The Blue Cloak

by Shannon McNear

  Well dressed and young, with an open, handsome face, the man surveyed the interior of the trading post, his gaze lingering for a moment on the chess game taking place over by the hearth—or perhaps it was the fire itself he looked at so wistfully, before bringing his attention back to her with a bright smile and widening eyes. “Good evening, miss! Who might I have the pleasure of addressing?”

  Oh, one of those. Rachel could feel the pinch at the edges of her own smile as she pretended to be startled by his regard. “I am Miss Taylor. My brother owns this post, but I’ve been helping these past several weeks.”

  “Well. You are not the first businesswoman I’ve encountered upon this journey, but you almost certainly are the most comely.”

  He favored her with an admiring glance from head to toe, which she could not help being all too aware of, despite the effort to appear distracted. She shot him another small, sidelong smile. “Thank you, sir.”

  He beamed as if he’d done her some grand favor. Rachel shifted away, under the guise of sweeping, and indulged a small eye roll.

  But she must remember her manners. “How can we help you, sir? And who might you be?”

  He looked around again before leveling that smile upon her once more. “I am Thomas Langford, lately of Virginia, but I am here to survey the situation in Kentucky and visit my sister with an eye to settling, for myself.”

  The name struck her as familiar, but in the business of trade, and out here on the Wilderness Road, people came and went with such frequency that it was impossible to recall when and where the connections might be. “Welcome to Kentucky then,” she said mildly. “Feel free to browse our goods or warm yourself at the fireplace.” She tilted her head toward the men at the chess table.

  “Thank you, Miss Taylor.” He hesitated, seeming awkward for the first time. “I was wondering if you might recommend a place of lodging hereabouts. The last one I stayed at was—less than desirable, in the quality of food or accommodations.”

  “A common dilemma here on the Road.” She leaned on her broom, the smile a bit less forced this time. “There’s a respectable enough ordinary here, but it’s small and stays pretty well filled up, even this time of year. I hear, though, that Jim Farris’s tavern, just down the road a piece past Hazel Patch, on the Little Rock Castle River, is a solid establishment. Good food, and beds as clean as can be expected.” She flashed him a teasing grin.

  He blinked and looked a bit dazed. Rachel sighed internally. She did not need this green youth going all calf-eyed over her. No matter how rich or hopeful he was.

  She returned to her sweeping, and he wandered over to the fireplace, spreading the tails of his coat to the heat as he peered between other men’s shoulders at the chess game in play. The others greeted him with gruff voices and moved aside. Within minutes, he was talking and laughing along with the rest of them.

  He seemed a bright enough youth, and would likely do well for himself here on the frontier.

  She swept the entire aisle, then over by the door, and gathering her sweep pile, carefully caught that into her dustbin. She’d just go toss it off the side of the porch—

  Out the window, over across the road, a flash of blue caught her eye. Rachel leaned to look more closely. It was indeed a woman swathed in a cloak, in the company of two men and two other women, with a pair of rail-thin packhorses in tow.

  Sally? Here?

  Still holding the dustbin, she dashed to the door and outside, then to the edge of the porch as the group trooped on down the road. “Sally!”

  It was not the figure in blue who stopped and turned, but one of the other women, ragged and wrapped in a blanket.

  Rachel’s pulse stuttered. “Sally?”

  The blanket fell a little, revealing a face she thought she recognized, but thin and pinched with obvious fear and doubtless the cold. A flash of recognition, even of hope, then one of the men and the woman in blue snatched her arms and dragged her along.

  December 12, 1798

  It was a cold morning, after an even colder night. As every night before, Sally slept only from sheer exhaustion, curled against Betsey, both of them shivering under the lean-to they’d cobbled together from fallen branches. It wasn’t even full daylight before Big and Little hustled them out of the woods and back on the road.

  “My feet are so cold,” Susan said. “Big, could we mebbe find a tavern and stop a bit, just to warm ourselves?”

  The taller man threw her a glare and lengthened his stride. Beside him, Wiley yanked the leads of their poor, thin packhorses, forcing them to a faster walk.

  “Please, Big.”

  Sally would not grumble or argue with the request. Although, how did Susan have room for complaint, after claiming the beautiful blue cloak Rachel had given her?

  Rachel. A pang rippled through Sally’s breast. What a shock, to have seen her old friend, all the way out here—and worse, to be seen by her, in this condition—

  “And slow down a little,” Betsey chimed in. “We can’t go that fast.”

  Micajah turned, his expression thunderous, and regarded the three of them. “Waddlin’ like ducks, you are.”

  “It’s y’all’s fault we’re this way,” Susan snapped.

  Was it Sally’s imagination, or did something in Big’s expression soften, or at least flare to pride?

  Despite the pinch of hunger, her stomach rolled.

  But it was true, they did waddle. Susan and Betsy a little more so, being a bit rounder than Sally.

  They trudged up a hill and crested the rise to the growing sounds of a settlement, and a river rushing over rocks just beyond. Sally stopped, one hand on the small of her back, stretching a little. Encountering other folk at all these days seemed a matter of both surprise and dread.

  Micajah and Wiley also stood for a moment, looking this way and that, then Micajah led off, making toward the sign of a tavern as if it had been his idea all along. Sally let herself sigh, quietly. Perhaps in addition to letting them warm themselves before the fire, the tavernkeeper would be kind enough to offer a crust of old bread, or even the rind of a ham. Folk generally were kind, all across the wilderness. Some more than others, true, but none would dare refuse hospitality to travelers in need.

  Which always worked to their advantage, Wiley said with an ugly laugh.

  Sally swallowed back the sudden bitter taste in her mouth and tucked the blanket more tightly about herself.

  FARRIS‘S TAVERN, the sign said. A paper tacked to the door announced it as a meeting place for travelers along the Road, encouraging them to not travel alone but wait there for others, so to form a larger party for the purpose of safety against robbers and savages.

  Sally glanced about her guiltily. Sometimes those two were one and the same. Would she never escape this nightmare?

  She trailed after the others, head tucked, as they tramped across the porch. The warmth enveloped her as she stepped inside and shut the door carefully behind herself.

  Silence fell for a moment while Big and Little glanced about the common room. Then, “Good morning, and welcome!” came a hearty male voice.

  “Morning,” Big answered, and the rest of them echoed.

  They did, after all, know how to mind their manners in company.

  Susan led the way to the wide hearth, where a cheerful fire blazed. Sally thought she might die of bliss, soaking the heat into chilled hands and feet and—well, everything. She stood for a moment, hands extended, then turned and carefully bunched the back of her skirts to get the full effect on her lower legs.

  A young woman was just unloading platters of johnnycakes and a rasher of bacon onto the sideboard. The tavernkeep stood behind a counter, reaching for a brace of earthenware mugs on a shelf. “Help yourselves to breakfast! Will you have ale with your meal, or coffee?”

  “Oh, we’ve no money,” Big said, “so we’ll just warm ourselves and be on our way.”

  Sally knew the melancholy tone was completely put on. But it had the intended effect—
while the tavernkeep looked perplexed, a young man in new-looking clothing sauntered over. “That’s no trouble. I’ll pay, and happily.” He gave a nod to the tavernkeep. “Set them all a cup of their choosing.”

  Sally swayed a little on her feet. A real meal, and drink, at a table. They’d been scrabbling for food for so long, having to content themselves with game roasted over a fire in the open woods. Occasional hospitality they enjoyed, but it always startled her.

  “I am Thomas Langford, from Pittsylvania County, Virginia,” the young man said, beaming as they all lined up at the sideboard. “Our good hosts are Jim Farris and his daughter-in-law Jane. And who might you be?”

  “We air the Roberts family,” Micajah said, speaking for the group as he always did. “And we thank ye for your generosity.”

  Mr. Langford’s gaze skimmed them all, but his smile remained undimmed. “Are you traveling up the Wilderness Road? I’m headed to Mount Vernon primarily, but am in need of companions on this lonely road. I’d right enough welcome your company.”

  A fresh pang rippled through Sally’s breast at the young man’s jovial smile and bright eyes. She too was so innocent and trusting, once.

  They seated themselves around the table, the women shedding outer wraps and the men setting rifles and tomahawks on the floor or against the table, and fell to like starving creatures. Which, by all accounts, they were.

  Mr. Langford, himself eating at a much more leisurely pace, regarded them with wonder. He pulled a flat bottle from the inner pocket of his coat and took a sip. “’Pon my word, it warms my heart to be able to share breakfast with such appreciative folk.”

  Big and Little both shot him wolfish grins, but Sally kept her chin tucked.

  “You may come with us, and welcome,” Big pronounced in grandiose tones.

  “Excellent!” Mr. Langford tippled from his flask then held it out to Micajah. “Care for a drink?”

  But Big just gazed at him impassively, as if he’d offered a bowlful of grass and asked him to partake.

  A memory, from days before, flashed across her mind’s eye. Two other travelers, glad for their presence, sharing a campsite for the night. Setting out with them the next morning. Then Big and Little, coming up behind each of the men, the pop of gunfire and billowing smoke from the shots, and the men went down in the road….

  The hot and painful beating of her own heart. No … oh, no no nononooo …

  The johnnycake in Sally’s mouth turned to dust, and the bacon in her fingers dropped to her plate. Susan and Wiley shot her sharp glances, and she covered the fumble with a wipe of her fingers on the tablecloth before reaching for her cup. She’d chosen coffee, but even that tasted like ashes as it wet the dry crumbs in her mouth and swept them down her throat.

  The road was astonishingly wide and well traveled, with ruts that bespoke scores, probably hundreds, of wagons pulled by various draft beasts, but what amazed Ben the most was the trees. Huge, graceful, bending and singing in the breeze, even with leaves fallen. And such leaves—large and colorful, lying in drifts across the hillsides, beneath thickets of some tall, abundant bushes. Ben knew already from his study that these were either mountain laurel or rhododendron, and he wished it were spring already so he could see them covered in blooms.

  Even so, with winter fast approaching, and a brisk wind under gray skies, Ben was in love. Majestic trees standing guard over the steep, rugged hillsides. Craggy mountaintops with breathtaking views of valleys and farther hillsides. Caves tall enough for a man to stand in, nestled among the crags and hollows—some visible enough to beckon a traveler with promise of mystery and adventure. He’d turned aside from the path more than once to investigate, and not found himself disappointed yet.

  And the deep quiet, aside from the patter of Ivy’s hooves as she kept as fast a running walk as the road would allow, broken only by the occasional flutter of a leaf or bird, or a squirrel foraging in the leaves. A crow called, distant and echoing, then was swallowed up in silence once more.

  Ben drew a deep lungful of the air, clear and cold, and slowly let it out. It reminded him much of home, in Virginia, and yet more rugged. More—wild. Much more.

  Regardless of what Thomas did, he just might settle here himself.

  He’d ridden through Cumberland Gap just a couple of days before and currently was not far from what the map told him was the Rock Castle River. After an indifferent stay at a rather ill-kept ordinary, he hoped the next station had better accommodations, because aside from the cold, he’d rather camp in the open than face another establishment such as the last.

  The road snaked along beside a creek, made its way up the side of a hill, and emerged on the other side, nearly without warning, above a small station. As he descended the hill, he could see nothing that denoted a tavern or ordinary, but one largish building held a placard that read, TAYLOR‘S POST. Perhaps he could turn in here and find directions at least.

  He tethered his mount to the rail in the company of a rangy brown thing that barely lifted its head at the presence of his bay mare, and tugging off his cocked hat—a relic from his late father’s Revolutionary days—he pushed open the door and stepped inside. A warm, cinnamony fragrance wrapped him about, and the cheer of lamps well situated to provide the best advantage of the light they offered.

  A group of men clustered about the hearth over to the right, and behind a counter stood a tallish man about his own age, dark hair grown long and pulled back in a simple tail at his nape, and with a thick but well-combed beard. He conversed with a pair of Indians in threadbare but embroidered coats over leggings and moccasins, while a woman set a platter of small cakes nearby. Ben’s stomach gave a sudden growl.

  As if she’d heard it, the woman’s attention swung toward him. Abundant dark hair, of a shade so closely matching the man’s that she must be a sibling and not wife, lay piled in an untidy knot that yet managed to look elegant, the wisps framing a strong, squarish jawline, and lending a wistfulness to equally dark eyes. Her gaze swept him head to toe and back in a moment, and a full mouth pursed ever so slightly.

  Now what about his appearance could possibly draw such censure? He offered a half smile and walked toward her.

  “Welcome,” she said, tipping her head, expression barely warming. “What might we help you with today?”

  “I’m in need of information—and supplies for my journey, I suppose, since I’m here.”

  A dimple flashed in her cheek, and her chin lifted. “And I suppose we might be able to offer some of both.”

  A grin pulled at his mouth. “First, where might I find a good supper and lodging? And second, I seek my cousin, a young man, rather well to do, named Thomas Langford of Pittsylvania, Virginia.”

  Recognition and thoughtfulness sparked those dark eyes. She gave a little nod. “He stopped by just a few days ago. And you are his cousin, you say?”

  “Aye, Benjamin Langford, of the same county.” He lifted an eyebrow. “And you are?”

  He asked it more out of courtesy—and perhaps to meet that element of challenge in her demeanor—than from genuine interest. And she took it equally impassively. “Rachel Taylor, of Knox County, Tennessee. My brother Dan”—she tipped her head toward the man behind the counter, still deep in conversation with the Indians—“owns this post, but for many years I’ve helped my father run trade at Campbell’s Station near Knoxville.”

  The sudden realization of connection swept away any other comment he might have had on that. “Knoxville, is it? Do you happen to know a Hugh White?”

  A genuine smile, if slow, curved her lips at that. “Who from Knoxville does not know Hugh? But, yes. I am well acquainted with him.”

  He studied her for a moment. A sober, sensible dress of brown, long of sleeve and neckline modestly draped in ivory linen, yet modishly cut in the latest high-waisted styles and a slight pouf at the shoulder. And the smile, even as she regarded him curiously in return, transformed her from eye-catchingly pretty to stunning.

  �
��White and I studied law together in Pennsylvania,” he said. “In fact, I have a letter from him, inviting me west to visit. I’ve been much occupied with other business, however.”

  To his astonishment, color rose in her cheeks, and the dark eyes flew wide. “Langford,” she murmured. “No wonder the name seemed familiar. Hugh mentioned you, at my dear friend’s wedding summer before last.” She laughed a little, as if in apology for the fact.

  Consternation turned to the first inkling of suspicion. Could it be—no, that would be just too incredible for belief, if this Miss Taylor was the one that White had hinted he should meet.

  “It is, indeed, most remarkable that we should encounter each other here, up north of Cumberland Gap, on the Wilderness Road,” she added, laughing again.

  Well. Perhaps not so incredible after all. “Remarkable indeed,” he answered. “I can scarce believe it.”

  If this truly was the female White had written him about, it was no wonder he had found her worthy of notice.

  Cheeks still burning, Rachel tucked her head and smoothed her skirt with both hands. “My apologies. You must think me very odd.”

  Why she cared about such a thing, she could not fathom. Except that she found it most unsettling, the way he studied her, half smiling, as if he knew something he would not admit, but found it more pleasing than expected.

  The feeling went both ways, if so. She’d not expected him to be so—pleasant—either. And it ought not matter that she found him easy on the eyes, with brown hair framing his face in slight waves, and blue eyes that caught the lamplight and twinkled in a countenance somehow both scholarly and rugged, the strong jaw clean shaven with otherwise unremarkable and even features.

  In short, he looked as she might expect of a dandy from the East who’d studied law with Hugh White, and yet—more interesting. Both buckskin breeches and long coat, with cavalry boots, were travel stained but of a good cut, mostly practical for the frontier. Rachel caught herself wondering how he’d look in hunting shirt, leggings, and moccasins.