“She was contracted to a worthy man,” Sister Esther said. “That is what our agency does, and she may still be expected.”
“But only two are needed now,” Mazy said. “From what you say.”
“Yes. Only two”
“The bees?” Deborah asked, her voice faint.
“I do not know,” Sister Esther told her, her palms to the air. “I am so sorry, but I do not know.”
“I leave,” Zilah said. “Or I go with Missy Suzie. I not go to husband.”
“But why not?” Esther turned her body stiffly toward the young woman.
“I know this not time,” Zilah said, “but I have truth. I not send photograph to new husband. I send cousins, a woman of beauty.”
“Good grief,” Lura said. “You're lovely. Dont know any man who wouldn't find your face attractive, even if it isn't of the daguerreotype you sent.”
Zilah brought her fingers to her cheeks. “The bumps…” she said.
“Oh, pooh. Any man who takes issue with those doesn't know he's got a survivor on his hands. That's all those mean, that you were tough enough to live through illness. So are we all. We should all have marks on us after this journey. We lived through the worst of times.” Lura's voice cracked. “I would have just stayed there and died next to my Antone, without each of you.”
Betha patted her shoulder. “We all helped each other.”
“I go with Missy Suzie. If she have me,” Naomi said. “If not Zilah.”
“I thought you'd stay with us,” Adora said, her voice a whine.
“You didn't want any of the Celestials around, Mother,” Tipton said.
“Well, if truth be known, I think I can smell better with Naomi's cooking. Might not be those herbs and all, but, well, I don't think I want to take the chance.”
“Tasted success, have you?” Elizabeth said.
“And the accusation?” Mazy said. “Of Zilah taking your money. Should we settle that now, too?”
Adora squirmed. “Truth is,” she said, picking some unseen lint from the hem of her dress, “I think Tipton's right. The purse and money that disappeared had Charles written all over it.”
“Money had name on it?” Zilah asked, turning to Naomi.
“Just a way of speaking,” Elizabeth told her. “So you want your sense of smell worse'n chasing the scent of bad money? Bad enough to go to California to get it?”
“What do you think, Tipton?”
“Lets head for California for now,” Tipton said. “We have time to settle up with Charles. Truth is, I'd like to be…stronger when I do. So I don't shake when I tell him that he was wrong about Tyrell. He knew about being worthy. He was worthy, and he wanted the same for me.” She rubbed at her arm and squeezed her fingers open and closed.
“But what'll we do for money?” Adora asked.
“The mules,” Lura said. “They'll stay alive if we're not hauling with them. And if we stop riding them into swaybacks, they'll be worth plenty”
“And I'll replace the ones I gave away,” Ruth said. “When I get my horses and sell them. I promise you that, Adora. I had no right…I'm sorry.”
“Well…1 never expected that. I accept,” Adora said, making it three words.
“Not sure what we'll do about our own resources,” Lura said. “But I still got my knife sharpener. All the way from London. I can go to work doing that, if we can board with one of you folks for a time.”
“Where'd you stick it, Ma, so no one knew to toss it out?”
“Under the wagon where the extra wheels used to be.” Lura grinned. “Hope you all don't mind. I'll do your knives for free.”
“I want someone clever living near me,” Elizabeth said to Lura's blush.
“Either way, you have a place, Zilah,” Suzanne said.
“Deborah and me. We keep duty contract, Sister,” Naomi said. “Find way help.”
“Well, 111 vote for California, then,” Adora said. “We can always go on to Oregon when we've worn out California, now that we know how to travel light.”
“Ruth? What would you say if we went to California too?” Betha said. Her words were tentative. “I could hire on as a cook and housekeeper until I'd saved enough to buy my own place for the children. A boardinghouse of sorts I could do that. It'd be a little easier south, to do that, I think”
“Not so many rivers to cross either,” Ruth said. “No Columbia.”
“I wasn't thinking of that, but yes, maybe that too. I've met my share of rivers. I just think I'm getting on in years, old to be carving out land to farm and horses to trail. I know that's what you want and I don't blame you, but I think maybe I'd head south if I listened to my heart, as Mazy says we should. I think Jed would approve. It'd be hard alone, without both of you, but—”
“I kind of thought you'd head south,” Ruth said. “It'd be better for your…girls. The boys, too. I can join on with folks going to Oregon, pack Jumper and ride Koda ‘til I hear of Matt and Joe Pepin and find my string. I'll get by.”
“Seems so dangerous, you going alone,” Mariah told her.
“Oh, being alone's no problem,” Ruth said. “I'm used to it.”
“But you don't have to be, it sounds like to me,” Mazy said.
“Are you going to Oregon?” Ruth asked. “I'd be happy for the company.”
“I meant that there's invitation in Betha's voice. For you to stay with them. That it would be all right to need them, just as they need you.
A hot breeze flapped at the canvas of Esther's wagon. Sarah swatted at a horsefly, sighed, and leaned against her mother.
Ruth imagined the horses, the vigor of traveling on alone. She could always choose aloneness. But the eyes of those circled in the wagon shade said that kinship and connection waited here.
“It is…appealing to be invited,” Ruth said. “But for good reasons, I think it best if I just head north. It'll be safer. For everyone.”
“Safer?” Adora asked.
“Trust me.”
“Cant we change your mind?” Mazy said. “Go where all of us go? We've done so well helping each other.”
“Don't make it harder,” Ruth said, “now that I've finally made up my mind.”
“We haven't heard from you, Mazy,” Suzanne said. “Or are you still undecided?”
It felt like failure, Ruth's insistence on going north. Mazy could see what would be best for each of them. It was always easier to see other people's paths, point out potential boulders and nourishing resting places for them. It was knowing what she, Mazy Bacon, wanted at this moment that brought the most discomfort. Deciding what was best for her took courage, made her insides shimmer and shake like the last leaf of fall clinging to the branch. She might want to go north, but they needed her, this group. They needed Ruth, too. She just couldn't convince her that they weren't alone now. They were stronger with each other. They were a community, all together.
Deciding as though she was alone was as awkward as when she'd worn the bloomers the first time, maybe worse. She'd felt a little childish, naughty almost, and surely frightened, but she had done it. Never mind that wearing them that day ended in tragedy. The act of donning them had splashed invigoration on her skin, brushed stimulation across her senses, and brought a burst of independent joy. The difficulties that happened after didn't take away what once had been.
“Cracked earth keeps opening and opening until rains come to heal it,” Mazy said. “This journeys been like that for me. We've had our share of misery—cracked-open soil. But the tragedies have led us to each other.”
“Challenges covered by faith convert people into kin,” Sister Esther nodded. “Its been my experience.”
“That sounds exactly right,” Mazy said.
“So will you go with us to California?” Lura asked. She glanced at Ruth, looked back. “I'm starting to get antsy sitting here.”
Mazy said, “I want to find a piece of land that I can nurture and invite others to, or ask them to leave if I wish, just for a bit I want to
have my own little plot. My own home. I wonder if that wasn't what Jeremy looked for, after all, what any of our men went hunting for, a place to belong to, surrounded by ones they loved. I don't know” She shook her head. Others dropped their eyes, looked thoughtful.
The mention of the losses appeared to set each woman looking backward. Mazy wanted to move ahead.
“I want to grow things that taste wonderful or that fill the air with fragrance. I want bees and butterflies and birds all around my home, not just tall timber in shadow, but open spaces with a creek or river or the promise of a spring. I want a place that feels like I belong there and that maybe, someday, if I'm ready and wanting, I'll invite another man into, but only because I chose it.” She swallowed. “But it scares me that I'll go back to my old ways, that I didn't really turn around, that I'll get bogged back down in muck.”
“Sure sign you got good soil, you get into muck,” Betha said.
“Everything that happens has another side if we just trust it's there,” Elizabeth told her, “and not spend too much time blaming the muck before we trudge through it.”
“I will ask new husband loan you bees,” Deborah said.
“Thank you.”
“Thinking back on those vegetables we ate, coming from the south,” Lura said. “Corn on the cob. It'll grow good in California, wont it, Mariah? Think we should let Mazy and Elizabeth take us toward Sacramento?”
“They got to go with us, Ma. They dont even have a wagon.”
“Never thought of that,” Elizabeth said. “Nothing to sell. Have to bribe Lura to let us stay on.”
Lura brushed her palm as though to say “not to worry.”
“‘Course we got that money Jeremy left. And the cows,” Elizabeth mused out loud.
Mazy grimaced. “There is this matter, Mother. Some unfinished business. With Jeremy's brother and sister-in-law.”
“Jeremy had family? Ponder that. Where?”
“In California, according to the letter. Possibly that brother even owns my cows and who knows what else. We might even owe him for the wagon we left behind.”
“Well,” Elizabeth said, her voice a low whistle, “I guess we have good reason to head south, if nothing else, to settle up.”
“That lawyer's letter mentioned another…issue, too. I've been reluctant to share it until, well, I knew what I might do. But here's a truth Or maybe it's a lie. Jeremy has a daughter, living somewhere in Oregon Territory.”
The group sat silent, staring.
“Imagine,” Tipton said, finally, “a daughter, and Mr. Bacon leaving out something that essential.”
Suzanne moved uneasily, handed Sason to Zilah, reached for Pig's brace and pulled herself up. “So it looks like a California route we're taking, into Placerville or Sacramento, somewhere south. Except for Ruth—and Mazy hasn't yet said.”
Mazy took a deep breath. “I'm scared to death, but I'm determined,” she said. “I choose California.”
Elizabeth stood and pulled her daughter to her chest. “And you didn't say you was sorry and you didn't ask my opinion of what you should do or nothing before you said it. I'm proud of you, my turnaround girl. I'm proud of you as picked peas!”
“You'll find adventure in California, Mother?”
“I find that wherever I am,” Elizabeth said. “Long as Im with those I love.”
Ned took out a tin whistle and began to play. The women clapped their hands to the music. Even Sister Esther cupped her hands, stiffly, with precision.
This journey, Mazy thought, had given her a gift that staying in one place, at home, would have deprived her of. She could survive; she could go on; she could make decisions for herself and others as she needed, and she could learn from past mistakes. She could even anticipate the future and not be frightened by it. She didn't journey alone; none did. The Lord provided and maintained her lot. With his help, she could plant new seeds in soil as yet untilled.
Ruth moved away from the group, placing grain into pack bags, pulling out dried beef and other supplies. Jessie wandered over. “Can I help?” she asked, and Ruth let her toss the rope as Ruth tied the diamond hitch over the packs on Jumper's back. She wouldn't think about the emptiness of her leaving; she was protecting them, that was what mattered.
“I'll miss you, Ruthie,” Betha said. “You're good kin. You'll let us know when you get your horses, maybe come south then?” She brushed at her now-stained apron, held Jessie at her side. “I wouldn't think of going on without you if I didn't have the others.”
They held each other, and soon the other children joined them, then the other women, all saying good-bye, respecting Ruth's right to decide.
“Sure you don't want to ride with us to the deciding point at least?” Elizabeth asked when she hugged her.
Ruth shook her head, straightened her hat. “Best I head out while I can.
They waved at Ruth until they could no longer see her, Mazy staring the longest. Ruth said she'd parallel the trail, not go where all the rest would, just for safety, her being a woman alone A woman ahne. Mazy thought. But only by choice.
They decided to camp there, worn out by deciding and Ruths having left. Nearby, a puddle of standing water flirted with dirt, and a splash of tall grass promised comfort to the stock. That night as she heard Pig turning before dropping to sleep, Mazy wondered where Ruth laid her head.
In the morning, they yoked up to the music of meadowlarks. Mazy would remember that later, the contrast of pause without premonition.
Zilah helped Suzanne, made the offer to assist Betha. Cicero, Betha's ox, wandered farther from the other stock, stood beyond the dirty water in the tall grass.
“I'll get him,” Betha said, “then gladly take your help.”
Sister Esther stood, shading her eyes with her hand, watching as Betha waddled off toward her ox, her hands waving at mosquitoes.
Suddenly, Betha was consumed by a black rush and a hum of buzzing insects. Not mosquitoes, something larger, rising up from the grass, circling her skirt, covering her apron, her bodice, her face.
“Yellow jackets!” Betha screamed. “Stay away!”
Mazy and Elizabeth rushed toward her. Esther ran toward the wagons.
She shouted at Suzanne still in the wagon. “The lantern!” Esther said. “Hand me the kerosene lantern.”
Suzanne swung her arms around, grabbed at the straight chimney of glass.
“That's it!” Esther shouted. “Quickly! Quickly!”
They could hear Betha crying and slapping, screaming as the insects feasted and stung Esther ripped the lantern from Suzanne's fingers with such force that Suzanne fell. “Go,” she said “I'm all right.”
Esther looked in, hesitated, thought she saw something wet near her writing desk, then turned and ran toward Betha, pulled the chimney and threw the liquid on the woman's hair while the others slapped at the wasps still clinging.
But it was too late. Betha's face swelled, her breathing collapsed, and within minutes she died, held closely in Esther's wide arms.
22
dance of the turnaround women
Ruth had made a dry camp in a dip behind bunch grass and sage. She'd slept uneasily, dreaming of footsteps and small children's cries. She awoke, saw the stars and wondered if she should have left, turned away from the light in her life. Willi ever be sure of anything! She said a prayer for guidance, then fell back asleep. She awoke with a start just at daylight.
A sound. Her eyes sought out Koda, hobbled nearby and still. Jumper slept, standing. She whispered Koda's name, and the horse moved to her, nuzzled her bedroll, nickered low. A wagon train? No, someone riding, that's what she heard, the thump of hooves against earth. On her belly, she eased her way toward the sound, her heart pounding. She was alone, no one else to turn to, no one else to help. Her hand shook as she pushed aside the sage. A rider trailing a pack animal rode beyond her, wearing white. She pressed her hand against Koda's nose to keep him from whinnying. Without looking, she patted the ground for her whip. br />
As Mazy rode out on Ink, she focused her grief on the task at hand— finding Ruth and bringing her back. Mazy had to bring her back.
“Not good, your going out alone,” her mother said.
“You tend to the children, bury Betha, then head out. It'll give pur- pose. If I dont find Ruth by tomorrow, I'll turn back. You may be at the turning place by the time we head back.”
“Seems like we should wait,” Adora said. “Grieve here.”
Mazy shook her head. “Need to keep moving. I'll catch up with Ruth, I know it. She needs us and the children. She just doesn't know it.”
Mazy's eyes watched the earth. The sandy soil promised tracks if she could just find some sign that she hadn't ridden past Ruth, that she paralleled north and not south. She had to bring her back, should have worked harder at keeping her with them. It wouldn't have prevented what happened, but we weather life's storms better together.
Her eyes hurt from straining to watch the trail. She rode back and forth as though on a switchback, a prayer on her breath. Then she found what she needed: the track of the bar shoe still on Koda's foot!
All white. Zane had always worn black, but she was sure Tipton described him, sure he trailed behind them—or perhaps he'd already passed her by. She watched. This rider sat his horse more forward. It wasn't Zane. Maybe he was still behind them and would head to California anyway, her sacrifice at going on alone now worth nothing. As the rider faded away, Ruth's heart stopped pounding in her head, her breaths slowed, she stopped gripping the whip. She crawled back into her bedroll and lay staring up at the cloudless sky. So frightened she'd been, over nothing, no one. All because of Zane. The man controlled her life, her very breath—and she hadn't seen him in years. It was crazy. It hadn't been this hard in the presence of the others.
Morning light washed over the landscape, and she rose, fixed a fire, drank some hot coffee, ate one of Betha's biscuits, chewed a chunk of Esther's dried beef She thought of them, the women and children, and felt tears press behind her nose. But for Zane she could be with them instead of about to turn north, alone.