Leaving Independence (28 page)

The man known as Robert Baldwyn made camp in the usual place. He waited three days, but the trapper never showed. Before going back to the fort he rode out to the cabin to check on Bonnie.

“You seen your father?” he asked.

“Not for a while. Why?”

“No reason.”

When he got back to the fort, Robert sharpened his sword.

The Rocky Mountains are lovely, Mimi. The highest peaks are capped with white, and the bottoms are purple in the evenings against blood-orange sunsets. It must be the purity of the air that makes the tones so deep.

Someone rapped hard on the side of her wagon. The train had stopped for the noonday meal and Abigail was resting. She pulled back the cloth. There stood Tam Woodford smiling broadly. “You can come to my weddin’ if you promise not to wear that blue dress!”

Abigail scrambled to get down and hug her neck. “Congratulations, Tam! Why can’t I wear my blue dress?”

Tam crinkled her nose. “’Cause I want Harry to look at
me
, that’s why.”

“Is the dress sinful?”

“No, it’s just gorgeous and has the prettiest detailing I ever saw.”

“When’s the wedding?”

“This Sunday.”

“Do you want to wear it?”

Tam looked at Abigail’s middle, then her own. “It ain’t gonna fit this waist.”

“I could let it out. Or do you want me to make you a dress?”

“Mrs. Abigail, you’re trying to recover!”

“Sewing’s not hard.” Abigail’s mind starting working out the options. “I can add detailing to something you’ve already got, or I can start from scratch. Oh, please let me! It will give me something to do while I have to ride in the wagon. Which will it be?”

They talked about what color would look best—Tam wanted to wear white, with a veil and lots of lace, real girly, which surprised Abigail. Tam had a tan dress and Abigail said they could add some white lace to it and put some thickness in the skirt so it would billow a bit more.

For the next few days she and Tam measured and planned and basted.

On Sunday, after Harry Sims had preached a short sermon, Colonel Dotson married Harry and Tam on a creek bank just west of the Continental Divide.

Just before the wedding, Tam had stood behind the Baldwyns’ second wagon, looking radiant. “I hardly know myself and I sure don’t recognize this dress.”

She turned as Abigail, Corrine, and Melinda all held up mirrors so she could see herself. Abigail thought she felt Hoke’s eyes watching her in the glass, but when she peered past the wagon she instead saw James Parker, who was looking at Corrine.

When they reached Soda Springs, Colonel Dotson decided that the train would stay several days to let those who were recovering enjoy the pools that were said to have healing effects. Abigail lay in a warm pool each day in a lightweight dress, the water bubbling and fizzing as she lowered herself in. Lina climbed in with her one day. “It tickles!”

“It feels like God is stitching me back up,” said Abigail. Her heart might soon be mended, too. In a matter of days she should know how things stood between her and Robert.

Some of the pools had alkali in them. The men worked hard to keep the stock out of the poisoned pools, but it was harder to keep the small animals out. Rascal got sick after drinking some of the water.

“Alkali is a nuisance!” declared Hoke.

Charlie and Jacob held Rascal while Hoke shot fresh water down his throat with a bottle, to flush out the poison.

Hoke rubbed his ears a long time afterward, watching Abigail from a distance. When she climbed out of the pool her wet clothes stuck to her skin, accentuating the shape of the woman who had now seeped into his bloodstream like a poison.

“Hurts, don’t it?” he muttered to the dog. “I hope you’ve learned your lesson.”

Back on the plains, when they’d walked across a stretch of dry alkali, the men had cut leather pieces and covered all the stock’s feet to keep them from burning. Rascal had chewed his off twice and got sores on the pads of his feet, but it never made him sick like this.

The Baldwyn children all fussed over him and worried he would die, but the fresh water did him good. He was up and running by the next day.

Baird Douglas, whose fever had finally broken, especially benefited from soaking in the pools. Duncan Schroeder was still too weak to be lifted down to the pools, so several of the Schroeder women—including his wife, Katrina, and his mother, Mrs. Inez—gathered water by the bucketsful to pour over him as they prayed for his healing.

It wasn’t enough. Duncan Schroeder died the last night they camped by the springs. The Schroeders were as somber as they’d ever been as Duncan was buried before the train moved out the following morning.

CHAPTER 26

Balls are loaded, caps are on

He sat on his big red roan and waited with the men in his unit, watching Sergeant Smith approach with a tall, dark stranger on a fine-looking stallion. A black dog was at the horse’s heels, as if the man, horse, and dog all came as a set.

“Cap’n Baldwyn!” called Sergeant Smith as he came within earshot. “Wagon train’s coming.” Smith nodded his head toward the man beside him. “This scout from the train says your wife and children are part of the company.”

He steeled his jaw. So . . . the trapper had indeed failed. He’d really thought the old serpent could pull it off. Now what would he do? He wondered what had happened, and whether the trapper was dead.

Checking his thoughts, he looked around at his men, then let his eyes roll over the scout, horse, and dog. They were all staring at him. The scout’s eyes, especially, bore into him hard.

“Were you expecting your family?” asked Sergeant Smith.

“I was not.”

The scout’s fierce eyes narrowed. “You didn’t get word she was coming?”

“I was not . . . expecting her this soon.” He smiled at the scout. The man didn’t smile back. “You’re sure it’s her?” Who was this hard, handsome scout scrutinizing him so closely? And what was it to
him
?

“I’m sure it’s Abigail Baldwyn from Marston, Tennessee, lookin’ for her husband, Captain Robert Baldwyn of the 113th regiment servin’ at Fort Hall.” The dark stranger’s eyes continued to burrow into him. “That you?”

He smiled widely this time . . . victoriously . . . and pointed to the name embroidered on his chest. “That’s me. Men, I need a moment. How far away is the train?”

“About an hour out,” one of the soldiers answered.

Hoke felt a sharp, instant dislike for Robert Baldwyn. Why? Was it simple jealousy? Because his heart was racing wild with the bitter sensation.

He had wanted to believe this man did not exist. Even after Laramie, and after hearing Abigail talk about Robert, Hoke’s gut had refused to accept what logic had shouted. But here Robert was: alive and, from what Hoke’s gut was telling him, not the type of man to whom he could begrudgingly concede her.

Was he being influenced by the comments made by the soldier at Laramie? Hoke prided himself on his ability to read other men accurately. He couldn’t afford to lose that skill—not out here in this land where a man’s wits and guts were his two most critical weapons.

But, no. There was something amiss about this man. Whatever kind of man he had been before, the Robert Baldwyn who sat on this big red roan in front of him now was more than just arrogant.

Hoke let his eyes run over Baldwyn again, from his overly shiny boots up to his neatly trimmed beard. His uniform was crisp . . . impeccable. The other men looked hot and dusty. Did he launder his clothes every day, as if expecting an audience with the president? A fancy sword hung at his side. Some men still used bayonets out here, but this was a big gold-handled rapier. It was something old Spanish fighters would have used—an impractical weapon in these parts and times.

He searched the man’s face for any resemblance to Charlie, Corrine, Jacob, and Lina but couldn’t find it. Maybe he just couldn’t be objective.

Of course he couldn’t be objective.

“She’ll probably head this way when she hears you’re this close,” he said. “There were a couple of others with me when we crossed paths with your sergeant. They rode back to the train.” As much as Hoke had wanted to see Abigail’s reaction when she heard her husband was close, he had wanted to see this man even more. He’d wanted to size him up before Abigail got to him.

Baldwyn turned to Sergeant Smith. “Ride back to the train. Send Mrs. Baldwyn on ahead—just her. I’d like a little time with her.” He looked hard at Hoke. “Surely you can understand a man wanting to spend time . . . privately . . . with his wife?”

Hoke shot daggers at him with his eyes.

Baldwyn looked down at the ground with an air of drama. “I’m afraid I’m going to be emotional, men. I’d like just a moment to compose myself and get ready to receive my wife.” He looked back up at Hoke. “Is she still good-looking?”

Hoke answered with another glare.

“Of course she is,” Baldwyn answered himself. “Are you married—I’m sorry, I don’t know your name.”

“Mathews.”
And you better call me Mister.

“Are you married, Mr. Mathews?”

“No.” Hoke wheeled his horse around. He had to get out of here. He’d seen enough. He’d never be married.
To hell with it!
And to hell and double hell with Captain Robert C. Baldwyn.

“I’ll let her know you’re waitin’ for her,” he spat as he kicked his heels to the stallion.

Rascal shot after him, working hard to keep pace with the horse that carried the man who held his allegiance.

The man known as Robert Baldwyn turned to Sergeant Smith. “Did that scout seem unhappy to you?”

Smith didn’t answer. He knew Smith didn’t like him, but he didn’t care.

“Go with him,” he ordered. “All of you. Go meet the train and send Mrs. Baldwyn on to me. Just her, Smith. Okay? I’d like a chance to talk to her alone before I see anyone else. Don’t let that scout come back with her. Tell him you’ll accompany Mrs. Baldwyn instead, but send her on and keep a fair distance. I fear it will be an emotional reunion and would rather not have an audience.”

“Yes, sir,” said Smith. “I understand, sir.”

August 7, 1866

We have arrived in Idaho Territory, Mimi.

Abigail set down her quill and crawled from the wagon. She pulled off her hat, wiped the day’s dust and a thin sheen of sweat from her brow, then took off her vest and fanned her face, wondering where Hoke was. She missed the regular bucket of water he always had waiting for her . . . and she missed him.

Lina danced over with a pail full of berries. “Can we have cobbler, Mama? Mrs. Chris and Mrs. Jo found blackberries and sent us some!”

Abigail looked in the pail at the ripe berries—dark as the night. She ate one. It was so sweet they’d need little sugar. That was good considering they were so low.

“Sure, precious.”

She smiled as Lina raced to tell Corrine. It felt so good to be back to normal that Abigail didn’t even mind the cooking chores. Her side had finally quit hurting, but she still had the scabs, one where the bullet had gone in and one where it went out. She’d always have the scars.

Charlie came sprinting toward her. “Ma! Ma!”

Her heart missed a beat, thinking something had happened to Jacob.

“You’re not going to believe this,” said Charlie breathlessly. “Pa’s here.”

His words hung in the air.

She looked sharply around. Where was Hoke? Tears sprang to her eyes and she blushed with shame. “Where?” she whispered.

“A few miles west of here. Bart and Orin Peters were with Mr. Hoke scouting ahead and they met some soldiers from the 113th who said Pa was with them. Well, he wasn’t right there with them, he was back a ways. Mr. Hoke rode out to meet him while Bart and Orin rode back this way to tell us. Jacob’s getting the horses hitched. Come on!”

“Wait a minute, Charlie! Slow down. I need a minute to think.” She trembled all over and longed to see Hoke. Why had he gone ahead instead of coming back to tell her this news himself?

No . . . she could guess why. It was just like him to scout out the danger.

What would Robert look like after five years? she wondered. What if things were awkward between them? How would things
not
be awkward between them? What had she planned to say? Why had she come on this trip? Oh, she couldn’t remember!

She grabbed Charlie’s arm to keep him from running back to Jacob. “I’d rather see him by myself first. Before you children see him.”

The excitement fled from Charlie’s face, but she knew it was the right decision.

What if war and time had changed him?
Of course they would have changed him!
Lieutenant Coatman’s words came back to her . . .
opinionated and stubborn
. . . as did Cecil Ryman’s claim that Robert had killed his brother without cause.

It was going to be a shock to the children to see him, having built him up in their minds. She needed to get past seeing him herself before she could focus on the children.

Maybe it had been a mistake to come. Maybe they should have left well enough alone. But here they were . . . too late now.

Charlie’s eyes pleaded with her. “Mother, no. We’re going with you.”

Abigail planted her feet. “Charlie, you have to trust me on this. I need to see him first. I need a chance to talk to him and . . . compose myself.” A hard tremor in her voice made it sound strange to her own ears.

Charlie put his hands on his hips and shook his head. Three months ago he would have argued with her and they both knew it. But the events of the past three months had matured Charlie Baldwyn into a man.

He didn’t like it. He didn’t agree. But he looked her in the eye and said, “Yes, ma’am.”

Abigail pulled him close and kissed his cheek.

The worry on his face was sharp. “Are you sure you don’t want me to ride out with you, Ma?” he whispered. “I could hold back, but be close by.”

“No, son. I need you to be here for your brother and sisters. Get them ready, will you? And maybe tidy things up in the wagons?”

Charlie shook his head again, but the tension drained from his shoulders. “Of course.”

“Corrine can get supper. Tell her there are some new potatoes ready next to the dahlia. They’d be good with onions. And Lina wants a cobbler.”

The normalcy of giving Charlie chores made her feel better. But her legs were shaky as she found Jacob with James, who was saddling the gray dun for her.

Suddenly people were everywhere, asking questions. Was it true? What providence! Was she going out to meet him? Did she want some of the men to go with her? What about the children? What about supper? How could they help?

Abigail thanked them and said she’d be fine riding out on her own. She preferred to ride out alone. It would give her time to think.

With trembling hands, she grasped the saddle horn and swung up onto the dun, wondering if she should smooth her hair or wash her face.

She decided against it. Instead, she set her face to the west and rode out to meet her husband.