by Caryl McAdoo
On the ride toward the Buckmeyers’ place, she considered what she knew of the lazy mama’s boy known to all by his middle name. Henry Buckmeyer, indeed. Everyone on the prairie knew all about his war stories as well as his drunken brawls, but the tales of him serving with Andrew Jackson certainly didn’t fit with her picture of a soft, indolent sloth who mooched off his poor old mother. There was no promise he’d even be there.
A part of her hoped he wasn’t.
CHAPTER
TWO
HENRY REARRANGED THE STRETCHED HIDES around the fire pit to catch the best of the smoke, then went back to the bois d’arc seeds. He loved the smell of burning hardwood, especially red oak. After spreading the last batch of cleaned seeds out on the wooden planks he’d lined up, he went to washing the next bunch. He sure didn’t enjoy the sticky green things, or the ache in his back either.
Blue Dog rose and growled once. Not expecting anyone, Henry slipped over to where his musket rested, lifted it, and let it balance in the crook of his arm. He readjusted the pistol in his waistband and waited.
“Hello to the house,” a female hollered on approach.
The dog growled again, this time louder. Henry silenced the mutt with a look and then shouted back, “Hello to you. Come on ahead.”
A woman? What could a woman want with him? Maybe she was lost, had followed his smoke in. When she rode around the cedar into sight, he could hardly believe his eyes. The beautiful widow Baylor, wearing a straw hat instead of the usual cloth bonnet, rode up, sitting astride Larry Dawson’s bay gelding—wearing trousers no less. He would’ve thought the lady would ride sidesaddle and wear a skirt.
He smiled. His mother always said any woman immodest enough to strut around in britches should be hung up by her thumbs. Still, britches or skirt, she was every bit as beautiful as that day when he first saw her on the porch of the Sulphur Fork Trading Post four years ago.
He removed his hat and nodded. “Welcome, ma’am. To what do I owe this pleasure?”
She surveyed his work, then looked to him. “Good day, Mister Buckmeyer. I’ve come with a business proposition for you.”
Returning the musket to its rest, he caught the horse’s headstall and then offered his hand toward her. She ignored it and swung out of the saddle without benefit of stirrups.
Immodest, rude, and a bit of a show-off. “Business you say?”
She dusted her hands on her pants, looked around the yard again, then faced him. “I’ll come right to the point, sir. I’m looking for some assistance and would like to speak with you about the possibility of providing the help I need.”
“Doing what?”
“I’ve got two wagons full of cotton that I must get to Jefferson. They’re already loaded and waiting.”
“Didn’t everyone leave a few days ago?”
“Yes, they did. Four days to be exact.”
“Why didn’t you go with them?”
She stiffened. “If it’s any of your business, I had my crop sold.” She looked away. “Or at least, I thought I did.” She met his eyes again. “A businessman had offered four cents a pound, a fair price, but when I took my cotton in this morning for the agreed delivery, the scoundrel tried to bilk me.”
She removed her hat. “So, I’ve decided I must take my cotton to market myself. I need someone to help me haul my lint south to Jefferson, where I can sell it for gold coin. I am prepared to pay you a fair wage once it’s sold, sir, if you’re up to an honest day’s work.”
He laughed. She appeared so blue at the mizzen with her chin in the air, acting all high and mighty; it didn’t much fit her asking for his help. Her face turned red, and she glared. He smiled and waved off his social gaff. “Sorry, ma’am. I didn’t mean to laugh at you, but honest work is all I know. You’ve been listening to those old busybodies’ scuttlebutt, haven’t you?”
“Well, I, er, uh; I suppose, but I truly . . .”
He let the lady—who obviously listened to and believed gossipmongers—stammer on, not offering her pride any salve. While she chattered her apologies, he considered her proposition. This could be the opportunity he’d been looking for. Maybe not the exact order he’d planned, but the widow definitely needed someone to go with her; she’d never get to Jefferson without help. He should be able to sell his seeds there; it would save him the trip to St. Louis.
He finally interrupted her. “I’ll go on one condition, Mis’ess Baylor.”
She stopped abruptly and stared. “What did you say?”
“I said I’ll go on one condition.”
She took the haughty posture again. “And what, may I ask, is your condition, sir?”
“I get to carry my own wares along.”
She shifted her weight. “How much room would you need? My wagons are pretty well loaded.”
“I have fifty hides and over a hundred pounds of seed. Plus, fifty or so pounds of tobacco. And, of course, my own tucker.”
She looked to the side, then to the ground. “Before we come to agreement, there is something I’d like to ask.”
“What’s that?”
She faced him. “Are you a believer, Mister Buckmeyer?”
“Don’t talk to me about God.”
“But why not? Mis’ess Dawson said your mother’s a devoted Christian. Didn’t she teach you from the Good Book?”
“Mother taught me to read from the Bible, ma’am.” He could hardly believe the woman’s audacity. “And she was a believer to be sure, but I wonder if you might tell me where your God was when she lay in bed for a month suffering, hurting so bad she could barely stand it?”
Sue looked around as if searching for an answer. “I’m sorry, sir, I’m certain that the Lord was right there with her.” The volume of her voice lowered. “After all, He promises never to leave or forsake us.”
He shook his head. “Sure seemed to me that He forsook my mother. Anyway, I consider the state of one’s soul a personal topic, wholly inappropriate for open scrutiny. So why do you ask anyway?”
“Sir, it’s a matter of trust. The journey will be long, and you and I will be traveling together alone. I don’t know you all that well personally and am concerned about appearances, of course, but, well, if I knew you were a Christian, I could believe you are an honorable man. Certainly, you get my gist.”
“I can assure you, ma’am.” He took his hat off and wiped his brow with the back of his hand. “On my mother’s grave, I have never acted inappropriately with any woman in my life.”
She stepped toward him and took his hand. Hers seemed so small around his. “Oh, Mister Buckmeyer! Your mother didn’t recover? I had no idea. How could it be that I hadn’t heard a word of it? When did she—”
“Three weeks now.” He pulled his hand away. No need for her to be acting like she cared. “Don’t fuss about it, she’s gone.”
“But I do feel so bad for being ignorant of that horrible news.”
“Don’t.” He cleared his throat and stared at the woman, looking past her handsome features; maybe he was wrong about her after all. “She’s gone and that’s that.”
“But—”
He held his hand up. “Please, I don’t want to talk about her.”
She stiffened, almost like he’d slapped her. “Of course.”
“So, do you have the room?”
Her shoulders relaxed a bit, and her face softened. “What is it you have again?”
“A hundred pounds of bois d’arc seed, fifty pounds of tobacco, and fifty or so hides.” He stroked his chin and wished he’d shaved that morning. “Past that, provisions.”
“Yes. Yes, of course.” She held up a finger and smiled. It brightened her face. No one could deny she was a handsome woman, even in trousers. “And I also have a condition, if you please.”
“Tell me.”
“My stipulation is that we can sleep on your furs at night. Would that be agreeable?”
“No problem, unless the rains set in.”
“Of course.” She nod
ded.
“And when were you planning on leaving, ma’am?”
“As I said, my wagons are loaded and waiting. I’d like to leave this afternoon. How long will you take to get ready?”
He laughed again. “Mercy, Widow, no grass grows under your feet, does it?” He looked around. “Will in the morning do?”
She dipped her head slightly, bouncing her hat against her leg in a quick rhythm. “My name is Susannah, sir; friends call me Sue. You may call me Mis’ess Baylor. My wagons are at the Dawsons’ and ready to go. I’ve borrowed Larry’s horse to come here and thought to leave as soon as I’ve returned the animal. I realize this is short notice, but—”
“Ma’am, it’s going to take me the better part of the day to get ready.” Was he making a mistake? She for sure was a powerful demanding woman. “Mule needs packin’, got to gather up some things, then walk to the Dawsons’ place to meet up with you.”
She looked him square in the eye. “Walk? Why in Heaven’s name would you do that? Where’s your horse?”
“Smokehouse.”
She looked puzzled.
“Broke his leg; had to shoot him.”
“Why that’s terrible. But he’s in the smokehouse?”
“Made jerky.”
Her face soured.
“One never knows about needing meat, Mis’ess Baylor. Why should the buzzards get my horse?”
“Well, I suppose you wouldn’t really need him on the trace anyway.” She glanced toward the smokehouse. “You’ll be driving one of my wagons, but I’ll thank you not to be offering any of your jerky along the way. To me or my children.”
“Children?” Her kids hadn’t crossed his mind. “You’re not thinking of hauling them to Jefferson, are you? Thought you said we’d be alone.”
“I did, I did, but I meant as the only adults—we’d be the only adults traveling. Certainly, I intend to take my children. For Heaven’s sake, what else would I do with them?”
Henry exhaled, considering all the trouble youngsters could conjure up. “Don’t have someone who you can leave them with? Like Mis’ess Dawson?”
“Levi is fourteen now and will be fifteen come December, so he’ll be a big help. And Rebecca. She won’t be any trouble. She’s a wonderful little girl.”
“I’m certain that’s true if you say so, but—”
“They’ll be fine, I assure you.” Her expression told him the matter had been settled—at least in her mind. Independent and stubborn. “Now, I really don’t want to have to wait for you to walk all the way to Larry and Elaine’s.”
He shrugged. “I don’t see another option.”
She rubbed her brow and sighed. “We’ll just have to ride double. Now how can I help you get ready? I do not like wasting time, and we are burning daylight.”
He walked to the shed and retrieved his saddlebag. He held it out toward her. “Go rummage the kitchen for whatever you think we should take.” Before she reached the cabin, he hollered after her, “You’ll find two brown jars of honey under my bed. Be sure to grab both of those.”
She turned toward him with raised eyebrows. “Have a sweet tooth, do we, Mister Buckmeyer?”
He removed his hat, ran his fingers through his hair, then replaced it and grinned. “Doesn’t everyone?”
He watched her hips sway until she disappeared inside. Maybe that’s why his mama thought women shouldn’t wear trousers. He turned and set about getting Brown Mule packed. A month’s worth of jerky got stowed in whether the widow wanted to eat it or not. He’d definitely not be saying more about it to her. After his animal stood loaded and waiting, he did offer half the beans and corn bread that he’d warmed for dinner earlier and shared his first meal with his new boss lady.
With his drying seeds stored out of the weather and the unwashed ones in the shed along with his unfinished furs, he raked the fire embers. He checked on his honey jars’ packing—wouldn’t want them to break—and smiled to himself. If only she knew what hid inside, she for sure wouldn’t have made that honest-day’s-work comment.
He tied his mule’s lead loosely around the bay’s saddle horn and then climbed aboard, noting the sun. Should be enough light to get to the Dawsons’, but no way would he agree to set out this evening.
He lowered his hand toward her. She caught his arm below his elbow; he grabbed hers, then pulled her aboard. He pressed the gelding with his knees, and his new, most unexpected adventure began. Sure had been one strange day, and even though he’d been up all night checking his traps and fishing, and it’d been more than thirty hours since he slept, he’d never been more awake.
“Come on, Blue Dog.” The canine barked and ran ahead of the bay.
“You’re not planning on taking that mangy creature all the way to Jefferson, are you? Wouldn’t you be better served leaving him here to guard your place?”
“No, Blue Dog is the best I ever had, ma’am.” He urged the bay to an easy trot. “He’ll carry his weight on the trace, but don’t worry. I wasn’t planning on charging you any extra for his services.”
The widow very obviously did her best to hold herself away from him as far as she possibly could. She talked nineteen to the dozen, telling him what she expected and the route she wanted to take, Cuthand to Pleasant Mound to Captain Daingerfield’s Springs; same way he’d have gone. She spoke of pushing ahead, traveling every possible extra hour of the day. They’d be following behind the wagon train in the hope of catching up and joining the larger group. The brim of her hat poked the back of his neck now and again.
She suddenly fell quiet; he felt her press more and more into him. The hat’s brim rode up his neck to rest against his own. Before the ride was half over, she snuggled in close, leaning all her weight against him. Her small arms encircled his waist. He figured she had fallen asleep and was thankful her prattle had ceased.
But the whole time, he couldn’t help thinking what a fine-figured woman rode against his back. Even if she did wear men’s clothes.
He decided the best thing to do was set his mind on what all he would need for the journey on the trace.
CHAPTER
THREE
ONCE THE DAWSONS’ PLACE came into sight, he leaned back, moving her slightly away from him. “Mis’ess Baylor?” He raised his voice a notch and rocked. “Mis’ess Baylor! We’re almost there.”
She immediately pushed away, avoiding all contact except for her hands on the saddle. With no mention of her little nap, she cleared her throat. “Well, looks like we’ve made very good time. I pray that becomes our habit on the Jefferson Trace.”
A little girl came running toward the horse. He slowed the gelding to a walk.
“Mama! Mama!” She ran with both arms stretched out as though wanting to be picked up. “You’re back! Aunt Elaine helped me and Sophia Belle make tea cakes for dessert, but we had to wait for you to eat one.” The child was a miniature of her mother, with a halo of curls around her dirty face.
He stopped the horse and offered his hand. Sue took it this time and slid off the side against his leg. The little girl leapt into her arms. She seemed too big to be carried, but what did he know? Her mama went to giving the child’s smudged cheeks a spit bath. He remembered how much he’d hated those.
A gangly, half-grown boy followed a few feet back, eyeing him with a look of suspicion.
The young lady had only curiosity in her eyes. “Who’s he, Mama?”
Sue sat her daughter down and kneeled beside her, looking up. “Rebecca, Levi.” She gestured toward the boy. “I’d like you to meet Mister Patrick Henry Buckmeyer. He’s hired on to help us get our cotton to Jefferson. We’ll be leaving tonight.” She stood, still holding the girl’s hand. “Mister Buckmeyer, this is my daughter, Rebecca, but we call her Becky. As you might know, Levi is my nephew.”
He tipped his hat. “Miss Rebecca, very nice to meet you.” Then he nodded to the boy. “You, too, Mister Levi.”
The girl laughed and smiled the same bright smile he’d seen earlier o
n her mother’s face. “You’re funny.”
“Well, thank you. I consider that a compliment, little miss.” He backed the horse a few steps. “Why don’t you and Miss Rebecca go on up to the house, ma’am; I’ll see to the animal.” The boy had started walking away. “Hey, Levi, you interested in helping to rub down Mister Dawson’s gelding?”
Levi turned and stopped, but gave no verbal answer. Instead, he stared with a hint of disgust. The kid must have a burr under his saddle.
Sue waved the boy toward the barn. “That’d be wonderful. Thank you, sir.” She smiled again. She might be bossy, but he sure enjoyed that smile, and she seemed rather stingy with them. “And thank you, Levi.” The widow nodded to the youngster, obviously urging him to go and help, then turned back to Henry. “Elaine said she would save us some supper, but I don’t intend to stay too long. We can get a few miles head start on tomorrow, so don’t be lollygagging in the barn, please.”
Larry walked out, passing her on her way to the house. “Did I hear you say something about leaving tonight?”
“Sure did. I’m more than anxious to get on the way. I do appreciate the use of your horse, Larry. Mules still hooked to the wagons?”
“Heavens no, Sue. Me and Levi unhitched ’em soon as you left this morning. They’re out grazin’. It’s getting pretty nigh onto dark; you don’t need to be leaving tonight anyways.” He walked on and tipped his hat brim as he approached. “Henry, good to see you. The wife’ll sure be greatly relieved that you agreed to accompany our Sue.” He took the gelding’s headstall. “How’s things been out your way? Any bear?”
Henry dismounted. “Fine. Haven’t seen any bear, but I took a couple of big cats last month. Mated pair, I figure.”
Larry shook his head. “How’s your mama doing?”
“She passed three weeks ago.”
