Forsaking All Others

by Allison Pittman

  Colonel Brandon grabbed me by my shoulders but spoke over my head to Private Lambert. “Where will they think she is?”

  “Taken. Just like Braugen said.”

  “How long until someone comes looking for her?”

  “They won’t,” I said, my words dry against my tongue. “Nobody would dare.”

  Colonel Brandon looked at me then, his eyes the only speck of warmth on this earth. “Well, then. Our job just got easier.”

  He turned his head, gave a long, low whistle. The bushes surrounding us rustled, and four horses—two of them saddled—emerged. Even in the darkness I could recognize her. Honey, with her blonde mane and lively prance, came straight for me, and while I should have felt some sort of joy at this reunion, I had only a nagging pang of guilt.

  “This is Nathan’s horse,” I said, reaching out to touch her velvet nose.

  “You’re his wife,” Colonel Brandon said. “It’s as much yours as his.”

  “No.” I turned to him. “Take her back, can’t you? I don’t want to be a thief on top of everything else.”

  “Someday.” His voice rang with promise. “For now, we need her so we can give the other two a rest every few miles. Private? You ready to ride?”

  “Yes, sir.” Private Lambert launched into a full salute, making him look infinitely younger.

  Colonel Brandon placed one foot in his stirrup and swung himself into the saddle with an ease I’d rarely seen. It wasn’t until that moment that I began to wonder just how I was to ride, and then I noticed the colonel’s hand reaching down for me.

  “Oh no—”

  My protest was cut short when Private Lambert, saying, “Pardon me, ma’am,” laced his hands around my waist and, in an equally smooth motion, I was deposited—sideways—on the same horse. Colonel Brandon’s arms wrapped around me as he held the reins, and—acting of its own accord—my head lolled against his shoulder. At once I was overwhelmed with the very feeling I had the first time I met this man. Safety and warmth. Through one ear I heard Colonel Brandon click to his horse; through the other I heard the creak of leather as Private Lambert mounted his own ride.

  And we were off.

  Chapter 16

  Throughout the night, I attempted to doze, locked as I was in Colonel Brandon’s custody. He would permit no such rest.

  “Wake up,” he’d say, jostling me every bit as much as did the horse we rode. “You’ll freeze.”

  But I could not imagine such a thing. There were moments on our ride when I felt warmer than I had in weeks, warmer than any moment spent next to Evangeline’s sparse fire, warmer than the hours drifting in Nathan’s arms. Sweet, exquisite warmth coursing through my very blood.

  And then, “Wake up!” to a sharp winter’s night.

  Each time we stopped to rest the horses and transfer the saddles, I stomped in my own circle, trying to work up the circulation in my feet and legs while flapping my arms—all of this at the colonel’s command. Thankfully I had only the frost-covered landscape to witness my efforts.

  When it was time to ride again, I protested on behalf of the poor horse that had to carry two riders.

  “Nonsense,” Colonel Brandon said. “You’re nothing but bones and boots.”

  That first morning I saw the majesty of a sunrise, and I looked to the east thinking, My home is there. My past and my future. The air was clear and sharp as glass, and it seemed completely illogical that we couldn’t just turn the horses and ride to the dawn, stopping only when we came to the river separating me from my father’s farm.

  We rode so long that it truly felt as if we had decided to set out for Iowa. Again and again, I lost my battle with sleep, and Colonel Brandon allowed me to surrender. I don’t know how the men and the horses made that long trip with barely any rest, but somehow they did.

  Finally, late in what may have been our second full day of travel, our motionlessness roused me, and I awoke to the familiar rumble of men’s voices.

  “Welcome back,” Colonel Brandon said.

  A sea of bearded faces watched from underneath stocking caps pulled low under their uniform hats. Several wore blankets wrapped around their shoulders. While I might have been an object of curiosity, none moved from their places. Just as he had several times throughout the long journey, Private Lambert jumped down from his horse and came to my side, reaching up his long arms to lift me effortlessly to the ground.

  “Shall I escort Mrs. Fox, sir?”

  “Yes, Private.” Then, to me, “I think you will find your room much as you left it. If anything is lacking, you’ll have someone stationed at your door to convey the information to me.”

  I had to bend my head back to look at him, positioning the setting sun right in my eyes, so he was little more than a silhouette when I said, “Thank you.”

  Never has a prison cell appeared more inviting. Colonel Brandon was correct in saying that little had changed. There was my bed and my table and my trunk and my stove. The narrow window still sat high in the wall, keeping the room in a darkness that now seemed to offer more comfort than gloom. The only addition was the buffalo-skin rug stretched across the floor.

  Later I would learn that, during my absence, the men had cast lots to earn a night sleeping in this room—a warm, welcome change from the circular tents dotted along Fort Bridger’s remaining wall. Perhaps that explained their less-than-exuberant reaction to my return. Had I known how I’d displaced them, I might not have enjoyed a single night’s sleep. Or day’s, for that matter. But I didn’t know, and frankly when I first stepped over the threshold, I think I might have been able to summon the strength to knock over any soldier who came between me and my bed.

  I remained upright and polite with Private Lambert as long as courtesy demanded, but the minute the door closed behind him, followed by the familiar sound of that sliding metal bar, I collapsed. With shaking hands I removed my mittens and scarf, tossing them to the ground. Numb fingers worked to untie my boots and loosen the buttons of my overcoat. A cozy fire lit by Private Lambert before he left certainly afforded enough warmth that I could take my coat off, and I intended to do so, but after shrugging one shoulder out, I hadn’t the energy to repeat the action with the other. I still had one foot on the floor when I succumbed, at last, to sleep.

  * * *

  March came in like a lamb, prompting Colonel Brandon to remark that it would likely go out like a lion. It was a rare glimpse of humor, bringing a welcome softness into his face that otherwise seemed haggard with worry. Although he would never share details with me, I knew this winter was taking its toll on his men. They hadn’t been prepared to spend a winter without shelter, and he’d sent many of his troops back when they first rode up to the ruins of Fort Bridger. Even so, supplies were low, rations carefully portioned.

  Each time one of the soldiers came to my door with a plate of food, I bowed my head in both gratitude and shame. How could I have had such an ungrateful spirit for the meager meals shared with Evangeline, and yet feel unworthy of similar portions shared with these strangers? I had a sneaking suspicion that, were I to compare the bounty on my plate with any one of the men’s, I would find I’d been given a relative feast. And with each one, a steaming mug of thick, black coffee.

  It wasn’t until we were weeks into April that I realized for certain I was pregnant. Until then, I attributed my fatigue and lethargy to the cold quarters and scant diet, not to mention endless days of having nothing to do. While I marked the fact that I’d missed my woman’s time not once, but twice, I thought little of it, assuming I’d merely lost track of time. In fact, it crossed my mind that perhaps God was sparing me from those ministrations while living—as I did—in such close company with men.

  Had I been the hale and hearty woman who was Nathan’s first and only wife, I might not have recognized the small, telltale swelling in my stomach. But now, circumstances had worn away all but the most necessary flesh, and one night I lay in bed, warm under a pile of wool and pelts, and discovered the
tiny, resolute mound.

  “It must be,” I said aloud.

  I suppose any other woman in my circumstance might have been seized with panic, but my first reaction was one of gratitude. What child is not a gift? And this one had been given to me—and me alone. My arms still felt the weight of the last child I’d carried, his tiny, frail body growing heavier in each moment after his last breath. I received the new life I felt beneath my hands as a blessing and a promise.

  “You, little one, will not know this church.” Thin, gray moonlight illuminated my breath as I spoke. “You will be the first of my children that I will take away from this place.” And the last I will ever have—though I could not bring myself to say as much aloud, even to the emptiness of my room. I did not have the luxury of dwelling in sorrow. I turned to my side and curled my body around the tiny being within me.

  “Oh, Father God, thank you for such a gift.”

  I did not tell Colonel Brandon right away. Somehow I knew this announcement would bring out an even more protective spirit, and already I lived knowing that every bite of food I ate was a bite taken from those sworn to protect me.

  Besides, how often does a woman have the chance to hold the secret of a child? Nathan was always so watchful, ever eager to know when our family was about to grow again. That we had several years separating our daughters and our son made us an anomaly among our neighbors. Other families filled their church bench like stair steps—one child after another, some sharing a birth year. But we had Melissa; then two years later, Lottie; then three years later, little Arlen. Two years ago, that was, when I was carrying my precious child who would fight for the few breaths God would grant him.

  And now, this little one—no more than an idea in the night. An early winter baby, mid-November, I assumed. This, then, would be the first of my children my parents would hold. I continued to read my Bible daily and saw each verse as a promise made to this baby. I read aloud, hoping the vibration of my voice would wrap itself around this child, surrounding it in the rhythm of truth.

  As much as the cold weather might have tempted me to a time of confinement, drifting only between my bed and my chair, I knew my body would demand more of me in six months’ time. So every day, at the height of the afternoon sun, I left my cozy room to walk the length of the remaining stone wall. It was a daily gamut of tipped hats and greetings of “Afternoon, ma’am,” that refreshed my spirits as much as did the cool, fresh air. Sometimes I would have an escort—Private Lambert, for example, who kept himself half a step behind me with his hands clasped behind his back. Other times Colonel Brandon walked beside me, holding his hand out at a gentlemanly angle whenever we came across a patch of deep snow or slick ice. Once or twice, I even took a turn with Captain Buckley, but his endless questions about my health—Was I eating enough? Did I feel rested?—made me wonder if he didn’t have his own suspicions, especially given the knowing glint in his eyes when he asked them.

  But most days, I walked alone, my face lifted to the sun, my eyes scanning the breadth of the sky, knowing that the same sun shining on the child within me shone on those I’d left to God’s care, and I prayed for the day we would bask in its warmth together.

  Bereft of a calendar, my outings bore witness to the passing of days and the gently turning season. Soon came an afternoon when I didn’t need my scarf. Then another when I removed my hat midway through. I tucked my gloves into my coat pocket, and then I bravely stepped out without my coat at all. The ground became more mud and slush than snow. Men gathered in circles of laughter without creating clouds of steam. Everything became lighter—I felt it in my heart and in my feet.

  Only the weight of the child within me grew, creating a center that seemed to anchor me to the ground. Otherwise, that afternoon when the sound of birdsong came wafting on the nearly spring breeze, I might have soared right up to meet it in the air. We had survived the winter.

  * * *

  “How soon can I leave?”

  I could think of nothing else. There were some mornings I woke up ready to saddle Honey and ride toward the sunrise, and that afternoon my enthusiasm was met with a chuckle from Colonel Brandon that fell just short of patronizing.

  “Soon, Mrs. Fox.”

  “Days?”

  “I don’t want you to feel in any way discouraged, but you must remember that my men aren’t here on a holiday. I have orders to be here. No matter how noble the cause, I can’t just abandon my post without permission.”

  “But you don’t have to go, necessarily, do you? Couldn’t you assign me to somebody else?”

  “Are you telling me how to command my post?”

  “Not at all. I wouldn’t even ask if you hadn’t promised—”

  “I am well aware of my obligations, Mrs. Fox. Unfortunately they extend beyond you.”

  It was the sharpest he’d ever spoken to me, and I was thankful we’d taken our walk along the outside of the wall, away from the curious eyes of the men. I held my tongue, waiting for his apology, but he remained equally silent, perhaps waiting for my own.

  “I had hoped to leave the first of May,” I said.

  “Out of the question.”

  “Why?”

  “If any of my men were to talk to me like that, they’d spend a month in the stockade.”

  “My apologies, Colonel Brandon.”

  We’d come to the remains of an outlying building—nothing more than a single, short wall of chinked logs that somehow had been spared the fate of further fire. Here he stopped, and I beside him.

  “In the last post, I submitted a request for permission to escort you home. I’m waiting to hear. Word should come with a change in command. As soon as that happens, I’ll assemble a party, and if the weather holds, you’ll be home before you know it.”

  “But if you can’t . . . I mean, it doesn’t have to be you.”

  “I would like it to be.”

  His declaration settled between us, somewhere at our feet, given the direction of both our gazes. He stood with his hands clasped behind his back, while mine fidgeted, turning and twisting one on another.

  “Does it bother you still?” he asked.

  “What?” Then I realized I was especially worrying the very spot of my amputation. “Oh no. Not at all, especially now that the weather’s warmer.”

  He reached for my hand, and I allowed him to take it.

  “It can take time for such a wound to truly heal. To the eye, one can see that the surgical procedure has mended, but I’ve known many men to report still feeling pain, even though such pain is impossible. You think, how can something hurt that isn’t there? That’s the kind of healing that takes the longest.”

  “And I suppose, for some, it never does.”

  He hadn’t looked at me until that moment, and when he did, whatever wall existed between us melted away. Unlike Nathan, whose eyes enticed and danced, full of glinting promises, Colonel Brandon’s held a wide, open honesty. Soft and vulnerable as newly turned earth. I could offer him no less.

  “I’m going to have a baby. In the fall.”

  Slowly, almost imperceptibly, his touch relinquished mine and he stepped away. “I suspected as much.”

  “Did you?” Bold as anything, I ran my hands over my somewhat-flat stomach. “I’m hardly showing.”

  “There’s a marked difference in your face.” He seemed almost as surprised as I was when he touched his finger to my cheek. Such a small gesture, but it felt like he’d reached across a canyon to bridge the new distance between us. I could sense the battle he fought to bring words to this new intimacy. “Something that wasn’t there before you went back to Salt Lake City. Call it a healthy glow. It looks like hope.”

  “Am I really so different?” I never imagined myself as anything but pale and gaunt.

  “I don’t know that it would be obvious to anybody who wasn’t looking for such a change. And then, too, when you walk, you hold your hands like you are now . . . protective. You might not be aware—”

&nbs
p; “I wasn’t.”

  “No need to be self-conscious about it now.” He took on an exaggerated brusque, authoritative tone. “Like I said, most would never notice. But I remember my wife, before our son was born.”

  “Well, my condition actually makes me quite tired, so I think it best we head back. I’d like to lie down for a bit.”

  I turned, but he did not follow.

  “I had wondered,” he said, stopping me with his words, “if my suspicions were true, whether or not that would change your plans. If, perhaps, you would be more inclined to seek a reconciliation and return home.”

  “No.”

  “And you will be how far along if we are able to embark in May?”

  I couldn’t be sure if he was asking purely for my travel safety’s sake, or if he wanted to confirm that some measure of reconciliation had taken place while I was away in Salt Lake City. For the briefest of moments it occurred to me to lie, make him think that I’d been pregnant when his men first found me in the snow, but if I’d stalled long enough to do the calculations, he surely would have noted my dishonesty.

  “Three months.”

  “We’ll have to ask Captain Buckley if it will be safe for you to travel.”

  I laughed. “Colonel, if we allowed this condition to keep us from traveling, there wouldn’t be a single woman west of the Mississippi River.”

  “And its father?”

  I met his gaze and said evenly, “This child will be part of my new life, away from here.”

  “And he’ll never know?”

  “Not until God wills that I reveal it. But don’t you see? If I don’t get away, if Nathan finds me, and he discovers . . . he’ll never let me go.”

  “He won’t find you.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  “He won’t find you because he’s not looking. Not anymore.”

  Chapter 17

  My mother used to have a saying for those times when a mysterious chill would dart across her body.

  “Like somebody’s walked over my grave,” she’d say, and I always found it to be the funniest thing because she wasn’t even dead yet. Neither was I, of course, but Nathan must have believed I was. There could be no other reason for him to give up his search for me. So as silly as the saying was, in light of Colonel Brandon’s revelation, I expected to be bombarded with such strange feelings. An eerie hollowness, a profound cavernous fear of an empty, waiting grave. Instead, I sensed only peace. In some ways, I’d been waiting for months to be taken away, tugged by force back to the church that seemed so intent on holding captive its members.