The Long Way Home Read online

  This time she saw it. A forked bolt of lightning cracked the heavens, blued the world, and struck the ground up toward the front of the wagon train. The sound set the earth to ringing like an earthquake rolled through. Ahab leaped forward, his shrill whistle adding to the panic in Jesselynn’s heart. She clung like a burr, her ‘‘Oh, God, oh, God’’ the only prayer she could offer.

  Fire flared from the lead wagon. Screams rent the air. Teams broke loose from the train and drove ahead in all directions, wagons rocking and bucking over the rough ground.

  Ahab slowed at her fierce hold on the reins, and they pulled even with the last of the wagons. The wagon drivers near the end of the train had gotten a strong enough hold on the reins that they were already stopping.

  ‘‘Pull into a circle and unyoke!’’

  Aunt Agatha, white faced but able, pulled her oxen to the right, Benjamin right behind her. For once being at the rear of the train proved to be a blessing. She could hear Ophelia singing and praying loud enough to scare away thunder. The sound brought a smile to Jesselynn’s face. She caught up with Nate Lyons, who waved when he saw her, and his grandson, Mark, clutching the seat beside him.

  ‘‘Go on back. Benjamin and Agatha are circling.’’

  ‘‘What we shoulda done some time ago, that . . .’’ Lyons, whom Agatha referred to as Brushface, cut off his sentence, but Jesselynn had a pretty good idea what he was thinking. He waved her on.

  She pointed another wagon back to the circle and cantered on. A long storage box smashed open on the ground forced Ahab into the air in a jump that sent Jesselynn clinging upon his neck. She pulled him to a stop, settled herself in the saddle again, and peered through the sheeting rain, waiting for another heavenly candle to light the sky.

  When it did, she blinked, trying to dislodge the eerie sight. Broken wagons and suffering oxen littered the land. Slowly picking her way among split barrels, soaked bedding, and a splintered rocking chair, she searched for injured people. One wagon missing a rear wheel stood upright, its driver unyoking the oxen, one down, one holding up a foreleg.

  ‘‘Are you folks hurt?’’ Jesselynn paused by the man.

  ‘‘Only shook up. Better’n some of the others.’’

  Jesselynn touched her hat and nudged Ahab forward. The next wagon lay on its side, hoops crushed like paper. A limping man struggled to release the braces that held a thrashing ox to its still mate. A child’s cries caught her attention from a nearby heap of debris.

  ‘‘I’ll be right back,’’ she told the man and nudged Ahab forward. He snorted and trembled as they approached the shattered wagon bed. ‘‘Hello, anyone here?’’

  The cries rose louder.

  Jesselynn dismounted and, looping Ahab’s reins over her arm, dug into the mess. Lifting a soggy sack of grain, then assorted clothing, she found a young child dressed in the shift of all small children. She knelt beside the screaming, arm-flailing little one, seeing the right leg twisted at an angle.

  ‘‘Easy, child, easy.’’ The child opened its eyes and choked on a scream, reaching for her with both arms and a plaintive wail.

  ‘‘Ma-a-a. Want Ma.’’ A hiccup followed.

  Jesselynn ignored the rain pelting them both and took the child’s hands in hers. ‘‘Easy, baby. I can’t pick you up until I make sure there’s nothing else broken.’’ The child’s hands in one of hers, Jesselynn used her other to explore the child’s body, watching for any signs of pain at her probing. ‘‘Now, you lie still and let me do something about that leg, you hear?’’

  But the child clung like mistletoe, refusing to let loose of her hand.

  Jesselynn looked up, hoping and praying someone else would come by and help her. ‘‘Father, what do I do? I’ve got to get this child out of the rain, or we’ll have more problems than just a broken leg.’’ She glanced back to see if her wagons were in shouting distance. Barely able to see them through the curtain of rain, she figured not. A man shouted for help from some distance.

  Thunder rolled again but heading east. The rain continued unabated. She pulled a piece of material from under more debris, ripped it in strips and, taking a piece of a shattered wagon board, folded part of the cloth around the board, then laid it beside the child’s leg. ‘‘All right, little one, this is going to hurt again.’’ With infinite gentleness, she slipped the board under the twisted leg.

  The child screamed. Jesselynn bit her lip and whimpered herself. ‘‘Please, Father, guide my hands. Make this work. If you’re near my mother, sure wish you could send her here to help.’’ All the while she murmured soothing sounds to the child and reiterated in her mind her mother’s instructions on setting a broken bone. ‘‘Pull steady on the joint on either side until the break slips back in.’’ ‘‘Now we got to wrap this all the way up your leg, and then I can carry you to Ophelia. She’ll help make it better.

  I know she will.’’ With the last knot tied, Jesselynn slid her arms under the child’s body and, holding the leg steady with the other hand, rose to an upright position. Trying not to jar the leg, she covered the ground to her wagon as swiftly as possible.

  ‘‘Oh, dear Lord, what have we here?’’ Aunt Agatha, oilcloth cape over her shoulders, reached for the burden.

  ‘‘No, I’ll lay her down. I didn’t set the leg. We’ll have to do that later.’’ She laid the child on top of a wooden box in the rear. ‘‘I’ve got to check on the others.’’ She glanced up to see six wagons now in the circle and another approaching. ‘‘You seen Cobalt?’’

  Agatha turned from comforting the child whose weak ‘‘Ma-a’’ tore at Jesselynn’s heart. ‘‘No, and don’t say I care if’n I ever do,’’ Agatha retorted.

  ‘‘I know, me too.’’ Jesselynn swung back on Ahab. ‘‘If Meshach comes, send him on to help me. Oh, and get my medicine box out when you can. We’re going to be needing all the supplies we can find.’’

  She made her way from wagon to wagon, assessing the damage. When she reached what had been the lead wagon, she asked one of the men what happened.

  ‘‘Struck by lightning. Hit that first hoop, and the noise scattered all the critters. Never seen such a awful mess in all my born days.’’

  ‘‘The driver’s dead?’’

  ‘‘Umm. And the two rear oxen.’’ He pointed to the two carcasses. ‘‘The others burnt some but alive.’’

  Jesselynn studied the scorched wagon, burned at the bolts, the joinings, the wheels.

  ‘‘The man have a family?’’

  ‘‘Uh, yup. Someone come and took the missus and the little boy. They was stunned bad but sittin’ in the back outa the rain kept ’em alive.’’

  ‘‘Better cut the throats of those two dead ox. Let them bleed out so they can use the meat.’’

  ‘‘Uh, yup. That’s what I come to do. Can’t waste the meat in spite of all the tragedies.’’ The man went about his task, and Jesselynn cantered off to help wherever she could. Jesselynn cantered off to help wherever The downpour continued.

  She’d just checked the last wagon when Meshach caught up with her. ‘‘Herd safe. Good thing Daniel brought our horses back to the herd. Gully washer come through dat arroyo not long after.’’

  ‘‘Thank the Lord above.’’ Jesselynn reined Ahab so they rode knee to knee to be heard over the drumming rain. ‘‘At least there will be oxen able to pull the wagons that can go on. I think at least four are totally wrecked. Not sure how many people dead, or animals. Still haven’t seen that so-called wagon master.’’

  ‘‘He’s sendin’ folks back to the circle. Good thing you got them wagons turnin’.’’

  ‘‘Only about an hour late. If he’d circled them at the first thunder roll, none of this would have happened.’’ She indicated the area with a swept arm. ‘‘The man oughta be shot.’’

  ‘‘You can’t say for certain nothin’ happen.’’

  Jesselynn sighed. ‘‘I know. Let’s get on and see how we can help.’’

  Darkness fell with two wag
ons unaccounted for.

  Jesselynn, Ophelia, and Aunt Agatha spent the evening bandaging wounds, comforting those who’d lost family members, and wringing out their mud-heavy skirts. Jesselynn was at least spared the skirt routine, since even after the others knew she was a female in men’s clothing, she had never bowed to the pressure to give up her britches. When her box ran dry of rolled bandages, she set Jane Ellen to tearing up one of their few remaining sheets.

  She and Benjamin strung a tarp off the rear of one wagon, and thanks to Meshach carrying dry wood in slings under the wagon, they got a fire going to heat soup and coffee. As the wagon folk ate and warmed themselves at the fire, Jesselynn heard comments about the wagon master, none of them good.

  If I’d just followed my instincts and gone after Cobalt, this whole thing might have been averted. Wolf, where are you when we need you so bad? I sure hope you’re happy with your family, tribe, whatever you want to call it.

  ‘‘Anyone seen Cobalt?’’ She kept her voice low for Agatha’s ears alone.

  ‘‘I heard he’s searching for any lost ones. if’n he had any sense, he’d be heading for the hills.’’

  ‘‘Where Mr. Wolf go?’’ Three-year-old Thaddeus Highwood wrapped an arm around his sister’s leg and leaned into her warmth.

  ‘‘I told you he went north to his people.’’

  ‘‘When he comin’ back?’’

  Jesselynn squatted down to look her little brother directly in his blue eyes. ‘‘Thaddeus, he’s not coming back. I reckon we just have to get used to that.’’ She smoothed the honey-hued curls back off his forehead. ‘‘Do you understand?’’

  He nodded, one forefinger making its way to his mouth. ‘‘Where Patch?’’ The black shepherd-type dog had adopted them after his home and family went up in flames on the road before Independence. He took his job herding Thaddeus and Sammy seriously.

  ‘‘Out with the herd, he was a big help in turning those critters into a circle.’’

  ‘‘Did he bark?’’

  ‘‘Yup, and bit one old ox right on the shoulder.’’ Jesselynn stood up, taking Thaddeus with her. He hugged both arms around her neck, his legs around her waist.

  ‘‘Lightnin’ scared me.’’

  ‘‘Me too.’’ She kissed his cheek. ‘‘But you were brave so Sammy didn’t cry, weren’t you?’’

  ‘‘Uh-huh. Sammy the baby.’’ Dark as Thaddeus was fair, Sammy came to them when they found his mother dead in the Kentucky woods.

  ‘‘He was mighty brave. Like an eagle, he was.’’ Jane Ellen patted the little boy’s bottom as she passed by. ‘‘Rain’s done.’’

  Jesselynn and Thaddeus both looked up to the canvas over their heads. Sure enough, not even spatters ticked the tarp. She hugged her little brother closer, and at the same moment they turned to listen, their smiles matching.

  Someone had taken out a fiddle, and the plaintive notes of ‘‘Amazing Grace’’ floated across the circle.

  Jesselynn blinked back the tears that burned at the back of her eyes. She hummed, stopped when her throat filled, swallowed, and picked up the words. ‘‘I once was lost, but now am found. . . .’’

  Jane Ellen’s sweet soprano joined her. ‘‘Was blind, but now I see.’’

  ‘‘Oh, Lord, help us find those who are still lost.’’ Jesselynn set Thaddeus down on the wagon tailgate and motioned for him to stay there. She looked upward to see one star twinkling through the ragtag drifting clouds. ‘‘I’m going for Daniel. I’ll stand guard so he can go look for the other two wagons.’’ The notes of the song sang on in her mind, even after the fiddler segued into another tune. Lost and blind, that’s what they were for certain sure out here on the Oregon Trail. What she wouldn’t give for the friendly lights of a town or even one house. She stopped Ahab and looked back toward the camp. Two fires glowed now and a lantern or two, and hammers already rang in repair. Meshach’s blacksmithing skills would be in great demand in the morning.

  Coyotes yipped a hill or so away, sounding like they were behind the nearest rock. Most likely they smelled the blood of the dead and injured. ‘‘Oh, Lord, please send us a legion of angels to guard the camp tonight. We don’t need an animal or Indian attack now.’’

  CHAPTER TWO

  Fort Laramie, Wyoming Territory

  The storm broke as Wolf rode into Fort Laramie. Before he could dismount and tie his horse, he was soaked as if he’d stood under a waterfall, so he led his horse up the two steps to the porch with him. Lightning turned the evening into day in flashes close enough together to make a lamp unnecessary. The blue white light carried its own peculiar fragrance, and the ground failed to suck in the moisture quickly enough to keep from puddling.

  Once under the overhang of the general store, he glanced back to the west. While he could see no farther than the water curtaining off the roof, in his mind he knew the wagons were circled in a hollow and the herd safely bedding down in the middle. Jason Cobalt surely had enough trail sense to do that, didn’t he? Of course he did, Wolf answered his own silent question.

  ‘‘Come on in out of the downpour,’’ a man called to him from the door of the mess hall.

  ‘‘Thanks, but I got to take care of my horse first.’’

  ‘‘Down to the livery. Red’ll put yer horse up, you too, if’n ye don’t mind a hay pile for your bed. Then come on back. We got hot coffee in here that’ll drive the damp out.’’

  ‘‘Any food?’’

  ‘‘That too. Say, ain’t you that wagon master called Wolf? Thought you was takin’ a train west.’’

  ‘‘I was. Long story.’’ Wolf clucked his horse back down the wooden stairs, mounted, and trotted to the half-rock, half-wood hulk of a barn, recognized as such by the wide rolling door across the front. Wolf dismounted, slid the door open wide enough for his horse to follow him through, and stopped to drip. The roar sounded like the rain was intent on washing the shingles clear to Kansas City.

  ‘‘Anybody here?’’ He shouted to be heard over the onslaught. When no one answered, he flipped the reins around a post and waited for the lightning to give him an idea where a door might be, other than the one he came in by. ‘‘Halloo.’’

  Still no answer. He listened in the interval between thunder rolls. He could hear a horse chewing off to his right and a snort to the left. Figuring on stalls on both sides, he waited and, at the lightning flicker, saw an empty box ahead and to the right. Untying his horse, he led him to the place. One didn’t need light to complete such a familiar task. Stalls were much the same everywhere. Hanging his saddle over the half wall between him and the main door, he tied a latigo around his horse’s neck and to the manger, already filled with hay. He felt for the water bucket in the corner. It too was full.

  ‘‘That Red runs a good barn. Now if we just knew where the grain bin lay.’’ The horse nudged his elbow and nosed around him to drag out a mouthful of hay. The familiar sound of horses chewing gave the barn a cozy feeling. If his stomach hadn’t rumbled about as loud as the last clap of thunder, he might have rolled up in his bedroll and slept out the remainder of the night.

  Instead, he opened the door again, just enough to slip through, and headed for the mess hall, lights from the windows a friendly beacon. He pushed open the door and paused just inside. Two tables of poker, cigar smoke writhing above the players, appealed to him about as much as stepping back outside in the downpour, so he headed down the center aisle to trestle tables toward the back. Two men were writing letters, one reading in the lamplight.

  ‘‘Grub’s still hot.’’ A sergeant motioned over his shoulder to the counter.

  ‘‘Thanks.’’ Wolf nodded as he spoke.

  ‘‘You Gray Wolf Torstead?’’

  ‘‘Yes.’’

  ‘‘Umm. Captain stopped by, said he wanted to see you first thing.’’ When Wolf paused, the man continued. ‘‘You can eat first. They be closing up in here soon.’’

  Wolf took the plate of stew and biscuits offered him and made hi
s way to the end of the table, against the wall where he could see around the entire room. Not that there was much worth seeing.

  ‘‘You want coffee?’’ The sergeant held up a steaming pot and two mugs.

  Wolf nodded. The man plunked the cups down and filled them to the brim. Setting the gray coffeepot in the center of the table, he stepped over the bench and sat down.

  With grizzled hair and a face that had seen more than man wanted or needed, the man sipped his coffee and let Wolf eat. When he’d scraped up the last of the juice with his remaining biscuit, the sergeant leaned forward on his elbows.

  ‘‘What made you let the train go on with Cobalt?’’

  Wolf looked up to see the man studying him. ‘‘Why you asking?’’

  ‘‘Got me curious, that’s all. I’ve heard nothing but good on you as a wagon master. . . .’’

  Wolf waited. If the man continued, fine. If not, he’d head for the captain’s quarters.

  ‘‘Not that I need to be nosy or nothin’.’’

  Picking up his coffee mug, Wolf drank and set the mug down. ‘‘Anything I should know before I go talk with the captain?’’

  The sergeant shrugged. ‘‘Guess not. You know those Jones brothers?’’

  Wolf paused in the act of standing up. ‘‘Yes.’’ Been some time since he was so close to killing a man as he had that Tommy Joe Jones.

  ‘‘They took off outa here sometime after your train left. Said they was gonna catch up, like maybe the new wagon master would let them travel with him.’’

  ‘‘I thought one of them was in the guardhouse.’’

  ‘‘He was. Captain said to let ’im go on the condition they don’t show their ugly faces around this fort again.’’

  The words Wolf thought in regard to the Jones brothers went far beyond the biblical admonition to let your yes be yes and no be no. His father had added, ‘‘No sense embroidering on what’s right.’’ Or wrong, as could be in this case. ‘‘I see.’’ He almost asked if the sergeant knew what the captain wanted but stopped himself. No sense appearing concerned. After all, the army no longer held any control over him. Nor did the wagon train. Cobalt knew about the Jones brothers, and if he didn’t, the men of the wagon train did. They’d keep a close eye on those scums.