Leaving Independence (32 page)

“I never noticed Hadley in that picture before. He’s dead, Hoke. Hadley said he found Robert dead in a field.” She bit her lip. She felt like she’d always known it, from the moment she realized she was pregnant with Lina.

Robert had wanted a fourth child. And he had hoped for another girl. He had been elated during Abigail’s fourth pregnancy. But shortly after they learned she was pregnant, Robert became ill with scarlet fever. The doctor told them Robert wouldn’t father any more. That was why Robert had been so upset with her when she rode horses with Seth and lost the fourth baby. And that was why, when they learned that Abigail was expecting a fifth child, shortly after Robert left, Mimi called Lina the miracle baby.

“You know what’s so awful?” Abigail asked Hoke now, gripping his sleeve. “I told Mimi it would have been better if Robert had died in the war. I said that standing in my kitchen in February. What a terrible thing for me to say.” She hung her head.

Hoke put his hand under her chin and raised it back up.

“Words you said in February didn’t reach back and cause a thing to happen years ago.” He started to add that he was sorry, but he wasn’t. Robert’s choices had led her here, to him.

He found the coffee cup, emptied it, and refilled it with whiskey. First he took a swig to calm his own nerves.
A man’s best day
, he thought wryly.

“Here.” He handed her the cup. “Drink this, and don’t get all female about it.”

She did as she was told, jerking her head at the bitterness of the whiskey. Then she laughed.

“What?” he asked.

“First the Indian fight . . . now this.” Her laughter changed to tears. “I’ll be fine . . . eventually. I think. I’ve just never had events to quite compare.” Her eyelids drooped. “My head keeps swimming.”

Hoke looked at Hadley’s body. “Let me bury him, then I’ll get you to a better camp a little ways off. We’ll go back to the train at first light.”

He felt her eyes watching him as he looked in his pack for something to dig with and then pulled out a tomahawk he kept for a broad range of purposes. It would have to do for a shovel. He turned to her and said in a voice filled with regret, “I’m sorry you had to see this.”

He raked out a shallow grave, pulled Hadley’s body into it, and started to cover it with dirt and rocks.

“Wait!” Abigail said suddenly. “He’s wearing Robert’s ring. Can I have it?”

Hoke slid the ring off Wiles’s finger, then cut off the top part of the pocket that had
Baldwyn
sewn across it, and handed them both to Abigail. She twisted Robert’s ring onto her thumb. Then she reached for Hoke’s knife and shredded the false name into pieces and let them fall to the ground.

“He wasn’t at all like Hadley.” Her blue eyes brimmed with fresh tears. “Robert was like Corrine—and Charlie and Jacob, and you a little. You would have liked him, I think.” She shook her head. “It all makes sense now and I feel so foolish. I don’t even know where Robert’s buried. Or if he ever got buried.”

Hoke didn’t know what to say, so he didn’t say anything. Words weren’t going to mend what was broken in her heart; only time could.

He would wait.

By the time he got a new camp made and had rolled out his bedding, she was asleep on the ground, the fire down to its embers. He picked her up and carried her to the new campsite and settled her into his bedroll. He’d sleep on the ground. He’d slept straight on the ground lots of times.

She stirred. “Will you hold me?”

Feeling a surge in his chest like he’d never felt before, he moved into the bedroll behind her, wrapping his arms around her beneath the blanket. She took one of his hands and kissed the open palm, then tucked it next to her cheek.

“Now I know why Lina goes to sleep when she rides with you.”

“Why?” he whispered.

“Feels so safe.” Her breathing grew even again.

Hoke lay with Abigail in his arms and closed his eyes, two tears seeping out of the sides and running down his grizzled face. She was alive . . . and not bound to another man. He buried his nose in her hair the way he’d longed to for weeks.

An old memory showed up in Abigail’s dreams. Robert stood tall in the hallway of the house in Marston with Corrine on his back, where she always loved to ride, her small hands running playfully through his golden locks of hair.

“Charlie, come here!” called Robert. “Let’s measure you before I go in the morning. That way, when I get back we can see how tall you’ve gotten.” He pulled Corrine over his head. “You, too, pumpkin. Abigail, bring Jacob.”

Each of the children stood in the doorway while Robert measured them, etching the mark at the top of their heads with his knife, then adding their names and the date at the top. “I shouldn’t be gone long, but the way you kids grow—like your mama’s garden plants—I won’t be surprised if you’re taller when I get home.”

He laid a hand on Jacob’s head. “Son, I’m going to miss that wild hair of yours every morning.” Next he shook Charlie’s hand, smiling at his firstborn proudly. Then he kissed Corrine on the forehead. “My little pumpkin. My little princess.”

Later, after the children were in bed, Robert told Abigail, “I can’t very well defend the laws of our land if I ignore the Constitution we were founded on. Hopefully, you’ll see fit to forgive me by the time I get back.”

“I’m not against the Constitution, Robert. I just don’t want you taking aim at my brothers and them at you.”

He shook his head and reached for her hand. “Let’s not get into this again. We’ll work it out when I get back.”

But he never got back.

CHAPTER 30

A glory to her

When Abigail woke, she saw that the sun had long preceded her. Bacon crackled on the fire and a creek gurgled nearby, water running over rocks in the shallows. Hoke was on the bank, shaving. She sat up. Her head spun.

Had yesterday really happened? It must have, because she was sitting on a bedroll in a small camp near a stream. The wagon train was nowhere in sight.

The children!
She had to get back to them. Like Melinda had said, her place was with them.

Abigail stood and her head reeled. She might have fallen if Hoke hadn’t suddenly been there to steady her.

“Whoa, there. I didn’t want to rush you. Sit tight and eat somethin’ before we head out. Your strength is gone. How’s that head doing?”

He insisted on dabbing whiskey on her head and wrists again to keep the cuts from getting infected, and handed her the rag so she could treat her side.

“You want another drink?”

“You trying to get me drunk?”

He grinned. “Always a good sign when your sass comes back.”

At the first bite of bacon she realized how hungry she was. Health to the bones—that was what Mimi used to say to encourage the children to eat their breakfast.

What would Mimi think when she learned about all this?

The sun continued to rise, its warmth seeping through her body. Abigail felt clammy from having slept in her clothes.

“Mind if I wash before we leave?”

“No, go ahead. I’ll get us packed to go.”

Hoke handed her a bar of soap he kept wrapped in an oilskin in his saddlebag, along with a comb and the bandana. “Only rag I’ve got. And here’s a little piece of a mirror I use for shavin’.”

She reached out to feel the smoothness of his face. He caught her hand, his eyes simmering. “You do that and we’ll never get out of here.”

Her cheeks warm, Abigail took the items and went down to the stream, her strength returning with every step.

Hoke didn’t even pretend not to stare as he packed up the camp. He was a man and she was a woman . . . a beautiful woman who was no longer forbidden.

He smiled every time he thought about it. Life was more hope-filled than he’d ever known it.

Abigail stood behind a tree but Hoke could see her. She slipped off her boots, wiggled out of her skirt and stockings, then pulled the blouse up over her head. Still in her chemise and bloomers, she waded out to the deepest part of the stream and submerged herself. Then she scrubbed, as if working hard to get the Wiles off.

She lay still for a few minutes like she had at Soda Springs, ducking her head back into the water several times, baptizing herself, apparently enjoying the feel of the sun kissing her face each time she poked it back up through the surface.

Water was healing.

Finally she crawled out, redressed over her wet underclothes, and came back to where he was waiting. As she wrung out her hair she looked at peace.

“Sorry. I used most of your soap bar.” She handed what was left to him. “And I’ll break this comb if I keep trying to run it though my hair. I’ve lost almost all my hairpins. And I’m wet underneath these clothes,” she laughed, “but I’ll dry out eventually.”

His eyes combed over her hair. “‘If a woman has long hair, it is a glory to her.’”

She raised her eyebrows. “First Corinthians.”

He raised his back at her. “Chapter eleven.”

Abigail thought for a moment that he was going to kiss her—she wanted him to—but then she dropped her head. She didn’t want him to think she was forward. Hadn’t she only just learned that her husband was dead? And last night she had asked Hoke to hold her. This morning she had reached out to stroke his cheek.

Hoke put his hands around her waist. “Jump.” He lifted her up and she winced. “Oh. I forgot about your side.”

“It’s fine.” She would have been disappointed if he’d cupped his hands for her foot.

They rode out.

Four miles later they met the search party. Colonel Dotson led it, Charlie by his side. James was there, and Doc Isaacs and Mr. Austelle, along with three soldiers from the 113th.

Charlie’s relief was apparent. Doc Isaacs gave her a big hug and said, “Caroline sure will be glad to see you. It was all I could do to keep her from chasing after you herself last night.”

“Melinda, too,” chimed Mr. Austelle.

“Let me look at that head.” Doc peered close at her. “I can stitch that back at the train if you want—like I did Jacob’s. It might leave you with a smaller scar.”

Abigail watched Hoke’s forehead crease as Doc fussed over her. She was embarrassed that everyone had gone to such trouble on her account.

Hoke took the colonel, James, and the soldiers to the side to explain to them what had happened. Abigail heard the soldiers question him hard, as if they didn’t believe him at first. But Colonel Dotson said, “This man has no reason to lie about what happened, Sergeant. Question Mrs. Baldwyn about it, when she’s ready. You’ll surely trust that she’s telling you the truth. As you saw in those pictures, the man who claimed to be your captain wasn’t Robert Baldwyn. This is his family. They should know.”

Charlie looked at Abigail, his eyes sad. “So it’s true? Hadley Wiles was pretending to be Pa?”

“Yes, Charlie.” She took his hand and led him away from the others. “I don’t know if you remember the letter from Grandma telling me that Hadley had been killed in Virginia early in the war. The only reason you might remember it is because she mentioned how Hadley used to be sweet on me. The Wileses were our neighbors. But it was your father who was really killed. Hadley switched their uniforms and passed himself off as your father.”

The disappointment on Charlie’s face made Abigail’s heart ache. “Why would he do such a thing?”

“I guess because it was a chance to make himself over—to get a promotion in rank and finally be respected by other men.”

Charlie’s eyes flashed. “But he wrote you letters! He led us to believe our father was still alive.” Charlie looked off in the distance. “That is the most underhanded, dirty thing I ever heard of.”

Abigail wished there were something she could say to smooth the hurt lines of her son’s forehead. “It was a low thing to do, Charlie, but harboring anger will only end up hurting you. He won’t feel it. He’s gone now.”

He whipped his eyes back to hers. “What happened to him?”

Abigail glanced over at Hoke, who was watching them. Charlie saw it.

“Mr. Hoke kill him?” He darkly pointed at the cut on her head. “Did Wiles do that to you?”

Abigail nodded. “Yes.”

Hatred danced in his eyes. “Then it’s a good thing Mr. Hoke killed him. Because if he hadn’t, I would have.”

“Charlie!” She didn’t want her son to be filled with hate. Hadley had been filled with hate, and look what it led him to do.

But Charlie walked away, shaking his head.

James Parker strolled over and put his hand on Abigail’s shoulder. “He’ll be fine, Mrs. Baldwyn. He’s hurt to know his pa’s gone, and he’s hurt to know you’ve been hurt.” He smiled. “You’ve got a fine young man there. I hope you know that. You’ve done good raisin’ him.”

How she had grown to love this giant of a man! She hugged James’s waist, which hit her nearly chest high.

“Don’t go gettin’ sweet on me, now. I wouldn’t want to have to wrangle with Hoke.”

She twisted her brow up at him.

James chuckled. “Oh, don’t act like you don’t know what I’m talkin’ about.”

The soldiers from the 113th asked to see the campsite where Wiles was buried. They wanted to verify the details of what happened for the report they would have to write. Hoke and Colonel Dotson rode with them. The others rode back to the wagon train.

The instant she saw them, Abigail slid off the dun and scooped Lina, Jacob, and Corrine into her arms. When James Parker held out his arms to Corrine and said, “Hug me, too,” Corrine rolled her eyes at him.

Mr. Parker hadn’t teased Corrine last night. He’d treated her like an adult.

Everyone else in camp had tiptoed around the kids and talked about everything but what was really going on.

But when the others left to go to their own wagons, Mr. Parker stayed with the Baldwyns.

“I ever tell y’all about the time Hoke could feel the mountain lion?” he said nonchalantly, moving his bedroll near the boys’ under the second Baldwyn wagon.

No, they said, but they wanted him to. They wanted to know that Mr. Hoke had the power to save their mother.

Mr. Parker told them the story and ended by saying, “Man’s got an uncanny sixth sense. And he could track a ghost over solid rock.”

After Lina went to sleep, Corrine crawled back out of the first wagon to look out in the darkness in the direction Hoke had gone. Mr. Parker came and stood with her.

They stood without a word for several minutes, then he said softly, “He’s got her by now. I’m sure of it. But late as it is, it makes more sense to sit tight than to pick back through the brush in the dark.”

Mr. Parker, for all his lighthearted talk, could say just the right thing at a heavy moment.

Corrine turned to him with wet eyes. “I don’t ever mean to be difficult.”

She didn’t know why she was so often short with others. It had become a habit more than anything—a type of defense against being hurt. But if anything should happen to her mother, after Corrine had been so sassy to her . . .

She would never forgive herself.

“Aw, sweetheart, you’re not difficult.” James put his hand under her chin and lifted it to its normal position, winking at her. “You’re fiery! Fiery is a good thing.”

“Mama doesn’t think it’s a good thing.”

“I ’spect your mother just wants to do right by you, Corrine. A little reassurance from you time-to-time that she
is
would probably ease her mind.”

James was right.

As Corrine rolled her eyes at James now, she thought back to her conviction to be sweeter and kissed her mother on the cheek.

Abigail, looking surprised and pleased, laid her hand over the spot. Corrine hadn’t kissed her mother since before her father left.

Lina tugged at Abigail’s skirt. “We saved you some cobbler, Mama.”