Vow Unbroken (2 page)

“What about Doug Howlett?”

“He and Shannan went with the others, and took Samuel and the girls along with them.”

Elaine looked off toward where the kids played and sighed. “What about Hershel Massey?”

Sue drew back and pursed her lips. “Now who's crazy? He's at least eighty years old!”

“Really? He sure doesn't look it.” Elaine tucked a loose strand of hair back into her bun. “Well, what I know for certain, without any doubt, is that you cannot go alone.”

“But you refuse, and I have to get my cotton to the buyers. It'll be the first time in all these years that we won't be living on the razor's edge. The first time since Andy passed that I'll have coin enough to actually buy more than just the bare necessities.” Sue angrily swiped at a stupid tear threatening to run down her cheek. “And if I don't, and I can't make any profits, I'll have to start selling off the land. I just can't do that, Elaine. So what do you suggest?” Elbows on the table, she hung her head, holding her face with both hands a minute, then looked back up. “Everyone I could've asked to help has already gone.”

The older woman dipped the fancy tea infuser that her mother had sent from back east in her cup. “There's got to be someone. Let me think a minute.”

“Even if you thought of anyone, who would be willing to pack up and light a shuck on such short notice?”

“Nothing says that you have to leave today.”

“Elaine! Don't you understand? I've got to get my lint to Jefferson. Before the buyers leave, before the rains set in. I can't waste any more time if I'm ever going to catch up. Not when the train already has a four-day lead on me!”

“Well then, it looks to me like we're back to Henry. Surely he'd be a help if he's free to go. And since when do you care about what people think anyway?”

Sue finished her tea in one gulp. This wouldn't be the first time she'd disagreed with her friend, even though Elaine did usually sound the voice of reason. “Well, I'm just sorry. He's been nothing but a lazy, old . . . hermit, mama's boy.”

“He isn't old, Sue. He's in his early thirties at most.”

“Well, I don't think he would be any help at all. Probably more of a burden who'd only slow me down.”

“He'd be a man with a gun, and he was with Jackson in New Orleans.” Elaine reached across and captured her hand. “Susannah! What you're considering is too dangerous! It's a long way to Jefferson, and a hard trail.” She stood and turned her back with her fists on her hips. “You cannot go alone. And I'm sorry, but I won't keep Becky. I'll not play any part in this idiotic scheme of yours.” She faced her again. “Please, at least go see Henry.”

Sue shook her head and sighed.

“Just go ask him; see if he'd even be willing to go. Leave your wagons and the kids here for the day, take Larry's bay, and go out to the Buckmeyer place right now. Won't you?”

She didn't like her hands being tied behind her back, and that's exactly how she saw the impossible situation. But maybe
her friend had a point, though she hated to admit it. She probably did need help, but Patrick Henry Buckmeyer? If she was a betting lady, she'd give odds that he'd never worked an honest day in his life.

Succumbing to Elaine's pleas, she heard herself agree to go, and her friend leapt into action. “Larry!” she hollered. “Would you please saddle up your horse? Sue's going to need to borrow him for a little ride this morning.”

Becky's high-pitched screams pulled Sue's attention to the children. On the ground, her daughter squealed and giggled at Levi's tickling. The Dawson children all scurried away from them. She jumped up and ran after her best friend, shrieking with delight. She stretched out her arm and touched Sophia Belle, only a year older. “You're it!”

For their sake, Sue told herself. She couldn't let them down. Life had been too hard already on ones so young. Her thoughts wandered to their fathers, and the vision appeared full force again, starting to replay in her mind for the thousandth time. But she shook it away, refusing to allow it to paralyze her as it usually did. Not now, not today.

“Sue?” Her friend's husband stood beside his horse at the bottom of the porch steps. “Got him all ready for you.”

She came back to the present and rose, reaching for the reins. The man was top-notch, a hard worker and good provider. “Thank you, Larry. I'll be doing my best to get back before dark.”

“No trouble. Be safe.”

Elaine walked up and slipped an arm around his waist. “We'll keep some supper out for you and Henry.”

Sue huffed, shook her head, swung into the saddle, and then straightened her bothersome dress. She should have worn
Andy's trousers, but since she'd been going to town . . . “We'll see.”

Elaine laughed. One thing Sue loved about her friend was her carefree, boisterous laugh. “Sue Baylor, if you're crazy enough to head off on the Jefferson Trace with eight thousand pounds of cotton by yourself, then you're absolutely right. We will see.”

Setting her heels against the gelding's flanks, Sue clicked her tongue. Levi and Becky waved, obviously thrilled over their extra time at the Dawsons'. She decided to head home first, then loop around to the Buckmeyer place. The layabout probably was either gone or drunk, and it would be a wasted trip. Maybe she could hire some help along the way.

The bay moved into a comfortable lope. She arrived at her house well before high noon. She had made a mental list on the way, and the first thing she did was to change into her dead husband's trousers—she wouldn't be trying to impress anyone. Then she hurried about gathering her few remaining coins and collected a change of clothes for herself and each of the children. She rolled her skirt and stuck it in the bag, too, just in case.

From the back of the dresser drawer, she pulled out Andy's pistol and stuck it into her waistband, then put all the extra powder and shot in her bag. She preferred shooting the flintlock, but figured she might need all the firepower she could muster on the trace. Levi was a decent shot, but having another gun could be a lifesaver. Elaine was definitely right about that at least.

Outside, she opened the barn gate. “You take care of your calf, Bess, and stay out of the bottoms.” She watched her old cow amble off, then looked around with a strange foreboding. A notion swept over her that she'd never see the place again.

Did it mean the journey would go bad? Was the Lord trying to tell her not to go? If something happened to her, what would Levi and Becky do? Take no thought for tomorrow played through her head. She couldn't think about it. She wouldn't. She would only think about getting her cotton to market and trust the good Lord to help her.

She packed everything on the horse and mounted, hardly able to believe it had come to this. That very morning when she'd set out before sunup, she and the children had been so excited, full of hope and expectation. She shook her head. No matter. She'd chosen the only logical course. What else could she do? She clucked her tongue.

On the ride toward the Buckmeyers' place, she considered what she knew of the lazy mama's boy known to all by his middle name. Henry Buckmeyer, indeed. Everyone on the prairie knew all about his war stories as well as his drunken brawls, but the tales of him serving with Andrew Jackson certainly didn't fit with her picture of a soft, indolent sloth who mooched off his poor old mother. There was no promise he'd even be there.

A part of her hoped he wasn't.

H
ENRY REARRANGED THE STRETCHED HIDES
around the fire pit to catch the best of the smoke, then went back to the bois d'arc seeds. He loved the smell of burning hardwood, especially red oak. After spreading the last batch of cleaned seeds out on the wooden planks he'd lined up, he went to washing the next bunch. He sure didn't enjoy the sticky green things, or the ache in his back either.

Blue Dog rose and growled once. Not expecting anyone, Henry slipped over to where his musket rested, lifted it, and let it balance in the crook of his arm. He readjusted the pistol in his waistband and waited.

“Hello to the house,” a female hollered on approach.

The dog growled again, this time louder. Henry silenced the mutt with a look and then shouted back, “Hello to you. Come on ahead.”

A woman? What could a woman want with him? Maybe she was lost, had followed his smoke in. When she rode around the cedar into sight, he could hardly believe his eyes. The beautiful widow Baylor, wearing a straw hat instead of the usual cloth bonnet, rode up, sitting astride Larry Dawson's bay
gelding—wearing trousers no less. He would've thought the lady would ride sidesaddle and wear a skirt.

He smiled. His mother always said any woman immodest enough to strut around in britches should be hung up by her thumbs. Still, britches or skirt, she was every bit as beautiful as that day when he first saw her on the porch of the Sulphur Fork Trading Post four years ago.

He removed his hat and nodded. “Welcome, ma'am. To what do I owe this pleasure?”

She surveyed his work, then looked to him. “Good day, Mister Buckmeyer. I've come with a business proposition for you.”

Returning the musket to its rest, he caught the horse's headstall and then offered his hand toward her. She ignored it and swung out of the saddle without benefit of stirrups.

Immodest, rude, and a bit of a show-off. “Business you say?”

She dusted her hands on her pants, looked around the yard again, then faced him. “I'll come right to the point, sir. I'm looking for some assistance and would like to speak with you about the possibility of providing the help I need.”

“Doing what?”

“I've got two wagons full of cotton that I must get to Jefferson. They're already loaded and waiting.”

“Didn't everyone leave a few days ago?”

“Yes, they did. Four days to be exact.”

“Why didn't you go with them?”

She stiffened. “If it's any of your business, I had my crop sold.” She looked away. “Or at least, I thought I did.” She met his eyes again. “A businessman had offered four cents a pound, a fair price, but when I took my cotton in this morning for the agreed delivery, the scoundrel tried to bilk me.”

She removed her hat. “So, I've decided I must take my cotton to market myself. I need someone to help me haul my lint south to Jefferson, where I can sell it for gold coin. I am prepared to pay you a fair wage once it's sold, sir, if you're up to an honest day's work.”

He laughed. She appeared so blue at the mizzen with her chin in the air, acting all high and mighty; it didn't much fit her asking for his help. Her face turned red, and she glared. He smiled and waved off his social gaff. “Sorry, ma'am. I didn't mean to laugh at you, but honest work is all I know. You've been listening to those old busybodies' scuttlebutt, haven't you?”

“Well, I, er, uh; I suppose, but I truly . . .”

He let the lady—who obviously listened to and believed gossipmongers—stammer on, not offering her pride any salve. While she chattered her apologies, he considered her proposition. This could be the opportunity he'd been looking for. Maybe not the exact order he'd planned, but the widow definitely needed someone to go with her; she'd never get to Jefferson without help. He should be able to sell his seeds there; it would save him the trip to St. Louis.

He finally interrupted her. “I'll go on one condition, Mis'ess Baylor.”

She stopped abruptly and stared. “What did you say?”

“I said I'll go on one condition.”

She took the haughty posture again. “And what, may I ask, is your condition, sir?”

“I get to carry my own wares along.”

She shifted her weight. “How much room would you need? My wagons are pretty well loaded.”

“I have fifty hides and over a hundred pounds of seed. Plus, fifty or so pounds of tobacco. And, of course, my own tucker.”

She looked to the side, then to the ground. “Before we come to agreement, there is something I'd like to ask.”

“What's that?”

She faced him. “Are you a believer, Mister Buckmeyer?”

“Don't talk to me about God.”

“But why not? Mis'ess Dawson said your mother's a devoted Christian. Didn't she teach you from the Good Book?”

“Mother taught me to read from the Bible, ma'am.” He could hardly believe the woman's audacity. “And she was a believer to be sure, but I wonder if you might tell me where your God was when she lay in bed for a month suffering, hurting so bad she could barely stand it?”

Sue looked around as if searching for an answer. “I'm sorry, sir, I'm certain that the Lord was right there with her.” The volume of her voice lowered. “After all, He promises never to leave or forsake us.”

He shook his head. “Sure seemed to me that He forsook my mother. Anyway, I consider the state of one's soul a personal topic, wholly inappropriate for open scrutiny. So why do you ask anyway?”