All Together in One Place

  Like an eagle comforting its young, Elizabeth pressed against them both, her face to their backs. “So hard,” she whispered. “So hard.” Soon Lura moved across the circle, eyes glistening. Tipton, too, pricked out of her sighs, stepped before her mother, and the two held each other. Mazy reached for Suzanne's hand.

  “What's happening?” Suzanne asked.

  “They're overpowering pain,” Mazy said. “And it's time we joined them.”

  Mazy led the string of clasped hands, Clayton now on Ruth's hip. The Celestials and children joining in, the women circled Adora and Tipton, Betha and Elizabeth. It occurred to Mazy that these women wept over the lost leaves of their lives, leaves that had dropped never to be recovered; not yet believing those leaves could nurture life.

  “We've lost our bearings,” Mazy said. “We've been too busy pushing. My pushing as much as anyone's. We never took the time to give our loss its due.”

  Sister Esther sniffed, and tears dampened her large nose. “We've acted selfish and quarrelsome. Shame on us.”

  Mazy put her hand on the woman's shoulder. “No, Esther.” She spoke without scolding, with a gentleness Mazy knew she seldom used within herself and whose tenderness she suspected might be foreign to Sister Esther, too. “This is no place to find fault. Don't let blame live here, not between us and not inside ourselves. We might wish that we had done something differently, lament the mistakes, but then we have to forgive ourselves, accept what's happened, and move on.”

  Suzanne's hands were cool inside Mazy's palms, but the woman didn't jerk away.

  “I don't think of anyone here as cruel or shameful because the wounds are so deep and we stopped to tend them, or because we needed others to help We are just women, after all, just human. Our being together can be a place where we can cry and remember and take care of each other.”

  Adora dabbed at her eyes, moved into the wider circle. “I'm making such a fuss.”

  “Thank goodness,” Betha said. “I've craved a good cry with someone who wouldn't tell me how to fix it.” A few of the women ventured a chuckle.

  “We do not hold hands this way before,” Deborah said “It is nice thing. I will tell bees. They like to know family secrets.”

  “So we are, now Family Thank you for that, Deborah. And, Adora,” Mazy said, “for helping us remember that we have so much: our lives, each other, and a warm place to be.”

  Suzanne squeezed her hand. Mazy looked at each woman and each child around the circle and thought she recognized something in their faces. A look of profound loss and trauma faced, but of compassion and determination too. They were more than a group of surviving women; they were stronger people because they stood beside each other, all together and no longer alone.

  16

  flux

  Betha stood not far from Ruth with red eyes, staring at the ground, Ruths arms around her sister-in-law. The boys placed an old picture frame, gilded and gold, and leaned it on a pile of rocks and greasewood branches off from the trail. Esther thought the photograph of the somber family a fitting memoir to the way they clustered now, the breeze blowing Betha's apron corners out from her dress, her children clustered at her knees.

  “Someone'll come along and pick that up,” Ruth told them. “Its a good frame.” Ruth fidgeted with her whip.

  “No matter,” Betha said. “I like Jed knowing we left a bit of ourselves here”

  “Jed, yes, but others—someone might recognize you all,” Ruth said.

  “Wouldn't that be a miracle, to meet up with old friends from home through the photograph? I should write on the back of it, where were headed.”

  “No!” Ruth said. Betha stared at her. “Someone could use that later to take advantage of you,” Ruth offered an explanation, “a widow.

  “I don't see—”

  “Can I leave my wind sock?” Jessie held a mud-caked toy she'd raced with the wind on a stick. “So Papa can run wind through it up in the stars?”

  Betha nodded, distracted, now not able to speak.

  It bothered Ruth all day. It wasn't like her to be impulsive or disrespectful, and yet she had not hesitated to give Adoras mules away. It came to her that they would be the best gift, and she couldn't imagine the group not being so grateful to get the oxen back that anyone would object. Still, Elizabeth was right—her arbitrary decision robbed others of being generous, especially Adora and Tipton.

  It had robbed her, too. She'd been so happy to be spared by the Sioux warrior, to have her fumbling prayer answered. People sang her praises, had been grateful to her and Mariah, and she felt that way herself: so powerful, so giving.

  Then she gave away what wasn't hers, and now instead of carrying with her the memory of doing something wonderfiil and wise, she bent here over Koda's foot, digging out the small stones and caked mud, feeling empty and alone She'd been given a lovely moment in life, and she had robbed herself of it by doing something stupid. It was the story of her life.

  “Do you want to keep these things?” Betha asked her, holding up the pair of Zane's pants she'd worn riding the day before. “Seems like something we could leave behind.”

  Ruth stood and stared. “No. I'm going to wear them instead of this dress.”

  “Oh, Ruthie. Do you think you should? People will…point their fingers at you.”

  “What people? Why should I care, anyway?”

  “If you want to call attention to yourself, I'm sure these should do it.” Betha handed her the folded pants, arching her pinkie finger to avoid touching the mud caked on the legs.

  “The pants are convenient, that's why I prefer them.”

  “Oh, well, whatever you tell yourself,” Betha said.

  The cleanup began. At last, Betha thought. Daily cleaning was to her as necessary as eating, as invigorating as singing. Scrubbing, wiping, polishing always sang for her, called to her almost the way some people like her Jed had felt called to read the law. She couldn't understand people who found tidying up a troublesome chore. For her, the sight of polished chimney lamps, well-beaten carpets, and the smell of lye soap left on the floor were as rapturous as worship.

  “Two moves are as good as a fire,” her mother had told her as she tossed out anything she thought useless before beginning each of the sixteen moves she'd taken Betha and her brother on before Betha turned ten.

  Through it all, she and Betha tidied up, which wasn't always easy in a dusty wagon, wearing the same faded clothes that ripped if you rubbed them too hard at the wash. She scrubbed the rough boards of each new shack they found for shelter and looked for herbs and spices to trick the mold and mildew smell from the walls. Each time they transformed something that looked forgotten and forlorn and turned it into a warm and welcoming home, Betha experienced the greatest satisfaction.

  She expected the same pleasure when she completed this task of stripping wrecked wagons of salvageable canvas or muslin, righting barrels that had fallen, and sweeping out field mice already making their homes in the wagon remains. Broken wheels on good wagons had to be replaced with good wheels left over from wrecked wagons. Tongues, too, had to be salvaged and attached as spares. The whole effort consumed her. Perhaps that's just what she needed with Jed lying so cold and so close.

  “Woman, you are devoted to this orderliness,” Jed had said once. Then he'd teased her about how lovely she looked with the flounces of her cap streaked with dust, her face wet with perspiration, cheeks pink with the warmth of washed floors, and her eyes sparkling with accomplishment.

  “Nonsense,” she told him, looking up from her knees where she scrubbed.

  “Look at yourself,” he said “You're positively beaming.”

  “I'll beam you, you don't get out of my way, you old goat,” she told him and laughed.

  He stuck his feet straight out, and she scrubbed the floor beneath them. But when she stood, he grabbed her hand and pulled her to his lap. “Jed, please. The children,” she said glancing toward Sarah and the boys watching from the far side of the room.
Jessie had not yet arrived.

  “What better gift can we give our children than the joy of watching their parents in joint adoration?” he said and kissed her soundly. “Wish you were as devoted to me as to your cleaning, woman,” he whispered

  “Oh, but I am, Jed. I am!” Betha kissed his already balding head and returned to her work.

  She remembered that day. She regretted not taking the time to hold him a little closer, to be a little less busy with her need for order. She wondered if everything she did now would bring back a memory of regret. At least she'd held her tongue Truth was, if she hadn't been so devoted to him, she could never have stayed with him the days he came home having indulged too heavily in spirits, nor forgiven him the times he missed the chamber pot and relieved himself in the bedroom corner.

  It would take the better part of the day to do this work, Betha decided. Her own wagon would be relatively easy, but then she'd need to help Suzanne, if the woman would consent She seemed more interested in the harness contraption Ruth and Mazy were concocting for that big dog than in tidying up. The Celestials seemed to tend to their own, and if Betha was honest, she'd say those Asian girls were as neat and orderly as she was. Yes, it would be interesting to see how this chaotic mess turned into harmony. She, for one, expected both to be tired and, for the first time since Jed died, beginning to feel contented.

  Lura suggested they draw lots for riding in the good wagons. The owners of the usable wagons could then get compensation from the riders, so much per woman, with credits applied against any spare parts taken from the riders wagon Wheels would be worth so much, tongues perhaps more. Taking turns in bull-whacking or cooking could help wipe out the debt by the time they reached their destination. Then the profits of the sale of the wagons could be split accordingly. She thought Antone wouldVe been proud of the intricacies of the business venture. No one took up her idea.

  “We have to decide what's essential,” Mazy said.

  “Water,” Betha said. “I believe we must take as many water barrels as we can We need to be healthy and to stay clean.”

  “A clean and sober soul is blessed by the Lord,” Sister Esther agreed.

  “Oh, isn't that just so!” Betha said.

  “We can have some barrels empty while the Platte is good, but in the alkaline country we need fresh water, my Antone said,” Lura said. “And shelter. He insisted we have tents and wagons to protect us. Then worry over food.”

  “I could live a week off the fat of my hips,” Betha said.

  “A family of four could live off mine,” Elizabeth said, and the group laughed. It was a full laugh, Mazy realized, a welcome sound, like wind chimes in a cooling breeze after days of stifling heat.

  Someone had tied a ribbon around Fip's neck with a small bell attached to it. They heard its tinkling as Fip pulled at the grass, then bounced back and came trotting over to Elizabeth who stood next to Adora. Elizabeth bent to scratch the soft place behind the antelopes ears.

  “Is that bell going to confuse us about Clayton?” Mariah asked.

  “I do not believe that animals essential,” Adora said. She crossed her arms over her chest, looked around, then lowered them.

  “Unless we find ourselves hungry,” Ruth said over her shoulder.

  “Not my pet, you don't,” Elizabeth said.

  “Youve got those hips to rely on,” Tipton said. “The rest of us are on our own.”

  “How nice to have you with us, Tipton,” Elizabeth said, looking kindly at the girl. “And no, Claytons bells are sleighbells. I dont think well be confused.”

  Adora tapped her fingers against her thighs. “Well, Tipton daughter, were about to have more togetherness than you ve ever tolerated before in a little space. I hope you can endure it.”

  In the end, they decided on four wagons. Ruth said she might hang on to some of her things, if room existed. Otherwise, she would sleep under a tent, drover the relief oxen and mules, tend to her two horses, and keep just what her bedroll would hold.

  Six oxen each were needed for the three wagons, four mules for the Wilsons’ transport. That left ten oxen, the Bacons’ two cows, Ruth's two horses, the Bacons’ riding mules, and Adoras extra mules to travel behind.

  Having decided on accommodations, as Sister Esther called it, they then finished the work so each rig carried a spare wheel and tongue. The extra weight meant fewer personal “essentials.”

  “This is worse than when we left home,” Mazy told her mother. “I thought we'd gone through what I could stand to leave. But now, to sort even more…”

  “Think of the joy we'll have replacing things when we arrive.”

  “It'll cost us a fortune with the prices they'll ask,” Mazy said. A marsh hawk swooped low, the white stripe of his wing clearly visible. “With luck, the stock'll make it with some meat on so we can sell them.”

  Elizabeth touched her daughter's hand as it reached for a handful of linens. They exchanged glances. “The cow brute, too.”

  “At least Jeremy saved some money for us to use,” Mazy said, turning back to her work.

  “You know where it is?” Elizabeth said. “Or should we look in the flour barrel?”

  “There's nothing in there but some mice droppings by now. Mostly tumbled out with the stampede.”

  “No. Down in the bottom That's where he'd have my money, I think.”

  “You gave him money? For safekeeping?”

  “ I didn't give it to him,” Elizabeth said. “He refused to give it to me after the house sold Your father put our home in Jeremy's name.”

  Mazy looked at her “You never told me that.”

  “Didn't seem to matter much once I got used to the idea myself. Your father wanted to protect me, I guess. Us. So when it sold, the money was to be handled by Jeremy but to come to me. He did buy my wagon with it Said the rest was safe. Didn't feel the need to find it right off. He wasn't going anywhere, I didn't think, and neither was the wagon”

  “He had money left over from the sale of our place. He told me he did. And what was left over when he bought the brute and the cows,” Mazy said. Her heart began that quickened beating that told her this was something she should pay attention to. “He told me he left it in a satchel beneath the wagon boards. Maybe I got it confused,” Mazy said

  “I'm not confused about his having money,” Elizabeth said. “And now I've a strong hankerin’ to tear up the floor boards of our old wagon to get to the bottom.”

  Deborah said, “We go mountain?”

  It was the evening of the “tidying up” day, as Betha dubbed it. Coffee was served, along with a shared pot of wild rice, beans, and dried beef The evening air had not yet attracted the swarms of mosquitoes that would send them all scurrying under cover.

  “Tipton,” Betha said, “have some beans, honey?” She handed the plate to Tipton, who shook her head. “We wouldn't want to decide something without asking everyone's opinion. Getting it said out loud, final-like.”

  “Before we discuss anything further on this journey, I believe the first rule of any real importance is this,” Sister Esther said. “It always amazed me when I was a child at how we would begin our family gatherings sometimes with problems so complex we could not conceive a human solution. But we would bow our heads and somehow, miraculously, before we closed our time, a resolution would appear as if from God himself I see no reason not to invoke such a tradition now, in this family. Could we agree?”

  Betha glanced at Ruth, and when she didn't protest, Betha said, “All in favor? Opposed? None. Good”

  “Now, that's a vote,” Jason said

  Sister Esther prayed, then Ruth said, “Let's settle this direction question.”

  “Some not want—” Deborah began.

  “Going back west'll honor what our men hoped for,” Ruth interrupted. “It's easier to dream in a place where everything is new and different instead of trying to shoehorn ourselves back into an old high-button slipper back home Our feet may have grown on this journey, and that
old boot, comfortable as it might have been, could be a tight fit”

  “What we're seeking may well be back where we started from, at home or what we remember of it or believe is there,” Mazy said.

  Suzanne cleared her throat. “The vision, what calls to me is what spoke to Bryce: to smell new air, new trees, new earth ” There was something different in her tone, something less biting. She held on to Pig's harness. “When the wagon tipped and I survived, again…1 believed I'd rather fail trying to climb the mountains in the West than to wallow in familiar foothills.”

  “You've had a change of heart,” Elizabeth said.

  “Aye-ee,” Zilah said. “Not climb mountain, not climb.”

  Naomi spoke next. “Happiness live inside, same like joy,” she said, patting her heart “Where house built, no matter.”

  “So who's right?” Ned asked.

  “No one,” Mazy said. “And all of us. It isn't a ‘right’ kind of decision. More of a what's good for us’ kind of choice.”

  “We have new information now,” Betha said. “Even before you brought the oxen back, Ruth.” She used her fingers to list: “We've survived the worst we could imagine, living on after the deaths of our kin. We figured out the hitching and got the wagons to go morning and night without a breakdown—‘ til the storm.”

  “We even forgave those who went on without us—at least I'm trying to forgive that doctor and folks who passed us by,” Lura said. “That was so distressful for that man to leave us, like we all had a sickness ourselves ” She lit her clay pipe and blew smoke out in little puffs.

  “Even endured the strange looks from those we met acting like we had horns growing out of our heads,” Elizabeth said. “That's a feather in our caps that we faced them and still kept going‘”

  Suzanne said. “And we survived the storm—almost all.”

  The women turned inward, the slurp of coffee and the sounds of the oxen tearing at grass an accompaniment like a softly strummed harp to a song.