Rosanne Bittner - Walk By Faith

“He’s killing my husband!” she wailed.

Michael and several other men moved in and grabbed Dawson away while the man he’d beaten slumped to the ground beside a wagon wheel. It took five men to gain control of Dawson, who finally shook them off and told them to leave him alone. The man’s wife ran to her husband, and the young boy stood there crying and looking at Dawson.

“Now he’ll beat me worse because of what you did,” he sobbed.

“No, he won’t,” Dawson vowed. “Because if he does, I’ll be back! I’ll lay welts on him that will never heal!” He brushed himself off and bent down to pick up his hat, which had been knocked off in the skirmish. He plunked it on his head and turned. It was then he recognized Michael. He looked at the man strangely, then scanned the crowd to see Clarissa standing there with Sophie in her arms.

Still breathing heavily, he limped toward them. Clarissa noticed his knuckles were bloody, and there was a cut on his left cheek. A bruise was quickly forming around it.

“I’m sorry you had to see that,” he told Clarissa. “And you, ma’am,” he added, looking at Carolyn.

Clarissa could still see the rage in his blue eyes, lurking there behind those dark clouds. “You did what you felt you had to do,” Carolyn told him.

Clarissa looked away, not sure what to say or what to think of him now that she’d seen the violent side of the man.

“Hi, Mistoo Clement,” Sophie spoke up. She seemed not at all intimidated by Dawson’s bloody, disheveled look. “You got a owie,” she added, pointing to his cheek.

Dawson’s whole countenance changed when he addressed the little girl. “Hello, Sophie,” he told her.

“Do you still got a owie on you leg?” she asked.

Dawson removed his hat and smoothed back his hair, which was still extremely thick and wavy even though he’d obviously had it trimmed. His face was clean shaven, and even more handsome, with a square jaw and deep-set eyes. He replaced the hat, glancing at Carolyn. “The leg is much better. It still pains me now and then, but I never got an infection, and the wound has closed. I expect I have you to thank for that, Mrs. Graham.”

Why did this man have a way of somehow moving her deeply? “I’m glad I was able to help.”

“You nearly killed that man, you know,” Michael told him.

“Maybe I should have. The boy and his mother would probably be better off.”

“‘Vengeance is mine, sayeth the Lord.’”

Dawson rolled his eyes. “Yeah, well, maybe the Lord uses some of us to wreak that vengeance,” he answered. “I happen to have a short fuse when it comes to treating a helpless child like that.”

“Quite obvious,” Michael answered with raised eyebrows.

Dawson nodded to the women, then brushed past them to get his horse. He mounted up and rode closer, pointing to a huge oak tree on a hill in the distance. “See that tree?”

Clarissa shaded her eyes. “Yes.”

“That’s where I’m camped,” he told them. “I have rounded up about eight families heading for Montana. I wasn’t going to take on any more than that, since it might be too much to handle, but you three and the little girls are welcome to join us if you’re still looking for a guide. We’re hoping to head out in five or six days, unless we get a lot of rain. Come on over tonight and camp with us if you like. That will give you a chance to get to know some of the others and make up your mind if you want to travel with us.”

“Is there a preacher among your group?” Michael asked.

Dawson scowled. “No. I suppose you think they need one?”

“Of course they do,” Michael answered, giving Dawson a smile and a wink. “I imagine they’d appreciate having one along. They are Christian people, aren’t they?”

“I suppose. I didn’t bother asking,” Dawson answered, obviously irritated by the question.

“Well, then we’ll come by and get acquainted,” Michael told him.

“Suit yourself. Just don’t expect me to be part of any praying or preaching.”

“I wouldn’t dream of asking you,” Michael answered with a teasing note to the words.

Dawson nodded. “Good.” He glanced at Clarissa. “See you later then.” He turned his horse and rode away, and some of those who’d watched the fight stared after him.

“Did you see what he did?” someone commented.

“A very violent man,” said another.

Michael turned to Carolyn and Clarissa. “What do you two think? Should we join his group?”

“I think we should do whatever you feel is right, Michael,” Clarissa answered. “After all, I’m more or less the tagalong on this venture. You’re the one who should make the major decisions.” She was not about to admit that the thought of traveling with Dawson Clements filled her with a strange, pleasant excitement, mixed with apprehension. She realized that ever since the day she’d nursed his leg, she’d been hoping they might run into him again. Still, after what they’d just witnessed…

“Well, I say we give it a try,” Michael said. “I’m thinking the Lord wants us to go just because Dawson Clements is the guide. I have a feeling God means for me to do something to help that man, much as he’d resent it. There is something about him that strikes the heart.”

Yes, there is, Clarissa thought. She liked the fact that there was nothing fake or pretentious about the man. Clements didn’t try to pour on the charm like Chad would do. He had an air of honesty and no nonsense about him. Dawson seemed to be a man who meant what he said and very likely a man who did not break promises or lie to get what he wanted. He was nothing like Chad, and perhaps that was what she liked most about him.

May 1, 1863

Clarissa switched her lead oxen and shouted, “Giddap!” She’d practiced driving the four-oxen team for the past two weeks and felt confident she could handle them. The man who’d sold the animals to Michael told him that by the time they reached their destination, they would be very attached to the poor beasts that would haul them and their belongings all the way to Montana.

Already Clarissa could tell the man was right about getting attached. She’d already named the four that pulled her wagon, Moo, Bee, Sadie and Jack. Buck and Betsy were tied to the back of her wagon for spares, so the animals could be rotated to avoid too much work for any one of them. She already knew each ox by its distinctive markings. Michael thought she was silly to name them, but for some reason that made it easier for her to handle them. She just hoped she had the strength to keep up with them and to help hitch and unhitch them every day.

She hated the fact that Michael usually had to help, especially yoking them whenever the oxen would not properly hold still. She had no doubt that by the time she reached Montana, she might be built like a man for all her hard work.

They headed toward Dawson’s camp at the big oak tree in the distance. Michael and Carolyn took two wagons—Michael’s pulled by six oxen because of an extraheavy load of farm tools and books, including a supply of Bibles and hymnals, donated by others for his new church.

Carolyn’s wagon carried lighter household necessities, and Lena and Sophie rode together in it, bouncing around atop a pile of quilts and having a joyous time. Clarissa thought how oblivious the girls were to the difficulties that surely lay ahead. She prayed things would remain that way—that nothing would happen to either child and they wouldn’t end up stranded and starving to death.

The latter seemed unlikely, as they had packed plenty of food. Distributed among all three wagons was dried beef, rice, tea, spices, dried fruit, beans, baking soda, flour, sugar, baking powder, canned pickles, bacon, potatoes, sweet potatoes, large tubs filled with plenty of lard for packing fresh meat to preserve it, salt, coffee, wheat, oats, cornmeal. She kept reviewing the list in her mind, worried they’d missed something.