Page 151 of Eleanor’s Earrings

By morning, he was gone. His wife sat beside him holding his hand.

Eleanor stood near the Lawson wagon with Nathaniel. No one knew what to say. All the ordinary sounds of camp seemed wrong: children whispering, animals shifting, wood breaking in fires.

Mrs. Lawson looked up at Nathaniel. “He wanted Oregon.”

“I know,” Nathaniel said.

“He spoke of the trees. He wanted to build a table from Oregon wood.”

Nathaniel knelt beside her. His injured arm remained in a sling, but he took her free hand with his left. “Tell me about the table.”

Mrs. Lawson began to speak.

Eleanor listened as the widow described a piece of furniture that would never be built. She understood then that comfort did not always require an answer. Sometimes it required someone willing to hear the future that had been lost.

The ground was soft enough for a grave.

Nathaniel could not dig with his injured shoulder, so Eleanor organized the work. Men took turns with shovels. The sisters prepared the body with Mrs. Lawson's permission. Martha washed Mr. Lawson's face. Charlotte found a clean shirt. Grace and Lucy gathered prairie flowers.

The company formed a circle around the grave. They buried him right there on the trail, knowing that having the wagons roll over the grave would pack it so animals wouldn’t be as interested.

Mr. Daugherty—who had once been a preacher—said a blessing over the grave. Mrs. Lawson wept quietly.

Before the burial, Eleanor removed one garnet earring.

She placed it in the widow's palm.

Mrs. Lawson stared at it. “I cannot take this.”

“Only hold it for a moment.”

“Why?”

“My mother wore these when courage mattered. You need not be brave for us, but perhaps it will remind you that grief can travel with you. You do not have to leave him in this ground.”

Mrs. Lawson closed her fingers around the stone. After a moment, she returned it.

“Thank you.”

Eleanor fastened it in her ear.

The grave was filled. First with stones to keep the body from being disturbed by animals. Then it was covered with dirt they would all drive over the following day. The company remained in camp for the day.

No one complained about lost miles.

*****

NATHANIEL SAT BESIDE the fire that evening with Eleanor.

For the first time in years, he spoke about Abigail's final day from beginning to end.

“She asked me to stay,” he said. “I told myself the supply reports could not wait. The truth was that I could not sit beside her and watch her leave me.”

Eleanor held his hand.

“I thought if I kept moving, grief would not catch me. I sold the piano. Left the house. Began leading people west.”

“Did it work?”