by Prairie Song
Her grandfather’s hand flew to his mouth too late to muffle a snort.
Anna Goben was a tough one. Caleb doubted she’d have any trouble facing down a bear. “Ma’am, I misthought and misspoke, and for that I am sorry. Please accept my humble apology.”
“You did. I do.” A blush pinked her neck and turned her cheeks red. She moistened her lips. “Apology accepted, Mr. Reger.”
“Thank you.” Despite the cool breeze causing the curtains in the window to flutter, Caleb fought the impulse to fan himself with his hat. Miss Goben’s effects on him were puzzling, to say the least. He wanted to maintain that she was fickle and remain angry with her. But at the same time, he felt her grief over the loss of her brother and the frailty of her mother.
They’d made their peace, but would it make this trip west, in such close proximity, any easier? He still didn’t believe the trail was the proper place for this single young woman and her fractured family.
5
A whistled tune floated on the air from Blanchette Creek. Anna looked up from the worktable, her quill poised over the stationery. Her bay pony stood tethered to a nearby tree, ears perked. A crooked row of wagons wearing new white bonnets lined the edge of Boone’s Lick Road. Großvater, like many of the other folks in the Company, had sold his house and most of his belongings. Now they were living out of a more portable accommodation, camped between the creek and the road. As of that afternoon, the dressed-up buckboard wagon was to be their home for the next five months. This was their last night in Saint Charles before their Tuesday morning departure.
Großvater busied himself carrying two buckets to the creek while Mutter fussed about in the wagon. It wasn’t an easy sell, but Mutter had finally agreed that their westbound journey was her chance at a fresh start. Problem was Mutter had promised she had quit drinking on several other occasions in the past year too. So again, Anna wondered, was Mutter truly preparing her hammock for the night? Or was she using the fleeting privacy to indulge in a hidden bottle?
Try as she might, Anna couldn’t make herself believe getting Mutter to stop drinking would be easy, if even possible. But she couldn’t just leave her to herself … to her grief.
Unable to swallow her doubts, she had to find a way to be the last one puttering among their belongings. She needed to know just what they were taking with them. She would have the final say about what they left behind.
Still whistling, Großvater strolled up the bank from the creek, his long arms each swinging a bucket of sloshing water. He looked at the stationery laid out on the table and the song stopped. “We haven’t left town yet and you’re already writing a letter?”
“A note for Emilie. She and her father have been so good to me … to us.”
Großvater nodded, then emptied the buckets into the water barrel on the side of the wagon. When crates and barrels clunked inside of the canvas cocoon, he stepped to the front wheel. “Wilma, you still in there?”
Mutter poked her head out of the puckered opening. “You’re back from the creek already?”
“I am. Can’t imagine that you’re finding much room for rearranging anything.”
Bottles only required careful placement, not a lot of room. Anna swallowed her suspicions. Großvater had enough on his mind.
“Our porch was bigger than this thing.” Mutter climbed out over the seat.
“It’s only for a short time.” Großvater looked toward The Western House Inn, about a quarter mile behind them. A line of other folks from the Boone’s Lick Company meandered that direction. “If we don’t hurry, all the tables are liable to fill before we can get our supper.”
“I’m ready to go.” Mutter smoothed her calico skirt and straightened the shawl over her shoulders. “What about you, Anna?”
This might be her chance for time alone in the wagon. “I wondered if you and Großvater would mind going ahead to get our table. My letter won’t take but a few more minutes, and I’d really like to finish it before dark.”
Großvater nodded. “Very well. But don’t be long.”
“I won’t.” At least she hoped so. Anna dipped the quill and lowered her hand to the paper.
When the sound of Mutter’s and Großvater’s footfalls faded, Anna placed the cork in the ink bottle. She had a job that had nothing to do with the note she was writing to Emilie. And it wouldn’t be proper or safe for her to walk to the inn alone after dark. Satisfied they were out of sight, she wiped the quill and returned it and the stationery to her writing box then took quick steps to the wagon. After climbing onto the top of the wheel, she glanced at the various wagons camped along the creek. The Zanzucchi family was scattered from the creek to their campfire while their matriarch prepared supper. Maren and little Gabi Wainwright sat at a table outside their wagon.
Satisfied she hadn’t attracted undue attention, Anna scrambled off the wheel, over the seat, and into the wagon through the opening in the canvas. As she did, a bitter bite of regret clogged her throat. She hated sneaking around in order to protect Mutter from herself or the bottle.
Anna widened the puckered gap at the back of the wagon to let in more light, ready to start her search. She’d been listening while Mutter was in the wagon. She’d heard the squeak of hinges and the shuffling of casks and crates. Mutter would be careful to bury a bottle, and what better place than in a crate no one else would have cause to open along the way?
Anna lifted the lid on the biggest crate. Supplies for setting up housekeeping at the other end of the trip. Blankets, artwork, and Sunday dishes lay on the top. After peeling the first layers back, Anna removed two wrapped bundles in the center. The first turned out to be a vase. She unwrapped the second bundle and found an amber bottle. Whiskey, no doubt, Mutter’s drink of choice. Anna returned the empty wool blanket to the crate and set the bottle at her feet. Mutter wouldn’t have stashed just one bottle. She found another in Mutter’s trunk, wrapped in a dressing gown, and a third bottle in a sack of oats.
While disappointed in Mutter, Anna was satisfied with her success. Now to dispose of them. Anna bent to retrieve the bottles.
“Someone in there?”
She’d just grabbed the bottle necks when the gruff, but familiar, voice startled her. The bottles clanged as she released them.
“Who’s in there?”
She couldn’t let Caleb Reger see inside. Moving quickly, Anna stuck her head out of the opening above the seat. The trail hand stood mere feet away, his boot propped on the tongue.
“It’s me. Anna Goben.”
His boot slid to the ground and he removed the derby from his head. “I’m sorry to disturb you. But I saw your grandfather and … I thought you’d all gone to supper at the Inn.”
“I’m joining them shortly.”
“When I heard rummaging, I thought there might be an intruder.”
“Thank you for your concern.” Anna drew in a deep breath. “I was looking for something that had been misplaced.” That much was true. Liquor had no place in the new life awaiting Mutter.
“Have you found what you were looking for?”
“I did. Thank you.”
“You said you are to join your family.” He glanced at the trees, awash in twilight-gray, and returned the derby to his head, causing a tuft of brown hair to stick out over each ear. “It’ll soon be dark. Your grandfather wouldn’t want you walking alone. Let me escort you.”
“Thank you. But I will be ready momentarily, with plenty of light left for the short walk.”
Caleb’s chest expanded in a deep breath. “Very well.” He brushed the brim of his hat. “Good evening, Miss Goben.”
“Good evening.”
When he turned toward the road, Anna withdrew into the wagon. She detested herself for putting on a false front like some sort of shopkeeper selling cheap baubles. But she hated the alternative even more. Mutter’s reputation was at stake. Anna wanted to believe that if the temptation were removed, Mutter could let go of the bottle. Doing so would be that much harde
r if her secret were out and the Company looked at her as an outsider.
Anna slid the three bottles into an empty flour sack and set them on the grub box, just outside the back of the wagon. She wrapped a dark shawl about her shoulders, then climbed out of the wagon and looked toward the creek below. She wouldn’t have to sneak around forever. But for now, it was the only way to give Mutter the chance she needed to start fresh. And if it worked, Anna would also have a new beginning.
6
The next morning, Anna and Hattie stood on the edge of Boone’s Lick Road with Emilie. Anna’s bay whinnied and tugged against the reins, objecting to the lollygagging. The time had come to leave Saint Charles, but she and Hattie weren’t as anxious as her pony was to say good-bye.
Clutching Anna’s note, Emilie wiped a tear from her cheek. “Remember to send the circular letters.”
Anna nodded. “Every month. We’ll mail the first one this side of Independence.”
The sound of clomping horse hooves and churning wheels rode the breeze. Distracted, Anna glanced over her shoulder at the line of white-capped wagons inching their way up the hill out of Saint Charles.
She looked at Hattie. “We must go.”
After one last hug for Emilie, Jewell, Mr. Heinrich, and Mrs. Brantenberg-Heinrich, Anna and Hattie climbed onto their sidesaddles.
Swallowing the lump of emotion clogging her throat, Anna nodded. She patted Molasses’s black mane then sat tall and lifted the reins.
After a final wave, Anna clicked her tongue and Molasses lunged forward behind Hattie’s palomino. Although Anna hoped to one day return to this riverside city that had been her childhood home, she knew it wasn’t likely. Her back straight, she raised her chin and drew a deep breath, tears blurring her vision.
And under a clear sky as blue as Mutter’s eyes had once been, she cantered toward a new life.
Just ahead of the wagons and off to one side, Caleb sat back in the saddle on his Tennessee Pacer. He pushed his derby up on his head and watched the great white snake of wagons wind its way through the spring forest and up Linden Hill.
Garrett and Isaac had left at the first hint of light to ride ahead and make sure the way was free of fallen trees and raiders. Although there hadn’t been any raids of late, the soldiers charged with keeping martial law in the area were known to become overwhelmed by the number of bandits that sometimes prowled the route. Boney walked the lead at the chuck wagon, while Tiny herded the livestock at the rear of the train.
So far, so good. They planned to make it as far as Dardenne Prairie by nightfall. By then, they’d have a good idea who the dawdlers and stragglers were.
Despite the sorrowful good-byes back in town, the spirit of adventure flew high. But that spirit alone wouldn’t get the overlanders past the Missouri border. He had doubts the Kamdens would make it as far as Independence before pulling their two wagons out of the line, sending Caroline Milburn back to Saint Charles, which was where Garrett said he wanted her. Caleb wasn’t so easily convinced.
The four oxen pulling the chuck wagon caught up to Caleb and he waved at Boney, then trotted his chestnut stallion up the line, past the Renglers. Owen, his wife, Sally, and his brother, Oliver. The Brenners and the elder Becks had mules pulling their wagons. The rest were using oxen, all but Dr. Le Beau. But Garrett was right—the risk of delay due to overworked horses was worth it to have a physician traveling with them.
Caroline Milburn walked ahead of the Kamdens’ first rig, a simple farm wagon pulled by four oxen. Lyall and Maisie, the two youngest children, walked on either side of her, while Duff and Angus fought over who would hold the lead rope. The older of the two Kamden women sat on the wagon seat with knitting on her lap. At the Conestoga, Blair, the oldest girl, walked beside her mother, Rhoda, holding the lead rope for the team of six oxen that pulled the larger wagon. There was a good chance the Kamden family would be the first to realize they’d packed heavy.
Charles Pemberton and his widowed mother walked beside their oxen. Caleb glanced at the empty wagon seat then at Charles. “Your sister?”
“On horseback. Haven’t seen her since we left town.”
Caleb brushed the brim of his derby and pulled his horse around. His boss was soft when it came to women. They had far too many young, single ones with minds of their own tagging along on this trip. Straying mules would be easier to keep track of. Nor were mules as stubborn as women. The image of Anna Goben lifting her chin and squaring her shoulders on her front porch filled his mind.
“That is your apology?”
Then there was the memory of last evening when he’d found her rummaging through the wagon. Her refusal of his offer to walk her to the inn hadn’t discouraged him from looking out for her. He’d circled around the wagons just in time to see her climb out over the tailgate. She pulled a sack from atop the grub box and took quick steps to the creek, away from the inn. He followed her, far enough away that he wouldn’t be detected, but close enough that he could hear the sound of glass clinking in her arms.
On the bank, several feet above the burbling creek, she picked up a rock and dug a hole, then buried the sack of bottles, no doubt. Something he was sure his sister would’ve done for him, given the opportunity. The Goben family wasn’t the only one harboring secrets.
Desperate to forget his secrets, Caleb shook his head and rode the length of the train, pausing beside the Gobens’ rig.
Otto walked with the oxen while his daughter rode on the wagon seat. Miss Goben was suspiciously absent.
The grandfather looked up, adjusting the felt hat on his head. “If you’re looking after my granddaughter, she’s on horseback.”
Caleb chewed his bottom lip. “With Miss Pemberton?”
Wilma Goben, the woman he suspected to be the reason for Anna’s evening activities, fidgeted with her shawl. “Last I saw my daughter, she and Hattie were still saying good-bye to Emilie and the others.”
“Thank you, ma’am.”
Scrubbing his whiskered chin, Otto glanced over his shoulder toward Saint Charles. “Those two are going to be inseparable.”
Caleb nodded. And nigh to impossible to keep safe. Moving on, he checked the rest of the line at a trot. No sign of the two young women with the other wagons.
At the end of the caravan, Tiny rode a draft horse, having no trouble standing out among the extra oxen, cows, and horses. “You lookin’ for two missin’ girls?”
“Miss Goben and Miss Pemberton.”
Nodding, the cowboy waved his old felt hat, pointing toward town.
Caleb raised his hand to shield his eyes from the sun. A half mile out, two ponies galloped toward them. Each carried a young woman who was far too independent for her own good.
Tiny snapped a red suspender. “I’ve been keepin’ an eye out for ’em. Figured they’d catch up before too long.”
“Thanks. I’ll see to them.” Caleb lowered his hand to his thigh and pulled his horse toward town. When his Pacer met up with the bay and the palomino, he turned his horse sideways in the road, stopping directly in front of the negligent young women.
“Miss Goben. Miss Pemberton.” Remembering the nature of his uncomfortable encounters with Anna Goben in the dry goods store and on her grandfather’s porch, he focused his attention on Hattie Pemberton. “I will thank you kindly for minding the rules. The Boone’s Lick Company manual clearly states the policy of remaining in reasonable proximity of the group unless permission to do otherwise is granted by a person of authority. That would be Mr. Cowlishaw, myself, or one of the other trail hands.”
“We were merely saying a last farewell to our friends.” Miss Hattie lifted her chin, allowing him a view of her raised eyebrow under the generous brim of her hat. “Would you count that frivolous and deny us that comfort?”
He made the mistake of looking at Miss Goben. A grin tugged at her mouth. “I do not count your safety a laughing matter, Miss Goben.” Then he noticed the telltale signs of crying—the red that rimmed her blue eyes.
<
br /> Miss Pemberton straightened on the sidesaddle. “And this, Mr. Reger, doesn’t seem the sort of trip you’d want to make without a sense of humor. Or, at the very least, a measure of grace when it comes to saying one’s good-byes.”
He knew plenty about good-byes. And he’d said enough. Biting his lip, he pulled the reins around, guiding his Pacer back to the wagon train.
It was a good thing he wasn’t a gambler. If he were, he might just bet on himself to be the first to turn around as a go-backer. Or at least to head in a different direction. He should, anyway. Miss Anna Goben was trouble.
Anna couldn’t help noticing the man riding ahead of her and Hattie. Caleb Reger sat tall in the saddle. An inch or two taller than Hattie’s brother, Charles, the trail hand had broader shoulders and a much sharper tongue.
“I will thank you kindly for minding the rules.”
“Permission to do otherwise is granted by a person of authority.”
Anna remembered his inside-out apology on Großvater’s porch. “I allowed past experience with women to cloud my judgment where your actions were concerned.”
Well, if Mr. Reger cared to know, she could tell him why he’d had sour past experiences with women. For all their chirping, crickets were better listeners. She would do well to keep her distance from him.
Unfortunately, the broad-shouldered Mr. Reger wasn’t the only trail hand she wanted to avoid. She and Boney had scarcely greeted each other in passing in the seven days since their almost-wedding. She’d seen him at The Western House last Friday when she and Großvater took the wagon for inspection, but Frank Marble had conducted the inspection. Had she ruined everything and lost Boney’s friendship, or had he simply been too busy? She couldn’t blame him for washing his hands of her. No man, no matter how gracious, liked to be rejected. Least of all in front of his friends.
Anna shook her head as if doing so could free her of the memory. Dwelling on the past would be of no benefit. Right now, she rode under a clear sky tinted in sapphire hues, through a fresh-leafed forest, toward grassy plains and a new life.
