by Prairie Song
When she and Hattie stopped at their respective wagons, the sour trail hand kept riding toward the front of the caravan.
Mutter waved at Anna from the wagon seat, a smile taking years off her face. She’d obviously not yet discovered her bottles were missing.
“Anna, dear, did you see the hawk back there?” Her mother pointed behind them.
About fifteen feet out, a red-tailed hawk sat atop a dead tree with the confidence of a royal.
“Quite regal, isn’t he?”
Anna nodded, unable to remember the last time her mother had referred to her as dear. Or had taken note of God’s creatures, let alone been outdoors for any length of time. Mutter seemed perfectly fine sitting atop the wagon, even a bit regal herself, her golden-brown hair pinned neatly in place. But Anna knew better. Mutter wasn’t fine, and if she wasn’t careful, the whole Company would know it.
Anna drew a deep breath and let it out slowly. She’d buried the bottles at the creek, and Mutter would have no opportunity to buy more until they reached Independence. This trip was Mutter’s chance to get well, and for that Anna would gladly face Boney Hughes and Caleb Reger every day for five months.
7
Garrett leaned forward in the saddle, peering through the leafy branches. So far, the road was clear of fallen trees. And he and Isaac Jackson hadn’t run into any troublemakers or seen any evidence of raiders in this first stretch.
In the few short weeks Garrett had known Isaac, he’d learned Isaac was a man of few words, and when the freed slave spoke, the words usually rose from careful thought. Resting his hand on his sore knee, Garrett looked over at his trail hand. “I was wondering …”
“Yessir?” Isaac’s tipped head showed off the scar on the left side of his face.
“We’re both from the South and, well, I was wondering about your story.”
“My story starts with a woman, Mister Garrett.” His voice carried the tension between joy and sorrow.
Garrett draped the reins over his thigh. “I’d like to hear it, if you’re of a mind to share.”
“Ain’t no love as pure as the good Lord’s. But my Naomi’s love was as close as a man could get. Made of silk and leather, my missus was.” Isaac gave a low whistle. “Tender as a new leaf, but Naomi could be tough when she needed to be.”
Pulling the reins around, Garrett stopped his stallion and faced Isaac. “She sounds like a very fine woman.”
“Yessir, the best one. The only one for me.” Isaac dragged his hand across his damp cheek and drew in a deep breath. “No one deserves that kind of treatment, especially not my Naomi.”
“No.” Garrett’s voice quivered. “She died trying to escape?”
His jaw slack, Isaac nodded. “Yessir. And it was my fault she died. I thought we was safe. Till I saw the wall of gray uniforms. I didn’t get to her in time.”
Garrett blinked hard against the tears pooling in his eyes. “I’m terribly sorry for your loss. For all you suffered. That’s how you got the scar on your face?”
Nodding, Isaac brushed his cheek. “Yes. And if it weren’t for the Lord’s surrounding love and goodness … well, I’d hate to even have to think about livin’ without that.”
Garrett reined his horse and gave the command to continue up the road. His companion’s faith was a beacon for all who had been lost in a sea of sorrow.
“What about you, Mister Garrett? You can’t be so young that you never had a woman in your life.”
His history with love wasn’t something he cared to discuss. Or even think about.
Isaac wiped his hand on his trousers. “Don’t you worry, if you’d rather not tell.”
Garrett looked at the clearing ahead of them. “I did have a woman in my life.” The good memories were what made him afraid to trust his heart to any woman ever again. They’d set him up for the pain of loss. “I married her.” Garrett blew out a breath. Nobody but family and folks back in Virginia knew this about him.
Silent, Isaac patted the shoulder of the gray he rode. Patience was a real good quality in a trail hand. Especially good for someone facing several months of hard travel with folks with troubles.
“My father owned a tobacco plantation in Richmond.” Garrett placed both hands on the saddle and pushed himself upright, trying to ease the ache in his leg. “Unlike most Confederate soldiers, I didn’t join the war efforts in a patriot’s fervor.”
“I know most men didn’t have a choice.”
“The folks my family considered slaves, I loved more deeply than my own family.” He watched as two squirrels skittered up a tree. Anything to avoid looking Isaac in the eye. “I joined thinking I could earn my father’s pride and equal standing with my brother. But my heart wasn’t in it.”
Isaac glanced at Garrett’s outstretched leg.
“My regiment was charged with rounding up runaways.”
A shadow hid the whites of Isaac’s eyes. “That how you hurt your leg?”
“I was standing in front of a boy, barely thirteen, when one of my own men threw a knife.”
“Bless my soul.” Isaac patted his chest over his heart. “You done stood up for him, didn’t you?”
“When I returned to Richmond with my injured leg, the plantation had been burned to ash. Neither my family nor my wife would have anything to do with me.”
Isaac’s shoulders sagged.
“Now that the telegraph’s in most every town, news like what I did travels faster than a lightning bolt.”
Except for chirping birds and rustling leaves, they rode the next mile in silence.
Satisfied with the road directly ahead of them, Garrett pulled up on the reins. “This looks like a good place for the Company’s noon meal.” He turned toward the available grass along the small creek, with room enough for the thirteen wagons and all the livestock. Garrett didn’t expect any trouble from outsiders this close to town, but it was best they stay together. He reckoned their caravan had traveled about eight or more miles, and scores of tender feet would need some tending.
Isaac swung down from the saddle. “Truth is, my hindquarters could use a break.”
Garrett chuckled. “We’re of a like mind, my friend.”
A smile fairly lit Isaac’s face. Surely God had sent this unassuming man as a liniment for hurting souls.
Caroline turned to face the three youngest Kamden children, now at a standstill behind her.
“My toes hurt.” Maisie, the three-year-old, clung to a cloth rabbit.
“Miss Caroline.” Nearly five, Lyall always had to be sure he had her full attention before continuing.
“Yes, Lyall.”
“My legs hurt.” Lyall had a mess of wavy brown hair and a permanent frown on his face.
“Well, I’m hungry.” Duff, age six, wore a blue kerchief around his neck.
“I’m sure we’ll stop soon for a rest.” If not, she would take to whining. Caroline looked at each of the drooping children. “When we get to the right place, we’ll spread out a quilt and rest our toes and our legs, and fill our empty bellies. I’m sure the captain is just up ahead, waiting for us.”
“Pssst. Miss Caroline.” The children’s grandmother waved her over to the wagon, where she sat perched on the seat like a peacock. Davonna Kamden adjusted her feathered bonnet, a hat better suited to Memphis than the prairie that lay a few weeks ahead of them. “I haven’t seen Mr. Cowlishaw all morning. Wherever did our captain gallop off to?”
“Miss Hattie told me Mr. Cowlishaw rode ahead to scout our path.”
“Oh no.” Mrs. Kamden’s gaze darted to the left, then to the right. “Back in Saint Charles, I heard talk of them bushwhackers that raided farms and ranches. Is there going to be trouble?”
Maisie’s green eyes widened. “Are those bad men following us?”
Caroline gave the elder woman a look she hoped would encourage keeping such concerns to herself then looked at the little girl. “Maisie, everything is fine. There are no bad men following us.” At least not direct
ly.
“Miss Caroline?” Lyall tugged her apron, his face pinched. “How do you know?”
“Mr. Cowlishaw and his brave trail hands are seeing to our safety.” She may not approve of Garrett Cowlishaw’s Confederate affinities or of his use of the words dithering wife in reference to Anna Goben, but she had full confidence in his ability to lead them. “In the meantime, do you think it would be fun to play a game?”
“Aye, let’s.” Duff pushed his canvas cap back on his head. “I like games.”
“Good.” Now all she had to do was come up with one. For more than a year, she’d lived with two nieces and a nephew close in age to these three. What would Mary, Cora, and Gilbert enjoy doing to pass the time? “To play the game, we all need to be walking.”
“My son gave me a job to do.” Mrs. Kamden raised the reins she held in her hand. “I’m not going to play your game.”
Whatever the game proved to be, she’d intended it for the children, not for their gran. Something wasn’t quite right with Davonna Kamden, and because of it, she was proving to be much more of a challenge than any of the children. And a distraction.
Caroline recalled Garrett Cowlishaw’s last attempt to discourage her from making the trip west.
“It’s going to be a difficult journey… You’ll be traveling with a family you don’t really know… Carrying tremendous responsibilities.”
The captain of the caravan didn’t think she could meet the responsibilities and complete the journey.
Caroline sighed. Unfortunately, she was no longer sure she could prove the man wrong.
Garrett sat on a tree stump, watching the first wagons pull into the clearing. Following Boney’s lead, the others formed a semicircle in front of the stand of oak.
Even in a meadow teeming with wagons, animals, and people, Caroline Milburn managed to capture his attention. The young widow strolled playfully with the three youngest Kamden children in her charge. Caroline spun left and right with Maisie, Lyall, and Duff, her gingham skirts billowing with each spin.
He looked away so as not to be accused of staring.
“Captain!” Three-year-old Maisie darted toward him. “Captain!”
Her brothers joined her. Six-year-old Duff tugged the kerchief knotted at his neck. “What do you see, Captain Cowlishaw?”
Garrett looked at Caroline, who followed the children at a slower pace. “What do I see?”
“Uh, yes. What do you see around you?” Caroline tipped her head up, raising the brim on her bonnet. Her eyes were as bright green as the new leaves on the trees.
What did he see? A woman who was turning out to be very good with the children, strangers or not. A resourceful woman. A woman who made him wish he hadn’t gone to war, or at least hadn’t fought on the opposing side. Only their first day on the road and he was already doing a poor job of avoiding her.
“It’s a game we’re playing. Right now, we are looking for items that start with the letter c, Captain Cowlishaw.” A smile edged Caroline’s mouth.
“The game is making my toes better.” Maisie held up a cloth rabbit. “Her toes too.”
Lyall sighed. “Well, my legs still hurt.”
“Children.” The nanny swatted the air between them. “The captain doesn’t have time for our games.”
“Aha.” Garrett raised a pointed finger, looking straight at Maisie. “I know what I see that starts with a c. A cherub.” Chuckling, he tapped the little girl on the nose. “I see a cherub.”
All three of the children laughed, and so did their nanny. The melody charmed his heart, then caused it to ache. He’d expected to have children with Corliss. No doubt, Caroline had planned on having children of her own before the colonel died.
“Captain?”
Garrett shifted his attention to Lyall, who was bent and rubbing his right leg.
“What about my legs, Captain? They still hurt.”
“I’d rub some mint poultice on them to fight the cramping.” Garrett patted the boy’s shoulder then looked at the woman with a red curl dangling at her neck. “There should be mint sprouting along the creek here. That should fix you right up, Lyall.” He brushed the brim of his hat. “Ma’am, you be sure and let me know if you don’t find any.”
“I will.” She moistened her lips. “Thank you.”
Now, if only he had a clue about what to use as a salve for his aching heart.
8
Anna strolled toward the pasture, the lead rope slack in her hand. Four oxen followed at her heels as she mingled with other folks doing the same with their animals. Dr. Le Beau’s daughter, Camille, approached with an empty water pail in each hand, her smile warm.
“Good evening.”
“Bonsoir. Good evening.” Long hair the color of coal lay over one shoulder, tied with a forest-green ribbon.
Anna waved as they passed, and Camille’s smile deepened. Camille wasn’t more than a year younger than her, and would likely be enjoyable to talk to if they both weren’t so busy caring for family and tending to chores.
“Bonsoir,” Anna said quietly, trying out the strange word. With her German accent, it didn’t sound even close to Camille’s version. Camille had already agreed to give Hattie French lessons. If Anna had time, it’d be fun to learn a third language, but she’d be doing well to keep up with the oxen tonight.
Despite the rough start to the morning—having to say good-bye to Emilie and the others in Saint Charles, only to face the fussy Mr. Reger—her first day on the road had been a good one. Mutter had ridden in the wagon seat for most of the fifteen or more miles but seemed resolved to make the most of the journey. If not for her own sake, for Anna’s. Perhaps Großvater had convinced her to ease up some. Whatever the motivation, Anna was grateful for the reprieve from Mutter’s objections. And if Mutter had looked for the bottles Anna had buried on the banks of Blanchette Creek last night, she kept their absence a secret.
When the lead rope stretched taut, Anna slowed her steps and drew in a deep breath. The fragrance of campfires and cook pots scented the air. With the first day nearly over, Anna turned her thoughts to the previous night. While still camped in Saint Charles, Mutter had laid claim to the hammock inside the wagon, and Anna had slept curled atop her trunk. Tonight, she’d sleep outside. Großvater had carefully positioned their wagon in the crooked semicircle so she’d have a tree to stretch her hammock to from the wagon.
She watched as Boney stepped out from between two wagons a few yards from her. He smiled but quickly darted away. Anna sighed as she tied the rope around a low branch. She and Boney hadn’t spoken more than polite greetings since she’d called off the wedding. She missed visiting with him and hoped they could return to being friends. This would be an even longer journey if she and Boney weren’t able to clear the air between them. It would already be plenty long with Mr. Reger questioning her every move.
“More, Mr. Caleb. More.”
Anna turned toward the squealing voice. About twenty yards away, near the creek, a passel of children followed Caleb Reger and his chestnut Pacer. Little Gabi Wainwright sat strapped in the saddle, with Mr. Reger’s hand cradling her back. Like a shepherd, Blair Kamden herded the younger children, including her siblings, Mary Alice Brenner’s twins, and the three Zanzucchi boys.
If Anna didn’t have Mutter to look after and supper to fix, she’d be tempted to take Molasses from the pasture and offer rides. That was, if she weren’t concerned about doing something wrong within Mr. Reger’s line of vision and inviting another of his smoldering speeches.
This evening, he hardly resembled that strict taskmaster. His hat nowhere to be seen and his hair tousled, he sidestepped alongside the horse. His baritone chuckle carried on the air along with the giggles of the children, and the infectious sound caused a surprising burst of laughter from Anna.
Looking up, he smiled at her. One of the oxen jerked the rope, catching her off guard and causing her to lose her footing and her balance. When her attempts to regain stability failed, Anna fe
ll to the ground. Hardly missing a beat, she scrambled to her feet and grabbed the lead rope, embarrassment burning the tips of her ears.
Mean or nice, Caleb Reger was now, officially, an unwelcome distraction.
“Are you all right?” he called.
“Yes.” Except that her pride had taken another fall, and any bruise on her backside wouldn’t prove nearly as painful.
“Miss Caroline.”
Caroline looked up from Maisie’s tangled hair. Lyall stood beside the stool.
“When are you going to the creek?” he asked.
She sighed. “Not now, Lyall.” Could he not see how busy she was? How busy she’d been all day?
“But my leg hurts worser. And Mither said we can’t go without the sun.”
Caroline glanced up at the purple rays of the sun settling behind clouds near the horizon.
The afternoon walk hadn’t been much different from their morning walk, except that she’d run out of games to keep the children occupied. If Angus wasn’t helping his father grease wheels and Blair wasn’t helping Maren prepare supper, she’d be tempted to have them take the younger children to the creek after the mint for a poultice. Still, it was best she went herself. They didn’t need to add poison ivy to their list of complaints.
“Aaaackkk!” Davonna Kamden jumped back and stared at the rope that had suddenly appeared around the butter churn.
Duff gasped as he darted toward her. “Oh no. Gran.” Contrition creased his forehead as he quickly retrieved the rope. “I didn’t mean to throw it so hard.”
His grandmother huffed. “I’ll have no cowboys in my kitchen.”
“Yes ma’am.”
“Miss Caroline?” Lyall asked.
Caroline drew in a deep breath and turned to face Duff’s brother. “Lyall.”
“The captain said to get polcy at the creek.”
“He said I’d find the mint for the poultice at the creek.” Caroline’s fingers chased a knot to the end of a lock of Maisie’s light brown hair.
