Page 2 of Wagon Train Dreams
“I’ll get more.” This time he took along a container, filled it, and returned for the others to dab the sludge on their bites.
“Say, Joe.” Cecil patted mud on Dobie, the five-year-old boy he and Louise had adopted. The whites of his eyes stood out in stark contrast. Cecil spread mud on his wife’s face, pleasure filling his expression. She seemed to enjoy it, too, if her grin meant anything. “Why aren’t they biting you?”
“Native trick.” Inside, he smiled. Outside, he revealed nothing.
“You think it might work on white people?”
Joe’s lips twitched at Cecil’s question. The man never missed a chance to tease. Not that Joe minded. It made the journey more enjoyable.
“Maybe. Maybe not.”
“Maybe not?” Cecil’s older brother, Walt, asked.
Joe might have joshed with them longer except Bertie squirmed. His face wrinkled up fit to cry. Poor Bertie. A big man in body. A young child in mind. Joe would not allow his misery to continue. “No trick. Just common sense not to stop in a muddy swamp. And this.” He pulled the tied sprig from his pocket. “Sweetgrass keep mosquitoes away.”
The others crowded around him. Mud-streaked faces made his insides smile deepen.
The questions came. “Where can we find sweetgrass?” “Where did you get that?” “Do you have more?” Only Hazel held back, not asking a question, not looking directly at him. As it should be. Her being a white woman with hair the color of morning sunshine and eyes like the blue sky had dropped in bits of its color.
He didn’t answer until they quieted. “Some nearby.” He nodded toward where he’d found his and waited, knowing what to expect.
Some took a step in that direction.
But Gabe, the oldest man and the one Joe considered the trail boss, held up a hand. “Joe, can you show us?”
“First, we move.” The oxen wouldn’t get the rest they deserved with the mosquitoes bothering them. He touched Petey’s shoulder. “You feeling better, Little Warrior?”
“Betta.” His answer was clear.
Joe chuckled. Allowed himself a glance at Hazel. Satisfied at her calm expression, he turned away to help with the oxen. Then he stopped and handed her the sweetgrass. “For you and Petey.”
“I couldn’t?—”
He waited until she took it. Then he followed the men. Soon, he waved off the flying insects and slapped them as often as the others. Once the oxen were hitched to the wagons, he rode ahead to the crest of a hill that put them some distance from the slough. The pesky bugs followed, but he signaled for the wagonsto stop. The mosquitoes would soon retreat. “Come. I show you sweetgrass.” When everyone set to follow him, he stopped. “Maybe just Gabe and his sons.”
The four men trekked down the hill to where Joe had found the plant. “Lower stem looks purple. Flowers are yellow green. Roots white.” They needed to know how to choose the right grass without him.
When they were satisfied they had enough, they trooped back to the wagons and gave everyone a handful.
They hadn’t eaten their noon meal, so they grabbed something before moving on.
For a few miles, he led the way, but even a white man could see where to go with nothing but grassy hills ahead. Over the weeks they’d traveled together, he’d learned these white men were savvy about the trail. Even the women worked efficiently. Marnie, now married to Gabe, was organized and a good cook. Her daughters were, too. Irene, now married to Cecil. Hazel’s friend, Louise, had married Walt. That left Ruby and Angela without a man of their own.
And Hazel.
Joe might be half white, as Cecil and Walt liked to remind him, but he’d learned that the whites saw him as Native while the Natives saw him as white.
Fine. He would help these people reach Fort Taylor. On the way, he’d say goodbye to his mother and then?—
Then he’d maybe head north or west to new lands. New prospects. New people. He’d be whatever the others allowed him to be on the outside. Inside, he would be Joe Dumont—a man proud of his heritage from both races. A man who knew the wilderness. A man who knew it was impossible to follow his heart.
Irene rode her horse to Walt’s side. They leaned over and kissed each other.
There were some things a man of mixed race understood he couldn’t have.
Joe kicked his horse into a gallop, bent over its neck, and raced far ahead.
Hazel scrubbed the remnants of mud off Petey. She’d given him a quick wash earlier in the afternoon, but it hadn’t been sufficient. The baby babbled out happiness. Something in his unclear words caught her attention. With him just over a year old, much of what he said was unintelligible.
