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“And I won’t leave your father.”
“After the way he’s always treated you? How can you say that?”
“He’s my husband. I took holy vows and I intend to honor them,” Joanna said flatly. “Come in here with us, all of you.”
Glancing at the tall prairie grasses that were now slashing around like buggy whips and bending nearly flat to the ground Emmeline prayed that Bess and the twins had found suitable shelter. It was too late to go after them now. She’d have no chance of finding them in this turmoil.
She swiveled slowly, guarding her face by pressing the sides of her slat bonnet closer to her cheeks. Rain was beginning to fall in drops the size of apricot pits. That meant the whirling dust would no longer be so vexing, but that was little comfort, since hail was now starting to pelt her, too. It stung her skin like an assault of vicious hornets, striking her head, hands, arms and shoulders until she had to bite her lip to keep from crying out in pain.
That was enough to spur immediate action. Emmeline grabbed the tailgate of the wagon and leaped, hoisting herself over it and tumbling head-first into the straw-filled ticking beside her mother and youngest sister.
They reached out and embraced each other tightly, though their respite from nature’s onslaught was brief. Larger chunks of hail soon began to puncture the canvas roof, each impact making the rends in the fabric bigger, wider.
Wind then grabbed the loosening sheets, lifted and tore them, increasing the damage until there was little covering the wagon’s occupants except a few shreds of canvas, the bare bows and the bedding they clung to for what little protection it offered.
“Hang on!” Emmeline screamed, grabbing Glory more tightly and holding her close to shield the child with her own body.
Joanna was screeching, “Amos!” over and over again, to no avail.
Even if he had been close at hand, Emmeline knew he could not have heard anyone’s cries over the increasing roar of the storm.
It built until it was so deafening it made her ears ache and pop as if she were descending a mountain trail at a gallop. Suction from the spinning torrent pulled at her, foretelling what was about to happen.
“Twister!” Emmeline screamed at the top of her lungs.
She threw herself and Glory over their mother and clung to them both for dear life. Her calico skirt was tearing. Her bonnet was snatched from her head in spite of its tightly tied ribbons and her hair fanned out in a wild tangle, stinging her skin as it slapped her cheeks and neck.
Suddenly, she sensed herself being lifted until she felt weightless. She spun. Tumbled. Cracked the top of her head on one of the bows that arched over the wagon.
The rest of the world passed before her eyes in a fierce blur of colors accompanied by a painful, incessant battering and a dizzying disorientation beyond any she had ever experienced.
Still grasping Glory and trying to protect her small, fragile body with her own, Emmeline was carried away from their mother, from the battered wagon and its heavy-bodied ox team.
Praying wordlessly, thoughtlessly, she imagined that she’d glimpsed the team and wagon in the distance before she’d squeezed her eyes shut to try and stop her vertigo.
That sight had been so fleeting, so tenuous, she wasn’t positive it wasn’t imaginary. All she knew for certain was that they had been overtaken by an enormous twister and were totally at its mercy.
Please, God, let the others be all right.
That was the last lucid thought Emmeline had before blackness overcame her.
Will managed to reach his men and the milling cattle herd before the buffalo crested the nearest rise.
“You think you can handle ‘em?” he shouted to Clint.
“Yeah.” The other man pointed. “Can you turn that mess before it gets to us?”
“I’ll try.”
Hoping to divert the hundreds of stampeding wild buffalo, Will shouted and repeatedly fired his pistol in the air while spurring his reluctant horse to charge straight at them.
The lead bulls faltered little. On they ran, their sharp hooves churning the prairie and raising clouds of acrid dust that was caught by the fierce wind and driven against man and beast to sting like a myriad of tiny needles.
Fear pricked Will, too. He’d heard that bison were as easily redirected as cattle. He sure hoped that was true because unless they turned soon, there wouldn’t be enough left of him to find, let alone bury in the churchyard.
“Yah, yah,” he shouted, continuing to point his pistol in the air and fire. If he’d had his rifle loaded and ready he’d have tried to drop the leaders. Since he didn’t have that option at the moment he’d just have to persevere. And pray fervently that his method was successful.
About the time Will was getting ready to wheel his horse and try to make a dash to safety, the bulls running in front of the herd began to lead the others in a wide arc, avoiding the longhorn herd—and its owner—by a goodly margin.
Satisfied, Will reined in and raised in his stirrups to survey the distant plains while heavy rain continued to fall. He couldn’t see much to the west through the sheeting water, but it had to be plenty bad over that way. It didn’t look much better in the direction of his ranch house, either.
Well, that couldn’t be helped. The steers were the most important thing he owned. They were his livelihood. Everything else could fairly easily be replaced if it was damaged. He just hoped they hadn’t had too many newborn spring calves trampled beneath the hooves of the frightened, milling cattle or knocked unconscious by the hail, and that the men chasing down stragglers hadn’t been harmed.
Shading his eyes and peering into the distance, he tried to make out any signs of the wagon train that he’d encountered in High Plains. They’d still been encamped when he’d left town. Hopefully, they weren’t caught in the maelstrom he could see from the hilltop. If they were, God help them.
Relative calm soon followed the twister. Emmeline awoke to feel rain bathing her hair, her face and what was left of her favorite calico frock. She sat up slowly and wiped her muddy hands on her skirt before pushing her long hair back. It was not only loose and hopelessly tangled, it was matted with bits of straw, mud and goodness-knows-what-else that had come from the prairie.
The cool rain helped bring her to her senses and she raised her face to the heavens to wash her cheeks and help clear the irritating motes from her eyes.
Blinking, she drew a deep, shaky breath. Her ribs hurt a tad when she did so, but she didn’t think they were broken. At least not badly. And although her head was pounding and she had to continually try to clear her vision, the rest of her seemed to be in pretty fair shape, except for a few small cuts and scrapes. But what about the others?
Her heart leaped, her senses fully returning. “Glory!”
Quickly scanning her surroundings, Emmeline tried to spot her baby sister. Her hopes were dashed when she failed. She staggered to her feet, bracing against the milder wind that remained, and cupped her hands around her mouth. “Glory, answer me. Where are you?”
Soft weeping was the only reply.
Following that sound she soon found the little girl seated on the ground, grasping her bent knees and rocking back and forth.
Emmeline knelt and took the child in her arms. “Praise the Lord! Are you all right, Glory, honey?”
“I want Mama.”
Mama. Emmeline’s heart sped like the horrid wind that had decimated their party as her thoughts finally caught up to harsh reality. Where was Mama?
She was glad the rain falling on her face masked her tears because when she turned and spotted the remains of all their worldly possessions she couldn’t help weeping openly. Their heavy wagon lay on its top, wheels in the air like the feet of a long-dead prairie dog, and there was no sign of Papa and Johnny.
Where Mama had ended up was another question. If she was still in the inverted wagon, there was no possible way Emmeline could free her. Not without help.
And, thanks to Papa’s stubbornness, there was no way to tell how long it would be before anyone else knew what had befallen them. No way at all.
“Dear Jesus, help us. Help us all,” she prayed in a whisper as she lifted her little sister and started to carry her toward the wreckage.
Glory clung to her neck and sobbed. Emmeline was so concerned about their mother’s fate she was nearly back to the wagon before it occurred to her that Bess and the twins were unaccounted for, too!
Saying another quick prayer for her sister and the eight-year-olds, Emmeline approached the upset wagon cautiously. She was afraid of letting Glory see death for the first time in her short life.
As a small child, Emmeline had watched her maternal grandmother’s passing and had never gotten that image out of her mind, even though it had been a peaceful scene. Seeing their dear mother injured, or worse, would be terribly hard for a five-year-old to bear.
Emmeline called, “Mama,” and was rewarded by an answering call. It was muffled, due to the positioning of the upturned wagon, but strong nevertheless. Her tears became those of relief and joy.
“Mama? Are you stuck under there?”
“Yes. Go get your papa to help you get me out.”
“Okay. I’ll leave Glory here to talk to you.”
Joanna’s voice broke. “My baby’s all right? You both are? I thought…I was afraid…”
“We’re fine, Mama. Wet and muddy but otherwise fine.” She placed the little girl next to the wagon and told her to stay there, realizing that that command probably wouldn’t have been necessary. The child was already fully engrossed in chattering to their mother and wiggling her tiny fingers through narrow cracks in the wagon bed while she related their harrowing adventure. The scene was so touching it brought fresh tears to Emmeline’s eyes.
Cautiously circling the broken wreckage and trying to avoid the small patches of piled-up hail that the rain had not yet melted, Emmeline came upon one of their faithful oxen lying dead in its traces. Apparently, when the wagon had flipped over, the abrupt motion had snapped that poor animal’s neck and it had fallen where it stood.
The other side of the double yoke had broken, freeing the surviving ox, Big Jack. He stood apart from the carnage, trembling and staring at the death scene but apparently unhurt.
Johnny stood beside the lumbering animal, hugging its muscular neck and weeping like the child he still was.
Knowing there was nothing to be done for the dead animal, Emmeline went to her brother and gently touched his shoulder. “Are you okay?”
He nodded rapidly, hiding his face from his sister by pressing it to Big Jack’s slick, brown hide.
“Where’s Papa?” She held her breath and waited for his answer, never dreaming he’d turn and point back at the wagon tongue.
With that, the boy began to wail in earnest.
Emmeline spun around, her heart pounding, her breath catching in her throat. He couldn’t mean…Her eyes widened with shock. Clearly, he did.
She’d been so upset over the death of the faithful ox, she’d failed to look beneath and partially next to it. There lay the proof of disaster. Amos had stubbornly held out until the last and his folly had cost him dearly. The immense carcass of the animal had crashed down on his head and chest and snuffed out his life.
Even as she checked for signs of a heartbeat, she knew without a doubt that it was too late to do anything for him.
Fresh tears sprang to her eyes. Her father may have been a tyrant but he was still part of her family, part of her life, of Mama’s life. And now he was gone. Forever.
As she returned to her mother and youngest sister, Emmeline swiped at her damp cheeks. She was upset with herself for losing control and even more upset with her father for risking all their lives by pressing onward when he knew there was imminent danger.
And, she had to admit, she was also disappointed that her prayers for their safety had not been honored. Why not? Why had God taken Papa from them? Why hadn’t Bess and the twins returned to them? And why was Mama trapped?
Realizing that she still had much to be thankful for, Emmeline sobered and sighed. They’d lost one ox, one man and many of their belongings. But she and Mama and Glory and Johnny were still alive and kicking. And Bess and the twins would probably wander back to what was left of their wagon any moment now. Given the severity of the tornado and its accompanying storm, they had probably fared better than many others who had been caught up in the same terrible calamity.
Emmeline cupped her hands around her mouth as she stepped to the edge of the trail where the muddy ruts ended and the grasslands began. “Bess?” she hollered. “Bess? Missy? Mikey? You can come back now!”
To her chagrin, no one answered and no one’s head popped up from the beaten-down, thickly matted grasses in the distance.
If she had been sure in which direction to search, Emmeline would have begun to look for them at once. As it was, however, she was so turned around, so disoriented, that she had no earthly idea where to start.
Therefore, her first task had to be to try to free her mother. After that, if Bess wasn’t back, she and Johnny could take turns staying by the wagon or working their way through the soggy vegetation in careful circles until they located the missing children.
Bess and the twins would be fine, Emmeline kept assuring herself.
She just wished she truly believed it was so.
Chapter Three
Will swung by his house, then backtracked to the High Plains settlement as soon as he felt certain his men could manage without him. His home was unscathed, but he was concerned about his friends. And, he was worried about the fate of the wagon train.
He huffed in self-disgust. Who was he kidding? It wasn’t the whole train he cared especially about, it was the young woman he’d met mere hours ago. He wanted to believe that her strength and spirit would ensure her safety, but he knew that wasn’t the case. It didn’t matter how capable or brave a person was, no one had the advantage when caught in a storm the likes of the one that had just passed over the area.
Groves of trees had been mowed down in a narrow swath leading directly to town. As he rode nearer he was flabbergasted by the damage to the buildings, too, not to mention the destruction of the less substantial tents and shacks along the river that had not yet been replaced by more sturdy construction. Many of those were not merely damaged, they were gone! Will paused to murmur a brief prayer for the new settlers. He hoped they had all found a safe place to weather the storm.
Judging by the brave souls who were out and about, picking through the rubble and surveying the destruction, most had taken shelter in time.
He paused to ask the closest survivors, “How is everybody?” and was relieved to hear that there had been no deaths reported, as yet.
The town hall, of which they had all been so proud, had been leveled as well, leaving nothing but the limestone rock foundation. Part of the roof was also off Pete Benjamin’s blacksmith shop and it appeared that some of the substantial stores along Main had been hard hit.
Will cantered upriver, in the direction of Zeb’s mill, slowing to allow his horse to choose its footing carefully in view of the debris. An amazing amount of refuse littered wide Main Street and it got worse along the narrower Mill Road that led west, toward the falls. There, although many of the trees still stood, they were missing their tops and their remaining branches held all sorts of rubbish, as if a giant, malevolent hand had discarded it there.
He passed a small group of wagons, also tattered and wrecked, before he encountered his old friend, hoofing it into town. “Zeb? You okay?” Will shouted, quickly dismounting to join him.
To his relief, Zeb answered in the affirmative. He had a slightly bloody handkerchief pressed to one temple and his clothes were filthy, but he seemed otherwise unscathed.
“I’ve been better,” Zeb said, dusting off his trousers with his free hand. “The mill’s a mess. I don’t think there’s even one shingle left, not to mention the heavier lumber. How about you?”
“My house made it and the rest of the Circle-L is fine, too, along with all the hands, thank the Lord. We headed off a stampede and kept the buffalo at bay. It was close though.”
“Sounds like you did better than we did,” Zeb said, grimacing and gesturing at the destruction all around him. “Look at this. It’s unbelievable.”
“Nothing that can’t be fixed,” Will told him, “as long as all the folks are okay. How about your sister?”
“Cassandra’s fine, thanks.”
“Good. Has anybody checked Pete’s? The livery stable didn’t look too good when I rode past. I didn’t see any sign of him or his farrier, Edward.”
“I’m going to organize a search party to cover everyone’s place and make sure they’re alive and kicking. What are you going to do now, go back to your spread or stay here and help us?”
Hesitating, Will was reluctant to admit what was nagging at his conscience. “I’ll help, of course. But first, I thought I might ride out and see how that wagon camp is faring.”
“Some of them pulled out before the storm. I warned them, but…”
Will muttered under his breath. “I can’t believe it. What was their wagon boss thinking? Didn’t he see the signs in the changing weather?”
“I wouldn’t worry. They probably didn’t get far,” Zeb said. “But you know settlers. They’re all alike. Once they get it into their heads that they have to press on, there’s no reasoning with them.” He paused and sighed. “Can’t tell about the ones who left. The ones that tarried certainly didn’t escape damage.”
“Did you happen to notice a wagon with a real pretty older daughter? She had blue eyes and a dress to match, and dark hair.” He blushed when his friend waggled his eyebrows and stared at him.
Zeb chuckled. “If I didn’t know you the way I do, Will Logan, I might think you were interested in her in a personal way. I thought you were looking for a widow woman with older children who just needed a home and hearth, not a swain.”
“I didn’t say I was going to court the girl,” Will said flatly. “But her father is a nasty old man, a lot like mine was, and she was having to take care of a wagonload of children, including some that weren’t her kin. It’s perfectly natural that I’d be concerned for my fellow man.”
