Cherish the Dream

by Kathleen Harrington

  Blade smiled. He took her hand from the canvas and pulled her around to face him. Retaining her stiff fingers in his long ones, he ran his thumb lightly over her knuckles. “If it’s your wish, you can share the credit for our work, Miss Gordon.”

  “How about sharing the credit with Tom?”

  At his look of surprise she continued in a rush. “I’m serious, Captain Roberts. Are you willing to have Tom’s name on these maps when they’re published? Will you agree to share the fame of your accomplishments with my brother?”

  “Of course,” he acceded immediately. “Every map you draw will be printed with Thomas Gordon’s name on it. And my report will include his name as well. Will that satisfy you?” The thought of fulfilling Tom’s dream soared within her. At last, through the grief and despair, a glimmer of hope arose.

  Her lips trembled as she repeated her dying brother’s last words. “That sounds like a deal to me, Roberts.”

  From that evening on, Theodora joined Blade in his tent after supper to assist in the scientific work of the expedition. While the others sat around campfires, smoking and telling tall tales, the two would enter in their journals the lay of the land and the flora and fauna observed that day. In addition, she helped with the map making, using the astronomical observations that he gave her. They studied the heavens together through the telescope each night, and Blade astounded her with his scientific knowledge.

  “How did you learn to calculate our location with such accuracy?” she asked him one evening, as she bent over the map table and drew graph lines with the precision Tom had taught her. They were working in Blade’s tent, and the canvas sides had been lifted up and tied, making the couple clearly visible to the rest of the bivouac. She found that it hadn’t been necessary to insist upon this arrangement for modesty’s sake, for throughout the camp it was a common means of allowing the night breeze to blow through the shelters.

  Ruler in hand, Blade stood on the other side of the collapsible table. “I studied the advanced methods of Joseph Nicholas Nicollet at West Point. I was also privileged to be tutored by Torrey and Bailey.”

  Theodora regarded him in awe, for she immediately recognized the names of the leading botanists of the country. “You studied microscopy with Jacob Bailey?” she questioned with admiration. That scientist’s amazing studies of algae were revolutionizing the frontiers of botany. She lowered her head over the map once more. “If only I had been born a man,” she muttered half to herself. “I’d be allowed to study with such great minds.”

  “There are compensations for being a woman, Miss Gordon.”

  “If there are, I haven’t found them yet,” she responded, noting the amusement in his voice but failing to see the levity in her statement. She glanced up at him and caught the lopsided grin he struggled to control.

  Blade reached inside his pocket for a cheroot, his eyes twinkling. “That’s only because you’re so damned young.”

  “I’m not a child, Captain.” Theodora laid down the pen, stepped back from the table, and tilted her head to look up at him. “In point of fact, I’m engaged to be married.”

  A thunderous scowl marred his brow at the reminder. He leaned over the maps. His deep voice was a low growl. “Yes, and you don’t even know what it’s all about yet.”

  Propping both hands on the table, Theodora bent across her work, until they were almost nose to nose, and glared back at him. “I’m a scientist, Captain. I’ve studied biology. I know everything there is to know about …” She stood back, nonplussed, while he brazenly waited for her to continue. She averted her eyes and finished lamely… everything there is to know about.”

  Blade lit his cheroot with slow deliberation, looking over his hands at her all the while. The suppressed laughter in his voice was a blatant challenge. “Somehow, Miss Gordon, I doubt that. But if you’d like to compare notes on the subject—”

  “Let’s confine our conversation to the business in front of us, Captain,” she snapped, annoyed and shaken by the sensual look on his rugged features. The flicker of his match seemed to leap across the table and ignite a tiny flame within her. Shame for the feelings that spread through her body brought warmth to her cheeks. She picked up her pen and returned to the cartography. She had no intention of allowing him to lead her into personal confidences, especially those involving her own confused emotions.

  For Theodora, one of the few reasons for living was now the work that would give her brother credit for his attempt to cross the hated wilderness. The farther they traveled from the site of Tom’s grave, the more she grew to despise the endless, unvarying plain with its constant wind and its glaring blue sky. In her depressed and beleaguered state of mind, Blade and the land had become one. For he never seemed to be bothered by the merciless rays nor the mile upon mile of vast, treeless horizon. He was as unchanging as the land. And as unconquerable.

  His deep rich voice interrupted her somber reflections. “I think we’ve done enough for tonight, Miss Gordon. Why don’t you turn in, and I’ll put the instruments and papers away? You look tired.” He didn’t finish the unspoken words: and unhappy. But she felt his concern as he stacked the maps in a pile and started rolling them into a cylinder.

  “As you wish, Captain. I’ll see you in the morning.” Theodora fought to regain the emotional distance she had kept between them for the past ten days. Setting down her pen, she politely inclined her head. “Good night.”

  The minute she stepped from the captain’s quarters, Lieutenant Fletcher appeared. It was apparent that he’d been waiting for her. He quickly touched his cap in a salute. “I’ll walk y’ to your tent, Miz Gordon.” He’d made it a habit to stay close by each evening until she’d completed her work with Blade, and then visit with her briefly before retiring.

  “How’d it go tonight?” he queried.

  Stretching, Theodora sighed. To her surprise he was always interested in the progress of their work. “Same as last night, Lieutenant. And the night before. This godforsaken land never changes, does it? The heat. The dust. The constant wind. Those never-ending, treeless plains. Sometimes I wonder if we’re even moving, or if we’ve ended up each day exactly where we started. Dear Lord, how I hate this country!”

  Fletcher took her hand, sympathy on his clear features. “You’ve suffered mightily, Miz Gordon. I don’t know how you’ve managed to keep up your courage, especially in the face of that man’s brutal ways.”

  Theodora looked back at the captain’s tent. The glow of the lantern inside surrounded the tent in a mystical halo. “He’s as savage as the land, isn’t he, Lieutenant? And just as unchangeable. Sometimes it seems he is the land. He never seems to be bothered by the weather, the long hours in the saddle, the constant worry about Indians. You were right when you warned me about him at the very beginning of this trip. I know now that Tom and I should never have left Massachusetts.”

  “When we reach South Pass, Miz Gordon, we’ll meet with trappers, many of whom’ll be headin’ back to St. Louis now that the beaver is about trapped out. Y’ could go on back with them.”

  Theodora withdrew her hand and folded her arms across her chest. She stared beyond the circle of the bivouac’s campfires into the darkness and shook her head slowly. “I don’t know. It’d mean giving up Tom’s work.”

  “What good will that do if you’re both dead?” Fletcher admonished. He placed his hands on her shoulders and turned her to face him. His pale eyes were intense. “You’ve a good life ahead of y’. Don’t sacrifice it for some notion of makin’ your brother’s death meanin’ful. Save yourself, Miz Gordon. If you’re given a chance to go back home, don’t be foolish. Take it!”

  She nodded in resignation. “You’re probably right, Lieutenant. But that decision can wait until the opportunity presents itself. Right now, I’m going to get some sleep. We’ve got a long way to go before South Pass.”

  They had left the green valley below the confluence of the Platte forks. Now the rich buffalo grass was patchy, growing mostly
in low spots or along streams. The soil was sandy and dry. It hadn’t rained in over three weeks, and a constant wind had followed them since the day of the burial .

  That afternoon, without warning, they were hit by a sand storm. The wind came in a sudden downdraft, paralleling the ground and picking up everything in its wake: dust, sand, and small pebbles. The company sought shelter in a small ravine. The troopers pulled their yellow scarves up over their noses to keep from choking on the dust. The horses and mules were hurriedly picketed, the sound of their neighing and braying muted by the storm. It was almost impossible to see, for the sand struck their eyes painfully, and the sun was completely blotted out at two o’clock in the afternoon.

  In the confusion Theodora lost sight of Peter. She dismounted, retied her scarf over her nose, and pulled her hat down tightly, bringing its brim over her eyebrows. She huddled beside Athena and used the mare as a screen, but was unable to determine which direction led to safety. In minutes Blade was at her side. She wondered how he’d found her.

  “Give me your reins,” he shouted through his scarf as he pulled them from her gloved hand. “Now get behind me and press your face close to my shoulder. I’ll lead the way, so you can close your eyes. Just hold on to my elbow.”

  Grateful for the protection of his body, which shut out the stinging sand, she followed him into the shelter of the ravine, where he eased her under an outcrop of rock. He bent over her, lifted his arms, and braced them above her head, protecting her with his body from the storm’s onslaught. Behind them, Athena and War Shield gave them the shelter of their own bodies.

  “There’s nothing to be afraid of, Theodora,” he told her. His head was bent above her, and though his lips were near her ear, his words were muffled by the cloth. “It’s just uncomfortable, that’s all. Nothing more than a slight inconvenience.”

  Incredibly, Theodora knew from the sound of his voice that under his scarf he was grinning. The elements could do their worst to him, and he laughed at them, mocking their power. But the feeling of being isolated in the deep ravine by the sand laden wind terrified her. She was clammy with fear. She buried her head in her lap.

  The storm died as suddenly as it had appeared, and by evening the men were able to erect the tents. Everyone was layered with dust and sand. Their eyes stood out on their blackened faces like egg whites. Julius fed them cold jerky for supper, but there was the delicious smell of hot coffee as several small fires were lit inside the canvas shelters.

  The absence of a trooper named Enoch Pilcher was discovered at bedtime.

  “Dem it all,” Zeke exclaimed. “He probably got turned around during the storm. No tellin’ how fer he’s traveled in the wrong direction.”

  Blade smacked his dusty hat on his thigh. “Let’s all get some sleep. We’ll look for him in the morning.”

  They spent the entire next day searching in vain for the missing dragoon. There was no trail to follow, for the sand storm had obliterated all trace of him.

  The following morning, Blade ordered the men to pack up and leave.

  “You can’t do that,” Theodora said. She stood in front of him, her arms outstretched as though attempting to block his way. Her voice trembled with indignation. “We can’t leave when a man’s out there lost. How could he possibly survive by himself?”

  Blade looked at the terrified young woman who confronted him so bravely. She had suffered so much. Most women would have given up by now, all hope driven from them by such loss. Yet Theodora was ready to do battle once more. As he gazed into her emerald eyes, sparkling with unshed tears, he realized she had more courage than most men. The ferocious spirit of a mountain cat was centered deep inside that slim frame of hers.

  He strove to make his tone as cold and impersonal as possible. “There’s no telling how far he’s wandered, Miss Gordon. Without a trail to follow, we could stay here for six months and never find a trace of him.” He moved to walk around her. In desperation she reached out and grabbed his sleeve. “Would you have left Tom and me like this, if you hadn’t found our trail?”

  “Yes,” he lied without compunction. He forced himself to ignore her hand on his arm. “This expedition is going to continue as planned, no matter who gets lost.”

  “You’re inhuman,” she whispered, the shock on her face undisguised. She released her hold as though she were touching something evil. “Only a savage would leave someone to the fate that poor man will suffer.”

  When she tried to bolt, Blade grabbed her elbows before she could run. He held her before him and lifted her to meet his angry gaze. “I may be the savage you think I am, Miss Gordon, but I’m getting as many of my men as possible to California alive. We’re not going to waste fruitless days here searching for a man who’s probably already dead. Now get on your horse before I have someone put you on it and tie you to your saddle.”

  Theodora refused even to look at him for the rest of the morning. To ensure his full comprehension of her animosity, she asked Lieutenant Fletcher to ride beside her as they pulled out of camp.

  Fletcher, pristine as ever in his blue-and-gold uniform, was happy to escort her. He entertained her with tales of his childhood on a fine plantation near Atlanta. “My daddy owns nearly two thousand acres o’ choice river bottom land,” he told her in his Georgia drawl. “And nearly three hundred nigras. But I was never meant t’ be a farmer. Raisin’ cotton’s much too tame for me.”

  Ordinarily, Theodora would have listened politely to his boasting, but that morning she was in no mood to humor anyone. Pulling down the brim of her leather hat to reduce the glare of the sun, she cocked her head at him. “Surely you don’t condone the institution of slavery, Lieutenant?”

  Fletcher was clearly startled by her question. His tawny mustache seemed to quiver in shock. “Cotton is a way o’ life in the South, Miz Gordon. And nigra slaves are a necessary part o’ raisin’ cotton. I refuse t’ believe you’re one o’ those radical abolitionists, who dress in black and quote platitudes from the Bible. Why, you’re much too pretty t’ be one o’ them. Even your golden hair would be an affront t’ those pinch-nosed do-gooders.”

  “I’ll thank you to keep your opinion of my family to yourself, Lieutenant Fletcher,” Theodora warned, recalling with a wave of homesickness the somber dress of her gentle Quaker grandmother. “As far as I can see, it’s as barbaric to buy and sell another human being as it is to abandon a man in the wilderness.” She flicked her reins and urged Athena forward to join Peter Haintzelman just ahead of them.

  At the front of the column, Blade turned just in time to catch the climax of the tiff, and he grinned, delighted to know that the Georgian had just ruined his golden opportunity to further his suit with the fiery Miss Gordon. It was about time someone else felt the sting of her tongue, he thought, chuckling to himself.

  Abashed at her abrupt words, Fletcher sat stiffly in the saddle, his pale eyes wide as he watched her go. Then he jerked viciously on his reins, pulling the horse’s mouth painfully against the bit, and wheeled around to ride back to his responsibilities at the end of the column.

  The next day the weary trekkers camped beside Chimney Rock. The men fired their rifles in celebration of reaching the distinctive landmark .

  But the spirit of camaraderie did not affect Theodora, who couldn’t stop thinking of the lost trooper, Enoch Pilcher, wandering by himself, perhaps slowly starving to death. He’d been abandoned—left just as she’d been forced to leave Tom. How the others could put the man so casually from their minds remained an unhappy mystery.

  “Let’s go looking for old bones.” Peter Haintzelman called to her. “The captain says this area is known to have the remains of the wooly mammoths that once roamed these plains. O’Fallon wants to look, too. Says he’d like to take one back to his grandson.”

  Struggling to shake off her melancholy, Theodora agreed. She knew Peter was trying his best to cheer her up. “It’s better than sitting here. Let’s find Sergeant O’Fallon.”

  The trio rod
e to a nearby rock formation, where they hunted for fossils. The sun beat down, baking the rocks and the searchers alike. Theodora frequently stopped her quest to lift her hand, shade her eyes, and gaze out across the prairie. She prayed for a sign of the lost dragoon. After standing for long moments, desperately scouring the eastern horizon, she turned to find O’Fallon watching her with compassion.

  “We’d not be likely to find him, macushla ,” he said at last. “Pilcher probably wandered away in the wrong direction. Out on the open prairie there’s little to guide you. Even the Indians seldom strike out alone.”

  Theodora’s fingers were clenched so tightly together her knuckles were white. “I just can’t understand how the captain could give up the hunt so easily. Surely, the man deserved more than one day of searching. How can Roberts be so callous?”

  “Callous? Faith, is that what you’re thinking?” O’Fallon took a large handkerchief from his pocket, wiped his face, and motioned with the white cloth to a nearby outcrop of rock. “Let’s sit over there in the shade for a moment, darlin’ girl. I’m going to tell you something you need to hear.”

  Together Peter and Theodora walked over to the ledge and sat down in its scant shade. Beside them O’Fallon leaned his carbine against a large rock and, bracing his dusty boot also upon it, propped one elbow on his knee.

  “In the summer of ’34, the captain was just a second lieutenant. We were part of a campaign led by General Leavenworth, it being the first mounted military expedition into the Great Plains. We set out in June, in blistering heat, with temperatures of a hundred ’n eight in the shade.”

  As he continued his story, Michael O’Fallon’s forehead furrowed into a deep scowl, and he gazed off into the distance, as if seeing again that terrible Journey. “Wearing their wool shell jackets and leather forage caps, the men were baking in their own sweat, like holiday geese stuffed and popped in your mama’s oven. The purpose of the junket was to make a friendly visit to the Comanches and Pawnees.” Suddenly he drew a long, harsh breath. “Jaysus, everything went wrong from the start.”