“One can live on only peace and quiet for a short time before the stomach objects.”
“That’s a good point.” They continued for a little while before he added, “You’re a smart woman to put the supplies first. You seem practical too. Maybe Sam and I should have consulted with you instead of Bartlett on what to pack for the trip.”
Laughing, she retorted, “If I’d been the leader of us both, this whole fiasco wouldn’t have happened.”
“Fiasco?”
She looked at the back of his head. “Yes. The word describes my situation perfectly.” So close to him, Beth saw silver glints among the black hair. He must be somewhat near her age. Peering over Nicholas’s shoulder, she saw them draw closer to the wagon train. She gripped the back of his saddle, the cantle, reluctant to reach the others just yet, if ever. Beth examined how his torso tapered from wide shoulders to narrow waist. She longed to wrap her arms around him, to feel if he were in as good a shape she imagined him to be. A frustrated sigh escaped her.
“You sound impatient to get to your wagon.” He turned his profile to her. “Don’t fret; we’ll be there soon.”
An urge to lean against him and kiss his lips gripped her stronger than she’d ever expected. Seeing him in profile, feeling the warmth of him, Beth gasped, “I don’t want to get there.”
Nicholas stopped the horse, facing her as much as he could. “What?”
Heavens, what had she done now? Beth swallowed, afraid to say anything he might tell Dag. He looked intently at her, with some shock but no censor. Every time Beth stared into his eyes like this, she liked them more than the prior time. She couldn’t stop trembling, trying to say something less true to her heart. “I, um, I don’t want to not care.” No, that wasn’t she meant, but what else could hide her meaning and still sound similar?
When he smiled, his entire face beamed. He spoke in a low voice. “You, my dear, said you don’t want to get there.”
She put her hand on his shoulder, scared of what he’d now say to everyone else. “Please, I didn’t mean anything by it.” Beth bit her lip and then added, “I only meant riding a horse is preferable to walking.”
He watched as the last wagon disappeared into a copse of trees. Nicholas cupped his hand and pressed the back of his fingers against her bruised temple. “I’m sure I know what you meant, Lizzy.”
“Lizzy?” Even though his hand felt cool and soothing to her injured eye, him using her sister’s name infuriated Beth. Shock at the familiarity mixed with the anger over the name filled her. She struggled to keep the hate from her voice, but couldn’t. “I never want you to call me that again. I don’t consider it my name.”
He lowered his arm at Beth’s tone, aware he’d angered her somehow. “I understand, Mrs. Bartlett. Please forgive me.” His eyes narrowed as he faced ahead. “We need to get moving.” Nicholas kicked the horse into a slow gallop, the fastest the terrain allowed.
The speed unnerved her, causing Beth to wrap her arms around his waist. Her breath caught as her torso came into full contact with his. His shirt hid a lean blacksmith’s build. Beth struggled to not just melt into him. She could much easier pretend to be Nicholas’s wife than she ever could Daggart’s. Even on his best behavior, Dag couldn’t compete with this man. She wanted to wrap her limbs around Nicholas Granville like a sweet pea vine wrapped around a trellis. The very idea left her short of breath.
He slowed the horse as they reached the end of the train. With that, she let go of him. Seeing the hard grit of his teeth, Beth couldn’t let the prior incident pass by unexplained. She didn’t want him angry with her too. “You don’t and can’t understand at all why I don’t like you in particular calling me Lizzy.”
Nicholas helped her down, and then dismounted. “I can’t understand, you say? Try me.”
She looked around them, seeing if her husband lurked nearby to overhear her confession. “I can’t say without there being trouble.” Beth stumbled, smiling when he grabbed her hand to support her. Being off the horse and on her own two feet reminded her of how much her blisters hurt. She’d have to find a way to stay off of her feet and ease out the aches.
Squinting at her, a thin trace of sarcasm sounded in his question. “So do you prefer being addressed as Mrs. Bartlett from me, but prefer ‘my dear’ from my brother, then?”
Beth heard her married name from Nicholas and shuddered. She looked away towards the camp and spotted Daggart’s blue check shirt. He saw them, and while well out of earshot, he’d be close enough soon enough. Her palms still damp from holding Nicholas so close, her face burned. Rubbing her hands dry against her skirt, she absently said, “Yes, I prefer it, thank you.”
“You’re welcome, Mrs. Bartlett.”
The sarcasm in his voice jolted her out of her preoccupation with her aching feet, sweaty palms, and approaching husband. “I’m sorry. What did you say before?” she asked as he led his horse to the right, away from her. He had mentioned something about his brother—my dear, no, my dear from his brother. Now she understood his apparent irritation. “Oh my goodness, Mr. Granville, no, I need to clarify! May I quickly tell you something in strictest confidence?”
He nodded an assent, and motioning him to follow her, she led him towards the leftmost wagons. She grit her teeth against the blisters rubbed raw by Lizzy’s shoes. Once somewhat secluded, Beth checked to ensure they were alone and not overheard. Standing next to him, both facing the wagons to watch for anyone approaching, she leaned closer. Touching arm to arm she told Nicholas, “My name is Elizabeth Ann, not Elizabeth Louise. I can’t tell you why, but Daggart insists on me being Lizzy Lou instead of Beth Ann.” She glanced at him, feeling shy when seeing his eyes examining her face. The anger sharpening his features had softened as he listened. ”My preference is for Beth, but I have no choice in this matter.”
He studied her for a moment before saying, “Your explanation clouds more than it clears, but if you prefer Elizabeth Ann, maybe I can use Beth Ann when we’re alone?”
No one had called Beth by her own name in such a long time. Now to hear it from Nicholas left her shaky inside. “When we’re alone?” she whispered and looked around for others in their group. They had been alone together for too long already. And yet, the entire time seemed but a second to her. Every moment with him felt right, like she’d found her true place in life. “Yes, I’d like that very much.”
He grinned, “Good, because I like Beth anyway. It suits you better.” Nicholas gestured towards the wagon party disappearing from view over the next hill. “Much as I like chatting with you, ma’am, we need to get back soon or we’re both in trouble for skipping chores.”
“Oh! Of course.” She followed, catching up with his long strides when he paused for her. They brushed arms as they neared the group. The contact tingled along her skin, and she glanced up at him. Beth didn’t want to be Daggart’s human pack mule in California; she wanted to be Nicholas’s wife instead. The betraying thought shook her. She stumbled, her knees too unsteady to continue.
He grabbed her arm to support her. “Are you all right?” Concern laced his voice.
Samuel galloped up to them, the grass muffling the hoof beats. “There you two are. You saved me from launching a search party.” He dismounted upon seeing Beth falter. “Mrs. Bartlett?” He glanced at Nicholas. “Nick? Is she all right?”
Nicholas put his palm to her cheek and forehead, checking for fever. “I don’t know. We were walking; she stopped and turned white.”
The fuss embarrassed her, and she refused to draw a crowd. Working up a reassuring smile, she said, “I’m fine.” Goodness, Samuel was handsome too and seemed as fresh as morning glories. She smiled, knowing why all the girls fussed over him. In an effort to reassure the two men, she added, “We have a jar of rain water in the wagon. I’m sure it’s thirst causing all this. After a little drink I’ll be right as, well, right as rain.”
“Ma’am?” Sam began.
“Yes, Mr. Granville?”
; He returned her smile. “While we’re in the woods, your husband will want to pick up a couple day’s firewood. Just enough until we find buffalo chips.”
“Oh.” She wrinkled her nose, imagining the spring flower smell of today being replaced by the odor of burning chips.
He laughed. “Now, it’s not as bad as all that. They burn clean.”
Not quite convinced, Beth stated before censoring herself, “I’d prefer hickory or oak over anything out of a buffalo’s end.”
Samuel laughed at her forthrightness. “All of us do, myself included.” He tipped his hat before swinging back onto his horse and riding to the front.
He gave her forehead one last check before letting his hand fall. “Mrs. Bartlett.”
“Mr. Granville.” Beth watched as he echoed Sam and rode to the front of their group. She saw her wagon and tried to take steps without limping as best as she could in that direction. Once she reached their cart, she could hold on to the back, letting it hide just how much her feet hurt. If little children could run and play during this trip, she could at least walk.
She sighed. The daily routine already loomed menacing ahead due to her feet. She tried and failed to motivate herself into wandering around while looking for the rare stick of firewood.
Daggart came around their wagon, startling her. “What’d they want? Where were you earlier anyway?”
“He wanted to encourage us to gather firewood now before reaching the plains.” After the freedom of gazing at Nicholas most of the afternoon, having to see Daggart’s fleshy, pasty face now disappointed.
He grunted, frowning at her. “You’d better get started gathering, then.”
“I will,” she nodded, reaching for the water jar he held. “I’d like a drink first.”
“After me. I’ve been walking, not riding a fancy pants horse.” He unscrewed the cap and drank deeply.
Seeing the water drain almost dry, she cleared her throat. “Dag, please.”
He handed her the nearly empty jar. “You can have the rest.”
Before she could help herself, Beth retorted, “Thank you.” She put a hand to her mouth. Through her fingers, she added, “I appreciate it.”
Giving her a mean stare, he strolled up to the oxen. She swallowed all the water, careful not to drink from where his lips had touched. Beth placed the jar and its lid back in the wagon before beginning the hunt for dinner’s firewood.
Beth tried to encourage herself to search for this evening’s fuel by making a game of finding new flowers and new types of birds. It didn’t work. She’d rather eat a cold dinner of dried fruit than walk any more than necessary in these horrible shoes. She resented Daggart for burning her larger pair when he’d caught her secretly wearing them. Her efforts in modifying Lizzie’s shoes to fit her own feet had been a disaster. Too loose in some spots, too tight in others, Beth sighed. Creating new footwear from wood and knitted wool would be better than these she wore.
She glanced up from the ground to look at everyone else. The wagons crashed through the woods, some needing an extra pull from those on horseback. Some families had two wagons to themselves. Beth imagined having so much as well, full of animals and plants to start a farm in California.
So lost in her thoughts, she didn’t notice the unfiltered sunlight until a few yards had passed. She blinked, amazed at the emptiness. A few tree-lined creeks broke up the background of rolling hills. The blue sky dominated the landscape. Beth had never seen so much space in one area. Clear hilltops and open valleys were one thing, this vastness something else. The open prairie overwhelmed her. Insects buzzed and birds sang love songs to each other. Wildflowers swayed in the breeze, their scent adding to the torn grass smell left behind by the wagon train’s wheels. She stopped, looking ahead, then back at the dense forest behind them. The blossomed redbuds and wild dogwoods gave red and white bursts of color against the bright spring green trees. She wanted to go back to her farm, to the safe canopy of the forest and the enclosed fields of home.
She saw Samuel ride out from the underbrush. Beth tried to smile a greeting as he and Lawrence trotted up to her.
“I’ve seen that expression before, mostly on a filly before she bolts for home.” Samuel asked his hired hand, “Don’t you agree?”
Lawrence grinned. “I wondered why she looked so familiar.”
Squinting, Beth put her hands on her hips and playfully demanded, “Now, tell me how I compare to a horse.”
Putting his hat on his chest, Lawrence replied, “Why ma’am, only in ways that are the best of the finest mare ever born.”
She laughed and glanced at Samuel. “Has he been taking charm lessons from you?”
“Not at all. Every man in this outfit has been instructed to treat every woman with respect. I can’t help it if other men’s rude behavior makes us seem charming.” He put his hat on his chest as Lawrence had.
Beth laughed at their crude attempt of innocence. “I’m sure. Hopefully the other gals buy what you’re selling.”
The two put their hats back on and grinned at each other. Lawrence started a retort, “They always put—”
Beth raised her chin and a hand to stop him. “No, don’t say it. I misspoke. Polite ladies, even those comparable to horses, don’t discuss the selling of anything.”
Both men chuckled until something ahead caught Lawrence’s attention. He looked to Samuel for permission, who nodded. The hired hand tipped his hat at her before riding off to the front. Beth turned to see him go, catching sight of Daggart talking with Nicholas.
“You’re right, ladies don’t.” He glanced up and past her head, distracted. “I wouldn’t expect you to ever discuss selling.”
She heard hoof beats behind, and suspecting Nicholas, resisted the urge to turn around. “Thank you.”
“Mr. Lawrence had it partially correct. The only possible way you could compare to a horse is if the mare were the finest Arabian.” He wore an ornery expression. “Isn’t that right, Nick?”
“We can discuss what you mean by that later. Right now, I’d like to get to camp before dark. There are no stragglers?”
“No one save the Bartletts.”
“I’ve spoken to Bartlett about his lagging behind.”
Beth felt uneasy. Judging by their expressions, more went unsaid between the men. Had she held back the camp due to her wanderings? If Nicholas spoke to her husband about the delay, Daggart would ensure she’d hear about it that evening. She glanced toward their wagon, now further ahead. The two men might see how tender her feet were as she started walking if she limped. She took a deep breath, determined to ignore the pain, and strode to catch up with her husband.
Dag gave her a surly glance as she walked beside him. “The captains talk to you, yet?” he asked.
His face scrunched more than usual, she noticed and wondered how to respond. Better with a short answer to pull more information from him. “A little, yes.”
“They told me, Nick did, to keep you in line.”
She doubted Nicholas would be so blunt but kept quiet, waiting for Daggart to continue. When he didn’t elaborate, Beth asked, “Did either of the captains have any other observations?”
“He also said if you didn’t keep up, I’d have to tie you to the wagon like Erleen.”
Beth laughed at the image in her mind of both she and Erleen being led on a rope. She looked at the man’s face and saw by his expression that he lied. Or at least told a half-truth. Calling his bluff, she teased, “You’re right, if I don’t, you’ll have to tie me up like our poor cow.”
He blinked in surprise. “Yeah, so, stay with the wagon.”
Chuck came up to the couple, leading them to their place in the circle. Beth looked at the sun, still rather far from setting. “Did one of the Granvilles say anything about why we’re on a hill and already circling the wagons?”
“No. They didn’t have to.” Dag unhooked the oxen from their yoke, leading them away to a nearby creek. “You saw the Indians we’ve already passe
d. You can’t trust them, even the tamed ones. They’d as soon scalp you as look at you.”
Beth had only seen the one this morning while getting water for coffee. Unless very well concealed, he’d had no weapon. He certainly didn’t have a bow and arrow strapped to his back as she’d read about in the newspaper.
“Get Erleen to the water.” He spotted some of the hands riding by, and as they drew nearer, his voice grew louder. “You’ll want to milk her afterward, get us some water for tomorrow, and start my supper, woman.”
One of the men, Chuck, tipped his hat and winked as he rode by them. Dag scowled at her. “Stop flirting with the men, Lizzy Lou, and get busy. We don’t have all night.”
She wanted to defend herself, but past arguments had taught her a lesson. Beth reached into the back of the wagon, grabbed the bucket, and untied Erleen to lead her to the creek. The cow drank with deep slurps while Beth rinsed the day’s dust from the pail. Children splashed downstream, playing and yelling. The noise didn't seem to bother her cow, and Beth led her up the bank to where new grass grew through the old from last fall.
One of the younger children wandered over to her. Beth glanced at the little girl whose eyes widened. "What happened to your eye?” she asked.
"My eye?” Beth’s cheeks burned as she realized how casual she’d been in revealing her bruises. Most times around everyone else, the sunbonnet hid the purple as it faded to yellow. The hat restricted her vision so much she hated wearing it and she’d forgotten the need to do so what with the distraction of Erleen and the water.
The girl pointed at Beth’s face. "It's not pretty.”
"No, it's not.” Beth felt compelled to add, “A branch hit me while we went through the big woods.”
"A branch?” The child stood there, staring at her. Then, she leaned forward to get a better look at the bruise. “Did it hurt?"
Beth smiled at the small girl’s grown up and serious tone. "Very much, but it’s getting better every day.” She didn't like having to tell a lie to the child. The adults possessed too many manners to ask, or else they knew the truth without questioning her.
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