Where the Lost Wander(33)
“I need to borrow a mule, Mr. May,” John says.
Abbott hisses in protest, but I beat him to it.
“You can’t go, John. You can barely stand. You’re still sick,” I argue, terrified.
“I have to go. If I don’t find my animals, I can’t continue.” He doesn’t say my name or address me directly, but when his eyes find mine, I hear what he’s telling me. If we’re going to have a future together, he has to have something to build it on.
“Then I’m going too,” I say.
“Naomi!” Pa barks. His face is grim, his jaw set. “That’s enough.”
“Someone has to go with him!” I shout.
“I’ll go,” Webb cries. “I’ll go find ’em.” He is upset, tears streaming down his cheeks like he believes he has failed John. Someone has failed John, but it isn’t Webb. Lawrence Caldwell didn’t help search when Abbott put out the call, and now he waits, sitting on the box seat in his wagon, his mules harnessed, ready to pull out, Jeb and Adam in the wagon behind him. Webb says Kettle, Dame, and the mules were still there before breakfast, and no one is pointing the finger of blame at anyone else, but I have no doubt Mr. Caldwell set them loose.
“John can’t go alone,” I say, looking from Pa to Mr. Abbott. “You know he can’t.”
“I’ll go with him, Naomi,” Will says, slipping his hand into mine. “I’ll look after him.”
“Wyatt should go with Mr. Lowry, William,” Ma says quietly. “It’s only right.”
“We need Wyatt to drive the second team,” Pa protests.
“I can walk beside the oxen, Pa.” Warren speaks up, his cheeks gaunt but his chin firm. “I’ve been laid up long enough.”
“No one is going. Not Wyatt, not Will. Not Naomi. No one,” Pa insists, shaking his head. “I’m sorry, John. But your mules aren’t as important as my boys.”
“Pa!” I shout.
“Pa . . . Mr. Lowry has helped us plenty. We have to help him,” Warren argues.
“William,” Ma chides.
“Damnation,” Pa moans. “Damn it all to hell.”
“Go get the mules, Wyatt,” Ma says, and Wyatt rushes to obey, Webb at his heels chattering about gathering the canteens and lariats and lead ropes.
When they ride away, Wyatt is tall and wiry in the saddle, his slim shoulders set with purpose, but John is hunched like he’s lived a hundred years, and I want to run after them, begging them to come back. I remain standing with my back to the wagons, watching my brother and John Lowry sink into the prairie, lost from my eyes. I don’t know that I’ve ever felt more discouraged, and the weight of hopelessness has left me brittle. A statue made of sticks, a shelter made of straw. It is Ma who finally approaches me, Wolfe in her arms. She stops at my side, but she does not touch me; she must know it would be my undoing.
One by one, the wagons begin to pull out, Mr. Abbott leading the way. I am so angry with him that for a moment I entertain thoughts of vengeance; I consider turning his animals loose, walking among them with my pots and pans and howling like the Omaha Indians on the banks of the Missouri when they thought all was lost.
“If they were Mr. Abbott’s animals, you can be damn sure we wouldn’t be pulling out,” I tell Ma. She doesn’t protest my language, but she does defend him.
“Don’t judge him too harshly, Naomi. Someone has to make the hard decisions. That’s what we’ve all hired him to do.”
“And what about Mr. Caldwell? How should I judge him, Ma? If I had a dollar to my name, I’d bet he’s the one that spooked John’s mules.”
“Lawrence Caldwell will reap whatever he has sown,” Ma says, her voice mild, but her eyes are bleak and hard. She closes them briefly, takes a deep breath, and then looks at me.
“They’ll be all right, Naomi.” But I can see her mind isn’t right either. She’s aged ten years in the last month, or maybe it’s just me. Maybe I am the old one.
A torrent rises inside me, and if I speak, the clouds will break, so I nod, pretending I believe her. Pa beckons to us, and we turn back to the wagons and the west, the last to leave Elm Creek.
7
THE NORTH SIDE
JOHN
“Which way should we go?” Wyatt asks.
The prairie undulates, and I am not certain what is reality and what is mirage. My thoughts are muddy, my reason impaired, and I know only that if I cannot retrieve my animals, I am done for. I tie myself to Tumble’s saddle horn, looping the rope around my waist to give me a little support. I don’t think it’ll hold me if I topple, and I might very well bring the mule down on top of me if I do, but I won’t stay in the saddle without it.
“Wouldn’t they come back toward the water? Even if they were crazed enough to run for miles, they would come back toward the water, don’t you think?” Wyatt asks.
I nod in agreement. “The train’s going west, so we’ll go east, back the way we came.” I just hope that if my mules have gone the way of the train and someone spots them, they will go after them.
“Will and Warren and Webb are all on the lookout. Naomi too. You know that they’ll be searching, Mr. Lowry,” Wyatt says, answering my worried thoughts.