Chapter 15
FIFTEEN
ZINNIE
That baby of hers gets fatter by the day while Hattie’s wasting away!
I grunted in agreement despite Mama Ruth’s exaggeration.
My child wasn’t wasting away, but she felt less solid in my arms and that wasn’t a good thing. Her disposition was equally concerning. I disliked seeing Hattie go from gurgling and happy to constantly cranky. She wasn’t to blame when she had neither my full milk nor attention.
I’ve had two weeks of this woman’s pretense. Enough’s enough. I’m finished!
“Might as well drink it all ‘cause I’m not leaving ‘til you do.” I bounced Hattie on my hip and faced Dot, the Petersons’ wetnurse, daring her to spill one drop of tea. I didn’t care about the blistering morning compounding its heat. I was through with her deception and foolery.
“I need my milk for mine, Zinnie!”
“Same goes for me.”
Dot pointed at Hattie. “Yours is months older. Nurse the Petersons’ baby and give yours a sugar tit.”
My littlest bit startled when my voice became a feral hiss. I patted her back in a soothing manner as I leaned towards Dot, sweat dripping from my brow to my chin. “Drink it!”
“And if I don’t?”
“Miss Peterson’ll hear how you’ve been dumping that tea to avoid caring for her baby.”
We engaged in a stare-down until she relented, seeing I was serious. She shot me the evil eye and took slow sips, intentionally prolonging the process. Didn’t faze me any. I wasn’t moving until every drop made it down her gullet.
My bones felt ablaze as I watched her drink. I wasn’t unfeeling but I’d spent two weeks too many nursing her Peterson baby. That wasn’t my responsibility. It was Dot’s and she’d cleverly shirked it by not drinking the blessed thistle tea meant to boost her milk supply.
I knew the power of Mama Ruth’s roots and grew suspicious when she repeatedly claimed her milk was low, slow, and unreliable despite those daily doses.
All the while her own child blossomed. If Lovie hadn’t seen her toss the herbs I’d given her that morning in the bushes alongside the trail, my suspicions might’ve remained suspicions and nothing else.
I countered Dot’s deception by brewing a batch and serving it to her myself.
“There! You happy?”
I caught the empty tin cup the wetnurse thrust at me before stalking off to her morning duties. Finding only faint dregs at the bottom, I was pleased.
“Sis, you might wanna sleep with one eye open.” Lovie’s tired laughter filled the space behind me. “That woman’s none too happy.” She tickled Hattie underneath her chin, soliciting happy giggles despite the morning heat.
“Serves her right. She can’t go ‘round passing off her work with a passel of lies.” Ella dumped chicory from a coffee pot before scrubbing it clean. The plantation women were rationing. Again. But this time it wasn’t punitive.
Trading posts were few and far between, and food supplies were dwindling.
There were possums. Squirrels. And the children flushed out rabbits to catch. Still, the mainstay staples needed replenishing.
We’d stored, preserved, and dried food over the course of many moons in preparation for this journey.
That didn’t prevent plantation people’s concerns about their nourishment lasting the duration of the pilgrimage.
Their women took to overseeing our meal-making with the interest of buzzards circling a carcass.
There’re too many beans on that plate. Save the meat for Sundays. Pick berries and nuts along the way. Set traps for rabbits, possums, squirrels, and whatever else moseys into them. Get the nets and grab some fish. Remember we’re served first. Along with our children.
Their cautions were exhausting.
Goods on some of the wagons hadn’t even been touched. They were in reserve for the upcoming months. Coffee was now a luxury saved for Sundays. Chicory was the stand-in.
“Zinnie’s got enough to do without having to nurse a plantation baby.” Ella’s tone turned sly, mischievous. “Like making cornpone topped with peach preserves this evening.”
“Funny how that keeps finding its way on our plates since a certain blacksmith expressed a liking for it.”
Ella passed a kerchief over her sweaty face. “Lovie, that’s Zinnie’s way of showing appreciation for those fancy shoes she’s wearing.”
“Seems to me my sister can do better than sliding peaches on the man’s plate.”
Ella answered Lovie in a tone both sly and saucy. “She oughta slide him some of that good stuff that’ll make his whole soul shake.”
I sucked my teeth and ignored their cackling while situating Hattie in her harness in order to rewrap the cured meat that hadn’t been eaten.
“Both y’all need to get on away from here and quit talking foolish.
” I looked down at the brogans padded with fabric scraps to minimize chafing due to their being too big.
“And there’s nothing fancy about ’em. But they get the job done. ”
And that was more than enough. As was the smile that lifted Buck’s mouth whenever he saw me wearing them. They were a generous gift and forever appreciated.
“Y’all think we’re walking a long way today?” I looked from Ella to Lovie, who had the children lined up, cleaning their hands and faces.
“Lord, I pray not. This Nebraska sunrise is already sucking the juice from my eyes.”
I waved Ella’s nonsense away and zoned in on my sister, whose pregnancy—in my estimation—was two months or more from its end.
Last night she’d tossed and turned on her oxcart, beneath a black, molten sky and blazing stars.
Seemed as if her restlessness didn’t end until just before the wake-up bell clanged.
Now, dense fatigue draped her body, her being.
“Once we’re out a ways, you’re riding, Lovie. Same as yesterday.”
“I’m fine, Zinnie.”
Ella disagreed. “You’re about as fine as a three-legged cow with crooked knees.”
“You can’t be calling me a cow, Ella, with your duck-toed feet.”
“That’s enough, you two,” I cautioned when the children took to giggling. “You little bits, help us get everything back on the carts. We’re leaving in a few.”
I finished packing breakfast remnants, wishing for the cool of the larder back on the homestead.
It hadn’t been much, just a cupboard space big enough for a body to squeeze in.
It was on the northern side of the house beneath towering trees and stayed cool with the aid of the ice blocks the Tollivers could only afford to buy once each month from the ice wagon.
On summer days like this, Lovie, Ella, and I took turns stealing moments in its coolness.
I know you not wishing for anything in Mississippi.
I shook my head, knowing little of Salt Lake Valley but certain Mississippi wasn’t anything I ever wanted to see again. “Let’s finish up. Scout’ll be ringing that bell soon enough.”
Despite the lethargy-making morning heat we managed to dismantle the camp and repack the wagons before the signal sounded.
With the children back aboard the oxcarts, we rolled out without a hitch, thankful for having made it through Kansas without dark funnels and only the hint of black clouds in the distance.
Despite plantation people’s fears of encountering Natives, “sightings” never manifested and their concerns were unfounded, leaving us to continue our Nebraska trek unscathed but scalded.
That floppy straw hat of mine was little defense against the sun’s fiery fingers singeing our heads.
Sweat showered our skin. Even the children had little to say and were listless.
Courtesy of relentless heat they were nicely browned.
Sun-baked. I confined Hattie to a basket in her siblings’ care, despite her protests, for her own sake.
The buckets, flasks, and canteens filled at the last creek now held warm water that did little for cooling.
The summer heat had to be a foretaste of Hades. “Lovie… how you doing?”
“Fair to middling.”
I eyed my sister curled up on her side, unable to hide her discomfort or resist my demands that she ride rather than walk.
Since leaving Mississippi, Ella and I had taken turns keeping her company, but Lovie’s pace had decreased to the point that walking with her was barely moving.
Now, she was our stowaway hidden on the last oxcart until a plantation person headed in our direction and we pulled her up and off.
Her riding was against instructions, risky.
But my sister’s wellbeing was in question.
She waddled more than walked and taking full breaths was difficult in this heat.
Her appetite had gotten fickle. Sometimes I had to coax her to eat, and her hands and feet were swollen by the end of most days.
I couldn’t watch her walk herself into an early grave.
Fix her a little rosemary and honey to get up her strength.
Acknowledging Mama Ruth’s instructions, I pressed forward with the aid of my staff as sweat rolled down my back. Its cooling properties lasted the briefest moment before warming into streams of itchiness.
“Hold on, sis. That settlement ain’t too far from here.” I offered encouragement even while wanting to rip off the long sleeves protecting me from the burning sting of the sun.
Winter Quarters oughta be coming up soon.
It was all these plantation people seemed to care about of late, getting to this settlement that would also connect us to the Mormon Trail.
They congregated before bed each evening, mouths filled with praise for their beloved Mormon king who—with the aid of the U.S.
government—negotiated a lease agreement with the Omaha and Potawatomi Indians.
“Brigham Young was wise to build a waystation and settlement for Mormon sojourners on this mecca.”
“Glory to God who gave him the vision for Winter Quarters.”
“Amen, and it’s certainly needed! Without a safe place to rest during the year’s coldest season our brothers and sisters could know a fate like the Donner party. Brother Brigham has proven time and again that he is indeed the Lion of the Lord most high.”
In their eyes he was everything save the Messiah Jesus Christ.