Antebellum BK 1

by Jeffry S. Hepple

  ~

  “What’s your name?” Jack asked.

  “No name,” the boy answered. He was perched on the edge of a chair facing Jack and he looked as if he might flee at any moment.

  “What do people call you?”

  “Kid, Boy, Indian and some bad words.”

  “What did you want to talk to me about?”

  “They say you will be leading a wagon train north to Yellowstone.”

  “Yes.”

  “I would go with you.”

  “Why?” Jack asked.

  “To return to my people.”

  “Who are your people?”

  “Lakota.”

  “Sioux?”

  The boy nodded.

  Jack took a moment to answer. “We’ll be a very small train and we’re not going that far north.”

  “You are going to the Teton Valley. In the spring, my people hunt elk and buffalo in the Teton Valley.”

  “About half the wagons that’ve signed on will leave us at Fort Bridger to go west on The Oregon Trail, the others will go east to Fort Laramie and beyond. My wife and I will travel north to explore Yellowstone.”

  “Alone?”

  “Yes.”

  “A man and woman alone will die,” the boy said. “You need another gun.”

  “I need my head examined.”

  “What?”

  “Never mind. We need to find you a place to live and get you some warmer clothes.”

  The boy shook his head and waved his hands. “I want nothing except to go with you. I will pay you for these clothes you bought. The sergeant told me how much.”

  “It’s not charity that I’m offering. It’s payment in advance for your services as a guide.”

  The boy stood up. “When do we leave?”

  “Exactly one month from today. April first. April Fool’s Day.”

  March 31, 1855

  West Point, New York

  Cadet Fitzhugh Lee, the grandson of General “Light Horse” Harry Lee, sat facing the grandson of General John “Yank” Van Buskirk in their cramped room. “Going absent without leave will earn you twenty-four demerits, minimum, Johnny.”

  “Pug got ninety-nine in his plebe year and still graduated third,” Johnny replied.

  “But you’ve gone all this time with none,” Lee said animatedly. “You’re the only cadet in our class with a clean record. Don’t ruin it now.”

  “I asked for a pass to go home for Easter in a timely fashion, Fitz,” Johnny replied calmly. “Averell only disapproved it because I disagreed with him about States’ Rights.”

  “You made him look like a fool in public,” Lee corrected.

  “Be that as it may. He denied my pass for personal reasons.”

  “Appeal it up the chain of command or to the Honors Committee.”

  “I’ll get more attention by going AWOL.”

  Lee closed his eyes and shook his head in exasperation. “The whole idea of your going home for Easter is foolhardy to begin with.”

  “What’s foolhardy about it?”

  “This romance with Caitlin is bound to escalate beyond what happened at Christmas. If you get her pregnant, you’ll be dismissed and both your futures will be in ruin.”

  “West Point isn’t everything to me like it is to you, Fitz.”

  “All I’m suggesting is that you wait until next summer.”

  “What’s going to be different in the summer?”

  “You’ll have more time together and it won’t feel so desperate.”

  “We love each other, Fitz.”

  Lee shook his head. “Listen to me please, Johnny. I wouldn’t be sticking my nose in your business if I was sure that you and Caitlin had a future together, but you don’t even know each other.”

  “Of course we know each other.”

  “How can you know each other when you’ve spent every private minute necking and petting?”

  “We spent some time dancing.”

  Lee made a face. “Have you ever had a conversation with the girl?”

  Johnny didn’t answer.

  “Mark my words, going AWOL aside, if you spend Easter with Caitlin you’ll live to regret it for the rest of your life.”

  “I’m going.”

  Lee put his hands to his head in exasperation, then dropped them. “Okay, I give up, John. But I’ll make you a deal. If I help you get Easter leave, will you promise to at least make an effort to get to know Caitlin?” He held up his hands. “Yes, yes, I know; she’s the girl of your dreams. But I’m asking you – no, I’m begging you. Slow down. Put your passion aside and use your brain. Marriage is forever. If you make a mistake you’re stuck with it for the rest of your life.”

  Johnny took a breath to argue, then nodded. “You’re right.” He walked to the window and looked out at the bare trees. “Okay. It’s a deal. If you fix my Easter leave, I’ll slow it down.”

  “One more thing,” Lee said.

  “I hate making deals with you, Fitz. There’s always one more thing.”

  “This relates to your getting to know her.”

  “Okay, what’s the one more thing?”

  “Tell me something you don’t like about her.”

  Johnny turned around. “I can already do that. She sounds like a donkey when she laughs.”

  Lee chuckled. “Okay. You’ll get your leave.”

  April 1, 1855

  Sacramento, California

  Seventeen covered wagons, each with its own collection of animals, formed a lopsided circle. “I don’t trust Indians, Jack.” Clementine put her knee against the water barrel and, with a grunt, pulled the holding strap tighter.

  “That’s something you need to get over,” Jack replied calmly. “My mother and my sister-in-law are both Indians.”

  “They’re not wild Indians like that one.” She tipped her head toward the boy who was standing with his arms folded and pretending to be unaware of the argument.

  “Damn.” Jack took off his hat and wiped his brow with his neckerchief. “I just don’t understand this prejudice against Indians. That boy only wants to rejoin his tribe, but none of the northbound trains will take him.”

  “That should tell you something, even if you don’t understand it.” She checked the hasps on the tool box, then leaned back against the wagon and looked up at him. “Indians are our enemies, Jack. They hate us.” She raised her hand. “Don’t. I know what you’re going to say, but I don’t care if they have good reason. They still can’t be trusted.”

  “Well, hell.” Jack put his hat back on. “He’s my employee and nobody can keep him from going. Not even you.”

  “If he gets in this wagon I’m getting out,” she said adamantly.

  “The others don’t want me to give him a horse and you won’t let him ride in the wagon?” Jack took his hat off again and beat it against his leg in frustration. “Okay then.” He put his hat back on and tugged the brim down over his eyebrows. “He’ll walk and he’ll sleep under the wagon, but he’s coming.”

  “What if I said it was him or me?”

  He pointed back toward the town. “Take whatever you can carry and start walking. I’ve taken all the shit from you that I’m willing to take.”

  She glared at him, fumed for several seconds, then, mumbling curses under her breath, climbed into the back of the wagon.

  Jack walked to the boy and shook his head. “I’m sorry.”

  The boy shrugged.

  “I hope you don’t mind walking. If I give you a horse or a weapon these good people will rise up and leave the train in protest.”

  The boy shrugged again.

  “I speak several eastern Indian languages. Are any of them like yours?”

  Another shrug.

  Jack tried a few phrases in various tongues and saw a reaction to a Ho-Chunk greeting. “This you understand?” he asked in Ho-Chunk.

  “Wrong sound. It is the language of the Old Speakers,” the boy said in his native dialect.

  Jac
k nodded. “It’s a start,” he said in English. “I’ll walk with you to Yellowstone, and you can teach me your language on the way.”

  “Why?”

  “Why not?”

  The boy shrugged.

  “What name should I call you?”

  “Make one.”

  Jack shook his head. “I’ll just wait until you decide to tell me your name.”

  Once again, a shrug was his answer.

  Jack looked toward the wagon, but Clementine was inside and out of sight. “My wife will come around when she gets to know you, but for now I’m your only friend. A friend should know your name.”

  “You can call me Coyote.”

  Jack turned back and looked down into the boy’s eyes. “Coyote. The trickster?”

  “You wanted a name, I told you one.”

  Jack locked eyes with the boy.

  “It is just a name. It does not mean anything.” The boy dropped his eyes to the ground.

  “It better not,” Jack said. “It would be fatal to mistake my kindness for weakness.”

  The boy looked up. “Thank you for helping me. I will not forget that.”

  April 8, 1855

  Elizabeth, New Jersey

  Johnny Van Buskirk gave the reins of his horse to a groom. “It appears that I’m late,” he said, observing all the carriages and horses lined up along the road in front of the mansion.

  “Have you an invitation?”

  “I’m a member of the family. My name is John Van Buskirk.”

  “The family and guests are dining on the back lawn,” the groom said, stiffly. “You may follow the path through the arbor.” He pointed.

  “Thank you. I know the way.” John brushed dust from his uniform trousers, considered wiping off his boots and then decided against it and examined the familiar old house called Liberty Hall with a critical eye. In the year 1770, William Livingston, signatory of the United States Constitution and great-great-great-grandfather of Johnny Van Buskirk, had moved his young family to his newly completed mansion. The city of Elizabeth was then called Elizabethtown. In spite of being badly damaged during the Revolution, Liberty Hall now looked the same as it had when the first John Van Buskirk had courted Anna Livingston here, eighty years ago.

  “Was there something else?” the groom asked.

  “No.” Johnny shook his head and set off down the path.

  Caitlin Livingston jumped up from the long, crowded picnic table and ran toward the arbor where the tall young man in his West Point cadet’s uniform had just entered. “I thought you couldn’t come,” she squealed excitedly.

  “My roommate used his brother’s influence to get me a pass at the last minute,” Johnny replied.

  She took his hand and looked into his eyes. “Promise?”

  “Promise what?”

  “Promise that Fitz’s brother got you a pass and you didn’t do an AWOL?”

  “Isn’t a promise made upon something in the future?”

  “Don’t change the subject. You know what I mean.”

  “Yes I know what you mean and I didn’t do an AWOL.” He gestured toward the table. “Go finish your lunch. I want to visit Beelzebub.”

  “No. Come with me.” She tugged on his hand. “I’ll fix you a plate.”

  He shook his head. “I stopped to borrow a horse from Abe. Ginger made me eat a huge breakfast.” He looked toward the people at the table who were all pointedly avoiding looking back. “Besides. I don’t know half of your guests. Introductions and eating lunch are clumsy at best.”

  “All right,” she said disappointedly. “But don’t stay out there too long.”

  “I won’t.” He squeezed her hand, then let her go and started down the rutted path toward the stables.

  “He’s in the far pasture,” Caitlin called. “Be careful. No one’s ridden him for so long that he’s reverted to wild.”

  Johnny waved and kept walking.

  Beelzebub was a thirty-year-old stallion that had been the property of Johnny’s grandfather. Descended from a famous line of English destriers, he was the fifth American horse to be given that name. The first of the American Beelzebub line had belonged to Johnny’s great-grandfather, John Van Buskirk. All five horses of that name were mean-tempered by nature and trained from birth as warhorses.

  Johnny walked through the stable and climbed the fence to drop into a pasture where half a dozen thoroughbred horses had turned to watch him. Beyond the next fence, Beelzebub’s head and ears were up. Johnny noticed that the horse’s usually glossy black coat was dull and that there was gray hair around his eyes and across his muzzle. But the big animal’s back was not swayed nor were there any signs of loose skin or muscle degeneration that was common in aged horses. “Hello you old devil,” Johnny called out. Beelzebub’s ears came forward and he took a step toward the fence. “Come on,” Johnny urged, climbing onto the fence. “Abe sent an apple and some sugar cubes for you.”

  Beelzebub looked over his back, as if to see if he was being watched, then casually walked forward to stop just beyond Johnny’s reach. Close-up, the scars from a Mexican lance and two bullets showed clearly.

  Johnny slipped off the fence and held a sugar cube in his open palm so the horse could see it. “You need a good brushing. I’m going to ask if I can take you back to Van Buskirk Point. I know you like it here, but you’d get better care from Abe and Samuel.”

  Beelzebub pawed the ground, snorted, then moved forward quickly and took the sugar cube.

  Johnny pulled an apple from his pocket and twisted it in half. “Your teeth still look good.” He looked at the other pasture and then back at the big horse. “Is that black foal yours?” He offered the half apple and smiled when Beelzebub took it without hesitation. “You know my scent, don’t you?”

  Beelzebub raised his head, snorted, took a few steps backward, then turned and trotted away.

  John looked over his shoulder to see Caitlin and another girl coming through the gate. He threw the apple overhand toward Beelzebub, then climbed back over the fence to meet Caitlin. “Did you finish your lunch?”

  “Yes,” Caitlin said. “Cadet John Van Buskirk, may I present Katherine Chase.” She giggled. “Kate, this is my cousin, Johnny.”

  “Miss Chase,” Johnny said.

  “Cadet Van Buskirk,” she replied. She was about fifteen, extremely pretty with big hazel eyes, long lashes and a turned-up nose.

  “Kate’s father is Salmon P. Chase, a former senator, who soon will be the Governor of Ohio,” Caitlin explained.

  “My father and your Aunt Anna are well acquainted,” the girl said. She had a confident, almost imperious air about her.

  Johnny nodded. “In a recent letter my Aunt Anna mentioned your father. As you may know, she’s now working for the Republican Party.”

  “I do know, indeed,” Miss Chase replied. “She is a tireless proponent of women’s rights which is a cause very dear to me. I might add that, politics aside, I like your aunt very much and consider her as a dear friend.”

  Johnny was doing his best not to look at Kate Chase’s well-developed bosom and tiny waist, but Caitlin noticed and caught his hand possessively. “Kate will be going back to Ohio tomorrow.”

  “Perhaps you could write to me, Miss Chase,” Johnny suggested.

  Caitlin squeezed his hand.

  “To keep me informed of the Republican Party’s progress, that is,” Johnny said. “I’m very interested, but my aunt is so busy that she rarely writes long letters.”

  “I’d be delighted,” Miss Chase replied.

  “Just address it to Cadet John Van Buskirk in care of the United States Military Academy, West Point, New York.”

  ~

  Kate Chase awoke with a fearful start. The moonlight through the dormer window illuminated her cramped attic bedroom in Liberty Hall and, for a terrible moment, she couldn’t remember where she was. She had been dreaming, but couldn’t remember the details. The room was very warm. She wondered if it was the heat that ha
d awakened her.

  A scratching sound at the window sent her toward terror again. She sat up and drew in her breath to scream as the window swung open.

  “It’s me,” Johnny Van Buskirk whispered.

  Kate was still holding her breath. Her heart was pounding so hard that her vision was blurring with each beat.

  Johnny stepped down from the window seat. “I gather that you received my note.”

  “What note?” she gasped.

  “I sent a note with the maid to warn you that I’d be visiting.”

  She shook her head.

  “You didn’t get it?”

  “No.”

  “Forgive me. I must have frightened you.”

  “No.” She became aware that he was staring at the bodice of her thin summer nightdress and covered herself with the sheet. “You shouldn’t be here.”

  “I’ll go, if you want me to.” He pointed at the open window.

  “No,” she said after a moment. “But lock the door.”

  Johnny tiptoed across the room and carefully shot the bolt. “Do you want this?” he whispered, touching a long robe that was hanging from the hook on the door.

  “No. Come here,” she hissed.

  He walked back to the bed and waited.

  “Why are you here?” she whispered.

  “To talk to you.”

  “Only to talk?”

  He smiled. “Anything else would be up to you.”

  “I’ve never…”

  “I know. You have nothing to fear.”

  “Except discovery,” she said.

  “The door is locked. If someone knocks I can be out the window and across the roof to my own room before you can get out of bed and open the door.”

  She thought that over. “If I were to let you kiss me, would it be our secret?”

  “Of course. A gentleman never discusses such matters.”

  “Girls do. Caitlin says that you’re the best kisser she knows.”

  “Does she?” He chuckled softly. “I wasn’t aware that she had such vast experience.”