A Secret Refuge [02] Sisters of the Confederacy (23 page)

If she hadn’t been the horsewoman her father had trained her to be, Jesselynn might have fallen off from sheer relief. Instead, she let Ahab run a bit before easing him back first to a hand gallop, then to a canter. She turned to trot back to where the crowd stood in silent grief. Jesselynn glanced over at Aunt Agatha, who wore a grin from here to Sunday. A brief sketch of a nod was her only answering motion.

Jesselynn stopped in front of the chalk man and leaned forward to pat Ahab’s steaming shoulder.

“Here you go, boy. I never saw a horse run like that ‘cept at a real honest-to-God track one time. That horse sure can run.” He handed her the leather pouch, which she stuck in her pocket.

Erskin strode up and handed her his horse’s reins. “I kept the saddle. That weren’t part of the bet.”

“I didn’t bet. You set up the parameters.”

He raised an eyebrow, but she didn’t bother to explain. “Thank you. We will treat him well. What is it you call him?”

“Blackie.”

Jesselynn looked around to see her aunt standing several feet distance.

“That was a fine race, son.” Her eyes twinkled. “Your mother must be right proud of you.”

“Thank you, ma’am.” Jesselynn ducked her head, as was proper. It helped hide her almost smile. She mounted Ahab again and clucked the other horse to follow them. She trotted a ways and stopped. Clear as if someone sat on her shoulder, she heard a voice tell her to offer Blackie back to his former owner for a hundred dollars.

That’s crazy. Why, the army would pay two hundred . . . or more
. Ahab sighed and shook his head, setting the reins to flapping. Jesselynn looked around. No one nearby was paying any attention. Shaking her head and giving a heavy sigh, she turned the horses back toward the now thinning crowd. Aunt Agatha and the wagon were heading out the other way. When she found the chalk man, she stopped. “You seen Erskin?”

“Probably in the saloon drowning his sorrows. Losing Blackie hit him hard.”

“Thanks. Which saloon?”

“Oh, most likely the Western Belle. Favorite place o’ his.”

Jesselynn found the place after a bit of searching, tied the horses to the hitching rail, and took the steps two at a time. She paused before the swinging doors. Saloons were no places for young women, but since she was a young man, it should be all right. But it wasn’t. She stepped back when someone pushed the doors outward.

Come on. Quit wasting time. Get on in there and find the man so you can get Ahab back under cover
. With that as a prod, she pushed the doors and followed them inward, blinking in the dim light. Even at this time of the morning, smoke hung like a shroud over the room. Two tables were set up for cards, but she found Erskin leaning against the bar, a bottle in front of him.

“Mr. Erskin?”

He turned with a snarl on his face that only intensified when he saw her. “What do you want now? You got my horse. Ain’t got nothin’ else.”

She nearly coughed on the fumes flung her way by his words. “I have a proposition for you.”

“Yeah?” He hoisted the bottle, his Adam’s apple glugging several times before he handed the bottle in her direction. “Have some.”

“No, thanks. My daddy don’t hold with his son drinkin’ liquor yet.” She leaned against the bar and waited for him to repeat the chugging noise and smack his lips. “Now, I was wondering if you would like to buy Blackie back.”

“Buy him back? Are you outa your ever-lovin’ mind? ‘Course I want him back.”

“Good. How does a hundred and fifty dollars sound?”

“Ain’t got that much.”

“How much do you have?”

“A hunnerd.”

“Gold?”

A nod.

“Sold. Come on out and get him.” Jesselynn turned toward the door expecting him to follow, but halfway there she realized no sound of boot steps came behind her. She turned.

Erskin stood as if he’d been turned to salt. He blinked, the only part of his body that seemed to work other than his hand that clenched and relaxed before clenching the bottle again.

“Are you comin’?”

“Aye, boy, that I am.”

Jesselynn hoped Blackie knew his way home, because the way Erskin swayed and stumbled, he wouldn’t be doing much guiding.

She left with his blubbering thank-yous ringing in her ears. Maybe she could be called all kinds of fool, but right now a peace rode her shoulders, and it failed to evaporate on the roundabout ride back to camp.

Two days later she had the new wagons loaded and the oxen pulling them into Wolf’s camp. “We’re here for your inspection.”

His eyes didn’t look one mite more accommodating. After he went through all the boxes, bags, and barrels, he stopped next to her.

“All right. Much against my better judgment, you can join us. We leave day after tomorrow.”

“Good. That’ll give me time to sell my other wagon and the extra horse.” She glanced up into his face, hoping for a smile, a nod, something that indicated he was pleased. Nothing.

“Now, you’ve told me everything else you are bringing, right?”

Everything but seven Thoroughbreds, but they shouldn’t cause any problem
.

“I don’t like surprises.”

Jesselynn shrugged. “I better get on back to camp.”
God, forgive me, but I don’t know what else to do
.

On the Oregon Trail

“Here come the wagons!” Thaddeus threw himself back against Jane Ellen’s chest.

Her grunt spoke volumes for the strength the little boy gained daily.

Jesselynn released a deep breath she wasn’t aware she’d been holding. Sitting high on the wagon seat, she let her thoughts and fears run rampant. What if Gray Wolf took another route? What if he refused them when he saw the other horses? Of course he wouldn’t be seeing the horses until later. With the sun barely out of bed, the wagon train snaked along the trail, already raising a cloud of dust. The western sky, however, looked about ready to take care of the dust problem. A chill wind blew, precursor to the black, moisture-laden clouds.

But to the east, the sun shone, waking the diamonds that slept on the spring grass. Dandelions opened their golden faces to the morning and hid in the growing grass. With thirty wagons, this train was smaller than some of the others, and from what she’d heard, was better prepared.

Wolf had seen to that. He rode now at the head of the train, his spotted horse—she’d heard they were called Appaloosas—dancing with energy.

She wondered how far ahead their horses had gotten. Meshach, Daniel, and Benjamin had taken them south to meet with the wagon train later in the day. If she’d dared, she’d have sent them on ahead to Topeka. Once they were well on the trail, surely he wouldn’t send them back. But with all the farmlands and small towns dotting the first leg of the trail, he could send them back anytime. Not like farther north where she’d heard the land was still as free as the grass that rippled like waves in the wind. She’d read that in a circular sent out to encourage western migration.

The bluegrass at home did the same just before haying time. Otherwise the pastures were kept short for the horses to have the succulent new grass to feed on. In her other life the foals would be cavorting under immense walnut trees while their dams grazed. The yearlings would be racing each other up the fence line, practicing for their future. Up at the big house, rugs would be on the lines for the beating, curtains down for washing away the winter dust, and workers singing as they washed the windows, making the house sparkle for Easter.

Meshach had reminded her that Easter would be that Sunday. Celebrating Easter on the wagons west. Somehow it didn’t seem proper. No church with snowball bouquets, spiked with purple iris, on the altar. No new hats and gowns, no special Easter feast with as many friends and relatives who could come.

But, of course, that was all before the war—in her other life.

One of the oxen bellowed and was answered by one of the oncoming spans. They plodded along as if they’d been on the trail already for days, but she knew that many of them were still being trained the day before. One of theirs, a brindle that Jane Ellen named Buster, didn’t want to settle into the yoke. She had him yoked in her span so she could keep after him to pull his share. Jesselynn thought Blister a more suitable name.

Wolf cantered back to meet her. “Good morning.” He touched the brim of his hat and nodded to Aunt Agatha driving the other wagon.

Jesselynn could see him looking around, and she knew for whom. The question didn’t surprise her.

“Where are your men?”

“Jenkins begged and pleaded that they stay on one more day to finish out an order. They’ll catch up with us.” Keep this up and pretty soon she wouldn’t know truth from lie or what she told to whom. But this one was partly true. Jenkins had pleaded for them to stay on. They had chosen not to. He’d offered them year-round work at a real fair wage, but Meshach said no. He was going west for the free land.

The look Wolf gave her promised more questions to come, but right now keeping the train moving was more important. “You file in at the end. The wagons will take turns eating dust with a new one in front every morning.”

“Mr. Wolf, we goin’ to Orgon.” Thaddeus stood on the seat beside Jesselynn. One thing for sure, no one would accuse Thaddeus Highwood of being shy. If she hadn’t a firm grip on the seat of his pants, he would have been down the wagon wheel and racing over to the horse.

“That we are.” Wolf tipped his hat again and reined back to answer a call from one of the drivers.

Thaddeus and Sammy waved to those on the wagons and those walking beside. Some called greetings, some didn’t, but all wore a look of expectation, as if they would see Oregon next week.

Five months it would be, and that was if all went well.

A baby cried and was hushed. A dog barked. Patch trotted stiff legged out to inspect another that advanced in the same manner. Tails wagged in the tentative way of dogs. They sniffed each other, one darting away, then back again. Patch stood his ground with hackles raised.

Jesselynn watched the ritual. “Get on back here, Patch.” She wasn’t in the mood to have to break up a dogfight, although she was sure there would be a number of those, the same with the cows and horses, as all the critters set up their pecking orders. Patch ran back to the wagon, tongue lolling, and gave a quick yip to announce his arrival.

Same with the folks. There was sure to be trouble somewhere along the trail.

When all the wagons passed, she flicked her whip out over the backs of the oxen, getting a satisfying pop without touching a hide. The wagon lurched forward for the second time that morning, but she held back in the line, waiting for Agatha to pull in front of her. With the extra ox tied on the rear, she was indeed last, except for the spare horses and oxen that formed a herd following off to the south where the animals could snatch a mouthful of grass once in a while. Several young men, mounted on horses, were keeping the herd on the move.

Children waved from front porches as the caravan passed by, farmers from out in their fields. Their route took them down the streets of Olathe and Lawrence, heading them southwest until the Oregon Trail left the Santa Fe Trail. Then they’d turn north and cross the Kansas River at Topeka. The noon stop was short—no campfires allowed—but it gave the oxen and horses a rest, as well as those walking alongside the wagons. Since they stopped by a creek, the animals drank their fill, and the children waded in the water.

They were barely on the road again when the threatening storm hit with teacup-size raindrops. All the walkers scurried for the wagons, leaving the drivers and the animals to brave the elements. Jesselynn was soaked within seconds.
I shoulda had Jane Ellen take over for Aunt Agatha
. But it was too late now.

“Leastways the canvas ain’t leakin’,” Jane Ellen said from behind her shoulder. “That greasin’ we did makes the water run off slicker’n off a duck’s back.” She lifted her face to the rain sheeting down. “Smells good, don’tcha think? All clean and fresh.”

Jesselynn had to agree. The world always smelled better after a rain, and it wasn’t like this one was so cold. Chilly yes, but not bone-deep freezing like earlier in the year.

“Rain like this makes the grass and flowers just leap outa the ground. I love springtime.”

Jesselynn had to smile. Not often did Jane Ellen say this many words at one time without someone having asked her questions.

“Sure do hope Meshach and the boys got a place to stay dry. How soon you think we’ll be meetin’ up with ’em?”

“Long about sunset.” Jesselynn flipped the reins to move the oxen along better. The gap had widened between them and the wagon in front. She touched the right rear oxen with the tip of the whip, and he lunged into the yoke. “You just stay up there too. No room for a lazy ox here.”

“He’s the purtiest one though, ain’t he?”

“Isn’t he.”

“I think so.”

“No. I mean, you don’t say ‘ain’t.’ The proper way is ‘isn’t he.’ ”

“Oh. That’s right. He is right purty, ah . . . isn’t he?”

“Guess so. But he’s lazy.” Jesselynn popped her whip over him again. “Got to keep on him all the time.”

The sky lightened, and off to the west a band of light broke through just above the horizon. The rain changed to a drizzle, then stopped.

“You think we’ll see a rainbow?”

“Good chance.” Jesselynn was hoping she’d see Meshach. But the rider coming toward them was definitely not he. The horse’s red chest and white-spotted rump were a surefire giveaway.

“You all right back here?” Wolf sat his horse as if born attached.

“Hey, Mr. Wolf.” Jane Ellen leaned across the seat to wave.

“Just Wolf, no mister.” He pulled up alongside the wagon.

“Is Wolf your whole name?” Jane Ellen slid one leg across the seat and, with a lithe twist, took up sitting beside Jesselynn.

“Nope. Between my father and my mother, they named me Gray Wolf Torstead.”

“So you are Mr. Torstead.”

“Guess so, but most folks call me Wolf.” He nudged his horse into a trot and waved back at them.

“Ain’t he beautiful?” The reverence in the words kept Jesselynn from making a smart retort. When she glanced at Jane Ellen, the thought hit her. Jane Ellen was becoming a young lady. One who showed an interest in the male of the species and whose heart could be trampled by a crush.

“Isn’t.”

“He is too.” Like a fluffy hen defending her chicks, Jane Ellen went on the attack.

“No, I mean, remember I said not to use ‘ain’t.’ Use ‘isn’t.’ You asked me to teach you proper English, and that’s what I’m tryin’ to do.”

“Oh, sorry.” But the stars had left her eyes, and she wrapped her arms around her middle, leaning forward to check on the squeaky wagon tongue. “Meshach will want to know about that squeak. He said if it squeaks, grease it.”

Thankful for the change in topic, Jesselynn breathed a sigh of relief. Far as she was concerned, Wolf might be a striking man, but all he did for her was make her mad. Overbearing, stubborn—she had a long list of words to describe him, not many of them complimentary.

“Speak of the devil,” she muttered under her breath.

Wolf rode back into view, stopping at each wagon to speak to the driver. When he got to her, she waited a tick before looking up.

“We’re stoppin’ for the night about half a mile up the road. There’s water there and plenty of pasture. Your wagon will be the last into the circle, so will be the most difficult. We’ll be forming circles every night for safety’s sake, even though right now there’s nothing to fear.”

She wanted to ask more about the circle but refrained. If he thought she couldn’t maneuver this wagon, he had another think coming. But what about Aunt Agatha? After a long day on the wagon seat, she might be all stove-up. Besides, she hadn’t driven four up before, let alone oxen.

“Thanks. We’ll manage.”

“I can get someone else to drive your aunt’s wagon in.”

“I said we’ll manage.”
Don’t go doin’ us any favors. We can handle things ourselves
.

The look he gave said clearly what he thought of her bad manners. Which wasn’t anywhere close to what she thought about his.
My mother would have an attack of the vapors, and I never once saw her go into a spell like that. She didn’t have the vapors
.

Jockeying the final wagon into place took several men giving conflicting advice, oxen more well trained in backing and, as Meshach would say, “a heavy dose of prayer.” More than once she wished he were there, beginning to be concerned as the sun set fire to the western sky and gilded the edges of the remaining clouds. They’d just dropped the wagon tongue in place when the horsemen trotted up to the wagon.

“Coulda used you a few minutes ago,” Jesselynn said by way of greeting.

“Sorry, thought you be farther up de road.” Meshach dismounted, signaling for the others to do the same.

“These are
your
men?” Wolf nudged his horse closer to where she stood.

“Ah, yes.”

“And
your
horses?”

“Yes.”

He leaned over to say softly, “And why wasn’t I informed that we would have seven horses along?”

Jesselynn squared her shoulders. If there was to be a fight, she was ready.

He waited.

So did she.

“I remember askin’ if you had any other livestock.”

“I know, but I’ve had to keep the horses hidden. They’re all that’s left of Twin Oaks breeding farm. We need good blood to start over.” She knew she was talking too much and sounding breathy on top of it. But they
had
to be part of the train. Who knew when another would form up?

“They’re Thoroughbreds.”

“Yes, sir.”

With eyes narrowed so his gaze was even more piercing, Wolf stared at her. “Does that big stallion have anything to do with winning a race a day or two ago?”

She couldn’t think of a lie quick enough. “Yes, sir.” Good. Telling the truth felt good.

“Remember when I said you had to be able to take orders?” At her nod, he continued. “One of my most important orders is that no one will tell me a lie. Only the truth.”

And I am living a lie
. “Yes, sir.”

“I will decide by morning.”

“Decide, sir?”

“Whether you and your horses will be continuing on with the wagon train.” He turned and rode off before she could sputter an answer.