It wasn’t like she’d planned to go out. She’d only decided to attend the meeting after the confrontation with Jack. She’d spent the bulk of the day avoiding the man. For that matter, she’d avoided Jewell as well, spending most of the time in the room she shared with Mary and Cora. The keepsakes she’d kept from Aunt Inez’s trunk were now well polished and organized. She’d cleaned each one, bringing back the good memories of her world before the darkness of war. The mother-of-pearl cameo hung around her neck, swinging between her shirtwaist and her cape, calming her with each step. Aunt Inez had never married, fancied herself an independent woman. Caroline was drawing confidence from the memories of her aunt … until she heard wagon wheels slowing behind her.
Her pulse quickened. Perhaps this wasn’t a good idea, after all. She lengthened her stride.
“Caroline?”
Hattie Pemberton’s voice relaxed her like a warm blanket placed over her shoulders, and she turned to greet her friend. Hattie’s brother, Charles, held the reins while Hattie sat in the backseat of the surrey with Anna.
“Mrs. Milburn.” Charles doffed his bowler, obviously dressed in his Sunday best for the meeting. “Wherever are you going this time of day?”
She frowned at his scolding tone. “I imagine it’s the same place you’re headed.”
“The Western House?”
“Yes. To the Boone’s Lick Wagon Train Company meeting.”
He glanced behind her. “Your sister and brother-in-law?”
“I’m alone.” The words stung her tongue.
“No, you’re not.” Hattie’s hand fluttered in the glow of her candle lantern. “Join us.” Holding her flowered hat, she scooted to the far edge of the seat.
“I’d like that. Thank you.”
Charles wrapped the reins around the brake lever, stood, and faced her.
Since the wagon was lit, Caroline blew out her candle lantern and handed it up to him. She pinched her skirt, lifting it above her boots, and settled her foot on the step.
Charles offered his hand. “I’m pleased we came along when we did. It’s not safe for a woman to be out at night alone.” The phrase was becoming downright tiresome.
“You can be certain it isn’t my first choice.” Letting go of his hand, she squeezed onto the seat beside Anna. “I do thank you, Mr. Pemberton.”
“I’m happy to oblige.” He seated himself, then turned to look at her. “Please. Call me Charles.”
When they arrived at The Western House Inn, Charles helped them down from the surrey and shooed them inside. “I’ll park the wagon and join you momentarily.”
Hattie didn’t respond. Instead she looked at Caroline, her eyes as wide as turkey platters. “You’re going west?”
“I’m thinking about it.”
Anna’s mouth dropped open. “You are?”
“I have to do something.”
Anna nodded. “That’s how I feel. I talked to my grandfather about making the trip, and he talked to Mr. Cowlishaw earlier today. Doesn’t like crowds, so he told me to find a ride and come.”
Hattie slid her reticule onto her arm and looked at Caroline. “Your sister knows you’re gone? However did you slip away?”
“Jewell knows. Mary told her I was dressing for church instead of for bed.”
Anna tittered. “You do look well put together.”
Proof that looks can indeed be deceiving.
Hattie nodded toward the peacock-feathered creation on Caroline’s head. “Is your hat new?”
“It belonged to my aunt. Jewell said the hat was too gaudy for her.”
“It becomes you.” Stepping to one side, Anna viewed the back. “I may need to use it as a pattern for my collection next winter.”
A young man opened the door and stared at them. When they didn’t budge, he cleared his throat. “Good evening, ladies.” He doffed his hat. Although it had been stripped of its sabers and cord, it was a Union cavalry hat. “You’re here for the meeting, are you?”
“We are indeed, kind sir.” Hattie inched closer to the open door.
“Boney?” Anna pressed her gloved hand to her mouth in a failed attempt to stifle a laugh.
“Since when does The Western House have a butler?” Hattie pressed her gloved finger to her chin. “Or are you standing guard against hostile attack?”
“I work for Garrett Cowlishaw now.” His shoulders squared. “Hired me to work the wagon train.”
Anna jerked her gaze to Caroline. “Forgive our poor manners. Boney, this is our friend, Caroline Milburn.”
“It’s my pleasure to make your acquaintance, ma’am.” His smile revealed a gap between his teeth. “Robert Hughes. My friends call me Boney, and any friend of Anna’s is a friend of mine.”
“Thank you.” She couldn’t help but smile. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“Boney lived in Saint Charles when we were all in school.” Anna looked at Hattie. “He was good friends with our brothers.”
When a line began to form behind the ladies, the charming young man ushered them inside, then leaned toward Anna. “We didn’t have much opportunity to visit the other day. Think we could talk after the meeting?”
Anna’s face paled. “That depends upon my companions. We came together.” She nodded toward Hattie. “Charles escorted us.”
At the mention of Charles’s name, a shadow crossed the young man’s face, piquing Caroline’s curiosity. Was Mr. Hughes sweet on Anna?
Perhaps so. He didn’t seem to notice Hattie’s attentions.
“I don’t mind waiting.” Caroline sidestepped two children in a chase.
When Anna nodded, Mr. Hughes waved them through the door.
The hum of chatter filled the meeting room. Men straddled the benches on either side of three rows of tables. Men and women competed for attention while getting acquainted and talking about wagons and provisions. Children scrambled up and around the aisles between the tables.
If she joined the caravan, she’d be traveling with all these folks. Rowdy children that weren’t her nieces and nephew. For months. What was she thinking?
Caroline had all but convinced herself to leave when Charles walked through the door. Hattie waved her gloved hand, signaling their whereabouts, and Charles escorted them to the second table in the far row. Seating herself on the end of a bench, Caroline glanced to the single table at the front of the room. Garrett Cowlishaw stood fumbling with a stack of paper, dressed in the style of a frontiersman, not of the dandified leaders of the city. Four men of varying size and age stood beside him.
Anna’s lean friend—Caroline wasn’t sure she could politely call a man Boney—sprinted toward the front, joining the other men. That’s when Garrett looked up. His ready smile quickly faded, his brow pinched.
“Here! Here!” The thunder-boom voice belonged to a bear-sized man.
The klatsches dispersed and folks scurried to fill nearly every bench seat in the room.
“Let us commence this meeting for the assembly of a train headed west.” As the crowd quieted, Garrett looked everywhere but at her. “This expedition brings with it hardship and heartbreak. Only the most committed among you should consider making the passage.” Yet another side to this Confederate-soldier-turned-wagon-train-leader. In charge. Confident. “Everyone will be expected to grant aid and support to each of the members of this undertaking, including tending the sick and burying the dead.”
A woman behind her gasped.
“I have printed lists of required provisions and equipment for each family present.” He waved the stack of paper. “You will be expected, at a minimum, to procure these provisions. I will leave several copies of the list at Heinrich’s Dry Goods store. Johann Heinrich, the shopkeeper, will be ordering in anticipation of your need.”
“You got wheel grease on your list?” The question came from the back of the room.
Caroline looked that direction. Mrs. Kamden waved at her from beside the man, apparently her wheelwright son.
�
��I do. With instructions and information on taking care of wagons and wagon wheels on the trail.” Garrett raked the dark blond waves above his ear. “Furthermore, my men and I will inspect every rig for its worthiness for the trip. Have the doctor check your livestock and your team.” Men mumbled while Garrett ran his finger down the stack of papers in his hand. “Be sure to have a Last Will and Testament done and filed at the state capitol.”
Caroline’s breath caught in the collective gasp that rippled through the room. Living in the same house with a man who didn’t want her there suddenly seemed much less of a hardship.
A woman in the next row tugged her husband’s coat sleeve while rattling off in French. Three young boys and a girl about Hattie’s age squirmed beside her. “Mister Cowlishaw, your gloom and doom is scarin’ my wife, it is.” He stood, pulling a beret from his head. “I seen there’s miles and miles of fertile land out west. Land o’ plenty. That’s why we go.”
“Any of you interested in joining the Boone’s Lick Wagon Train Company need to know you’re not signing up for a holiday or a picnic.” Garrett seemed to shift his focus to the fresh-faced, well-scrubbed children scattered in the crowd. “The journey is hard on families.”
Another man stood. “Others have made the trip, and they’re picking up gold nuggets right off the ground!”
“I don’t deny there’s wide open spaces and opportunities in the west for farming, cattle ranching, and even gold prospecting, but you take a hundred folks—men, women, and children—two thousand miles on foot through hostile, untamed country, some … many will suffer illness. There will be deaths. I’ve seen the markers … fresh-dug graves.” He paused until the murmurs quieted. “I will be regarded as captain of this expedition and my decisions and guidance will be for the benefit of the entire assembly. My men here”—he regarded the five men flanking him—“will provide assistance where needed. But we will all be expected to assist one another in this endeavor. Undue burdens cannot be tolerated, as they will be a burden to all. Heavy objects such as pianos are best sold before departure.”
“What about bathtubs?” The bearded man seated across the table from Caroline looked at his wife, now the color of Christmas bows.
“No bathtubs. No kitchen cupboards. Not if you want your mules and oxen to survive. Not to mention the wagons. My men’ll bring the provisions lists to the tables.” The capable captain dispersed the lists among his men. “There’s a roster here on the table.” He pointed to an inkwell and paper. “You plan on going with us, you’ll need to sign up on the roster.”
Caroline watched Robert Hughes saunter toward their row. She had her money from Aunt Inez and could make do with very little. She’d be traveling with a big group, many of them friends from the quilting circle. She was no longer a wife expecting to start a family. She needed a fresh start. Opportunities to teach. A renewed purpose.
And she now had no doubt Garrett Cowlishaw was a leader who could get her there.
Ten
Garrett watched his men deliver lists of provisions to each table, forcing himself to avoid looking in the direction of the second table in the far left row. Why was Caroline Milburn in attendance at his Boone’s Lick Wagon Train Company meeting? He’d heard for himself from her sister that the family had no intention of leaving Saint Charles. Probably only came to accompany her friends, or out of curiosity. Certainly wouldn’t blame her for wanting to leave that house for an evening’s respite.
When folks started flooding to the front, he had them form a line at the sign-up roster. From the looks of it, they could have fifteen or more wagons going. Wouldn’t want many more than that. Garrett seated himself on a bench behind the table and pulled the quill from the inkwell.
Rutherford tentatively signed up for his family—Maren, Gabi, and Mrs. Brantenberg. A Mr. and Mrs. Kamden, with five children and his mother, enlisted for the trip. A big group—good thing the man intended to take two wagons. The Rengler brothers and their family. And ten or more other families. Others stepped up to say they were still thinking on it.
He could no longer avoid Caroline Milburn, for she now stood on the other side of the table looking as handsome as she did at the wedding.
“Mr. Cowlishaw.” Even formal, his name sounded like a song on her lips. Out at the farm, they’d agreed to call one another by their given names, but now they were in public.
He stood. “Mrs. Milburn.” She held a paper, presumably a provisions list, at her side.
“That was quite an impressive speech you gave.”
“Thank you.” The compliment warmed his ears, and he felt his resolve to leave Saint Charles and the complex widow begin to weaken. Again.
When she reached for the pen in the inkwell, he laid his hand on her arm.
She stilled, her green eyes widening. But she didn’t object or pull away.
“Given your brother-in-law’s condition, do you really think he could make the trip?”
“I don’t. My sister has not changed her mind about going.” She drew in a deep breath. “I’m not here on their behalf.”
She’d waited at the end of the line. There was no one with her, or behind her. “Someone else asked you to sign the roster in their absence?”
Clearing her throat ever so modestly, Caroline stared at his hand, still resting on her arm.
He withdrew his hold on her and shoved his hand into his trouser pocket.
“I’m signing for myself. I’m going west.”
His heart pounding, he fought to keep his voice calm. “You’re not.”
“Pardon me?”
He gripped the edge of the table. “My apologies. What I mean is … with whom would you travel?”
“Myself, and judging by that long wait to get up here, I’d say dozens of other folks.”
His throat went dry. He swallowed hard. “You’re single.”
“Widowed.” Her eyes narrowed, a brighter green than he’d seen them. “What does that have to do with this?”
“Everything.” A vein in his neck pulsed. “Single women have no place on the trail.”
“I have several friends intending to go. Maren, Mrs. Brantenberg, Anna Goben—”
“The sea offers more comfortable travel and doesn’t take much longer.”
“I don’t wish to travel by ship.” She pressed her fingertips to the table. “I want to provision a wagon and make the trip with people I know.”
“You can’t go!”
Her shoulders squared.
He pulled the roster from the table. “I’m the captain, and—”
“What you say goes.” She crinkled the provisions list. “Even if it’s wrong. Unfair. And vindictive.” She spun around and marched toward the door.
Vindictive? Someone had to be sensible. Certainly wouldn’t be her … thinking she could up and drive a wagon through hill and dale, mile after mile.
Boney joined him at the table and let out a low whistle. “Looks to me like you’ve got lady trouble.”
“Not anymore.” Garrett glanced toward the stiff-backed redhead. “She’s a war widow. Told her she couldn’t take a wagon west by herself.”
“Sounds to me like she might have something to prove.”
“Well, she won’t do it on my watch.” He’d have his hands full with all the young uns riding along. Didn’t need her distracting him … worrying him.
Caroline didn’t bother to mind a ladylike pace. Her neck burning under the heat of ire, she marched toward Anna, who stood alone near the back.
If Caroline had her druthers, she’d walk straight out the door, not look back. But she didn’t have a say in anything. She was a widow, and that changed everything. Without a man, she couldn’t go west. Not in a wagon, anyway. On a ship, she’d have no escort. No friends accompanying her.
And no Garrett Cowlishaw in sight.
That suddenly seemed reason enough not to go on the caravan come spring. Four months with that man would be more burdensome than fording rivers or facing a bear. Six months unde
r his leadership would be the death of her.
“You look like you’ve swallowed a frog.” Concern narrowed Anna’s blue eyes. “You told Mr. Cowlishaw you wanted to add a wagon to the train, did you? What did he say?”
“No.” She refused to follow Anna’s gaze to the man. Whatever she did, she wouldn’t give Garrett Cowlishaw the satisfaction that he’d won his first battle as captain of the company. “He said no.”
Anna didn’t look the least bit surprised. She opened her mouth as if to say something, then closed it.
“Mr. Cowlishaw doesn’t want widows on the trail.”
“He said that?” Anna’s eyebrows arched.
Guilt dried Caroline’s mouth. “Not in those words, exactly.” She moistened her lips. “But he did say a single woman couldn’t travel alone … in her own wagon. He thinks every woman going should have a man.” Grudgingly, she did too. Elsa Brantenberg had Rutherford. Mrs. Kamden had her son. Anna had her grandfather.
All options she didn’t have.
“Life’s not that easy.” Anna’s statement carried a wistfulness that Caroline understood.
She knew Anna expected the trip to invigorate her grandfather’s spirit and pull her family together.
Caroline swung her shoulders, settling her cape. She wouldn’t be a wet blanket putting a damper on her friend’s hopes. “Speaking of men, has Mr. Hughes talked to you yet?”
“Ha! Mr. Hughes. I can’t make myself think of him so formally. My brother called him Boney.” Anna shook her head. “Not yet. But he’s busy talking with Mr. Cowlishaw right now.”
“No doubt about addle-headed women who don’t take the dangers of the trail seriously and think they have the constitution to make the trip west.”
“We can leave any time Charles is ready.” Anna looked about the room. “Have you seen him or Hattie? Boney and I can catch up on another day.”
“Yoo-hoo, Mrs. Milburn.”
Caroline’s shoulder’s tensed. She was hardly in the mood for polite conversation, but she turned toward the familiar voice anyway. Mrs. Kamden waved a gloved hand and rushed toward her, the littlest of her five grandchildren in tow.
Mona Hodgson - [Quilted Hearts 03] Page 6
