The Seeds of Change Read online

  Savvy businesswoman, Lark would give her that. This close to Independence, weary travelers must be aplenty.

  Lilac stepped up, eyes alight.

  “Look, Lar—Clark.” She held out two tablets and fresh pencils. “Can we? For Sythia and me?”

  Lark checked the price. Not as high as she’d feared, considering. “All right.” Her sisters deserved a treat for all they’d put up with on her account and for serving as God’s angels to the Durhams. Not that they’d been raised to do any differently.

  The total for their purchases still made Lark swallow, but at least they’d be stocked for a while. No doubt prices might still be higher in Independence. She tried not to let her mind start running numbers again.

  “So that lady owns this place?” Lark counted out coins after the woman had swept out of the store.

  The mustached man behind the counter chuckled. “And half the town. Even the saloon.”

  No wonder. A regular monopoly.

  “We should have gotten something for Robbie.” Lilac glanced at the jars of candy on the counter.

  “Your son?” The store clerk cut a length of brown paper to wrap their bacon.

  “A little boy in a wagon traveling with us,” Lark said, lest Lilac forget and say something to give them away. “His ma’s been sick.”

  “Here. Take him a peppermint stick.” The clerk lifted a glass lid and handed the candy to Lilac.

  Something in Lark’s chest eased. So generosity did exist in this town.

  “Thank you kindly.” Arms laden, they stepped out into the sunshine.

  As their wagons rumbled out of the pasture the next morning at first light, Lark rode up next to Forsythia. “Someday wherever we end up, we’re going to start a boardinghouse or hotel. A place that will treat folks right.”

  12

  I’d like to have stayed there another day, but I can’t afford it,” Mr. Durham said.

  “You’re sure your wife is strong enough to go on?” Lark asked from Starbright’s back.

  “She says she is.” Durham looked to Forsythia, who shrugged. “Thanks to Miss Forsythia.”

  “We might have layover time in Independence. Depending on when the wagon trains leave.”

  Lark knew her concern was showing. If it weren’t for Forsythia making sure his wife was as comfortable as possible . . . She still wished the Durhams had turned back and stopped at the Herrons’, but they were insistent that they continue. She’d heard rumors that wagon masters could refuse a wagon if there was sickness. If Sythia could get Alice strong enough to sit up on the wagon seat . . . Lord, you know this situation. What do we do?

  Traffic increased the closer they drew to Independence. Late in the afternoon, they stopped at a general store for information. Inside, the man behind the counter gave them instructions as to where the wagon trains formed up.

  “The wagon master, name of Ephraim Hayes, told me they’re waiting on a couple more wagons. You might be the answer for him.”

  Lark and Mr. Durham exchanged glances. “Thank you.”

  Back at the wagons, Lark told the others the news and led the way, swinging out around the town proper and stopping near a circle of wagons. She and Durham stepped down and went searching for the wagon master, asking those they encountered. They finally located him by his wagon, busy greasing the axles.

  “Mr. Hayes, we heard you were lookin’ for more wagons,” Lark said.

  The wagon master stuck his paddle in the bucket of grease, wiped his hands on his pants, and nodded. “Who are you? Where you from, and where you goin’?”

  “Name is Clark Nielsen. My wagon is from Linksburg, Ohio. Myself, my three sisters, two span of oxen, and a mare.” Lark looked at Mr. Durham.

  “Thomas Durham. My wife and I and small son have one span of oxen and a smaller wagon.”

  “Adequate supplies?”

  “Used the lists sent out. How many are in your train?” Lark studied the man who might be responsible for their safety.

  “Twelve so far. The two of you make fourteen. You related?”

  “No, met up a few days back.”

  “What kinda arms you carryin’?”

  Lark answered his questions carefully. One repeating rifle, one muzzle-loader, and a pistol. Good thing she’d bought more ammunition at that last store.

  “And how many can shoot and hit their target?”

  “All of us. My youngest sister is best at reloading, but she can shoot, too, and she’s a good hunter.”

  Hayes cocked an eyebrow. Obviously he didn’t think much of female shooters.

  “Our father made sure all of his children could handle firearms. He started us young.”

  Hayes turned to Thomas. “Durham, is it?”

  Mr. Durham nodded. “One rifle, one shooter.”

  “I see. And where might you all be headin’?”

  “My sisters and I are thinking on southern Nebraska. We don’t really want to cross the Rocky Mountains. It depends on what kind of land we can find. We’re thinking to homestead or buy.”

  “And you, Durham?”

  “We were planning on Oregon, but the more I hear about the Rockies, the less I want to attempt that, so we might stop in Nebraska too.” Durham looked to Lark, who shrugged.

  He’s afraid his wife won’t make it that far. Lark kept her thoughts to herself. She had a feeling the real strength in that little family lay with the missus. And right now, that was slim.

  “Let’s go look at your wagons,” Hayes said.

  As they walked toward the waiting wagons, Lark asked, “How many trains have you taken west?”

  “Three, this will be four. As the railroad expands west, wagon trains will be a thing of the past. I got me a good plot of land in a beautiful valley in Oregon. My wife and two children are there, along with my brother and his family. This train’ll be my last.”

  Lark led him to their wagons, introduced him to her sisters, and invited him to look around.

  “I see you got a guitar back there. Musicians?” Hayes asked.

  Lark nodded. “We’ve done some entertaining back home.”

  “On the road too?”

  She nodded. “A good pick-me-up.”

  “We can always use some music in the evenings.” He looked up at Lilac on the horse with Robbie in front of her. “You the hunter?”

  Lilac shrugged and adjusted Robbie. “Me and Clark.”

  Hayes turned to Durham. “That your boy?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  At the Durham wagon, Hayes tipped his hat to Mrs. Durham, who sat up on a couple of boxes padded with folded quilts. She was knitting, and Forsythia was stitching on a framed piece.

  Durham introduced his wife, and Forsythia smiled at Lark’s introduction.

  Hayes studied her for a moment. “And you can shoot?”

  “Would you like to set up a test? I can also throw a knife. My father wanted his daughters to be able to defend themselves if ever need be, considering we were fighting a war. He wanted us to be self-sufficient.” Forsythia’s voice was steady, with no hint of her struggle from her last knife-throwing incident.

  “Unusual man.” Hayes shifted his jaw.

  “He was. He and our mother also made sure we got a good education. Any one of us could teach school, if need be.”

  “Or farm or run a store.” Lark leveled a look at Hayes. “Or fight.”

  “I see.” He tipped his hat again. “Good day, ladies. I’m sure we’ll get to know each other on the trail.” He turned to Lark and Durham. “I’ll need you gentlemen to join a meeting before supper to sign the contract and go over our bylaws. I also heard tell two more wagons are nearing town. I’ll give them one more day, and then we move out at the crack of dawn on Monday. So if you’re needin’ more supplies, now’s the time. I’ll tell you the lineup on Sunday. I suggest you move your wagons north and east to get closer to grazing land. Give your animals a rest. There’s water there too. Make sure your water barrels and canteens are full.”
/>   The families watched him stride off.

  Lark blew out a breath. Apparently they had been weighed and found acceptable—though she doubted that would be the case if Hayes knew her gender.

  She grinned at her sisters and shook Durham’s hand. “Guess we’re bound for the promised land.” Thank you, Lord.

  From atop Starbright, Robbie gave a whoop. Lilac smiled and hugged him.

  Since they’d stocked up in the previous town, only Lark headed into Independence to check for mail. Hopefully there’d be another letter from Anders before they hit the trail, and she had a packet to send him from them. Forsythia, Del, and Lilac stayed behind to set up camp and help the Durhams.

  She stepped into the post office, blinking in the dimness after the bright sun outside.

  “Any mail for the Jimson family?” She tapped her fingers on the wooden counter, waiting. It would be good to hear from Anders.

  “Here you go.” The clerk handed her four letters.

  Four. What riches. She’d have thought two at the most. Lark paid for the postage on her letters to Anders, then hurried outside and leaned against the hitching post to examine the envelopes.

  Two from Anders—or rather, Anders and Josephine Nielsen, the return address said. Lark smiled. So they had gotten married. One from the Herrons, bless them. And one unmarked envelope. Mr. Holt? Another friend? She’d find out when they opened the letters together tonight.

  Her heart lifting, Lark swung up on Starbright again. Joining a wagon train just in time, and four letters from home. She sang softly as they trotted back to camp. “‘O for a thousand tongues to sing my great Redeemer’s praise . . .’”

  She found their wagon and the Durhams’ just to the east of the circle of prairie schooners, the oxen grazing with others in the grassy field. Del and Forsythia stooped over a newly kindled fire, starting supper.

  Robbie came running to meet her. “Guess what, guess what. There’s an Indian, a real one.”

  “Is that so?” Lark chuckled and dismounted.

  “A Pawnee guide the wagon master has.” Mr. Durham followed his son, shaking his head. “I don’t know how I feel about having him along.”

  “No doubt he knows the territory better than even the wagon master.” Lark shaded her eyes to look across the circle of wagons where Robbie pointed. She could barely make out a slender young man talking with Hayes.

  “Still. I’d rather not have a heathen skulking nearby, not around my wife and young’un.”

  Her spine stiffened. “We’re all God’s children, are we not, Mr. Durham?”

  He gave a noncommittal grunt.

  As the sun slanted lower in the sky, Lark and Durham gathered with the other men around Hayes in the center of the circled wagons. Smoke from cooking fires and the aroma of mingled suppers spiced the air.

  “You’re all here because you want to be.” Hayes raised his voice to be heard above the surrounding clatter of pots, chatter of women, and scamper of children. “You’re bound for Oregon or California, or points that direction. And you know there’s safety in numbers. I’m Ephraim Hayes, and I’m your captain. Just as if we were on a ship, what I say goes. No arguments.” He clapped a hand on the shoulder of the young Indian man beside him. “This here is Kuruk, our Pawnee trail guide. He knows these parts like the back of his hand. His name means bear in his language, so I call him Little Bear. You can too.”

  Murmurs, curious glances. Little Bear leaned against a wagon behind Hayes, his expression neutral.

  “This document lays out the rules and regulations for this wagon train all the way to our destinations.” Hayes held up a written paper. “I’m going to read through the articles aloud. Any objections or questions, speak your piece now or hold your tongue later. Understood?” He leveled a glance around the circle.

  Nods, shifting of feet.

  Hayes began to read, laying out regulations for decision-making, for adding or withdrawing members, against drinking and gambling—Lark’s cheeks heated at that—and regarding river crossings and private property rights. Some men started to lose interest, but the rules seemed fair.

  “You may now sign if you agree to be bound by this contract.” Hayes laid the document on a rock along with a pen, and the men filed in to scrawl their names.

  “You may have noticed we have an article against Sabbath-breaking.” Hayes raised his voice above the swelling murmurs, and silence fell again. “Whatever your personal convictions, the wagon train will not travel on Sundays. Tomorrow morning the Rev. William Green will hold a church service for the camp. Monday morning we move out.”

  Lark stepped closer, waiting her turn to sign the contract. She passed near Little Bear and gave a friendly nod.

  He nodded back, still reserved, but his eyes smiled a bit.

  “You been on many of these wagon trains?” Lark ventured.

  He looked no older than Anders, dressed in a woven hunting shirt and leather breeches. Under his shaved head and scalp lock, his face was young, unthreatening. He made her miss her brothers.

  Little Bear shrugged. “A couple of times. I know the trail, though.”

  “Where do you live?” She hoped she wasn’t pressing too far.

  “My family is on the reservation north of here.” He dipped his head politely and stepped away.

  Lark watched him slip behind the wagons, her heart tugging strangely. What must it be like to serve as guide for foreigners invading his people’s land? The thought cast a different light over her excitement for setting out. And yet he chose to go along with them.

  “You going to sign, young fella?”

  “Sorry.” Lark stepped up and added her signature to the document, making it as manly as she could.

  Well. That was that.

  She went back to the wagon.

  “There’s really going to be a church service tomorrow?” Forsythia dished up beans and hot corn bread for supper.

  “So Hayes said. Sounds like it’ll be a weekly occurrence.”

  “Maybe they’d let us bring some of the music,” Del said.

  “Not a bad thought.”

  “Come on, eat quickly so we can read the mail.” Lilac reached for her plate.

  After supper and washing up, Lark pulled the letters from her satchel, running her fingers over each envelope. Her sisters gathered close.

  She opened the letter from Anders dated the earliest and began to read.

  My dear family,

  We have much news here, but first I want to thank you for the missives you have sent. Lilac, do you mind if we share your drawings with others? You depict life in a wagon so well that we could turn these all into a picture book. And Forsythia, Mrs. Smutly played the chords of the song you sent, and now we are singing it regularly. Josephine enjoys the piano so much, as do we all. Mr. Holt is a frequent supper guest. He says his ranch is so lonely, especially since another of his ranch hands is itching to head west. He said he wouldn’t be surprised if one morning he wakes up with one less employee.

  Josephine and I missed you dreadfully at the wedding, which really wasn’t much of a wedding, but we did have our new pastor officiating at the service. Jonah was my best man, and her sister stood up for her. Her mother and aunt made a special dinner, and that was about it. Our biggest question is why we waited so long. Yes, I know the many reasons, and they are all valid, but we so missed all of you here to celebrate with us.

  Since Reverend Spalding and his family arrived only three weeks ago, he has been cleaning house. Deacon Wiesel was relieved of his position, and Climie barely lived through it and lost another baby that never saw the light of day. Wiesel has now left town, but Reverend Spalding refused to let Climie go with her husband, no matter how Wiesel ranted and raved. She is healing well but will be disfigured for life. She has moved in with Josephine’s parents to assist them in their later years. Now Grandma Larkin is able to enjoy her family more, and Grandpa is getting good care.

  Needless to say, we are so grateful for Rev. Spalding an
d his lovely wife. They have two children still living at home. Their eldest son is in college and planning to follow in his father’s footsteps.

  I hate to leave you with this news, but Wiesel left town still blaming our family for all his troubles—Lark, especially, which is not a surprise. As far as we know, he has no idea where you might have gone, other than west.

  I must close. Lark, I wish you were here to take care of the store books. You are far better at that than I am. Josephine loves our house, and I must say I do not miss living above the store. Jonah seems to be shaping up, and we keep praying for God to work His miracles there. Jonah helps out at Holt’s ranch at times too.

  Farewell and thank you for the wonderful letters. With love and prayers from all of us here.

  Your brother and sister-in-law,

  Anders and Josephine Nielsen

  “So much good news.” Forsythia clasped her hands around her knees and scooted closer to the campfire. “You said there is another, more recent?”

  “Yes.” Lark opened the envelope. Reading the words made her miss Anders something fierce, and even Jonah, troublemaker that he was. Though it sounded like that might be changing. She prayed so.

  My dear family,

  I hope this letter catches you before you leave with the wagon train. I have been marking your progress on a calendar, so we have some idea of where you might be. Thank you for the letters you have sent, which we read over and over.

  Much has happened here, and some of it is not good. Jonah sneaked his way back to the saloon, so though it nearly killed us, he no longer works at the store or lives above it, and until he can learn to live up to his promises, he is not welcome here either. I now know the horrible sadness of the father in the story of the prodigal son. I pray our prodigal brother will come to his senses and return to those who love him no matter what.

  I am not that father, though, because I cannot allow him here if he doesn’t mend his ways. He has to decide and adhere to his decision to live without booze and gambling.

  Arthur Holt has hired him to work on his ranch full-time, but the same rule applies: If you return to the saloon, you will be on your own. He says Jonah is working hard and hopefully too tired at night to have any desire to go to town.