“One minute he seems like the kindest and gentlest man I’ve ever known; the next he’s carrying on like a bear denied his favorite honey tree.”
Mary chuckled.
“What?”
“You’re taken with him, aren’t you?”
“No.” Pamela, realizing her voice had risen, lowered it. “I mean, he’s not a bad-looking man in a huge, bear kind of way, I reckon, but…”
“Quinton wasn’t your husband, was he?”
Pamela buried her hands in her face. “No, he was my brother. How did you know?”
“No ring, Dear. And you’ve not referred to him once as your husband. You’re grieving, that’s clear. But after Calvin spoke with you, I was certain of it.” Mary reached over and placed her hand on Pamela’s.
“Mac assumed we were married. I’ve simply not corrected the error. I figure I’m safer being single and alone with a stranger if he thinks I’m a new widow. And I do ache.”
Mary sipped her tea. “This area is wilderness. Your life can be placed in danger very easily, and Mac is a man of his word. If he promised your brother that he’d take you to Creelsboro, then that is what he’ll do. He’ll probably continue to be hard on the realities of wilderness living. He, more than most others, knows what he’s talkin’ ’bout.”
“What do you mean?” Pamela held the cup in her hand.
“That’s for him to say, if the time is right. Just as you have your own secret. I wager the good Lord is none too pleased with you stretching the truth.”
Thankfully, Mary hadn’t called her a liar. Pam didn’t need someone to spell it out. She sipped her tea to keep from justifying her actions. What could she say? She shouldn’t let Mac believe the lie. On the other hand, he was just as guilty in letting Jasper believe she was Mac’s wife. No, it was better that he be left with his misimpressions.
“You’re welcome to spend the night here,” Mary added. “It’s late and will be dark before you reach Cumberland Ford. I wouldn’t want you running into Jasper or any other bandit along the way.”
Pamela rubbed her arms. For some reason she’d been hoping Jasper had moved on. “If he’s that bad of a man, why don’t you have him arrested?”
“Can’t prove he’s done anything.” Mary rose from the table. “No one’s survived. No one’s seen him actually commit a crime. And the local law is in Barbourville. Cumberland Ford might be getting someone soon. Hard to say. Lawmen and preachers are in short supply in these parts. Folks don’t plan long engagements. Once they hear a preacher is coming, they line up. Though that’s been changing some with the one at the Ford settlement all the time.”
Preachers and lawmen. Weren’t they the cornerstone of a healthy community? How can people live like this, Lord? No law, no order? “Thanks for the tea. I’ll speak with Mr. MacKenneth and see if he’d prefer to spend the night or not.”
“Fair enough. Dinner will be ready shortly.”
The scent of a hearty stew passed Pamela’s nostrils. How could she have missed its fine aroma? Because your mind was on something else, she reprimanded herself.
She found Mac sitting on the barn floor, leaning against a wagon wheel. “Mac?”
He opened his eyes and turned to look at her. “I’m sorry,” he apologized.
“I’m sorry, too. You’re right. I don’t know what came over me. You are the best choice to take me to Creelsboro.”
He nodded.
“Mary would like to know if we’d like to leave tonight or wait until morning.”
“If you’re agreeable, tonight is fine. If we leave right away. However, if we wait another thirty minutes, it’d be best to wait until morning.”
“Now is fine. It’s hard to face everyone after having made such a fool of myself.”
“We’re both in that place, I reckon. Let’s say our good-byes and be off then.”
“Fine.” She tossed her carpetbag in the front of the wagon. It had been a pleasant visit with the Turners, but it was time to move on.
A black cat scurried past her. Pamela froze.
Seven
“What’s the matter?” Mac scanned the area, looking for danger.
“I think we should wait until tomorrow.” She reached back to the wagon and grabbed her carpetbag.
“What’s the matter?” He fought down his temper. What had she seen or heard to scare her? Wouldn’t he have heard any real danger?
She stood resolute, shaking her head slightly.
He stepped up to her and placed his hands on her shoulders. “Mrs. Danner, Pamela, you need to trust me. Tell me what has frightened you.”
Fresh tears filled her eyes. “You wouldn’t understand.”
“Try me.” He brushed a wayward strand of gold from her eyes.
“I’d been warned before we left that this trip would be disastrous. And it has been that. Now that I’ve determined to go on to Creelsboro, the very next thing that happens is…” She broke her gaze and looked at the straw-covered floor. “You’ll just think me foolish.”
He placed his forefinger under her chin, prompting her to look at him. A strong desire to protect her coursed through his veins. “Trust me,” he whispered.
“I know you’ll think this is idle foolishness, but a black cat just crossed my path. It’s another omen, a warning. I don’t think we should leave tonight.”
If it hadn’t been for how frightened she’d become, he would have roared with laughter. No one should ever be frightened by Blacky. That animal barely caught the mice he was supposed to catch. Blacky was more skittish than any creature Mac had ever seen. He found it amazing Pamela had even seen the animal.
“I don’t believe in omens. I believe God is stronger than anything we’ll face and will protect us. However, if you’d prefer to wait ’til morning, we shall wait.”
“Thank you.” She sighed. “I’m sorry. I know most people find these things nonsense.”
“Like I said, I don’t believe in ’em, but I know folks who do.”
He watched as calmness played across the tranquil blue of her eyes. A desire to wrap her in his arms and pull her toward him startled him. He released his hold of her shoulders. Heat rose on the back of his neck. There were blessings to having long hair, he mused.
“I’ll let Mary know to expect two more for dinner.” She slipped past him.
“Sounds good. I’ll see if I can hunt down a wild turkey to help replenish what we’ve eaten.”
Pamela paused and turned back toward him. “Oh my, I hadn’t thought of that. I have some canned goods in the wagon. Should I fetch a couple items?”
“I’ve never seen a woman can or prepare more food than Mary. But they have a large family. What do you have that they might not?” Mac inquired.
“Sugar, what about sugar? Don’t folks out here run low on that?” Pamela climbed up into the wagon and started to move crates.
“Tend to. I’m sure Mary would appreciate such a generous gift, but…” Mac rubbed the back of his neck. “Will Jr. said you’ve given them a lot already. They might be offended, with them just being neighborly and all. It’s a fine line. I, on the other hand, haven’t contributed anything.”
Pamela sat down on a crate. “I don’t want to give too much. Quinton always said I was too generous. He’s the businessman, not me.”
How would this woman survive running her husband’s business? Would she give it all away? Would she know when to order, to restock? Did she understand what kinds of supplies were needed for folks heading west? Lord, give this woman direction. “I think you’ve given enough. Let me help you down from there.”
“Do you think I can find a new pair of shoes in Cumberland Ford?”
“Not likely. Closest place would be Barbourville, but that’s three days down the road.”
She nodded. “We’ll plan on buying me a pair of rugged boots then.”
Maybe he had misjudged her. She definitely had problems with her faith, mixing it up with omens. But perhaps she wasn’t as impractical as he�
��d first suspected. He helped her down and grabbed his cap. “Go tell Mary we’re spending another night. I’ll be back in an hour.”
Mac set a quick pace and ran into the woods at the bottom of the mountain. Wild turkeys were plentiful in these hills and something he knew the Turner family enjoyed. He stopped and scanned the ground for tracks. Turkey tracks could be easily missed in this terrain, but Black Hawk had trained him well. There, he spotted some. He worked his way deeper into the woods and placed an arrow on his bow. He spotted a flock and took aim. The gentle twang of the bowstring sent the arrow flying, hitting its mark. The remaining birds scattered as he picked up the gift and headed back.
The smell of a campfire caught his attention. He circled around and found it. The fire had been hastily put out, the camp abandoned. He looked around. Three men, possibly four, had spent a fair amount of time in this spot. Mac put more dirt on the dying embers and continued back to the Turners. Had Jasper given up his watch?
❧
The next morning, Pam and Mac headed north toward the Cumberland Ford camp. They talked little. She’d been worrying all night if she’d made the right decision to continue the trip to Creelsboro. Her heart wasn’t in running a business, certainly not in a community where no one stayed for long. From what she recalled her father saying about Creelsboro, it was one of the last stops for people heading west. Day in and day out, people arrived, spent a day or two, and left. It also occurred to her that a riverfront town probably had lots of taverns selling spirits. The prospect of being a woman alone in that kind of environment didn’t excite her.
An hour into the trip she began to relax. The mountains seemed so peaceful. The winter branches seemed less threatening somehow. She imagined what they would be like in the spring when the trees bloomed.
“We’re almost there,” Mac said.
“We cross the Cumberland here, correct?”
“Yes, Ma’am. We’ll cross the river near the ford and try to avoid the toll. We’ll see how high the water is. This time of year, it shouldn’t be too bad. The wagon is heavy. We might have to unload and carry some items across, then bring the wagon over.”
Like when Quinton had to get the wagon across the gap. Her heart beat wildly. She stared straight ahead. Her hands clasped the bench seat of the wagon. “Pay the toll, cross at the ford,” she ordered.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“Nothing,” she demurred.
He pulled back slightly on the reins, slowing down the pace of the horses. “Your knuckles are white. What’s wrong?”
“I just thought of Quinton and…and the accident.”
“I’m sorry. We’ll cross at the ford.”
“I’ve noticed you use rather strange terms.” She needed to get her mind off Quinton and the accident as it replayed over and over again in her mind. “Like ‘flank,’ but you weren’t talking about the flank of a horse. You were referring to the mountain.”
“Has the same meaning—side of. The houses flanked the north side of the mountain.”
“Do folks heading west carry pemmican?”
“I can’t say. I picked it up from my Indian friend Black Hawk.”
Pamela’s eyebrows rose. “I thought the Indians were gone. They still live here?”
“No, they’ve been moved to the reservation in Indian Territory. It’s hard to have peace about our need for land and expansion while seeing the Indians moved out. I think it would have been better if we could have embraced them, learned from them, learned how to live with them. But our ways are very different from their ways. I don’t have an answer for what’s right. But somehow it doesn’t seem fair that a group of people who have lived for many generations in an area have to be sent out to live somewhere else.”
Pamela hadn’t given the issue much thought. She’d only heard the stories of how the Indians had killed so many white people. She feared them, as many of her friends did. And yet this man beside her had befriended an Indian, perhaps more than one. If nothing else, this trip was teaching her about different people and their ways.
They spent the night at the Renfroes’, finding the Colsons’ tavern, where Mac had stayed during other journeys, already full. The next morning they traversed the ford. The river was quite low, and they crossed easily. Pamela paid a toll of sixty-three cents. “Highway robbery,” Mac muttered.
“I hope to get us up to Flatlick by nightfall,” Mac offered as they resumed their perch on the wagon’s bench.
“What’s in Flatlick?”
“Not much. It’s one of the oldest settlements in the state. The horses will love it there—still plenty of salt for them to lick. Years ago hunters found it an easy way to hunt bison. The animals would come up to the lick, and the hunters would pick them off from behind the bushes.”
Pamela scrunched up her nose. “Doesn’t seem fair to the animal.”
Mac chuckled. “When providing for your family’s needs, fair doesn’t come into play. A man can go out and run the countryside hunting down his dinner, or he can wait where he knows the animal will come to him. There really isn’t much choice.”
“But you don’t hunt that way.”
“No, but I follow the animals’ trails and find the right place to attack.”
“Why do you trap animals for their fur?”
“Because it’s a job I can do in the wilderness that provides for my needs.”
“What needs do you have?” Pam wasn’t trying to be insulting, but she really couldn’t imagine this man needing much of anything. His clothing was made from animal skins; his hat from a raccoon; his boots, leather. His rifle was manmade, but he used a bow and arrow, too.
Mac chuckled. “Not many. I tend to put the money into the family farm. Someday I’ll have to settle down and take care of it. But for now, my parents manage just fine.”
“Why the wilderness?”
“I don’t know. I suppose it’s because it’s wide open and lets me be alone most of the time. I kinda like it that way.”
“Oh.” She’d talked too much, she supposed. She’d been told more than once by her brother to just stop talking. She’d found it especially hard on him as they traveled. When they were alone, the only person to talk with was Quinton. Now, Mac was there, and she’d started talking with him as easily as she had with her brother. “Do you suppose Jasper is still following us?”
“Haven’t seen a sign of him since the night before we left the Turners’. I’m starting to think he’s gone on.”
Pamela breathed a sigh of relief. The constant threat of a bandit around the corner had started to weigh on her nerves. Finally she could relax.
❧
Mac scanned the skies. A large ridge of dark clouds was heading their way. “Pamela, we need to move quickly. That storm is coming in fast.”
“Tell me what to do.” Her eyes blazed with excitement.
“Hang on. I’m going to try to beat this storm.” He slapped the reins. “Yah!”
The horses bolted forward. Mac kept a firm grasp of the reins. The rough trail, rutted from the herds of cattle using the road, made the wagon buck and bounce. He glanced at Pamela. She held on tight without complaining. Could he have misjudged her?
They were a mile out from Flatlick when the first bits of sleet hit.
“Ow!” she cried out.
“Cover your face.”
The horses were breathing heavily. He slowed down the pace.
“I’m cold. How bad is this storm going to be?”
“It’ll be a rough one. We’ll find a place to stay, and I’ll take care of the horses. They’ll need a good rubdown and a treat. Got any more of those apples?” He smiled.
“For you or the horses?”
“Both.” He broadened his grin.
There was little question he enjoyed traveling with a cook. Every place they stopped, Pamela would barter or pay for fresh vegetables and eggs. He’d been eating better on the road than he had been in his own cabin. He’d forgotten how much he loved veget
ables with his meals. Summers on the farm, he always had healthy helpings of meat, biscuits, and vegetables to round out his meals. During winters in his cabin, however, that luxury disappeared. He kept plenty of fresh meat around. But because he needed to travel light on his way to the cabin, the extra weight of canned vegetables or even root vegetables had proved prohibitive. Perhaps he could look into planting something in the early spring that would still be there when he returned in the fall.
The wind howled.
“How…much…longer, Mac?” She shivered.
“Almost there. See that curl of smoke?”
“No, but I trust you.”
Mac grinned. They were becoming more comfortable with each other as the trip wore on.
He pulled onto one of the many side trails he’d seen along the road. It amazed him how fast this area was growing each year. There were more trails to other farmers’ homes. The Campbells had been in this area longer than most. They’d open their home, Mac knew, especially for a woman.
Their farmhouse came into view on the left. It was framed by a long, front pasture with fields on the left and right. A smaller plain filled the space between the back of the house and the side of the mountain.
“Whoa.” He pulled the wagon to a stop. “I’ll be right back.”
He raised his hand to knock on the front door, but an older man in his fifties opened it first. Mac extended his hand. “Art Campbell, Nash MacKenneth. Folks call me Mac. I heard you put folks up from time to time.”
“Ain’t got no more room. Storm’s threatening to be a bad one. There’s room in the barn, if you don’t mind sleeping there. It even has an old woodstove. But you be careful, now. Make sure there’s nothing that can catch fire.”
“Thank you.” Mac pumped his hand.
“You and your missus take care now.” Art slipped back into the house and shut the door.
A few quick strides and Mac was back by the side of the wagon. “There’s no room in the house, but there’s room in the barn. Do you mind?”
“Do I mind? Anything is better than this.” Pamela held a woolen blanket close to her chest.
“All right then, let’s go make that barn our home for the night or until this storm passes.” He snapped the reins. “Yah.”
Raining Fire Page 6