Read Online The Promised Land (Destiny's Dreamers Book 2) by Kathleen Karr - Free Book Online
Authors: Kathleen Karr
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Pa?’’
Johnny had his free arm around his wife and still sleeping daughter. “Never mind, son. You’ll grow up soon enough.’’
Jamie scuffed pebbles before him, grumbling. “That’s what you always say.’’
The rattlesnake stew was not half bad. But afterwards, with the children asleep, it seemed to keep Maggie awake, her head buzzing.
“We haven’t finished talking it all out yet, Johnny.’’
His drowsy head poked up from his blanket.
“What?’’
“You did it again today. You acted instinctively. Dangerously.’’
“You’d rather starve?’’
“That, that thing was within body length of us. It could have struck out at you, at any of us.’’
“It had a full belly, and other matters on its mind.’’
“But what if, Johnny? What if?’’
He sighed and rolled back to his side of the bedroll.
“This trip has been teaching me that life is nothing more than a lot of ifs. Should we stop to consider each one we’d never get anywhere, no less to Oregon. Things have happened to each of us, even between us, but we’re still alive, Meg. Our children are thriving. You can’t ask for anything more. And you can’t ask me to stop and seriously consider every move that I make in future. I’m not just a bookman anymore!’’
He was propped up on an elbow now. “Sometimes events take over. There’s no time for working out the logic, like so many ancient Greeks sitting around the marketplace diagraming life and eternity. We’re making a new world out here, Meg. There’s no room for philosophers in it, only for the man of action.’’
Maggie sat up. Johnny sighed at her. The moon pricked through their tent here and there, softly outlining her face.
“It’s just that . . . Well, you weren’t the one left in that Pawnee village, Johnny. You weren’t the one who had to think for hours, hours that seemed more like eternity, of the real possibility of spending the rest of your days in that place. Staying there with people who would only understand you so far, and never any farther. At moments like that, books, and the life we had planned for ourselves in Oregon . . . they all seemed very important. You remember, Johnny! We talked it over so many times! We’d build a real house for ourselves at last. We’d set up the press and maybe begin a little newspaper. We’d bring words into a raw place! Words soften the rough edges of things. They make people more human.’’
“I haven’t changed the plan, Meg. I might do it with a little more aplomb, is all.’’
She looked down into his dark eyes, onto the outline of his face. “Are you sure?’’
Anger spread over that face. An anger she was unused to seeing.
“Can’t you understand? I’m not sure of anything anymore!’’
He hardly heard her return, it was so low, so halting.
“Not even us?’’
Johnny’s anger faded. “You’re trying me badly, but I think I’ll keep you for another little while.’’
Maggie knew his last words had been in jest. She lay back in the dark, watching her husband sleep, satisfied for the moment.
EIGHT
The Chandler party laid over at Independence Rock for the Fourth of July. The massive outcrop of granite had risen ahead of them for days, giving them strength to move forward. The Platte was behind, the Sweet Water River by the Rock sorely needed. Camp was organized between the Rock’s base and the river before noon, freeing the livestock to roam toward the water
The women immediately set in to their washing, Fourth of July or not. The men, however, set about celebrating. Jarboe, Smith and Simpson had chipped in for a jug of white lighting at Laramie. Now they unplugged it and too generously offered it around. By mid-afternoon most of the men and older boys were feeling uproarious. They were shooting at targets for wagers, setting up wrestling matches, and otherwise letting off steam. Even Johnny, who’d rarely before touched the stuff, had succumbed.
He sauntered over to his
Johnny had his free arm around his wife and still sleeping daughter. “Never mind, son. You’ll grow up soon enough.’’
Jamie scuffed pebbles before him, grumbling. “That’s what you always say.’’
The rattlesnake stew was not half bad. But afterwards, with the children asleep, it seemed to keep Maggie awake, her head buzzing.
“We haven’t finished talking it all out yet, Johnny.’’
His drowsy head poked up from his blanket.
“What?’’
“You did it again today. You acted instinctively. Dangerously.’’
“You’d rather starve?’’
“That, that thing was within body length of us. It could have struck out at you, at any of us.’’
“It had a full belly, and other matters on its mind.’’
“But what if, Johnny? What if?’’
He sighed and rolled back to his side of the bedroll.
“This trip has been teaching me that life is nothing more than a lot of ifs. Should we stop to consider each one we’d never get anywhere, no less to Oregon. Things have happened to each of us, even between us, but we’re still alive, Meg. Our children are thriving. You can’t ask for anything more. And you can’t ask me to stop and seriously consider every move that I make in future. I’m not just a bookman anymore!’’
He was propped up on an elbow now. “Sometimes events take over. There’s no time for working out the logic, like so many ancient Greeks sitting around the marketplace diagraming life and eternity. We’re making a new world out here, Meg. There’s no room for philosophers in it, only for the man of action.’’
Maggie sat up. Johnny sighed at her. The moon pricked through their tent here and there, softly outlining her face.
“It’s just that . . . Well, you weren’t the one left in that Pawnee village, Johnny. You weren’t the one who had to think for hours, hours that seemed more like eternity, of the real possibility of spending the rest of your days in that place. Staying there with people who would only understand you so far, and never any farther. At moments like that, books, and the life we had planned for ourselves in Oregon . . . they all seemed very important. You remember, Johnny! We talked it over so many times! We’d build a real house for ourselves at last. We’d set up the press and maybe begin a little newspaper. We’d bring words into a raw place! Words soften the rough edges of things. They make people more human.’’
“I haven’t changed the plan, Meg. I might do it with a little more aplomb, is all.’’
She looked down into his dark eyes, onto the outline of his face. “Are you sure?’’
Anger spread over that face. An anger she was unused to seeing.
“Can’t you understand? I’m not sure of anything anymore!’’
He hardly heard her return, it was so low, so halting.
“Not even us?’’
Johnny’s anger faded. “You’re trying me badly, but I think I’ll keep you for another little while.’’
Maggie knew his last words had been in jest. She lay back in the dark, watching her husband sleep, satisfied for the moment.
EIGHT
The Chandler party laid over at Independence Rock for the Fourth of July. The massive outcrop of granite had risen ahead of them for days, giving them strength to move forward. The Platte was behind, the Sweet Water River by the Rock sorely needed. Camp was organized between the Rock’s base and the river before noon, freeing the livestock to roam toward the water
The women immediately set in to their washing, Fourth of July or not. The men, however, set about celebrating. Jarboe, Smith and Simpson had chipped in for a jug of white lighting at Laramie. Now they unplugged it and too generously offered it around. By mid-afternoon most of the men and older boys were feeling uproarious. They were shooting at targets for wagers, setting up wrestling matches, and otherwise letting off steam. Even Johnny, who’d rarely before touched the stuff, had succumbed.
He sauntered over to his
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