Unconquerable Callie (6 page)

Callie’s bed was soft and cozy, the wagon secure and welcoming. Why couldn’t she sleep? Why did she keep replaying the confrontation with Mr. McCallister? Why couldn’t she get his strong face, his blue, heavily lashed, eyes out of her mind, and his emphatic voice out of her ears? And why did he bring out the worst in her? With every word he uttered, she wanted to go toe-to-toe with him.

This wouldn’t do. He was the captain of the train. And she had agreed to accept and abide by his each and every decision. He was in charge, his position demanded her respect, and it would be foolish to defy him either by action or words. She had given herself this good talking throughout the night.

Stiffly, Callie stepped out the back of her wagon. The stars were barely making their ascent back into the heavens when she stirred the banked coals of last night’s fire. She’d put water into her coffee pot and had buried it deep within the dying embers and rocks circling and guarding the fire. There would be heat enough to warm the water and give her a head start to producing a boiling pot of coffee.

Callie blew on the embers and fed some sticks to their glow. Then she arranged several sticks under the pot. She didn’t need a large fire. Mrs. Monroe would do breakfast, but coffee was not only her responsibility, but her delight.

Gently, she lifted the lid. Small bubbles sizzled and danced around the inside of the pot. As soon as it boiled, she would add the ground coffee, removing the coffee pot from the heat where it would simmer and brew.

The warmth of the fire was welcome. The early morning still had night’s chill. Callie wrapped her skirt around her legs noticing the hem was already dusty. It would be a challenge to keep clothes clean on the trail. A long skirt might be welcome in the morning or evening cool, but it would be hot and cumbersome during the long trek beside the wagon, in the heat of the day.

There
. The first gurgle of boiling water. Smiling, Callie lifted the lid and carefully added the coffee. Then she laid a round stick she’d found and kept just for this occasion across the open pot. She’d heard that laying a stick across a boiling pot of coffee would keep it from boiling over into the coals. It was one of the pieces of information she’d heard and decided to keep. And so far, it was working.

Callie tilted her head, closed her eyes, and inhaled. Absolute nectar. Sweet ambrosia. Nothing, absolutely nothing, could equal the smell and taste of coffee brewed over a campfire. When younger, she’d had several camp outs in the field behind her aunt’s house. Callie had been schooled by her aunt on how to build a campfire, how to tend it, and how to assure it didn’t get away and become a raging menace. Callie was careful with her fires and always saw that every ember was dead when finished.

Of course, Callie was under the watchful eye of Aunt Bertha, but to the young girl, the campouts had represented freedom and independence. She lay out under the stars as often as possible, and would shut her eyes to block out the outline of her aunt’s house, pretending she was grown and on her own. Even then, she’d knew what she wanted and wasn’t afraid to go after it.

The coffee bubbled merrily and Callie inched it to the edge of the fire, out of the coals. Then she poured a cup of cold water into the pot to settle the grounds. Almost ready. She was just bending over, cup in one hand, pot in the other, when a low voice spoke behind her, startling her.

“Smells good.”

Before she turned, she knew who it was. “Mr. McCallister. Checking on me?” Darn, why’d she say that? Two seconds into the conversation and she was being defiant.

He chuckled. “Didn’t know you needed checking on, Miss Collins.”

“I don’t.” He was mocking her. His next words took her by surprise.

“Don’t suppose you have an extra cup?”

“Why, yes I do.” Stunned, she made no move, her hand resting on the pot.

“But not for me?”

Callie jumped back. “Of course for you. What I mean is, I’ll get the cup. Here, you can have mine. I’ll just get me another.” The words trailed behind her as she climbed into the back of the wagon and opened the trunk containing dishes.

Cup in hand, Callie held it out to the man, who promptly filled it. She shifted the cup to her face and took a deep breath.

“Nothing like the first cup.” Seth took a sip of the hot brew. He squatted down by the fire and, using her coffee stick, stirred the dying embers.

“You’ve made a few campfires.” A statement, not a question.

“Some.”

“Being able to make a campfire doesn’t qualify you for the journey you’re about to undertake, Miss Collins.”

Callie bristled. Of course. He wasn’t stopping by to be neighborly. He was here to change her mind. “I’m not so naïve I don’t realize that, Mr. McCallister.”

“Didn’t say you were.”

“Then what are you saying?”

He stood up, coffee cup cradled in his large hand. He was close enough Callie could smell the pleasant aroma of soap and witch hazel. Seth McCallister obviously wasn’t a man who let the confines of the trail stop him from shaving and being clean.

“I’m saying, or trying to tell you, just what you’re in for. You may be able to shoot and ride, but have you ever shot a man while riding hell bent for leather in front of an angry band of Indians, aiming to take your head of hair for trophy on a war lance? Your hair, Ma’am, is like waving a red shirt in front of a bull.”

Involuntarily, Callie’s hand went to her head. “And why would my hair be any different from anyone else’s, Mr. McCallister?”

“You’ve seen the head of a dandelion after it’s gone to seed?” He went on not waiting for an answer. “When the sun hits your hair, that’s the color it becomes. I’ve never seen hair that color,” he said almost reverently, “and it’s darn sure the Indians haven’t either. Your scalp would be a trophy worth dying for. You’ll attract them like lightning to a tree.”

“You’re exaggerating.” Her voice went cold with a slight waver of fear.

“Nope.” He tipped his cup and drank the last drop. He tossed a few remaining dregs into the ashes of the fire, sat the cup on a nearby rock, and turned to leave.

“We’ll pull out shortly. Thank you for the coffee, Miss Collins. You make a fine cup.”

“Thank you,” Callie said quietly. “Mr. McCallister?” she called.

“Yes?” He stopped and turned.

“It didn’t work. I’m still going.”

“Didn’t think it would.” He continued into the receding night.

Callie slowly sipped her coffee, but some of the joy had been lost. Seth McCallister hadn’t frightened her away, but he had made her think. She’d keep her bonnet on during the day. She knew her hair would only turn lighter under the rays of the sun.
Dandelion top, indeed.
Still, the comparison to the snowy, nebulous seeds hadn’t been too far off.

Callie kicked dirt over the fire until every ember was dead. Dust settled over her new boots. They weren’t much to look at, but were sturdy enough to get her the miles she needed to go. She’d bought extra leather for any repairs, but, she stomped her snugly encased feet, how it would be possible to wear a hole in leather this tough was beyond her.

She carried the partially full coffee pot back to the wagon and wedged it carefully between barrels. A cup of coffee, warm or cold, during the day would go far in keeping her alert.

The train didn’t make it out at the crack of dawn. It was a good hour past before some semblance of order was formed. Seth McCallister rode at the front of the train, his hand raised to the sky and his voice loud and strong.

“Wagon’s Ho.”

Through all the mishaps of that day, Seth kept the train steadily moving. Though unseasoned and untried, this group would prove to be one of the better band of folks he’d lead West. There were early signs of unity and a spirit of cooperation and kindheartedness that permeated as the wagons circled for the night.

Folks called to each other from campfire to campfire and several families put their meals together to enjoy a variety of cooking and some much needed conversation. They would draw strength from one another and, from this, have the fortitude to go on each day. He knew that it wouldn’t take long for them to realize they were only as good as the whole.

He’d joined one such dinner. He was usually glad to accept these frequent invitations knowing that what they had to offer would beat eating his own cooking. Left on his own, his meals consisted of warmed-up beans and maybe some fried potatoes or bacon, if he had it. Game was often plentiful and he and Henry tried to keep the camp in fresh meat. He knew he contributed more to the train’s larder than he took away.

But tonight, he wished he hadn’t felt obligated to accept the invitation. Not that he wasn’t hungry. He was. But he was tired, not the physical tiredness that a good night’s sleep would cure, but mentally exhausted. The strain of the day pulled at him and he wanted nothing more than to throw his bedroll into a secluded area, and enjoy the solitude of his own campfire. He was worn out with talking, explaining, riding from one calamity to another, trying to be everywhere at once. This was typical for the first few days of any wagon train, where twenty wagons and even more people seemed to be pulling in opposite directions. Still, they’d made more miles than he’d expected. Tomorrow would be better, and each day after that, too. If the weather held out and no obstacles came in their path for the next week or so, they’d season quickly and be better able to meet the dangers that were sure to come.

Seth neared the group. Some of the men were eating, while several of the women dished up plates from blackened pots hanging over the fire. Everywhere, he was greeted by smiles and friendly hellos. He had quickly earned the respect of the wagon train. He’d had an answer for every problem, a willing back, and extra pair of hands for the hardest tasks.

He took a seat and a plate of food. He figured he’d take bites of the savory stew and be on his way.

“I seem to be offering you a cup of coffee starting and finishing the day, Mr. McCallister.”

He looked up into the smiling face of Callie Collins. Her emerald green eyes sparkled even though lines of fatigue etched her lovely face. Her dress bore the trail’s dirt and her boots were scuffed. Yet she had been one of the few wagons able to follow his directions without accident or delay. Callie had not only kept up, but several times he saw her carrying a young child or coaxing one of the women to take a rest on the seat on her wagon.

“I wouldn’t refuse one, that’s for sure.” He took the cup from her hand, and started to rise, offering her the rock where he’d been sitting.

“Have you ate?” he asked.

“No, and please sit down. To tell the truth, I’m wanting my bed more than I’m wanting food. I’m sure I’ll toughen as the days go on, but tonight your order to circle the wagons almost brought tears of joy to my eyes.”

A grin brightened his face. “That bad, huh?”

She nodded. “Can I get you something else? More stew?”

“Well, there is something. I’d like another biscuit if there’s plenty. The one I had was so light it floated from my plate to my stomach. I don’t know when I’ve tasted any that good.”

“Thank you,” she said quietly, and moved to the Dutch oven.

His brow wrinkled as he watched her take out two golden biscuits and put them on a plate.

“You make those?” Seth asked.

“Our Callie’s a baker, Mr. McCallister,” one of the women answered. “She’s baking us apple pies Sunday when we lay over. If their crust is anything like those biscuits, we’re in for a real treat. That fiancé of hers better sit up and appreciate this girl.” The woman moved off, leaving Callie standing there, her cheeks bright pink.

“Our Callie, huh?” Seth grinned. “Winning them over with pie, Miss Collins?”

He bit into a biscuit, licking a crumb from his lips.

“You seem surprised, Mr. McCallister. Wasn’t it you who told me my place was in the kitchen?” Callie could have bitten off her tongue as the words flew from her mouth. The man just itched to be dressed down and she was only too willing to scratch.

The feathery biscuit turned into a rock as Seth tried to swallow. He set the remaining biscuit aside. Damned if he’d give her the satisfaction of seeing her words had hit home.

Callie took a plate of the stew and a seat on the other side of the campfire where she wouldn’t have to look at or speak to Seth McCallister.

Seth cleared his throat. “We’ll have our first council meeting tomorrow after evening meal,” Seth said to the men, his voice carrying into the night. “It’ll be a time to elect your representatives. The men you choose will need to be someone who has the best interest of the wagon train at heart. We’ll probably meet every few days, more often if the need arises. I need to know all your concerns or worries, and I wouldn’t be doing my job if I didn’t listen. You folks have put your faith in me, and before that faith is tested, as it will be,” he added ominously, “you need to have confidence that my decisions are sound and based in the best interest of the train. We had a slow day today, but a hard day. We’ll get faster. We need to cover fifteen miles a day on the best of days, and there had better be more good than bad.” With that, he stood up.

“My thanks to the cooks. That was mighty tasty stew. Beats beans any old day.” He smiled at the women, acknowledging each one of them. “And the biscuits were more than tasty. I hope I’m invited to share the apple pie Sunday.” He looked over to where Callie sat only to find her spot empty.

“We’ll be sure to tell Callie,” Millie Monroe said. “She did more than her share today and I expect she’s calling it a day.”

“We all should,” Seth said, struggling to keep the disappointment out of his voice. Callie Collins was irritating as a burr under a saddle. All hair and green eyes with a face that showed every emotion. And he knew as he walked back to his camp that she would continue to challenge him just as she would continue to creep into his thoughts.

Callie woke refreshed. Her feet were sore, but that was to be expected. As it turned out, the years of hard work in her aunt’s boarding house had prepared her well for this journey.

Wrapped in her shawl, Callie impatiently waited for the morning coffee to boil a little longer for a stronger brew. Callie thought back on her first day and knew she’d done well. She and Caleb worked together as if they’d been driving a team of oxen all their life. It had only taken a few miles before Callie realized the importance of not overloading a wagon. Her oxen hadn’t shown any strain at the end of the day, and when they turned into the circle with the rest of the animals, they placidly set about eating the available grass. There were several other teams without that luxury, and Callie wondered how they’d fare over the course of weeks and weeks of travel.

“Oh, well,” she said aloud to the still of the morning, “that’s not my problem, thank heavens.”

“What’s not your problem, Miss Collins?”

Callie turned and hoped the quick rush of pleasure she felt didn’t show. Of course she felt pleasure, she quickly reasoned. She was probably lonely and anyone would have been welcome, even Seth McCallister.

“The train, or more to the point, the teams pulling the wagons,” Callie said.

Seth took a seat and picked up the lone cup. “Mind?” he asked with a smile.

Callie shook her head and went for another cup. This was getting to be a habit, but a nice one.

“You seem to be the earliest riser,” Seth said, pouring them both a cup. “And your coffee is perfect, just like your biscuits,” he added. “There was one other wagon stirring, but I didn’t have any desire to join them.”

“And why would that be, Mr. McCallister? I’m surprised that a captain of a wagon train would play favorites.” Callie blushed at her words. Surely he wouldn’t think she thought she was his favorite. Darn her mouth.

Seth answered her, apparently not noticing her choice of words or the color of her face. “Teething.”

“What?”

“The Wilsons. Baby has been howling most the night. Mr. Wilson said yesterday he was teething and not one bit happy about it. I figured that while they probably had coffee, I’d take my cup elsewhere.”

“Probably a good choice. I like my first cup uninterrupted,” Callie said.

“Am I interrupting?” Seth asked, his eyes meeting hers.

“No. We both seem to have this in common.” She gestured with her cup. “I’m not sure we have much else we agree on, Mr. McCallister, but we do have coffee.”

“That we do.” He filled both their cups again.

“Caleb seems to do well with the oxen,” Seth said.

“Caleb’s doing a great job. I’m lucky I found him.”

“I understand you helped the family out quite a bit. Without you, they wouldn’t have been able to join the train,” Seth said, matter-of-fact.

“How?”

“Jacob Monroe told me. He’s a proud man and you knew that.” Seth gave her an admiring look. “They’re a good family. We need people like them settling the West.”

Callie wondered if Seth McCallister thought the West needed people like her and prayed he’d never find out how she’d lied to get her spot on this train.

“It’s the other way around, Mr. McCallister. The Monroe’s helped me out.”

He continued to sip his coffee. The silence that grew between them was comfortable and easy, a peaceful start to what was sure to be a long day.

Finally, he stood up. “Well, can’t postpone the sun. We’re crossing a small river, Miss Collins. We’re lucky. No hard rains, so no chance of flooding. Still, better make sure everything’s tied down. Your oxen might need some prodding at the start, but I don’t think you have a worry there. It won’t be anything like when we cross farther up the trail and have to load the wagons on scows. I don’t look forward to that.”

“Thank you for the advice,” Callie said. “I’ll be sure all’s secure. And, Mr. McCallister, I’m glad you told me about the baby teething. I’ll make sure I give Mrs. Wilson a hand.”

Seth gave her a steady look and gently shook his head. Callie Collins wasn’t turning out anything like he had thought. Nothing at all . . . but more.