The Darkness You Fear Page 12

  Jed and Becky went galloping away toward the rocks, with Edwin running after them on foot. I watched anxiously as they all reached the small figure and then disappeared from view. But only moments later, Jed reappeared, carrying someone in his arms. Edwin followed. Between them, they managed to get the limp body onto the back of the horse. Jed climbed the shelf of rocks and mounted the horse, and they galloped back.

  I held my breath, certain that it was Nan. But when Jed lowered the body into Gus’s waiting arms, I saw that it was Cager. The boy looked dead, his face drained of blood.

  “What happened?” Gus said.

  “Rattlesnake,” Jed answered.

  “Give me the horse,” I said.

  Jed looked at me blankly, as if not understanding my words.

  “Jedediah, you hand those reins to me right now.” I snatched them out of his hands. I led the horse over to the back of the wagon, climbed onto it, and then mounted the horse with a leg on either side of her, as a man would do. I’d always ridden that way back at the farm when I was by myself, but I doubt Jed had ever seen me do it. I didn’t care. I spurred the horse toward the rock outcropping.

  Edwin had seen me approaching and was waiting for me. Without a word, he led me over the rocks. On the other side, in a rock-lined depression, was a pool of water. Allie, Mattie, and Nan were huddled together beside the water, as if unable to move. Becky looked as if she was trying to coax them out. I started to climb down to them.

  Becky grabbed my arm. “The rocks are infested with snakes,” she said.

  I looked around. There was a dead juniper tree that had tried to survive between the cracks of the lava rocks. I wrenched it from the thin soil. I broke off the branches until it made a thick walking stick. Edwin stood staring at me with his mouth open. He had little idea of the strength that flowed through me at that moment. I would have torn this rock pile apart if I had to.

  “Follow me,” I said.

  I probed each step as we descended, making as much noise as possible. I didn’t believe the snakes wanted anything to do with us.

  When we reached the three children, they all tried to spring into my arms. I put my arms around them, as wide as I could manage. “Shush, children. You’re safe now,” I said. “We must leave this place. Becky, will you help me?”

  Becky took hold of Mattie’s hand and started climbing. Edwin put his arm around Allie’s shoulder and followed. Nan didn’t want to move, but I finally pulled her away. We managed to make our way slowly up the slope.

  Halfway up, Becky froze. Without turning around, she put her hand behind her. “Give me the stick,” she whispered.

  I had never heard a rattlesnake, but the sound was unmistakable. Becky lifted the walking stick slowly, then slammed it down, so fast and hard that we all flinched.

  “You can keep going now,” Becky said.

  As I reached the spot where she had stopped, I saw a huge snake, half coiled, its head split in two. Its fangs were splayed against the rock, still leaking their poison.

  We reached the flatlands. Gus and Bart met us halfway and took Nan and Mattie, while the rest of us followed more slowly. At last, we reached the wagons.

  The three families gathered, trying to decide what to do. Cager’s leg was swollen and turning a threatening black and red. He was passing in and out of consciousness, moaning pitifully in either state.

  “We can’t fall behind,” Jonathan said. “We’re already trailing the rest of the train by a day or more.”

  “But Cager can’t be moved!” Karrie objected. “The motion of the wagon will hurt him.”

  “We must stay here a day or two,” Bart said, adding to his wife’s argument. “We’ve had to delay for you often enough, Meredith. Surely you can wait.”

  “I’m not going anywhere,” Gus said. “Abigail and I will stay with you no matter what.”

  “How did this happen?” Jonathan said, throwing up his arms. He looked over at Mary, who stood with her arms clasped around herself, a little apart from the rest of us. “Why weren’t you watching them?”

  “I…I’m sorry,” Mary stuttered.

  “It isn’t her fault,” Edwin said, standing up and facing his father.

  Jonathan struck him across the face before anyone could react. The slight boy fell backward, and Becky was on her feet in a flash, running toward my husband.

  I don’t know what would have happened next. I truly don’t.

  But Jed stepped out of nowhere, snagged Becky, and held her tight. Then he turned slowly toward his stepfather.

  “Don’t you ever strike my brother again, Jonathan,” he said. It was the first time I’d heard my son use his stepfather’s Christian name rather than calling him Father.

  Everyone watched my husband as conflicting emotions ran across his face: anger, surprise, but also a tinge of fear. I looked at the two of them and realized that Jed has grown into a man on this journey. He may not be as big as his stepfather, but he is fast and he is young, and it isn’t clear to me which man will prevail if it comes to blows.

  Jonathan backed down, as he had to. He was on the verge of being banished by the others, and I think he knew it.

  I am sleeping alone again tonight, as my husband has gone off into the desert by himself, whiskey jug in hand.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Testament of Virgil Conner

  July 21, 1851

  It watched me eat, then lumbered away, back into the darkness at the rear of the cavern. It has apparently learned that its captives cannot live on raw meat alone. I have tried to learn from Tucker’s mistakes, and have kept my little corner of the cave clean of the carnage that these creatures create. The insects are unavoidable, but at least they do not scuttle across my face as I sleep.

  I often saw Tad Marshall writing in his journal, and I wondered on it. I found a blank notebook among the belongings he left behind and have decided to follow his example.

  I write this with the awareness that I may never return home. If my body is found, if you find this testament, please contact my wife, whom I left in Saginaw, Michigan. Her name is Agnes Conner. Tell her I did not mean to abandon her. Tell her I planned to come home as soon as I made my fortune.

  I have made the fortune I hoped for, but I will never get to spend it.

  If you find this document, it is because Jonathan Meredith has murdered my friend Jake and me, and—though I have no proof of this—likely young Tad Marshall as well.

  We should have known we were in trouble when Tad disappeared soon after we arrived here. At first we believed Meredith when he said that Tad had run away, even though all his belongings were left behind. After all, both Jake and I have thought of doing the same thing.

  But Meredith is vigilant, watching us from the mouth of the cave, not letting us go outside with any of our gear. Even if I were to make a run for it, I would face miles of desert without food or shelter. It gets cold at night in the desert, even this far into summer. Nor do I know where we are—Meredith made sure of that by blindfolding us.

  So we work each day trying to find the pure nuggets of gold that Meredith demands. We bring him sacks of the stuff, and he picks through the heavy rocks and discards most of them.

  I thought it only right that I also take some of the pure nuggets, and I squirreled some away, but one night, a few days after Tad disappeared, Meredith asked to see what we had in our gear and in our pockets. He didn’t point the shotgun at us when he made the demand, but the message was clear.

  Both Jake and I had secreted away several nuggets. Meredith laughed and put out his hands. When we turned them over, he added them to his own collection.

  “You can take all the gold you can carry,” he said. “Just as I promised. But you must first dig up what I require. The harder you work, the more you dig, the sooner we can return home. We’ll be rich men, all of us.”

  Neither Jake nor I answered him. And it didn’t stop me from saving the best nuggets. But instead of hiding them among my own possessions, I found
a hollow spot in a cave wall and have been putting some there at the end of every shift, covering the hole with a stone. One night, as I came around a corner, I discovered Jake stomping down some loose dirt. We exchanged glances, but I merely nodded, and he nodded back. There is enough gold for the both of us.

  We just aren’t sure there is enough gold for all three of us.

  “This mine has been worked before,” Jake said one day, surprising me a bit. My fellow miner says very little, so little that I sometimes think of him as mute. “I don’t believe that fat old Meredith did all this digging.”

  “Yeah?” I asked, wondering if he was about to say what I’d been thinking. And he did.

  “So where are the other miners? Why haven’t we heard from them? A strike like this should be famous by now, but the only rich man I know is Jonathan Meredith.”

  “What do we do about it?” I asked. We’ve seen Meredith kill men—Indians, true, but still men.

  “We wait until he lowers his guard and take one of his guns,” Jake said. “That shotgun scares me. I’d rather he wasn’t pointing it at me…at us all the time.”

  “And then what?” I asked, wondering how far Jake was willing to go. I may not be a good man, but I have never killed anyone. Jake has scars all over his body, and he’d been a sailor—he’d jumped ship in Portland—so I am not so sure about him.

  “We’ll make him lead us back to Vale,” Jake said. “After that, he can scream and yell all he wants, ’twon’t no one listen. I doubt he’ll say much, though. He wants to keep this strike a secret. I don’t care, as long as I get mine.”

  “Agreed,” I said. “But if Marshall got away, it might be too late. He’s probably already told everyone by now.”

  Jake looked at me funny. “Yeah…if he got away, he’s probably done that.”

  We stared at each other, each trying to guess the other’s intentions. I don’t know why we didn’t just say it out loud, because I’m pretty sure both of us have come to the same conclusion: as soon as we are in sight of Vale, we are going to bury Jonathan Meredith in the desert where he belongs.

  It’s as if Meredith can sense what we’re thinking. He always has that shotgun in his hands and a pistol in his belt, even when he sleeps. Since it is impossible to move silently because of all the loose gravel on the cave floor, Meredith seems to awaken if we so much as turn over in our blankets.

  At first, I figured he’d get tired, never sleeping at night, but I forgot that he has all day to rest. No doubt he takes long naps when we are out of sight.

  It is Jake and me who are getting exhausted. We are filthy, and we stink; there is barely enough dirty water from the creek bed to drink, much less to bathe in. My muscles are so tight and sore from the strain of wielding the pickaxe that they quiver at night. And yet the moment I put my head on my pack, I am asleep. I awaken every few hours, my body in pain, but I always fall back to sleep.

  I’m not sure how long we’ve been here. It is the same every day. I figure it was five days before we saw Meredith do anything out of the ordinary. We came back to the cavern and he was gone.

  Jake went to the entrance and looked out. The last light of day was shining in. He turned to me and shook his head. “He’s not outside, at least not that I can see.”

  “Now’s our chance,” I said. “We can grab our gear and run.”

  “I have to go back and get my stash,” he said. “I know you got one too, Virgil, don’t tell me you don’t.”

  We didn’t even have a chance to start back before we heard Meredith returning. He was coming from the left-hand tunnel, the one he’d always told us to stay away from.

  “Quittin’ early?” he asked.

  “No more than usual,” I said, turning away so he couldn’t see my disappointment.

  “You boys been right curious about this tunnel, now haven’t you?” he said. “I’ve seen you looking. Come along, I’ll show you.”

  I glanced at Jake and saw the same alarm in his eyes that I was feeling.

  “Come on, boys, you might as well see what’s there,” Meredith urged. I looked over at the packs near the entrance that were half filled with gold. I didn’t think he would leave until he’d gotten all he could carry. I also doubted he wanted to do the work himself.

  So I followed him into the tunnel and heard Jake coming along behind me. The tunnel was narrower than the one we were working, but you could see the marks of tools on the walls. About a hundred feet in, there was a steep drop-off, a jumble of boulders leading down into a darkness that seemed to pull the light into it.

  “There was a cave-in,” Meredith said. “I lost my first crew here. Didn’t want to tell you boys at first. I was afraid I’d scare you off.”

  I wasn’t sure whether to be alarmed or reassured by the explanation. He’d said nothing about the tunnels being insecure. But it would explain why we had never heard of any other miners. I could tell that Jake was thinking the same thing.

  “The gold was rich here, but I gave it up because of the cave-in,” Meredith explained. “The tunnel you boys are working in now is much more solid. Haven’t had any accidents yet, right?” He turned and waved his shotgun at us. I froze, and I saw Jake backing up.

  Meredith snickered. “Let’s head on back. You go first.”

  I started back up the tunnel, expecting to be hit by a shotgun blast at any moment. I’ve never before been so conscious of the small of my back. But we made it to the entrance, and Meredith sat down with a sigh, the shotgun on his lap but his finger off the trigger.

  As I fell asleep that night, I wondered whether I should tell Jake what I’d seen.

  There, in the rubble at the top of the rock fall, I’d seen the corner of what looked like a red bandana, the same kind of bandana that Tad Marshall was wearing the last time I saw him.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Diary of Ellen Meredith

  The Oregon Trail, August 28, 1845

  Our party has stopped at the base of the Blue Mountains. The Columbia Gorge is just beyond this last barrier.

  The men were summoned to a meeting, and a vote was taken. It has been decided that we will go directly west instead of traveling north to the pass. There have been reports of Indian attacks in the mountains. Our guide, Stephen Meek, says he knows of a shortcut. If we strike across the High Desert, we will soon reach the Deschutes River, and from there we can travel north to the Columbia Gorge, saving us much time and strenuous effort in the mountains, as well as from the possibility of hostile Indians.

  Apparently the vote was overwhelming, but I wonder if the same result would have happened if we women had had a say in the matter. By now, we have learned that our men tend to overestimate the danger of Indians. It is their duty as the men of the families to protect us, of course, and no one would argue with that. But our own dealings with Indians have been only peaceful, occasions to trade for much-needed fresh meat and hides.

  And although I have only met Stephen Meek once, I don’t think I trust him. He is a blustery fellow, and some of his pronouncements—as relayed to me by Jonathan, who never misses these meetings—have already proven to be in error.

  But if it is true that he knows a better route, it will save us hundreds of miles and perhaps weeks of travel.

  Almost immediately upon setting out, it became clear to me that it was a mistake. Until now, we have traveled roads well-trodden. Now we are forging a new trail, with all the troubles that entails. All able-bodied men have been requested at the head of the train, leaving the driving of the wagons to the women and boys. Now that we have again drawn close to the other wagons, their dust is blowing in our faces, and I already wish we had gone it alone over the Blue Mountains.

  There are no landmarks, except perhaps those known only to Mr. Meek. The rest of us follow blindly on faith. There are no helpful signs telling us where to find water or fodder or firewood. There are only miles upon miles of sagebrush, with the occasional juniper tree dotting the landscape. These solitary, gnarled trees have be
come our landmarks, what we use to measure progress; without them, it would feel as if we hadn’t moved at all or were merely going in circles.

  It does not help that there is little socializing among our small group. Even the women have stopped talking to each other, out of loyalty to our men. Only the younger children seem immune to worry. As Cager slowly recovers, they have regained their spirits.

  Among the older children, there is a different type of tension. Edwin will not speak to his brother or to Becky. The two people he most looked up to in the world have broken his heart. Becky and Jed seem to be avoiding each other as well, out of guilt, I suppose. I fear that this won’t last, that there will be a breaking point. I am disconsolate that my two sons are at loggerheads. I fear that if the conflict escalates into fisticuffs, they may never speak to each other again.

  Jed has volunteered to drive the Catledges’ wagon, for Gus is with the other men and Abigail is not strong enough to handle the horses by herself.

  Karrie drives the Parsonses’ wagon, with Cager by her side on most days. He has mostly recovered, though the other day I saw his bare leg, and it is as if half of his calf is missing. The wound is still an angry red. He has a slight limp, though most of the time he is able to hide it. Still, I have seen him drag that leg when he is tired and he thinks no one is watching.

  Edwin helps me harness the horses in the morning, and in every other way he can. I see him looking ahead at the Catledge wagon, no doubt wondering if Jed and Becky are together. I don’t think he need worry, as least not for now. Becky is most often in the company of Mary Perkins and the younger children, as if she has decided that they need further looking after. Allie, especially, is causing problems. She has always been high-spirited, but much of her energy was expended with Cager, whom I had always thought was the ringleader of their troublemaking. I can see now that I was wrong. She seems angry that her brother has been taken away as a playmate, and she tends to be a little too rough in her playmaking with Mattie and Nan.