Night Song

by Beverly Jenkins

  Debarking at Topeka, Cara followed in the footsteps of numerous ‘dusters before her and went to Floral Hall. There she got shelter and food until she could hook up with a group heading for the town of her choice—Henry Adams, which lay two hundred forty miles north, and whose school board was advertising for a teacher. Optimistic and eager, she waited at Floral Hall, working at a volunteer activity as all residents were required to do. Hers was the food detail. At every meal Cara dished up creamed beef for what seemed a near-endless line of people. On the second night of serving supper, she spotted the army private from Fort Leavenworth she’d met the evening she had arrived at Floral Hall. He had been one of the party that had brought beef donated by millionaire Phillip D. Armour to supply the Exodusters. Private Worth had asked her to marry him—as had two dozen other strangers in the previous twenty-four hours. The aid ladies who ran Floral Hall had reassured Cara on the matter, pointing out that men who were aiming to build towns needed wives, and many women, alone or widowed with children, jumped at the chance to marry one of them.

  Worth finally moved up in line to Cara’s spot. “Look,” he said quickly because so many waited behind him, “can we talk, after you’re done here?”

  “Yes, Private, but it will be a while before I’m finished, and”—she smiled to soften her next words—“I will not be changing my mind about marrying you. Understood?”

  He grinned. “I do understand Miss Cara. I’ll see you after your shift.”

  Cara shook her head at the young man’s joy, then turned her attention to the next ‘duster in line.

  While attending Oberlin, Cara had served in the dinning hall to help pay her tuition, but she never remembered those days to be so tiring. Her shift had ended thirty minutes before, and she was seated outside on a crate under the light of the waning moon. A breeze blew against her hot temples and sweat-dampened shirtwaist.

  “Are you Cara Henson?”

  Startled, she looked up at the mounted man in uniform looming above her in the dark. She’d been so tired, she hadn’t even heard him ride up. For a moment she almost succumbed to panic; for in the dark and because of her fatigue, the blue uniform brought back the terror when she was nine, terror that had plagued her in nightmares ever since. “Yes, I am,” she said warily. She hoped this wasn’t another marriage prospect. Another six men had offered for her this night.

  “Do you know a soldier named Benson Worth?”

  For the first time Cara realized this soldier, whoever he was, was extremely angry. She sat up straighter, curious. “I met Private Worth a few nights ago, but I don’t know if his first name is Benson.”

  “You don’t even know his first name?”

  The man’s voice crackled with incredulity that made Cara even more confused and a bit irritated. “No, I don’t.”

  “A man is about to be court-martialed because of you, and you don’t even know his name?”

  Her eyes widened. “Because of—wait.” She stood and held up her hand. “Who are you?”

  “Sergeant Chase Jefferson, United States Cavalry.”

  Cara wondered if he considered his position justification for his attitude. “And?”

  “And Benson Worth is facing court-martial because of you.”

  “That’s impossible.”

  “Is it? Why?”

  “Because—” Cara didn’t know why. She shrugged. “Well, I don’t know why, but I do know I can’t be responsible.”

  “Spoken like a true lady.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Benson Worth deserted his post tonight.”

  “And that’s my fault?”

  “Yes!”

  “How?”

  “Are you denying he had an assignation with you tonight?”

  “Yes, Private Worth asked to see me this evening, but it was no assignation—at least not in the way you’re thinking. I met him two nights ago over a plate of creamed beef, for heaven’s sake.” Cara did not like this man at all.

  “He says you were considering marrying him.”

  “What?”

  “Are you hard of hearing, ma’am?”

  “No. I’m not. Private Worth asked me to marry him, yes. But I declined.”

  “So you admit you were supposed to meet him tonight?”

  “Well, yes, but—” How would she explain the extenuating circumstances to someone who obviously considered himself both judge and jury? She decided she owned him no explanation at all. “Sergeant, I am sorry if one of your men took it into his head that I’d marry him. Private Worth seemed to be a nice young man. I’m sure his superiors will see his actions as those of an impressionable young man and be lenient. Good night.”

  “Wait just a minute.”

  Cara grabbed what remained of her patience and turned back. “Yes.”

  “You have nothing more to say than good night?”

  He guided the horse closer but she held her ground. Horses didn’t scare her, but she wasn’t so sure about the rider. He’d maneuvered himself into the faint light cast by the lantern hanging above the kitchen door, giving her her first full view of his face. His mahogany jaw looked as if it had been chiseled from stone. The lips were stern beneath a full mustache, and his eyes blazed beneath a Stetson. “That impressionable young man may be in danger of losing his career.”

  “Sergeant, what would you have me do?” she asked, at wit’s end.

  “I want you on the next train out of here.”

  Cara had never like ultimatums. “Oh, really? And if I’m not?”

  She thought he would explode. “You always this sassy?”

  “Always, Sergeant. My guardians called it my gift.”

  “Be on that train or I’ll put you on it myself. I don’t want your kind around my men.”

  “What kind is that?”

  “The kind that takes advantage of impressionable men by offering them—”

  “What? Creamed beef? You know nothing about what kind of woman I am. Good night!”

  The next morning Cara awakened before dawn. She’d always been an early riser, but that morning she got up even earlier than usual. She attributed it to the excitement of her pending departure. She rose, shook out her skirts, and rolled up the borrowed pallet. Walking very quietly so as not to disturb those ‘dusters still asleep, Cara crossed the hall to deposit the pallet in its spot in the corner. She waved greetings to some of the workers setting up the stations for the morning meal.

  Outside, Cara saw that it had rained during the night. She pulled her shawl closer to ward off the damp. The rain had turned the well-traveled area around the hall into a sea of ankle-deep mud. The privies and the well pump were on the other side of the mud, but someone had thoughtfully laid down planks to cover the distance. Cara blessed the person as she walked on the wood.

  When she finished in the privy, she crossed over to the pump, worked the handle, and splashed cool cleansing water over her sleepy face and rinsed her teeth. She dried her damp hands on her skirt and was preparing to return to the hall when she saw a buckboard making its way down the mud-clogged road. The horses were having trouble, balking as the mud oozed high around their forelocks, exhibiting a reaction that struck Cara as amazingly human. The driver of the board was impatient and brought out his whip. Three sounds—the man’s vile curses, the whinnies of the terrified horses, and the crack of the whip—tore at Cara’s soft heart. She hastily glanced around the yard for someone with the authority to make the man stop his cruelty. She noticed a few people watching the scene, but none seemed inclined to intervene.

  When a particularly brutal blow struck one of the horses and sent it sprawling to one knee, she could stomach no more. She jumped from the wooden plank into the mud.

  The buckboard had mired itself in the middle of the road. The man’s whip continued to fall. His horses continued to scream. Cara, now at the back of the buckboard, climbed in.

  She had the element of surprise. She came up behind the man and angrily snatched the whip from his hand. F
or a moment he was so astonished he didn’t move, thus giving her time to fling the offensive whip into the mud. When he finally recovered and turned on her, she saw the drunkenness and rage in his red eyes.

  Cara moved back. For the first time she realized what serious consequences she faced. The big-bellied man looked her up and down. Ominous. “Who the hell are you?”

  Cara swallowed fear as she held his furious gaze. “Cara . . . Henson, sir.”

  “Where’s my damn whip?”

  Cara glanced down into the mud beside the buckboard, and he did the same, just in time to see the whip swallowed by the wet earth.

  “Why you little—”

  He grabbed her by the arm, snatched her to him, and drew back his fist. A rifle shot pierced the silence. The man held, looked up, and found himself gazing into the barrel of a Winchester. Holding the weapon was a mounted, grim-faced Sergeant Chase Jefferson. Flanking Jefferson were two troopers, also armed.

  Cara’s knees buckled with relief.

  “Let her go, Thomas.”

  The man refused. In fact his grip became even tighter as he sneered, “You got no authority over me, soldier boy.”

  “Let her go, Thomas, or I will shoot you where you stand.” The soldier had not raised his voice, but every word vibrated with deadly intent. He had not looked at Cara once.

  Cara waited tensely, hoping Thomas would not call Jefferson’s bluff. She didn’t want any bloodshed. Thomas must have agreed, because a moment later he cursed and flung her aside. “Get off my buckboard,” he shouted.

  Cara did not argue. But before she could jump down, Jefferson moved his big stallion closer to the board, reached inside, and plucked her out as if she weighed no more than a feather pillow. She found herself seated before him on the horse. She twisted to look up into his angry face. “My men will take care of Thomas and the horses. You are coming with me.”

  He whipped the reins around, and the big horse began a slow walk through the mud. Only now did Cara notice the crowd of people her good intentions had drawn, and to her embarrassment, they cheered and applauded as the soldier carried her away.

  But the sergeant was not cheering. In fact, as he halted the horse a short distance from Floral Hall, he said, “You seem to have a real gift for this.”

  Cara looked up at the eyes glittering below the Stetson and answered innocently, “What, having people cheer me?”

  “No!” he snapped. “Causing a ruckus. That man could have killed you.”

  “Well, thanks to you he didn’t. I couldn’t let him continue to beat those animals. Now let me down.”

  He wasn’t through. “Being cavalry, I understand why you did that.”

  “So your point is?”

  His jaw tightened. “My point is, he outweighed you by nearly two hundred pounds, and he was drunk. Had he hit you, you’d be picking your teeth out of the mud right now. Next time let a man handle—”

  “What kind of man, Sergeant? There were men around, but I didn’t see any of them helping those poor horses.”

  “Oh, are you one of those free-thinking women who don’t believe in men?”

  Cara’s eyes narrowed. She’d had enough of his opinions. “Did I say that? You are determined to stuff me in some little pigeon hole, aren’t you?”

  “I’m determined to make you see sense, sassy woman.”

  Cara’s chin rose. “Sassy, educated, and opinionated. Men hate it.” She stared up into eyes that stared right back. She wondered why her heart was suddenly beating so fast. And why did she feel so warm?

  “I came looking for you this morning.”

  She felt mesmerized by everything about him, his size, his power, his face. A face she found much more handsome than she could have imagined last night. She suddenly remembered what she was about. “Why were you looking for me?”

  “You are a muddy mess, do you know that?” His mustache twitched in amusement.

  “Thank you for calling it to my attention,” she told him stiffly. “If you would be so kind as to let me down, I’ll go get cleaned up.”

  “I think I like you with mud on your face.”

  This statement caught her off-guard, too. “Why were you looking for me?” she asked.

  “To apologize. I went back and questioned Worth again after I left you last night. He changed a few things.”

  “No!” she whispered in mock surprise.

  “Yes. He admitted that meeting you last night had been his idea, and you’d done nothing to encourage him. He also confirmed that you turned down his offer of marriage. Says he didn’t tell the truth originally because he wanted the men in the barracks to stop teasing him.”

  “About what?”

  “Being a virgin.”

  Cara blinked.

  The mustache twitched again. “He figured if he told them he had a beautiful woman wanting to marry him, they’d leave him alone.”

  “If Worth thinks I’m beautiful, he’s younger than I thought,” she quipped.

  “Oh, I don’t know,” he murmured. “I think he’s old enough.”

  Why, Chase Jefferson was flirting with her, Cara realized. For the first time in her life she wished she knew how to banter with a man. Well, she’d just have to give it her best try. “And so . . .” she prompted.

  “And so, what?”

  “You were going to apologize?”

  He chuckled. “You’re not going to make this easy, are you?”

  “No, I’m afraid not. In fact,” Cara added looking up into his handsome face, “if it weren’t so muddy, I’d insist you do it on your knees, but since I’m being gracious, and you did rescue me, up here will suffice.”

  “This more of that gift of yours?”

  She smiled.

  However, he shocked the smile right off her face when he took her hand and slowly raised it to his lips. He kissed the fingertips. “My deepest apologies, Miss Henson.”

  Cara managed to croak, “Apology accepted, Sergeant.” Every woman within sight was staring at him. Just as she was. She forced herself to remember where she was and what she was about. She pulled her hand free. “I . . . must go.” She wanted no one carrying tales about her behavior to the school board of Henry Adams. She desperately needed them to hire her.

  He guided the horse to the planks leading back to the hall with a skill that reminded Cara of her grandfather’s way with animals. Jefferson eased her down to the walk, and Cara tried to ignore all the interested faces turned their way. “Thank you again, Sergeant Jefferson.”

  “My pleasure. Thank you for being gracious enough to accept my apology.”

  Cara had no idea where the boldness came from, but she heard herself ask, “Is that the kind of woman you like, Sergeant . . . gracious?”

  “Sometimes . . .” he replied in a voice so soft only she could hear, “but sassy’s nice, too, I’m finding out . . .”

  Cara felt heat spread from her head to her toes as she stared up into his dark eyes. “How long will you be staying in Topeka?”

  “I’m heading to Texas day after tomorrow. And you?”

  “I leave later today, for the Solomon Valley.”

  There was a shared silence before he spoke. “I see. Then this is goodbye.”

  Their gazes locked. He was about to speak again when an attractive young woman interrupted. “Chase, where were you last night? I waited up half the night. Oh, hello,” she said to Cara.

  Cara noted that Jefferson had the decency to appear embarrassed. “Laura Pope, Cara Henson.”

  Cara in her mud-covered clothes felt like a beggar child standing next to the smartly dressed, dark-skinned woman, but nodded politely.

  The newcomer looked Cara up and down, wrinkled her little nose, then said, “You don’t mind if I steal my fiancé for a while, do you? My parents are having a dinner party tonight—”

  After the word “fiancé,” Cara heard little else. “By all means. The sergeant and I are finished.”

  Hoping the humiliation she felt did not show in
her eyes as she looked at Jefferson, she added, “Have a safe trip to Texas, Sergeant.”

  She heard him call her name as she walked away, but she didn’t turn.

  “Ah, so you do know that handsome devil,” Sybil said. “Just look at that mustache, those thighs. That man could make a woman break every code she’s ever lived by.”

  Scandalized, Cara laughed. “You should be ashamed of yourself, trying to corrupt the schoolteacher.”

  “I’m not corrupting you. I see a superior model of the Lord’s handiwork eyeing a friend who is college-trained, beautiful, and—he’s coming this way. Are you ready?”

  Cara watched as Chase stepped off the opposite walk and into the street. The closer he came, the faster her heart raced. She had to turn away from those dark eyes. “You, Sybil, my friend, have been in this sun too long. I’m not going to jeopardize my position for a Yankee soldier. I’m going inside. I have papers to correct.”

  “Coward. Oh, well, you’re saved. He’s been sidetracked.”

  Cara glanced over her shoulder. Chase had been waylaid by a reporter from the Nicodemus Cyclone. Chase caught her eye for one last, searing look that shook her to her toes.

  “My, my, my,” Sybil muttered. “So things are that way, are they?”

  A very flustered Cara excused herself from the reverend’s wife and fled into the safety of Sophie’s boardinghouse.

  Chapter 2

  What a party they were having at Sophie’s downstairs. There were fiddlers for dancing, good drink, good food—really good food. Cara knew, for she’d help set out the buffet. Everyone was having a wonderful time—everyone except her. She sat at the desk in her room on the second floor, the strains of the celebration drifting up through the wooden planks beneath her. The music distracted her, making her tap her toe instead of grading the children’s essays. She finally gave up, stood, and stretched.