Paxton and the Lone Star (21 page)

“You have no call to talk about her like that.”

“Look, Joseph—”

“Don't say it.” Joseph's voice bore a warning that brooked no argument. “Just don't. The point is, the Paxtons are supposed to stick together, like Andrew and I did for you in Natchez Under the Hill.”

“I didn't start that fight. And you had no call starting the one tonight.”

“Doesn't matter, damn it!” Joseph said, more hurt than angry. “Trouble with one of us is trouble with us all.”

“Not when you're wrong, Joseph.” True took a deep breath, waiting for the explosion that never came. “I'm sorry.”

“So am I, True,” Joseph finally said. “So am I.”

Firetail nickered softly as Joseph stalked off toward the wagons and the orange glow of the campfire. True stroked the stallion's muzzle, reached under his neck and kneaded the great bunched jaw muscles. Telling Joseph the truth hadn't been easy. But then, not much was, these days. “A lousy substitute,” he said again, leaving the stallion and walking back to the edge of the trees to stand and stare at the Michaelson wagon.

Her hands had been calloused from work, but had seemed soft to him nevertheless. She had danced lightly, as gracefully as a bird in flight. Her laughter had been as full and rich as her body. Her hair had shone bright gold in the firelight, and her eyes had glittered with liquid warmth. “Sure were pretty tonight, Elizabeth,” he whispered, wanting her as he savored the taste of her name. “You sure were pretty.”

And as he walked back into the shadows toward a lonely bedroll, he had no way of knowing that Elizabeth was watching him. Watching and remembering, too. And wanting just as badly.

Chapter XV

The pall that hung over Sunday morning's camp didn't fade until the end of services when the Reverend Buckland Kania, after the last hymn and before the benediction, raised his arms and gestured for silence. “There's one thing more,” he said in the hush, “and though it shouldn't have to be said, it does.” He paused, looked into each set of eyes and read the concern there.

“We've been thrown together by a loving God. Together, we've traveled a long way through trying circumstances, and together we'll reach the goal we've set. But only if we pull together, united.

“Now, we all known what happened here last night. We can all feel it as a weight on our hearts. The Lord has given us good weather. He has kept the heathen from our throats. He has seen that we have food in abundance. He has, above all else, blessed us with fine companions and given us the strength to endure.”

He stopped again. This time his eyes sought Joseph, then Dennis, then Mackenzie, and finally Lottie. “We seek a new land and a new life,” he went on at last. “What does it avail us to carry with us animosity and dissension and rancor?”

Only a cardinal dared break the silence.

“I beg that you look to your hearts for the answer, and that from this hour forth we travel in peace as trusting friends and as good neighbors. Let us pray.”

Even Hogjaw bowed his head.

“And now, the Lord bless thee and keep thee, the Lord make His face to shine upon thee and be gracious unto thee, the Lord lift up His countenance upon thee and give thee peace. Amen.”

A moment later, a stern-faced Joseph stood in front of Dennis and Mackenzie and offered them his hand. Ten minutes after that they were drinking coffee together. The rift was not healed, as True could tell from the tension in their voices, but at least it was patched. With any luck at all, the patch would hold until they reached San Antonio.

The remainder of the day was given over to resting, to swimming, to desultory talk. Jones had planned it that way, had known they would reach the Trinity a day earlier than the settlers expected. Not that he was particularly devious, but he understood how much an unexpected extra day of rest boosted morale. The good Lord knew they'd need every minute he could give them if they were to see their way through the next week.

Angling away from the campsite, the wagon train master struck out downriver for an hour or two of solitude, the last he'd get for three weeks. It was high noon, the lazy time of day. Hogjaw was alseep in the sun, resting like an old, tough coyote who knew enough to catch a few winks whenever he had the chance. A subdued Joseph was off walking alone. The Campbell men and Nels Matlan were off at the edge of camp where they'd driven a couple of stakes and were playing horseshoes. True had wandered off to the river and found himself a cottonwood to sit in. The women were gathered in a circle next to the Campbells' wagon, where they chattered and gossiped and sewed.

“Oh, the green hills of Kaintuck

Are as pretty as can be

But my black haired señorita

Is the only gal for me.…”

Jones cocked an ear and listened, decided he was far enough away to be left alone, and lay back to watch the sky go by and listen to the slow clock of the seasons turning as the world spun in its course. There'd been too little time for that of late. Too little time to laze about and let his mind go blank and wander. That was the problem with bringing in too many new people from the East. Oh, being a wagon master wasn't bad work as work went, but it spoiled the wilderness, cluttered it up with talk and busy bodies charging around, intent on civilizing things.

Which was why he had never been to Kentucky, he thought, even though he didn't mind singing about it. Kentucky or any of the rest of that part of the world where his people, as some folks called them, lived and toiled and died as slaves. Well, he mused, that was their problem, not his. Thaddeus Jones was a Mexican citizen and planned to remain one. He had a wife and four kids in Santa Catarina, a mother and father long buried, and a brother and sister somewhere around Mexico City, the last he'd heard. That was enough people for any one man to have, just as Mexico was enough country without wandering all over the continent the way Hogjaw did.

Mexico City. Jones yawned, blinked his eyes to keep them open, and then decided the hell with it and let them close. Mexico City. It had been a long time. Ten years? Nine? Whatever. Might be a good idea to look up his sister and brother once he'd left off this batch in San Antonio. Head on south, pick up his wife and kids, and just keep on riding. Be a long trip, of course. Mexico City was a far piece from Santa Catarina, not to mention San Antonio, he thought, drifting off. Nothing new there, though. He'd been a long way from a lot of places in his time. One more wouldn't hurt.

Everything had been ready the previous night, before they went to bed, even to ground-tethering the stock next to their respective wagons. The group had wakened long before dawn, had eaten hastily, put out their fires, harnessed, and left. Now, two hours after the sun had risen, they were passing through the last dense stand of pine. Prairie land, deep in grass and dotted with motts of post oak, lay ahead of them.

The Kempers were fourth in line. They had just started down a long, gentle slope when Jones galloped past them to meet a quarter mile ahead with True and Hogjaw. Minutes later, as the forward scouts split and rode off to either side, Jones galloped back to meet the rest of the train.

“This is it!” he shouted, stopping them with an upraised hand. “The prairies. The way we're goin', it's about a hundred and twenty miles. I want to make that by Saturday evening, so like I said before, we'll be stretchin' it. Remember, now, this here's a sea of dry grass, so be careful with fire. Believe me, I've seen what it can do when it gets started out here. Anything go wrong, holler out fast. Otherwise—” He took off his hat and waved it over his head. “—let's go!”

The dust kicked up by the lead wagons and the mules hung in a cloud around them and stuck to their skin. “Hell of a hot day,” Jack said. “Why don't you soak a couple of cloths for us. Never should've left Pennsylvania.”

Uncharacteristically dutiful, Helen crawled over the back of the seat and emerged from the interior of the wagon a moment later with two wet rags. “What's done is done,” she said, handing her husband one of them. “Best quit thinking of what's behind us.”

Kemper wiped his forehead and face. “Too damn hot for November,” he said, his voice garbled by the cloth. “I said, it's too damn hot for November.”

“I heard you, for heaven's sake,” Helen snapped. She pressed the cloth over her throat and inside her blouse, dabbing her bony shoulders.

“Well then, answer.”

“You didn't ask a question. You were just carrying on.”

“I wasn't just carrying on. I was—”

“Hush.”

Dennis and Mackenzie Campbell rode past, trotting their horses into the lead to check out a creek ahead and locate an easy crossing place before the wagons got there. “I wasn't carrying on,” Jack said once the youths were safely out of earshot. “It's just that it would be nice to have some snow. I miss snow.”

“Snow,” Helen snorted.

“We could have gone north and east as easy as south and west. New York, Connecticut, Massachusetts. Hell, anything'd be better than this.”

“I think,” Helen said coldly, “that we've discussed this all before, and complaining only makes things worse. Texas was the best choice. We are out of the reach of any sort of authority. Believe me, I know best.”

“Believe
you.
Listen
to you.” Jack removed his hat and wiped the freckled scalp that rose domelike above a fringe of hair. “Maybe I should never have listened to you in the first place.”

Helen's face was red with heat and prickly with dust. The cloth helped only so long as she held it against her skin. “Then you still would have been a common teller with no future but to count other people's money, deposit and withdraw other people's money, figure other people's interest. You would be a clerk and nothing more,” she snapped contemptuously.”

“But not a criminal,” Jack replied evenly. “You forgot to mention that.”

“No, you would not be a criminal. Nor would you have deed to over a thousand acres of land, and the prospect of being wealthy and respected.”

“All right. All right,” Jack said, capitulating.

Helen looked out over the flowing prairie. “It's precious little thanks I get. Everything I've done has been in your own interest, and to help us rise above an intolerable situation. The bank will reinvest and recoup its losses. No one will be hurt. How has anyone been hurt? And you have something to look forward to. A chance to be somebody.”

Jack rubbed his eyes, held the cloth over his nose. It was only the first hour out from under the trees and already he was sick and tired of eating dust, of grit in his eyelids. He wasn't due to be lead wagon for another three days, and then the order would repeat itself. Take comfort, he counseled himself. Save your sanity and take comfort. Another few weeks couldn't be all that bad. Before long, he'd have his own land and a store. And like Helen kept saying, he'd be somebody.

There was frost on the ground Tuesday morning, but by noon it had evaporated under a hot sun. Monday night's camp had been interrupted by the constant howl of coyotes, and tired though they had been, almost everyone had slept fitfully. Breakfast had been a hasty affair, lunch only a little longer, and that because of the animals, not the people. Now, as the afternoon waned, the wagons crawled out of a creekbed and struck out across the rolling land again.

Elizabeth had no idea of how many miles they had made that day, nor did she really care. For weeks before, she had wished for the end of the trees, and now that they no longer shaded her, she wished they were back. Her hair was tied up and covered with a hat but still felt full of dust. Her clothes itched, her eyes burned, and the steady jolting of the wagon tried to lure her to sleep at the same time it bounced her awake. The only thing that kept her sane was the sound of Thaddeus Jones's melancholy ballad. She didn't understand the exact meaning of the words, but the rhythmic phrasing and plaintive tune conveyed a poignancy of their own.

Boring boring boring, with more of the same to look forward to for the next four days. Elizabeth glanced sideways at Lottie and tried to think of something to say. They'd talked about Hester. They'd talked about the weather, about the journey, about the food, about everything except their own deteriorating relationship. “It's nice to have the lead,” she finally said.

Evidently deep in her own thoughts, Lottie looked at Elizabeth as if she had spoken utter gibberish. “Uh, yes,” she replied, uncertain what she was agreeing with. Joseph hadn't spoken to her since Saturday night. Neither had Dennis or Mackenzie. Not that the latter two particularly mattered. Her ploy had been designed to arouse Joseph's ardor.

All it had brought her was embarrassment and a stern lecture from Hogjaw, the likes of which her father never would have dared deliver to her. At least he had delivered it to her in private. Strangely enough, she had taken it to heart. She couldn't explain why. Perhaps it was the trip. Perhaps she was just ready to listen. Perhaps she was too tired to fight anymore. The reasons weren't even very important, she finally decided. What was important was Joseph, and that she loved him.

What a damned fool I've been. All I had to do was tell him. Now I have to convince him.

The way things were going, she wasn't sure she could.

Wednesday felt more like Friday. They had traveled until near dark on Tuesday night and everyone was tired. The prairie had lost its fascination. Light beige grass stretched to the horizon on all sides. The few oaks scattered about on the face of the land did nothing to break the monotony. The only relief to tired, sore eyes was an occasional patch of still bright red and yellow sumac.

Nels Matlan kept a firm hand on the reins. If he never saw the back side of a mule again he'd die happy. Behind him in the wagon, he listened to Eustacia explaining a math problem to Tommy and the Campbell girls. That was one thing that wouldn't change. Education. The children would need it even more than he had, where they were going. They didn't understand that now, of course. Education never made sense, at first.