At the crest of California Hill, the major reined in his mount and watched the last of the eleven wagons creak past him.
“Dat iss one long pull,” Arvo Ollesen gasped as he tramped by. His younger brother, Cal, leading the team of oxen that strained against the weight of their wagon, lifted his round-topped straw hat but said nothing. Winded, John guessed. They would all need to rest before the next challenge—winching the heavy wagons down the steep bluff just ahead.
The worst would be the Weldon sisters’ blue Conestoga. Bigger than the others, the Conestoga was top-heavy to begin with, and was now loaded to the roof staves with trunks and barrels and that handsome sideboard, which alone must weigh a thousand pounds. He could guess what was packed inside—china, hope chest linen, silver enough for two complete wedding trousseaus.
The thought brought a low groan out of his parched throat. He uncapped his canteen, tipped his head back and drank deep just as Billy reined up beside him.
“That water or whiskey?”
John handed over the container. “Water.”
Billy handed it back. “No thanks. Need somethin’ stronger. Haven’t felt this blowed out since…’member that time three, four summers ago up around—whatsa matter, Major? You look like you seed a ghost.”
John squinted back down the long sloping trail they had just climbed. “Not a ghost, but something. There, behind that hill.”
Billy shaded his eyes with a sun-browned hand. “Prairie haze, maybe. Or smoke.”
“Or dust.” The major dismounted, tossed a handful of dirt into the air and studied it as it sifted downward. “Wind’s from the north. Could be buffalo. Maybe horses.”
“Take a passel of horses to raise that kinda cloud. Whaddya thinkin’, John?”
“I think we need to get off this hill.” He remounted and turned his mare toward the lead wagon. “I’ll talk to Duquette. You warn the others. Don’t scare them, Billy. Just warn them.”
“Right, Major.”
“And Billy…we’ll need good strong rope. All you can find.”
The wagon master bellied up as close as he dared to where John sat his horse. “Are you crazy, Major? The animals are plumb tired out and we haven’t stopped for nooning yet. The men are hungry.”
“Can’t help that, Duquette. We’re too exposed up here.”
“Took us the better part of the day to get up this here hill. It’ll take twice as long to get down.”
“It will probably take half the night, too, considering how steep it is ahead. Now, get moving.”
“I’m damned if I will. No harm in campin’ right here, where we’re standin.’
“Look behind me, Duquette.”
Duquette peered past him. “Nothin’ but a big cloud. Not even any lightning.”
“That’s a Cheyenne war party on the move.”
The wagon master spat in front of the horse. “Now just how would you know that?”
“I’ve seen them before. They like to ride into the wind. They’re heading this way.”
The wagon master’s face changed. “You sure about that?”
“You want to stay and gamble I’m wrong or get down to Ash Hollow and the shelter of some trees?”
“I ain’t afraid to fight.”
“There’s women and children to consider. Move it, Duquette.”
The stocky man stomped away, and John swept off his hat to rake his fingers through his hair. Billy rode up and waited, saying nothing, until John acknowledged him.
“Sooner or later, you ’n Duquette are gonna have it out, and it won’t be pretty.”
“You get enough rope?”
Billy grinned. “Plenty of rope. You wanna string somebody up?”
“Waste of good rope,” the major growled.
“Then let’s dangle a few wagons over the cliff. That’ll give Duquette religion faster’n a deep-river baptism.”
“Put the Ollesen brothers in charge of the animals, Billy. Tell them to drive them down easy to smooth out the path, then corral them back in that grove of trees.”
Billy’s grin widened. “’Member the time the rope busted an’ we lost—? Oh, yessir, Major, I’m goin’.” He sent John a hasty salute and trotted off to help unhitch the oxen.
John stepped his mare to the edge of the bluff and studied the incline. He prayed that eleven men and fifty yards of rope would be enough. Ten men, he amended. Friedrich Stryker was too frail and unsteady on his feet to be much help.
The first wagon over the cliff was Joshua Duquette’s. The wagon master and four other men dug in their heels and paid out the rope tied to the right rear axle and looped about their waists, sweating and grunting against the weight. Another team of four men, including Enos Ramsey and Billy, managed the left axle. Eliza Duquette stood on the butte, wringing her hands and moaning.
The Ollesen brothers “caught” the wagon at the bottom of the slope, hitched up a team to pull it out of the way, then hallooed to signal the winching teams above to send the next wagon.
The men worked until dark, when the only remaining wagon was the blue Conestoga. It was so heavy it took the eight men working the ropes with all their strength just to hold steady. The major added his muscle but still they couldn’t hold on. Boots scrabbled and slid as the loaded wagon over-balanced them.
“Got to unload something more,” the major panted. The hemp around his waist began to slip, and the wagon teetered at the edge. “Somebody get Miss Constance,” he gritted out. “Ask her—”
A clear, firm voice spoke from the knot of women onlookers. “Unload the sideboard.”
“Oh, Cissy, no!”
“The wagon must be lightened, Nettie. We don’t want to spend the night up here, just the two of us in our wagon. We must stay with the others.”
“But…all of our dishes, and Mama’s silver tea service, and… Oh, Cissy.”
“Hush up, Nettie. We should worry about having enough food, not plates to put it on.”
The men pegged the wagon so they could unload the sideboard. When the major and three other men levered the beautifully grained oak piece out onto the ground, Constance turned her face away.
Yes, Mama’s silver. And the goblets she’d brought from England, the gold-edged plates, twelve of them, with the matching—
Her throat closed. She blinked back tears and met the major’s steady gaze.
Nettie dashed across the short distance and threw herself against the major’s chest. “All Mama’s things,” she sniffled. “Oh, my poor heart is just breaking.”
Looking straight at Constance, the major set Nettie aside. “All our hearts are breaking. Nothing of value ever comes for free.”
Constance turned away, biting the inside of her cheek to keep from weeping.
The ordeal was over at last. All the wagons, even the blue Conestoga, were safely assembled on Ash Hollow flat. Cooking fires flickered and smoked, bacon sizzled, the Ramsey baby squalled for its supper.
Suddenly Constance couldn’t stand it one more minute. Snatching off her apron, she started for the makeshift corral the Ollesen brothers had rigged. She was too tired and too heartsick to roll out one more biscuit. Or listen to one more whined complaint. Nettie could cook her own supper.
How had she lived all these years with her sister and not noticed how self-centered she was?
Perhaps it was the baby she carried. Perhaps when a woman conceived, her whole self was filled up with…herself.
She found Molly tethered under an ash tree with a length of worn rope, contentedly chewing her cud. Constance leaned her forehead against the cow’s warm hide and closed her eyes.
How many more days to Fort Laramie? Ten? Nine? Her mind was such a jumble she’d lost track. Nine, that was it. Once again they faced an unbroken plain, with no rivers to ford or steep canyon walls to descend using ropes and manpower. The unimpeded miles would roll by quickly.
Nine days until John married Nettie. Nine days and then she could no longer walk out with him at night to look at the stars, could not stand within the circle of his arms. Not touch him.
Molly flicked her tail and lowed. “Yes, girl. It’s long past milking time, I know.” And no matter how much her head pounded or her heart ached, the business of life had to go on.
Squaring her shoulders, she went to fetch the bucket.
After taking supper at the Ollesen camp, John mounted his horse, rode back up the slope to the top of California Hill and settled down to keep watch. It was too dark to see a dust cloud kicked up by a band of Indians. Too dark to see much of anything but the glow of campfires in Ash Hollow below. He noted that the Cheyenne—if they were Cheyenne—had lit no fires. Only a war party, without women and children, would take such a precaution.
If they were Cheyenne. To his knowledge no white man’s army was in the vicinity except for the garrison at Fort Laramie, and that was a hundred miles farther west.
Sioux, maybe? No. Too far north.
Maybe not Indians at all, but stampeding buffalo? Yet there had been no noise.
John, you’ve got the un-easies, as Billy would say. The question is, Why?
Because things went too smoothly today, despite having to hand-winch eleven wagons down the rough side of a bluff?
Because Nettie Weldon made a fool of herself in front of the whole train and Constance just looked at him, her face calm and her eyes steady?
Something was going to happen, he could feel it at the back of his scalp. Yellow Wolf used to laugh at his “old woman’s premonitions.” That is, until the raid at Straw Creek.
Billy would say he felt nerve-peckish because he hadn’t eaten enough of Arvo’s venison stew.
Colonel Butterworth, damn the man’s hide, would say he had bridegroom’s nerves.
He peered into the dark until his eyes burned. Not a sound except the slow scrick-scrack of crickets and the bawling of a cow somewhere below him. Maybe it was just bridegroom’s nerves. He wouldn’t be the first man to have them.
He shook his head. But he might be the first to get married under threat of an army court-martial. Damned meddling do-gooder. John had never compromised a woman in his life, and the colonel knew it.
He nudged the mare forward, let her pick her own surefooted way down the loose scree. At the foot of the hill he stopped to listen again.
A whippoorwill. A cow. A baby’s cry. A woman singing “Rock of Ages” in a gravelly voice. Billy’s fiddle, low and mournful. It made his insides ache. God Almighty, it was Constance he wanted, not Nettie.
He knew what it was like to lose a woman. He didn’t think he could do it again.
To give himself something to do, he dismounted and started toward the corral.
“Look, mister Major, see what I found?” Ruth, or maybe her twin sister, Essie—he couldn’t tell them apart—swished a curving black feather against his trouser leg. John went down on one knee to take a closer look.
“Yes, it’s very pretty. Where did you find it?”
“On that tree over there. It was tied to a branch, way high up. I got my big brother Parker to reach it for me.”
John’s heartbeat tripled. “Which tree, honey? Show me.”
She grasped his hand and tugged him forward.
“Sure as shooting,” he muttered when he saw the deer-hide thong had been laced around the limb of an already yellowing ash. “Been here and gone, and not too long ago.”
He turned the child around. “Run home to your wagon, Ruth. It’s time for—
“I’m Essie,” the child announced. “Can I keep my pretty feather?”
“Sure you can, Essie. Time for bed now.”
“First, I’m gonna kiss you good-night.” She brushed her small mouth against his raspy cheek and raced away.
John rose, his hand touching the spot. Good God, by Christmas he would have a child of his own to protect. And a wife, as well. But it wouldn’t be Constance. Instead of joy, he felt despair roll over him.
He’d thought it out long and hard. It wouldn’t be easy, but it would at least afford Constance a respectable future.
Not if you don’t find her before that renegade Indian does. The feather was a sign that Yellow Wolf wanted to talk.
The thought drove him forward, toward the corral. Last he’d seen Constance, she was heading down to milk Molly.
She came up the path toward him, her head down, the milk bucket in her left hand. He lifted it away and set it down.
“I want you to sleep inside your wagon tonight.”
“I can’t, John. Nettie and I have such awful arguments.”
“Then come to our camp, Billy’s and mine. Yellow Wolf is around, wants to parley. Also might want to steal something.”
Her hand went to her mouth. “Not the cow!”
He shook his head. “Not the cow. You.”
“He wouldn’t dare. Would he? He thinks I belong to you.”
“I don’t know what he thinks. If he was watching us today, saw Nettie and me—”
She gave a little gasp. “Watching us?”
“You know he’s trailing us. Your bread’s probably keeping him alive.”
“Yes, I…I will come to your camp—oh, no, I can’t. Nettie would be alone, and she gets frightened at night.”
John put his hands on her shoulders. “Walk into those trees with me.”
“But, John…”
“Walk,” he said quietly. “We need to be private.”
Well hidden within the copse of ash trees, John turned her toward him. “I think Billy and I will relocate our camp. Starting tonight, we’ll roll our beds out on each side of your wagon. If anyone remarks on it, I’ll tell them I’m protecting my fiancée. And her sister.”
“That is thoughtful of you, John. And generous. I know how much your privacy means to you.”
“Not half as much as your life means to me. This way I can be sure you’re safe.”
She laid her palms on his forearms, moved her fingers over the warm skin. “Safe,” she whispered.
“Safe. We both know that’s going to have to be enough.”
She looked up into his eyes. “It isn’t.”
“I know.” He bent, kissed her mouth until they both trembled with wanting. “It’s the best I can do, Constance. It’s got to be enough, or I can’t—”
“This is enough.” She drew his head down to hers. “I cannot think beyond this moment.”
“Maybe that’s better,” he said, his voice rough. “It hurts to look back, hurts to look forward.” He waited three heartbeats before he could go on. “There’s something I want you to know. Little Star was my wife.”
“I know,” she said in a soft voice. “I was never going to ask.”
“I loved her.”
“Yes.”
“And I love you. I thought I was dead inside, that a woman would never matter to me again as long as I lived.”
“You were wrong, John. And I am glad for it, even if we cannot—”
He stopped her words with his lips. She could feel him fight for control, then give up and hungrily take what she offered. His tongue was hot and smooth, and her thighs ached.
“Constance,” he whispered. “Constance.”
After a long, long moment, she stepped back out of his arms. Her entire body burned with hunger, with joy, with rage for what could not be hers. It was all so mixed up inside.
He put his hand at her back. “Come on. I won’t feel easy talking with Yellow Wolf until I know you’re safe and Billy’s on guard.” He retrieved the milk pail and they retraced their steps. Just before they reached the clearing where the wagons sat, he stopped and took her hand.
“There is more about Little Star.”
“I guessed as much.”
“I will tell you, when I am able.”
“You need not, John. Ever. I will not ask.”
“I want you to know, Constance. I will tell you when I can face it myself.”