Unconquerable Callie

by DeAnn Smallwood

  Just as she’d decided it was worth being jarred to pieces by riding in the wagon, giving her feet and Charlie a break, one of the men from a wagon up ahead came hurrying toward them, his face wreathed in smiles.

  “Spied the Missouri.” The few words were like magic. The tiredness washed from Callie’s body and her feet felt lighter, able to cover the remaining distance with ease. Caleb grinned back at her as he grabbed Charlie up and hoisted him to his shoulders.

  “Cry out when you see it, Charlie,” Caleb said, hooking his hands around Charlie’s skinny legs.

  Charlie’s back stiffened. “I’m a scout, Caleb. Just like Mr. Henry. You’re my horse, huh, Caleb?” The boy giggled.

  Caleb’s whinny and accompanying hop-skip was all Charlie needed to send him into peals of laughter.

  A sense of serenity coursed through Callie. She laughed at Caleb’s antics and Charlie’s enjoyment of his new role and steed.

  In the distance, Callie saw a rider approaching the train. He was too far off to distinguish, but Callie knew it was Seth. She swallowed down the flutter in her throat and told herself her she was only looking forward to hearing his news, and to circling the wagons for the night.

  Within minutes, the dusty man pulled up alongside her. He took off his hat and swatted it against his leg. His horse was lathered and the smell of sweat and horseflesh filled her nose. The animal’s sides heaved with each breath.

  Callie stepped to the side and her wagon rumbled past. She didn’t break the silence, waiting for Seth to catch his breath. Then the high-pitched voice of Charlie rang out, bringing a smile to Callie’s and the tired man’s face.

  “I see it. I see it. Callie!” Charlie cried out, turning around on Caleb’s shoulders to find her. “Callie, I see the Missouri. I see it for us, don’t I?”

  “You sure do, Charlie,” Callie called back. “You are an excellent scout.”

  Charlie’s head bobbed and he turned back, pleased with his accomplishment.

  “New scout?” Seth asked, smiling down at her.

  “Just hired him on today,” Callie joked. “He’s dependable and has keen eyesight.”

  “That’s important.” His tender look made their conversation irrelevant. A cocoon of silence wrapped around them, blocking out anything or anyone else.

  Then he gently nudged his horse forward with his heels. And, touching his fingers to his hat, he gruffly said, “I’ll see you after supper.”

  The sun moved behind a cloud in the cloudless sky as he rode down the trail. He’d taken the sunshine with him, and a maybe a piece of her heart.

  Chapter 16

  “Well, folks.” Seth’s voice rang out in the evening twilight. He stood, coffee cup in hand, aware of each face; the people who depended on him. “Good news and bad. The scows are charging fifty cents a wagon to ferry you across.”

  Murmurs followed.

  “Fifty cents is pretty steep for some of us, Seth.” Concern laced the words.

  “I know,” Seth replied. “Now here’s the good.” He tried to smile, but the effort was wasted. The situation was serious. “Those of you who want and can pay the fifty cents will load your wagons on the scows. For those of you who aren’t familiar with the word”—he paused—“scows are nothing more than a large flat boat. We’ll put the wagon on and block the wheels with wood so it won’t roll off. There’ll be room to ride on the scow, but horses, cows, and oxen will have to swim for it.”

  “We’re waiting for the good news, Seth,” someone called from the crowd.

  “I’m getting to it.” A weary smile creased his face. “It’s possible to build a raft. We can tie willow branches together and cut some of the rushes to put on top. Then we’d roll the wagon onto the raft and ferry it across the river.” Silence filled the air as each person mulled over the choices.

  “There’s another way,” Seth said slowly. “We can seal the wagons.”

  “Seal them? What do you mean by seal them?” several people asked at once.

  Seth waited for the clamor to die down before continuing. “We seal the wagons tight by filling in all the cracks with tar or candle wax mixed with ashes. It’s a job, but I’ve done it before, and it works. Everyone will have to pitch in.” He scanned the circle. “The children can help make the wax paste and put it in the open spaces in the wooden planks. If you have animal skins, use them to cover the inside to make the wagon even more waterproof.”

  Callie stood up. “It’ll float, Mr. McCallister?”

  “It’ll float, Callie.” Somewhere between allowing her to join the council and the cookie target, Seth had dropped the “Miss Collins.” Callie wasn’t sure if he was aware of the informality, but she was and it warmed her.

  “You take off the wheels and push the wagon into the water.” For a moment, he spoke only to her.

  Then, raising his eyes to the others, he said, “Just like a flat boat. Children and women can ride inside the wagon. Each wagon will need two or three men to ride inside also and steer it with long poles. We’ll need others to ride horses along in the water and steer it from the outside.”

  He paused, clearing his throat.

  “I’m not telling you this is an easy, fast way.” His voice was flat. “It can take an hour for each wagon to cross. There’s also the chance the wagon will tip over and you’ll lose everything in the river. If the current is strong and flowing fast, a wagon could be dragged away and we won’t be able to catch it. There’s risk, but there’s also the chance it’ll float right on across like a clumsy boat.”

  “Take a minute, talk over your options, then let me know. Don’t worry about the time it takes to cross. I planned on us losing some time here, at least a couple days. I’m hoping we can cross in a day, then take a day to rest. I imagine by now the ladies have some washing to do.” Heads nodded. “We need to replenish our water supplies, too. After crossing the Missouri, we’ll have some dry spots and you’ll need all the water you have, maybe more.” His words hung like rain clouds in the sky. Then the deluge came. “After we cross the Missouri into Nebraska, we’ll be entering Indian territory.” Seth walked over to a coffee pot, and refilled his cup. The sweet Missouri air became saturated with a foreboding chill.

  Callie walked over to him. Behind her, families discussed their options. For many, there were only two to be considered. There was little money to spare and if the crossing could be accomplished another way, then that’s how it would be.

  “Mr. McCallister,” Callie said quietly.

  He turned. “Yes?” he asked, his eyes warm and questioning.

  “I’ve made my decision.”

  Seth inclined his head. A lantern hanging on the end of a wagon cast its yellow glow over the man, burnishing his dark hair and bringing a luster to his tanned face.

  Callie caught her breath. The feelings inside her were not possible. Not possible and not permitted. She pushed them aside and said, “I’ll pay the fifty cents and load my wagon onto a scow. I’d like to do the same for the Monroe’s.”

  “Jacob Monroe agreeable?” Seth’s words cut to the point.

  “I don’t know,” Callie answered slowly. “I haven’t asked.”

  “Better,” Seth said firmly. Then in a softer voice, he added, “He’s a proud man, Callie. Might rankle him to have his way paid.”

  “By a woman?” she countered.

  “Nope. By anyone.” Seth’s laconic reply eased the irritation she was feeling.

  “Okay. I’ll talk to him. Mr. McCallister, if at all possible, I’d like my wagon to be the first to cross.”

  “Why’s that?” A chill crept into Seth’s voice. Callie’s selfish request disappointed him. He was coming to admire and care for this woman too much. And if there wasn’t a fiancé . . . but there was, and he’d do well to remember that.

  “Bec
ause, once I’ve got my wagon safely on the other side, I’ll be free to help the others. I can fill cracks for those deciding to float their wagon across. I can also help pole and guide a wagon on a raft. You’ll need all hands and help you can get. I’m strong, Mr. McCallister.”

  The fist around his heart eased. Callie may be petite in stature, but her heart and determination were large. She was a woman meant for this hard, new land. She would meet it head on and whittle it down to size.

  He nodded. “I’ll see that yours is first. Then the Monroe’s, if you can convince Jacob.” He shook his head and teasingly said, “I feel sorry for Jacob. Siccing you on him is like letting a badger lose.” He turned to a group of men calling his name.

  Callie went over to where Jacob, Phyllis and Caleb sat, and stood on the fringe of their conversation. Phyllis glanced up and saw her. Smiling a welcome, she scooted over and made room for Callie next to her on the log.

  “I can leave if you need to discuss this privately,” Callie offered.

  “Nonsense,” Phyllis snorted. “You’re family, Callie.”

  Jacob smiled. “The four of us are braving this together, Callie. You’ve helped us realize our dream. I hope we’re helping you.”

  “Oh, you are, Jacob. I rest easy at night having the three of you to share this with. I miss my aunt. Other than her, I have no one.”

  “You’re forgetting someone,” Phyllis said, a smile in her voice.

  “I am?” Callie asked.

  “Your fiancé,” Phyllis said.

  “Oh, yes, of course. Frank. I guess I’m not used to thinking that way.” She hoped she sounded convincing. The mythical Frank was becoming more of a problem than he was worth. Still, he’d got her this far.

  “Made your decision?” Caleb asked. “How we gonna do it, Callie?”

  “On the scow,” she answered. “Jacob, how were you planning?”

  “Well, Callie, it’s no secret that we’re short of money, Jacob answered. “I’m relieved you’re crossing on a scow. I was hoping you’d choose that way. I think we’ll build us a raft, and we sure could use Caleb’s help. This way, you may not need him after you cross.”

  “No, of course not, I’ve already talked to Mr. McCallister and he’s agreed to put my wagon first. Caleb”—she paused—“and I will be available to help at whatever task is needed. Still, I was going to ask a favor of you, but seeing that you have your plans made, I won’t.” She sat still, her hand folded in her lap.

  Phyllis reached over and gently touched her shoulder. “Callie, ask. If Jacob and I can help, we will. Won’t we, Jacob?”

  Jacob nodded. He leaned toward her, encouraging her to speak.

  “Well, Jacob”—Callie paused for effectiveness—“you’ve become one of the leaders on the train. No.” She held up her hand to stop his words. “It’s true. Everyone respects you.”

  “What’s that got to do with your favor?” Jacob asked.

  “I’m worried about some of the others on the train,” Callie said. “Some of the men are city born. They haven’t toughened up yet and sometimes their decisions are poor. I don’t mean anything disrespectful. I admire them for attempting this journey and for trying as hard as they do. Their wives are gentle raised, too. And while some are facing the hardships with strength, others aren’t. I’ve come to care for the people we’re traveling with, as I know you and Phyllis have.”

  Both heads nodded. Jacob’s face was sober as he was forced to agree with her assessment of some of their companions on the trail.

  “I’m especially worried about Hattie and John Benson,” Callie said.

  “I am, too, Callie,” Phyllis broke in. “She’s not faring too well, and to be honest, John has all he can handle and more trying to keep up with the rest of the wagons.”

  “I’ve helped him some,” Jacob said. “But you’re right. He’s got a ways to go. I know you and Caleb’s been taking care of Charlie. You, too, Phyllis. He’s a handful, but he’s pioneer stock.”

  There was silence and smiles as they thought of the delightful little boy.

  “There is a way we can help them more and also help the rest of the wagons. Mr. McCallister, too,” Callie added, enjoying the feeling of his name on her tongue. “But Jacob, it all depends on you. It depends on the favor I’m asking.”

  “Callie,” Jacob said, “you’ve danced all around the barn on this one. Best way to ask is just spit it out.” He rubbed his hand over the lower part of his face, his eyes fixed on her.

  “Would you let me pay your wagon across on a scow? Just a moment,” she said, forestalling his reply. “If you would cross this way, then you, Phyllis, Caleb, and I would be free to help out wherever we’re needed. I’d like to offer Hattie and Charlie to cross over in my wagon. Hattie isn’t up to much work and with her safely across, John would be able to work with an easier mind. Jacob, he’ll need you no matter which way he decides to cross. I feel they won’t choose to use a scow. They probably want to save every cent they have to put into their farm. And, there’re others we can help. You heard Mr. McCallister say that there needs to be extra men on each wagon that has been sealed and floated across. If there’s a disaster, which there’s a good chance of, you’ll be there to lend your clear thinking and your strength.”

  Callie took a deep breath. She’s said all she could. Wetting her lips, she eased back on the log and waited for his response. If he said ‘no,’ she’d just have to accept it. Please, she thought, please let him accept my offer. It’s the best for all of us.

  Phyllis looked up at Jacob, her glance full of pride. By the look in her eyes, Phyllis agreed with her every word. But Callie also knew that no matter what, Phyllis would abide by her husband’s decision.

  “Callie,” Jacob said slowly, “I thank you kindly for your offer . . .”

  Callie held her breath. He was going to refuse her.

  “And for your kind words,” Jacob said. “I don’t know about agreein’ with the praise, but I do agree with your logic. I’d be proud to accept your offer.” He held up his hand, cutting short her pleased exclamation. “On one condition.”

  “Okay,” Callie said cautiously.

  “The fifty cents will be held out of Caleb’s wages at the end of the trail. I won’t do it any other way,” he said, stifling her response.

  “Jacob, thank you,” Callie said, as she stood up. She beamed at them both. “I don’t like it, but I’ll agree. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ll go inform Mr. McCallister to put you second in line.” She strode away, her step light.

  “Phyllis,” Jacob said. “Why do I have the feeling I’ve been worked like a dog worrying a bone?”

  “Because,” Phyllis said with a smile and hug, “you have. Face it, Jacob, no one stands much chance when Callie Collins gets the bit between her teeth. No one.”

  Chapter 17

  Light was barely breaking over the waters of the Missouri when the sound of axes rang out. Like an angry beehive, the camp was awake and busy. Pots of melting candles sat on open fires, while others were busy cutting willows and saplings to lash together for rafts. The wood smoke blended with candle tallow sending forth a not unpleasant fragrance. Ashes saved from last night’s fires were combined with wax as Seth had suggested. Children, huddled by the warmth of the fires, smiled as they awaited word from their mothers saying that the mixture was ready and they could begin filling the wagon cracks. This was a unique task and promised to be as much fun as work.

  Women straightened from stirring the ash and candle mixture, placing their hands at the small of their backs. Heat from the fire seared their faces and constant care had to be given to keep long skirts away from the flames. Hems were already dirty and covered with ash, but no one complained. No one, that is, except Henrietta Widden.

  She sat on the bench of her son’s wagon, spitting out orde
rs and advice to Becky and her son. Becky was on her hands and knees, kneeling on the dew-damp prairie grass, helping her husband lash together their raft. They had given in to Hattie’s demands and reluctantly agreed to float their wagon across on a raft. Both Becky and Tom had argued for sealing the wagon tight by filling in the cracks with tar and the ash mixture then floating it across, but Hattie would have none of it. She didn’t want that “disgusting mess” dirtying up her wagon. That the wagon belonged solely to her son was of no consequence. Hattie would have her way or make everyone else miserable until she did. Tom had tried to reason with his mother, explaining that their wagon was heavy and cumbersome and possibly dangerous to float across on a raft.

  “Nonsense,” the old woman had snapped. If Becky would part with a few chests and pieces of furniture, leaving them behind on the bank, the wagon would be lighter. Of course, nothing was mentioned about the heavy steamer trunk full of bric-a-brac and useless memorabilia that she refused to part with. Nothing was said about the heavy dresser she insisted she couldn’t do without. No, nothing was said about Hattie’s treasures, but plenty was said about the few necessities Becky had brought with her. Becky, hoping to still her mother-in-law’s sharp tongue, approached Callie. Callie smiled in sympathy as Becky asked if there was any possibility that several of their trunks could be added to her wagon since the scow supported more weight. Callie readily agreed.

  Hattie sat and smiled triumphantly as Callie, Becky, and Tom carried trunks and wooden boxes to Callie’s wagon. For all Hattie knew, they could have been carried off to be abandoned on the river’s bank. Still, there was no offer of help from the mean-spirited woman, even though she had gotten her way. The wagon was lighter, but not by much. Tom made one last effort to convince his mother, but to no avail.