Unconquerable Callie

by DeAnn Smallwood

  When she reached her wagon, she hung the lantern on the hook outside the entrance. Its faint glow pushed the night back with a circle of light. Beyond it, black shadows gathered, dark and filled with a brooding life that could be felt but not seen. Night animals rustled in the bushes and night sounds filled the air. A cool breeze caressed her shoulders, making her glad of the shawl she had thrown on.

  Callie knew that some of the coldness was seeping from within. She was so mixed-up. A few weeks ago, there were no doubts in her mind as to what path she should take.

  She glanced up into the star-filled sky. Had she developed feelings for this powerful man whom she’d known for such a short time? She tried to push the fearsome realization away, but it hovered like dew-laden smoke. Seth. She did not dare think of what leaving him, never seeing him again would be like. She had no right to think that way, no right at all. She had become a victim of her own lies. She wasn’t free to have feelings toward Seth. She was shackled to a product of her imagination, her fiancé, Frank.

  Then, as if the shadows had conjured up the man, Seth stepped out of the dark into the yellow lantern glow.

  Callie jumped, fearful her thoughts were visible on her face.

  “Sorry, Callie,” Seth said apologetically, “didn’t mean to startle you.”

  “No, you didn’t. I mean, I was startled, but it wasn’t your fault.”

  Seth studied her lovely face. Her uncovered hair lay long and silver on her shoulders, the lantern making a halo of light around her. It was all he could do not to reach out and touch her. She seemed so ethereal, so unobtainable.

  He realized he was staring and Callie was speaking.

  “The night is spooky isn’t it, Seth? I feel as if we’re not wanted here on the riverbanks. I-I feel as if the darkness is speaking to us.” Callie gave a small laugh. “I’m sounding crazy, aren’t I?”

  “Not at all. I know what you mean. I’m feeling the night spirits talking, too,” Seth said softly.

  “Night spirits. Yes, that’s exactly what I feel. Today was a rough day. I think we’re all on edge. I wish we were miles away. I don’t want to lay over here an extra day even if it is an ideal spot to do washing and rest up.” Callie spoke the words, hoping that Seth would understand her disquiet.

  “Well, Callie, seems you’re not the only one with those thoughts. I’ve been asked to see if everyone would be agreeable to moving on in the morning. No one wants to spend the day with the constant reminder of today’s loss. Camping here on the riverbank won’t let our minds rest easy. I know Becky and Tom feel that way. How about you? Up to moving out at first light?” Seth’s voice was low, his words gentle, his eyes full of concern. She seemed lost tonight. Her aloneness hurt him.

  “Yes. Yes.” Callie smiled for the first time that night. “There’s nothing I would like better than to put the Missouri River behind me.”

  Seth smiled, relieved to see some spirit come back into her face. “Don’t need to think it over, huh?”

  “Nope. Have you gone by the Monroe wagon yet?”

  “On my way there now,” Seth replied. “But I’m sure they’ll feel the same way as everyone else does.”

  “Would you mind telling Caleb . . .?” The words were barely out of Callie’s mouth before they were drowned out by the sound of running feet and someone coming closer calling her name.

  “Callie, Callie.” Caleb ran into the lantern’s light, his eye wide in his face, his hair standing on end. “Callie, Ma said to come fetch you real quick like.”

  At first sound, Seth stepped in front of Callie, shielding her with his body. “Caleb, what’s wrong? Take a breath. Now, why does your mother want Callie? What’s the problem?” His strong, sure voice worked magic and Caleb responded.

  “It’s Hattie Benson. She’s having her baby. Ma’s already at her wagon, but she sent me for you.”

  “Me?” Callie sputtered. “Me? I don’t know anything about birthing a baby.” Seth watched the myriad of emotions cross her face before she said, “I’ll do whatever I can.”

  “Caleb, grab the lantern,” Seth said. “Callie, give me your hand. Watch for rocks and logs, the riverbank can be treacherous this time of night. Caleb, hold that lantern out as far as you can reach and go ahead of us. Callie and I will follow the light.”

  He took Callie’s hand and held it firmly in his strong, warm clasp. For a moment the world stood still as hand–in-hand he felt that spellbinding flow between them. It was only a moment, but he knew they would both remember, the warmth of each other’s hand, that connection.

  Hattie’s sharp cry carried into the night, reaching them before they reached their destination. Several lanterns widened the glow of light around the wagon. A few other men stood beside John as he worriedly ran his large hands through his hair. John came running toward them.

  “Thank you for coming, Callie. Hattie trusts you. She made me promise that when her time came, I was to get you.” Wild-eyed, he grabbed Callie’s shoulders. “I can’t lose her, Callie, but I’m afraid. She wasn’t like this with Charlie. She was stronger, rested, and in her own home with a doctor in attendance. This is my fault,” he said, brokenly, shaking his head. “My fault for moving her away from the comforts she grew up with. I wanted my own land. I wanted something to work with my own hands and with my sons. Something I could look at with pride and hand down to our children. I can’t lose her, Callie. I can’t.” He looked away, tears filling his eyes. “I’m afraid,” John whispered into the night.

  Callie glanced up at Seth, her eyes filled with concern and maybe a little fear. “The woman who jumped into the mighty Missouri can’t possibly be afraid of a babe.” He kept his tone light, as he squeezed her hand, offering encouragement, then reluctantly released it. He gave her a nod and stepped over to John.

  “John, Hattie’s stronger than you think,” Seth said. “Let’s you and I get us a cup of coffee. It might be a long night. Seems every birthing I’ve been around, the guest of honor doesn’t show up until he or she has worn everybody out with waiting. I expect your son or daughter will do just the same. Now, Callie’s going to go inside the wagon and you and I are going to do what menfolk do best at this time . . . wait.”

  Struggling to remain calm, Callie watched as Seth and John walked toward the campfire. A lump formed in the back of her throat. How could she do this? She didn’t know anything about babies, let alone how to help bring one into this world. Just then, Seth turned around to face her. He tipped his head and gave a reassuring smile, one that filled her with the hope that she, Callie Collins, could really do this..

  Callie eased back the canvas and stepped inside the wagon. There seemed to be less room here than in hers, but maybe only made so by the jumble of barrels, boxes, and necessities for the small family to take with them to their new start. Bedding from the night before hadn’t been rolled up and put away. Clothing lay about along with a few wooden toys. Callie made her way through, then felt a pang of anxiety for the frightened woman lying on matt, her eyes wide in a too pale face.

  Tears streamed down Hattie’s face. “Callie, thank you, thank you,” she said over and over, rolling her head from side-to-side.

  Phyllis knelt at her side and looked up as Callie drew closer, a worried look on her face. Hattie held Phyllis’ hand tight and with each pain, she squeezed until Phyllis’ fingers were white.

  Callie leaned in close to Phyllis’ ear and said quietly, “How is she?”

  Phyllis shook her head. “She won’t help. I can’t get through to her. She wouldn’t let me send for one of the more experienced women. I’ve heard Mrs. Franklin has doctoring skills. But Hattie’s refused to let me send Jacob for her. It’s as if she has made up her mind to die having this baby. She fights my every suggestion.”

  “Is there a problem?” Callie whispered.

  “No. At least I d
on’t think so. From every indication, this is a normal birth and I think the baby would come if she would only help us.” Phyllis’s words were fraught with frustration.

  At that moment, Hattie gave a cry that pierced the wagon walls and escaped into the night.

  “Hattie,” Phyllis said, pushing the woman’s shoulders back down, “please, you can’t carry on so. You’re wearing yourself out. You can have this baby, dear, if you’ll work with me.”

  Hattie dug her fingers into Phyllis’s arm. “I don’t want anyone here but you and Callie. I don’t want this baby,” she gasped. “I don’t want my baby born in the back of a wagon in the middle of nowhere.” She turned to Callie. “Please help me, Callie. I need a doctor. I need to be in my bed in my home not here in this terrible place. I can’t,” she cried, “I can’t.” Then she uttered the words that put a cold knot in Callie’s stomach. “I want to die. Just let me die.”

  Anger filled Callie, replacing any sympathy she felt for the frightened woman.

  She pried Hattie’s fingers from Phyllis’ arm. “How dare you, Hattie Benson? How dare you say such hateful, spiteful words?”

  “Callie,” Phyllis gasped.

  “Well, they are hateful,” Callie shot. “Hattie, you look at me. This baby will be born. You have a man waiting outside. A man who loves you. A man who blames himself, and his only guilt is that of wanting to give you a home in a land you can call your own. How can you talk of death when you have a little boy that needs his mother? Are you that selfish you would leave a baby and another child for John to raise by himself?”

  Hattie’s eyes went wide, her teeth biting into her lip as she cringed. She sucked in her breath as another pain hit her. But before she could cry out, Callie grabbed Hattie’s arm and applied light pressure, enough to demand the distraught woman’s attention.

  “Don’t you dare scream. You do exactly what Phyllis tells you to do. Now! We won’t be leaving another cross on the banks of this river, Hattie Benson. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

  At first it seemed as though Hattie would ignore her, just as she had been ignoring Phyllis. Then, almost imperceptibly, she nodded and a determined look filled her eyes, replacing the lost, defeated one.

  Phyllis leaned toward Hattie and spoke softly, telling her what to do. Callie moved back out of the way, yet remained close enough to do Phyllis’ bidding.

  Seth stirred the fire, hoping all was well and that Callie had been able to help. No more cries pierced the air. The men stole anxious glances toward the covered wagon where shadows played on the canvass and undistinguishable murmurs teased.

  The night wore on. The shadows became more animated, lively, and the murmurs grew. Then, into the night, came a feeble cry. Weak, then stronger until the sound filled the night air. John looked at him, as if he couldn’t believe it. Then, as realization dawned, he raced to the wagon, Seth holding back so John would be first. They waited outside. Seth found John’s excitement contagious and suspected he wore as foolish a grin as John.

  The back of the wagon opened and a disheveled Callie stepped out. “You have a beautiful baby daughter, John.” Then, as if knowing what else the young man was hungry to hear, she added, “Hattie is asking for you. She’s doing fine.”

  John let out a whoop and pushed past Callie. He entered the wagon and slowly, stepped toward the pallet on the floor. Hattie watched him, tired and jubilant. “She’s beautiful, John,” she said, lovingly gazing down at the baby cradled close to her chest. She lifted one tiny hand for her husband to see.

  “So’s her mother. A daughter,” he said with wonder. “We were so sure she’d be a boy we don’t have a name, Hattie.”

  “Yes we do, John. We’ll call her Hope.”

  And there on the banks of the Missouri River, Hope was born. No one minded the layover while Mother and daughter rested. More babies would be born on this trek to Oregon, but none as welcome as the fair-haired daughter of Hattie and John Benson named Hope.

  Chapter 20

  Fort Kearney proved a disappointment. Instead of the protective walled fortress Callie had expected, she found ramshackle sod buildings. But what Fort Kearney did offer was mail service and an opportunity to purchase food if one could afford the prices. Callie mailed a long letter home assuring her aunt she was fine and that she would write more when she reached her destination. There wasn’t a mention of Seth. She hoped her aunt couldn’t read between the lines and see the quandary Callie was experiencing. But one thing was certain, gone were any thoughts of turning back. She had gained back the courage she’d momentarily lost at the Missouri River and she accepted her growing feelings for Seth and only occasionally fought against them. And if at night she was filled with sadness of what couldn’t be, she pushed the melancholy thoughts away and waited for the morning light and his figure at the head of the train.

  Becky and Tom had gratefully accepted the offer of one of the single men to share his wagon. He’d been delighted when Becky told him she would take over the cooking. No longer would he have to eat his pitiful attempts.

  The supply post at Fort Kearny was a wooden building. It and other similar ones surrounded the central parade ground. Their fortified walls offered some protection. The soldiers were, for the most part, unshaven with uniforms in different states of wear. Many sported patches. But, as a whole, they were courteous and welcomed the wagons as a relief from the boredom.

  There was only one main problem. Snakes abounded. She’d heard several stories of them slithering through walls into beds of the soldiers. Many of the soldiers looked so young, she immediately felt sorry for them. How awful to go to sleep, not knowing if you would have unwanted company in the form of a snake. She shuddered.

  “Phyllis,” Callie said, as soon as the wagons were circled for the day, “how would you like to bring some smiles to these boys’ faces?” She smiled conspiratorially. “And we could make some money at the same time.”

  Phyllis’ eyes lit up. “Callie Collins, just what do you have in mind now?” She smiled, then added, “Count me in.”

  “Let’s bake cookies. I’ll bet my best boots these boys haven’t had a homemade cookie in months. Years even. Our cookies will give them something to spend their money on besides whiskey. We’ll split evenly whatever’s left over after paying for the supplies. Deal?”

  “You bet.” Phyllis’ excitement was contagious.

  As they set to work, not for the first time, Callie longed for a real table. Using the top of a box low to the ground made her back hurt. Still, that didn’t slow them down. Using both of their Dutch ovens and one borrowed from Hattie, they mixed and baked letting the mouthwatering aroma fill the air and advertise for the makeshift bakery. She was doing what she liked best, baking. And if the conditions were less than desirable, so be it.

  Before long, soldiers lined up, waiting for the cookies to cool so they could walk off eating one while several others lined their pockets. The more enterprising men brought small canvas bags and filled them with the still oven-warmed treasures.

  She and Phyllis worked liked demons, mixing, stirring, baking, and selling.

  Seth noticed the crowd of soldiers surrounding Callie’s wagon and hurried over. What was going on? His concern quickly changed to one of disbelief as he saw a frazzled Callie count out twelve cookies for one young man and quickly pocket money.

  Seth shook his head and chuckled. Callie was a whirlwind, stirring up dust wherever she went. Her face was flushed from the fire’s coals and she wore a smudge of flour on her forehead. Her exquisite hair was pulled back and hung down her back in one long braid. She was smiling, talking, and totally enjoying herself. He’d never seen a woman so beautiful and enchanting as his unpredictable Callie. His eyes followed her every movement.

  Callie raised her head and beckoned him over.

  “Cookie?” she asked, the devil dan
cing in her eyes.

  “Don’t mind if I do.” He grinned, taking the warm treat. “How much, Madame Baker?”

  Callie curtsied. “Free to all handsome men, sir.”

  “Handsome, huh?” he teased back, taking a large bite of the savory cookie. He closed his eyes and chewed. “Callie, Callie” —he shook his head—“these melt on my tongue. I believe they’re better’n the ones you brought to the council meeting, if that could be possible. You could make your living selling cookies,” he joked.

  “I plan to,” Callie said before her eyes went wide. She quickly put two more cookies in his hand and before he could respond, moved back to her makeshift table, not looking his way again but giving full concentration to the baking.

  Hours later, with aching backs and feet, she and Phyllis knelt on the floor of Phyllis’ wagon and emptied out their apron pockets. The more money piled up, the wider Phyllis’ eyes grew. Callie set aside the baking costs. What she had envisioned as a few hours of baking and selling had grown into a day’s work. There were still men, many of them returning for the second time, milling around the wagon when Callie and Phyllis announced the last batch. Earlier in the day, the commander of the fort had stopped by and thanked them for bringing a touch of home to the men. Callie felt guilty about taking their money until he assured her they lost their wages too often to poker and whiskey.

  “Phyllis,” Callie said, hearing the awe in her voice. “I can’t believe we made this much money.”

  “I can’t either, Callie. I don’t think I’ve seen this much money in my lifetime.” Phyllis reverently touched the pile in front of her. “Are you sure this is right? This is my share?” Her face was full of disbelief.