by Prairie Song
Enjoying the solace, Caroline looked up at the flawless blue sky, watching a yellow bird flit from a primrose bush to a box elder. She couldn’t have asked for a more perfect day.
They’d ridden in silence for a few minutes when she sensed Garrett’s attention. She met his warm gaze and smiled. How long had he been watching her?
“You’re feeling all right?” he asked. “Comfortable?”
“I am.” On the horse, and with him.
Garrett glanced at the grassy ground, then back up at her. “The last time you rode a horse, it was with your husband?”
“Phillip’s uncle had a ranch outside of Philadelphia, and we rode there a time or two.”
“Has it gotten any easier?”
The sincerity in his eyes told her he wasn’t talking about riding a horse. “Easier than it was when you first handed me the letter from the Department of War? Yes.”
“I’m glad.” Garrett shifted on his saddle. “I know it’s been difficult.”
“It has, but—”
“You’re here.”
She nodded. “Yes.” With him. And enjoying his company. A vast improvement from her feelings mere weeks ago.
They’d ridden a ways farther from camp when Garrett stood in the stirrups and stretched his right leg.
“Does the leg pain you much?” she asked.
His brow creased. “Only when I ride.”
Caroline’s breath caught and she pulled back on the reins, halting her horse. “But you ride every day. We’re riding—”
His boyish grin stopped her midsentence. “I’m tugging your leg now.” He chuckled, his face turning red. “I know it was mean, but I couldn’t help myself.”
Good; he also had a sense of humor. He definitely possessed many intriguing layers. For show, she slapped the air between them and he ducked. Yes, she was already enjoying getting to know the man leading the caravan.
She pulled the reins around and signaled for her horse to resume his slow gait. “If you don’t mind my asking, how did you injure your leg? When we first met, my nephew Gilbert asked if you’d been shot, and you told him you hadn’t.”
“Yes. I remember.” He sat back down. “He’s a bright boy. You must miss Gilbert—all of them—Mary, Cora, and your sister.”
He obviously remembered Jack too, since he’d failed to mention her brother-in-law in the list of those she was likely to miss.
“The injury was a knife wound.” He flexed his leg before settling his boot into the stirrup. If Phillip were able to tell her what happened in battle, would he? She guessed not.
Concerned with her sensibilities, her late husband would’ve kept the experiences to himself. She was wrong to ask Garrett to talk about the war. He probably thought her unladylike to inquire. Even forward. Brash.
Gripping the front of the saddle, she straightened. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.”
“Don’t ever think that. I want us to know each other.”
Her skin suddenly warmed, and she pressed her hand to her collar. “I want that too.” No, Garrett Cowlishaw was not Phillip Milburn. And as much as she’d loved Phillip, her curiosities concerning the man beside her mounted.
“It happened in a battle, but not in the kind of battle you might expect.”
“I don’t understand. It was an accident involving a fellow soldier?”
“Phillip no doubt joined the Union army as a patriot, convinced he was fighting for a noble cause.”
“He did.” His callous repetition of the stark difference between him and her late husband awakened her indignation, but she pushed it down. They needed to at least hear each other out. “Phillip believed in the United States. He fought and died for the freedom of all men.”
Garrett nodded.
He had nothing more to say about it? Perhaps she and the captain getting to know each other wasn’t such a splendid idea after all.
“As you know, I was a Confederate soldier.”
“Our first point of contention.”
“Yes.” His horse stopped in front of the stand of dogwood trees. “There’s a log over there. Mind if we sit for a spell?”
“Probably a good idea.” If he got her mad enough, she was liable to twitch her ankle at the horse’s side, giving Molasses the wrong idea.
He dismounted, then helped her down, and they walked the few feet to the log and seated themselves.
Garrett removed his hat and straddled the fallen tree, facing her. “Caroline, I didn’t fight with my squad. Don’t get me wrong. When I needed to, I fought to protect my fellow soldiers. But I didn’t join the army because I agreed with their cause. It’s a poor excuse and makes me sound weak, but I joined because I was afraid of my father most of my childhood. And desperate to please him.”
“Your father made you go to war?”
“As far as he and my brother were concerned, I had no choice but to go in gray.”
Caroline worried the seam on her calico skirt.
“A time came when I’d had enough.” He slapped his hat against his leg. “My squad came upon a family of runaways.”
“You were stabbed trying to capture runaway slaves?”
Garrett looked away.
Her stomach knotted. This was a mistake. She didn’t want to know.
“Trying to protect them,” he said.
Her breath caught. “Trying?”
Tears brimmed in his eyes. “He was a boy. Thirteen.”
She pressed her hand to his tensed arm. “He didn’t make it?”
His shoulders sagged. His head turned side to side like a slow pendulum.
Tears stung her eyes and burned her cheeks. “But you were willing to give your life to save him.” Her heart breaking, her voice cracked. “You tried to save him.”
Every horrible thing she’d said to Garrett when they first met assaulted her like fiery arrows. She’d treated him like a criminal. Like an enemy. Why, she’d all but accused him of personally killing her husband.
She slid her fingers down his arm and gripped his hand. “I was awful to you. Can you ever forgive me?”
Giving her hand a gentle squeeze, Garrett looked her in the eye. “I already have.” He let go. “Caroline, there’s something more you should know about me if we are to spend more time together.” He glanced at the horses. “Together like this, I mean.”
Drawing in a deep breath, she nodded.
“I was married. Corliss and I were married only months before I went to war.”
Was married. Were married. “Your wife died? All the time I was grieving the loss of Phillip, you knew what it was like … how I felt?”
“My grief wasn’t the same. My wife didn’t die; she left me.”
She followed his gaze to the closest tree, where two squirrels scampered up the trunk and out onto a limb.
“Corliss said she wanted nothing to do with a traitor.”
“I’m so sorry.” Her head was beginning to understand what her heart had apparently already known—Garrett was indeed a man she admired. A man she could love.
28
Tuesday morning, Garrett looked out over the Kansas River, just west of Independence. After driving through the jumping-off city yesterday, the Company had camped on the riverbank. Today, a small paddle wheeler would carry the wagons across the river two at a time.
The Becks were to be first. Caleb guided Emery, Irene, and their animals onto the flat deck of the ferry, while Frank directed Arven and Lorelei with their wagon.
In order to place a couple of his men on the other bank early, Garrett waved Boney and Isaac into line with the chuck wagon behind Tom and Mary Alice Brenner’s mishmash conveyance. The rest of the Company would have more time on the bank while waiting for the little boat to cross and return. But still it was important they all line up and ready their wagons for the river.
Feeling a bit like Noah with his ark, Garrett lined up the remaining wagons two by two. He motioned for Caroline and Rhoda Kamden to pull the farm wagon up behind the R
englers’ tidy wagon. He had decided to separate the Kamden wagons. One, because of the added weight of the Conestoga and the large family. Two, because something wasn’t quite right with Davonna, and Ian would have his hands full caring for his mother. Oliver Rengler would help Mrs. Kamden and Caroline keep track of the children. Ian Kamden and his mother would ride over in the Conestoga with Rutherford, his family, and their smaller wagon.
The Gobens would ferry over with the Le Beaus. The Pembertons with the Zanzucchis. Once everyone had been safely transported, he and Tiny would ferry over with the supply wagon.
The paddle wheeler worked against the flow, crossing the river at an angle. Its little steam engine grunted and puffed great clouds of smoke and mist. When the Becks started across, Garrett walked the muddy ruts toward the river until he came to the chuck wagon.
Holding a strip of jerky in one hand, Boney pushed his flop hat back on his head. “The line’s lookin’ good, Boss.”
Garrett gave him a quick nod. “So far. Just wishin’ this was the last load over and not the first.”
“Me too.” Boney bit off the end of the jerky stick. “There’s no doubt that river crossings have come a long way since your first two trains.”
“They have. Ready-made ferries save time and keep folks and their animals dry.”
Nodding, Boney looked up the line. “You done all you could to prepare the folks, and they look plenty ready to me.”
It seemed so. He hoped so. Garrett glanced at the grub box. “You have any idea what would help sweeten the wait for me?”
A grin widened Boney’s blue eyes. “Doughnuts. That’s why you came to see me?”
“That, and your cheery self.”
“Just happened to save one for you, Boss.” Boney unlatched the box and pulled a sugar-coated doughnut from a sack.
Garrett took a big bite, the sweetness of sugar teasing his tongue. “You’re a good man, Boney.”
“Thanks. But if I didn’t have my cookin’ to make me so well-liked …”
Garrett laughed. “Those skills don’t hurt you none.”
“Speaking of skills …” Boney pushed his flop hat back on his head. “Couldn’t help but see how good you were at teachin’ the widow how to climb onto Anna’s horse Sunday.”
He’d known the teasing would come. “You didn’t have enough work to keep you busy?”
Boney swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “Plenty o’ work. Just lookin’ out for ya.” He glanced up the line at the Kamdens’ wagons. “For you. And for the ladies.”
“Speaking of the ladies, maybe I should shift the order of things … put you on the ferry with the Pembertons.”
“Is Miss Hattie bribin’ you again for my attentions?”
Garrett laughed, earning a grunt from the lead oxen. “You know you like it.”
“I do, actually. Miss Hattie is full of vim and vigor.” He put the last of the jerky in his mouth. “Wouldn’t mind, though, if she didn’t wear such big hats.”
Garrett couldn’t have asked for a better mix of trail hands. Each one brought something different to the Company. He didn’t know Frank very well yet, but he could always count on Boney for good food and a hearty laugh.
“Captain!” Mrs. Davonna Kamden waved both arms.
Garrett popped the last bite of sweetness into his mouth. Licking the sugar from his fingers, he took long strides toward the Conestoga. Ian had a three-legged stool in each hand and was stuffing them through the canvas opening.
“Is there a problem, ma’am?” Garrett asked Mrs. Kamden.
Ian startled, catching a chair leg on the canvas. “Captain?”
“Your mother waved me over.”
Ian shrugged, then freed the chair and continued with his task.
Davonna lifted her chin. “That’s what I want to know, Captain. Is there a problem?”
“Ma’am?”
“Rhoda and Miss Caroline aren’t crossing the river with us.”
“No ma’am.” He bit his bottom lip, asking God for the right words for his explanation. Before meeting Davonna Kamden and Caroline Milburn, he’d never prayed so much. Not since the war, anyway.
“My son said you were sure to have a good reason for separating me from my grandchildren.” She knotted her hands at her thick waist. “I’d like to hear it.”
“Yes ma’am, I do.”
Empty handed, Ian sank onto the wagon seat, giving Garrett his full attention.
Garrett glanced at the Wainwrights’ wagon where Rutherford unlashed a chair from a sideboard. “The Conestoga weighs a lot. And you have a very large family.”
Davonna quirked an eyebrow.
He smiled when a more palatable explanation came to mind. “Ma’am, I thought with Mrs. Wainwright having a child to care for and being with child, and her own dear mother being all the way in Denmark … Well, I thought it would be good for her to have a woman accompany her, and you seemed the perfect choice.”
“Oh.”
“But if you would rather—”
“No. No.” She shook her hands, as if to dismiss her concerns. “I could see where I would be a help to them.”
“Very well.” He may have to apologize to Rutherford and Maren later as the older woman could be a bit fussy, but hopefully she wouldn’t be too smothering.
Mrs. Kamden patted his cheek. “You are a smart man, Captain.”
Ian nodded, grinning, an uncharacteristic feature for his face.
Garrett brushed the brim of his hat then walked toward Caleb and Frank, who stood at the river’s edge in front of the Kamdens’ farm wagon. Rhoda Kamden stood off to one side visiting with Owen’s wife, Sally Rengler. Oliver Rengler had little Maisie Kamden up on his shoulders. Her sweet giggles mingled with Caroline’s soft laugh.
He was smart placing Oliver and Caroline on the ferry together. Oliver would look after her and the children, which was good. So why the pesky niggle in his gut?
Well, it wasn’t jealousy. He wasn’t that childish. Besides, Oliver was more like a kid brother to Caroline than anything else. His discomfort likely had more to do with the fact that he didn’t want to leave Caroline’s side. Sunday she’d rested her hand on his arm and shed tears for him. He wanted to be the one leading the wagon with her. Riding the ferry with her. Waking up next to her. The thought sent heat rushing up his neck.
Thankfully, her attention was drawn to the river. When the paddle wheeler made it to the far shore, the pilot waved the white flag and started chugging back toward them. “It looks as if it’ll be our turn before too long.” Caroline turned to him, stretching a red curl at her neck.
“Uh, yes.” Our turn. Garrett glanced at the gaggle of children at her side then looked into the green eyes that could easily hold him spellbound. “Be safe.”
“I intend to. The children and I are going to look for fish.” She was still fiddling with that curl.
He looked at Duff and his ever-ready rope. “No trying to lasso the fish, buddy.”
“No sir. Mither told me I have to throw my rope into the wagon before we get on.”
“Smart woman. I’ll see you all on the other side, then.” Garrett doffed his hat. “Caroline.”
Absorbing her warm smile, he walked back up the line of wagons. Time to check in with Rutherford and Maren Wainwright, and little Gabi.
Within a couple of hours, several pairs of wagons had safely made it across the river, including the two belonging to the Kamdens. A row of camps had sprouted up on the opposite bank. Boney was right—river crossings weren’t nearly as intimidating as they had been even six years ago.
The Gobens and the Le Beaus were on the ferry now, and the Pembertons and Zanzucchis were up next. All three Zanzucchi boys chased one another with sticks, the youngest wearing a splint on his right arm. Garrett shook his head, his teacher’s voice ringing in his ears. “Boys will be boys, but not in my school they won’t.” At least on the road, the boys had more room to be boys.
And a doctor along to treat broken a
rms.
Alfonzo Jr., the eldest, dashed toward him. “We will go soon, Captain, no?”
“Lord willing. Yes. Yours is the next wagon on the ferry.” Garrett glanced up the line at their wagon and watched as a chair landed at Ermalinda Zanzucchi’s feet in her attempt to lash it to the wagon. Minutes ago, he’d seen the senior Alfonzo headed for the bushes.
He could send the boys to help their mother, but allowing them to expend some of their boundless energy before confining them to the boat seemed the wiser thought. With a few quick strides, Garrett approached Mrs. Zanzucchi. The petite woman spoke to the chair as if it understood Italian, her hands active in the conversation.
“Ma’am?”
He had yet to see her without a soiled apron. “Ah, Capitano.” She looked at the chairs, rose onto her tiptoes, and glanced at her worn shoes. “I too wee.” She spread her fingers and lowered her hand in increments.
“Too short. Yes.” She smelled of tomato and oregano. “Please. Let me help.” He rescued the chair from the ground and from the scolding. When he’d finished lashing the last chair onto the side of the Zanzucchis’ wagon, Garrett turned back toward the river.
“Anna!”
Distant screams and whinnies followed Caleb’s piercing cry.
“Captain!” Frank ran to the water’s edge.
Garrett followed close behind, nearly tripping over Caleb’s saddle, left on the shore. “What in the blazes is happening?”
“Don’t know, Boss,” Frank said.
The Pemberton and Zanzucchi families flanked them at the river’s edge.
Caleb’s Tennessee Pacer kicked through the river toward the ferry with him on its back, already twenty yards out from shore.
“I heard a commotion on the ferry.” Charles Pemberton’s hand rested on his sister’s shoulder. “Then the screams started.”
“Me and Caleb heard it too.” Frank raised his arms. “He yanked the saddle off his horse and took off before I knew what he was doing. Rode the shore, then went in downstream from the ferry.”
Garrett shielded his eyes from the sun, straining for a better look. One of the wagons hung off the edge of the flat deck. Garrett looked at Frank. “Eight and the pilot on board.”
