“I wouldn’t know, Reverend.” Cole, comfortably ensconced on a camp stool with his appetite slaked and his disposition somewhat smug because of it, grinned breezily. “Never did put myself int’ no category in life. Easier that way. And, me, I always take the easiest route.”
By then Janetta, she of the susceptible heart and sweet mercy, was having second thoughts. “Reverend, if you truly haven’t eaten, you’re welcome to sit down here,” she offered against her better judgment. Reluctant, yet driven by conscience. “I can unwrap what I’ve—”
“No, no, my dear.” To his credit, he decided not to cause more work for her. Or, perhaps, he had just been hoping to catch her alone, instead of with the two men who always seemed to be on their guard around her. “I’ll stop by to see Mrs. Flagler. She invited me earlier, but I decided to try—well, thank you, anyway. Perhaps another time.”
Tipping his hat, he shambled away. Janetta, watching, shuddered, and rubbed her arms as if suddenly caught by chill.
Cole cocked an expectant glance in her direction. “Does he show up here much?”
“Only about ev’ry night,” Oliver answered shortly. A cough rattled in his throat, shook his frame, then died away.
“Just like you do, Mr. Yancey,” she pointed out, completely expressionless.
“Oh, but, honey. There’s welcome comp’ny, like Cole, here, and then there’s comp’ny that ain’t so welcome. Tell me there’s a difference.”
“Hmmph. They both eat my food and take up my time.” And Janetta, still sounding miffed, turned away.
The guide rolled his eyes. “Reckon that’s my cue t’ leave. Unless—” he paused, trying to attract her attention, “—you need me to stick around and help clean up.”
Had she looked his way, she would have seen something oddly enough like wistfulness on his rugged features. But she didn’t. Over one shoulder, which shrugged, she murmured a, “No, thank you.”
“Ahuh. Well, then.” Cole retrieved his battered hat, pulled it down over his head, and began making his departure into the soft almost-summer twilight.
To the accompaniment of Oliver’s cheerful, if faint, call: “See you t’morrow night.”
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Only a few of the train’s residents failed to appear for the next morning’s services. Two were children, down with some minor ailment, and their long-suffering mother; another a man who had tripped over a wagon hitch and knocked himself unconscious; one family who professed to worship in a different religion; and various others, for various reasons.
Camp stools, packing crates, folding chairs, even the occasional log dragged into place all provided seating, under the branches of a friendly grove of maple and sycamore. It was the Lord’s Day, sure enough, with a beryl blue bowl of sky overhead, the trilling of sparrows and meadowlarks from here to there, and a mild breeze that riffled the prairie grass and wafted aloft the sweet fragrance of wildflowers.
Cole decided to attend, after all. Wearing a full-sleeved fresh—if rather wrinkled—white cotton shirt and dark blue wool pants, smelling of shaving soap and bay rum, he threaded his careful way between churchgoers to end up beside Janetta. She was sitting next to Oliver, who looked up to beam a welcome.
“I see you caved,” she murmured, from behind the fan so gracefully unfolded.
“Huh. Coerced,” he admitted, from the side of his mouth, in response. “Jordy told me it was be here this mornin’ and show some respect, or handle latrine duty for the next week.”
“Wise man.” A second flew by, then another; and then, incredibly, she giggled.
Cole nearly fell off the barrel he was using to perch upon. Holy Hannah! Did this mean the ravishing Miss McCain might actually possess a sense of humor, however small and undeveloped?
A sideways glance, from beneath thick black lashes. “Of course I do. I just don’t often find much to be amused at, that’s all.”
And a mind-reader, besides? Jesus!
Uncomfortable, he swallowed a gulp. “Uh. D’you know what I’m thinkin’, right now?”
“I do, indeed,” she replied serenely. “You’re admiring my dress.”
Admirable, indeed, of a formal cut, thus suitable for the day: soft royal blue print, buttoned down the front, with black lace trim on the sleeves and a demure white lace collar and cuffs; and the whole swathed in a fuzzy knit shawl. The color, the style, the flair provided context for her Irish cream complexion and strawberry blonde hair, much as the filigree of a ring provides the setting for any precious stone it holds.
Certainly it was a beautiful dress, made more so by the way she looked in it.
Still, he’d give a lot to see what she looked like out of it. “Uh. Yes, ma’am. I was doin’ that.”
Reverend Ross’ service proceeded, with a welcome, a blessing, various prayers and readings, a few hymns, and, of course, the sermon. Taken directly from the Book of Jude, he preached that “Even as Sodom and Gomorra, and the cities about them in like manner, giving themselves over to fornication, and going after strange flesh, are set forth for an example, suffering the vengeance of eternal fire.”
And so it went. The rant of blaze and brimstone raged on, with the level of sound rising from normal tone to throat-splitting shouts, accompanied by arm-waving and violent gestures. The minister’s fervor to describe and root out sin had congregants exchanging nervous glances. Several even peered upward, as if expecting to see flaming hail rain down from above. And was that a smell of sulphur in the air?
It was a splendid show. Anyone providing contributions to the reverend’s cause would certainly feel they’d gotten their money’s worth.
Oliver, Cole noticed, had tucked his daughter’s hand into the crook of his elbow during the worst of the tirade. Sheltering. Sustaining.
Eventually, the whole thing came to an end, as all things must do. Singing “Come, We That Love the Lord,” the group was at last set free. One could almost hear the general sigh of relief.
Women mingled, children ran to play, men gathered around coffee pots and camp fires. Janetta, spying Ruth in the crowd, moved to join her for a little friendly gossip. And Cole, with an excuse to the McCains, slipped away to see what duties awaited on what would, hopefully, be a free afternoon.
“Stakin’ out a claim, were you?”
“Huh. Spyin’ on me, were you?” Irritated, the guide brushed past Jordan to make his way to the chuck wagon. Mealtime: time to eat. That was if Luther saw fit to cook something other than beans and sawdust.
“I’m just a noticin’ sorta man.” Palms slipped inside both front pockets, Jordan meandered casually along behind, murmuring observations as if to himself. “Might be others interested in that young lady. Seems a mite selfish, just one feller tyin’ her up for all and good. Quite a looker. And I hear she can cook a damn fine supper, too.”
Cole stopped, bracing up against the rear of the wagon for a confrontation. “All right. You got somethin’ stuck in your craw, unstick it.”
“Who, me?” Jordan flashed the smile of the devil, yet he could not have looked more innocent. “Makin’ kind of a nuisance of yourself at the McCain campfire, ain’tcha?”
“I like the old man. And he’s sick, and gettin’ sicker. Nothin’ wrong with my checkin’ in t’ see how he’s doin’, is there?”
“No law against it.”
“Good t’ hear. My mama brought me up t’ be a concerned neighbor. Anything else you gotta tell me?”
The smile morphed into a broad grin. “Nope.”
“All right, then. Lemme alone. After so much religion razzle-dazzle, I wanna get some food.”
“Ahuh. Folks have said there’s mighty savory eatin’ over at McCains’.”
Across the few feet of distance between them, Cole sent his friend a glare of pure venom. “Hey, Jordy.”
“Ahuh.”
“Shut the hell up.”
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Just outside of Independence, the train had spent o
ne restless night at Lone Elm campground. Restless, because the Missouri River lay a few miles west; and that wide shining ribbon was, to most of the emigrants, the real beginning to their magnificent trek. A full day was taken to ferry wagonload after wagonload to the opposite bank. Only one of many such crossings, still to come in the future.
Once cleared, the Butler train gathered itself together to dry, like a dog shaking off raindrops, before heading on to the main junction. There, one road veered southwest toward Santa Fe; the other veered northwest toward Oregon. Jordan turned his people for the Columbia River, Oregon, and Oregon City.
Cole, scouting ahead, had led them around Mount Oread at Lawrence, where the waters divided between the Kansas River and the Wakarusa River. Then would come the Vermillion River, and the Little Blue River, and the Platte. More rivers. At some point those driving their oxen and mules would begin feeling exhausted by the prospect of yet one more ford to make while at the same time relieved to have fresh water once more available.
Past Topeka, the track swung gently north through the easy swells of Kansas countryside. The miles rolled away beneath iron-rimmed wheels, with little more difficulty than the occasional steep bank at a stream crossing, where shovels and pickaxes were employed to lessen the grade; or the interruption of an oncoming small herd of buffalo or white-tailed deer that halted travel while men grabbed their rifles.
At Alcove Spring, Jordan circled his train for a full weekend of rest. In his estimation, they were making good time, near to the Nebraska border, and had trekked roughly 450 miles thus far, over a three week period.
On Saturday, the younger children were allowed freedom to roam and explore the surrounding area, under careful supervision of posted guards, and some of the mothers themselves. This haven off the beaten path might give the appearance of the Promised Land, but any unfamiliar territory would bear watching. Wild critters—some dangerous, some not so much—abounded; water holes might incite drowning; a ruffian or outlaw passing through could mean trouble.
“What a wonderful place,” Janetta, looking around in pure pleasure, observed quietly to no one in particular.
Green in as many shades as the color had names stretched over mossy, uneven ground as far as the eye could see, encompassing fragrant pine and drooping willow, reaching up through hills to a blue sky. As one would splash through the winding stream, or on the path alongside, to wend higher, a giant flat shelf of rock served as collecting pool up above; over its edge poured the continual white ragged downrush of a waterfall.
“Peaceful,” said Cole, behind her, just as quietly. Despite all the noise of so many occupants setting up camp, they two might have been alone here, gazing at such beauty that filled the senses and calmed the wayward heart.
With the wagon unhitched, a fire started, and stools brought out, Janetta was taking the opportunity to stretch sore muscles. Her back was aching, her shoulders tense, her body hot and swollen.
This respite had come as a welcome surprise. If only she could store up repose like money in the bank, taking out however much extra would be needed at any given time! Just three weeks into the journey, and already so tired. Sometimes she lay awake, during the small hours of the morning, right before dawn, wondering with fear and dread how she would possibly endure the next four months. Nor yet those after.
“Sit down for a bit, Janie,” the scout, determined to co-exist on a first-name basis, suggested. “I was gonna ask you t’ go along across there, have a gander at that waterfall. But maybe not till after you’ve rested some; you’re lookin’ kinda peaked.”
Her automatic protest of, “I’m not at all peaked.” did not prevent her from accepting his invitation, regardless, as she sank down with a sigh that spoke volumes.
“D’you haveta argue with everything?” Annoyance mixed with concern in his voice. “You’ve gotten thinner, too. You and your paw, both. God’s sake, woman, with the meals you cook, seems like keepin’ healthy weight on wouldn’t be a problem for either one of you.”
Surprisingly, she remained silent, putting up no more of a fight. Instead she hitched a shawl more closely together and simply stared up at him. Great green eyes, vivid as Irish clover, that somehow managed to take all the wind out of his sails and all the starch out of his spine.
“You feelin’ okay?” he asked softly, after a minute of wandering around lost in the depths of that gaze.
Plopping down on the camp stool beside her, he reached over to clasp Janetta’s hand, so open and vulnerable to his touch. And instantly jerked a little. Yes, there it was again; he had not been disappointed. Not so much of an electric shock this time, but more of a tingle, a warmth, that spread from her fingers to his own.
Her lips softened into a smile.
With his thumb smoothing gently back and forth across her palm, he asked, in all seriousness, “You ain’t by any chance a witch, are you?”
The smile widened. “Would I tell you if I were?”
“Huh. Reckon not.” He sounded disgruntled. “Where’s your paw?”
“He and Barney are turning out the oxen. Then they’re going visiting.”
“All right, then. You’ve rested long enough. C’mon, let’s set off and see the sights.”
Alcove Spring had been called “a beautiful cascade of water…altogether one of the most romantic stops I ever saw.” by an earlier traveler. John C. Frémont had stopped here, as had Marcus Whitman. It had done itself proud, flaunting all its spring finery, for this newest set of visitors.
With Cole’s hand helpfully cupping her elbow as they strolled along, Janetta breathed deep of the fresh, slightly damp atmosphere, absorbed the sense of peace emanating throughout, listened to the lyrical trickle of water flowing downstream and the bird calls from above.
“I could stay here,” she suddenly decided. “It’s so inviting, so welcoming. I’ll talk to Pa, and we’ll stay right here.”
“No, you won’t. You got the whole rest of the trip t’ go on, and the finish with that kin of yours in California.”
A convenient big gray boulder offered seating, and she accepted it, spreading her dark cerise skirts and demurely crossing her black lace-up shoes at the ankles.
“Janie.” Cole set one boot on the smaller stone beside her, rested a forearm upon his thigh, and leaned forward slightly with brows creased and expression puzzled. “You ever gonna trust me enough t’ say what’s botherin’ you?”
Even then she hedged. “Nothing is bothering me. Other than Pa’s health. And—well, travel may be wearing, pretty soon, as we reach the mountains, the desert, and so on.”
“Trust, Janie. Key word there. I hope you know me well enough by now t’ see I wouldn’t ever try causin’ you harm.”
“Wouldn’t you?” Bitterness and bile caught in her throat. Before she could stop herself, Janetta surged to her feet, lashing out. “Every man causes harm. That’s one of life’s lessons I’ve learned well. You may utter clichés with that sweet southern accent of yours, Mr. Yancey, but I don’t believe in them. Just as I don’t believe in fairy tales.”
Astonished, he had immediately straightened to tower over her. “Janie, you can’t—”
“O yes I can, watch me! I’m ready to return now, Mr. Yancey. With or without you.”
“Possibly I can provide escort, instead,” came the plummy tones of Reverend Ross.
She spun to face him. “You! This is a private conversation, Reverend, and you’re intruding.”
Taken aback by the venom in her tone and in her demeanor, he retreated. “I’m so sorry, Miss McCain. I just thought you would appreciate some—”
“Oh—oh—balderdash!” Janetta flung out, almost on a sob. “Let me alone, the both of you!” Trailing her shawl like the bedraggled pennon on a field of honor, she picked up her skirts and stomped away.
The Reverend’s beady eyes narrowed as he watched the slender figure depart. Thoughtfully, he spoke to his troubled companion, who hadn’t been paying him a lick of attention since his first wor
ds. “Upset all out of context, wouldn’t you say?”
Cole turned, blinked as if to bring the world back into focus, and stared. “Dunno, Reverend. Don’t much give a flyin’ fig, neither. Excuse me.”
Once returned to the safety and sanctity of her own wagon, Janetta crawled into the welcome dimness and gave herself over to an uncharacteristic bout of weeping. On and on, ragged sobs, into the end of a pillowcase to muffle sound. The storm had passed by the time her father made his way back to their campsite.
“Janie? Janie, honey.” He stood beside the open canvas cover at the rear, speaking softly but urgently. “I saw you come on a-scramblin’ back, and you looked mighty disturbed. What happened?”
“Oh, Pa.” A heavy, faltering sigh, then silence. After a few moments came the rustle of movement inside: the shift off a thin mattress, the snap of a hairbrush, the trickle of water in a basin.
Oliver waited patiently. Shortly she reappeared, slid down to the ground, and wrapped her arms around his thin frame for comfort. Understanding without a word being spoken, he patted and soothed. His little girl, hurt beyond measure.
Once upon a time, if her doll needed restoring or her wagon needed repairing, he could fix the problem. Much as he might try, he couldn’t fix this.
Barney, too, did his part, snuggling up close in sympathy. His canine companionship brought her somewhat back to herself after the emotional upheaval.
Just as the dog’s low warning growl brought both father and daughter back to reality, at one more intrusion.
“Well, now, Miss McCain.” It was the hated voice of Reverend Ross, smarmy and unctuous as he approached. “Happy to see you made it back in fine fettle.”
The tempest had passed; other than a glassy appearance to swollen eyelids and the faint brush of color in both cheeks, Janetta wore composure and calm like a shield as she turned to confront the man. “Of course I did. Thank you for your concern, sir, following to ensure my safety.”
A Western Romance: Cole Yancey: Taking the High Road (Taking The High Road Series Book 9) Page 6
