The Man from Shenandoah

by Marsha Ward

  “Ah, don’t cry on me, sweetie-pie,” Carl pleaded with her, alarmed at her tears. “I ain’t had much practice with crying women.” In his discomfort, Carl began to smooth her hair and wipe the tears from her eyes. He felt clumsy and bumbling, and tried to kiss her forehead in apology.

  Ida shut her eyes and tipped back her head, a little shudder moving her body. With her motion, Carl’s lips accidentally met hers, and he kissed her gently. She responded with fiery hunger, and a shock went through the young man’s system as he realized that she had led him into a trap.

  He rose to his feet and pulled her to hers, alarm battling with the stirring in his blood. “We have to go back,” he insisted firmly. “I should have looked after the team by now.”

  Ida picked up a rock and flung it into the water, then stiffly followed him to camp.

  Chapter 10

  “Rule, let James do that lifting,” Rod instructed. “You don’t want to tear nothing loose.” The two brothers splashed through the water to change places at the rear of the wagon. “Get set with that wheel, son. On the count of three.”

  James and Carl gathered their limbs beneath them, and at the count, they lifted the wagon atop their backs and Rulon added the wheel to the new axle. Rod placed the pin in the hub and secured it, and the younger men eased the wagon down.

  “Glad that’s done, Pa,” James wheezed. “It must be supper time.”

  Rod laughed. “Likely. You boys put the tools away and load the wagon, and I’ll go see if your ma is ready to feed a bunch of hungry wolves. We’ll be on our way first thing tomorrow morning.”

  “Thanks, Pa,” Rulon rubbed raw knuckles. “Next time I cross the country, I’ll make sure I have a prime wagon.”

  “Or bring a spare axle,” Carl added.

  Soon the men had the tools and the waterlogged wagon out of the creek, then set about gathering Mary’s wide-strewn belongings and restoring them to the vehicle. Afterward, they scattered to prepare for supper.

  “Mary,” Rulon called to his wife from the far side of the stream. “Look here. Our things are back together.”

  Mary picked her way over a path of rocks that Albert had put in the stream for the use of the ladies and the children. “Oh,” she sighed. “That’s better. And Ma and Pa are back with us. I reckon I can rest peaceful this night.”

  Rulon drew her to his side and walked her behind the wagon. “Are you feeling poorly?” he asked, his voice low.

  “No, but I been so worried about my folks and our wagon. Now those cares are swept away.” She took his arm. “Rulon?”

  “Yes?”

  “Are we close to where we’re going?”

  He sat her down on a barrel that had been left beside the wagon, got his shirt from the wagon seat, and slowly put it on. “I’m sorry, Mary. We got a fair piece yet to travel.”

  Mary placed her hands on the middle of her bulging abdomen and smoothed her apron over the roundness. “I can’t keep doing this, going, and stopping, and traveling on, every day of my life, Rulon. We got to find a place to stop and stay.”

  He caught one of her hands and lifted it to his lips. “I know it’s hard on you, but it can’t be helped. We got to keep going. This place ain’t Colorado yet.” He put her hand on his chest, over his heart, and held it there.

  “Does it have to be Colorado?” She took back her hand.

  “It does if we’re going to settle around our kin, Mary.” He stroked her cheek. “Don’t you think that’s worth a little discomfort?”

  “Will I ever have a home? Before I bear this child?”

  Rulon’s forehead furrowed and he stooped over her. “Are you feeling pains?”

  “No, no. That’s months away, but will we be there before that time comes?”

  He patted her shoulder. “Pa thinks another four weeks should see us into the Territory. You can hold out that long, can’t you, honey-babe?”

  “I want a bed I can lie in and rest my bones. It appears you want the same.” A flicker of a smile touched her lips, then retreated. “Will this journey ever end?”

  He pulled her gently to her feet and enfolded her in his arms, stroking her hair. “You’ll feel better after supper. That’ll put some spunk into you.”

  Mary smiled and closed her eyes. “I just want some rest,” she whispered.

  ~~~

  Several days after the fire, Rod directed the weary travelers to set up camp beside Diamond Springs, where water flowed from a hollow rock.

  When the evening meal was done and they lay in their blankets beneath the wagon, Julia asked Rod, “When are you going to make your peace with Rand Hilbrands?”

  “He owes me the first word of apology,” he mumbled.

  “The way I see it, both of you were wrong. He divided us, but you didn’t see the attack coming.”

  “But I did, Julia. If I’d had the man-power, the sentries, we wouldn’t have been surprised.”

  “So you keep thinking that, and put off healing this wound in our people?”

  “Julie. It’s not that way.”

  “You’re a fine, strong man, Rod, and you served well in the war, but you can’t court martial your friends because they make mistakes.” She sought his hand with hers, and squeezed it. “Rand is a good man. Make peace with him.”

  “You’re a wonder, woman. What do you know of court martial?”

  “Being a woman doesn’t make me stupid, Rod.”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “Well, I’m not ignorant, either, but that’s beside the point. I want your promise.”

  “Julie!”

  “Rod, I mean it.”

  “I reckon you’re in the right,” he muttered a minute or two later, giving in. “We ought to live in harmony…for the next month, at least.” He snorted. “To keep the peace, I’ll do it.”

  “Thank you.” She squeezed his hand again.

  He turned over and looked at her in the quavering light of the dying fire. “I missed you.” He carried her hand to his lips.

  “What?”

  “All that time I was gone. I missed my woman, my helpmeet, my wife.”

  She stirred in the blankets, moving against him. “Times were hard,” she replied.

  “Not anymore.” His arm slipped around her waist. “Do you love me?”

  “Forever and always, Rod Owen.”

  “That’s a long time.”

  “Even when you’re a stubborn, mule-headed man,” she whispered, then laughed softly, deep in her throat. “Who would’ve known this quilt would cover us twenty-five years.”

  He kissed her, then growled, “Shut up, woman.”

  Julia laughed again.

  ~~~

  At Turkey Creek they ran out of firewood.

  “Jonathan Holmes warned me this day would come,” Rod chuckled when the women brought the lack to his attention. “From here on we gather these here things.” He turned over a dry, flattened circle of matter with his boot-tip. “It’s called a buffalo chip, and it’ll burn quick and hot. But you’ll need plenty, for they ain’t much more than grass.”

  Amanda Hilbrands protested. “Why, that’s just—It’s not fitting for fuel,” she finished. Robert Campbell and Joshua O’Connor laughed, and Amanda turned to glare at them. “And you’ll be the first to gather them,” she declared.

  The “gather” was made, gingerly, that first day, but continued without further thought as time went on. Then after days of travel, the party reached the Great Bend of the Arkansas River. Ed Morgan lost the frown he’d carried since the skirmish at the creek, whooped, and threw his hat into the air at the sight of the river after so much dry land.

  “Look at them trees.” Little Catherine Campbell gave a great sigh. “No buffalo chips tonight.”

  Cottonwood trees grew in profusion on the little islands in the middle of the river, so Rod sent several of the men and older boys wading over to the nearest island to chop enough wood for a two-night stay.

  “All this wood and water does my
heart good,” he told them all before the supper began. “We’ll have singing and dancing tonight.”

  They set up camp on a sandy yellow ridge several hundred yards from the river. Swarms of small bugs filled the air and bit whatever exposed flesh they landed on, and snakes rustled in the grass around the camp, but the abundance of water made these nuisances bearable.

  Albert Owen and Andy Campbell beat the brush with long sticks and shot all the snakes they could find. They took their trophies home. Their mothers, gritting their teeth, took the reptiles, skinned them, cut them up, and threw them into the supper-pots.

  After the dishes had been washed and put away, out came the instruments. Edward Morgan’s fiddle lacked the low G-string, but he played a merry tune, his fingers flying up and down the remaining three strings.

  James produced a small metal object. “This here’s a jaws-harp my buddy taught me to play. I was obliged to take it from his pocket before the fall of Richmond.” He stopped for a moment. “He had no further use for it.” He ducked his head and wiped his nose.

  Andy Campbell polished up an old harmonica and introduced the travelers to some of the songs he used to entertain the stock as he drove it along.

  “Let’s dance with everybody tonight,” Rod exhorted. “Have a good time, and don’t let any girl sit too long.”

  The music was lively, and Carl was right in the middle of the crowd, trying to get to Ida, but enjoying a dance with his sister Marie. He claimed Ida for the next dance, but at one point, Tom Morgan, Edward’s eldest son, swept by and caught Ida in the exchange of partners, and Carl found himself dancing with Ellen Bates.

  Carl grinned at the redheaded girl, relaxed, and forgot Ida for a while. Recalling the last time they had spoken, he bent and whispered in Ellen’s ear. “How was that bit of candy I brought you?

  She smiled up at him. “It was wondrous sweet.” Then she fell silent once more as Carl led her into the next step.

  The music died, and Ellen smiled again. “I saved some candy to share with you. It’s over in the wagon.”

  “Lead the way,” he said, laughing. Carl went to the big campfire, took a long stick that was blazing at one end, and used it to light their path to the Bates’ wagon as the dancing resumed behind them.

  Ida saw him go, stamped her foot, and glared after his departing back, but he didn’t catch any of the reproach sent his way.

  Ellen went around to the dark side of the wagon and stepped up onto the wagon tongue. “I need a little boost,” she said.

  Carl lifted her up, and she climbed over the seat, then disappeared into the darkness under the wagon cover. He heard her moving around, and soon she poked her head out of the opening and smiled.

  “I have it.” She held up the small twist of paper, then slipped it into her skirt pocket. Climbing once more over the seat, she stepped to the edge of the wagon box.

  Before he could reach out to help her down, Ellen tripped, and dropping the torch into the sand, Carl caught her, going down on his back to break her fall. For a brief moment he held her to him, feeling the quick, hard beating of her heart against his chest.

  “Oh! Please…I,” she stammered, blushing in the wavering torchlight. She struggled out of his arms, whispering, “I’m sorry, I had no thought to—Oh lawsy!” Then she would have fled into the sand hills, but Carl grabbed her hand as he got to his feet.

  “Wait.” He stopped her flight. “It was an accident. No harm done.” Taking her by the shoulders, he sensed the fluttering of her heart as she shivered with embarrassment. “Don’t go.” He reached out to pull a leaf from her hair. Brushing the red gold strands with his fingertips caused a hot sensation to rush through his blood.

  “What about the candy?” He felt the sand, the bank, the earth shift under his feet, and wondered if her lips were as soft as they looked. Longing to touch them, he fought for control as she recovered the sweets from the depths of her pocket. With a shaking hand she held out a piece of the candy, and he took it and bit off a small chunk.

  Chewing slowly, he watched the shadows flicker over her grave face. The torch sputtered out in the sand, and she shivered in the darkness.

  “It seems you’re always saving my life.” Her voice sounded thin and shaky, as though someone were squeezing her throat and shaking her by the shoulders at the same time. She shivered again. “Thank you.”

  The music started up and Ellen turned to listen. “We best go back to the fire.”

  “Stay a minute. We’ve missed a dance or two already.” He took her hand.

  “No!” She pulled loose, and turning, left him.

  “Ellen,” he whispered, but she was gone, and her leaving brought a sharp ache to his soul. He followed, stomach churning in turmoil, and as he stepped into the firelight, he glanced around. Ellen was nowhere to be seen. At the far side of the party, Ida laughed merrily at James and Tom Morgan. The latter young man took her hand and led her off to dance.

  Carl walked over to Marie and startled her by whirling her off balance into his arms. She stumbled a little as he moved her into the dance, but he helped her to recover, and gripped her hands tightly in his, fighting both anger and guilt that rose in him.

  “Carl!” Marie tried to free her hands. “What ails you? You’re hurting my hands.”

  Surprised, he loosened his grip. “Sorry,” he mumbled.

  ~~~

  Later, as Carl sat on a stool someone had placed in the shadows by a wagon, resting his feet from the unaccustomed labor of the dance, he sensed someone beside him, and he turned his head, whispering, “Ellen?”

  “Not hardly,” replied James, speaking low. The younger man massaged his left shoulder with his right hand.

  “Are you weary?” Carl got up from the stool and motioned for James to sit.

  “I don’t need that. I want to talk to you, brother.” James paused and flexed his left arm.

  “Shoulder bothering you?”

  “Not nearly as much as it might later,” James said, and Carl shivered a bit at the menace in his voice.

  “You said you wanted to talk. Do it.”

  “I saw Miss Ellen a piece back, and she didn’t look very happy. Fact is, she looked like a mule run over her, she was that white and fearful looking.” James stopped talking and moved closer to Carl. “That was just after you took her out back of the wagons, brother.”

  Carl turned to face James. “Meaning?”

  “What did you do to put that face on her?” He held his crumpled fist in front of Carl’s face.

  Carl flushed, remembering. “It ain’t your business, James.”

  “I’m here to remind you it is. You have you a girl you’re going to marry—Miss Ida Hilbrands. Miss Ellen is betrothed to me. Stay clear of her.” James jabbed Carl’s chest lightly with his fist every few words. His face blazed red in the glow from the campfire.

  “What do you want with Ellen? You don’t love her.” Carl sneered.

  James hit him in the belly, hard enough to double him over. “That’s ‘Miss Ellen’ to you,” his low voice continued, harshly, as Carl remained curled over, guilt constraining him from throwing a punch of his own. “Pa set up the match against my will, but you don’t have my leave to break it. Keep your distance.”