Paxton and the Lone Star (22 page)

Nels grinned as he recalled the far different childhood he had spent. His father was a minister and his mother a teacher at a small private preparatory school. They had ingrained in him an appreciation of learning. Perfectly at home with his books and letters, preferring the relative safety and security of the city, he had never dreamed of becoming a pioneer. And yet, on the very day he had read the notice of the Mexican land grants for sale, he had contacted Señor Medina and committed his savings to the venture. To his surprise and joy, Eustacia had accepted the decision quietly and without complaint. Her only response had been, “When do we leave?” To his dying day, he would never be able to repay her faith and loyalty.

Mules, dust, heat, cold, fatigue, books, land, miles, strangers, friends, ever new vistas, horizons beyond expectation. He hadn't been able to add them all up yet, but he had come to one absolute conviction.

He was glad he had come.

Thursday was taking forever. Or felt as if it was. The horses were tiring, the mules balking when led to the traces. They were fed oats to keep up their strength, but already they looked gaunt. The constant travel was hard on the humans, but harder by far on the animals that pulled the loaded wagons.

It rained Thursday afternoon. Surprisingly enough, unlike the forest trails that turned to mud, the prairie remained firm. It had to do with the thick mattress of grass, Scott Campbell supposed as he pulled his slouch hat lower over his face. That and the soil, which seemed to drink the water. A good day for rain, he mused. It seemed to perk up the animals and certainly laid low the dust, which was important since he was last in line that day. Behind him, if he leaned far out and looked around the wagon, he could see their tracks. Already, the water-swollen grass had started to stand straight again.

The boys, along with the Paxton brothers and Leakey, Jack Kemper and Nels Matlan, had ridden ahead to the next river, whatever the hell Jones had called it. They had carried axes and picks and shovels and pulleys to prepare the way for the wagons when they got there. Scott and Reverend Kania and Kevin Thatche had been left behind to make sure nothing happened to the women.

“Here,” he said to Joan as she emerged from the wagon. “You take it for a while. I'm going to ride out to the side.”

He leaped down from the seat, untied the mare from the rear of the wagon, tightened the cinch on her saddle, and rode off on an arc that would take him in a wide circle around the wagons. You never could tell, Jones had said. Just because they hadn't seen any Indians didn't mean there weren't any around. Scott Campbell wasn't a man to take chances when it came to his wife and children. For if they were taken, what else was there?

Friday was almost too much to bear. They had slept little the night before. One horse had had to be shot. Just as they camped, they had discovered bad wheels on two wagons, and had labored long past dark to repair them. The ground was wet and cold. Buckland Kania had come down with a fever. Dennis Campbell had sprained an ankle so badly he could not walk on it. The effective loss of two men put just that much more strain on those who were left. No one wanted to move on Friday morning, but Thaddeus Jones rousted them out anyway, driving them from their blankets with curses and a well-placed kick or two. Damn and by damn, he had said, but they were going to make the Colorado River by Saturday night. When they finally got moving, they hit the first of the limestone outcroppings.

“Damn rocks,” Kevin Thatche cursed. “And if it isn't rocks it's dust and if it isn't dust it's rain. Damn!”

“How much farther to San Antonio?” Mildred asked from his side, trying to defuse his anger with their private joke.

Kevin's frown melted, at least momentarily. “Just around the bend,” he said. “You sure you wouldn't be more comfortable in back?”

Mildred winced and held her swollen abdomen. “I don't know. Maybe.”

“Go on, then,” Kevin said tenderly. “Jones says we'll be past this in a little while.”

They had borrowed blankets and quilts and arranged a thick pallet to cushion Mildred's ride. She climbed awkwardly over the seat and, ducking her head, stepped inside and lay down heavily. If he would only come, she thought, uncomfortable on her back and trying her side. Behind her, she could see Joan Campbell through the open rear of the wagon, and waved to her before closing her eyes in an attempt to dull her mind against the jolting. For a moment, she dozed, but then awoke abruptly, inexplicably thinking about her parents and wondering if they had ceased looking for her.

Mildred's father was a doctor, Kevin's an attorney. Both men had envisioned far grander futures for their children than to be unmarried and pregnant on a wagon train in the middle of a foreign country. But she and Kevin had had their own ideas about the future. Desperately in love and despite the obstacles placed before them by their well-meaning parents, they had succeeded in escaping. The savings account instituted by his father at Kevin's birth had been enough to purchase their share of the Medina land grant and buy them a place on the wagon train. They had mailed their parents letters from St. Louis and told them not to worry.

A heavy shadow passed over the wagon. Mildred craned her neck, saw the same shadow pass over the Campbells' wagon and, a moment later, a stand of three tall oaks by the side of the trail.

“Not to worry,” she repeated to herself for the umpteenth time. Inside her, the baby kicked again.

Saturday was more a waking dream than anything else. Only the promised arrival at the Colorado River kept them going, and then as sleepwalkers. The mules smelled the water first, pricked their ears forward, and picked up the pace. Within minutes, the word had spread back to the settlers from Jones. However faintly at first, their spirits stirred, and rose. The hellish week had come to an end! Soon they would rest.

And rest they did. The stock was put out in record time as bodies revived just long enough for the necessary chores. Uncooped at last, Tommy Matlan and Ruthie and Dianne Campbell raced around wildly. No one complained. They were all too stupified, too glad just to have stopped.

Later, as night approached, each family made its own campfire and sat about in relative privacy, the general thinking being that there was such a thing as too much community, and a time to temper social protocol with a degree of healthy solitude. Elizabeth dropped the last of the firewood she had gathered next to the cookfire, and added a few pieces around the edge to warm them up. Lottie was busily frying bacon while Hester sat off a little to one side, stared at the fire, and sipped a cup of broth. “Did she ask for that?” Elizabeth asked, surprised to see her mother taking nourishment again.

Lottie wiped her forehead with the back of her wrist. “Yes. I didn't believe it myself. She smiled, too.”

They were under trees again, which was a comfort after the open spaces of the prairie. The Michaelson wagon was close to the Paxtons', as usual. Elizabeth nudged the coffee pot nearer to the fire and caught herself looking for True, who had gone out hunting with Hogjaw. “They haven't come back yet?” she asked Lottie.

“I didn't hear—”

“Oh, the bear stuck his paw in the honey tree, and the bee said buzz, buzz, buzz. Oh, the bear took a taste, and licked with glee, the sweetest honey that was, was, was.…”

The deep bellowing voice singing off key indicated Hogjaw was returning to camp. He always sang as a way of identifying himself to the guard. As he was prone to say, it wasn't the melody that kept a man alive, but whether he could caterwaller loud enough to wake the Devil, scare a crazed grizzly, and keep some blood and thunder storekeeper from scratching an itchy finger on the trouble side of a Hawken rifle trigger.

True was with him, and smiled at Elizabeth. “Sorry we're late,” he said, leaning his rifle against a log.

“And empty-handed,” Joseph noted, coming over from his wagon.

“Not exactly,” Hogjaw said. He hung three skinned and cleaned squirrels on the end of a spit away from the fire. “Didn't know we was having bacon. I wouldn't have shot these.”

“You hadn't come back, so I thought I'd better start something before it got too late.” Lottie pulled the frypan off the fire, and set it aside. “No matter. We can eat them tomorrow.”

Hogjaw had noticed Hester eating, and sidled up to Lottie. “She take anything more than broth?” he asked, jabbing a thumb in Hester's direction.

“Some bread. That's all.”

“Might oughta cut up one of them squirrels and make some stew for her,” Hogjaw suggested. “Maybe she's comin' around. Meat'd do her good.” He winked at Elizabeth, sniffed the air comically. “Do me good, too. We about ready to eat?”

Their meal was bread, bacon, beans, and onions. Joseph and Lottie, having made their peace a few days earlier, sat together and talked quietly. His mind on other matters, True dabbed at his food, and then, excusing himself, disappeared into the night. When Hester finished eating, Elizabeth took her to the river and helped her wash her face and arms before leading her back to the wagon where she changed her mother's clothes and put her to bed. By the time she was finished, Hogjaw had left the camp and bedded down in the woods to get some sleep before Jones woke him at midnight for the watch.

Lottie was starting off with Joseph when Elizabeth called to her. “What?” she asked, turning and frowning.

“Could you stay and watch to see that Mother's all right?”

“Where are you going?” Lottie asked.

“I'd like to bathe. I haven't had time yet.”

Lottie was obviously displeased, but couldn't complain because she had gone off to the river while Elizabeth was setting up camp. She glanced at Joseph and then at the wagon where Hester slept. “Well …” She threw up her hands in disgust. “Well, hurry,” she whispered to her departing sister, and grudgingly accompanied Joseph back to camp.

A half moon was low, but gave enough light to see by. Elizabeth took her time, feeling her way through the trees to the river. The night was quiet. After the long, difficult week, almost everyone was asleep, early though it was. The river was shallow with small, tublike holes where the water had worn depressions in the rocky bottom. Elizabeth stripped quickly and, gasping, entered the cold water. Five minutes later, chilly but refreshed, she slipped into the clean dress she had brought with her.

The dress, blotting the water from her skin, clung to her. She stood on a rock at the edge of the water, rinsed one foot and slipped it into her shoe, then rinsed the other and raising it, lost her balance and started to topple.

“It's me. Don't yell,” True said, catching her from behind and pulling her to him.

Her heart thudding wildly, Elizabeth spun to face him. “My God, you scared me! What do you think you're—”

“This,” True said, and kissed her.

His arms were around her, his body pressed against hers. His lips were warm, his tongue a darting, enticing instrument of passion. She could feel his thighs and the growing hardness touched her where not even her father had dared. The thought flashed through Elizabeth's mind that she should struggle, should fight him, but her body disagreed and she found herself surrendering to the rising emotions within her. Thoroughly confused by this inability to resist, she returned his kiss with abandon, pressed her breasts against him, crushed her flesh to his.

It was he who broke off the kiss and took a step back. “I love you, Elizabeth Michaelson,” he said, and gently cupped her breasts in his hands.

His sun-bleached, tousled, hair shone in the moonlight. His eyes were slits of gleaming brilliance. Elizabeth shuddered and closed her eyes. His hands warmed her through the cool dampness of her dress. Her breasts ached and her loins burned where his hardness had touched her. Hardly aware she was doing so, she placed her palms against his chest, then ran them along his forearms to briefly press his hands tighter to her breasts before gently removing them. “Well,” she managed to say, “you have all the nerve.”

“I suppose I do,” True admitted, a little embarrassed himself and unsure of what to do with his hands. “If I only had the guile, this courtship might be easier.”

“Courtship?” Elizabeth exclaimed, much louder than she had intended. “Courtship!” she repeated, whispering this time.

“I warned you before, Elizabeth, though I admit it wasn't with the golden tongue Joseph possesses. He can bring a quail to ground with his charm. Me, I have to make the best of a situation any way I can.”

She reached to touch his cheek. “You're doing very well, I think, Mr. Paxton. Very well indeed.”

“Elizabeth? I …” He paused, tongue-tied. “I …” His voice was husky, almost choked. “I want you, Elizabeth. I haven't ever … that is, I haven't ever wanted somebody like I do you.”

Softly, Elizabeth came to him, resting her head against his chest. “I know,” she said, almost too quietly to be heard. A frown creased her forehead. Her father's touch. Her mother, ill and wasting. The land that was to be hers, and all it meant. She wanted True, but was afraid. Wanted to depend on him, but was afraid of that, too. She needed time. Time to prove herself, to know herself. “I know.”

She was intensely aware of his arms around her, of the warmth they generated in the closeness of the moment. She could feel his heart beat, his breath on her hair. With a sudden flash, she realized he must have seen her naked while she bathed. She stiffened momentarily but then relaxed, for the thought secretly pleased her in some strange, forbidden way. She forced herself to push away from him. “I can't, though.
We
can't.” Her eyes caught his, told him that she loved him even if she couldn't say so in words. “It's not you, True. It's me. Someday … But not yet. Please understand?”

True started to speak, halted, tried again, and at last smiled wanly and shook his head. “Elizabeth Michaelson,” he finally said, “you are the most impossible woman I have ever met.”