by Regina Scott
She fussed with the fraying end of her skirt. “I always took you seriously, Ben. It was your courtship I refused.”
He rocked back on his heels where he crouched by the pool. “Why? We’ve always done well together.”
“Well, you thought so.” She straightened her legs and flexed the toes of her boots up and down. “West Point society made me feel like an oddity.”
He could not understand her. “You seemed perfectly poised to me.”
“All an act,” she insisted. “I wasn’t raised for fancy dress balls and teas in pretty parlors. I’m sure more than one lady noticed.”
“I never noticed,” he protested.
She shook her head. “I’m better suited to this life. I know where to plant my tripod, how to take the shot.” She gestured toward the trees at the edge of the plateau. “How to find food. I’m a disastrous cook, you know.”
He could not see that as such a fault. “Dot doesn’t think so. You taught her a trick with the bacon.”
“And salt pork, Ben. No one outside the Army or pioneers eats salt pork.”
He wasn’t so sure about that, but she continued before he could comment.
“Admit it, Ben. I’m better out here than I am in society, even a society as limited as an Army outpost.”
“You’ll never get me to agree,” he told her. “The girl I met at West Point was admired, respected. Every cadet envied me.”
She shook her head. “I can play the part for a while, but sooner or later I say something, do something, and everyone knows the truth.”
“What truth? That you are talented and clever as well as beautiful?”
Her gaze was militant. “That I am outspoken and headstrong and determined to pursue my work. Most men don’t like that.”
“I do.”
When she looked at him askance, he rose and offered her his hand. “I do,” he repeated. “You wouldn’t be the woman you are if you didn’t believe in what you do. I’ve seen the power of your photographs, Meg. I would never ask you to give that up.”
She eyed his hand as if accepting might commit her to something. “What about your career? An Army officer goes where he’s told. He’s not free to follow his wife on expeditions.”
Wife. The fact she’d even used the word lifted his heart. “But wives accompany their husbands on expeditions. Look at Dot. Look at General Custer’s wife, for that matter. And most engineering expeditions require a photographer.”
She blinked as if she hadn’t considered that.
“And if, for some reason, the Army refused to hire you,” he said, “you could still shoot your stereographs. And you wouldn’t have to ask permission.”
A smile curved her lips. Slowly, she reached for his hand, and he pulled her up and into his arms.
Sunlight brushed her cheeks as she tilted her chin, inviting his kiss. His heart started beating faster as he lowered his head and obliged.
Warmth, light, and joy broke over him in waves. What was it about Meg, sweet Meg, that thrilled him more than discovering an ore deposit, finding a way to cross the Colorado? She touched his heart in a way no one and nothing else ever had. He had to force himself to break the kiss. Her eyes opened slowly, the green as deep and inviting as a cool pool. She seemed to want to linger as much as he did.
“You can be very persuasive,” she murmured, stepping back from him. “I’ll consider the matter. I think that might be a raspberry bush near those trees, or at least some miner’s lettuce. Let me gather some before we climb.”
He grimaced but nodded. “If I have to eat much more of that lettuce, I’ll turn into a horse.”
“Maybe we’d get out faster if you did,” she teased, moving closer to the cliff face, where more of the broad emerald leaves clustered among prickly looking bushes. She ducked under a tree limb and stumbled. As she righted herself, she gasped, stiffening.
“Ben!”
The terror in her voice galvanized him, and he was at her side in an instant. Her gaze was latched onto something on the ground, the thing that had caused her to trip.
The body lay face down in the brush. The hat had tipped off and rolled to one side, the insignia clearly visible: the crossed sabers of a cavalry officer.
24
Meg couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t move.
“Is he . . .” she started.
“Dead,” Ben confirmed in a flat voice. “Probably for a long time. Go back to the pool, Meg. I’ll take care of him.”
Relief almost made her comply, but confusion kept her immobile. “But who is he? How did he get all the way out here?”
He stood as still as a statue. “I believe it’s my father.”
Of course. Why hadn’t she realized it? She could see where the rowel from one of his spurs had broken off. Pain lanced through her, and she turned and took Ben in her arms, held him close. “Oh, Ben, I’m so sorry.”
He was stiff against her, unwilling to accept even this little kindness. “Go back to the pool, Meg. I’ll be with you shortly.”
She released him. His face was as set as his voice, eyes gazing at nothing.
“What are you going to do?” she asked.
“I’d carry him out if I could,” he said. “But I can’t make the climb with so much extra weight. I’m going to bury him.”
Meg frowned. “How? We don’t even have a shovel.”
He wiped his nose with the back of his hand. “We have plenty of rock.”
Meg nodded. She went to fetch two, one in each hand, from the tumbled stone around the pool.
When she returned, he was kneeling beside the body, calmly removing the insignia. “Mother will want them,” he said in that same lifeless voice.
Every part of her hurt for him. When she’d finally realized the extent of her father’s illness, little time had been left, but she’d been seated beside him, holding his hand when the moment came. She’d heard the last rattling breath leave his body, felt his grip grow slack in hers. When she’d risen to kiss his forehead in farewell, his skin had already been cold. He had gone, and she was alone.
Ben had held out hope his father was still alive. He’d searched every draw, every crack in the wall of the canyon, expecting any day to find him injured but alive, awaiting rescue. How awful to face the Colonel’s death so suddenly, knowing he could never say goodbye or ease his father’s passing.
She laid a hand on his shoulder, felt it shaking. This strong, sure man had every right to weep. She wept with him, for all the words that couldn’t be said, the moments that would never come again. When he straightened his shoulders, she released him to fetch more rocks.
They worked in silence, passing each other as they ferried stones to cover the body. Every moment only seemed to deepen the burden on her heart. If only she had a bucket or a pail so she could carry more rocks at a time.
As she made another trip to the pool, she spotted her skirt where she’d left it to dry. It rippled in the breeze as if just as ready to escape the canyon and its deadly secrets.
Meg smoothed it out. Who needed a bucket when a sling would do? She began piling rocks in the center of the material. She had just tied the corners over the top and was testing the hold when Ben paused beside her.
“Let me,” he said.
She stepped back, and he took the bundle and tossed it over one shoulder.
She went in search of more rocks.
The sun had disappeared over the rim, leaving the clearing in shadow by the time they finished. Ben had found a fallen limb with branches set nearly perpendicular. He shoved it into the rocks near where his father’s head had been. Meg stared at the crude cross, tears stinging her eyes again.
“Do you want to say something?” she asked.
“No.” He turned for the pool.
She lingered a moment, remembering the tall, proud man who had figured so largely in his family’s life and many a cavalry legend.
“Thank you,” she whispered. “Thank you for accepting me, and thank y
ou for raising a man any father would be proud of.”
She closed her eyes.
Thank you, Father, for allowing Ben and his family to understand that the Colonel is gone. I don’t know the choices Colonel Coleridge made when he was on this Earth, but I think he had faith in you, likely more than I’ve had lately. I hope he’s safe in your arms now. I hope Papa is too. I’m sorry I never thought to pray about that until now. I’m sorry I haven’t prayed much at all. Help me.
Peace flowed through her, allowing her to draw her first deep breath in hours. She turned her back on the grave and went to join Ben.
The Colonel was gone. Even after checking the body for signs of what had caused his father’s death, removing the silver eagle on the shoulder strap, and burying the man, Ben had to repeat the fact to himself. The whole world seemed to have dimmed, as if the light had left with the Colonel.
He stared down into the pool, his reflection wavering back at him. He looked dusty, worn. Every bone and muscle ached, and he knew it wasn’t just from the exertion. He’d started this expedition with two goals: find the Army its road and learn what had happened to his father. Only Meg understood the latter goal.
What would she think if she knew what he’d discovered about his father’s body? The way the Colonel had been lying, it had appeared he’d died trying to crawl out of the canyon. Nothing could be further from the truth. Ben could still feel the brittle bones under his hands, broken in places, likely from a fall from a height. And there had been no mistaking the gaping hole in his chest.
Right now, Meg didn’t need to know any of that. She had enough to worry about without looking for murderers around every bend. It was one more secret to keep, one more burden to carry. At the moment, he felt bowed by them.
He stiffened as she touched his arm.
“The sun’s nearly down,” she murmured. “Should we keep climbing?”
He’d wanted to be out of the canyon before dark. That didn’t seem possible now. He’d have to pick his way carefully up that craggy cliff. But he couldn’t stay here with the body. Scavengers had been at it. They could return, and he didn’t want Meg to be waiting. They had to keep moving.
“We’ll climb,” he said. “We may not make the rim, but we’ll look for better shelter along the way.”
She nodded, then bent over the stream. “Drink up.”
Food or drink held no interest, but he knew she was right. He bent and cupped water into his hands. That’s when he noticed hers.
Swallowing the water, he reached for the long fingers, took them in his own. The nails were chipped and filthy, the skin roughened and torn. The climb was partially to blame, but these wounds were from what she’d done for his father, for him.
“Thank you,” he murmured, pressing a kiss into her damp palm.
A tremor went through her. Looking up, he found that her smile had softened, become something more. How easy to let himself float in it, forget he had more to do. He made himself release her and started out of the clearing.
It was harder going now, and he was glad for something else on which to focus his mind. He had to think like Hank and the theodolite, calculating angles in his head, determining the most stable path that would lead them upward. He barely noticed that the plants were changing again, growing fatter, greener. The air cooled with the coming night, but another scent sparkled in the air.
“Pine,” she said behind him with a sniff. “We must be close.”
So it seemed when he glanced up, but the path kept running into sheer drops or towering walls, requiring him to backtrack. They kept climbing, but they never reached the top.
Twilight wrapped the draw when he stopped again. Trees draped over the canyon here, their roots partially exposed against the golden rock, fallen needles softening the ground and branches creating a canopy against the elements.
“We’ll stay here,” Ben said. “We’ll be safer starting out once it’s light.”
She sank and stretched her legs in front of her. “You’ll get no argument from me. I’m not sure I could take another step.”
Ben sat heavily beside her, feeling as if he’d marched twenty miles with a loaded pack. “Good, because I don’t think I could fight you.” He leaned against the cliff and stretched his legs as well. They throbbed, and so did his feet.
She unslung the skirt from where she’d once more wrapped it around her shoulders and opened it to reveal the shiny black clusters of elderberry, which she must have picked as they climbed. “Dinnertime. Look what I baked over a hot stove all day.”
Ben chuckled. “Gingerbread couldn’t taste sweeter right now.” He selected a cluster and began pulling off the little round berries.
“Now, that I will argue.” She leaned back against the wall as well, munching a moment before speaking again. “I was always fond of gingerbread. Gingersnaps too.”
“Mmm.” He smiled, remembering the tart taste. “Frosted sugar cookies were my downfall. Mother always claimed I had an endless appetite for them. Then there’s Dot’s cinnamon rolls.”
She twisted her legs from side to side as if trying to work out the kinks. He still couldn’t get used to her in breeches, not that he could see much in the growing dark.
“I hope Dot’s all right,” she said.
“Dot will be fine,” he assured her. “She’s tough, experienced, and savvy.”
“Bad things still happen to people like that.”
As they had happened to the Colonel.
The berries were like straw in his mouth, but he made himself swallow another bite.
“I’m sorry,” she murmured. “I didn’t mean to remind you. If there’s anything I can do . . .”
“Nothing,” Ben said.
“It might help to talk,” she encouraged.
She made it all too easy. Though she was a fading shadow, he could imagine that engaging smile, the tilt of her head, the way she leaned forward as if eager to hear what he had to say.
“Did it help, when your father died?” he asked.
She shifted on the hard stone. “It might have. I didn’t really have anyone to talk to. Aunt Abigail never understood. She seemed to think Papa brought his illness on himself. Something about living outside society’s expectations, I suppose.” She humphed. “She certainly wouldn’t think much of our current circumstances.”
“Neither would my mother,” Ben assured her.
“I can hear Aunt Abigail now.” Her voice took on a higher, nasal pitch. “Young ladies eat sparingly, Margaret, if they eat in public at all. And they do not masticate their food like a milk cow.”
As if in defiance, she pulled off more berries, shoved them into her mouth, and smacked her lips. Even in the dim light he could see the purple juice dribbling from one corner of her lips.
He reached out and wiped it away with the pad of his thumb.
She stilled, and he could feel her gaze on him. “I’m sorry, Ben. I asked you to talk, and here I am prosing on.”
“I like it when you prose,” he said. “I always learn something.”
She snorted. “Oh yes. Like the fact my aunt finds me detestable.”
“Like the fact that she held you to a ridiculous standard,” he countered. “I know something about that. My father was in the Army most of his life, starting as a volunteer in the local militia and continuing with the standing Army after the War Between the States. There was one and only one acceptable occupation for the Colonel’s son.”
“The cavalry,” she said.
He nodded, then settled himself more comfortably against the soil at his back as his tense muscles began to relax. “Every spare minute he had, he taught me to ride, to shoot, to use a saber. Geology studies were only useful if they helped me take advantage of terrain. History was best suited to teaching lessons on how previous military men waged war.”
Could she hear the bitterness that had crept into his voice? He forced it back.
“Make no mistake. The Colonel wanted the best for me. We just disagreed
on what that was.”
“But he must have come around in the end,” she protested. “You entered West Point. You graduated. You’re serving as an engineer now.”
“Because of him.” The words nearly choked him, but he made himself continue. “He convinced the admissions committee at West Point to let me in. I didn’t know it at the time, or I would have refused the appointment. I took a spot meant for someone else, someone who had earned it.” Admitting it aloud brought back all the shame he’d felt when he’d first discovered the truth.
“He must have believed in you to take that chance,” she insisted.
He drew a breath. “He didn’t. He thought I’d fail and then I’d have no choice but to attempt the cavalry instead. He told me so when I received my first promotion.”
“Oh, Ben.” Her voice echoed his sorrow.
“He didn’t stop there,” he said. “I was surveying with Wheeler, exactly the sort of work I’d hoped to be doing. But that wasn’t good enough for the Colonel’s son. He wanted to see me make major, and he couldn’t believe I might achieve that as a surveyor. He arranged for me to be appointed to a monument committee in our nation’s capital. Lots of prestige. Men who would gladly promote his son. Not much earthly good.”
She edged closer. “No wonder you jumped at the chance to lead this survey team.”
“That and to learn what had happened to him. Now I know, but I’ll have to ask for leave to go home and tell Mother and Diana. They deserve to hear it from me instead of a telegram. So, you see, even from the grave, the Colonel manages to dictate my life.”
The bitterness was back. He couldn’t swallow it so easily this time. What was wrong with him? He wanted to help his mother and sister. He wanted to respect the legacy his father had left. He may not have wanted the opportunities the Colonel had given him, but he wouldn’t be the man he was today without them.
Something bumped his arm. Looking down, he made out a white palm filled with round black berries.
“Have some,” Meg said as if the tart fruit would solve all his problems.
