The Veil Page 21

  The others looked. Sure enough, barely visible in the afterglow of sunset, the peak’s silhouette rose into the sky. Hats were thrown into the air as cheers and whoops and hollers sounded up and down the long train.

  Later, at the night fire, a spirit of spontaneous celebration lightened hearts and feet. Abe Barrett pulled out his fiddle and started to play “Oh! Susanna.” Hampton Farrington joined in with his harmonica as his wife, Sadie, watched with shining eyes. And to everyone’s surprise, old Reverend Brown hobbled to his wagon and back with a washtub. Stringing a catgut from it to the top of a pole, he twanged along when Abe and Hampton swung into “Camptown Races.”

  Ellie caught Hampton and Alexander exchanging a look of pride, as if each recognized in the other the exhilaration of their shared adventure. Father and son, so alike, she thought. Though Hampton was leaner and darker than her husband, he was just as serious in his pursuits. There was also that fiery light in his gray eyes that spoke clearly of his love of family and life and God—just like the light in Alexanders. And, of course, Hampton had that same burning in his gut for the grand trek west. But that burning wasn’t limited to the Farrington men, she realized, looking at all the faces in the firelight. Each man here, and probably many of the women, had that same burning in their souls.

  By now the singing and dancing were in full swing. Holding hands, Sarah and Meg whirled by. Alexander’s nephew, James, danced by with Melissa Ann Beller. James’s brother, Robert, swung Liza’s granddaughter, Vinia, into his arms, and at the same time, the Prewitt and Mitchell boys each grabbed the hands of the older O’Donnell girls and began clapping and laughing and whirling around the night fire.

  To one side, Ellie sat on a barrel tapping her foot to “Old Folks at Home” and watching Alexander, who was talking to Josiah Miller about tomorrow’s trek. Josiah’s wife, Mary, stood nearby, swaying and singing to the music, looking impatient to dance with her husband.

  Alexander seemed to sense Ellie’s gaze and looked up with a raised brow. Then, crossing over to where she sat on the flour barrel, he reached for her hand.

  “I don’t know that I should dance,” she said. “Just look at me.” She looked down at the evidence of the growing child within her.

  “Do your feet feel like dancing, dearest?” he asked.

  “Well, yes. But maybe it’s not seemly.”

  He smiled into her eyes. “You’ve never looked more beautiful to me,” he said softly. He turned her hand over, rubbed the calluses with his thumb, then lifted his gaze again to her eyes. “Never,” he said. “And that’s what’s seemly to me.”

  She looked up at Alexander, his hair shining in the firelight, the love in his eyes glowing just as brightly. He pulled her into his arms as the musicians started “My Old Kentucky Home,” and they began to move with the music.

  Gradually, others joined in around them, children and old folks. Reverend Brown put down the washtub and asked Liza to dance. She consented, but Abe wanted to dance with her himself and handed his fiddle to Billy Farrington, who started sawing his bow to “Oh! Susanna” again, one of the very few songs he could play. Billy’s wife, Bess, stood nearby tapping her foot and clapping to the beat.

  Around and around the circle they whirled, the captain and Ellie, Jesse and Polly O’Donnell, Liza and Abe Barrett, Pleasant and Cynthia Tackett, William and Martha Cameron. Even the Reverend asked Jane Farrington, Alexanders sister-in-law, to be his partner in a hoedown.

  Now and then, barely heard above the sounds of laughter and singing, the coyotes’ barking yips and the owls’ lonely calls drifted from the distant hills. The fiddle and harmonica played on into the deep night, now sweet and playful, now sad and melancholy. When it was done, Alexander pulled his mandolin out of the wagon and strummed “O God, Our Help in Ages Past.”

  Soft voices joined him in chorus: mothers, young and old, holding babes in arms and fathers cuddling toddlers in their laps and older couples clinging to each other. All lifted their voices heavenward.

  “Before the hills in order stood,

  Or earth received her frame,

  From everlasting thou art God,

  Through endless years the same.”

  Above the huddled families stretched a canopy of stars, blazing pinpricks of shimmering fire in a velvet black sky. Ellie thought there’d never been a finer evening.

  Long after the travelers had gone to their wagons for the night, two figures stole silently away from the circle. When they had reached a small embankment not far from the herd, Silas Edwards turned to Abe Barrett.

  “Some of us have been talking,” Silas said.

  “About what?”

  Silas cleared his throat. “We’ve been giving the captain the benefit of the doubt. Waiting for him to push us harder, to move us along faster, to make up for his blunder. Make up for the time we lost. But he’s not doing it.”

  “Why come to me? What do you think I can do about it?”

  “Talk to him. Tell him were wasting time. That we need to be moving along from daylight to dusk. We should be doing twenty miles a day instead of fifteen. He’ll listen to you.”

  “He’s got his reasons for keeping the pace slow. Don’t forget we’ve got old people along. Folks like Reverend Brown. And the captain’s being careful of the livestock. He knows the toll moving too fast would take. It’s not worth it. I’ve heard him say so.”

  “If our crossing’s too late, skinny stock will be the least of our troubles.”

  Abe looked hard at the man standing next to him. “I’d be careful if I were you.” Abe thought for a minute. “The captain’s a tough man. Especially tough against those he might think are against him.”

  “I wish he’d get tougher about the time runnin’ against him,” Silas countered.

  “He knows the dangers we face. I trust his judgment.”

  “Some of us’ve been talking about going to him with our complaints,” Silas continued. “Give him a chance to prove himself.”

  “Or what? What’re you talking about, man?” Abe was getting angry and wondering why he’d agreed to talk to Silas. It didn’t matter that the man was Alexander’s trusted foreman over the herd and cattlehands. He was hinting at mutiny.

  “I’m talking about electing a new captain. Pure and simple. One who’d get us over the Sierras before it snows.”

  “You’re going too far. I won’t be party to it.”

  “Maybe you will when you find out what else he’s got on his mind.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “There’s talk he considering taking the Old Spanish Trail through Utah Territory.”

  “So what if he is? Many wagon trains head through the territory. Get charged an arm and a leg for supplies, but other than that …” He shrugged.

  “He’s considering his options because we’re running so far behind schedule.”

  “Maybe they’re good options.”

  “I didn’t tell you what else I heard.”

  Abe stared at the man. “What?”

  “When we were back on the Santa Fe, an old mule skinner told me on good authority that the president of the United States is about to send troops to Utah Territory to put down an uprising.”

  “A mule skinner told you that?”

  Silas nodded.

  “And who’d he hear it from?” Abe laughed. “Some lizard on the trail?” He shook his head. “Think about it, man. The Saints leading some kind of rebellion against the government of the United States? I’ve never heard anything so half-witted.”

  “He didn’t say how he knew.”

  “Well, then, it sounds like a rumor to me,” Abe said. “Someone’s trying to embellish the truth.” He paused, shaking his head. “Or telling a bald-faced lie. That’s what I think.”

  Silas Edwards stared at him, and when he spoke again his voice had lost its fire. “I hope you’re right, Abe,” he said with a deep sigh. “I hope you’re right.”

  SIXTEEN

  Dust billowed under t
he slow feet of the herd in the distance. The wind carried the dust backward, hot and thick, and it settled on the Farrington company, their teams, their wagons. By now the arched canvas covers, once as white and lofty as ships’ sails, had turned a dingy brown-gray.

  Northward they moved, the sounds of the bawling and complaining cattle carrying back to Ellie as she walked beside her team. She now kept a kerchief over her nose and mouth and smaller cloths over the twins’ faces, but nothing kept their necks and hands from turning dark from the sun and coarse from the wind. The sun bore down as hot as fire, and with growing dismay, Ellie realized that the creeks for washing and drinking were now farther apart than before.

  The days dragged by with the train winding slowly forward, the high wagon tops swaying as wheels hit ruts and bumps. Now the oxen were thinner, plodding along even more slowly with their massive heads down, and despite her own weariness Ellie walked beside them rather than giving them the added burden of her weight in the wagon. Meg and Sarah, with Phoebe tucked safely under her arm, still playful for all their tiring journey, climbed on and off the wagon, sometimes falling, sometimes laughing, sometimes crying.

  To the sides of the trail, Ellie pointed out to her daughters various prairie dogs, slow-waddling porcupines, and owls. But she didn’t show them the human bones, skulls and rib cages, parched white from the sun, sometimes close by the trail, other times scattered off in the distance, dragged there by wolves or coyotes. If Alexander was riding beside her as they passed the bones, their eyes would meet in silent acknowledgment.

  Some of the more curious boys, especially Alexanders nephews, James and Robert, along with David Beller, tried to figure from bits of clothing which skeletons were those of Indians and which were those of white travelers. But the rest of the company spoke in hushed tones as they passed, as if they didn’t want to know.

  Sometimes Ellie spotted wolves in the early mornings and evenings, tails down, yellow eyes intelligent. But they kept their distance, their expressions watchful; she wondered if they somehow sensed the coming buffalo hunts.

  Herds of buffalo covered more of the land now; great rolling shadows of them moved across the slopes and plains. And downing the beasts became more sport than necessity. Fresh meat was now plentiful, too plentiful, and Ellie watched carefully that Sarah and Meg didn’t eat too much; many of the older folks and children suffered with diarrhea and dehydration because of it.

  Weeks passed, and the train pushed closer to where the Cherokee Trail intersected the California-Oregon road near Laramie. The spirits of the people and teams seemed to rise knowing they were just days away. The country turned from flat to rolling hills, and trees hung gracefully over streams of water. The shade and the cool-water springs and good grass appeared more often now.

  Wagons tipped and creaked and rattled as the terrain roughened. The oxen leaned into their yokes. Slower now they moved, careful of the swaying and tipping.

  The captain was the first to spot Fort Laramie. He had ridden out ahead of the train and was on a rise above the slope leading down to the fort. There it lay below him, with its sun-bleached buildings and stands of trees casting welcome shadows on the grass, the first woods they’d seen in weeks—lush, verdant woods that promised cool shade and soft breezes.

  Alexander was struck by how much it had changed since he’d been there years before. Then it had been a dusty group of buildings built by early fur trappers. Now, he figured, no self-respecting mountain man would darken its gates.

  Since the California gold rush, it had become a way station for tens of thousands of emigrants heading west, a gathering place for ragtag tribes of Indians—mostly Dakota Sioux—dependent on government handouts, and a post for second-rate traders to sell buffalo skins.

  Laramie Creek was at the base of the slope where Alexander stood, and beyond it he could see a scraggly group of Indians begging by the entrance to the fort. The captain remembered the magnificent and proud bronzed Dakota Sioux warriors who had once raised their tepees near the fort. It was sad to see the majestic people reduced to such measures. Glancing one last time at the fort, he reined the Appaloosa and returned to the wagon company.

  One by one the wagons reached the crest of the hill overlooking the Laramie, then rumbled down the other side and splashed through the creek. With the pounding of hooves, the jangle of yoke chains, and the shouting of the teamsters as they moved, the families, little ones, and even the elderly hollered out in delight as they crested the hill and saw the fort.

  It was their first sighting of civilization in months, and it was also the first time they had laid eyes on the California road.

  As Ellie’s rig crested the hill, she halted the team and stood with the twins beside her. Liza, whose wagon followed Ellie’s, halted her oxen as well and walked forward to stand with the group. Ellie was glad to stop for the rest. She had kept her discomfort to herself, but since morning, pains stung her abdomen with each step. She rubbed her back anxiously.

  Liza was looking down the hill at Laramie. “There’re buildings. Think of it!” she laughed. “Real buildings, Ellie.”

  “And trees!” little Sarah added, as much in awe of the sight as Liza Barrett was.

  “Look!” Meg shouted. “There’s grass as green as tree frogs.”

  “How long will we stay here, Mommy?” Sarah asked.

  “Just overnight, child,” Ellie answered.

  “I’d like to stay here forever,” Meg said with a dramatic sigh. “My legs are so tired of walking.”

  Liza pulled the little girl into a hug. “So are mine, child,” she said. So are mine.

  The oxen started down the slope on their own, the smell of water prodding them better than any whip could. Meg and Sarah took off after them, laughing and shouting, trying to get them to stop.

  Ellie and Liza followed, picking their way among the rocks and low-growing shrubs.

  Then Ellie felt another deep and searing pain in her lower abdomen. She gasped and doubled over. Liza was immediately by her side, supporting Ellie with her arm. Meg and Sarah, already by the creek bank, turned with worried expressions as the oxen lumbered to a halt beside them and stretched their necks to drink.

  “Ellie, what is it?” Liza whispered just as another stabbing pang shuddered through Ellie’s body. She slipped to the ground, and Liza knelt beside her, enfolding her in her arms. “Lean against me, Ellie,” she said. “Close your eyes and breathe deeply.”

  Ellie nodded, unable to speak until the pain subsided, and Liza went on, her voice low and soothing. “It’s going to be all right. Just relax.”

  Ellie did as Liza said and kept her eyes closed for another few minutes. She could hear the twins’ worried voices coming closer, then little hands touched hers. She took another deep breath and felt the pain subside. Finally she opened her eyes. Meg and Sarah’s faces had paled with worry.

  “Easy now,” Liza said, supporting Ellie as she stood. “Easy.”

  “I—I’m all right,” she said shakily. “Just a bit weak, that’s all.” She leaned against Liza for a moment. Meg and Sarah put their arms around her on the other side, and slowly, very slowly, they walked down to the creek.

  Ellie knelt and patted some cold water on her face then settled onto a flat boulder to rest. The children splashed and played in the water, and after about ten minutes, she felt her strength return.

  “Do you want me to fetch Alexander?” Liza asked.

  “No, don’t bother him with this. I’m all right, really.” She looked toward the Laramie gate, knowing that her husband was inside seeing the commander about the company’s accommodations. “It’s only a few hundred yards or so. I can make it.”

  “If you promise to lean on me,” Liza said seriously, “and go to bed and rest for the remainder of the day, once we’re inside.”

  Ellie smiled, trying to calm Liza’s fears—and her own. “I promise,” she said. “But I’ve got a strong hankerin’ for a soak in a nice hot bath right after. I’ve been thinking about
that since we left Crooked Creek.”

  Liza laughed. “I’ll find the means to get you just that while you’re resting. I might even try it out myself, though I might not ever get out again once I’m under those bubbles.” She shouted for some nearby wagoners to take over moving their rigs across the creek, then she stood and circled her arm around Ellie’s waist. Ellie leaned on her, and they slowly made their way across the creek and up the bank on the other side.

  Moments later, with one twin skipping on either side, Ellie and Liza slowly walked through Laramie’s tall, wooden gateway that was flanked by a dusty band of Sioux and a few scraggly traders. Their stacks of smelly buffalo skins covered with flies caused Ellie’s stomach to lurch. She swayed slightly, and Liza helped her catch her balance. As they passed the Indians, Sarah clutched Phoebe close, hiding the doll in her arms.

  Just as dusk settled over Laramie, in a makeshift saloon at the rear of the fort Alexander and Abe Barrett waited to meet with two men who had given their names as Matthias Graves and Red Jakes and hailed from Missouri. The men had seen the Farrington company arrive and asked for a meeting with the captain, saying it would be a time of mutual interest.

  Alexander had agreed, figuring they wanted to connect up with the company. Wagon trains often joined up with others traveling the same direction, parted, then joined up with still others. It was considered to be mutually beneficial when it happened.

  Farrington knew that the Missourians would gain from such an alliance, but when the unkempt men slumped into their chairs at his table, he wondered why he’d agreed to talk to them. Before they had even stated their case, something told him they were trouble.

  The first man to speak, Matthias Graves, a lean, hard-muscled man with straw-colored hair, leaned forward, his expression earnest. “You all are running late,” he began. “Not a good thing with what all’s ahead.” He worked his jaw as he waited for Farrington’s response.