Kitabı oku: «Walk By Faith», sayfa 3
Chapter Five
April 30, 1863
The congregation of people from all walks of life at Independence was far bigger than Clarissa expected. Ages ranged from the very old to the very young and everything in between. The combination of free land and wanting to get away from the war was all these people needed to spur them on.
The atmosphere was both exciting and intimidating. Children, chickens and dogs ran everywhere, and in the distance livestock grazed. As she and Carolyn and Michael walked among the host of wagons, oxen, horses and people, they noticed with great relief that most travelers were families. Still, a few men were camped here without families, some in groups, some by themselves. Several looked questionable in nature, and last night an ugly fistfight had taken place, spawned by an argument over the war and who was right or wrong. One man actually pulled a gun, but another had knocked it out of his hand.
Clarissa had not given thought to danger from the travelers themselves. Indians and the elements were enough to worry about. Because of the confusion that abounded, and the mix of people gathered here, she kept Sophie close, afraid she’d never find her if the child ran off. “I’m so glad I’m going with you and Michael,” she told Carolyn. The three of them, and their daughters, walked among those gathered here, learning all they could about who was leaving when and who would guide them. “I don’t think I’d have the courage to do this alone.”
“Yes, you would. You’re a brave woman for even going with us,” Michael assured her, “with no husband and no guarantee of what you will do when you reach Montana.”
“I’ll help you build a ranch. That will keep me plenty busy for quite some time,” Clarissa answered with a smile. She noticed that some wagons carried pianos, grandfather clocks, fine furniture and the like, and she had to wonder if they would make it through the mountains with such huge loads. Word was, it was foolish to cart such things along.
“I didn’t think we’d find all this chaos,” Carolyn commented. “Most of these people don’t seem to know quite what they’re doing.”
“Maybe we should look up Dawson Clements,” Michael suggested. “He seems like a man who’d know what he was about when it comes to traveling west, since he’s done so before and served out there with the army.”
“He’s terribly rough around the edges,” Clarissa commented. “And I’m not so sure he’d want a preacher along.”
“That’s not his decision,” Michael answered. “I am sure the families headed west would appreciate having a preacher along, and most likely find need of one, with all the calamities that can take place. That was quite a list of possible troubles Mr. Clements rattled off to us a couple of weeks ago.”
“I have a feeling he’s a man who looks for the worst side of everything,” Clarissa answered.
“You’ve been thinking about him, haven’t you?” Carolyn said with a sly grin.
Clarissa shrugged. “Some, mostly because he seemed like such a lonely, troubled man.”
“That he did,” Michael added. “I’ve been praying for him.”
Their conversation was interrupted when they heard someone crying loudly, as though in pain. Clarissa gasped with horror when to her left she saw a man beating a young boy of perhaps ten years old with a belt at the rear of a wagon.
“I’ll teach you to obey what I tell you!” the man roared.
The boy cringed and wept, covering his head with his hands and begging the man to stop.
Clarissa picked up Sophie and turned away so the child could not see the brutality. People stood around staring, all hesitant to interfere with a family matter; and the man doing the beating looked big and strong and furious.
“I’ll stop him!” Michael declared, taking off his hat. Before he could make a move, a large man wearing a blue greatcoat and riding a black horse charged past them so fast that he raised a cloud of dust. His dangerous speed caused Clarissa to turn and look as the man dismounted before his horse even came to a stop. He landed into the father and ripped the belt out of his hand.
“Try picking on someone your own size,” the man fumed.
Women screamed, and more people gathered and cheered him on as the stranger began using the belt on the father, whacking him several times while the boy moved away to cringe beside his mother, who’d been wringing her hands and watching the beating, obviously afraid to try to stop it.
“How does that feel?” the man who’d interrupted the beating raged.
“It’s Dawson Clements!” Clarissa exclaimed, recognizing the horse and the greatcoat first, then managing to get a look at his face.
The father cowered, putting up his hands. “What I do with my son is my own business!”
Dawson tossed the belt aside. “It’s my business now!” He landed a fist into the father, and the man flew backward against his wagon. Then the father charged Dawson, managing to punch him in the face. Dawson returned the blow with several of his own, appearing to become almost out of control. Finally the mother screamed for someone to stop him.
“He’s killing my husband!” she wailed.
Michael and several other men moved in and grabbed Dawson away while the man he’d beaten slumped to the ground beside a wagon wheel. It took five men to gain control of Dawson, who finally shook them off and told them to leave him alone. The man’s wife ran to her husband, and the young boy stood there crying and looking at Dawson.
“Now he’ll beat me worse because of what you did,” he sobbed.
“No, he won’t,” Dawson vowed. “Because if he does, I’ll be back! I’ll lay welts on him that will never heal!” He brushed himself off and bent down to pick up his hat, which had been knocked off in the skirmish. He plunked it on his head and turned. It was then he recognized Michael. He looked at the man strangely, then scanned the crowd to see Clarissa standing there with Sophie in her arms.
Still breathing heavily, he limped toward them. Clarissa noticed his knuckles were bloody, and there was a cut on his left cheek. A bruise was quickly forming around it.
“I’m sorry you had to see that,” he told Clarissa. “And you, ma’am,” he added, looking at Carolyn.
Clarissa could still see the rage in his blue eyes, lurking there behind those dark clouds. “You did what you felt you had to do,” Carolyn told him.
Clarissa looked away, not sure what to say or what to think of him now that she’d seen the violent side of the man.
“Hi, Mistoo Clement,” Sophie spoke up. She seemed not at all intimidated by Dawson’s bloody, disheveled look. “You got a owie,” she added, pointing to his cheek.
Dawson’s whole countenance changed when he addressed the little girl. “Hello, Sophie,” he told her.
“Do you still got a owie on you leg?” she asked.
Dawson removed his hat and smoothed back his hair, which was still extremely thick and wavy even though he’d obviously had it trimmed. His face was clean shaven, and even more handsome, with a square jaw and deep-set eyes. He replaced the hat, glancing at Carolyn. “The leg is much better. It still pains me now and then, but I never got an infection, and the wound has closed. I expect I have you to thank for that, Mrs. Graham.”
Why did this man have a way of somehow moving her deeply? “I’m glad I was able to help.”
“You nearly killed that man, you know,” Michael told him.
“Maybe I should have. The boy and his mother would probably be better off.”
“‘Vengeance is mine, sayeth the Lord.’”
Dawson rolled his eyes. “Yeah, well, maybe the Lord uses some of us to wreak that vengeance,” he answered. “I happen to have a short fuse when it comes to treating a helpless child like that.”
“Quite obvious,” Michael answered with raised eyebrows.
Dawson nodded to the women, then brushed past them to get his horse. He mounted up and rode closer, pointing to a huge oak tree on a hill in the distance. “See that tree?”
Clarissa shaded her eyes. “Yes.”
“That’s where I’m camped,” he told them. “I have rounded up about eight families heading for Montana. I wasn’t going to take on any more than that, since it might be too much to handle, but you three and the little girls are welcome to join us if you’re still looking for a guide. We’re hoping to head out in five or six days, unless we get a lot of rain. Come on over tonight and camp with us if you like. That will give you a chance to get to know some of the others and make up your mind if you want to travel with us.”
“Is there a preacher among your group?” Michael asked.
Dawson scowled. “No. I suppose you think they need one?”
“Of course they do,” Michael answered, giving Dawson a smile and a wink. “I imagine they’d appreciate having one along. They are Christian people, aren’t they?”
“I suppose. I didn’t bother asking,” Dawson answered, obviously irritated by the question.
“Well, then we’ll come by and get acquainted,” Michael told him.
“Suit yourself. Just don’t expect me to be part of any praying or preaching.”
“I wouldn’t dream of asking you,” Michael answered with a teasing note to the words.
Dawson nodded. “Good.” He glanced at Clarissa. “See you later then.” He turned his horse and rode away, and some of those who’d watched the fight stared after him.
“Did you see what he did?” someone commented.
“A very violent man,” said another.
Michael turned to Carolyn and Clarissa. “What do you two think? Should we join his group?”
“I think we should do whatever you feel is right, Michael,” Clarissa answered. “After all, I’m more or less the tagalong on this venture. You’re the one who should make the major decisions.” She was not about to admit that the thought of traveling with Dawson Clements filled her with a strange, pleasant excitement, mixed with apprehension. She realized that ever since the day she’d nursed his leg, she’d been hoping they might run into him again. Still, after what they’d just witnessed…
“Well, I say we give it a try,” Michael said. “I’m thinking the Lord wants us to go just because Dawson Clements is the guide. I have a feeling God means for me to do something to help that man, much as he’d resent it. There is something about him that strikes the heart.”
Yes, there is, Clarissa thought. She liked the fact that there was nothing fake or pretentious about the man. Clements didn’t try to pour on the charm like Chad would do. He had an air of honesty and no nonsense about him. Dawson seemed to be a man who meant what he said and very likely a man who did not break promises or lie to get what he wanted. He was nothing like Chad, and perhaps that was what she liked most about him.
Chapter Six
May 1, 1863
Clarissa switched her lead oxen and shouted, “Giddap!” She’d practiced driving the four-oxen team for the past two weeks and felt confident she could handle them. The man who’d sold the animals to Michael told him that by the time they reached their destination, they would be very attached to the poor beasts that would haul them and their belongings all the way to Montana.
Already Clarissa could tell the man was right about getting attached. She’d already named the four that pulled her wagon, Moo, Bee, Sadie and Jack. Buck and Betsy were tied to the back of her wagon for spares, so the animals could be rotated to avoid too much work for any one of them. She already knew each ox by its distinctive markings. Michael thought she was silly to name them, but for some reason that made it easier for her to handle them. She just hoped she had the strength to keep up with them and to help hitch and unhitch them every day.
She hated the fact that Michael usually had to help, especially yoking them whenever the oxen would not properly hold still. She had no doubt that by the time she reached Montana, she might be built like a man for all her hard work.
They headed toward Dawson’s camp at the big oak tree in the distance. Michael and Carolyn took two wagons—Michael’s pulled by six oxen because of an extraheavy load of farm tools and books, including a supply of Bibles and hymnals, donated by others for his new church.
Carolyn’s wagon carried lighter household necessities, and Lena and Sophie rode together in it, bouncing around atop a pile of quilts and having a joyous time. Clarissa thought how oblivious the girls were to the difficulties that surely lay ahead. She prayed things would remain that way—that nothing would happen to either child and they wouldn’t end up stranded and starving to death.
The latter seemed unlikely, as they had packed plenty of food. Distributed among all three wagons was dried beef, rice, tea, spices, dried fruit, beans, baking soda, flour, sugar, baking powder, canned pickles, bacon, potatoes, sweet potatoes, large tubs filled with plenty of lard for packing fresh meat to preserve it, salt, coffee, wheat, oats, cornmeal. She kept reviewing the list in her mind, worried they’d missed something.
They also carried a tin washtub, two washboards, lye soap, three coffee kettles, tinware, several fry pans, cooking utensils, trunks of clothes, plenty of blankets, quilts, pillows, heavy boots and warm coats. Michael had even thought to buy each of them capes made of India rubber, something new that worked well against rain.
A milk cow, which Lena and Sophie had named Trudy, was tied to one side of Carolyn’s wagon, and it balked at leaving. The rope grew taut and stretched the cow’s head and neck until the animal had no choice but to join the procession, and her calf trotted beside her. A slatted crate was secured to the side of Clarissa’s wagon with rope, and inside the crate were three chickens that she hoped would continue laying eggs. A rooster sat on top of her wagon, occasionally flapping its wings and crowing, as though king of the wagon train.
Her wagon even carried a crate that contained something that had belonged to her mother—beautiful china from Germany, carefully packed in straw. It was all she had left of the mother she’d lost so long ago, and of the life she’d known in St. Louis.
She could not take her heart or trust with her. Chad had stolen both. It still hurt deeply to think about it, but it was done now, and she doubted she could ever love or trust a man again, let alone ever find it in her heart to forgive.
They guided the three wagons through rows of others still gathered outside of Independence, and after several minutes they came closer to the big oak, where Clarissa quickly counted ten wagons circled around it. Children ran and played, and women cooked in big pots over fires.
Families. That was good. Having other women and children along would make this trip so much easier. The families from Michael’s church who’d originally wanted to come with them had decided against the trip. One of the men had been drafted into the Union Army under the new draft law. Another decided to stay behind to help care for that man’s family, and the mother in the third family found out she was expecting. They worried the trip would cause her to lose her baby.
And so it was just Michael and Carolyn, the girls and Clarissa. Clarissa breathed deeply for courage. She hated lying, but after discussing the issue of her divorce, the three adults had decided to tell others that Clarissa’s husband had been killed in the war. That would avoid problems that might arise with some of the women knowing she was divorced.
It still irked Clarissa that she should be ill-treated just because her husband had cheated on her. Chad was the coward and the adulterer, yet some people treated her as though she was somehow tainted now. It hurt deeply to be treated so. Deep inside she’d reconciled herself to her fate and had decided to be proud and strong and do a good job of raising Sophie on her own. After much prayer and long talks with Michael, she’d come to realize that God surely held nothing against her for the divorce. She’d been a good and faithful wife and mother. She would not allow Chad’s foolish decisions to wreck her own faith.
The decision to go with Dawson Clements as their guide had not been easy. The man was certainly a contrast of character and emotions, saving a child one minute, beating a man near to death the next. He obviously had a goodness somewhere deep inside, but he certainly hated showing it. And as much as the man protested talk about God and prayer and professed to have no use for preachers, Clarissa suspected he longed to know Christ, to understand his own bitterness and perhaps find a way to forgive whoever it was who’d brought him to such an attitude.
Because of Dawson’s experience with the army and Indians and the way west, and the fact that he had a commanding way about him that could mean a well-organized wagon train, they’d decided to join him.
When they drew closer to the other wagons, Dawson himself walked out to greet Michael wearing simple denim pants and a plaid shirt with knee-high boots. A gun was strapped to his side, and he still wore the wide-brimmed, black hat.
Clarissa watched him greet Michael with a handshake. Good. At least the man was accepting Michael even though he was a preacher. Dawson’s attitude toward men of God was strange indeed, and Clarissa wished she knew why.
The men talked for a moment, then Michael nodded to Dawson and called out to the women to follow him to a grassy spot ahead. Clarissa followed, and Dawson stood and waited for her wagon to get closer. He walked up then and grasped the halter of one of the lead oxen, shouting, “Whoa, there! Whoa!” Once the animals stopped, he turned to Clarissa.
“You have no help driving these oxen?” he asked.
“I’ll do just fine on my own, Mr. Clements,” she answered defensively. “Michael has taught me well.”
“It can get pretty tiring, ma’am, and sometimes these beasts get ornery and decide not to obey.”
“I’ll handle them.” It irritated her that he should question her ability.
“What if you get sick or break a bone or something? Who’s going to drive your wagon?”
Frowning, Clarissa folded her arms in front of her, a switch still in her hand. “Why do you care, Mr. Clements?”
He pushed back his hat, and Clarissa noticed a lingering bruise on his cheek. He was clean shaven again, and his dark hair brushed his shirt collar. It literally angered her to notice how good-looking he was, which made her feel even more defensive.
“Mrs. Graham, I got this wagon train together, and I intend to see that everyone arrives safely in Montana. Now for the sake of practicality, I need to know you’ll have a backup for the days you can’t drive these oxen, and believe me, there will be such days.”
“I can see you haven’t changed when it comes to always looking at the worst of things, Mr. Clements. Tell me, do you ever wake up joyful, and simply grateful for the new day? Have you ever thought about simply trusting God to see you through things?”
He closed his eyes and let out an obviously disparaging sigh. “Mrs. Graham, we haven’t even left yet and already you’re presenting a problem.”
“A problem?”
He put his hands on his hips and leaned closer. “Yes. I’ll be giving orders on this trip, and I expect them to be followed. Now, I was not trying to insult your ability to lead these oxen. I was simply pointing out a fact. The time will come when you’ll need help with these oxen, so I’ll talk to these families here. A couple of them have older teenage boys who could probably relieve you if necessary.”
“I can’t afford—”
“They wouldn’t expect to be paid. We’re all here to help each other out and make sure we all get through this trip without too many mishaps, ma’am. And if the day comes that I tell you someone else is driving your oxen, I expect you to cooperate. Is that understood?”
Ever since Chad left her, Clarissa had grown proud of her ability to fend for herself, proud enough that she resented any man’s help. She’d show men that she didn’t need a man to take care of herself.
“Understood,” she answered, holding her chin high. “But only because I faint at the thought of getting on your bad side—that’s assuming, of course, that you have a good side.”
He looked her over in a way that made her blush, then grinned. “I do have a good side, ma’am. It pops out every once in a while.” He nodded and tipped his hat, then turned away, calling to her as he walked back to the circle of wagons. “Meet us inside the circle in an hour,” he yelled, not turning back around. “Big meeting.”
Yes, sir, she answered silently. An army man. She should have known that having been an officer, he was accustomed to giving orders. With a man like Dawson Clements in charge, this was going to be a very interesting trip.
