Bandits were a constant threat along the trail. He needed to be on his guard. A defenseless female alone on the trail would be an easy target.
Crack.
A small branch snapped. Mac knelt down behind a bush. He focused in the direction of the sound. He sniffed the air. Silence. Too quiet, he reasoned. He looked back at the small fire and saw the sleeping form of Mrs. Danner. Easing his gun off his shoulder, Mac readied it.
A small fawn came into view. Mac eased out a pent-up breath. The wind stirred the tops of the trees. Father, keep me calm. We’ve got a long journey ahead of us. I’ll need sleep.
A sliver of the sun now radiated over the saddle of the mountain gap. He finished scouting the area and returned to camp. Perhaps he could get in an hour’s sleep before the Widow Danner rose.
He went back to the fire and stirred the dying embers, putting on a pot for hot water and coffee.
Pamela sat upright and blinked. “Is it morning?”
“Getting there. There’s a small spring to your right. It’s not much, but it’s enough to help you clean up.”
She opened her mouth, then snapped it shut and nodded her head. Perhaps it wasn’t right for a man to tell a woman she needed to clean up. Mac held down a grin, but the situation was humorous.
He watched her trek over to the pile of her belongings. Mac groaned. He’d have to pack the wagon. The Danners had more stuff than he’d ever seen anyone bring through the gap. It was probably a good thing they were traveling this late in the year. The mud would have slowed them down. Still, it would be a chore getting it over the Cumberland River around Flatlick. The crossing at Camp Ford wouldn’t be too costly. That would be a blessing.
He surveyed their trunks and the mounds of items they had neatly packed on the side of the road. How’d they ever get all of that in there? he wondered. Mrs. Danner will have to decide what comes and what stays.
“Mr. Mac? What is your last name?” Pamela asked as she approached.
“MacKenneth. I go by Mac.”
“Oh, I just assumed your first name was Mac.”
“No, my first name is Nash, Nash Oakley MacKenneth, but everyone calls me Mac.”
She nodded. “I’ll fix us some breakfast. Shall we load the wagon after that?”
Mac sat down beside the fire. Widow Danner set a cast-iron frying pan on the hot coals. “I was just thinking about that. I’m not quite sure how you managed to get all of those items in that wagon. But some will have to remain behind.”
She glanced back at the stockpile. “I wouldn’t know where to begin. I suppose Quinton’s chest could stay behind, although I’ll want to take out his good suit for burial.”
Mac scratched the nubs on his chin. This could take all morning.
A slab of ham sizzled in the hot skillet. Its fragrant aroma stirred his empty stomach.
She ran to a chest and removed a couple items wrapped in white linen. Upon her return, she flipped the ham over and produced a couple eggs that she proceeded to whip in a small bowl.
“You’re traveling with eggs?”
“A farmer, a day’s journey back, traded some fresh food for some of our supplies. They won’t stay fresh much longer if I don’t keep them in a cool stream at night. I forgot about them last night….” Her words mumbled to an end.
“That’s understandable.”
She removed the slab of ham and set the whipped eggs in the pan, crumbling bits of cheese over them. He hadn’t had a breakfast like this in months. Perhaps taking her to Creelsboro won’t be such a strain after all. He fought back a grin.
“So, do you live around here?” she asked.
“I have a winter cabin a few miles south of the gap. During the spring and summer, I live in Jamestown and help my parents with their farm.”
“I’m sorry, I don’t know much about Kentucky. Is Jamestown close by?”
“Actually, it’s close to Creelsboro, and that’s halfway across the state.”
“Oh.” Her hand paused from forking the now-cooked eggs from the frying pan to his plate.
“Mrs. Danner, I promised your husband I’d take you there. You don’t know me, and I can understand your fear, but with God as my witness, you can trust me.”
She looked down at her lap, wringing her hands. “I shall try, Mr. MacKenneth. We should eat so we can get a move on this morning.”
He took the offered plate from her. “Thank you.” He bowed his head for prayer. “Father …” He heard her metal fork clank on the metal plate as if dropped. She doesn’t pray, Lord? Does she believe? “Lord,” he continued, “we ask for Your traveling mercies this morning, and I ask You to give Mrs. Danner peace during this time of grief. In Jesus’ name. Amen.”
“Amen,” she whispered.
Making breakfast for Mr. MacKenneth seemed like the logical thing to do. Eating, however, took all her willpower. And praying? She struggled down a piece of ham. Praying was useless. She glanced over at her rescuer gulping down his meal. Being alone with a stranger in the middle of nowhere didn’t ease the growing knot in her stomach.
Just yesterday. Was it really only yesterday she and Quinton had been talking about all the plans they had for the store? Stopping at farmers’ homes gave them a pretty good idea of the standard items needed by those living in the area. But Creelsboro was more of a town for those heading farther west. They both had agreed they didn’t know enough about Creelsboro and the surrounding towns to decide if local items would help the store grow. But a certain amount of bartering with the local farmers would keep them fed. They wouldn’t have time to tend to their own livestock. Perhaps a couple chickens, but a cow and other animals would take up valuable space that would be needed for storing supplies.
Quinton was gone now. All the choices and decisions would have to be made by her. If folks would let her. How many men would trust a woman as the owner of a general store? Not many, she feared. Lord, I don’t know what to do.
Pamela left her half-eaten breakfast and went through her brother’s belongings. She removed a couple mementoes she wanted to save as keepsakes and a few that had belonged to her father. Leaving Quinton’s chest behind wasn’t enough. She would have to give up something else.
“What did you decide?” Mac huffed, having returned for another crate to be placed in the wagon.
“His chest can stay behind. I’ll place these things in mine. The rest of these are items for the store. I have no idea what I can afford to part with.”
She eyed her father’s chest. It held the linens and, hidden in the bottom, their entire family assets. Mac had asked her to trust him, but the amount of money in there could turn the most honest of men. No, she’d have to keep another secret from this man.
“What’s in this one?” He pointed to a large crate.
“Plow blades.”
“That can stay behind.”
“But …” She wanted to protest. Didn’t he know how much those things cost?
He scowled.
“Fine, it can stay behind. Since you already know what can and can’t go, you decide. These three are a must.” She pointed out which three items she was referring to.
“I know this is hard, and I know you’re sacrificing a fair amount of income, but unless you want to drag your husband’s body behind the wagon—”
“Don’t you dare speak to me like that! Who do you think you are?” She planted her hands on her hips. “I may not be a frontier woman, but I certainly know what’s right and wrong. You don’t treat the dead—”
He raised his hands in surrender. “I’m sorry, you’re right.”
“Fine,” she huffed and went to the wagon, where she started shoving the crates in the best order. Quinton had showed her how to disburse the weight more evenly for the horses.
A few hours later, they had the wagon loaded. Quinton’s wrapped body lay on top of the crates, and a secured tarp covered all. They were slowly working their way down the mountain. Mac walked beside the horses, helping them resist the urge to ru
n down the steep path. Pamela walked behind the wagon, easing the burden by a hundred pounds. The horses snorted under the strain of all the weight. Perhaps she should have left more items behind.
The cool autumn air blew past, a welcome relief to her overheated body. If nothing else, the silent trek down the mountain gave her time to think. It wasn’t proper for a woman to travel alone with a man. Perhaps she could hire some folks to escort them. Although, Mac did say there were bandits in the area. Who could she trust?
The wagon jerked as a rear wheel went over a small outcropping of rocks. If only Quinton had believed her. The signs were all there, saying they shouldn’t go. At least that’s what Angus had said the tea leaves revealed. Quinton hadn’t given much thought to tea leaves and the like. He’d even argued that she, by believing such things, was hindering her faith. But who was right now, Angus or Quinton?
“You know, Lord, I’m having trouble believing in You. Ever since Mother and Father died, it’s been a struggle. Now You’ve gone and taken Quinton away. What do You want from me? Angus and the others say, ‘You’ve got to help yourself. God is good, and all that. But you’ve got to be aware of the other forces in the world and pay attention to them.’ Quinton didn’t believe in such, and look where it got him. I guess I’m reaching out and asking You one more time, are You what the Bible says, or is faith what Angus speaks of?”
The Twenty-third Psalm drifted into her mind. “Yea, though I walk …” Pam groaned. Do You have to take everything so literally, Lord? I’m trying, I’m honestly trying to believe, to have faith. I wouldn’t be talking with You if I wasn’t trying. But You’re not making it easy, Lord. Just so You’re aware how I feel, that’s all that matters at the moment.
Pam listened for any additional reminders from scripture and eased out her pent-up breath. “I’m walking, Lord, I’m walking.”
Mac heard Pamela mumbling, praying, he supposed. But where was her faith? Did she have one? She did say “amen” after their morning prayer over breakfast. Of course, some of the roughest men he knew would say amen while possessing less faith than an ant.
On the other hand, she could have simply been lost in her grief and not given the Lord much thought. He certainly had caught her crying more than once over the course of the morning. She claimed not to be a pioneer woman, and that was evident enough, but he sensed she could be a wild cougar guarding her young when pushed too far.
Whatever possessed me to say such cruel things about her husband’s remains? And I’m questioning her relationship with God? No wonder she doesn’t trust me. Lord, I promised a dying man, and You know I’m not one to go back on my word, but if You see fit to have me hook this gal up with a group heading west, please guide us to them.
He turned back and watched her stumble over the rough terrain. Roots and small washouts along the trail made for an uneven path. Hundreds of head of cattle, pigs, and sheep had tramped through this road months before. Herding animals didn’t leave level paths. And her fancy eastern boots were for city life, not the frontier. For a reasonably intelligent woman, she definitely had some moments that made him wonder if anything worked in her pretty little head.
“Ugh,” Mac groaned. What was he doing noticing her beauty? She’s a widow. You don’t admire a widow. Or at least you shouldn’t, he reprimanded himself.
The team of horses snorted. “Whoa, boys. You’re doing fine.” He patted the white striped muzzle of the horse closest to him. “Fresh water is moments away.” He couldn’t blame the team; they were working hard. He’d need to brush them down and let them cool before they continued to Yellow Creek.
“What’s the matter?” Pamela asked as she rounded the side of the wagon.
“The horses smell the fresh water. There’s a nice spring down a hundred yards. They’ll need a break. It’s a good time for them. After they drink, we can ride and should make it to Yellow Creek by nightfall.”
“I’ll make you something to eat while the horses feed.”
“Don’t go to any trouble. I have some pemmican in my pack.” He tapped the leather pouch on his hip.
“Pemmican?”
“It’s dried meat and berries. Great for hunting trips.”
“Oh.” She stood for a moment and let the wagon proceed past her.
Maybe I should have taken her up on the offer, Lord. You know I’m not much good with people. You’re going to have to help me here.
“Whoa.” He brought the horses to a halt. Making quick work of releasing them from their rigging, he led them to the stream to drink and began rubbing them down.
Mrs. Danner stood by the stream with her hand on her hip, paused for a moment, then sat down on a boulder and lifted her face to the sun. Her blond hair spilled from her bonnet, her skin shimmering like fine china. She didn’t belong here. She definitely belonged in a fancy house with servants.
She glanced back at him. “Do you really think they need to be rubbed down so soon?”
“They could probably walk to Yellow Creek without a problem, but why risk it? They worked hard.”
“True.” She got up and went to the back of the wagon, returning a moment later with a couple of horse brushes. Without saying a word, she went straight to work on the other horse. He neighed in agreement.
“How long before we reach Creelsboro?” she asked.
“If the weather holds, possibly eight or nine days. Were you planning on going by wagon the entire trip?”
“I believe so. Quinton had the journey pretty well mapped out in his head. Why do you ask?”
“We could make better time traveling by water for a portion of the trip.”
“By steamboat?”
“Canoe.” He glanced back at the wagon. “With this load, it probably isn’t an option.”
“Perhaps I can sell some of my wares to the folks in Yellow Creek.”
“Perhaps.” There was a very small group of farmers living in that area. “Camp Ford and Barbourville might hold better opportunities.”
“I was told that this region of Kentucky was wilderness.”
Mac chuckled. “What one man calls wilderness might be a metropolis to another. All depends on where a man’s from and what he’s used to. Me, I prefer far less souls. Too much like a city, if you ask me.”
A horse neighed behind them. Mac reached for his rifle.
Chapter 3
Pamela’s hands froze over the rib cage of her horse.
“Howdy,” Mac called out to the unwelcome guest.
“That your stuff up on the road apiece?” the stranger asked.
She couldn’t see who it was or how many. Could they be the bandits? Fear gripped her backbone like a vise, applying pressure to the point she feared the slightest move would cause her back to snap in two.
“Afraid so. I hope to retrieve it later tonight. Why do you ask?”
“No reason, just curious.” Leather creaked as the man descended from his horse.
Mac laid his rifle across his left arm with his right hand poised over the trigger guard.
“Whoa, Mac, it’s me, Jasper. Got hitched? I thought you were a loner.” Pamela eyed the disheveled man. His stomach hung over his belt and jiggled as he walked.
“I am, but you know the long winter can be cold and lonely.” Pam wasn’t too pleased to hear Mac’s insinuation, but she also noticed he hadn’t let his guard down. His finger remained snug against the trigger. For whatever reason, this Jasper was a man Mac didn’t trust.
“She’s a pretty little thing. Where’d you find her? In church?”
“She was praying the first time I laid eyes on her,” Mac acknowledged.
Pam had to admit that was true. And he hadn’t lied about them being married. Jasper just assumed. Who was this burly mountain man? Could she trust him?
“Hate to call the visit short, Jasper, but I promised the missus I’d get her to Yellow Creek before nightfall.”
“Ain’t no tavern there.”
“True.”
“Be happy to
escort you. I’m heading that way,” Jasper offered.
“Well now, Jasper, that’s a mighty fine offer, but me and the missus …” Mac glanced over to her and winked. “Well, you know.”
Jasper looked Pamela up, then down. She wanted to jump in the creek and cleanse herself from his slimy gaze. He slapped Mac on the back. “Never thought I’d see you hitched. See ya in Yellow Creek.”
Pam noticed the strange weapon attached to his belt. It looked like a short handgun with a small handle and a barrel that was definitely shorter than usual, yet wide and thick. If he isn’t a bandit, he sure looks like one, she mused.
Mac held up his hand, silencing her. He listened intently for a moment, then waved to Jasper as the man passed by.
“Who was he?” Pam whispered when Jasper had rounded the corner down the path.
“Trouble with a capital ‘T.’ It’s never been proven, but I suspect he’s one of the bandits I spoke of.”
“What kind of a gun was that?” She came up beside Mac, who continued to watch the wooded area above the trail.
“An Artemus Wheeler. He got it in the navy. Nasty weapon. Can shoot six shots without reloading. All he has to do is spin those six barrels.”
Pamela started to shake. Mac reached out and held her shoulders, pulling her close to him. “There’re men in the woods watching,” he whispered. “Jasper believes you’re my wife. Forgive me.”
She looked up to the tower of a man. “I appreciate the comfort, and I noticed you didn’t lie. Jasper just assumed. You didn’t correct his misconception.”
“Thank you. I’d been thinking I’d drop you off at the Turners’ farm, but I’m not certain I should leave you alone now. I suspect Jasper will be watching us for a while.”
“Why?”
“Why?” He helped her up onto the wagon. “Because a wagon this full is a temptation.”
“Oh.” She bit her lower lip to keep from exploding. Why did life have to be so hard?
Mac went straight to work hitching up the horses. Hitched, what a rude term for marriage, she thought.
Brides of Kentucky Page 2
