Ana Seymour (3 page)

“Captain Hunter, my brother and I have already had to leave the body of our father behind in St Louis. I intend to take whatever else I can of him to California.” Kerry realized that her voice had trembled
slightly. Furiously she bit painfully into her lower lip. But her emotion had apparently not affected Jeb Hunter.

“I’m sorry. At least half that pile stays here…or you and your entire wagon stay. Take your choice. We leave at dawn, boys. I’ll leave you alone to make your decision.”

When Kerry made no reply, Patrick said, “Thank you, Captain. We’ll be ready to go at dawn.”

Jeb took a last look over at the freight wagon. “Just remember we’ve got two sets of mountains to cross before you get to the California. My best advice to you is to travel as light as possible.”

Then he wheeled his horse and rode off, sending up a cloud of dust that stung Kerry’s eyes.

“Maybe he’s right, Kerry,” Patrick said after a moment. “We don’t really need all those things. I can get new tools when we get out there, and then I’ll make whatever else we need.”

Kerry had a sudden vision of her brother as a small boy sitting at their father’s side, earnestly copying each move of Sean Gallivan’s sure, swift hands. She blinked hard and let the tears well up to wash away the dust. “We’re going to build Papa’s ranch in California, Patrick. It’s going to be every bit as rich and beautiful as he dreamed. And,” she added fiercely, “we’re going to do it with his grandfather’s tools.”

They had worked through the night. The settlers’ representative, Frank Todd, had ridden up at dusk to invite them to a campfire and farewell party, but they had politely declined and continued shifting and shoving and unloading and reloading until the inside of
their wagon was more intricately arranged than a Chinese puzzle. It had been almost dawn before Kerry had been satisfied that everything was packed. The two big toolboxes were covered with supplies, impossible to see from any angle. Everything was on board except for a box from the Boone store labeled Meat Cakes.

“I think I’d have trouble getting one of these things down anyway,” she’d told her brother.

“They’re not so bad,” he’d replied, munching on one. “At least they’re not fish.”

When their father had become fanatical about his plans for the journey to California, they’d saved money by eating the broken and sometimes half-spoiled pieces of fish Patrick had been able to bring home each day from the docks. Now just a fishy odor was enough to make them both queasy.

The man from Boone’s outfitters had come and gone the previous evening, so the box of meat cakes sat in the grass alongside the wagon. “We have an hour or so until dawn,” Kerry said finally. “We could probably sleep.”

“I’m too wide-awake,” Patrick replied, sitting down beside her at the little campfire they’d kept burning through the night. “It’s hard to believe that we’re finally on our way. So much has happened…”

His voice trailed off. “It’s not fair, is it?” Kerry mused. “He should be here.”

Patrick nodded as they both stared at the glowing embers. After several minutes he said, “You go ahead and sleep if you want, sis. We have a long day ahead.”

“No. This is restful right here. A few moments of
peace before everyone else is awake. Maybe we’ll be able to sleep along the way.”

Patrick grinned. “Show me a square foot of space inside the wagon where I can curl up and then I’ll think about napping.”

Kerry sighed. “There’ll be more space as we use up the supplies along the way.”

“You boys must be eager to get started.” Jeb Hunter’s voice came out of the darkness behind them. “You’re the first ones up.”

“We haven’t been…” Patrick began, then stopped as Kerry elbowed his side. “Ah…we’re ready and waiting.”

“I hope you got enough rest. The first couple of days are usually grueling.” Jeb glanced over at their wagon. “I see you got your wagon loaded. Did you sell the rest of your stuff back to Boone’s?”

“Yup. No problem,” Kerry replied quickly without so much as a stammer. What was one more lie among the many she would be forced to tell to maintain her masquerade?

Captain Hunter was studying them keenly in the firelight. Kerry didn’t like the speculative look in his eyes when he glanced her way. She bent over to put a log on the fire, hiding her face. “Like my brother said, we’re ready to go.”

Jeb sauntered casually over and peeked in the back of the wagon. “It looks pretty full up in there.”

Kerry gave a noncommittal murmur in reply.

He walked back over to the fire and stood towering over them. “Just so you understand. Sometimes the trail gets too tough—we have to lighten the load, leave things behind. You’ll find the way littered with
family heirlooms, tools, furniture, all kinds of ‘essentials’ that somehow just don’t seem that essential anymore a thousand miles out from Westport Landing.”

Kerry wanted to look him directly in the face, but she had to remember that her disguise was more important at this point than her pride. She kept her eyes lowered. “I understand what you’re saying, Captain. I can assure you that my brother and I will do whatever it takes to reach California.”

“Well, I admire your attitude, Kiernan. That’s the kind of spirit we need along the trail.” Jeb lapsed into silence as he once again studied the two Irish boys. He’d been disappointed when he first saw the elder Gallivan brother. The lad was slight, almost sickly thin, and looked not much older than his little brother. But the young Irishman had stood up to Jeb well enough—both brothers had, for that matter. Perhaps they would also stand up to the rigors of the trail. “How well can you boys shoot?” he asked them.

Patrick and Kerry looked at each other. “We’re willing to learn,” Patrick said finally. “There’s a fine new rifle with the supplies Papa bought.”

“You’ve never been hunting, never shot a gun?” Jeb asked, incredulous.

“There are very few buffalo wandering around the streets of Manhattan, Captain,” Kerry retorted, watching him from under her thick eyelashes.

Jeb chuckled, but shifted uneasily. He could swear that the boy raised his hackles in a way that he’d only experienced with women. It was an odd sensation. Perhaps it had something to do with the fact that the lad was so femininely slender. And then there was
that face, so perfect it looked as if it had been chiseled directly off one of the marble statues he’d seen once in a book.

“Well, you’ll have to learn to shoot out here—both of you. Maybe one of the other men will give you some lessons. Have you met your neighbors yet?” When both boys shook their heads he continued. “Up in front of you will be Scott Haskell. He’s an argonaut and is traveling alone.”

“An argonaut?” Patrick asked.

“A prospector. That’s what they’re calling them—after Jason and the Argonauts. You know—the never-ending search for the Golden Fleece.” There was a disdainful note to his voice.

“I thought the Gold Rush was pretty much over,” Kerry said.

“There’ll always be a gold rush somewhere as long as men think that money is the secret to a happy life.” Jeb had learned otherwise a long time ago, but it wasn’t a lesson he shared easily. “Anyway, the outfit behind you belongs to the Burnetts—a young couple from Virginia and their two young’uns. Nice folks.”

Patrick jumped up from his place by the fire, looking as if he was ready to start this instant. “Do we stay in the same order for the whole trip?” he asked their guide.

“We keep the same order usually, unless there’s a reason to switch. But each day the lead wagon goes to the rear.”

“How come?”

Jeb smiled. “It’s so that every outfit gets a chance at one blessed, dust-free day.” When Patrick looked
confused, he added, “You’ll understand what I mean after an hour or two on the trail.”

He wished them luck on their first day, then left to begin a last-minute check on the other wagons.

By the time the first licks of dawn began appearing across the prairie, most of the camp was awake, bustling with energy and the same kind of suppressed excitement that Kerry could see in her brother’s face. She herself was wishing she could find a place to get away from everything and sleep for about a week. The long night of loading had taken a toll, as had the past few weeks of grief, strain and worry. Promising herself a good night’s sleep once they were out on the trail, she dabbed some water on her tired eyes, then rubbed more dirt across her cheeks.

Actually, she told herself, she should be feeling great. She’d successfully accomplished what she’d promised to herself as she’d stood watching her father’s body being lowered into the ground in a cheap pine box. This morning they started west. The wagon train captain had accepted them. Once they left Westport, there was no turning back. Even if her disguise was discovered, they’d have to let her continue on with them. The most difficult obstacle had been met and conquered. She should be feeling on top of the world, but as visions of her father’s twinkling blue eyes covered the blur in her own, she couldn’t seem to feel anything but tired.

“Wagons, ho!” She turned around at the sound of a childish shout, then blinked to try to clear her vision. She must be more tired than she realized, because she was suddenly seeing double.

“Forward, ho!” shouted vision number two. Kerry gave a small laugh at her own confusion. The pair were twins, of course.

“Good morning,” she said as the two identically clad youngsters ran up to her, stopping abruptly a safe five feet away. “Who are you two ladies?”

The little girls giggled and the one on the right said, “I’m Polly, she’s Molly.”

Kerry masked a wince at the thought of a mother who would name her daughters like two rhyming parrots. “Pleased to meet you. I’m…Kerr…Kiernan. Kiernan Gallivan.” She’d entirely forgotten to lower her voice, but the girls didn’t appear to question her masculinity.

“We’re Burnetts,” Polly added. “We’re gonna be your neighbors, Ma says, and we have to be nice to you, ‘cause you and your brother lost your pa.”

After too much false sympathy from strangers, Kerry found the girl’s directness disarming. Once again the unshed tears stung her throat. “Yes, we did,” she said softly. “How old are you two?”

“I’m older.” Polly continued to be the spokesperson for the duo. “Five minutes. But we’re both ten.”

Kerry turned her eyes to Molly, whose smile was just a little more tentative than her sister’s. “Well now, ten’s a wonderful age, isn’t it, just starting to be grown-up.”

Molly looked down at her scuffed shoes. “Pa says we get to drive the wagon,” she contributed in a voice Kerry could hardly hear.

“That sounds about right. My brother’s thirteen and he’s been driving for at least three years.”
“But he’s a boy,” Polly pointed out. “That’s different.”

“Not always. It doesn’t have to be different.”

“You talk kind of funny.”

Kerry didn’t know if the girl was referring to her high pitch or her slight accent, but decided to stay with the safer topic. “That’s because I grew up in another country. Have you ever heard of Ireland?”

Both girls nodded and Polly said, “In school. On the train we won’t have any school and maybe not for a long time, but my Ma will teach us.”

“That’s good, Polly. Learning’s important.”

“That’s what Ma says.”

“It sounds as if your mother’s a smart lady,” Kerry replied with a smile.

“I told you girls not to bother the neighbors till we all get started.” A pretty blonde who didn’t look old enough to be anyone’s mother was walking toward them from the next wagon. The smile on her face diluted the reproachful tone of her words.

“She talked to us first, Ma.”

“They’re not a bother, ma’am.” Now Kerry made an effort to keep her voice low.

The woman came up behind her daughters and draped an arm lightly around each. “I’m Dorothy Burnett. And you must be one of the Gallivan boys.”

“I’m Kiernan, ma’am. Pleased to meet you.” Kerry took a step back toward her own wagon, hoping the woman would not offer a hand to shake. Her slender hands were the one part of her that was impossible to disguise.

“And I see you’ve already met Polly and Molly.” With a little laugh and the air of someone who’d
made the explanation many times in the past, she continued, “Their real names are Priscilla Jo and Margaret Mary, but their father put the nicknames on when they were just babes and somehow they’ve stuck.”

Kerry grinned. “Polly and Molly it is, then. You girls will have to help me out on which is which for a while.”

“They’ve been known to trick people in the past,” Dorothy said, laughing, “so be careful.”

Kerry was drawn to the woman’s warmth. It was nice to have another young woman along as a companion, and for a moment she felt a pang knowing that, thanks to her masquerade, she and Dorothy would not be able to become confidantes. It would be comforting to confide her secret to someone. “That’s all right, girls,” she said a touch wistfully, smiling down at the twins. “I’ve been known to trick people myself on occasion.”

J
eb Hunter had been right about the dust. It didn’t take even the hour or two he had predicted for Kerry and Patrick to realize that moving along in the middle of a train of nearly fifty wagons was a grimy business. The first part of the trail out from Westport was level, easy going—the “sea of grass” her father had told them about during those long evenings of planning back in New York. But the endless procession of wagons had worn the actual trail down to bare ground, and each wagon churned up its own little dirt cyclone as they rolled along. Following the example of some of the more experienced travelers, Kerry and Patrick tied bandannas over their faces to keep out the worst of it.

“I guess I won’t have to rub dirt on my cheeks any more,” Kerry joked to her brother as they sat side by side on the wagon seat. “There’s enough natural accumulation of the stuff to disguise the President of the United States.”

“I wish papa had bought us horses instead of these
stupid beasts,” her brother grumbled. “Then I could ride out into the fresh air like Captain Hunter.”

All morning they’d watched their wagon master riding from one wagon to the next, checking equipment, giving advice and generally elevating spirits as his flock took their scary first step beyond civilization.

“Horses don’t stand up well enough pulling a heavy load. Papa said it had to be mules or oxen, and oxen were cheaper.”

“If he’d bought mules, I could at least have ridden some of the time.”

Jeb Hunter was riding toward them. “I’ll not have you criticize Papa’s decisions, Patrick,” Kerry said absently, her eyes on their guide. It was his extraordinary, almost golden eyes that drew her frequent glances, she’d decided, but she had to admit that the face that went along with the eyes was ruggedly handsome. He had creases along each cheek that made his expression look severe except when he smiled. He didn’t seem to be a man who smiled often.

“Are you listening to me, sis?” her brother asked.

“What?”

“I asked if you thought we might switch the oxen for mules when we reach the changing station.”

Jeb pulled up to them, and at the very last minute Kerry remembered to tug down the brim of her big felt hat. “How are you boys getting along?” he called.

“Fine,” Kerry mumbled. What was wrong with her? She must be even more tired than she thought. Captain Hunter had asked them a simple question, and she’d felt it inside her like a jolt. He was a fine figure of a man, that was for sure, but she had no
business getting jittery around him like a maid at her first dance.

“I wish my papa had bought mules,” Patrick complained, drawing the captain’s eyes away from her. Kerry let out a long breath.

“You’ve got good animals there, Patrick. You might be thankful to have oxen when your arms start aching from those reins. They’re much easier to handle.”

“My arms don’t ache, and I’d give anything to be able to ride out like you do.”

Jeb smiled. “One of these days after everyone’s settled you can ride the rounds with me on the back of my horse. Or, even better, you can ride Storm by yourself for a spell and I’ll climb on up there with your brother.”

Patrick darted a glance at his sister, whose eyes had widened in dismay. “Ah…that’s all right,” he answered. “I don’t mind it so very much.”

Jeb seemed a little puzzled at the boy’s quick refusal. “Well, the offer’s open. And, of course, you can always get out and walk along out in the grass. You and your brother can take turns driving and walking to get a little time out of the dust.”

Kerry found her eyes wandering to the way Captain Hunter’s strong thighs gripped the side of his horse. With a puff of irritation, she forced her thoughts back to the trip. “Do you really think the oxen are a better choice, Captain Hunter?” She was hoping that the captain’s opinion would validate her father’s careful preparations.

“There’re folk who take both sides,” Jeb answered,
“but I might go for the oxen for just one reason.”

“What’s that?” Patrick asked.

Jeb hesitated a moment, then said. “It’s a long way to California, and things don’t always go as we plan. If we find ourselves up against it, an ox makes a sight tastier meal than a mule.”

Patrick and Kerry looked down in dismay at the four black hulks that plodded along in front of them. As Captain Hunter tipped his hat and started back to the Burnetts’ wagon, Patrick turned to his sister and said with a weak grin, “At least it’s not fish.”

They stopped for nooning early in deference to the first-time nerves and muscle aches of the new pioneers. Kerry was relieved to climb down from the wagon and stretch her back. She felt as if she had spent the morning inside a butter churn. Patrick so far seemed unaffected by the jolting. He’d been up and down from the wagon a dozen times already, sometimes walking alongside, sometimes running out into the long grass to get a look at the line of wagons stretching out as far as the eye could see.

As Kerry took out two apples and some jerky for their lunch, her brother came walking sedately back to the wagon with a visitor. Kerry recognized the man as their neighbor to the front—the argonaut, Captain Hunter had called him. She tugged on her hat and tensed her shoulders. She’d be glad when she’d met everyone on the train and had been generally accepted as a male.

In spite of her nervousness, the introductions went smoothly once again. Kerry let out a breath of relief
and allowed herself to study Scott Haskell from underneath her hat. He was not as handsome as their trail guide, but his face was pleasant, instantly likable.

“I wanted to come back and meet you boys last night,” he was saying, “but I didn’t get in until late.”

“It wouldn’t have mattered how late you came,” Patrick replied cheerfully. “We were up all night trying to get the wagon packed up.”

Haskell’s bushy blond eyebrows shot up. “All night! You boys must be even more tired than I am after working all day yesterday at Iron Joe’s.”

“Iron Joe’s?” Patrick asked.

“The blacksmith, lad. I was a blacksmith up in Pittsburgh, and I earned my team of mules by shoeing just about every other blamed mule on this train.”

“Are you going to be a blacksmith in California, Mr. Haskell?”

“Call me Scott, lad. And you too, Kiernan.” He gave Kerry what started out to be a quick glance, then seemed to catch himself and let his eyes rest on her face.

“So
are
you?” Patrick persisted.

“What was that, boy?”

“Are you going to be a blacksmith out West?”

Finally he shifted his gaze back to Patrick. “No, sirree. No more smoky bellows for me. No more iron filings itching my hide like a swarm of marsh flies. I’m planning to be rich, Patrick, my lad. The only kind of metal I’m going to be dealing with anymore is gold—pure, yellow gold.”

“Golly.” Patrick was looking up at Scott Haskell as if he had just crossed the Missouri River on his bare feet.

Kerry felt a twinge of impatience. All she needed was for Patrick to get fancy ideas about gold prospecting instead of working with her to set up the ranch. Once they reached California she would need her brother’s help more than ever. “We wish you luck, Mr. Haskell, I’m sure,” she said briskly. “But first of all we have to get there. And we should probably be tending to our lunch before Captain Hunter calls for us to get moving again.”

He turned that disconcerting gaze on her once more, and this time a secret little smile played around his lips. “You’re absolutely right, young man. I’m going to head back to my wagon this minute. But I’ll be looking forward to getting to know you
boys
better at the meeting tonight.”

Kerry remembered that Captain Hunter had told them that there would be a formal meeting that evening to discuss any problems that might have arisen during their first day. “We’ll be there,” she said wearily. And after the meeting, she would finally get some sleep.

This was the sixth spring that Jeb had set out with a new band of travelers. Every year there were two or three outfits that headed back by the time they reached Fort Kearney. He usually could predict which ones they would be after the first day on the trail.

This trip it would definitely be the Wagners. The man’s wife had not stopped complaining the entire day. And perhaps the Pendletons. They had come all the way from England, but both looked as if the journey was beginning to be too much for them. He wasn’t sure about the Irish boys. They certainly had
the spirit for it, but it was a tough thing to leave behind a father barely cold in his grave and head out across a continent. He’d found himself thinking about them frequently during this first long day.

He had to spread his attention around—there were always adjustments to be made at the beginning and these people had paid equally for his help. But he’d swung back to the Gallivan wagon as often as he could. Young Patrick was refreshingly enthusiastic and observant. He’d even exclaimed over the different clouds of dust tossed up by the mule teams versus the oxen. The older boy had less to say, but there was a determined expression on his handsome face that intrigued Jeb. When he’d tried to engage the young Irishman in conversation, the lad’s answers had been curt and uncommunicative. But somehow Jeb sensed a great vitality behind those vivid blue eyes.

He watched the two brothers as they made their way to the edge of the circle of settlers who had gathered by the big fire Jeb had built a short ways out in the prairie. He had not circled the wagons this first day. That could wait until they were into Indian country.

In the early-spring twilight he could see the faces of his charges. Good folk, generally—steady and determined. He scanned the crowd, but his eyes kept turning back to the striking faces of the two Irish lads.

“Patrick, Kiernan! Come on up front,” he called to them finally. “We never got a chance to introduce you to everyone.”

Patrick looked at his sister, then gave her elbow a comforting squeeze. Kerry closed her eyes briefly. She was exhausted. But she had wanted to get through
with introductions. It might as well be now. With her hat tugged down and concentrating on not swaying her hips, she stalked around the circle to the front. “These are the Gallivan brothers,” Jeb was saying, “and I hope all you folks will do your best to make them feel welcome.”

Jeb didn’t dwell on the presentation. There were a lot of issues to cover, and everyone was tired, so he nodded to Kerry and Patrick to take a seat and started in on the meeting.

Kerry sank heavily to the ground. The few minutes of standing in front of the crowd had used up the last bit of strength she had. She had fully expected that any minute someone—a sharp-eyed child, probably—would point to her and cry out, “Why, that’s a girl.” But no one had raised a voice. She was now officially Kiernan, one of the “Gallivan brothers.” And she could sleep a little easier tonight.

After the meeting, Scott Haskell stepped into place beside her as she made her way back up the line to their wagon. Patrick, not yet out of energy, had run ahead of her. The sky had darkened and was slowly becoming spangled with stars. Her father had said that they would have spectacular nights out on the prairie, but the real thing was far beyond his descriptions.

“It looks like our good weather is going to hold,” Haskell observed, matching his pace to hers.

Kerry’s face was hidden by the darkness, so she relaxed as she answered sleepily, “The sky’s unbelievable. I never knew stars could be so bright.”

“We’re lucky. Some trains start out in spring rains that don’t stop for days. They end up eating mud the rest of the trip.”

“My brother and I are prepared to eat anything we have to as long as we get to California.”

Haskell chuckled. “You are two mighty determined lads. How old are you, anyway, Kiernan?”

“Nineteen.”

Haskell nodded. “You’re not too big a fellow, are you?” he asked casually.

“Ah…no. Folks aren’t so tall where I come from.”

“Patrick looks as if he’ll be a strapping gent someday. He’s already almost as tall as you are.” Haskell’s blond hair glinted in the starlight, and he had that same secret smile on his face that had made Kerry uneasy when they’d met earlier in the day.

“I guess he’ll be bigger than I. Our father was a tall man.” She was finding the conversation a little odd. Scott Haskell had barely met them. What did he care about her brother’s height—or hers?

He looked at her steadily in the darkness for a long moment Then he gave a little nod and switched subjects. “I understand you’re headed for the Sonoma valley.”

Kerry shrugged her shoulders to ease out the tension. “Yes. Where are you headed, Mr. Haskell?”

“Scott, please,” he said with a smile.

“Scott.”

“I reckon I’ll look around a bit—see where the veins are running richest. Probably south of San Francisco somewheres.”

Kerry started to reply when suddenly her foot, clumsy in Patrick’s oversize boot, hit a large rock that had been camouflaged by the darkness. She fell off balance directly toward her companion. Scott turned quickly and caught her with strong, sure hands at each
shoulder. “I’m sorry,” Kerry faltered, embarrassed. She righted herself, grimacing as her ankle gave a nasty twinge.

“Are you all right?” Scott asked.

“Yes, just…I’m sorry.” She took a step away from his grasp, giving a little gasp as her foot hit the ground. The twinge was turning into a definite throb. “I seem to have twisted an ankle.”

Scott reached out and took her slender hands. He pulled them toward him and turned them over slowly studying them in the starlight. Then he looked into her eyes. “Perhaps those heavy boots are too much for what must be delicate little feet…
Miss
Gallivan.”

Under the smears of dirt on her face, Kerry blanched. “I…what do you mean?”

Scott smiled. “Don’t worry, lass. Your secret is safe with me, though I can’t imagine how anyone on this train can actually believe that you’re a male.”

Kerry pulled her hands away from him. “When did you know?” she asked dully.

“The minute I saw those beautiful blue eyes,” Scott answered cheerfully. “I couldn’t believe that God would be so cruel as to waste them on a man.” As her features became more dejected he added gently, “Your face is well disguised by the dirt and floppy hat, lass, but I saw your hands. Those slender wrists couldn’t belong to a man.”