All Together in One Place (37 page)

“Check on the others, Betha,” Elizabeth said. “See how many more we got that's hurtin bad. Haven't seen anything of Lura or Adoras clan.” She turned back to Mazy, wiping her daughter's face with her rain-soaked skirt. “I'm here, child. I'm here.”

Elizabeth could hear the cries of others, some muffled, others clear. But it was Mazy's cry she longed for. She couldn't tell for all the mud and the rain, but she thought blood had oozed from beneath Mazy when they'd picked her up.

Inside the wagon, she unbuttoned her daughter's wrapper, loosened the collar, stripped her of the wet.

Ruth appeared at the Barnard wagon greeted by the wide eyes of children huddled in the corner, silently watching Elizabeth tend Mazy.

“You rub Mazy's legs,” Ruth told Jessie and Sarah. “You'll keep yourselves warmer that way too.”

The girls scrambled forward on hands and knees. Each stared at a leg and Mazy's ankles, narrow and white, sticking out from the blanket. “Don't be embarrassed,” Ruth told them. “Rub.”

“What about us?” Ned asked. He and Jason sat still huddled.

“Come with me,” Ruth said. “I'll see if I can set a lean-to up, with one of the dumped wagons. Get a fire started. We're all going to need warmth and hot food.”

“Is anyone else hurt?” Elizabeth asked.

Ruth stepped back out, and the boys leaped out behind her. “Sister Esther's at the Cullver wagon now. I don't see Suzanne or Clayton yet, nor the Wilsons or the Schmidtkes. All the oxen are gone. Guess you know that. Mules too. I believe the Asians have survived without a scratch. Tough little things. I'll find out about Tipton,” she added. “We'll make a final assessment. You look after Mazy. Oh, look, here comes your dog.”

Pig limped toward the Barnard wagon, a large gouge of flesh hanging in a flap from his shoulder. He stood, tongue hanging out.

“The inside of his mouths white,” Ruth said, touching the dogs mouth.

“Lift him up if he'll let you. They can warm each other,” Elizabeth said, slapping her knee to urge the dog upward. The boys pulled on the dog, and he allowed it. He panted inside the wagon, and his wet body brought one more scent to the already rain-drenched odors permeating the space inside. Elizabeth slapped the bed, looked up seeking permission from Betha's eyes.

The squatty woman shrugged her shoulders and said, “It'll wash,” as Pig jumped up, turned around once, then dropped to Mazy s side.

Elizabeth swallowed a sob. Mazy hadn't even moaned.

14
turnaround women

For several hours, Mazy moved in and out of being present. She recalled sounds and smells and voices and tried to enter into conversation, but then she'd disappear again, slither down a rock slide of the mind, puddle at the bottom. She heard people speak of water, that what gushed down the ravine lessened. She thought she heard Ruths low voice, something about her boots being soaked, and her mother saying she'd paw through the trunk of her own tumbled wagon to find dry moccasins.

Still later, she heard Lura tell Ruth, “Be careful.”

Mariah had spoken into the veil of sensation that was Mazy s foggy life, said something about herself and Ruth riding off to see what, if any, hope they had of rounding up the stock. She thought at one point she heard Lura come in, talk about her hair being soaked and flattened on her head. She'd brought dry blankets, said their wagon's canvas had endured

It was nearly noon when Mazy made a sound. She heard it herself and knew it not to be a dream but the croaking of her voice. The sound brought with it something so sharp and scorching, a pain so piercing it forced her back to arch. In an instant she knew. The baby! She'd lost her baby!

Was it the tightness of the blankets wrapped close around her? Maybe it was the dog pressed to her side. Her body hurt so. No, the baby's leaving had forced this new and wrenching grieving.

“What is it, child? Where does it hurt?”

“I just—” Mazy thrashed her arms, sending Pig to the floor. She twisted, gulping for breath. In between, she panted, but the pain like a poker seared through her skin. Something deep and precious pressed against her heart. “Mama?” she said as she felt a wetness where it shouldn't be.

“Shush, now. I know, I know,” Elizabeth said, her voice choking. “But you're still with us, that's what matters. You're still here. We're all still together.”

“No more, Mama. No more.”

Elizabeth drew her fingers across her daughter's forehead, pulled tendrils of hair behind Mazy's ears. Mazy could feel the tears pool there, deafening the sounds of rain and gushing water. For the first time, she felt that she was truly letting go of all that she had lost.

“I'm so sorry,” Mazy said, her voice a whisper. “So very sorry.”

“Hush, now. Nothing for you to be sorry over. Just rest. When the rain stops, we'll fill you in on what we've got and take a gander at what's to be. It's the Sabbath, and Sister Esther says it's best we send up words of thanks, and I agree.”

“Laudanum?” Adora said, sticking her head inside the Barnard wagon. “Does anyone have laudanum?”

“You need it for yourself?” Elizabeth asked.

“Tipton. She's hurting bad,” Adora said. “A cut, on her arm. Skin's like parchment. She's so fragile, truth be known.” Adora dropped her
eyes
and fussed with the parasol handle.

“Need some to sew the dog up, too,” Elizabeth said, “if you find any.”

The last thing Mazy remembered before falling back into her fitful sleep was Bethas apron, white as snow, leaning over her. How did she keep it so clean and tidy when all about her chaos dyed everything with ever-darkening smears?

It was late afternoon when Mazy learned how Suzanne fared The widow with the striking face entered the Barnard wagon. Zilah had Clayton in tow, bells ringing behind her

“Your dogs responsible for saving me again,” she told Mazy. “Why, I don't know. This time he helped Clayton, too. I don't know what to say.” Mazy didn't hear complaint in Suzanne's voice this time. She wasn't angry with Pig—grateful, it sounded like Maybe she understood that she was all her young son had. And accepting that gave her a reason to live.

Clayton played with a wooden top painted with stripes of burgundy and black. He rolled it along the bed covers to Mazy, who used the pads of her fingers to roll it back to him. The boy smiled, grabbed the top, and waved it toward his mother

Mazy stroked the dog, who lay as close to her as she allowed. His sides showed thick white threads stitched by Lura's hand.

“I wasn't sure what to do in the storm, whether to leave the wagon or stay. I. it¨1 thought the cattle might be rushed by the wind and the hail,” Suzanne said

“Could a warned us,” Elizabeth said.

Suzanne actually laughed. “I predict nothing,” she said “But Pig seems to have that ability When the wagon tipped, your dog was there. I landed on him. My shoulder too, but he broke my fall. He must have. Is he wounded bad?”

“We've stitched a good flap of skin back together, much as he'd let us. Looked for laudanum, but can't seem to find enough to even help out Mazy. You got any?” Elizabeth asked

Suzanne shook her head. “Bryce may have put some somewhere. What did you hurt?” she asked Mazy noted it was the first time—other than about Pig just now— she'd ever heard the woman ask after the welfare of another.

“She lost her baby,” Elizabeth said, choking in the telling.

“Oh ” Suzanne said “Oh—maybe if the dog had been here, he would have broken your fall instead of mine. You might have saved—”

“He wasn't,” Mazy said.

“And me, not able to keep one child safe. I'm not deserving of two.” Elizabeth told her, “Not good for a baby to hear such thinking.” “No sense lying about the kind of life he'll be born into.” ”Don't you have family back east where you come from?” Elizabeth asked. She watched Zilah roll the striped top now to Clayton, who giggled. “Those ties were severed,” Suzanne said. She hesitated before continuing. “Bryce had opportunities with his father in Missouri.” She pronounced it with the gentle
ah
sound at the end. “When Bryce chose to take us west, his father said to not expect him to be part of our future. He said his son had died to him. I don't even know how to tell him his son is truly gone Or if I even should.”

At least she didn't have that task facing her, Mazy thought. Jeremy had no family, none she knew of. His family grieved him here. “And your own kin?” Elizabeth asked

Suzanne took a long time to answer. “I've a brother in Michigan. He has eight children and an overburdened wife who I'm quite sure would not open her door easily if at all. Our parents are both dead. Cholera. Isn't that ironic? Epidemic of‘ 32.”

They had been riding for several hours, Ruth on Koda and Mariah sitting high on Jumper, Ruth's stallion. Low, scudding clouds brushed the sky above them, cast gray shadows over ground already darkened by the rain. The wind had lessened but struck them with little blasts as a reminder of its power.

Mariah grinned. She looked over at Ruth and sat straighter, as the woman did, moved the reins so she held them just like Ruth. She adjusted her hat.

“Feels more like October upstate than June,” Mariah said.

“At least it's stopped raining,” Ruth said She reined up, scanned the horizon for the tenth time.

“I didn't remember seeing so many ravines and knolls and hills when we came through here before. I must not have paid attention,” Mariah said.

“I rode out this way looking for Elizabeth,” Ruth said, “and it looks different to me too.”

“There were places on our farm like this, where cows could hunker down and we'd ride right by ‘em,” Mariah said. “Had to almost go over them to get them to move.”

“That's when a good horse is worth his weight. Some of them can almost smell cows out. We need that now—if we're to get out of this mess intact.”

Mariah kept her eyes on the ground as she talked. “We relied on old Buck for help lots,” she said. “Pa's dog. He passed on just before we started west or we'd have brought him with us.”

Ruth's horse slipped on the slickened earth, recovered. “I know this ground lets us track good, but I'll be glad when it dries up some.”

Mariah nodded. She rode astride as Ruth did, her knees pressed tightly against the horse's withers, giving him direction with her legs, her weight, and position as well as with reins. “I've ridden since I was old enough to walk,” she told Ruth, who guessed she just wanted to keep the conversation going. “Mattie helped me”

“You miss your brother already, don't you?”

Mariah nodded. “Almost more than Pa.” She bit her lip as it trembled.

“I miss Jed, too, though my brother drove me crazy sometimes,” Ruth said. She straightened, scanned the hills poking over the low, stringy fog. “He was a comfort for me, though…” Her words trailed off before she changed subjects. “If we find one or two cows, we're sure to find more.”

Mariah's hair was held back with a blue ribbon. Ruth thought she'd never seen her without braids before and smiled when she realized Mariah had done her hair up like her own.

“They might try to find where they last fed. That'd be back our way,” the girl said. Mariah pointed to the ground. “See there,” she said. They rode several more minutes on either side of what looked like the tracks of three or four oxen before Mariah pointed out a change. “Looks like mules have joined in.”

“Good. The Wilsons’ wagon still stands, so if we get their mules, that'll be one complete unit at least. It'll be a miracle if we get all of the stock back.”

From the advantage of the higher hill and distance, Ruth could see wagons heading west like dots and dashes beside the Platte, even on the south side. The river ran dark and muddy as barley coffee what with the rain and the wind to stir it. She shook her head. The cold air pushed against her yellow slicker. The air smelled fresh of wet sage.

“Looks like those tracks over that way; they go into that ravine with the trees,” Mariah said. “I'll roust them out if they're there. You keep following these, all right?”

“I won't separate,” Ruth said.

“Aw, there's nothing to worry over,” Mariah said. “I'm a good rider.”