Chapter 32

A loud moan pulled Christina from her dream. She blinked several times, wondering whether it had come from her mother again, whose moaning woke her a few times a night, or if the moaning issued from her own throat this time. She shivered as the dream replayed in her mind. Surely, her dream had not been a premonition, but merely a nightmare. Her family couldn’t be in danger.

Another moan reached her ears and she groped around in the blackness, searching for the candle and matches. Her hand brushed against the candle, and she set about trying to light the wick in the dark. On the third strike of the match, their darkened wagon erupted into light and Christina turned back to face her mother who lay in troubled slumber. As softly as she could, she lifted her mother’s hand, stroking the aging skin. She sought to coax her mother from her unrest with words of strength and encouragement, silently praying that some of her own strength would transfer to the fragile body lying beside her.

Her mother’s restlessness tempted her to lean out of the wagon and call to her father or brother, but decided it would be pointless. They couldn’t help her mother sleep any better, and the wagon master wouldn’t be pleased if she called a halt over something as minuscule as an apparent nightmare. She was a little surprised however, that no one had heard her mother’s disturbed moans and come to check anyway.

Even though the doctor had sedated her earlier, she vaguely recalled wakening at least four times throughout the night, sitting with and reassuring her mother until Carlotta returned to a peaceful sleep. Perhaps if her own sleep had been more restful, she too would not have heard the moans.

“Is everything all right in there, Sis? I see the candle lit,” Thomas whispered loudly through the lowered canvas.

Christina released her mother’s hand and shuffled to the rear of the wagon. “Mom’s just having a hard time sleeping, Thomas,” she whispered back.

“Anything I can do?” Thomas asked, seeing his sister’s head peer from the rear flap.

“I don’t think so.”

“Maybe I can ride over and get another sedative for Mom to take. Maybe help her sleep a little better?”

“I don’t think that will be necessary, Thomas. It will be daylight in a few hours. Too late to take anything now. Besides, Mom doesn’t really need any help sleeping; she’s been doing enough sleeping to make up for all the sleepless nights of everyone in this wagon train.”

“It does seem that way, doesn’t it?” Thomas concurred. “You think she’s going to make it all the way to Texas?” He asked worriedly.

“Of course she is,” Christina answered with more conviction than she felt, for Thomas had voiced her own concerns. “And when we get there, we’ll get a good doctor to look her over and maybe hire someone to nurse her back to health.”

“Sounds good,” Thomas said, “if you can convince Father to part with the money it’ll take for that.”

“It’s his wife, for heaven’s sake! Of course he will part with the money.” Another loud moan drew her attention. “Mom’s sleep is restless. I’m going to go back to sit with her.”

“Okay, but let me know if you need me for anything.”

“I will, Thomas. Thanks.”

“And Sis? How are you feeling? Looks like you’ve gotten over whatever shocked you, although you still look a bit bedraggled.”

“Just lack of sleep,” she said, not mentioning her encounter, or her brother’s observations over her current appearance. She lowered the flap and returned to her mother’s side.

“Want me to raise the side flap?” Thomas asked a second later. She thought he’d already ridden away.

“No,” Christina responded in a loud whisper. “We could use the fresh air, but I don’t want the noise to disturb Mom.”

“Let me know if you change your mind,” Thomas yelled softly, but Christina didn’t respond further. She watched her mother’s head toss restlessly from side to side and sighed. Looking down into her gaunt face, she wondered, yet again, what they were supposed to do about her rapidly deteriorating health. She slept so much that she barely ate, and even when they could rouse her long enough to eat, she merely nibbled at the food. Unbelievably, she’d lost even more weight. The clothes that had started hanging on her body before they left now looked like a potato sack hanging on a scarecrow.

Sitting quietly, she watched her mother’s labored breathing and wondered just how many days she had left in her. Would she even be strong enough to make the last two weeks of the journey so they could get her much-needed medical attention?

As the hours ticked by, Christina continued to whisper words of strength and encouragement, and hour by precious hour, Carlotta’s spirit faded. Even in repose, there was a sadness surrounding her, which no amount of encouragement could ease. It was as if her decision that this move wasn’t for her, was causing her body to shut down; as if she were taunting the angel of death to come and claim her body. Christina felt a shudder run through her mother’s body and tightened her grip slightly.

Looking into her mother’s disturbed features, she reflected again, on just how different she and her mother were. Her mother was physically and mentally incapable of dealing with the unpleasantness that life sometimes dealt, having been too sheltered. Even giving birth had been an ordeal for her, a duty to her husband through which she very literally suffered. She’d given her husband two strong children and had nearly died trying to give him a third. The child died instead. She was done. There would be no more children, but she wasn’t perturbed by the notion, for she’d performed her wifely duty.

Traveling to this barren land was also no more than a wifely duty, one she had endured stoically, but as with the birthing of her third child, it was killing her; however, this time she appeared disinclined to fight death, but seemed to welcome it. As the sun rose in the Eastern horizon, Carlotta Carthington drew her last breath nestled in her daughter’s arms. It took a moment for Christina to realize that the rise and fall of her mother’s chest had stopped, and she simply sat watching the still figure. When it registered, she lifted her mother’s head and laid it on her lap, gently stroking her hair, tears of sorrow trailing silently down her dusty cheeks.

She knew that she should call out for her father and brother, but was temporarily unwilling to share her grief. When she could cry no more, she lowered her mother from her embrace and crawled stiffly to the back of the wagon. Thomas knew immediately, by the stricken look on her face, that something was wrong.

“Call a halt to the wagons, Thomas,” Christina’s voice cracked and she had to stop a moment before continuing.

“What’s happened?”

“It’s Mother. She’s passed on.”

The wagons slowed to a halt. The doctor came by and officially pronounced that a severe case of malnutrition had caused Carlotta Carthington’s death, but Christina knew that she’d really died of a broken heart.

So again, the trip was delayed just long enough to bury another from their dwindling few in a simple unmarked grave, in a strange land, far away from the home she loved. Christina stood by the open grave. Angry tears fell unchecked down her face, one hand tightly gripping Thomas’s, the other clinging to Maggie’s.

This wouldn’t have happened had we stayed in Georgia, her mind shouted. Her gaze lifted and locked onto Jeffrey’s. This is your fault, her narrow, angry gaze accused, but his cold blue eyes merely pierced hers as if to say unconcernedly, ‘I told you this could happen’.

She lowered her eyes and stared blankly at the dried, caking mud that clung to her shoes.

I know you’ll be watching me from heaven, Mother, she said in her mind, so you will probably know soon enough that I don’t intend to marry that cold-hearted b*****d standing across the way. I only hope that you can forgive me in death, as I know you would never have been able to in life. I do love you so. I always will, and I pray that you find true peace and rest now.

Author's Note

All of my books are available on Amazon: Kindle, Hard copy, Lending Library (author, Barbara Woster)