Maps of Fate

by Reid Lance Rosenthal

  Reuben and Johannes hastily fell in step beside the women, and they strolled toward the halo of flickering light partially obscured by the dark outline of the slope. As they neared, and rounded the hill, they could see a large fire, silhouetting the moving images of people.

  CHAPTER 13

  MARCH 18, 1855

  THE BULLWHIP

  Rebecca glanced behind her and saw a couple some distance back, also headed toward the campfire. In the gathering gloom she could not distinguish the features, but something seemed familiar in the small petite figure of the woman and the stocky shape of the man and his purposeful swaggering walk.

  She walked beside Inga, with Johannes and Reuben abreast, and into the circle of light cast by the flames. Faces turned toward them. The eyes of most of the men widened and fixed on her and Inga without so much as a glance at Reuben and Johannes. The other women, Rebecca noticed quickly, for the most part were dressed in clean but simple calico or wool traveling dresses, some still wearing their sunbonnets. The expressions on their faces were split evenly between welcoming smiles and disapproving stares. Several looked at their menfolk, obviously displeased by the clandestine glances cast in Rebecca and Inga’s direction.

  Mac walked over to them with an athletic lumber. He smiled at Inga, swept off his hat and bowed slightly, the fire radiating his wavy red hair with golden highlights. “Ma’am.” He lifted her hand and planted a clumsy kiss to her knuckles.

  He turned to Rebecca and repeated the gesture. “Miss Rebecca, I believe? You two ladies have outdone yourselves tonight. Very pretty.”

  “Thank you, Captain, that is very gracious.”

  Mac had yet to turn loose her hand, and the narrow space between his beard and mustache split into a wide grin. “Well, it’s true enough that some of these wagons are called prairie schooners, but I’m not a captain, ma’am. I am the wagon master. We’ll talk more about that after supper with the entire outfit.”

  Johannes began to say, in a joking tone, “I think General would be more…,” his voice trailed off. His eyes widened and his jaw slackened as he looked over the shoulders of Rebecca and Mac, arresting the women’s attention. They turned and Reuben’s gaze followed.

  Coming into the circle of light were Jacob and Sarah. Jacob had one large hand wrapped tightly around her upper arm. Even so, it was obvious Sarah was making every attempt to keep distance between them.

  Reuben felt the pause in the chatter around the campfire. The surprise in Rebecca’s expression was unmistakable. Inga’s eyes flickered from the arriving couple to the faces of each of her friends, finally pausing at Reuben with a questioning stare.

  Her puzzled look brought a sudden realization to Reuben. That’s right, Inga has never met Jacob or Sarah; she was not on the Edinburgh. Jacob and Sarah paused, unable to ignore the tension in the group.

  Jacob thrust his face slightly forward. “I am Jacob O’Shanahan and this is my betrothed, Sarah Bonney.” Reuben caught sight of Zeb’s shadowy form standing just at the outer circle of the fire’s bright light. He stood impassively, his eyes seeming to move from Sarah to Jacob and then back again. His arms were crossed in front of his chest, his feet spread in a wide stance. Reuben glanced back at the ladies. Rebecca’s look of surprise had become one of astonishment at the word betrothed. Her dark, perfectly formed eyebrows were elevated halfway up her forehead and her lips were parted.

  Reuben galvanized in the uneasy silence. He took several steps over to Jacob and held out his hand. “Glad you decided to join us, Jacob.”

  After a moment’s hesitation, Jacob slowly extended his hand and shook Reuben’s, squeezing with all the considerable power in his thick wrist and fingers. His slightly glowering expression remained unchanged. Reuben squeezed back, maintaining the semblance of smile he had forced in concert with his greeting. He noted with satisfaction that though his hand was smaller, the power in the clasp between the two men was equal.

  Then, the test of dominance was over but only after several extended seconds. Reuben turned to Sarah. The glow of fire deepened the color of her hair, and its flicker reflected seductively in the blue of her eyes. Reuben bent forward slightly, reached for her free hand and raised it to his lips, brushing the top of her wrist with a soft kiss.

  Sarah’s eyes widened slightly when Reuben’s lips touched her skin. “The two of you are arriving at exactly the right time. I think everybody from the camp is here, and we were just about to make introductions.”

  He turned to Mac. “What do you think, Mac, maybe it would be good for all of us to introduce ourselves?”

  “Good idea, Reuben. That’s one of the things I want to get done tonight. Folks who know each other are more likely to cover one another’s backs.”

  Mac’s eyes moved coldly to Jacob. When they returned to Reuben the bushy red eyebrows relaxed somewhat. He raised his voice and spoke to the group. “I have one keg of ale. It won’t be ice cold, but it’s cool enough that it’ll do. I figure there’s enough for about one cup each. Don’t want to see anyone having too much, but whatever does not get finished tonight gets thrown out. From here on in, it’ll be a water keg. Going to need it.”

  Mac turned and motioned to the two herdsmen who were mounted uphill of the campfire, keeping watchful eyes on the milling stock above them. “Charlie, dismount down off that horse of yours, get the top off that keg, and grab a ladle to get folks started. John, go up there with the critters and keep an eye out. Charlie will stay you in a spell, and you can come down. We’ll make sure we save you a cup.”

  Charlie nodded, dismounted, and began to walk over to one of the supply wagons. John raised his hand in a friendly half-salute, quarter turned his horse and slowly made his way into the darkness in the direction of the occasional whinnies and brays of the horses and mules, and the soft wheezing grunts of the oxen. The rising halfmoon, the first two stars, and the last thin band of disappearing sunlight silhouetted horse and rider.

  Mac turned to those who had gathered. “I suspect you all know how to make introductions between one another. Don’t be bashful. We’re all in this together for quite a spell. And I would expect that many of you have interesting stories to tell your new neighbors, some more so than others.”

  Reuben noticed Mac’s gaze again fixed on Jacob as his booming voice echoed across the campfire.

  Rebecca simply could not believe that of all the passengers on the Edinburgh, that petite, attractive red head—who obviously had an interest in Reuben, and with whom she had traded sarcastic barbs on several occasions—was one of the other Edinburgh shipmates on this wagon train. And she is with that bastard? Jacob’s appearance was another surprise. She had deliberately never spoken to Jacob in the six-week crossing, very purposely avoiding his roving eyes and ignoring his lewd sardonic grins as he visually undressed her each time their paths met. The one time he had made a real effort to catch her attention, she lifted her nose and marched straight past him as if he was merely air. “Snotty, limey bitch,” he had cursed behind her. And now the two of them together?

  She was staring at him as she remembered, and suddenly realized that Jacob was returning her look, his lips turned in the same lewd sneer she had seen him cast her way aboard ship. She hastily averted her eyes, but not before she saw Sarah attempt to take a step forward. Jacob tightened his grip on her arm and pulled her back, only releasing her when Sarah sent an angry glance at his hand and then to his face. Free, the red head moved quickly to the clusters of people sipping ale and talking animatedly on the far side of the fire.

  Inga stooped to whisper in Rebecca’s ear, her lips no more than six inches from the side of Rebecca’s head. “What was that all about, Milady Marx? Who are those people? They were your shipmates on the Edinburgh? Are they your friends?”

  Rebecca turned to Inga, patted her arm and laughed. “That brute Irishman is not my friend. It would be a safe bet that he has no friends.”

  “The little red head is quite attractive,” Inga said in a low voice. “
She’s his fiancée, so at least one person must like him.”

  Rebecca shook her head. “My dear Inga, Sarah is a commoner, although she dresses well enough. I understand from shipboard gossip she and her sister owned a ladies clothing shop in Liverpool and sewed their own designs.”

  Rebecca shifted her eyes across the fire where Sarah stood, her back to Rebecca and Inga, talking to a plump middle-aged lady dressed in a worn, heavy cotton traveling dress. A grey knit shawl was draped over the woman’s ample shoulders. “I can’t say that Sarah is my friend, though we have spoken on occasion, perhaps a bit pointedly. But, I think there’s far more to this story than the unilateral pronouncement of the Irishman.”

  She was surprised to suddenly find Reuben standing close to her, a teasing look in his eyes. “I have never seen you quite so startled. I told you there were other Edinburgh travelers in the wagons.”

  “You certainly made a fool of yourself with the seamstress,” she said under her breath. “Was that kiss to her wrist to impress all the other attendees, get under Jacob’s skin, or…,” she looked at him intently, “…to make me jealous?”

  He laughed. “It was the gentlemanly thing to do, particularly since—and I know you caught it because I saw you staring at her— she was very uncomfortable. It wouldn’t surprise me if there was a bruise on her arm where he was holding her.”

  Reuben moved closer to Rebecca so that just a foot separated them. She felt herself getting lost in those intense green eyes, a giddy feeling swirled in her stomach, and she realized she had unconsciously arched her back toward him.

  Her eyes dropped to his lips. “I suppose now you’re trying to kiss me, perhaps to impress all the other travelers again?” She hoped the comment flowed as sarcastically as she intended and that Reuben would not consider it an invitation. Or was it? She blinked at the thought.

  Reuben shook his head slowly, his eyes fixed on hers, and stepped back. “You seem well practiced at spoiling moments, Milady Marx. There is not a jealous bone in your body when it comes to any man, including me.”

  Rebecca resisted a wild urge to reach out and touch his arm, tempted to say softly, “I’m sorry.” But she didn’t. Instead, she made a conscious effort to slightly relax her stance. “I did notice Sarah’s discomfort. I have never really liked her.”

  “That, Rebecca, has been obvious since the Edinburgh,” broke in Reuben tersely. “What has she ever done to you, or do you just regard her as beneath you, the same low esteem, I might add, you seem to project toward everyone with the occasional—very occasional— exception of Inga. But, in Inga’s case her adoration of you feeds your ego just enough so you can afford to be nice once in a great while.”

  Rebecca was stunned by the harsh edge in Reuben’s voice. This time she did reach out her hand apologetically, but he had turned abruptly away, headed toward a group of four or five men clustered around Mac and listening intently to the red-bearded wagon master.

  Had anyone witnessed the exchange? she wondered. But she stood completely alone, unengaged in conversation with anyone. Only Jacob, in a solitary sulk by the ale keg, stood by himself.

  She looked back to their wagon. The darkness was gathering rapidly, the land almost indistinguishable from the edge of the night sky. Beyond the firelight, the tops of the wagons rose like apparitions in the dark. She shivered and drew her shawl around her shoulders, returning her gaze to the campfire. Johannes lounged nonchalantly against the side of the second supply wagon, a tin cup in his hand. Inga and another couple stood in front of him talking. She saw Johannes watching her over their heads and her eyes caught his. Even in the dull firelight, his expression was one of amusement. Then his head swiveled as he watched Reuben make his way to the group gathered around Mac.

  Rebecca sighed and sat down heavily on one of the crates Charlie and John had set out as makeshift seats. The inky night behind her seemed ominous, a wholly different energy than the soft, gay crackle of the fire. She lowered her head and stared at her thin, delicate fingers for a moment, then raised them to her temples and began to gently rub the hollow above her closed eyes in a circular motion.

  She didn’t hear the footsteps. But when she opened her eyes, a pair of scuffed and scarred brown, laced leather boots were planted directly in front of her. Her heart made a sickening thump as she looked up and into the eyes of Jacob O’Shanahan. He had positioned his bulky frame to block the fire so there was light on her face and shadow on his. She darted quick looks to either side of his hips to see if anyone was watching.

  Thirty feet away, Reuben had his back to her, engaged in conversation. Johannes, further distanced, had taken his eyes off her, and was smiling and nodding at the couple who conversed with Inga and him. Jacob’s stance effectually blocked her movement unless she made a concerted effort to stand and walk around him. And he knew it.

  “Awww…princess,” he scoffed, “that Prussian farm boy hurt your feelings?”

  Rebecca glared at him, trying to gather her wits about her. Jacob spoke again, in a lowered voice.

  “Maybe I can help? Bet I could put a smile on that pretty face of yours.” He ran the tip of his tongue slowly out of his mouth and swiped it slowly, very deliberately, from one corner of his lips to the other, his face filled with a fierce, almost wild look.

  Clearing her throat with as much disapproval as she could muster, “You have no manners, Mr. O’Shanahan. Be off with you. God only knows why the King has not untethered England and the Empire from the mantle of Irish filth and despair.”

  Jacob’s leer stiffened. Rebecca knew she should go no further, but her anger at his intrusion into her space and his filthy insinuations was rising by the second. Before she could say more, he dropped swiftly to one knee, reached out a thick muscular hand, and gripped Rebecca’s chin, roughly cradling her jaw between his fingers and thumb.

  She tried to shake her head free, but he tightened his grip. She slapped his wrist with one hand as he lifted her face toward his. “Take your hands off me this instant,” her words were slurred by the inability to fully open her mouth.

  Jacob bared his teeth in a nasty sneer and exhaled a blast of bad breath almost causing her to gag. “Don’t you ever talk to me that way you pompous…”

  A sudden thump of colliding bodies knocked Rebecca backward off the crate. She struggled to one elbow and raised her head. Mac stood by the crate, a bullwhip coiled in his right hand, his face as red as his beard, his eyes glowing dangerously. Jacob, stunned, struggled to raise a shoulder from the ground.

  “If I ever see you touch a woman on my wagon train inappropriately again,” Mac raised his arm and expertly flicked his wrist, “I will tie you to a wagon wheel and give you fifty lashes with this.” He snapped the end of the whip. A sound like a rifle report shot through the air. Dust flew into Jacob’s face just inches from his ear. He pushed frantically with his feet, propelling his body backward along the ground and away from Mac, one hand desperately rubbing his eyes.

  Mac advanced toward him, flicking the whip, its tapered leather tail hissing like a snake in the night air. “From one Irishman to another, you know that this is neither blarney nor bluff. Your back will look like you have been dragged ten miles by wild horses.”

  The crowd that had gathered in a semi-circle behind Mac stood silent, including Reuben and Johannes, who had turned the moment the whip cracked the air. The wagon master took a deep breath and studiously coiled the whip, obviously trying to calm himself down.

  Jacob got to his feet, his face a mask of hateful menace. It was apparent that he could barely control himself. Several of the women helped Rebecca upright. Inga brushed off Rebecca’s dress with worried motions. “Are you all right, Milady Marx?”

  Rebecca inhaled, catching her breath. She looked down at her hands. They were shaking. She clasped them together so that no one would notice. “I’m quite fine, thank you.”

  She turned to the two women who had helped her to her feet. “Thank you very much for your kind assistance. I am
Rebecca Marx.” One woman, perhaps in her thirties who might have once been beautiful, had dark hair similar to Rebecca’s, but shorter. The other was plump, florid and middle-aged with greying hair under her sunbonnet. She looked shocked. “I should say…” her voice trailed off. The younger lady spoke up, “I am Saley.” She nodded slightly.

  The older matron shook her head energetically, her heavy jowls jiggling with each movement. “That was quite surprising. My, my, my. I am Margaret, Margaret Johnson. That’s my husband, Harris, and our children, Becky and Eleanor over there.” She gestured to a large, kind-looking man in overalls with a large, heavy-set build, and the same pudgy, florid cheeks as she. His hands rested on the shoulders of two apple-cheeked little girls whose arms were clinging to their father’s ample legs with eyes wide as silver dollars. “I’m sorry my children had to see this. Thank the Lord, Mac came to your aid.”

  Rebecca rubbed her jaws, trying to restore the circulation. “He did indeed.” Mac was watching her intently. She smiled shakily at him, “Thank you, wagon master.”

  Mac smiled warmly back at her, the animal glare gone from his eyes. “Anytime, ma’am.”

  He turned to the people gathered around him. Reuben, Zeb and Johannes stood slightly behind the crowd, their eyes turned on Jacob, who lurked by himself in the shadows, outside the circle.

  The murmurs of the group died instantly. “That incident was unfortunate,” Mac said, “but it happens from time to time on these trips. Sometimes you could say things get worse the longer we go.”

  Relieved that she was no longer the center of attention, Rebecca stepped away but kept her eyes on Mac. “I planned to talk to all of you,” he said, his voice booming, “when your bellies were full of pig and potatoes. But we have a prime example before us of one of the things about which I want to speak, and our supper needs another half-hour in the pits. So, since we are all gathered here now, we will get what needs to be said out of the way.”