I stood atop a lone steep hill. Before me the flowering grasses of the prairie rolled in the wind like the Atlantic before a storm, and the enormous sky surrounded me like a pale blue shawl. I closed my eyes and enjoyed the warmth of the setting sun on my face and the cool breeze tickling my skin. I inhaled and basked in the unique scent of the prairie: flowers, dust, and very faintly, rain.
I turned and watched our wagon train make its way up the Western Trail. Far to the north and just in sight, the trail boss and the chuck wagon were setting up camp for the night. Roughly a half mile away from the night’s campsite three schooners and five supply wagons bumped and rattled over the uneven ground. After a small gap, Amos Pike’s unhappy herd of cattle stretched out for over a mile. The plaintive mooing of 750 cattle and the whistles and whoops of the cowboys driving them floated on the wind and to my ears. Try as I might, I could not escape the sound.
As far as I could see to the east were herds of cattle destined for the railheads in Kansas. We were a little apart and farther to west by necessity. Our herd was not bound for the Kansas market but for Fort Sill in Indian Territory, for distribution to more remote forts as well as the Indians who had reluctantly given up their roving way of life for one reliant on the generosity of the government.
I pushed my wind-whipped hair from my face and saw a small retinue of two wagons and ten riders moving up our western flank.
“Well, well. It looks as if our Army escort has arrived,” I said. Maureen would be relieved.
I thrilled at the thought of new people to talk to. My fellow travelers were pleasant enough, but ten days into the journey our nighttime conversation had lagged. Our sole fiddle player knew only two songs, and those not very well.
I turned back to the setting sun and marveled at how, in a few minutes, the scenery had changed. The dusty green of the swaying prairie grasses gave way to a sky ablaze with colors I had not seen since the sun set on the battlefield at Antietam. At the time, I credited the bloodied sky with God’s anger at man’s idiocy and hubris, at the wanton waste of life He witnessed that day. Here on the prairie I saw again the intense red color of an angry God, now tempered with beautiful purples, golds, and deep blues. I longed for the tools needed to sketch what I saw, to put these colors on paper so in years to come I could remember beauty and destruction are inexorably linked in nature and in the heart of man.
* * *
“Where have you been?” Maureen demanded when I entered the camp.
“On top of the world,” I replied. I held out a spray of wildflowers. Maureen took them with disgust.
“One of these days you’re going to wander off and be snatched up by them savages, mark my word.” She shook the flowers in my face.
“Thank you for the flowers, Laura. They’re beautiful.” I intoned in an imitation of her Irish brogue. “I thought you’d like them.”
Maureen would not be swayed from her point, so I let her make it. “They’ll do all sorts of unspeakable things to you and I’ll have to live with the vision of it my entire life.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Maureen,” I chided. I removed my old slouch hat and tossed it in the back of our wagon. “They wouldn’t dare attack so close to the fort, nor this large of a train.”
She lowered her voice. “They don’t think like us, Katie. Mind you listen to me for once and stay close.”
There was real fear in her eyes. Unlike me, she had taken Ester’s stories about the Comanche and Kiowa as the gospel truth. It did not help that when we passed the many abandoned homesteads along the trail, Amos Pike became a raconteur, terrifying everyone with stories of his time as a Texas Ranger before the war. No storyteller worth their salt would shy away from making a tale larger and more colorful than the actual event, and savage Indian tales were ripe for elaboration. The more I heard about the atrocities of the Indians the more I had to believe at least some of it was true. However, Amos, his teamsters, and his cowboys made me feel safe. Maureen, on the other hand, was certain of our impending doom. With the Army arrived and with the knowledge we were less than a day’s ride from Fort Richardson, I saw no need to argue with her. I put my arm around her shoulder. “If it will make you easy, I will stay nearer the wagon train.”
“Thank you.”
“I will shove cotton in my ears to muffle the sound of the cattle and pinch my nose against the smell.”
“I don’ even hear them anymore. You can amputate a limb without flinching, but the sound of mooing cattle gets on your nerves.”
“You are not the first to think I am full of strange contradictions, and you will not be the last.”
Maureen reached under the buckboard and handed my holster and gun to me. “Wear this.”
“It does not fit.”
“I had Herr Schlek punch a new notch for you.” She shook the holster at me.
“Do you not trust when I say I won’t wander off?”
“You’ve never listened to me before, why would you now?”
I took the holster and cinched it around my waist. It fit perfectly. Maureen stepped forward and tucked the extra leather beneath the belt. “There. Now I feel better.”
Her goal accomplished, Maureen turned her attention to unhitching Piper and Púca from the wagon while I struggled to remove the gun from its holster. “I’m doing something wrong.”
“Twist it around to the other side, so the handle faces front,” Maureen said. She patted the oxen on the neck. “That’s how Cornelius wears his.”
“Cornelius doesn’t strike me as an experienced gunfighter,” I said. I twisted the belt around and drew the gun across my body. “Well, I’ll be damned. It is easier.”
“Katie!”
Everyone was too busy setting up camp to notice Maureen’s slip. I glared at her in admonition.
“Now don’t you go turning into a heathen because you’re living on the frontier. I won’t have it.”
“Don’t call me Katie,” I said in an undertone. We stared at each other, waiting for the other to crack. I did not want to fight with Maureen. I wanted to regain the tranquility from the hill. I holstered my gun. “I see the cavalry has arrived.”
Maureen relaxed, sure of her victory. “None other than Uncle Billy himself.”
“General Sherman?”
“In the flesh.”
Maureen led the animals toward the creek while I unpacked the wagon. I could not help craning my neck in hopes of catching a glimpse of the general, though I did not expect to see him among the soldiers setting up camp for the night.
I set to my tasks by rote, thinking of General Sherman and his brazen march through Georgia to the sea. Southerners reviled him for leaving a swath of destruction behind him and for the audacity of gifting the city of Savannah to President Lincoln for Christmas in ’64. His men loved him for his boldness in the field, his unwavering loyalty to the Union, and his firm belief the Southerners deserved what they got for the temerity of seceding from the Union. I admired him for doing what was necessary, no matter how repugnant, to break the will of the enemy and win the war. The campfire conversation between ex-Confederate Pike and General Sherman promised to be interesting.
By the time Maureen returned from watering Piper and Púca and gathering wood, our Dutch oven full of beans was hanging on the tripod, waiting for the fire. The ingredients for biscuits and a grinder full of coffee beans were on a crate, which served as our makeshift worktable. As Maureen worked on the fire, I took the kettle and a bucket to the creek for water.
I walked a little ahead of the campsite for water unspoiled by the animals and gently picked my way down the creek bank, using the trees as handholds and the exposed roots as stair steps, paying little attention to the creek itself. When I reached the edge, I discovered Sherman sitting in the middle of the creek, bare chested and smoking a cigar. I stumbled the remainder of the way down the bank and almost fell into the creek myself. My face flamed with embarrassment, more from my clumsiness than his nakedness.
Knowing it was what was expected of me, I averted my eyes. “Pardon me, sir. I did not know anyone was around.”
“No. I expect you did not.” Sherman’s clothes hung haphazardly on the low-lying limb of a cottonwood tree, his red long johns standing out from the dark blue and gray of his uniform like a bloody gash. “Please, retrieve your water.”
I smiled my thanks and filled my containers.
“I am William Sherman.”
“Laura Elliston.”
“Where are you from, Mrs. Elliston?”
“Boston, by way of London.” Like Ester, my fellow travelers accepted my false history without comment or concern. In fact, I seemed to care more about telling my background than they did about hearing it. No questions were asked of me, nor did I ask questions of them. I suspected we all had our secrets.
“What brings you to Texas?”
“Opportunity and adventure.”
He took a long drag of his cigar and appraised me, his eyes lingering on my gun.
“Have we met before?”
I straightened, immediately on my guard. Had Sherman seen my Wanted poster, or a newspaper article about me? It was a question I asked myself nearly every time I met someone new. I forced a smile. “I have not had the honor.”
Of course a man like Sherman was unaffected by the compliment. He expected people to be honored to meet him, especially women. “You have met so many people, I suppose everyone you meet seems familiar.”
It was a pathetic justification, but he appeared to be satisfied by it. He removed his cigar and used it to point to his clothes. “There is a bar of soap in my pants pocket. Would you be so kind as to throw it to me? Mind you do not throw it over my head. I would hate to have to make explanations to your husband.”
I tossed the bar of soap to him perfectly, making a neat splash of water into his face. “I am not married, and have been quite capable of guarding my own virtue these many years.”
He shoved the cigar in his mouth and nodded to my gun. “I imagine you are.”
I executed a low curtsy; too pleased by half with the image the gun gave me. I doubted Maureen considered this particular protection when she forced the gun on me but would be satisfied with the benefit, nonetheless. I picked up the kettle and bucket to leave.
“Miss Elliston, please allow me to carry the bucket to your wagon. It is the least I can do for your service to me.” He held the soap aloft.
I inclined my head, set the bucket on the ground, and scrambled up the side of the creek bank with as much grace as I could muster while holding a kettle full of water. A young soldier carrying a clean uniform for the general met me at the top of the bank.
“Ma’am.”
I inclined my head and walked toward our wagon, where Maureen stirred an impressive fire. “Where’s the rest?”
I decided to wait to tell her of Sherman. It would be worth it to see her face if Sherman delivered the bucket of water himself. “It is being carried for me. The bank next to the creek is quite steep.”
I ground the coffee, spooned it into the kettle, and set it over the fire to brew. I helped Maureen finish the biscuits. When the young soldier arrived with the water, our hands were covered in flour.
“With the general’s compliments.”
“Thank you, Private. Please, place it on the end of the wagon and thank the general as well.”
The young man scurried off in the direction of a military ambulance. Maureen raised her eyebrows. “The general?”
“You should have fetched the water. You would have gotten the thrill of your life.”
Maureen’s eyes widened. “You don’t mean!”
“He was covered, but only just.”
“How did he look?”
I leaned close and scanned our surroundings as if I was about to impart important, private information. Maureen moved closer.
“Like a bare-chested man.”
“Oh, you!”
“Hurry down to the creek, Maureen. Maybe you can catch him getting dressed.”
“I’ll do no such thing!”
“I know how well you like redheaded men. He might be the only one around for hundreds of miles.”
“He’s married!”
“Excellent point. Which is why I’m sure he’d welcome a little harmless flirting.” I motioned at the countryside. “We women are in the minority out here, in case you haven’t noticed.”
“I’ve noticed.” She looked in the direction of Cornelius Warren’s wagon. Cornelius lifted his bowler from his head with a flourish. Maureen scowled and turned to poke the fire. “Coffee’ll be ready in a minute.”
I waved to Cornelius. “I know I am out of practice, but I do believe Cornelius is wooing you, in his blustering way.”
“Humph. If this is what the West is going to be like, men always looking out for a woman to make their life easier, well, I’m not gonna like it overmuch.”
“Do you need my gun for protection?”
“I can handle myself, thank you.”
“I am sure once we get settled the offers for your hand will slow from a flood to a steady trickle.”
Maureen brandished the spoon she was holding. “You aren’t so old I won’t use this on you.”
I moved out of the way, laughing. “You never did when I was a child and deserved it. Why would you now?”
She waved her hand at me as if swatting away a pesky fly and stirred the beans. “It’s good to see you laugh again. Even if it is at my expense.”
“It has been too long, hasn’t it?” We sat on upturned crates with two mugs of coffee, waited for our biscuits to cook, and watched our fellow travelers set up camp.
The wagon train consisted of ten wagons: six loaded with supplies for the Army forts; a chuck wagon for Amos and his cowboys; ours; Cornelius and Anna’s; and the Schleks’, a German family of six and owners of a trailing menagerie of animals including goats, mules, pigs, and a bitch ready to whelp. Frau Schlek was eight months pregnant. She was so hearty and hale I suspected she could stop, have her baby, and continue without missing a beat. The cowboys had a pool going for which would give birth first, her or her dog; I picked the dog.
When the wagon train had pulled out of Austin ten days earlier, I told Cornelius we were a sad excuse for a vanguard for a new town. He laughed and assured me the success of Timberline, Colorado, did not rest on our little group entirely. A business partner of his was heading out from Saint Louis with over a one hundred families any day now. I was skeptical of his claims, but held my peace. I needed to get as far from civilization as possible and Cornelius Warren and his overeager optimism was my only option.
Maureen watched the Warrens through narrowed eyes. Anna Warren tried to work while her father buzzed around her like a hummingbird trying to decide what flower to settle on. I knew Maureen well enough to see she was itching to go over there and take them in hand.
“You and I make a good team,” I said.
“Huh?”
“Beans and biscuits cooking, animals taken care of. We work well together.”
“That we do.”
“The farther we get from civilization, the safer I feel.”
Maureen nodded. “No one in Texas cares about a rich man dying in New York City. They’d probably give you a medal if they found out.”
“Plenty would turn me in for the reward.”
“Lucky there’s no mention of yer troubles out here.”
Maureen would know. She had taken it upon herself to check every Wanted poster in Austin and did not find mine. She suggested more than once that the discovery of the dead woman had killed the scandal before it had the chance to spread too far west. She may have been right, but like today with Sherman, I still saw suspicion in everyone’s eyes. Not for the first time, I wondered if this fear would lurk in the back of my mind for the rest of my life.
Maureen sipped her coffee, her eyes darting frequently to the Warren’s camp. I was not sure how much of Maureen’s interest in Cornelius was due to the man he was or to the man Maureen wanted to mold him into, but I knew she would never leave me if I did not give her a gentle push. I was an adult; I could survive on my own. Though she would always try to change me, she had molded me as much as she could. She needed to move on to her next project and hopefully find some happiness along the way. It was time to give my blessing.
“Maureen.”
“Hmm?”
“I believe the biscuits are ready.”
She lifted the lid to the skillet and nodded appreciatively. “So they are. You might make a cook yet, Laura.”
“I just might. Cornelius and Anna, on the other hand, could use some help.”
“Anna’s a bright girl. She’ll learn.”
“Not with Cornelius teaching her. You should take them under your wing.”
Maureen’s brow furrowed, but her face reddened. “What are you on about, Katie Girl?”
“Don’t play coy with me. You know very well what I’m on about.” Maureen pressed her lips together and stared into her coffee. I put my mug down and knelt in front of her. “Don’t be embarrassed. I’m so very happy for you. You deserve to find love.”
“Harumph. Love. More like he needs a woman to take care of him.”
“So what if he does? Taking care of people is what you’re best at. You took care of my father after my mother died. Raised me. Kept me well in hand for the past ten years.”
“And a more difficult job I’ve never had.”
“Think how much more compliant Anna will be. It will practically be a vacation for you.”
Maureen laughed, but tears leaked out of her eyes. “Do you not need me anymore, Katie Girl?”
“I’ll always need your love and support. But, it is time you and I both step out on our own a bit.” I squeezed Maureen’s hand. “We will be in the same town, we could even arrange to be next door to each other, if you want. I daresay nothing much about our relationship will change. It’s just you’ll be sharing a bed with Cornelius.”
Now Maureen’s face reddened so deeply I was afraid she would spontaneously combust. “We’ll not talk about that.”
I patted her hand and stood. “I’ve read books on the act and picked up some rather interesting tips treating Camille’s girls.”
Maureen gasped and stood. “Katie!”
“You really need to stop calling me that.”
“You need to remember you’re a lady and ladies do not talk about those things. I’m going to check that Cornelius and Anna haven’t burned their beans.”
I suppressed a smile. I knew raising Maureen’s pique would push her into action.
“Eat those biscuits before they get cold,” she said, and stalked off to take Cornelius and Anna under her wing.