Always and Forever (23 page)

The ladies knew from Jackson’s talks that he wanted to cover at least sixteen miles a day. Only a few women like Loreli and Fanny, whose father owned a livery back in Ohio, had ever driven such a distance, but they were all determined to accomplish the wagonmaster’s goal. Interactions between Grace and Jackson had been polite during the morning’s festivities. He looked as though he were still angry, but she didn’t care. She doubted his anger surpassed her own.

Taking her mind off the handsome but maddening Jackson Blake, Grace concentrated on her driving. The women were two to a wagon: the Mitchell sisters were together, as were Fanny and Zora, Tess and Trudy, and Loreli and Belle, to name a few. Grace and Katherine Wildhorse brought up the rear in the supply wagons and were amongst the few women driving alone.

In his role as scout, Katherine’s husband Dixon had ridden ahead before the brides broke camp to see if he could secure them a farmer’s field to camp in for the night. He rode back to the wagon train late that afternoon with good news. A farmer about ten miles outside of Aurora had agreed to let them camp.

“How much will he charge us?” Grace asked the mounted Dixon and Jackson as they matched their pace to the pace of her wagon.

“Six dollars.”

She thought that a bit exorbitant, but—“Jackson, what do you think?”

“Sounds fine.”

In the past she would’ve questioned such a short, clipped response, but she reminded herself that Jackson
Blake and his moods were no longer any of her concern. She told Dixon to ride ahead and make the arrangements. Dix nodded, touched his hat, then headed his coal black stallion north. Jackson met her eyes and looked on the verge of saying something, but instead rode away without a word. Grace shook her head then returned her attention to her driving.

They arrived at their destination just as night fell and the bone-weary brides reined their teams to a halt. They’d covered ten miles, a fair piece for the first day, according to Jackson, but everyone knew they would need to pick up the pace if they wanted to reach Kansas City on schedule.

To the surprise of everyone, the farmer’s apple-cheeked wife had a sumptuous meal waiting, one that must’ve taken all day to prepare because there were spitted hogs, corn pudding, and yams. Grace thought she’d died and gone to heaven when the woman brought out strawberries and ice cream for dessert.

“Women have to look out for each other, no matter what color we are,” the wife explained sagely, as she set the desserts on the two trestle tables.

Evidently, her husband did not share her views. Grace was in her wagon preparing for bed when she heard, “Grace, we have a problem.”

It was Jackson. She bent and made her way to the back of the wagon, swearing to feed him to sharks if this “problem” involved kissing. “What’s wrong?”

“The farmer wants more money. He says he needs to cover the cost of the food.” Grace could see the anger in the hard set of his jaw.

“No one asked him to feed us.”

“I know.”

“How much more does he want?”

“Ten more.”

“Ten! Is he out of his mind?”

“Nope, just greedy. Says either we pay or we leave.”

Grace sighed with angry frustration. “Where is he now?”

“Up at the house.”

Grace hopped down from the wagon and walked with Jackson to the small whitewashed farmhouse. They found the farmer, Otis Burns, standing on the lantern-lit porch smoking his pipe. Dixon Wildhorse stood waiting on the steps. His jaw was as tight as Jackson’s.

Grace stepped to the porch and asked in a falsely pleasant voice, “What is this about more money, Mr. Burns?”

“Just as I told them,” he said, pointing with his pipe, “I need to cover the costs of the food.”

“We didn’t ask you to feed us.”

“True, but you didn’t think I’d feed the bunch of you just out of the kindness of my heart, did you? Vittles cost money.”

Grace wanted to wring his beady-eyed little neck.

“Either pay me or move on. Don’t make me no never mind.”

Grace looked to the men flanking her and said, “Get everyone up. We’re moving on.”

Jackson smiled. He’d yet to meet any man capable of besting the hellion.

Burns’s wife, Olga, stepped out on the porch. Drying her hands on an old dish towel she asked, “Did I hear you say you’re leaving, Miss Atwood? This time of night?”

“Your husband’s left us no choice, Mrs. Burns.”

She turned confused eyes on her husband, then looked back to Grace. “What do you mean?”

“He’s insisting we pay for the beautiful meal you pro
vided. We weren’t told about that part of the bargain beforehand.”

“Neither was I.” Turning blazing eyes on her husband, she asked, “Whatever is the matter with you, old man? Why are you trying to cheat these nice people?”

The farmer stiffened.

“And I don’t want to hear any cock-and-bull explanations. We had a good harvest last year and we’ve more food stored than we know what to do with.”

It was quite easy for everyone to see who held the reins in this household. Mrs. Burns then turned to Grace. “My apologies, Miss Atwood. I fed you because it was the Christian thing to do.”

“No need to apologize. We appreciate your generosity.”

“Well, you’re welcome, and don’t worry your head about more money. Otis here didn’t mean it.”

Grace nodded. “Goodnight. We’ll see you in the morning.”

“Goodnight.”

As Grace and her men turned to leave, they heard Mrs. Burns tell her husband angrily, “You ought to be ashamed of yourself!”

They smiled.

Dixon parted from them and went off to his wagon and his wife. Jackson walked with Grace back to her wagon.

As they reached it he stopped and asked, “Would you really have rounded everybody up and headed out?”

She replied truthfully, “And have to listen to the Mitchell sisters whine about it? No. He had me over a barrel. Why do you ask?”

“Just curious.”

For a moment there was an awkward silence.

Grace finally said, “Well, goodnight.”

As she turned to climb back into the wagon, he stayed her with a gentle hold on her arm. “I’m sorry if I’ve hurt you, Grace.”

His voice and eyes were genuine, so much so, she said, “I—have to go. Goodnight.”

Without a backward glance, Grace disappeared into the wagon. Later, as she lay on her bedroll in the dark wagon, Grace thought back on what he’d said. Why in the world would he tell her that? Surely he didn’t think to work himself back into her good graces? She’d had quite enough of his on-again, off-again attraction. If he didn’t want to be with her, then fine. She didn’t want to be with him either.

The train was now five days out and the journey was going relatively well. Their next landmark destination would be Fort Madison, more than two weeks away. Jackson planned for them to cross the Mississippi just south of there to enter the state of Missouri.

On the eighth day, they came across a lone covered wagon. At first, everyone thought it had been abandoned because of the broken right back wheel, but a dark-skinned young woman emerged and began waving frantically in their direction. Jackson held up his hand, signaling a stop. The brides pulled back on their reins, glad for the respite.

The woman’s name was Yancey Fitzgerald. In the wagon were her three young sons. As Jackson and some of the women inspected the wheel to see if it could be repaired, Yancey told Grace her story. “My husband died about six months ago and his mother no longer wanted to support my boys and me, so she turned us out.”

Grace wondered what kind of grandmother could turn her back on her own grandchildren. “Where are you headed?”

Yancey didn’t know. “Someplace where I can start over.” She was a cook and housekeeper by trade.

When Grace asked if she would like to travel with the brides, the woman nodded enthusiastically. “You’ll have to let me cook, though, I don’t cotton to charity.”

So it was decided. Loreli and Daisy retrieved one of the spare wheels from Grace’s wagon. With the help of a few other brides, they took off the busted one, replaced it with the new, and in under an hour Yancey and her young sons pulled their wagon into the line.

By the fifteenth day, the monotony of the drive and the sameness of the landscape were beginning to take their toll. A few of the women had gotten into arguments over nothing. The food, mostly jerky, potatoes, and rabbits, were making everyone crave a good hot meal, and the rumors surrounding Belle Cannon’s condition were being fanned by the Mitchell sisters.

The next day, they were forced to alter their route because of a Reb farmer who refused to let them cross his land. This was the second such occurrence, and like last time, having to go around would not only add a significant number of miles to the journey and waste valuable daylight, it would also keep them from accessing any fresh water on his property. The brides groaned because most would’ve killed for a bath.

From where she sat behind her reins, Grace could see the displeasure clouding Jackson’s face as he weighed what to do. In the end though they all knew they had no choice; they’d have to go around.

They drove until dark, then halted as Dix rode back to the wagons. The ever resourceful marshal had found another man who not only agreed to let them camp in his fields for the night but had a good-sized freshwater stream. Hallelujahs filled the night air.

The brides celebrated by washing in the farmer’s stream and Loreli shocked the socks off of the Mitchell sisters and their supporters by stripping naked and wading into the stream. It had been many days since they’d had a chance to bathe fully and Loreli had done the same thing then. And just as then, many of the women imitated their constable and followed her into the cold water naked as the day they were born, the judgmental Mitchell sisters be damned.

That evening the brides relaxed around a large fire inside the ring of wagons to eat Yancey’s rabbit stew and to enjoy each other’s company, but the atmosphere changed when Sarah Mitchell stood and declared, “As good Christian women, I think we have a right to know if Belle Cannon is carrying an out-of-wedlock child.”

Grace saw Belle stiffen as all eyes turned her way, but before Grace could put the sanctimonious woman in her place, Loreli asked coolly, “What business is it of yours?”

The tone and Loreli’s cold golden eyes made Sarah pause as if she weren’t sure she wanted to proceed, but she drew up her formidable bulk and plowed ahead anyway. “Because some of us don’t wish to be sullied by such an association.”

Trudy asked pointedly, “And if she is, what are you proposing we do?”

“Leave her at the next nearest town.”

Grace stood. “We aren’t leaving anyone anywhere.”

Fanny said, “And besides, we don’t even know if she is carrying. So she’s been sick, so what?”

There were a few mumbles of support. Belle had been sick, so sick Loreli had been driving their wagon alone.

Suddenly Belle got to her feet and everyone quieted. She looked at the faces gathered around the fire and stated in a firm yet soft voice, “Yes, Miss Mitchell, I am
carrying an out-of-wedlock child, but the only person I have to answer to is the Lord.”

“Hear! Hear!” Zora crowed.

Grace smiled at Belle’s words. In spite of Belle’s solitary ways, she was well liked. Before the morning sickness claimed her, she’d always pulled her share of the load and Grace had never heard her utter an unkind word about anyone. That so many women seemed to be on her side filled Grace’s heart.

Belle sat down.

Loreli scanned the crowd. “Anything else?”

“Yes. I say we take a vote,” Molly Mitchell countered.

Daisy waded into the verbal fray. “Who put you in charge? The only person who can call a vote on anything is Grace, Mr. Blake, or our duly elected constable,
Loreli.”

“I say we have one anyway,” Molly challenged haughtily.

Grace had had enough. “We aren’t calling a vote on anything. Belle stays. So unless anyone has anything of
value
to add, I say we adjourn to our respective wagons and see each other in the morning. We’ve had a long day.”

Sarah’s voice dripped with outrage. “I refuse to be around her.”

“Nobody’s asking you to,” Loreli snapped back.

Grace used her most forceful voice. “Ladies, this discussion is over. Goodnight.”

As the meeting broke up, many of the women gave Belle’s shoulder a supportive squeeze as they left the fire, but others huffed past her with a sniff. The issue of Belle had split the brides into two factions. Grace hoped the rift didn’t split any wider.

After everyone else left, Grace pulled her own weary self up off the hard ground and started back to her
wagon only to have Jackson Blake step into the firelight.

“You handled that well,” he told her.

For a moment, she forgot about her vow to remain unmoved. Having him so near caught her off guard and all she could think about was how much she missed him.

“Thanks,” she said emotionlessly as she hastily rebuilt her defenses. Her mood was melancholy enough. She didn’t need him adding to the weight on her mind.

Jackson looked into her fire-flecked face and wanted to tell her that he’d been wrong, again. Being around her all day and not being able to laugh with her or hold her in his arms was not only keeping him awake nights, but he couldn’t eat either. Hell, he didn’t even like short women, but she was turning him inside out. He had too much pride to get down on his knees and beg her forgiveness, but he was almost at that point. These past two weeks had been the worst two weeks of his life.

“If I told you I wanted to kiss you, what would you say?”

“I’d say, do you want
both
of your ears cut off and fed to the mules, or just one?” And she headed off to her wagon, declaring firmly, “Goodnight, Jackson. I’m too tired for this and of this.”

“Grace—”

“Goodnight.”

She tried to walk fast enough to lose him but because his legs were nearly twice the length of hers so he had no trouble keeping up.

“Grace—”

“Leave me alone, or so help me I’ll feed you to the next shark I find.”