Clarissa could tell the man was right about getting attached. She’d already named the four that pulled her wagon, Moo, Bee, Sadie and Jack. Buck and Betsy were tied to the back of her wagon for spares, so the animals could be rotated to avoid too much work for any one of them. She already knew each ox by its distinctive markings. Michael thought she was silly to name them, but for some reason that made it easier for her to handle them. She just hoped she had the strength to keep up with them and to help hitch and unhitch them every day.
She hated the fact that Michael usually had to help, especially yoking them whenever the oxen would not properly hold still. She had no doubt that by the time she reached Montana, she might be built like a man for all her hard work.
They headed toward Dawson’s camp at the big oak tree in the distance. Michael and Carolyn took two wagons—Michael’s pulled by six oxen because of an extraheavy load of farm tools and books, including a supply of Bibles and hymnals, donated by others for his new church.
Carolyn’s wagon carried lighter household necessities, and Lena and Sophie rode together in it, bouncing around atop a pile of quilts and having a joyous time. Clarissa thought how oblivious the girls were to the difficulties that surely lay ahead. She prayed things would remain that way—that nothing would happen to either child and they wouldn’t end up stranded and starving to death.
The latter seemed unlikely, as they had packed plenty of food. Distributed among all three wagons was dried beef, rice, tea, spices, dried fruit, beans, baking soda, flour, sugar, baking powder, canned pickles, bacon, potatoes, sweet potatoes, large tubs filled with plenty of lard for packing fresh meat to preserve it, salt, coffee, wheat, oats, cornmeal. She kept reviewing the list in her mind, worried they’d missed something.
They also carried a tin washtub, two washboards, lye soap, three coffee kettles, tinware, several fry pans, cooking utensils, trunks of clothes, plenty of blankets, quilts, pillows, heavy boots and warm coats. Michael had even thought to buy each of them capes made of India rubber, something new that worked well against rain.
A milk cow, which Lena and Sophie had named Trudy, was tied to one side of Carolyn’s wagon, and it balked at leaving. The rope grew taut and stretched the cow’s head and neck until the animal had no choice but to join the procession, and her calf trotted beside her. A slatted crate was secured to the side of Clarissa’s wagon with rope, and inside the crate were three chickens that she hoped would continue laying eggs. A rooster sat on top of her wagon, occasionally flapping its wings and crowing, as though king of the wagon train.
Her wagon even carried a crate that contained something that had belonged to her mother—beautiful china from Germany, carefully packed in straw. It was all she had left of the mother she’d lost so long ago, and of the life she’d known in St. Louis.
She could not take her heart or trust with her. Chad had stolen both. It still hurt deeply to think about it, but it was done now, and she doubted she could ever love or trust a man again, let alone ever find it in her heart to forgive.
They guided the three wagons through rows of others still gathered outside of Independence, and after several minutes they came closer to the big oak, where Clarissa quickly counted ten wagons circled around it. Children ran and played, and women cooked in big pots over fires.
Families. That was good. Having other women and children along would make this trip so much easier. The families from Michael’s church who’d originally wanted to come with them had decided against the trip. One of the men had been drafted into the Union Army under the new draft law. Another decided to stay behind to help care for that man’s family, and the mother in the third family found out she was expecting. They worried the trip would cause her to lose her baby.
And so it was just Michael and Carolyn, the girls and Clarissa. Clarissa breathed deeply for courage. She hated lying, but after discussing the issue of her divorce, the three adults had decided to tell others that Clarissa’s husband had been killed in the war. That would avoid problems that might arise with some of the women knowing she was divorced.
It still irked Clarissa that she should be ill-treated just because her husband had cheated on her. Chad was the coward and the adulterer, yet some people treated her as though she was somehow tainted now. It hurt deeply to be treated so. Deep inside she’d reconciled herself to her fate and had decided to be proud and strong and do a good job of raising Sophie on her own. After much prayer and long talks with Michael, she’d come to realize that God surely held nothing against her for the divorce. She’d been a good and faithful wife and mother. She would not allow Chad’s foolish decisions to wreck her own faith.
The decision to go with Dawson Clements as their guide had not been easy. The man was certainly a contrast of character and emotions, saving a child one minute, beating a man near to death the next. He obviously had a goodness somewhere deep inside, but he certainly hated showing it. And as much as the man protested talk about God and prayer and professed to have no use for preachers, Clarissa suspected he longed to know Christ, to understand his own bitterness and perhaps find a way to forgive whoever it was who’d brought him to such an attitude.
Because of Dawson’s experience with the army and Indians and the way west, and the fact that he had a commanding way about him that could mean a well-organized wagon train, they’d decided to join him.
When they drew closer to the other wagons, Dawson himself walked out to greet Michael wearing simple denim pants and a plaid shirt with knee-high boots. A gun was strapped to his side, and he still wore the wide-brimmed, black hat.
Clarissa watched him greet Michael with a handshake. Good. At least the man was accepting Michael even though he was a preacher. Dawson’s attitude toward men of God was strange indeed, and Clarissa wished she knew why.
The men talked for a moment, then Michael nodded to Dawson and called out to the women to follow him to a grassy spot ahead. Clarissa followed, and Dawson stood and waited for her wagon to get closer. He walked up then and grasped the halter of one of the lead oxen, shouting, “Whoa, there! Whoa!” Once the animals stopped, he turned to Clarissa.
“You have no help driving these oxen?” he asked.
“I’ll do just fine on my own, Mr. Clements,” she answered defensively. “Michael has taught me well.”
“It can get pretty tiring, ma’am, and sometimes these beasts get ornery and decide not to obey.”
“I’ll handle them.” It irritated her that he should question her ability.
“What if you get sick or break a bone or something? Who’s going to drive your wagon?”
Frowning, Clarissa folded her arms in front of her, a switch still in her hand. “Why do you care, Mr. Clements?”
He pushed back his hat, and Clarissa noticed a lingering bruise on his cheek. He was clean shaven again, and his dark hair brushed his shirt collar. It literally angered her to notice how good-looking he was, which made her feel even more defensive.
“Mrs. Graham, I got this wagon train together, and I intend to see that everyone arrives safely in Montana. Now for the sake of practicality, I need to know you’ll have a backup for the days you can’t drive these oxen, and believe me, there will be such days.”
“I can see you haven’t changed when it comes to always looking at the worst of things, Mr. Clements. Tell me, do you ever wake up joyful, and simply grateful for the new day? Have you ever thought about simply trusting God to see you through things?”
He closed his eyes and let out
