Leaving Independence

by Leanne W. Smith

  “Yes, sir,” said Smith. “I understand, sir.”

  August 7, 1866

  We have arrived in Idaho Territory, Mimi.

  Abigail set down her quill and crawled from the wagon. She pulled off her hat, wiped the day’s dust and a thin sheen of sweat from her brow, then took off her vest and fanned her face, wondering where Hoke was. She missed the regular bucket of water he always had waiting for her . . . and she missed him.

  Lina danced over with a pail full of berries. “Can we have cobbler, Mama? Mrs. Chris and Mrs. Jo found blackberries and sent us some!”

  Abigail looked in the pail at the ripe berries—dark as the night. She ate one. It was so sweet they’d need little sugar. That was good considering they were so low.

  “Sure, precious.”

  She smiled as Lina raced to tell Corrine. It felt so good to be back to normal that Abigail didn’t even mind the cooking chores. Her side had finally quit hurting, but she still had the scabs, one where the bullet had gone in and one where it went out. She’d always have the scars.

  Charlie came sprinting toward her. “Ma! Ma!”

  Her heart missed a beat, thinking something had happened to Jacob.

  “You’re not going to believe this,” said Charlie breathlessly. “Pa’s here.”

  His words hung in the air.

  She looked sharply around. Where was Hoke? Tears sprang to her eyes and she blushed with shame. “Where?” she whispered.

  “A few miles west of here. Bart and Orin Peters were with Mr. Hoke scouting ahead and they met some soldiers from the 113th who said Pa was with them. Well, he wasn’t right there with them, he was back a ways. Mr. Hoke rode out to meet him while Bart and Orin rode back this way to tell us. Jacob’s getting the horses hitched. Come on!”

  “Wait a minute, Charlie! Slow down. I need a minute to think.” She trembled all over and longed to see Hoke. Why had he gone ahead instead of coming back to tell her this news himself?

  No . . . she could guess why. It was just like him to scout out the danger.

  What would Robert look like after five years? she wondered. What if things were awkward between them? How would things not be awkward between them? What had she planned to say? Why had she come on this trip? Oh, she couldn’t remember!

  She grabbed Charlie’s arm to keep him from running back to Jacob. “I’d rather see him by myself first. Before you children see him.”

  The excitement fled from Charlie’s face, but she knew it was the right decision.

  What if war and time had changed him? Of course they would have changed him! Lieutenant Coatman’s words came back to her . . . opinionated and stubborn . . . as did Cecil Ryman’s claim that Robert had killed his brother without cause.

  It was going to be a shock to the children to see him, having built him up in their minds. She needed to get past seeing him herself before she could focus on the children.

  Maybe it had been a mistake to come. Maybe they should have left well enough alone. But here they were . . . too late now.

  Charlie’s eyes pleaded with her. “Mother, no. We’re going with you.”

  Abigail planted her feet. “Charlie, you have to trust me on this. I need to see him first. I need a chance to talk to him and . . . compose myself.” A hard tremor in her voice made it sound strange to her own ears.

  Charlie put his hands on his hips and shook his head. Three months ago he would have argued with her and they both knew it. But the events of the past three months had matured Charlie Baldwyn into a man.

  He didn’t like it. He didn’t agree. But he looked her in the eye and said, “Yes, ma’am.”

  Abigail pulled him close and kissed his cheek.

  The worry on his face was sharp. “Are you sure you don’t want me to ride out with you, Ma?” he whispered. “I could hold back, but be close by.”

  “No, son. I need you to be here for your brother and sisters. Get them ready, will you? And maybe tidy things up in the wagons?”

  Charlie shook his head again, but the tension drained from his shoulders. “Of course.”

  “Corrine can get supper. Tell her there are some new potatoes ready next to the dahlia. They’d be good with onions. And Lina wants a cobbler.”

  The normalcy of giving Charlie chores made her feel better. But her legs were shaky as she found Jacob with James, who was saddling the gray dun for her.

  Suddenly people were everywhere, asking questions. Was it true? What providence! Was she going out to meet him? Did she want some of the men to go with her? What about the children? What about supper? How could they help?

  Abigail thanked them and said she’d be fine riding out on her own. She preferred to ride out alone. It would give her time to think.

  With trembling hands, she grasped the saddle horn and swung up onto the dun, wondering if she should smooth her hair or wash her face.

  She decided against it. Instead, she set her face to the west and rode out to meet her husband.

  Three miles out Abigail spotted a rider. Even if Rascal hadn’t been running at his side she would have known it was Hoke. Few men rode with such ease on a horse, and few men had a mount so beautiful as the stallion.

  His face looked ominous as he approached. At first she thought he was going to ride right past her without speaking, but he stopped suddenly, wheeled around, and turned to trot beside her. Seeing him was a relief, but also troubling.

  She loved him.

  She allowed herself to think it at last: she loved Hoke Mathews. He might once have loved her, too, but love wasn’t presently reflected in his eyes.

  Abigail had stopped wanting to find Robert weeks ago, in the moment she’d laid the blue crocheted bag into Hoke’s perfect, strong hand at the corral in Independence—before he’d ever held her dancing or kissed her behind the wagon. This was the man she wanted the freedom to love: This brooding man beside her. This man who would now never be hers.

  Hoke wouldn’t want her if he knew how fickle she was. She had driven Robert away by not supporting him, and now, after coming all this way to patch things up, she’d given her heart to someone else.

  Robert was alive. It didn’t feel real. She was outside her own body watching a scene play out, her heart turned as lifeless as a stone.

  In moments Abigail would be her husband’s again, and Hoke would be left with nothing but the taste of hope gone sour. Hope deferred made a heart sick . . . he’d read that in Scripture. And while he’d felt abandonment and shame before, and experienced fear and all the ferociousness of nature, he’d never felt a knife cut as sharp as did the deferment of his hope for her.

  When she had been shot he’d had something to do: check to see if the bullet was out, try to stop the bleeding, get her to the wagon and fetch the doc.

  The memory of it washed over him and he longed to have her back at the Indian fight, trembling and needing him to calm her.

  He wanted her to want him—him! Not that arrogant man he’d just met. Damn Robert Baldwyn for being alive!

  He kicked the stallion forward and blocked her path, unable for the first time to look her in the eye. “Don’t go.”

  She didn’t answer. When he looked back up he saw her eyes were filled.

  It ripped his heart out.

  Could she really have once loved that man he’d just met? If so, then she wasn’t the woman he’d believed her to be. Or had Hoke’s keen judgment become all twisted?

  God amighty, he was miserable! He wished he’d never met this woman and never come on this train. Now what would he do? He couldn’t stay within a thousand miles of her if she was living with that man.

  “I have to, Hoke.” He’d never heard her voice so strained.

  He gritted his teeth. A group of riders appeared ahead—the 113th. Hoke had ridden hard; they had loped along. This was it, then . . . the last moment he’d ever have in private with her.

  “Did you bring your gun?” he asked, thickly.

  She looked surprised. “No. Why would I need i
t?”

  Hoke unwound his pommel holster, dismounted, and reached for her saddle, fastening the holster to it. “Take this with you. It’s a little bigger than the one you’re used to, but you can handle it.” It was a .44 Army Colt. “Balls are loaded, caps are on. All six cylinders . . . ready to fire.”

  Her brow was twisted. He wished to God she wouldn’t look at him that way!

  “Hoke, I’m sure I don’t need it. I hate to take your—”

  “Take it!” His voice was raw. “It’ll make me feel better.”

  The soldiers drew up as he remounted the stallion.

  “Mrs. Baldwyn?” said Sergeant Smith, who approached them with obvious trepidation. “The captain is waiting just ahead for you, ma’am. Not much more than a mile there by a creek. He was hoping he could see you alone before coming back to the rest of your family.”

  Smith warily watched Hoke.

  “Yes, of course,” said Abigail, also looking at Hoke, then back to the sergeant. “That’s best.”

  Hoke sat still on his horse. It took every bit of effort he had not to move, not to kill every one of these men, take her in his arms, and ride off with her. That was what it felt like he should do. If he did that, he would be protecting her. But from what? Her own husband?

  He willed himself not to move while Abigail urged the dun forward.

  CHAPTER 27

  Like a low-hanging storm cloud

  The man stood by a stream in a small grove of aspens with his back to her, his boot propped on a fallen log. He heard her approach and dismount but didn’t turn around.

  She’d come this far. Let her come a little farther.

  Abigail noted how tall he looked. His shoulders had never been so wide. Robert had been a slender man—now he was robust. She tied her horse to a tree and walked toward him, her legs like jelly beneath her skirts.

  “Is it really you, Robert? You seem taller. Stronger.” She was nearly to him.

  He turned and took his hat off.

  She stopped cold, her eyes frozen to his red beard and hair.

  It wasn’t Robert.

  “Hadley! What are you doing here? I was told Robert was waiting alone. Where is he?” She looked around but there was only one horse tied nearby.

  Hadley laughed. “Abigail Walstone, I believe you’ve gotten prettier. How is that possible? What? No hug for good old Hadley Wiles?”

  He opened his arms but she stayed rooted to the spot.

  “I thought you’d be glad to see me again.” His eyes were icy. “To have a chance to make up for that last time when we parted on awkward terms.”

  “Where’s Robert?” she whispered. It was as loud as she could make her voice work.

  “Come on, Abigail. Aren’t you even going to hug me? Aren’t you just a little bit glad to see me?”

  The strange edge to his voice frightened her. She was trying not to panic, but . . . why was Hadley here? And where was Robert?

  “You know, you’ve thrown me like a wild mustang coming out here. I mean . . . I got your letters, of course.” The turn of his mouth grew hard. “You haven’t given me a lot of choice here, Abigail. Things could have gone a little easier for you if you’d acted glad to see me this time.”

  Hadley was poison. She had hoped to never see him again.

  Abigail willed herself to move, to take a step back toward her horse. Her horse . . . there was a gun on the pommel! James had once told her Hoke had a sixth sense. She should have taken that to heart. She should have put Hoke’s gun in her pocket.

  Hadley stepped left, putting himself between her and her horse. “Where you goin’ so fast? We got a lot to talk about.”

  Abigail’s eyes shot to his chest. His shirt said Baldwyn on the pocket. His stripes were captain’s stripes.

  Hadley cocked his head. “I realize it may take you a while to get used to the idea, but I . . . this wasn’t how I had planned to break the news to you.”

  Abigail inched backward. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Hadley. I’m looking for Robert. What have you done with him?”

  “I am Robert.” He stepped closer. “The new edition. That Robert died some time ago. Only weeks after he left Marston, best I can calculate.”

  He took another step toward her. Then another.

  Abigail shook her head. “Liar! He’s been sending me letters.”

  Hadley threw his head back and laughed, stepping closer. “That wasn’t him, love. That was me. Haven’t you figured this out yet? I thought you were smarter than that.”

  She looked at the name on his chest again. “You’re impersonating Robert?” She was going to be sick.

  “Yes, love. It was me sending you those sweet letters. I’ve been Robert Baldwyn for a while now. Since just after the last time I saw you, matter of fact. Maybe now I’ll get that kiss . . . and more.”

  He stepped closer.

  Abigail swallowed to keep the bile down as the truth swept over her. She looked at Hadley’s right hand. Two fingers were missing.

  He held out the hand and flicked his remaining fingers. “That part was true. Which is why I had to keep my gloves on last time I saw you.”

  What a fool she’d been!

  The content of the letters had reflected an altered Robert, but to think that Hadley had stepped into his shoes and clothing . . . who had ever heard of such a thing? She suddenly thought of the children: the children would be crushed.

  She and Hadley had grown up together. He had asked her to marry him when they were young. Even then he’d sent chills down her spine. Then, not long after Robert had left, Hadley showed up on her doorstep.

  Corrine had seen the whole thing, she’d discovered later—how Hadley had swaggered up the sidewalk to where Abigail was pruning her plants.

  “Hadley! We heard you had been killed.”

  “Army makes mistakes sometimes.” He grinned, then started to chuckle.

  The hair at the base of her scalp had prickled then, like it prickled now. “What’s funny?” she had asked him.

  “I was just thinking how I know something about your husband I bet you’d like to know.”

  “What?”

  “I’ll tell you for a kiss.”

  When Abigail told him to leave, he grabbed her wrist and said, “If you knew what it was, you’d do more than kiss me. You’d let me in your bed.”

  She jerked her hand free and slapped him for such an insult, then ordered him off her property. He got halfway down the walk before he turned. “I’ll give you one more chance, Abigail Walstone.” His eyes were narrow, his tone menacing. “Would you marry me if you had it to do over? Me, instead of Robert Baldwyn?”

  “Never.”

  Anger flashed in his eyes. “You sure about that? You sure you don’t want to give it a try?”

  An equal anger flashed in her own. “Don’t come back here, Hadley.”

  The memory of the encounter washed over Abigail as she took another step back.

  “Why?” she asked.

  She needed to get out of here. No one else was coming. But—hope rose in her chest—there was a gun on her pommel! Hoke’s words came back to her: Balls are loaded, caps are on. All six cylinders . . . ready to fire.

  “Robert Baldwyn had some things going for him,” Hadley was saying. “A title, the respect of men . . . you. But he had the misfortune of getting killed in a battle where the troops were widely scattered.”

  “You fought for the Confederacy.” She searched her mind for the details. “In a regiment from Nashville. Same regiment as Robert’s cousin. We heard you’d been killed. Somewhere in Virginia.” Abigail took another step back.

  “It didn’t take me long to see the writing on the wall,” he said, stepping closer. “The Union was better dressed, better fed, better supplied. And they had Henry rifles. There was no way we were going to win. I admire Robert Baldwyn for figuring that out so early. He was an intelligent man, Abigail. You did all right.”

  Hadley’s nonchalance made her blood bo
il. “How did you get his jacket?”

  Hadley took another step forward. “As fate would have it, I was coming through Virginia when I happened on a field of dead soldiers that hadn’t been ransacked yet. I was looking for better boots in my size when I turned over your dearly departed, shot in the—” He cocked his head. “Do you care to know where he was shot?”

  Tears slid down her cheeks. What a monster. How could he be so cavalier?

  “I’m sorry, love, but it was significant because he was shot in the head. That meant no holes in the uniform, which was important for me. And the luck of coming across someone I knew . . . that was gold, Abigail. I couldn’t have pulled it off without that. I didn’t know Robert so well as some, but I knew he only had one brother, who conveniently died himself before the war was over—thanks for letting me know about that. And I knew you, having grown up with you. I knew you well, having been in love with you once already.”

  Hadley inched closer—too close.

  When Abigail turned to run he caught her arm and yanked her off balance. Then he twisted her arm behind her back.

  She cried out as pain shot up her shoulder. Another inch and the bone would snap.

  “You can’t leave. It’s rude! I’m in the middle of a story here.”

  His breath rolled into her nose. For all his spit and polish, it was foul . . . perhaps because it bubbled up from a foul, cold soul. The bullet holes in her side that hadn’t hurt in days began to throb and pulse again.

  “I hatched a quick plan and swapped coats and boots.” Hadley pointed her toward his horse. She had no choice but to go where he guided her, but she dragged her feet as slowly as she dared.

  “His jacket was a little snug but it had lieutenant’s stripes. That was sure better than what I had. I slipped on over to Ohio, putting enough distance between me and the next regiment to the south that nobody would know what Robert Baldwyn was supposed to look like. Luckily they reassigned me fast and didn’t send me back—but the men in his original unit had all been wiped out anyway.”