Walk by Faith (8 page)

May 10, 1863

C
larissa fought an urge to cry, the desire coming from anger more than despair. She was certain that Dawson Clements had placed her wagon toward the end of the wagon train today so that the muddy places in the trail would be churned up the worst by the time she reached them, making her job harder.

After waiting a full day after the rain, everyone voted to get going so they could reach the Kansas River ferry crossing and get it over with. The crossing could take the better part of yet another day, as wagons had to be unhitched, the entire train floated across in parts—children, animals, wagons one by one, oxen, women, men and so forth. One ferry could carry only so much.

They had not even reached the ferry yet, and if her wagon, Carolyn's wagon and the two that followed them could not get through the current mud bath they trudged, they might not even make the ferry by tonight.

She switched at the oxen, shouting orders and calling the beasts by their names as it took every effort of each ox to keep the wagon moving through mud that came a good halfway up between the wheel bottom and the hub. She grimaced and tried to keep the hem of her dress lifted, to no avail. Her black leather lace-up shoes made sucking sounds with every step, and it took every ounce of energy to keep up with the oxen, even though they, too, were not moving very fast. She looked ahead to see her bigger, stronger friend Carolyn trudging forward beside her own oxen.

“How are you doing, Carolyn?” Clarissa yelled.

“I think we'll make it!”

Carolyn's voice sounded distant, as indeed she was several yards in front of her, making good progress now. Apparently the ground was better there, if only Clarissa could reach that point.

Michael had taken the girls and proceeded farther on to leave Lena and Sophie and his wagon with others so he could come back and help Carolyn and Clarissa, but when Clarissa looked past Carolyn's wagon to see a rider coming, she rolled her eyes when she realized it was Dawson Clements.

“Where is Michael?” she fumed under her breath. Dawson was the
last
person she wanted to see her struggling in the mud. She was sure he was just waiting for her to fail. “Come on, Betsy!” she ordered, giving the ox's rear a switch. “Keep going! Giddap! Giddap!”

Betsy, Jack, Bee, Moo, Sadie and Buck—all six were pulling this time, struggling to keep the wagon from being completely pinned in the quagmire through which they waded. Clarissa glanced up to see Dawson talking with Carolyn. He waved her on and pointed to something, and it looked as though Carolyn was finally free. He rode closer, then past Clarissa to talk to the two remaining wagons behind her own. Clarissa could hear only bits and pieces of what he was saying as he shouted something about veering farther south and around, then back north.

Those two wagons were also moving into deeper mud, but they veered to their left then, and Clarissa saw Dawson, still on his horse, take the harness of one lead ox and help the man with the first wagon urge the oxen to the left to slightly firmer ground.

“Why doesn't he come back here and help
me
do the same?” Clarissa wondered, not that she would have accepted his help. Maybe he knew that. Her own stubbornness could cost her some embarrassment. She used all the leg power she had to pull her left foot from a sucking hole and planted it on a rock, gritting her teeth and pulling up her right foot, then managing to make her way closer to the oxen so she could take hold of the harness of a lead animal, which today happened to be Sadie.

“Come on, girl. Show Dawson Clements what you can do!”

Sadie eyed her in a way that told Clarissa the animal was doing all it could. The ox's eyelid was opened extrawide, showing the whites of her eyes in a way that almost seemed to say the poor ox was terrified she might never get out of this muck.

“Ha! Ha!” Clarissa ordered again, switching the animals and tugging at the harness. Then she heard Dawson's deep voice behind her.

“Need some help?”

“I'm fine,” she insisted. “Better ground is just ahead. Carolyn made it. So will I.”

“Sometimes oxen just respond better to a man's voice,” he told her.

A man's voice?
The arrogance of him! Clarissa figured that, like all men, this one thought a woman couldn't get by in life without a man. “These oxen are used to my voice,” she answered. “They'll respond just fine.”

“Nevertheless, I could throw a rope around that lead oxen's neck and—”

“You don't need to do that,” Clarissa interrupted. “Come on, Sadie!” she urged the ox, then. “Pull with Moo. Pull! Pull!”

“Ma'am, I don't intend for the rest of the wagon train to be across the river tomorrow before you even reach the ferry landing.”

“Just leave me alone and go on about what you were hired to do, Mr. Clements!” she said with obvious irritation. Why, oh why did she feel like crying? She hated it when she cried just because she was mad or embarrassed.

Then the worst happened. She slipped. Facedown she went in the slimy mess, right between the lead ox and the next four. The next thing she knew, someone was pulling her up and hauled her away in one arm, then plopped her on a horse. Her face was plastered with so much mud she couldn't see at first. She wiped it away from her eyes, and that was when she heard the strangest sound.

Dawson Clements was laughing! He was leading his horse to more solid ground, his own clothes splattered with mud, and his high, black boots caked with the brown, unforgiving pudding.

At first Clarissa was furious. The man was laughing at
her!
How dare he! Now the tears really did come, and she fought them wildly. Dawson stopped walking and looked up at her and burst into more laughter, a rich, deep sound. Clarissa was able to control her tears only because it suddenly occurred to her that never once had she seen Dawson Clements do more than barely crack a smile. To see him laughing was astonishing indeed!

“Mrs. Graham, I'm truly sorry,” he told her before laughing more. “But that's the funniest sight I've seen in a long time.”

Clarissa held her chin high. “You distracted me, Mr. Clements. That's the only reason I fell,” she insisted. “And I could have gotten up by myself. You didn't need to play the rescuer.”

His laughter calmed to a grin. He stood closer, keeping one hand on his horse's neck. “I suppose you'd rather I let the next couple of oxen walk on you and shove you even deeper into the mud?” Then he sobered completely. “I probably just saved your life, ma'am. A thank-you would be nice.”

Their gazes held a moment, and he smiled again. With mud splattered on his face, his teeth looked whiter than ever. Suddenly Clarissa thought that if it took her falling facefirst into the mud to bring out the lighter side of Dawson Clements, maybe it was worth it. She couldn't help smiling herself, then.

“Thank you, Mr. Clements.”

“You're welcome, Mrs. Graham.” He folded his arms authoritatively. “And while we're out here all alone, why don't you tell me the truth about your husband? It might be important. Back in St. Louis you mentioned that he wasn't dead. He's not trailing us, is he? Are you running from him?”

She lost her smile. “Far from it.
He
ran away from
me,
Mr. Clements, with another woman, a supposedly Christian woman I'd considered a friend, no less. I never saw him again. He had the divorce papers delivered to me, since he was too much of a coward to bring them himself.”

She watched his eyes and saw no change, for good or for bad.

“We owned a successful supply store in St. Louis that had been my father's,” she added. “My kind husband sold that out from under me and left me practically penniless. Apparently the supply store was the main reason he married me.” Why had she suddenly found it so easy to tell him? “And if you don't want a divorced woman on your wagon train, I'll just fall back and travel with someone else.”

He studied her a moment. “Why would any man leave a woman like you and a gorgeous little girl like Sophie?”

Clarissa was a bit astounded by the remark, having expected something derogatory. “I don't know. You would have to ask him, but I have no idea where he can be found.” How could all that laughter suddenly turn to so much pain? “Have I answered all your questions, Mr. Clements?”

He turned to look ahead, noticing that Michael was coming toward them on one of his draft horses, leading another one with him. Dawson looked back at Clarissa, then reached up and lifted her down from the horse. Clarissa couldn't help but appreciate the feel of his strong hands about her waist, and she realized then that he'd carried her from the mud in just one arm, almost like a sack of potatoes. What a comical sight that must have been, and what a strong man he was.

“You answered them honestly,” he told her. “That's all that matters. And no one else needs to know your true situation. Personally, it makes no difference to me, other than I have this strong desire to beat the daylights out of the man who left you and Sophie. He has no idea what a blessing he had.”

Clarissa softened even more. “That's a nice thing to say, Mr. Clements. Thank you.”

Their gazes held a moment longer, and Clarissa was feeling things she'd rather not feel. Then Dawson put the reins of his horse into her hands. “Don't be so unwilling to ask for help next time,” he said. “Take my horse and ride on ahead. Michael and I will get your oxen and wagon out of this mess. When you reach the others you can wade into the river and wash off all that mud.”

He grinned again and left her, and Clarissa watched after him as he waved down Michael. She could still hear his laughter, and it struck her again how very unusual it sounded, coming from a man like Dawson Clements. Before that she would have guessed he didn't even know how to laugh.

“Who are you, Dawson Clements?” she muttered. “Where have you been in life, and where are you going?” If she asked him those questions aloud, no doubt he would brush her off like a pesky fly.

“H
e
laughed?
”

Carolyn's eyes were so wide that Clarissa had to chuckle. How odd that the fact that someone had laughed could draw such a reaction of astonishment. “Yes,” she answered. “Dawson Clements actually laughed, and not just a chuckle.”

Clarissa, Carolyn and Michael sat around a campfire relaxing after the long day of getting all the wagons through or around the mud and ready for the river crossing in the morning. Lena and Sophie were already sleeping, and the camp was relatively quiet, with other families working or talking around their own campfires. Clarissa actually felt compelled to keep her voice down so others wouldn't know they were talking about Dawson Clements.

“At first I was furious with him for laughing at me,” Clarissa continued. “But then it struck me that the man was actually laughing heartily. He has a wonderful laugh, very deep and genuine. And he's so handsome when he smiles like that.”

“Is he now?” Michael asked with a glint in his eye.

Clarissa suddenly realized how the remark sounded, and she hoped the firelight wasn't bright enough to reflect the red she felt coming into her cheeks. She rolled her eyes. “I didn't mean that the way it sounded.”

“Sure you didn't.”

“Really! It was just such a surprise to see a smile and hear laughter from a man who's normally so serious and grumpy.”

Michael chuckled as he poked at the fire with a stick. “Well, Clarissa, I'll tell you something I truly believe, and that is God put us on Dawson Clements's wagon train for a purpose. And He has a purpose for Mr. Clements, too. I believe God is trying to get through to him, through us, all of us, but mostly through you, Clarissa.”

Clarissa ran a hand through her long hair, which she'd left undone so it could dry out before she wrapped it back into a bun. “What on earth could I do for the man?” she asked.

“You've already started doing something,” Michael answered. “You made him laugh, didn't you? I have a feeling that was quite an accomplishment.”

She shrugged. “It certainly wasn't intentional, I can assure you. I was so mad at him before I fell, even madder
after
I fell! I felt so humiliated. I certainly was not trying to make him laugh, especially at me.”

“God had a hand in it, I'm sure. He's got something in mind for you, too, Clarissa, and I have a sneaking suspicion Dawson Clements has something to do with that.”

Clarissa sighed, adjusting a blanket she'd laid over her lap. “You're a preacher, not a matchmaker, Michael Harvey. You had better stick to your calling.”

“Oh, but I am. This is part of it. I've been praying for the both of you, and look what's happened.”

“Oh,
nothing
has happened! I fell into the mud, and he laughed at me.
That's
what happened. None of it means anything, and if you're suggesting I am interested in that ornery, cloud-covered man, I'm
not!
” She sobered. “I'm not interested in
any
man—not now, and maybe not ever, after what Chad did to me. I don't think I could ever love or give of myself that way again, let alone trust any man again.”

“You trust me, don't you?”

“I'm not
married
to you.”

Michael chuckled. “But surely you see how devoted I am to Carolyn,” he told her, giving his wife a loving glance. “There
are
other good men out there, Clarissa. You're so very young, and little Sophie needs a father.”

Clarissa shook her head. “Surely you aren't suggesting that someone like Dawson Clements is the answer. He's hardly every woman's dream, with that bossy attitude and crusty nature. The man has a huge chip on his shoulder that would take a bull moose to knock off, let alone the fact that he is obviously un-Christian to the point of practically being a heathen. He apparently would rather befriend a murderer than a preacher.”

“And eventually we are going to find out why that is,” Michael answered. “Before this trip is over I will find a way to bring light into that man's eyes.”

Carolyn, who sat beside Michael on a log, reached over and took hold of one of his hands. “I just hope he doesn't end up punching you right in the face for trying,” she told him.

Michael chuckled, kissing her cheek. “We'd best be retiring. Tomorrow will be a long day, I'm sure, getting animals and wagons and children and all of us across the river with only one ferry raft.”

“And the Cherokee who run the ferry service will be quite rich by the time we're done,” Carolyn suggested as she rose. “It's ridiculous what they charge, and they know they have us over a barrel.”

“Which is why they can get away with it,” Clarissa commented, also rising.

“Let's pray before retiring,” Michael suggested.

Clarissa walked closer, and the three of them bowed their heads. Michael prayed for safe passage across the Kansas River tomorrow, then added a prayer for Dawson Clements. “May he laugh again, Lord Jesus, for laughter is a balm for the broken heart. Please continue to guide us in helping Mr. Clements by putting Your words into our mouths and making us say the right things. Keep him safe and well, Father, and we pray the same for our little Lena and little Sophie. In Christ's name, Amen.”

Clarissa echoed her
Amen,
and she and Carolyn embraced before Carolyn left for the wagon where Lena slept. Michael left to bed down in his wagon, and Clarissa made for her own. Just as she rounded the end of the wagon to climb inside, she gasped when Dawson Clements appeared out of the shadows. “Mr. Clements!”

He stepped closer, and because of the darkness she could not read his eyes. “Thank you for making me laugh today,” he told her quietly.

“What?”

“Do you know how long it's been since I laughed?”

His appearance and the admission took her by complete surprise. “I—I suspect it's been a
very
long time.”

“I'm sorry it seemed I was laughing at you. I know you were trying your best and trying to do it all on your own. I admire that about you, Mrs. Graham. What you're doing takes a lot of courage.”

She folded her arms. “For a woman without a husband?”

By the moonlight she saw him grin. “Yes, for a woman without a husband. But trips like this take courage even for women
with
husbands along. In fact, most of them are going
because
of their husbands, not because they truly want to go. You, on the other hand, are going of your own accord. That takes guts.”

Why was he here telling her these things? What should she make of it? “I suppose I should thank you, Mr. Clements, since that sounds like a compliment. However, I'm not so sure I'm all that courageous, since I'm more determined to leave certain things behind than to strike out for someplace new. You asked me earlier today if I was running from my husband. I guess in a way I am doing just that—running from painful memories and the hurt of rejection and abandonment. And I'm leaving familiar places so that my daughter won't have to suffer teasing and hear lies about her mother and father.”

He leaned closer, resting one hand on the wagon gate. He was close enough for Clarissa to catch the scent of leather and fresh air and a bit of what was simply Dawson Clements. A rush of womanly feelings swept through her that made her back off a little.

“I know about abandonment and rejection, Mrs. Graham. You and I have more in common than you might think.”

He was trying to talk to her! If Michael was right that God wanted to use her to help this man, what on earth should she say? He was the type that one wrong word could bring back that dark side that was not a pleasure to be around.

“I wish you would share some of the reasons with me, Mr. Clements, but of course your personal affairs are not my business. I am glad you came by, though. I wanted to thank you again for helping me today and not screaming at me for my inadequacies.”

He actually chuckled. “There is nothing inadequate about you, Mrs. Graham. I am thinking you're the finest woman I've come across in a long time. I know I seem pretty ornery, but my goal is to make sure I get all of you to Montana safely, and since the army is all I've ever known up to now, I tend to bark orders and accept no nonsense. It isn't aimed just at you.”

Clarissa smiled. “I understand, Mr. Clements.”

“And please don't be too afraid or embarrassed to ask for help when you truly need it.”

“Thank you. I will keep that in mind.”

He nodded, then just stared at her a long, quiet, tense moment. Clarissa could tell he was thinking of saying more, but he didn't. For a brief, almost terrifying moment, she even thought he was considering kissing her. The realization caused her to freeze against the wagon gate, especially when she caught a light scent of whiskey on his breath. Although he didn't appear flat-out drunk, she suspected it had taken a few swigs of the demon brew for this man to have the courage to come here and say the things he'd said. Now she worried that the firewater in his blood might give him bigger ideas.

“Good night, Mr. Clements,” she said, deciding he'd better leave. Yet part of her didn't want him to go at all.

“Good night, Mrs. Graham.”

After he was a few steps away, Clarissa called out to him. “Yes, ma'am?” He turned to look back at her.

“Speaking of asking for help, do you have any suggestions for—for feet that hurt so bad you'd like to cut them off?”

“Well, I—” He broke into laughter again, that wonderful, hearty laugh that literally made him seem an entirely different man. He stepped closer again. “I'm sorry, but it's the way you said that.” He laughed again, and Carolyn called out from her wagon.

“Clarissa? What's going on over there? Is that Mr. Clements?”

“Yes,” Clarissa called back, keeping her eyes on Dawson. “Everything is fine.”

Dawson tipped his hat. “Thank you again for a good laugh. No offense meant.”

Now Clarissa had to laugh. “None taken.”

“And I do have an answer for your feet. Is Mrs. Harvey suffering the same problem?”

“Yes, in fact, she is.”

“Then tomorrow I will bring both of you something that will help.”

He turned and vanished like a shadow. Clarissa stood there for a moment to collect herself. Mr. Dawson Clements continued to surprise her with his mystifying ability to change moods as readily as a chameleon could change its colors, although she had no doubt that whiskey had played a role in the Dawson Clements she'd just talked to. She found herself wondering what the man was really like. Which Dawson Clements was the
real
Dawson Clements—the bossy, grouchy, demanding one who hated preachers and beat up men who hit their children; or the soft-spoken, apologetic man she'd just talked to; or the robust, almost jolly man who'd laughed so hard when she fell in the mud, as well as just now? Did it always take whiskey to get him to open up even a little? And why had he made a point to come and talk to her alone tonight? He could have come forward when she was sitting with Michael and Carolyn.

She finally found her legs and climbed into the wagon to nestle beside Sophie. She kissed her daughter's hair, and Sophie sleepily said, “I love you, Mommy.”

“Love you, too,” Clarissa answered, pulling Sophie into her arms. She wished Carolyn had not heard Dawson laugh, although everyone in camp had probably heard him. Now Carolyn knew he'd been here talking to her, and she and Michael would both be full of questions in the morning. She didn't feel like being teased about something that was becoming much too serious a matter. Worse, what might the other travelers be thinking?