Unconquerable Callie (18 page)

Callie had hoped Seth would forget what he’d said the night before. He didn’t. The coffee had barely finished brewing when she heard his footsteps.

“Morning.” She called the greeting over her shoulder, as she bent to the campfire, sliding the bubbling coffeepot onto a bank of coals.

“Smelled that coffee before I rounded your wagon.” Seth squatted down beside the blackened pot and poured two cups. “Hot.” He grinned as he fanned his hand, slapping the palm against his leg.

“It usually is,” Callie said with a grin, “when it’s been sitting over a hot fire. “It hasn’t had a chance to settle. We’ve probably got grounds.” She peered into her cup.

“Don’t matter. I’ll just chew them,” he joked. “I’ve only got time for a quick sip or two anyway. But”—he drew the word out—“I’ve got time for you to tell me what’s going on.”

“Why, Seth. What do you mean?”

“Don’t give me that innocent act, Callie Collins. I know you well enough now to recognize all the signs. What’s up with Phyllis Monroe?”

“Nothing,” Callie stammered. “Nothing at all. She’s just not feeling up to scratch lately. Probably nothing more than something she ate.”

“Probably,” Seth agreed, his voice easy in the morning. “Saw me a woman once that ate a watermelon seed. Swelled up something fierce. Yep.” He stared into the fire as he shook his head, his eyes twinkling. “Something fierce.”

Callie choked, coffee spewing out of her mouth.

“Easy there.” He jumped up and energetically patted her back. Each blow sent her stumbling. “Coffee go down the wrong way?”

“Seth McCallister, you stop pounding on my back before you break it.”

“Just trying to help.”

“Oh you’re a big help. A real big help. Watermelon seed.” She coughed again.

He raised his eyebrows, the picture of innocence. “Well, now, Callie, you’re the one said it was something she ate. I was just agreeing. You don’t think it’s something she ate?”

“You know it isn’t,” she sputtered. “You know darn well what it is.”

“Well, now, I guess since you’ve decided I already know it won’t be like you’re breaking your promise to fill me in. Will it?”

“You’re a conniving, manipulative, scheming—”

“Yep,’ he chuckled. “I am at that. And you’re a beautiful, sassy, irritating, thorn-in-my-side, woman.”

“Hmmpf. All right. Phyllis is expecting. But—” She held up her hand. “—she doesn’t want Jacob to know. She doesn’t want him to worry.”

‘Callie”—Seth’s voice was gentle, full of sweet concern—“if I was Jacob, and my wife was going to give me such a precious gift, I’d want to know so’s I could look out for her, help her. It’s not right to keep this from him.”

“I agree. But Phyllis is worried about being older. She’s afraid that once Jacob knows, he’ll not want to go on to Oregon. It would be the end of their dream.”

“Lots of land between here and Oregon,” Seth said musingly. “Some beautiful ranch land in Wyoming. Wouldn’t be the worst thing to stop and settle there.” His eyes had a faraway look as he posed his next question. “Think you’d like Wyoming, Callie?”

Callie almost choked at the question. Did Seth know Wyoming was her destination? No, he couldn’t. He was just asking for Phyllis’ sake.

“I could love Wyoming, if it’s anything at all like I’ve read. Equality, the right to vote, open spaces. Yes, I could settle there.” Then, afraid she’d given too much away, she said, “Seth, you can’t tell Jacob.”

“No, I won’t. That’s Phyllis’ place. But what I can do is keep an eye on things. If Phyllis puts herself in harm’s way, by not letting him know, I’ll insist she tell. That’s only fair, Callie.”

“I agree.”

“You do?”

“Of course I do. I made Phyllis promise she’d tell him when we reach South Pass City, if not sooner. That’s halfway, isn’t it?”

“Yes.” He set the cup down. “I’d better get us ready to move out.” He moved toward her. “Still like them buckskins on you, Mister.” In one quick step, he pulled her to him, lightly brushing his lips across hers. He reveled in their petal softness, longing to taste more and more of her sweetness. It took every ounce of his self-control not to. Then, just as quickly, he was gone, leaving her heart beating like a frightened bird.

Several hours later, Henry Henry hollered at the sighting of Chimney Rock rising up in the distance. But the closer they got to the rock, the farther away it appeared, teasing them, enticing them to come close, then, like a shy maiden, retreating out of reach. Although the air was thin, several had made plans for the climb tomorrow, and everyone looked forward to a day of rest. The worry of the route, through what some referred to as Devil’s Gap, made them dread moving on and reaching Scott’s Bluff.

They circled the wagons for the night and around each camp the talk was of Robidoux Pass or the windy howling gap as a route. Onnie had been busy planting the seeds of doubt. While few believed anything the swaggering man said, there were a handful of complainers looking for any excuse to find fault. Still, Seth was popular as a leader, well respected and trusted. If he said the gap was the best route, then the gap it would be. Meanwhile, they’d learned to put worries aside and enjoy anytime they could to relax and be lighthearted.

Seth kept to himself that night. Callie was relieved. She didn’t know what to make of this morning, or how to act around this enigmatic man.

Early the next morning, before the heat of the day sapped strength, she, Jacob, and Caleb joined others in climbing the formidable rock. Proudly, they carved their names in the hard stone. Seth and Henry Henry wasn’t part of the group, deciding to scout the trail beyond Chimney Rock.

That evening found the exhausted climbers gathered at the Monroe’s camp. Seth acted as if the tender morning kiss hadn’t happened. Taking her cue from him, she related her and Caleb’s climb and teasing Caleb unmercifully, embellishing on how she’d let him climb higher than her just so he could save face. Teasing and joking along with generous portions of bread pudding made it a pleasant evening. Tomorrow would be another day of endless travel.

“Caleb,” Seth said, “would you mind going to each camp and letting everyone know I’d like to have a general meeting tonight? I’d like everyone that can attend.”

“Something the matter, Seth?” Callie asked.

“No. And I don’t want it to be. We’re going to head off anything. Phyllis,” he said, rising to his feet, “I thank you for the wonderful meal. Seems I’m always beholden to you for your hospitality.”

“Seth, you know you and Henry Henry are always welcome. Our pot stays full and it’s largely due to you two.”

Callie met his gaze for a long moment, before he turned away. “I’ll see all of you later, at the meeting.”

Henry Henry followed him, leaving silence behind.

“Wonder what that’s all about?” Jacob asked.

Callie shrugged and began pouring water into the dishpan, anxious to get to the meeting and find out what was putting the worried furrows in Seth’s brow.

Once they were all gathered for the meeting, he didn’t keep them in suspense. He cleared his throat, and the talking died to a few mumbles.

“Thank you for coming. Hope you all had a nice day of rest and climbing.”

His words were greeted by nods and smiles.

“I’ve called this meeting because I have something grave to tell you.” Worried murmurs reverberated throughout the crowd. “Henry Henry and I rode out early this morning to scout the trail ahead. It’s nothing more than what we’ve been through.”

“Until you come to the gap,” Onnie Simple interjected.

Heads turned in his direction. He plucked his stubby fingers at his suspenders and puffed out with importance.

“We’ll get into that later, Onnie,” Seth said. “Right now we have another problem that we need to head off.” A quiet wind of apprehensive whispers followed.

Callie shifted on the suddenly hard ground.
What now?

“Cholera.”

Callie closed her eyes and tried to steady her breathing. She’d never seen anyone with cholera, but she’d heard about this dreaded illness. Helplessness filled her at the seemingly endless challenges this trail could place in their path.

“Just a minute, McCallister. What do you mean Cholera? Ain’t no one sick. You ain’t got no right to be scaring good folks just to make yourself—”

“Onnie, shut up!” Henry called out. “Go on, Seth.”

“I’ll tell you all I know. It isn’t much. No one seems to know a lot about cholera except it’s thought to come about from water—dirty water. So far our streams have appeared clear. But up ahead, Henry and I found several brackish and smelly streams.” He held up his hand to still the rising murmurs. “Look, I’m not saying the water is full of cholera. But what I am saying is until we reach Wyoming, primarily Fort Laramie, we’ll boil every drop of water we drink. Children and older folks are the most susceptible. For some reason, the water around Fort Laramie is good, with no threat. It’s been said the streams are faster moving in Wyoming, so maybe that’s the reason.”

“What are the symptoms? How do we know we got it?” A father held his small son’s hand.

Instead of answering the question, Seth asked, “Miz Franklin, you in this group?”

“Right here.” She stepped to the front.

“Have you seen Cholera?”

“I have. Seen it and treated it. Lost a little girl to it.”

“Would you mind taking the ladies aside and going through the symptoms? Sounds better coming from another woman.”

“Be glad to.”

“Thank you. If the men will stay, I’ll talk symptoms with you. But don’t walk off just yet, ladies,” he said. “We’re all clear that from this moment on that we boil our water?” He waited until everyone nodded.

Callie and the other women started to get to their feet, but paused at Seth’s next words.

“Okay. Now, Onnie Sample has brought up our route. I’m sure he’s been conscientious in letting everyone know his point of view.”

Heads nodded and grins broke out. Onnie had been strutting around like a rooster making sure everyone heard his crowing.

“In a few days, we’ll be at another landmark I set my sights on. Scotts Bluff. Onnie’s right, there is a trail going around the bluff.”

“Told ya.” Onnie snickered.

Seth went on, “It’s an okay trail. Been used a lot in the past. I’ve used it a time or two myself. But it’s the long way around, known as Robidoux Pass. We’re not taking it. We’re going through the bluff.” He waited before going on, letting people voice their opinion amongst themselves. After a few minutes, he held his hand up for silence.

“I’m not going to stand here and tell you this gap is without its problems. It can be treacherous and difficult. And, as I’m sure you’ve heard, there’s winds that come howlin’ through the gap. Strong winds. But,” and he emphasized the word, “it’s shorter. I took that route my last two trains and made it just fine. Folks, I wouldn’t make this decision if I thought it wrong. I plan to be at Independence Rock by the fourth of July.”

A cheer went up from the crowd.

“I don’t plan on taking a risk on not making Oregon before snow fall. We can’t and we won’t. We’re taking the shorter route. Any questions?”

“And if we don’t agree? Onnie asked belligerently.

“Well, Onnie. That would be your choice. You can go whichever way you want. But as long as I’m captain of this train, we’ll go my way.”

The silence could be cut with a knife. Onnie glared at Seth and started to challenge him. But the look on Seth’s face stopped the words in his mouth. He turned on his heel and, muttering curses, stomped off.

There were no more questions and the crowd broke up into two groups. Seth knew he would have to keep an eye on Onnie Simple. But in the meantime, he had good, trusting people to watch out for. People who looked to him for wisdom and guidance.

The next few days passed uneventfully, with each one bringing them closer to Scotts Bluff. Seth came by for his morning coffee, but there was no repeat of that magical kiss. He always had a reason for not being able to stay more than a few minutes, and the minutes he did spend in her company seemed guarded. She missed the easy flow that had existed between them.

On a trail that was endless and exhausting, everyone longed for the end, but Callie dreaded each mile that brought them closer to South Pass City. Constantly she asked herself the same question,
How will I endure seeing Seth ride off, knowing I’ll never see this extraordinary man again?
Over and over, she rehearsed, in her mind, confessing her lies and half-truths. And, over and over, she imagined his face, filling with disgust and loathing, for the way she’d misled him and everyone else. She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t take the risk of him hating her. Still, she replayed the scenario again and again. Nights were the worse and sleep eluded her. Tired beyond belief, she walked around with a feeling of impending doom hanging over her like a cold river fog.

The days did pass, though. And when Callie first saw the bluffs looming before them, bursting with lofty majesty, she knew she would never forget their grandeur. The wagons circled at the base and people milled about, whispering over the awesome scenery. A church-like reverence punctuated each description of the formations. But while people were awed, many were intimidated by the splendor and voiced their worries about traversing through the gap.

Seth was everywhere that evening, a calming influence. His words of confidence and encouragement brought smiles and ease to worried faces. Callie filled with pride at how this one man was able to soothe, inspire, and lead. They would be moving out early tomorrow morning, taking on whatever the pass could throw at them.

She was lifting yet another pot of boiling drinking water from the campfire when a shot rang out through the camp. Heart pounding, she threw the lifting rag to the ground and raced in the direction of the sound. The closer she got sounds of raised voices and shouting reached her. Her mouth went dry. A premonition of overwhelming grief washed over her, as she pushed her way through a group of men surrounding a small boy. The child held a rifle and looked down at the sprawled figure of a man, his head bloody, his eyes closed. There was no sign of life in the inert form.

Callie watched the boy gulping back tears and sobs. Then she studied the prone figure.

Seth.

From a distance, she heard someone screaming then realized the sound came from her own throat as she stumbled forward and fell to her knees beside him.

“Seth,” she cried. “No. Oh, Seth. No.”

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to do it. I was just playing I was hunting.” The boy choked out the words.

Callie cradled Seth’s head in her lap, her hands sticky with his warm blood. She looked up with grief-stricken eyes as Henry Henry and Jacob pushed through the crowd.

“Callie, you move aside now and let me have a look see. Caleb, you get this boy to his parents. Phyllis, help Callie.” Jacob barked orders out to the stunned group. “Someone get Miz Franklin. Hurry.”

“I’m not moving, Jacob. Don’t ask me to.” Callie’s voice was hoarse and unchecked tears rolled down her face. “Is he . . . Is he—?”

“No.” Henry bellowed. “He’s not. He’s still breathin’.” He leaned closer to Seth’s body. “Seth, durn it. You hang tough. We still got this trail to ride.” The man’s voice broke.

“You, there. Step aside and let me through.” Mrs. Franklin’s plump body broke through the crowd. She knelt down and with gentle hands turned Seth’s head to the side. “Get me a clean cloth so I can see what damage’s been done.” In a matter of seconds, several clean rags were thrust at her. Gently, she dabbed at the blood still flowing from his forehead, down his cheeks, and onto his shirt.

Callie watched, holding her breath, hurting with every dab of the cloth. He was so still, so very still and pale. She swallowed hard. Henry had said Seth was alive. Henry had said he was still breathing. She would hang onto those precious words, holding them tightly to her because she wouldn’t, couldn’t, allow her mind to run wild with any other possibility. Seth was alive. Hurt, but alive. With trembling fingers, she brushed his hair, tipped red with his blood, back from his eyes.

Breathing as if one, everyone silently waited for Mrs. Franklin to finish her examination.

Agonizing minutes later, she glanced over at Callie and gave her a faint smile.

“Grazed his head, it did.” She shook her head. “Few more inches, and, well, we won’t dwell on that.” She sniffed. “Head wounds bleed like the dickens and that’s good. Washes them right out. He’s hurt, but he’ll make it.”

A collective sigh passed through the crowd. To lose Seth would be to not only lose their leader, but someone many called friend.

“Believe we best move him,” Mrs. Franklin said.

“Take him to my wagon,” Callie said quietly.

“Well now, lass, that’s not such a good idea, you being a lone woman and all,” Mrs. Franklin said.

“My wagon,” Callie reiterated firmly. “I’ve got the most room. Jacob—” She looked imploringly at the man.

Jacob nodded. “Need a couple more strong backs here,” he called out.

Several men pushed forward, eager to help in any way.

“You and you, pick up his legs. Callie, you hold his head and Henry and I will take his arms. Easy, now. Miz Franklin, we’d be grateful for any help you can give us. Phyllis will help, too.” He looked over at his wife, her eyes wide in a too-white face. “Phyllis, are you okay?” Immediate concern etched his words.

“Oh, yes. Of course, Jacob. I just—”

Jacob’s didn’t wait for her explanation. His attention returned to Seth and the men carefully lifting his body.

“Steady now. Don’t jar him more’n you have to,” Henry warned.

“I’ll take his head, Callie.” Mrs. Franklin nudged her. “You run on ahead and get a pallet ready.”

Callie didn’t want to release her hold on Seth. Holding him meant he was alive. She couldn’t let go.

“Callie.” Mrs. Franklin’s voice penetrated the fog surrounding her. “You go on now. The sooner we get him settled the better. He’s going to have a headache to beat all when he comes to. I want him still and settled before that.”

Callie knew she was right, but that didn’t make letting someone else take her place any easier.

Phyllis took her arm. “I’ll help.” With those two words, she urged Callie forward.

Stumbling, Callie hurried to her wagon. It was as if a lifetime had passed since she had just finished boiling tomorrow’s drinking water and heard the gunshot.

The two women worked quickly, moving barrels and shoving stacks of supplies to the front of the wagon, enlarging Callie’s small sleeping space to make room for Seth’s bigger body.

The sound of footsteps drew closer as the men carrying Seth’s body arrived. The back flap flew up and Mrs. Franklin grunted her way through the opening.

“Easy,” she ordered, backing ahead of the men and skirting the pallet.

“Callie, I’ll need me some more clean rags and hot water. We got to clean that wound and it’s best done while he’s out. Jacob, sent that boy of yours to my wagon. Tell my oldest girl to give him my medicine satchel. I got salve in there that stinks to the high heavens, but it’ll heal most anything. Now, the rest of you back on outta here. I need space to work. Callie. The rags and hot water.” There was no doubt who was in charge. Everyone scuttled to do Mrs. Franklin’s bidding.

Callie stole a quick glance at Seth’s still face. She didn’t know much about wounds, but what she saw scared her. How could anyone live after losing that much blood?

Seth’s wound was cleaned, and as the bleeding slowed, Callie could better see the red furrow where the bullet had plowed across his head. Her stomach clenched as she turned away. She realized how close he had come to death.

Finally, salve applied and bandage in place, Mrs. Franklin settled herself in for the night. Phyllis left with Jacob and returned with a cold supper. Callie couldn’t eat hers, but Mrs. Franklin had no trouble. Seth hadn’t regained consciousness and the broth Phyllis had made for him remained untouched.

Mrs. Franklin tried to send Callie away with Phyllis.

“No sense in two of us bein’ uncomfortable. I aim to be here should he wake up. You go on to the Monroe’s now.”

“Mrs. Franklin, I appreciate you. I really do. You’ve been a godsend for Seth, and a doctor for the entire train. He couldn’t be in better hands.” Mrs. Franklin puffed up at the words. “But . . . I can’t leave. Should he wake up or,” her voice weakened, “take a turn for the worse, I have to be close. Don’t you see?”

“Nope, young lady, can’t say as I do.” She peered suspiciously at Callie’s worried face. “You’re actin’ as if Seth McCallister were your man. My understandin’ is you’ve got a fiancé waiting for you in Oregon. Ain’t that so?”

Callie gulped. She was tired of lying, tired of hiding the truth. “Uh, you see, Seth’s a friend. I know he’s not my man, as you said, but . . . but I care for him,” she faltered, “like a-like a brother.” She finished lamely, not daring to meet the eyes of the woman.

“A brother, huh? Well I don’t know about that. I do know you ain’t much older than my oldest girl and I sure wouldn’t allow her to spend the night with a strange man.”

The woman gave a self-righteous sniff and settled herself deeper into the quilt Callie had provided.

“Thank you, Mrs. Franklin,” Callie said, hoping to appease the woman. “My aunt raised me the same way. However, Seth isn’t a strange man and here I’ll stay.”

“Well, I’m not surprised,” Mrs. Franklin muttered to herself. “Cuttin’ your hair, wearin’ men’s clothes, ridin’ like a man. Hmmpf.” She crossed her arms across her ample chest and closed her eyes in disapproval. Within minutes her snoring shook the wagon.

Seth moaned a couple times during the night and once, when Callie had taken his hand, he groaned what sounded like her name. Callie held her breath, waiting, whispering comforting words, begging him to open his eyes, willing him to live. Through it all, Mrs. Franklin snored and Callie watched.

She was still holding his hand, when morning finally came. Mrs. Franklin shifted her bulk and raised up, yawning mightily. “Didn’t sleep a wink,’ she declared. “Not a wink. Kept my eyes right on him.” She leaned over Seth’s quiet form. “Got a little more color. He’ll come around before long.” She gave Callie a hard look. “Could use me a cup of coffee,” she said.

Reluctantly, Callie laid Seth’s hand back by his side and covered it with the quilt. “Of course. I could use one myself. I’ll stir up the fire and see if there’s any hot coals left from last night.” She slipped out of the wagon and took a deep breath of the fresh morning air. Just yesterday Seth had been by her side, teasing and laughing, as they shared coffee. Just yesterday. Now so much had changed. Seth lay still inside her wagon, and she stood here, alone, wondering if he’d ever join her again.

Pushing those thoughts aside, she stirred the banked coals and added some buffalo chips from a nearby basket. Shifting the pot to the front, where the coals were the hottest, she added water and grounds. Dipping water from another pot, she filled a basin and washed up. Once again, she blessed the buckskins. They could take a beating and not look it. She combed her fingers through her short curls and, grabbing up her rifle, went to find a private spot.

People were up and breakfast smells wafted in the air. Callie skirted the wagons, not wanting to stop and talk. The camp gave every appearance of a normal day, when breakfast was a hurried affair, so wagons could be hitched. What would they do? Would they move on without Seth at the lead, his reassuring voice ringing out “Wagon’s Ho?” Or would they lay over and lose a precious day of traveling? What would he want them to do?

These thoughts crowded her head as she made her way back to her wagon. She poured two cups of the boiling coffee and took one to Mrs. Franklin. The woman had fallen back to sleep.

Didn’t sleep a wink, ha!
Callie thought. Mrs. Franklin was taking advantage of her new position, and she would expect to be waited on hand and foot, while she rode close to Seth’s side. That was fine. Seth being looked after was more important than anything else.

Carrying her coffee and ever-present rifle with her, Callie headed for the Monroe’s wagon.

“Now I’m telling you, Onnie, Seth is still the captain of this train.”

Callie was just rounding the side of the wagon when Jacob’s voice carried in the morning air.

“Captain has to be able to lead,” Onnie’s belligerent voice answered. “McCallister’s in no shape. Might even be dead for all we know.”

“We don’t know that, and until we do, he’s the captain.”

“I don’t think so, Monroe. I’m takin’ over this here train. McCallister was leadin’ us into danger. Now me, I’m takin’ us through Robidoux pass.”

“We aren’t going anywhere,” Jacob bit off each word. “Henry Henry rode out early this morning, scouting the gap. We’ll move out as planned, right on schedule, taking the route Seth—”

“I said we’ll be taking Robidoux Pass,” Onnie shouted. “I got me a few men that agree that’s the route to be a takin’.”

“Now you listen here, Simple—”

“No, you listen,” Onnie’s bellow drowned out Jacob’s voice. “I don’t want to do you no harm, Monroe, but I’ll shoot you, I will. I ain’t puttin’ me and this train at risk. I’m the best man for the job and I got this rifle here to back me up. Stand aside. I don’t give a damn what you or Henry Henry says. From now on, we’re doin’ things my way.”

“No, Mr. Simple. We’ll be doing things
my
way.” Callie stepped from behind the wagon, rifle pointed at Onnie Simple’s head.

“Well if it ain’t the little girlie that thinks she’s a man. Better put down that rifle fer you get hurt. I ain’t never shot me no woman, but I will.”

“Onnie, don’t do something you’ll regret,” Callie warned. “Seth’s awake and talking. He’ll be up and about before long. He’s the leader of this wagon train
.” What was another lie?

“Don’t see him standin’ here. Now, is he? You wouldn’t be tellin’ a whopper, would you? Don’t never mind.” He raised his rifle to his shoulder. “I’m through a talkin’. I’ll try an’ pink you, girlie, but I’ll drill the next shot right through Monroe’s heart.”

Not waiting another second, Callie peered through the sights, her finger tightening on the trigger. The rifle butt slammed into her shoulder, and the shot rang in her ears, along with Onnie’s cry of pain. His rifle flew into the air and he grabbed his bloody hand, screaming.