Angel Train Page 20

  And the one thing I thought of was how I lived my whole life, and I’ve not done one good thing.”

  “Don’t be too hard on yourself.”

  “Well, why shouldn’t I? God was going to be hard on me. At least, that’s the way I felt. I wouldn’t want you to know some of the things I’ve done.”

  “The same here.”

  Canreen studied Tremayne carefully and said, “Well, not as bad as me, I reckon. Anyway, while I was lying on that bed as weak as a sick cat, expecting to be before the judgment any minute, I got scared. Never was scared of much, Casey. Too dumb to be scared, I guess.”

  “I know the feeling. I’ve done things that looking back on them give me the shivers. I wouldn’t do them now. It’s funny how the less life we have in front of us, the more we seem to value it. You take when I was a young buck, seventeen, eighteen—nothing scared me. Why, I’d put myself in situations where there wasn’t any way to get out, and I didn’t think anything about it.”

  Canreen laughed shortly, “I know what you mean.”

  “Well, I don’t need the cholera to cause me to be afraid of God, Jack. I’ve always been afraid of God. I’ve tried to cover it up, of course, but you know, lately I’ve been thinking a lot, the more I look around me and see the way the world is. Those mountains over there, those clouds, the way the world turns around every twenty-four hours, night and day, seasons coming and going. It’s all like a big clock, and all I can think is clocks don’t make themselves. God had to have made all of this.”

  “I figure you’re right about that.”

  The two men felt an unusual camaraderie. Canreen’s openness surprised Casey. He hadn’t expected Jack to have any thoughts of God, judgment, or salvation, but it seemed he did.

  Maybe all men did.

  “We’re going to make it, aren’t we?”

  Canreen’s remark broke into Tremayne’s thoughts, and he took his eyes off the horizon. “Yes, we’re almost to the Dalles. I’ve got hopes.”

  “The warden will be surprised, won’t he?” Canreen grinned suddenly. “I bet he thought you’d have to shoot me and some of the others before this was over.”

  “I never thought that.”

  “Yeah, well, I planned to run away.”

  “I thought maybe you would. It surprised me when you stayed put.”

  “Funny thing, Casey. I don’t dream much, but I had a dream about running away. It was way back about the second week we were out, I think. I dreamed I got up, took a horse, left camp, and rode away, and I rode until the horse couldn’t go no more, and I lay down and went to sleep. And then when I woke up, there you were, standing over me with a gun at my head.”

  Tremayne laughed. “I didn’t know I was a boogeyman like that.”

  “It was a pretty real dream. Kind of knocked running away out of my head because I know you would have done exactly that. You’d have followed any one of us to the end of the world rather than let us get away.”

  “I guess I would.”

  The two turned and headed back toward the caravan. “Well, we’ll be in the Dalles in a couple of days. Then we float the river, land in Fort Vancouver, and move on to Oregon City.”

  “What then, Casey?”

  “Why, everybody will split up. These folks want homesteads. Free land!”

  “You gonna do that?”

  “Why, I don’t know, Jack. I doubt it. I don’t know what I’m going to do. What about you?”

  “I haven’t got an idea in my head except I’m not going back to that prison. They’ll have to shoot me first.”

  “Good idea to stay away from that place,” Tremayne said.

  “I just don’t know what to do with myself, I guess.”

  There was such a plaintive note to the big man’s voice that Tremayne realized that under the toughness there was loneliness. Maybe all men had a loneliness like that, men like him and Canreen, wandering around without roots. He said without thinking, “File a claim, Jack, then find you a good woman. Marry her and have kids.”

  Canreen’s eyes opened wide. “Me?”

  “Why not you? You’re not all that old. You got a lot of life left in you. You remember old Abe Cartwright?”

  “Yeah, I knew him in the mountains.”

  “I ran across him a few years ago. He wasn’t but about fifty years old. Didn’t have any teeth. He was weak, eating his meat raw because he was too lazy to cook it. He was a good mountain man at one time, but he was alone. That’s a bad thing for anybody. I think I knew from the time I saw him I wasn’t going to wind up like that.”

  “That’s what you got on your mind? Finding a woman? Getting a claim?”

  Tremayne didn’t answer for a long time. He straightened in the saddle, looked out over the distance, and then faced Canreen. “I’ve always wanted that, Jack.”

  “Well, I hope you get it, Casey.”

  * * *

  EVAN WAS EXCITED ABOUT being a farmer, but he was wondering if he could handle it. He knew little about farming, only enough to raise a garden perhaps. He knew mining, but he vowed he’d never set foot underground again. He walked beside the oxen; the creaking wagon wheels and the yelping dogs made a symphony. He saw Zamora, who had been riding her horse. She tied the mare to the back of her wagon, turned, and saw him.

  She smiled, “Hello, Evan.”

  “Hello, Zamora. Been riding?”

  “Yes, I get tired of walking and tired of riding in the wagon, don’t you?”

  “I guess so.”

  Zamora didn’t say more, but she moved closer and rubbed her shoulder against him. “Tell me something, Evan. Why do you never come around me?”

  “Why, I see you every day.”

  She shrugged impatiently. The afternoon sun caught the blackness of her hair, and it made her dark eyes seem brighter. “I mean, you never try to put your hands on me. Why, you’ve never even kissed me or tried to.”

  Evan blinked and turned to face her. “Why, there are too many fellows after you, Zamora. I guess I wouldn’t have a chance.”

  “You’re too shy, Evan. You’re a good-looking fellow. Besides, no one can tell what a woman may do.” Amusement showed in her expression, and her lips broadened in a smile. “No telling what I’d do. Why, I might fall in love with you, marry you, and become a farm woman.” The thought amused her, and she laughed aloud. “We could have ten children and grow old together until we didn’t have any teeth and our hair was falling out.”

  Evan laughed too. “I can’t see you like that.”

  “Would you like it?”

  “Why, sure.”

  Suddenly Zamora realized she was not accustomed to Evan Morgan’s seriousness. There was goodness in him too. She realized he didn’t understand her teasing. “Well,” she said quickly, “it’s just as well you don’t come around after me.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “What would you do with a Gypsy woman? You need a woman who can skin squirrels. All I can do is tell fortunes, dance, and sing.”

  “Wouldn’t be bad having a good-looking woman like you dancing and singing.”

  Zamora laughed again. “Why, I declare, I think you’re about to propose. But while I was doing all that dancing and singing, who would cook your meals and wash your clothes?”

  “I guess I would.”

  “You know you ought to pay more attention to Alice Brand. She likes you, and Kirsten Dekker too. They’re both good-looking girls.”

  “Which one should I pick? I wouldn’t know how to start.”

  She pushed his hat down over his eyes. When he shoved it back, she laughed and said, “I’ll pick one for you, and I’ll put a Gypsy spell on her, and you can marry her.”

  “You like any man in the train?”

  “Sure. I like Tremayne, but he doesn’t need a Gypsy woman either. He’s a strong man. I like that, but he’s got a little bit too much of a Puritan in him.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Why, he’s almost as backward as you are w
here I’m concerned. Can’t figure that man out, but I’m going to keep trying. So long. Remember I’ll be thinking about which girl you should marry.”

  Evan laughed. “I’ll pick my own bride, Zamora. Don’t fret yourself.”

  * * *

  THE DAYS ROLLED ON, and the wagons were close enough to reach the Dalles within the day, but two of the wagons broke down. The wheels had become dry, and the spokes fell out. The whole train had to stop while they were repaired.

  Tremayne approached Gwilym Morgan and said, “I think I’ll ride on and see what it’s like up ahead.”

  “I need to get some exercise,” Charity said. “Could I ride with you?”

  “Sure. That all right with you, Gwilym?”

  “That’s fine. You take care of her, Tremayne. I can’t afford to lose this girl.”

  “I’ll do my best.”

  The two rode away, and Charity enjoyed the scenery. Tremayne started telling her how Canreen had changed. She listened intently. “I’m glad to hear it. He was a pretty bad man, wasn’t he?”

  “Pretty bad. I think he’s ready for a change though.”

  “Are you, Casey?”

  He looked at her and grew serious. “Yes, I told you I am. I don’t know how it will happen though.”

  They rode along for some time, and then abruptly she asked, “Do you have any feelings about Zamora, Casey?”

  He laughed. “Why would you ask me a thing like that?”

  “Well, I saw you kissing her that time at Independence Rock.”

  “She’s a pretty girl. She wanted to be kissed. I wouldn’t have been considerate if I hadn’t helped her out.”

  “Do you have feelings for her?”

  “No, not the kind you mean.”

  “I can see how you would. She’s one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen.”

  “Yes, she is, but she would never make a farmer’s wife.”

  “Why not?”

  “Well, the Gypsy life is hard, but she’s told me—and so has Stefan—how it’s exciting too. Always new places, new scenes, new people. A farmer’s life is not like that. Maybe he sees some old friends at church on Sunday, or a stranger comes by, and he meets somebody new. But mostly it’s pretty dull.”

  “Is that what you want to do, be a farmer?”

  “No, I want to do something else.”

  “What is it?”

  “I don’t want to tell you. It’s a secret.”

  She reached out and pinched his arm, and he yelped, “Don’t do that! It’ll leave a blue mark.”

  “Tell me what you want to do.”

  “I worked in a sawmill for two years. I liked it. I learned a lot about it. I’d like to find a place with a good stream, with a nice fall, and build a sawmill. I like the smell of wood, the sound of the saws biting into it. I don’t know why. I just liked it.”

  “That would be different from what you have done. You’ve been a wanderer, haven’t you?”

  “Most of my life. Even when I was with the Indians, we wandered. I never had any roots.”

  She was quiet for a while, until both stopped their mounts. He turned in the saddle, reached out, and touched her hair. “You’ve got the prettiest hair I’ve ever seen,” he said.

  “I hated it when I was younger. Other children always made silly songs about my red hair.”

  “They were jealous.”

  She laughed. “I don’t think so.”

  He let his hand drop to her shoulder. He squeezed it and said, “Did your mother have red hair?”

  “Just like mine. It didn’t get dull even when she got older.”

  “Yours won’t either.”

  “You don’t know that.” She gave him a direct look. “Would you like to have roots?”

  “I never had any. It’s hard to say.”

  “Well, I hope you find what you want.”

  He grew very serious, and his hand tightened. “I know what I want. I want you, but you’re not for me.”

  “Why would you say that?”

  He had trouble answering. “I’m one of the rough ones, Charity. You deserve better.” He turned away quickly and called out, “Come on. Let’s get back to the train.” She kicked her horse in the sides, and the mare picked up a gallop. She knew he was running away from her, and she understood why. The feelings between them were mysterious and still unexpressed. She couldn’t explain it but knew their mutual attraction went below the surface.

  * * *

  THE NEXT AFTERNOON GWILYM saw Tremayne and Charterhouse come back from a scout. They drew up the horses, and Tremayne could barely contain his excitement.

  “There it is, Gwilym, the Dalles.”

  “The Dalles,” Gwilym breathed. “We made it, Casey. We made it.”

  “Yes, we did. Some didn’t get here, but most of us did.” His eyes went to Charity who was beside her father.

  She smiled at him. “You still thinking about that sawmill?”

  “More than ever. I’ll let you help me run the first log through.” He let out a yelp, turned and spurred his horse down the line, shouting, “We made it, folks! We made it!”

  “What’s that about a sawmill?” Gwilym asked curiously.

  “That’s what he wants to do, build a sawmill.”

  “And he wants you to help him?”

  “He was just being foolish.”

  Gwilym Morgan looked at his daughter. She was the image of his dead wife, and it gave him a pang to look at her, but he only said, “A sawmill isn’t a bad thing for a man to have.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  THE DAYS WERE FAIR with no hint of snowfall, at least not yet. As Charity walked toward the Dalles, the small town that was the end of this part of their journey, she could feel the approaching winter. She saw it in the dead grass and the leaves fallen to the cold ground. Memories of the hard trail they had traveled came to her, and she knew that for the rest of her life she would remember the journey from Pennsylvania to Oregon with the sharpest detail. But now it was nearly done. There was no question whether they would reach Oregon. They had conquered the desert, rivers, and mountains, and only one obstacle lay ahead—the Columbia River.

  An eagerness seized her as the travelers approached the town they had been seeking for so long. She saw the Methodist mission Tremayne had said was there. It was merely a small log building nearly hidden in a mountain notch, a secure place between the heights and the river. The buildings gave the look of a settlement, but she saw that the missionaries, the schools, and the church hadn’t changed the Indians much. They were as primitive, dirty, and dull looking as those she had seen earlier.

  The wagons halted, and most of the people were fixing a noon meal, but Gwilym wanted to find someone in town who could tell him more about the journey on the river.

  “I suppose we’ll be breaking up now,” he said, his voice breaking the silence. “Everyone taking their own way, but I hope we can stay close to each other and have a church as we did back home.”

  “Not home anymore,” Charity murmured, and that was true. The only home she had ever known, she found to her amazement, was growing dim in her mind. All of the memories from there, she supposed, were hidden deep and would return later, but now it was what lay ahead that mattered—a cabin not yet built, fields not yet cleared, marriages not yet performed, and children not yet born. The future occupied her mind.

  Gwilym had been watching Charity sharply all morning, and he asked abruptly, “Something bothering you, Daughter?”

  “Not really. We’ve made it through safely. I guess I’m just tired.”

  “Not like you to be so quiet. Your mother was quiet now, but you’ve always been a talking woman. Can’t you tell me what’s troubling you?”

  Charity hesitated, and her father turned to face her. For a moment she sorted through the thoughts she had kept within her breast, but now they seemed to beg to be told.

  “It’s something that happened that’s bothering me. I’ve meant to tell you, but I wasn�
�t sure it was right.” She hesitated again, and an uncommon soberness came over her. She had a way of holding her lips together when she was deep in thought, oftentimes on the edge of a smile. She often observed her life, events, and people, absorbing them but seeming not to pass judgment. Finally, she said, “It’s something about Casey.”

  Surprise, for a moment, showed in Gwilym’s face, but then he asked quickly, “Tremayne is bothering you?”

  “He—he asked me if I thought he was a man I might marry.” Now it was out. She had said it, and she saw her father’s thoughtful eyes fastened on her. She knew him so well, exactly what he was thinking. What kind of a man is Tremayne? Was he a man of God? Would he be good to a wife? Would he make a good father? He would be mulling all these over in his mind; however, he surprised her not by speaking of Tremayne.

  “What about you, Daughter? How do you feel about him? What have you told him?”

  “I haven’t told him anything. I couldn’t, Pa. He’s not a man who knows the Lord, and the Bible is very plain on that.”

  “Yes, it is. A woman needs a Christian husband. There are decent men who aren’t Christians, but the Bible says, ‘Be ye not unequally yoked together with unbelievers.’ And I can vouch for the fact that no yoke brings two human beings closer than the yoke of marriage. How do you feel about him?”

  “I don’t know. I do feel something for him, but how can I answer him when he’s not the kind of man I’ve always vowed to marry?”

  For a long moment Gwilym Morgan stood there, and his compassion, deep love, and respect for his daughter were obvious in his face. She was so much like her mother! He finally said, “I’m going to tell you something, Charity. You probably don’t know this, but when I asked your mother to marry me, I wasn’t a Christian.”

  “Why, Pa, I thought you were saved long before you met Ma.”

  “No, I went to church all my life, and I suppose people got the idea that I was a believer, but I wasn’t. It wasn’t until after I got to know her, and she began to witness to me of the inner life of Christ that I found Him. All I had known was the outer elements of religion. I knew what was right, and I could quote Scripture, but at one point she finally came to me, and she talked to me about giving my life over to Jesus completely. I still remember that day clearly. She had tears in her eyes, Daughter, and she was beautiful to me. She asked me to call on the Lord, and I did, confessing my sins, and that was the beginning of my Christian life.”