Chapter 29: Celebration

 

Jenny fussed over her appearance as she dressed for Esther’s wedding. She’d made a collar from the lace Mrs. Jenkins gave her in Independence, but she didn’t have any nice clothes. All she had were drawstring skirts and baggy shirtwaists that hung over her bulging stomach. But then, no one cared how she looked.

She braided her hair and pinned it up. She thought it was still pretty, though she didn’t have a mirror to check.

It was almost time for the ceremony, and Mac wasn’t ready. “You are going, aren’t you?” she asked as he sat writing.

“Give me a minute.” He shut his journal and climbed in the wagon. Jenny found a jar of honey to take with the cornbread she’d baked for the wedding feast. “Ready,” Mac said, stepping down from the wagon. “Let’s go.” He took the cornbread dish from her.

His clean blue shirt matched his eyes, and black slicked-down hair touched the collar. He’d shaved recently. She rarely noticed how handsome he was—it didn’t matter to her. He would make some girl a good husband. He was responsible and easy to look at. She hoped he’d find someone to replace Bridget in his heart.

Across the camp several tarps draped between wagons formed a covered pavilion. A rough table of boards laid across barrels was already laden with pots and dishes.

Children ran around under the canvas shouting. Mrs. Pershing bustled about, wheezing for breath. She ordered Mac to set the cornbread on the table.

Esther wore her pale blue frock with the yellow flowers and a blue ribbon braided through her golden curls. “See what Mrs. Tuller gave me,” she said to Jenny, touching the ribbon. “Something new and blue. Like my dress. And Mrs. Tuller made me a quilt, too. And Ma gave me this old bit of lace. It was her ma’s before her. And I borrowed Rachel’s locket.”

“You look beautiful, Esther,” Jenny said, hugging her friend.

The Abercrombies stood apart from the crowd. Mrs. Abercrombie smiled, and Jenny went over to the small, meek woman. “Congratulations,” she said with a little curtsy. “I hope Daniel and Esther will be very happy.”

Samuel Abercrombie snorted, as his wife thanked Jenny.

The preacher arrived and began, “Dearly beloved, . . . ” A beaming Esther and stammering Daniel said their vows.

What a wonderful wedding, Jenny thought, even in this wilderness. Esther had what she always wanted—a man to love her. Jenny sobbed as she wondered whether she would ever marry—ever want to marry—and whether any man would ever love her. Mac’s arm came gently around her shoulder. She tensed, then leaned into his comfort.

After the vows, they feasted. Fiddles and harmonicas played, and as dusk approached dancing began. The rain ended, and a soft sunset filled the fresh evening air.

Jenny sat on a log watching the merriment. Esther danced with Daniel, with her father, then with a parade of other men, young and old. She waved at Jenny each time she whirled by.

Mac came and stood over Jenny. “Let’s dance,” he said.

“I’ve told you, I don’t know how.”

“It’s expected. This is a wedding.” He pulled her to her feet. “Relax,” he said, smiling. “I’ll lead. Listen to the music. Move with it.”

The lively jig did make her want to dance. So she did—better than the last time she’d tried.

The next tune was a waltz. Many of the older couples sat down. Mrs. Pershing shook her head and muttered, “Indecent.”

Jenny turned to leave. “I don’t know how to waltz.”

“It’s easy,” Mac said. “I waltzed in Boston for years.”

Mrs. Pershing stood off to the side with her lips pursed. Then Jenny saw Mrs. Tuller leading the doctor out to dance. “All right,” she said.

Mac placed his hand on her waist and pulled her closer, until her stomach almost touched his. She smiled up at him. Their eyes met, and she glanced away, afraid she was blushing.

“You don’t even reach my chin,” he said as they swirled. “Are you ever going to grow?”

Jenny stiffened and missed a step. “I’m tall enough.”

“I suppose.”

After the waltz Jenny claimed she was tired and sat. She watched Mac skip by with Esther, then with Rachel and other women. He even took a turn with Mrs. Tuller.

Later Zeke asked her to dance. “No, thank you,” she said. “I’ve had enough.” Zeke sat with her until the shivaree began.

“What’s a shivaree?” Mac asked.

Jenny laughed. “We had them in New Orleans. And Missouri, too. We serenade the newlyweds. No shivarees in Boston?”

He shook his head.

“Grab a pot and make some noise.”

Zeke and Joel pulled Mac along with them. The young men banged pots and pans and shot a rifle into the air while they escorted the newly married couple to a wagon pulled just outside the main camp. Esther hid her face in Daniel’s shoulder when he lifted her into the wagon.

After watching, Jenny excused herself and went back to her wagon. By light from an oil lamp, she wrote:

 

Saturday, July 3rd—Esther and Daniel are married. I hope they remain as happy as they are today. I waltzed with Mac.

A loud boom awakened Jenny in the morning. She dressed hurriedly and climbed out of the wagon. “What was that?” she asked.

Mac stood staring at the top of Independence Rock. “A cannon.”

“Cannon?”

“Soldiers from Laramie are here on patrol. Brought a cannon with them.”

“They pulled a cannon all the way from Fort Laramie?”

“No worse than some of the thingamajigs the emigrants bring. At least a cannon provides protection. But they hauled it to the top of the rock.” He sounded amused.

“Heavens!” was all Jenny could say as the cannon boomed again.

“It’s the Fourth of July,” Mac said. “How did you celebrate back home?”

She shrugged. “Mama didn’t pay much attention. Papa liked a good parade.”

“In Boston there’s always a big parade.” Mac grinned. “Children waving flags. Old soldiers marching. One old man was a drummer in the Revolutionary War.”

“There’s another big dinner at noon,” Jenny said. “May I ride Poulette this morning?”

“I’ll saddle both horses,” Mac said. “We’ll ride along the Sweetwater.”

As they left, Esther and Daniel, hand in hand, returned to the main campsite. Jenny waved, and the newlyweds waved back.

Mac led her along the Sweetwater to Devil’s Gate. “We hunted here two days ago.” He pointed at the narrow gap in the granite crags. “Pershing told me the Indian legend. They say the Great Spirit told them to hunt a huge beast. But the beast carved that gap with its tusks to escape. It disappeared through the gap and was never seen again. What a strange notion.”

Jenny smiled. “No stranger than our tales of dragons. Like Saint George.”

“No one believes those fairy tales,” Mac scoffed.

“You’d be surprised what people believe in New Orleans. Voodoo and magic.”

Mac pointed at a cliff above them. “We saw Indian graves all through the bluffs when we hunted. There’s one.”

Jenny winced. “I don’t like being around the dead. Indian or white.”

They returned to camp, splashing through the river bed. “The wagons will have to cross the Sweetwater several times,” Mac said. “But you can see—it’s not deep like the Kaw, nor as wide as the Platte.”

Jenny worried nevertheless. The Sweetwater here was green and lovely—would it remain so as they climbed the mountains?

Esther ran over to Jenny when they reached their wagon. “Come help me get ready for dinner,” she said.

“I need to make my own dish,” Jenny said.

“It’ll just take a minute,” Esther pleaded, pulling Jenny’s arm.

“I’ll see to the horses,” Mac said. “Go on.”

Esther linked her arm with Jenny’s. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Tell you what?”

“How wonderful being with a man is.”

Jenny stared at Esther. “It isn’t all wonderful,” Jenny finally said, shaken that Esther had found pleasure in what she had felt as violation.

She returned to her campsite and fried mutton with wild onions and sage. The sage along the route was more bitter than that in the garden at home, but it did flavor the meat. She didn’t have any pretty plates like some women did. The frying pan would have to do.

After the emigrants feasted again, children banged pots like drums, and soldiers set off the cannon once more.

“We’ll head out early tomorrow,” Pershing told his company.

They spent the evening packing. When she finished, Jenny eased herself down on an overturned bucket to write:

 

Sunday, July 4th—We have rested for three days and celebrated. Tomorrow we return to the trail. More rivers to cross.

On Monday they broke camp after a quick breakfast in light rain. Jenny found herself walking beside Mrs. Pershing and some of her brood.

“Where’s Esther?” Jenny asked.

“With the Abercrombies.” Mrs. Pershing sighed. “I miss her already. She was a help with meals and young ’uns. Rachel can’t do it all. Ruthie’s too young.”

“Esther’s still here,” Jenny said.

“It ain’t the same. She’ll have her own doings now.”

“She seems happy with Daniel.”

Mrs. Pershing nodded. “That she does. And I’m pleased to have her settled.”