Walk By Faith

“I’ll not have such language in my house, Mr. Clements, although I can understand why you want to use it,” Michael told him. “This is a Christian home.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Harvey.” He grunted again with another douse of whiskey. “But maybe if I’d been allowed to drink some of that liquor before Mrs. Graham here poured it on my wound, I wouldn’t have felt it quite so much.”

“We don’t allow drinking in our home, either,” Carolyn told him.

“Well, then, by the time this nice lady is through cleaning up this wound, I’ll have to be leaving,” Dawson answered. “Right now a good, stiff drink sounds pretty good.”

Clarissa inspected the wound. “You’re lucky, Mr. Clements. It’s slightly festered, but if you keep whiskey on it and keep the bandages changed, I don’t think it will be that bad. We have caught this in time to keep it from getting worse.” She looked up at him. “I’ll wrap it for you and give you clean bandages to take with you. Please promise me that you will change them at least every other day, and that you’ll pour whiskey on the wound as often. Just buy extra when you’re sitting in a saloon drinking,” she added in a tone of chastisement.

Dawson actually chuckled. “Yes, ma’am.”

Their gazes held, and again Clarissa was struck by the handsome man she could see behind the scrubby beard and long hair. For one quick moment she thought he might have read her thoughts, and she quickly looked away and began wrapping fresh bandages around his leg. “So, what will you do now, Mr. Clements?” she asked, anxious to get a conversation going again. “You said something about visiting the camps of the homeless.”

“I was thinking about heading back out west,” he answered. “I served in the west most of my army years. It’s beautiful country. Figured maybe I could make a little money by guiding some of those displaced folks who’ve decided to also head west under the Homestead Act. The West and Indians are things I’m familiar with, so I figure I could do a pretty good job of it. Once I get there, I’ll probably look for gold. Or maybe I can work for one of the mines as a guard or something.”

“We’re headed west, too!” Michael told him. “Me and the wife and Clarissa here.”

“That so? You’ve no husband, Mrs. Graham?”

Clarissa glanced at Carolyn before answering. “No,” she said, adding no explanation.

“Killed in the war?”

Clarissa wrapped his leg quietly for a few seconds. “No,” she said again. “Nothing quite that honorable, Mr. Clements. And I don’t wish to talk further about it with a stranger.”

The room hung silent for several awkward seconds. “Fine with me,” Dawson finally answered. “Mind if I ask if you work at City Hospital? I don’t remember seeing you there.”

“I did work there, but I…I quit in order to get ready for our trip west,” she lied. How could she tell him she was fired because she was a divorced woman? “We’ll be leaving in a month or less. In fact, I just today received my very own deed to one-hundred-sixty acres in Montana.” She tied off the gauze and looked up at him, putting on a brighter look. “That’s why I was coming from the courthouse when this accident happened.”

“I see.” Dawson leaned over and checked out the dressing. “Nice job. I’m sure your services would be needed more than once on a trip west. All kinds of things can happen. Men who seldom use guns end up buying them and then shooting themselves in the foot. People get sick, a lot of them die. There’s snakebites, bad food, sometimes bad water, Indian attacks, women having babies, kids getting hurt, toothaches, blistered feet, sunburn, you name it—it will happen on a trip west, mark my word. I hope you folks are truly prepared for what you’re about to do.”

“We’re ready,” Carolyn answered. “This is a dream for us. My husband has lost his job and we’re about to lose this house, too. Thank goodness we had a fine piano and some good horses to sell, as well as some genuine silverware my grandmother gave me and a real fine buggy. And all our furniture was paid for, so we’re selling that, too. And the parishioners from my husband’s church actually collected some money and gave it to us. That was so kind of them.”

Clarissa was surprised at the sudden scowl on Dawson Clements’s face at the mention of church. He looked at Michael.

“You’re a preacher?”

“Yes, I am. Started my own church a few months ago. We meet right here at the house. I intend to start another parish when we reach Montana.”

Dawson looked him over with an odd air of mistrust. He straightened then and put his leg down, pulling down his pant leg.

“Do you have something against preachers, Mr. Clements?” Clarissa asked.

“You might say so,” he answered, still looking down. He finally looked at Michael. “Just those who don’t really practice what they preach. I suspect you do, so take no offense, Mr. Harvey. I just don’t have much use for preachers or God or any of those things. Neither one ever did me any good.”

Carolyn actually gasped. “Mr. Clements! You’re coming close to blasphemy!”

He waved her off. “Sorry I mentioned it. And I don’t know any of you well enough to go into all the reasons, nor do we have the time. I will take myself off your hands now, and I do thank you for your hospitality.” Dawson picked up his hat from the kitchen table and put it back on, nodding to all of them. “Good luck on your trip. Maybe we’ll meet along the way, or you can ask around about me if you’re wanting a good guide for your journey. I’ll be at Independence in about two weeks. I won’t be able to leave for another couple of weeks after that. The ground would be too soft and the rivers too high. At any rate, look me up if you’ve a mind to.” He turned to Michael. “Unless you don’t want a heathen leading you west,” he finished with a wink and a hint of a smile.

Michael put out his hand, and Clarissa noticed he held on to Dawson Clements’s hand extra long as he replied. “Something tells me you’re no heathen at all, Mr. Clements. In the meantime, I will pray for your safe journey, and for your soul. Christ will find his way back into your life somehow.”

Dawson pulled his hand away, looking very uncomfortable at the remark. “Save your prayers for those who deserve them, Mr. Harvey.” He turned to Clarissa, looking her over in a way that told her he appreciated her figure. “Thank you for your good nursing skills, ma’am. I have business to tend to, so I’ll be going.”

Clarissa folded her arms. “You should stay and rest a while, Mr. Clements.”

“You know what they say—no rest for the wicked, or something like that.”

Clarissa grabbed a roll of bandages. “At least take this with you, and keep your promise to put clean bandages on that leg, or I won’t sleep at night for worrying about it. I gather that wherever you go you’ll have plenty of whiskey on hand.”

This time he laughed out loud, taking the bandages. It was a nice, deep laugh, and his teeth were white and straight. He had a nice mouth. “Yes, ma’am, you’re right about that.”

In spite of his smile, Clarissa still saw a deep sadness somewhere behind those blue eyes. “You promised Sophie a hug before you left, Mr. Clements.”

“Oh, yeah, I guess I did. Well, tell her to come down here.”

He limped toward the door as Clarissa called for Sophie. The little girl came down the stairs as fast as a three-year-old could make the steps. She ran up to him with her arms open, and Dawson leaned over. “Honey, I can’t kneel down to you. My leg hurts too much.”

Sophie reached up, and Dawson lifted her, giving her a hug. She kissed his cheek. “Will you come back?”

“No, little lady. Your mother fixed me all up.”

“She’s a noose!”

“I know. And I think she’s a very good nurse.” Dawson set her down.

“Bye!” she said, giving him a smile that would melt any heart.

“Goodbye, Sophie. And you remember that what happened was just an accident and wasn’t your fault.”

“Okay.” Sophie turned to Lena and the two girls giggled.

Dawson tipped his hat to Clarissa. “Thanks again, ma’am.” He eyed Michael and Carolyn. “And to both of you for opening your home to me. I’m sorry if I offended you with my remarks about preachers and all that.”

“God be with you, Mr. Clements,” Michael answered. “You will be in our prayers, whether you like it or not.”

Dawson sobered. “If you want to waste your time on me, that’s your decision.” He turned and left, and Clarissa walked to the door to watch him gingerly mount his black gelding. He hesitated a moment, probably waiting for the pain in his leg to subside, then rode off.

“What a strange man,” Clarissa commented.

“Indeed,” Michael added.

“And quite handsome, too, don’t you think?” Carolyn teased.

Michael chuckled. “Not exactly the God-fearing kind,” he said, shaking his head.

“No.” Clarissa still watched him as he disappeared around a corner. “Why do I feel like what happened today is some kind of—I don’t know—like it was meant to happen?”

“God works in strange ways, His miracles to perform,” Carolyn answered. “Maybe Michael planted a seed today that will grow in that man’s heart.”

And maybe it’s more than that, Clarissa mused. She quickly chastised herself for the silly thought and turned away from the door. “I have my deed!” she said then with a smile. “And we have a lot of shopping and packing to do, so let’s get at it!” She called the girls from the kitchen, fighting the secret thought that if they could get to Independence within ten days, perhaps they could travel with Dawson Clements after all.

The Lord will protect you from all danger;

He will keep you safe.

He will protect you as you come and go,

Now and forever.

—Psalms 121:7-8

Chapter Five

April 30, 1863

The congregation of people from all walks of life at Independence was far bigger than Clarissa expected. Ages ranged from the very old to the very young and everything in between. The combination of free land and wanting to get away from the war was all these people needed to spur them on.

The atmosphere was both exciting and intimidating. Children, chickens and dogs ran everywhere, and in the distance livestock grazed. As she and Carolyn and Michael walked among the host of wagons, oxen, horses and people, they noticed with great relief that most travelers were families. Still, a few men were camped here without families, some in groups, some by themselves. Several looked questionable in nature, and last night an ugly fistfight had taken place, spawned by an argument over the war and who was right or wrong. One man actually pulled a gun, but another had knocked it out of his hand.

Clarissa had not given thought to danger from the travelers themselves. Indians and the elements were enough to worry about. Because of the confusion that abounded, and the mix of people gathered here, she kept Sophie close, afraid she’d never find her if the child ran off. “I’m so glad I’m going with you and Michael,” she told Carolyn. The three of them, and their daughters, walked among those gathered here, learning all they could about who was leaving when and who would guide them. “I don’t think I’d have the courage to do this alone.”

“Yes, you would. You’re a brave woman for even going with us,” Michael assured her, “with no husband and no guarantee of what you will do when you reach Montana.”

“I’ll help you build a ranch. That will keep me plenty busy for quite some time,” Clarissa answered with a smile. She noticed that some wagons carried pianos, grandfather clocks, fine furniture and the like, and she had to wonder if they would make it through the mountains with such huge loads. Word was, it was foolish to cart such things along.

“I didn’t think we’d find all this chaos,” Carolyn commented. “Most of these people don’t seem to know quite what they’re doing.”

“Maybe we should look up Dawson Clements,” Michael suggested. “He seems like a man who’d know what he was about when it comes to traveling west, since he’s done so before and served out there with the army.”

“He’s terribly rough around the edges,” Clarissa commented. “And I’m not so sure he’d want a preacher along.”

“That’s not his decision,” Michael answered. “I am sure the families headed west would appreciate having a preacher along, and most likely find need of one, with all the calamities that can take place. That was quite a list of possible troubles Mr. Clements rattled off to us a couple of weeks ago.”

“I have a feeling he’s a man who looks for the worst side of everything,” Clarissa answered.

“You’ve been thinking about him, haven’t you?” Carolyn said with a sly grin.

Clarissa shrugged. “Some, mostly because he seemed like such a lonely, troubled man.”

“That he did,” Michael added. “I’ve been praying for him.”

Their conversation was interrupted when they heard someone crying loudly, as though in pain. Clarissa gasped with horror when to her left she saw a man beating a young boy of perhaps ten years old with a belt at the rear of a wagon.

“I’ll teach you to obey what I tell you!” the man roared.

The boy cringed and wept, covering his head with his hands and begging the man to stop.

Clarissa picked up Sophie and turned away so the child could not see the brutality. People stood around staring, all hesitant to interfere with a family matter; and the man doing the beating looked big and strong and furious.

“I’ll stop him!” Michael declared, taking off his hat. Before he could make a move, a large man wearing a blue greatcoat and riding a black horse charged past them so fast that he raised a cloud of dust. His dangerous speed caused Clarissa to turn and look as the man dismounted before his horse even came to a stop. He landed into the father and ripped the belt out of his hand.

“Try picking on someone your own size,” the man fumed.

Women screamed, and more people gathered and cheered him on as the stranger began using the belt on the father, whacking him several times while the boy moved away to cringe beside his mother, who’d been wringing her hands and watching the beating, obviously afraid to try to stop it.

“How does that feel?” the man who’d interrupted the beating raged.

“It’s Dawson Clements!” Clarissa exclaimed, recognizing the horse and the greatcoat first, then managing to get a look at his face.

The father cowered, putting up his hands. “What I do with my son is my own business!”

Dawson tossed the belt aside. “It’s my business now!” He landed a fist into the father, and the man flew backward against his wagon. Then the father charged Dawson, managing to punch him in the face. Dawson returned the blow with several of his own, appearing to become almost out of control. Finally the mother screamed for someone to stop him.

“He’s killing my husband!” she wailed.

Michael and several other men moved in and grabbed Dawson away while the man he’d beaten slumped to the ground beside a wagon wheel. It took five men to gain control of Dawson, who finally shook them off and told them to leave him alone. The man’s wife ran to her husband, and the young boy stood there crying and looking at Dawson.

“Now he’ll beat me worse because of what you did,” he sobbed.

“No, he won’t,” Dawson vowed. “Because if he does, I’ll be back! I’ll lay welts on him that will never heal!” He brushed himself off and bent down to pick up his hat, which had been knocked off in the skirmish. He plunked it on his head and turned. It was then he recognized Michael. He looked at the man strangely, then scanned the crowd to see Clarissa standing there with Sophie in her arms.

Still breathing heavily, he limped toward them. Clarissa noticed his knuckles were bloody, and there was a cut on his left cheek. A bruise was quickly forming around it.

“I’m sorry you had to see that,” he told Clarissa. “And you, ma’am,” he added, looking at Carolyn.

Clarissa could still see the rage in his blue eyes, lurking there behind those dark clouds. “You did what you felt you had to do,” Carolyn told him.

Clarissa looked away, not sure what to say or what to think of him now that she’d seen the violent side of the man.

“Hi, Mistoo Clement,” Sophie spoke up. She seemed not at all intimidated by Dawson’s bloody, disheveled look. “You got a owie,” she added, pointing to his cheek.

Dawson’s whole countenance changed when he addressed the little girl. “Hello, Sophie,” he told her.

“Do you still got a owie on you leg?” she asked.

Dawson removed his hat and smoothed back his hair, which was still extremely thick and wavy even though he’d obviously had it trimmed. His face was clean shaven, and even more handsome, with a square jaw and deep-set eyes. He replaced the hat, glancing at Carolyn. “The leg is much better. It still pains me now and then, but I never got an infection, and the wound has closed. I expect I have you to thank for that, Mrs. Graham.”

Why did this man have a way of somehow moving her deeply? “I’m glad I was able to help.”

“You nearly killed that man, you know,” Michael told him.

“Maybe I should have. The boy and his mother would probably be better off.”

“‘Vengeance is mine, sayeth the Lord.’”

Dawson rolled his eyes. “Yeah, well, maybe the Lord uses some of us to wreak that vengeance,” he answered. “I happen to have a short fuse when it comes to treating a helpless child like that.”

“Quite obvious,” Michael answered with raised eyebrows.

Dawson nodded to the women, then brushed past them to get his horse. He mounted up and rode closer, pointing to a huge oak tree on a hill in the distance. “See that tree?”

Clarissa shaded her eyes. “Yes.”

“That’s where I’m camped,” he told them. “I have rounded up about eight families heading for Montana. I wasn’t going to take on any more than that, since it might be too much to handle, but you three and the little girls are welcome to join us if you’re still looking for a guide. We’re hoping to head out in five or six days, unless we get a lot of rain. Come on over tonight and camp with us if you like. That will give you a chance to get to know some of the others and make up your mind if you want to travel with us.”

“Is there a preacher among your group?” Michael asked.

Dawson scowled. “No. I suppose you think they need one?”

“Of course they do,” Michael answered, giving Dawson a smile and a wink. “I imagine they’d appreciate having one along. They are Christian people, aren’t they?”

“I suppose. I didn’t bother asking,” Dawson answered, obviously irritated by the question.

“Well, then we’ll come by and get acquainted,” Michael told him.

“Suit yourself. Just don’t expect me to be part of any praying or preaching.”

“I wouldn’t dream of asking you,” Michael answered with a teasing note to the words.

Dawson nodded. “Good.” He glanced at Clarissa. “See you later then.” He turned his horse and rode away, and some of those who’d watched the fight stared after him.

“Did you see what he did?” someone commented.

“A very violent man,” said another.

Michael turned to Carolyn and Clarissa. “What do you two think? Should we join his group?”

“I think we should do whatever you feel is right, Michael,” Clarissa answered. “After all, I’m more or less the tagalong on this venture. You’re the one who should make the major decisions.” She was not about to admit that the thought of traveling with Dawson Clements filled her with a strange, pleasant excitement, mixed with apprehension. She realized that ever since the day she’d nursed his leg, she’d been hoping they might run into him again. Still, after what they’d just witnessed…

“Well, I say we give it a try,” Michael said. “I’m thinking the Lord wants us to go just because Dawson Clements is the guide. I have a feeling God means for me to do something to help that man, much as he’d resent it. There is something about him that strikes the heart.”

Yes, there is, Clarissa thought. She liked the fact that there was nothing fake or pretentious about the man. Clements didn’t try to pour on the charm like Chad would do. He had an air of honesty and no nonsense about him. Dawson seemed to be a man who meant what he said and very likely a man who did not break promises or lie to get what he wanted. He was nothing like Chad, and perhaps that was what she liked most about him.

Chapter Six

May 1, 1863

Clarissa switched her lead oxen and shouted, “Giddap!” She’d practiced driving the four-oxen team for the past two weeks and felt confident she could handle them. The man who’d sold the animals to Michael told him that by the time they reached their destination, they would be very attached to the poor beasts that would haul them and their belongings all the way to Montana.

Already Clarissa could tell the man was right about getting attached. She’d already named the four that pulled her wagon, Moo, Bee, Sadie and Jack. Buck and Betsy were tied to the back of her wagon for spares, so the animals could be rotated to avoid too much work for any one of them. She already knew each ox by its distinctive markings. Michael thought she was silly to name them, but for some reason that made it easier for her to handle them. She just hoped she had the strength to keep up with them and to help hitch and unhitch them every day.

She hated the fact that Michael usually had to help, especially yoking them whenever the oxen would not properly hold still. She had no doubt that by the time she reached Montana, she might be built like a man for all her hard work.

They headed toward Dawson’s camp at the big oak tree in the distance. Michael and Carolyn took two wagons—Michael’s pulled by six oxen because of an extraheavy load of farm tools and books, including a supply of Bibles and hymnals, donated by others for his new church.

Carolyn’s wagon carried lighter household necessities, and Lena and Sophie rode together in it, bouncing around atop a pile of quilts and having a joyous time. Clarissa thought how oblivious the girls were to the difficulties that surely lay ahead. She prayed things would remain that way—that nothing would happen to either child and they wouldn’t end up stranded and starving to death.

The latter seemed unlikely, as they had packed plenty of food. Distributed among all three wagons was dried beef, rice, tea, spices, dried fruit, beans, baking soda, flour, sugar, baking powder, canned pickles, bacon, potatoes, sweet potatoes, large tubs filled with plenty of lard for packing fresh meat to preserve it, salt, coffee, wheat, oats, cornmeal. She kept reviewing the list in her mind, worried they’d missed something.

They also carried a tin washtub, two washboards, lye soap, three coffee kettles, tinware, several fry pans, cooking utensils, trunks of clothes, plenty of blankets, quilts, pillows, heavy boots and warm coats. Michael had even thought to buy each of them capes made of India rubber, something new that worked well against rain.

A milk cow, which Lena and Sophie had named Trudy, was tied to one side of Carolyn’s wagon, and it balked at leaving. The rope grew taut and stretched the cow’s head and neck until the animal had no choice but to join the procession, and her calf trotted beside her. A slatted crate was secured to the side of Clarissa’s wagon with rope, and inside the crate were three chickens that she hoped would continue laying eggs. A rooster sat on top of her wagon, occasionally flapping its wings and crowing, as though king of the wagon train.

Her wagon even carried a crate that contained something that had belonged to her mother—beautiful china from Germany, carefully packed in straw. It was all she had left of the mother she’d lost so long ago, and of the life she’d known in St. Louis.

She could not take her heart or trust with her. Chad had stolen both. It still hurt deeply to think about it, but it was done now, and she doubted she could ever love or trust a man again, let alone ever find it in her heart to forgive.

They guided the three wagons through rows of others still gathered outside of Independence, and after several minutes they came closer to the big oak, where Clarissa quickly counted ten wagons circled around it. Children ran and played, and women cooked in big pots over fires.