A murmur of surprise ran through the onlookers when Theodora mounted. Boldly, she sat astride a high-spirited chestnut, her split doeskin skirt revealing her calves in high-top riding boots. Ignoring the ripple of disapproval that passed through the crowd, she straightened the wide-brimmed hat on her blond hair with determination. She was flaunting convention, but she’d decided on her apparel and mode of riding long before she came west.
Beside her, on his own mount, Tom shot her a look of support. Brother and sister were in complete agreement that it would be foolish for either of them to try to endure the long trek dressed in city clothes, or for Theodora to attempt to cross the continent sidesaddle.
Now, prepared for a look of censure from the officious Captain Roberts, she defiantly searched the throng for him.
Sensing her gaze upon him, Blade turned War Shield toward her and rode up. His black eyes sparkling in appreciation, he took in the curves revealed by the soft doeskin garment. “I’m happy to see you displaying such good sense, Miss Gordon. When I saw you sidesaddle on that old roan yesterday, I was afraid you’d changed your mind about riding astride.”
Lowering her thick lashes under his bold regard, Theodora barely nodded her acknowledgment. Her voice was low and strained. “We Gordons are nothing if not practical, Captain Roberts. It wouldn’t be sensible to dress as if this were a church picnic.”
Blade didn’t miss the repetition of his sarcastic words from the day before, and flashed a crooked grin. He touched his hat in silent reply, wheeled his mount around, and rode to the front of the column.
Theodora’s lips turned up in a half-smile as she watched his broad back, so tall and erect in the saddle. Relief washed over her. His forthright acceptance of her shocking apparel meant more than she’d thought possible. Then she squirmed uncomfortably as the full meaning of his words sank in. The split skirt had come as no surprise to Blade Roberts this morning—he’d seen her buckskins when he’d gone through her trunks. It had been his arbitrary decision that the evening gowns would be left behind, but not her outrageous riding habits!
In the center of the square four strong mules stood hitched to the Yankee spring wagon. Pack mules, loaded with the carefully chosen provisions, waited patiently for the bell-mare to lead them away. Behind the wagon, a small herd of horses, mules, and cattle was clustered under the supervision of mounted herdsmen.
As each member of the convoy found his place in the column, Colonel Kearny strode up to Captain Roberts. He reached up and shook Blade’s hand. “God go with you all.” He returned to the porch steps and saluted the members of the expedition, watching them slowly pass by. Over their heads the company’s pennant snapped in the crisp spring breeze.
Just before they reached the fort’s open gate, a young boy in tattered overalls ran from the crowd and tried to hand Blade a small American flag. The captain shook his head and pointed back over his shoulder to Theodora. With a gap-toothed grin of understanding, the barefoot tadpole waited until Theodora rode up. Then he stretched up on his dusty toes and handed it to her. “God bless America!” he cried.
Tears misting her eyes at the look of reverence on his round, innocent face, Theodora received the miniature stars and bars. “And God bless you,” she answered as she wiped her suddenly damp cheeks.
A roar of approval ascended from the cantonment square. Shouts of encouragement rose from the people of Fort Leavenworth as they wildly cheered the brave members of the expedition riding past the stockade walls. Five little boys followed them across the grassy meadow and ran behind them for as long as they could keep the riders in sight, finally quitting their chase to stand, gasping for breath and watching the gallant company disappear from view.
Captain Blade Roberts and guide Ezekiel Conyers led the column, followed by three of the French Canadians—Baptiste Lejeunesse, Basil Guion, and Louis Chardonnais. In the weeks ahead, Conyers and the mountain men would form the advance party that would scout the trail and hunt for food.
Behind them rode Lieutenant Fletcher, second-in-command, and Lieutenant Haintzelman, the captain’s aide-de-camp, with the Gordons immediately following. In the center of the column, directly under the surveillance of Corporal Overbury, rode a half-company of the First Regiment of Mounted Dragoons in their dark blue uniforms, their brass buttons shining in the early-morning sunlight. After the troopers came the wagon and the livestock, guarded by the soldiers who had been designated to herd them under Sergeant O’Fallon. The four mountain men who would be the rear guard on the journey were the last to pass through the wooden palisades.
“Well, Sis,” Tom said, riding beside her. “We’re leaving at last.”
Lieutenant Haintzelman glanced over his shoulder and grinned. “I know just how you feel, Tom. I’m fresh from the Point and a long way from my papa’s farm in Pennsylvania. This is my first campaign, and I couldn’t sleep last night, just thinking about it.”
“Me either!” Theodora admitted, relieved to know that she and Tom weren’t the only greenhorns on the trip. She turned and looked back at the steadfast walls of Fort Leavenworth, standing like a lighthouse on the edge of a sea of wilderness. Under the cloudless blue sky, the column rode slowly and deliberately, setting the pace for the days ahead. Roberts and Conyers were seasoned veterans of the frontier, and they knew that the people and animals would have to build up their strength before they could stay on the trail for hours at a time, day after day, week after week. There was no need to push anyone that first day. Before them, the green grass of the prairie stretched ahead as far as the eye could see, broken only by clumps of willows and cottonwoods growing along the creek banks.
The convoy stopped at noon at Salt Creek, where there was ample wood, water, and grass. Theodora and Tom were surprised to learn that they’d go no farther that day. Instead, the afternoon would be spent practicing the chores of camping and getting used to the routine.
Pickets were posted on the highest points around the camp. the horses unsaddled and the mules unpacked. The mounts were tethered and side-hobbled for further safeguards, then allowed to graze under the watchful eyes of the herdsmen.
The rest of the troupe gathered in the center of the campsite under the shade of the cottonwoods, some perched on fallen logs, others sprawled informally on the thick grass and listened to Captain Roberts explain the routine. Guard duty was assigned and the camp conductor indicated the sites for the tents, the wagon, and the cooking fires.
“Lieutenant Haintzelman,” Blade said, delegating responsibilities, “I want you to help Tom learn the ropes. He can take picket duty alongside you until he’s ready to be on his own. Get him one of the extra carbines and some cartridges and powder from the packs.”
A frown appeared on Tom’s usually carefree features, and be cleared his throat. “Ah, there’s just one problem, Captain.”
Blade narrowed his eyes. “And what’s that, Gordon? Didn’t you intend to take your turn at guard duty?”
“It’s not that, sir,” Tom protested. “It’s just that I don’t know how to use a rifle.”
“Holy Moses!” muttered Ezekiel Conyers. his gray beard shaking back and forth across his thin chest. “The kid starts out across In’jun country, and he cain’t even shoot a gun. It’s enough to give a body the jimjams.”
“Well, he won’t learn any younger,” Blade commented with resignation.
“I’d like to learn to use a weapon also,” Theodora piped up irrepressibly from her place beside Tom on a huge tree trunk. “I’ve always wanted to learn to shoot.”
Arms folded across his muscular chest, Blade eyed her thoughtfully. “That might not be a bad idea, Miss Gordon.”
“I’ll be happy t’ teach them, sir,” Lieutenant Fletcher drawled. “I’m an expert at the new carbines.” His blue gaze rested longingly on Theodora’s seductive form.
“You’re in charge of the evening watch, Fletcher. I want your men checking, cleaning, and oiling their weapons under your direct supervision as of now. Get going.”
Turning and gazing out over the herd of livestock, Blade spotted the bulky form of the Irish sergeant talking to one of the pickets. “O’Fallon! Get over here!” Blade hollered, a muscle in his cheek twitching, whether from irritation with Tom’s incompetence, Theodora’s impertinence, or Fletcher’s audacity, not even he was certain. Striving to remain patient, he strode up and down in front of the quiet group until the sergeant arrived, out of breath.
Saluting, O’Fallon answered, “Yes, sir!”
“Sergeant, we’ve just discovered that our two young New Englanders can’t shoot a gun. After camp is set up and dinner is over, I suggest you take them aside and begin teaching them the basics of loading a carbine. I’ll check on their progress as soon as I can get away.”
O’Fallon grinned sympathetically. “Why now, sir, I’d be right happy to.”
Blade turned to Theodora. “And now, Miss Gordon, as for your responsibilities.”
She sat up straight and tall, anxious to be given some part in the camping chores. “Whatever you wish, Captain Roberts.”
“I want you to help Julius Twiggs with his work.”
Assisting Theodora up from the log, he guided her to the wagon, where the driver stood leaning against one of the wheels. “Miss Gordon, I want you to meet our cook. Twiggs, meet Miss Theodora Gordon. She’ll be your assistant on this trip.”
Julius Twiggs was unlike anyone Theodora had ever met. His grizzled white hair contrasted starkly with his dark, wrinkled skin. Bushy white brows and high cheekbones accentuated the kindest brown eyes she’d ever seen. He was taller even than Blade, who until that moment was the tallest man she’d ever known. “Mr. Twiggs, how do you do?” she said at last.
Julius bowed politely. “How do you do, Miss Theo.” Blade seemed unimpressed with the cook’s formality.
“Twiggs will show you what to do, Miss Gordon. He’s in charge of cooking for forty men and can sorely use an assistant.”
As Blade started to move away, Theodora took a step toward him, then hesitated, deciding against risking further censure.
Apparently sensing her confusion, he turned back to look at her searchingly. “Is there anything wrong, Miss Gordon?” he asked.
“There’s just one problem, Captain Roberts,” she mumbled, and flushed in embarrassment.
“And what’s that, Miss Gordon?”
“I can’t cook.”
“You what!” The stunned look on Blade’s face betrayed his disbelief. “Every woman knows how to cook!”
“Not this one, Captain,” Theodora answered, and winced beneath his glare. “I was raised in a home where there was a housekeeper who took care of all the cooking, cleaning, and laundering.”
Blade shook his head in amazement. “What do you think, Twiggs? Can she be of any help to you?”
A front tooth flashed with gold as Twiggs smiled and nodded his grizzled head. “You bet! I teach Miss Theo. We get along fine. Don’t you fret none, Miss Theo. Old Twiggs will teach you just what you need to know. I don’t cook for fancy. I cook for surviving. Been on plenty of campaigns. You go on, Captain. Miss Theo and Twiggs will fix us all up some dinner.” Together, Theodora and Twiggs watched Blade return to the rest of the party. Twiggs smiled down at her. “Ever milked a cow?”
Deflated at this further evidence of a lack of a practical education, Theodora could only shake her head.
Twiggs was moved to compassion. “Not to worry, Miss Theo. Milking is one thing you learn real quick. Grab that tin bucket. I’ll give you your first lesson in camp chores.”
Relieved at his easy acceptance of her predicament, Theodora snatched up the pail and skipped along beside him. “Mr. Twiggs, I’m sorry if I stared at you, but I’ve never seen anyone quite like you before.”
The gold tooth flashed again. “Not many like me in the world. My daddy was a runaway slave. Mama was a Seminole Indian. Grew up in the Everglades hunting ’gators.”
Theodora soon found that Julius had exaggerated the ease of learning to milk a cow, but they finally returned, each carrying a pail of sweet milk. Under Julius’s direction, Theodora helped mix corn bread batter and poured it carefully into a huge mess pan. Fascinated, she watched as he deftly moved about his kitchen under the trees, frying up great slices of ham in an enormous iron skillet.
Soon the meal was ready and Julius raised a little trumpet to his lips. Three short dissonant blasts brought the men hustling over to the fire.
After helping Julius serve the hungry crew, Theodora joined Peter and Tom on their favorite tree trunk.
His plate heaped with ham and beans and cornbread, Lieutenant Fletcher sat down beside them. “I understand the two of y’ are goin’ t’ be trained in weaponry later this afternoon,” be began, blithely ignoring the presence of the other lieutenant. He carefully wiped his blond mustache with a white handkerchief. “I’d be happy t’ give y’ any help y’ might need.”
Realizing just whom Fletcher would like to help, Tom grinned. “Thanks, Fletcher, but Sergeant O’Fallon told me he would instruct us later. Right after we finish eating Lieutenant Haintzelman is going to show us how to set up our tent. Teddy’s going to work with us, so she and I can learn to put up our tent without anyone else’s assistance. We want to become as independent as possible.”
But the much-sought-after independence came slowly. Their first attempt to raise the tent ended in the collapse of the shelter on top of their heads, and the twins had to crawl ignominiously from beneath the canvas to the roar of good-hearted laughter from the others. Louis Chardonnais came over and helped raise it with professional expertise.
“There, little cabbages,” Louis said, his brown eyes twinkling. “At least tonight you will sleep in comfort.”
Their studies for the day were far from over, for Sergeant O’Fallon appeared with an armful of bedding. “Well now,” he said, “you’ll be getting the hang of it before too long, I’m thinking. Put these blankets inside and come with me. It’s time for your first lesson in weapons.”
“Great!” Tom exclaimed as he heaved the blankets into the tent .
“Fine,” Theodora added, and forced a smile. If learning to shoot a rifle was as difficult as learning to pitch a tent or milk a cow, maybe she should have kept her mouth closed for once. But it was too late now.
Obediently. she followed in Tom’s and O’Fallon’s wake; behind them came Peter Haintzelman. The small group walked to the outskirts of camp beyond the thicket of cottonwoods, and up to a grassy knoll, where Corporal Overbury joined them with two brand-new carbines cradled in the crook of his plump arm.
“Now, children,” Sergeant O’Fallon lectured in his thick brogue, taking one of the carbines and holding it so that the sunlight flashed against its barrel, “this is a weapon you’ve not seen before. What we’re looking at here is a breech-loading, smooth-bore sixty-nine-caliber carbine made at Harpers Ferry especially for the First Regiment of Dragoons. This rifle will shoot straighter and faster than any weapon known to man. And you’re about to learn to use it.” His grin indicated the rare privilege he was bestowing.
Delight shown in Tom’s hazel eyes. “I’ve heard about these new percussion rifles.”
“These are real beauties.” Peter added. as he took the other one from Overbury. “We’ve only had them a few weeks ourselves and haven’t had that much extra time to practice with them.”
Deftly, O’Fallon showed them how to load the firearm, identifying the various parts and explaining how the hammer hitting the plunger would set off the cap that contained the priming charge. He reminded Theodora of a tutor she’d once had who took much the same inordinate pride in explaining the parts of a flower.
Blade Roberts joined them just as the actual practice was about to begin. He stood quietly beside Theodora while the sergeant helped her brother assume the correct stance. She was vibrantly aware of the captain’s magnetic presence; he was so close his muscular thigh brushed against her skirt. Refusing to acknowledge the effect of his nearness on her,
she peeked at him from beneath lowered lashes. He watched the lesson intently, seemingly unconscious that they were almost touching. Tom placed the butt of the rifle against his shoulder and squeezed the trigger gently, as O’Fallon directed, aiming at a designated tree trunk. His first shot was wide of the mark. “You’ve got to remember to sight, boyo.” O’Fallon chuckled, and patted Tom’s shoulder.
It was Theodora’s turn next, and Blade swung the full force of his black eyes upon her. She caught her breath at their intensity. “Now, Miss Gordon, you try it. And remember to squeeze gently.”
Surely the sensual quality in his deep voice was just in her imagination?
Helping her raise the weapon to her shoulder, Blade eased the rifle into place. Then he stepped back and nodded.
Her hands shook from the sheer weight of the carbine as she sighted down the barrel. She closed her eyes and pulled the trigger. The muzzle kicked up wildly and the blast knocked her backward. Tripping over the hem of her skirt, she landed on her bottom with a soft plop, her feet stuck out in front of her. Miraculously, she bad retained her grip on the heavy carbine.
Blade’s strong hands encircled her waist and lifted her to her feet. “Not too bad for the first try,” he commented, as he pried the weapon from her rigid fingers and tossed it to Overbury to reload. “But you need to hold the butt firmly against your shoulder so it won’t kick up on you.”
Retrieving the carbine from the corporal, he put it back in Theodora’s hands. “Here, let me help you.” Blade’s sinewy arms encircled her as he raised the rifle and guided it to her shoulder. “Hold it firm, Miss Gordon, and sight right down the barrel. That’s it. Keep your eyes open. Now squeeze the trigger.”
The kick of the rifle knocked her against him, and she felt his powerful chest and thighs absorb the jolt effortlessly. Feeling his hard body next to hers, Theodora knew a sudden, intense longing to turn in his arms and raise her lips to his. The memory of those demanding lips covering her own erased all thoughts of cartridges, powder, and priming pans. Flushed with desire, she wondered if he knew from the quickened rise and fall of her breasts that her heart was pounding wildly.
Cherish the Dream Page 6
