Authors: The Searching Hearts
Dorothy Garlock (10 page)
“You both have me now.” The whispered words caused her heart to make a frantic leap. To cover her confusion she began to talk.
“I never had anyone of my own until Laura came. She was someone to look after and to fight for. I didn’t have time to feel sorry for myself after that.” Her voice trailed away, and they walked in silence for a while. Then, as if compelled to tell him exactly how it had been, she continued: “Someone had been awfully mean to Laura. She had marks all over her body, and she was half out of her mind with fear when she was left at the gate. She was like a cowering little puppy that had been kicked and beaten! Sometimes at night she would wake up screaming and hold onto me. Apparently she could see until shortly before she came to the farm. I think that man, Oscar, did it. All she could remember was that she hurt all over and didn’t know if she was awake or not because she couldn’t see. I used to be afraid Oscar would come back and take Laura away, and I’d plan on how I was going to kill him.” She laughed lightly at her childish dream. “I’ll always look after Laura.”
“Of course you will,” he said quietly. “Laura manages well for a blind girl. Has a doctor ever looked at her eyes?”
“After we left the farm we went to a doctor in Fort Smith, and he said a good whack on the head could have caused her to lose her vision. He didn’t think there was anything wrong with her eyes beside that.”
“Was Laura disappointed? Does she have hopes of seeing again?”
“She used to, but not anymore. She has such a happy, loving disposition. She worries more about me than she does about herself. And of course I worry about
what Laura would do if something happened to me. I’ve been with her for so long I feel like her mother.”
what Laura would do if something happened to me. I’ve been with her for so long I feel like her mother.”
“Have you ever thought that Laura might want to marry someday?”
“No! There’s not a man alive who would have Laura and . . . love her and take care of her. She’d be just a convenience to him! But she’s not going to be . . . used by any man!”
Silence followed her outburst. They had walked in a circle and were nearing the wagons. The child was still crying.
“Mrs. Johnson and her little girl are leaving the train tomorrow,” Lucas said. “The child isn’t well and Mrs. Johnson has changed her mind about going to California. She didn’t realize the trip would be so hard on the child.”
“Will you take her back to Fort Worth?” Somehow the thought of his leaving set her to trembling again.
“Tomorrow night we’ll camp near the town of Brownwood. It isn’t much of a town, but I’ll find someone there to take her to the stage line.” They reached the end of Tucker’s wagon. Only glowing embers remained of the campfire. It seemed everyone in camp was asleep except the two of them and the crying child. “I’ll have to put Lottie in with Mrs. Schaffer, who’ll be left with just her child. Can you and Laura manage your wagon alone? If not, I can move Cora Lee Watson from Mrs. Hook’s wagon to yours. She can drive a team.”
Tucker didn’t answer immediately, and when she did speak it was calmly, despite the flash of
resentment she felt on hearing Cora Lee’s name. “Why don’t you put Cora Lee in with Mrs. Shaffer?”
resentment she felt on hearing Cora Lee’s name. “Why don’t you put Cora Lee in with Mrs. Shaffer?”
With his hands on her shoulders, Lucas stared at Tucker so penetratingly that she wished she hadn’t asked the question.
“I mentioned it to Mrs. Shaffer, but she refused to share a wagon with Cora Lee. Well . . . can you and Laura manage?”
“Of course we can.” They continued to look deeply into each other’s eyes. The moment quivered with tension.
“’Night, Tucker Red.”
“Good night.”
Still they stood there. Everything around them was so peaceful. This is happiness, she thought. His hands slid down to her forearms and slowly, haltingly, he lowered his mouth to hers. His lips were soft and deliciously gentle. They entrapped hers, igniting a fire within her whose sudden warmth was reflected in the color gradually creeping up her pearly throat to flood her cheeks with pink. When it was over, she looked into the gray eyes peering at her and wished this moment would never end.
She leaned against the wagon and watched him walk away into the shadows. Tonight she had lost the fumbling uncertainty of her feelings for him and was possessed with the glow of knowing she was in love. The warm, velvety darkness of the night hid the smile that curved her lips. She was almost ready to climb into the wagon when a soft voice reached her.
“Lose something, Miss Houston?” Cora Lee came
from around the wagon, her steps soundless, her pale face framed with hair that hung to her waist. Tucker was shocked into silence by the knowledge that the woman had been listening to her and Lucas, had seen them kiss.
from around the wagon, her steps soundless, her pale face framed with hair that hung to her waist. Tucker was shocked into silence by the knowledge that the woman had been listening to her and Lucas, had seen them kiss.
“I can’t say as I blame you for forgettin’ this out on the prairie,” the woman murmured insinuatingly. She jerked her head out and away from the wagons. “After all, Lucas is a real . . . man! Best I’ve ever had.” She produced Lucas’s map and Tucker’s hand automatically reached for it while her moment of happiness died a quick death. “Don’t worry,” Cora Lee said with a light laugh. “He’s man enough for both of us.”
Tucker jerked the map from her hand. “You were spying on us!” she hissed.
“Sure I was. But I don’t mind him havin’ you, long as there’s enough left over for me.”
“Why you . . . you . . . you’re just a—” Tucker floundered helplessly.
“’Course, I am,” she interrupted easily as she sauntered away, but she turned back to whisper loudly, “and what are you?”
Stunned and horrified, Tucker moved into the wagon, careful not to wake Lottie and Laura. Automatically she slipped into her nightgown, took the pins from her hair, and with shaking hands plaited the tumbling copper strands into one long braid. She lay down on the pallet Laura had fixed for her. Nothing in her young life had prepared her for the emotions that now churned violently inside her. Her slim body shuddered as she finally gave way to racking, silent sobs.
A mile outside the town of Brownwood, Texas, on Pecan Creek, Captain James Doyle and his men were bivouacked. It was a quiet little glade. A grizzly old sergeant squatted before the campfire cutting strips of bacon into a skillet. A faint trail of whitish smoke coiled up from the fire and dissipated in the greenery of the branches above. The sun, oblivious to the hunger in a man’s stomach, hung over the western horizon, swollen and crimson.
Captain Doyle, a seasoned soldier of the plains, sat silently and thoughtfully, cradling his tin coffee cup in his hand. His scouts had reported that a ragtag train of ten wagons was coming in from the east. Green and ill-equipped, the scout had said, with thin strips of iron on the wheels of their wagons and small, inadequate water kegs attached to the sides.
Damn! This land was difficult enough to cross when you had plenty of time and when you didn’t have the Comanches, the Apaches, and renegade Mexicans to worry about. Of course it was easier now than it had been a few years back: there were stage
stations along the way, if they hadn’t been burned out. But if you were late—not by months or even weeks, but days—you could die of thirst out there on the plains. If there’s no water for mules, or grass to fill their bellies, they won’t carry you far in search of water.
stations along the way, if they hadn’t been burned out. But if you were late—not by months or even weeks, but days—you could die of thirst out there on the plains. If there’s no water for mules, or grass to fill their bellies, they won’t carry you far in search of water.
The captain looked to the east. The train, led by the lieutenant he had sent out to invite it to camp beside them on the creek, was coming in. The lead wagon stopped a respectable distance away, and the others spread out along the creek. Farmers all, the captain mused, and not even very good farmers, judging by the condition of their equipment. It was none of his business what kind of workers they were, he chided himself, but it did concern him that they had women and children with them. It would be time enough after supper to test their mettle and offer his assistance.
When the meal was finished, the men from the newly arrived train gathered around a flickering campfire. The captain sat on a wooden box, his back to the darkness, looking at the faces turned toward him. He himself had gone from wagon to wagon and asked them to gather here with him. They were a mismatched group if he ever saw one. Take Blanchet: the man’s hands were those of a farmer, but from the sound of his voice and the words he used he might well have been a teacher. And Collins: he doubted if the man even knew one end of his horse from the other. He probably depended on brute strength and bluffed his way through life with a chip on his
shoulder. Taylor, no doubt, had the finest wagon of those resting beside the creek. This evening his family had taken their meal on china plates. They were quality folk, and it was difficult for the captain to understand why they had joined up with this outfit.
shoulder. Taylor, no doubt, had the finest wagon of those resting beside the creek. This evening his family had taken their meal on china plates. They were quality folk, and it was difficult for the captain to understand why they had joined up with this outfit.
Frank Parcher, the scout, a short, lean man about forty years old, was another misfit. He hadn’t come to the meeting, although he’d been invited like everyone else. The captain didn’t cotton to him at all, knew instinctively he was dangerous. It was the arrogant assurance of the man, as well as the unanswered questions about his qualifications for leading this train. Parcher was obviously a trailwise man, but somehow his being here with these folks didn’t fit the pattern at all.
All the men were hushed and waiting. There was a tension in the group around the campfire, as if each expected the captain to come up with some miracle that would make this trip easier, some magic that would solve all their problems and assure them they would get to California in the morning.
Always a man to lay his cards on the table, Captain Doyle got to his feet and addressed the group with his usual brusqueness: “The army officially closed Fort McKavett last month. Some troops are still there, but from now on trains going west will be more or less on their own. However, my men and I have been assigned to Fort Stockton, and my orders are to wait at this point for a wagon train coming down from Fort Worth and escort them that far. There’s rough country between here and Fort
Stockton and rougher country beyond. You’re welcome to wait here for the other train, fall in behind, and take advantage of our escort.”
Stockton and rougher country beyond. You’re welcome to wait here for the other train, fall in behind, and take advantage of our escort.”
Everyone was quiet, as if waiting for the next person to say something. Finally Blanchet spoke. “How long before the other train gets here?”
“Should be no more than three or four days, unless they got held up by the rains up north.”
“Why be it us what’s got to fall behind and eat dust. We got our own scout. He knows the country.” The man Collins spoke from the ground.
“When I said fall behind, Mr. Collins, I meant join up with the other wagons. Your position in line will have to be worked out among you.”
The farmer’s face reddened at the slight rebuke. “We done paid Parcher to lead us,” he said stubbornly.
“I realize that,” Captain Doyle replied patiently. I’m merely offering our services.”
“We ain’t got no time to be a waitin’ ’round. I heard the water holes dry up, then there ain’t ’nuff grass to fill the belly of a jaybird. I say it’s time fer us to go on and let them folks catch up.”
“You’re right about the grass. The country is extremely barren, just sandy sage plains. You’ll camp many nights without water or grazing grass, and you’ll scrounge for firewood to heat coffee. As cruel and unpredictable as the land is, the rivers are worse. They tumble violently through narrow gorges, and far more travelers have lost their lives crossing rivers on their way west than have been killed by Indians.” Captain Doyle turned once again to the man on his
right. “And you, Mr. Blanchet? Do you have anything to add?”
right. “And you, Mr. Blanchet? Do you have anything to add?”
Rafe Blanchet got to his feet. He was a tall, thin, sandy-haired man. “I favor waiting and joining the other train, if they will be so kind as to let us. I have come this far and I want to go on, but the few days we may have to wait can be spent in repairing our wagons, resting our mules, and repacking our belongings. We know little or nothing about how to cross the desert or the mountains, much less the rivers. It’s true we have hired Mr. Parcher to lead us, and he has assured us we have a good chance of avoiding hostiles and outlaws. Still, I believe for the sake of our wives and children we should wait.” He sat down and all eyes turned to the hulking farmer on the ground.
“People is pourin’ into Californey. All the good land’ll be took up afore we get thar,” Collins grumbled.
The captain turned to a sallow-faced man who sat nervously clenching and unclenching his hands. “Mr. Taylor?”
Mr. Taylor shook his head. “I’m with the others.” The captain was surprised by the words, but no one else seemed to be. Then, almost as if he realized he should say something more, Mr. Taylor got to his feet and there was, for a moment, only the sound of the crackling fire. “Mrs. Taylor and I are in no hurry. We are willing to wait for the other train.” He sat down and looked toward the captain for approval.
This man certainly wouldn’t be any great asset on
the journey, Captain Doyle thought as he nodded to the next man.
the journey, Captain Doyle thought as he nodded to the next man.
Unnoticed, the scout, in oiled leather britches and doeskin shirt, stood in the shadows. He chuckled as he listened to the argument about whether or not to take the army escort. The fools hadn’t learned a damn thing since they’d hired him on in Baton Rouge. All they wanted to do was get to the promised land!
Frank Parcher melted into the surrounding darkness. There was a woman waiting for him. She’d be there, right where he’d told her to be, a hundred and twenty paces south of the last wagon. He paused to look around the camp before he moved on. The women were cornered at the other end, straining to hear what was being said at the meeting. He laughed quietly to himself again. They’d still be hagglin’ an hour from now, as if it was so all-fired important whether they got to Californey this year or the next.
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