A Western Romance: Cole Yancey: Taking the High Road (Taking The High Road Series Book 9)

by Morris Fenris

  “She ain’t—” he gulped. “Tell me she ain’t—”

  “Dying? Of course not,” said Martha sharply. “This is normal wear and tear, Mr. Yancey. Your first, right? By the time your third or fourth comes along, you’ll be taking all this for granted.”

  Another gulp. “Third or fourth? Ain’t never gonna even be a second!”

  Martha chuckled comfortably. “That’s what they all say. Here, take her hand, let her know you’re here. That’s what she’s looking for right now, aren’t you, dearie? Yes, I know it’s hard. Just give in, ride with it…that’s it, come on, now, you need to push…and push…”

  Murmuring motherly phrases, like the mother she was, Mrs. Holcomb gently led Janetta through the Valley of the Shadow and back to sanity as the ultimate approached. Some final puffs and wheezes, a few more protracted cries, and suddenly into the world slid a wailing, red-faced man-child.

  “Here,” said Martha. She had given the baby a hasty once-over with warm water, wrapped him in a blanket, and was now shoving the bundle into Cole’s startled arms. “This is your son. Get acquainted, whilst I take care of your wife.”

  No point in trying to correct any of that.

  Dazed, Cole looked down at the infant, squinting and yawning with his first glimpse of life beyond the womb. “H’lo, little one,” he whispered. “You gave your mama one hellacious time, gettin’ born, but I reckon she’ll forgive you. I surely do.”

  * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

  Their two-day sojourn at the spring stretched into three, then four. Mainly because Martha decreed that bouncing around in a wagon is not in the best interests of a new mother recovering from childbed.

  “You did it,” pointed out Wesley, around the corncob pipe in his mouth.

  “Only because you insisted we had to get going,” Martha harrumphed. “Given the choice, you’d better believe I would have rested up. If for nothing else than to deal with those hellions you foisted upon me, Mr. Holcomb.”

  He grinned. Clearly he was used to such haranguing. Probably even enjoyed it.

  Not so Cole. All he wanted was to bask in the light of his beloved Janetta’s cool green eyes, as she lay recovering with the baby at her breast.

  “He’s really goin’ after it like a bat outa hell, ain’t he?” Admiration and envy mixed together in his voice. Was it logical, even noble, to begrudge a nursing infant what he himself could not have?

  Wincing at a particularly energetic tug on her nipple, Janetta shifted position slightly. “There really isn’t much milk yet. In another day or so, Martha tells me.”

  Cole couldn’t resist reaching over, to let the baby curl tiny fingers around his thumb even while he was able to relish the feel of her warm flesh under his outspread palm. “What a godsend that woman is. Dunno what I’da done without her, Janie, girl. She sure took over, in spades.”

  With all the love and tenderness at her muster, Janetta lifted one hand to smooth his rumpled hair, to caress his bewhiskered cheek, to trace the outline of his intriguing lips. “You did fine all the way through, Cole. I was never afraid, as long as you were there with me.”

  He took her hand in his for a kiss. “Always will be, Janie, girl. So. Any idea whatcher gonna call this fine specimen of manhood?”

  “What do you think of—” those green eyes crinkled, “—Aaron Cole?”

  “Aaron Cole. Aaron Cole.” He tasted it, liking the sound. “A fine upstandin’ moniker. Hear that, little feller? You’ve done been named.”

  * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

  Gearing up and leaving behind this delightful spot was hard on everyone, especially the four children. But the men were anxious to get on the road again, ready to meet whatever might come along and get their families squared away in a new life. Many miles, and possibly many problems, must still be dealt with before that could take place.

  Cole, consulting his time-worn map, led them on Hudspeth’s Cutoff, which took the little band almost straight west. Bypassing Fort Hall, they rejoined the California Trail at Cassia Creek near the City of Rocks, a scene described by one emigrant as “water thrown up into the air from numerous artificial hydrants.”

  In this area stood an immense circle of granite chunks that rose out of the ground, enthralling travelers with every pass-by. Many used axle grease to write their initials on a giant boulder called Register Rock, and the track of wagon wheels could be seen as a guide from one escarpment to another.

  Through five mountain ranges they must journey, seeking water and pasture and safe, comfortable campsites. Each was devoutly grateful to the other; to travel with two wagons together, containing four adults, five children, a frisky dog, and plenty of livestock, was a far more reassuring situation than either rolling along singly.

  With the Snake River left behind, the trail meandered southwest along another series of creeks for almost a hundred more miles before reaching the Humboldt River, in northeastern Nevada. It was here, at their campsite set up on flatland inhabited by nothing more fearsome than sagebrush and jackrabbits, that Janetta took Cole into her bed.

  Weeks of travel, and his care and consideration, had given her the time her abused body had needed to recover from birth. The inclinations of both were becoming made quite plain, from the scorching glances shared on the wagon seat, to the brush of his hand against her engorged breast and the sideswipe of her hand over his engorged sex, to the occasional demanding, bruising kiss.

  She was ready. He was ready. It was time.

  Thriving little Aaron had chugged down his fill, happily burped, and fallen off into heavy slumber in the nest of blankets on the wagon’s floor. Outside, where Cole had anxious set up their own nest far from prying eyes, Janetta joined him with a sigh and a murmur.

  Moonlight and starlight blinked down, showering the couple with radiance. Cole raised himself on one elbow beside her, to look down into her fathomless eyes as his free hand moved over her hair, down her cheek, past her chin, and to one of his ultimate goals: that mouthwatering, life-giving bosom. With every touch she made that soft little purring sound in her throat that he had heard only once before but prayed to go on hearing for the rest of his life.

  “My God, Janie, girl, I love you so much,” he whispered. “My sweetheart. My darlin’. My one and only.”

  “Mmmm.” She squirmed closer, allowing him easier access. Bending one knee, with skirt flung back, opened up all sorts of fascinating possibilities, and Cole was quite delighted to take advantage of each and every one. “You may go on telling me that whenever you get a chance, Cole. Dearest,” she added, still feeling shy of the actual wordage. Shifting, she pressed her lips against his bare throat, feeling the hard strong pulse beating there. “You are—you are—everything—to me.”

  “I think your paw would be happy, seein’ us t’gether. And seein’ that wonderful grandchild you gave him.”

  “I think so, too.” Tears glittered in a reflection of the stars overhead.

  “And now, if you don’t mind, ma’am,” he pulled her tight, so she could feel everything he had to give her, “I b’lieve we can take care of the business at hand.”

  Janetta giggled. “I believe you’re so right. Come here, you handsome old thing, and let me do just that.”

  * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

  November in the Ruby Mountains presented a splendiferous panorama of color and majesty. While the women could still ooh and ah over azure and orange, lime-green and gray, Wesley had been heard to mutter something to the effect that, “If you’ve seen one damn mountain, you’ve seen ’em all. Give me a barn and some milk cows, for God’s sake.”

  At the other end of an easy crossing, the dust of another, larger group could be seen ahead.

  “Huh. Some scout you turned out t’ be. I’d’a waited for you, we’d still be back somewheres at Fort Laramie. How you doin’, son?”

  Beaming, Jordan glad-handed his former guide and enveloped him in a bear hug, as soon as Cole had ridden on ahead to confirm the ide
ntity of the long-lost train. Or was it the Yancey bunch who had been long-lost? Whichever, both men were delighted and relieved to converge at last, and in good health and spirits.

  As oxen and mules plodded along, they could catch up on news, riding side by side at the front, ahead of the dust. Jordan was genuinely sorry to hear about Oliver’s death.

  “Knew he didn’t have long, poor soul. But he was a good man, and his daughter can be right proud of him. Good work you stayed b’hind after all, Cole. Can’t imagine what that girl woulda done, all on her own, and in such—uh—well…”

  “A boy,” Cole enlightened him with a smug grin. “Janetta was delivered of a little boy, more’n a month ago. Named Aaron Cole.”

  “You don’t say.” The wagon master seemed stunned, even though, in the normal course of events, birth does usually follow pregnancy. “Everything okay?”

  “Couldn’t be better.”

  Jordan eyed his friend with head tilted slightly. “Hell on wheels, man, you’re about poppin’ your buttons. Never thought t’ see you like this.”

  The grin widened. “Never though t’ be like this. It’s a grand ole life, Jordy, and a grand ole expedition. And we’re all part of it.”

  At Cole’s request, and on his recommendation, the whole train of nearly thirty wagons pulled up outside of Virginia City, Nevada, so that he could visit his brother, the Reverend Nathaniel Yancey, and family. Proudly he presented Janetta and the active and interested little Aaron to Nathaniel and his gracious wife, Caroline. The three little girls, while growing by leaps and bounds, were not too old to welcome Barney with open arms and a ball purloined from Jezebel.

  After staying a few days, to momentarily partake of the pleasures of town life once again, the train pushed on, crossing through the Sierra Nevada Mountains to reach autumn pastures and greenery on the other side.

  Schooners had branched off, here and there, as settlers found the areas they were seeking. Too many goodbyes and farewells had been said between members, with promises to stay in touch and hopes for a happy future.

  By the time the municipality of Fremont, just east of San Francisco, came into sight, there remained with Cole only Jordan and his equipage and men, and the Holcombs, who had decided they wanted to retain the friendship and the closeness sparked by that accidental encounter on the trail.

  “Think you’re up t’ meetin’ your maw’s people, honey?” Cole asked as he trod along.

  Sitting in the shelter of the wagon bow, on the high seat, Janetta was nursing the baby while watching the town’s environs approach. “I could wish I looked a little—cleaner,” she admitted frankly, considering her sun-browned, dusty, travel-worn appearance. “But, other than that—yes. I’m looking forward to it.”

  Just then Jordan came riding up, pushed his hat back, and leaned one elbow on the saddle horn. “Know anything about this place, son?”

  “Nope. Virgin territory. But we may have to worry about a good reputation, so doncha go in hootin’ and hollerin’ and shootin’ up every bar around.”

  Jordan, looking offended, pulled his hat back down like a turtle retreating into its shell. “I am a grown-up, responsible man. Name me one time—just one time—when I—oh, hell, never mind. All right, you got my word.”

  * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

  “Mrs. Perry? Mrs. Amelia Perry?”

  “Yes? What can I do for you?”

  “Well, ma’am,” Cole stood aside on the front porch, painted somber gray, so that Janetta could step forward, “I reckon it’s kinda what we can do for you. I b’lieve you were sister to Carlotta, which makes this young lady your niece.”

  “Janetta? Janetta McCain? Well, I swan!” The gray-haired lady adjusted her spectacles, looked over both of them, and the sleeping baby, with obvious surprise, and gestured. “Well, you come right in here and sit a spell. I must say, you are the spittin’ image of Carlotta. And—my goodness, come all the way from Illinois? What a long trip! Cal! Calvin!” she called through the entry. “Come here, we have company.”

  The next hour or so was spent in the comfortable parlor, getting re-acquainted, sharing news, discussing the future. When Janetta confided that they planned on settling in the area, her aunt registered approval and delight.

  “Why, that’s just wonderful. Janie, you’ve got four cousins in these parts, all with families of their own. As sorry as I am to hear about your father, we’re just thrilled to have you part of us again. Aren’t we, Cal?”

  “”I’d say so,” agreed her husband. Refusing his wife’s offer of tea or lemonade, he had instead poured a glass of spirits for himself and for Cole. A banker, dressed in full frock suit even on a sleepy Saturday afternoon, he exuded propriety and decorum.

  “And you, look at you, all grown up with a baby. And he’s adorable. Look at all that hair—the same color as yours, my dear.”

  Aaron, blissfully unaware of the attention he had captured, was slumbering like an angel, with a little blob of milk froth bubbled at his lips. Surreptitiously Janetta wiped it away and smiled. “Well, Aunt Amelia, we certainly appreciate your letting us interrupt your day like this, but we should be getting back to the rest of our people. I’m sure they’ll be wondering what arrangements we’ll be making.”

  “Oh, of course, dear. But do stay in touch. We’ll all want to keep you close, now you’re here. In fact, why don’t you come over for Sunday dinner next week?”

  “That would be wonderful!” exclaimed Janetta with immense gratitude. “Thank you for your welcome. I’ve been so looking forward to seeing my mother’s family again, after all these years.”

  They were at the front door, ready to leave, when Cole was drawn into the conversation. “And you, young man, what do you do?” Calvin wanted to know.

  “Oh, just about anything I set my hand to. Lookin’ t’ set up some sorta business, maybe. We’ll see.”

  Janetta flashed a smile. “He makes marvelous wood carvings.”

  “Wood carvings? Er—uh—harrumph—” Calvin almost literally backed up a step. “Not much market for something like—”

  “Cal.” Chuckling, Amelia laid a hand on his arm. “She’s joshing you, of course. And you were—um—recently married?” Her downward glance, while far from critical, showed curiosity as she took in the baby in Janetta’s arms.

  “Some time ago, in fact.” Cole slipped his arm around the girl’s waist in a proprietary way. Mine, the gesture proclaimed. All mine.

  “We were wedded at Fort Laramie,” said Janetta quietly, “by the Reverend Winters. Pa was able to be with us, for which I will be ever grateful.” The look she exchanged with Cole showed pride, satisfaction, and infinite love. “He died just a few days later.”

  Calvin, no slouch as a judge of character, looked her over with a small nod. “I’d say you’ve had a lifetime of experiences already, my dear.”

  Again that look of utmost trust and adoration between the male Yancey and the newly made Mrs. “I’d say she has,” Cole had to agree.

  X

  This year, the ever increasing Yancey clan missed their chance of a wedding. But with everyone gathered—members of family on all sides, and friends of family, adults, children, and babies galore—in the grand reception hall of Fremont’s largest and fanciest hotel, they whooped it up to celebrate the marriage they hadn’t been able to attend.

  No walking down the aisle today; no ceremony by minister brother or repetition of special vows. But a party went on, nonetheless. Wine and good Kentucky bourbon flowed, platters of rich and varying fare were served, flowers bloomed in giant urns everywhere, and a beautiful cake was cut and sliced.

  Thirteen-year-old Rob, dressed up in a real adult suit for the first time in his life, ran a finger around the inside of his tight collar to loosen its grip and looked around at the crowd.

  His newest relation, Janetta, seemed to be holding her own with all the other Yancey wives. Rob speculated as to whether putting that word “Mrs.” before your name made you a member of some e
xclusive club. At least they all were getting along well, from what he could see. Other than an occasional smirk from one, and a tilt of the head toward an errant husband, and an elbow into the ribs for all the others. He wondered what that was all about.

  She sure was pretty. That long thick hair, the color of maple leaves in the fall, and eyes whose green depths he could see even here, across the room. While no authority on women’s fashions, Rob felt that the style of her low-cut dark blue ball gown fit her figure and the occasion just right.

  Uncle Cole must have thought so, too, because he kept leaving his male friends to swoop down on her with a hug or a kiss. Once, he even took the baby Aaron from her to show him off.

  What a family. And growing by the minute.

  “Okay, this was Number Nine,” he confided to his companion with satisfaction. “After you get married, Uncle Quint, I am never, ever goin’ to another weddin’. Ever.”

  Quinton, the last bachelor brother, laughed and ruffled his nephew’s hair. “You’ll be waitin’ a long time, kid. I ain’t married and I ain’t plannin’ t’ get married. So cast your net elsewhere.”

  “Really?” Rob had immediately smoothed down the style so casually disrupted by Quinton’s enthusiastic gesture. “So then I can count on this bein’ the last one?”

  His father, Matthew, approaching just then with drink in hand, overheard the last remark. And noticed his son craning a look toward the far doorway, where a young lady named Barbary Holcomb, daughter of wagon train emigrants, had just entered.

  “No,” Matthew told him, grinning. “I don’t think you can count on that a’tall.”

  The End

  Thank You

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