Westward Hearts (35 page)

He nodded. “Most of the emigrants never even saw it. But Belinda and Amelia witnessed the whole thing.”

She sighed. “I’ve never seen anything like it.” She told him what Tillie had said about flying and spinning. “You should see her,” Elizabeth chuckled. “We called her Tumbleweed Tillie.”

He laughed. “I did see her. And I think she’s earned that name.” Now he pointed to her horse. “Why are you on foot? Is your horse all right?”

With embarrassment she explained her situation. “I should have asked Matthew to give me a boost. But with all the excitement, I forgot.”

He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Riding bareback in a dress?”

She felt her cheeks blushing. “Well, it wasn’t as if I had time for propriety—”

“No, no, I didn’t mean that. It’s just that I’m impressed.”

She shrugged. “I’ve been riding horses since I can remember. Nothing to be impressed about.”

“Except that now you can’t mount your horse.” His eyes twinkled in a teasing way.

“Yes…” She started walking again. “But at least I can still walk.”

“Come on,” he said. “Let me help you.”

Without too much ado, he offered his cupped hands for her to step into, and once again she was straddling the horse. She felt slightly self-conscious that the tops of her boots and her stockings were showing. But to her relief, Eli kept his eyes averted as he mounted his own horse. “Maybe we should take it slow since you don’t have a saddle,” he told her.

She was about to challenge this, reminding him that she was a good rider. But then, liking the idea of some time alone with him, she simply agreed. “It seems nothing short of miraculous that Tillie survived that twister,” she said. “And I still don’t understand how the other girls weren’t picked up at all, although I’m very, very thankful.” She sighed. “I was so worried that Ruth was—” Her voice choked on the words.

“It must have been frightening.”

She found her soiled handkerchief and dabbed her eyes, trying not to reveal that she was crying and hoping she’d soon stop. “Very unsettling.”

“It’s plain to see how much your family means to you, Elizabeth.”

She looked directly at him. “They are everything to me. I couldn’t bear to lose one of them. Not my children. Nor my parents or brother.”

His expression grew grim. “I wish I could say that we’ll arrive in Oregon with no casualties or deaths, but it’s never like that.”

She swallowed against the lump in her throat and simply nodded.

“But your family seems prepared for this kind of travel. The captain and I both noticed it from the start. You’re well equipped and obviously capable. If I was a wagering man, I’d bet that your family makes it through without any serious troubles.”

“I hope you’re right.” She tucked her handkerchief back into her skirt pocket, holding her head high again. “But I’ll admit that seeing that twister and knowing the girls…my own little girl was out there in harm’s way…well, it reminded me of how quickly things can change.” She shook her head. “Calamity can befall anyone.”

“True enough.”

“It makes me want to keep my children safe at my side.”

“Then how would they grow up to be strong enough to handle life’s troubles on their own?”

“I’m just saying I want to…not that I will.” Now she told him about Ruth praying as they searched for Tillie. “I need to remember to rely on my faith like that too,” she admitted. “That’s what it always comes down to…trusting God to take care of us.”

“I reckon.” He nodded with a sad expression.

“Have you ever lost anyone you really loved, Eli?” She was surprised at herself for asking this—and so abruptly too. But it was too late. It was already out there. And the truth was, she wanted to know.

“As a matter of fact, I have.”

“Not that it’s any of my business…” She looked down at the reins in her hands.

“I was married once…about a dozen years ago, although it seems like more now. Like another lifetime even. It only lasted a couple of years. Then I lost my wife and son to smallpox.”

She glanced at him. “I’m sorry.”

He just nodded. “Thank you. Most of the time I don’t think about it too much. I hardly ever speak of it to anyone.”

So she told him a bit about losing James and her unborn baby to cholera four years earlier. “It seems we have more in common than I realized.”

“I reckon we do.”

Now there was a long silence, and she didn’t know what to say. So to lighten the mood she talked about how the three little girls had been covered from head to toe with dust. “I hope we camp by the river tonight. It will take a good amount of water to get them all clean.”

“I s’pect those girls will spark plenty of conversations around most of the campfires tonight.”

She laughed. “Do you really think everyone will hear about it?”

“You’d be surprised at how tales can travel on a train like this. Like a wildfire on a windy day.”

“I know that’s true. The stories my father brings with him sometimes…” She chuckled. “And they say men don’t gossip.”

“Some stories can change dramatically the more they get told. By the time the twister story makes its rounds, it might sound even more fantastic than it was.”

“You have to admit, the story of a little girl being carried off by a twister is already quite amazing. And to think she’s all right…” Elizabeth shook her head in wonder.

Now he leaned over and peered curiously at her. “And I heard a strange part of the story too. According to one of the Bramford girls, you leaped onto your horse and galloped directly into the twister.” He whistled. “Now that’s something I would like to have witnessed firsthand.”

She sighed. “Truth be told, it wasn’t that gallant. I suppose most mothers would face the jaws of death in order to rescue their children.” By now they had caught up with the rear of the wagon train. “Thank you for escorting me back…” She made a sheepish smile. “And for helping me to get back on my horse too.”

“’Twas my pleasure, ma’am.” He tipped his hat and grinned. “It’s not every day I get to ride with the woman who chased down a twister.”

A
sa had the foresight to put up the tent when they made camp that night. It provided a private bathhouse for the dust-coated girls as well as Elizabeth, who discovered she was almost as dirty as they were. “I wish we could all just jump into the river,” Elizabeth said as she peeled the dust-encrusted skirt away from Ruth.

“Can we?” Tillie asked hopefully.

“Grandpa says it’s flowing too fast,” Ruth told her. Just then Flo and Mahala came in with buckets of water, warning that it was cold but promising to bring some hot water to warm it soon. Elizabeth helped the girls, washing and scrubbing and rinsing. But when it came to poor Tillie’s hair, she didn’t even know where to begin. Even with most of the dirt rinsed out, Tillie’s fine, curly locks were so twisted and snarled around little twigs and burs that it was impossible to untangle.

“I don’t know what you’re going to do with it,” Elizabeth told Flo.

“I’m afraid it’s going to have to come off,” Flo said sadly.
“All
of it.”

“You’re going to cut
all
of Tillie’s hair off?” Ruth’s eyes grew wide.

“Like a boy?” Tillie’s eyes glimmered with interest.

“Don’t worry, it’ll grow back,” Flo assured them.

“I’ll get my scissors,” Elizabeth offered, but then she remembered that Brady had taken all their shoes in order to give them a good oiling. “Except that I’m barefoot.”

“I brought our moccasins to wear.” Ruth stuck out a foot to show off her interesting footwear. “They’re real comfortable, Mama.”

So Flo went to fetch the scissors while Elizabeth put on her moccasins. “They
are
comfortable,” she admitted. “But maybe not sturdy enough for walking too much.”

“Indians walk in them,” Ruth pointed out.

By suppertime, Tillie’s hair had been cropped so short that she really did resemble a boy. “I’ve been scalped,” she bragged as she let Ruth feel her shorn, round head.

“Put on your bonnet,” Flo told her daughter. “No one will even notice.”

But Tillie liked getting attention for having survived not only a twister but also a “scalping.” And after supper, everyone in their unit congregated around Asa’s campfire to hear Tillie give an account of her exciting adventures. Naturally, Tillie was more than pleased to accommodate them. And then the others who had been closest to the spectacle, including the Bramford girls, told their own accounts.

“We thought all of them were going to be taken up by the cyclone,” Belinda said. “Tillie, Ruth, and Hannah just vanished in the whirling wind, and then it looked like Elizabeth and her horse were going to be swept away as well.”

“It was a terrible thing to see,” Amelia added. “We were certain we’d never see any of you again.”

Will grinned at Elizabeth. “That was quite a brave thing you did—riding your horse out there to help the girls.”

Elizabeth shrugged. “I’m sure you would have done the same if your children were in harm’s way.”

He nodded.

“But then the twister was gone, and we couldn’t find Tillie anywhere,” Hannah explained. “It was so terrifying. I thought I’d lost my little Tillie.” She put her arm protectively around Tillie. “What would we do without our sweet baby sister?”

“But it turned out she was just fine,” Ruth proclaimed. “And when we found her, her hair was sticking out all over like this.” She held up her hands with her fingers splayed out. “Just like a tumbleweed. And that’s why we named her Tumbleweed Tillie.”

“And then I got scalped by my own ma.” Tillie proudly ran her hand over her cropped hair.

“You shouldn’t speak lightly about scalpings,” Gertie warned her. “We’re about to come into some dangerous Injun territory, where that could truly happen, and believe you me, it’s no joking matter.” Now Gertie launched into a terrible tale of how some California settlers suffered horribly at the hands of Indians.

“Excuse me, Gertie.” Elizabeth cut her off when the description grew overly vivid. “But we have children listening.”

“Children need to know about these goings-on too,” Gertie argued.

“Not in such gruesome detail,” Flo said sharply.

“And not before bedtime,” Elizabeth added.

“I got an idea,” Asa said cheerfully. “I think we should all make up a poem about Tumbleweed Tillie.”

“Yes, let’s do,” Clara agreed.

“And I already got the first line.” He grinned at Tillie with a twinkle in his eye.

“Tell us, Grandpa!” Ruth pleaded.

He stood up. “Starts out like this:

Tumbleweed Tillie, the Flanders’ smallest sister,

went out to pick some poppies and got plucked up by a twister.

“That’s good!” Tillie clapped her hands. Others began to add funny lines, and after a bit, Matthew was playing a tune on his fiddle with JT strumming along on his guitar. They had just put a funny little song together when Eli and the captain walked into camp with somewhat serious-looking expressions. As usual, the crowd quieted. It seemed that everyone came to attention when the captain showed up.

“Sorry to interrupt your festivities,” he said as he stepped up to their campfire. “But Eli here tells me that some of the girls in this unit experienced some excitement today.”

“Here’s our very own Tumbleweed Tillie,” Asa told him as he patted Tillie’s shorn head. “We just made up a funny song about her.”

“It’s a great song,” Tillie said proudly.

“I’d like to hear it,” he told her. “But first I need to make an announcement. As you all know, it’s been acceptable for folks to wander and explore a bit while we travel, as long as you stay within sight of the wagon train. But now that we’re coming into Cheyenne country, we need to be even more cautious.”

“Are the Cheyenne very dangerous?” Will Bramford asked.

“All Injuns are dangerous,” Gertie spouted out.

“That’s not true.” Eli spoke in a firm tone. “Most Indians are more peaceful than white men.”

“You’re telling us that
savage Injuns
are peaceful?” Gertie narrowed her eyes. “What about those stories coming out of California?” Once again she began to tell of raids and murders.

“The Indians have been here much longer than the white man,” Eli explained. “But the white man keeps pushing west, pushing the Indians out. It’s only natural that some Indians can only take so much.”

“And I reckon you think it’s only natural to murder settlers too?” Gertie demanded.

“I’m not defending criminal acts,” he told her. “I’m just trying to get you to understand their situation. White men have brought hunting parties to these plains and slaughtered thousands of buffalo—not for their meat or their hides but for sport. As a result, Indians starve. Imagine how you would feel if someone came and slaughtered your herds and deprived your children of food just for the fun of it?”

The group grew quiet now, and with thoughtful expressions they appeared to be considering what they’d just heard. Even Gertie was silenced.