A Secret Refuge [02] Sisters of the Confederacy Read online

  At that, half the crowd burst into guffaws. Erskin was well known, obviously.

  “Okay, now, easy canter up to the starter. Everyone stand back, clear the track.”

  Jesselynn glanced down. The mud had dried, but the track, as he so euphemistically called it, looked hard as a brick, none of the sand and well-dug surface of a real race track. She did as the man ordered and set Ahab at an easy canter to where they would start.

  “Where’d you get that horse, boy?” Erskin pulled up beside her.

  “Family horse. Just likes to run. Pulls a good plow too.” She leaned forward slightly to stroke Ahab’s neck. Not that he’d ever been hitched to a plow, but Erskin wouldn’t know that.

  “You ever raced ‘im before?”

  “Me? No. Daddy just thought it might be a fun idea.” This at least was no lie. She herself had never ridden Ahab at the track in a real race. She had trained him at home. And her daddy, why, he had thought racing Thoroughbreds one of the chief delights of this life.

  He’d be heartbroken to see his pride and joy in the condition he was in.

  They reached the starter, who looked about as reputable as the man at the other end. “Y’all ready?” he asked.

  Jesselynn wished she had goggles but only nodded after settling herself deeper in the saddle. Ahab shifted from one front foot to the other. “Easy, son.”

  The man pointed his pistol in the air, paused, and the shot rang out. Ahab leaped as if from a starting gate, but before he hit his stride, the black was three lengths ahead and extending his lead.

  “Go, Ahab!” Jesselynn crouched over his withers, making herself as small as possible, urging him on with hands and reins.

  They lost by a length, but toward the end they were gaining. If only they’d had more track to cover.

  Ahab was blowing hard when she pulled him to a canter, then a trot, and turned back to where Erskin stood, accepting the congratulations of the crowd—and the purse.

  “Sorry, boy. Someone shoulda warned ya.” He turned and slapped his horse’s shoulder. “Yes, sir, this old boy can run.”

  Losing the twenty-dollar gold piece she’d had to put up galled her hide. Losing the race made her see shades of red—bright red. “That he can.” She forced the chosen words past teeth clamped together to keep the flood inside. The flood attacked her instead. Calling herself all kinds of names, none of them complimentary, she led Ahab off to walk him around and cool him down.

  How stupid to think she could win so easily. Sure, let the other horse catch up and push ahead at the last moment. What was she thinking of?

  She stayed away from Aunt Agatha and the wagon.

  Leading his horse, Erskin caught up with her. “No bad feelings now, are there? After all, your horse there has a good heart. He didn’t quit on ya.”

  Jesselynn just nodded and kept on walking.

  “Tell ya what I’ll do. How about you meet me back here again tomorrow morning, same time, and I’ll let ya see if you can win yer money back? How’s that?”

  “You mean no money up front?”

  “Right, that’s what I mean. Outa the goodness of my heart.” He clapped one hand on his chest, even though it was on the wrong side.

  “So, what’s the catch?” Jesselynn stopped walking and faced him square on.

  “No catch. Just that if I win, I keep both horses. You win, you get ’em both—and the purse.”

  She kept her mouth closed and her eyes from widening through supreme willpower. All her mother’s training on good manners and deportment came to the fore. She eyed the man, rock steady. “On one condition.” Oh, Lord, am I being a fool? Or am I just being my daddy’s girl? Zachary wouldn’t even hesitate. But I’ve got all these people to think of. She sighed. That’s what she was thinking of—getting her people to Oregon.

  She shook her head, turned away. The stakes were too high.

  “I’ll throw in an extra hunnerd dollars.”

  He thinks he’s got us whupped and down. “On one condition.”

  “What’s that?”

  “We double the length of the track.”

  He studied her through squinted eyes, looked up at the cotton-bole clouds and back at her. “Done.”

  While she hesitated to shake his dirt-engraved hand, she knew that gentlemen did so. Not that he was a gentleman, more like a conniving lowlife, but the race was set. She mounted Ahab. “Tomorrow then.” And rode off.

  She headed up the river in order to fool anyone following her, and when she was certain no one was on her trail, she angled back for their camp. As soon as Aunt Agatha arrived, Jesselynn unhitched Chess, saddled him, and cantered back to town, leaving instructions for Daniel and Jane Ellen on caring for Ahab.

  Aunt Agatha had only shaken her head. She’d heard the buzz before she left the crowd.

  Jesselynn put money down on the oxen, rode by to check on the wagons, which were promised for the morning, stopped at Robinson’s store to finish ordering the supplies, including another oak water barrel, and listened again to the excuses from the ironmonger.

  “But, Jehosaphat, he come up de river, say my barge be here tomorrow. Dey got stuck on a sandbar, but all right now.”

  She nodded and left. At least they hadn’t thrown the boxes of shoes overboard.

  If she kept busy enough, she couldn’t think about the morning.

  But back at camp, Daniel and Benjamin didn’t even try to hide their fear—or was it sorrow? Meshach shook his head and returned to his Bible reading before it got too dark to decipher the pages. She didn’t dare ask what the Good Book had to say about gambling—if anything.

  “We’re going to win,” she promised the stars from her bedroll.

  Ahab pranced in the coolness of the early morning and ate his oats with ears pricked forward as if he knew what was coming. When Jesselynn lifted his front foot to pick the dirt out, he turned his head to nudge her seat, nearly sending her flying flat out.

  “Ahab! Whatever is the matter with you?”

  “He like dat racin’ again.” Meshach started to brush off the mud crusted on the horse’s shoulder, then stopped. “One day we get to brush and polish this old son till him look like the granddaddy Thoroughbred he be.”

  “Did you pray for us to win?”

  “Hmm.” He nodded. “But more I pray for God to keep you both safe and for us all to get on de road before trouble happen. Just do yo’ best. That all you can do.”

  Jesselynn nodded. Earlier that morning she had decided that none of them would place a bet. Winning the purse would be enough.

  They hitched up the wagon and, with Aunt Agatha stitching away in her rocking throne, headed for town. Once she dropped Benjamin and Meshach off at Jenkins, Aunt Agatha would drive the wagon herself over to watch the race. Jesselynn made a detour and came toward the racing ground by another direction. When they won, everyone would be on the lookout for her and her horse. Keeping the camp safe was more important than anything.

  The crowd was double the size of the day before, and the man with the slate was doing a brisk business. Erskin and his black were the center of an admiring group; a silver flask along with a long-necked bottle made the rounds, upping the hilarity that greeted every joke and sally.

  “Come on over, boy, have a tote.” Erskin waved to Jesselynn.

  She shook her head but smiled to show she wasn’t being uppity.

  Suddenly she felt like throwing up. Right there in front of everyone. Right now! She wanted to call the whole thing off, but Erskin had signaled the time had come to mount up. Too late. Whether she felt relief or fear, she didn’t know.

  She sucked in a deep breath, held it, and nudged Ahab forward toward the starter, who was just a speck but for his red flag. Red flag, pistol shot, race. In that order.

  All right, calm down. This is just a race like any other, and this time the distance is on our side.

  But how do you know the black can’t run distance too? And you can lose Ahab!

  That was one of t
hose thoughts she’d been refusing to acknowledge. She didn’t know. But she would soon find out.

  She squeezed Ahab into a canter and could feel him arch his back to take an extra jump or two—sheer energy. As her daddy always said, “Poetry in motion. That’s a good runnin’ horse.”

  “Well, Daddy, today our poetry had better sing loud and clear.” She swept by the starter with a nod and turned in a gentle half circle to bring Ahab back to the starting line. Erskin trotted up and, with a tip of his head, took his place between her and the starter.

  “Now, remember, if’n either of you start before the gun, you get one more chance, and after that it’s a forfeit.”

  “You didn’t mention that yesterday.”

  “What’s that you say?” The man cupped his ear to hear better, the red flag dangling behind him.

  Jesselynn shook her head to signify it didn’t matter. Ahab settled on his haunches and stopped the restless shifting. Ready, like an arrow to be released from a bow.

  “Ready.”

  The black jumped forward, eliciting a curse from his rider. Erskin rode him in a circle and came up from behind.

  While he performed his move, Jesselynn stroked Ahab’s neck. “That’s all right, old son, you be ready now. He’ll get off faster than we do, but we’ll catch him flyin’.” Looking neither to the right nor to the left, she concentrated on the gap between Ahab’s pricked ears.

  The shot! The leap! And they were pounding the dust one length behind the black. Jesselynn crouched forward. “Okay, now, let’s get up about his stirrup.” She loosened the reins, and Ahab leaped forward as if she’d been holding him back. They came up even with the black’s streaming tail, then with his haunches, and then even with the stirrups.

  Erskin went to the whip, and the black surged forward.

  Wind sang in her ears, hooves thudded, and Ahab grunted as he pulled up head to neck.

  Erskin beat the black, both on rump and shoulders, screaming at him for more.

  Ahab surged by him, still picking up speed, and crossed the finish line with half a length to spare.

  If she hadn’t been the horsewoman her father had trained her to be, Jesselynn might have fallen off from sheer relief. Instead, she let Ahab run a bit before easing him back first to a hand gallop, then to a canter. She turned to trot back to where the crowd stood in silent grief. Jesselynn glanced over at Aunt Agatha, who wore a grin from here to Sunday. A brief sketch of a nod was her only answering motion.

  Jesselynn stopped in front of the chalk man and leaned forward to pat Ahab’s steaming shoulder.

  “Here you go, boy. I never saw a horse run like that ‘cept at a real honest-to-God track one time. That horse sure can run.” He handed her the leather pouch, which she stuck in her pocket.

  Erskin strode up and handed her his horse’s reins. “I kept the saddle. That weren’t part of the bet.”

  “I didn’t bet. You set up the parameters.”

  He raised an eyebrow, but she didn’t bother to explain. “Thank you. We will treat him well. What is it you call him?”

  “Blackie.”

  Jesselynn looked around to see her aunt standing several feet distance.

  “That was a fine race, son.” Her eyes twinkled. “Your mother must be right proud of you.”

  “Thank you, ma’am.” Jesselynn ducked her head, as was proper. It helped hide her almost smile. She mounted Ahab again and clucked the other horse to follow them. She trotted a ways and stopped. Clear as if someone sat on her shoulder, she heard a voice tell her to offer Blackie back to his former owner for a hundred dollars.

  That’s crazy. Why, the army would pay two hundred . . . or more. Ahab sighed and shook his head, setting the reins to flapping. Jesselynn looked around. No one nearby was paying any attention. Shaking her head and giving a heavy sigh, she turned the horses back toward the now thinning crowd. Aunt Agatha and the wagon were heading out the other way. When she found the chalk man, she stopped. “You seen Erskin?”

  “Probably in the saloon drowning his sorrows. Losing Blackie hit him hard.”

  “Thanks. Which saloon?”

  “Oh, most likely the Western Belle. Favorite place o’ his.”

  Jesselynn found the place after a bit of searching, tied the horses to the hitching rail, and took the steps two at a time. She paused before the swinging doors. Saloons were no places for young women, but since she was a young man, it should be all right. But it wasn’t. She stepped back when someone pushed the doors outward.

  Come on. Quit wasting time. Get on in there and find the man so you can get Ahab back under cover. With that as a prod, she pushed the doors and followed them inward, blinking in the dim light. Even at this time of the morning, smoke hung like a shroud over the room. Two tables were set up for cards, but she found Erskin leaning against the bar, a bottle in front of him.

  “Mr. Erskin?”

  He turned with a snarl on his face that only intensified when he saw her. “What do you want now? You got my horse. Ain’t got nothin’ else.”

  She nearly coughed on the fumes flung her way by his words. “I have a proposition for you.”

  “Yeah?” He hoisted the bottle, his Adam’s apple glugging several times before he handed the bottle in her direction. “Have some.”

  “No, thanks. My daddy don’t hold with his son drinkin’ liquor yet.” She leaned against the bar and waited for him to repeat the chugging noise and smack his lips. “Now, I was wondering if you would like to buy Blackie back.”

  “Buy him back? Are you outa your ever-lovin’ mind? ‘Course I want him back.”

  “Good. How does a hundred and fifty dollars sound?”

  “Ain’t got that much.”

  “How much do you have?”

  “A hunnerd.”

  “Gold?”

  A nod.

  “Sold. Come on out and get him.” Jesselynn turned toward the door expecting him to follow, but halfway there she realized no sound of boot steps came behind her. She turned.

  Erskin stood as if he’d been turned to salt. He blinked, the only part of his body that seemed to work other than his hand that clenched and relaxed before clenching the bottle again.

  “Are you comin’?”

  “Aye, boy, that I am.”

  Jesselynn hoped Blackie knew his way home, because the way Erskin swayed and stumbled, he wouldn’t be doing much guiding.

  She left with his blubbering thank-yous ringing in her ears. Maybe she could be called all kinds of fool, but right now a peace rode her shoulders, and it failed to evaporate on the roundabout ride back to camp.

  Two days later she had the new wagons loaded and the oxen pulling them into Wolf’s camp. “We’re here for your inspection.”

  His eyes didn’t look one mite more accommodating. After he went through all the boxes, bags, and barrels, he stopped next to her.

  “All right. Much against my better judgment, you can join us. We leave day after tomorrow.”

  “Good. That’ll give me time to sell my other wagon and the extra horse.” She glanced up into his face, hoping for a smile, a nod, something that indicated he was pleased. Nothing.

  “Now, you’ve told me everything else you are bringing, right?”

  Everything but seven Thoroughbreds, but they shouldn’t cause any problem.

  “I don’t like surprises.”

  Jesselynn shrugged. “I better get on back to camp.” God, forgive me, but I don’t know what else to do.

  ON THE OREGON TRAIL

  “Here come the wagons!” Thaddeus threw himself back against Jane Ellen’s chest.

  Her grunt spoke volumes for the strength the little boy gained daily.

  Jesselynn released a deep breath she wasn’t aware she’d been holding. Sitting high on the wagon seat, she let her thoughts and fears run rampant. What if Gray Wolf took another route? What if he refused them when he saw the other horses? Of course he wouldn’t be seeing the horses until later. With the sun barely out of bed, the
wagon train snaked along the trail, already raising a cloud of dust. The western sky, however, looked about ready to take care of the dust problem. A chill wind blew, precursor to the black, moisture-laden clouds.

  But to the east, the sun shone, waking the diamonds that slept on the spring grass. Dandelions opened their golden faces to the morning and hid in the growing grass. With thirty wagons, this train was smaller than some of the others, and from what she’d heard, was better prepared.

  Wolf had seen to that. He rode now at the head of the train, his spotted horse—she’d heard they were called Appaloosas—dancing with energy.

  She wondered how far ahead their horses had gotten. Meshach, Daniel, and Benjamin had taken them south to meet with the wagon train later in the day. If she’d dared, she’d have sent them on ahead to Topeka. Once they were well on the trail, surely he wouldn’t send them back. But with all the farmlands and small towns dotting the first leg of the trail, he could send them back anytime. Not like farther north where she’d heard the land was still as free as the grass that rippled like waves in the wind. She’d read that in a circular sent out to encourage western migration.

  The bluegrass at home did the same just before haying time. Otherwise the pastures were kept short for the horses to have the succulent new grass to feed on. In her other life the foals would be cavorting under immense walnut trees while their dams grazed. The yearlings would be racing each other up the fence line, practicing for their future. Up at the big house, rugs would be on the lines for the beating, curtains down for washing away the winter dust, and workers singing as they washed the windows, making the house sparkle for Easter.

  Meshach had reminded her that Easter would be that Sunday. Celebrating Easter on the wagons west. Somehow it didn’t seem proper. No church with snowball bouquets, spiked with purple iris, on the altar. No new hats and gowns, no special Easter feast with as many friends and relatives who could come.

  But, of course, that was all before the war—in her other life.

  One of the oxen bellowed and was answered by one of the oncoming spans. They plodded along as if they’d been on the trail already for days, but she knew that many of them were still being trained the day before. One of theirs, a brindle that Jane Ellen named Buster, didn’t want to settle into the yoke. She had him yoked in her span so she could keep after him to pull his share. Jesselynn thought Blister a more suitable name.