Two for Home

by Tinnean

  Poor little girl. Poor little kids. It wasn’t going to be easy for them or their mother. Sharps would help out where he could, but he wasn’t their father.

  He sighed. The burial would be soon, and Steve wanted the mules harnessed. Sharps rounded them up and got to work.

  * * * *

  The grave was covered with rocks and brush to keep it safe from wild animals and less visible to the casual passer-by. Steve recited the Twenty-Third Psalm while Mrs. Fox continued to sob and her children looked lost. Sharps stood beside them. He’d learned for himself that sometimes a silent presence could be helpful.

  After the brief service, the captain turned to him, and Sharp felt hope rise that the cap would gaze on him with approval once more.

  “Drive her wagon, Browne.” The captain’s tone was aloof, and Sharps kept himself from flinching—he’d learned well in those years after the War to conceal his emotions, but what had he done to anger Steve? Even during the War, the man Sharps thought so highly of had never addressed him by his last name.

  Could there be any sort of future for them?

  However, he didn’t object; the man was his superior officer, after all. He brought Mrs. Fox back to the wagon and helped her in, then boosted the children in after her. He unsaddled his horses, put the saddles in the hammock beneath the wagon, and tied the horses behind. With that done, he didn’t look at Steve—no, he’d be better off thinking of him as the captain again—just climbed on and gathered up the reins.

  He noticed Mrs. Hall watching him with concern. Had she seen his hurt? Lord, he hoped not. The last thing he wanted was for her—for anyone—to see how the captain’s curt words had cut him. He sent a jaunty grin her way, hoping she wouldn’t be able to tell. He tipped his hat and waited for the word to start.

  The captain glanced around, although he didn’t look Sharps’s way. He waved his hat in a sweeping circle above his head and sang out, “Wagons forward, roll!”

  Mrs. Hall snapped the reins, and the mules headed out. Sharps did the same, and his team fell into line behind the lead wagon.

  * * * *

  They pushed the mules as much as they dared through the afternoon and into the night. The captain rode on ahead, scouting the terrain to make sure the trail they took was safe and the mules wouldn’t step into a burrow and break a leg.

  From behind him in the wagon, Sharps could hear Mrs. Fox still weeping—”We should have taken the railroad. Oh, why wouldn’t Albert listen to me?”—and the children growing fretful.

  “Bertie.”

  “Yes, Mr. Browne?” The boy sniffled.

  “Let me have Lily.” He waited while the boy brought his youngest sister to the opening in the canvas cover. Sharps gave her a swift glance. “Would you like to sit with me, little Lily, and help me drive the mules?”

  She stared up at him, her eyes enormous. The reason for her tears seemed to be forgotten. “Can I?”

  “Sure.” He hoisted the little girl out of the wagon bed and onto his lap, took a handkerchief from his pocket, and mopped her face. “Bertie, will you try to distract Emily?”

  “I’d rather help with the mules,” the boy muttered.

  “I know, but sometimes a man has to do things he’d rather not.”

  “I’m a man?”

  “You are, now that your pa is gone. Do you think you can help?”

  “I can, Mr. Browne.”

  “Good boy. And I tell you what. Why don’t you call me Sharps?”

  “I can do that because I’m a man?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay. And…maybe you can call me Bert?”

  “If that’s what you want.”

  “I do. I’m a man.”

  “You are, Bert.” Sharps touched his shoulder. “Your ma is gonna be proud of you.”

  “Really?”

  “Really.”

  The boy ran his sleeve under his nose, gave a watery smile, and ducked back into the wagon.

  “Now, Lily. Are you ready to learn how to drive mules??”

  The little girl nodded, but she had her thumb firmly in her mouth and her eyes were growing heavy.

  “Want Papa.”

  “I know, little one.” She was so young, and he’d had a feeling she wouldn’t understand when her brother told her their papa was with Jesus and was never coming back. He began to hum softly, and soon Lily was asleep.

  Sharps stiffened as he felt a gaze on him. He’d always trusted his instincts, but when he cautiously looked around, he saw it was the captain staring at him. Cap was too far for Sharps to make out his expression, but the stiff way he held his body confused Sharps. The captain shifted in the saddle, and his mare galloped on ahead.

  The lead mule of the Fox team snorted and tossed her head, and Sharps eased his grip on the reins.

  “Sorry, girl.” He sighed when Lily began twisting and turning on his lap, and he murmured to her, “It’s okay, little one. You go on back to sleep.”

  * * * *

  The captain set a fast pace, and they traveled into the night, finally stopping to rest the mules and the people in their party, but they were up again before daylight.

  “Breakfast is going to be biscuits and dried fruit,” Steve said.

  “No coffee?” Sharps smiled up at him, hoping he’d remember the coffee Sharps had offered him during the War.

  “No,” the captain said curtly. “We’ll have to make do with water.”

  Sharps walked away from him. He thought wistfully of coffee, bacon, and hotcakes as he grained and watered the mules. He thought even more wistfully of his lost friendship with the older man. What had he done to make the captain not like him anymore?

  Once the mules were taken care of, Sharps saw to Twilight and Sorrowful. In spite of the pace, both horses seemed in okay condition. Sharps cleaned their hooves and groomed them, then grabbed a biscuit that would constitute breakfast.

  “Mrs. Fox, we won’t be lingering here for long. Please eat something.”

  She stared at him, hollow-eyed. “I’m not hungry.”

  “You have to eat, if only for the sake of your children.” He offered her his biscuit and watched as she nibbled on it. “Where are the children?”

  “In the wagon. They were still sleeping.”

  He waited for her to rise and go, but she continued to sit there. She wasn’t crying, but she looked consumed with grief. He rested a gentle hand on her shoulder, then walked to the rear of the wagon and climbed in. “Bert. Emily. Lily. I need you to wake up for a moment.”

  Bert leaned up on his elbow. “What is it, Sharps?” he asked sleepily.

  “We’re going to leave in a little while, and we won’t be stopping until noon. I want you to…er…stretch your legs a bit.”

  He helped them out and waited patiently for them to relieve themselves. After they’d used some water from the barrel attached to the side of the wagon to wash their hands, he gave them a biscuit.

  “Mount up,” the captain called out. “We’re heading out.”

  “All right, back you go.” Sharps hoisted them into the wagon. “Mrs. Fox?”

  It didn’t appear as if the woman had heard him. Sharps stooped beside her and slid an arm around her waist.

  “We’re leaving now, ma’am.” He urged her to her feet.

  “I…I can’t bear to sit inside that wagon. It’s so stuffy…”

  “Would you like to ride beside me?”

  She looked at him blankly, then nodded, and he steered her to the front of the wagon and swung her up onto the seat. She sat there with her hands folded in her lap, gazing ahead but not seeming to see anything.

  He sighed. The mules were ready; the horses were ready; Sharps reckoned they all were ready. He mounted the wagon box, gathered up the reins, and waited for the captain to give the signal to proceed.

  * * * *

  The morning dragged into the afternoon. They paused a few times to give the mules and the people a breather. Mrs. Fox had fallen asleep with her head on Sharps’
s shoulder, and he had to keep an arm around her so she wouldn’t tumble off the wagon.

  While the captain scouted ahead to find the easiest path for their little wagon train to take, Bart and Frank rode on either side to make sure the mules kept to a steady pace.

  Sharps started when Mrs. Fox leaned against him, caressed his cheek, then dropped her hand to fondle his chest.

  “Albert,” she murmured. “I had the most horrible dream. You died and left me alone.”

  Sharps cleared his throat. “Mrs. Fox?”

  “What?” She sat upright, a blush coloring her cheeks. “Oh…” The word hitched in her throat. “Oh, my…I beg your pardon, Mr. Browne.”

  “It’s all right.” He hoped she wasn’t going to start crying again. A shrill whistle caught his attention, and he raised his head to see Mrs. Hall had brought her mule team to a halt. “Whoa, mules.”

  Mrs. Hall hopped down from the wagon and strode to the Foxes’ wagon. She had a very determined gait for a woman.

  “If you’ll excuse me, Mr. Browne,” Mrs. Fox said stiffly. She managed to get herself off the seat and onto the wagon bed, and tugged the canvas closed.

  “Something wrong, Mrs. Hall?” Sharps asked.

  “We’re heading for a stream Steve says is half a mile away, and we’ll set up camp there for the night.”

  “You didn’t have to come tell me that. I’d have followed your wagon.”

  “I know.” Mrs. Hall worried her lower lip. “I wanted to ask you something.”

  Sharps waited patiently for her to continue.

  “Will you stay with us once we reach Hummingbird Valley?” Mrs. Hall had mentioned the valley they were traveling to, and from her description of it, it was a place of renowned beauty where dreams came true. “You’re more than welcome to, you know.”

  “I don’t reckon so.” There wouldn’t be anything there for him. As a matter of fact, if they hadn’t needed him to drive this wagon, he’d already have left for…somewhere.

  “Does Steve know?”

  “I don’t reckon it would matter to him, ma’am. Look, we’d better—”

  The sound of thundering hooves fast approaching had Sharps switching the reins to his left hand and reaching for his revolver, but he paused when he realized it was the captain racing up.

  His mare’s hide was streaked with sweat. He’d always been considerate of his animals, and that he’d run her like this now…

  “Why aren’t you moving?” Steve shouted. “Jesus, George, you’ve got Bart. Do you have to make a play for Sharps too?”

  “Are you out of your mind, Steve?” Mrs. Hall snapped.

  Sharps stared at him in confusion. Why would the lady make a play for him? As the captain said, she had her husband, and Sharps…Well, he wasn’t much.

  “Never mind,” the captain snapped in return. “We’re about to have company.”

  “Shit.”

  “Mrs. Hall!” Sharps had never heard a woman…a nice woman…swear.

  She ignored his shock and instead asked, “How many?”

  “About a dozen or so.”

  “How soon?” Sharps loosened the thong that fastened the hammer of his revolver.

  “I’d say an hour at most. I don’t think they’re horsemen. They look pretty much like coal miners, maybe lumberjacks. Weatherford must have persuaded them it would be worth their while to come after us.”

  “I reckon they’re about to learn otherwise.” Mrs. Hall’s voice had deepened, and Sharps stared at her in surprise. “Where are the girls?”

  “I’ll find them. Thomas?”

  “He’s in the wagon playing with his toy soldiers and keeping an eye on La Gata.”

  Sharps had seen the heavily pregnant calico cat a few times and had wondered about them taking a pet on a wagon train. Still, it was none of his business.

  “Okay.” Steve tapped his heels against Bella’s sides, and she broke into a ground-eating canter.

  “What girls?” Bert poked his head out of the wagon.

  “Beats me.” Sharps glanced around, then said, “We’ve got to make a run for it, Bert. Make sure your ma and your sisters stay safe.”

  “Okay.” Bert ducked back into the wagon. “Mama, did you hear? Hold on tight! Emmy, Lily! We’re going on an adventure!”

  “That boy worships you,” Mrs. Hall said, studying Sharps.

  He grinned down at her. “You all call me kid, and I may be young, but I’m not blind.” Of course he’d seen that, but he’d assumed the boy felt like that because he’d just lost his father and needed a male figure to look up to. “Get going. I’ll head my mules out and pass the word on to Frank. You can tell your husband.”

  “All right.” She hoisted up her skirts and raced back toward her own wagon, calling to Hall. The man caught her around the waist, gave her a kiss, then swung her up onto the wagon seat and mounted his horse.

  Sharps snapped the reins and whistled, and his mules threw themselves into their harnesses and began to run.

  Thompson came up beside the wagon and had his gelding keep pace with it. “What’s going on?”

  “The men from Willow Crick are about an hour away.”

  “Dammit. Where’s Steve?”

  Sharps shrugged.

  “All right, I’ll ride on ahead and make sure the way is safe.”

  “You know where we’re headed?”

  “Yeah. Steve told us. About half a mile north of here, there are some hills. A stream runs through them, and Steve said we can butt the wagons against them. We’ll corral the mules and horses behind the wagons.”

  “All right.” It would be a tight space for the animals, but Sharps trusted the captain. His plan would keep their backs safe.

  Thompson kicked his horse into a gallop and rode ahead, leading the way.

  Chapter 20

  Trust the cap to pick the perfect spot to make a stand. Sharps worked quickly to unharness the mules, then helped arrange the two wagons at an angle against a hillside. With that done, he watered the mules and their horses, and got them all within the space they’d created.

  “How much time do you reckon we have?” he asked Thompson.

  The man pulled out his pocket watch. “Not as much as I’d like.” He scrubbed a hand over his face. “Half an hour, if we’re lucky.”

  Sharps nodded and went to the Fox wagon. “Bert, you take care of your ma and your sisters.”

  “Yes, sir, Sharps.”

  “Good man.” He smiled as the boy’s chest puffed with pride. “Where’s your pa’s rifle?”

  Bert took it from its place in the wagon and handed it to Sharps. Sharps examined it, then shook his head. How could anyone coming west allow their weapon to be in such poor shape? There wasn’t time enough to clean it, but he handed it back to Bert.

  “You know how to use this?”

  “No.” He glanced toward his mother, who held her two daughters in her arms, rocking them, and lowered his voice. “Mama wouldn’t have it.”

  “Okay, once we take care of these yahoos, I’ll teach you.”

  “You will? Thank you!”

  “The thing is, anything can be used as a weapon.” Sharps looked around the interior of the wagon, but there wasn’t anything he thought the boy could use. However, he had seen something in the jockey box when he’d placed the banjo in there. He opened it, retrieved the banjo case and slung it across his back, then took out a frying pan and a cast iron pot. He handed Bert the frying pan. “You can’t use a rifle up close to defend yourself and your family.”

  “I can’t?”

  “Not up close, unless you use it as a club, but that’s plain awkward. Now this…”

  The boy studied the frying pan, then hit his palm gently with it and looked up at Sharps to see if he’d got it right.

  Sharps nodded. “You swing it with enough force, and someone’s gonna have a might powerful headache.”

  The boy grinned, swatted the air with it a few times, and seemed satisfied. “And the pot?”


  “Come with me.”

  Bert hopped down from the wagon and trotted after Sharps.

  “You know how to build a fire?”

  “Yes. Papa…Papa taught me just before…”

  “He sounds like he was a good man.”

  “He was.”

  “All righty. Get a fire started while I fill this pot with water.”

  “What are we going to do?”

  “We’re going to get this to boiling. If those varmints manage to get close to the wagon, I want you to douse them with the water.”

  “That’s gonna hurt, Sharps.”

  “It surely will. Let me tell you something, Bert. These men are about to find out they’ve bitten off a lot more than they can chew.” He went to fill the pot, and by the time he returned, the fire had caught nicely. It would take a while for the fire to burn as hot as he’d like, but he placed the pot on the fire anyway. “Just make sure you have cloth to grab up the handle, because let me tell you, it’s gonna be hot.”

  “Yes, sir. When do I hit them with the frying pan?”

  “After you’ve thrown the water on them. You whale away on them just as hard as you can. Got it?” He began to sing softly, “Old Dan Tucker was a mighty man, washed his face in a frying pan…” He was pleased when the boy giggled.

  Then Bert frowned. “But…where will you be?”

  “I’m gonna see about flanking them and surprising them from the rear.”

  “You’re…you’re not gonna run away, are you?”

  “Why would you think I’d do a thing like that?”

  “You’ve got your banjo.”

  Not his, but Sharps stroked the neck of the banjo and smiled at the boy. “Don’t you worry. I’ll be back. I give you my word.” He tugged on his lower lip. “Can you keep a secret?”

  The boy’s eyes grew wide, and he nodded his head vigorously.

  “This is gonna be a surprise for Captain Steve. That’s why I don’t want you to say anything about it. Come here and take a look.” Sharps took the banjo out of its case.

  Bert stood close beside him, and he showed the boy how the banjo could be made into a rifle.

  “Holy smokes!”

  “Yeah, it’s great, isn’t it?”