Walk Away West

by J. F. Collen

  “I thought you might require a bit of nourishment after your many hours of grueling labor.” Baker smiled at her, with adoration in his eyes.

  Nellie smiled. Mercifully, ‘twas not my labor.

  “Just a little foretaste of tonight’s elaborate feast, percolating and simmering now, at my behest, under the capable hands of my cook.”

  If he is anything like your baker, I am in for a treat!

  Tarnation, she thought, reacting to Baker’s implied dinner invitation. She shook her head in doubt and tried not to gobble the rest of the biscuit. Anything cooked in a proper kitchen, augmented with bread from the bakery, would taste like a feast. But I shall not be seduced by a specially prepared meal. I must not allow my vulnerable state to cloud my judgment.

  “After our dinner, I have ordered a special activity, in honor of your extended stay. A miniature cotillion, military fort style. Between our bugler, and a fella that picks a mean fiddle, we have concocted a band to provide us with some fine dancing music.”

  A bugle band? Nellie shook her head again. No matter, I shall not hear it, however worthy it may or may not be. “I beg your pardon, I have forgotten myself. I must return to my emigration train. Please, Lawrence, you should be assembling my escorts at this very minute, not organizing a band.”

  “But my dear, sweet Rose. It is twilight. You toiled all last night and the better part of today. The night, the wolves, and the unpredictable savages are preparing to descend upon us again. No civilized person travels at this time of day.”

  Between her dismay at his use of the word ‘savage’ and her chagrin that the sun was indeed setting just outside the room’s lone window, Nellie’s spirits plummeted.

  A plump, white-haired woman hurried into the room. “At last, I have located you.”

  Nellie leapt from her chair, ready to rush back into the birthing room.

  The woman laughed, and laid her hand on Nellie’s shoulder, returning her to her seat. “All is well! Regard, I have only come to report that all is well. The fever of the mother has receded and the baby now sleeps, having successfully nursed several times in lo these few hours since it arrived in this world. ‘Tis the best medicine for a new mother, I always say.”

  “Truly this is good news indeed,” said Nellie. A huge sense of relief flooded her entire body. Mercy! Thank the Lord I am seated. I fear I have quite lost command of my limbs. She smiled at the woman, mentally gathering herself. “Howsoever, I shall end my respite and ascertain the wellbeing and sustainability of the pair for myself.”

  “That would be right helpful of you.” The woman smiled. “Nevertheless, you must rest assured, my credentials include facilitating quite a number of births. I am quite capable of assuming your responsibilities now, liberating you to return from whence you came.”

  Nellie looked at her sideways. Have I usurped her authority? Have I inadvertently trespassed upon her territory? “Mercy, I beg your pardon. In all of the trauma of the moment, in all the urgency of the situation, I failed to properly introduce myself.”

  The woman smiled. “As did I. You and I are kindred spirits. We both knew the formalities must wait whilst we attended to pressing business. I am Celinda Fisher. I hail from Boston, originally, and am no stranger to the healing arts. Yet I confess, I lack the depth of knowledge you command. I was quite at my wits end, despairing at the probability of the loss of yet another one of my sisters in childbirth, until you appeared, angel of mercy.”

  “You are kin to Greta?” asked Nellie.

  “Not by blood,” answered Celinda. “There are so few women in these parts we all become kin, from necessity.”

  Nellie smiled. “I am pleased to meet you, Celinda Fisher, and so very grateful you shouldered the burden of this task with me. Bereft of your skills, a successful outcome would have eluded us.”

  Celinda gave her a warm, motherly hug. “I echo your heartfelt sentiment. Your knowledge, skill, and equipment successfully increased this community by one person.” Nellie returned the older woman’s hug, thinking, ‘tis a most bizarre utterance.

  Celinda said, “Mercy, what am I going on about? Our increase in the fold should be my last concern. You saved two souls, one from the certain eternal torture of limbo, for the baby surely would have died before we could baptize it.”

  Still a rather bizarre sentiment. Mayhap Baker can shed some light on this matron’s reasoning. Mercy, Baker! Nellie twisted her head to look at him. He stood at courtly attention by the table, intent on their exchange, beaming at Nellie.

  “Captain Baker, I shall monitor our patient, and then I fear I must either return to my family or retire to garner enough strength that I might rejoin my wagon train as soon after dawn tomorrow as possible.”

  Baker gently took her hand. “As I was saying, prudence prevents me from dispatching an envoy tonight. What I propose instead is long overdue; proper nourishment and fêting for our fort’s angel of mercy. Tender handling shall place you in good stead, liberating your judgment, facilitating your assessment of your next steps.”

  Nellie frowned. Baker glanced at Celinda, who raised her eyebrows.

  Baker cleared his throat and took a step back. “Mrs. Wright, my orderly shall show you to your quarters for the night. Prompt action affords you sufficient time for refreshing yourself before dining and visiting your patients’ bedside, even though, as you have just learned, they are in quite capable hands.

  “I expect you to report to dinner in the officer’s quarters at eighteen hundred hours. You shall be our guest of honor.”

  Nellie looked at him, uncertain as to how to respond.

  “You have been issued a direct order from New Fort Kearney’s commander.” His dazzling grin dominated his features, preventing her from noticing his love-filled eyes.

  “I shall accompany you to see your namesake before you are shown to your quarters,” said Celinda.

  Nellie gave a squeal of delight. “Mercy, what an honor,” she whispered.

  Celinda smiled so hard her eyes crinkled. “Almost the exact words Greta used when she recuperated enough to be told the tale of her near demise, and salvation. It was an honor, she said, to be attended by a woman from New York, imbued with medical knowledge and expert skill. She hopes her daughter will follow in her namesake’s footsteps.” Tears sprang to Nellie’s eyes as Celinda took Nellie’s hand and squeezed it.

  “Mercy, our patient still faces a precipitous uphill climb to reach a healthy state. We must conspire to ensure their return to hale and hearty health,” said Nellie. Arm in arm, they walked across the fort’s square to the recovery room.

  Dinner took on the splendor of a grand ball in Nellie’s tired eyes. The food was sumptuous. The table of officers and their wives erupted easily into laughter. Stimulating dialogue drew Nellie into engaging conversation. The husband of the new mother joined them and toasted Nellie, effusing heartfelt sentiment and lavishing extreme praise on her medical abilities.

  Nellie blushed and smiled, enjoying the limelight.

  The newly formed band struck up a Strauss waltz. Mercy, Lawrence certainly remembers my weakness. She listened to the first notes of music. The bugle is a surprising asset to the fiddler and the Spanish guitar. A second later Baker held out his hand and, in a voice infused with southern charm, asked, “May I have this dance?”

  Nellie smiled, but thought, the propriety of this entire situation is truly questionable.

  As if he read her mind Baker said, “Out here on the Great Plains, beyond all civilization, we must not eschew the small shards of cultured society we muster, but rather accept our duty to sustain these threads and weave them into a new fine art.”

  The officers at the table laughed and encouraged her to dance.

  Nellie puzzled over his words. ‘Tis the most convoluted, yet thoughtful sentence I do believe I have ever heard him utter.

  Three other officers, with their attendant wives, leapt to the floor attempting waltz steps too. “We don’t oft have occasion to celebra
te,” one of the wives said, smiling as she waltzed past. “Our party shall end if you do not participate,” said another, with a wink.

  Heady from her triumph over death, and giddy from all the praise and attention, Nellie rose and took Baker’s hand.

  Lord have mercy on my soul. She melted into his arms. The music swelled around her, and she floated in the heaven of song and dance.

  “Flitting back into my life like a dream come true. Butter my biscuits! Surely a sign from Divine Providence,” Lawrence whispered into her ear as he twirled her around the real wood floor.

  Mercy, the heady rapture of his exceptional dancing prowess quite overpowers my sensibilities. Baker swept her off her feet, quite literally, on a crescendo of music.

  Nellie’s head spun, not just from the dancing but from the dreamlike aspect of the evening. She felt as if she were plucked from her own life and inserted into someone else’s. How has Lawrence maintained his dancing proficiency here in the wilderness? she wondered. Mercy, I do believe his expertise has increased! How are his movements so lithe and dexterous? She twirled around the floor, breathless, her whole body engaged in the joy of movement. Ecstasy resides in this man’s arms. I am in heaven. She floated in his embrace, lost in the music, seduced by Baker’s dancing charms.

  The bugle player produced a flute and changed instruments. Another soldier jumped next to the new flautist and added his violin.

  “The corporal plays the fiddle?” buzzed around the room

  That upgrade ratcheted the music quality up several notches. Baker smiled and motioned to the newly augmented band to keep playing. The strains of Strauss’s Songs of Liberty blended into his Love Songs Waltz. The titles of the dance music did not register with Nellie until the band began ‘Man leibt nur einmal!’. How very appropriate, she thought, somewhere in the back of her mind, ‘Man Only Lives Once!’ is an apt song for this evening.

  Nellie and Baker stopped, Nellie lingering in his embrace, as the music faded. A small squabble erupted as the band debated the next tune to play and the flautist demanded a mug of beer.

  Baker pulled Nellie to an alcove. Catching her hands and pulling them to his chest, he reeled her back into his arms. “I hope to clip you, little Primrose, from your garden and place you in a vase of cherished honor, the solitary bee pollinating my own, fairest Rose.” Nellie gasped as he bent down to kiss her. She pulled away.

  “My every waking moment has contained thoughts of you,” Baker whispered with passion.

  “Lo these five years?” Nellie asked, incredulity raising her eyebrows up to her hairline.

  “Lo these five years,” Baker replied. “Whilst I enthusiastically joined the public tribute of my officer, to whom you have given new life, my heart harbors words for your ears only. Permit me this private declaration of my undying love, and my appreciation for your many charms. Not merely beautiful, not only the fairest Rose, but also the most brilliant, thrilling companion a man could ever want.

  “I knew only you possessed the requisite expertise for saving that woman and child. Confident you employed far superior skills to any ordinary midwife, I knew I must engage you in this Herculean task. Please, my dearest Cornelia Rose, forsake me not! My need for the knowledge, care, and compassion only you possess grows ever stronger. Stay with me and make me the happiest of men for all my remaining born days.”

  Cornelia drew a deep breath. She shook her head; the reality of her situation crashing down all around her. At first sight of Baker, after all these years, I surmised this speech was forthcoming. She shook her head again and willed herself to overthrow his bewitching charm. She inhaled even more deeply. Therefore, she coached herself, before I hyperventilate, I must summon the answer I previously prepared, locked and loaded, for just this situation. Her deep inhale had not helped. She felt dizzy with emotion as the scent of Baker intoxicated her anew.

  With effort she stepped back, pulling herself together. “Captain Baker, your words fill me with warm thoughts and quite truthfully, utter delight. Your dancing disarms me. Your compliments contain praise I forever thirst to hear.”

  Baker stepped in closer, reached his arms around her. Nellie stepped back again.

  Yet another type of dance at which this gentleman excels.

  Nellie cleared her throat. “Yet, while your words are pleasing to my ear, my heart knows I may not abandon nor forsake all those to whom I have already sworn allegiance.”

  Baker blinked. “But surely your words belie your heart and your true intent?” Nellie shook her head, and Baker’s eyes hardened. “I would be remiss if I did not attempt one more persuasive declaration of true love. My Primrose, you must remain with me. Think of all you forsake when you rejoin that wagon train!”

  Nellie fully regained her command of the present. “Lawrence, as I conveyed five years ago, I shall always treasure you in my heart. But mercy! Any ship we could command together sailed long ago. I have chosen Obadiah. Moreover, in spite of the many temptations with which you seduced me since my arrival, endeavoring to entice a reversal of my charted course, I remain steadfast in my decision.”

  Lawrence looked at her, his blue eyes willing her to make a different choice. He again reached for her hand and tried to pull her close.

  Nellie stepped back again, but Baker did not release her hand. “Mercy, Lawrence, please. You must not press me any further, especially tonight in my weakened, post-duress state. A woman in my condition should not be so taxed.”

  Lawrence looked puzzled. “Condition...?” He frowned at her, then the light dawned and he swore. “Yet another burr in my saddle! As if those alluring, tender shoulders do not bear sufficient burden?”

  Nellie smiled at him. “‘Tis not a burden, but a joy, and I pray one day you will be so blessed.”

  Baker’s face crumpled. He looked down at his hand, still clutching hers. “I concede defeat. I comprehend full well the consequences of contravening your diktat once you have determined your course.”

  He lifted his pleading eyes to hers, a tear glistening in one. “Please, reward me with a small talisman of good fortune. A piece of you I might treasure always.”

  Nellie pulled her lace handkerchief from her sleeve and presented it to him with a flourish, relieved that he did not press her further. “Here. My handkerchief. Recently crocheted with the finest of lace, and my own initials.”

  “My Primrose, I shall treasure it and the memory of you always. If ever you find yourself in a reversal of circumstances, advise me. I shall travel from the ends of the earth to be at your side.”

  Chapter 31 – You’re My Home

  Plum Creek, Nebraska Territory, June 1857

  Captain Lawrence Simmons Baker and Cornelia Rose Entwhistle Wright galloped twenty-something miles across the Great Plains in little more than a morning. My feet were spared two solid days of walking! Nellie thought, enjoying her ride on the fine army horse Baker loaned her.

  As they neared the wagon train they both presumed was Nellie’s, Baker slowed his horse and turned to her. “I shall yearn for you every remaining day I trod upon this earth. You are the fairest Rose; your thorns have irrevocably pierced my heart.”

  Nellie smiled and pointed to the wagon train.

  Baker spurred his horse and galloped off at a pace even more frenzied than before. Nellie galloped after him.

  I find consolation in the thought that I shan’t be forced to take refuge in his arms for fear of falling to my death on this reckless ride. She grimly clutched her reins and dug her knees into her mare’s sides. Thank the Lord I wore my bifurcated skirt. If I were forced to ride sidesaddle, I never could have stayed astride at this pace.

  Their gallop lasted longer than Nellie anticipated, for upon closer inspection, nothing about the wagon train they first spotted looked familiar. This train cannot be mine, she thought as they galloped past. Not only do I fail to recognize any of the emigrants, no wagon is filled to overcapacity like the Wilton’s.

  She called to Baker, and they both pulle
d back on the reins. “Your train must be further ahead,” he said gruffly and resumed his furious pace.

  After another twenty minutes of rough riding, Nellie felt her fatigue, and began to worry that the excessive jostling would harm her unborn child. She dared not slow her pace however, for fear of losing sight of Baker.

  Two minutes later she reined her horse into a canter. I fear wandering alone in the wilderness far less than continuing this frenzied gallop, deleterious to my health. Let Baker arrive at my wagon train alone, and trigger an alarm dispatching the scout of the day in search of me. I can ride along the well-established trail and observe the parties that follow our train. What care I if Baker looks the fool?

  Mercy, ‘tis a long journey. My company has made astonishing progress....

  At that very moment Baker turned around. Apparently noticing she no longer rode beside him, he wheeled his horse and came galloping back. He pulled up at her side and doffed his hat. “A brilliant thought, my Primrose, dally, and delay this reunion with deprivation as long as possible.... Better still, extend our moments together indefinitely.”

  Nellie opened her mouth to argue, but a sudden thought gripped her. “This seems an expanse incredible to attain in little more than two days. By the distances calculated in the guidebooks, I surmise we should be nearing the Plum Creek crossing of the Platte. Lansford Hasting’s guidebook lists the distance as twenty-six miles.”

  “Like everything that shameless promoter Hasting’s guidebook articulates, we must take the distances he formulates with a grain of salt. His persuasive claptrap gave all citizens, disenchanted with failing banks and high taxes, a glamorized and idealized picture of the West.” He shook his head. “Surely, I believe in Manifest Destiny—Jiminy Crickets! ‘tis the very reason I aim to clear this land of savages. However....”

  Nellie stood up in her saddle. “My word! That precise language is the very reason you shall return to your self-proclaimed mission alone.”

  Baker swiveled his head toward her, looked her in the eyes, made a fist and punched his saddle.