The Long Way Home Page 8

  And if she felt that way, no wonder Zachary did. Perhaps he was more honest than she, admitting his doubts.

  But I don’t want to doubt you, Lord. All my life, you have been a part of me. If you were gone, would I not feel the amputation? I know you are here. I know you care. I know that you will see us through, for you said you would.

  The ache in her head took up the cadence of a drumbeat leading the march. Turning, she headed back up the stairs and sank down on her bed. So much to do, and here she was lying down again. What would her mother say?

  Oh, Mother, I need you so. You would have the wisdom to tell Zachary—to tell him what? I don’t know, but . . . Louisa lay back on her pillows, the cool sheets blessing the back of her neck, her hand covering her closed eyes. The beat took up a place behind her eyes and pounded out the moments. You would bring me peppermint tea and rub my neck and forehead. I can hear you singing.

  Ah, Mother dear, how I miss your singing. You sang when there was nothing to be joyful about, but you said singing and praising God made you feel joyful anyway. A tear leaked from under her closed lashes and meandered down to the pillow. You called it a sacrifice of praise. Is that what I need?

  Another tear joined the first. My head hurts and I am so weary. A tune trickled into her mind. ‘‘Praise to the Lord, the Almighty, the King of creation.’’ She took a deep breath and let it all out, allowing her shoulders to sink back into the feathery softness. ‘‘O my soul, praise Him, for He is thy health and salvation!’’

  A bird twittered in the branches outside the window. A breeze lifted the once starched curtains and blew through the drape of mosquito netting. It kissed her cheeks and bathed her forehead with blessedly cool fingers, drying her tears as she drifted off to healing sleep.

  There were times when Louisa almost asked Zachary if he really meant what he’d said, but courage failed her. She watched him, trying to decipher the pensive look he wore at times, the face he presented to the recuperating soldiers not matching the one she saw upon close scrutiny.

  ‘‘Why are you always staring at me?’’ The snap in his voice lashed like the tip of a whip.

  ‘‘I . . . I’m not. I . . .’’ She seized her courage with both hands and yanked it up to her heart where it belonged. ‘‘I’m just trying to figure you out.’’

  ‘‘Well, don’t bother. Just a waste of your time.’’ He turned away and crutched out of the room, his stiff back sure evidence of his displeasure.

  She hated people to be upset with her.

  ‘‘Well, brother dear, two can play that game.’’ With firm resolve, she kept herself from running after him.

  But an hour later, he came up behind her where she sat sewing with her soldiers and dropped a kiss on the top of her head. She’d known it to be him by the sound of his crutch and stride.

  ‘‘Forgiven?’’ he whispered.

  She rolled her eyes heavenward. ‘‘Perhaps.’’

  He proceeded to entertain the seamsters, keeping them laughing while their needles flew.

  ‘‘Ouch!’’ One man stuck his finger in his mouth. ‘‘Now look what you did, made me laugh so hard I got blood on this coat.’’

  I pray to God that’s all the blood it ever gets! She had a bundle of coats in the other room that needed patches. Patches for the holes bullets had torn through the coat and into a body. By looking at the coats, she’d seen how the men had died or ended in a hospital. If only she could sew a lining that would withstand bullets and screaming shells.

  ‘‘Mail done come.’’ Abby brought several letters on a oncesilver salver, now worn so that the lesser metal took precedence.

  Louisa smiled her thanks, her mouth turning up further at the sight of Lucinda’s laborious handwriting. ‘‘A letter from Twin Oaks.’’

  Zachary looked up from his conversation, question marks all over his face, though he quickly wiped them away as he returned to his usual noncommittal expression.

  With that brief glimpse of Zachary’s pained expression, Louisa realized that she needed to look behind the mask on her brother’s face to see his true feelings. What feelings he let himself have.

  ‘‘Oh, and a letter from Jesselynn. How wonderful. Two in one day.’’ She looked to the faces of her sewing group. ‘‘I will go over and see if any mail has come for you.’’

  ‘‘I go see.’’ Reuben nodded to the group before heading out the side gate.

  Since black slaves were not supposed to be able to read and write, Louisa took out Jesselynn’s letter first. Surely there would be parts in it she could share with all of them. She glanced down the page, wishing she were in her own room so she could savor every word.

  She looked up to see expectant faces watching her, needles and thread lying idle. ‘‘My sister is on her way to Oregon in a covered wagon, along with others of our people. Much of Twin Oaks, our home in Kentucky, was burned last year. I’ll read what she says.

  ‘‘ ‘We have found a wagon train and are finally leaving Independence, Missouri. We were beginning to think we would have to remain there, but living in wagons is not my idea of a good way to spend a winter. The two foals are growing like weeds and making us all laugh at their antics. Living close to our horses, as we are now, has created a bond we didn’t have before. Thaddeus is a born horseman, just like his daddy and older brothers. He has no fear around them, which can cause some of the rest of us plenty of fear at times.

  ‘Aunt Agatha knits her way across the land. She has taken Jane Ellen under her wing, and the two of them are teaching the boys manners and correct speech, the kind of things I should be doing but have been too busy keeping us all together.

  ‘The good news, Ahab can run as well as ever. While we lost the first race, I asked for more distance for the next one, and he did himself proud. The purse and selling the loser’s horse back to him has caused our purse to swell to needed proportions again.’ ’’

  ‘‘Jesselynn raced Ahab?’’ Aunt Sylvania’s eyes were as round as the lemon cookies on the plate near at hand. ‘‘That stallion?’’

  Louisa shrugged. ‘‘We all do what we must. I surely do wish I could see Thaddeus. He was just a baby, or so it seemed, when we saw him last. He won’t even remember who we are.’’ She hoped that changing the subject would derail Aunt Sylvania’s horror.

  ‘‘She rode sidesaddle?’’

  Louisa sent Zachary a pleading look that clearly cried help. His noncommittal shrug made her eyes narrow, sending darts his way.

  ‘‘Here, she continues. ‘The train we are joining is of a good size and the wagon master has a good reputation.’ ’’

  ‘‘Louisa, I asked you a question.’’

  Louisa laid the letter in her lap. She sighed, shook her head, and looked up at her aunt. ‘‘Jesselynn wore britches, has been wearing them since she left Twin Oaks, because that is the only way she can keep all of them safe. She is doing what she has to do, just like the rest of us.’’

  Aunt Sylvania shook her head and kept on shaking it. ‘‘The war, always the war. Life will never be the same again.’’ She sniffed and dabbed at her nose with a bit of cambric. ‘‘Lord, have mercy on us all.’’

  ‘‘Amen to that,’’ one of the men muttered.

  ‘‘Supper is ready.’’ Abby stood in the doorway. ‘‘You want I should bring it out here?’’

  ‘‘No, we’ll come in.’’ Louisa stood and tucked the letters into her apron pocket. ‘‘My, that surely does smell fine.’’

  But when she read the letter from Lucinda later in Zachary’s study, she felt as though she’d been slugged in the midsection.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Fort Laramie

  ‘‘See you again?’’ That voice?

  Wolf stopped as if he’d hit a granite face at a dead run. ‘‘Jesselynn?’’

  She stopped on the second from the last riser. ‘‘I do believe so.’’ Her accent thickened. She smiled, ordering her lips to not tremble, nor the tears behind her eyes to fall. Ah, Wolf, how . . .why
. . . I cannot bear this. All her mother’s and Lucinda’s coaching about how a Southern gentlewoman behaved came to her aid.

  ‘‘God be praised, you have come back.’’ His whisper drove straight to her heart.

  She took another step down, her gaze never leaving his, her mouth so dry she could not have spoken, even if an arrow were pointing at her.

  Father God, she is most glorious, like the sun rising above the mountains or a lake with the kiss of evening upon it. And she has come back.Please, I beg of you, let her stay. Wolf stepped forward. If there were others in the room, he had no awareness of them. He took her hand, drew it up in the crook of his arm, and pressed it against his side. Could she hear his heart thundering like a spring cascade over a cliff?

  Does he know what he is doing to me? Lord, I cannot go through the leaving again. He must come with us to Oregon. Can he hear my heart? Feel me tremble? Once in his arms was not enough. I want forever.

  As the two of them walked into the dining room, Jesselynn glanced up in time to see Rebeccah wipe a pleased look off her face, the kind of look a cat wore when it had been in the cream uninvited.

  ‘‘If you would sit here, Jesselynn, and Mr. Wolf, there.’’ She indicated chairs on the opposite sides of the table, directly across from each other. When they all had taken their places, she nodded to her husband. ‘‘If you will say grace, Captain Jensen.’’

  Jesselynn bowed her head but not so far that she couldn’t see Wolf from under her lashes. He bowed his head, giving her a view of his broad forehead, the thick dark hair springing from it as if it had a life of its own. His shoulders filled out the shirt, the open collar framing his throat and upper chest, the cords of his neck strong beneath the skin. His skin reminded her of the Cordova leather that once bound her father’s books. Neither brown nor red but some mix of the two that made a hue all its own, the richer for the joining.

  ‘‘Jesselynn, would you like your meat sliced thick or thin?’’ Rebeccah spoke softly. Jesselynn could feel the heat flaming up her neck. She’d not heard one word of the prayer, not even the ‘‘amen.’’ She dared not look at Wolf in case he realized where her thoughts had been. Never in her entire life had she lost herself like this, not even after her fiancé died, or her father. She’d always kept her wits about her.

  Until today.

  While she took part in the conversation, she had no memory of what she had said or eaten when they rose from the table. Clara, the second maid, served their coffee in the parlor.

  ‘‘So what are your plans?’’ Captain Jensen turned to Wolf.

  ‘‘I’ll leave for the Oglala lands as soon as the general issues my requisition for blankets and supplies for my people. We brought in ten elk, which should help feed the fort for a while. The men now know the elks’ range, and they can hunt again.’’

  ‘‘And you, Miss Highwood?’’

  Jesselynn forced her attention away from Wolf and back to the captain. ‘‘My two wagons are returning to Fort Laramie. We have three others along. We are hoping that’’—she drew in a deep breath, wishing for a private place to talk with Wolf— ‘‘Wolf, er . . . Mr. Torstead will change his mind and take our train west after all.’’ She watched the shutter drop over his eyes and the rest of his face. Clearly, that wasn’t what he wanted to hear.

  ‘‘Ah, then I have a feeling you two could use some time alone to discuss your—um . . .’’ Captain Jensen turned to his wife. ‘‘Come, dear, we can go help Clara with the dessert.’’ The two of them exited the room, leaving a curious silence behind. Jesselynn studied her fingers, finding bits of dirt still under her fingernails. Without her knife, it would have to stay there. She snuck glances at Wolf, who stood looking out the parlor window. He hadn’t moved since the Jensens left the room.

  ‘‘How much damage did your wagons suffer?’’ Lord, can I convince her to come with me?

  At the sound of his voice, her heart jumped into her throat. ‘‘Ah, not much. They were at the end of the train, and the stampede started when lightning hit the lead wagon. Aunt Agatha and Benjamin kept their oxen in hand.’’ Please, turn and look at me.

  ‘‘Where were you?’’ I know I am rushing her, but we must have a camp for winter—if she will stay.

  ‘‘With the herd.’’ She told him of the almost stampede and the hollow. ‘‘It could have been terribly tragic.’’

  ‘‘You were wise to not take the shortcut with the others. They will lose more oxen that way.’’ The silence deepened again.

  Wolf, we need you. Please take us on to Oregon. We’ll pay you double if you’ll guide our train. Practicing what to say did not make the saying of it any easier. She knit her fingers so tightly together that they cramped.

  ‘‘Why are you going to Oregon?’’

  ‘‘For the free land, so that Meshach can start a new life. He wants to be a free man where no one will look down on him or call him ‘boy’ again.’’

  ‘‘So that is why Meshach is going. What about you?’’ He turned to study her with his dark eyes.

  ‘‘They say the land will grow anything, horse feed included.’’ She twisted her mouth to one side, sighed, and looked straight at him. ‘‘To get away from the war. I want nothing to do with slavery and war ever again.’’

  ‘‘Why does it have to be Oregon?’’ The question hung in the stillness.

  ‘‘I . . . I reckon I don’t really know. We tried Missouri, and Daniel nearly got lynched. Kansas was worse with Quantrill’s Raiders, so we decided on Oregon and went ahead with obtaining supplies. We hope Oregon is far enough away from the South that we can build a new life.’’

  He took two steps across the room to where the lamplight burnished his face and threw his eyes into shadow. ‘‘You could have the same in Wyoming.’’

  ‘‘I’ve heard the winters can be fierce in Wyoming.’’ She stared into his eyes. What is it you are saying? Her throat dried. Her heart speeded up.

  ‘‘My people know how to live through the winter. And after the snow comes spring. There are wild horses to be caught. Our herd would grow quickly that way.’’

  Was it a slip of his tongue? Had he really said ‘our’? ‘‘What are you saying?’’ Jesselynn’s fingers shook, so she hid them in her skirt.

  Wolf took two more steps, reached for her hands, and pulled her to her feet. With their hands clutched between them, he stared down at her. After taking a deep breath and letting it out, he spoke so softly she was forced to lean ever closer. ‘‘I am asking you to marry me. We can homestead in the hills above the Chugwater. The grass grows rich in the spring, and there are wild flowers the blue of your dress.’’ He fingered the puff of one sleeve.

  ‘‘Milady’s eyes.’’

  ‘‘What?’’

  ‘‘That’s what some call these forget-me-nots.’’ She waited. Would he ever say the words she so desperately longed to hear?

  ‘‘Meshach would find it good there too.’’

  ‘‘But he wants to go on to Oregon.’’

  ‘‘But he wants to go on ‘‘And Aunt Agatha?’’

  Jesselynn closed her eyes. Taking a deep breath didn’t help. Aunt Agatha. Oh, my Lord, help me here—and there. How will I deal with Aunt Agatha? I know you are my life and you have the answers, but this man, Father, I love this man. Is there anything wrong with that? And I sense that if I don’t answer now, he’ll be gone.

  She opened her eyes to find Wolf watching her; his hands had not loosened their grip, his thumb stroked the back of her right hand. ‘‘I . . . I will talk with Aunt Agatha.’’ Oh, Lord, preserve me. Put words of wisdom in my mouth.

  ‘‘It is of her I must ask for your hand in marriage?’’

  Jesselynn shook her head. It should be Zachary. Now, if that wouldn’t be a scene. She tried to take a step back, but he moved with her.

  ‘‘No, I make my own decisions.’’ She looked deep into his eyes, trying to read his soul. Do you love me? Say it!

  She swallowed hard, cleared her throat.
‘‘Wolf, in my world words are important. . . .’’ No, I’m saying it all wrong. This feels like love, looks like love, and acts like love. Can I trust that it is? Father, are you blessing this? I feel that you are.

  ‘‘Yes?’’ Now both his thumbs were sending messages screaming up her arms, setting her skin on fire, her heart to thundering.

  Her head dropped forward, her forehead resting on his chest. His heart, too, beat faster, louder. When she looked up, she smiled into his eyes that carried a shadow. ‘‘Yes, Mr. Torstead, I will marry you.’’

  The shadow fled, and the sun burst forth. He cupped her face with his hands and kissed her waiting mouth. As if that weren’t enough, he tasted her nose, her chin, and returned to her mouth. When he drew away, he cupped her cheeks again, tenderly, as if holding a great and fragile treasure. ‘‘You are sure?’’

  ‘‘Yes. I am sure.’’ She sucked in another breath and laid her hands over his. ‘‘I am sure that I love you. I am sure that I want to be with you for the rest of my life.’’ And I am sure that the next few days will test everything I am.

  ‘‘We will be married here at the fort?’’

  ‘‘If you want.’’

  ‘‘I will go with you to bring in the wagons.’’

  She now stepped back. ‘‘No, I will do that myself.’’

  He studied her face, then nodded. ‘‘As you wish.’’

  I can’t have you wounded by her words. She will go berserk. ‘‘Not what I wish, but what I must do.’’ She took another step back and realized they were no longer alone.

  ‘‘Here’s the dessert, Clara’s chocolate cake with whipped cream. You’ve never tasted anything so delicious west of the Mississippi.’’ Captain Jensen carried one tray, followed by his wife with another. When they set them on the low table, he looked up with a twinkle in his eye. ‘‘Your time was well spent, I gather?’’

  Wolf nodded. He took Jesselynn’s hand. ‘‘She has agreed to marry me.’’