Midnight Secrets

by Janelle Taylor

  “He might surprise you and do just that.”

  “Surprise me? It would shock me to wits’ end.”

  Ginny helped Lucy Eaves cook, serve the meal, and do the dishes. She and Charles ate with the couple and their three children. They enjoyed talking with Jeff and Lucy, and they seemed to enjoy the Averys.

  Afterward, almost everyone met in the camp center around a glowing campfire to sing, chat, listen to music, dance, and laugh—except those few who believed it was wrong to dance on Sunday. It was a celebration of the end of their work and the beginning of an adventure, and all were in a cheerful and relaxed mood. Music came from a harmonica, a “squeezebox,” and George Amerson’s fiddle. Toes were tapping on the ground. The older children observed or joined in on the merriment.

  Charles talked with Ed King, and Ginny did so with her women friends.

  “Go ask him to dance,” Ruby suggested with a grin.

  “I couldn’t. He might not know how and might be embarrassed. Besides; it would be forward of me,” Ginny replied, knowing George’s wife meant Steve. She was greatly tempted to be bold.

  Steve wished he could check out the chicken coops Charles had brought with him. He knew the birds would make too much noise. He had attempted to inspect them while helping Charles but failed. When he saw Cathy King eyeing him, he knew she was about to ask him to dance. He prevented that by approaching and asking Anna Avery, who looked astonished. Steve grasped her hand and pulled her forward to join other couples.

  As they moved around the campfire, he chuckled and whispered, “See, woman, no broken or stomped toes. I can do a few refined things. If you’re still interested, we can be friends, Anna, but take it slow and easy.”

  Ginny dared not look up into that handsome face. She was amazed by the revelation of this new skill: he was an excellent dancer. She was also amazed he had chosen her as his first partner, shown interest in her before the others. She decided not to play coy. Instead, she murmured, “Slow and easy it is, sir.”

  Steve loved the feel of her in his embrace, savored her hand in his, feasted on her beauty, enjoyed her hair grazing his arm, and inhaled her clean and perfumed fragrance. “We leave tomorrow at seven. Make sure you’re ready so I won’t have to ruin our truce with another scolding.”

  Ginny had difficulty thinking about anything but the irresistible man she was touching and smelling. He was reaching out to her, however cautiously. “I’ll make certain I’m ready for any challenge by morning.”

  “Any challenge, Anna?”

  She met his roguish gaze. “Yes, Steve, any challenge.”

  CHAPTER 8

  “Wagons, ho!” Steve shouted, and signaled them with a wave of his tan hat to follow his lead as they left the campsite near the Ogeechee River on April 1, 1867. His deception was in progress but hadn’t provided much information to date. Soon, he promised himself, the case would be solved.

  Seventeen wagons—fifteen families and two hauling grain— moved out to head west. Of the eighty-four people present, those old enough to be aware of things were happy to be seeking fresh starts away from the war-ravaged area. Steve Carr on his sorrel led and scouted the trail. Men and women either drove their wagons, walked beside them, rode for a while on them, or sat astride nearby horses. Some older children walked, too, for as long as they could, while toddlers and babies rode inside. Few talked, in an effort to conserve energy. Cows and horses roped to tailgates ambled along at the pace set by leader and mules—a few times sending forth whinnies, moos, or brays. Occasionally a chicken clucked or a rooster crowed, startled by unfamiliar movement and noises.

  Water sloshed back and forth in covered barrels secured to the outsides of wagon beds. The wide rims of wheels rumbled along easily on the mixture of grass and hard dirt beneath them. Sounds of trampling hooves, shaking canvases, creaking leather, jangling harnesses, and squeaking wood were heard.

  The Old South of Georgia was being left behind, as were previous lives. New starts were before the travelers, who assumed they would never return to their lost homes. All of that was gone, just as the Indians who had once lived in the area, who, too, had been pushed westward, but to reservations in the Oklahoma Territory. The days of gentility, chivalry, hospitality, culture, charm, wealth, and leisure were things of the past; or so everyone present believed. The “Planter’s Society” that had made the South great had also destroyed it.

  Miles south of middle Georgia, the flat terrain was covered in a sandy topsoil over hard clay and with verdant grass and scattered wildflowers. Virgin forests of pine, oak, and other hardwoods greeted travelers with a vision of green. Here and there, graceful magnolias and dainty hollys joined the scenery to beautify it. They journeyed through woods, meadows, and fields, where cotton, cattle, corn, and other crops once flourished; many were now overgrown with weeds.

  As Ginny walked beside the Avery wagon, she reflected on her last talk this morning with the man driving it. He had asked if she was ready for the “challenges and adventures” that lay ahead. She had said, “Yes,” but a mixture of emotions filled her: panic, doubt, excitement, and sadness. I wish I could forget my problems and promises, get on a horse, and ride to Colorado. Yet, more trouble and peril could await her there, especially if her father was dead. It was frightening to think of being stranded alone in that wilderness with its many hazards and threats. It was scary to think of becoming a target for her father’s enemy. Yet, each mile trekked took her closer to her father and hopefully to success. She wanted to tell her friends the truth, but it would get her and Mr. Avery kicked off the wagontrain and stranded without its protection and guidance. She couldn’t do that; the kind man had done too much for her and Johanna.

  She wanted Steve, but if she confessed the truth to him, he’d never believe her or trust her again. She didn’t want to increase his bitterness and mistrust or risk him thinking horrible things about her or risk breaking her heart. It was better to let him see and remember her as Anna Avery, a lady, a tempting romance, a friend.

  Ginny wondered if Johanna’s adopted brother was anything like Steve Carr. Perhaps all western men were similar in character and behavior. He was two years younger than Steve, but he could have fought in the war and been changed by it as so many men had. Were he and Mr. Chapman as close as they had been years ago? Had losing Johanna altered the rancher’s feelings and actions? Mr. Chapman had given up his only child for another man’s son; he had given up his wife for a mistress. Had he ever regretted those decisions? What kind of man would want two women at the same time? Ginny didn’t think she was going to like or respect Johanna’s father.

  She looked at the man silhouetted against the blue sky. Last night had been such fun, but he was ignoring her today. Steve sat astride his sorrel and kept a steady pace. A rope hung from the butt of his sheathed rifle. His saddlebags bulged with clothes and other small possessions. A blanket, slicker, and bedroll were secured behind his cantle. A cloth sack with supplies and cookware swung from the horn. Two Colts with his initials were strapped to his waist and thighs, and the knife was resting in its boot sheath. His red shirt could be sighted easily by anyone needing him.

  Ginny walked as much as she rode or drove, and she was glad now that Steve had insisted on daily exercise to increase her stamina and strength. But she worried each time he galloped past to check on everyone, always on the other side of the wagon and never glancing her way. At lunch, Steve didn’t approach her; and he left early to scout the trail ahead for problems. They crossed the Canoochee River and other streams and creeks without trouble or delay. Along the waterline she saw cypress trees with lacy moss draped over their branches and with their gnarled roots exposed.

  On the land outside of Savannah, they passed lingering reminders of Sherman’s “March to the Sea.” She viewed signs of the horrible and tragic destruction: burned and looted plantations and homes, collapsing barns, weather-beaten sheds and outhouses, lonely churches, and broken-spirited Southerners who were trying to eke out a living in th
e midst of ruins. Some farms and once-grand houses were deserted and rundown or occupied by squatters. Many fields hadn’t been replanted, but some—belonging to carpetbaggers, she presumed—showed tiny green sprouts. A few had workers in them, white and black, but paid for their labors now, not slaves. She wondered how Green Oaks had fared the war and Cleniece’s ownership.

  I wish I could go to Texas, tell Johanna’s father the truth, then head for Colorado, with Steve. Would you hold me to my promise, Johanna, if you knew I had fallen in love, and honoring it might destroy that love and me? I wish you were here so we could talk and you could tell me what to do. Everything has gotten so complicated. I made a promise to you and I have to keep it or I’ll feel guilty for the rest of my life for lettingyou down; I owe you that much. I have to stay silent on the journey because I owe Mr. Avery that much. To confess the truth to my friends and Steve wouldn’t change things; it would only make them worse.

  Penniless, homeless, alone, Ginny had no current alternative except to continue on to the ranch. She couldn’t keep taking advantage of Mr. Avery’s generosity. She couldn’t force Steve to love her. She had no choice except to carry out the secret she had promised Johanna that sad night.

  At dusk, Steve halted them to camp in the edge of a cool and shady forest. Charles built the fire and she “cooked” their meal, opening and warming two jars of canned soup with ham from his sister. She mixed and fried cornbread in a skillet and prepared coffee as Ellie had taught her. They also drank milk Charles had purchased from Stuart Davis.

  After the meal, Ginny used water from the barrel to wash the dishes. At that point, she didn’t have to worry about conserving it, as they would pass enough rivers and streams for refills. She helped Charles grease the axles and tend the team after she fetched grain in a bucket from Hollister. The mules also grazed on grass, but had to be supplemented daily with feed to keep them in good condition. She thought Steve was smart for providing the feed service so wagons wouldn’t have to bear the extra weight of heavy grain sacks. When both finished, they went their separate ways.

  As Ginny chatted with her four women friends, she noticed that Charles Avery had spoken with Ed King and was with Harry Brown and John Daniels at present. Later, he visited with Carl Murphy, the Georgian.

  When he returned to their site, she expressed her concern about Murphy. “Do you know him? Can he expose our ruse?”

  Charles patted her arm and coaxed, “Don’t worry, girl; nobody can expose us. Nobody here knows my Anna’s fate. No one knows you recently docked. Even if any checking was done on us, no one could discover anything.”

  That relieved Ginny, who didn’t want to be caught in lies. Within twenty minutes, the camp was quiet and slumbering.

  Tuesday, the pattern and pace established on the first day became routine. The Georgia plains stretched out before them, an area that would have been a sea of white from cotton if the war hadn’t occurred and if it were late summer. The terrain stayed flat and easy to travel. Trees of pine and hardwood remained the same. Sometimes they passed ponds with lilypads floating atop, creating a serene sight.

  The next day, a landscape of various shades of green continued. A low hill—more of a gentle incline and decline— appeared once in a while. Only twice did the line of wagons journey on dirt roads. Usually it went through forests, over untilled farmland, and across unused pastures with torn-down fences. They crossed the Ohoopee River with its slow-moving black water and fifty-feet width and a swift stream here and there.

  On Thursday, they traversed areas abundant in oak, flowering plum, cedar, and chinaberry. The only difference in the terrain were spots of uneven flatland. Everything was veidant and growing, as many trees and bushes were evergreens and Georgia’s winters were mild. Sometimes they saw old churches with cemeteries. They were fortunate to have a wooden bridge for crossing the wide, deep, and swift Oconee River; they did it one at a time, given their heavy loads and its advanced age. More streams and creeks greeted them before they halted for their fourth day on the trail.

  Ginny noticed that during the last few days Steve and the two grain wagon drivers camped together and ate together unless some of the families invited the men to join them for the evening meals. She had seen the scout visit around the camps each night, but he always seemed to reach theirs while she was away on chores or for chats. She surmised it was intentional and was twice tempted to approach him to ask why. She decided to let him unravel his defensiveness alone. She had seen him riding and talking with other men on horseback during the day, including with her companion while she drove the wagon. She was grateful to the guide for his tough lessons, as they were paying off.

  Charles kept telling her how taken with her the scout was, but Steve’s contradictory behavior didn’t reveal or even suggest that. Four days, she fretted, without a touch, a word, a smile, or a kiss! She yearned for all, or for only one, of them. She couldn’t grasp why he was treating her this way after what he’d said that last night in camp.

  Ginny was tired each night and was sleeping well in the wagon, with Charles slumbering beside or underneath it on a bedroll. Few people talked after turning in because the closeness of the circle prevented privacy. Baths had merely been fast wash-offs, as they hadn’t camped at a river site since leaving. Thanks to the jars of canned soups and vegetables from Charles’s sister, and to the simplicity of trail food, preparing tasty meals hadn’t been difficult so far. The routine was set and would continue for weeks.

  Friday, between long spans of flatland, more very low-rolling hills appeared than in past days; they were so gentle with their rises and falls that they presented no hardships for the strong teams and only required a slightly slower pace. They reached an offshoot of the Ocmulgee River, some dense patches of scrubs to their right and left, and soft spots Charles called “attempts at creeks.”

  In some locations, countless pines had concealed the ground with their dead straw and were currently sending out pollen to attack everything in sight. Ginny kept the wagon openings closed to prevent the yellow dust from covering their possessions. It coated canvases, sweaty animals, and perspiring people with sunny-colored grime. It caused some travelers to respond with sneezes, watery eyes, runny noses, and headaches.

  In camp that night, Charles borrowed a horse and gear from Ed King to teach Ginny how to ride western saddle. Finally she had told him she walked when not resting or driving because she only knew sidesaddle and feared making a fool of herself or causing an accident with an error. She was delighted to discover how easy it was to master. They were gone twenty minutes when Steve joined them. Ginny was surprised and pleased, although he rode next to Charles, not her.

  “Enjoying yourselves?” the scout asked from his sorrel.

  “Most assuredly,” the grinning Charles replied.

  “Yes” came her succinct response. Let him stew as I have!

  Steve leaned forward, looking past Charles to speak to her. “I see your training is paying off, Miss Avery; you’re doing fine.”

  Ginny kept her gaze ahead, on the scenery and offhim. “Yes, it is, and thank you for the many lessons.”

  The men chatted for a while before the sly and determined older man said, “I think I’ll head back now. This body isn’t used to so much exercise. Steve, would you escort Anna back when she finishes her ride?”

  Before the scout could answer, an embarrassed Ginny said, “That won’t be necessary, Father, I’m ready to return to camp, too.”

  “I don’t mind at all, Anna,” Steve told her. “It’s still early.”

  She didn’t want him to think this ride was a ruse to capture his attention or be forced to spend time with her. “No thank you, Mr. Carr. I’m tired and have things to do before bedtime. Let’s go, Father.” Ginny pulled on the reins, turned her horse, and started riding.

  Steve and Charles exchanged apologetic looks and shrugged.

  “You have been ignoring her, son,” Charles hinted, “and women are sensitive creatures who need attent
ion.”

  Steve was surprised by the remarks. “Miffed with me, is she?”

  “Yes, I’d say she’s that all right. Too bad, because she likes you and misses you. I’d hate to see anything spoil your friendship.”

  “What are you suggesting, sir?”

  “Anna can use good friends right now; she has a lot of adjusting to do, and they can help ease her burdens. During her training, she came to respect, admire, and depend on you. I guess she feels cut off from that strength and that shoulder to lean on she’d gotten accustomed to. I don’t know what would become of her if anything happened to me. Anna’s strong and smart and brave, but she’s lived in a sheltered environment for six years under the guidance and protection of the teachers. I’m not sure she knows how to deal with people and situations. She left the South when it was beautiful and safe; she returned when it was scarred and dangerous. We love each other, but we’re like strangers because we were separated for so long. She left as a girl and returned as a woman; I’ve changed, too. The war was on, so any letters we.might have written to keep us acquainted couldn’t even get through. Her best friend was with Anna at school; they were like sisters; her death hit her hard. She has a lot to learn about people and life, so I’d be grateful if you help her. See you in camp, Son. And will you join us for supper tomorrow night?”

  “What will Anna have to say about that?”

  “She’d be delighted, I’m sure. So will I. See you in camp.”

  Steve watched Charles catch up with his daughter and join her. He had a strong feeling the man was trying to push him and Anna together. He wondered why a gentleman would want a “saddle tramp,” as he’d been called more than once, to court his most precious possession. Suspicion and curiosity flooded his body. A gut instinct told him Charles Avery wanted something particular from him. It could be help on his new ranch, as he’d be a greenhorn in his new existence. Or it could be as a guide to an evil rendezvous, as Anna had hinted earlier, if her query was more than casual conversation. Or it could be as a gift to his cherished daughter, if she craved him enough to seek and receive her father’s assistance. Or it could be as a protector if an accident or death befell the man on the trail or until she was settled on the new ranch or needed returning to her aunt. Whatever the older man’s motive was, Steve needed to learn it quick.