Karina Halle - Donners of the Dead

And so here it was. Time for me to go.

I took in a steadying breath, and while Aunt June held onto Sadie (which was completely unnecessary since Sadie wouldn’t go anywhere without me saying so), I put my foot in the stirrup and swung my leg over into the saddle. Somehow I was able to do so without my petticoats and pantaloons flashing everyone, which would have been a mortifying start to the adventure.

I looked down at my aunt and uncle and then over at the house. Though Rose was still sleeping as she did late into the mornings, I could see my mom at the window, her face pale through the glass.

“Tell my mother I’ll miss her,” I told Aunt June. “Tell her goodbye and I’ll be back. Make sure you take good care of her.”

She nodded, and I could have sworn her eyes got a little misty. I think it was the most I’d ever said about my mother to her.

“Oh, and say goodbye to Rose,” I said. “Tell her she’s free to take over my chores if she wishes.”

At that she smiled, both of us knowing that Rose would never have to work a day in her life.

I gave Uncle Pat a little wave which he barely acknowledged, and then coaxed Sadie out toward the group, hoping that the other horses were friendlier than their riders were. I started heading toward Donna and Avery when Tim called out.

“Actually, I would rather if you rode up here with me and Jake,” Tim said.

Was he being serious? I halted and looked over my shoulder at him. Mr. Snarl’s name was Jake and Tim wanted me at the front with him ?

Tim raised the brim of his hat to see me more clearly. “You’re the tracker after all. You need to be at the front with us at all times. Otherwise, how in the heck are we supposed to find anything?”

He had a point, and one I didn’t even think of before. I looked over at Donna with her neatly-tied bonnet and kind eyes, and Avery’s sculpted face, but they both stared back at me as if this was a good thing. I had kind of hoped that Avery would have insisted in being at the front too, to keep an eye on me, but he just smiled encouragingly.

I sighed and steered Sadie around, taking her past the three other men—Isaac, Mr. Scar Face, and the plump one—until I was right beside Tim, Jake on the other side of him.

“For safety’s sake, Jake will go first. You second. And I’ll be right behind.”

Safety’s sake? I’m sure the question was all over my face because Tim said, “Jake was in the Texas Rangers with me. We fought Monterey together. He’s the best shot I’ve ever met, the best horseman, and—if you believe the rumors—has killed a bear or two with only a pocketknife.”

As I took my place behind him, I actually could believe the rumors. With his broad, burly frame, scarred hands and rows of shotgun shells across his weathered vest, he was both manly and terrifying. I wasn’t sure if it was because he was such a man, a mounted time bomb of testosterone, that made him terrifying or if it was the other way around.

Maybe it was that up this close, his skin smelled warm and good, like toasted pine.

I made a sound like a squeak, immediately hating myself for being so noticeably intimidated. It didn’t matter. Jake had already turned around in the saddle, taking those fathomless eyes with him. With a barely perceptible motion, he signaled to his horse and we were off at a brisk trot.

For most of the ride that morning, as we left the small settlement of River Bend behind, the only home I’d ever known, Tim was chatting away in my ear, making introductions to everyone else in the party. There was, of course, Isaac, who was sitting right behind him. Then there was Mervin Meeks, the pot-bellied fellow, whom Tim said was a well-respected man who put up most of the money to fund the expedition. He’d been Isaac’s childhood friend and was always there to help. The rest I could figure out for myself. He was loud and boisterous, joking with Isaac most of the time. With Mervin in the group, silence was rare.

Then there was Mr. Scar, whose real name was Hank O’ Doyle, a man that scared me more than Jake did. Maybe because Jake never looked behind at me, yet every time I turned my head to make eye contact with Avery, Hank’s leering gaze was right there with his dead, grey eyes. It made me feel like I had centipedes crawling on my skin. The fact that Hank had a face like a badger and was ugly as sin didn’t help.

Tim kept Hank’s introduction short, saying that he rode with them in the Rangers and was crucial to many skirmishes. My guess was that if they ever needed someone ruthlessly killed behind closed doors, Hank was the one to do it. That didn’t make me feel any better.

I wished more than anything that I was riding in the back with Avery. Then I could at least be myself and not worry about saying or doing the wrong thing. While Jake never spoke, Tim asked me a million questions.

“What river is this here?” he asked as we rode along a path worn smooth by elk, aspen trees showing their early autumn gold on one side, the rushing dark water on the other.

“The Paiute Indians had another word for it, but I believe it’s now known as the Truckee River. At least, that’s what we had been told a few years ago. Named after Chief Truckee.”

“Paiute, huh?” Tim said. “Is that what you are?”

“It’s the tribe my father belonged to, yes.”

At that, Jake turned his head to the side and eyed me, as if he had to make sure I was in fact half Indian.

“Fell in love with a white girl, did he now?” Tim commented, almost to himself. “Well, it’s happened before. Just ain’t so common down where we’re from. See, in Texas, the Comanche and Cheyenne Indians…they aren’t always so friendly.”

Jake’s jaw stiffened before he turned back around, guiding us around a boulder.

I didn’t want to talk about my parents. Their relationship was beautiful and tragic and very private.

“Your pappy is dead, ain’t he?” I didn’t have to say anything. He continued, “I’m sorry about that. What happened to him?”

“I don’t know,” I said honestly. “One day he set out on a trek, trying to track a few cows that had escaped our neighbor’s farm. He never came back.”

He fell silent. In fact, everyone fell silent; even the river seemed to reduce down to a gurgle. I suppose our conversation could be heard down the line.

Soon enough though, Meeks started yapping away again, this time directed at Donna and Avery, and the attention was lifted off of me. Tim managed to cease with the questions, and I was able to just try and enjoy the ride.

The sun was shining and high like a gold penny in the sky, and there was a light breeze that rustled some of the loose leaves. I had worn one of my winter dresses and was glad for all the layers of flannel—the air was growing colder by the minute, though I needn’t reach for my thick shawl yet. I had been right about yesterday being the last hot day, especially as we made our way toward the mountains. I knew that realistically we wouldn’t get through them without some snow, I was just hoping it wouldn’t be the severe amount that trapped the Donner Party.

The curious thing about the Donners was that they never came through River Bend. If they had, I was sure Pa or someone else would have warned them about the long winter ahead. They would have been loaded up with supplies and urged to stay in town, and the whole tragedy could have been avoided. I’d heard they’d lost half the pioneers they were traveling with, that wagons had been left behind in the deserts of the Utah Territory before they even reached the Sierra Nevadas. Entire families were wiped out. And yet here we were, setting out after them with a team of eight, hoping to find…something.

What’s out there.