Mac scanned the western horizon. It would be nightfall by the time he and Mrs. Danner arrived at the Turners’ farm. Lord, prepare their hearts for our arrival. They had a good barn and a large cabin. It would keep them safe from Jasper and anyone else who happened along. And Will Turner and his sons were none too shabby with their aim. Fact was, Will had been paid a few shillings for killing off some wolves in the early years of settling this part of Kentucky.
He caught a glimpse of Mrs. Danner nibbling her lower lip. “This here part of the Wilderness Road was first made by the Indians.”
“Huh?”
“The Indians, they used to travel this part of the road for hunting. It’s part of the original trail.”
“Oh.” She scanned the woods. “Are they gone?”
“The Indians are, and Jasper and his men soon will be. I think they’re just watching, trying to decide if it’s worth the trouble or not. You see, I have a small reputation in these parts.”
She eyed him more cautiously.
“I’m a fair shot,” he supplied for her benefit.
“Oh.” She released her grasp of his arm. Hopefully he’d calmed her fears some and not created new ones. Perhaps he shouldn’t have shared with her the thought that there might be danger. He could just as easily have said that black bears were known to be in the area. Which was true, and he wouldn’t exactly be lying. He’d always prided himself on being a man of his word. How could one woman cause him to wonder if he shouldn’t be quite so honest?
The wagon bounced over a small rock. “Sorry,” he apologized. He wasn’t used to driving a team of horses. His favorite modes of transportation were his feet and a canoe. As his backside began to protest his current form of travel, he felt certain he’d keep right on using those methods.
“I’m bringing you to William Turner’s place. They have a good-sized cabin and a barn.”
“Will they put us up?”
“More than likely. Out here everyone kind of looks out for everyone else.” At least the ones who are settlers. She’d already learned about the others. He prayed she wouldn’t experience their evil firsthand.
“How much longer?”
“Not too much. A couple miles and we should be able to see Will’s farm.”
She nodded.
She must still be working through the shock of her loss, he presumed. Then there was the fact that they were strangers, compounded by his natural tendency to be a loner. This was going to be a mighty long trek across Kentucky. He snapped the reins. “Yah, come on, boys. Let’s get there before the sun goes down. Fresh oats are on me.” Providing Will has planted oats again this year.
The valley spread before them. “See that smoke?” Mac pointed in the direction of the Turners’ farm. “That’s where we’re headed.”
Will Turner and his family had been busy this summer. The rail fence extended farther along the edge of the road than the previous year. They hadn’t turned more than twenty yards down the Turners’ long path to their home when he spotted Will standing at the front door, rifle in hand.
“Howdy, Will. Mac here. I got a flatlander in need of a place to stay tonight.”
Will set his rifle near the door and waved back. For a man in his early fifties, he stayed mighty fit. “You’re always welcome, Mac.”
“Whoa.” He pulled back on the reins and brought the team to a halt.
Will’s eyebrows rose, seeing a woman. “Hello, Miss…”
“Mrs. Danner,” Mac introduced. “Her husband came by way of an accident. We’ll need to bury him tomorrow.”
“I’m sorry to hear of your loss, Ma’am. You’re welcome to stay in the house. I’ll have my wife, Mary, make a bed up for you.”
“I don’t mean to be any trouble.”
“No trouble at all.” Will smiled. “Mac, pull the wagon to the barn and take care of the horses. I’ll be out shortly and give you a hand. Did you folks put a feedbag on?”
“Not since lunch. My stomach’s been gurgling for a mile, smelling Mary’s fine cooking.”
Will chuckled. “We’ll have a couple plates warm for ya. Excuse me.”
Mac turned toward Mrs. Danner. “They’re good folks. I think you’ll enjoy getting to know Mary Turner.”
“Let’s get the horses brushed down before we lose all daylight,” she suggested.
Mac placed his hand on hers. “Go inside, Mrs. Danner. I’ll take care of the horses. I’ll even bring your small bag in for you.”
She looked down at his hand. He removed it. What was he thinking? She gazed back into his eyes. “Thank you.”
He assisted her graceful departure from the wagon. Mac swallowed hard. She’s beautiful, Lord. Guard me from any wayward thoughts.
❧
Will and Mary Turner’s home was simple but practical. The log cabin had several additions for each of their grown children and their wives. It was hard to believe all these people lived under one roof, but the house was set up in such a way that they each had their private spaces. A small room with a bed for guests made up Pamela’s quarters. A wonderfully colored quilt covered the bed, and a fine feather pillow rested at its head. One wall was curtained with fabric. Behind it were all the canned vegetables the family had set up for winter. Even the small space under the bed doubled for storage.
A gentle knock on the doorframe caused Pamela to turn around. Mary Turner stood in the doorway.
“Are you all set, Dear?”
“Yes, thank you. This is very kind of you.”
“No trouble at all. As you can see, we always have room for one more.” Mary’s smile revealed small wrinkles around her eyes, showing her age. She’d been the perfect hostess. She’d fed them, made them feel at home, and even provided Pamela with some water and soap to clean up with.
“Do you have guests often?”
“Not too much. Once in awhile we have a drover stay as he’s heading back. But for the most part, it’s pretty quiet these days.”
“What’s a drover?” Pam eyed the bed. Should she sit down or continue to stand? Knowing what to do in a stranger’s house always left her with questions.
“They’re the men who drive the livestock back East for sale. The biggest use of the road these days is from that of drovers. Most folks heading west are using different routes.”
“Quinton said we would be traveling by ourselves most of the time.”
“How did your Quinton pass on, if you don’t mind me asking?”
Pamela sat down on the bed. Obviously her hostess wanted to talk, and Pam was glad to have someone to talk with. But as the image of Quinton squashed against the rock flashed through her mind, her hands trembled. Her lips quivered.
Mary Turner sat down beside her and wrapped her in a protective embrace. Odd, the woman had more muscle on her arms than Quinton had on his. Must come from working the land in the middle of nowhere.
“I don’t know how it happened. One minute he’d nearly finished putting the wagon back together, and the next he was pinned between Indian Rock and a wagon wheel.”
“Oh my, how tragic. I’m sorry. Have you been married long?”
Did she dare tell Mary Turner the truth? Tears welled in her eyes. She bit down on her inner cheek.
“Forgive me.” Mary rose. “How’d you like a nice warm bath? I imagine it’s been awhile since you’ve had one.”
Pamela fought the desire to check her armpits and make sure she didn’t smell.
Shock and worry crossed Mary’s face. “Oh no, Child. I was thinking a warm bath comforts me. I don’t get to take them often, mind you, but William built me a tub, and I’ve been spoiling myself every now and again. Might help relax you and work off some of the tension from traveling.”
“It sounds heavenly, but I wouldn’t want to put you to too much trouble.”
“None at all. I’ll get the menfolk to fill the tub.” She winked.
Pamela had to admit she liked Mary Turner. Her kindness equaled her very practical spirit.
T
hirty minutes later, Pam found herself neck deep in warm water. She leaned her head back against the wooden tub. William Turner had done a fine job. She traced the wood grain with her finger. I wonder if he’ll take a trade, she mused. Nope, Mary would never part with it. And she couldn’t blame the woman.
A soft sigh escaped her lips.
“Feels good, doesn’t it?” Mary said from behind the partition they’d put up around the tub. It really was quite an imposition. The men had to move the table, set up the tub, and fill it while Mary poured in the hot water she’d boiled on the stove. They told her they only took baths once a month. A girl could get used to this kind of spoiling.
“Mac, what are you doing back in here?” Mary’s voice called out.
“I need to ask a favor, Mary.”
Pamela wanted to hide. She heard Mary cutting and preparing something.
“Come on, Boy, spit it out.”
“Can I leave Mrs. Danner with you?”
What? Pamela wanted to scream. I thought he promised Quinton to take me to Creelsboro. Why has he changed his mind? She couldn’t stay here. The Turners were nice folk, and she could even see herself developing a friendship with them, but she wasn’t a part of their family. She had no right to live here. What is he thinking?
“Does my Will know your reasons?”
Four
“Yes.” Mac heard water slosh from behind the divider. He still couldn’t believe Mrs. Danner would be so brazen as to ask for a hot bath. He’d thought about not leaving her with the Turners for fear that she’d have them waiting on her. But if he was going to travel to Creelsboro, there were a few things he’d need for the journey back to his cabin.
“I’m fine with Mrs. Danner staying here if my Will is approving.”
“Oh no, no. I didn’t mean for her to stay a long time. I’ll be gone for a day, two at the most. When I return, we’ll continue on.”
Mary nodded her head and wrung her hands off on a towel.
“Thank you.” His gaze shifted from Mary to the folding partition. “Mrs. Danner, I’ll be back to fetch you. Don’t worry.”
“All right.” Her voice strained as if she wanted to say more. Their conversation had been limited. He’d given her space to grieve. He didn’t know if fear of him or shock at her loss kept her tongue, but for a woman, she certainly used few words.
Mac set his coonskin cap on his head and left the farmhouse that had grown an additional room this past summer. Will was talking about building a new house with milled timber and two floors. He’d made a fair profit for the past two years and felt he could afford to have the chestnut trees on the back of his property milled.
Mac shook his head as he headed back down the Wilderness Road in a cloak of darkness. The moon was blanketed with a cloud of lace as it stood half full, dancing off the ridge of Cumberland Mountain. He had no doubt that Jasper and his men had made camp someplace along the road Jasper would be expecting him to come back for the items they’d left at the saddle’s ridge. Mac would have to remove some belongings and perhaps hide a chest or two in Gap Cave just north of the gap.
He kept an even pace that would allow him to run twenty miles in four hours. He’d make it home and still have enough time to rest before dawn.
The smell of a campfire alerted his senses. Someone was close by. Few camped these days, with all the folks who had opened their homes as taverns. So one had to be careful. He cocked his rifle and continued his pace. He had no objection to Jasper seeing him tonight. It would play well with the story he told.
A half mile past the campfire, Mac quieted his steps. His ability to blend in with the woodland areas gave him much success with hunting. Tonight it would serve him well in hearing if he had picked up a follower. He grinned. He’d picked up one man in relatively good shape. Mac kept his pace. This man wouldn’t last long enough to make it up and over the gap. No, he was huffing too hard already. Mac would lose him before the gap, and his plan to store a chest in the cave would bode well for him. He’d open one chest and carry some of the clothing to his cabin. He prayed doing this would keep up the ruse for Jasper and his men.
Mac began the upward run toward the Cumberland Gap. His follower had slowed down considerably. When Mac arrived at Indian Rock, he found men’s clothing hung haphazardly over the chests. Apparently Jasper and his men had already rummaged through them. He opened a large, sturdy shirt and piled other clothing on top of it. Using the arms and the tail of the shirt, he created a small bundle. He picked up the smallest chest and continued his run. Up and over the saddle, he worked his way and headed down the road. Just a little bit north was Gap Cave. After placing the chest in there, he strapped the clothing to his back and continued home. He prayed that his follower hadn’t seen him working his way up to the cave. Thankfully the night sky shrouded him.
His undisturbed cabin greeted him as a welcome relief. He folded the clothing and placed it on a chair in his room. Father, I hope this will convince Jasper. Will Turner had agreed to take a couple of his boys and carry the remaining chests to his home. Mac rubbed the back of his neck. He hadn’t asked Mrs. Danner if she minded his giving away her husband’s belongings. But then again, he hadn’t wanted to remind her of the loss.
He still couldn’t believe the woman had asked for a bath. Of all the self-centered things to do. She obviously came from a well-to-do family. Her clothing and the amount of belongings they’d been carrying on their journey west were numerous.
He grabbed a kettle. Water slowly poured from the wooden barrel. A hollow sound echoed from it when he tapped the side. Nearly empty. He’d have to fill it if he were staying. Their journey would take him two weeks if they met with no hazards. He could return within a week after that, he hoped. If they didn’t have so much stuff for the store, they could make the trip in less time. He doubted she’d reduce any personal items. And how could he ask? Her family heritage was in that wagon, and she’d need all the comfort possible to keep her through the lonely nights of loss.
With the water heated on the woodstove, he made himself a cup of tea. “Lord, give me a good night’s rest and help me understand this woman. You and I both know my history when it comes to the fairer sex, and I’ve come to terms with the fact that I’m meant to live alone. What I desire most from life is not what women want. And as pretty as Mrs. Danner is, I can’t be having thoughts and feelings for her. She needs to mourn her husband’s death. I’m certain there is another man out there who would like settling down and wearing fancy clothes.” Mac yawned. “Forgive me, Lord, for carrying on here.”
He finished off his tea and headed for bed.
His door rattled in its hinges.
❧
Pamela pulled the quilt up over her shoulders. It felt so good to sleep on a mattress again. For five days she’d been sleeping on the ground, dealing with bugs and vermin. Goodness, Lord, why did Quinton insist on our going west? I know Father purchased the business in Creelsboro, but… She rolled over and buried her head into the pillow. No, I’m not going to think about this again. It’s over. They’re dead. Quinton’s dead. Why do I have to go on to Creelsboro? Why do I have to go anywhere?
Quinton’s strained words came back. “Remember the dream.”
She punched the pillow and closed her eyes tight. It’s not my dream. So why am I alive and not them?
Reality stung.
❧
Sunlight streamed through the small window. It was morning, time to rise and time to face her brother’s death. Today she would bury him. The Turners had given her permission to bury Quinton in their family plot.
Resolute, she flopped the covers off and dressed. It would take the better part of the morning for her to dig Quinton’s grave.
“Good morning, Mary,” she said to the kind woman with broad hips and broad shoulders standing at the stove.
“Morning, Dear, have a seat. I’ll serve you up some pancakes and eggs. How do you like yours cooked?”
“I can cook. You don’t need to go
to any trouble.”
Mary continued to work at the stove. “No trouble at all. I always fix a big breakfast. Everyone will be in from early morning chores in a minute.”
Pamela’s stomach rumbled as the scent of fresh bacon filled her nostrils. On the table she found a plate of sausages, home fries, a stack of pancakes, a loaf of fresh bread, some bowls of various jams, and a jar of canned peaches. Is she feeding an army?
“Set yourself down. They’ll be here in a minute or two. You haven’t told me which way you like your eggs.”
It was no longer a question. “Any way. I like them the way you’re serving them.”
Mary nodded her head, grabbed two more eggs from a bowl, and cracked them open over a flat grill. This was a working farm. Pamela had never been on a farm early in the morning. Some friends back East had told her how much work they would have to do before they ate breakfast and before they left for school. She’d always thought they were exaggerating. Perhaps not, she mused.
Pamela sat down, then realized they probably had an order. “Is there a particular place I should be sitting?”
“Nope, first come, first served here. It’s my job to fix the morning meal. Lunch, every man, woman, and child fends for themselves. At dinner, each of us women takes a night. Whoever cooks doesn’t clean.”
Pamela chuckled. “Sounds wonderful.”
“You need order when blending four families under one roof. We’re hoping to build a new house next spring. Will Jr. and his family will stay in this house, and the rest of us will move into the large farmhouse. Eventually each of the boys wants to build their own homes. We’ll apply for a tavern license then and hope to use the rooms for travelers like yourself.”
“Seems like a lot of work.”
“Always is when you’re trying to build a community. The Cumberland Ford settlement just up the road is doing well. But it’s taken them a few years. Most folks don’t stop here at Yellow Creek. They just head on up to Cumberland Ford. Of course, most folks aren’t hauling a wagon like yourself.”
“It’s not the most comfortable road.”
Raining Fire Page 3