Never Look Back (56 page)

Knowing James’s advice was always sound, Matilda was following it, but she was so very weary of travelling.

Since leaving Willow Springs nearly three months ago she had been through hell. So many of the animals had died through exhaustion and days without water or feed. Wagon wheels broke as the sun dried out the timber. Many families had been forced to abandon their wagons, continuing on foot and carrying what little they had left on their backs. Stinging, choking dust got into their eyes and lungs, hunger, thirst and exhaustion weakened everyone. By day they were roasted by the sun, at night they were frozen. Both climbing up mountains and coming down the other side was gruelling. Often the wagons had to be emptied and hauled up, the oxen coaxed along on dangerous ledges where one wrong step could lead to certain death. There was an ever-present fear of the animals stampeding too, for crazed with
thirst, if they smelled water in the distance they would bolt towards it. There had been so many deaths on the train that Matilda could no longer recall all the names, or even the places where those people had been buried.

Measles had claimed a further five victims, although the three remaining Donnier children had survived. Marie Donnier was pregnant again, looking so frail that Matilda doubted she would live to see the child born. Eight men, women and children had died from cholera, but fortunately this vicious killer which could have easily wiped out the entire company had remained localized in only two wagons. Two men drowned as they forded the Snake river, swept away by the fierce current before anyone could throw them a line. Countless gruesome accidents included a child crushed by a wagon wheel, and a woman who had tripped on a mountain pass and broken her back in the fall over rocks. A man had disappeared on a hunting trip and although the scouts found his horse wandering alone a day later, they’d been unable to find him or his body.

They had seen the wonders of the hot springs, water pumping up from the bowels of the earth hot enough to boil a hog, marvelled at the beauty of the mountains and valleys, and seen sunsets so incredible they brought tears to the eyes. But Matilda cared little for scenery now, all she wanted was rest.

Her limbs were hard with muscle, her hands callused and ugly, and every bone in her body ached. At night she cut up and hemmed napkins out of an old flannel petticoat, and whenever she looked at the baby clothes so carefully made by Lily for her child, she prayed that she would have an easier time and that her baby would be born strong and healthy. She was terrified of the prospect of giving birth in the wagon, yet hoping almost nightly that the pains would come, just so she could get it over and be released from the torment of such a swollen, awkward body.

There had been times when but for Tabitha she might have been tempted to throw herself down a mountainside or into one of the fast-flowing rivers to end the misery. She asked herself why she was struggling so hard – once the baby was born things would be even tougher for her. But each time such dark thoughts came to her, she would look at Tabitha’s trusting little face and remember her promise to Lily.

Yet for all the hardships and suffering, there had been joy too. Never before had she felt such personal freedom – the restraints of being a servant, and of trying to keep up the image of a lady, were gone. She could speak her mind, and often did, no longer hiding behind delicate euphemisms. She had earned herself a reputation as being as physically tough and self-reliant as a man, yet she felt she was also equally admired for her intelligence, knowledge and kindness. Even though she hadn’t set out to make friends, she had won them anyway. She felt the regard her fellow travellers had for her now that she was so near her time – her water containers were always miraculously filled, she found little gifts of berries, soup, meat and biscuits left outside her wagon, and on the toughest parts of the trail, someone always came to help her.

But of all the friendships forged, the one with Captain James Russell was the strongest. It seemed odd sometimes that a man who had irritated her so much at first could become a valued friend, but then he had hidden his concern for her behind so much sarcasm and insolence, and hadn’t allowed her to see the real man beneath.

He might be intolerant of bigotry and stupidity, yet he did have a keen understanding of human frailties. His opinions on the plight of the poor and oppressed were so like Giles’s. He also had an irrepressible sense of humour, and he was every bit as curious about people as she was. She had found him to be a well-rounded man, tough, yet with an underlying tenderness towards the weak. He was highly intelligent and well-educated, but had the ability to converse with those less able too. He was a natural leader, commanding respect and admiration.

Most nights he would stop by to see her and Tabitha, and their conversations were open and easy. He told her one night about his childhood in Virginia, of a father who rated a man only by his wealth and the number of slaves he owned, and a mother who was more interested in parties and balls and the latest fashions from France than her own children.

‘I was raised with the stick in one hand, the Bible in the other,’ he said with a wicked grin one night. ‘Neither did anything for me. I often get to wondering if there could be another way of life for me, something between soldiering or running a plantation. I
sure don’t like either much, both mean bullying someone. But that’s all I know.’

When he told her about his wife Belle, how his family disowned him, and how Belle died in childbirth, Matilda understood then about the bitterness inside him, and why he had turned his back on the class he had been born into.

She had told him about her childhood in London, and his interest in a life so far removed from his own was so intense that she found herself vividly describing common London scenes to make him laugh. She did tell him how she came to America as a nursemaid, but as he didn’t press her about her ‘husband’ or how she ended up in Missouri, she had left that part of her history blank.

Once they got to The Dalles some families would build rafts to take the wagons down the Columbia river towards Portland, others would take the longer but safer route around Mount Hood. Their journey’s end was almost in sight, yet she had a sickening feeling the worst was yet to come before she saw Cissie and her family.

A few days after parting company with the people who had gone to Whitman’s Mission they made camp for the night in a beautiful spot. It was a wide, flower-filled mountain meadow, surrounded by huge fir trees, with a small stream running through the centre. The animals had been let loose to graze and the children were making the most of the late afternoon sun, playing leap-frog and chase as their mothers prepared the evening meal.

Matilda made a rabbit stew with dumplings flavoured with wild sage on her camp stove. She had shot the jack rabbit herself the previous day and its skin was pegged out to dry, ready to join the many others she’d shot during the trip, to be sewn together later for a bedcover. While the stew was simmering she hauled out the mattress from the wagon to give it a good shake and an airing. Tabitha was off with the other children, and Treacle lying down under the wagon for a snooze.

Captain Russell came striding along a little later. He had clearly been for a dip in the stream as his fair hair was wet and he was wearing a clean shirt. ‘That smells good,’ he said, bending to sniff the stew pot appreciatively.

‘Stay and have some with us,’ she said, prodding the dumplings. One of the German women had taught her to make these and they were Tabitha’s favourite. ‘It’s almost ready and there’s more than enough for three.’

He smiled, his blue eyes crinkling up with pleasure. ‘That would be real nice,’ he said. ‘But I didn’t come by looking for food, I came to say that when we reach The Dalles, I’ve got it fixed so you can go down river on the first canoe with Carl, we’ll get your wagon on a raft after you’ve gone.’

‘Thank you, Captain,’ she said softly, looking up at him through her lashes. The scout Carl had an Indian wife who belonged to one of the tribes who lived along the Columbia river. She guessed the Captain had arranged this for her knowing Carl could get help for her if the baby should come suddenly. Touched as she was by his concern for her, she didn’t think he should be singling her out for such preferential treatment. But before she could voice this, Tabitha came running up and the Captain opened his arms to catch her, spinning her round in his arms and making her squeal with laughter.

‘More, Captain,’ she shouted gleefully as he put her down.

‘If you can manage to call me James,’ he said.

Tabitha was dizzy and she reeled around trying to look at him straight. ‘Matty said I mustn’t be familiar,’ she said.

The Captain burst out laughing. ‘Letting someone whizz you around seems pretty familiar to me,’ he said.

Matilda laughed with them. She felt happy tonight. The weather was good, there was good grazing and plenty of water, and the rabbit stew was the best she’d made yet. She couldn’t see how she could object to Tabitha calling a man by his Christian name when he’d proved himself to be such a good friend.

‘Wash your hands, the pair of you,’ she said, pointing to the pail. ‘Then sit right down, it’s ready now.’

It was a very jolly evening. The Captain told them a great many funny stories about strange characters he’d met on previous wagon trains, and Matilda in turn told him ones of people she’d known back in London. Tabitha giggled at all the stories, and later, when they joined everyone else on the train around the big campfire, and Mr Ferguson got out his accordion to play a few jigs, she led the dancing with the Captain as her partner.

Matilda sat on a camping stool and just watched everyone
enjoying themselves. The firelight softened even the plainest of faces, warmth and good food mellowed even the crustiest of them. She observed too how dramatically the long journey had changed them all: women who had started out fat and pale were now brown-faced and lean, once neat dresses and sun-bonnets were now ragged and faded. Men who had been pompous and arrogant back at the beginning were gentler, seemingly weak ones had risen to become assertive. The trail had tested everyone, death and serious injuries had affected almost every family, marriages had been shaken, former beliefs shot to pieces, and there were few that hadn’t come to see how ill-equipped they were, both mentally and physically, for such a trip. Children had grown wild, and the close contact with other families often made them question their parents’ authority and codes of behaviour.

Yet overall, Matilda thought everyone had benefited in some way. They had all learnt new skills and endurance, faced disaster with courage, and the deep friendships formed along the way had enriched their lives. Yet it was the women who had gained the most, she thought. Back home they had been passive, bending to their menfolk’s will, quietly caring for their families and seldom voicing an opinion about anything. Gradually on the journey their resourcefulness, ingenuity and natural patience had given them new status, and they’d risen to become men’s equals, with a voice of their own. Matilda very much hoped they would hold on to this liberation when the trail ended and they found themselves back in settled homes. She knew she wasn’t going to be subservient to anyone ever again.

She woke during the night with a stomach ache, and thought it was because she’d eaten so much. It went away after a few seconds, but just as she was dropping off to sleep again, it returned.

Through the round drawstring hole at the back of the wagon she could see the stars twinkling in a black velvet sky, but a faint orange glow from the campfire’s dying embers suggested dawn was a long way off.

As she held her belly and tried to rub away the pain, all at once she realized it had nothing to do with eating too much, but was because the baby was on its way.

Her first reaction was dismay. The Captain had said over supper that he thought Carl could get them to Oregon City by river within two weeks and she’d hoped the baby would wait until then.

But as she lay there waiting to see if a third pain came, listening to sounds of owls hooting, the wind in the firs and Tabitha snuffling softly in her sleep beside her, all at once it felt right to have her child here. No place could be more beautiful, she knew she had only to call out and people would come running to help. Her son or daughter would be a true American, the spirit of this brave and splendid country would enter him or her at the moment of birth.

‘Come quickly, my little one,’ she whispered in the darkness, smoothing her round hard belly tenderly. ‘I’m waiting for you.’

She lay there calmly all night. The pains grew ever stronger and more frequent until they were almost continuous, but she concentrated on watching the patch of sky through the back of the wagon, waiting for it to lighten before waking Tabitha.

She felt Giles and Lily’s comforting presence, and she reached out and pulled over the quilt she and Lily had made together for comfort, remembering how Lily said, ‘Let’s put in lots of red for passion’ that day in the kitchen.

As the sky gradually lightened, and the colours in the quilt became more vivid, so each one seemed to have some important significance. Green for the fields back in England, purple for the violets she’d once sold in London, orange the colour of her brother’s hair and blue-grey for the Atlantic they’d crossed to find a new life. Yellow for the cornfields they’d passed on the way to Missouri, turquoise for the skies over them most of the way here. Pink for the dress she’d worn that first night she met Flynn, white for the night-gown she’d been wearing when Giles took her in his arms in the kitchen the night of the storm.

As it got lighter still she saw Lily’s and her own characters sewn into the quilt too. Lily had used tones of the same colours in her squares, to give a quiet, muted effect, just the way she lived her life. Matilda had put red against yellow, purple against orange, bold and commanding.

All at once the sun rose to peep into the back of the wagon, falling on to Tabitha’s face. With her normally straight dark hair
tousled, and her cheeks rosy with sleep, she looked far more like Giles than Lily, and even through her pain Matilda felt her heart swell with love for her.