Hearts Entwined

by Karen Witemeyer

  It was only a matter of time. Bradley looked at Captain Chandler, who had grim determination painted on his face. Then there was Private Krebs, whose nervous energy Bradley understood better. And Private Morris, who was resting fitfully and might never know what hit him if they failed.

  The noose was tightening around their necks. Good men would be lost if someone didn’t do something.

  “I’m taking it to them,” Bradley said.

  Private Krebs gasped. “Are you crazy?”

  “Private Willis, you will not abandon your—”

  But Bradley wasn’t staying to argue. He rolled away and crawled over the rocky ground until he reached the steep bank of the gully. Sliding down it, he reached his horse. Excitement flooded through him at being in the saddle again. Boots in the stirrups—that was how Bradley would meet his destiny. He hadn’t joined the cavalry to be killed on the ground. He reached back for his saddlebag and got everything arranged, including his pistol. Taking a deep breath, he spurred his horse. It scrambled for its footing as it rose over the bank, but once it emerged, he charged ahead.

  Flying over his enraged captain, Bradley dropped a sack of jerky for Morris and plowed toward the band of outlaws waiting for him.

  GARBER, TEXAS

  The saber glinted in the morning sun as it swooped through the air. Ambrosia Herald gripped it in both hands and made another daring slice through the dust motes of her father’s library. When she and her mother had designed the floor plan of the new house, they’d made sure to include ample room for her father’s cavalry memorabilia, but now the medals, spurs, and letters of commendation only seemed to agitate him.

  It had been months since she’d heard her father’s laugh. Months since he’d felt well enough to take her riding or to work in Mother’s rose garden. When he felt well, he sat at his desk and wrote letter after letter, compelled by forces that the rest of the family didn’t understand, but most days he wandered aimlessly about the house as if looking for something he’d misplaced.

  “You absolutely cannot go.” Her mother’s voice grew clearer as she descended the stairs, speaking, no doubt, to Father’s back. “Why don’t you stay home and enjoy your retirement? You’ve earned a rest.”

  They were coming her way. Ambrosia barely had time to set the saber back on its stand over the fireplace before her parents entered.

  “I’ve done nothing but rest since winter.” And yet his voice sounded weak, strained. “It’s time I was out.”

  “But your health,” her mother said. “It’s delicate.”

  That word never failed to annoy her father. “It’s not getting any better sitting around here. I’ve received the letters I was waiting for. Help is meeting me in Kansas.”

  “What kind of help?” her mother asked.

  “A handful of cowboys and a promising young cavalryman from Fort Reno. No reason to delay any longer.”

  “What are you doing in Kansas?” Ambrosia jumped out of the way as her father went to his desk. She’d always been jealous of his stories, especially now that she was grown and had no such adventures before her.

  “It’s those camels again.” Her mother tried to arrange a blanket over Father’s shoulders as he rummaged through his desk drawer, but he shrugged it off. “They’ll be the death of him.” Never one for understatement, Ambrosia’s mother continued. “The last thing he needs is to take on more responsibility. It’s not as if we need the money, and I’m not sure what kind of money those animals are supposed to make anyway. Besides, a trip in this heat will probably dry him up like a raisin.”

  The last time they’d had this conversation, he was doomed to be shoe leather. Ambrosia assumed that was progress.

  “We don’t need the camels,” he said, “but they need us. It’s time they come home.”

  All her childhood, Captain Herald had told Ambrosia stories about the gallant camel cavalry and the Big Bend expedition. He’d always included the names of the camels—Omar, Ruby, and Esmeralda—right along with Lieutenants Echols, Hartz, and Beale, as if they were equals. But however fond he might have been of his long-lost mounts, Ambrosia and her mother couldn’t understand his fascination with the beasts.

  “Found it.” He held up a small leather journal. “Now I can calculate the supplies I’ll need and be ready for the train tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow?” Her mother gave a sorrowful look out the French doors at her garden. With a determined glint in her eyes, she said, “Ambrosia is going with you.”

  Ambrosia bounced on her toes. “Really?”

  “I wish she could,” he said, “because until a person travels with the camels in the summer, they can’t truly appreciate them. But this journey will be too strenuous. She’d be miserable.”

  “No, I won’t. It will be an adventure, just like those you’re always telling me about.” Certainly Ambrosia would miss their new home, the scent of the fresh woodwork and wallpaper, but she couldn’t wait to be tested. To see if she had what it took. Swinging a sword through dust motes was a far cry from making a journey on horseback. Or camelback, as it were.

  “Once we get started, there’ll be no going back,” he said. “No matter how rough the going is, Amber, you can’t quit.”

  She’d rarely seen her father so stern. Ambrosia looked to her mother, unsure of her support. But her mother nodded as she nudged her forward with an elbow. For whatever reason, her mother and her father were in agreement. Something was amiss.

  “I can keep up,” she said finally. “I won’t slow you down.”

  “Fine, but you’d better be ready by tomorrow, or I’m leaving you behind. Now excuse me, as I plan my corral.” He headed to the only space they had available, her mother’s freshly planted rose garden, and began walking off the length of the north side.

  Had her father just agreed? Had that been too easy? She looked to her mother, but she was mourning her roses.

  “When I think of all those years spent in army camps, without any permanent home, without a place to plant, and now . . .” She turned to Ambrosia, her eyes alive with purpose. “This is perfect. It’s a tall order for someone so young, and your father has already called in reinforcements, but I have full confidence that you can thwart him, the cowboys, and this young trooper he hired.”

  “Thwart him? He’s not even sure I can survive the trip home.”

  “That’s the beauty of my plan. You aren’t coming home on camel. You are going to put an end to this madness. If you succeed, you’ll come back on the train within the week, and the camel topic will be retired permanently.”

  Ambrosia might be only eighteen, but she had determination in spades. This was her chance to be just as brave as a cavalryman, and to help her family while she was at it.

  “Tell me what you need,” she said. “I won’t let you down.”

  Chapter

  2

  ONE WEEK LATER

  OUTSIDE OF ANTHONY, KANSAS

  He was still wearing the cavalry blue, but if Bradley didn’t complete this mission, he wouldn’t be for long.

  Instead of congratulating him on escaping the Gunther gang and getting his men home safely, Major Adams had applied harsh words. The major appeared to be of the mind that a private should obey a captain, even if that captain was Captain Chandler. Even if everyone survived. Even if the only damage done was a dent to Bradley’s canteen when a bullet ricocheted off it.

  Only in the government did you get written up for saving people.

  When Bradley had charged straight at the Gunthers, they’d turned tail and run. True, he should’ve remembered that his saddlebags held the unit’s extra ammunition, but by the time he’d seen it, it was too late. Had he gotten shot while making his charge, Chandler and the others would have been left high and dry. But he hadn’t been shot, and that made all the difference.

  Following the wagon ruts, Bradley guided a wagon full of crates and kegs that he’d picked up in town out to a farm. Major Adams had assigned him to help a retired cavalry buddy wh
o needed an escort across Indian Territory. As far as punishments went, it wasn’t bad. Better than being locked in the guardhouse again. If the retired captain gave a good report, Bradley would be forgiven, and his record would be cleared. He owed it to his sister to try. She’d sacrificed too much for his career for him to lose it.

  Besides, Bradley loved being in the cavalry. Though if he had his druthers, he’d druther not go traipsing across the prairie in August. No water, grass all burnt to a crisp, and the sun acting like it had a personal vendetta against you and all your kin. But if anyone could do it, Bradley Willis could.

  A slow trip up to Kansas in a stagecoach—why Major Adams hadn’t let him bring his horse, he’d never understand—and a slow trip back with the herd. When he’d reached the town of Anthony, he’d been given instructions to bring the wagon of supplies to a Mr. Switcher’s farm. Judging from the storekeeper’s comments, the old farmer had a reputation for being an eccentric. Judging from the supplies Bradley had on his buckboard, Captain Herald might be, too. Standard chuck wagon fare didn’t include fresh apples, horehound candy, and a feather mattress.

  Bradley had many questions as he approached the farm, but he’d know everything soon enough. There was always time to worry later.

  In this flat, treeless land, the farm was visible for miles, but finally they were close enough to hear the squeaking of the windmill. As they drew nearer, his team slowed. The sorrel’s ears pricked. The skin on its hindquarters shuddered in ripples. Bradley loosened the reins. They weren’t afraid of a windmill, were they? The sorrel abruptly swerved, pulling the dun with it, and the wagon wheels left the path and rolled into the stubble of the recently harvested wheat field.

  “Whoa,” Bradley ordered. He directed the horses back onto the trail. Now it wasn’t just the sorrel acting up, but the dun, too. What was wrong with them? They were acting like something at the farm ahead was fixing to ambush them.

  It was a nice enough farm. A green roof capped the tidy house. The barn doors yawned open as if so full they couldn’t be fastened. A cattle dog dozed on the porch. Nothing amiss, but the horses had stopped. The sorrel’s sides heaved. They were spooked, sure enough. Bradley hopped down from his seat and looked over the traces for anything that could be goosing them.

  “We’re almost there,” he said. “Just get these supplies over to the barn.”

  Wild equine eyes met his. Flared nostrils dripped.

  “What is it?” he asked as he stroked the sorrel’s neck. “Wolves? Coyotes?”

  But the dog on the porch hadn’t scented anything. Taking the reins around to the front, Bradley drew the horses forward against their will. Just a walk across the property to the barnyard, and then someone from the house would surely come out.

  “Can’t have a rancher seeing a cavalryman being bested by an old wagon team,” he grunted. “What’s wrong with y’all?”

  They halted just short of the barnyard. Voices could be heard on the other side. He thought of calling out, but not until he got his horses under control. They were pacing, pulling back against him. The dun gave a little hop. Both watched the barnyard pen. Bradley looked over his shoulder. What could it be? Everything looked just as a farm should.

  Until something strange, something he’d never seen before, peered at him from around the side of the barn. It was just a head—foreign, unknown, and floating from up high. His blood ran cold.

  The horses just flat-out ran.

  “Whoa!” he called, but it was too late. Thrashing against each other, they turned. Bradley had to jump back or be taken down himself. The sorrel quickly found her feet and began pulling away. The dun righted herself to keep stride, and they were off. Bradley chased after the wagon. They cut sharply, but they were going too fast to make the turn. One wheel left the ground as the wagon tilted. The load shifted, and quick as Sergeant Nothem’s flapjacks, the buckboard flipped over and spilled its contents. Bradley dodged the apples rolling at him and raced to the horses, which were dragging the destroyed equipment behind them.

  Bradley caught a rein and pulled them to a stop. He stroked the frightened horse nearest him. “I don’t know what kind of critters they’re keeping at this farm, but—”

  “Private!” The man coming toward him wasn’t dressed in a uniform, but he walked just like those officers at Fort Reno did.

  Bradley jumped to attention right there among the spilled goods and tangled lines. He had one shot at keeping his position. He said a quick prayer that wrecking the wagon wouldn’t be enough to get him sent back in disgrace. “Private Bradley Willis, reporting for duty,” he offered. “I’m reporting for duty, but the horses have other plans.”

  The man marched through the busted crates and scattered sundries. He put a calming hand on each of the horses. “Captain Herald, here. They must not have warned you at the hotel.”

  “Warned me, sir?”

  “About the horses. As soon as they catch a whiff of the camels, they bolt.” Captain Herald’s hair was jet-black despite his age, and the loose, double-breasted shirt he wore hung on a frame that was made to carry more muscle.

  “Camels?” Bradley looked at the strangely shaped mammal stirring in the corral. “You bought cattle from a camel breeder?”

  “I didn’t buy cattle.”

  “But Major Adams said that I’d be accompanying you and your livestock across Indian Territory.”

  “The camels are my livestock. I’m taking them back to my place in Texas.”

  Bradley was rarely caught by surprise, but this particular fact knocked him back a notch. “Camels? You’re taking camels to Texas? If horses are afraid of them, how are we going to round them up?”

  “Who needs horses when you can ride the camels?” The captain’s drawn face looked like it hadn’t smiled that wide in a very long time.

  “Sir,” Bradley said, “I’m a cavalryman. A trooper. I ride horses.”

  But the captain wasn’t listening. “Let me introduce you to the herd, and then we need to bring the supplies into the barn. We’ve got a lot of work to do if we’re going to leave tomorrow morning.”

  Camels? Bradley strained for another look, but the animal had wandered back to the other side of the barnyard. This was his assignment? This was the mission Major Adams had sent him on?

  If so, his major was out of his ever-loving mind.

  “There ain’t no way I’m messing with those creatures.” The cowboy’s eyes never left the big bull camel. His perfectly white teeth stuck out about as much as the dromedary’s. “There ain’t no way that God made an animal that ugly.”

  “I couldn’t agree more.” Ambrosia adjusted her leghorn hat with the wide, apple-green ribbon as she gazed up at the camel. “And they’re dangerous, too. Ill-tempered, with razor-sharp teeth. Their favorite trick is to chomp the foot off a rider when he least expects it.”

  The cowboy shuddered and took another step back from the corral. Ambrosia hid her smile. When her mother had tasked her with disrupting her father’s trip, she hadn’t realized it would be this entertaining. Unable to convince her father that the camels were a bad idea, she’d now moved to the next stage, which was preventing him from coming home with the beasts. Without some hired help, they’d never be able to cross Indian Territory, and thankfully the cowboys he’d hired to accompany them were a superstitious lot. At this rate, she’d be able to save her father’s health and her mother’s beautiful flower gardens in one fell swoop.

  Where was her father, anyway? He was jogging out toward the road, the last she saw, and in his condition, he shouldn’t be hurrying about like that. But it had given her the perfect opportunity to send another feckless cowboy packing.

  “I’ll stick to horses, thank ye very much.” The cowboy managed to pull his lips closed, even over all his teeth. “I’ll go tell your pa that I’ve reconsidered my offer.”

  “No need.” She smiled sweetly. “I’ll tell him myself.”

  After a tip of his hat, the cowboy stuck his hands in his pocket
s and ambled away.

  She spun her parasol on her shoulder as she surveyed the camels. The two younger calves loped around the corral with a weird swaying trot, their flat feet splaying out with each step. How in the world could her father have become so infatuated? After listening to his stories for years, she’d imagined them as elegant, noble creatures instead of the awkward animals clowning around before her.

  The old bull gazed down over the end of his huge flapping lips, as if he’d read her unflattering thoughts.

  Amber stabbed the end of her parasol into the dusty ground as the camel curled his lips back and showed his teeth. “Keep acting like that, and you’ll scare them away faster,” she said. “Besides, you’ll be happier here in a barnyard than in mother’s flower garden.”

  The camels turned their heads in unison. Even after all these years, the older animals seemed to remember her father. They listened for his voice, but this was someone else. Their odd heads rotated away, and they jogged to the other side of the corral.

  More men coming to try their hand? Ambrosia gave her parasol another spin. Just a few minutes alone with her next victim, and she’d have another cowboy riding off into the sunset.

  But he wasn’t a cowboy—he was the cavalryman. She had to look twice for insignia because he strutted like he was at least a sergeant-major, but the lack of chevrons meant he was only a private.

  How very disappointing.

  “Private Willis, this is my daughter, Miss Herald. She’s going with us on this little trip.”

  She stood tall as the trooper took a full accounting of her. He himself was well built, but not an overly large man. He had a strong jaw, and his lips were uneven, with the bottom lip fuller than it should be. Ambrosia wasn’t sure whether it was enticing or not, but she was willing to give it some thought.

  “Ma’am.” He tipped his black slouch hat, giving her a quick glimpse of some deep-blue eyes. Then he turned to the pen. “Who do we have here?”