She crept onto the cot, drawing her legs to her chest, leaning her back into the corner walls so nothing could reach her.
Mother, I need you
. She chewed the knuckle of the bent finger she kept at her mouth to still the screams that threatened to erupt.
Like a gentle breath, verses came into her mind.
‘‘I will never leave thee, nor forsake thee . . . and, lo, I am with you alway. . . . Thou shalt not be afraid for the terror by night; nor for the arrow that flieth by day. . . .’’
Louisa lay down.
‘‘I will never leave thee, nor forsake thee. I will never leave thee, nor forsake thee.’’
Lord, please go to Zachary as you have come to me. Please keep him safe, and I pray they fed him as well as they have me. If he is alone
. . . a song came into her mind as she drifted off to sleep.
A scream woke her sometime later. Could that be Zachary? Would they be interrogating him? She’d heard of brutality being used to get answers.
Oh, Lord, please—not Zachary
.
C
HAPTER
T
WENTY
- T
WO
On the Chugwater River
August 1863
‘‘You be careful now.’’ Jesselynn knew she sounded like a worrying wife, but, oh, how she wanted to go along.
Wolf looked down at her, shaking his head. ‘‘I’ve trapped wild horses before.’’
‘‘I know.’’ Sure he’d trapped horses before, but his helpers hadn’t and neither had she. ‘‘Why don’t you trade some of those goods with your people’’—she nodded toward the laden packhorses—‘‘for horses.’’ She stroked the bloodred neck of his Appaloosa.
I don’t want you to go off without me
.
‘‘Because all the blankets and supplies are my gift to them.’’ His voice wore the longsuffering tone of one who had said all this before.
‘‘Will Red Cloud know where the wild horses are?’’
‘‘Perhaps. Now it is my turn to say be careful. Don’t go off hunting or fishing by yourself.’’ He added a ‘‘please’’ when her jaw squared off.
‘‘We’re going to cut hay.’’
‘‘I know.’’ His dark eyes twinkled. ‘‘But you seem to have an uncanny ability to find trouble.’’
‘‘I think trouble finds me. I don’t go looking for it.’’
How long will you be gone? Will Red Cloud be glad to see you? What if he isn’t?
The questions piled on top of each other in her mind. She’d known since Fort Laramie that he would be going, but the knowing and the doing were two separate things. ‘‘God bless, and we’ll all be praying for you.’’ She squared her shoulders and lifted her chin, forcing a smile to lips that would rather tremble.
After giving Thaddeus a hug and whispered instructions, Wolf mounted, without using the stirrups, and checked out his helpers. Benjamin, Daniel, and Mark Lyons stood by their horses, their bedrolls with supplies rolled up inside and tow sacks hanging behind their saddles and at their horses’ shoulders. Each had a rope of braided latigo and hobbles tied to his saddle also. They’d spent the last days making hobbles and ropes, and practicing their throwing skills.
While she and Wolf had said their good-byes privately before rising, Jesselynn felt an ache the size of Wyoming in her heart as they rode out of camp. Something could happen to them so easily, just like the near tragedy with the bear. Feeling an arm around her leg, she looked down to see Thaddeus, one hand on Patch’s head, the other around her knee, staring out after the riders.
‘‘Come home soon.’’ His whisper brought forth the rush of tears she’d been holding back all morning. She picked him up and used his shirt to wipe her eyes.
‘‘Yes, Thaddy, please God, they come home soon.’’
All in one piece and with plenty of horses
.
‘‘How soon you be ready?’’ Meshach stood right behind her, Ophelia at his side.
‘‘Whenever you are.’’
‘‘I still think I should go with Meshach.’’ Nate Lyons spoke around the stem of the pipe he chewed on more often than smoked. ‘‘I could cut more hay.’’
‘‘You heard the man.’’ Jesselynn indicated the disappearing Wolf with a nod of her head. ‘‘A man stays in camp at all times.’’ The slightly sarcastic tone of her voice implied more than she said. The bear incident had made Wolf far more cautious than before, and he had always been extra careful. But the bear story had a happy ending after all. They’d made plenty of soap, kept grease for waterproofing boots and leather jackets, eaten and dried the meat, kept the hide to make a robe, and she’d saved the claws and teeth to trim buckskin shirts and moccasins. The porcupine quills she had kept after killing a four-footed scavenger added to her stash of trimmings. They’d found the porcupine chewing a pair of leather gloves someone had left lying on a log. Wolf had said the porcupine had chewed them for the salt.
Killing the bear had made Jesselynn truly aware that no matter how civilized the caves were becoming, they still lived in the wilderness. And many of the other wilderness dwellers were bigger, faster, and perhaps hungrier than they.
She set Thaddeus back down and patted his rear. ‘‘You and Patch stay right by the cave, you hear? No going to the creek or anywhere else by yourself.’’ She knelt in front of him so he would see how serious she was. When his lower lip came out, she poked at it with a loving finger. ‘‘No, don’t you go getting in a huff, or we’ll put you on a long line like we do the horses sometimes.’’
Thaddeus cocked his head to one side. ‘‘Put Sammy on long line.’’
Chuckling, Jesselynn hugged him and stood. ‘‘Now, Darcy, you and Jane Ellen will bring the other wagon out in three days. We’ll turn the hay then.’’
‘‘Yes’m.’’ Since they’d left the fort, Darcy Jones seemed to be getting younger every day. She laughed with Jane Ellen and played with the two little boys, and was once even heard singing when off doing the wash down at the creek.
Jesselynn smiled in return. What a difference.
Now if only the same miracle could happen to Aunt Agatha.
As soon as Nate and Meshach finished removing the sides of the wagons, the two McPhereson boys helped load up the supplies needed in the hay camp. They yoked the oxen and hitched them to the wagons.
‘‘Me come?’’ Thaddeus wore a look of hope.
‘‘No, you need to stay here and take care of Aunt Agatha.’’
The look Thaddeus gave his sister said very clearly what he thought of that idea. Jesselynn hugged him again and handed him to Jane Ellen.
‘‘We’ll see you soon, I reckon.’’ Without another backwards look, her haying party headed out the curving creek to the Chugwater basin. Jesselynn studied the lay of the land more this time, searching out small valleys where they would be able to graze the herd in the winter so as to not use up their hay. That would be saved for the mares in foal and for emergency rations in case of a blizzard. Wolf ’s stories of blizzards that kept everyone in camp for days at a time made her dread the coming winter.
She eyed the thickets along the creek. If deer and elk could winter on the branches when the snow got too deep for foraging, so could their cattle and horses.
They arrived at the valley on the afternoon of the second day. While Jesselynn set up camp, Meshach and the boys started directly on cutting grass. With Meshach’s height and long arms, wide swaths of grass fell before him and the scythe that he stopped to sharpen regularly. After hobbling the oxen, finding wood for the fire, and setting a trotline baited with bits of smoked bear in the creek, Jesselynn took up the shorter scythe and started her own swath.
Meshach made it look a lot easier than it was. Getting the correct angle of the blade took practice. Convincing her arms to continue swinging after the first hour took sheer teethclenching guts, and resisting the urge to slap mosquitoes was harder than anything. No wonder animals rolled in the mud to keep bug free.
Her shoulders ached, her hands—in spite of wearing leather gloves—sported a blister or two, and her back screamed as though she’d been stuck with a hot poker. Meshach kept on swinging, the grass falling in smooth sweeps with nary a blade missed. She looked back at her own rows—and sighed. But when she looked at those of Aaron and Lester McPhereson, she didn’t feel quite as bad. Height and experience seemed to play a big part.
When dusk sneaked across the land and the red-winged blackbirds began their evening arias, Jesselynn leaned the scythe against a wagon wheel and staggered to the banks of the Chugwater. Kneeling, she splashed her face, shook her head, and after removing her boots, waded out in the gentle current. When even that wasn’t enough, she dove in and flipped over on her back. Floating with the eddies, she felt every screaming muscle in her body begin to relax. Ducks flew overhead and quacked somewhere in the near distance. For the first time since she couldn’t remember when, she was alone, and her responsibilities floated on along with the river.
Walking back to find her boots was a combination of swimming and slipping on the mossy rocks in the riverbed. The water weighed down her clothing, but she resisted the urge to strip to her undergarments. The fellas would be wanting a bath or a swim too.
‘‘ ’Bout to come lookin’ for you.’’ Meshach sat with his feet in the water where she had left her boots and gloves. He nodded upriver to the trotline. ‘‘Plenty fish for supper.’’
‘‘Good. Where are the boys?’’ She plunked herself down on a rock with her feet still in the water.
‘‘They be gettin’ the oxen.’’
‘‘Go on and take a swim. The water is lovely.’’ Swallows and flycatchers dipped and skimmed above the water, making their meal on the flying insects. The setting sun washed the water in gold leaf and tipped the grasses pure gold.
One of the oxen bellowed.
‘‘I better get the fire going.’’ Jesselynn waited a minute or two longer before drying her feet with her wool socks and putting her boots back on. ‘‘This sure is one pretty place.’’
‘‘That it be.’’ Meshach lowered himself into the water with a sigh.
While the boys cleaned up after their supper of fried fish, Jesselynn took out her journal to catch up on the happenings. The last entry concerned the bear. She wrote of Wolf leaving, of camp details, and of cutting hay. She prayed for wisdom in dealing with Aunt Agatha. Meshach took out his Bible and hunkered down by the firelight to read. When Jesselynn closed her journal, she looked across the fire. ‘‘Read aloud, please.’’
His deep voice awoke the beauty of the psalms as he read one after another. Jesselynn marveled at how many he read with his eyes closed. He finished with the twenty-third, so they all said it together. ‘‘ ‘The Lord is my shepherd . . .’ ’’ Jesselynn sure felt cared for. ‘‘ ‘I shall not want.’ ’’
Please take care of Wolf
. ‘‘ ‘. . . beside the still waters.’ ’’
Just like here
. ‘‘ ‘. . . and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.’ ’’ A hush fell. Jesselynn looked up at the stars embroidered like French knots across the deep velvet sky. Crickets sang, a bullfrog harrumphed.
‘‘The house of the Lord’’—I’m in it. Thank you, Father
.
Picking up the scythe again in the morning, even though she hadn’t shared the watch with Meshach and the boys, took strength of both body and character. She couldn’t remember ever aching so much. Cutting tobacco was far easier than this, as was the walking plow when they turned the tobacco fields.
The August sun beat down, mosquitoes sucked blood, and the swaths from the day before were already drying. Only looking toward winter and knowing she would save her horses through her sweat and screaming muscles kept her going.
By the time the others rode up on the fifth day, Jesselynn and the scythe had become intimate friends instead of screaming enemies. While her swaths were nowhere near the width of Meshach’s, the grass lay smooth, she honed her blade with ease, and by evening she could still stand up fairly straight.
Several days later, after Meshach laid a frame of willow trunks across the wagon beds to extend them to hold more hay, they loaded what was dry, and Jane Ellen and Darcy Jones headed the wagon westward. By the time they returned, Meshach and his helpers had the second wagon loaded, with more cut.
‘‘Wait till you see our haystack back at the caves.’’ Jane Ellen, looking more boy than girl since she, too, switched to britches, dashed across the field, leaping the rows of grass raked and turned for drying. ‘‘Mr. Nate and Aunt Agatha are fencin’ it off.’’
Jesselynn leaned on her scythe handle. ‘‘Well, I’ll be. She’s working with Nathaniel Lyons.’’
Jane Ellen pulled a piece of grass and nibbled on the tender stalk. ‘‘I think he’s winnin’ her over.’’ Her eyes danced at sharing the news.
‘‘You got to admit, the man is persistent.’’ Jane Ellen stepped closer, her eyes sparkling like the sun kissing the river ripples. ‘‘We brought you a present, a real surprise.’’
Knowing how much Jane Ellen enjoyed surprises, both gotten and given, Jesselynn widened her eyes. ‘‘All right, what is it?’’ Hands on hips added to the fun.
‘‘We brought bread. Ophelia baked bread.’’
‘‘Real, yeast-risen, wonderful bread?’’
Jane Ellen nodded.
‘‘Not biscuits?’’
Jane Ellen shook her head. ‘‘We can have it for supper. Ophelia started sourdough from milk and flour she got at the fort. It bubbles in a crock like nobody’s business. Now that it is going good, she can use flour and water to keep it goin’. Ain’t, I mean, isn’t that just . . . just . . .’’ Jane Ellen threw her hands in the air, the best word not coming.
‘‘When did all this come about?’’
‘‘Oh, when you was moonin’ after Mr. Wolf.’’
‘‘I wasn’t mooning.’’
‘‘Sure was, just like a lovesick cow.’’ Jane Ellen dodged the swat Jesselynn sent in her general direction.
‘‘What lovesick cow?’’ Darcy pushed her sunbonnet back to wipe her forehead. She’d hobbled the oxen before joining Jes-selynn and Jane Ellen. ‘‘Whooee, be hotter here than up at our place.’’
Jesselynn noted the ‘‘our place.’’ She was willing to wager that Darcy Jones had never had a place to call home in her entire life. When Wolf returned he planned on staking out property lines for each of the settlers, so when the day came that they could file on their homesteads, they’d be ready.