The Blue Cloak

by Shannon McNear

  Otherwise, she handled the difficulty of the trip—the ride, the necessity of sleeping out in the open and eating at the fireside—with perfect calm and cheerfulness. He couldn’t imagine any of his aunts or cousins doing the same.

  They rose early the next morning and were off again in a light drizzle, still trailing the Harpe women. They’d let a bit of distance fall between the two parties, and some of the men complained about having to ride so slowly. Ben could not blame them, but they were still mostly within hearing, and the tracks were still fresh.

  They passed through Crab Orchard and again, stopped for the night between towns. As darkness fell, the fire from the women’s camp was visible through the trees, and Ben caught Rachel’s gaze straying often toward it as they sat beside their own.

  “I know I should likely just walk down there and talk to them,” she said at last, looking up to find his eyes on her. “But I feel a terrible reluctance, and I don’t know why.”

  Without thought, he reached out his hand, and she took it. “I understand the reluctance. Even in the absence of the men—even after the acquittal—there is something about Susan especially.”

  Rachel’s head dipped. “Exactly.”

  He squeezed her fingers. “Keep praying.”

  “I am.”

  “Wake up, Sunny. It’s time to go.”

  The whisper pulled Sally from the depths of a slumber she’d only just returned to while nursing Eady back to sleep.

  “Sunny. Come on.”

  “What—it’s—but it’s still dark.”

  Susan loomed over her, silhouetted against the stars, beyond the tree branches. The barest hint of color tinged the eastern sky.

  “We need to get a move on if we’re to slip that party trailing us.”

  Sally sat straight up, Eady stirring in her arms but not awakening yet. “But—” She blinked and looked around. Betsey was already up, slinging the packs and panniers over the back of the mare. Reluctantly, out of habit more than anything, she snuggled Eady into the blanket on the ground, and rose, stretching. “Why are we leaving ahead of our escort? They’re following us for our protection.”

  Susan snorted and turned away. “Just get your stuff together.”

  Suspicion soured her gut and dragged at her limbs as she shoved things into her saddlebag—baby gowns, clouts, her own old and tattered gown—then bundled Eady more carefully for tucking into the pannier.

  She couldn’t wait to get home—to see Pa’s and Mama’s faces as they saw little Eady for the first time, to feel their arms around her again—

  “Hurry up,” Betsey hissed.

  Sally fumbled a little, getting Eady loaded on the mare, then hurried back to roll up her blanket. “Why such a rush?”

  Even in the dark, she could see Betsey’s scowl and finger over her lips.

  Taking the mare’s bridle, Susan led off—not toward the road, as expected, but straight into the forest, with the lightening sky at her back.

  “Wait—what—”

  “Shh,” was the only reply.

  Sally stumbled in her effort to run a little faster and catch up to Susan. “But—this ain’t right—”

  The older woman stopped and swung toward her so fast, even the old mare bobbed her head in alarm. Susan put a hand up to her nose to soothe her, then glared at Sally. “Surely you didn’t think we were really going back to Knoxville.”

  “I—but—aye.” Sally swallowed. “I surely did.”

  Susan’s pitying laugh was barely above a breath, but cut to the marrow, nevertheless. “You poor lamb. And just what do you think Big and Little will do when they find us? Hmm? You honestly believe they’d let us away that easily?”

  Sally’s mouth worked, but her throat, dry as dust, would produce no sound.

  Susan bent close again. “I tried once, years ago. Big liked to have beat me—and more—to within an inch of my life. He’s amenable enough if he gets his way, but you’ve seen it, some. The minute you cross him, watch out. You know already that he killed a man years ago just for saying he was concerned about our welfare. Little thought he was eyein’ Betsey a bit too warmly, but nah, it warn’t that. Big was being rougher than he otherwise might, and the fellow called him on it.”

  The world tilted around Sally, and she could not breathe.

  Susan straightened. “While that man lives, Sunny, we belong to him. You belong to him—you and Little. You said it didn’t make no never mind what you were before, and as I told you then, you best not forget it. No matter what a jury or your little friend and that fine bit of a lawyer-man might say. I don’t like all the killin’ myself, but while Big’s runnin’ free, we got an obligation to find him.”

  Sally’s lungs burned, and the earth had not yet stopped shifting—but wait, nay, that was just Susan and the mare moving past her, with—

  With her baby and all her belongings.

  Part of her demanded she run ahead, stop Susan again, take Eady, and run back to the men escorting them, Rachel and Ben among them, and beg them to shelter her. But Susan was already well down the hill, and—

  “You belong to him—you and Little.”

  He will kill you, or worse.

  “God,” she whimpered. “Sweet, merciful God. Help me.”

  But like the meek lamb she’d truly become, she turned and followed numbly after Susan and Betsey, away into the wilderness to where, she knew not.

  Chapter Eleven

  They’re gone. Tracks lead off into the forest, but the trail is hours old.”

  Rachel stood beside the road, stooped with grief, hands over her face. “But we should follow after. Keep after them and—”

  “And what?” their trail leader said, his face stern but not unkind. “If those women are bent upon finding their men again, naught we can do will stop them. They could already be gone with them.”

  “Then they could lead us to Wiley and Micajah, and you could catch them—arrest them again! It’s the perfect opportunity—”

  His eyes turned pitying. “We ain’t really set up for a woman to go along on a posse, miss.”

  “But …” Rachel stamped and turned a slow circle, tipping her face to the forest canopy above. Sally … oh Sally. What happened?

  Lord God, will You not intervene again? She has a child now, for the love of all that’s holy. A babe! Oh Lord …

  She didn’t realize she was sobbing until someone’s hands tugged at her, pulling her close as strong arms almost gingerly surrounded her. “It’s all right, Rachel,” Ben’s voice soothed, above her head and rumbling against her ear. “It may not be, just now, but I swear we will go after them. You simply have to let us get you safely to your brother’s post, first.”

  She rolled her face against the roughness of his hunting coat, still unable to stem the flow of tears.

  “Rachel.” His embrace shifted, his mouth against her hair and his voice but a breath now. “You know I’ll not rest until those men come to justice. Perhaps there will yet be opportunity to rescue Sally from the situation—if she still wishes it.”

  “No-o …” The cry tore itself from her throat, a thin wail. “That—babe—”

  The arms tightened, his body swaying as if she were the child. “I know,” he whispered. “Just keep praying.”

  And so he held her until she could find a measure of calm. Even then, she stood, face pressed to his coat, which smelled of woodsmoke and horse and something teasingly spicy. The scent was comforting beyond words—and she didn’t even care in the moment that she’d made a spectacle of herself.

  Oh … Sally. Oh Lord. Protect her in all this. And guide us—or these men—in finding her. In finding Wiley and Micajah and seeing justice done. Please, Lord.

  She kept repeating the words as through a haze they finished packing up and she let herself be mounted on the gelding—Thomas’s no longer, she had to remind herself—and started off down the road.

  “You’ll sleep in your own bed at Dan and Anne’s tonight,” Ben murmured.
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br />   As if it mattered to her. If only she had not the limitations of being female and could go with them in pursuit of the Harpes. If only she had one more chance to speak to Sally face-to-face and persuade her not to follow the others. They must have forced her to, somehow. It was the only explanation.

  She was finally beginning to feel like herself again about the time they rode up to her brother’s trading post, about midafternoon—far sooner than they intended because of being able to ride faster on this leg of the journey.

  At the rear of the post building, in the tiny stable yard, Ben dismounted and helped her down, and the other men dispersed to find lodging elsewhere. They led the horses inside the stable, where Rachel helped unsaddle and tend the animals.

  Neither of them spoke, beyond simple things regarding where to find or put items—Ben seemed to know his way about well enough, she hardly needed to direct him anymore—but as soon as both Ivy and Dandelion were tucked into stalls, Ben turned to Rachel, and gently taking the saddlebags from her hands, set them aside and pulled her into his embrace again.

  He’d removed his coat at some point during the afternoon as the air had grown warmer, and she found herself savoring the strength of his arms beneath his shirtsleeves and the beat of his heart beneath his waistcoat … as well as the woodsy scent mingled with something that must be uniquely his own, drawn out by the exertion of the day.

  But of course, now the tears were flowing again. “I suppose you must leave right away,” she said, sniffling.

  He pulled back to brush the wetness off her cheeks, and an emotion crossed his face that in the shadows, she could not read. “Not until morning,” he murmured. “And then, yes, the other men and I will go back and track Sally and her companions.”

  Another sob shook her, and, hands cupping her shoulders, he pressed his lips to her forehead. She found herself leaning in, and once again he gathered her to him.

  “Oh Ben—” But the words came out strangled, and her fists knotted, one against his shoulder and the other in the front of his waistcoat.

  “Shh, shh,” he soothed, and at last she simply threw both arms around him and let the weeping come.

  After, she did feel somewhat abashed at seeing the wet stain on Ben’s fine waistcoat. One hand framed the side of her face, his thumb sweeping across her cheek, and he tilted her head to make her look at him again. “It will dry,” he said, the tiniest smile playing about his lips.

  She nodded, and he hesitated, the smile fading. He looked as if he wished to say something but then only nodded as well and said, “We should let your brother and sister-in-law know that we’ve returned.”

  He bedded down that night on the pallet in front of the hearth but tossed and turned with the tide of his own thoughts. And on this occasion, Rachel did not rise to partake of late-night tea with him—likely not a bad thing.

  Truth be told, this needed to be the last time he slept at their hearth. The strength of his own feelings, taking her into his arms to comfort her that morning in the forest, and then doing so again in the shadows of the stable, had proved far more overwhelming than he ever guessed possible. How did this young frontier woman so enliven all his senses—her scent, the softness of her form against his, the tug of her weeping on his protective instincts?

  For heaven’s sake, in the moment he’d very nearly forgotten himself and kissed her, when it was neither the time nor the place.

  “… not until Thomas’s murderers are brought to justice …”

  He didn’t want to leave her thinking him indifferent to her, but neither would he take advantage of her vulnerability of heart in the wake of Sally’s disappearance. And when his own life was uncertain, was it fair to engage Rachel’s emotions, only to leave her doubly grieved, if he also fell victim to the Harpes’ brutality? Just the thought of the details surrounding the murders they’d begun linking to the pair curdled Ben’s insides.

  Yet, risk or not, Ben had to do this. For his uncle … for his cousins … for Thomas himself. He’d considered himself as having less to hazard in the pursuit of Thomas’s murderers than the others, but now with the complication of a particular young woman—

  He vented a sigh. Lord God, grant me strength and wisdom here. If it be Your will, also grant me protection, but more than anything, grant that I help bring these evil men to justice. Protect the innocents under their influence.

  And—if it be possible—I would be most grateful to be able to return hale and sound to Rachel, and—and perhaps see if You intend more from this connection between us than simply mutual support and comfort during the worst of this trial.

  Although I am not unmindful of the value of that, if this is all it be.

  He fell asleep shortly after, the prayer spent.

  The mood around the table the next morning remained cordial but grave. Both Daniel and Anne seemed distracted, and only the baby, so much bigger and more aware now than when Ben first had met them, was untouched by it all, grinning and chortling at Ben’s silly faces. Rachel watched his antics with a smile tinged with sadness.

  “We’ll find her, I promise,” Ben murmured, when she finally met his eyes.

  She gave a quick nod, firmed her mouth, and rose to gather dishes too quickly.

  It was all he could do to not rise and follow after and catch her into his arms again. Instead, he turned to her brother and sister-in-law. “Thank you for all your hospitality. I hope I shall not have cause to trouble you again, except to bring good news.”

  Dan’s gaze flicked to Rachel and back. “You are always welcome here.”

  His wife echoed the sentiment, but from the corner of his eyes, Ben had seen Rachel’s slight hesitation before pressing into motion once more, tidying what appeared an already-spotless living space.

  Unable to delay any further, he finished his coffee and pushed back his chair then carried his own dishes to the tub of hot, soapy water Rachel had prepared. Still she did not turn, so he fetched his saddlebags and bundle of bedding—far less than he’d slept on last night—and with a last word of farewell to his hosts, went through the door and down the steps.

  If only this leaving did not feel so final, and his gut so hollowed.

  In the stable, he set aside his baggage and, with a pat to Dandelion, led Ivy out to the breezeway to groom and saddle her. He’d be leaving the gelding for Rachel’s use, if she wished, or for them to sell, if the price was right, although at some point Rachel would likely need conveyance to return home to Knoxville, and riding Dandelion was far more comfortable than in a wagon.

  He was nearly finished brushing Ivy when a gowned shadow, small bundle in her arms, appeared in the open stable doorway.

  Rachel.

  His heart stuttered.

  She came toward him, cheeks flushed and eyes reddened, her gaze darting toward him and away. “Anne packed you a little something. She handed it to me after you’d gone and told me to make sure you got it.”

  Ben accepted the bundle and set it on top of his saddlebag, but his attention never wavered from Rachel, whose hands knotted in her apron as he turned back to her.

  “I—did you mean it when you said you hoped never to come back?”

  The tremor in her voice wrung at him. “I said, except to bring good news. Not that I never intended to return at all.” A breath. “Did you think that was what I meant?”

  She lifted watery eyes to his. “I—wasn’t sure. I know you have a task to complete, which by all rights comes first—but I think of all the horrible things those men have done—”

  A step, and he’d gathered her in his arms. Despite the distress of the moment, it felt as though she belonged there.

  “Yes,” he said, “finding the Harpes is the most pressing matter in my mind, but I assure you, Rachel, I want very much to return to you. Just—under circumstances that would let me have something of substance to offer you if—if you decide you would be amenable to more than me merely ‘calling upon you.’”

  She pulled back just enough to l
ook up at him, her hand coming up to rest on his bearded cheek. The eyes searching his were full of wonder. “I can hardly believe a man such as yourself would truly be interested in me, the mere daughter of a merchant.”

  “Is that your hesitation?” He narrowed his eyes at her in mock severity for but a moment, then smiled. “But out here, does any of that truly matter?”

  Her expression remained somber. “Sometimes.” Her fingertips stirred briefly against his cheekbone.

  He reached up and brushed his knuckles against her jawline, in return. “You are an amazing woman, Rachel Taylor, and any man—anyone at all, of any station, would be honored to have you accept his suit.”

  Her lips parted, the brown eyes widening a fraction and darkening … and all his resolve crumbled.

  He leaned down to kiss her, intending it to be very light, no more than testing the softness of her mouth, but she met him halfway, rising on her toes. The catch of her breath and the scent of her skin proved too heady, and he found himself lingering, wholly enchanted.

  They broke at last, her cheeks rosy and eyes shining.

  “You go catch the Harpes,” she whispered, “but then I want you back. Safely, if you please.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he murmured, and folded her in for another kiss.

  Sally could not take another step. Were it not for her fear for little Eady, she’d not have gone this far, but in this moment, the weariness dug so deep into her soul, into her very bones and spirit, that Susan standing over her, hands on her hips, did not matter.

  And her insides were beginning to hurt, likely from the walking so soon after giving birth.

  One of the babies was crying, a thin wail that tugged at her. Sally thought it might be Eady. But she could only huddle there on a rock, forehead to her knees.

  “Have a little mercy, Sue,” Betsey said. “She just had that baby a week ago.”

  Susan hated being called that. But to Sally’s faint surprise, her only response was a long sigh. “Fine then. We’ll make better time with her riding the old mare. Hardly much to her, anyway, and she can nurse her babe while we go.”