Unconquerable Callie (14 page)

“Seth, you aren’t cutting my hair. It’s bad enough you’ve seen me like this, but I won’t docilely sit here and let you trim my hair. No. I appreciate you taking time at the end of a long day, but the answer’s the same. No.”

“Now, Callie, if it would make you feel any better, I’d be willing to close my eyes,” Seth said in as serious tone as he could muster. Callie was putting up quite a fight and darned if he didn’t sympathize with her.

“What?”

“I said I’d be willing to close my eyes while I’m trimming so I won’t see how choppy your hair really is.”

Callie started to make a sharp retort, then noticed the glint in his eye. “Brilliant! Now why didn’t I think of that? Here.” She handed him the scissors. “Close your eyes and snip away, Mr. McCallister.” She put on a sweet smile, ignoring his puzzled look.

She sat down on a trunk and turned her back to him.

“Callie?” Seth’s voice was soft and hesitant.

“Yes?” Innocence dripped from that single word like rain from the brim of a hat.

“I’m only kidding.”

“I know, Seth,” Callie responded condescendingly.

Seth’s low chuckle accompanied the first snip. Her shoulders hunched and her eyes screwed shut. She kept telling herself that nothing, absolutely nothing, could make her hair look any worse.
Could it?

To make matters worse, Seth retaliated for her earlier kidding by every now and then muttering, “darn,” or emitting a low “whew.” She refused to react, frozen in one position, head bent, shoulders hunched forward.

Finally, Seth brushed off her shoulders and turned her face up to his.

“By gosh, that’s a pretty good job if I do say so myself. Want to have a look?” He held out a silver-plated hand mirror.

Callie took it and held it to her face, slowly turning first one way and then the other, trying all angles. She felt a surge of relief. Her hair capped her head in soft, white curls. She was a new Callie, a younger-looking Callie.

“Now, then,” Seth said as he watched her. “Think that fiancé of yours will approve? I forget, what’s his name?”

“To . . .” she started, then stopped herself. “Frank,” she declared a little too loudly. “Frank. His name is Frank.” She wet her lips and shrugged at the blank look on Seth’s face. Then in an effort to change the subject, she asked, “Do you think we’ve seen the last of Wolf Dog?”

“Probably,” Seth said slowly. “For what it’s worth, I think we might have seen the last of any Indians.”

Callie started to feel relief, as if her shoulders had been set free from a heavy weight, but one look at Seth’s face stopped her and she felt the familiar weight, nestled like a vulture on a tree limb.

“What aren’t you saying, Seth?”

His smile was grim. Callie was a hard person to fool. She was too perceptive, too smart sometimes for her own good.

“We’ve seen the last of them, Callie. Seen. They’re still out there and when we least expect them, they’ll pop up like a Jay off’n a nest. But for now, your hair has bought us a reprieve that just may last us through Nebraska and on into Wyoming. The timing couldn’t be better.” The last he said softly, more to himself.

Callie bent to shift the blackened coffee pot to the glow of red embers when Seth’s last words made her pause.

“What do you mean?” So far, they had met each danger and emerged unscathed. What was waiting ahead? What did Seth know about this ill-fated trail that he was keeping to himself?

“Nothing.” He nodded at the coffee pot. “I’ll pass on that and get back to my camp. See you at daybreak.”

“Oh, no you don’t, Seth McCallister. You aren’t going off and leaving me to ponder your words all night long. Tell me, or I’ll dredge up something terrible, probably worse than what you’re so reluctant to divulge.”

Seth shook his head in resignation. “The water holes are getting fewer and farther in-between. Not only are there fewer, but what’s left is drying up. We’re passing through a dry spell, Callie. I’ll start rationing water tomorrow, but that won’t stop the thirst. Humans can cope with it far better than the stock. Take your oxen, for example. After a few days of rationed water and scorching heat, they’ll go crazy. You and Caleb will have your hands full keeping them from stampeding, trampling anything in sight.”

He swallowed hard, not looking at her. “I regret letting you come. You’ll eat dust, wear dust, and dream of dust. Dust, thick and choking, covering everything in sight. If we’re lucky, we’ll make it to a hill that will take your breath away and with it possibly your wagon.” He stopped again and when he didn’t resume, Callie spoke up, interrupting the heavy darkness in his words.

“Why?” Her voice was soft, a whisper into the night. “Why will we risk such a hill? What will happen there, Seth? You’ve warned us all of the possibility of drought and dust. I know there’s a risk oxen will go crazy with heat and thirst. I’m prepared, at least I think I am, to meet and darn it all, conquer that danger. But this hill. This is the first time I’ve heard of a hill being a peril. You’d best tell me, and the rest of the camp, so we know what’s out there around each bend in the trail.”

Callie’s words faded into the shadows.

The silence stretched between them. “You’ve asked a lot of questions, Callie.” Seth took a deep breath. “But you’re right. You’re entitled to some answers. Everyone on the train is. I’ve not enjoyed keeping the secret. I didn’t want to add fuel to the fire telling you about the hill on top of the water rationing. I’ve been hoping we’d come across a spring that was deeper fed so we could fill our barrels.” He shrugged his shoulders. “With rationing, we should make it through to Ash Hollow.”

“Ash Hollow?” The name hung on Callie’s tongue.

“Yeah. Ash Hollow. The hill is treacherous. But we have no choice.” Then he gave a shadow of a smile. “And, Callie, at the bottom of that hill is a spring, shade, beauty, and grass. There’s also a shoddy where the people on earlier trains leave letters and money for postage for relatives back in the East. They’re hoping some eastward bound traveler will take it back with them. It’s a long shot, but it’s a chance.”

“Tell me more about the hill,” she persisted.

In a low voice, Seth said, “It’s straight down. A good three hundred feet to the bottom.” His eyes shifted with a faraway look. “Trains have lost wagons, animals, and lives descending that hill. It can start out sad and end sad.”

“Go on,” she urged quietly.

“Weight will be a big factor. Some will have to unload wagons, to leave behind treasures and part of their lives. We’ll tie a tree trunk or rocks behind a few wagons to act as a drag to slow the descent.” He smiled at her. “I suspect yours will be one of those. You packed light and reasonable, Callie. Some wagons, we’ll try to lower down with ropes. Men will do the work of mules. When all else fails, there’s the windlass for the rest”

“A windlass? I’ve never heard of one.”

“We’ll make one using a barrel and a rope.”

“Go on.”

“We’ll build a platform with a log, joining the two ends. The barrel will be in the middle, a rope wrapped around it. We’ll attach that rope to the wagon. On both ends, we’ll put poles with handles. One man will work each side, taking turns to crank the wagon down the hill.”

Callie visualized the scene Seth painted. She saw men with their feet planted, heels dug in, backs strained. Men with thick rope wrapped around bare hands, leaving bloody cuts and blister as weight and determination pitted against the heavy wagon. Men with sweat beading their brows. Men risking their lives.

“Is there no other way?” she asked, knowing the answer.

He shook his head. “Just keep the promise of Ash Hollow before you, Callie. The promise of Ash Hollow and Oregon and”—he lowered his voice—“and your fiancé.”

Then he melted into the night, his words nearly doubling her over with their weight.

She kicked dirt over the waiting coals, her desire for coffee gone. On the way to her wagon, she prayed to put Seth’s parting words out of her mind.

As she climbed into the back of the wagon, she lifted her heavy skirt, noticing the thin line of dust hemming it. Well, she had a plan. A feeble one, granted, but a plan, nevertheless. Her oxen would not stampede with heat and thirst. Her wagon would not break free and go crashing down that darn hill, spilling out her life and her dreams. Her lie would not be in vain, but would serve her well, getting her what she wanted.
It darn well better
. The price was high and getting higher with every passing day.

Callie tilted her chin to face the awakening dawn and the peach-colored sky. Leading the feisty mare and, looking neither left nor right, she strode past her oxen, giving Caleb a slight nod.

“Better close your mouth, Caleb. It’ll catch flies,” Callie said curtly.

Like a spring door, Caleb’s mouth snapped shut. “Uh,” he faltered, “that’s a right pretty horse, Callie.”

Then, not leaving well enough alone, he added, “And you look right pretty, too.”

Caleb’s words earned him a scathing glance, freezing him in place, his Adam’s apple working furiously in his throat.

The horse jerked on the end of the rope and Callie pulled her up short. “Don’t you dare call any more attention to me than I have already managed,” she whispered to the mare.

Callie made a determined line toward Seth, whose forearms rested across the pommel of his saddle, reins lax, shoulders relaxed. His face was impassive, giving no clue as to his emotions.

Seth watched the woman who effortlessly fascinated him approach. She stopped in front of him, gave him a measuring look, then lowered her eyes level with his boots. Her jaw was clenched tight, and if body language could speak, she gave an undeniable warning.

Grinning, he ignored the storm signals. “Morning, Sir,” he said. “Haven’t seen you in these parts. You fixin’ on joinin’ the train? We can always use an extra man.”

“That is not a bit funny, Seth McCallister.” Callie raised her eyes to meet his mocking ones. She kicked at the fine dirt, raising a cloud and causing the mare to jerk her head and back up a few steps. “I’m not dragging around those heavy skirts and petticoats in this dust any longer. I bought these pants and shirt in Independence.” She brushed a hand down the doeskin pants. The butternut yellow matching shirt, sleeves fringed, looked soft, yet durable. Both fit Callie like a glove leaving no doubt that although they were men’s clothing, a lovely young woman wore them.

His mouth quirked. “Mmm, hmm. Well, the men will envy you such a fine outfit and the women . . .” He paused, searching for words. “The women will . . .” He stopped, unable to finish.

“The women will what?” Callie asked. “Dislike me for dressing like a man? Dislike me for flaunting convention and getting rid of the heavy skirts and petticoats? No matter how much you shake, the dust clings to every ruffle and flounce. It was one thing when there was water for washing. Now we don’t even have enough water to drink much less do laundry.”

Then, in a more conciliatory tone, she said, “You’re a prophet, Seth. You warned us we’d eat, sleep and drink dust before we reached water again. This morning, when I had to turn my head to keep the dust in my skirt out of my nostrils, I knew it was time to put the ladies’ clothing into a trunk. It was time to dress like the trail demands. And these pants and shirt”— She ran her hand down one leg—“If they make me less of a woman, so be it.”

She took a deep breath, then went to the side of the waiting mare, her head bobbing up and down as if in agreement with all she had said. She grabbed a handful of mane and pulled herself up and onto the horse’s back, sitting rigid, her hands clutching the reins, her face a map of shock, surprise, then delight. A grin worked itself across her face as her blue eyes sparkled. She tilted her hat, the sun-tipped white curls impishly framing her face, “Wow! Did you see? I almost went over the other side. What a difference.” She paused, catching her breath. “What a selfish, stingy man you are.”

He frowned. “What are you blaming me for, Callie?”

“I’m blaming you and”—she waved her arm expansively—“and all men for hiding from every woman on this train how much easier it is to walk, mount a horse, and who knows what else, wearing pants. Oh, I’d like to just for one day, no just for one hour, that would be enough, put a dress and petticoats on you. Just see how you’d like it. Dirty, dusty, heavy. Selfish.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “Just plain selfish.” She nudged the mare with the heels of her boots and, without giving him a chance to do more than sputter, she rode back to where Caleb and the hot, thirsty oxen slowly rounded the bend.

Seth swallowed his laughter, holding it inside of him until he thought he would burst. Thankfully, Callie was out of hearing before the gut-busting laugh rumbled out. His horse nervously sidestepping under him. Tears ran down his weather-tanned cheeks. Finally, he leaned over the pommel gasping for air. “Callie.” Her name was weak on his lips, a chuckle catching in his throat. “Aw, Callie.” He roughly brushed a sleeve across his damp cheeks, as another peel of laughter rose. He shook his head and gave his horse a nudge. The sun was baking the already parched earth, the dust as thick and cloying as ever, his worries still perched on his shoulders. Still, he felt lighter. He thought of her dancing eyes and scolding tongue, all spirit and delight.

“Lord love you, Callie.” Under his breath, he added, “For I sure do.”

Callie quickly dismounted, and nimbly climbed inside her wagon, relishing her newfound agility. In a few short minutes, she was back out and on the ground, a large bundle in her arms.

“Caleb,” she said. “I need your help.”

Caleb looked apprehensively at Callie, then at the bundle in her hands.

“Help?” he asked.

Callie nodded. “Put a dipper of water, no, better make that two dippers, into a bucket and bring it here.” She was so intent on the task, she didn’t notice Caleb hadn’t moved until he cleared his throat.

“A couple dippers, Caleb.” Annoyance crept into Callie’s voice.

“Uh, what with water being so short, uh . . .”

“Two Dippers!”

Caleb grabbed a bucket. Careful not to spill a drop, he measured out the two dippers, replaced the oak lid, and carried the bucket to Callie. He glanced at the bundle, but wisely held his tongue.

“Two dippers,” he said.

“Good. Now sprinkle the water equally over both oxen.”

“Sprinkle?”

“Dampen them down. Hurry. I don’t want any of the water to evaporate.”

“Ain’t gonna last long on their backs. Hope you know what you’re doing, cause it ‘pears to me we’re wasting—”

“‘Pears to me,” Callie began, “that you and I are going to keep our oxen cool regardless of how fierce that sun beats down. They maybe thirsty, but they won’t be driven to stampeding because of heat craze. Keeping them cooler will help with thirst, too.”

“I still don’t understand how . . .” Caleb’s face showed his disbelief.

“Just help me.” Callie sighed. “I haven’t let you down yet, have I?”

Caleb shook his head, then smiled as he dipped his hand in the bucket. Gently shaking the water from his fingers, the droplets fell like gentle rain on the oxen.

“Perfect.” Callie held up her hands. “Next, let’s spread this rush mat across their backs and up over their heads. We’ll lash it to the yoke. Our oxen will have a tent to hold the moisture in and keep the sun out.” For a moment, her voice broke with doubt. “This was my idea when I wove the reeds while we camped by the Missouri. Figured there was a good chance we’d have a dry stretch. Some of the women were weaving reed mats for their wagon beds, but I decided to weave reeds for our oxen. If it works, the mats will let the air in, but underneath, the oxen will be cool and damp.”

“Darn, Callie.” A grin spread across Caleb’s face. “They’ll be a sight, but we’re gonna have the coolest oxen around.” He quickly finished his sprinkling, then reached for the mat.

Between them, they covered the oxen, from their heads to their tails, letting it peek over their heads like an oversized bonnet. The oxen plodded along, as she and Caleb pulled and lashed the one-of-a-kind tent. The placid beasts never missed a step, seemingly to sense that all the unusual commotion was for their benefit.

Gingerly, Callie put her hand in under the mat, running it along one animal’s backs. The skin was cooler. A lot cooler. A smile crept across her face, then erupted into a grin. Caleb stuck his hand under the mat. Smile for smile, grin for grin, they removed their hands.

“Dang. For a while there, I thought the heat had gotten to you, Callie. But, well, dang!”

“All we have to do is occasionally dampen their backs. I don’t have to wash dresses anymore, so the water I save will go to the oxen. We can do it, Caleb. We can make it stretch until we get to Ash Hollow.”

“Yep.” Caleb nodded. “Not only do we have the coolest oxen in the train, we have the purtiest.”

Word spread and throughout the day men stopped to examine Callie’s oxen. Some even ventured to rub calloused hands under the mats to feel the cool dampness. There was a lot of head shaking.

Oddly enough, nothing was said. Seth didn’t come into camp until after dark, for which Callie was grateful. However, that night, more than a few rush mats were excised from wagon beds and, at morning light, when the train pulled out to the familiar “Wagons Ho,” more than one set of oxen wore finery from the banks of the Missouri River.