Unconquerable Callie

by DeAnn Smallwood

  Callie chuckled. “It’s your share, all right, Phyllis. That’s yours and this is mine.” Callie scooped up her earnings and shoved them back into her apron pocket.

  Phyllis hugged her. “This will help us so much. Jacob will be surprised. He laughed when I told him what we were planning and gave me a pat on the head and said to have fun. Ha,” she snorted, “wait until he sees how much the fun added up.”

  Callie laughed, said her goodbyes, then stepped from the back of the wagon . . . into Seth’s arms.

  Gripping her small waist in his large hands, he swung her down and said, “Thought I’d better walk you back to your wagon. This fort’s no place for a woman alone, especially for one with money in her pockets.”

  Callie chuckled. “Seth, Phyllis and I never dreamed we’d sell that many cookies. It’s like they were starved for something baked. I feel guilty taking so much of their money, I can’t help it.”

  “Well, don’t,” Seth said with a smile. “Consider it an act of kindness. Because of you two, a lot of the men are sick from eating too many cookies instead of drinking too much of that swill that passes for whiskey. You did them a big favor.”

  “I like that way of thinking much better, Seth McCallister,” Callie said.

  They walked side-by-side to her wagon, not speaking, but at ease with the silence.

  As they came closer, Callie made out the shape of something leaned up against the side of the wagon. She closed the distance, then rubbed her hand across the object’s square, flat surface.

  “Seth?” Callie turned back to the man watching her. “It’s a table top.” Her voice was soft with wonderment.

  “Well actually, it’s a table, Callie. Let me show you.” He reached for a canvass sack hidden behind the top and withdrew four sturdy legs. Callie stepped back as he laid the table on its top and fit each leg into four chiseled holes. They fit tight and snug and when each was in place, Seth flipped it to stand upright. For once in her life, Callie was speechless. The table was the exact height for rolling out a pie, or kneading bread.

  “I had it made for you today,” Seth said. “It’s pretty rough, but the fort’s carpenter said it will take a beating. The legs come off and can be stored in that canvass bag along with the top. It’ll be no problem to tie it to the back of your wagon. Shouldn’t take up much space or be in the way.” He stopped, as if suddenly embarrassed.

  “Oh, Seth,” Callie said, her hand on her mouth, her eyes moist, “I love it.”

  “I’ve seen you bent over baking on that board and swore that some way I’d see you got a table. Anyone that can cook like you, Callie, deserves a table even if it is a bit ungainly and lopsided. It should hold up under your rolling pin.” The bashful expression made him look like a young boy.

  Callie’s heart stuttered. She knew then that she loved this kind and generous man. Words of thanks froze on her tongue.

  “You do like it, don’t you? Cause if you don’t we can just leave it here. Someone will find a use for it,” he said.

  “Don’t you dare touch my table, Seth McCallister. No, I don’t like it. I love it.” And you, she wanted to add. “This is the nicest gift I’ve ever received. I don’t know how to thank you.”

  “Well,” Seth said, obviously relieved, “one of your dried apple pies sure could go a long ways to convincing me.”

  “The very next chance I get, I’ll roll you one out on my wonderful table.” She touched the tabletop with one hand, shaking her head in thought.

  Before he could stop himself, Seth moved closer to her and with the tips of his trail hardened hands gently caressed the side of her face.

  Callie held as still as a deer in hiding, Seth’s fingers warm and comforting against her soft skin.

  “Callie,” he whispered, his voice sad, “what am I going to do about you?”

  Dropping his hand, he turned away and disappeared into the night.

  “Seth,” Callie hesitantly called after him, “I’ll have coffee ready in the morning.” She waited, fearing his answer.

  “I’ll be there.” The reply came soft on the evening breeze.

  Chapter 21

  Callie’s relief was great when they reached the Platte River. It was shallow, crooked, and muddy, and they crossed it with ease.

  Seth told her that often, in the fall, the Indians fired the dry grass on the prairie. Now, though, the prairie grass was several feet high. When Seth rode through it, only his hat showed. The oxen ate and ate. And while firing the dry grass lessened the dreaded fear of prairie fire, the only trees or bushes growing were the ones struggling for life on islands in the Platte River.

  One day, Seth stopped by Callie’s wagon and said there was something he wanted her to see. Curious, she took his offered hand and swung herself up behind him. Seth was silent as they rode to an overhang where the valley below stretched out before them. He helped her down, and, still holding her hand, quietly led her forward. Callie paused, frightened. The ground below her feet was literally shaking. There was a low rumble that sounded like thunder beating against high mountains but there were no mountains and the sky was clear. Seth crouched at the edge of the precipice and Callie followed suit. The closer to the ground she came, the more intense the shaking. And then she saw the reason. Her eyes widened and her breath expelled in a low sound of disbelief. No wonder the ground was shaking. Running below her, their shaggy heads bobbing with the rhythm of their feet, was a wall of bison. There was no end or beginning.

  “Seth,” she whispered, “how many do you think?”

  Seth shook his head, his eyes never leaving the herd. “Hundreds, maybe even thousands,” he said. “Too many to count.”

  Mesmerized, they watched the migration as time stood still. Finally, he touched her shoulder and motioned with his head back toward the horses. Callie had completely forgotten the wagon train moving ever forward. She and Seth would have to ride to catch up.

  They were silent, both awed, lost in the sight they had just witnessed. Then Seth spoke. “Well, Henry will be happy with that sight. I expect he’ll show up tonight with some buffalo steaks. Fresh meat will be welcome and we’ll probably lay over a day to dry some jerky. Nothing like jerked meat to round out any scarcity of food.”

  Callie turned her head toward the man. “Do you expect food to run out, Seth?”

  “It’s possible, Callie. Anything’s possible. I’ve learned to expect the worse then if it doesn’t happen, I’m pleasantly surprised. So far we’ve been fortunate and have had plenty of water and game. If it doesn’t rain soon though, the grass will turn brown and the rivers will dry up to mud.”

  “I’ve been wondering about that,” Callie said. “I’ve been even more miserly with my use of water. I should be fine; it’s others I worry about.”

  “I do, too,” Seth said. “And I agree, you will be fine, but will your oxen? Oxen tend to go a little crazy if they’re hot and thirsty.” Seth didn’t want to scare her, but he’d seen what water-crazed animals could do. He’d promised himself to keep an extra special eye on Callie as they crossed these dry Nebraska plains. He got back onto his horse and helped her up behind him, conscious of her arms around his waist.

  Neither spoke as they caught up to the train.

  Callie was lost in thought. She’d made plans when she was outfitting her wagon for what she would do when and if the scarcity of water became a problem. She’d spent time talking to some old timers who relished telling her tales of oxen stampeding in the heat, killing and injuring as they went. They’d also enjoyed passing on different pieces of advice for keeping these large animals cool. Callie listened and formed her own plan. She only hoped she would never have to give it a try, but if she should, she prayed it would work. She hadn’t shared this with anyone for fear of being ridiculed.

  When they reached her wagon, Seth lowered Callie t
o the ground, and with a nod and a smile rode on ahead.

  Sure enough, that night Henry Henry rode in, his horse loaded down with buffalo meat. The men in the camp were excited and wanted to leave immediately to go hunting. Plans were made for a hunt next morning. A wife or older child would drive the wagon until the hunters returned. Those who had no one to fill in for them would be forced to forgo the foray. Seth wanted to keep moving with the plan to lay over tomorrow and take care of the meat from today’s hunt.

  Early next morning, the men rode out, excited as children on Christmas morning. The women watched them go, unspoken worry in their eyes. Many were husbands that knew nothing about hunting, especially animals of that size. Tales had been told last night around the campfire of buffalo stampedes, buffalo hunts, and buffalo turning to charge or trample their antagonists. But nothing was said. Each woman knew that they had to depend on their man to provide for them in this wild country. Each man knew he had to prove himself.

  Callie watched Seth ride out and when he turned in his saddle and caught her eye, she gave him a nod of approval and pride. He had nothing to prove. And for a moment, she allowed herself to imagine she belonged to Seth McCallister and was watching him ride into the distance, her thoughts and caring equal to those of the women standing beside her.

  With a mental shake, she brought herself back to reality.

  “Ladies,” she called out. “How about we show these men what we’re made of?”

  Everyone turned to face her.

  “Callie?” Phyllis asked.

  “Let’s show our men we can handle our wagons with the best of them! Not only handle them,” she said, pausing, a mischievous look dancing on her face and in her eyes, “but out do them. We’ve been making good time. But today, let’s make more miles than ever before. Let’s make twelve miles before we circle the wagons for the night.”

  Her words were met with groans and mutters. “Twelve miles? Twelve miles?”

  Callie put her hands on her hips and spread her legs. “Anybody game?” she challenged.

  There wasn’t a sound. Then, from the back came a voice, “I am.” A slight woman stepped forward. She looked like a puff of wind would blow her away. “I’m up for a challenge. I may not look it, but I can hold my own with a team of mules. Twelve miles it is.” She spit out the last words as she looked over the crowd of women.

  Hands went up slowly at first then faster, higher, and with more confidence. Choruses of “I am,” and “Count me in,” rang out.

  “Okay, Ladies,” Callie called, “twelve it is. Grab something to chew on cause we won’t be stopping for lunch. Girls,” she said to a group, arms linked, standing off to one side, “will you help? Mothers are going to need help with the little ones. Will you pitch in so we don’t have to slow down?”

  “Yes,” they shouted, grinning at each with delight to be a part of the adventure.

  “Thank you,” Callie smiled. “Five minutes to ‘Wagon’s Ho,’” she called out.

  Callie ran back to her wagon, grabbed a biscuit and some bacon, then put her oxen to yoke. She took up the long prodding stick and went to the outside oxen’s head. Taking hold of the big animal’s halter she pulled and prodded them until she had broke formation of third in line. Unerringly, she moved past wagons two and one until she was at the lead. The two women she passed smiled and waved her past.

  When she was settled in the lead, a little in front of all the wagons, she jumped up to the wagon’s seat and stretched to her fullest height.

  Callie’s voice rang out clear and unafraid. “Wagon’s Ho!”

  Chapter 22

  That night, all of the women except Callie went to bed as soon as the last dinner dish was washed. The men stayed up telling and retelling the day’s hunt. In her weariness, Callie tried not to slump. She sat with a cup of coffee listening along with the bragging and stories all around her.

  Seth had announced the women had made over twelve miles today. But it was the look of astonishment in all the men’s eyes that made the grueling effort worth it. The night air had ringed with laughter and congratulations as husbands and wives praised each other. Callie took a swig of coffee and swore her feelings of being left out weren’t going to spoil the day’s success.

  “You’re going to fall over if you don’t give in and go to bed.” Seth’s soft voice startled Callie. “You look exhausted.” “I am.” She gave him a weary smile as he sat down on the log beside her. He took the coffee cup from her hand, sat it on the ground beside her, and held her hand in his.

  “Understand you’re going to be taking over my job.”

  Callie gave a weak laugh. “You don’t have anything to worry about, Seth McCallister. Your job is safe. I am so tired I’m not sure I can make it to my wagon. I may just curl up on this log here.” She gave it a pat. “Looks soft to me.”

  Seth chuckled, his rough thumb making soft circles on the side of her hand. Callie held her breath, wishing she wasn’t so tired and was able to enjoy every moment of his unexpected touch.

  He cleared his throat. “Uh, Callie, I haven’t had a chance to tell you what with all the talk and going on since we caught up with the train, but, well . . .” His voice lowered. “I’m proud of you.”

  She met his searching look.

  “Seems like there’s no bottom to your well. You’re strong.” He held up her hand. “You’re gentle. Unpredictable. Ornery on occasion. Oh, and you’re pigheaded. Callie strained to hear him as his voice dropped off. “You’re perfect. I wish you were mine.” He studied the tips of his boots.

  Her breath caught at his words. “Seth, I don’t.” The words hung as she tried to dredge up the courage to tell him she was living a lie. But she bit her tongue to stop the incriminating words. She didn’t dare let him know she was on this train under false pretences. He’d hate her. He’d feel like a fool. She had no recourse but to follow this charade to the finish. She was on her way to fulfilling her dream of independence. Come South Pass, she’d drop off the train and out of Seth’s life. He didn’t know what he was saying. He wished for a woman who didn’t exist. She was a myth, a lie.

  “Don’t say anything, Callie.” He shook his head. “I spoke when I had no right to. What I really came over to say was thank you. Thank you for giving the women of this train something to brag about, too. They worked hard today, but they had fun doing it. They can be proud. They’re turning into true pioneer women. But I think you always were one.”

  He cleared his throat and continued to a louder, more confident, voice. “Tomorrow we stay put and take care of the meat. It’ll be a full day. The buffalo, while bringing us a source of meat, may bring something else: Indians. We’ll have to be more alert and ready than usual. But, that’s not for tonight. Tonight’s for rest after a job well done.”

  He stood up and in one fluid motion, scooped her into his arms. “Now. Off to bed.”

  Callie’s arms automatically circled his neck. She laid her head against his strong chest, hearing his heart’s steady beat, taking comfort in the safely of this man’s arms. “Mmm.” She stiffened. Had she said that out loud?

  “Sleep in,” he said gruffly. Reaching her wagon, he gently lowered her to her feet. “Tonight’s for rest after a job well done. Good night, Callie.”

  “Good night,” she said softly, watching him walk away. Tired both in body and spirit, she climbed into her wagon and bed. The night pulled its blanket of healing sleep over her and stars faded into day long before her eyes opened up again.

  Henry Henry found Callie next morning outside her wagon and, after teasing her for sleeping away the day, asked if she’d be willing to dry meat for him and Seth, taking a share for herself for the effort. Callie readily agreed and hoped Henry didn’t sense how overwhelmed she felt seeing the massive amount of meat one buffalo provided.

  No one on the train had
any idea how to dry or “jerk” the meat. Seth and Henry called an impromptu meeting and demonstrated the drying process. Men set out to cut green branches for frames Henry and Seth were in charge of cutting sinew from the buffalo to make sinew lines to be strung on the frame. The women were in charge of cutting the meat into very small strips and hanging it on the sinew lines to dry. The frame would then be placed over hot coals where the strung meat would dry.

  Callie couldn’t imagine the dried meat being very tasty. When Seth showed them a piece of jerky he’d had for a year or more, she was even more sure jerky wasn’t going to rate high on her choice of foods. But Seth assured them that, as they moved across the plains and game became scarce, they’d welcome the dried meat, which made a savory, nutritious soup when simmered. The skeptical look on Callie’s face was mirrored in most of the faces lining the circle, but everyone moved forward to the staggering task ahead of them. And without complaint.

  Callie helped Millie dry meat from the buffalo Caleb had shot. Much to his dismay, Jacob had missed both his chances to get a buffalo. But anyone looking could see the pride in his eyes as he mentioned over and over how lucky they were to have Caleb’s meat.

  By the end of the day, Callie never wanted to see a buffalo again in her life. Her back ached, her face was sunburned, and her hands smelled. She doubted she would ever get the smell of fresh meat out of them or her clothes. The odor hung like a dank cloud hung over the camp. Large, fat flies materialized out of nowhere, called by the tantalizing odor of blood. Callie lost track of the many times during the day she blessed Seth for her table. In the camp, every woman bent over flat surfaces wherever they could be found. Tonight, their backs would ache much more than hers.

  “Callie.”

  Callie was so lost in the numbing task of cutting strips of meat from the large chunks, that the sound of Seth’s voice made her jump.