Walk on Earth a Stranger

I hope he’s right.

Tom approaches, his sweat-soaked shirt unbuttoned halfway down his chest. He takes off his hat and waves it beside his red cheeks. “You trust them more than I do,” he says. “But the longer we wait, the weaker our animals will be.”

That makes sense to me.

Major Craven hobbles over. “Do you want me to tether the weakest to the back again? Rotate them in yoke when we take breaks?”

“They won’t get stronger by trailing behind,” I say.

“So we yoke them all and let them pull until they drop,” the Major says. We all nod in agreement. “Seems cruel, but the least cruel thing to do.”

“Let’s hook them up,” Jefferson says.

We have the wagon loaded and ready to go by the time the last of the Missouri wagons is pulling out. Frank Dilley was yanking our chain with his “fifteen minutes” line, but I’m proud of how fast we worked and how well we all worked together. The smell of fresh quick bread fills the air as we square our shoulders and walk into the blinding, yellow-white desert.

“That’s making me hungry,” Jefferson says, walking beside me.

Therese sidles over, careful to keep me between herself and Jefferson. “If my mouth wasn’t so dry, I’m sure it would water,” she says.

We lead our horses. The dogs trot along beside us, tongues lolling in the heat. “How long do you think it will take us to cross?” Jefferson asks.

“According to the Major, about three and a half days,” I say, looking at the sky. “It’s Monday afternoon. Maybe we’ll be across by Thursday at sunrise.”

He whistles. “I was happier before I knew that.”

“Think of it this way: Once we cross, we’re in California. Give or take a mountain range or two.”

Therese says, “Then we’re practically almost there.” Suddenly she tenses. Ahead, Mr. Hoffman has twisted on his wagon seat to stare at the three of us.

I almost glare back at him. Instead, I shift away from Jefferson, draping an arm across Therese’s shoulders, like we’re just two girlfriends out for a stroll.

“Thanks, Lee,” she whispers.

“If your daddy asks, I specifically requested your companionship, you being the only female of appropriate age with whom to keep company. You couldn’t say no.”

She nods solemnly. “It would have been rude.”

September days are still way too long. The heat is like a blanket on my skin, weighing me down and drying me out until finally the sun sets and the desert air starts to cool. The wagon train takes a short break to feed and water the animals, so we can push on through the night. We all have a few bites of the Major’s quick bread and sip some bitter slough water. I’m feeding grass to Peony when I hear my name.

“Lee,” Widow Joyner says calmly. Then frantically: “Lee!”

I run to the back of the wagon and peer inside. Her face is sheened in sweat that makes her look almost blue in the waning light. She pants like a dog in the desert, and a huge wet stain spreads out on the feather mattress beneath her.

“I can’t hold off any longer,” she says. “This baby wants to come right now.”

A whip cracks in the distance, and someone yells, “Haw!” I peer through the gloom toward the front of the wagon train.

Frank Dilley and the Missouri men are leaving without us.

Chapter Thirty-Two

“Hold on,” I tell her.

Her hand darts out, and she plucks weakly at my sleeve. “Don’t go.”

The wagon already smells peculiar, and it feels too hot inside, too small. “I have to tell everyone,” I insist.

“Lee, please.”

My voice wavers as I say, “I’ll be right back. I promise.”

Our three wagons are pulled together in a little triangle. “It’s her time,” I say, confirming what everyone already guessed.

Ahead of us, the Missouri wagons slow. But they don’t stop. Frank Dilley strides over to our group, thumbs stuck in his waistband. He squirts tobacco onto the ground at my feet.

“We can’t wait,” he says. “You’re better off leaving her behind with one of your horses. Take her little ones and go on without her.”

Major Craven shuffles forward and brandishes his crutch. “You think we should put her down too? Like you wanted to do to me?”

“We aren’t asking you to stay behind, Frank,” I say quickly. It’s not my place to speak for the group, but I can’t stand one more moment with him. “You do what you need to do, and we’ll do what we need to do.”

“This is good-bye, then,” he says. He takes one good last look at me, slowly from head to toe, which gives me an unpleasant shiver. “Though I suspect our paths will cross again. If you ever make it to California.”

As he strides away, he circles his hand in the air and shouts, “Wagons, roll out!”

Reverend Lowrey has been short on words around me lately, but he’s the first to speak now. “I came west to minister, so that the light of Christ might shine upon these miners, calling them unto salvation. God wills that I follow. But know that I will be praying for His blessing on the Widow Joyner as I go.”

He doesn’t give us any chance to argue. He hurries over to his own wagon, snaps his whipping stick over the oxen, and heads off after the Missouri men.

That leaves Mr. and Mrs. Hoffman and all their children. Mr. Hoffman’s hat is crumpled in his hand. “I’m so very sorry,” he says.

“Vati, bitte,” Therese pleads, and I don’t know how anyone can say no to those big blue eyes. She puts her hands on Doreen’s shoulders and presses a kiss to the top of her sister’s head. “We should help those who have helped us,” she murmurs.

“Es tut mir sehr leid,” her father answers.

Everyone looks to me for a reply. Somehow, I’ve become the official spokesman for the Joyners.

The Hoffmans’ oxen are weak. Any delay puts them in danger of not making it across. “You must go, for the sake of your little ones.”

He nods, and I know that he was going to go anyway, regardless of anything we said. He herds all his children toward their wagon. At the last second, Therese runs back to us. She throws her arms around Jefferson, who hugs her fiercely. She grabs me next, squeezing like she can’t bear to let go. I cling to her, unable to say “good-bye” or “good luck” or even “be safe” because of the tightness in my throat.