Caleb

by Christine Sterling

  Chapter 1

  July 1872, San Angelo, Texas

  “I don’t understand why we have to leave?”

  Lydia Whitcomb looked at the boy jumping around at the foot of the bed. At just seven years old, he was the image of his mother. His dark hair and eyes contrasted with his fair skin. Just like his mother, that fair skin would turn the color of a burnt biscuit in the hot Texas sun. Lydia could see a smattering of freckles dotting his tanned nose.

  Angel kisses.

  If she moved closer, she would probably be able to count them. He had three when he was born, but now there were many across his nose and cheeks. Lydia missed those days when she would rock him to sleep and press her lips against those angel kisses. Now he was older, he wanted no part of cuddling. He was more interested in frogs and tadpoles and playing in the mud along the creek. He was also at the age where he questioned everything.

  This rascal was her son as if she had carried and birthed him herself. He might not be from her womb, but he was in her heart. She made a promise to protect the boy, and she would do everything to keep it, right down to giving her last breath to keep him safe.

  “Pass me the shirt, Hart,” Lydia said. “We don’t have a choice.”

  “Why’s that?” Hart said, passing her the worn linen shirt. Lydia made a note to pick up more threads and patches from the mercantile before they left. She watched Hart rub his eye with the back of his hand and Lydia could see the dirt on his palms and fingers. She grimaced.

  Giving a glance at the ground, she discovered that his feet were just as dirty as his hands. “Where are your boots?”

  Hart blinked for a few seconds and then his eyes went wide. “I left them down at the fishing hole!” he yelled, racing towards the door.”

  Lydia had quick reflexes. Being around a small boy she found it was the best skill to have. She reached out and grabbed Hart, pulling him close to her. “We’ll get them on the way to the mercantile. I need you to stay here.”

  “But, why?” Hart’s voice was muffled against Lydia’s belly. She pushed him back a bit so she could lift his chin.

  “The livestock auctions are happening in a few days. There will be strangers who we don’t know.” She brushed the hair from his eyes. Dark eyes peered out from behind even darker lashes.

  “Will there be cowboys?”

  “I imagine there will be.”

  “I want to be a cowboy when I grow up.”

  Lydia laughed. “You have quite a way to go, Hart. I do know, however, that you will make the best cowboy out there.”

  “I wish we didn’t have to sell our cows.”

  Lydia sat on the edge of the bed. “I know, honey, but after Pa died, I just couldn’t keep up with them. They require a lot of work to feed, and muck stalls, and we just couldn’t do it without him. But you know what?” She tapped Hart on the nose. “I’m sure when we get to where we are going, there will be plenty of cows for you to see.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “Nebraska. Think of this as an adventure.”

  “Why couldn’t Aunt Vangie come with us?”

  Lydia bit her lower lip. She wondered how much to tell Hart, but she knew if she didn’t tell him something, he would keep asking questions. She decided to tell him the truth.

  “Aunt Vangie was in trouble when she came here. She was running from some bad men, and she knew that we wouldn’t let anything happen to her.”

  “Did the bad men find her?”

  Lydia nodded. “Yes. The bad men were coming here to find her.”

  “Do you think I’ll see her again.”

  “I certainly hope so. Now, why don’t you go wash your hands and feet and then come back and help me? We are almost done.” Hart nodded as she ruffled his hair.

  She watched the boy scamper out the door, and once she heard the pump spill water into the bucket she turned and looked at the clothes on the bed.

  Picking up the shirt that was discarded when she stopped Hart from escaping, she folded it and placed it in the trunk. There wasn’t much to take. They didn’t have very much. Just a few clothes, some blankets, and personal memories. Fortunately, Sam was able to secure the sale of the house and land. She was able to pay off the bank and still have plenty of money to give some to Vangie and save the rest for her future.

  She pushed the quilt her mother gave her aside and looked beneath it. There in the ornate frame was the picture of her wedding day. The day she married John and took her husband’s name.

  John was truly the best of men. Hard to believe that she would have been married for ten years. Even harder to believe that he had been gone for three. She lost him to pneumonia.

  If not for Sam, Vangie, and Hart she may not have continued living. Sam Davis was the Marshal and brought Vangie to her home that stormy night so many years ago. John was gone. Vangie was now gone. Lydia was truly alone; and she had a seven-year-old boy to take care of.

  Lydia sighed and tucked the quilt tighter around the frame. She felt much older than her twenty-nine-years. Picking up a skirt she’d draped over the bed, she added it to the trunk and closed the lid. She needed to get the wagon to the mercantile so it could be loaded with barrels of flour, beans, and other things she would need for the long journey.

  In the morning she and Hart would be headed out on the Goodnight Loving trail. Sam suggested that she take that trail instead of the Western Trail. He told her that there would be more wagons on the trail through Colorado and she could simply join one of the caravans north. There were also fewer Indian attacks along the trail.

  Sam would be dropping by to help her load the wagon after he made sure Vangie was on the next stage to Kansas City. When Sam got word that the men looking for Vangie were coming for the horse and cattle auction, he wasted no time in letting the women know.

  Sam was the only one, other than John and Lydia that knew Vangie’s identity. They’d planned for what would happen if this day came. If Vangie needed to leave, John and Lydia were going to raise Hart as their son. That is why Hart knew Vangie as aunt instead of mother. When John died, Vangie laid out a plan that she would go east, and Lydia would head north.

  Lydia never dreamed that day would come.

  Grabbing her wrap, she headed out the door to find Hart.

  He was hunched over digging in the dirt with a stick.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I was burying my rock.”

  “Your rock?”

  Hart nodded but kept digging. “It is the one I found at the creek with Pa.”

  “Why are you burying it?”

  “So, the new owners know this is a special place.” Lydia didn’t know what to say so she watched Hart finish burying his rock. He then stuck a stick up from the pile of dirt. When he stood, he wiped his hands down his shirt. Lydia sighed.

  “Wash your hands. We need to go to town.”

  “And get my boots.”

  “And get your boots.”

  Lydia walked to the barn and hitched her horse to the front of the wagon. Taffy was the last of the horses from the farm. Even though she was going to be using oxen to pull her wagon, Taffy would be coming on the trip with them. She led the horse and wagon from the barn and climbed onto the seat.

  Hart scrambled up in the wagon and settled down next to Lydia.

  “Can I drive?”

  Lydia handed the reins to Hart. “Be careful and go slow.”

  “Giddyup!” Hart called, giving a little slap of the reins to Taffy’s backside. The wagon lurched and then slowly started to move forward.

  Lydia watched Hart drive the wagon for the short ride to the creek. He would be a good horseman someday. Maybe once they got settled, she could get another horse.

  When they arrived at the bank of the creek, Hart dropped the reins and scrambled down from the wagon and ran to the creek bed. He returned shortly with his boots and a fishing pole and placed them in the back of the wagon.

  “I was hoping you’d be wearing your boots,”
she softly chided.

  “My toes are all muddy. I’ll wear them later.”

  Lydia grinned and offered her hand to help Hart back on the seat.

  “Can we have a dog?”

  Lydia paused and gave a flick of the reins against Taffy’s backside. “What brought that on?”

  “Well, Mr. Sumpter at the livery has a dog. And she had puppies. Billy said there were ten of them. I just thought it would be nice to have a dog.”

  “Honey, we are going on a long journey. We can’t take care of a dog, let alone a puppy. I’m sure when we get to where we are going, we can get you a dog.” Hart gave an exaggerated sigh and flopped his arms to his side. Lydia raised her eyebrow at him and then turned back to look at the road. She heard Hart sigh again and she tried to suppress a laugh. “How about we sing?”

  Hart nodded and started singing Camptown Races as they made their way into town.

  Soon Lydia joined in and their voices rose in harmony.

  “Gonna run all night,” Hart sang.

  Lydia chimed in, “Gonna run all day!”

  “I’ll bet my money on a bob-tail nag.”

  “I’m gonna bet on the bay!”

  Hart continued singing, as Lydia steered Taffy to the town line. She could see the barn where the auction was to be held and the temporary pens that had been set up to hold the horses and cattle. As she approached, she could see several of the horses from her ranch in the pen. They were circling the edge of the pen with nervous energy. They were her last tie to John and now they were going to be sold and taken to who knows where. Lydia wiped a tear from her eye with a gloved hand.

  “Why are you crying, Ma?” Hart asked, grabbing her hand.

  “It must be the dust, sweetheart.” Lydia gave him a half-smile. “Look, at the cowboys coming this way,” she said pointing to a group of men riding horses.

  A group of men with sun-charred faces were driving longhorn cattle out of town. She could see that there were ropes wrapped around the curved horns protruding from the beasts’ heads. She moved over to let the longhorns pass. No sense being caught by one of the horn’s sharp points.

  A large cloud of dust flew up behind the animals and Lydia coughed into her handkerchief. This is what she hated about Texas. The dust and flies.

  She watched the cowboys as they passed. Their skin was dark and leathery. Their clothes were covered in dirt and they wore leather stovepipe chaps covering their heavy work pants. Lydia didn’t know how they handled all that clothing in the heat.

  Hart stood up on the bench. He waved his hat in the air as they passed.

  “Look, Ma!” he said, standing on the seat and pointing to the cowboys. Several nodded or tipped their hats as they rode past the wagon. “Did you see that? He has a real gun and everything!”

  Lydia held Hart by the legs as they watched the small parade. She wondered if any of the men in that group were looking for Vangie. She repressed the thought. Hart was her son.

  Her son.

  Finally, the last of the longhorns marched past and Lydia resumed their ride through the manure laden ruts leading into the cow town. “How about you get us the rest of the way there,” Lydia said softly as she passed the reins to Hart.

  She was deep in thought when they pulled up alongside the mercantile where Mr. Jennings, the shopkeeper, had men waiting to load wagons full of supplies. One of the men came over and offered his hand to assist her from the wagon. Hart jumped down and ran around to the wooden sidewalk.

  “Afternoon, Missus Whitcomb.”

  Lydia allowed him to assist her down from the wagon. “Same to you, Mr. Bartley.” She gave a glance around town. “Looks like it is gearing up to be a good auction.”

  “Yes, it does. I saw several of your horses up for sale.”

  “Yes. And the last of the cattle.”

  “Heard you was leavin’ us,” a man that Lydia didn’t recognize said, moving forward. He was dressed in black and Lydia noticed a red scar on his face.

  She stiffened. How much did these men know? She thought quickly, coming up with a reasonable explanation.

  “Uhm… yes. We are headed to visit family. No reason to stay here. Three years is long enough to mourn, don’t you say?”

  “Best of luck to you, missy. Are you taking the train from Kansas City?”

  “Are we taking a train, Ma? I thought you said…”

  Lydia quickly put her hand over Hart’s mouth. “Now Mr. Bartley, you don’t want me to spoil the surprise, do you?”

  Mr. Bartley blushed. “No ma’am, I guess not. Jennings has your order all set. We’ll get it loaded. Come on Spike, let’s get moving.”

  The man called Spike gave Lydia a grin that made her stomach turn. His teeth were tobacco stained and his lips and skin cracked from too much time in the sun. He spat on the ground next to Lydia’s boots before tipping his hat. “Ma’am.”

  Lydia grabbed Hart’s hand. “Come on, sweetheart. Let’s get into the shop.”

  She dragged a barefooted Hart in front of sacks of flour, barrels of apples, a stack of washtubs, and into the large shop. The shop was crowded with all the men in town. Lydia lost Hart’s hand as she moved through the crowd. “Stay with me, Hart,” she said moving past the bolts of fabric to the counter in the back.

  “Mrs. Whitcomb,” a tall man with glasses behind the counter said. “Your order is all ready to go. Just pull the wagon along…”

  “Mr. Bartley is already loading it, thank you. I need some spools of thread and patches. Then I’ll just settle my bill and close out my account.”

  Mr. Jennings pulled several spools of neutral-colored thread from a cabinet on the back counter and added a stack of patches wrapped in string next to them.

  “Ten cents for this. Sam already took care of everything else.”

  Lydia placed a coin on the counter. “He did?”

  “Yes’um. He paid for it from the proceeds of your horse sale.”

  “My horses?” Lydia was confused.

  Mr. Jennings nodded. “Yes. Someone purchased all of them. Paid top dollar too, from what I understand.”

  “Oh. I guess I should go and see Marshal Davis then. Thank you, Mr. Jennings.” She took the bag of threads and cloth scraps and turned to leave. Not looking where she was going, she bumped into a man placing supplies on the counter. “Excuse me,” she whispered.

  “Mrs. Whitcomb,” Mr. Jennings called. She turned to see him pulling a basket from underneath the counter. “Mrs. Jennings said to give you this. Isn’t much, but it should help you on your way.”

  Lydia took the basket and looked underneath the checkered napkin covering the contents. Inside the basket were several apples, half a cooked ham, a chunk of cheese, a loaf of fresh bread, three jars of different types of jam, and several wax bags filled with penny candy for Hart. She replaced the napkin over the basket. “Tell your wife thank you for me.”

  “I will, Mrs. Whitcomb.”

  Lydia turned to give the basket to Hart to carry to the wagon. He was no longer at her side. “Hart?” She looked around the store. Hart couldn’t be seen. “Hart?” she called again.

  “Are you looking for your boy?” a masculine voice asked.

  Lydia turned and looked at the cowboy who had just put his purchases on the counter.

  “Yes.” She wrinkled her forehead. “He was right here.”

  “I think I saw him run off with another boy.”

  “Did you happen to notice which way they were headed?” Lydia tried to keep the panic from her voice.

  The man shook his head. “His friend mentioned something about a puppy.”

  Lydia let out a sigh of relief. “Thank you. He probably went to the livery.”

  “I can go with you and help you look.” The man turned and whistled to an older man in the shop. “Tot!” he called. “You got this? I need to go to the livery.”

  “Sure thing, boss,” the man said, walking over to the counter. He was an older man, with kind eyes. He reminded Lydia of her
father. “Ma’am,” he said, tipping his head.

  The younger man took the basket from Lydia, and gently taking her elbow, he guided her towards the door. “Let’s go find your boy.”

  “I don’t know you,” Lydia said suspiciously, her eyes narrowing.

  The man continued out the door onto the hard-dusty road in front of the store. Then he stopped and looked at her.

  Here in the daylight, she could get a good look at him. He was definitely a cowboy.

  His skin was lightly tanned, but not leathery or cracked from the sun. He wore a dark-colored linen shirt with buttons. The top two buttons were open, revealing a patch of dark hair peeking from beneath the fabric.

  Lydia quickly diverted her eyes and looked directly in the man's face. He had recently shaved as he didn't even show a day's growth on his face.

  He was handsome with a squarish jaw, thin lips, a broad nose, and deep-set eyes. His eyes were dark brown surrounded by the longest lashes Lydia had ever seen. He was almost too pretty to be a man.

  She looked at where his shirt sleeves were folded up to his forearms. Several veins popped from beneath the skin as he flexed his leather-clad hands.

  She wondered what it would be like to be held by hands as strong as those. She shook her head, silently chastising herself for giving into a minute of temptation thinking of a handsome cowboy. She needed to find her son.

  “Name’s Caleb. Caleb Chapman.”

  Chapter 2

  Caleb watched as the woman knelt and hugged her son. He could hear her chastise him in harsh whispers before pulling her to him again. He knew then that she was a good mother.

  Caleb saw the little boy that was with her at the counter. The woman’s eyes weren’t off the child for more than a minute, when the boy ran out the door with his friend. The woman reminded him a bit of his mother; overprotective and worrying about her children.

  Mrs. Whitcomb.

  He heard the shopkeeper call her that.

  Mrs. Whitcomb was a beautiful woman, with light brown hair and big green eyes framed with long lashes. She had a pert little nose and full lips, perfect for kissing. Her hair was tied on top of her head in a bun, but her hair was slipping out and curling attractively around her face. Her husband was a lucky man.