First Dawn (7 page)

“That may be true, but it’s the other men he’s angry with, not you. In his heart, he knows it’s best to remain with the group. He’ll come around soon enough.”

Effie jumped up and skittered across the small encampment, her billowing skirt whipping about her legs. Jarena tsked as she stared after the woman. She almost thought about saying a prayer for Effie Beyer, but there was no need to bother, for Jarena and God weren’t on speaking terms. In fact, they hadn’t been communicating much since before she left Georgetown. Her prayers had grown sporadic after her mother’s death, had increased when her father announced they would leave Georgetown, and had stopped completely when they boarded the train destined for Kansas. Oh, she still uttered the perfunctory prayers before meals and at bedtime, but the intimate chats had ceased. There was no use praying if God never answered.

“You sure is lookin’ sour today.” Miss Hattie chuckled as she plopped her ample body onto the trunk Effie had vacated.

Jarena gave her a halfhearted smile. “I was talking to Effie. She’s getting more unpredictable with each passing day. I worry about her— and her children.”

The older woman attempted to fan herself with a limp handkerchief. “Best we be prayin’ for her. Outside of helpin’ with the young’uns, ain’t nothin’ gonna help her ’cept our prayers.”

Jarena sat down beside the older woman. “You pray for her, Miss Hattie. God doesn’t hear my prayers.”

“Don’t be talking nonsense, chil’. God listens to
everything
. He answers
all
our prayers.”

“Well, if that’s true, why did my mother die? And why am I sitting out here in the middle of this desolate place?” she asked crossly.

“Now, hold on—I said God
answers
. I never said He answers the way we
want
. There’s a big difference ’tween the two.”

“That’s the response I get from everyone. That’s not an answer, just an excuse.”

“You listen here, gal. God don’t need nobody making excuses for Him. You think jest ’cause you don’ get the answer you want that God’s not listenin’ to you? Does your pappy always answer the way you want?”

“No! We wouldn’t be here if he did.”

“Does that mean he didn’t listen to you or that he didn’t understand what you wanted?”

“No. But it does mean he didn’t care what I wanted—just like God doesn’t care.”

“Your pappy cares and God cares. Thing is, they got more control over your life than you do, and that’s what you’re not likin’. You think you know what’s good for you better’n God does, but that ain’t the truth of it. Whether you wanna believe it or not, God’s got plans for you, Jarena, and He ain’t gonna give in to your whims. It ain’t fer us to know everything, gal. If you’s as smart as I think you is, you’ll get down on your knees and start prayin’ again. It’s time you started trusting God.”

Trust
. She was beginning to hate that word. She jumped up when she noticed the men’s meeting breaking up. “Looks as if they’ve finished talking. Think I’ll go and find out what they decided.”

Miss Hattie grinned. “You can run from me, but you cain’t run from God.”

Jarena ignored the remark and hurried off to meet her father. “Any other decisions been made?”

“We gonna stay here and live the best we can, just like we did on the trail. I asked Thomas to throw in with us.”

Jarena’s eyes widened at her father’s casual announcement. Myriad rejoinders immediately came to mind, but she bit her lip and looked skyward for a moment before returning her father’s gaze.

He reached up under his wide-brimmed hat and scratched his head. “Is that there look s’posed to tell me you don’ like my idea?”

“We don’t know anything about him. He’s a stranger. Besides, it seems he’d be more at ease with the other single men.”

“Thomas is a good man, and he’s willin’ to help me when the time comes to start buildin’ our house. I don’t recall you complainin’ about eatin’ the food he gave us out on the trail.”

Jarena knew there was no sense in arguing any further. Thomas Grayson would remain a part of their family; her father had already decided.

“We all picked out spots where we’ll make our camps ’til Mr. Hill returns. Ours is gonna be over dere,” he said, pointing toward a flat, grassy area protected on one side by a low-lying hill. Her father turned to leave and then glanced back over his shoulder. “Gonna be hard ’nuff gettin’ along out here. Best we’s kind to one another.”

Jarena tried to smile, but she figured it looked more like a grimace. “I’ll do the best I can, Pappy.”

He nodded. “I know you will, chil’. I always been able to count on you.”

Several days later Jarena hunched over the small fire. Grasping the fabric of her skirt for protection, she lifted the iron skillet of cornmeal mush from the fire. Rationing food was a necessity, and the gnawing in their bellies had become a pervasive, unwelcome companion. All of them longed for a hearty meal, yet the abundant animal life they’d been promised was not the reality. She wondered what would happen when winter set in and the jackrabbits and prairie hens disappeared completely. She’d attempted to discuss the matter with her father on more than one occasion—especially when the men were lamenting their lack of hunting weapons. But he had discouraged such talk, telling her they would be fine—God would take care of their needs. Jarena had wanted to angrily rebut his words, but she remained silent. Only time would tell who was correct.

She had joined her family as they’d laid out the campsite that would be their home until Mr. Hill returned. The other families had staked out their makeshift camps nearby, each wanting the protection of the group, yet seeking a small modicum of privacy for their families. Members of the group had equally divided the canvas and shared their few tools in order to construct the small lean-tos that now dotted the prairie landscape. The worn white canvas, held overhead by fallen cottonwood branches found near the river’s edge, provided their only shelter. The unrelenting winds would daily swat the flimsy roofs to the ground, and daily they would console themselves by saying it wouldn’t be long until Mr. Hill returned. Each time they spoke of Mr. Hill’s return, Jarena wondered what would become of them in this desolate place if Mr. Hill did not return.

Jarena leaned across the fire and stirred the paltry skillet of mush. At the sound of approaching footsteps, she jerked around to see Thomas walking toward her.

“Mornin’. Didn’ mean to scare you.” He leaned down, lifted the coffeepot from atop the glowing embers, and poured a small portion of the brew into his tin cup. He looked at the thin layer of mush. “Not much left in the way of supplies?”

She remained crouched by the fire. “No, not even enough to cook a decent breakfast. What are we going to do? Have the men talked about our future out here?”

Thomas squatted down and looked at her with kind, deep brown eyes. “Not that I’ve heard—unless they made some plans last evening. I didn’t join ’em. Took the twins fishin’.”

She nodded. Neither he nor the twins had snagged a single fish.

“I’m headin’ down there again right now,” he said. “There’s gotta be at least a few fish in that river.”

“If you catch any, I’ll be happy to cook them.”

“And eat ’em?”

“
And
eat them!” She watched Thomas stride off with his makeshift fishing pole in one hand and her father’s pitchfork in the other before she turned back to the fire.

Her father’s long shadow stretched across the flames. “That Thomas?”

“Yes. He’s gone off in hopes of catching a few fish. He says they bite better early in the morning or in the evening when it’s not so hot, but I’m not certain he truly knows. After all, he didn’t bring any back with him last night. I do hope he’s successful this morning. We’ve got next to nothing to keep us going. Do you think we can continue waiting on Mr. Hill?”

Her father poured himself a cup of coffee and sat down by the fire. “Decided last night—we can’t wait no longer. We’s put our little bit of money together and we’re sendin’ one wagon down to the railhead in Ellis today. We’ll get what we can. Maybe a few more tools and some food to keep us goin’. ’Cept for prayin’, ain’t much else we can think to do.”

Jarena wanted to offer her suggestion, but it would serve no purpose. Her words would fall on deaf ears. She thought they should all pile into the wagons and head off for Ellis. Maybe they could hire out and earn enough money to purchase train tickets back to Georgetown.

“Will everyone go?”

Her father looked at her as though she’d lost her senses. “It’s thirty miles each way, and we gots to stay here and protect our belongin’s from thieves and claim jumpers.”

Jarena glanced about the camp at the smattering of household goods, the few tools, and the partially empty trunks. She saw little that needed protection.

“Who’s going?”

“We decided to send Thomas.”

“Why Thomas?”

“Why
not
Thomas?” her father countered. “He’s good with the horses, he’s young an’ strong, and he’s been in the West longer’n any of us ceptin’ Ivan Lovejoy. And Ivan made it real plain that he ain’t goin’. We agreed Thomas is the best choice.”

“He’s never been
this
far west, has he? And who knows how long he’s been in Kansas. Has anyone even asked him?”

“Stop your frettin’, Jarena. Thomas is a good choice. The women won’t want their husbands leavin’ without ’em, and that’s a fact. Most of ’em are still expectin’ Injuns to come ridin’ over one of them yonder hills.”

“And who’s to say they won’t—the Indians, I mean.”

“Mr. Hill tol’ us we wouldn’t have no trouble with Injuns.”

“And we can believe everything
he
told us!” The words gushed forth unbidden. All her plans to remain silent had gone up in smoke, just like the smoldering brushwood she’d thrown on the fire.

“Now, don’ you go gettin’ uppity with me. Ain’t no call for that sharp tongue of yours. We all know we’s got problems—don’ need to be reminded all the time.”

“I’m sorry, Pappy.” She nodded toward the river. “Appears as though Thomas caught himself some fish.”

Thomas was running across the prairie, holding several fish high in the air. “Look what I got,” he called out.

Grace sat up from her sleeping blanket under the canvas, rubbed her eyes, and poked her sister. “Look!” Without a word, both girls jumped to their feet and ran over to greet him.

Truth returned to the fire carrying the three large fish that Thomas had strung onto a heavy piece of twine. “Look at these! Ain’t they somethin’?”

“Yes, they
are
something,” Jarena corrected.

Obviously annoyed, Truth dropped the line of fish in front of her sister. A few inches further and the smelly catch would have landed in Jarena’s lap.

“You want me to clean ’em, Pappy?” Truth asked.

“No, I’ll clean the fish. You can help yo’ sister with some of the chores. I’m thinkin’ maybe you and Grace could spend some time down at the river doin’ the washin’. No reason Jarena should be the only one doin’ laundry.”

The excitement in Truth’s eyes faded as she plopped down nearby.

Thomas met Jarena’s gaze. “Think you can manage to eat some of dem fish?”

“I’ll do my best.”

He grinned. “I know you will. Sure gonna be good to have some fish, ain’t it, Mr. Harban?”

“Sure will. Come on with me over here a ways, and we’ll get ’em cleaned. I’m needin’ to have a word with you.”

Thomas followed along with a sense of uneasiness churning in his belly. Surely Mr. Harban hadn’t somehow found out about his past. He swallowed hard and chided himself. There was no possible way word could have reached this desolate place. Except for Ivan Lovejoy, these people had had no contact with the outside world—and Ivan couldn’t truly be considered the outside world. Nobody in this small group knew where he came from or why he was on the run. In fact, they didn’t even realize he was on the run. Best he settle down and let Mr. Harban speak first.

Ezekiel dropped the catch on the ground. “These here fish is gonna taste mighty good. You done a fine job, but I still ain’t fer certain why you took my pitchfork.”

Thomas laughed. “I set a couple of lines afore the sun was up. Once it got to be daylight, I used the pitchfork to stab at the fish that got near the bank. Caught that one with the pitchfork,” he said, pointing at one of the larger fish. “Woulda had another, but it slipped off when I lifted it outta the water. Didn’ make that mistake again. The next time I stabbed one, I swooped it up toward the bank. Worked pretty good.”

“Right smart of ya,” Ezekiel commended as he began cleaning the fish. “We had a meetin’ last night—while you was down at the river.”

Thomas nodded and waited.

“Ain’t no way we’s gonna survive iffen we don’ get more supplies. We put our money together and decided to send a man down to the railhead at Ellis to get what he can with the money we scraped together.”

Thomas nearly sighed aloud as he grabbed one of the fish and slit it open. “Sounds like a good idea. I got a few dollars I’d be happy to give. Is that all you wanted to ask me?”

Ezekiel hesitated for a moment. “No. As a matter of fact, we decided you’d be the best choice to make the trip down to Ellis.”

“Why? Wouldn’ it make more sense for one of you to go? I’m not truly a member of your group.”

“You sound just like Jarena. Why, you’s as much a part of this group as the rest of us. We need someone that ain’t got womenfolks dependin’ on ’im. You’s young and strong, and ain’t no doubt you can handle that team and wagon long enough to get yerself down to Ellis and back again.”

“What about Percy Sharp and Henry Ralston? They’s both single and know how to handle a team.”

Mr. Harban gave him a questioning look. “Ain’t nobody gotten to know either one of dem very well. I vouched for you, said you was a good choice. Now you’s sounding like you don’ wanna help out.”

“No, I’m willin’ to go. I’m willin’.” He didn’t want the others to think him unappreciative of the trust and acceptance they’d given him.

“Good! We got us a list all made up. Now, let’s go have us some fish and corn mush. Once we finish breakfast, you can be on yer way.”