A Secret Refuge [02] Sisters of the Confederacy (32 page)

“Right.” She watched the wagon ahead grow fainter in the mist. “Here we go.” She flicked the reins when a shout went up from the wagon ahead. “Oh, God, no!” The wagon tipped and fell.

Wolf spun his horse and leaped into the river.

“Whoa!” Jesselynn pulled back on the reins. “Go help.” She need not have said a word, for Daniel and Benjamin were already following Wolf.

“Oh, Lord above, much as I hate—no dislike—those folks, please protect them.”

“Jesselynn, can you see anything?” Jane Ellen leaned on Jesselynn’s shoulder.

“No.”
Oh, Lord, this could be us. But it’s not. There’s justice, Lord. Jones is such a rotten man
. Guilt grabbed her by the throat and shook her. Such a thing to think.
Lord, forgive me, please. I’m sorry for even thinking such a thing. What kind of a Christian am I? Mother, what you would say to me?

With all the ropes on the wagon, they had it righted and pulled it out of the river before Wolf came back to signal the next wagon.

With a prayer on her lips, Jesselynn started into the river.

“Swing to the upstream just across the sandbar. There’s a hole off to the right.”

“Are the Joneses all right?”

Wolf didn’t answer.

With Daniel and Benjamin on either side of the lead team, the oxen pulled steady, up over the sandbar and back in the water. One bellowed. They drew closer to the shore. She popped the whip, her feet braced against the boot board. Throwing themselves against the yokes, the oxen hauled the wagon up the gentle incline and out of the river.

“We did it!” Jane Ellen threw her arms around Jesselynn. “Thank you, Lord. We made it.”

Jesselynn wrapped the reins around the brake handle, stood on shaking legs, and climbed down over the wheel to stand on firm ground again. She went around the wagon and reached up to grab Thaddeus and squeezed him tight.

He patted her cheeks. “You good driver, Jesse.” He looked over her shoulder. “Meshach comin’.”

Jesselynn looked up at the sound of a keening wail from the Jones wagon. She glanced at Jane Ellen, who shook her head, eyes wide.

Meshach pulled up beside them and helped Aunt Agatha to the ground. “Never thought I’d be so grateful to stand on dry ground again.” She stamped her foot to make the point. “Thank you, Lord above.”

They stood and watched the crossing of the remaining wagons. Two men lassoed the ox horns to assist the next wagon, which was floundering, and the last one made it to the far shore without incident. They circled the wagons on the northern verge so some could hang things out to dry.

Jesselynn inspected their wagons and found no leaks, thanks to Meshach’s careful caulking. She could hear others grumbling. The rain had let up somewhere during the crossing, and thanks to the sandy soil, the puddles had disappeared. Ophelia started a fire with the twigs Jane Ellen and the boys brought back from the brush along the river and added the cow and buffalo chips they’d collected during previous days’ walks. With the kettle boiling, she added shaved dried buffalo meat, the last of the remaining vegetables, and the rice she’d been saving. The savory smell rose to tantalize while Ophelia mixed up dumplings.

Jesselynn made her way over to the Jones wagon, much against her better judgment. She wanted to leave them to their soaked fate, but the sobbing hadn’t ceased. Everyone else seemed to be ignoring them.

Jesselynn drew even with the boxes stacked alongside the wagon.

“Shut up, woman! Just shut up!”

Jesselynn stopped. The crack of hand against flesh made her flinch. She stepped around the wagon to see Tommy Joe, hands clenched, standing over his wife. Mrs. Jones cowered on the ground, her baby clenched in her arms.

Tommy Joe reached for the soaked blanket-wrapped bundle. “He’s dead.”

“Leave her be!” Jesselynn stepped forward.

“Get outa here, you . . . you . . . interfering wench.” Fists raised, he came at her.

With a growl like an attacking bear, Wolf grabbed Jones by the shoulder, spun him around, and planted a fist in Jones’s face. Tommy Joe staggered, slumped to his knees, and toppled to the ground. Blood ran from his smashed nose.

Jesselynn knelt by the sobbing woman. She wrapped her arms around the thin shoulders and held her close, the wet bundle between them.
Oh, Lord, what can I say?
No words came, so the two women rocked together.

After the tragedy of the river they took the steep climb up and over California Hill with extreme care. The men braced against the wheels of each wagon to keep it from rolling over the oxen. Though it was grueling, Jesselynn knew it was just a foretaste of what was ahead for them when they reached the mountains. By the time they reached Ash Hollow, an extra day of rest was more than needed.

The morning they forded the river to Fort Laramie should have been a celebration, but discontent simmered beneath the surface like a kettle on slow boil. More than one family muttered that leaving the Joneses at Fort Laramie would be the best possible way to settle things.

They circled the wagons just south of the fort and made camp.

“Leastwise we don’t have to worry about those Indians any longer.” Aunt Agatha said what the others were thinking now that they were within the protection of the fort.

Jesselynn nodded. “Think I’ll ride on in to the quartermaster tonight and see about ordering our supplies.”

“Me go?” Thaddeus looked up from where he was digging a hole in the dirt with a stick.

“No, I—“ But at the way his face fell, she changed her mind. “Why not? Come on, let’s go get Roman.”

The smile he gave her as he took her hand reminded her what little it took to make him happy. Riding with his big sister was one of those things. After bridling the mule, she set Thaddeus up on the bony back and swung herself up behind him. Handing him the reins, she nudged Roman forward. “You make sure you keep him goin’ straight now, you hear?”

“I hear.” His shoulders straightened as if she’d just asked him to take over the family.

At home he’d be riding a pony all by himself in the paddock by now
. All the Highwood children could ride nearly before they could run, or at least it seemed that way. All but Thaddeus, another casualty of the war. Jesselynn dropped a kiss on his soft hair. He should be wearing a hat already too, but she had neither the time nor materials to make him one. So many things left undone, her daddy must be rolling over in his grave. Thoughts of her father made her shoulders slump. Sometimes the burdens got so heavy she could barely breathe.

As Meshach would say, “Time to put dem all back in de Lawd’s hands—and leave dem dere.” The leaving them there was the hard part.

“Ugh, bluebellies.” Thaddeus snapped her back to attention.

“No. Don’t you call them that.” She gave him a gentle shake.

“You do.”

“Not anymore. We’ve gone beyond the war. They are United States soldiers, and we are United States citizens. That’s what your daddy always said.”

“Bluebellies kill my daddy.”

Oh, Lord, preserve us. What can I say? He is so right
. Jesselynn sucked in a deep breath in the hopes it would help her think better. “Daddy was a casualty of the war, just like so many others. We have to forgive and forget.”
So we aren’t destroyed too
.

Jesselynn glanced up in time to catch the sight of a man disappearing behind one of the whitewashed buildings. “Jones!”
That scum is still alive
.

To tell Wolf or not dogged her all the way back to the camp. Thaddeus leaned against her chest, blissfully sucking on his peppermint stick. The hunk of cheese would bring cries of delight from those at the wagons, and the molasses would taste wonderful on pancakes in the morning. But if the others found out about Jones, would they demand a lynching?

Keeping the news to herself for now seemed the better part of wisdom, she had decided by the time they rode into camp. She lowered Thaddeus and his sack of peppermint sticks to the ground. “Now you go share those, you hear?”

He nodded and ran off, little-boy legs pumping, calling for Sammy and Jane Ellen.

She stripped the bridle off Roman and, with a swat on the rump, sent him galloping back to the herd. With the sack of supplies swung over her shoulder, she made her way back to the wagons, with each step wishing she hadn’t seen what she had.

“Thought a trip to the store would take away that thundercloud sittin’ on your head, not make it worse.” Agatha studied her niece and lowered her voice. “Now, what is it botherin’ you? No mail?”

Jesselynn shook her head. Seeing Jones had plumb driven the mail out of her mind. Another thing to hold against him. “Forgot to ask.” She handed the tow sack to her aunt.

“What, then? You look blacker’n a bog at night.”

Jesselynn sighed. She should have known better than to think she could pull off carrying a secret like that. “I saw Jones at the hostelry.”

Agatha sighed and shook her head at the same time. “I know it isn’t Christian, but I sure was hopin’ the prairie or the Indians got him. You goin’ to tell Wolf?”

Jesselynn shook her head. “Not unless I have to. Maybe the scum will just stay clear if he has any sense at all.”

“Sure.” Agatha rolled her eyes and opened the sack. “Ah, cheese. We can have it on biscuits for supper.”

The camp had settled for the night when Jesselynn heard a shout. Rolling to her feet, gun already in hand, she stood beside the wagon searching the blackness for the reason. She could feel the warmth from Meshach right beside her.

“Hold ‘im. He ain’t gonna get away this time!” came the shout.

“Let’s go,” Jesselynn said, and together the two of them headed across the circle at a run.

Fort Laramie

“Drop your guns.”

Jesselynn spun at the guttural command. Wolf stood slightly behind her and off to the right, rifle in one hand, Colt in the other. She lowered her gun, realizing he wasn’t even looking at her and Meshach. The men holding Jones stepped back from their captive, and those with guns holstered them.

“You can’t be sticking up for the scum, Wolf. You know McPhereson died because this lowlife was too tired to stand watch properlike.”

“He deserves a chance to say his piece to the military. They’re in charge of the peace around here.”

“I say let’s just string ‘im up.”

“I din’t sleep on watch. He hit me.” Rufus whined like the bully-turned-weakling he was.

One of the men gave him a shove. “Then why’d that Indian not slit your throat too?”

Jones shrugged. “How should I know? I was just coming to when Highwood and her nigger run up.”

“Then why’d ya run?”

“Reckoned they’d think I kilt Mac, that’s why.”

Jesselynn about choked on her rage. Meshach said he’d been lying on his bedroll or in it. Either way . . .”Don’t believe a word he says,” she hissed loudly enough for Wolf to hear.

“How’d you know Mac was dead?”

Silence.

“He’s lyin’, the dirty cur.”

“Enough.” Wolf took two steps forward. “Get some rope and tie his hands behind his back, then to a wagon wheel. We’ll take him into the fort in the morning.”

The men muttered and grumbled, but they did as he ordered. As soon as Jones was tied to the wheel, they moved off. Thunder rumbled in the distance, the smell of rain sweet on the breeze.

Jesselynn turned to head back to her bedroll. So Jones might get a bit wet. Far as she could see, more than his clothes needed washing. And some starch in his backbone wouldn’t hurt neither. “You know he was lying.”

“I knows. But de officer be de one to say, not us.”

“I didn’t think he’d be stupid enough to try and sneak into camp. What if his brother lets him go?”

“With Wolf guardin’ ‘im?”

“Oh.”

A shadow by their wagon revealed a man as they neared. “Your turn on watch, Meshach.”

“I know. Be right dere.”

“You better get a slicker.” She lifted her face to feel the first drops of the coming rain. Thunder rumbled again. “You want some extra help in case the storm spooks the cattle?”

“I go wid ‘im.” Benjamin handed Meshach a slicker. “I got Roman cotched already.”

“Be careful.” When she closed her eyes she could still see the dark slash of death across McPhereson’s throat.

“Indians not come dis close to de fort.” Meshach settled his hat more firmly on his head.

“I wouldn’t want to bet your lives on it.” She handed Benjamin her gun and drew more bullets out of her pocket. “As I said, be careful.”

By morning everything not under canvas in camp was soaked, with water standing in puddles and the rain still sheeting down. The thunder and lightning had passed in the darkest hours without doing more than making the herd restless.

Jesselynn had heard Meshach singing during the night. The oxen seemed as comforted by it as she was.

With morning those assigned to the herd drove them down to water and then took them farther from camp for better grazing. Daniel made sure the Thoroughbreds stayed toward the center of the herd so as to be less visible to the officers at the fort.

Jesselynn had just finished washing Thaddeus’s face when she heard a shout from the western rim of the camp where Jones had been tied the night before. “Go to Jane Ellen.” She gave her little brother a push in the general direction, grabbed the gun she kept nearby, and headed for the fracas.

“Come any closer an’ I drill ‘im.” Tommy Joe Jones stood with his gun barrel tight to Wolf’s back.

Jesselynn could only guess at what happened. Wolf was going to take Rufus into the fort, and the good-for-nothing brother showed up.

“Now cut ‘im loose like you thought to and let ‘im go.”

Wolf stood like a stone carving.

“You heard me!”

Jesselynn dropped back behind one of the wagons and, leaping the wagon tongue, circled from the outside. If she could get off a shot . . .

“Don’t nobody move or he’s dead.”

“Come on, Jones, you won’t make it outa here alive if you do that.” Mr. Bronson spoke in an ordinary voice as if they were discussing the price of flour. “Ain’t you had enough bad luck on this trip?”

Eyes wild, Tommy Joe pushed the gun more firmly into Wolf’s back. “I’m warnin’ ya.”

Why didn’t I kill him when I had the chance?
Wolf refused to flinch. The barrel bit into his back. He could feel sweat trickling down from his armpits. He caught movement out of the corner of his eye but didn’t dare shift to see who was the stalker.

“Now cut my brother loose, nice and easy.” The rifle dug deeper with every word.

One of the men came forward, knife at hand. Keeping one eye on the rifle, he leaned down to release the bonds.

“See, told you I waren’t gonna hang for somethin’ I didn’t do,” Rufus hissed.

Holding steady took every ounce of determination Wolf owned. He stared burn holes in the man near his feet. One jab, one kick. Could he do it?

“Now help ‘im up.”

Bronson took Rufus’s arm as if reaching for a rattler and pulled him to his feet.

Rufus swayed, then spat in Wolf’s face. “Shoot ‘im, brother. Dirty Injun like him ain’t fit to live.”

The gun barrel wavered. Wolf dropped. A gun went off. Men hollered. Someone screamed. A body hit the ground.

God above . . .
Wolf never finished the thought as he rolled and surged to his feet.

Tommy Joe lay writhing on the ground. Rufus stood with his hands in the air. Jesselynn Highwood held a gun on the two brothers.

“Shoulda shot to kill.” Jesselynn glanced at Wolf to make sure he was all right.

“My leg!” Tommy Joe stared at the blood welling from his thigh.

“Be glad that’s all.” One of the wagon men retied Rufus’s hands. “You gonna stop the bleedin’?” He looked to Jesselynn, who shook her head.

“Take ’em both into the fort.” She tucked her gun in the waistband of her pants.
Thank you, God, for a clean shot
. She knew that as soon as her heart quit racing, she might be able to move. This is if her knees held steady.

The men went about their business as if she weren’t even there. Wolf nodded. Was that in gratitude? Or what? She sucked in a deep breath and swallowed hard. The burning at the back of her eyes warned her to get the blazes out of there. She spun on her heel and took the long way back to her own wagons. No way was she going to let anyone see her cry.

I shot a man! I shot a man!
The words kept time with the beat of her feet.
Why didn’t I aim for his head?
It had happened so fast. She tried to remember each move. By the time she got back to the wagon, her hands shook so hard that she about dropped the gun. Tears blurred her vision. Her teeth clicked together no matter how hard she clamped her jaw.

“Jesselynn.”

She ignored Wolf, threw her gun in the wagon bed, and kept on going, breaking into a run when she cleared the wagons. Feet pounding the dirt, she tore across the prairie, heading for the willows that lined the river. Her breath tore at her sides, but she forced herself to keep on running. Was that someone behind her? She couldn’t slow to look. Tears streamed. Breathe! Run!

Blood! She could see dark blood. Could hear again the rifle shot.
I shot a man!
She fell against the trunk of a tree and wrapped her arms around the rough bark to hold her up. Darkness covered the backs of her eyelids. Light-headed, she slumped forward as her whole body started shaking.

Suddenly solid arms held her from behind. Wolf gathered her to his chest when the shaking let up.

“Go away.” She let her head drop to his chest. Holding it up was beyond her.

“No.”

She could hear his heartbeat, thundering much like her own. “I . . . I . . . shot a man.”

“I know. Thank you.” The words rumbled in his chest. His breath teased her ear.

“You . . . could have . . . been . . . killed.” Each word tore the lining on her throat.

“I know. Glad you had good aim.”

She rested against him. He smelled of woodsmoke and man. She dug in her pocket. No handkerchief. Sniffing, she leaned back enough to look up into his face. Blood ran down the side of his head.

“You’re hurt!”

“His bullet just grazed me. Might never hear right from this ear again.”

With tender fingers she reached to touch his ear. The tip of it was gone and powder burns laced the side of his head. “Head wounds bleed bad.”

He stripped some willow leaves from the branches and handed them to her. She compressed them in her hand and applied them to the wound along with pressure to stop the bleeding. All the while her eyes held steady on his.

“What are you lookin’ at?” His breath fluttered her eyelashes.

“You.” She took in a deep breath and let it out. His dark eyes shimmered, grew warm and warmer. Her heart took up a new rhythm. Heat pooled in her belly. Even with blood trailing down his neck, he took her breath away.
Is this what poetry means when it says “the heart sings”?
“I need to bandage you up.”

“Not yet.”
You are proud and strong, like a Sioux maiden
. He tightened his arms around her rib cage.
“Thou art beautiful, oh, my love . . . thy hair is as a flock of goats that appear from Gilead . . . my dove, my undefiled . . .”

“Jesse! Jesse!”

Jesselynn swallowed again. “They’re calling me.”

“I know.” Slowly, as though she was more precious than anything he’d ever held, he loosened his arms and, inch by inch, let his hands fall away from her until they stood separate once more.

A sound came from her throat. A whimper. She must stand alone again. Alone. The pain ripped through her. If she reached for him, would he hold her?

She blinked. Swallowed. And stepped back. Her legs trembled. Her belly quivered as if a cold wind nipped it. She took another deep breath. “Come.” She reached for his hand, and together they turned and stepped out of the willow screen.

“I’m not going on with the wagon train.” Three days later Wolf stood beside her again.

“What do you mean?” Jesselynn forced the words past the constriction in her throat.

“I have to go home.”

“Home is going to be in Oregon.”

“Not for me. I’ve already spoken with the men. They’ve agreed to go on with the train that arrived yesterday.”

“Why wasn’t I included in the meeting?”

“He’s a good man—Jason Cobalt. He’s led other trains west and plans on stayin’ there himself this time. He’ll get you all through.” He kept his hands from clenching. And his teeth.
Don’t look at me like that! You said you wanted to go to Oregon. I’m gettin’ you there
.

“Why?”

“I must go home. To my people.”
Come with me
.

She stared into his eyes, looking for the man who’d held her. Dark. Flat. Not even a flicker. Swallowing her tears, she took a step back. “Go with God.”

Two days later, with the sun near to breaking the horizon, the order came. The wagons unwound from their circles and pulled into the long snake of white canvas and straining animals. Getting over the divide and into the South Pass lay before them.