Unconquerable Callie

by DeAnn Smallwood

  The men entered the camp, hungry and tired. Henry Henry had joined them, carrying a brace of sage hens.

  “Hope you don’t mind me putting my legs under your table, Mrs. Monroe.”

  “Henry, you are always welcome. We’ve plenty and I’ll expect you tomorrow night when I cook those hens.”

  “They’re young’uns so they’d be right tasty fried, Ma’am. I’ll do the plucking after we eat and you can soak ‘em in some salt water, draw the blood right out.”

  Callie glanced up in time to see Phyllis’ hand fly to her mouth.

  “Henry, I’d like to take care of the sage hens if you don’t mind. Phyllis is teaching me how to cook wild meat, and if you’ll pluck them, I’ll take over from there. Meanwhile, they can store in my wagon where there’s more room.” Callie reached for the decapitated birds, their bloody necks red in the waning light.

  Phyllis shot her a grateful look and turned away, busying herself dishing up the beans.

  “I’ll walk with you, Callie.” Seth got up and, without waiting for her consent, took the hens from her hand.

  “What was that all about?” he asked as they left the campfire.

  “What?” Callie asked.

  “For a minute there it looked as if Mrs. Monroe was going to be sick just looking at the birds. You must have seen it, too. Teaching you to cook. Ha! When it comes to cooking, you can hold your own with anyone.”

  “You think so, Mr. Know Everything McCallister? Maybe all I can cook is cookies.”

  “Cookies, pies, cakes, bread, jelly. And I’d bet my bottom dollar, sage hens.”

  “It’s a long story, Seth, and I’d appreciate it if you’d just let it go. Please.”

  Seth paused, searching her face. “Okay. If it means that much to you. I’ll let it go. For now. But, Callie, as the captain of this train, I need to know any and all problems.” His voice was rough, brooking no argument.

  “I know you do. And believe me, this is one problem I’d like to share. But I made a promise and I’ll keep it.” She placed her hand gently over his. “Trust me. If my promise threatens this wagon train in any way, you’ll be the first to know.”

  He looked into her emerald eyes and felt his body sway toward her. Her hand, resting on his, was warm, her fingers reaching through to his heart. It took every bit of willpower he had to turn away from her upturned face. He had to remind himself he was an honorable man, placed in a position of guarding Callie’s well being. Being in love with her didn’t absolve him from protecting her from dangers, including himself. Her fiancé, by paying her way on his train, had bought that protection.

  His voice was hoarse, filled with desire. “I trust you, Callie. I don’t like secrets, but I’ll respect your reason. Up to a point. Now, let’s get rid of these birds and get back to the Monroe’s. If Henry Henry sees those loaves of bread that I’m hoping are hiding in that covered basket, he’ll eat them all, heels first.”

  Supper was pleasant. Seth was right. Henry Henry put away his share and more. Several times, Callie caught him wiping the back of his hand across his whisked mouth, dribbling currant jelly. She’d also caught Phyllis drinking a bit of the bean broth and slowly eating a slice of bread.

  “What’s our next landmark? Is there another obstacle like Ash Meadow Slope waiting up ahead?” Jacob asked.

  “You’ll be able to see the next landmark tomorrow afternoon, if my calculations are right and we continue to make good time. This is one landmark I can’t wait to see. It’s got a lot of names . . . Lightning Rod and Potato Hill, just to name a few. But most call it Chimney Rock. Like I said, we should see it in the distance tomorrow, rising up from the ground. First sighting should be thirty to forty miles out. Watch for a mountain shaped like a haystack, with the rod or chimney rising up from it. We’ll stop over there and rest up for a day.” He smiled over at Callie. “Some of us will want to climb it and scratch their names high up as they can. There’ll be names a plenty from other wagon trains. Still, there’s something about leaving your name carved in rock, as a lasting sign you passed this way.”

  “Did you carve yours?” Callie asked.

  A blush rose up his face. “Yeah,” he muttered.

  Callie laughed. “Well, Caleb, looks like you and I will have to make that climb.”

  “You bet.” He rubbed his hands together. “I think we all should. Don’t you, Dad?”

  Jacob nodded. “Why not, son? Is it much of a climb, Seth?”

  “Depends on how high you want to go.”

  Phyllis gave Callie a panicked look.

  Thinking fast, Callie said, “Phyllis, would you mind terribly not making the climb?”

  All was quiet as faces turned to her.

  “I’m sorry, Jacob, I have no right to ask that of Phyllis and spoil your plans. It’s just that—” She stopped short, frantically searching for a plausible reason.

  “I think I know what Callie’s trying to say,” Seth broke in.

  “You do?” Callie asked.

  “See, Callie and I talked about the climb on the way to her wagon tonight, and we both agreed that it was best that anyone with small children not make the climb,” he finished lamely.

  “But we don’t have small children,” Jacob said, his brow furrowed.

  “Oh, I agree, you don’t. But—”

  “But,” Callie interjected, “I offered Phyllis’s help in caring for the children while the mother made the climb.”

  “And,” Seth said, warming to the story, “I agreed wholeheartedly. Phyllis has a way with young’uns. Look how Charlie has latched onto her, calling her Grammy.”

  Callie’s lips twitched as she held back a smile. She’d never heard Charlie calling anyone Grammy. What was Seth doing? And why was he coming to her rescue? It was as if he . . . She swallowed hard and risked a look at his face. It was void of emotion, but his piercing, deep blue eyes held hers. They burned through all subterfuge, brushing away any cobwebs of deceit. He knew. Good Lord, he knew. But how?

  “I’m so sorry, Phyllis. At the time, I didn’t think about you and Jacob wanting to make the climb. I’ll stay behind with you and help.”

  “That’s not necessary, Callie.” She turned to her husband. “Jacob, if you don’t mind, I’d rather not spend my day climbing some rock. I’d much rather stay here and enjoy the free time, maybe even do some baking. I can’t remember the last time I made bread pudding. That’s still your favorite, isn’t it? Bread pudding with sweet white sauce over the top? I’ve got everything needed to make a big pan. I don’t have raisins, but we can make do without them.”

  “I have raisins,” Callie said. “That will be my contribution. I haven’t had bread pudding for ages.”

  “Darn,” said Henry Henry. “I can’t remember the last time I et any. Makes my mouth go to waterin’ just thinking of it. Sweet white sauce you say, Ma’am?”

  Phyllis smiled and nodded, her eyes on Jacob.

  He reached and drew her to him, making no attempt to hide his love and delight.

  “Guess I’m out-voted. Bread pudding is a mighty hard opponent to topple. Especially when it is my favorite. Raisins you say, Callie?”

  She nodded.

  “Well, then, it’s settled. You stay here in camp and make that pudding and I’ll carve both our names in that darn rock. As high up as I can get.”

  “You be careful, Jacob. A name on a rock don’t mean as much to me as you do. I’ll expect you to use some common sense,” Phyllis scolded.

  The laughter and talk that ensued was lighthearted. Henry Henry told tales about Chimney Rock, embellishing on the details, and his part played in each tale.

  At one point, Seth leaned over and whispered in Callie’s ear, “I think we have something to discuss, Miss Collins. Don’t think you’re getting off that easy.”r />
  “I’m not sure what you mean,” Callie whispered back, trying her best to look innocent.

  “Tomorrow. Morning coffee. Just you and me and” —He smiled wickedly—“A secret.”

  Before she could reply, the peace was broken by a loud, demanding voice preceding a dirty, bearded man.

  “McCallister,” Onnie Simple brayed. “Knew I’d find you here. Knew you’d be somewhere near that white-headed gal. I got me some questions that need answern’.”

  He swaggered into the light of the campfire, his belly preceding him. His frayed, red suspenders stretched to hold up pants looking as if they’d never seen a bar of soap or a washtub.

  Seth took a deep breath, then in a patient voice asked, “What questions, Onnie?”

  “I want to know why you don’t know where you’re takin’ us.” He thrust out his tobacco-stained lip. “I want to know just how qualified you are or if’n you’re just guessin’, riskin’ us all?”

  “Now just you wait a minute, Simple.” Henry Henry came to his feet.

  “It’s okay, Henry,” Seth said. “Onnie has a right to ask questions.”

  “Darned right I do.” He smirked. “Got me a right to expect some answers, too.”

  “I’ll do my best, but I’m not sure what you’re asking. You’ll have to do better than throwing out accusations.”

  “I ain’t throwing out them accu . . . accu . . . whatevers. I want to know, plain and simple, why you don’t know where we’re a heading. I’m beginnin’ to doubt you’ve ever led a train before. Yep. I’m beginnin’ to doubt you know the way to Oregon City.”

  Callie gasped. She glanced up at Seth and saw him clench his jaw, the muscle tight.

  “You got something to back up those words, Simple?”

  “Bet I do. I been studying a letter left to my dead wife by her sister. It tells of landmarks we should be already passing by. Tells about Potato Hill and Scott’s Bluff. Betcha didn’t know a man named Scott dragged hisself miles to die there,” he said importantly. “They found his bones all right.”

  “That’s part of a story, Simple. But go on.”

  “Well, I’m a thinkin’ I know more about leadin’ this train than you do. We’re gonna go around the Bluff, ain’t we?”

  It was a loaded question and Seth knew Onnie was happily awaiting the answer.

  “Nope.”

  “Knew it. I just knew it.” Onnie was positively dancing with pleasure at Seth’s answer.

  “We’re going through the Bluff,” Seth continued.

  “Cain’t.” He strutted over to Seth and jabbed a sausage finger in his chest. “Told ya, boy. Cain’t. Gotta take Robidoux Pass.”

  Seth glanced down at Onnie’s finger, his eyes narrowing as cold fury leap from them. Onnie took one look and hastily pulled back his finger, then stepped back.

  Seth’s next words were measured, bitten out one-by-one.

  “Mr. Simple, as captain of this train, I don’t have to explain my decisions to anyone. But I will. Robidoux Pass is the longest route. We don’t want the longest route. We want to get to Oregon City before snowfall. So, we’re going through the Bluff. Through the gap.”

  “My sister-in-law says there a howling wind that passes through it.” His pig eyes squinted. “Cain’t go through there. I’m a readin’ bout it and I’m telling you, McCallister—”

  “And I’m telling you, Simple, we’re going through the gap. Howling winds or no howling winds.”

  “You be willin’ to put this train at risk? You’re mighty sure of yourself, Mister. ‘Spect others be needin’ to know ‘bout this decision of yours. Yep. ‘Spect they do.”

  “I’ve about reached the end of my patience.” A chilled tone in his voice made Callie’s eyes widen.

  For once in his life, Onnie Simple realized he’d overstepped with the wrong person. He slapped his hat back on his head, nodded at Phyllis, deliberately ignored Callie, and stomped off into the night. His muttering carried back to the shocked group.

  “Don’t like that one, Seth,” Henry Henry said, shaking his head. “Made yourself an enemy. ‘Course, no fault of your own. Simple’s a dangerous sort. He’s like a rattler slithering along, just lookin’ for a reason to strike.”

  “I’m not worried. Onnie’s a big blowheart.” He swung his eyes toward Callie. “But you watch out for him. He doesn’t like me and I suspect he doesn’t like you.”

  “Me? I’ve never done anything to him.”

  “Seth’s right,” Jacob said. “I saw his face when he looked at you. Just be on your guard. We’ll all be on our guard. It only takes one big mouth like Onnie Simple to cause trouble.”

  Chapter 33

  Callie had hoped Seth would forget what he’d said the night before. He didn’t. The coffee had barely finished brewing when she heard his footsteps.

  “Morning.” She called the greeting over her shoulder, as she bent to the campfire, sliding the bubbling coffeepot onto a bank of coals.

  “Smelled that coffee before I rounded your wagon.” Seth squatted down beside the blackened pot and poured two cups. “Hot.” He grinned as he fanned his hand, slapping the palm against his leg.

  “It usually is,” Callie said with a grin, “when it’s been sitting over a hot fire. “It hasn’t had a chance to settle. We’ve probably got grounds.” She peered into her cup.

  “Don’t matter. I’ll just chew them,” he joked. “I’ve only got time for a quick sip or two anyway. But”—he drew the word out—“I’ve got time for you to tell me what’s going on.”

  “Why, Seth. What do you mean?”

  “Don’t give me that innocent act, Callie Collins. I know you well enough now to recognize all the signs. What’s up with Phyllis Monroe?”

  “Nothing,” Callie stammered. “Nothing at all. She’s just not feeling up to scratch lately. Probably nothing more than something she ate.”

  “Probably,” Seth agreed, his voice easy in the morning. “Saw me a woman once that ate a watermelon seed. Swelled up something fierce. Yep.” He stared into the fire as he shook his head, his eyes twinkling. “Something fierce.”

  Callie choked, coffee spewing out of her mouth.

  “Easy there.” He jumped up and energetically patted her back. Each blow sent her stumbling. “Coffee go down the wrong way?”

  “Seth McCallister, you stop pounding on my back before you break it.”

  “Just trying to help.”

  “Oh you’re a big help. A real big help. Watermelon seed.” She coughed again.

  He raised his eyebrows, the picture of innocence. “Well, now, Callie, you’re the one said it was something she ate. I was just agreeing. You don’t think it’s something she ate?”

  “You know it isn’t,” she sputtered. “You know darn well what it is.”

  “Well, now, I guess since you’ve decided I already know it won’t be like you’re breaking your promise to fill me in. Will it?”

  “You’re a conniving, manipulative, scheming—”

  “Yep,’ he chuckled. “I am at that. And you’re a beautiful, sassy, irritating, thorn-in-my-side, woman.”

  “Hmmpf. All right. Phyllis is expecting. But—” She held up her hand. “—she doesn’t want Jacob to know. She doesn’t want him to worry.”

  ‘Callie”—Seth’s voice was gentle, full of sweet concern—“if I was Jacob, and my wife was going to give me such a precious gift, I’d want to know so’s I could look out for her, help her. It’s not right to keep this from him.”

  “I agree. But Phyllis is worried about being older. She’s afraid that once Jacob knows, he’ll not want to go on to Oregon. It would be the end of their dream.”

  “Lots of land between here and Oregon,” Seth said musingly. “Some beautiful ranch land in Wyoming. Wouldn’
t be the worst thing to stop and settle there.” His eyes had a faraway look as he posed his next question. “Think you’d like Wyoming, Callie?”

  Callie almost choked at the question. Did Seth know Wyoming was her destination? No, he couldn’t. He was just asking for Phyllis’ sake.

  “I could love Wyoming, if it’s anything at all like I’ve read. Equality, the right to vote, open spaces. Yes, I could settle there.” Then, afraid she’d given too much away, she said, “Seth, you can’t tell Jacob.”

  “No, I won’t. That’s Phyllis’ place. But what I can do is keep an eye on things. If Phyllis puts herself in harm’s way, by not letting him know, I’ll insist she tell. That’s only fair, Callie.”

  “I agree.”

  “You do?”

  “Of course I do. I made Phyllis promise she’d tell him when we reach South Pass City, if not sooner. That’s halfway, isn’t it?”

  “Yes.” He set the cup down. “I’d better get us ready to move out.” He moved toward her. “Still like them buckskins on you, Mister.” In one quick step, he pulled her to him, lightly brushing his lips across hers. He reveled in their petal softness, longing to taste more and more of her sweetness. It took every ounce of his self-control not to. Then, just as quickly, he was gone, leaving her heart beating like a frightened bird.