by Kris Tualla
*****
Reid soaked in the hot water until his fingers and toes turned to pale pink prunes. He rubbed his rubbery fingers over his cleanly shaved jaw and wondered when he might be cleanly shaven again. Once he went to his property, his attention would be consumed with finding the right spot for his house, and then building a cabin to live in until he could afford something else.
But if I have no family, what’s the point?
His thoughts needed to be reined in; they could not trot down that path right now. Somehow, he would manage. He would look for a woman to join him, and not worry about love. They might even have a child or two. And if that failed, he would invite one of his nephews to join him and take over the land when he passed.
Above all, he needed to plan only one step ahead. His first priority after surviving the coming winter was to create the home he would live in for the rest of his life. Later he would think about who might share it with him.
For all he knew, Beatrice Atherton might have a sister.
Reid couldn’t keep himself from wondering how Kirsten fared these past three months. Was she still doing her charity work? Did her sewing circles still thrive now that the clothes were being sent to their intended recipients? He was glad he was able to help direct the clothing and the funds. Truly both were sorely needed.
Reid’s head fell back against the tall tin tub. The water was cooling, but getting out of the tub meant stepping into his new life. A life without Kirsten.
That wasn’t right.
A life without the hope of Kirsten was more accurate. She would be with him always.
How did he fall for her so quickly and so hard? Perhaps it was because he was vulnerable when he met her. Injured and blinded, his defenses were smashed to kindling and he was flailing for solid ground to stand on. Kirsten met him in the midst of his fears. She calmed them without thinking him any less of a man for his temporary weaknesses.
Or perhaps it was because, on the first night he was aware after the explosion, he heard her deliberately sink her suitor’s hopes in such a clever—and frankly hilarious—manner. She certainly knew her own mind and was confident enough not to be pushed into a situation not of her own choosing.
Most likely, he realized with a jolt, it was because he somehow recognized the wariness in her gaze, the fear in her declamations against marriage, and the protective way she held herself aloof. His instincts told him she was hurt, even if he didn’t consciously realize it. All he knew was that he was overwhelmed with the desire to protect her.
Yet in the nights when she snuck into his room, she showed him her true character. That must be when he fell. In the intimacy of the darkness, and the uninhibited way they talked. He saw her for who she was, and she was more attractive to him than any woman ever had been. Reid wanted her even before he laid eyes on her.
Why in hell did she have to tell me she loved me?
He heaved an uneven sigh.
It was bad enough that he had to walk away from her knowing he loved her. If his feelings had not been reciprocated, however, he could convince himself of a mere infatuation. A boyish dream, though he was far from being a boy. Unrequited love was easier forgotten.
But to know—to know—that she loved him in return was like carrying a firebrand inside his chest. Her stubbornness and her fears and her distrust of all men were barricades she refused to let him breach. His canons were useless.
He had no choice but to leave her for a second time.
The water was cold. Reid was beginning to shiver. He levered his hands on the rim of the tub and pushed himself up. He grabbed the linen towels and scrubbed himself warm and dry. By the angle of the sun he knew James would be expecting him in the dining room soon.
As he dressed in clean clothes he tried to steel his heart for an evening of James’ questions. Copious amounts of whiskey would definitely be required.
May 15, 1782
Cheltenham
Missouri Territory
The men followed the road toward Cheltenham—if two wheel ruts through weeds and grass could be called a road. At least the trees had been removed. The day was sunny; Reid wore his gray-tinted spectacles. While he told James the bright light was the reason, in truth it was as much his pounding head from yester eve’s libations.
Somehow, James had gotten Reid to drink more whiskey than he intended, and tell more about Kirsten than he cared to. He hoped James had enough to drink to forget most of what Reid confessed.
Because Reid had.
James drove his wagon in front. Reid followed astride the stallion with the pack mare in tow. All of his worldly goods and purchased supplies for his new life rested on these two animals’ backs. For twelve-hundred miles these horses faithfully carried him to a new life.
Reid purchased his tools in Boston, not knowing what opportunities would lay along his path. Sledge hammer, pick, axe and hatchet, saw, hammer, hand drill and bits, a level, twine and rope, shovels and spades. A frying pan and a covered iron pot. Tin plates and utensils. A mattress to stuff with meadow grass. Blankets. Knives of all sorts.
If he forgot anything, he hoped to purchase it in St. Louis. Judging by his brief stay in the city, that seemed a likely hope.
The ten miles took almost three hours at their lumbering pace through this newly carved wilderness. When they reached the town of Cheltenham, they found only a tavern and a church, both constructed of wood.
“Life’s most basic needs, I suppose,” Reid mused.
James pulled to a stop in front of the tavern and climbed from his wagon. “I’m going in to check our directions.”
Reid laughed and swung down from the stallion. “Good. I’m thirsty, too.”
*****
They were almost a mile south of the tiny town when James waved a hand over his head and whooped. “There’s the marker! That’s your land!”
Reid saw it; a red-painted stake by the trail.
My land.
He rode ahead of James to be the first to set foot on the property. After dismounting in a smooth whirl, he stilled. The knowledge that the dirt under his feet was his dirt overwhelmed him. Hope bubbled in his chest for the first time in months.
James pulled forward and halted the wagon behind him.
“Too bad she can’t see this,” he said softly.
Reid didn’t need clarification as to whom James meant. “Let’s follow the map to the property line on the south side,” he replied, choosing to ignore his friend’s comment. “So you might stand on your land as well.”
He lifted himself back into the saddle and consulted his compass. “Shall I lead now?”
“Please do,” James answered, grinning widely enough to break his face to two. “I’m actually giddy.”
Reid kicked his horse into motion, tugging at the mare’s tether. He managed a bit of a trot until James whistled at him to slow down. Apparently James wasn’t the only one who was giddy.
“There it is,” Reid called over his shoulder. He reined in the horses when he reached the next stake and waited for James to catch up.
James hopped from the wagon when it was still moving. He threw himself on the ground, face first and limbs flung wide.
“I’m here!” he shouted into the ground. “I’m finally here!”
“Ha! Are you going to swive it?” Reid scoffed, laughing.
James shot him a look over his shoulder. “I might. Will you look away?”
“No. I want to watch,” Reid countered. “I’ve been alone quite a bit lately.”
Both men burst into loud, uncontrolled guffaws, shared glee spilling from them like water from a crumbling dam. Reid even did a little dance while James rolled in the grass.
“Oh, God! This feels even better than I thought it would!” James climbed to his feet and brushed bits of grass and leaves from his clothes. “Shall we ride on?”
Reid faced James. “Not yet. Here is our plan. We’ll set up camp here, on the border between our properties. In the next couple of days we�
��ll remark the new border so it matches what we drew. After that, we’ll mark out the leased land.”
James nodded. “That sounds fine.”
“No matter what we are doing in the days to follow, we will both return here, to our camp, before sunset every day to share our evening meal,” Reid continued. “This way we will know if one of us has met with any mischief.”
“And if one of us has?” James queried.
“Two shots, with a count of three between them,” Reid answered. “That way it won’t be mistaken for hunting.”
“That makes sense,” James agreed. “Now I have a plan as well.”
Reid lifted his brow. “And that is?”
“Every seventh day, we’ll take my wagon into St. Louis,” James said. “We’ll get supplies, post letters, eat a real meal, and sleep in a real bed.”
“I don’t need to go,” Reid demurred.
“Yes, you do,” James declared. “We are going to take turns driving the wagon, you’ll help me load and unload supplies, and you’ll keep me company. For those favors, I’ll pay for your hotel room.”
Reid cocked his head and considered his new friend. “I don’t suppose I might dissuade you.”
James leveled his gaze. “No.”
“Are you always this stubborn?” Reid groused.
James rolled his eyes. “Me, stubborn? Seen a mirror, Norseman?”
Reid made a tsking sound and shook his head. “Let’s get our camp set up.”
CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN
May 22, 1782
The first seven days flew by faster than Reid thought possible. He and James spent two days with their compasses and maps, lugging around a bucket of red paint, and marking on trees the redrawn border between them, the leased land, and finally the perimeter of their grants. Once that task was accomplished the men spent their days apart, but always met back at their campsite in the evening.
Reid brought small game every day; until he had a place to hang and smoke or dry larger animals, such as the abundant deer, he didn’t want to risk drawing predators by having raw meat and blood nearby. So he and James dined on rabbit, grouse, pheasant, or even fish from the wide creek that flowed through Reid’s forest.
Reid made the decision to build his cabin nearest to what would eventually become the road from James’ estate, past his, and north into Cheltenham. Now it was only a trail, one which barely accommodated James’ wagon. The more they drove it, however, the clearer the way would become. Reid decided to make the removal of saplings and large rocks part of their weekly trip. He told James so.
“I think that is a fine idea,” James agreed. He tossed his axe into the back of the wagon. Reid did the same and added his pick.
“The road from Cheltenham to St. Louis wasn’t so bad,” Reid observed. “But you and I will need a decent path if we are to be bringing in building supplies and carrying our produce to market.”
James nodded. “True. Are you ready?”
Reid pulled himself onto the seat of the wagon. “Let’s go.”
The single mile into Cheltenham required an hour-and-a-half to traverse with their new objective. Reid and James stopped trying to ride in the wagon and simply walked in front of the horses, clearing as they went.
“Such exertion requires a bit of refreshment, don’t you think?” James asked once they reached the tiny town center.
Reid wiped his brow on his sleeve. “I do indeed.”
The men entered the tavern. Two of the three men they encountered on their arrival were there. They were hunched over a packet of papers.
“Hello,” James called out. “Tom? Frank? Good to see you again.”
“And you as well,” Frank answered. “How are you faring?”
“We are doing well.” James said. “We are on our way to St. Louis for supplies.”
The tavern’s owner, Isaiah Freeman, appeared through a door behind the bar. “St. Louis, did ya say? Will you carry something for me?”
“What is it?” Reid asked before James could answer. His soldiering background made him wary of delivering unknown packages from unknown persons.
“Mail. Letters.” Isaiah pointed at the packet. “We got this yesterday and some of it’d been waiting more’n a week in the post office there.”
James looked quizzically at Reid. “I believe that would be fine. I have business at the post office myself. Do you agree?”
Reid nodded. “If it’s only a matter of letters, I don’t see that as a problem.”
“In fact, we plan to make the trip weekly for a while,” James offered. “Once my wife arrives, she’ll be staying in the city until I can get enough of the house built for us to winter in.”
“So you’d be willing to carry our mail?” Tom brightened. “That’d be a fine help, sir.”
“Reid?” James faced him.
Reid looked around at the men’s earnest faces. They were living out here in the Missouri Territory, so far from the war and the fighting and the intrigue that his suspicions seemed ridiculous. He needed to relax his wariness, and begin to trust the men who would surround him for the rest of his life.
“I think that’s a fine plan,” he conceded.
Isaiah reached under the bar and lifted a small stack of folded and sealed papers. “Here you are. And thank you kindly.”
“You are quite welcome.” Reid took the letters and tucked them in the pocket of his jacket.
“Do you need anything else?” James offered. “We’ll be back tomorrow.”
Isaiah shook his head. “Not that I’ve had time to think about,” he said. “Perhaps next time.”
“We’ll carry what we have room for,” Reid cautioned.
“Understood,” Isaiah replied. “I do have a larger wagon if you ever need it.”
Reid was struck by the trusting offer. “Thank you. I—I might, actually.”
“For what?” James asked.
“I’m planning to order some milled lumber for next week. I want a planked floor in my cabin,” he explained. “I’ve spent enough years living and sleeping on dirt.”
“How’s that?” Tom asked.
“I was in the Continental Army for nine years. I resigned as a colonel in February,” Reid explained.
“Did we win yet?” Frank barked.
Reid grinned. “Not yet. But we will.”
“Better hurry up,” he groused.
“Two beers!” James said to Isaiah. “Then we’re on our way.”
Isaiah set the large mugs of brew in front of Reid and James. Reid was so thirsty he downed his in one long pull.
“What do I owe you?” he asked, setting the mug on the smooth wooden bar.
“A packet of mail,” the tavern owner replied with a wink.
Reid smiled and slapped James on the shoulder. “I do believe we are going to be quite happy here!”
May 30, 1782
Reid hauled another of the milled planks in place. He had built a twelve foot by eighteen foot rectangle foundation of notched tree trunks, two high, and today he was pegging the floor boards to them. Sweat ran off him in rivers in the humid weather; he stopped often to gulp a tin cup of the clear creek water he hauled up by the bucket.
Digging a well would be his next big project.
And then he’d dig a privy and build a shed over it.
“Such luxury,” he chuckled.
His hobbled draft horses grazed nearby, ready to be pressed into service when needed. He already used them to drag the trunks into place after he leveled the ground where his cabin would stand. As he built, he would use the horses to pull the heavy notched logs up slanted planks into position, until the walls stood eight feet above the floor.
For his roof, Reid decided to follow the old Norse traditions. When his father built a hunting shed in the forests of Massachusetts, he taught Reid how to make a sod roof. It required birch bark—seven layers—and Reid saw a stand of birch in one corner of his new land. His old-world roof would be solid, weatherproof, and durable.
Reid squinted at the sky. The day was heavy and humid. A layer of angry clouds had crawled through the blue canopy, and now they began to wrestle in a way Reid had never seen before. He sat back on his heels and watched, fascinated by the building storm.
“REID!” James bellowed. “REID!”
Reid stood and turned toward his friend’s voice.
James galloped toward him astride one of his wagon horses, bareback and tearing up the ground between them. “It’s a tornado! Get under your floor!”
“What?” Reid cocked his head. Did James say under his floor?
James yanked at his mount’s head to slow the frantic animal before he threw himself from its back. He stumbled but regained his balance as he ran toward Reid. “Don’t you hear it?”
A sound which had been growing around them broke into Reid’s awareness. Wind roared through the trees, seeming to come from all directions at the same time, as though an army of forest-shattering trolls surrounded him. Thunder came from nowhere and shook the ground beneath his feet. The horses whinnied their fear.
James grabbed his arm and pulled him off the planks and to the ground. “Get underneath—quickly!” he commanded, and did as he bid Reid to do.
Reid had the unreal sensation of being in a dream. Nothing around him made sense.
The hairs on his arms stood up.
The air suddenly felt thin, as though its soul was sucked away.
He looked to the southwest and saw a shape like a pewter funnel extending downward from the tarnished clouds swirling above it.
“What the hell—” His words were cut off by James jerking his left leg out from under him. His right leg buckled painfully and he fell to all fours in the dirt.
James grabbed his shirt and pulled him into the crawlspace under his newly pegged floor.
