Leaving Independence (21 page)

The man known as Robert Baldwyn hadn’t always been patient. But survival had demanded he develop it.

So he waited a month to send the letter, from the morning he met with the trapper. He remembered riding back up to the gate at Fort Hall later that day with an elk slung over his horse, meeting the same young sentry who’d been on guard duty when he left.

“See?” He had smiled widely with his lips, but knew none of it reached his eyes. “No harm done.”

Leaving the elk with the cook, he had washed up. In addition to patience, he had learned to be meticulous. He polished the hilt of his sword and the buttons of his jacket, took a stiff brush and buffed his boots, then cleaned a speck off the name he’d had embroidered on his breast pocket.

Then he waited. Four weeks. It would be best if the letter didn’t reach her until she arrived at Laramie.

As he touched the quill to his tongue now and prepared to dip it in the ink jar, he instinctively reached into the pocket of his jacket with his other hand for the picture of Abigail, then remembered he’d left it with the trapper.

It didn’t matter. The beauty of her face would be forever seared in his mind. Shame, really, that she had to die.

Sweeping the remorse from his head, he wrote:
Welcome to the West, darling.

When people found his letter to her after she was dead, he wanted it to look like he had been a dedicated husband.

CHAPTER 19

Wide fork of the Platte

Early on a Friday, the wagon train came to the wide fork of the Platte at a spot within sight of Chimney Rock. The colonel decided to take a couple of days to catch up on wagon repairs and wait to cross the river Monday.

“We’ll need to take the wheels off for this one and float the wagons over. The Platte’s got a swamp-like bottom.”

He wanted two rafts built in case any of the wagons took on water, explaining, “Sometimes the workmen just slap the pitch on the wagon bottoms and they leak.” If one started to sink, they’d tie the rafts to either side of it to get it safely over.

Reaching the fork of the river was cause for celebration. Friday afternoon some of the older children put together a picnic to eat on the riverbank. Abigail watched Charlie bring more wood to the fire.

“You’re happy because Paul Sutler is going,” said Charlie to Corrine as she worked on a meat pie, humming a tune. He didn’t often tease his sisters, especially not sharp-tongued Corrine.

Corrine raised her brows. “And is Emma Austelle going?”

Charlie grinned. “Maybe.”

Once Corrine had finished crimping the crust and slid her pie in the sheet-iron stove, she left with Lina to look for wildflowers.

Charlie turned to Abigail. “Ma, if a girl sits close to you on the wagon seat and seems like she’s holding her hand out, would it be all right to hold it or should I ask first?” His face turned pink. “I feel funny asking you, but you
are
a girl. Or you were. I thought about asking Mr. Hoke. I knew he wouldn’t tease me for it like Mr. Parker might, but . . . I don’t know. It’s hard to ask him about it somehow.”

Abigail looked at Charlie, wondering what he would think of her if he knew she had kissed Hoke Mathews. She had tried to shake the memory of it—of Hoke’s flaming eyes and the feel of his hand possessively moving her against him, then brushing over the curve of her body, of the hunger of his mouth and how he had tasted like the hickory sticks he always chewed. Hoke wouldn’t hesitate to take a girl’s hand if he wanted it.

“You need a haircut,” whispered Abigail, pushing Charlie’s bangs away from his eyes. She wanted a good look at him as he was right now, standing on the threshold of adulthood. “If she’s holding her hand out there, don’t be afraid to take it.”

He grinned. “Weren’t you my age when you married Pa? How did you know you loved him?”

Abigail shook her head. Had she loved him? Yes . . . she had. Did she still?

She wished she could remember the taste of Robert’s kisses.

“I don’t know, Charlie. He got in my head and my heart and I wanted to be around him every minute.”

“Listen, you won’t tell anyone I asked you about this, will you?”

“Of course not!” She leaned in and whispered, “But let me know how it goes.”

Just then Lina and Corrine returned with the wildflowers. Almost as soon as Abigail had gotten them arranged, Prissy Schroeder ran up and asked if she could have some to make a necklace.

Abigail pulled out some Queen Anne’s lace and violets and handed them to her.

After Prissy left, Corrine hissed, “Why are you always so nice to everybody? Lina just brought those to you. She didn’t pick them for Prissy!”

“Corrine, it doesn’t cost a thing to be kind. Don’t you think people are more inclined to be nice to you if you’re nice to them?”

Corrine frowned. “Not her.”

Abigail longed to have heart-to-heart conversations with Corrine, but Corrine was Miss Independent about everything. She had started walking and talking earlier than any of the other children. Before she was a year old, she had teetered into the bedroom one morning with a big grin on her face, going to Robert’s side of the bed.

“I did it!” It was her first full sentence.

“What did you do, pumpkin?” Robert reached down to scoop her into the bed.

She pointed to her and Charlie’s room across the hall. “I did it!” she said again.

“You climbed down? Is that it? And Charlie didn’t help you?”

She nodded.

Robert belly-laughed. “I’m going to have to rename you Monkey.”

Robert had adored Corrine. And of all the children, she was the most like him.

“What else do you want for your picnic?” Abigail asked her now.

The scowl left Corrine’s face and she smiled, thinking.

“You’re beautiful when you smile, Corrine.” Abigail started to add that she should do it more often when she realized Corrine
had
been smiling more. “Are you glad we came on this trip?”

“I’m not sorry we came.” That was a pretty strong affirmation coming from Corrine, who reached for the flour and cleared a space on their worktable. “Do we still have those blackberries the boys found?”

They did. Abigail had let the boys go hunting again once Hoke assured her there were no bison herds nearby. They hadn’t come back with any game, but they had with their shirts loaded—and stained—with blackberries.

Corrine grinned. “I’m going to make blackberry biscuits.”

“Want my help?”

“No.”

“Fine.”

Corrine started cutting butter into the bowl of flour.

“I’ll at least get you the milk.” Abigail grabbed the pail and set off to find the milk cow.

Just before they’d hit the open plains, a bear had killed one of the Douglases’ sheep in the night. Wolves and coyotes sometimes stalked the train, too, so the colonel now kept the livestock a good distance away, posting additional guards to watch both them and the wagon train.

Abigail was bent under the Jersey, squeezing the milk out in long, forceful spurts, when she looked up to see Orin Peters watching her.

She nearly kicked over the bucket.

“Orin!” He hadn’t come near her since the night she’d slapped him.

“Some folks are getting a party together to ride out and get a closer look at Chimney Rock tomorrow, Mrs. Abigail. Do you want to go?”

It was as if his blackmail proposal and her rebuttal had never happened. Still, she didn’t trust him. Her eyes narrowed. “I don’t think so.”

“It’s about eight miles. We’d have to get an early start. Not everyone can go; some need to stay here and watch the stock and wagons.”

Abigail gave the teat a final squeeze and said, “I’ll stay here.”

Orin’s face went red. “Well, let me know if you change your mind.”

Abigail watched him go with a twist in her brow. Orin Peters was beginning to make her skin crawl.

She picked up the milk bucket and walked back toward the wagons with it, stopping to watch Hoke and the other men as they worked on the rafts. The colonel had collected logs in the last supply wagon before they hit the open plains, just for this purpose.

“Think that’ll work?” the colonel asked the men as James tied the last log on one of the rafts with a horsehair rope.

“We can see how they do floatin’ this supply wagon over,” said John Sutler. “Let’s get the wheels off.”

Some of the men worked to take the wheels off the supply wagon while the rest lifted up the raft so the younger boys who were helping could pitch the back of it. Hoke’s arm muscles bulged as he held the raft. He raked the sweat off his brow with his shoulder, then looked back over it at her, as if he could feel her watching him.

It made her self-conscious, so Abigail lowered her chin and walked on.

Harry, James, and Tam were put in charge of the trip to Chimney Rock.

As Abigail stood by her wagon and grudgingly returned Orin Peters’s wave good-bye the next morning, Hoke chuckled behind her ear. “Maybe Orin’ll take an interest in Ingrid Schroeder after spending the day with her.” Hoke’s breath on the back of her neck sent involuntary shivers down Abigail’s spine.

“Maybe he will, but then who would cut your hair?” She shot him the kind of sideways smirk he was always giving others.

“I’ve seen you with scissors. You’re not bad.” He pointed to his gold shirt as testimony.

Was he saying he wanted her to cut his hair? Abigail shook scandalous thoughts from her head and went to get more water from the Platte. The water needed to sit several hours before being used so the silt would settle to the bottom.

“Look, Ma,” whispered Lina when Abigail got back. Her hands were cupped in her lap. “Mr. Hoke brought me a butterfly.” She raised a thumb to show her mother a small white butterfly—the kind that flew by the hundreds over the goldenrod.

“That was nice of him,” said Abigail.

“Yeah. I like him.”

Abigail wasn’t sure if Lina was talking about Hoke or the butterfly.

June 23, 1866

I should not like to live on the plains, Mimi, and cannot believe Nebraska will ever be much settled. I miss the rolling hills of Tennessee. There are several pretty wildflowers, though. The children are helping me collect seeds in case Idaho Territory doesn’t have an ample supply of black-eyed Susans, goldenrod, Jacob’s Ladder, and prairie lilac. Goldenrod is especially plentiful on the open plains.

Abigail shaded her eyes, looking from Chimney Rock to the sun. “How soon do you think they’ll be back?” she asked Melinda.

“I don’t know, before sunset anyway. Don’t worry. They’re with James. And Hoke is out scoutin’.” Hoke and Michael Chessor had crossed the river and ridden out to scout shortly after the others left.

Abigail set down her letter to Mimi and checked on her plants again. She needed to stay busy to keep from worrying. Each time Charlie served on guard duty her heart grew antsy. It felt even worse for Corrine to be so far from the wagon train. Jacob hadn’t been allowed to go, and Prissy Schroeder had. But true to his sunny nature, Jacob hadn’t pouted about it long.

When Hoke rode back into camp midafternoon, Jacob, Cooper Austelle, and Lijah Sutler ran up to him.

“Let’s have games, Mr. Hoke!” cried Jacob.

“We’re asking all the men,” said Lijah.

“Colonel Dotson’s agreed to play,” added Cooper.

Doc Isaacs was standing nearby. “You’re only asking the men? I bet some of the women would play if you asked them.” He winked over at Abigail.

Jacob’s head whipped around. “Would you, Ma?”

She shrugged her shoulders. “I
could
outrun most of the boys in school.” Truth was, Abigail loved games.

Irene McConnelly, who was walking by just then, let out a cackle.

Abigail turned to the younger woman. “Will you join us, Miss McConnelly?” She suddenly burned with a desire to best Irene at something . . . anything.

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

These were the first words Irene had spoken to her since the Fort Kearney incident, and they felt like a slap. Abigail was about to ask Irene outright why she disliked her so much when Jacob tugged her skirt.

“Come on, Ma! We’re getting started.”

Empty feed sacks were collected and lines were drawn on either side of the circle.

The sight of Colonel Dotson hopping in a feed sack sent the smaller children into a frenzy. Abigail soon let go of her anger toward Irene. By the time she and Jacob had tied a bandana around one set of their ankles and raced through the grass, she was laughing as loud as anyone.

When they crossed the line they turned to look at Hoke and Lina behind them. Hoke had told Lina to plant both her feet on his boot and was swinging her along at an awkward gait. Lina had never giggled harder.

When Paddy Douglas outran Colonel Dotson in a footrace later, he beamed and said, “You are not the colonel now, I am!”

Alec told Colonel Dotson, “Now you’ve gone an’ done it. We’ll not be able to live with him.”

Baird, who was holding Carson, set the coon running after baby Will and the Schroeder twins, who
had
started walking after all. They squealed and clapped their hands.

Heads were bobbing for apples in water-filled tubs when the group returned from Chimney Rock. Mr. Austelle pulled his head from the water. “Melinda! Come and kiss me!”

“Mr. Austelle! Shame on you.” Melinda feigned shock and put a hand over her face to hide her laughter.

Prissy ran up to the apple tubs, but Jacob and Lijah barred her from them, saying, “Only the ones who didn’t get to go to Chimney Rock can play.”

Everyone who hadn’t gone to Chimney Rock wanted to know what it was like.

“Corrine drew pictures of it,” Clyde Austelle announced.

“Oh, can I see ’em?” asked Melinda.

Corrine reluctantly showed her pictures.

“Well, aren’t you smart!” admired Melinda.

“Guess what Harry etched in the rock?” piped Prissy Schroeder. “He wrote ‘Harry Sims was here with Tam Woodford.’ What do you think that means?”

Hmmm
s and grins went floating around the camp.

“I think it means Harry Sims was there with Tam Woodford,” said Tam, squinting at her. “What were you doin’ spyin’ on us anyway?”

“I wasn’t spyin’.” Prissy grinned.

“Of course you were. I know how your little mind works. You remind me of me and for your sake, I hope you outgrow it.” Tam eyed Prissy a minute, and then Prissy took off, Tam hot on her heels.

“We’ll all get to see Scott’s Bluff close up,” announced Jacob. “Mr. Peters says it’s better than Chimney Rock anyway.”