Mona Hodgson - [Hearts Seeking Home 01] (8 page)

Wilma Goben, the woman he suspected to be the reason for Anna’s evening activities, fidgeted with her shawl. “Last I saw my daughter, she and Hattie were still saying good-bye to Emilie and the others.”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

Scrubbing his whiskered chin, Otto glanced over his shoulder toward Saint Charles. “Those two are going to be inseparable.”

Caleb nodded. And nigh to impossible to keep safe. Moving on, he
checked the rest of the line at a trot. No sign of the two young women with the other wagons.

At the end of the caravan, Tiny rode a draft horse, having no trouble standing out among the extra oxen, cows, and horses. “You lookin’ for two missin’ girls?”

“Miss Goben and Miss Pemberton.”

Nodding, the cowboy waved his old felt hat, pointing toward town.

Caleb raised his hand to shield his eyes from the sun. A half mile out, two ponies galloped toward them. Each carried a young woman who was far too independent for her own good.

Tiny snapped a red suspender. “I’ve been keepin’ an eye out for ’em. Figured they’d catch up before too long.”

“Thanks. I’ll see to them.” Caleb lowered his hand to his thigh and pulled his horse toward town. When his Pacer met up with the bay and the palomino, he turned his horse sideways in the road, stopping directly in front of the negligent young women.

“Miss Goben. Miss Pemberton.” Remembering the nature of his uncomfortable encounters with Anna Goben in the dry goods store and on her grandfather’s porch, he focused his attention on Hattie Pemberton. “I will thank you kindly for minding the rules. The Boone’s Lick Company manual clearly states the policy of remaining in reasonable proximity of the group unless permission to do otherwise is granted by a person of authority. That would be Mr. Cowlishaw, myself, or one of the other trail hands.”

“We were merely saying a last farewell to our friends.” Miss Hattie lifted her chin, allowing him a view of her raised eyebrow under the generous brim of her hat. “Would you count that frivolous and deny us that comfort?”

He made the mistake of looking at Miss Goben. A grin tugged at her mouth. “I do not count your safety a laughing matter, Miss Goben.” Then he noticed the telltale signs of crying—the red that rimmed her blue eyes.

Miss Pemberton straightened on the sidesaddle. “And this, Mr. Reger, doesn’t seem the sort of trip you’d want to make without a sense of humor. Or, at the very least, a measure of grace when it comes to saying one’s good-byes.”

He knew plenty about good-byes. And he’d said enough. Biting his lip, he pulled the reins around, guiding his Pacer back to the wagon train.

It was a good thing he wasn’t a gambler. If he were, he might just bet on himself to be the first to turn around as a go-backer. Or at least to head in a different direction. He should, anyway. Miss Anna Goben was trouble.

Anna couldn’t help noticing the man riding ahead of her and Hattie. Caleb Reger sat tall in the saddle. An inch or two taller than Hattie’s brother, Charles, the trail hand had broader shoulders and a much sharper tongue.

“I will thank you kindly for minding the rules.”

“Permission to do otherwise is granted by a person of authority.”

Anna remembered his inside-out apology on Großvater’s porch.
“I allowed past experience with women to cloud my judgment where your actions were concerned.”

Well, if Mr. Reger cared to know, she could tell him why he’d had sour past experiences with women. For all their chirping, crickets were better listeners. She would do well to keep her distance from him.

Unfortunately, the broad-shouldered Mr. Reger wasn’t the only trail hand she wanted to avoid. She and Boney had scarcely greeted each other in passing in the seven days since their almost-wedding. She’d seen him at The Western House last Friday when she and Großvater took the wagon for inspection, but Frank Marble had conducted the inspection. Had she ruined everything and lost Boney’s friendship, or had he simply been too busy? She couldn’t blame him for washing his hands of her. No man, no matter how gracious, liked to be rejected. Least of all in front of his friends.

Anna shook her head as if doing so could free her of the memory. Dwelling on the past would be of no benefit. Right now, she rode under a clear sky tinted in sapphire hues, through a fresh-leafed forest, toward grassy plains and a new life.

When she and Hattie stopped at their respective wagons, the sour trail hand kept riding toward the front of the caravan.

Mutter waved at Anna from the wagon seat, a smile taking years off her face. She’d obviously not yet discovered her bottles were missing.

“Anna, dear, did you see the hawk back there?” Her mother pointed behind them.

About fifteen feet out, a red-tailed hawk sat atop a dead tree with the confidence of a royal.

“Quite regal, isn’t he?”

Anna nodded, unable to remember the last time her mother had referred to her as
dear
. Or had taken note of God’s creatures, let alone been outdoors for any length of time. Mutter seemed perfectly fine sitting atop the wagon, even a bit regal herself, her golden-brown hair pinned neatly in place. But Anna knew better. Mutter wasn’t fine, and if she wasn’t careful, the whole Company would know it.

Anna drew a deep breath and let it out slowly. She’d buried the bottles at the creek, and Mutter would have no opportunity to buy more until they reached Independence. This trip was Mutter’s chance to get well, and for that Anna would gladly face Boney Hughes and Caleb Reger every day for five months.

G
arrett leaned forward in the saddle, peering through the leafy branches. So far, the road was clear of fallen trees. And he and Isaac Jackson hadn’t run into any troublemakers or seen any evidence of raiders in this first stretch.

In the few short weeks Garrett had known Isaac, he’d learned Isaac was a man of few words, and when the freed slave spoke, the words usually rose from careful thought. Resting his hand on his sore knee, Garrett looked over at his trail hand. “I was wondering …”

“Yessir?” Isaac’s tipped head showed off the scar on the left side of his face.

“We’re both from the South and, well, I was wondering about your story.”

“My story starts with a woman, Mister Garrett.” His voice carried the tension between joy and sorrow.

Garrett draped the reins over his thigh. “I’d like to hear it, if you’re of a mind to share.”

“Ain’t no love as pure as the good Lord’s. But my Naomi’s love was as close as a man could get. Made of silk and leather, my missus was.” Isaac gave a low whistle. “Tender as a new leaf, but Naomi could be tough when she needed to be.”

Pulling the reins around, Garrett stopped his stallion and faced Isaac. “She sounds like a very fine woman.”

“Yessir, the best one. The only one for me.” Isaac dragged his hand across his damp cheek and drew in a deep breath. “No one deserves that kind of treatment, especially not my Naomi.”

“No.” Garrett’s voice quivered. “She died trying to escape?”

His jaw slack, Isaac nodded. “Yessir. And it was my fault she died. I thought we was safe. Till I saw the wall of gray uniforms. I didn’t get to her in time.”

Garrett blinked hard against the tears pooling in his eyes. “I’m terribly sorry for your loss. For all you suffered. That’s how you got the scar on your face?”

Nodding, Isaac brushed his cheek. “Yes. And if it weren’t for the Lord’s surrounding love and goodness … well, I’d hate to even have to think about livin’ without that.”

Garrett reined his horse and gave the command to continue up the road. His companion’s faith was a beacon for all who had been lost in a sea of sorrow.

“What about you, Mister Garrett? You can’t be so young that you never had a woman in your life.”

His history with love wasn’t something he cared to discuss. Or even think about.

Isaac wiped his hand on his trousers. “Don’t you worry, if you’d rather not tell.”

Garrett looked at the clearing ahead of them. “I did have a woman in my life.” The good memories were what made him afraid to trust his heart to any woman ever again. They’d set him up for the pain of loss. “I married her.” Garrett blew out a breath. Nobody but family and folks back in Virginia knew this about him.

Silent, Isaac patted the shoulder of the gray he rode. Patience was a real good quality in a trail hand. Especially good for someone facing several months of hard travel with folks with troubles.

“My father owned a tobacco plantation in Richmond.” Garrett placed both hands on the saddle and pushed himself upright, trying to ease the ache in his leg. “Unlike most Confederate soldiers, I didn’t join the war efforts in a patriot’s fervor.”

“I know most men didn’t have a choice.”

“The folks my family considered slaves, I loved more deeply than my own family.” He watched as two squirrels skittered up a tree. Anything to avoid looking Isaac in the eye. “I joined thinking I could earn my father’s pride and equal standing with my brother. But my heart wasn’t in it.”

Isaac glanced at Garrett’s outstretched leg.

“My regiment was charged with rounding up runaways.”

A shadow hid the whites of Isaac’s eyes. “That how you hurt your leg?”

“I was standing in front of a boy, barely thirteen, when one of my own men threw a knife.”

“Bless my soul.” Isaac patted his chest over his heart. “You done stood up for him, didn’t you?”

“When I returned to Richmond with my injured leg, the plantation had been burned to ash. Neither my family nor my wife would have anything to do with me.”

Isaac’s shoulders sagged.

“Now that the telegraph’s in most every town, news like what I did travels faster than a lightning bolt.”

Except for chirping birds and rustling leaves, they rode the next mile in silence.

Satisfied with the road directly ahead of them, Garrett pulled up on the reins. “This looks like a good place for the Company’s noon meal.” He turned toward the available grass along the small creek, with room enough for the thirteen wagons and all the livestock. Garrett didn’t expect any trouble from outsiders this close to town, but it was best they stay together. He reckoned their caravan had traveled about eight or more miles, and scores of tender feet would need some tending.

Isaac swung down from the saddle. “Truth is, my hindquarters could use a break.”

Garrett chuckled. “We’re of a like mind, my friend.”

A smile fairly lit Isaac’s face. Surely God had sent this unassuming man as a liniment for hurting souls.

Caroline turned to face the three youngest Kamden children, now at a standstill behind her.

“My toes hurt.” Maisie, the three-year-old, clung to a cloth rabbit.

“Miss Caroline.” Nearly five, Lyall always had to be sure he had her full attention before continuing.

“Yes, Lyall.”

“My legs hurt.” Lyall had a mess of wavy brown hair and a permanent frown on his face.

“Well, I’m hungry.” Duff, age six, wore a blue kerchief around his neck.

“I’m sure we’ll stop soon for a rest.” If not,
she
would take to whining. Caroline looked at each of the drooping children. “When we get to the right place, we’ll spread out a quilt and rest our toes and our legs, and fill our empty bellies. I’m sure the captain is just up ahead, waiting for us.”