A Place Called Harmony (13 page)

T
RADING
P
OST

When Clint Truman and the McAllen brothers came in for supper, they were exhausted but feeling good about what they’d done. Patrick was right about his brother. Shelly was gifted. Clint had always considered himself a fair builder. He’d been part of barn raisings a few times growing up and even built a room onto his parents’ house before he’d gone to war. But the McAllens were way ahead of him in skill. After ten minutes of trying to add his two cents into the mix, Clint wised up and simply followed directions.

They washed up and walked in the back door. Patrick was first, grabbing his wife and swinging her around as he said, “I’ve got a surprise.”

His words were drowned out by Annie’s scream of joy when she saw Shelly follow his brother in.

Clint watched the reunion. He could think of no one he knew that he’d be particularly happy to see come or sad to see go. These three were dancing around like long-lost family, not three people who’d seen one another less than a month ago.

Clint glanced at his wife. She wasn’t even looking at him. She obviously hadn’t missed him. He pulled off his gun belt and hung it on a high nail by the door. While they were eating he wanted the Colt far out of the little Matheson boys’ reach.

Everyone except Karrisa crowded around the table and talked as they passed bowls of food. His wife took her time putting the baby down in his basket on the counter, then joined them without a word.

Daisy reported that the captain was doing better. He’d even talked to her a few times between sleeping.

When Ely joined them, Patrick filled everyone in on the details of what they’d been working on. When he predicted the smokehouse would be ready in two days now that Shelly was here, Clint offered to go hunting as soon as the roof was on. The group around the table would need meat soon or they’d completely deplete Ely’s supply for the winter. A few days of hunting should keep them supplied for a month if game was good, and give Clint treasured silence.

“When you get back, Truman,” Ely said, finally getting a word in, “I want you riding shotgun on the supplies coming in. I sent the order today with a teamster heading south. Within four or five days, I want you riding toward Dallas. It may take you a few days, but I want you to check the supplies, hire drivers, and make sure it gets back here.”

Truman didn’t have to ask. He knew Ely’s shipments were sometimes robbed. One of the men he’d talked to when he’d bought his wagon had told him that there were outlaws who stopped the smaller loads crossing open land and tried to charge a toll.

Harmon Ely continued to talk. He seemed happy to have Shelly but had no idea where to put him up. When Shelly wrote that he’d be happy to sleep in the barn loft, Ely nodded.

As the meal moved to dessert, Karrisa picked up her knitting. She was sitting beside him, but Clint never made eye contact with her. She seemed to be the invisible person in the room. Even Shelly participated by nodding, or shaking his head if he disagreed, or even jotting notes down and passing them to his brother.

Clint’s thin wife only watched.

Daisy took her boys, one by one, to bed while the others fleshed out a dream they all shared of a town on this land where two waters crossed. Only Karrisa remained quiet as she worked on her knitting and checked on her sleeping baby beside her.

Clint knew his job would be protecting this group. He didn’t know how to tell them that he had no goals beyond keeping Karrisa and her baby safe. He’d done the homestead dream once before and all his plans hadn’t turned out.

He was thankful when Ely stood and announced it was time for bed. They all climbed the stairs, saying good night to Daisy. She’d stay beside her husband downstairs. Jessie would stay close, sleeping in the kitchen in case Daisy needed help with the captain during the night.

Once they were alone, Karrisa handed him a new set of clothes. “When I washed your other clothes, they needed mending. I’ll do it tomorrow, but you’ll need clean ones to wear.” She didn’t look up at him as she talked. “I put these on account with Ely. I hope you don’t mind.”

“The account’s open for anything you, or apparently, I need. I’ll settle up with him at the end of the month. You buy whatever you want, dear. We are not rich, but we can afford the necessities.”

She fidgeted a bit as if she’d been unsure she’d done the right thing. Or maybe she’d lived in a world once where the rules constantly changed.

“Thank you,” Clint said, surprised that she’d worry about him. He laid his hand over hers that rested on the garments. All evening she hadn’t said a word. And yet she was taking care of him, almost like a real wife. He didn’t know whether to be thankful that she cared or irritated that she thought he couldn’t see after his own needs.

Before he could comment, she added, “I took up the waist a few inches, but I think the length will be fine.”

He smiled, realizing it had been a long time since a woman worried about his clothes. “I’m not even good at sewing buttons on.”

He caught a brush of a smile crossing her lips before she added, “I noticed. One you’d sewn on your shirt was an inch off the mark.”

“Did you get your dress finished?” he asked, liking that they were talking, even if it was about nothing important.

“Almost. I still have to hem it. Daisy said she’d pin it up for me in the morning after all the men leave.”

“You like Daisy?”

She nodded. “Annie, too. They made me sit down and rest several times today. Daisy said she didn’t get out of bed for a month when she had her first, but I feel fine, Truman, honest I do.”

“Good.” On impulse, he leaned over and kissed her forehead.

He wasn’t surprised when she moved away quickly. Without a word she left the room and when she returned, she’d changed into her nightgown.

Clint picked up his new clothes and headed for the washroom. Since he’d never worn a nightshirt, he slept in his long johns and trousers. That way, if he was needed quickly all he had to do was strap on his gun belt.

As he lay down on his pallet by the window, he thought of what kind of trouble might find him on the road. The ride out would be easy. He’d be on horseback and have both a Colt and a rifle. No one was likely to catch him, must less bother him.

But on the way back, he’d have wagons to watch over. Clint decided he’d take his time hiring good men. Every wagon would have a shotgun beneath the seat. If any gang tried to stop them, they’d be risking their lives.

Tomorrow, while he hunted, he’d go south so he could check out places where he might be ambushed. Then, when he rode out, he’d ride the same trail the wagons would be traveling. He could gauge the miles. On the return, he’d be on horseback, constantly scouting ahead, making plans where they’d be safest at night, looking for any sign of trouble riding their direction.

Clint realized his mind had fallen easily into the pattern he’d used during the war. It had been eleven years since he’d worn gray, but he still remembered every detail. He’d been little more than a boy then, but one mistake, one slip, and the mission would not be accomplished. Men might have died if he missed a detail. He might have died.

Only this time the mission wasn’t war. It meant the survival of a town. No, more than that, it meant the survival of three families.

And one of them was his.

T
RADING
P
OST

When Jessie finished her hour of sitting with the captain, she walked outside and headed toward the creek. All the people at the trading post were fun to talk to and watch, but she needed to be alone. In the camp where she’d cooked she’d often spent days alone. The Osborne brothers never cared if they left her food, so she’d learned to survive. Once, soon after they traded for her, when she’d been about twelve, they’d left her for a month. She would have died of hunger if she hadn’t found a stream. After that she saved the eyes of potatoes and made a crude garden at every camp.

She felt like she’d been just surviving all her life.

Without much thought that she might be seen, Jessie lay down on the winter grass and let the sun warm her. For the first time in longer than she could remember, she wasn’t hungry. She’d eaten more for breakfast than she usually had to eat in a week. All three of the women were kind and willing to teach her things no one else ever had. If she stayed awhile she might learn enough to make it on her own.

“I love this place,” she whispered.

Far down the stream she watched a tall, lean man moving in the shallow water. He had to be one of the McAllen men. The big man in black was Truman. His wide shoulders almost made two of the McAllens. Old Ely never ventured away from the shadow of the trading post, and the captain wouldn’t be out of bed.

Jessie moved closer, curious why a man would stand in cold water.

Thirty feet away she saw his face. Shelly McAllen. The man who never talked. She’d watched him at breakfast. His brother talked and laughed, but Shelly seemed almost invisible.

Jessie liked him, though. He’d picked up his plate and brought it to the washstand when he finished eating. None of the other men had bothered.

As she walked closer, he looked up, nodded once at her, then went back to his work. Slowly, examining rock after rock before deciding, he lifted stones out of the creek and tossed them on the bank.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

He looked up at her, but didn’t answer.

Jessie sat down and hugged her knees. “That was dumb of me. I know you can’t talk.”

Shelly McAllen looked up again. When his gaze met hers Jessie saw intelligent eyes.

“You mind if I watch?”

He shook his head.

“If I could read you could write down your answer like I’ve seen you do with your brother, but I can’t read. Never got to go to school.” She straightened, not wanting him to feel sorry for her. “I’m not ignorant, though.”

He didn’t look up, and she guessed he didn’t want to see her lying. She watched him tossing rocks on the bank for a while. When he climbed back on the bank and started stacking them in a wagon, Jessie decided to help him.

“I’m not a kid, you know,” she finally said. “I’m a hard worker.”

Shelly didn’t stop working.

“I figure you and me are more alike than you think. Everybody else has someone, but me and you are alone. Old Ely even has his dog.” She hated herself for sounding like she needed to talk. “You think we could be friends?”

Shelly stopped, set down the rock he’d been carrying, and offered his hand. His strong fingers circled around her small hand as he nodded.

“Good,” she managed, not quite sure why it was so important to her. “I’ll come out and help you when I can, and if you don’t mind, I might talk to you now and then.”

He smiled at her and she saw the kindness in his eyes.

Backing away, she smiled back, thinking they were more alike than he knew.

Gillian felt like his life was passing by in random lightning flashes. Sometimes he’d wake and it would be morning. He’d talk to Daisy a little before his thoughts began to jumble in his mind. The next time he’d wake it might be still morning, or it might be night. He was never sure if he’d been out for a minute, an hour, or a day.

Now and then he’d try to wake and only make it halfway. He’d be aware of people moving around him. Of little boys peeking over the covers at him. Of his head hurting.

Other times he’d just remain still and listen. Daisy wasn’t the only woman around him. He seemed to be recovering in the middle of a train station, with people coming and going at all hours. Some old white-haired man kept sitting down by his bed and rambling on about roads being wide enough or asking if Gillian thought ten rooms were enough for a proper hotel. All the time he patted a hairy old yellow dog.

Once he woke and found Daisy sleeping on top of the covers beside him. He turned slowly and studied her every feature in the soft glow of a bedside candle.

She’d been the prettiest girl he’d ever seen. When she’d first smiled at him he thought his heart might explode. From that moment, he’d loved her. Once he’d seen Daisy, he’d never looked at another and he had a feeling he never would. The problem was, loving Daisy seemed easier than living with her.

Her family was huge and well off. Every one of her brothers and sisters had houses of their own, all within sight of the main house. From the moment they told the family they’d like to marry, Daisy’s big brothers started planning his life for him. They’d marry and move into the little house where all the newlyweds lived during their first year. Like everyone else, Gillian and Daisy would have breakfast on their own, but lunch was always served in the field, or orchard, or barns where the men were working. Dinner was at the big house—
every
night with all the family.

Gillian had gone along with everyone at first. When they’d married, food was delivered to their door the first four days so they could have a honeymoon. Then Gillian was expected to quit the army and join the workforce.

He used up his month of leave trying to fit in but finally told everyone he had to go back to the fort. The thought that she wouldn’t come with him had never crossed his mind, and he wasn’t sure he believed it even when he rode away with her crying.

At first the fort was close and he could come home often, but as he was reassigned farther and farther away, he saw her less and less. Another fort always needed building. Finally the fights and arguments over where to live came down to two words every time he had to leave.

“Come,” he’d say.

“Stay,” she’d answer.

“Someday,” remained their compromise.

Both their hearts would break as he rode away. He’d spend his nights at the barracks studying law and missing her. He had a feeling she did fine in the middle of her family, but he hoped at least when Daisy was alone in her bed, she missed him too.

Tonight she was beside him. Gillian grinned. He knew he wasn’t dreaming because if he were she’d be under the covers and nude. He had no idea what day it was, or even where he was, but she was with him and that was enough.

“Daisy,” he whispered. “You awake, honey?”

She opened sleepy eyes. “No,” she muttered.

He smiled. “I love you, you know. You were pretty when I first saw you. Just a girl not old enough to know better than to fall in love with me. But now, Daisy, you’re not just pretty anymore. You’re beautiful.”

“I know,” she said, sounding more asleep than awake. “My husband tells me that every time he comes home.”

“We’re not home now, Daisy, but I’m still telling you.” He brushed his fingers along her soft cheek. “You know, honey, anywhere you are is home to me.”

“I came to be with you, Gillian. I packed up everything and came to Texas. I don’t want to be without you.”

“I know, you told me. We got boys to raise together.”

She leaned forward so that her head rested close to his. “Gillian, is your mind with you?”

“I believe it is, Daisy, but then if it’s not, I’d probably be the last one to ask.”

She smiled at him, and as always he wanted to make her happy. “I can tell by that look in your eyes that we need to talk. So whatever you need to tell me, go ahead and get it out in the open.”

“Promise you won’t get upset?”

He laughed. “That sounds like something your mother would say to your dad. I don’t think I have enough brains left to blow my top; besides, who could ever get mad with a woman like you so close?”

She nodded, almost bumping her forehead against his bandage. “Well, I remember you said your tour was up in January and you would have to reenlist.”

“Right, but I haven’t been there long enough to sign the papers. It’ll mean more pay and there would be a nice house for the captain and his family, once they get Fort Elliot built.”

She interrupted. “I was thinking you might want another job. One where you’d come home at night. One where I wouldn’t have to worry about you being shot.”

“I’m not moving back to the farm. I could handle my own place with you, honey, but for a guy with no living relatives, your clan frightens me. Plus, there’s no challenge in waking up every morning and having one of your big brothers tell me what to do every day, all day.”

A slow smile moved across her face. “I’m not going back to Kansas, Gillian. We came here to be with you. We can start that farm of our own right here and a lot more.”

He wished it were true, but he didn’t have near enough money saved to buy land. Plus, he wasn’t sure he knew enough to make a go of farming. He understood army life in wild country and he knew a little about blacksmithing. He even knew law. But farming seemed like a hundred simple jobs that, if they weren’t done just right, would cause total failure.

Lying back, he rested, wishing he didn’t have to tell her that the dream they’d once talked about during their honeymoon days wasn’t going to happen. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

In a calm voice she began to talk, telling him about seeing a small ad in a farmer’s journal, describing how she wrote and asked for an application. Month by month she’d exchanged letters with someone named Harmon Ely. He wanted families and was willing to give up land to get them to stay.

Finally, she ended her story by saying she’d sent word to the fort for Gillian to come here to meet her the day she’d left Kansas with their boys. She knew she’d arrive early, but she wanted to be waiting for him.

He listened but he wasn’t sure he believed.

“I’ve two wagonloads of furniture and equipment that we’ll need to start. By the end of spring we’ll have a house and land to live on. In two years there will be a town and we’ll own the land.”

Gillian didn’t know whether to believe her. The offer Harmon Ely made sounded too good to be true.

“He hired Patrick McAllen, a carpenter, to lead the building, and a man fast with a gun to stand if trouble comes. Mr. Ely said you were the perfect man in the middle. You understand blacksmithing, which will come in handy early on. You’re a soldier, so you’ll know how to handle a gun, and, when the town forms, there will need to be a man to organize the town, maybe even run it so no corruption takes over.”

She cuddled closer. “You could be the first mayor, or lawyer or county judge. I told Ely that you studied law. At first I didn’t see how you’d be needed to start a town, but Mr. Ely said a captain in the army is exactly the kind of man he’s looking for.”

Gillian didn’t answer. She was right, he did know the law, but this job would mean leaving the army, the only life he’d ever known.

“Just think, Gillian, we’ll build a town. One of the first this far north. We’d be together.”

He closed his eyes, picturing the life he’d always lived. It had an order to it, a routine. He’d be giving that up. He saw the outline of the first fort his dad took him to. No grass grew in the square of buildings and barns. Wooden walls framed everyone in and blocked the sunsets and sunrises.

He wanted more than what he’d grown up with for his boys. He wanted them to be able to ride free without worrying about making it through the gate before sunset. He wanted them to walk to the fishing hole and go to school with the same kids for years. Maybe he wanted too much.

He thought of all the men he’d known. Some strong leaders. Some dependent on the order of army life to keep them in line. Friends he’d known who rode out one day only to return draped over a horse. He remembered their widows’ wails long into the night, and he remembered the men who died without anyone to stand at their grave to mourn their passing. Gillian thought of the thousands of dull days with little to do and the long nights on the road when fear kept him awake.

He’d known great men and he’d known men who stayed too long in the army. Old men broken down who were given odd jobs around the fort because they had no family to go to when they retired. Men who’d hardened from one too many battles until nothing was left inside.

Gillian thought of all he’d be giving up if he didn’t reenlist, but most of all he thought of the one thing that he’d never had and would never have if he didn’t step away.

He’d never have his family. Daisy would grow old waiting for him to come home, either at her family farm or at some remote post with the other wives.

All his life he’d known that being a soldier was making the world a safer place, but maybe there were other ways to make the world better. There were just so many times he could dodge a bullet or recover from a wound. One time he might not. He’d be one of the crosses beside the fort that no one visits. He’d be the crippled-up old soldier who never leaves because he has nowhere else to go.

“We could stay here, Gillian,” Daisy whispered. “We could help McAllen and Truman build Mr. Ely’s town. Our children and grandchildren will watch over this place and take care of it for hundreds of years.”

He took her hand as he drifted back to sleep. Half dreaming, he whispered, “All right, Daisy, we’ll give it a try.”

She squeezed his fingers and he smiled, wishing her dreaming could be real.

The sun was up when he woke, but Daisy was gone. He tried to figure out if he’d really talked to her in the night, or if he’d just thought he had. She’d had a crazy idea of how they could live together.

The bed moved. A little head, chin level to the mattress, smiled at him.

“Morning, Abe.” Gillian greeted his oldest son.

“I’m over here, Papa,” a voice from near the window answered.

Gillian forced himself more awake. The little boy he’d left over a year ago had shot up. He sat in the windowsill. How could it be possible that Abe had grown to be four? “Sorry, son, I guess I was remembering you when you were younger. My brain is a little foggy.”

Trying to focus on the head bobbing up and down at the end of the bed, he said, “You must be Ben. You were just walking good when I left.” Over a year, Gillian thought. He’d been gone so long and they’d changed so much.

“Papa. You awake. Mom says we have to be quiet ’cause you sleep. I see your eyes. You are not asleep.”

Gillian glanced at another boy sitting in the chair next to his bed. He was swinging his feet so the buckle of his shoe clicked like a clock on the leg of the chair.

“Ben talks too much, Papa,” Abe announced as he slid off the windowsill. “Mom swears he was born talking.”

“Do not,” Ben shouted as he banged his feet into the wood of the chair.

“Do too.” Abe joined in the shouting match.

Gillian’s head was starting to pound in time with Ben’s feet. “If you’re Abe and you’re Ben, who is that?” He pointed to the head that kept popping up and down at the end of the bed like a turtle in shallow water.

Both his sons moved closer and watched as if studying something foreign to their world.

“Hell if I know,” Ben, the three-year-old, said.

Abe turned on his brother. “Mom told you not to say
hell
.”

“Uncle Fred says
hell
,” Ben defended.

“Momma says Uncle Fred was kicked in the head by a mule and isn’t right. She says cuss words dribble out of him like snot. You don’t want folks to say that about you, do you?”

Ben didn’t back down. “If Uncle Fred can cuss, it must not be a bad word. Grandma wouldn’t let him do it if it was.”