The Promised Land (Destiny's Dreamers Book 2) by Kathleen Karr Page A

her precious tinned sweet biscuits, why that was just being neighborly.
    Maggie retired early with the children in the book wagon, leaving her husband alone with the tent. It was a wise decision in light of the reign of terror that descended nightly from voracious mosquitoes, but it did nothing to improve either of their states of mind. Johnny would wake up, itchy and cranky, longing for the balm of his wife’s smile. When it was not forthcoming he’d go in search of one that he knew was.
    The drought continued. Even the fine ladies of the Donner Party began to wilt. The wagons crossed and recrossed the swift currents of the Sweet Water and were hit with clouds of sand and dust, dimming the sky and sage-covered hills, penetrating everything. Then they had the ill luck to have their cattle fill themselves with bad water at an alkali marsh.
    It was the noon break again, and the wet depression seemed very inviting. The emigrants loosed their stock. Too late they tested of the water themselves. The recalcitrant animals would not be chased away, or even stampeded from their drinks, but when filled lay down with pitiful groans and could not be moved.
    The Stuart’s wagon had been to the rear of the line again~for once a saving grace. Johnny had not yet freed their oxen before worried friends came running back. Johnny left the poor beasts yoked, struggling to reach the water they smelled, tongues lolling, breasts heaving.
    The Donner group was hardest hit. They’d insisted on barreling ahead that morning, saying they hadn’t officially signed on with the Chandler party, and couldn’t be constrained by its rules. Even with this insult Maggie could not but feel sorry for the new party. Scores of oxen were lying bloated around the marsh, moaning piteously. She glanced at her husband. He was focused beyond the disaster, off into the mile long marsh before them. There was a curious expression on his face. He turned to his son.
    “Jamie. Run get me the ax and a bucket like a good boy, please.’’
    Jamie ran, and Johnny squished off through the depression, mud and corrosive waters up to his knees. Soon Jamie was back, chasing after his father through the swamp before Maggie could stop him. She watched as Johnny chose a spot covered with a tuft of sod and sank his ax into it. He did this again and yet again, stooping to examine something. Maggie was beyond curiosity by this point, and finally scooped up Charlotte in one arm, her skirts in her other, and waded in.
    “What is it, Johnny?’’
    He flashed one of his old grins, too long absent from his face. “Come and see, Meg!’’
    He was holding what appeared to be a hunk of ice in his hands. How could that be? Maggie went closer. It was ice! She watched as he held it to his tongue and tasted of it.
    “It’s clean. Pure water, I’d judge.’’
    “But how did you ever~’’
    “Jim Bridger was talking about an ice slough coming back from the buffalo hunt. I figured we should be coming near any day.’’ He slung the six-inch piece into the bucket.
    “It’s as good as any you harvested back in Ohio on your father’s farm. We should be able to dig enough to water the animals and give the children a treat.’’
    Maggie turned to Jamie. “Run back and get the shovel, son. I intend to help.’’
    The boy hesitated. “Couldn’t I have a little piece of it now? I’m mighty hot already, and I could show it to the others, to prove what Pa found.’’
    Maggie laughed and Johnny cut off a fist-sized hunk. Jamie raced back, holding the sliver in his hand like the miracle it was.
    Soon the entire area was being dug up by both parties. They mined for it in the worst heat of the day as if it were gold, not water they were after.
    Johnny was a hero again. There was talk about putting Johnny Stuart forward as captain when Chandler finally pulled his hat out of the ring. It was a fair certainty Chandler was on the verge of doing this. And hadn’t Stuart shown imagination today,