A Distance Too Grand

by Regina Scott

  Dot, however, clearly hadn’t given up.

  “You could still win him,” she said thoughtfully, gaze on Ben’s back. “At the moment, you have his attention. Seize the skillet while it’s hot.”

  “No,” Meg told her again. “Ben and I had a falling-out at West Point. We’ve since settled our differences, and we can be cordial. I won’t push for more.”

  “Then you settle for less,” Dot said, voice laced with frustration.

  “It’s my decision,” Meg reminded her. “Not yours, not Hank’s.”

  “Sounds like it was Mrs. Colonel Coleridge’s decision,” Dot muttered, then she flinched when Meg glanced her way.

  “Just think on the matter,” Dot urged. “That’s all I’m asking.”

  Meg nodded. Thinking was all she could do. For if she opened her mouth, she very much feared she might hear herself give in to Dot’s persuasion.

  Hank rode back to meet them later in the day.

  “No sign of the cougar,” he reported. “We may have moved beyond its hunting ground.”

  They’d moved all right. Too far, in Ben’s opinion. He’d done no more than peer into the many side canyons that led like cracks to the larger draw. None had seemed ideal for the Army’s road across the canyon, but at least one had held promise.

  “How far to where Pike wants us to camp?” he asked the cartographer.

  “Another few miles, and a bit inland.”

  Ben felt his temper rising and knew it wasn’t just from lack of sleep. “I told him I wanted to camp close to the rim. We can’t tell if there’s a way across the canyon if we never venture close to the canyon.”

  Hank pressed his lips together a moment. “Nothing says we can’t follow the rim for a while now.”

  Ben cocked a grin. “You’re a man after my own heart, Mr. Newcomb.”

  “I feel the same way, Captain Coleridge.”

  That decided, they continued along the rim, just far enough away to be certain the weight of the horses, mules, van, and wagon wouldn’t set the ground to falling. Hank looked back to where Ben had already noticed Dot and Meg deep in conversation. Meg’s horse had been close to the wagon, and each woman’s face had been serious.

  “What have those two been discussing?” Hank asked.

  “I have no idea,” Ben told him.

  “You have no idea, huh?” Hank teased him. “For all you know, they’re talking about you.”

  Ben couldn’t help another glance back, enough to catch a glimpse of Meg smiling about something Dot had said. That one look was enough to set him smiling. He schooled his face and turned to the front once more. “Nonsense.”

  Hank laughed.

  The trees were thinning here, brush as well. They rode down into a sheltered draw, white rocks poking up through the soil and grass plentiful. The mules were balking, ready to partake. Ben could hear Meadows and Larson calling to the beasts to keep them moving.

  Hank tipped his head toward a thicker clump of trees. “Spring that way. I can hear it.”

  So could Ben. A stream meandered away from the water, heading for the deeper canyon beyond. He raised his hand and reined in. Meg and Dot caught up to him and stopped as well. Adams drove the van up beside them.

  Ben looked to Hank. “How close are we to Pike now?”

  Hank pointed up over the farther side of the draw. “That way another mile.”

  “Good water?” Ben pressed.

  Hank scratched his ear. “Some water, not as much as this. And not as much forage either.”

  Ben shook his head. “Then I say we stop here instead. Do you see any reason to continue, Mr. Newcomb?”

  Hank grinned. “None in the slightest, Captain. I’ll ride on and fetch Pike for you.”

  Ben agreed, and the others began setting up camp. Ben was drawn to Meg’s side. She had dismounted and had yet to fetch her camera from the van, while Adams was unharnessing the mules. She was gazing down the draw, one hand stroking the stripe on her horse’s nose.

  “I like it here,” she said when he stopped beside her. “It’s pretty.”

  Cool shadows danced across her face in the breeze. “Yes,” Ben said. “It is.”

  Her cheeks darkened in a blush as rosy as the sunset. “I should help Dot.” Tugging on the bridle, she led her horse away.

  If she had left him the flower to encourage him, she was certainly rethinking her actions now. Aware of a distinct lowering of his spirits, he went to unload his own belongings.

  Hank and their guide returned quickly, horses in a bit of a lather. Ben looked up from where he’d been helping Dot build her fire ring, then stood up as they reined in. Meadows came to take charge of their horses.

  Pike strode up to Ben, eyes narrowed and face dark. “Did you hire me as guide or not?”

  “You know very well why you were hired, Mr. Pike,” Ben said, refusing to show so much as a hesitation in the face of his anger.

  “I thought I knew. But I spend all day finding you a campsite, and you stop anywhere you please. Let me guess. Little miss thought it was pretty enough for a picture.”

  Near her tent, Meg raised her head, cheeks once more turning rosy. She might think the place pretty, but that wasn’t why he’d chosen it.

  “I didn’t consult Miss Pero,” Ben said. “I don’t need to consult you, for that matter. There’s water, forage, and shelter. If I’ve missed some danger to the place, speak now, and I’ll reconsider.”

  Pike’s beard wiggled with his jaw. “Danger? Flash flood good enough for you?”

  Hank was watching the guide. “That spring is unlikely to swell enough for a flash flood, even with a driving rain.”

  Pike rounded on him. “You sure about that?”

  Hank met his gaze. “Positive.”

  Pike threw up his hands. “I give up. Camp on the moon if it suits you. Just remember. I warned you.” He stalked off to see to his horse.

  Hank shook his head. “Prickly fellow. But he’ll come around.”

  Ben wasn’t so sure. The air felt tense, as if a storm was brewing, and he wasn’t sure the thunder would be entirely above them.

  As if he knew Ben needed a distraction, Hank nudged his arm. “Found something. You need to see this.”

  Intrigued, Ben followed him through the trees to where the draw dropped off into a side canyon running southwest toward its bigger sister. Even after eight days, the sight of the canyon stretching away in the distance never failed to leave him humbled.

  “Look there,” Hank said, pointing.

  It had once been a sizeable outcropping. Now the sides had crumbled away, leaving bright stone at the top. The rocks below glowed red in the setting sun.

  Ben grinned at Hank. “That’s a picture.”

  Hank grinned back. “I know someone else who’d agree.”

  Ben cuffed him on the shoulder as they started back to the others. “You didn’t need my permission to tell her. That’s too good to miss.”

  “Well,” Hank said, ducking under a low-hanging branch, “I thought it might raise your status in her eyes if you told her.”

  Ben glanced at him. The cartographer loped along, gaze on the ground before them, mouth relaxed. “You’re not playing matchmaker, are you, Hank?”

  Hank shot him a look, eyes wide. “Who, me?”

  Ben shook his head. “Save yourself the trouble. Meg Pero isn’t interested in having me court her.”

  “You sure about that?” Hank pressed, sounding a little like Pike.

  “More sure than I’d like,” Ben admitted. “We knew each other at West Point. I proposed marriage. She refused. Told me we could never be more than friends. I thought she might have reconsidered, but I don’t seem to be making any headway.”

  Hank shrugged. “Times change. People change. You could keep trying.”

  “And give my pride another beating?”

  “Huh.” Hank scratched his grizzled chin. “Never thought you’d be one to run scared.”

  Ben jerked to a stop. “I’ve n
ever run from a fight, never withdrew from danger. I wasn’t raised that way.”

  “So how come you’re willing to give up on love without a fight?” Hank didn’t wait for his answer but continued on to where Dot and Meg were helping Larson and Meadows set up the tents.

  Ben remained still, feeling as if his cartographer had planted a fist in his gut. He’d been so sure once that Meg was the one for him. Even now he felt the tug toward her, like a moon caught in her orbit.

  So, if she was the perfect woman for him, why had he given up years ago? Had it been only pride, as he’d told Hank? He’d been young, altogether too full of himself. Her refusal had hurt. Instead of trying to overcome her reservations, he’d let her go.

  They were dancing the same pattern now—him pursuing, her retreating. But winning her wasn’t about his pride this time. She was more than an intriguing beauty across the ballroom floor. She was clever, talented, caring.

  Could he find a way to break the pattern and reach a happier end, for them both?

  20

  Meg had the routine memorized. Unload and carry the lashed tents to the sites. Pound in stakes six feet apart in a square using Adams’s mallet or a handy rock. Unlash and erect the poles, setting them deep and tying them to the stakes to keep them upright. String the rope between them. Hang the canvas and stretch it out. Go back for the folding cots and bedding as well as her personal items.

  She had the tent up and her gear stowed in short order. She was walking along the edge of the draw, helping Meadows gather wood for the fire, when Hank and Ben returned.

  “We have an appointment at dawn, Miss Pero,” Ben announced.

  Meadows raised his head. Meg glanced at Hank for a clue, but the cartographer excused himself to go help Dot prepare dinner.

  “An appointment?” she asked Ben.

  “Bring both your cameras,” he said. “And plates.”

  A tingle ran through her. “Yes, sir.” She snapped a salute.

  “You do that real well,” Meadows said as he passed her with a load of wood bundled in his arms.

  She tried to pry the truth out of Ben over a dinner of salt pork and hardtack soaked in water and fried with dried apples.

  “Did you find another window?” she asked.

  Mouth full of Dot’s cinnamon apple concoction but eyes twinkling, he shook his head.

  “A field of wildflowers, all the colors under the sky?” Dot guessed.

  Ben shook his head again.

  “A Roman temple,” Hank offered.

  “There’s a heathen church in the canyon?” Larson asked with a frown.

  Ben swallowed and spoke at last. “No. It’s more like a courthouse, and I would have said Greek. I was thinking the Acropolis.”

  Larson’s frown deepened, but Adams perked up. “The Acropolis?”

  “What’s a cra-po-lis?” Dot asked.

  “An ancient palace,” the corporal answered. “But I hardly think you’ll find such out here.”

  “You’ll all see tomorrow,” Hank promised. And Meg could get nothing more out of him or Ben.

  “Teases,” she complained to Dot as she helped clean up after dinner, the men standing near Ben’s tent debating the need for sentries. “Courthouses, temples, and palaces. What am I to make of that?”

  “Hank has the right of it,” Dot said, scrubbing dried apples out of her biggest skillet. “This place is a temple of sorts. If all this beauty doesn’t make you think of your Creator, I don’t know what would.”

  “I know what you mean,” Meg said. “I understand enough about geology to know this canyon formed over many years. Captain Coleridge said God put it here for us to find. Why does it make me feel as if every vista was carved with me in mind, meant to take my breath away?”

  “You’re an artist of a sort,” Dot said. “Aren’t artists supposed to be a little mad?”

  She laughed. “So the story goes. I never believed it, until now.”

  The others must have felt a similar awe, for she found Larson, Meadows, Adams, and Hank near her tent at the edge of the campsite, gazing out over the shadowy draw.

  “Something about it calls to one,” Adams murmured.

  Larson elbowed Meadows. “Maybe we should call to it in return. Halloo!”

  The word careened down the canyon, growing fainter and deeper.

  “Twelve,” Meadows said.

  “Twelve?” Meg asked.

  Larson glanced over his shoulder at her. “The number of times it bounces. You try.”

  They all looked to her.

  “I’m not sure what to say,” Meg admitted.

  “Say your name,” Ben suggested, striding up to them. “Like this.” He raised his voice. “Ben!”

  Ben-Ben-Ben, the canyon replied.

  “Meg!” she shouted.

  Meg-Meg-Meg, started the echo, but the words collided on their way down the draw, until all she heard was Ben-Meg-Ben-Meg.

  Ben and Meg.

  Did the canyon know something she didn’t? Hank and the two privates thought so, for they were all grinning at her. She excused herself, cheeks warm, and escaped to her tent.

  She was awakened by the sound of the canvas snapping as someone shook it the next morning.

  “Rise and shine, Madam Photographer,” Ben called. “The light will be here before you know it.”

  Meg had laid out the bottles holding her chemicals the night before, so it was easy enough to prepare the collodion, soak the plates, and load them into the cameras before extinguishing her lantern and exiting the van. The sky was still pearly gray. Ben carried the tripod and one camera, and she carried the other, and they headed out just as Dot went to start breakfast.

  He led Meg through the trees, careful to point out roots jutting up through the soil and offering a hand over fallen limbs. In places he used the tripod to prop up branches, so she could walk more easily. In the smoky light, she could see the canyon, an empty space beyond the last tree, but she wasn’t prepared for the sight when he drew her out onto a vantage point.

  The canyon was broader here, impossibly craggy, with outcroppings and ridges at odd angles, debris fallen around their bases. Directly ahead, row after row of red rock was crowned by nearly white stone in sheer square blocks that thrust up into the sky, like monuments in a proud city.

  “Acropolis indeed,” she murmured.

  “Sun’s coming up,” Ben said.

  “Hurry.” She took the tripod from him and settled it into place, then reached for the big camera and positioned it, judging the angle before she screwed it into place. She glanced back over her shoulder. Light sprang into the world, washing the stones pink. She would never have enough time to take two pictures before the light changed again.

  “Man this lens,” she ordered Ben, straightening away from the camera to reach for her stereographic one.

  He started. “But . . .”

  “Do it, or we’ll miss the shot.”

  She didn’t wait for his reply. She had to trust he would follow her lead.

  She stretched out on the ground, propped the stereographic camera on a rock, as level as she could make it.

  “Focus on the closest block,” she instructed him. “Try to get as much as you can of the second in the background.” She ducked inside the hood and fiddled with the lens until Ben’s mythical courthouse came into view, centered on her perspective. “There!”

  “Got it,” he said a moment later.

  “On my mark,” she said. “Take the shot in three, two, one, go!” She set the exposure in time to hear the click and whirl of the second camera.

  She emerged from the hood the same moment Ben did. His hat was askew, and sweat gleamed on his brow for all it was still cool.

  “I think I got it,” he said.

  “We’ll find out when we look at the negatives later,” Meg replied. “That was quick action, Captain. You’ve earned your breakfast.”

  Ben saluted her. “Ma’am.”

  He did not seem in a hurry to return to
camp, moving slowly over the rough terrain. He might have been protecting the camera in his grip, but she too felt the need to pause, to breathe in the world around her. Light filtered through the trees, making lacy patterns on the golden soil. Birds sang before darting away from her steps. Such beauty, such peace.

  Ben tucked the tripod under his arm and reached for her free hand. She took his, allowing his strength to help her, encourage her. For a moment, his company was all she needed.

  He hesitated in the trees at the edge of camp. She could hear Dot calling for more wood, the whinny of a horse welcoming Larson or Meadows. She could not take her eyes off Ben, who was gazing down at their joined fingers, eyes as misty as the morning light.

  “I’m not the boy who let you go, Meg,” he murmured. “I find myself wondering whether we might be more to each other than the friends you claimed.”

  He stopped, and her heart started beating faster.

  “I wonder too,” she whispered.

  He squeezed her hand. “Then let’s follow the path and see where it leads.”

  Her lips trembled. “Spoken like an Army engineer.”

  He raised his head, the blue of his eyes drawing her closer. “Then let me state it in your terms. Take the shot, Meg. Let’s see what develops.”

  What develops. Most times, her preparations and eye for the angle brought forth a picture worth sharing. But sometimes, no matter how well she prepared the plate, calculated the light, and focused the lens, the picture was flawed.

  Useless. No good to anyone.

  She swallowed the lump in her throat. “I always take the shot.”

  His smile widened even as he bent his head toward hers. Her eyes drifted shut, chin tilted up, every part of her waiting for that touch of his lips to hers, that moment when, for a fleeting moment, they shared one heart, one kiss.

  “You coming for breakfast?” Pike asked.

  Meg’s eyes snapped open in time to see Ben jerk upright. He released her to adjust his hat and fix his scowl on the guide. “On our way.”