Vow Unbroken

by Caryl McAdoo

  “I’ll get us there. It’s just as imperative to me that I get my own goods to market, but, Mis’ess Baylor, not at all costs.”

  CHAPTER

  SIX

  THE NIGHT SONGS the crickets and locusts and frogs sang soothed Henry’s troubled soul. Been a long, hard day. He yawned and pondered what he had gotten himself into. He liked life on the trail: the crackling embers’ warmth, the night breeze in the trees, sleeping under the stars, working days like normal people.

  A hoot owl called, answered by a nightingale. The camp’s rhythmic sleep sounds settled over his heart, and he closed his eyes.

  A series of thumps shook the ground ever so slightly. Blue Dog crawled forward and licked his hand. Henry raised his head and scanned the darkness. Holding one ear closed, he turned his head. A twig snapped out in the trees. The foul odor of alcohol, sweat, and stale tobacco floated on the still night air.

  The breaking of more small branches fractured the silence. Plodding horse hooves sounded an easy rhythm, getter louder by the step. Henry quietly rolled to his knees, lifted his musket, then soundlessly stood on the dark side of the wagon.

  Blue Dog’s throat rumbled. Levi looked around, then spoke too loud into the darkness. “What, you mangy dog?”

  Henry gave Blue Dog the stay signal and then moved out into the woods. From the shadows, he glanced at the other wagon, where the two females slept.

  A strange man’s voice erupted in the night. “Ho the camp!”

  Blue Dog’s throat rumbled, but he stayed put. He stared intently toward the sound.

  Levi rolled and crawled from beneath the wagon on the fire side, facing the unwelcome visitor. Blue Dog joined the young man with the hair on his neck bristled. He stood, shoulders squared. “We’re bedded. You have no business here.”

  An unshaven drunk rode into camp. “Well, if you ain’t ’tween the hay and the grass, I ain’t soaked.” He slapped his knee and laughed, dismounting. “Speakin’ of being soaked, you got any shine, boy?”

  Blue Dog growled a soft warning.

  Henry circled around the drunk’s nag, searching the shadows between quick looks back to the camp. Seemed the man rode alone, but best to make sure.

  Sue’s head rose slightly.

  “You the man of the camp? Where’s your ma, boy?”

  Levi glanced at the other wagon and betrayed the location of the girls. Blue Dog moved to stand between them and the stranger. He bared his fangs and stared at the interloper.

  “Ha! There you are.” The man tried to whirl and awkwardly bent at his waist while removing his hat, but he got balled up and almost fell over. “Good evenin’, my lady. All you got’s this boy here? Hmm.” He staggered toward her. “Well, ain’t I the lucky one tonight? Guess I done got dealt the high ace!” He smiled, but Henry knew full well without even seeing them that the stranger had wickedness in his eyes.

  Blue Dog took a step toward him, daring him. The man had best take care, or Henry’s dog would rip his throat out.

  “Call off your dog, my lady, so as we can get t’know each other a bit bedder.” At first, he grinned, then got louder. “Go ahead, I said! Call him off.”

  In an instant, she moved out from under the wagon with her flintlock pointed at the man. “You are not welcome here, sir. Now get back on your horse and ride out while you’re still able. I’ll not hesitate for one breath to blow your head from here to kingdom come.”

  The little girl screamed, then scurried out and hugged her mother’s skirt.

  “Rebecca! Get back under the wagon!” Sue never took her eyes off the man. “Either you mount, mister, or meet your Maker. Now!”

  The girl didn’t move, frozen to her mama’s leg.

  “Well, well. What we got here? Ain’t you a sweet youngun? An’ purty as yer ma.”

  A foot stepped forward, and in one swift move, he grabbed the end of her flintlock, pointing it skyward. Sue pulled the trigger. The night exploded. She released the spent weapon, and then drew her pistol. Blue Dog leapt across the distance in a flash, latching on to the man’s arm.

  Levi jumped onto the intruder and wrapped his arms around his neck. They both went to the ground. Sue held fast to her gun. “Get back, Levi! Get away!”

  The little girl pierced the night with her high-pitched screaming.

  Henry stepped to the edge of the camp, but stopped as Levi backed away like a crawfish in the dirt under the wagon. The boy retrieved his long gun.

  Sue stood, her pistol aimed at the man’s belly. “If you don’t want to die, mister, get on your horse and light a shuck.” She held the weapon higher, pointed right at his head. “You’ve got one chance before I blow your brains out. Now mount!”

  Her nephew stepped out with the butt of his rifle on his shoulder, aimed at the man. “You best follow my aunt’s orders.”

  The man stumbled. Weaving, he tried to get to his horse. “Whoa, whoa now. Don’t get your dander up, ma’am. Didn’t mean no harm.” He held out an arm with his head lowered in submission. “Just riding through.” He winked at her. “No offense, mis’ess.” He picked up his hat and dusted it against his knee.

  Saddle leather creaked as the unwelcome visitor struggled to mount. Until he disappeared, the intruder kept an eye on Blue Dog. Blue followed the varmint off into the darkness, and Henry stepped into the light.

  Sue glared. “Thanks for all your help, Mister Buckmeyer.”

  “You did a right fine job all by yourself.” He looked to Levi. “You, too, son.”

  Levi spit to the side. “I ain’t your son.”

  * * *

  SUE’S KNEES SEEMED LIKE PUDDING. She slid down the wagon wheel and sat on the ground with Becky still clinging to her.

  Levi bowed up to Henry. “You shoddy coward! Jig’s up! Running off, hidin’ in—”

  “Levi!” She silenced him.

  Henry looked at her nephew, shook his head, then walked over and kneeled beside her. “You all right?”

  She nodded. “No thanks to you.”

  “See if you and Rebecca can sleep.” He looked toward the east. “Couple of hours yet before first light.”

  “I couldn’t; I’m wide awake.” She stood. “Might as well get the day going. I’ll make some biscuits and heat the beans.”

  By midmorning, she drove the lead wagon into Cuthand, surprised by the number of folks at the trading post and livery. Henry walked beside her. She scanned the area, shaded by tall pines, then looked down at her hired man. “We’ll stop the wagons at the livery.”

  He nodded as though it was his idea and then headed toward the trading post. The aroma of tobacco tainted the air. Two ladies in full-length dresses tucked hair under their bonnets, glanced at her, then looked away. She sat a bit taller, then laughed at herself for letting their judgments bother her.

  Under a big red oak, a little past the barn’s side corral, a rough-looking man smiled and nodded her way. Dressed in homespun clothes and a fur cap, he exchanged a long-stemmed pipe with a group of Indians. Caddo, she figured; one of the more friendly tribes, so she’d heard. She held her chin high and pulled up the team, then climbed out of the wagon and made her way to the forge where a big, burly man worked. Becky followed.

  “Good morning, sir. Have any feed and mule shoes you can spare?”

  The smithy set his hammer down and wiped his brow on his sleeve then his hands on his stained leather apron. “Some. How much you be needing?”

  “A set of iron would suffice, and a bushel maybe. More if the price is right.”

  “That bunch of cotton grangers tapped me hard, but I could let you have a couple of bushels, say four bits a hundred. I’ll throw in the shoes for a dime more.”

  Sue started to protest. No doubt the man was taking advantage, but he was the only show in town; there didn’t appear to be any other options. “Done. Those farmers you mentioned, when was their train through?”

  “Came the first time late last Thursday, I suspect. Then went and got one of their wagons stuck in
the bottoms. Rolled in again Saturday morning wanting me to go fix the axle they broke getting unstuck.” He turned his head and spit a brown stream into the dust. “Pulled out again after Sunday services.”

  “Which way were they going?”

  “Headed southwest, said they’s taking the ferry this time.” He laughed.

  “So two days, you say?”

  “Yes, ma’am. Some of them wanted to leave out first light, but the ladies insisted on hearing the circuit rider’s sermon.” He took the coins she extended, stuck them one at a time between his teeth, and then pocketed them. “I got a good team of oxen if you’re in the market. Bought them and that broke wagon, but I ain’t had time to fix her yet.”

  “Thank you, but I have no need of an ox.”

  “Suit yourself.”

  She turned around and found her nephew watering the mules. “Levi, would you please help the smithy load the two bushels of grain and set of shoes I just bought?”

  He looked over and smiled. “Sure thing, Aunt Sue.”

  “Thank you, dear.” She hurried to the trading post, holding her daughter’s hand.

  Henry kneeled in the dirt, studying some intersecting lines a distinguished looking older man scratched with his long knife. A pure white long beard covered the man’s cheeks and chin, but from his ears up, his hair remained black as midnight. His mustache—she’d never seen anything like it—was two-toned, black under his nose, white over his lip.

  “Did you hear, Mr. Buckmeyer? We’re only two days behind the train. If we hurry—”

  He held up his hand, but didn’t lift his eyes from the dirt map. “Yes, ma’am, I heard. You hear why?” He gestured toward the man drawing in the dirt. “He says ’cause the bottoms are still muddy. We’ll go on to Ringo’s Landing like the rest of them and cross the Sulphur on the ferry.”

  She rubbed her brow. Would this man ever understand that she was the boss? “But we can get ahead of them on the trace going through the bottoms. Becky would have her best friend Sassy to play with, and I would enjoy a woman’s company, too. We’ll never catch up if we trek west all the way to the ferry then have to double back.”

  He said something to the old-timer, then stood. “Getting stuck, we could lose a heap more time, but it’s your call.”

  She hated his consistent insubordination, then false acquiescence. “The only reason they came back to Cuthand was because one wagon broke an axle.”

  “That’s right, but it broke because its wheel sunk in the mud. It took them a whole day to off-load the cotton, then another to get back here.”

  She looked him square in the eye. “It’s Tuesday. There’s been almost a week of hot and dry since they tried to cross the bottoms. We can make it.”

  “You have a point.”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “The smithy have grain and iron?”

  “Levi’s seeing to getting it loaded now.”

  “He say what he wants for that yoke of oxen?”

  “No, and I’m not interested.”

  “They’d make things easier.”

  She shook her head. “Listen to me well. I will not have any oxen pulling any wagon of mine. Not now, not ever.”

  * * *

  HENRY STUDIED HER A MOMENT and decided to hold his peace; the oxen would be nice, but four more mules would be much better. The bit of panic he saw in her eyes belied the hardness of her words. He decided to ponder all that later. Right now, he’d best see to getting everything he might need. A right hilly trail and two waterways separated his little caravan from Titus Trading Post, the next planned stop at Pleasant Mound, thirty miles away.

  Pulling out, he rode the lead wagon. Levi walked, and Sue drove the second team. Rebecca had asked to ride with Henry, and her mother agreed, so the nine-year-old sat beside him singing a ditty with Blue Dog curled at her side.

  “You have a lovely voice, Miss Rebecca.”

  She looked up and smiled that miniature smile of her mama’s. “Why thank you, Mister Henry. I love to sing. I wish all the people in all the world would sing everything they ever said. Don’t you think that would be great if everyone sang instead of talking?”

  “I’m not a good singer.”

  “Well, I’ve never heard you sing. Why don’t you sing a song with me now, and let me be the judge of that?”

  “I don’t sing.”

  She huffed out her exasperation. “Oh, bosh! Everyone sings. All you have to do is make your words float out on a tune. It’s easy as pie.”

  He laughed. “I’m not a baker either.”

  “Well, maybe you just don’t know many songs. What songs do you know? Pick a song, and I’ll sing it with you. My friend Sophia Belle says I know all the words to all the songs, even the ones I haven’t heard.” She giggled.

  “I don’t know any songs.” Was she going to talk nonstop the whole way? Next time he wouldn’t so readily agree to this arrangement. He bumped her with his arm against hers. “You are certainly a little chatterbox, aren’t you?”

  “Well, I don’t know about that, but I bet you do know how to sing. I know! ‘Mary Had a Little Lamb’! You certainly know that one, don’t you? Everybody knows that song.”

  Not only did she smile like her mother but she’d inherited that ill-fitted stubbornness, too. He leaned in close and half whispered, half sang “Mary had a little lamb, little lamb—”

  Rebecca burst into a fit of laughter, hugging his arm with her inside hand and patting his chest with her other. “Stop, stop!” she squealed, then tried to talk between giggles. “I never heard anyone sing that bad! I think you’re right, Mister Henry. You’re much better off talking.” Her laughter died down, but she did not release his arm. Instead, she used both hands to hug it and laid her head against it.

  “Mister Henry?”

  “Yes?”

  “I’ve been praying.” She didn’t look up or move, just rested against him with her little hands wrapped tight around his arm.

  “It’s good to talk to your Maker.”

  “Well, I was wondering ’cause I’ve been praying for a daddy. You got a wife back home?”

  Her innocence kept no bridle on that powerful curiosity. “No, ma’am, not married.”

  “So then you haven’t got any children, right?”

  He didn’t know if he liked where this was heading. “Nope, no kids.”

  She looked up and smiled. Her little face shone like an angel’s dappled by the sunlight shining through the tree-covered trail, but no way was he ready to be anyone’s daddy or the answer to the child’s prayer.

  She bumped his arm. “Ever been to Memphis?”

  “No, ma’am, never have.”

  “Do you think you might want to go sometime?” She looked up at him and batted her eyelashes. “I hear it’s a very nice place.”

  He laughed, then flicked the reins and swallowed hard. Even the little girl knew about her mother’s vow. But then why wouldn’t she? Most everyone in the Red River Valley knew the beautiful Widow Baylor had vowed not to marry again without her father’s blessing. She’d for sure have already been snapped up if the man didn’t live so far away in Tennessee. Too bad for the others; worked to his advantage though.

  Of course, he’d considered her, asked around, ever since seeing her that day at the trading post with that storm blowing in, her leaning into the wind. What had it been? Four years? And he’d never heard an unfavorable word about her. With prospective wives few and far between in the territory and far more available men, he should’ve got over there sooner, let her know of his interest, but he wanted to impress her, be ready for the journey east. Then his mother . . .

  “Get up, Brown Mule.” He hadn’t thought of being a father to this miniature Sue. He’d only considered the widow, the possibility of making her a part of his life. But, now that Rebecca had brought it up, he pondered what all that having Sue entailed. The widow definitely came with some baggage, including the boy.

  The girl bumped his arm again. “Mister
Henry?”

  “Yes?”

  “Please promise not to tell Mama. About me prayin’, I mean. I figure it should be our secret for now.”

  He grinned. Smart like her mother, too. “Yes, ma’am, little miss. Our secret; I promise.”

  Glancing up through the dancing leaves, he breathed a heavy sigh. The morning sun sparkled on them, through them, as though diamonds were the trees’ fruit. They’d soon turn colors and another fall would arrive with its cooler weather. He loved autumn best of all. He looked back down at the top of the child’s head. So, she’d been praying for a daddy. Poor little gal.

  The wheels rolled against the hard-packed trail, spitting out occasional rocks. Wooden boards creaked under their load, and the mules’ hooves kept a rhythm with the wagon’s groans. Amazing how a man’s life could take such a turn in two short days. Before the widow rode into it that morning, he’d never thought once about being anyone’s father.

  The trail had been on a descent all morning. A little after noon, he smelled the river and, soon enough, heard it. The little girl’s chatter had finally stopped. He guessed she’d fallen asleep against him. He chuckled to himself. Again, so much like her mama.

  He steered the team to the left, looking for the crossing the old man had told him about. Couldn’t have missed it, though; the banks on both sides had been worn smooth. He stopped the team short, locked the brake, eased Rebecca awake, and then jumped down. Directly, Sue appeared at his side. He looked past her. “Levi, keep them back. We best water the mules before we cross.”

  Sue grabbed his arm. “Why do that? They just had a drink not two hours ago.”

  He leaned back against the wheel and threw his right leg across his left knee. “We don’t want them stopping for any reason when we cross. Better safe than sorry.” He tugged off his right boot and sock.

  She nodded. “And why are you taking off your boots?”

  He looked at her a minute. Why, why, why. She was as bad as her little girl. “I’m going to walk the crossing before we take these wagons into the water.”