Angel Train (11 page)

“Do you believe that story?” Lareina asked Charity. “Do you believe it, Tremayne?”

Charity offered, “Are you asking whether I believe that there’s only one man who will be right for me in all the men in the world?”

“Yes. Do you believe that?”

“It may be so,” Charity said. “The Bible says the steps of a good man, and I suppose a woman, are ordered by the Lord. So if God thinks on us, He may pick out one particular man for a woman.”

“And what do you think, Tremayne?” she asked, and there was a sharpness in her birdlike eyes.

“I never think much about those things. Here, try this soup.” Lareina allowed him to pull her down to sit on a box. He spooned some of the soup into a bowl. She tasted it.

“Is very good. You are a thoughtful man.”

Charity found the contrast between the two interesting and fascinating—the tall, lithe, and muscular frontiersman, and the diminutive Gypsy woman. Her skin and eyes were much darker than his, but Charity saw that Tremayne liked the Gypsy woman, and she respected him for that. It soothed her to see him go to the trouble to fix a meal for this woman, and she knew that she would think of it often.

“I must get back and do my own cooking,” Charity said.

She had walked only a few steps when Lareina called out, “Be watchful. Somewhere there is a man who will match you perfectly, Charity Morgan.”

Charity looked back quickly and saw that the old woman was staring fixedly at her. “I’ll be watching,” she said. Then she turned and went back to her wagon.

YORK WINGATE SAT LIMPLY on the seat of the wagon. The ground was bumpier than usual, and though he tried to avoid the deeper potholes, still the wagon lurched, dipped, and jolted. Nervously Wingate turned and looked at his wife lying on the bed he had made for her inside the wagon. Her eyes were closed, but her face was pale, and this troubled him. He turned back and tried to chase the thoughts from his mind, but they kept returning.
Shouldn’t have brought her on this trip. She’s not able to bear it. I may have to stop at one of the forts along the way and wait until she has the baby.
He had had these thoughts since they left Pennsylvania, and now the journey was less than one-fourth over, and Helen was not taking it well.

A white cloth caught his eye. This was how Tremayne marked the way for the wagons; he posted them on bushes across breaks and washes to show the lead teamster where to take the train. It was a help, but still driving across open country was not like driving along a street in Pittsburgh. Wingate saw a mustard-colored dog trotting back to the train with a frog in its mouth. He glanced to a line of trees that marked
the small creek, and he wished they would stop there for the night, but it was too early for that.

He cast his eye along the line of wagons, gray and white in the sun and squirming in the haze of dust. It was nearly noon, and the train was broken into an uneven line of wagons. Behind the wagons came the loose horses and the other stock. He could see Stefan’s bright green scarf. On the windward side, out of the dust, a group of people was walking, as always. The children were laughing and chattering, and some of the women were looking for wildflowers. Wingate realized that women often wanted the finer things of life, and flowers were all they could find on this journey. The land was covered with small yellow flowers he didn’t recognize, and there were clumps of white daisies. Earlier that day he had seen a clump of wild roses next to a spring.

“I must be crazy thinking about flowers.” He spoke the words aloud and shook his head, thinking he was the only man on the train who noticed such things. He glanced ahead, and the high sun made flashes through the dust. It was not a colorful land, and the white of the wagon covers, and the reds and browns of the oxen, mules, and horses brightened the landscape. Here and there a woman wore a blue dress; another, green.

Then he saw Tremayne riding back. He threw up his hand, which meant stop. Wingate liked nooning. The wagons pulled up, and no one bothered to build fires for they would not stop for long. Turning, he jumped out of the wagon and watered the stock, which took some time. Then he took a small bucket, put water in it, and found a clean cloth. Stepping to the back of the wagon, he hauled himself into it and saw that Helen was awake.

“How you feel, sweetheart?”

“All right.”

“You always say that. Here, let me bathe your face. It’s getting hot out there.” Carefully he wet the rag with the tepid water, wrung it out, and began to wipe her face. She had delicate features and clear blue eyes, but an unhealthy pallor in her face disturbed him.

“How do you feel? Could you eat something?”

“I don’t think so.”

“I’ll fix you something that’s easy to digest. You need to keep your strength up.” He left her for a moment, rummaged through the food box, and came up with a can of peaches. He opened it with his knife, grabbed a spoon, and returned to her.

“Look,” he said, “peaches, just like back home.” He broke off a small piece with the spoon and said, “Open up. I’ll feed you just like you were a little bird.”

“I’m not very hungry,” Helen whispered, but she opened her mouth obediently. She chewed on a bit of peach and said, “That’s good. You have some too.”

To please her, he took small bites, and she managed to get down perhaps a fourth of the can. He finished it off. She reached out and took his hand, and he was somewhat shocked, as always, at how fragile it seemed. She had been strong when they had married, but expecting a baby did not agree with her. He had seen that situation before in women, strong until the baby seemed to drag the life from them.

She looked up at him. “How far is it, York?”

“Oh, quite a ways, but it will probably get cooler as we go on. You’ll feel better.”

She held onto his hand, and her eyes searched his face. “What do you want? A boy or a girl? I’d like a boy.”

“I’d like to have a girl, just like you.” He sat beside her, and they listened to sounds of their fellow travelers. Someone was singing, and someone else was playing “Oh, Susannah” on a harmonica. He waited until she dropped off, then left the wagon. He dropped to the ground and leaned against one of the large wheels. He was standing there when Charity Morgan came by with a cloth-covered dish. She smiled.

“I brought you some pie, Doctor.”

“What kind of pie?”

“I don’t know. I found these berries. They were ripe. I hope they don’t make you sick. Evan and Father liked them and so did the girls.”

He took the dish and said, “It looks like gooseberries.”

“I don’t know what they are. They may not grow back home.”

Charity watched him, noticing that he was not eating hungrily as had her father and her brother. “How is Helen?”

“Not too well. I shouldn’t have let her come on this trip.”

“She’ll be fine, Doctor.”

“I hope so. What about you?”

“Oh, I’m fine. We’re all healthy so far.”

He studied her and noted that she was round and mature and wore a brown dress trimmed with white at the neck and wrists. Her hair was pulled back, but the sun still caught its red hue, and her eyes were bright and full of health. She turned to look at someone walking by, and when she turned back to him, he asked abruptly, “How is it you’ve never married, Charity?”

“I don’t know. It just never came my way.”

“What about John Mund? He used to come calling on you.”

“I wasn’t interested.”

“Well, there was Caleb Freeman. He courted you. He’s a mighty good man.”

“I wasn’t interested.”

“Maybe you’re too choosy.”

“I suppose I am, Dr. Wingate.”

He glanced up and saw Stefan standing beside his grandmother, and both were smiling. “I wonder about those Gypsies. It was quite a shock to find them out here in the middle of nowhere. They’re not going to do much fortune-telling with this group.”

“I don’t believe in fortune-tellers.”

“Well, I don’t know what I believe in.”

She hesitated. “I wish you knew God, Dr. Wingate.”

“So do I.”

“Well, why don’t you? You know Jesus said, ‘Come unto me,’ and He meant everybody.”

“It’s just never happened, Charity. But I wish I were a Christian man, then I could pray for Helen to have this baby safely.”

Compassion touched Charity. She saw the worry in his fine eyes and noted that he had lost weight. “I’ll pray for Helen and for the baby.”

“Thanks, Charity.” He smiled at her. “That’s like you.” But she saw he was filled with doubt, which troubled her. She turned and walked away, and Wingate glanced back at the wagon, and the thought came to him,
Maybe I could pray anyway. God may even hear a sinner,
but he couldn’t find any way to speak his thoughts, even to God.

* * *

THE DAYS WORE ON, and finally the scenery changed. Evan Morgan was in the second wagon, and when the oxen crested a slight ridge, his eyes widened. Far off, small hills, not big enough to be mountains, made a change in the terrain. The line of wagons was weaving through a set of badger holes, and the hills turned out to be piles of sand thirty or forty feet high, blown by the wind. A powder-like salt patched the ground with white.

Evan had heard about flat country, but as they went along, he couldn’t believe that any land could be so flat or that the distance would be so great. The sky was lifted high over a world that seemed totally empty.

“Some sight, isn’t it, Evan?”

He turned to see Tremayne riding beside him and grinning.

“I never saw such a land. You can see forever.”

“And there’s plenty of nothing.”

“You know, Casey, it seems like I’ve been living in some place that was always shut off. Couldn’t see much for the trees or the mountains, and the distance wasn’t anything. I never knew it would be like this.”

“I remember the first time I saw the Platte Valley. I felt just like you do, Evan. It’ll change though.”

“What comes now?”

“We follow the Platte. Nothing much to see until we get to Fort Kearney. We can restock then.”

“Are we doing pretty good, Casey?”

“Real good so far. Mighty proud of this bunch. No trouble at all. That’s the way I like it.”

“You think we’ll see any Indians?”

“If we do, they’ll be mostly tame Indians. Of course, sometimes the Comanche wander by on a raiding party. Hope we don’t meet any of them. They’re about the worst Indians on the plains.”

He rode off, and an hour later they stopped for nooning. Charity fed the men leftovers from supper the night before, and then she and the girls ate. Like Evan, she was struck by the flatness of the plains, and she walked away toward a line of trees that marked a stream. The greenery made a splash of color on the grayness of the land. She found the stream, washed her face and hands, and, as always, wished she could get in for a bath, but that was out of the question.

A faint sound caught her ear. Through the saplings Charity could see Helga Studdart talking with Ringo Jukes. Instantly, Charity felt a warning. Helga was the daughter of Karl and Freida Studdart, probably the wealthiest people on the train. She was sixteen, a blonde with dark blue eyes, and very attractive. There had been some difficulty with her back in Pennsylvania. She had been freer in her manners with men than most of the women of the Pilgrim Way, and her parents had not been able to handle her.

For a time she stood there. Then Jukes reached out and touched Helga’s hair, and Helga laughed, but the girl turned away and started toward the wagons.

Charity hurried to catch up with her, and when Helga turned, there was guilt in her face. “Were you spying on me, Charity?”

“I came to the stream to get fresh water. You shouldn’t be meeting that man. You know the rules.”

“I haven’t done anything wrong.” Helga held up her head, and there was a defiant look in her eyes. “He was telling me why he went to prison. He was innocent.”

“Couldn’t have been too innocent if he was in prison.”

“Well, he was. He was in with the wrong crowd. He’s going into business when he gets his parole. Going to San Francisco, he says. He’s been there before. It sounds so exciting.”

Several thoughts came to Charity, and she nearly spoke aloud, but Helga was in no mood to listen to her.
She wouldn’t listen to her own parents, so why would she listen to me
. Instead, she said, “You could get him in trouble, you know.”

“How could I do that?”

“You know what Casey Tremayne says about the men. They’re supposed to stay away from us.”

“You mind your own business, Charity,” Helga said, and she ran away.

Charity saw Evan, who nodded at her and asked, “Is it a pretty good stream?”

“Yes, it’s very clear.”

“I’ll fill the cask with fresh water. This is getting stale.”

He grabbed two buckets and started toward the stream. He filled them and was turning to go when he saw Zamora approaching. Her bright clothing made a colorful picture, and he saw that she was watching him carefully.
She’s standoffish with men
, Evan thought.

“Pretty good water here, Miss Zamora.”

Zamora knelt down and put her hand in the water. “It is a nice stream.”

He tried to think of a way to make conversation. She acted as if he were not there, and finally he said, “It must be a little lonely the way you are living now.”

Zamora turned and faced him. “What do you mean?”

“Well, there are no other Gypsies around. Don’t you miss them?”

“Yes, I do.”

“What was it like in the old country?”

Zamora’s eyes brightened. They were dark, and the blackness of her hair was a wonder. Her skin was as smooth as any Evan had ever seen, and he felt embarrassed staring at her.

“It was good back in the old country. We had a big band. I miss having them around—cousins, uncles, relatives. I miss all that.”

“I don’t know what that would be like, to be cut off from my people,” Evan said. He spoke slowly and thoughtfully. “I’ve always been surrounded by my family and friends. What’s it like being alone?”

“Lonely,” she said and smiled. He noticed there was a slight dimple to the right of her full lips. She was looking at him in a strange way that made him nervous.

“Well, maybe you’ll find other Gypsies when we get to the coast.”

“I don’t think so. Most of our people stay in the East. Easier to make a living there, but Stefan wants to start raising horses.”

“Oregon ought to be good for that. What about you?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, you’re pretty. You’ll get a husband and have a family.”

“Who knows about things like that? Maybe I will, maybe not. What do you want, Evan?”

“Well, I worked in a mine, and I hated every day of it. It’s like being buried alive. I want to be a farmer, be outdoors, and watch things grow.” He continued to speak, and Zamora watched him carefully.

“I hope you get it, but not many of us get what we want in this life.”

Evan was puzzled but still drawn to her. She saw him looking at her and recognized his shyness. Suddenly she laughed, “I can tell your fortune.”

“I—I don’t really believe in that.”

“I can tell what you’re thinking right now.”

“No, you can’t.”

“Yes, I can. If I tell you, will you admit it if I’m right?”

“I suppose so.”

“You’re wondering what it would be like to kiss me.” She laughed. “Look at your face. It’s as red as those berries on that bush over there.” She saw his embarrassment. “Don’t be ashamed of being a man, Evan Morgan.”

“I’m not. How did you know what I was thinking?”

“Not too hard to read that in a man. Most of them have loving on their minds. I’ve had to discourage enough of them.”