For a Noble Purpose, page 19
part #1 of Larksong Legacy Series
Sarah gasped, her hand rising to her lips. To be ripped from your family was terrible, but to be taken without any chance to say goodbye? She had at least been given a choice. She had the opportunity to tell her mother goodbye, to embrace her one last time. Despite the circumstances of their departure, she still wished she had been able to have the same farewell with her father. At least, she could still write to him. Martha had no such option.
“Martha, I…” she began, but every condolence seemed inadequate.
Her friend was staring at her skirt now, rather than Sarah. She ran a crease of the brown and white flowered fabric between her thumb and forefinger, another of the new dresses Tobias had designed. “I remember those first few years when I hated everything, even myself. I questioned why my parents had me or Roma or Lemuel when they knew we would be gone one day. I remember you saying we would be sisters, but I had a sister and she looked like me, not you. It was Tildy who dragged me out crying from the closet under the stairs and told me I had to try. ‘It’sa hard, child,’ she said, ‘but we all been where you standin’. And you haveta try.’
“I knew it wouldn’t be the same, but you surprised me by being so kind. To you, dark skin and light weren’t an important thing to notice.” She gave a sad smile. “I thought you were the most stupid girl I ever met.”
She had been. Foolishly so. Looking back on all she had learned over these past few months on the trail, she couldn’t believe how naïve she had been. Hawthorn Ridge had truly been a veil, and she had hidden behind it spectacularly.
“I was,” Sarah admitted. “You would think after seven husbands, I would be more knowledgeable about life.”
She was surprised when Martha shifted off the flour bags to the wagon bed, so they sat knee-to-knee. Martha’s hand was in hers again, her ring’s white clover blossoms standing out against her friend’s caramel skin. Like when they were little girls sharing secrets on Sarah’s bedroom floor.
“Miss Sarah, I was going to be sold eventually. I thank the Lord every day that He didn’t send me to worse places.”
“I’m thankful you were there all those years,” Sarah replied softly. “Through every husband, I knew I wasn’t completely alone. I can’t imagine doing this without you.”
“You’ve managed fine with that handsome Mr. Lark always doting on you. Free wagon, free supplies, sharing special moments out on the trail…” Martha gave a shy smile. “Wish there was someone like that for me.”
“What about Garrett? Seems you’ve been spending as much time with him as I have Tobias. I see you offering him looks when he’s not paying attention.”
“Don’t be so daft. He’s plenty to look at, that’s for sure. Has a pleasant voice when he speaks. But we come from different sides of the river. He was a slave owner and I’m a slave.”
“Not anymore and he’s not an owner either. Things are different out here.”
Martha shook her head, eyes once more on their clasped fingers. “I can’t, Miss Sarah. When I leap, I want it to be with someone like me. I want my babies to look like I do.”
It was reasonable. She would want the same. Although, something inside her twitched, wondering. Out here the same rules didn’t apply. If in Larksong all were truly welcome, then none of those societal expectations applied. If not for the curse, she would entertain the notion of another marriage. What if she found a colored man who met every need except his skin? Would she entertain his affections if he offered?
“The Larks must know everyone in the South. After we’re settled, maybe we could find your family. We’ll grant them their freedom too.”
Any ease in Martha’s expression died in that moment. “I’m a runaway slave, Miss Sarah. There might be summons all throughout the South by now, seeking me back. For now, I’m at peace being on our way to a fine new life, both of us free at last.” She squeezed Sarah’s hand. “And you can be at peace knowing all is right again between us.”
At the top of Independence Rock, amid the many other pioneers, Sarah and Martha gazed out at God’s beauty in amazement. The land stretched on forever, sandy and golden and green all at once. Empty and yet full of life, the sun casting an array of hope over all it washed. Sarah could see their wagon train far below and the dotted line of strangers’ wagons parading off into the western horizon. They were so small in the grand scheme of life, so insignificant, yet to each other they played a role greater than all of it.
“We would never have seen this if we stayed in Missouri,” she said softly.
“No,” Martha agreed. The sun’s golden glow bathed her skin like amber glass. “Nothing in Missouri is like this.”
Carefully, Sarah carved her name into the stone, one etching at a time, fragments dusting her fingers. She held the knife out to Martha. “You could use your own name,” she offered. “Instead of the one my mother gave you. You could change it back.”
Martha hesitated but a second before she began to carve an M. “I think I’ll keep it. The last time I shared that name with someone, it only found me trouble. I’d like to have one thing that’s mine and no one else’s.”
A few more scratches and it was finished. Their permanent mark on the new frontier: Sarah W & Martha L 1852.
Making peace with Martha seemed to bring the entire world into a new rosy outlook. Suddenly, Sarah again noticed the smiles of her fellow pioneers. Coraline and Oliver’s hearty greetings as they passed arm in arm. Alice Ann’s wave, her nose stuck in its usual literary residence. Levi’s nod and Marie’s “Good day,” as she stirred soup upon the fire. Optimism was everywhere when only hours before, negativity hung like a shroud.
It seemed strange to acknowledge, but she actually had friends on this trail, something she never imagined with a past such as hers. Perhaps she should begin to open herself up more, offer friendship to the lonely as others had offered it to her.
“I’m going to invite the Reeds to supper tonight,” she told Martha. “Poor Gabriella has barely left her wagon since Independence.” Likely, she could use the company, even if they sat in silence.
“You go on ahead,” Martha told her. “I should get to helping Marie. Besides, Mr. Reed doesn’t seem to like me much.”
“Why? What did he say?”
“Nothing particular. He just has a little too much of the South still stuck in him.”
“Oh, I see.” She remembered Clinton Reed’s comments in Independence about having to put his prejudices aside for the sake of the wagon train. Hopefully, with time, he could turn his opinions as others had.
After checking the Reeds’ wagon and finding it unoccupied, then rounding the camp circles and coming up short, Josiah motioned her down to Sweetwater River, where he had last spotted Clinton heading. Certain enough, she found Mr. Reed alone on the riverbank, splashing water upon his face and wiping a wet bandana across his neck. He wrung the rag out into the water and stood, startling when he spied her approaching.
“Why afternoon, Miss Walcott. Didn’t hear you there.” He adjusted his hat back on his head and tipped the brim. “Did you have a chance to go up the rock?”
“Good afternoon, Mr. Reed. I just returned. Incredible to see so many names all together. New ones are added year after year, and they'll all be there forever. Generations from now, folks will know what we've done.”
“Yeah,” he snuffed. “That’s why I didn’t put my name on it. This is but my passing through point to where I belong. No reason to leave my mark.”
It seemed morose, but she supposed she could understand it. She had been rather negative about things, too, until today.
“I was pleased to see your wife has left the wagon. Does that mean she’s feeling better? We would like to invite you both to our circle for supper.”
He gave her a hard stare. “What do you mean, Gabriella’s left the wagon?”
“I stopped by for a visit, just now. She wasn’t there.”
Without a word, he strode past her, mud flicking up with each stride. He made a straight line back to his wagon with Sarah quick on his heels. She had to lift her skirt with both hands to keep up with his longer stride and arrived panting for breath.
He hopped into the wagon bed, letting the flaps close behind him. She could hear him rummage through supplies, every so often letting out a curse hardly appropriate for a lady’s ears. A few minutes later, he opened the flap and stared down at her, stricken.
“She’s gone,” he muttered. He raised a hand to his eyes and released a low groan. “How could she leave?”
24
g
abriella Reed had vanished. Or at least, that’s what Garrett’s Gift seemed to imply. He couldn’t get a feeling on her whereabouts and didn’t know where to begin looking. So Tobias insisted they simply search everywhere.
They would devise a good old-fashioned search party as would be done for any other disappearance. Like they did when the Morrows’ daughter went missing on the day of the tornado. Except for this time, they would legitimately need every man’s skills at their best.
Some of Gabriella’s belongings were gone, but not all. Two dresses and underthings, jerky and fruit, a knife, and her small daguerreotype of her parents. She had taken only the necessities, implying she packed only what she could carry and left at her first opportunity. There would be few better chances to flee than with nearly everyone at Independence Rock.
As for where she was headed when she left, one man’s guess was as good as the next.
With so many other wagon parties scattered around Independence Rock, the search quickly grew tedious. Eventually, Tobias devised four teams, one to head in each cardinal direction. Cade and Josiah to the north, Oliver and Levi east, Clinton and Garrett south, and Tobias and Jamison west. They traveled two miles, inquiring within every visible wagon party, but still no luck. It was time to spread their search.
Tobias took Garrett aside. “We need to go farther. I know you couldn’t sense her here, but maybe she’s moved on from the area. We separate, go ten miles in each direction, and ask everyone. We still don’t know if she made it away safely. It’s possible she was overtaken by Indians or encountered a wild animal.”
His brother pounded his fist into his hand. “If she was anywhere nearby, I would be able to send us in the right direction. How can she be nowhere? And don’t you dare tell me it’s because you think she’s Gifted, too.”
Even though he didn’t truly believe it, he had considered it for half a minute. But now wasn’t the time to bring up that age-old argument again.
“Garrett, we all have limitations on our abilities. I can’t make carpentry supplies appear out of nowhere, Jamison can’t place his hand on a wound and heal like an apostle. Sometimes, as with the tornado, Cade can’t correctly predict the weather. There had to be a time when your Gift found its limit as well. Maybe it’s the type of rock here that’s blocking you from searching farther away. Maybe your Gift can’t find someone if they’re hurt or dead. You’ve never tried to find a corpse. Maybe you can’t. Things have already happened we can’t account for.”
“But—”
“Garrett, take heart. We’re going to find her.”
Except they didn’t find her. They headed out in teams of two, each spreading like wheel spokes with Independence Rock at their center. They searched high and low, beneath trees and up within, asking every party they came across and cautiously, several Indian tribes as well. Thankfully, the natives responded to their inquiries without hostility, although their responses were in their tribal tongue and thoroughly unhelpful.
It worried him that Garrett was unable to find Gabriella. His brother had never experienced trouble with his Gift before. Was it a case of the landscape blocking his abilities or perhaps too many people gathered in one place? Were their Gifts locked onto Charleston and the farther away they traveled, the more they would lose? For perhaps the only time in his life, he wished his father were there. If anyone would have the information they needed, it would be him.
The search teams trickled back into camp one by one, each shaking their heads dismally as they arrived. No one needed words to express the truth. Wherever Gabriella Reed was, she wouldn’t be found by them.
It was the miserable duty of Tobias as wagon master to deliver the news to Clinton that they would be moving on in the morning. As he approached the man’s wagon, he saw him sitting beside the campfire, tossing clumps of dirt into the flames. He looked up as Tobias sat down. “It’s over, isn’t it?”
Tobias gave a slow nod and Clinton exhaled, staring back into the flames. “I figured. Guess I always knew she would go eventually. Just hadn’t figured it would be so soon and without even a final word.” He gave a low chuckle. “I always like to have the final word.”
“Interesting sentiment. Were you and Mrs. Reed having trouble then?”
“Nah, she didn’t do nothing. It was all my doing. I hate it when plans change, don’t you?” He tossed another clump of dirt into the fire and Tobias nodded, unclear whether he needed to worry.
“Listen, Clint. We all do things we’re not proud of. Maybe you drove her away, maybe not. What I need to know is if I can keep you on this train with us. Were you good to your wife? You never hit her or made her feel less than?”
“Never. Not once. That’s the truth. I’ve done my share of misdeeds, but striking a lady isn’t one.”
“Good. And can you promise you mean no harm to me, my brothers, or anyone else with us?”
“I want to make it to Washington, same as you. I think we’re better working together than against.”
“Me, too.” Tobias rose, offering his sympathies from across the firelight. What if it had been Sarah who ran? Marie from Levi or Coraline from Oliver? Any of them would be devastated and would always question why.
“I’m sorry for your loss, Mr. Reed. If you need anything at all, all you have to do is ask.”
“Thank you, Mr. Lark. I’ll hold you to that.”
Tobias returned to his wagon with head held high and his usual confident stride, extending assurances to anyone who asked about the missing woman. Did he fear Indians would attack their camp? No, of course not. Did he think wild animals had torn her to bits? Unlikely. Their children were safe to sleep. What about bandits? Had they captured her for their own carnal means? No, he would reply, he didn’t think they had anything to worry about.
When the truth was, they always had something to worry about.
He dropped in the dirt behind his wagon, removing his hat and bunching it between clenched fingers. He rubbed away tears of frustration before they could emerge and reveal to the entire train he didn’t have a clue what he was doing.
Oliver Shay limped by, one hand pressed to the side of his thigh as he went, a deep grimace curling his features. His breath hissed through his teeth with every step. Another perfect example of how Tobias didn’t have time to worry about his own inadequacies when another problem was always around the corner.
“Shay,” he called out. “What happened?”
Oliver glanced over, trying for a smile and failing. “Tripped in a prairie dog hole while out on the search. Went down hard and took a rock straight to my thigh. Stitched it up fine, but it still hurts something fierce.” He gave a dry chuckle. “It’s rather an embarrassment when the doctor needs a doctor, huh?”
“We all fall down sometimes, Shay. Even doctors. What’s important is that we get back up.” He spoke as much to Oliver as to himself. He couldn’t let his shortcomings leave him sitting in the dirt.
His friend’s expression softened, and was he imagining it, or were Oliver’s eyes moistening over? The hardships of the trail must be overwhelming him more than he let on.
“Thank you, Tobias. It has been an honor traveling with you. You are going to do wonderful things for these people.”
“I hope so, Shay. God be with us, I hope so.”
Oliver started to shuffle on, but Tobias called out to him. “It is only a minor wound, right?”
Oliver smiled. “Of course. I’ll be back up in no time.”
25
O
liver Shay lived barely two days before he left this world forever.
The night he died, Sarah knelt near the fire, preparing another horrible meal when he wandered into their circle. He bent low, placed a hand to Jamison’s shoulder, and said, “I’ve finished tending to a few folks suffering from heatstroke. They’ll be all right. Also, I changed the bandages on Andrew McClary’s arm. The wound’s healing and should be clear within a few days. I also—”
Without warning, he doubled over. His body landed in a tangle across Jamison’s lap, his eyes rolling closed and head limp. Coraline and Alice Ann immediately dropped the pans they held, raw squirrel meat scattering into the dirt as they hurried to Oliver’s side.
With swift practiced movements, Jamison maneuvered him onto his back and pulled up each eyelid to examine his irises. His lips drew tight as his fingers slid to the side of Oliver’s neck.
“He’s flushed, pupils dilated, pulse weak. Whatever this is, it isn’t good.”
“You mean you don’t know?” Sarah asked. “Aren’t you supposed to be—” Jamison shot her a warning look before she could finish her question with the truth. She had meant to say Gifted, but settled for, “a doctor?”
“His symptoms could be related to several ailments. I need more information.”
“Oliver!” Coraline cried. She shook his shoulder but was only rewarded with an incoherent mumble. Oliver’s words slurred beyond recognition. “What happened?” she cried. “What’s wrong?” It took another mumble and another shake before his eyes fluttered back open.
Oliver’s hand immediately pressed to his thigh, hissing through his teeth. “Sn…ake…bite.”
“What did you say?” Jamison shot back.
