Open Road

by M. M. Holaday

  So, when Jeb asked Win why he stayed out in the open and how he knew that the driver of the wagon was carrying a gun, he expected a half-fabricated, outlandish story. Win began to tell Jeb how he’d got mixed up with some undesirables coming back from his first trek with Clint. He didn’t know they were thieves at first, he said. In fact, they were good company. Jeb braced himself to once again hear Win’s stupid-ass motto when Win caught him completely off guard.

  “I was riding along with them, unaware of the evil inside them. We came upon a single wagon traveling alone. With no warning or cause, they shot the driver dead. Then they ransacked his wagon. I couldn’t believe it.” Win shook his head, as though, years later, he still felt remorse. “I was going to report them to the sheriff—the most naïve idea I’ve ever had. They had no intention of letting me get close to a town, or a sheriff. They were going to force me to go along on the next robbery, though. They told me I would be the driver and hide my revolver in my lap, just like those other fellows did to us.” Win paused and looked so miserable Jeb couldn’t help but feel sympathy for him. “Jeb, I told them what they had done was wrong. I sounded like a schoolboy. They just laughed at me. Said I could either go along or die right there. I couldn’t believe what I’d gotten myself into. I started arguing with them and well, like Gus said, at the end of a gunfight, you’re either alive or dead.”

  “You killed them?” Jeb stared at Win.

  Win shrugged. “It wasn’t one of my proudest moments.”

  Reckless or brave, Win had taken a bullet for him. He stayed out in the open so the men would shoot at him, a deliberate act that saved Jeb’s life. Now his unbridled excitement about the prospect of joining Powell, and his assumption that Jeb would come with him, made it hard for Jeb to tell Win he’d decided to stay behind. He had to tell him soon, he just didn’t know how. When the first of Powell’s students arrived in Paradise, he knew time was running out.

  John Caldwell, a college student with wealthy parents, arrived ahead of the others. He had decided to take up photography, in addition to archeology. He purchased his own wagon—a photography van, he called it—which not only carried his equipment, but also served as a darkroom. He had hired an assistant, and while they waited for the other students, Caldwell asked if anyone in Paradise would like a portrait taken, as his assistant needed practice and Caldwell wanted to test his new darkroom. Georgia enthusiastically accepted and organized the whole town. She and Mick had their portrait taken in front of their store. Blackie and Angus also stood proudly next to their businesses for their photographs. Mr. Caldwell used a Sutton for those pictures, the panoramic camera he would use to capture the grandeur of the western landscape, he said. For portraits, he had a different, wet-plate style camera with a bellows and a Petzval lens. He arranged a table and chair in front of a backdrop he hung in the way station. Georgia insisted that Meg, Win, Jeb, and Gus all have their portraits taken individually, and then together. While Caldwell fussed with his camera and Georgia argued with the men, who groused about changing their shirts and sitting still, Meg brought out Biscuit and spent more time brushing her coat than she did fixing her own hair. She asked Mr. Caldwell if he would take Biscuit’s photograph, too. He agreed. What young man would refuse a request from Meg?

  Caldwell and his assistant soon had an assortment of albumen prints and tintype photographs spread out on the big oak table to show everyone.

  “These turned out fine, Mr. Caldwell,” Jeb said, looking them over. “I’m impressed.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Dawson,” the student photographer replied. He held up the formal portrait of Meg. The image was clear and sharp. “She is a beauty, that one.”

  “Actually, I think Miss Jameson will prefer this one.” Jeb held up the photograph of her taken with Biscuit. The bright sunlight made her squint, and strands of hair blew across her face, but she had her arm wrapped around Biscuit’s neck and grinned happily at the camera. He smiled back at her image.

  Mr. Caldwell shook his head in disappointment. “That one, I’m afraid, did not turn out well. I shouldn’t have had her looking into the sun. Not at all flattering.”

  Jeb disagreed. It captured Meg perfectly.

  Meg walked in and, seeing the photographs, rushed over to the table. “Oh! You have them finished already!” She scrutinized the images. “These are lovely.” She held up the one of her and Biscuit. “Oh, my precious Biscuit,” she said to the photograph. “This is my favorite.”

  Ha, Jeb thought to himself. I got that right.

  “Miss Jameson, you are stunning in this portrait. Surely you’d prefer an image that captures your striking features—”

  “Beauty fades over time, Mr. Caldwell.” She stared at the photograph of Biscuit and herself. “Everyone marvels at a rose while in bloom, and discards it as soon as its petals drop. But this . . .” she said, holding up the picture of Biscuit. “Friendship and loyalty are currency far more precious than beauty.”

  Mr. Caldwell shrugged his shoulders. “It’s yours, if you want it.”

  “Why, thank you! I’ll buy some others from you, too.” Georgia appeared, and Meg motioned her over to the table. “Georgia, come see! Look at us, all together.” She held up the portrait of the whole town. The formal portrait of her that Mr. Caldwell had admired lay ignored on the table.

  “Friendship and loyalty.” The words rang in Jeb’s ears with every swing of the axe. His stomach churned. He and Win were splitting wood behind the shed for the coming winter. The supply of firewood was a parting gift for Meg and Gus, except Jeb hoped to be warming himself by their fire.

  “You’re quiet. What’s on your mind?” Win balanced a log on end.

  “Nothing,” Jeb said. “Well, actually, a lot. I’m . . . thinking I’d rather stick around here.”

  Win stopped, holding his axe in mid-air. He stared at Jeb. “What are you saying? It’s the Colorado River, Jeb! We’d be the first men down an uncharted river. Don’t you want to be part of it?”

  “I can see how you would, but there are different kinds of adventures, Win.”

  “Yeah, and this one will make history!”

  “It sounds exciting to you, I know. I think I’m headed on a different path.”

  Win stared at Jeb. “Jesus Christ, what’s the matter with you?”

  “Nothing’s the matter—”

  It didn’t take long for Win to guess. “You’re going after Meg.”

  “Been thinking about it. I haven’t said anything to her yet.”

  “I can’t believe this! You’d rather settle down than go exploring?”

  Jeb was tired of Win’s incredulity. “I don’t need to live my life so near the edge all of the time. You’re looking for something, and you don’t even know what it is. I’ve found what I want.” He hoped they wouldn’t fight, but he didn’t like the betrayed look in Win’s eye.

  “Well, this is just great.” Win spread his arms out, as if he was hearing the most unbelievable news ever. Sarcasm rang in his voice. “You want to marry Meg . . . And have a passel of kids!”

  “Win —”

  “You’re a sonofabitch, you know that? You’re a goddamn sonofabitch.” He split the log in front of him, sending the pieces flying in opposite directions.

  “And why is that?” Jeb leaned on the long handle of his axe. “We just want different things, Win.”

  “We don’t want different things.”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  Win spread his arms out again. “Are you blind?”

  “I’m not blind to Meg! Don’t you think she deserves a little consideration? You think she’s gonna wait around while we drift through life?”

  “Is that what you think I’m doing? Drifting?”

  Jeb couldn’t reply, because gunshots and loud whooping came from the stage in the distance. John Caldwell came out of the station and shot off his gun into the air and whooped as well.

  Apparently, the last student had arrived. They could leave now. When Jeb turne
d around, Win had disappeared.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR: MEG

  Paradise

  Meg hung the laundry, her thoughts everywhere but on the task at hand. She had always wondered why Gus never poured her more than a half shot of whiskey, but now she knew. Her head had ached and her stomach had churned for hours after she and Win shared the bottle together. She wouldn’t make that mistake again. But she and Win shared more than a bottle. She felt like they had reached an understanding.

  So why was Win acting irritable? He picked a fight no matter what anybody said. When Meg mentioned that Powell wintering with the Ute Indians sounded dangerous, Win argued that Lewis and Clark got all the way to the Pacific with the help of Indians. He seemed to miss her point deliberately.

  Everything was different, and it unsettled Meg. Unlike the times other expeditions gathered in Paradise, the presence of Powell’s students left her feeling restless. Restless like Win? She wondered. She couldn’t quite put her finger on what was eating at her, but Win’s words kept ringing in her ears: “You can’t move forward without leaving something behind.” He’d invited her along. If she didn’t go, were they leaving her behind?

  Tension between Win and Jeb was palpable. What was going on? As sad and worried as she was to see them go, part of her wished they would just leave before someone’s simmering pot boiled over.

  “Meggie, you’re hangin’ dirty clothes on the line.” Gus came up behind her, startling her out of her thoughts.

  “Oh, dammit.” She yanked the clothespins off the line, letting the laundry fall.

  “You’re not yourself. What’s the matter?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “You’ve got those two men spinning like tops.”

  “Good. Maybe they’ll spin some sense into themselves.”

  “Don’t count on it. But whatever happens, darlin’, I’m on your side,” Gus said. “You can count on that.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE: WIN

  Paradise

  Win saw Gus slip behind the barn. The aroma of a cigar filled the air moments later. With the commotion caused by the arrival of Powell’s students, who were all over at Angus’s saloon, this was the first opportunity Win had to talk to Gus alone. He limped over and sat down next to him. Gus gave him one of his cigars. They puffed on them in silence for a while.

  “Women are strange creatures, aren’t they, Gus?”

  “Depends. Got any particular one in mind?”

  “Meg sure has a lot going on in that head of hers.”

  “Well, she’s intelligent and thoughtful. I’d expect something to be goin’ on up there.”

  “Yeah, she’s got a lot on her mind, that’s for sure.”

  Gus sighed. “How ’bout you tell me what’s on yours.”

  Win paused. Saying it out loud made it seem definite, no turning back. “I’m gonna get hired to do something on Powell’s trip down the Colorado, even if I have to learn how to steer a boat.”

  “It sounds momentous.”

  “But doing something momentous usually means giving up something else that’s . . . important.”

  “Matters of the heart are rarely straightforward.” Gus watched the smoke from his cigar dissipate in the moonlight. “I’ll skewer you if you hurt Meggie.”

  How Meg might get hurt was tricky. He could hurt her by leaving, but he’d do more damage staying. “This was bound to happen. Jeb and I are so different, yet, the day we met Meg, I could’ve told you we’d both get stuck on her.”

  Gus puffed on his cigar. “You got a complicated mess, that’s a fact.”

  “To be honest, I’m surprised peace between us lasted this long. Give Jeb credit for that. He’s so goddamn true blue, I can’t even get mad at him . . . the sonofabitch.”

  “Let her go, Win.”

  The words hung in the air, silencing Win. Gus was right. Something called to Win in the mist of the unknown, and he had to answer. He had to see what was out there. He couldn’t have both.

  “Once we get Powell’s students squared away, I’m headed for Green River City.”

  Gus nodded thoughtfully. “I told Gray Wolf about that river trip with Powell. Said you might be headed that way. He suggested Loud Crow go with you. He speaks Ute, and that might come in handy.”

  “So you agree this opportunity is too good to pass up.”

  “Nope, it ain’t that at all. Gray Wolf says you got no business going down that damn river. Says it’ll kill you quicker than a Ute will. Be prepared for Loud Crow to try to talk you out of it. To be honest, I hope you’ll listen to him.”

  “I thought you wanted me to leave, for Meg’s sake.”

  Gus turned to study Win. “I didn’t say you should commit suicide on some foolhardy caper. Mourning your death ain’t the way to make Meggie happy.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX: JEB

  Two months later, November 1868

  Jeb and Galen loped back to Paradise from the Cheyenne train depot, where he’d left the last of Powell’s students in charge of five crates of carefully packed plant specimens. Win had left a week earlier, headed for Green River City to meet some of Powell’s crew members, who planned to winter there and prepare for the upcoming launch in the spring.

  Saying good-bye to Win had been hard. Jeb chastised himself for falling into a second outrageous pact with him, but, in truth, it was the only way for them to remain friends. He couldn’t let the tension continue between them any longer.

  The day they left Paradise with Powell’s student in tow, Jeb said good-bye to Meg and rode ahead, not wanting to watch Win and Meg say their good-byes to each other. He pointed out the direction they were headed to the first student and lingered at the back of the mule train, letting the students lead the way. Win rode up beside him.

  “This is stupid, Win. We can’t have this anger between us. That was the whole point of the pact. Look, I’ve always put up with your wild ideas, now I deserve a little support.”

  Win grinned viciously. “So, you admit going after Meg is a wild idea—”

  “You know that’s not what I meant.”

  “All right, all right.” Win held his hands up as a sign of truce. “I’ll admit that at first I was just . . . surprised—no . . . jealous, maybe.” He sighed. “Aw, hell, I was disappointed you weren’t coming. I felt like I’d just lost you both.”

  “You haven’t lost either one of us, Win.”

  Win looked westward and didn’t speak. What he was pondering, Jeb could only imagine.

  “I have to go,” Win said finally.

  Jeb nodded. “I know.” Win couldn’t pass up a trip down the Colorado River, but Jeb knew the trip wasn’t all he was referring to. He wouldn’t stick around to watch Jeb take Meg from him. As much as he needed to move on, it was hard. “You ok?”

  “Aw, hell, I’m terrific. I got so much jealousy boiling up inside of me I’m doing my best not to knock you off your horse.” Win shook his head. “You know, it’s mighty strange thinking of you with a wife and children, Jeb. Damn, are you sure you’re ready to be a father?”

  “I haven’t even asked her to marry me yet. She might say no.”

  “She won’t say no. We’re the only two men in this whole goddamn territory who could possibly put up with that complicated creature, and she knows it. Since I just bowed out of the competition, you’re her last hope. Ha! Meg’s babies! God help you if they inherit her stubbornness.”

  Jeb had laughed because he wanted goodwill between them. He needed Win’s friendship as much as he needed Meg, and didn’t want to argue. But, in truth, he neither agreed that she was stubborn, nor thought of himself as her last hope.

  Riding back to Paradise, that worry now occupied Jeb. While he spent considerable time imagining what it would be like to be married to Meg, he had given very little thought to what would happen when he first arrived back in town alone. He wasn’t sure how, or if, he should court Meg.

  When they used to deliver supplies to Paradise, Jeb would look for Meg as soon as
he and Win crested the hill. When the sun stayed up late at the end of the long summer days, she’d ride out to meet them, smiling and waving. She and Biscuit stirred up the grasshoppers as they rushed toward them, sending a spray of flying insects into the air. The setting sun made her hair sparkle in the golden light of the late afternoon. Maybe she was happy to see them, or maybe she was just happy riding. At other times, they might find her in her garden, hanging laundry, or tending to the chickens. Regardless of where she was or what she was doing, they could always tell when she first spotted them. Her hand would fly up and she’d wave to them enthusiastically. The sight of her was as thrilling as it was comforting, but now Jeb wondered if she’d been waving to just one of them, to both of them, or was just exuberant from her own contentedness.

  Even before their night drinking whiskey, Win and Meg had always had a curious relationship. He’d tease her incessantly and she’d take off after him. He’d flee out the door, she’d follow, and soon Jeb would hear them laughing outside together. One time, Gus caught Jeb squinting thoughtfully at the door, listening to them carry on.

  “That ain’t love you’re hearing, Jeb. That out there is just foolishness.”

  Jeb scoffed, embarrassed. “Aw, hell, I know.” But he didn’t really know, not for sure. Win was talkative and entertaining; he was not. There was never an awkward silence around Win. Jeb wondered if Meg would be angry that Win left—blame him perhaps. Maybe she saw them only as a set, not as individual men. Jeb didn’t want to make the foolish assumption that just because he agreed to ranch with them, she’d just fly into his arms. He began to feel queasy.