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  He called out to Charity, “This is easy. If it doesn’t get any worse than this, we’ll be there before you know it.”

  The trip was over so quickly that they were all caught by surprise. Evan called out, “Look, there’s Ringo!”

  Quickly Tremayne turned and saw Ringo and the others who had brought the cattle, waiting on the shore. He pushed at the tiller, and the raft obediently veered toward the bank. He brought it in smoothly, and Evan and Gwilym threw ropes in, and the oxen were quickly employed to pull the rafts up on dry land. They were there, and everyone gave a cheer that echoed across the open places.

  One by one the rafts landed, and Evan waited as the current brought the Krisova raft into shore. He caught the rope Stefan threw, and Canreen and Ringo Jukes grabbed the rope. He was aware that Zamora was steering while Stefan was in the bow. As soon as the heavy craft nosed into shore, he snubbed the rope to a stump.

  “Zamora, you made it!”

  He scrambled on board and dashed past Stefan, halting in front of the young woman. He started to speak, but the sight of her face stopped his greeting. Her face was pale and her eyes were pools of grief.

  “What’s wrong, Zamora?”

  “My grandmother—she is dead.”

  For a moment Evan couldn’t speak. He saw Zamora glance toward the wagon, turned, and looked inside. Lareina was lying under a colorful silk coverlet, her eyes closed and her features relaxed in the way of the dead. Wheeling, Evan moved to Zamora, took her hands, and asked quietly, “When did this happen?”

  “I don’t know. She was all right when we shoved off from shore. She smiled at me and wished me a happy voyage. But when we were halfway here, I went to see how she was—and she was gone.”

  Evan pulled her close and she put her head on his chest. Her voice was faint and thin as she whispered, “I feel so alone, Evan!”

  Evan Morgan tried to think of words of comfort, but none came. Zamora clung to him in desperation, and he could only say, “I’ll be here, Zamora.”

  Chapter Twenty

  A LIGHT RAIN WAS falling as a crowd gathered around the grave the men had dug for Lareina Krisova. A small cemetery was already in place there, and tombstones, all carved by family members, dotted the ground. The old woman’s death had surprised Tremayne. He had spoken with her often on the journey, and now it seemed unfitting that she had survived the hardships of the trail, only to simply pass away in her sleep.

  A group of men was carrying the casket, which had been hastily made by a local carpenter. Their faces were sober, and since they wore no hats, their hair was plastered down by the cold rain.

  “It’s such a bad day,” Charity murmured. “I wish it wasn’t.”

  Looking down at her, Tremayne saw that the bonnet she had brought all the way from Pennsylvania kept some of the rain off, but her clothing was as sodden as his own. They stood together silently.

  Tremayne said finally, “People come to this place for free land, Charity, but it isn’t free, is it?”

  “What do you mean, Casey?”

  “Well, the Studdarts have lost a daughter. Konrad and Minna Dekker are dead. Mary Tomkins lost her baby, and Marzina lost her husband. Now Stefan and Zamora have lost their grandmother. Nobody thought this would happen when they were getting ready to come.”

  “No,” she said quietly. “Everyone was excited. You never know what’s going to come. The Bible says that no man knows the day nor the hour of his death.”

  “I’ve thought about that often.”

  They waited as Zamora and Stefan appeared, accompanied by Charity’s father. Both of them wore dark clothing that differed greatly from the colorful dress they usually wore. Zamora wore no veil, and she had a dark black handkerchief over her head. The three took their places close to the casket placed on sawhorses.

  But even from where he stood, Tremayne could see Zamora’s eyes were filled with grief. “She was very close to her grandmother.”

  “Yes, so was Stefan. It hurts them badly.” She added, “You know, Casey, we all lose things. We have to hold on to the good things the Lord lets us keep for a while, but sooner or later we turn loose of everything.”

  “I reckon that’s right, Charity. For everyone there’s the last meal, the last sight of those who are family, the last kiss. The last of everything comes. That’s a grievous thought, isn’t it?”

  “Not for those who know the Lord, not really.”

  She fell silent for her father had stepped forward. He had a Bible in his hand, but in the rain he didn’t open it. He simply held it close to his body under his dark brown coat. His expression was set, but his voice was clear and even. He kept his eyes fixed on Zamora and Stefan.

  “The Bible is very clear on one thing,” Gwilym said, “and that is that this life is not all that a man or a woman can expect. After this life there is another one, and those who are in Christ Jesus are safe when they pass from the darkness of this world to the light in the other world.

  “You will remember that in the fifteenth chapter in the book of First Corinthians, Paul devoted a long sermon on this very subject. He began by saying, ‘I delivered unto you first of all that which I also received, how that Christ died for our sins according to the scriptures; And that he was buried, and that he rose again the third day according to the Scriptures.’”

  Gwilym continued to read, and the words for Tremayne had a special impact. Ever since he had heard Gwilym Morgan preach, he had been thinking about his soul, and particularly during these recent days about what he faced after death. And now as the words rolled forth, they seemed to strike him with a particular force.

  “The book of Hebrews tells us, ‘It is appointed unto men once to die, but after this the judgment.’ That verse is no threat to a believer. It was no threat to our dear sister here. I spoke to her many times as we made our journey here, and one thing was clear: She was a believer in Jesus Christ. She has crossed the line that we all must cross. Jesus rose from the dead and ascended to His Father. We who put our trust in Jesus will do the same. The patriarch Job said plainly, ‘I know that my redeemer liveth, and that he shall stand at the latter day upon the earth: And though after my skin worms destroy this body, yet in my flesh shall I see God: Whom I shall see for myself, and mine eyes shall behold, and not another.’”

  The sermon was composed of reading Scripture and encouraging testimony from the preacher who spoke almost longingly of a desire to depart from this life and be with Christ. It was this latter that struck Tremayne so hard. He had known men to die before, most of them wild, reckless, unredeemed men, and most of them had died hard. None that he could remember went out praising God, but Gwilym made it appear there was another way to die.

  He said in closing, “Sometimes we see our friends off on a ship, and we stand on the shore and see them as they get on board. Then the ship begins to move, and it turns away into the open sea. We stand there, and we watch it leave until finally it becomes a mere shadow and then a dot and then nothing. And often we say, ‘He’s gone.’”

  Gwilym held his hand high in the air. “But think of where that ship is going. Someone will be standing there waiting for that soul, and the cry will not be that he’s gone, but heavenly angels and the redeemed of God and Jesus Himself will say, ‘He’s come!’

  “I would close this brief tribute to this dear woman by wishing and hoping and praying that every man, every woman, and every child in our world here were united with Jesus in such a way that one day when they die, it will be the Lord God Himself who will welcome them.” He bowed his head and prayed a simple prayer.

  “Let’s go,” Charity said quickly. “I never could stand to see a grave filled in.”

  Tremayne followed her, glad to get away from the sight. When they had walked several steps, they heard the first clods of dirt hit the casket, and a shiver went through Charity. She reached up and took his arm.

  “I can’t stand that sound.” She began to walk quickly, and he followed her. When they were back at her w
agon, she stood under the tarpaulin Evan had made to keep the rain off. Once she glanced in the direction where the burial was taking place. Nearly everyone else had stayed.

  “I need to say something comforting to Zamora and Stefan, but I can do that later.”

  “She was a fine lady. It was a privilege to know her,” he looked down at Charity. Something in his lean face was troubled.

  “What is it, Casey?”

  “Your father. He’s right in what he says about being ready to die. I’ve always known it.”

  Charity put her hand on his chest and let it rest there. He covered it with his own, and she said, “Jesus said once to a man, ‘You are not far from the kingdom of God.’ Somehow I feel that applies to you, Casey.”

  “I hope so,” he said soberly. “A man’s a fool to live this life without ever thinking about the one to come.” He wheeled suddenly and walked away, keeping his head down. Charity watched him go and uttered a prayer, “God, stay with him! Don’t let him get away from this conviction he feels. Bring him home to Your house, Lord!”

  * * *

  TWO DAYS AFTER THE funeral, the wagons pulled into Oregon City. It was a rough-looking place as they had expected—raw and unfinished—and yet this was the closest thing to a city for miles along the coast. They pulled into a circle out of habit, and as soon as the beasts stopped, York hurried to Marzina. She was sitting on the wagon seat, holding David.

  “I’ll unyoke your oxen, and then mine. We’ll go take a look at the town, Marzina.”

  “All right, York.”

  Glad to be at last at the end of the journey, he quickly removed the heavy yokes and staked the oxen. Returning to Marzina’s wagon, he took David and then Benjamin and Rose.

  “Well, this is it,” York said. “Let’s go see the wonders of Oregon City.”

  It didn’t take long to walk down the main street. There were more saloons, it seemed, than anything else. The only church, an unpainted structure, had a small steeple on top. There were livery stables, a hardware store, a blacksmith shop, and a two-story hotel.

  “Look at that!” Marzina exclaimed quickly.

  York turned to see a sign, “Dr. William Jamison.” “Well, it looks like somebody staked out this town. I don’t know if they’ll need two doctors or not. Let’s go call on him and let him know we’re here.” But the door was locked and apparently had been for quite a while. “No one here,” York said. “I wonder where Dr. Jamison went.”

  “Howdy, folks. You just get in with the train?” A man had come up beside them. He was a tall individual with sparkling blue eyes and a pleasant look. “I’m Caleb Davis. I own the general store down the way.”

  “Glad to know you, sir. I’m York Wingate.”

  “You need to see the doctor, but I’ve got sad news. Dr. Jamison left and went to a practice in San Francisco.”

  “Well, I’m a physician myself and had intended to set up a practice here in Oregon City.”

  An expression of pure delight came to Davis’s eyes, “Do you tell me that! Well, that’s good news, indeed! We’re sore in need of a doctor here. We have one that comes over once in a while from a neighboring town, but that ain’t like having your own. Let me greet you, sir, and you, Mrs. Wingate.”

  “This is not Mrs. Wingate, Mr. Davis. This is Mrs. Cole. She lost her husband on the trip.”

  “Oh, I’m plumb sorry to hear that, ma’am, I purely am. Look, you must be worn out and tired of eating off a campfire. It’s nigh unto supper time. My intention is to take you to my house and introduce you to my dear wife. She plumb loves babies, and these two you got will be a delight to her.”

  “We wouldn’t want to be any trouble,” Marzina said.

  “No trouble, no trouble at all! You just come along with me. There will be some more folks wanting to meet you. We intend to make it so enticing here in Oregon City that you wouldn’t even think about leaving us to go anywhere else!”

  * * *

  A GROUP OF MEN from the Pilgrim Way were standing inside the church. The pastor had gone to a neighboring town to perform a funeral, but Tom Anderson, the town mayor, was helpful.

  “We don’t know which way to go, Mr. Anderson,” Gwilym said. “We thought you could help us—tell us a little bit about the land.”

  “Just Tom’s all right, Reverend. I’ve been here for ten years now, and I know most of the land hereabout. Now some of it over toward the east there is low. It’s good land, but it’s underwater part of the time.”

  “I don’t want anything like that,” Evan spoke up.

  “Well, most people don’t. It’s good for something but not for homesteading.” Anderson spoke quickly and outlined the possibilities. “I think your best bet, if you want to stay close together, as you tell me, is the Tulatin Valley. Plenty of unclaimed land there for all of you. It’s high ground, good soil, and you’ll find it to your liking, I’m thinking.”

  “Does it ever stop raining around here?” Stefan Krisova asked.

  “Well, not so much as stops. Certain times of the year you’ll just kind of go around carrying your own atmosphere, but you’ll like it. It’s fine country—Oregon. Tomorrow I’ll take you over to the valley and show you some choice sights, and you can take your pick.”

  “That will be most generous of you, sir,” Gwilym said. “We’ll be ready to leave whenever you say.”

  Tremayne left the meeting and found the crew at a local saloon. “It looks like you fellows have found your place.”

  Ringo Jukes was standing at the bar, a glass in his fist. “This is good-looking country, ain’t it now, Casey?”

  “It looks good to me, but I wanted to tell you fellows that, as far as I’m concerned, you’re all free men. I’ll send a letter back to the warden in Pennsylvania. It’ll take awhile to get there, but he and I had an agreement that when we got to Oregon City, any man who wanted to go off on his own was free to leave. You’ve done a good job, and I wish you all well.”

  Jack Canreen was leaning against the bar. “You know, I reckon I’ve lost my mind, Casey.”

  “How’s that, Jack?”

  “I’ve done everything in the world except live a good life. I wouldn’t want you to know all the stuff I’ve done, but if I could get me a piece of land here and find a good woman, I think I could make a pretty good citizen.”

  “Have at it, Jack. We’re leaving in the morning to find homesteads. I’m going to do that myself.”

  “You’re staying here?” Frenchy Doucett said. “I thought you was a mountain man.”

  “Oh, that’s all gone, Frenchy. Beavers all gone, and it was good while she lasted, but a man has to change with the times.”

  “Not me. I ain’t changing a bit,” Frenchy said. “I’m going to head for San Francisco. They tell me there’s big doings at that place.”

  “What are you going to do, Elsworth?” Tremayne asked. He saw that the Englishman seemed uneasy.

  “I bloody well don’t know.”

  “You ever think of going home to England?”

  “Oh, I could someday, I guess, but not now. My elder brother’s not too taken with me, and he’ll be the earl when my father dies.”

  “What if he died?”

  “Then I’d be Earl of Chatworth. Wouldn’t that be something?”

  “Sounds good to me.”

  Elsworth mused, “I don’t know what I’ll do. I don’t want to be a farmer. I guess I’ll just look around.”

  “Well, let’s stay together as long as we can.”

  “That’s right, old bean, we’ll do that.”

  * * *

  THE NEXT FEW DAYS were spent in finding homesteads. Caleb Davis and Mayor Anderson led the people to the Tulatin Valley, and many from the train began to split off. York approached Anderson.

  “I need two homesteads, Tom. One for me and one for Mrs. Cole.”

  “You want them adjoining?”

  “Well, I’m going to be in town so they need to be as close to town as possible.”

&nb
sp; “Well, you can claim those now, and later on, if you decide you don’t want them, Doctor, you can sell them.”

  “I’ll depend on you to find us two good places.”

  York left Anderson and hurried to find Marzina at the hotel. He knocked on the door, and she opened it at once. “Well, I’ve got us some homesteads.”

  “Where are they, York?”

  “I don’t rightly know. The mayor is going to take me out and show me some.”

  He studied her for a moment and liked what he saw. In a way, her feelings were unfathomable because her features were always the same. Her character would accept hard times and good with equal calmness and resilience. No change of circumstances could disturb her. York vaguely comprehended this steadfastness and was impressed by her strength. During the latter part of the journey, he had become more conscious of her attractiveness—her supple shape; shiny, black hair; firm, round arms; and the graceful movements of her hands. He wondered why his awareness of her beauty had developed so slowly.

  “I found something else, but I don’t know if you’ll like it.”

  “What is it, York?”

  “You remember the doctor’s office?”

  “Yes, of course. Dr. Jamison.”

  “Yes. Well, Mr. Davis owns that building. It’s big for one thing, but there are living quarters upstairs and downstairs. My thought is that you can live upstairs with David, Ben, and Rose, and I’ll take the downstairs quarters. That way we could do what I said. You could help me with my practice, take care of the children, and we could make it fine.”

  “Would you really like it, York?”

  “I would indeed. Is it a bargain then?” he asked eagerly.

  “I think that would be wonderful. I need to be of use to somebody, and taking care of David is a good thing for me.”