Authors: Patricia Hagan
She looked at him curiously, but just then Elisa screamed again, louder than before, a long scream, and then there was another noise—a weak, mewing sound.
“The baby,” Myles breathed.
Micah had arrived with the water, and he stopped short, tears springing to his eyes. “Oh, Lawdy, I’ve heard many a newborn cry, and I know what this one sounds like—like it ain’t gonna live. Lawdy, Lawdy, he’s just too weak.”
Teresa stuck her head out of the wagon and called, “It’s here—a little boy,” then disappeared inside.
Thomas brought a wagon up, ready to take Elisa and the baby into town, but Derek told him they would have to wait till Mrs. Webber thought it safe for them to be moved.
Myles could suddenly keep still no longer. Running angry fingers through his hair, he turned to Derek and said, “Look. You may think I’m sticking my nose in your business, but Julie is my sister and her welfare is my concern. I want to know why you left the dance with her and why she came back to the hotel looking like she did. I want to know”—he jabbed his finger at Derek’s massive chest, undaunted by his size—“what you’re doing to my sister!”
“Oh, Myles, please!” Julie blinked back tears of frustration and embarrassment as she stepped from Derek’s side. “Stay out of my business, please. I’m a grown woman.”
“And he’s a grown man. And—”
“We have a right to our privacy, Myles,” Derek cut him off gently. “I care for Julie a great deal, and I don’t think I have to tell you that we were once very close. We’ve had some problems. I still care for her, and whether she’ll admit it or not, she still cares for me. We’re trying to work things out. Can you understand?”
Myles was treading in dangerous water and he knew it. He glanced at his sister, then nodded. “All right. But damn it all, these are tense times, and I don’t need additional worries right now. You two worry me.”
Derek nodded slowly. “I understand, Myles, and we’ll try not to.”
Julie turned away, miserable. But her self-recrimination was pushed aside as Teresa appeared again, holding out her arms to Myles, tears streaming down her face. He helped her down, wrapping his arms around her as she sobbed, “The baby died. Oh, Myles, the baby died. He cried once, and then he just died. He was so tiny, hardly as big as my hand. Oh, God…”
Myles held her, trying to soothe what couldn’t be soothed.
Micah turned away, disappearing into the shadows, and the sounds of his harsh weeping echoed in the night.
They waited for long moments, and then Esther looked out and said to Derek, “She’s ready to be moved, but she refuses to go anywhere until she has spoken with you.”
Muttering angrily, Derek thrust himself into the wagon in one motion. A few moments later, Esther came out, and Myles helped her down. “It’s a disgrace! That woman’s baby just died, and she doesn’t even seem to care. Told me to get out, she did. Didn’t even want to see the baby! Just wanted to see the captain.”
Teresa spoke up quickly. “Mrs. Webber, I’m sure Elisa had a good reason to speak to Captain Arnhardt—and whatever it is, it’s certainly none of our business. As for her seeming lack of concern, well, she’s probably in shock. Let’s not judge her, please. She has enough grief to bear at the moment.”
Derek reappeared, this time with Elisa bundled in his arms. Her eyelids fluttered weakly as he handed her down to Myles, who quickly carried her to the wagon where Thomas was waiting. “We’ll bury the baby in the morning,” Myles said to no one in particular, then dropped to the ground.
“I’ll ride with Elisa,” Teresa said.
Esther disappeared, eager, doubtless, to spread her story.
“You said you understood why she hates me,” Julie whispered when she and Derek were alone.
“It isn’t important.” He reached for her hand. “Let’s go to my wagon. I think you could use a drink, and I’ve got some brandy.”
She shook her head and stepped back. “No, I don’t want to. Teresa and Myles will be expecting me back at the hotel soon. I want you to tell me why Elisa Thatcher hates me.”
He shrugged, embarrassed. “She feels you’re in her way.”
Julie blinked and shook her head. “In her way? How?”
“She thinks she’d have a chance if it weren’t for you.”
“Would she?” Julie challenged, blazing with a jealous fire that appalled her. “Would she, Derek? Or
do
you have scruples that keep you from bedding a married woman? Maybe you do.”
“No,” he said, laughing. “You know me better than that. But before tonight I hadn’t made love to you, or another woman, for quite some time, so she probably felt how lusty I was.”
“Well, she isn’t pregnant anymore,” Julie snapped furiously, “and you won’t be making love to me anymore, so when you get hungry for a woman, you know whose wagon to go to, don’t you?”
“I guess I do.” He sighed. “You know, Julie, you’re your own worst enemy. When a person has to lie to herself, there’s not much hope for her, and you’re lying if you say you don’t love me and don’t want me.”
“Oh, I love you,” she flared, “and I do want you, but not on your terms, so it’s best we ignore each other from here on. You can inform Elisa,” she said finally, tightly, “that she doesn’t have to worry any longer about me being in her way.”
“I’ll do that,” he retorted, then turned to walk away, taking big, purposeful strides as he left her alone in the night.
Chapter Seven
Almost a month had passed since the wagon train rolled out of San Angelo. The weather was cold, as was expected in late January, and the trail was hard. Fortunately, little snow had fallen, so there was only the frigid temperature to endure. Passage through the Guadalupe mountains was hard enough without snow and ice.
When they had reached the Pecos river, they found a small camp of prospectors on the banks. The men obligingly helped them cross the river. The night before the crossing, the prospectors sat drinking with the men, relating the latest war news. Myles went to Julie later and recounted the news that Fort Fisher had been captured by Union forces only a few weeks earlier, closing down Wilmington, North Carolina—the last major Confederate port. The stark reality was crushing. They embraced for long moments, wordlessly, emotionally, grieving silently for a world they would never know again.
Julie seldom saw Derek anymore. Every day he rode out ahead of the wagons, scouting. He reported to the men at night any obstacles they might encounter the next day.
One morning, as Myles was hitching up the oxen and Julie and Teresa were cooking breakfast at the common camp fire, indignant shrieking broke the stillness.
“Indians!” Esther Webber cried, dropping a skillet of frying fatback. She stared around her in horror, clutching her throat, eyes bulging.
“Esther, it’s not Indians,” Teresa said, staring down at the spoiled food. “It’s Elisa. I can see her standing outside her wagon, yelling.”
Elisa was jumping up and down, face livid, fists clutched.
Derek had already ridden out, so the chore of dealing with Elisa fell on Thomas. Like the others, Thomas had grown weary of Elisa Thatcher’s rotten disposition, which had become worse since she’d lost her baby.
Everyone followed Thomas as he went to see what was wrong.
“That sorry nigra!” Elisa raged to Thomas. “He’s left. Run away. Now what am I going to do? How am I going to handle my wagon and oxen alone? How dare he? I want him found and every inch of black skin whipped from his hide!” She jumped up and down, screaming.
“Now, Mrs. Thatcher.” Thomas held up his hands to try and calm her. “We don’t have time to waste looking for Micah. We’ve got to keep moving. I’ll find somebody to take over your wagon.” He looked around, spotted one of Esther’s teenage sons, and called him over. “Lonnie Bruce, will you help Mrs. Thatcher?”
Esther quickly stepped forward and pushed Lonnie Bruce behind her. Indignant hands on her hips, her fleshy face bright with anger, she declared, “No, he won’t. Micah ran away because of the way that woman mistreated him, always screaming at him and cursing him. I’ve even seen her hit him with a whip. I’ll not have my boy treated that way. She got herself into this mess. Let her get herself out of it.”
“She’s right,” Lonnie Bruce agreed. He had his mother’s pinched, critical face. “Everybody knows how she treated old Micah. I don’t blame him for running off. I’d have done the same thing. I ain’t working for her, no sir.”
“Well.” Elisa turned cold, condemning eyes on him. “I don’t want white trash working for me, anyway.”
“Who do you think you’re calling white trash?” Esther advanced a step and Thomas moved between them. “Now hold on, both of you!” he ordered. “There’s no need for this.” He looked around hopefully. “Is there anyone who’ll help Mrs. Thatcher out? When we get to El Paso, she can probably hire somebody, but we can’t let this hold us up now. We have to keep moving.”
No one said a word.
“Come on now,” Thomas pleaded. “We agreed at the beginning of this journey that we all have to work together. We’re one big family. The captain is out scouting, and I’ve got a job to do, so somebody has to volunteer to take over Mrs. Thatcher’s wagon.”
“Let her do it herself,” Esther challenged. “She isn’t too good to get a few blisters on her hands. All of us women have taken our turns at the reins. She brought this on herself, and I say, let her take the consequences.”
A murmur of agreement rippled through the crowd.
“Do I need to remind you that Mrs. Thatcher lost her baby only a few weeks ago?” Thomas glared reproachfully. Damn! How could they be so cold-hearted? Sure, the woman was a spoiled brat. He didn’t like her any more than they did, but still… “We aren’t going to move out until someone steps forward,” he warned. “I’m not going to let her take her own reins.”
“Well, I’m going to take them!” Elisa cried suddenly, tears of humiliation and anger streaming down her face. “To hell with all of you. What can I expect from white trash?”
Thomas stepped over to grasp Elisa’s arm and glowered down at her. “If you don’t keep your mouth shut, no one will help you.”
“I don’t want any help from them.” She jerked her arm away. “And you keep your hands off me. You have no right to touch me. I’ll take my own wagon.”
“No, you won’t.” Myles spoke up suddenly, giving Julie a beseeching look. “We can’t let this hold us up. We’ve got to keep on moving. I don’t want Teresa to have the baby on the trail. Julie, can you handle our wagon and let me take Mrs. Thatcher’s?”
Julie nodded, knowing what a rough time she was in for. But, no, they mustn’t lose any time.
Suddenly, Lonnie Bruce stepped forward. “Mr. Marshall, if you’ll take Mrs. Thatcher’s reins, I’ll take yours. I just don’t want to work for that woman, but I don’t mind working for your wife and your sister, not at all.”
Esther said nothing.
Grateful, Myles accepted his offer, and Julie said she would be glad to help out. Myles set about harnessing Elisa’s oxen, and Lonnie Bruce went with Julie to finish hitching theirs.
Inside the wagon, moving at last, Teresa turned to Julie and sighed. “I wonder what makes Elisa behave as she does? She goes out of her way to turn people against her. It’s so sad.”
“Well, as you’re always saying,” Julie replied, “we shouldn’t judge people because we never know what is happening inside to make them behave as they do.”
Teresa shook her head, her thoughts far away.
They rode in silence for a while, and then Julie decided to go up front and sit with Lonnie Bruce in case he should need help. She soon regretted the move, because the boy had bloody Indian stories on his mind and wouldn’t stop talking. He was a great deal like his mother.
“Don’t believe everything you hear, Lonnie Bruce,” Julie chided after a while. “Sometimes tales like this are exaggerated.”
“What I know ain’t no exaggeration,” he retorted indignantly, “’cause my granddaddy came out here as a mail rider when the Overland Mail Route got started, and when he came home, he told me what happened to set Cochise and the rest of the Chiricahua on the warpath.”
Julie did not like the conversation, but she found it fascinating, anyway. “Tell me what your grandfather said.”
“Well”—he took a deep breath, enjoying his big moment—“Granddaddy came out here in fifty-eight, and there won’t no real bad trouble with the Chiricahua till sixty-one. Cochise had been friendly, but then he was arrested by mistake for something he didn’t have nothing to do with. Some kidnapping, I think it was. Anyway, he escaped, but some of his men got killed, and ever since then, the Chiricahua have been on the warpath. And Cochise ain’t the only Indian mad,” he pronounced knowledgeably. “Have you heard about the Sand Creek Massacre?”
Julie shook her head.
“According to Granddaddy, the southern bands of Cheyenne were really suffering in the late fifties and early sixties, because they were having trouble finding game and a lot of them were starving. Then there was a Santee Sioux uprising in Minnesota, and a lot of white people got killed, and the whites living on the Plains heard about it and they got scared. A rumor got started that the Southern Cheyenne were moving north to join up with the Sioux and start attacking frontier settlements. Colonel Chivington, from Colorado, started attacking Cheyenne camps whether they were friendly or not. He said, ‘Kill Cheyenne whenever and wherever found.’”