Where the Lost Wander: A Novel(76)

I don’t know where she is. I don’t know how to find her, and I can’t leave the Mays. Not the boys, and not their dead. Our dead. They are mine too. They are Naomi’s. And I promised William I would take care of them.

I look around me, helpless, desperate for direction. William’s tools are scattered around the wheel he was working on, and suddenly I know what to do. I’ve just spent a week building a wagon, and I grab what I need and slide beneath the Mays’ wagon and find the bolts that secure the box to the underpinnings. When I’ve removed the bolts, I drag the box off the frame, letting it crash to the side, spilling the blackened provisions and contents onto the ground. I roll it, end over end, over to the remains of the other wagon. I need something to bury them in. Something to bury them all in. The ground is hard, and I don’t have much time. One by one, I drag the three men beside the remains of their women, and I cover them all with the upended wagon box. It looks like a table, sitting there among the rocks and the brush, but the death is hidden, the worst of the horror concealed. I go and get the boys.

I have to confirm what Will already knows. Webb knows it too, though I think Will shielded him from the worst parts. I don’t know how long Will kept them hidden, cowering among the rocks, waiting to feel safe enough to run for help, but it was a good while if the Binghams’ wagon had time to burn.

“I don’t know how long,” Will says when I ask him. “But when it happened, it wasn’t much past noon.”

It’s nearing four o’clock now.

“We gotta find Naomi and baby Wolfe, John,” Webb whimpers.

“I know. And I will. But I need your help now.”

We pile rocks onto the overturned wagon box to weigh it down and then line the sides with the same, creating a monument of stones to mark the spot. From pieces of the undercarriage, I create a cross and bury it deep so it stands upright.

“We need to say something or sing a song,” Wyatt says. His jaw is tight, and he wears the calm stupor of disbelief. I am grateful he won’t ever have to see what his brothers saw.

“We need Ma to sing,” Webb says, and his face crumples.

“I can do it,” Will says, his lips trembling but his shoulders squared.

He sings a song I know, a song Jennie used to sing about grace and the sweet sound it makes. Will’s voice is clear and true like Winifred’s, but he starts to cry when he begins the third verse, and Wyatt and Webb have to help him finish. I can’t sing, but I say the words with them.

The Lord hath promised good to me;

His word my hope secures.

He will my shield and portion be

As long as life endures.

When we are through, I unharness my mules and change the rigging on my wagon to accommodate William’s oxen, and then I gather them so I can yoke them in. Not far from the watering hole, I find some blood and a loose page from Naomi’s book. She was here when they surprised her. A cluster of tracks—unshod ponies—lead away from the area. At least I have somewhere to start.

“Why are you yoking the oxen?” Wyatt asks. “The mules will be faster. If we’re going after Naomi, we want to go fast, don’t we?” He and his brothers have culled through the Mays’ provisions and pulled out the things they can save, and they’re piling them in the back of my wagon.

“I can’t follow those tracks in a wagon, Wyatt,” I say.

“We’re leaving it here?”

“No. I’m going after Naomi and Wolfe, and you’re going to take this wagon and your brothers, and you’re going to follow the ruts until you catch up with Abbott and the train.”

“No, no, no. We’re going with you,” he says, shaking his head emphatically.

“Wyatt.”

Wyatt shakes his head again, and his mouth trembles. He’s close to breaking down, and I need him to hold on.

“You can do this, Wyatt. You have to. You remember what your ma said to you when we made it back to camp after my animals were scattered?”

“No. I don’t remember,” he chokes.

“She said you were a man now. She got to see that. And you are, Wyatt.”

“It’s easy to be tough when I’m with you, John. But I don’t think I can do this by myself.”

“I have to go find Naomi, Wyatt. And I can’t take Will and Webb. You know that.”

He groans, fisting his hands in his hair.

“You’ve got money in the wagon. You know where I put it. You’ve got oxen. You’ve got supplies to get you through, and you’ve got people in that train who care about you. You keep on that westbound route until you find them. They’re only a day ahead. Then you stick with Abbott. He’ll get you all the way to California, and when I find Naomi, I’ll come find you and your brothers.”

“Do you promise?” He’s crying now, and I want to cry too. But I’m too afraid to cry.

“I promise you I will. I don’t know how long it’ll take me, but I promise I will.”

“Okay,” Wyatt whispers.

I’ve watered my animals. They’re ready to go. I might need the dun, and I’ll need a few mules, but I leave Kettle and a mule for each of the boys, securing them to the sides. They might need them. I help Webb and Will into the back of the wagon, and I tell them what I’ve told Wyatt.