imagine of her and some of the fits she'd been known to pitch, and she didn't like the reminder.

Lord, this is unfair. I know there's a lesson in this, and I know what you're telling me, but this is plain upsetting to watch.

The self-analysis was painful, but try as she might she could not ignore the similarity.

Once the young woman threw herself on the ground (in her satin dress and slippers) and demanded that her father do
something
to hurry the process.

As she watched a whipped man try to control a selfish, rebellious young girl, God's lesson became more and more clear to her. She was witnessing her life until she injured her foot. Hours passed, endless minutes that she became increasingly repentant of the times she had berated Josh. She began
to feel that perhaps this was God's way of punishing her as well as educating her.

When it came time to move the Newsome wagons, the blacks doused the cooking fire and readied the wagons.

Amid panicky screams and bellicose demands, the four wagons were ferried across the swollen river with no damage other than the loss of Florence's hat. The chapeau, black feather bobbing, was last seen as it swept around the first bend downriver. Copper's ride was the last to load. Adele drove the rig onto the platform, and the men ferried it across. On the opposite bank, cooking fires gave off wondrous smells of beans and fried pies.

Josh lifted Copper out of the wagon, and gently set her on the ground. Their gazes locked. His windblown wet features evidenced the strain of the day. She had sorely misjudged this man. His patience knew no limit.

“Are you angry with me?” he asked softly.

“I'm very proud of you.”

Reprieve broke across his rugged features. “It didn't slow us down much. We couldn't have traveled until dawn, and as you can see, the Newsomes aren't capable of traveling alone.”

That was the understatement of the year.

She'd hardly realized that her arms remained around his neck. Surroundings faded as she gazed deeply into his eyes for the first time. Who was this man and what—or who—had brought him to this hour, this moment with her? A day ago she could have listed fifty faults, but at this moment only his strong points came to mind. Most men would have held to their word and made the Newsome wagons cross alone. After such a clear warning, most men would have gone on
and never looked back. But not this man. He had extended the same courtesy and protection to Reginald and Florence Newsome that he gave the whole train.

They stood, gazing into each other's eyes until Adele walked by and broke it up.

“Hey you two. Supper's waiting, and you're creating a spectacle.”

Smiling, Copper grappled for the crutch. “Oh hush up, Adele, at least it's a good spectacle.”