Unconquerable Callie

by DeAnn Smallwood

  “Not a chance.” Seth laughed. “Spending the day with you is the main reason I’m going.”

  But she didn’t hear his answer. Her head was buried in a chest, her hands flying, as they frantically searched.

  No more than half an hour had passed when Callie heard voices coming closer.

  Seth called out, “Callie, you ready?”

  She took a minute to answer. What had seemed a good idea a short while ago now seemed foolish. She felt awkward, shy. How silly, she thought. I know these people. I have absolutely no reason to feel this way. But the feeling persisted. Her mouth went dry and she wished she could just call out that she had decided to stay with the wagons. No, she didn’t. She was going to spend time with Seth. And to spend time with him, she had to overcome the butterflies fluttering in her stomach.

  “Callie?” Seth called again.

  “C-Coming.” And with that, she threw open the canvas and, as gracefully as possible, climbed out.

  “Whooee!” Henry Henry called out. “Would you look at our Callie.”

  “Well, that’s more like it.” Mrs. Franklin sniffed. “I knew there was a woman underneath all that buckskin.”

  But it wasn’t Henry and Mrs. Franklin who caught Callie’s attention. Her blue eyes, as blue as the ribbon in her hair, were shining for one man only. Nervously, she smoothed her hands down the front of her dress and waited for Seth’s response.

  She had packed the dress, doubting there would ever be an occasion to wear it.

  “Callie.” Seth felt the catch in his throat. The cornflower blue silk was dotted with tiny yellow flowers and trimmed with a narrow band of white lace. The large bow in the back pulled the dress snugly, emphasizing her narrow waist. She’d lost weight, but it only made her look petite and fragile. Somewhere inside her wagon, a feisty, rough riding woman had cast aside buckskin pants and shirt. A beautiful butterfly emerged from a dusty cocoon.

  He wanted to take her in his arms and crush her to him, hold that beautiful head against his chest and whisper how much he loved her. Never before had he felt so helpless. Never before had he hated a man as much as he hated Callie’s fiancé. Hated his lack of concern, and his obvious lack of awareness for the jewel he had in this delightful woman. But overriding the hate was envy. Envy and desire for what could never be his.

  Callie lowered her eyes. Seth hadn’t said anything but her name. A hard knot formed in her throat. He didn’t approve. And she willed herself not to let the hurt show.

  “My, my hair’s still so short,” she said. And this dress is—”

  “Beautiful,” Seth whispered. “But the woman wearing it is more than beautiful. She’s, well, Callie, I don’t have the words to describe you.” He knew he’d already said too much. Mrs. Franklin’s ears were flapping and Seth’s response would be shared with anyone willing to listen.

  He gave Callie a warm look, hoping his face didn’t give away his true feelings, and crooked his arm.

  “Miz Collins, I’d be very proud to escort you.” He reached out and took Callie’s cold hand and placed it on his arm. He could feel her tremble as he folded his large hand protectively over hers.

  Henry Henry jumped into the awkward silence. “I couldn’t agree more, Seth. No, siree. There just ain’t words to describe Callie. Nope. No words. Well”—he moved ahead of the gawking group—“let’s stretch our legs else it’ll be dark afore we even get started.”

  Seth looked into Callie’s eyes and, with a hint of a smile, squeezed her hand.

  Chapter 38

  After being on the trail and the vast, empty plains, Fort Laramie was overwhelming. The noise was deafening and Callie tensed at each different sound. Hooves pounded as the cavalry drilled in the hard-packed parade grounds. Men shouted, the blacksmith anvil rang out, livestock bawled, and somewhere in the distance, a piano tinkled. The smell of manure and unwashed bodies assailed her nose. There were few women, and the men were a stew’s mix of shapes, sizes, and dress, from army uniforms to stiff pants held up by wide suspenders stretched over faded red underwear. She’d forgotten how chaotic civilization could be.

  Callie confided in Seth about her secret purchase. With a twinkle in his eyes, he distracted Jacob, while Callie and Phyllis went inside the crowded trading post.

  They were delighted with their find, a table piled with yard goods. And near the bottom, Callie and Phyllis pulled out bolts of white, yellow, blue, and pink flannel. Phyllis refused the blue and Callie teased her about a baby boy having nothing to wear but frilly pink and yellow. It didn’t faze Phyllis in the least. She was carrying a girl and that was that. Callie ran her hand over the soft material and, for a moment, wondered if she would ever be buying flannel for a child of her own. She visualized a miniature Seth, a boy with his father’s blue eyes and strong chin. She quickly shrugged off the painful thought and busied herself choosing ribbon for binding, and another piece of pink and blue calico, for a small quilt.

  Phyllis’ pleasure in each purchase was palatable. She was overcome with emotion, stopping every few seconds to hug and thank Callie.

  “You might not be thanking me by the time we get everything made up.” Callie knew there wasn’t as much time as Phyllis thought, especially with them sewing away in secret. “You have to tell Jacob.” Callie handed one of the string tied packages to her.

  “I know,” Phyllis said worriedly. “I will. Soon.”

  Seth took the packages as soon as they stepped out of the trading post. Jacob raised a brow at Phyllis.

  “Buy something?” he asked, knowing his frugal wife would think twice before parting with her hard-earned cookie sales money.

  “It’s all for me,” Callie interjected, keeping Phyllis from having to lie to the man she loved and respected. It seemed that fate had dictated Callie to lie, even when she didn’t want to.

  Dinner was wonderful. The fort commander insisted they eat with him at the officer’s mess. Seth pulled out Callie’s chair and couldn’t resist touching her, his fingers gently stroking the silky softness of the back of her neck. Her curls reached the edge of her collar and, although Seth had thought her snowy mass of long hair breathtakingly beautiful, he’d developed a special fondness for her short curls.

  After dried apple pie for dessert, the couples went back to their wagons. Not wanting to end the day, the men built a communal fire and the women put on pots of coffee. The stars were bright in the sky by the time the last cup was empty and the last story told.

  Seth didn’t trust himself to be alone with Callie.

  “Callie, I’ve asked Henry Henry to escort you back to your wagon. I’ve got something else demanding my attention. I just want to tell you”—He leaned closer to her on the log, the fire dancing its reflection in her hair and on her face—“I enjoyed today. I’ll never forget it, no matter what. I only hope it meant something to you. I know you’re promised to another, but I can’t let today end without telling you how I treasure you. You have been a gift on this long journey. Sometimes I wish it would never end.” And with that he abruptly got to his feet and strode into the night.

  Callie watched him leave, tears flooding her eyes. Back at her wagon, she carefully folded her dress and put it back in the trunk, knowing she’d never look at it without remembering today and the time with Seth. Again, she vowed to tell him the truth. Today would be yet another memory to store in her memory box, to be brought out when Seth was gone, and she was left alone with his disgust ringing in her ears.

  The wagon train moved on as scheduled, the days and the numerous river crossings blurring together. Callie had lost track of how many times they crossed the Sweetwater River. All the crossings were easy. Not one compared to the treachery of the Missouri. The streams here held clear-flowing water, banks lined with driftwood. Firewood was now everywhere for the taking, and no one missed gathering buffalo chips.


  She and Seth rarely had time alone. The morning cups of coffee became sporadic. Callie knew it was for the best, but she sorely missed him.

  Seth distanced himself, trying to keep his love pushed deep down, out of thought and sight. He girded himself for the time of goodbyes and good lucks to Callie. He was also preparing himself to hide his emotions as he was forced to watch another man joyfully greet her on their arrival in Oregon City.

  They were now passing through soft sandstone, with the wagon wheels carving a depression. Seth warned parents to keep an eye on their children. It would be only too easy for a child to fall under a wagon.

  On July 2nd, the wagon train stopped, having reached the goal of Independence Rock, before the Fourth of July. There was an abundance of grass and horses, mules, and oxen munched happily, after the meager feed of the plains.

  When first spying Independence Rock, Callie breathed a sigh of relief and chuckled to herself. It looked like a giant turtle, covering a large portion of the prairie. She and Caleb wandered over to the rock reading many of the names already painted or carved there. Henry Henry had told them axle grease made up of pine tar and hog fat could be used to paint names. There would be time later to do just that.

  That evening, a feeling of pride and satisfaction hovered over the camp, like a low-lying, summer cloud. They had made the difficult journey on time and, barring the earlier incident on the Missouri River and Onnie’s illness, there had been no further loss of life. In fact, the wagon train had increased in size, due to several births.

  Callie and Phyllis seized every spare moment to sew baby garments. Inside Callie’s wagon, the two women perched on trunks, with the flap down for privacy. Callie marveled at the tiny clothing and couldn’t believe it when Phyllis told her they would be too big, at first. A lump came in her throat when she once again realized she’d never see the infant in the pink, ribboned gown. She reminded herself that her destination was for the best. The best for her, that is. Still, it was becoming harder and harder to reason out and accept she was making the right decision, the only decision possible.

  That evening Seth and Henry Henry joined the Monroes and Callie for dinner. Callie mixed up a pan of dried berry cobbler. Baking was always her savior, her happiness. When her hands were coated in flour, her heart smiled. Thoughts flew, and she allowed herself the pleasure of mentally planning her bakery.

  Her first order of business, of course, would be to find a place to park her wagon, and set it up to work out of. Ideally, of course, would be a permanent building with a kitchen. But the chances of finding a building were slim to none. From what she’d heard, South Pass City was booming, following the discovery of gold. The things that made it an ideal place for her bakery also made it difficult. Added to this worry was the fact that winter came early to Wyoming. Callie couldn’t live and work out of the wagon more than a few months. Oh, but the challenge would be worth it. The chance to own something of her own, to spend her days doing something she loved, to be part of a territory that allowed women to vote and to hold public office, filled her with peace and happiness. Surely that happiness would ease the pain of her loss.

  Seth told himself it wasn’t necessary to go by Callie’s wagon to let her know of his plans for tomorrow’s early Fourth of July celebration. He could easily tell her, along with the others, tonight at dinner. They would spend one day celebrating and then move on, taking advantage of their good progress. But somehow his feet didn’t hear his brain, and, following his heart, he headed to the wagon, where a lilting humming penetrated the canvass. He stopped and smiled. Someone was happy, if the joyful humming was any indication.

  “Callie,” he called out. “Got a minute?”

  Instantly the flap was propped open by an elbow and a curly head popped out. Flour-covered hands held aloft. An oversized apron covered her buckskins.

  “Seth.” There was no mistaking the delight on her face and in her voice. “Grab the flap. My hands are covered in flour. Come in.”

  He chuckled as he stepped inside the wagon and took in the baking confusion. “This looks like the inside of a bakery,” he said.

  Callie’s eyes snapped at the innocent comment. Surely he didn’t, no, he couldn’t— She thought frantically. “A-a bakery?”

  “Sure.” He stepped closer to her and gently ran a long finger down the tip of her flour-smudged nose. “And you look like the master baker.”

  “Oh.” She felt heat creep up her cheeks. “My nose itched just when my hands were mixing up the dough.”

  Seth peered into the mixing bowl. “Cookies?”

  “No.” Callie laughed. “Not everything baked is sugar cookies, Seth McCallister.”

  “They’re my favorite.” As if that was all the explanation needed.

  “Well, tonight you’ll have to settle for dried berry cobbler. I’m so happy to be here, and ahead of time, that I just had to bake something. I wish I had some sweet cream for topping, but that will just have to be something we dream about.”

  “Lord, I haven’t had sweet cream since I don’t remember when. Makes my mouth water just thinking about it. Fresh churned butter . . .” His words trailed off.

  “Baking powder biscuits hot out of the oven,” Callie added, her eyes closed in ecstasy.

  “Stop it. My stomach’s growling just thinking of popping one in my mouth. Have you made butter before, Callie?”

  “Heavens, yes. My aunt kept a milk cow and chickens. It was my job to milk the cow twice a day. Summer was her name. She was a small Jersey, and for every gallon of milk she gave, I skimmed a quart of cream from the top. We had fresh cream in our mashed potatoes, in our gravy, on our cobblers, and most of all, rich, creamy ice cream.”

  “Ice cream?” His voice carried a torturous sound of longing.

  “Yes. When the river froze over, we’d cut thick slabs of ice. Packed in straw, and stored in our shed, it lasted into the summer. Ice cream and lemonade. Seth, is there anything better than providing your own happiness?”

  “There’s so much to you, Callie. You took to the trail like a veteran, you can shoot as good as any man, you cook, and you bake like an angel. Is there anything you can’t do, or don’t like to do?”

  Callie grinned. “Yes. I don’t like to clean my own fish. I have to scrub for days to get that smell off my hands. Give me flour, sugar, and sweet cream any day.”

  They sat there in compatible silence, enjoying the rare privacy, enjoying the other’s company.

  Finally, Seth spoke. “I thought it might be nice to have a real Fourth of July celebration tomorrow. It’s a day early, but I don’t think anyone will mind. We can have music, foot races for the kids, and by pooling our resources, a feast. There may not be lemonade or ice cream, but maybe there’d be sugar cookies?”

  Callie laughed at the hopeful question and the boyish look on Seth’s face. “I don’t see any reason there can’t be sugar cookies. I’m sure the children would like them. I’ll just make enough for them. That way, we won’t have waste.”

  “That’s cruel, Callie Collins. I’ve got a better idea. Let’s keep those sugar cookies between us, not waste them on kids. They’ll eat anything.”

  “And you won’t?”

  “Nope. I hate green beans. That’s one vegetable that won’t grow in my garden.”

  “Your garden?” The impish look on Callie’s face disappeared with the question.

  “Guess I should say my someday garden. I’ll be settling after this trip and a home and garden is near the top of my list.”

  Callie wondered what the top of his list was, but didn’t dare ask. If the answer was a wife, she didn’t think she could keep the hurt from her face and voice.

  Seth stood up. “Well, I’d better go or you’ll never get that cobbler baked and I plan to have a big helping tonight. I’ll see you at dinner.”

 
“Good-bye, Seth.” The words hung heavy on her tongue, portentous of the good-bye she would soon say.

  Chapter 39

  The early Fourth was a huge success. Everyone celebrated not only Independence Day, but their success in reaching Independence Rock early. A party atmosphere skipped through the circled wagons. Patriotic songs were sung, babies were admired and passed from person to person, young couples held hands, and there was food everywhere. Henry Henry held forth, telling one tall tale after another. Seth, after eating his fill of sugar cookies, and sneaking several in his pockets for later, showed the children how to make a whimmydiddle.

  He grooved two sticks, then crafted a propeller of sorts, and attached it to the end of one stick. By briskly rubbing the two sticks together, the unwieldy propeller began to spin. The harder you rubbed, the more it spun. It was an instant hit, and before long, every man was engaged in the whimmydiddle making. Notching wood and crafting propellers, while children stood impatiently waiting to have their turn with the toy.

  The next morning, as they pulled out, smiles remained on faces, and everyone agreed yesterday had been the best Fourth ever.

  They had only traveled a few miles west of Independence Rock, when the Sweetwater River came into view, shooting its way through a narrow granite canyon called Devils Gate. Wisely, Seth had them detour around without passing through the chasm. It was too narrow and steep-sided to attempt. Seth didn’t even stop. So no one would have time to climb to the top and peer over the edge. It was too far down to the bottom, and too easy to have an accident.

  Within a few days, they had just about reached the halfway mark: South Pass City. Callie heard Seth’s news with mixed feelings and held back from joining the others celebrating the nearness of this landmark.

  Just outside of South Pass, the wagons stopped for the night at one of most unusual places they had yet experienced. A secret smile on Seth’s face accompanied his instructions that they dig down in the earth about twelve inches. There were puzzled looks on most of the faces, and whispered conversations about why he’d want to stop in this unlikely place. Moisture was evident as the ground crunched below their feet and wagon wheels. If there were springs underground, they had been covered with turf.