by Merry Farmer
If anything, the reverend’s eyes grew round with fear. “Um, wha… what of it?”
John fought to keep his expression neutral, adjusted his glasses, thrust his hands in his pockets. Anything to look harmless and unintimidating. “Counseling them not to fight?” he suggested.
A flash of anxiety lit the reverend’s eyes. “Yes. That’s it. C-counseling them to walk a more godly path. If you’ll excuse me.” He began to walk on.
“Do you know what they were fighting over?” John stopped him before he could get far. “What they were looking for?”
“P-peace,” Reverend Joseph answered. “They were looking for what we’re all looking for. Just a bit of peace at the end of a struggle. Good day to you.”
He rushed on before John could stop him again. John shook his head and continued on to his and Callie’s wagons. He’d spent half the day making conversation and asking questions, and all he had to show for it was more questions. That and a growing itch to embrace Callie as his wife in truth and to love her the way a man should love a woman. Both problems weighed heavily on his mind.
He walked on with a weary grin and a laugh. One of his problems would be much more entertaining to resolve than the other, but he was determined to tackle both.
Chapter Twelve
Callie was relieved when Mr. Evans deemed that the wagons were in good enough shape to move on the next day. Leaving the site of so much turmoil lifted a weight from her shoulders and raised her spirits. Those spirits were dented a bit a few days later when her friend Emma Sutton decided to stay behind at an abandoned way station with her mother and Dr. Meyers so that her injured leg could heal, but the sadness at parting didn’t last long.
“I feel like we’re getting somewhere at last,” she told John a week after the storm, as they lumbered on. The scenery wasn’t all that different, but seeing it move by felt like progress. Sitting by John’s side on the wagon’s seat while he guided their oxen onward with a long whip felt like progress too.
“Denver City is still a long way off,” he said, sending her a quick smile, “but yes, it does feel like we’re getting somewhere.”
That smile, so familiar to her now, was the most thrilling progress of all. Whatever the storm had done to John, Callie welcomed it. She felt it in the warmth of his smile, in the new energy about him as he tinkered with their wagons or helped out their neighbors. She could sense it when they slept side by side at night, his breath soft against her neck. She should have been sleeping much better with the safety and comfort of him with her, but every night, when his arm closed around her, her body ached with restlessness. It was bittersweet and confusing.
“Do you know how much longer we’ll be?” she asked as the pulsing memory of those curious feelings washed over her.
John shrugged. “A couple of weeks? Maybe more?”
“Ugh, I hope not more.”
He laughed and reached over to pat her knee. “We’ll get there.”
Prickles of excitement zipped up her leg to the heart of her, like a mystery eager to be solved.
She knew the endless traveling, the restless expectation, would end someday, but that day seemed a long way off. She just wanted to keep going. When they stopped a few days later for Sunday, she was more annoyed than relieved for the rest.
“Don’t you think we’ve stopped enough?” She complained to Mrs. Weingarten as the two of them made a special breakfast for the Sabbath.
Mrs. Weingarten laughed, her wrinkled face shining with affection. “My dear Callysta, not everyone has your stamina for traveling.”
“It’s not stamina,” Callie sighed. “I just… just…. I just want to get there.”
John sat talking to Mr. Weingarten and his son as Callie and Mrs. Weingarten worked. He glanced up and grinned at Callie as he heard her. She smiled back with a blush that swept her from face to chest to toes. John was a part of her destination as much as Denver City. She ached to solve that riddle too.
Nothing was going to be solved and no goals were going to be reached that morning. With a sigh, Callie looked around the camp to see what everyone else was doing. Cooking, chatting, repair work, sewing, playing. All the things that marked a settled camp. Boring trail routine. Her gaze swung back around to Mrs. Weingarten. The older woman watched her with a grin and a knowing glimmer in her eyes.
“What?” Callie smoothed a hand back over her face, worried she’d gotten flour on her nose while making biscuits.
“I saw you peeking at your husband just now,” she said, lips quivering, trying not to laugh.
“John?” Callie glanced back over her shoulder at him. He was still deep in discussion with Mr. Weingarten. The morning sun played in his hair, making him seem five years younger. “What of it?”
Mrs. Weingarten gave her a coy shrug. “There’s nothing wrong with a woman making eyes at her husband.”
Callie’s cheeks burned hotter. “I wasn’t making eyes at him,” she whispered.
Again, Mrs. Weingarten shrugged. Callie shifted uneasily and opened her mouth to reply, but Mrs. Weingarten beat her to it with, “Do you think the reverend is planning to lead a service today?”
Callie’s thoughts of John scattered like tumbleweeds. She searched across the humming wagon train to find Reverend Joseph. The reverend had his Bible clutched against his chest as he talked to Elton. Callie couldn’t tell if the reverend was preaching to Elton or if Elton was giving him a piece of his mind. At least Elton hadn’t tried to pester her these last few days. He’d been as busy helping repair wagons as John.
“Ugh, Reverend Joseph’s services are so short and dull.” She focused on the original question.
“Well if they’re dull isn’t it better that they’re short?” Mrs. Weingarten joked.
Callie laughed, “I guess so. For a reverend, he doesn’t seem particularly enthusiastic about sermonizing.”
“Not all men answer the call to lead sermons,” Mrs. Weingarten replied. “Some prefer closer interaction with sinners.”
“Yes, well, there are times when I wonder if our dear reverend likes closer interactions with sinners a little too much.”
As soon as she said it, she felt guilty.
“I’m sorry,” she went on. “That wasn’t fair of me.”
“A slip of the tongue can sometimes reveal the truth,” Mrs. Weingarten replied.
She may have been right, but Callie continued to feel ashamed of herself as she and Mrs. Weingarten finished preparing breakfast. She ate by John’s side in relative silence, telling herself that Reverend Joseph probably did think he could do more good ministering to people individually rather than as a preacher.
Her theory seemed even more true as she sat squirming through that Sunday’s sermon.
“And so, uh, we see that it is of vital importance that we help one another,” Reverend Joseph mumbled along, clearing his throat and shuffling. “God… God has told us to help one another. And just as important is, um, that we ask for help when we need it so we can, as it were, allow for neighborliness to happen.”
Callie let her attention wander from the poor preaching. She wasn’t used to anything quite so flat. The Quaker meetings she and Greg had grown up attending had been so much more spontaneous, so much more involved and personal. She caught herself wondering what Catholic mass was like, what John was used to. Although as he sat beside her on the bench, Callie had a feeling his mind was wandering. She wondered if it was wandering to Shannon.
The thought struck her out of nowhere, sending a clammy coldness down her spine. John hadn’t mentioned Shannon in the last few days, but now that she thought about it, maybe he had. He had told her all about working in his father’s store just the day before, about the picnic on the beach some of the employees had once invited him to. Shannon had been one of those employees. The other night, when the moon was full, he had recounted the story of sneaking out once with a girl to watch the stars from a hilltop. Had that been Shannon as well? She wondered if he had been thinking about her at night when h
e grew warm, if that’s what his body was reacting to.
The thought grabbed hold of her. It took a large amount of effort to force herself to pay attention to Reverend Joseph. He was reading from the Bible now, a story about the Children of Israel wandering in the wilderness. Once again, he wasn’t reading from his own Bible. Other members of the wagon party were reading along with him. Callie wondered if she should feel self-conscious for not having an open Bible in her lap. Her wandering gaze tripped across Elton. Even he had a Bible, although his wasn’t open. He held his tightly in his hands as he stared stoically at the reverend.
Callie blinked. Actually, he held the reverend’s Bible. And the reverend kept glancing anxiously at him.
“A-amen.” Reverend Joseph bowed his head and ended his reading. “And now… let’s sing a hymn.”
One of the older women who had been serving as a song leader immediately stood and launched into “Shall We Gather at the River.” Callie knew enough of the song at this point to follow along as she and John stood along with everyone else. Reverend Joseph shuffled his way over to Elton and the two began whispering. Callie didn’t like the feeling it gave her and promptly pushed it away from her thoughts as the hymn came to an end and the gathering broke up.
“What are Catholic services like?” She asked John as they ambled back over to their wagons and got out a few things to make lunch.
“Mass?” He scratched his head and checked to see if the fire they were sharing with two other couples needed any attention. He shrugged. “A lot of sitting, a lot of praying, a lot of Latin. It depends on who’s giving the homily, I guess.”
“Do you know anything about the Catholic churches in Denver City?”
“I know that there is one,” he came around to help Callie slice bread and pour tea.
“I guess we’ll find out.”
He straightened at her words and gave her a smile. “So you’re planning on coming to mass with me, are you?”
Callie shrugged. “Yes, why not?”
His smile widened a bit but he didn’t reply. He took out their plates and they started building a meal. Several long minutes of silent work passed between them. Callie heated some pea soup that had been made a few days before and doled it out into bowls to go along with their bread and some decidedly less fresh cheese. They sat to eat, but Callie’s thoughts were still full and anxious.
“Was Shannon Catholic?”
The vague, pinched look her name evoked clouded John’s eyes. “Yes, she was.”
He was silent for several more seconds. Then his expression melded to something more thoughtful, curious even. He glanced to Callie, but remained silent. Callie wasn’t sure how to interpret his look. Was it a comparison of some sort? She hoped she didn’t fall short.
There wasn’t time to get to the bottom of John’s thoughts or to ask more about the Catholic church or Shannon. After cleaning up lunch, there was work to do. Callie had laundry to take care of—always laundry to take care of—and clothes to patch, and John found a few things that needed attention on their wagons. The afternoon was humid and oppressive, and by mid-afternoon Callie didn’t feel like talking or thinking or moving at all. She should probably have been making more bread since they were running low, but she couldn’t bring herself to work near the fire. She decided to air out all of their pillows and blankets instead. They were heavy, and lifting them up over the line that she’d tied around the wagon was just as hot and backbreaking as cooking.
“Can I help you, Mrs. Rye?”
In her surprise at being spoken to by Reverend Joseph, she fumbled the quilt she’d been trying to hang. The reverend rushed to pick it up.
“Thank you, Reverend Joseph.” Callie smiled, taking one side of the quilt as he handed it to her. Together they lifted it up, and Callie secured it with clothespins so it could air. John was busy mending a loose board near the seat of one of their wagons. He gave the reverend a quick glance, checked with Callie, then went back to work when he saw she was fine.
“I… I hope you were paying attention to my… my sermon this morning, Mrs. Rye,” the reverend made conversation as Callie shook out one of the pillows, plumping the feathers.
“I was,” she said.
He took her at her word, nodding solemnly. Poor thing was nervous. Callie wondered if he was used to talking to women. She’d heard that some men joined the ministry because they were uncomfortable with women.
“Then you listened to how important it is for neighbors to help one another in times like these,” he went on.
“Yes I did.” Callie reached to fasten the pillow to the clothesline next to the quilt and bent over to pick up the thick bedroll.
Reverend Joseph waited expectantly, watching her. She didn’t realize he was waiting so anxiously until it began to feel awkward. She stopped what she was doing and glanced to him.
“So if there’s anything I can help you with,” he went on as if the conversation had been smooth as silk. “Anything damaged on the trail that might need fixing?”
Callie blinked. His offer made her squirm.
“No,” she began hesitantly. She didn’t like the wild look in his eyes that was at total odds with the smile on his face. “John and I have done quite well for ourselves. We’ve been luckier than most.”
For a moment the reverend looked forlorn. “Nothing that needs… fixing at all? Dented, for example. If you have anything dented, I can hammer it out and… and fix it.”
“No.” Callie smiled. She told herself that she felt sorry for the awkward young man, but if she was being honest, she just wanted him to go. “Thank you for your help with this, Reverend Joseph.”
She needed to get back to work, and turned to resume her task as quickly and subtly as she could. The reverend hovered for several more moments before reluctantly shuffling off.
Callie frowned as she thought about the interchange while she worked. John finished up his repair and walked back to where she had draped the bedroll over the wagon wheel.
“Did the reverend need something?” he asked.
She finished with the bedroll, sighed, and turned to him, brushing her hands on her skirt. “He said he wanted to help.”
“With what?”
She shrugged. “Anything we needed help with.”
John frowned, scratching his head, his expression as puzzled as she felt. She knew that something was wrong about the otherwise kind offer, but she couldn’t put her finger on what it could be.
Callie might have been on to something with her charming, restless need to keep moving. By the time lunch was finished and the afternoon sun beat down, baking the prairie, John was ready to move on himself. There was a whole life waiting for him, and it was time he got on with it. Of course, that life was also right there with him.
“I’ve been told there’s a particularly good swimming hole down near the river,” he approached her once all of their lunch things were tucked away. “Do you want to walk down there and take a bath?”
“Yes!” Callie sighed in delight. “It’s been ages since I’ve had a full, genuine bath. Since Ft. Kearny, really.”
Her enthusiasm had his heart beating faster. What else could he get her to feel enthusiastic about? “Let’s go enjoy ourselves,” he said with a smile.
They gathered soap and towels and headed down to the river. It was slow near the spot where they’d stopped, with a few large stretches that could be described as swimming holes. As expected, it was crowded with people from the wagon train. Children splashed and played in the shallower water, while young adults swam where out to the deeper, faster moving sections of river. At least half of the wagon train was escaping the heat at the swimming hole.
John led Callie around to the far end, where there were fewer people. It was by no means isolated, but it was quieter. Some of the Weingartens played nearby. Callie shrugged out of her blouse and stepped out of her skirt and petticoats, ignoring the fact that dozens of people could see her in nothing but her chemise and drawers. S
he had done the same the day they were married and John had thought nothing of it. Today he found himself admiring the curve of her shoulders, the sway of her hips, the swell of her breast.
He shook himself out of his thoughts with a laugh and began to undress himself. It was one thing to take pleasure in the sight of his wife’s body, but it was another to do it in public where anyone could see the effect she had on him. He shed his clothes down to his drawers—like most of the rest of the men swimming—and followed Callie to the water’s edge. His plans to stay cool and unaroused crumbled when she glanced at him over her shoulder, grinned, and shook her head as she waded into the water.
“Something funny?” His pulse soared. The sooner he submersed himself in cool water the better.
“Look at us,” she said. The water grew deep at their part of the river, and Callie ducked to kneel on the rocky, muddy bottom. “What ever happened to modesty and propriety?”
John chuckled, handing her the soap and sinking to squat next to her. “Civilization this is not.”
Callie hummed in agreement, then dunked under the water to wet her hair. When she came up, her chemise clung to her chest and droplets of water caught in the sun as they slid down her bare shoulders. As far as John was concerned, modesty and propriety could stay far, far away.
With a low chuckle, he told himself to behave and handed her the soap. She took it with a grateful smile and scrubbed her head.
“I miss regular shampoo,” she said after she’d sudsed and rinsed her long hair as well as she could.
“And I miss shaving soap,” he echoed, washing his face. “Would you object if I grew a beard?”
Callie squinted at him as though trying to imagine what he would look like.
“I don’t see it. But it’s up to you, really.”
He grinned, rubbing the growth on his chin. “You wouldn’t find it too scratchy when I kissed you?”
She flushed. “I… don’t know.”
Ah. There was modesty and propriety. John regretted that the two had decided to make an appearance after all. He would have liked to give kissing a try right then, but he wasn’t going to rush her. As much as he and his very alive body might want to.
