He looked up from his musings only to find Callie had moved on without him. Breaking into a half-run, he caught up with her and started to ask her the questions that were bouncing around in his head.
“Hush,” she ordered. “Not one word. Not one.”
“Hello, the wagons,” Callie hollered, a sweet smile on her face.
“Round front here.” The answer came, as around the corner of the wagon, walked a short, plump woman followed by a short, even plumper, man.
“Hello there,” Callie said. “I’m Callie Collins and this here is my brother Caleb.”
Caleb opened his mouth to greet the couple when he saw Callie’s finger fly to her nose. Her eyes narrowed with an unspoken warning.
Caleb cleared his throat, took a deep breath, and bellowed out a cough that was a close cousin to whooping cough.
The couple took a step back and eyed the boy.
“Caleb, cover your mouth. You know what Ma says about spreading those cold germs,” Callie admonished in what she hoped was a sisterly tone.
“I’m sorry,” Callie apologized. “Caleb fell in the creek a few days ago and took himself a dreadful cold. He’s been coughing so bad he can’t talk. Ma says it’s been real pleasant.” She tilted her head and gave them a shy smile.
“Well, you poor boy. I’m Tillie Dobb and this here’s my husband, Delbert. Delbert Dobb. Now that’s a name you won’t likely forget.” She chuckled and went on, never stopping to take a breath. “Your ma doctoring him? I got some elixir inside the wagon. Make it myself outta blackstrap molasses and oil from the castor bean. Sometimes all it takes is a good laxative to clean the body and get the system a workin’. Used to give it to my boys all the time. Worked. Why they hardly ever took sick. Now Delbert he don’t take to it none and . . .”
“Hush.” Delbert’s quiet voice broke in the tirade with the effectiveness of a fur-wrapped steel trap. Tillie’s head bobbed, and she smiled up at her husband, but her lips remained compressed.
Callie blinked a couple times. Her ears hurt. Tillie Dobbs could talk. No disputing that. Then a thought struck her. With Tillie present, Caleb’s silence wouldn’t be noticed.
“Dobbs,” the man said. “What can I do fer ye?”
“Mr. Dobbs,” Callie said. “Pa sent me and Caleb to inquire and maybe buy the wagon you got for sale.”
Dobbs didn’t answer, but was staring intently at Caleb. “I seed you yesterday,” he said. Mr. Dobbs was the exact opposite of Mrs. Dobbs. He handed his words out like a miser would hand out coin.
Caleb nodded, while casting a furtive look at Callie’s hand. When he saw it start to rise toward her nose, he gave out with another cough.
“You’re right, Mr. Dobbs,” Callie interrupted. “I’m with Caleb this time looking at the wagon with a woman’s eye for my ma. Our folks would have come, but they’ve gone to look at another wagon for sale over by the creek.”
“Another?” Mr. Dobb’s head swung back to Cassie. “Ain’t no wagon as good as this un.”
“Course there ain’t,” Tille broke in, her order for silence forgotten. “Delbert, show them the wagon and if they’re of a mind to buy it, sell it to them. We don’t need two, but we do need the cash money. Ain’t that why you built it? To sell? Well, they ain’t aimin’ to buy no pig in a poke. You wouldn’t either. You take—”
“Hush.” Tillie’s lips compressed in silence, but still she smiled up at her husband.
“Follow me,” Mr. Dobbs said. He swept back the wagon canvas, giving Callie a clear view of the inside.
She gasped. This was her home. It was perfect, everything Caleb said it was and more. It was hers. Well, almost hers. Words caught in her throat. It wouldn’t do to let Mr. Dobbs see how taken she was.
She turned back, hoping her face showed no emotion, and, in a flat voice, said, “It ain’t much, is it, Caleb? I don’t think it has as much room as the one Pa’s looking at today.”
Caleb’s eyes almost bugged out of his head.
“Room,” Mr. Dobbs boomed. “You’re a pea hen, girl. This wagon’s a good ten feet long and five foot at the center. Built it myself and it’ll get to Oregon or California in one piece.”
There was an angry scowl on his face, and Mrs. Dobbs anxiously picked at his sleeve.
“Hmm,” Callie said, oblivious to his outburst. “Caleb, didn’t Ma say she wasn’t wanting a bunch of hooks hanging from the hoops? She said things would just bang around hanging there.”
“Bang. Well, if’n she said that, she don’t know much. Them hooks will come in right handy.” Mr. Dobb’s face was a bright red.
Caleb shuffled his feet and gave a weak cough, hoping to get Callie’s attention. But she was too busy frowning and circling the wagon, looking at it like it was a piece of rotted meat.
She took a deep breath and let it out in a loud sigh. “Caleb, I’m holding that money Pa entrusted you with. The four-hundred dollars.” She nodded at Caleb, and he nodded back, but his eyes were wide with apprehension. Mr. Dobbs looked fit to be tied.
“Mr. Dobbs,” she said sweetly, “I understand you’ve got an extra axle that goes with the wagon”
“I do,” he growled.
“Caleb, what should we do? Pa gave you the go ahead to buy the wagon if you saw fit. They said they’d wait until we caught up with them before they made an offer on the other one.”
She faced Mr. Dobbs and said, “Pa wants the rims made of iron. The other wagon has hickory rims.”
“Course he does,” Delbert Dobbs boomed. “Any man’s got sense would want iron. Like I said, this wagon’s sound.” He glared at her, daring her to dispute it.
“Boy,” he said to Caleb. “You saw this wagon yesterday.”
Caleb nodded, then coughed. He shot a glance at Callie, who gave a small nod.
“Well,” Mr. Dobbs asked, “what’ll it be, boy? You’re the man here. You gonna take a risk on your pa getting stuck with something shoddy made, or you gonna buy my wagon?”
Caleb looked helplessly at Callie. The words were dancing on his lips.
Callie laid one shapely finger against her nose.
Caleb paused. Surely he’d misread her intentions.
Callie gave him a stern look, and gently tapped her finger.
Caleb coughed.
“The rims are steel, Caleb,” Callie said in a thoughtful tone. “And Ma could take the hooks down, I suppose.”
Mr. Dobbs shifted from one foot to another while Mrs. Dobbs remained silent.
At that moment, Callie opened her purse and took out a wad of money. She handed it to Caleb.
“There’s the four hundred, Caleb. I hope you’re doing the right thing. Mr. Dobbs, Pa said that if Caleb decided to buy the wagon, we’d be by tomorrow with our oxen to take it off your hands. He also said he needed a receipt for the sale, but he said you’d know all about that.”
“Course I do. What name do I put on it?” Mr. Dobbs was all business now. He wasn’t about to let this chance slip through his fingers. Other wagon be darned.
“C. Collins,” Callie said. Just make it out to C. Collins.”
Caleb handed the money to Mr. Dobbs, who disappeared inside the other wagon. While he was gone, Callie looked everywhere except at Caleb or Mrs. Dobbs. It was all she could do to restrain from hugging herself. She had oxen. She had a wagon. The words sang through her head like a song.
Mr. Dobbs returned and handed Caleb the folded receipt. Callie glanced over his shoulder as he opened it. Sure enough. Made out to C. Collins.
Caleb smiled, shook Mr. Dobb’s hand, and gave out with one of the loudest coughs Callie had ever heard.
Chapter 7
“Caleb,” Callie asked when they were some distance away. “Is it a far piece to the wagon train?”
“Too far to wa
lk tonight.” Caleb shook his head. “It’s getting late in the day. It’d be dark ‘fore we’d be back. Ma knew where I was going, but she won’t expect me to be gone that late.”
“I understand. I just wanted to buy my contract on the train before I approached your father. If I present everything to him as accomplished, he’ll have no excuses to refuse me your help.”
“Well, that’s easy enough to take care of. The scout for the wagon train is staying at the hotel. I know that for a fact cause I overheard him telling the clerk he was gonna have a few nights on a real bed before he hit the trail again. That was this morning.”
She grabbed Caleb’s arm. “That’s perfect. Surely he could sell me a spot on the train. Do you think, Caleb?”
Caleb grinned at her.
“I don’t know, Callie. But it’s worth a try.”
“I’ll do it,” she said with grim determination. “You go back to your wagon but don’t say a word. Please. I have to ask you not to let your father know what we’ve done today until I’ve accomplished this last piece. You can tell your mother. She’ll understand. Will that be hard for you to do?”
“Nope. My pa just thinks I’ve been out looking things over. I told him I was going to look for work. And that ain’t no lie, Callie.” Caleb’s eyes implored her to agree. “I did look for work. And”—he smiled—“I found it.”
“That you did. When I meet with your folks, we’ll talk pay. I’ll see that you’re up-to-date on wages before we leave. That way you can buy whatever you need for the trail.”
“My money all goes to my folks, Callie.” There was pride in his voice.
“I understand, Caleb. However, I insist you save out enough to buy yourself a good pair of boots. We’ll be walking most of the way, driving the oxen, and those boots will be as necessary as food.”
“What about you, Callie? You’ll need good footwear, too.”
“Don’t worry about me. I’ve got my trail clothes planned out. In fact, I saw exactly what I need in the general store and tomorrow when I’m buying supplies, I’ll add them to my list. Oh, Caleb, isn’t this exciting? My very own wagon. I’m actually going to Oregon, or close by,” she said softly. “But”—she smiled at the boy—“I couldn’t have accomplished any of it without you. You have been Divine Providence.”
“Don’t know none about that, Callie, but today’s been the best day I’ve had in a long time. The going’s tough ahead of us, but I just know we’ll make it.”
“Of course we will. Now, you’d better hurry home. I’m going to scout out that scout.”
Callie inquired at the hotel desk and was directed to the dining room.
“He’s wearing a buckskin shirt, high boots, and a beard. Looks rough, but seems like a decent fellow, ma’am.”
Callie peered into the dining room. She did recognize the man, and he did look rough. With trepidation and her heart beating in her throat, she approached his table. He was sawing away at a plate-sized steak. Every few seconds he reached for his coffee cup and gulped down coffee and steak. It was like a dance: chew, gulp, swallow, chew, gulp, and swallow. He never broke stride. And, he never looked up, his full concentration on his meal.
“Excuse me, Sir.” Her voice was timid. Too timid. This would never do. She took a deep breath and tried again.
“Excuse me, Sir, but I believe you’re the scout from the wagon train forming by Miller’s Creek.”
No response.
Callie waited, not sure what to do. He chewed, gulped, and swallowed like there was no tomorrow.
“Sir,” she demanded. “I wouldn’t interrupt your meal, but it’s vital I talk to you.”
The words were barely out of her mouth when the man’s fork jabbed at the chair opposite him. It was out of his mouth and free of steak for seconds, but the message was clear.
Gingerly, Callie sat down and folded her hands in her lap.
Not a word was spoken, no eye contact made as the scout ate and Callie watched.
Finally, the steak was gone, fat chewed, bone sucked, and grease mopped up with a hunk of bread. The man reached again for his coffee, took a big gulp, leaned back in his chair, and belched. “Beg your pardon.”
Callie nodded, and opened her mouth to speak, only to be cut off.
“I am the scout of the wagon train, you got that right. Now what’s a pretty little thing like you want with me?”
“Uh—” Callie’s mind went blank. She’d been so intent on finding the scout, she hadn’t thought past that. “I, uh, I.”
Callie grabbed her purse, stalling for time, cursing herself for not thinking this through before approaching this man. She took out some bills and laid them on the table.
“I apologize, Mr. . . .”
“Henry. That’s my first name and my last. Don’t recollect my folks. Been takin’ care of myself since I was a yellow-haired brat. Named myself,” he said proudly, daring her to ridicule his choice.
“Mr. Henry,” Callie started, “I’m hoping you can sell me one, no, no, two places on the wagon train.”
The scout frowned and opened his mouth to speak.
Callie saw this and knew she had to say something convincing quick or chances would become slim to nothing. There was always the captain of the train to appeal to, but a man was a man, and if she couldn’t convince the scout, she doubted her chances with the captain would be much better.
“You see,” she hurried on, “I’ve been sent here to purchase a contract, or what you might be calling a constitutional paper, to join the wagon train. Actually,” she said, pausing, “I’ve been asked to purchase two contracts. One for me through my, uh, my fiancé, and one for dear friends I’ll be traveling with.” The words spilled out of Callie’s mouth.
She lowered her eyes in what she hoped was a retiring manner. “I’m not good at this, Mr. Henry, so I beg your indulgence. I’m not used to speaking out and doing business transactions, but my fiancé has gone ahead to Oregon and the man he had hired to assist me, is . . .” She reached into her purse for a handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes. “He’s dead.” She blinked several times, hoping her eyes would appear moist.
“There, there, now missy. Don’t you be tearing up on me now. Dead, you say?”
“Fever.”
“You don’t say. Got the fever once myself. I was holed up in the Wind River Range and got caught in a hell, uh, heck of a snowstorm. Beggin’ your pardon, ma’am.”
Callie waved her hand feebly in tolerance of any bad language, and continued blinking and dabbing.
“Well, pneumonie set in and with it the fever. Bad way to go.” He shook his head. “But”—he smiled, showing yellowed teeth—“guess there ain’t no good way, now, is there?”
Callie smiled weakly at him.
“Got another family to travel with, huh?”
“That’s right, Mr. Henry,” Callie said softly. “But Mr. Monroe couldn’t come himself because . . .” She lowered her eyes and willed herself to blush. “Because Mrs. Monroe is, Mrs. Monroe is . . .” She rested her hand on her throat. “In a delicate condition.” She whispered the sentence while glancing furtively around her.
Mr. Henry’s brow furrowed. “Delicate?” His voice boomed.
“Oh, I’m making a mess of this, Mr. Henry, and I assured Mr. Monroe I could do this by myself. Now I’ll have to face him and, oh, dear, the poor man, a birthing taking place, and him unable to tend to business, and me not able to help like I promised.”
Mr. Henry sat puzzling over her words, then understanding broke over his face. “A birthing? Delicate, huh? Well, why didn’t you say so?”
Callie twisted her handkerchief and worried her bottom lip. Then she raised her big, green eyes and said, “I thank you for your time, Mr. Henry. I won’t take up anymore of it. You’re an important man, and I shouldn�
��t have bothered you. It’s just that Mr. Monroe was afraid that if we was to wait until he was able to get passage on the train, all the places would be spoken for and we’d have to wait for the next train.”
“Now you just hold on there a minute. I think I can fix this little problem, I do.” He rose from his chair. “You just sit quiet like and don’t fret. I’ve got the papers in my saddlebags, in my room. When I spoke to the captain this morning, we had four positions left. Middle of May’s the time to pull out. The rains have stopped and there’ll be grass on the prairie for feed. Too early, no grass, too late, grass has been ate down by other trains.”
“Oh, Mr. Henry.” Callie’s eyes lit up and she gave him what she hoped was her sunniest smile. “Do you suppose, do you think I might go back to Mr. Monroe after all and be able to tell him I’ve succeeded in getting us contracts on the train?”
Mr. Henry puffed out his chest. “I do more’n suppose, missy. I know you can. Fact of the matter is, you’re doing us the favor by signing on. Captain’s faunchin’ at the bit and might pull out ‘fore we’re full up. We’re only taking on twenty, but he’d leave with eighteen lickety-split.”
Mr. Henry hurried from the room and was back before Callie had time to do more than tell herself not to count her chickens before they hatched. There would be no celebrating until she had those contracts in her hand. Then she’d celebrate. Oh, yes, she’d celebrate.
“You be able to read?” Mr. Henry asked.
“Why, yes, yes I can,” Callie answered puzzled.
“Well, I cain’t. I can shoot the hair off’n a frog’s back, but I can’t cipher out my letters. Don’t have much call for reading when you’re watching for Indians, rivers to cross, trails, and game for food.” The explanation was offered unabashed. Mr. Henry was a scout. His education was in the mountains and on the trails.
“Anyhow, you have to read through this so you know the terms of joining and the rules you gotta follow. We be electing officers probably the first camping. But it don’t never mind who the officers are. Seth McCallister is the captain of the train and what Seth McCallister says goes. Nope, I wouldn’t advise crossing the captain. Seth’s led several trains to Oregon and Californey without nary a mishap. If there’s one person to trust, it’s Seth. You’ll see what I mean. He’s a stickler for following orders.” Mr. Henry chuckled. “His.”
Unconquerable Callie Page 4
