The Darkness You Fear Read online

  August ?, 1851

  I don’t know if the day has turned. Surely it must have, but time has slowed down so much that it seems like every breath is an eternity. I’ve heard that a fire will suffocate a man if there is no outside air, so I insisted we put out the fire, over Jake’s objections.

  It was only when the darkness became so oppressive that Jake began whimpering that I told him to light a match and rekindle the fire. It occurs to me that we have wasted precious time and air by not beginning to dig our way out. But simply examining the rockfall is so dispiriting that neither of us has moved so much as a single stone. If anyone knows how much stone can be moved in a few days, it is Jake and I, and both of us have judged it to be impossible.

  I have spent my time on this testament instead. It seems like time better spent.

  It is hopeless, but I know that we will eventually try to get out, probably after it is too late and we are so desperate that we will ignore the truth of our doom. The fire has begun to flicker, and we have run out of things to burn. Soon we will be thrown into the final darkness.

  ***

  I felt the breeze in my sleep. I awoke, suddenly certain that there had been a breeze all along and that the flickering flames were bending with it, but that it was so slight that I hadn’t noticed until now. The smoke had become thick in the cave, but not as thick as it should have been. I now believed there was a current of air coming into this chamber.

  I woke Jake, who grumbled and said something about just letting him die.

  “There’s another opening,” I said. “Can’t you feel it?”

  “Feel what?”

  “A breeze…ever so slight. It comes from below, I’m sure of it.”

  “I’m not going back down there,” Jake said. “If I must die, I want to die with the sun and the sky only a few feet away, not buried deep in the earth.”

  “What does it matter?” I asked, exasperated. “We become bones either way.”

  “I’m thirsty,” he said.

  “Remember when we first got here? Meredith said there was a stream in the lower parts of the mine. Maybe that wasn’t a lie.”

  “Don’t say his name,” Jake said. “Everything he said was a lie.”

  “The gold wasn’t,” I said. “And why would he say such a thing if it wasn’t true?”

  I continued to feel the draft, though I was beginning to wonder if it wasn’t just my imagination. But I think Jake felt it too. And both of us had felt it before, though we might not have recognized it at the time. We’d be sweating in our labors and a coolness would come over us. We probably thought it was coming from the entrance, but in hindsight, I seemed to remember that the breeze hadn’t felt dry and warm like the air outside the cave, but had had a tinge of coolness, even moistness.

  “We have to try,” I said, finally. I could barely speak the words, my throat was so dry. Jake didn’t answer, but I sensed he was assenting. I reached out until I felt his arm and ran my hand down it until my hand grasped his. “Let’s see where it leads.”

  We began tentatively, stumbling across loose stones. We hadn’t gone very far before Jake stopped, wrenching his hand out of mine. “I’m not leaving without some gold,” he said.

  I wanted to tell him he was crazy, that it was foolish, that we’d be lucky to escape with our skins intact. But in truth, I had the same urge. If I was going to die, I wanted to die a rich man. I laughed, and it hurt, which only made me laugh harder. Yes, sir. I was going to die rich.

  We felt our way to the pile of tailings. Both of us had grabbed our nearly empty rucksacks, but once we were upon the pile of rejected ore, we couldn’t see.

  “I’ve still got matches,” Jake said. “But we need to burn something. What about that book you keep writing in?”

  “I wanted to…to leave something behind,” I muttered. “A testament.”

  I could sense him mulling this over in the darkness. “You only need one more page,” he ventured.

  I pulled the small notebook from my pocket—the same book whoever is reading this has discovered. I ripped out the pages from the second half of the book. It didn’t seem to matter. Either we would escape, in which case I wouldn’t need the book, or I wouldn’t be alive long enough to write more than a few more entries.

  We quickly grabbed the more glittering of the rocks, and it didn’t take long to fill our rucksacks. In the light of day, we may find that we have nothing but tailings, but I believe even this residue will prove rich.

  The fire went out before the sacks were full, but it doesn’t matter. In our weakened state, the rucksacks are heavy. I will be surprised if much of the ore won’t be dumped before we reach safety.

  As we turned to where we knew the tunnels to be, I saw white lights in the distance. At first, I was sure they were a mirage, a leftover image from the light of the fire. The two lights floated in and out of sight, and suddenly, I felt despair such as I’d not yet felt. I wanted to drop the rucksack, fall upon it, and curl up and die. It was pointless. We were going to perish.

  “What the hell are those?” Jake asked, confirming that I’d indeed seen something.

  “They are our guiding spirits,” I said. I felt that the opposite was true and that the lights were going to lead us to our doom, but I thought Jake was already so disconsolate that he would give up then and there if I voiced my feelings.

  “Guiding spirits, my ass,” Jake said. “I’ve seen them before. Those are ghosts.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Diary of Ellen Meredith

  The Oregon Trail, September 11, 1845

  The ground is encrusted with salt, and its fine grains blow into our faces, making us ever more thirsty. Gus rode off to find water and lost his horse. Luckily, Edwin found him and gave up his own horse so that Gus could make it back; he was barely alive. Edwin made it back to camp a few hours later. Some hundred cattle drifted off, and we spent much of the day rounding them up.

  I began shivering in the midafternoon heat. When it came time for Edwin to spell me at driving the wagon, he took one look at me and exclaimed, “Mother, are you unwell?” His cry brought Jed and Jonathan. Until that moment, I’d hope it was a passing hot flash, for I have begun to experience these waves more often as the trip wears on, which I am secretly grateful for, for I hope that it means I can no longer conceive a child.

  Jonathan still comes to my bed at night, but there is no tenderness in his touch; it is as if I am merely a receptacle for his lust.

  Both my husband and my eldest child blanched upon looking at me, and they insisted that I get into the back of the wagon. Jonathan carried me the last part of the way, for I became dizzy on my feet.

  As sick and worried as I was, I cannot but confess that I felt gratitude at the alarm in my husband’s face. Perhaps I read too much into it; after all, I have no doubt that he needs me, if only to take care of the children. But I cannot but hope that the concern he showed for me was more than that.

  I fell into a fitful sleep on the baseboard of the wagon, too tired to even cushion myself. I awoke with a crook in my neck. I was sopping wet, for my fever had broken. The wagon wasn’t moving, and there was darkness outside, broken by the flicker of a campfire.

  Relief washed over me, and tears came to my eyes, for no fever that breaks so quickly can be serious. It was a mere cold, not cholera nor dysentery nor any of the other illnesses that so afflict travelers. I rose up, dampened a cloth, and wiped myself, and then changed into my Sunday dress. I will wash both dresses on the morrow, if I am still feeling well.

  I climbed out of the wagon and went to join the others, who were deep in discussion around the campfire. But first I kept to the darkness and observed them. Jonathan stood by himself, and even Jed was standing with the others. They were having a heated argument, with my husband on one side and everyone else on the other.

  “We should try the northern route again,” Jonathan insisted. “If we keep following the others, we will meet the same doom as they. We know that there is a
well-traveled trail along the Columbia.”

  “That may be true, but there is no trail from here to there,” Bart said. “At first, I too believed that we should go north, but after our experience over the last few days, I think that is foolhardy. The land is unknown by all. At least if we stick with the others, we know that a trail will be found, and if not found, it will be forged. We must do our part.”

  Everyone turned to Gus, who as usual would have the deciding vote. He stared into the fire as if unaware that everyone was waiting. Finally, Abigail spoke up. “What do you think we should do, Augustus?”

  He roused himself and looked around. He looked tired. “I can’t decide tonight,” he said. “Let us sleep upon it and make our decision tomorrow.”

  I decided it was time to reveal myself, and I was met by greetings of relief and support. Jonathan joined me by the fireside and even grasped my hand. It hurt, but I was so grateful that I didn’t say anything.

  I cannot sleep. I’ve rested through the day, and now it is as if it is full daylight. My mind churns over the dangers of the present and the hopes for the future, but mostly, I question whether I made the right decision in marrying Jonathan.

  The truth is, even if I had known what he was really like, I would have had little choice but to join myself with him. A single woman on the prairie, already deep in debt, with small children to take care of—I don’t know what would have become of me.

  September 16, 1845

  I have unable to write in this diary for the better part of a week. Things have become so desperate that I have begun to believe we will not survive.

  On the evening of September 12, we found a small spring. We were loath to leave it, for we did not know if we would ever find water again. We interrogated Stephen Meek, who seemed at a loss and unwilling to give directions, which was just as well, as none of us would have believed him.

  Over the next few days, more and more groups arrived at our small spring. The camp became dirty and the food and water scarce, and all the fodder was consumed. Over one hundred men went out searching for water, but none was found.

  There was more talk of hanging Mr. Meek. Some of the oxen collapsed, having gone as far as they could. The horses were ridden in search of water until they could go no further.

  We found Indians in possession of missing horses, and some of our men charged them. The Indians fled, miserable creatures possessing only bows and arrows.

  On the morning of September 13, we started off, but returned to the spring when informed that little water has been found. A few small creeks have been discovered, but they are not sufficient even for three or four wagons, much less our large party. So we remained in camp.

  This morning, the decision was made to forge northward. We have filled all available containers with water from the dirty, muddy spring we camped beside for so many days. We are sick at heart and of body. We have been forced to kill some of our livestock, but there is little doubt they would have died anyway.

  It was decided that if any water was found, three shoots were to be fired. We have traveled all day in hopes of hearing that gunfire, but it never came. We have used up all our water.

  There is a full moon, and the night is clear and silent. I sit in the back of the wagon, writing in the dark, for I do not know when or if I will be able to write again.

  September 17, 1845

  We have been saved. Water has been found!

  When word came, we all rushed forward. The cattle ran ahead of us and drank from the pool until we had to drive them away. I didn’t care how dirty the water was; I plunged my face into it and drank until I could have burst.

  Gus shouted for joy, while his wife wept silent tears of happiness. Edwin clapped his hands. Young Becky came to me and gave me a hug. I believe that even Jonathon was overcome with joy. Most of us simply sat on the ground after drinking our fill and stared at the water as if it was a mirage.

  God has given us another chance.

  September 20, 1845

  Abigail has a fever this morning. We have decided to rest for one more day, work on repairs, and give Abigail a chance to recover. I’m hoping it is the same illness that I recently recovered from and not something more serious.

  The children are driving us crazy with their energy. They are not affected by the adults’ worries. To them, it is all still a big adventure, and they seem confident that we will reach our destination.

  Allie asked Mary Perkins if she and some of the younger children could go exploring. “Please, Miss Mary, we don’t have anything to do!” she pleaded.

  “I must take care of Mrs. Catledge,” Mary answered.

  Karrie Parsons looked up from her cooking. “I think it will be all right as long as they stay in sight of the wagons.”

  Mary didn’t look so certain. I nearly laughed, for I knew that Mary had more experience with the children by now than any of the other adults. Still, what harm could there be? They couldn’t go far, and they were driving us to distraction.

  “All right,” Mary said. “But be careful, and don’t wander far.”

  Karrie handed Allie a blue bucket. “Collect some tinder while you’re out there,” she said. “Look for water.”

  In the end, Becky and Edwin joined Allie and Cager, and my own girls, Mattie and Nan. They took two more blue buckets with them. Ordinarily, the girls might have been left behind, but they could now walk as fast as Cager, who was still weak and hobbled by his injury, so the older children reluctantly agreed to let them come.

  The rest of the afternoon was taken up by chores. Clothing needed to be washed and mended, the wagons needed to be repaired, and a thousand other little tasks needed to be completed. In truth, I didn’t even notice that the children were gone, except perhaps to be grateful for the silence. But when it started to get dark, I noticed Karrie looking up from her mending more and more often, and finally, as the sun sank below the horizon, she stood up and examined the terrain anxiously.

  “Sooooeeee!” she bellowed, which always makes me jump no matter how many times I’ve heard it before. She learned the pig call in the hollows of West Virginia, and it is a piercing cry.

  I added my meager voice. “Mattie! Nan!”

  Mary Perkins came out of the back of the Catledge wagon, where she was taking care of Abigail. “What’s wrong?”

  “They haven’t returned,” Karrie said.

  Mary didn’t look as concerned as I might have thought she would be. “They know to start back when the sun goes down,” she said. “Do you want me to go look for them? Abigail is feeling better. Her fever has broken.”

  “Would you, please?” Karrie asked.

  Mary went to the wagon and retrieved her shawl. A slight breeze was picking up. It can become brisk when the sun goes down, especially if there is a wind.

  “Which way did they go?” Mary asked. “Did anyone see?”

  “I think they went south,” I said. I had a vague recollection that I’d heard them playing near a stand of junipers on the horizon, and I motioned in that direction. Soon after, the children had wandered out of sight, but I hadn’t been concerned at the time. By now, they have traveled thousands of miles and are well accustomed to unexplored terrain. Most of us have gained a sense of how far they might wander and in what direction.

  Mary strode off, not looking worried, but certainly moving more quickly than normal. She reached the copse of trees and disappeared.

  I couldn’t concentrate on my mending after that. I sat at the fire, staring into the flames, wondering what kind of mother would let her children wander away into a land of bears and rattlesnakes and savages. Certainly, nothing like this would have happened closer Independence, but we had become accustomed to the hardships of travel, and things that have once been unthinkable are now things we take for granted.

  I heard the children laughing, first. The laughter of children travels far, perhaps even farther than Karrie Parsons’ pig call. The sound of my own children’s laughter travels with gladness and jo
y, and my ear seeks it out. I immediately relaxed, for such a sound melts away worry and fear. It is the sound that makes all of the travails worth it.

  I couldn’t even be angry with them, for they had already been heading back when Mary found them. Karrie also softened at their approach, and simply took Cager under her arm and helped him to the wagon, for he was limping. But he had a bright smile on his face, along with the strain and the pain.

  Becky was carrying her blue bucket with both hands, as if it was heavy. Edwin had one of the other buckets, and though he was carrying it with one hand, I could see that he too was straining. The third bucket was balanced on top of Allie’s head, and she was taking great delight in it.

  “What have you got there?” I asked.

  Edwin plunked the bucket down. The bottom third was full of rocks.

  “What on Earth is that?” I asked. “Why did you bring these back?”

  Edwin looked a little embarrassed. “They were so pretty, Mother. They were just lying in a dry creek bed, but the nicest ones were in the hillside above.”

  All I saw were white rocks, catching the last of the sunlight. There was a glitter that flashed for a moment, then was gone. I tried to lift the bucket and nearly toppled over, it was so heavy. We certainly didn’t need to add this to our animals’ burden.

  “Can’t we keep them, Mother? Please? You can put them in your garden,” Edwin wheedled.

  He knew how to reach me. I had a vision of my dream garden, lined by white, shining rocks. “I suppose…” I started to say.

  Mary came around the side of the wagon before I could finish, with Becky Catledge following her. Mary lifted one of the blue buckets and began to dump it out.

  “Please, Miss Mary, can’t we keep them?” Becky pleaded.

  Mary snatched one of the empty flour bags out of the back of our wagon. I nodded permission, and she poured the rocks into it.