Unconquerable Callie (12 page)

That night, all of the women except Callie went to bed as soon as the last dinner dish was washed. The men stayed up telling and retelling the day’s hunt. In her weariness, Callie tried not to slump. She sat with a cup of coffee listening along with the bragging and stories all around her.

Seth had announced the women had made over twelve miles today. But it was the look of astonishment in all the men’s eyes that made the grueling effort worth it. The night air had ringed with laughter and congratulations as husbands and wives praised each other. Callie took a swig of coffee and swore her feelings of being left out weren’t going to spoil the day’s success.

“You’re going to fall over if you don’t give in and go to bed.” Seth’s soft voice startled Callie. “You look exhausted.” “I am.” She gave him a weary smile as he sat down on the log beside her. He took the coffee cup from her hand, sat it on the ground beside her, and held her hand in his.

“Understand you’re going to be taking over my job.”

Callie gave a weak laugh. “You don’t have anything to worry about, Seth McCallister. Your job is safe. I am so tired I’m not sure I can make it to my wagon. I may just curl up on this log here.” She gave it a pat. “Looks soft to me.”

Seth chuckled, his rough thumb making soft circles on the side of her hand. Callie held her breath, wishing she wasn’t so tired and was able to enjoy every moment of his unexpected touch.

He cleared his throat. “Uh, Callie, I haven’t had a chance to tell you what with all the talk and going on since we caught up with the train, but, well . . .” His voice lowered. “I’m proud of you.”

She met his searching look.

“Seems like there’s no bottom to your well. You’re strong.” He held up her hand. “You’re gentle. Unpredictable. Ornery on occasion. Oh, and you’re pigheaded. Callie strained to hear him as his voice dropped off. “You’re perfect. I wish you were mine.” He studied the tips of his boots.

Her breath caught at his words. “Seth, I don’t.” The words hung as she tried to dredge up the courage to tell him she was living a lie. But she bit her tongue to stop the incriminating words. She didn’t dare let him know she was on this train under false pretences. He’d hate her. He’d feel like a fool. She had no recourse but to follow this charade to the finish. She was on her way to fulfilling her dream of independence. Come South Pass, she’d drop off the train and out of Seth’s life. He didn’t know what he was saying. He wished for a woman who didn’t exist. She was a myth, a lie.

“Don’t say anything, Callie.” He shook his head. “I spoke when I had no right to. What I really came over to say was thank you. Thank you for giving the women of this train something to brag about, too. They worked hard today, but they had fun doing it. They can be proud. They’re turning into true pioneer women. But I think you always were one.”

He cleared his throat and continued to a louder, more confident, voice. “Tomorrow we stay put and take care of the meat. It’ll be a full day. The buffalo, while bringing us a source of meat, may bring something else: Indians. We’ll have to be more alert and ready than usual. But, that’s not for tonight. Tonight’s for rest after a job well done.”

He stood up and in one fluid motion, scooped her into his arms. “Now. Off to bed.”

Callie’s arms automatically circled his neck. She laid her head against his strong chest, hearing his heart’s steady beat, taking comfort in the safely of this man’s arms. “Mmm.” She stiffened. Had she said that out loud?

“Sleep in,” he said gruffly. Reaching her wagon, he gently lowered her to her feet. “Tonight’s for rest after a job well done. Good night, Callie.”

“Good night,” she said softly, watching him walk away. Tired both in body and spirit, she climbed into her wagon and bed. The night pulled its blanket of healing sleep over her and stars faded into day long before her eyes opened up again.

Henry Henry found Callie next morning outside her wagon and, after teasing her for sleeping away the day, asked if she’d be willing to dry meat for him and Seth, taking a share for herself for the effort. Callie readily agreed and hoped Henry didn’t sense how overwhelmed she felt seeing the massive amount of meat one buffalo provided.

No one on the train had any idea how to dry or “jerk” the meat. Seth and Henry called an impromptu meeting and demonstrated the drying process. Men set out to cut green branches for frames Henry and Seth were in charge of cutting sinew from the buffalo to make sinew lines to be strung on the frame. The women were in charge of cutting the meat into very small strips and hanging it on the sinew lines to dry. The frame would then be placed over hot coals where the strung meat would dry.

Callie couldn’t imagine the dried meat being very tasty. When Seth showed them a piece of jerky he’d had for a year or more, she was even more sure jerky wasn’t going to rate high on her choice of foods. But Seth assured them that, as they moved across the plains and game became scarce, they’d welcome the dried meat, which made a savory, nutritious soup when simmered. The skeptical look on Callie’s face was mirrored in most of the faces lining the circle, but everyone moved forward to the staggering task ahead of them. And without complaint.

Callie helped Millie dry meat from the buffalo Caleb had shot. Much to his dismay, Jacob had missed both his chances to get a buffalo. But anyone looking could see the pride in his eyes as he mentioned over and over how lucky they were to have Caleb’s meat.

By the end of the day, Callie never wanted to see a buffalo again in her life. Her back ached, her face was sunburned, and her hands smelled. She doubted she would ever get the smell of fresh meat out of them or her clothes. The odor hung like a dank cloud hung over the camp. Large, fat flies materialized out of nowhere, called by the tantalizing odor of blood. Callie lost track of the many times during the day she blessed Seth for her table. In the camp, every woman bent over flat surfaces wherever they could be found. Tonight, their backs would ache much more than hers.

“Callie.”

Callie was so lost in the numbing task of cutting strips of meat from the large chunks, that the sound of Seth’s voice made her jump.

“Sorry,” he said, “didn’t mean to startle you.”

Callie rubbed the back of one hand across her forehead and didn’t make the effort to greet him with a smile.

Seth took her by the arm, led her over to a stump placed near her wagon, and gently pushed her down in the meager shade, lifting the knife from her grip. Then, with great care, he carefully uncurled each finger. Callie laid her head back against the wagon side, closed her eyes, and gave herself up to the bliss of Seth’s gentle massaging. He eased the pain from fingers curled around a knife since early morning.

“Feels good,” she murmured.

“When was the last time you took a break?” Seth’s voice was low.

Callie opened her eyes and spotted a thoughtful tenderness on his face. “I’m not sure. The noon meal? No, I skipped that. I don’t know, Seth. There’s so much meat and with this heat . . . I’m not the only one working hard.”

“No.” He set her hands back on her lap. “But you’re the only one with no one to spell you. The other women have husbands and children to offer a hand.” He took her knife and moved to the table where he cut a strip of meat. He stopped short, raised the knife, and squinted at it giving a low chuckle.

“What?” Callie asked belligerently.

“Honey, you could ride to Jerusalem on this knife.”

“Huh?”

“This knife couldn’t cut a hunk of fat.” He returned to her side, squatted down on his heels, and removed a black stone from his back pocket. With swift, sure strokes, he rubbed the knife back and forth, first holding one side flat against the stone, and then the other. After a few minutes, he raised the knife up and carefully ran his thumb and forefinger over the edge. He rubbed it several more strokes before checking it again. This time, he smiled and rose.

“Perfect,” he said.

Callie started to stand up, but Seth held up his hand.

“I’m going to spell you, Callie. Part of this meat’s mine.”

“I’m sure you have more important things to do than take over my share of the work.” Callie protested, but only halfheartedly. The truth was, she needed the break. Plus, it was nice, very nice, to have Seth close by. She’d seen little of him the last few days. His company was like a drink of cool spring water. Watching his confident movements now, Callie’s heart filled with pride and longing. She lowered her eyes, locking her secret inside: she was in love with Seth McCallister.

“Getting this meat dried and stored away is important.” He turned and smiled. “Giving you a break before you fall over is important too. I’d hate to see you keel over in the dust, knife in hand.”

“Not likely, Mr. McCallister,” Callie said. “I’m as tough as any man.”

“Well, now, I don’t know about that, Callie, but you’re a darn sight prettier.”

Callie blushed, hoping Seth wouldn’t see how his teasing affected her. “I’d put you in your place, but I’d be a fool to run you off. You just keep working and I’ll sit here enjoying the shade.”

Seth’s low laugh warmed her. A comfortable silence followed. A gentle breeze stirred the air.

“Callie.” Seth’s tone was serious. “I don’t want to alarm anyone, but I saw signs of Indians today. Probably a hunting party tracking the buffalo. From the way the ground was beaten down, I’d say it’s a fairly large party. Tracks led away from their camp. They know we’re here. I saw where the grass was flattened. A patch of flattened grass tells me someone lay there watching us. They’ve kept us in sight the last few days.” A worried silence fell, dripping like melting ice. “Like I said, probably nothing to worry about. I’ll tell the rest of the men tonight, but keep that gun of yours within reach. Don’t go anywhere without it, Callie. I’d sure feel better if you had a man to look out after you.”

“I don’t need a man,” Callie said quietly. “I’ve got you.”

Seth’s back straightened at her words. He lay down the knife and turned toward her. Callie rose from her seat and stood before him. He gazed at her face as if memorizing each line, the softness around her eyes, and the firmness of her lips. With infinite tenderness, he bent his head and gently rested his lips on hers, filled with the stolen essence that was Callie.

“Well if that don’t beat all.” A voice boomed, shattering the wall they had built around them. For a brief moment, nothing had existed but the two of them. No meat waiting to be cut, no wagon train, no danger, and, most of all, no reason not to find joy in each other’s embrace.

“What are you two doing? Fishing dirt out of each other’s eyes?” Henry Henry grinned as he sauntered over, seemingly delighted at the heat working itself up from Seth’s neck. “Naw,” he chuckled, “probably the sun playing tricks on these poor ole eyes of mine.”

Seth’s eyes narrowed. Callie stepped away from him, then, picking up the knife, attacked the pile of meat as though her life depended on it.

“Henry.” Seth cursed under his breath.

“Seth McCallister,” Henry admonished. “Words like that ain’t fit for a lady’s ears.” Henry’s belly shook with suppressed laughter.

Seth stalked off, his face like a thundercloud. “One of these days, Henry. One of these days.”

Henry chuckled, unafraid, and Callie smiled, her head bent, her hands busy with the sharpened knife. Amazingly, she was no longer tired and the sun’s rays no longer beat down hot and heavy. No, the sun was smiling rays of happiness.

A pall hung over the camp. Seth had shared his hunches, the sighting of Indians and his belief they watched the camp. And, if that wasn’t sobering enough, early morning, one of the men spotted several mounted braves on a knoll. They’d made no effort to hide themselves.

Seth kept things moving, each wagon snubbed up close to the one in front. Should he call the alarm, they were to quickly circle the wagons and prepare for battle. He rode quietly up and down the line, his presence calm and reassuring.

Callie felt as if she dared not close her eyes to blink. She narrowed her gaze against the glare of the sun, sweeping the plains, searching each plant and bush for signs, sensing danger everywhere. The sun was an orange orb in the sky. She had taken to wearing her hair in one long braid, and it lay heavy down her back, escaping damp tendrils curling like white down against the base of her neck.

The prairie sensed the danger and gave back no sound of life—no birds called out, no breeze ruffled the air. Everything seemed suspended, waiting. Heat shimmers danced above the dry ground. Dust lifted lifelessly, kicked up by hooves. A baby cried from one of the wagons and was quickly shushed.

The rifle in her hand was heavy but reassuring. She wasn’t sure she could shoot someone, and prayed she’d never have to find out. Still, she knew if it meant saving her life or the lives of those around here, she would do what she had to do. The fear of capture was stronger than her moral feelings about taking a life.

Seth had warned them, capture was only one of the fears. The Indians he’d encountered were as wary of the white man as he was of them. He cautioned that, often, they approached a train only to barter or trade for goods. There were a couple hot heads on the train and he pulled them aside, warning them of the possible consequences of too hasty an action.

The morning dragged on. Fear as sharp and tangy as cheese could be tasted. Callie found herself forgetting to breathe, and when she did, it was quiet and shallow, barely enough to fill her lungs. She forced herself not to dwell on her fear for those she had come to love: little Charlie, baby Hope, Caleb, Phyllis, Jacob, Becky, Tom . . . She stopped naming names, realizing that there wasn’t anyone on the train that hadn’t someway touched her life and her heart. No one, no one must be hurt.

There was a shout. Five Indians could be seen in the distance, outlined against the blue Nebraska sky. It was almost a relief. Seth raised his hand, halting the lumbering train and the command of “Circle the wagons” rang out. Every man, woman, and child knew what the implication of those three words. Hearts pounded, hands grew unsteady, and dread took up a permanent residence in everyone’s heart.

Her wagon was one of the first to circle and, in a matter of minutes, wagons formed a tight barrier. Weapons in hand, men knelt or lay on their bellies under wagons and behind whatever they felt would give them any shelter. Rifles were ready and fingers were curled around triggers. Seth rode quietly by, gently whispering caution against action unless he gave the word.

He stopped at her wagon where she crouched behind the wheel, rifle resting through one of the spokes.

“You okay? Looks like a parley party coming for trade or barter. But you can bet the rest of the raiding party is hidden close by, watching. Don’t let your guard down.”

“Yes.” Her response caught in her throat. She spoke up. “I’m okay, Seth. Don’t worry about me.”

He smiled at her, a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. Then soberly, with a straight back, he rode toward the small band as they closed the distance to the wagons.

Callie nervously ran her tongue over her dry lips and gripped the rifle tighter as she watched Seth, Henry Henry by his side. They pulled up just a few feet from the five painted men, close enough now that Callie could hear their guttural grunts as they made their wants known. The man doing the most of the talking was the leader, a fact made obvious by his rigid, imposing posture, the brightly decorated lance held firmly in his hand and the deference paid him by the band that formed a tight rear guard. His face was painted with bolder, vermilion stripes than the others in his party, but his was a face that would command attention with or without paint. Callie had heard of war paint, but these stripes didn’t have the threatening look she assumed a face painted for war would. His muscular, bare chest, the color of copper, was slashed with lightening bolt stripes.

In his free hand, he clutched a braided rope that circled around the neck and over the nose of a beautiful paint mare. The horse was predominately a light golden brown with a large white circle blanketing her rear. She held her head proudly and rather than docilely following, her brown and white feet were in constant motion as she sidestepped and danced proudly, distaining the rope that held her captive. A smaller, creamy white circle outlined one eye, giving the saucy mare the appearance of a partially masked bandit.

As the Indian talked, he punctuated his words with a jerk on the horse’s rope. And at one point, after hearing Seth’s response, he forcefully raised his lance, pressed his knees into his horse’s sides, and commanded it to turn a half circle. His outstretched lance waved over the hills, and like a magician calling forth mystic powers, a line of mounted Indians materialized. Not too many, but enough to attack and destroy the circled wagons.

Callie nervously wiped her hands down her skirt. Her heart thumped in her chest. Could she pull the trigger and shoot a person? She forced herself not to think what could happen should the Indians overcome them. She’d heard tales of horror awaiting captives. Yes, she could shoot if her life and the lives of other depended on it.

Seth sat unmoving in the saddle, seemingly unimpressed by the show of force. Henry Henry slouched, slumped over his saddle horn. Callie knew each man’s looks were deceiving. They were forces to reckon with. Callie was grateful it was Henry out there alongside Seth.

Then the Indian’s voice raised with unmistakable anger as Seth shook his head from side-to-side. The negative motion accompanied words, spoken low, followed by more head shaking, this time more vehemently. The Indian raised the lance high, his powerful arm shaking it. Seth tensed, then abruptly leaned over and spoke to Henry. Henry wheeled his horse around and galloped back, directly to Callie’s wagon.

He pulled his horse up short and leaned close.

“Ma’am, Seth wants you to get in your wagon real quick like.” His words were hurried. “Take your rifle and don’t leave that wagon. Don’t even stick your head out. Understand, Ma’am, uh, Miz Callie?”

“Why?”

“Don’t have no time for explanation, just do as he asks. Seth’s got his reasons.”

“Henry, I’m needed out here where I can see to shoot. You know I shoot as well as any man and I don’t need to be hiding in that wagon.” Callie clamped her jaw tight and lifted her chin, staring hard at Henry.

“Now don’t get your tail feathers ruffled,” Henry said. “Don’t reckon none it would hurt to tell you what’s all the pallaverin’s about. That’s Wolf Dog, one of the Oglala Sioux chiefs. Them men on the hill are just waiting for his command to attack. It’s our bad luck that we’ve come across their path when they’re out, hunting, tracking the buffalo. They’ve been watching us for days.” Henry Henry glanced back to Seth.

“Henry, what’s that got to do with me?”

Henry turned to the side and spit into the dry dust. Wiping a dirty hand across the lower half of his face, he said, “‘Pears Wolf Dog has a hankerin’ for you.” He held up his hand at Callie’s sound of astonished objection. “Now just a minute. It ain’t you he wants. Well,” he faltered, “it is you, but more’n that, it’s your hair.”

“My hair?” Callie’s hand involuntarily reached for the heavy braid. “My hair?”

“It’s like this, Miz Callie. Wolf Dog thinks if he can have you for his woman, your hair would give him powerful visions. He would be much looked up to, envied. It’s lucky he wants you alive or he’d be takin’ your hair another way,” Henry warned. “He’s calling you White Cloud Woman and darned if he ain’t willin’ to trade for you. He’s offerin’ Seth that fine mare.” For a moment, Henry’s eyes twinkled as he absorbed the dumbfounded look on Callie’s face.

“He wants me for his, his woman?” Callie asked.

“Yep. Bad enough to part with that pretty paint. And believe you me, that horse is highly valued. But the Oglala are family people and he seems to think you and that white hair of yours is worth it.” Henry scratched his whiskered chin as if puzzling Callie’s worth.

“Now, I’ve tole you. So you just get in the wagon and stay there. Let us handle this business.” He turned back to the lone man still trying to reason with an angry chief.

“Henry,” Callie called after him. “If Seth doesn’t trade me, will they attack?” She held her breath.

Henry didn’t stop, but over his shoulder Callie heard the one word.

“Yep.”