Dorothy Garlock - [Wabash River] (33 page)

“Why should I give you any slack, Judge? You sure as hell wouldn’t give me any.” John lifted his hand and motioned to Addie as she was passing. “Come here, honey.” Addie came to him. He took her arm and proudly drew her to his side. “This is my wife, Mrs. Tallman. Honey, Judge Van Winkle.”

“How do you do, sir?” Addie extended her hand.

“Ma’am.” The judge removed his hat during the introduction, then took Addie’s hand.

Although his manners were faultless, Addie had the impression that the judge’s interest lay elsewhere.

“Excuse me.” She looked up at John. “Dillon slipped away from me, and I don’t want him to get near those excitable horses.”

“Go find him, then. I’ll see you in a little while.”

Addie moved away. When she did, she saw her son heading for the Union soldiers as fast as his short legs could carry him. She hurried after him and reached him just as he stopped in front of the officer standing beside the woman.

“Are you a damn Yankee?” he asked, looking up at the man. His little-boy voice carried to a group of bull-whackers who hooted with laughter.

“Dillon! You shouldn’t say such things.” Addie grabbed his hand, looking up as she did, an apology forming on her lips. All thought but one died within her when she looked into the man’s face. Standing before her was Kirby, her husband—her
dead
husband. His eyes were the same, his face the same except for the mustache and goatee. The blond wavy hair was longer. His shoulders were broader. He was older. But it was Kirby, and he was looking at her as if she were a complete stranger.

“Don’t worry about the boy, ma’am. I’ve been called worse than a damn Yankee since I’ve been in the South.”

The voice, with its slight northern twang, was Kirby’s. Addie stared at him. He looked her straight in the eye without one flicker of recognition.

“You’ve got a fine boy,” he said at last.

“Yes, I have.” Addie turned, pulling Dillon with her, and headed back across the clearing, focusing her dimmed, agonizing sight on her wagon, a place where she could hide.

Behind her, the woman laughed softly, looking up at the captain with a teasing light in her eyes.

“You dazzled that poor woman, Kyle. She couldn’t take her eyes off you. Should I be jealous?”

“I want you to be jealous of every woman who looks at me,” he said softly and squeezed her fingers. “Then I’ll know you truly love me.”

“Pooh, darlin’. You know
that
already.”

The two were so engrossed in each other that they didn’t see the judge approach until he spoke.

“Kyle, are we ready to pull out?”

“You’re going with him?”

“For now, anyway. I’m hoping that later we can peel off and go up to Fort Gibson. By Gawd, when I get to Sante Fe, I’ll use my influence to get even with the bastard. He’s going to find out who is important and who is not.”

*  *  *

Addie sat beside Trisha as the train rolled west alongside the Arkansas River. The quivering inside her had not subsided. Now she felt a new wild rage.
How dare Kirby Hyde
be alive.
Every instinct within her told her that the Yankee officer was Kirby Hyde, the man she had married, the father of her son. But questions nagged at her logical mind. Kirby had joined the Confederate Army. He had come home from town and told her he had enlisted. How could he suddenly appear as a Yankee captain?

The war between Addie’s intuition and her rational thinking went on and on. She tried desperately to remember if anyone else had gone to join the army at the same time as Kirby. She had been so unhappy, and so scared of being alone with a baby coming, that months had gone by and she hadn’t spoken to anyone other than the neighbors who dropped by. Reason told her that the Yankee captain just
looked
like Kirby. She had heard that everyone had a double somewhere. Maybe Kirby had a twin brother she didn’t know about.

In the short time they had been together, Kirby had said that he had no relatives. Then one time during a rambling conversation he had mentioned an uncle at Jonesboro. When she had asked him about the uncle, Kirby had said they didn’t get along very well. It was to Jonesboro that she had sent the letter telling Kirby he had a son.

Oh, God! If the officer
was
Kirby, how could he look at Dillon, his own flesh and blood, and reject him so completely? She remembered how sullen Kirby had become after she told him she had missed her monthly flow and could be with child. She had been so happy and had wanted to share the good news. She realized now, as she had then, that Kirby would not have been a good father. He had been selfish, deceitful; and although he had worked hard at first in order to gain her affection and assure himself a place at the farm, he had later become uninterested and lazy.

What should she do? she pondered. If the Yankee captain was Kirby Hyde, that meant she was not married to John. Should she tell John now, or wait until she had some proof?
Proof!
How could she prove this Yankee was Kirby Hyde? It would be his word against hers. He would make her look ridiculous not only in John’s eyes but in the eyes of everyone on the wagon train.

*  *  *

At dusk the wagons formed a circle for the night. Huntley had explained that camp sites were usually chosen earlier in the day by the scout or the wagon boss. They were late reaching this one because of the extra time it had taken to ford a tributary of the Arkansas River. The freight wagons circled, he said, not because they feared an attack in this area but because the wagon boss wanted the stock to get used to the maneuver.

Trisha had slept throughout the day. Had she awakened, Addie would have given her another drop of the laudanum. Addie silently thanked Bill for the turkey feet that had kept Dillon and Jane Ann amused during the early part of the afternoon. The latter part they had spent on the wagon seat beside Huntley.

Now that the wagon had stopped, Addie was almost afraid to leave it for fear that she would come face to face with the man she believed to be Kirby Hyde. But when she did step down, she realized that the Van Winkle party had camped a short distance away and that she was unlikely to encounter the captain. She also realized that Gregorio, with a rifle in his hand, had taken up a position with a view of the back of their wagon.

During the day, Addie and the children had used the slop jar that the thoughtful Dutchman had provided for his family. It needed to be emptied before nightfall. Dillon and Jane Ann had scampered away with Colin, who had promised to keep an eye on them, leaving Addie free for the moment. Taking the jar from the wagon, she hurried toward the foliage that lined the small stream.

“Miss Addie! Wait!” Buffer Simmons’s call was urgent. Addie turned to see him coming toward her on horseback. “Don’t go into the bushes until I take a look,” he said sternly, then rode into the thick copse of gooseberry bushes, myrtle grass, and willows.

Addie set the chamber pot on the ground and tried to hide it with her skirt. Embarrassment had reddened her face and quickened her heartbeat. It seemed forever before Buffer reappeared.

“Don’t go in more’n ten feet, ma’am. I’ll wait here.”

“Thank you, Mr. Simmons.” Too embarrassed to look at him, Addie hurried past.

When she returned, Buffer, leading his horse, walked with her back to the wagon.

“John put a watch on the wagon.”

“I see he has.”

“Miss Trisha wake up again?”

“No, but when she does, I’d like for her to eat something.”

“Do you reckon she can tell us what she saw?”

“I don’t know. It wasn’t Ellis Renshaw, that’s sure.”

“It must’ve been one a his kin. I’m tryin’ to figure which one a them muddle-headed ninnies is smart enough to slither ’round here and not be seen by nobody. Nobody on this train’s seen a stranger ’bout.”

“Trisha said that what she saw just before her head popped was a dream. I don’t know what she meant by that.”

When they reached the wagon, Buffer took a bundle from behind his saddle while Addie was putting the slop jar back in the wagon. She was terribly conscious of the guard watching her.

“When Miss Trisha wakes up give her this.” Buffer held out the belt and scabbard he had bought in Van Buren. “It’s for that pig-sticker she carries.”

Addie took it from him and stared up into his sincere brown eyes. He looked so much younger without the beard, and his face was pleasant, if not handsome. He was a man of massive strength, yet so gentle.

“You . . . know that Trisha has admitted—”

“I heard all that in Freepoint. It don’t mean nothin’. What’s bloodline, anyhow? Is Renshaw blood better’n Trisha’s?”

“You . . . care for her?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“You’d marry her?”

“If’n she’d have me, I’d be proud.”

“She’s proud. Proud as a peacock.”

“Yes, ma’am. She’s got more pride than sense.” Dimples appeared in Buffer’s cheeks when he smiled. Addie placed her hand on his arm.

“I wish you luck with your courting.”

“Thanky, ma’am.”

*  23  *

A
ddie thanked God for Colin and Bill. Colin had taken Dillon and Jane Ann to the chuck wagon, where Bill had fed them even as he was preparing the evening meal for the men. When they returned, Colin was carrying plates of food for her and Trisha.

Trisha awakened with such pain in her head that she was sick to her stomach and unable to eat. Addie held her head over the slop jar while she emptied what little she had in her stomach. When she stopped vomiting, Addie gave her more laudanum in a sip of water and she went back to sleep.

A lantern hanging on the end of the wagon cast a dim light inside where Addie washed the two younger children and put them to bed. She did not admit even to herself that she was exhausted in both mind and body. The first day of this eventful trip had taken a toll on her strength in ways she had not imagined.

When Addie stepped down out of the wagon, she knew that somewhere out there in the darkness Buffer and Colin were watching. The big man had been visibly shaken by the attack on Trisha. When he had spoken of it to Addie, he had said that he thought the Renshaws had given up after they were dumped in the creek. His being wrong had put Trisha in danger, and he felt responsible.

Word of the attack had spread among the bull-whackers. They were angry and embarrassed that a woman in their camp had been subjected to such treatment. If the attacker was found, John said, he was not sure he could prevent the bastard from being hanged on the spot.

Leaning against the wagon, out of the circle of light, Addie gazed across the expanse of darkness at the well-lighted Van Winkle camp. Buffer had told her that the woman had a colored maid, and the judge had a colored man who performed personal services for him. These people were from a world that Addie knew nothing about—a world of servants, fine clothes, and beautiful homes. Was that the world Kirby had come from? If so, why had he been walking down a road in the Arkansas hills looking for work?

What troubled Addie most was how she was going to tell John that she suspected her first husband was not buried in that grave near Jonesboro and that her marriage to him was not legal in the eyes of God or man. It was morally wrong for her to be with him in that intimate way that had been so heavenly when she may still be married to another man.

Mr. Cash had said that the man who brought the news of Kirby’s death was a Confederate officer. He would have had to be a terribly cruel man to bring news to a widow that her soldier husband was dead unless he was sure of the fact.

It occurred to Addie that she should be glad Kirby had not been killed—for his sake. On the heels of that thought came another: How could a man look down into the face of his son and deny him? The only resemblance between father and son that she could see was that they both had blond hair. It was not unusual for a child only four years old still to have blond hair, though it might darken later.

Addie’s thoughts were interrupted by the sound of John’s voice.

“Simmons?”

“Yeah?”

“Go on to bed. I’ll be here for the rest of the night unless something comes up.”

“We should’a hung ever’ blame one a them gawddamn Renshaws when we had the chance.”

“We didn’t have a reason before. We do now.”

“I’m hopin’ he makes another move.”

“He may have hightailed it when he saw what he was up against.”

“Colin is gonna bed down with me under that wagon ahead. My new partner’s got a good set a ears. He can hear a owl pissin’ on a . . .” Buffer’s voice faded.

Addie was coming out of the wagon where she had gone to see about Trisha when John called her name.

“Addie? How’s Trisha?”

“Still sleeping.”

“Come here, sweetheart. I’ve not seen much of you today.” With his hands at her waist, he lifted her down, then turned the wick of the lantern to put out the light. “I don’t want everyone in camp to see me kissing my wife.”

Addie’s arms went around him. She pressed her face against his shirt, savoring the familiar, smoky, male smell of him. He held her tightly; she could feel his strong heartbeat. They were content to hold each other quietly for a long while.

As the events of the day came rushing at her, her arms tightened about him. She held him as if she couldn’t get close enough. Earlier tonight, she had felt like she’d been caught in a whirlwind, swept away like a leaf from a tree. Here in John’s arms she felt safe, protected. He was all that was certain and secure.

His lips nuzzled her ear.

She held on to him with all her strength. “I can’t let you go! I can’t let you go!” she whispered against his throat.

“What did you say, sweetheart? When you tell me sweet things, I want to hear them.” He laughed softly, his lips in her hair.

“I’m glad you’re here. I know you’ve got a big responsibility and I’m . . . grateful for the time I can be with you.” Her voice grew weaker and weaker and then ceased altogether.

“It’ll be this way for the next seven or eight weeks. Some nights we may not even have these few hours alone. I’ve got a very important reason right here in my arms to get this train safely home.”