Threads of Change (12 page)

“If we get an early start, we can be there before they have time to get too anxious,” Chet said.

“Well,” Thomas said, “let’s hope our bad luck was washed away in this weather.” He decided to catch a wink or two until the storm passed and they could meet up with the wagons. The sun would be up in an hour and the rain was falling like a gentle shower. The ravine they camped in looked like a prime candidate for flooding in this type of gully-washer.

Liz had realized that the water had begun to rise in the night as the storm raged on, but it looked as if it had also been working against the top-soil around the wheels of Blue’s wagon all night long. Finally, the wagon began to groan and shift as the ground gave way beneath, and she figured the lurching had awoken Blue as she heard him call out for help.

“John! John!” Blue cried in the darkness, “Wake up! Get them all up! Hurry! Flash flood!”

Liz fought the sleep from her eyes as Blue shouted, “Stay where you are, ladies!”

His team of horses sprang into action, dragging his wagon up to higher ground. The women, all awake now, clambered about to reach their own wagons without touching the rain soaked ground.

For several minutes, driver and team worked hard pulling the wagons from the clay ruts. Finally, Liz realized all the wagons but one had reached higher ground. The wagon Thomas had driven was now driverless, with no one to direct it to safety. With the open rushing water current threatening to break it to pieces, the horses struggled against it, barely able to keep it from being swept away. Liz noticed that one of the wheels had been caught by a stump.

No! No, not that wagon!

They would have to act fast in order to keep the team and wagon from being lost, not to mention all of the precious cargo inside.

Liz had no time to think, and she sprang into action, darting across a branch that had fallen, creating a makeshift bridge. If she could just make it to that rock up ahead, she could jump into the drifted wagon seat.

“John! Blue!” she called. “Hurry to the wheel. As soon as I grab the reins, break the branch and release the wheel.”

Their faces betrayed their quick flashes of thought. No time to tell her to let it go. They had to help her.

Blue trudged into the water and held onto the wagon as he worked his way around to the tree branch lodged into the spokes.

“Ready,” Liz called out, encouraging the horses to pull with all their might.

Four horses pulled, two men pushed, four on dry land prayed.

Suddenly, with a mighty groan, the wagon broke free and the horses scrambled to dry land. John and Blue held on to the back of the wagon as they lumbered through the remnant of rushing waters grabbing their ankles.

“Well, good morning everyone,” John said with mock cheer once they had reached drier ground. “I see we are off to a good start already today.”

They all groaned, and Liz leaned back against the bench and sighed.

“At least we won’t have to wash up for breakfast,” John added with a chuckle.

Blue looked down at himself dripping in muddy water and suddenly noticed his ripped shirt. Wiggling his finger around the tear, he remarked, “Miss Liz, what do you have in that wagon? It is as heavy as gold bricks. What did Thomas pack?”

Liz gasped sharply. Blue had no way of knowing that the wagon, in fact, contained all of her grandfather’s gold; information that, at the instructions of Grandpa Lucas, only had been shared with her and Thomas.

Once Liz had gathered her wits about her, she lurched. “Where’s Luke? Is he all right?”

“Right over here,” Luke piped up, and Liz sighed in relief yet again. “Both me and Bear made it through unharmed.”

“Well … thank the Lord. How about everyone else? Do we have any injuries?”

When everyone—except Thomas and Chet, of course—had been accounted for, Liz collapsed against the bench seat once more.

John walked away to prepare the wagons, placing his arm around Luke’s shoulders.

“That is one special lady, that mother of yours. I was feeling pain from those hailstones last night and was ready to give up when I looked around and saw her out there with the men. Soaked and beat up, but never giving up. Now she pulls a wagon from a watery grave in her nightgown. If Thomas doesn’t hurry back, I might have to ask her to marry me!”

Liz flinched. Did he think she couldn’t hear?

Marry John!
she thought.
Not very likely
.

John slapped Luke on the back and withdrew to his wagon. “Pulled a wagon from a flash flood in her nightdress,” he mumbled, shaking his head in disbelief.

They had a lot to do before they would be ready to leave. The teams needed to be unharnessed and rubbed down after wearing wet riggings all night. The wagons would need to be checked for wear and examined for any damage suffered at the flight of the wild horses. Each wagon needed to be dried out correctly.

While the men went about the business of tending to the teams, Liz spent time feeding the chickens. They surprised her with a couple of waiting eggs, both miraculously unbroken. Luke made sure his special quilt was dry and folded in his wagon while Bear, excited to get out and run, frolicked around them.

“I think I’ll let him run with the wagons once we get going,” Luke commented. “He really needs some exercise after the night we’ve had.”

Liz agreed that it might be a good idea for a bit. Soon, they would be ready to continue on the trail, but her thoughts of Thomas and Chet flooded her with concern. She felt sure that, if they continued on in their direction, Thomas and Chet would eventually meet up with them. She hoped so, anyway. What else could they do?

Liz stood before the group and informed them of her plan, explaining that Thomas and Chet were sure to catch up with them but, all things considered, they should make haste.

Blue nodded firmly, and John agreed. “It sounds like a good plan.”

“We follow the sun west,” Blue declared. “And we start our third day with the worst sleep yet.”

Everyone laughed, and Megan squeezed Liz’s hand as they headed for their wagon. On her way, Liz stopped to check on Abby and Emma.

“How about it, you two?” she asked. She’d never heard the two of them so quiet.

“We’re with you,” Emma said with a weary nod. “You lead, we follow.”

It took most of the morning for Chet and Thomas to locate Bootsie, but by noontime, they’d set out toward the big group of trees where they’d all been together last. They searched for signs that might tell them where everyone was, but couldn’t find anything. The wagons weren’t where they left them, and so much mud made it impossible to make out any tracks. The storm had washed away any sign that might have been useful, and the campsite sat empty.

“I think we should ride southwest and see if we can pick up a trail,” Thomas said from his pawing horse. “They wouldn’t have headed back to Lecompte.”

Thomas had thought about the group during the storm, and he especially wondered how the women had fared. He had no idea how bad it had been or where they were. As he made his way up a steep hill, he spotted where a small twister had gone through, leaving a clearing in the trees. Those that remained had been pulled up and twisted like weeds in a garden, and the loose ground looked like a stampede had stomped through.

Liz suddenly thought of the little journal Abby had given her. What better time to start writing in it than after such an adventure? She wanted to put the first days into words if she could, considering the hardships they had encountered. Perhaps her grandchildren would read it someday, hardly able to believe the escapades she and the others had experienced on their way across the country toward a new life.

Her hand went to her cheekbone, and she touched her wound before picking up her little pencil and beginning to write. She neatly titled the entry:
May 1856, Elizabeth Bromont’s Journey to Fort Worth, Texas
.

She smiled at Megan as she gathered her thoughts.

Several days on the trail. We have made a small stopover. The ground is fresh from the rain. The scenery appears to be the same as Grandfather’s beloved Riverton home. The trees and wildflowers are sweet and untouched. We are faring better as the days go along. Luke and his dog, Bear, are good help and they are enjoying the trip, even with the mishaps. For him, I suppose the challenges simply add to the adventure.

Bear cornered a rabbit for supper and our group is happy to have fresh meat. It will be a lovely treat. With all that we have encountered, our meals have lacked the nourishment to which we’re accustomed.

This afternoon, the sky clouded up again, reminding us all of the days before when the fierce rain nearly took our wagon and team of horses. I prayed and therein it passed by. Megan is excited that her prized treadle machine weathered the storm sans any undoing. I, too, am excited we’ve made it thus far, and, for the most part, in one piece. Megan remains confident and contented about life, but I wish Emma could consider such outlooks. Megan is elated at the thought of cooking our rabbit stew for the night. She also has made plans to make some biscuits, a lovely treat on such a journey if she can manage it in these conditions. Megan mentioned that, on her account, we should not withhold any consideration we might have to travel all the way to California. For me though, if I can make it to Texas, I suppose I will never leave.

DAY 4:

I consider us to be faring and managing well. To sleep on the ground is our greatest discomfort, and I find myself dreaming of a soft bed quite often. We are dry though, and that continues to be a great luxury. Throughout the day’s travel, we become very weary from the intense turbulence of the wagon’s ride. At night, we are content only to be still, for the wagons shake us beyond belief.

Blue’s team of oxen smell so bad in the day’s heat. After today, we’ve agreed that it would be best for him to drive at the rear of the train from here on out.

At night, we have been required to cook over an open fire. It is different in many ways, though I am already growing more accustomed to it. It is amazing how such tasks can quickly become routine.

I consider it a peculiarity the way the men have allowed me to lead the group and manage even the smallest considerations. Many times throughout the day, I have considered our direction west and have rightly hoped that we are going the correct angle, south and west. Thomas and Chet have now been gone two complete days. I do not allow myself or the others to dwell on this.

Blue and John are faring well with the repairs that our wagons might require. Bless them, they are trying to keep us safe. Each evening when we make camp, Blue goes to each wagon and checks it over for any damages that might have occurred throughout the day. He pushes and pulls on all facets of the wagons, making certain that every inch is favorable. I find it strange that they rarely speak to us women. I think they feel a certain responsibility to Grandpa Lucas and, perchance, they are already concerned about his opinion of the trouble we’ve encountered.

Blue does well rigging the harnesses so that each of us women can handle the wagons. He has taken both of the oxen teams and follows behind us as we make our way. Of course, he eventually catches up to us after we stop for camp each evening. I have decided it is wise to push long each day. The sooner we can reach the edge of Texas, the sooner we will meet with the Rangers.