by Regina Scott
For her and for no other reason, he took a few and ate them. “Thank you for dinner, Meg, and for listening. Try to get some sleep.”
She disappeared for a moment, as if squirreling away the berries for the morning. He saw her skirt flip up to drape like a blanket. She hesitated a moment, then leaned against him. Ben put his arm around her.
“It will be all right,” she promised.
He nodded, but he couldn’t tell her he very much doubted that. Even when he returned to the fort, he would have to tell the commander what he’d learned about his father. There would be inquiries, accusations. His work was just beginning.
Around him, night sounds rose with the moon: the furtive movement of something small and likely vulnerable in the branches above them, the howl of a coyote on the rim. A bat glided silently past the opening to their shelter as moonlight brightened the canyon. Meg’s breath was soft beside him. His body demanded that he sleep, but his brain refused to obey orders for once.
He was the head of the family now. He’d have to provide for his mother, his sister. He wasn’t sure what that meant. Would they be content with him sending money, or would they expect him to end his career and join them? His mother had stayed behind while his father campaigned before. Surely she’d want to remain somewhere with a society, and something finer than that of a wilderness fort. Neither she nor Diana would ever be able to handle a survey expedition the way Meg had, even if the Army would consent to allow him to bring them along.
He shifted on the rock, cushioned Meg’s head against his chest. Beyond his feet, the world dropped away to the blackness of an abyss. The loss of his father felt as wide and deep.
Why, Lord? Mother needed him. Diana needed him.
I needed him.
He would never have admitted it to the Colonel. Pride again. They both had had it, to excess. He’d wanted to make his own way, blaze his own trail. Knowing his father was behind him.
Once more the coyote howled, a wavering, forlorn sound that reached inside his chest. Meg was there beside him, but he had never felt so alone. Though at times he’d resented his father’s unasked-for intervention, the Colonel had always been there, a solid presence at his back. How would he go on without him?
My grace is sufficient for thee.
The remembered verse whispered like a breeze through the trees, chasing away the sound of the coyote, humbling him.
Why had he forgotten? He wasn’t alone, and he never would be. He might have lost his earthly father, but his heavenly Father was always listening, always ready to help. He never went off on campaign, never disappeared into the wilderness, never slept. His intervention would always be to Ben’s good. He was the One to be counted upon.
Ben bowed his head, drawing in a breath with his prayer.
Thank you, Lord, for the life he lived, for the inspiration he provided me and countless other soldiers. Help me to rely on your inspiration from here on.
Sleep stole over him. The last thing he remembered was resting his head against Meg’s and relaxing at last.
25
Meg woke first this time. Birds darted past the branches of their shelter, and others sang above. One landed on the rock by her outstretched feet, head cocked as if eyeing the pitiful pile of elderberries she’d tucked into a corner. She moved, and the bird flew off. She grabbed a handful of the tart berries, cold from the night, and swallowed them down before turning to look at Ben.
He was tipped back against the rock. Two days in the canyon had left the beginnings of a beard that showed signs of red in the rising sun. Brown lashes swept his cheeks, and his lips were parted, as if he craved more of the sweet, cool air.
Her heart turned over.
She couldn’t wake him. Yesterday had been grueling, emotionally and physically. All this time, she’d thought Mrs. Colonel Coleridge the one with impossibly high expectations, when the Colonel had been far worse. Her father had been tough on her at times as he taught her to take pictures. And he had tended to make decisions that benefited his needs, not hers. But he’d never manipulated her, tried to force her to be something she wasn’t. Small wonder Ben had mixed feelings about his father’s death and his own future. He deserved his sleep.
She crawled carefully out onto the cliff.
The golden stone glowed in the light, shadows clearly outlining every crease, every indentation. She could almost plot the path up with her eyes. Another hour, maybe two, and they would reach the top. Relief nearly flattened her.
The breeze brushed her cheeks, and a lock of hair danced past her eyes.
Her hand flew to her head. Leaves and pine needles seemed as numerous as the tangles. The skin of her cheeks felt hot, dry. She wouldn’t have been surprised if her nose was peeling. Certainly her lips were chapped. Her breeches were filthy, boots scuffed and crusted with red earth. And she was a little afraid that faint sour musty smell was her.
No way around it. She was a mess. At least Ben would have no illusions about her. The thought was lowering.
She forced herself to focus on the situation instead. She knew it couldn’t be much farther up. And down . . .
The depth of the canyon was nearly dizzying. She was glad when Ben came out to join her.
“Ready to greet the day?” he asked.
He certainly was. A few leaves stuck in his thick hair, his skin had turned a golden brown, and his uniform still looked serviceable. It wasn’t fair.
“Certainly,” she said. “Eat the rest of the berries, and let’s get started. I’ll look for better breakfast along the way.”
He did as she bid, and they started up the path.
Her body protested. Her legs were stiff; her neck ached from the angle she’d slept. The wool of her riding skirt slung about her shoulders chafed her sunburned neck. But if he could keep going, so could she.
Once again, the cliff fought them, leading them in promising directions that stopped at a sheer wall or dwindled to a drop-off. But every setback took them a little higher, until the rim was within reach.
They stepped out of the draw midmorning. The pines and spruce, tall and proud against a cloudy sky, felt like old friends, welcoming them back. Meg sank onto the ground. “We made it.”
“Not yet,” Ben said as if determined to dampen her hopes. “We have the afternoon to find water, shelter, and food, in that order. And we need to attract attention.”
He pulled the pistol from his belt and fired it into the air. “Halloo!” he shouted after the echo faded. “Captain Ben Coleridge of the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers. Can anyone hear me?”
His voice rolled down the canyon, but no one answered.
Meg sagged. It couldn’t be easy. With a sigh, she climbed to her feet. “Which way?”
“East,” he said. “We stay close to the rim and keep calling.”
Meg nodded, and they set out.
It was more comfortable going here, the land mostly flat with the occasional gentle slope up or down. Through the trees on her right, she caught glimpses of the canyon. A squirrel with tufted ears darted out of sight. As the temperatures climbed, pine scented the air.
“Are we beyond the burned area, then?” she asked, glancing around. “I don’t see any blackened ground or trunks.”
“It must have started between here and the last camp,” Ben said, detouring around a fallen branch.
“But how?” Meg squinted into the distance but saw only more pines. “Please don’t tell me Dot was careless.”
“Dot knows her way around a fire,” Ben assured her. “And even if an ember strayed beyond her circle of stones, the ground near the camp was fairly green because of Bright Angel Creek. The fire must have started in the undergrowth outside the draw. It wouldn’t have taken much when the land there was dry. Perhaps a lightning strike or sunlight through a water drop. They can act like a magnifying glass to concentrate the heat.” He paused to raise his voice. “Halloo! Anyone near?”
Birds darted out of the trees ahead, but even they didn’t answer.
And Ben didn’t stop. Every few minutes, he hollered, until his voice grew rough. Meg took up the call then. She also gathered what she could, finding red raspberries and more wild cabbage among the brush.
Ben ate them readily enough. He had to be as hungry as she was.
“Oh, what I wouldn’t give for a nice roasted chicken about now,” she said.
He winked at her. “At least this is better than salt pork.”
“Or hardtack,” she agreed.
He ripped off more of the cabbage with his teeth, chewed, and swallowed, Adam’s apple bobbing. “The Wheeler survey had a cook who favored pork rind.”
Meg frowned. “What part of the pig is that?”
“The skin. He used to deep fry it before setting out on the trail and keep it in a vat of vinegar.”
Meg shuddered. “That sounds horrible.”
Ben wiggled his brows and toasted her with the last of the cabbage. “Makes miner’s lettuce and cabbage seem like a treat, though.”
Meg laughed, then winced as her throat protested. All that calling was taking a toll.
So was the lack of water.
She tried not to think about that. The raspberries helped a little. But the scratch in her throat grew worse, and her head began throbbing. Ben’s stories dried up as well, and she couldn’t find it in her to tell any herself. Every step, every breath, seemed harder.
He bent and plucked some rocks from the ground.
“What are you doing?” she asked, voice croaky.
“Picking up chert,” he said. “It’s hard enough to act like flint. I didn’t have wood or spark for a fire the last two nights, but I might here.”
The idea of another night on their own was never less appealing. Neither was starting a fire. Still, he was right. With no cave or overhang for protection, and them higher now in elevation, it would be cold tonight. Her battered skirt wouldn’t be enough to keep them warm.
She glanced up at the clouds, which were only growing more numerous, dimming the day. “Do you think it will rain?”
He smiled, and she noticed his lips were cracking too. “We can only hope. If we don’t come across a stream, we’ll need to look for a stand of aspen and wildflowers. They’re often the first to colonize when a pond fills in. We might still find water near the surface if we dig for it.”
Meg craned her neck to see around the trees ahead of them. “What about that?”
He followed her pointing finger. Aspens clustered around a rainbow of wildflowers as if to protect them from the encroaching pine and spruce. He started in that direction, with her right behind.
The ground felt softer under her dirty boots. It looked darker too. Ben hurried forward, dropped to his knees, and began scrabbling at the soil. Meg crouched beside him.
“There’s something here,” he said, hope lacing his voice. He dug harder. Water seeped into the hole, muddy, clotted. It had never looked more appetizing.
She wanted to hug him from sheer relief, but she wanted a drink more. “Use this,” Meg said, offering him her skirt, and once more, he filtered water through the wool.
The seep rose slowly. It took a while for both to drink their fill. Finally, he rocked back on his heels and glanced up at her. “We can’t stay here. It’s too open.”
Meg sat back and began rubbing life into her leaden legs. “Isn’t it better to stay close to water?”
He glanced around. The aspens waved their leaves like friendly hands as if encouraging them to remain. Ben didn’t look appreciative, frown gathering. “Meg, there’s something else we should discuss. This adventure will have repercussions. Your reputation, for one. You’ve spent two nights in my company, unchaperoned, and you may have to spend more before this is over.”
“I spent the time surviving, same as you,” Meg said. “Surely Dot would understand.”
His blue-gray gaze crossed back to her. “Dot would. The rest of the world might not.”
Meg waved a hand, then regretted it. Even her fingers felt heavy. “The only part of the world that matters is the part that pays me for my work. Most people buying stereographs won’t know I had the misfortune of getting trapped in the Grand Canyon. If they do, they might see that as part of the glamour of my profession.”
He chuckled. “Yes, this has been quite glamorous.”
That only made her think about her hair again. She raised her head instead. “No one who matters will care about my reputation.”
“I’m not so sure about that,” he said. “Our disappearance will have to be noted in the expedition record. I’ll have to brief Colonel Yearling. Word will get out. You’ll have to negotiate the next contract, likely with officers who have only heard about your reputation. I don’t like the idea of how they might treat you if they thought you less than a lady.” He went down on one knee before her, mud-streaked face earnest.
“I won’t let you bear the censure, Meg. We’ll get married.”
She stared at him. She must know it was the perfect solution to the problem. She didn’t deserve the whispers, the sly looks. Some men thought a lady, once ruined, should be glad for any attention. If she married him, he could protect her. He could imagine working side by side, exploring the country, opening new lands. They could settle in a cottage somewhere, raise a family together—she’d make a wonderful mother the way she listened and advised. Perhaps he’d be invited to teach at the Point. They could grow old together, unlike his parents.
“No,” she said.
Ben blinked. “No?”
“No,” she repeated. “I’m not marrying you to save my reputation or your conscience. We haven’t done anything wrong.”
Ben rubbed the back of his neck, which felt unaccountably hot. “Of course we haven’t. That’s not the point.”
She cocked her head to look up at him as he rose. “Then what is the point?”
Ben shook his head. “At the moment, I have no idea. My mother and sister always insist that a lady’s greatest treasure is her reputation. Being alone in the wilderness with me damaged yours. I just wanted to make things right.”
“Nothing you can do,” she said, climbing to her feet as well. “But if the matter doesn’t bother me or my clients, I don’t see why it should bother you.”
Frustration pushed at him, like a hot wind from the canyon. He knew it was the weariness, the struggle of the last two days, but he couldn’t stop the words that came out. “I thought we had an understanding.”
“We do.” She bundled up the wet wool, still maddeningly calm. “We agreed to see whether our friendship might lead to something more. I certainly never agreed to be pushed into marriage.”
Pushed? He’d felt as if he was walking on eggshells most of the time, picking his way along. He blew out a breath. “I’m not pushing you, Meg. I want this to be a joint decision. Why don’t you wait here while I see if I can find us some shelter for the night?”
“You’re not leaving me behind,” she declared. She reached toward her legs as if preparing to twitch her skirts aside, then paused as if remembering she no longer wore them. “Where you go, I follow.”
“Apparently only if it doesn’t involve a wedding ceremony,” he said, but he turned and headed back toward the rim.
The rain she’d predicted came, a gentle shower this time, pattering down around them. Ben ducked under a tree, but Meg stood out, head tilted back and hat off, letting the water run down her face. With her pale hair coming loose from its pins, her smile warm, she looked as bright as sunshine. His heart tugged at him.
Why had she refused him again? He was an officer now instead of a cadet, someone with a sure future ahead of him. An Army engineer was an excellent prospect, or so his sister claimed. He could almost hear Diana.
A lady with little means of support, concerned for her reputation, ought to jump at the chance to marry someone like you, Ben.
He winced. He wasn’t a finer catch than any of the other officers at the fort. If Meg was interested in marriage, she could have had her pick. Or not.
She had a chance to make her own future with her photography. He ducked out from under the trees, stood beside her in the rain, let the water wash him clean.
The rain slowed to a shower, then moved on. She smiled at him. He couldn’t let her go, let his feelings go.
“Am I so abhorrent?” he murmured.
Her smile was sad. “You’re not abhorrent at all. I care about you, Ben.”
Once more hope leaped up, brighter than the sun coming out from behind the lingering clouds. “Then help me. What am I doing wrong?”
“Nothing,” she assured him, pulling away. “Shouldn’t we be calling?”
Ben shook his head. “You’re avoiding the issue.”
She ignored him. “Halloo!” she shouted, voice tight and shrill. She tilted her head to look around him as if expecting to see someone riding to their rescue.
He caught her hands. “Meg, please. I care about you too. I want to get this right.”
She clamped her lips shut, eyes as stormy as the clouds heading for the rim.
“Halloo!”
Ben stared at her. Her eyes widened, and her body stiffened.
But her lips—her soft, sweet lips—hadn’t moved.
He released her and whirled even as she crowded closer to him.
“Halloo!” he shouted, cupping his hands around his mouth. “Captain Ben Coleridge. Is anyone there?”
For a moment, he heard nothing. Had it only been an echo? Or was his mind that desperate for an answer? Meg clutched his arm, gaze on the distance, as if she could will help closer.
“Halloo!” came the call at last. “Corporal Christopher Adams of Fort Wilverton! Stay where you are. We’ll come to you.”
Meg turned in his arms, buried her head in his shoulder. Ben held her close a moment, thanksgiving pulsing through him.
The sight of his team coming through the trees had never been more welcome. It looked as if they’d saved most of the mules, for each was riding one bareback, and Larson and Adams were each leading a string. The beasts looked odd, and it was a moment before he realized why. Only a few carried a pack, and none pulled a wagon or van. His stomach sank.
