“Yes, Ma,” Kate said in a choked whisper.
“And where is your bonnet? Honestly, Katherine, your skin will be as tough as old shoe leather by the time you’re twenty.”
The rest of the afternoon passed in frigid silence. The wagon jostled and thumped in the ruts of the thousands of wheels that had rolled over the very same dirt on their way to the Promised Land of the West. Once they caught up with the rest of the train, Kate’s task of driving the team became almost redundant as the mules simply followed their comrades in front of them. Then she had all the time in the world to ruminate on the growing litany of mistakes Kate was sure her mother kept track of, of which today’s blunder was only the most recent. Would she ever stop being a disappointment? Probably not. Kate couldn’t remember a time when she had been able to live up to her mother’s expectations.
Why was she like this? Why couldn’t she be the well-mannered, poised, obedient daughter her mother and the rest of the world expected her to be? Instead, she daydreamed herself into the worst of trouble and, according to her mother, spent more time with the horses than inside learning all the “necessary skills” required of an “accomplished lady.” Kate shuddered at the thought of sitting in a cramped parlor doing needlepoint all day.
Instead, she closed her eyes, dispelling all thoughts of cross-stitch, and conjured up the image she’d painted in her mind’s eye the moment her father had announced that they were packing up their lives and heading west to the Land of Golden Opportunity. She spent the next hours trying to ignore her mother’s frosty countenance and daydreamed, picturing mountains thick with forests, lush valleys, rich earth, wildflowers, and streams so clear and cold they were like liquid diamonds glittering in the sun. A house on a hill, a garden out back, a stable of fine horses, all overlooking pastures filled with fat and contented cattle. And she rode wherever the fancy took her with nothing but wind in her hair and joy in her heart. By the time the sun set, she’d very nearly managed to forget that she had done anything wrong at all.
The task of circling the wagons that night was difficult to say the least. Most folks could barely handle their teams walking in a straightline, let alone the precision of making a ring tight enough to chain the wagons together to create a makeshift paddock for the livestock, and Cyril Proctor, the company’s leader, was a demanding taskmaster. He stomped around throwing streams of curses at everyone within earshot. He didn’t seem to have an empathetic bone in his body. It wasn’t these poor folks’ fault they’d never done this sort of thing before. But he was revered for taking trains west and making it there in record time. Pa had wanted to attach themselves to someone who had done the trek before, and Kate trusted Pa, so she put her head down and took the curses. But heaven help her, did she ever itch to say a few choice words in return.
Once they had cleaned up from their meal of beans and bacon, Danny and Ian left to watch the stock, and Ma sent her to find fuel for tomorrow’s cook fire.
Kate was exhausted. Her back ached from jostling on that hard wagon seat all day, and she had to walk nearly a mile to get beyond the mess of countless other wagons organized into their own companies who had cast off from the Missouri that very same day. But she found enough for a meager armload of kindling before the light faded completely, and she wove her way back to their wagon, thankful that she’d always had a natural sense of direction. She would’ve been lost for sure if she hadn’t grown up tagging along with her pa and brothers on their countless trips into the woods. The constant awareness of one’s surroundings that a body needed to navigate came to Kate as natural as breathing.
Kate stepped quietly through camp. She was surrounded by the noises of people and livestock, but the calm of twilight was descending like a comfortable blanket, muting the conversations and wrapping her in the quiet gloaming. She set the firewood down by the front wheel of their wagon and paused, her ears picking up the low hum of her father’s voice, his Irish brogue still strong after all these years.
“And what are ya thinkin’,mo grhá?”
Kate heard her mother heave a sigh. “What is going tobecome of her?”
“Am I right in thinkin’ you’re referrin’ to our Katie girl and not ol’ Winifred the milk cow?”
“Yes, dear husband, I am referring to our daughter.” Kate winced. Ma didn’t seem at all pleased. Kate stood stock still in the deepening darkness, not wanting to listen and yet desperate to hear more. Her mother continued. “What will all these people think of us? Of her? She should be finding a husband, settling down, having babies. Some days she acts like the proper young lady she should be. But then there are days like today, and I wonder what I’ve done wrong as a mother. She won’t even wear a bonnet! Her skin is as dark as an Indian’s and absolutely covered with freckles. The only thing she seems to have taken from me is her brown hair and brown eyes. What sort of man will want a wife who refuses to act the way she is expected to?”
Kate’s shoulders slumped under the crushing weight of those words. To have her mother’s disappointment stated so clearly made tears prick at her eyes.
“Ach, Edie, you’ve been a fine mother to all our children, don’t you ever doubt that. She’ll be fine, don’t you worry. Most young lasses belong back there in the city, with all the shops and socials and the like. Katie, now. Katie’s just like me, Edie. Her heart is in the hills and fields; she talks more easily with the horses than she does with other people.”
“That is exactly what I’m afraid of,” Ma retorted.
“Give her time and she’ll come into her own. And then a decent and godly man will see her beautiful heart and love her all the more for the touch o’ the wild that comes with it.”
Kate’s despondent heart filled with gratitude. Pa had always understood her no matter how strange she might be. And he had summed up her heart’s longings in a way she hadn’t even known was possible. To be herself and to be loved for it. That was exactly what she wanted. She knew her mother loved her, but she also wanted Kate to be more than whatseemed possible. To fulfill those expectations, something else inside her had to give.
Her mother heaved a sigh. “You might be right, dear husband. Besides, I know a certain wild man who I couldn’t dream of living without.”
“Aye, he is a wild one, but he loves you very much.”
Despite her mother’s castigation, Kate’s mouth tugged up at the corners hearing her parents express their devotion to each other. They were far from perfect, Kate knew that full well, but they loved each other. One day. One day she would have what they had. She sighed and walked into the firelight.
Chapter 2
Greatwhitecloudsstackedthemselves against the western horizon like mountains carved out of marble and set into a perfect cerulean dome. They looked solid enough to climb on, yet every time Kate looked at them, they were different—rolling and growing in slow motion until they filled half the sky. Underneath the masses of cumulonimbus, the horizon was an ominous slate gray, and flashes of lightning lit the clouds from within. She heard the distant, low rumble of thunder. The mules tossed their heads.
“Easy, team. That’s it, Max, easy does it. Nothin’ to worry about, Joe. Delilah, don’t you go bein’ a diva on me. Easy, team,” she called to the mules as she adjusted the lines, stretching her aching hands. They flicked their velvety, long ears in response.
Only the second day out and the Elephant was already stirring. The papers back home were filled with talk of it: an awe-inspiring image of the exotic unknown and all the trials and tribulations it would bring coalesced into a vision of this monstrous gray thing prowling the western wilds to descend upon the unsuspecting pioneers. The travelers had talked about it in whispers around their campfires, voices pulsing with an excitement tinged with breathy apprehension. What form would the behemoth take? Today, it seemed, it had climbed the clouds to dance thunder from the sky.
The trail was still choked with trains jostling for position. She knew Pa and her brothers were having a badger of a time trying to keep theirstock separate from the other herds, and now they’d have to deal with a storm out in the open with nothing but some canvas to shelter them and their wits to keep the herd together. Kate’s brow furrowed. Proctor would have their hides if they had to spend even a minute rounding up stock that spooked in a storm.
The scouts came loping up the train from the rear, passing Kate in a cloud of dust. She hadn’t even met them yet, just seen them at a distance flanking Proctor like two loyal hounds, one a wiry terrier and the other a mastiff, big and broad. Kate hoped they were doing something to prepare. Other trains had already stopped to circle their wagons, and it seemed to her they were pushing their luck, inching ever closer to those roiling thunderheads as they announced their advance with the rumbling of celestial drums.
Proctor finally gave the order to form a tight circle. They chained the wagons together and drove the stock into the middle, making a crushing, milling mass of animals that bellowed and whinnied and brayed their anxiety, adding their noise to the thunder and tumult of shouts as pioneers ran to unhitch their teams and lash down canvas covers.
Kate had just finished unhitching their mules when she paused. Something had changed. The breeze that had been blowing steadily all day had stilled. The birds had all gone silent. She looked up. The thunderheads towered above them, white clouds now boiling with streaks of lurid green, their front edge like a solid wall marching across the plains at an alarming rate. Kate’s heart started beating fast.
Danny barreled up to her, breathing hard. “Better get these mules in with the stock. That’ll hit before you know it.” He grabbed the leads for Joe and Delilah, and Kate followed quickly with Max. The massive mule was the anchor for their team, but even his steady countenance was fraying with anxiety.
