Heart of a Dove

by Abbie Williams

  I remembered my manners with a jolt, as though Mama had somehow reached from the beyond and jabbed a finger into my ribs. It had been so long since I’d been able to function sincerely in the company of men, when I hadn’t been forced to posture and pose and pretend. I found my voice and said, “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Carter. And you as well, Mr. Davis.” My throat was dry as day-old bread. I was terribly disconcerted as all of them continued staring at me.

  “Howdy, ma’am,” said the boy, grasping my hand and pumping it, with perhaps a tad too much eagerness. He was thin as a rake handle, in sharp contrast to his elder brother, all elbows and knuckles, shaggy hair hanging down his neck. He grinned readily at me.

  “Gentlemen, no time for pleasantries,” Angus ordered then, ruffling the boy’s hair with obvious affection.

  “Did you-all have fun at the cat houses?” asked Malcolm, dogging us as Angus led his big, dappled gelding back towards the camp. Boyd and Sawyer followed close behind with their own mounts.

  Boyd surprised me by saying, “Here, let me take that for you,” and so saying swept the valise from my hands.

  “Thank you,” I whispered at this unexpected courtesy.

  “Here, ma’am, sit here,” Malcolm said, and his boyish, coltish charm was undeniably appealing. He could have been one of my own brothers, once upon a lifetime ago. He led me to the campfire and indicated a split log, certainly the seat he’d been using prior to my arrival.

  “Thank you,” I said again, sweeping my skirt beneath me to sit. Malcolm dropped to a crouch near my knees and continued to grin at me.

  “Boy, you best get your ass moving,” Boyd said as the three men fell to swiftly dispatching the campsite. “I ain’t loading your gear outta the goodness of my heart.”

  Malcolm was sloe-eyed and olive-skinned, with a mischievous mouth. He said easily, “I’m entertaining the lady.” His gaze came back to rest upon me and he commented, “You got the prettiest eyes I ever saw.”

  I giggled, a sound that hadn’t left my lips in so very long that it was almost alarming; I pressed the backs of my knuckles to my mouth before I even knew what I was doing, as though to contain the startling sound. Certainly it was the combination of exhaustion and shock, the surreal nature of what had transpired over the course of the past few hours. I was still reeling from my sudden and permanent departure from the life I’d known since I was scarcely older than the boy sitting near me. I sensed no disingenuousness from him, instead a youthful joviality that I found refreshing. He hooked one wrist in the opposite hand and insisted, “I mean it, the prettiest.”

  “Thank you,” I said for the third time, and then Malcolm yelped as Boyd sent a bundle flying through the air and into his back.

  “Boy,” his brother warned, though his tone was fond.

  Malcolm scrambled to his feet, leaving me to stare into the leaping flames, and after a cautious moment, at the four of them.

  What appeared to be a makeshift camp was torn down with minutes. The men stashed gear into a covered wagon already loaded to the teeth, hitched two of their horses to it, slipped their Winchester rifles into saddle scabbards, and resettled their hats upon their heads. I knew these rifles, had heard my customers speak of them at Ginny’s. ‘The repeater’ they called it, far superior to the Enfield muzzle-loaders my father and brothers had carried to War.

  I saw too their lovely horses, of superior stock; Sawyer’s mare especially caught my eye. She was a fine, sleek, red-and-cream paint, intelligent as hell, with watchful eyes. Despite his obvious bristling anger he was kind to his mare, whispering to her, stroking her neck, and she nuzzled his chest more than once. A long friendship then, and one I could appreciate. All four of them moved with the grace and easy efficiency of experienced horsemen. When the fire had been stomped out and the final strap adjusted, Angus came to me. I smiled tentatively at him, his handsome face with his eyes so somber and gray, though humor lurked in their depths, too. He curled a gentle hand over my shoulder.

  “I know you’re tired, and I’m sorry for it, but we must ride now, Lorissa,” he said, his voice steady in the sudden darkness into which we were plunged without the firelight. I wanted him to stroke my hair, offer a comforting touch, but he was acting every inch the gentleman. He murmured, “If you need to make water, go now, for we will not stop again for hours.”

  He drew me to my feet; Boyd and Sawyer were already mounted, Malcolm driving the wagon, and all three were gazing down upon us. Angus helped me upon his horse and then climbed behind me, securing his arms about my waist once again. Despite the fact that my skirts were hardly constructed for riding, I was immeasurably grateful he’d taken me before him on his horse; tired as I was at present, I felt certain I would tumble from the wagon seat. I was further glad for the black night as I was forced to expose my knees and calves over the horse’s sides.

  Even in the darkness I could sense Sawyer’s intense gaze directed upon us for a long moment before he silently signaled his mare. She responded instantly, circling away and out into the night. Boyd spoke low to his own horse, while Malcolm lightly slapped the lead reins, and their animals moved dutifully into the night, leaving Angus and me alone. I couldn’t help myself; fear gripped my throat again, loss and terror and the potentially dreadful unknown, and I made a small sound, turning in the saddle to burrow against Angus. I curled my arms against his chest, longing for the security of his in return. He drew in a breath and caught the reins in one hand, holding me tightly with the other. I gulped and said, unable to keep the tremble from my words, “Thank you, Angus, thank you for taking me with you.”

  “I was the least I could do,” he said against my hair. He rubbed his free hand over my arm and murmured, “You feel chilled. Lean against me, I shall warm you.”

  I let my spine curl against his chest and he encircled me in his arms. I felt his knees tighten around the gelding, setting him into motion. To my surprise I slept for a time, secure against Angus. When next my eyes opened, the world had been transformed by the sunrise, which laced through the thick cloud cover on the eastern horizon, creating a spectacular display of rich rosy pinks and translucent golds. At some point, Angus had wrapped a blanket over me, tucking the ends between us, so that I rode in a cocoon of warmth against him. I had not been shown such kindness since Deirdre had been alive; it made my throat and eyes sting with moisture.

  “Morning,” he murmured. “We’ll make camp shortly and you may rest.”

  I nodded, clearing my throat before replying, “Thank you. You have been so kind to me.”

  Angus surprised me by laughing, his chest bouncing behind me. “If you thank me every time I do something decent for you, you’ll be saying those words a fair amount. You must learn to accept kindness again,” and I knew he was correct in these words.

  I asked, tentatively, “Where are the others?’

  “Up ahead a piece,” he responded. “Please don’t concern yourself with how Sawyer behaved last night. He has a fierce temper, but he and Boyd are two of the best friends I have ever had. I would trust him, and the other two, with my life. I’ve known the Davis family for decades, along with the Carters. We served together in the War.”

  “You’re all from Suttonville? You all knew my father?” I questioned, desperate for information.

  “Yes, we all hail from that area. Boyd and Sawyer are of an age, four-and-twenty, much younger than myself.” He laughed ruefully, and I could feel him shaking his head. He went on, with the tone of a storyteller, “The Carters and my own family were farmers, claimed acres upon acres before the War. Sawyer’s daddy owned the livery stable. All lost by ’sixty-five, when we were at last able to make it back home. Destruction was all we found, much of Suttonville was burned, ravaged. Our families gone, except for Malcolm. He survived the fevers that raged over that winter and neighbors took him in. I tried to pick up the pieces, we all did, but the memories of w
hat had been were terrible for all of us. We were haunted. And then last winter Boyd received a letter from his mother’s brother, his uncle Jacob Miller. Jacob and his wife and their family moved to Minnesota in the early ’sixties, survived the Dakota War, and have a homestead. Are you familiar with the Homestead Act, Lorissa?”

  I nodded, though I wasn’t entirely certain of its details. I had heard many men speak of it with reverence.

  “Well, the boys and I plan to take advantage of it upon arrival, if we’re able,” Angus continued. “Jacob writes of the beauty of the land, the climate, the acres upon acres ready to farm. And so after much consideration, the four of us decided to move north. We sold everything we could to make the journey. I hope for us to make Minnesota by late August.” He shifted his hips a fraction and added, “As for Will, your father, I knew him well. I served with him for a time. For the love of God, he pulled me from a creek when I’d been wounded. Sawyer’s father would have known him for a good man, too, as a horse buyer himself.” And then, his voice growing soft, “Mark my words, it was an act of God that we found you last night. I wouldn’t have stopped, but the boys were…a bit eager to visit the town. We’ve been pushing hard since Tennessee.”

  I closed my eyes and said, “You’ve put yourselves in jeopardy over me, that much Mr. Davis was right about.”

  His chest bounced with a laugh. “Don’t let on to Sawyer that you’ve agreed with him. He takes a fair amount of pride in being right, that one. But you’ve not jeopardized us, Lorissa. We’ll be well and beyond this territory in less than a day. That woman will not trouble you again.”

  I prayed he was right.

  - 7 -

  I walked a fair distance to allow for privacy as the men set up the camp with the same fluid movements I recalled from last night, born of long practice. The air was clear as water in a wine glass, the sun warm on my shoulders. It had been so long since I’d been outside for any amount of time, though as a girl I’d spent nearly all of my loveliest hours out-of-doors. We were following a well-established trail, not quite a road, and I kept to it as I left the men behind for the time being; I walked far enough that I was no longer in anyone’s direct line of sight, finding a copse of slim young birches to squat beside. There was a small creek running parallel to the route, no wider than a broomstick held on its side at this particular point. I took another moment to kneel on the creek bank, rolling back my sleeves and finding the ability to delight in the icy rush of water, glinting gold coins at me in the sun. I neatened my hair as best I could without the benefit of a mirror, re-pinning its length. I splashed my face, scrubbing at the hollows of my exhausted eyes, rinsing my mouth, and then abruptly sat back with a start, a splash of angst striking my gut.

  I hadn’t used the butter douche, with its seed-killing potash, last night.

  My mind scrabbled backward over the past few weeks; when had I last bled? Had it been two weeks, or three? Near to three, I thought with fear.

  Overcome with agony for a moment, the memories of Deirdre I usually held strictly at bay flooded my mind. Bile snaked up the back of my throat and I leaned over the cold clear water, sinking my hands and letting them grow numb. I tipped chin to chest and considered. What was the likelihood that any seed had been planted? Was this morning too late to do a damn thing? Regardless, the potash, not to mention the butter, was back at Hossiter’s, and I was absolutely certain death would be preferable to returning to that place. After a minute I could no longer feel my hands above the wrists but I kept them within the water, punishing myself.

  “There you are,” Malcolm said, just behind me, and I leaped in fright, twisting to regard him with my heart thudding, wet hands dripping all over my skirt. “Lordy, you’re jumpy as a four-legged frog. What you doing?”

  “Washing up,” I told him, rising just a trifle unsteadily. The boy moved at once and appropriated my elbow, every inch a gentleman, displaying the kind of manners Mama had tried so hard to instill in Dalton and Jesse. He tucked my hand into the crook of his wiry arm, no more than an inch or two taller than me. Despite the dizzying anxiety that my thoughts had caused, I almost smiled.

  “It’s a pretty morning, ain’t it?” he asked, scanning the sky, hatless and sincere. In the light of day I studied his youthful features more closely, the freckles over his nose, his dark eyes, shaped a bit like unshelled almonds, though dark as cocoa. “We’re bound for the state of Minnesota. Did Gus tell you?”

  “A bit,” I said. “We’re very new acquaintances, as you know.”

  “Mama’s brother, my uncle Jacob, sent word and we aim to take up land there and farm,” he explained with a cheerful twinkle.

  And where would I fit into these plans? I knew Angus had acted last night purely upon chivalry, neglecting to consider the immediate future, let alone the distant. I was nothing but a woman alone, unable to support myself any other way than that which I’d been for the past years. Whoring. For a moment I was overwhelmed with the notion that I should break free from Malcolm and simply run. Die on the prairie. Unburden them. But I was too selfish, too scared and desperate; when it came right to it, I was fearful as always of the potential of ending up in hell, should I take my own life. God knew there were myriad other reasons my soul was likely bound there, regardless. So I kept hold of his arm as he led me back to camp.

  “Lorissa, Gus is making breakfast for us. He’s making salt pork with biscuits. There’s brown sugar for the coffee too, if you’d like. I ain’t et all of it yet.” Again he smiled easily at me, patting my hand where it was held near his elbow. His hand was lean and brown and dirty, with ragged nails. I began to speculate that the dearth of females in this boy’s life was starting to affect him, and I found myself smiling cautiously back.

  “Malcolm, you must call me Lorie,” I invited. “Otherwise I’ll think that I’m near to being in trouble.”

  His voice skipped through an octave as he laughed.

  I saw the horses then, staked and grazing in the sun as we approached the campsite. Because I truly wanted to know, and also to stall, I asked, “What are their names?”

  “Mine is Aces High,” Malcolm said proudly, halting us to indicate to which animal he was referring. He pointed to a chestnut with a white blaze and white coronets above his hooves. “Gus rides Admiral, he’s there,” he went on, and I nodded, looking at the distinctive black dappling on the big gray gelding’s coat. Next Malcolm nodded towards a yellow-brown sorrel. “An’ that’s Boyd’s. Her name is Fortune. Juniper’s there.” Juniper was a solid brown quarter horse, and then at last he pointed to the lovely paint mare I’d admired last night. “An’ that’s Whistler, she’s Sawyer’s. He loves that mare like family, I tell you true.”

  “They’re beautiful,” I said sincerely. “My daddy was a horse trader before the War.”

  “Boy, you about done holding hands with Miss Blake?” asked Boyd, coming up behind us, moving to stand on my right side, lifting his hat to run the back of one wrist over his forehead, a gesture I’d seen my father, my brothers, make so many times. He added, “Morning’s fine as frog hair, ain’t it?”

  “Surely is,” Malcolm responded. “An’ you gotta call her Lorie, not Lorissa.”

  “Duly noted,” Boyd said, and smiled at me, with an ease that helped to calm a few of the flapping panic-birds within my gut. He and Malcolm seemed to possess a similar sense of humor. I didn’t have any idea what Boyd truly thought of me and my abrupt entrance into their lives, but at least he was behaving politely. He added, “Come along, you two. Miss Blake, you must be hungry as a bear in snowmelt. Gus wants us to eat and then rest a spell.”

  “I’m that hungry, just,” Malcolm said.

  There were three small canvas wall tents ringing a fire. Angus had set up two iron forks, over which a grate was braced. Upon this was a crockery pot of coffee and a pan just large enough for a side of pork and six biscuits, rich golden biscuits th
at made saliva dart into my mouth. I tried not to look too longingly at these, focusing instead on Angus, who was hunkered beside the fire with his hat pushed back and his dark hair unruly in the morning light. He smiled at us, his gray eyes warm. Sawyer was nowhere in sight, and I felt another few of the birds within my gut settle.

  “Good morning,” Angus said as Malcolm led me to a large speckled rock near the fire. “We live a bit rough, I apologize. But Malcolm here found this and rolled it over for you, Lorissa.”

  My eyes flashed to Malcolm’s in utter gratitude, and he flushed just a fraction over his freckled cheekbones, flapping a hand. “Aw, it weren’t nothing. An’ Gus,” he continued with an air of long-suffering, “We’re supposed to call her Lorie, not Lorissa.”

  I swept my skirts and seated myself, unable now to stop my eyes from lingering on the food. I had eaten nothing since mid-morning yesterday. Angus either read my mind or noticed the intensity of my gaze, because he moved swiftly to dish up a plate for me and handed it over, along with a tin cup of coffee, as Malcolm observed, “Hey, we ain’t got enough plates. Nor cups!”

  Boyd seated himself comfortably on the ground, accepting the coffee Angus passed him, and I was certain they were accustomed to eating all of their meals thusly on the road. Angus next loaded a plate for Malcolm, explaining calmly, “We’ve just enough, as Sawyer has already retired to his bed.”

  Malcolm’s expressive dark eyebrows lifted in response, but he nodded, accepting his food. Within seconds we’d all fallen to eating with a sort of quiet determination, left for the moment to our own thoughts. I had observed that while Angus spoke with the cadence and vocabulary of an educated man, Boyd and Malcolm’s speech was less refined, laced with the colloquialisms I recalled from my childhood. Oddly, I felt myself relaxing as I ate, even seated as I was head and shoulders above them on the rock Malcolm had found for me, like a queen at a picnic. I was unused to men performing any acts of such kindness, and recalled Angus’s words from early this morning. Though it was a task far easier spoken than accomplished.