Wagon Train Sisters (Women of the West)

by Shirley Kennedy

  Chapter 3

  Sarah spent a fitful night in her tent by the wagon. Her mind churned with images—Ma fighting for breath—Jack holding the honey under her nose—her vast relief when Ma could breathe again. Thank God, Jack McCoy had been there. Otherwise…

  She mustn’t even think it! Outside her tent, less than twenty feet away, Jack lay sleeping. Why was she so acutely aware of his presence? Thank goodness he was leaving in the morning. Jack McCoy was a gambler, and that was not an admirable occupation. Not only that, if he’d chosen to ride with that bunch of lowlifes, there could be but one reason. He, too, was a lowlife, as disreputable as that disgusting Josiah Peterson. So why, then, was she tossing and turning, thinking about a notorious card shark? After tomorrow, she would never see him again, and that would be none too soon.

  And where was Florrie? A wild flash of grief ripped through her. She’d lost her sister, God knew how or where, and there was nothing she could do. Before they went to bed, she and Pa had again tried to talk Ma into leaving, but she wouldn’t listen. How much longer must they stay in this desolate area conducting a useless search? Their only hope now was that Florrie had been kidnapped. They’d have a better chance of finding her if they rejoined the train and searched for her along the way.

  When morning came, Luzena felt so much better she went out of her way to fix a hearty breakfast of fried bacon, corn meal mush, and soda biscuits, all to be washed down with a big pot of coffee. After they finished, Jack said, “Thanks for the breakfast, Mrs. Bryan. It’s time for us to leave.”

  Luzena gazed at Jack with grateful eyes. “I shall be forever indebted, Mr. McCoy. How can I ever repay you?”

  Jack took a final gulp of coffee before he spoke. “You can repay me by giving up this fool notion that you’ll stay in this godforsaken place until your daughter comes back.”

  His abrupt reply caused Ma to sit back in surprise. “But…but…I can’t do that. Florrie’s coming back, and I shall be here when she does.”

  Jack shook his head. “You know that’s not so. I doubt she got lost in the woods. I’d wager someone knows where she is. You’d have a better chance of finding her if you keep going and search as you travel along the trail.”

  Ma bit her lip. She examined her fingernails and looked into space. Obviously she held a deep respect for the man who’d helped her through the asthma attack. She could easily ignore all the fervent pleas from her family, but Jack McCoy’s blunt opinion had made a profound impression. Finally she spoke. “I do believe you’re right. Hitch the oxen, Frank. We’re leaving. Sarah, let’s pack the wagon.”

  After an astounded silence, Pa got to his feet and placed his battered hat on his head. “That was a wise decision, my dear.” He set out for the spot where their four oxen were grazing.

  Sarah breathed a sigh of relief. Out of Ma’s hearing, she said, “I owe you another thanks, Mr. McCoy. You worked a miracle.”

  “Not a miracle, just common sense. Come on, Ben, let’s pack up.”

  He was leaving. Part of her was glad, but another part of her wished he would stay. Just ridiculous. The man hardly looked at her, and anyway, why should she care? For the next few minutes, she busied herself helping Ma pack pots, pans, and dishes back in the wagon. Ordinarily, Hiram took down the small tent where she slept. Now Pa must do it all himself. But maybe that wouldn’t be so easy. Every time she looked, he was struggling to herd the animals to the wagon, not making any progress at all. She was starting to take the tent down herself when Jack appeared behind her. “I’ll do that.” In no time, the tent was down and packed away.

  Pa continued to struggle. He’d managed to drive the oxen to the wagon but couldn’t position the animals in the right place. No sooner had he got one lined up, another would run off. Finally he slammed his hat to the ground. “These damn, stubborn animals won’t do what I tell ‘em!”

  Poor Pa. How sad to see an old man of sixty so bungling and inept in this alien world. He ought to be home sitting in his library, cup of tea by his side, reading a volume of Shakespeare or his favorite, The Vicar of Wakefield.

  Jack and Ben had mounted their horses and were about to leave, but upon hearing Pa, Jack dismounted. “Looks like you need help. Stand back, Mr. Bryan.” He led the animals to the front of the wagon where he tied them about the same distance apart. “You’ve got to position them so their heads will go in the yoke.” With practiced skill, he placed the yokes over the oxen’s backs, slid in the oxbows, and fastened the ends with iron pins. “Nothing left but to hitch them to the wagon. See?”

  Pa scratched his head, uncertainty written all over his face. “Yes, I see. Thank you, Mr. McCoy. It should be easy.” His voice wavered with uncertainty.

  “You’re welcome.” Jack returned to his horse, placed one foot in the stirrup, hesitated, and then took it out again. “Ben, you ride on if you want. I’m staying another day.”

  * * * *

  Following the Bryan’s wagon, Ben uttered a near inaudible, “Jumpin’ Jehoshaphat.”

  Riding beside him, Jack slanted a sardonic glance. “I told you to ride ahead. You could have caught up with Josiah and the boys by now.”

  “I know why you did it.”

  “That old man needs help.” Jack shook his head in disbelief. “Couldn’t even yoke the oxen. He has no business in the wilderness.”

  “Most of us don’t, but that don’t stop us from going for the gold. You stayed because you’ve got a hankering for that girl.”

  “You mean Sarah? I hardly noticed her.”

  “I caught you watching her when you thought she wasn’t looking.”

  “She’s a fine looking woman.”

  “Why is it you never married?”

  “Never thought about it.”

  “Maybe you haven’t been around women very much, and you’re woman shy.”

  “Woman shy?” Jack threw his back head and let out a great peal of laughter. He nudged his horse and moved forward. Ahead of the wagon, Sarah was riding Rosie, the chestnut mare. Those hips. The view of their luscious curve caused a stirring inside him, a stirring he would ignore. Woman shy? Jenny, oh, Jenny.

  * * * *

  That day they traveled a good twenty miles. Sarah had hoped they’d catch up with the Morehead Train, but there’d been no sign of them. Along the way, they’d encountered a family that had given up the hard journey and were returning home to Pennsylvania. “We run out of money and patience,” the father said. And no, they hadn’t seen a young woman of twenty-three with gray eyes and brown hair.

  They stopped for the night by a pretty grass-filled meadow with a creek not far into the woods. Sarah unsaddled Rosie and led her to the water for a drink. It looked so inviting she removed her boots and stockings and thrust her feet into the stream. She leaned back on her hands, kicked, and splashed. Ah, that felt good.

  Jack McCoy appeared, leading his big bay gelding. She pulled her feet from the creek and hastily reached for her boots. He broke into a leisurely smile. “Don’t bother. I’m not filled with lust over the sight of your feet. You’re safe. Put them back. Get some comfort while you can.”

  No man ever spoke to her so honestly before. In her family, lust was a forbidden word. The same with sex. She wouldn’t let him know she was the least bit taken aback, though. She slid her feet into the creek and watched while his big bay drank its fill. “What’s his name?” she called.

  “Bandit.”

  When the horse finished drinking, Jack carefully went over him with a soft-bristled brush. Obviously, he loved his horse. She could tell from the gentle way he handled him. So he wasn’t all bad. “Join me, Mr. McCoy.” She waved to the grassy spot next to her.

  As he sat beside her, she searched for something polite to say, but he spoke up first. “So where are you from?”

  She was glad he asked and found herself eager to talk. “I was born and raised in Fort Wayne, Indiana. Until I got married, I lived in the same house all my life. When
my husband died, I moved back. I would have never moved again except for this.” Frowning, she waved her hand toward the creek, woods, and mountains beyond.

  “So you wish you’d stayed home?”

  “Of course. I had a well-ordered life before my father had some financial difficulties. He lost just about everything, including our house. So here we are, headed for California. Not for the gold, mind you. He’ll work with his brother who owns a general store in a place called Mokelumne City. It’s near Sacramento. I can hardly wait to get there. More than anything, I want to feel secure again, read my books, go to church, do good works for the sick and poor—just lead the quiet life.”

  Jack glanced at her, a twinkle in his eye. “It sounds quiet all right, and boring.”

  She raised her chin. “It’s not exciting at all, and that’s the way I like it.”

  “Tell me about your husband.”

  He was getting personal, but somehow she didn’t mind. “We were married six years. Joseph owned a farm not far from Fort Wayne. One day he was cutting down a big sycamore tree. It didn’t fall the way he thought and”—she shrugged—”that was the end of Joseph.”

  “You don’t sound too heartbroken.”

  Never, except with her brother, had she given the slightest indication she was anything other than grief stricken over the death of her husband. But this strange man sitting next to her was different. She suspected nothing could shock him, no matter what she said. “I wasn’t heartbroken. The truth is”—she couldn’t believe she was saying this—”I’m glad he’s gone, and I don’t miss him at all.”

  She waited for his expression of shock, or at least surprise, but all he did was nod agreeably. “Care to tell me why?”

  She had kept her miserable life with her husband a deep, dark secret, shared with no one, not even her mother. It would have always remained that way, or so she thought. She would certainly have never revealed her innermost thoughts to a man said to be waster. She should never have listened. Jack McCoy was anything but a waster, not with his sympathetic manner and the way he regarded her with those understanding eyes. Besides, she was tired of pretending to be grief stricken while her true feelings about her husband seethed within her. What a relief to finally get them out. “I met Joseph at a church social. He was tall, good-looking, and ever so charming. He had just inherited his family’s farm not far from town and was quite well off. All the girls fell for him, me included. At the church picnic, you can imagine how flattered I was when the box lunches were auctioned off and he bought mine. After that, he came courting. By then I’d fallen deeply in love with him. He was everything I ever wanted in a man, kind and courteous, charming, and handsome besides. When he asked me to marry him, I was thrilled.”

  “Did your parents approve?”

  “Not exactly.” She wasn’t being honest. Why hold back? “Actually, they were dismayed when I told them I wanted to marry Joseph. They didn’t care for him. When I asked why, they couldn’t say exactly, other than there was something they sensed about him that didn’t seem genuine, as if his charm was all on the surface and he was hiding his true character underneath. I paid no attention. I was madly in love. If my parents hadn’t caved in, I would have run off and married him anyway. We had a huge wedding, and I moved to his farm—he had a big farmhouse ten miles out of town.”

  “And then?”

  “His charm disappeared in a hurry, from the day we were married.” Every detail of that first awful night still burned in her memory. With her limited knowledge of married life, she’d dreamed of a romantic wedding night when he would gently hold her in his arms, shower her with tender kisses, stroke her hair, all the time whispering how much he loved her, and then, gradually… She hadn’t been sure what would happen next except it would all be wonderful and she would soon be floating away on the wings of love. It hadn’t happened that way. He’d thrown her on the bed, ripped off the lace-trimmed, chambray nightgown she’d made for her wedding night, and plunged himself inside her. The pain was excruciating. Afterward, she found blood on the bed.

  No, Jack wouldn’t hear that part of her story. “I soon discovered Joseph had a jealous side, and he was extremely possessive. If he gave me money for food, I had to explain how I spent every penny. As time went by, he would hardly let me out of the house, not even to visit my parents. If I did go into town, I had to account for every minute I was gone. I had to resort to sneaking so I could visit my family. I hated that.”

  “Did you tell your family?”

  “How could I? Can you imagine how humiliated I felt, knowing my parents had been right and I was wrong? I had too much pride for that.”

  “Did he ever hit you?”

  “No, but he threatened to. I think eventually he would have.” She paused. She’d told this stranger too much. “That’s all behind me now.”

  “So what do you want in life, aside from reading your books and…what was it? Oh, yes, going to church and doing good works for the sick and poor?”

  She’d heard the slight thread of amusement in his voice but would give him an honest answer. “Needless to say, I shall never marry again. Aside from finding my sister, all I want is to get to California and settle into the same sort of life I had in Indiana. I want to live a life as ordinary and safe as I can. If I see any sign of danger, I shall run the other way.”

  An easy smile played at the corner of his mouth. “A noble goal if ever I heard one.” He arose and took his horse’s reins. “Time to get back.”

  Returning to the campfire with Rosie in tow, Sarah couldn’t imagine why she’d revealed so much about herself to a stranger. He’d never tell, but that wasn’t the point. She didn’t care for the way he’d looked at her when she told him what she wanted in life. Not that his expression was in any way disapproving, but when he had said she had a noble goal, she got the impression she’d disappointed him. But why should she care? Hadn’t she vowed never to depend on a man again, nor be influenced by his opinions? Well, she’d better try harder because every time she talked to Jack McCoy, she got all atwitter inside. Everything about him intrigued her: that faint light that twinkled in the depth of his dark eyes; his ruggedly handsome face, bronzed by wind and sun. She liked the way he dressed, not in the baggy, shapeless clothing the other men wore but in well-fitting dark pants that didn’t conceal his slim hips and flat stomach, and a fringed, buckskin jacket that hung nicely over his broad shoulders.

  She absolutely, positively must stay away from him.

  “Sarah, I want to talk to you.”

  Her father was calling. He sat alone and frowning by the campfire. She walked to him and asked, “What is it, Pa?”

  “What were you and Jack McCoy doing at the creek just now?”

  At first, she bristled. She was twenty-nine years old. She’d been married, for heaven’s sake. She didn’t need a chaperone. But then Pa was only doing what he thought best, trying to protect her. He’d lost one daughter, so he worried, although needlessly, about losing the other. She gave him a reassuring pat on his arm. “It was nothing. We just happened to go to the creek at the same time. Mr. McCoy and I are barely on speaking terms.”

  Pa didn’t look convinced. “Don’t forget he’s a gambler who cheats at cards.”

  “How do you know that? Just because Mr. Moorehead said so? Don’t forget all the kind things he’s done for this family.”

  “You’re quick to defend him. Just watch yourself. I suspect there’s something between you whether you realize it or not.”

  Pa stalked off, leaving Sarah in a fury over his unsolicited advice. The trouble was he was right, and that made her angrier still.

  * * * *

  Sarah’s vow to stay away from Jack McCoy lasted until the middle of the next morning. She was riding Rosie a distance behind the wagon when he, on Bandit, dropped back and fell in step beside her. “You ride well,” he said.

  She gave him a simple thank you, concealing her delight at his compliment. F
unny, he could have told her she was the most beautiful woman in the world and she wouldn’t have cared because she’d long since grown tired of men’s shallow compliments. Even so, she greatly prided herself on her riding skills, and he’d noticed the one thing that would make her glow inside and like him all the more. In return, she should find something nice to say about him, but what? A man as strong and independent as Jack would scorn any attempt at easy flattery. Ah! She’d thought of just the right thing. “I like your horse.”

  “You do?” He frowned in puzzlement. “And may I ask why?”

  “Bandit gallops big and turns really fast. He has a huge step and moves very straight.”

  Jack broke into a pleased smile. “Not only that, he’s gentle and quiet, never gives me any trouble.”

  She patted Rosie’s withers. “If I didn’t have Rosie, I’d be envious. Your horse is truly a fine animal.”

  “No woman ever complimented me on my horse before.” Jack burst out laughing. “You have found the key to my heart, Widow Gregg.”

  She threw him a mischievous grin. “I wasn’t looking for it, Mr. McCoy.”

  They continued riding in comfortable silence, Sarah pleased with her answer about the key. But of course he’d just been joking. She hadn’t known him long but already knew Jack McCoy was a complicated man who kept his thoughts and feelings strictly to himself. No simple key would ever open the way to his heart.

  Not that she cared.

  * * * *

  The next morning, Sarah and her parents were packing the wagon when Ma suddenly yelled, “Oh, dear Lord, Indians!” She looked to where Jack and Ben were saddling their horses. “Mr. McCoy, Mr. Longren! There’s Indians coming. What shall we do?”

  Five Indians were approaching on horseback. Wearing breechcloths and leggings, they were bedecked in an array of feathered headdresses and bright colored beads. Blue paint covered part of their faces. Odd-looking symbols decorated the flanks of their horses.