The Darkness You Fear Read online

  The travelers met up in the morning in the hotel dining room. Angus, Drake, and Franklin were nursing hangovers, but they had managed to find out where the Smith Feed Store was—not that it would have proven difficult, for it was right there on the main street, not far from the saloon.

  When they got to the store, they found that it was busy and, by all appearances, prosperous. A grizzled old man met them as they entered the lot.

  “What can I do for you gentlemen?” he asked. He nodded to Virginia, but it was merely a courtesy. It was the men who would conduct the business, obviously. Virginia turned to Angus, who took her cue.

  “Would you be Augustus Smith?” he asked the man.

  “Lord, no. My name’s Cole Johnson. I’m just the foreman. Gus isn’t here right now, but I am authorized to do anything that he can do.”

  “What about Abigail Smith?” Drake spoke up. “Is she here?”

  “Why would you want to be talking to her?” the foreman asked. It was clear that he’d been warned not to let anyone near Mrs. Smith.

  “Don’t see how that would be your business, my good man,” Angus said. “But as it happens, Miss Reed here is friends with her.”

  “I see,” Johnson said, sounding uncertain. He glanced over his shoulder, as if looking for someone from whom to ask permission. Virginia saw that there was a small cottage behind the barnlike structure of the feed store. “I suppose it would be all right for her to go on, if you gentlemen will wait here for her.”

  Angus looked as if he wanted to object. Virginia cut him off. “That would be fine, sir. My men are looking for livestock and supplies for our trip. I’m hoping you can help.” She turned to Angus. “Mr. Porter?”

  “Yes, miss?” he answered, so obsequiously that Virginia nearly broke out laughing.

  “You have my full authority to purchase whatever we need for our journey. I shall return shortly.”

  “Yes, Miss Reed,” Angus said. “You certain you don’t want some company?”

  “I’m sure I’ll be fine,” Virginia said. Now that it had come to it, she realized it was probably a good thing for her to proceed alone. Gus and Abigail Catledge would be nervous about any visitors, and she wanted them to trust her. Angus, Drake, and Franklin were good men, but they had a rough feel about them.

  She strode up the path to the little house, which looked like the houses she remembered back in Illinois: painted white with green shutters, a small flower garden in front.

  She knocked on the door, wondering what to say. No one answered, but she heard a pounding noise from out back, and she left the porch and went around the side of the house.

  An old woman was splitting firewood in the backyard. She was putting some muscle into it, for she was a large, portly woman who obviously knew how to wield an axe. She was a pioneer woman, and in a pinch, she could do almost anything a man could do.

  “Mrs. Smith?” Virginia pitched her voice so it was just loud enough to cut through the noise, but not so loud as to alarm the woman.

  Abigail turned, her axe raised high, then lowered it slowly when she saw it was a slender blonde woman addressing her. A good thing I came alone, Virginia thought. And that I don’t look as strong as I am.

  “Lord, you nearly frightened me to death!” Abigail exhaled. “Who might you be?”

  “My name is Virginia Reed,” Virginia said. “I’m looking for…”

  “Virginia Reed?” Abigail interrupted. “Of the Donner Party?”

  Virginia fell silent, wondering if her being recognized was good or bad. Abigail looked around as if she expected wolves to be lurking in the shadows.

  “You’d best come in the house, girl,” Abigail said. She slammed the axe into the chopping block and wiped her hands. Then she led the way through a small vegetable garden to the open back door of the house.

  She went into the kitchen, took out a teapot, and began boiling water. It was clear she was buying herself time to think, and at the same time, trying to avoid the inevitable.

  “I am looking for Abigail and Augustus Catledge,” Virginia said, finally.

  The old woman didn’t stop bustling around the kitchen. Not until the water was boiled and the tea brewed did she turn around. “Sit down, Miss Reed. I didn’t think you were here to find Abby and Gus Smith.”

  Virginia sat at the table, and Abigail poured her a cup of tea. She took a polite sip. It seemed to burst on her tongue with the taste of roses and cinnamon. “Yum,” she said.

  “I grow the flowers in my garden,” Abigail said, taking a sip of her own tea. She leaned back. “I’ve heard of you, of course. Mary Perkins talked of you often, and when we heard the stories of the Donner Party, we recognized your name. But how did you find us?”

  “I didn’t,” Virginia said. “That was Mary ’s doing.”

  “Mary? Mary Perkins?” Abigail looked surprised, as if it was the last thing she had expected. Then a troubled expression came over her face, and she looked away as if ashamed. “Is she…well?”

  “Yes, very much so. She is Mrs. Oliver Hoskins now, married to a very wealthy man.” Virginia decided not to mention her doubts about Mr. Hoskins.

  “I am so very glad to hear it,” Abigail said, and her relief was genuine. “I wanted to help her, but…well, we were having our own problems.”

  “That’s why I’m here,” Virginia said. “I understand your daughter is missing. Mary asked me to look into it.”

  “You?” Abigail looked at Virginia’s slender frame and delicate features doubtfully. “I don’t understand.”

  “I am more capable than I look, Abigail.”

  The old woman stared at her a while longer, then nodded. “I believe that you are. I’ve heard stories. Very well. What do you know about what happened?”

  “I have been given Ellen Meredith’s journals,” Virginia said. “And of course, Mary has told me what she knows.”

  “Then you know of our problems with Jonathan Meredith,” Abigail said. “But you don’t know what happened after Ellen died.” She took a long drink of her tea. “Poor woman. I am glad that she never knew what happened to her sons, at least.”

  “Jed and Edwin?” Virginia asked. “I assumed they were still with their stepfather.”

  “Oh, there is much more to the story than that,” Abigail said. She got up and closed the back door, as if she was afraid of being overheard. “But much of it is too strange to be believed.”

  “I have traveled all the way from California to hear your story, Abigail. I am prepared to believe anything you tell me. I don’t know what stories you have heard about the Donner Party, but the experience taught me that there is more danger in this life than what you see on the surface.”

  “Yes,” Abigail said. “Of that, I am sure.”

  “Where is Mr. Catledge?” Virginia asked. It had seemed to her that Abigail hadn’t wanted her to ask that question and wouldn’t have answered it until she was sure that Virginia didn’t pose a threat.

  “Before I tell you that, I think I need to tell you about everything that happened after poor Ellen died,” Abigail said.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Diary of Ellen Meredith

  The Oregon Trail, September 24, 1845

  Disaster has struck our little party. We’ve traveled across the continent and lost but one person, which, no matter how precious she was to us, was a smaller price than most have paid. But today has come a reckoning. Cager and Allie are missing. Kerrie and Bart awoke early, and normally they have to roust their children out of bed to help with the chores. But this morning, they found only neatly folded blankets, as if the children had never been to bed at all.

  Karrie thought Bart had put the children to bed, and he thought that she had, so it is possible that the children have been missing longer than just the night. Nobody can remember when they saw them last. They were at the midday meal yesterday, that is agreed, but after that…

  A search party was quickly organized. All the men mustered, including Jed and, for
the first time on one of these ventures, Edwin, leaving the women and children behind. Jed rode ahead and was able to gather more men from the wagon train to help. They have split the surrounding territory into quadrants, each with three men.

  No one knows what to expect. We have not seen any sign of Indians, and even the wildlife is sparse in these lands. Over the last few days, we have seen a huge owl, a few jackrabbits, and plenty of coyote tracks, but little else. Most likely, one of the children met with an accident and the other child is staying at his or her side, waiting for rescue.

  Jonathan chose to cover the quadrant that includes the area we have already traveled through, taking Jed and Edwin with him. The men are grim, for the nights have become cold, nearly freezing. If the children are exposed to the wind, they are in great danger.

  After the men left, the camp felt empty, abandoned. The families have retreated to their wagons, and there is little conversation or movement. I can hear Karrie sobbing, for she is bereft, already certain that her children have met their end. I feel the same, though there is no real reason to think so.

  Abigail has taken Karrie under her motherly wing, and it good that she has done so. I feel for the woman, but I cannot express it. I’ve become stoic, more stoic than I was before we left. I no longer see this journey as a fresh start, but as an ending. I sense that Jonathan is tired of me, tired of the children, and that nothing will keep him from leaving us once we reach our destination. I fear for the future, for I have nothing to offer any man. I’m old and fat, and I have no skills other than mothering, if such skills I have, for I have begun to doubt even that.

  The children are uncharacteristically quiet. It occurs to me that they were silent yesterday as well, even before Cager and Allie disappeared. Something happened that they refuse to talk about. I wonder if the disappearance of two of their number is connected to it. I cannot imagine what has caused such disquiet.

  Mattie and Nan cling to me, and I pat their heads, but the comforting words do not come. I have no comfort to give.

  The search parties returned by nightfall, empty-handed.

  “We searched all the places they might hide,” said Carl Lundgren, one of the men from the larger wagon train.

  “Hide,” Gus echoed. “Why on Earth would they hide?”

  Lundgren didn’t back down. “If they are lost, why would they not make themselves visible? If they are injured, why have they not answered our cries?”

  No one said anything, for we all knew the answer. If they had not sought high ground, if they were not answering summons, it was because they couldn’t.

  “We will search farther tomorrow,” Lundgren said. “We will go directly to where we left off searching and expand our range. But if we do not find them tomorrow, it is difficult for me to believe that they could have gone farther than that.”

  “Let’s not borrow trouble from the future,” Gus said. “Surely we will find a sign of them, if we keep searching.”

  Bart stood up abruptly. He walked to the edge of the light and stood there, his back to us. Everyone fell silent, and for the rest of the evening, we were all aware of his intensity, of him staring into the abyss of the desert night. We were all getting ready for bed when we heard him cry out, “Cager! Allie! Come home!”

  October 6, 1845

  The search parties spent two days scouring the High Desert within the boundaries of territory the children could possibly have traveled. Of course, searching every nook and cranny was impossible. There are more gullies and ravines than can be counted, some of them mere depressions in the earth where a body could not be seen from more than a few yards away. There are rock outcroppings with passages between them where a battalion of soldiers could hide.

  The men decided to fire their rifles every mile, and throughout the day, the gunfire echoed back to the camp. Each time, Mattie and Nan trembled at the sound, though they knew the reverberations were coming. Even the farthest-away shot could be heard in the camp, which meant that the children would have had to be twice the distance away not to have also heard it. If they were not answering the shouts or the gunfire, it was because they couldn’t or wouldn’t.

  The next morning, there was frost on the ground. It was the first frost we had encountered since leaving the Rockies behind. The campfire was difficult to start that morning, and the men lingered longer around it than in previous days, trying to get warm.

  At the end of a badly cooked breakfast, Carl Lundgren stood and spoke for the other rescuers. “We can’t stay any longer,” he said. “Our water supplies are running low, and we don’t know when we’ll reach a more hospitable place. We would like to help you search further, but…”

  “Then help us,” Gus urged. “The children have only been gone a few days. They could be someplace where they can’t hear us. They could still be waiting for us to find them.”

  Lundgren shook his head. He didn’t have to say what he was thinking.

  “Let him go,” Bart said to Gus. “They have their own families to look after.”

  “We’ll stay,” Gus said, looking toward Jonathan, who, somewhat to my surprise, nodded.

  “Let me go with you this time,” Becky said. “I can help.”

  Jonathan looked as if he was going to object, but Jed spoke up first. “She’s a better shot than any of us. And she can probably walk farther and faster.”

  “Very well,” Jonathan said to Becky. “But you must do as I say.”

  Bart, Jed, and Gus struck out to the north and the west, while Jonathan, Edwin, and Becky went to the south and the east. They had searched all the obvious places; now they were going to check out the smaller ravines, the rock outcroppings, anyplace that could hold two small bodies, though no one said so out loud.

  When they returned that night, I noticed that Jonathan and Edwin weren’t talking to each other, and that Becky seemed distressed. I tried to question my son, but he shook his head and didn’t answer. I figured he and his father had probably gotten into another argument.

  Two more days were spent searching. Our water ran out at the end of the second day, which made the situation desperate.

  The following morning, Bart harnessed his team and led us away. It was his decision. I’m not sure who among us would have given up the search if not for Bart’s surrender. We followed the tracks of the rest of the wagon train, the last of the wayfarers. A half-day’s journey later, we came across a crude sign pointing north of the trail that said, “Water.”

  We refilled our water barrels and continued on. Two more days’ journey, and we saw that the bulk of the wagons had turned north again. Once again, we had a meeting to decide which path to follow. There was little disagreement. We followed the wider trail north.

  Within a few days, we saw the Columbia River flowing below the plateau, and there were campfires spread out along the dark water. Whether it was our own companions or another wagon train, the sight lifted our hearts. For a moment, I almost forgot about Cager and Allie.

  Bart cried out to his mule team, and they began winding down to the river to join the others.

  We were welcomed with hot food, fresh firewood, and fodder for our livestock. Most of the rest of the wagon train appeared to have heard about the missing children, and they were very solicitous toward all of us, but especially toward Bart and Karrie. I have never seen anyone as undone by grief as they are.

  One we were safe, I felt the energy drain from me, and for a full day, I did not leave my bedding. Mattie took up the task of feeding the family, and her cooking was surprisingly good. Tears squeezed from my eyes. No one really needed me. I was useless as a mother and a wife, and even a child could take my place.

  “What do you think happened to Allie and Cager?” I asked my husband that night. Nestled among the hundreds of other settlers, I was finally able to express my fears.

  “There is no way of telling,” Jonathan said after a long moment. “Those last few days, I even looked for the circling of buzzards.”

  “Jonathan!�
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  “Even if they were only injured, the carrion birds always know,” he said pragmatically. “They’re always waiting. But there was nothing. Wherever they are, they are out of reach.”

  I wanted to put my head on his shoulder. I wanted him to wrap his arms around me. But I turned away. “Where were you?” I asked quietly.

  “What?”

  “On the day they went missing, I saw you leave and go toward the east. Where did you go?”

  I felt him propping himself up on his elbow and sensed that he was glaring down at me. “What are you saying?”

  I heard the anger in his voice, and perhaps it should have reassured me. But I have learned that Jonathan can summon his anger at any moment, and that anger serves to hide his lies.

  “I will forget you asked that,” Jonathan said, turning his back to me.

  October 25, 1845

  We have reached Oregon City! I am feeling such relief as I thought I would never feel again. We are safe. My family has arrived at our destination without harm, except for poor, dear Sarah. Most of our possessions are still intact.

  The last two and a half weeks of the journey were slow, almost leisurely. The trail was well worn, and there were few dangers: no rivers to ford that didn’t have ferries or bridges; no steep cliffs that hadn’t already been surmounted. There were even general stores along the route, though their prices are usurious. I spent my last pennies on candy for Mattie and Nan.

  Even Jonathan has become more lighthearted. One morning, I heard him tell a terrible joke to Gus, who responded with a belly laugh that made me glad. Then they both glanced at me, as if the joke was unseemly. I pretended I hadn’t heard a word.

  No one laughed or told jokes when Bartholomew or Karrie were near, however. They withdrew from us, keeping close to each other, and I could hear Karrie crying at night. I feel strangely guilty that this tragedy befell them and not us, and then I remember my dear children and I shake the guilt off. It could have happened to any of us, but it happened to them. God keeps his mysteries.