by Prairie Song
“My legs hurt too.” Maisie squirmed.
“Be still,” Caroline said.
“Miss Caroline?”
She didn’t bother to look at Lyall. The way this was going, come morning, she’d still be untangling Maisie’s hair.
“Lyall.” Rhoda stood behind a sizzling cast-iron skillet.
“Yes ma’am.”
“Whose idea was it that your sister follow you through the trees?”
He looked at the ground. “Mine.”
“It’s no small wonder that the limbs went after her braids.” Rhoda stirred the potatoes. “Miss Caroline and I are too tired for your nagging. I’ll send your father for the mint when he returns from the pasture.”
Rhoda wasn’t one to have much color in her face, but she seemed even more pallid this evening. And now that Caroline thought about it, the mother of five had gotten a late start on supper because she’d been lying down. Hopefully, she wasn’t coming down with something. Caroline sighed, easing the brush through Maisie’s hair since Rhoda already had her hands full preparing the meal.
When his mother returned her attention to the skillet, Lyall set the tin plates out on the table. Duff wound his rope and put it in the wagon box while Davonna scooped butter into a small bowl. Caroline drew in a deep breath. Resting one hand on the top of Maisie’s head, she gently pulled the brush through the child’s hair with the other.
“Miss Caroline.” It was a man’s voice, not Lyall’s. Caroline turned to face the captain of this traveling circus. Garrett Cowlishaw stood with his weight on his left leg, one hand behind his back and one eyebrow lifted. His smile was too genteel for her vinegary disposition. “About that poultice I mentioned for the children’s legs.”
“You brought me some?”
He met her teary gaze then showed his hand.
She was surprised to feel herself smiling. “It’s a bouquet of mint.”
He nodded, bouncing a tuft of light brown hair on his collar.
“I may have to change my mind about you, Captain Cowlishaw.”
“Is that good for me, ma’am?”
Her lips pressed together, Caroline nodded.
The captain smiled at the children. “I may just have to bring Miss Caroline a mint bouquet every day. What do you think?”
All three of them nodded.
Was it possible she’d been terribly wrong about Garrett Cowlishaw, after all?
9
Tuesday evening, Caleb dragged the wooden spoon through the dutch oven one more time, then pulled the wrought-iron triangle from the grub box and sounded the dinner bell. He watched Tiny, Boney, Isaac, Garrett, and Frank emerge from various places in the camp. Their two wagons sat in the clearing, facing the road. A comfortable setup, considering they’d been on the road a full day and brought half of the town with them.
Frank set two buckets of water at the back of the chuck wagon, then tugged the misshapen hat from his blond head and slapped it on his thigh, adding more dust to the air. “Been far too long since the noon stop. Good thing you rang that bell when you did.”
Using a leather scrap to protect his hand, Caleb gripped the handle of the cast-iron skillet and shoved a flat spatula blade under the biscuits, working them until they loosened. He set the pan on a rock beside the firepit. “Grub’s ready.”
Whether they were ready for his cooking or not. He’d studied to be a preacher, not a cook.
When Garrett nodded toward the front of the line, Isaac stepped up to the pot.
Caleb scooped a ladle full of soup into a bowl, then pulled a biscuit from the pan. If he’d set the hot morsel on the plate any faster, it would have bounced to the ground.
“Thank you.” A smile lit Isaac’s eyes. He always took his meals like he’d never been served before.
Caleb repeated the action four times before serving himself. When he joined the others on logs around the campfire, Garrett looked up from his plate.
“I thought we’d have a little meeting over our meal. Catch up on any news from the day.” Garrett looked at Caleb. “Any problems while me and Isaac were out scoutin’ this morning?”
Caleb set his plate on one knee, wondering if he should tell him about the two young women who hung back in town too long. No sense in stirring that pot. “Le Doc’s horses all look good.”
The fellows laughed.
“Le Doc. I like it.” Garrett reached for his coffee mug. “If the horses are gonna give us trouble, it’ll be after we hit prairie.”
Caleb spooned a bite of potato. The minute it reached his tongue, his nose curled. He shook his head.
“What’s wrong?” Tiny snapped a suspender. “You not fond of your cookin’ either?”
Caleb shook his head.
Boney’s eyes narrowed. “You didn’t taste it before you served it?”
“Why would I want to spoil the surprise?” Caleb grinned, half expecting to see a biscuit flying at him.
“I was surprised, all right.” Tiny wrinkled his nose, lifting his generous chin. “What is this uh … concoction?”
“Bacon and potato soup.” Caleb looked at the bread Frank held. “And sourdough biscuits, I think.”
Garrett chuckled, sloshing coffee over the sides of his cup. “You’ll need a woman to cook for you when you get where you’re goin’.”
“Humph!” No woman who knew the truth would have anything to do with him.
Frank tapped his biscuit on the front of the log. “What, you’re not the marrying kind?”
“I’m not.” Caleb lifted his spoon and watched his bland soup plop into the bowl in globs. “But first thing when I get to the other end, I’ll hire a cook.”
“Uh, Caleb, you didn’t tell the boss about those two young women you had to track down.”
He followed Tiny’s gaze to the corner of the supply wagon, where Anna Goben stood facing him, wrapped in a shawl.
“What’s this?” Garrett dropped his biscuit into the soup. “We’ve already had folks wandering?”
“Not exactly.” Caleb blinked. She was still there. “They were delayed saying good-byes.”
“You reminded them of the rules?”
“I did.” Something about the Company’s policy. Authority. Their safety not being a laughing matter. That had to be why Miss Goben was standing there, looking at him. She’d come to him for her apology. Or to chew him out. Either way, he couldn’t keep her waiting.
When Caleb started to stand, she shook her head and pointed to the man with his back to her. She’d come to see Boney Hughes.
Anna’s heart pounded. She needed to clear the air between her and Boney. That was why she’d come to the captain’s camp. But seeing Caleb Reger had only made matters worse. His smile when he’d seen her standing there. The way the corners of his mouth had fallen when she pointed toward Boney.
Boney took quick steps toward her and removed the floppy hat from his head. “Are you all right?”
“Fine. Thank you.”
“Otto?” His eyes widened. “Is it your mother?”
“No. She’s fine. They’re fine. We all are.” Anna moistened her lips. “Thank you.”
Boney looked down, studying his hat.
Anna drew in a deep breath. “We haven’t talked.”
“We’re talkin’ now.”
“Not about my canceling the wedding.”
“Oh.”
“I wouldn’t hurt you for the world.”
Boney reached for her hand. “I meant what I said that day, Anna. I really do understand.”
She appreciated the warmth, given that she’d left her gloves packed away in the wagon. But she didn’t feel any tingles or chills like what Emilie described feeling with her husband, Quaid, or Maren with Rutherford.
“You were kind, noble even, making the announcement.”
Boney chuckled. “Believe me, I wasn’t bein’ noble.” He met her gaze. “When you said Dedrick was the connection we shared, not a romantical kind of love, I knew you were right. We weren’t me
ant to marry.” His sigh spoke peace into the comfortable silence between them.
Anna nodded. “Thank you.”
“Happy to oblige, ma’am.”
His bow made her smile. Boney would make a fine husband one day.
Straightening, he set his flop hat back on his head. “Your mother did well today?”
“Yes! She spent most of the day riding on the seat, but she seemed to enjoy looking around.”
“That’s a relief.”
“For me too.” Anna let out a full breath. “I know we haven’t gone far yet, but I really think this trip is the best thing for us.”
“You had to do something.”
She nodded. “Boney, my brother cared for you deeply. I do too … as a dear friend.”
His crooked grin showed itself. “The feeling is mutual. You deserve a man who will care for you out of that deeper love you’re lookin’ for.”
A shiver ran up her spine, and she pulled her shawl tighter.
“One more thing, Anna.”
“Anything.”
“Mind if I eat at your camp on the nights Caleb’s cookin’ at ours?”
She giggled. “He’s really that bad?”
Boney’s nod was slow and long.
“Anytime,” she said.
“Thank you.” Boney squeezed her hands. “You’re an angel.”
Anna sighed. Why couldn’t she be attracted to this man who thought her an angel?
10
Wednesday morning, three—or was it four—sharp blows of a horn startled Caroline out of a sweet dream. For a few fleeting moments, Phillip was alive and picnicking with her on the bank of the Delaware River, at the end of Chestnut Street. There was no place prettier than Philadelphia in the summer.
Davonna Kamden sat straight up atop her horsehair mattress and swung her legs over the side of the flat-top trunks that formed her bed. “What was that?”
Lyall peeked over the edge of his hammock, which hung across the back of the wagon. “It was a horn.”
The older woman huffed. “Why, oh why, would anyone be practicing in the middle of the night?”
Lyall spilled out of the hammock and landed on his feet between trunks and barrels. “They’re not.”
“They most certainly are!” Mrs. Kamden tucked her quilt in at her knees. “Otherwise, the sun would be awake.”
Duff laughed from his bed atop a sack of beans. “Gran, Lyall meant the horn player isn’t practicing.” He grabbed his kerchief off the floor. “Captain Cowlishaw, or one of his men, blows the horn when it’s time for everyone to get up.”
“Well, they do need practice.” She huffed again. “That wasn’t enough of a song to make me want to do anything.” Mrs. Kamden lay back down on her cozy pallet.
Cozy compared to Caroline’s sleeping nook, anyway. At least the top of her metal trunk was flat, but a mattress would have been nice. Every time she tried to sleep on her back, the metal edging jabbed her calves, making her think she would be better off sleeping under a canvas on the ground like Angus and Blair, the two oldest Kamden children.
Duff tied the kerchief at the back of his neck. “Where’s my boots?”
“You don’t look like a cowboy to me.” Lyall laughed, pointing at the wagon box strapped just outside the tailgate. “They’re right where you left ’em.”
“I’m gonna meet real cowboys when we get to the Wild West.” Duff shoved Lyall’s shoulder on his way to the box. “I’m gonna be one. Might lass-ooo you while I’m at it.”
Shaking her head, Caroline rolled her bedding and stuffed it into her trunk. One thing hadn’t changed—she’d woken up surrounded by children. But these weren’t her sister’s children. They weren’t family. How could she ever have left Mary, Cora, and Gilbert? And Jewell?
But if things were better—if Jack would be happier—with her gone, then maybe she’d done the right thing leaving them.
Maisie rolled off the top of her trunk and plopped between some cargo. “Gran’s right. God hasn’t even waked up the sun yet.” Maisie rubbed her eyes.
“After supper last night, your father”—Caroline glanced at Mrs. Kamden—“your son, went over Captain Cowlishaw’s morning regimen.” She pulled her bonnet on and tied it at her chin. “I suggest we get moving, if we hope to have time for breakfast before Mr. Boney starts this circus parade.”
Mrs. Kamden giggled. A reaction Caroline would have expected of the children.
Muted light glowed through the oiled canvas. Could well have been a full moon, but the horn blows meant dawn was breaking.
Maisie jerked away from Lyall. “Did you do that?”
“What?”
“Boy stink!”
“It’s that stupid rabbit you carry around.”
Maisie clutched her flop-eared cloth treasure. “Is not.” Maisie started to cry.
“You did it, Lyall. I heard you.” Davonna Kamden pulled her quilt over her head, which was still planted on a feather pillow.
Not knowing what else to do, Caroline slid off the trunk. This would be her first full day with the family, and it was off to a confusing start. Had Ian Kamden brought her along to be the nanny for his children or his mother?
Right now, it seemed both would require her constant attention.
A steaming tin mug of coffee in hand, Garrett stood at the edge of camp, surveying the activity and order of things in first light. Isaac had blown the horn just fifteen minutes ago and in an instant, various families started stirring. Men lit small cookfires and harnessed their teams. Women milked their cows and pulled pots and pans from their wagon boxes. Children hauled buckets of water up from the creek while tending to their younger siblings.
According to his trail hands, everyone did fine yesterday. Most were used to walking, but he’d heard a few children complain about sore feet and legs. Lyall Kamden came to mind, and so did his resourceful nanny. Especially the smile that lit her face when he’d surprised her with the mint for a poultice. She’d called it a bouquet.
He gave his head a shake. He best not be thinking about her or he’d never get anything done.
Garrett looked over at Dr. Le Beau’s wagon. Remembering Caleb Reger’s nickname for the Frenchman, he chuckled. Le Doc. Caleb was a puzzle. His dry sense of humor seemed to battle a serious vein that ran deep. Maybe dangerously deep. Sometimes, Caleb was as intense as a soldier pinned down behind a berm. That had been the case when he’d confronted Miss Goben in Heinrich’s Dry Goods store and accused her of gloating.
Apparently, the young man’s intensity had flared again yesterday. Tiny had told Garrett about the way Caleb had ridden out to Miss Goben and Miss Pemberton like a sentry at a guard post. Garrett shook his head. He wished he knew what was eating the young man, but he couldn’t get much of anything out of him. A good reason to pair him with Isaac.
Le Doc waved, drawing Garrett’s attention. “Bonjour, mon capitaine!”
Garrett doffed his hat in a greeting then continued his survey. The three Zanzucchi boys crossed the meadow, hauling buckets of water to their oxen. The Rengler brothers pulled down the canvas tent strung from a rope between their wagon and a tree. Mary Alice Brenner, the twins tottering at her side, carried her baby girl to the campfire they shared with Rutherford and Maren Wainwright.
He took a generous gulp of hot coffee. All the wagons and animals had performed well. So far, the only wagons he’d seen lagging belonged to Ian Kamden. He looked at the farm wagon Caroline Milburn managed with the elder Mrs. Kamden. Duff, Lyall, and Maisie spilled out over the seat of the wagon and down the wheel. Caroline followed them out at a slower pace.
As much as he found his youngest trail hand puzzling, he found the young widow to be fascinating. He couldn’t think of another woman who would be so determined to go west on her own that she would travel with a passel of strangers to do so.
“Hey, Boss.” His youngest trail hand carried a book and was swinging a doused candle lantern. Caleb glanced over his shoulder in the direction Garrett had b
een staring, his mouth curled in a grin. “If I was prone to gamble, I’d bet you are sweet on the nanny.”
Tipping his head, Garrett looked at Caleb. “If we’re gonna talk about such matters, we’ll need to discuss that doe-eyed face of yours last night when you spotted Miss Goben at our camp.”
Caleb gulped, glancing at the Bible he held. “Like I said before, Boss, it don’t matter if you stare at the widow. Just so long as you don’t get all atwitter and propose marriage to her.”
Thankfully, Caroline had been too busy herding children to notice, but Garrett did need to divert his attention from the comely redhead. He glanced at the Gobens’ wagon, where Otto’s granddaughter was hanging a pail from a hook by the water barrel. “The same goes for you then.”
“You needn’t worry.” The young man sighed like he carried the weight of the world on his broad shoulders. “I won’t be marrying anyone.”
There was that shadow that followed Caleb around like a storm cloud. Garrett waved his coffee mug toward the Bible. “You read that?”
“I do.”
“Good.” Garrett looked over at Le Doc’s wagon where the Le Beau boys shinnied up a tree, reminding him of the squirrels from yesterday. “You can read a passage before we pull out this morning.”
Caleb lifted his chin, his brown eyes wide. “I can’t.”
“You can’t read?” Garrett scrubbed his bearded chin. “You just said—”
“I can read.” His voice flat, Caleb tucked the Bible under his arm.
“Every morning just before we pull out, you be ready to read a passage—not a long one, mind you. I’ll have someone else do the prayin’, if that’s what’s bothering you.”
“Sir.” Caleb drew in a deep breath. “I’d rather not.”
“I’d rather not tempt calamity, but there’s a good chance we’ll need to face trials at some point in this journey. Don’t you agree that God’s truth can prepare our hearts and bolster our spirits?”
Caleb reluctantly nodded then trudged to their camp.
