Rachel helped Isaac unhitch Bossy. She said, “You gave in pretty easily.”
“Burning down our only home just to spite some army captain won’t get us anywhere.”
“I agree.” Watching as he poured the last from the pickle jar for their horse, Rachel bit her lip. “The guidebook mentioned digging for water. I might see if the trees are growing around an oasis of sorts.”
“Sure. Couldn’t hurt to find out. You might keep an eye open for firewood.”
“I will.” She grabbed a small shovel from the sideboard and headed for the copse. The shade refreshed her. Not until she was under the canopy did she realize how hot the late afternoon had been. Enjoying the pocket of cool air, she watched for sandy soil to dig.
“Do you need some privacy?”
She glanced up to see Patrick up ahead of her, a sly grin on his face. “What?” He nodded at her shovel and her face burned. “Oh, no, I don’t. Not now.” His eyebrows rose as if he didn’t believe her. “It’s true. I’m looking for a marshy place to dig. Our water jar is empty, and I don’t want to drink up what’s supposed to be coffee in the morning.”
“We have plenty of water in barrels. There’s no need for you two to go without.” He walked up closer. “And besides, digging around for water is Isaac’s responsibility, isn’t it? Why did he send you out to do a man’s job?”
Rachel let him take the shovel. “I decided to come out here on my own.” She followed him and looked at the ground, too. “He was taking care of our horse and setting up for the night. I usually help but without a campfire, there’s not much to do.”
His assumption of her business with the shovel stopped her. “Oh, goodness. I’m not keeping you from your necessary privacy, am I? I can leave and let you be alone.”
He chuckled. “No, I’m fine. Out here scouting the area. After the past few days, I find I’m a little homesick for forests.”
She snorted a laugh. “In that case, I’d suggest you pull up some saplings from around here. If Fort Dodge is anything like what we’ve seen so far, you’d be better off building a grove of stacked buffalo chips.” She smiled at his laugh. “You’ll have smelly sod trees.”
“I prefer saplings, now that you mention it.” He stopped and turned to her. “I don’t think the water is close enough to the surface for what you want. There’s a thin line of sand I could try.”
“Or I could. I don’t mind.”
He shook his head. “No, I’ll do it.” Patrick knelt and used the short shovel to dig in the soft soil.
She watched as he went down a foot before finding any moisture. “The book made it sound as if water would rush in for me.”
“It’s been dry this year. I suppose to make up for the excessive rainfall last year.” He paused. “Seriously, we do have plenty for you and yours. Part of us protecting you is providing supplies when necessary.”
She stared down at Patrick and resisted the urge to hold him close. The affection he had for her shown clearly on his face as he stood upright. “If you’re sure you don’t mind?”
“Not at all.” He examined her face for a moment and brushed a stray lock from her forehead. “I’d better fill this back up, so no one stumbles in the middle of the night.”
“Or I can if you have more important things to do.”
“I won’t say I don’t.” He paused to wink at her before kneeling again and going back to work. “But I would rather be in the woods with a pretty girl than ordering around anyone else.”
Rachel watched him. She needed to clear the air between them so this awful uneasiness would disappear. “So, concerning last night and what I said…”
The covering done, he stood to face her. “Our main cook at Fort Leavenworth mentioned General Order Number Eleven. Your family had lost a lot to Union soldiers. I can understand your bitterness.”
“Thank you, but those soldiers weren’t you.” She crossed her arms. “I’d like to think you’d be the calm voice in that storm.”
“I’d like to think so, too, but war is a horrible thing. You don’t know until you’re in the middle of a battle.”
She took the shovel he offered. “Looting and burning our homes wasn’t a battle.”
“No, I don’t suppose it was.” He shook his head. “I don’t have a reason for what they did. I’m not sure if the measures helped stop the fighting in Missouri and Kansas. All I can do is help you and Isaac as some sort of reparation for what you’ve lost.”
“It’s not your responsibility.”
“Maybe not, but helping you would be my pleasure.” He took a few steps toward camp. “Let’s go fill your water jar from our stores.”
“All right.” She glanced around to make sure they were alone and took hold of his arm. “Captain Sinclair, um, Patrick? I still need to apologize and explain myself.”
“I see no need for you to do anything of the sort.”
“No, I do.” Rachel took a deep breath and looked him in the eyes. “I said those things about trusting you to mollify my brother and steady my runaway feelings.” She swallowed when his frown deepened. “I truly do trust you.” She clasped her hands and steeled herself to continue. “I also care for you far more than I should. You’ve been nothing but brave and kind to me, us, since our first encounter, and I’m loathe to leave you behind when we continue on to Santa Fe.”
He squinted. “You’re not playing a game?”
“No. I’m being honest.”
“Why didn’t you tell your brother about the money?”
Her heart pounded in her throat as he stared at her for several long seconds. “I wanted to enjoy having it. We’d gone without for so long. I just wanted the security of money in my pocket.”
“You’re lucky you didn’t lose it anywhere else but next to me.”
“I agree. If I had to lose funds like I did, I can’t imagine doing so next to a better man than you. You’re a fine example of everything a good person should be.” She tilted her head and gave him a wry grin. “Although, if all Union soldiers were like you, I’d still have a farm and we’d have never met.”
“I don’t know whether to curse or thank them. I’d love to wring their necks for hurting you, but my life would be empty without you in it.”
“You have feelings for me?”
I think it’s obvious I do.” He leaned forward, so close their lips almost touched. “I care for you so very much.”
Chapter Nine
Patrick caught himself. He pulled away before their lips touched. “Pardon me—I’ve forgotten my manners.”
Her eyes opened wide. “Oh! I have, too.” She put a hand over her mouth. “You are rather bewitching, Captain Sinclair.”
He grinned. “Funny, considering I think I’m the one under a spell.”
“We should rejoin the others.”
“Why? You’re not afraid of me, are you?”
Rachel caressed his face for a few seconds before replying. “No, I’m afraid of me.”
His body tensed as desire coiled throughout him. “In that case, we do need to find the others.” He resisted adding anything else and instead led her back to the main group. “I’ll walk you back to your wagon.”
“Thank you. I’ve often wondered something. When a soldier is assigned someplace, how long does he usually stay?”
Patrick considered her question. Did she mean his orders in particular, or was she merely making conversation? He took a chance and answered, “The time varies based on what the needs are. In my case, I’ll be at Dodge for two years unless extended another two.”
“You could stay as long as four years?” She shook her head. “The time seems so long. What if you found a reason to move before then? Would you?”
“I’d have to ask my commanding officer first. To find out if a position is open.” He glanced at her, his heart thudding in his chest. “The closest fort to Santa Fe is Union.” Patrick nodded toward his wagon. “The locations are a few days apart. Come on. I have a map to show you.”
After a chuckle, she said, “Here, you can be a gentleman. It isn’t heavy, though.”
“The weight doesn’t matter. I want the chance to be mannerly.” He tilted his head. “Especially while I can be.”
“Very well,” she murmured and went with him when he continued.
He ignored the stares from his men as they approached the wagons. The wind had died enough to let various campfires start. He noticed the Stewart wagon had its own fire.
Rachel should probably be at her camp and cooking, but Patrick didn’t care. He had her attention and wanted to keep it for as long as possible. After letting down the tailgate, he retrieved his logbook. “I use this to keep papers and a journal.” He flipped through the pages to find the latest survey of Kansas. “Here. We’re right here.”
She stared at the illustration. “My book doesn’t have maps.”
“What are you using?”
“This guidebook.” She went to retrieve a book from her apron pocket and gave it to him. “Here. The Prairie and Overland Traveler.”
He smiled, surprised she kept the book with her all the time. Patrick gave her his book and opened her volume with its dark red cover to read the title page. “1860? We’ve done a little bit of land surveying since then.”
She grinned at him while flipping through his journal. “I suppose so.”
“Our maps are updated once a year at least,” he said while scanning the table of contents. “There are constant changes.”
“Should I be reading your notes? Or are they for government eyes only?”
Patrick shrugged, engrossed by her book’s description of a Journada del Muerto along the Santa Fe Trail. “You can read anything you like. I don’t write classified information in my personal journal.”
“Personal?”
“Somewhat, yes. Too much so for the army, but not so much to make you blush.” He glanced up to see her cheeks were redder than usual. “Oops. Too late.” Patrick went back to find out where this Muerto was and if she’d be going along the route. “You might see a mention of me meeting a charming young woman who let me into her shop after closing hours. Nothing else is as private.”
He glanced over, to find her cheeks glowed. Beyond her, Isaac approached. “I think your brother needs you to cook dinner.”
She turned and sighed. “I’m afraid so.” Rachel gave him back his book and took hers. “Thank you for a lovely time.”
“You won’t want to have dinner with us? The food must be good because no one’s interrupted our conversation yet.” At her quizzical expression, he added, “They’re keeping everything for themselves.”
She chuckled. “Smart of them. Sadly, no. I have to get back to our own camp.” Isaac stood by her as she added, “We’re out of biscuits for tomorrow, and I still need to find water for Bossy.”
“You’ve reminded me.” He whistled. “Rogers, Douglas, come here.” The two soldiers came around the corner. “The Stewarts need one of our smaller water barrels.”
“We don’t,” Isaac protested.
He motioned at his stationary men, and they took off. While giving a glare at her brother, Patrick said, “Everyone needs water, and we’re on the dry route. Don’t drink any, if you’re so inclined, but don’t deprive your sister or animal.”
Isaac crossed his arms. “All right. Rachel? Are you expecting me to cook tonight?”
“No. More like hoping,” she replied before addressing Patrick. “Thank you and your men for the help. Goodnight.”
“Sleep well,” he replied. Isaac gave him a final frown before falling into step behind her. The man’s bad attitude irritated but didn’t anger him like his stubborn neglect of Rachel. The two soldiers went by him, carrying the full barrel. “Thank you, men.”
They gave their “Welcome, sir’s” as he headed for the campfire. Whatever Jenkins was cooking left his stomach rumbling. He put the journal back in with his other belongings and headed for their fire. He nodded a greeting to the few men gathered and noticed his first officer wasn’t there. Patrick considered it a blessing at the moment.
He sat on a wooden box, one of the few free. Every evening was the same. Drive across the country, settle down, eat, write, and sleep until the morning. He took a cup of stew offered after making sure the others had their own meal. A piece of cornbread sat on top. Patrick glanced around. None of the men seemed to have a problem with the bread. Not like he did.
Repressing the urge to toss the piece as far as he could throw, he pushed the bread aside and ate the stew. No one else knew of his time at the Confederates’ Cahaba prison. He wanted to keep his ordeal a secret. Patrick never spoke of what had happened there. He didn’t write it in letters home or in his journal. His family in Ohio already knew. He had no reason to remind them.
As awful as the prison was, Cahaba had been a resort stay compared to what others went through at Andersonville. He knew to be grateful. Still, getting rid of the fleas had been difficult and deeply humiliating. Other prisoners resembled walking skeletons while he waited with them in the parole camp at Vicksburg. So many of them had died in a steamship’s explosion. He glanced up at the late evening sky and the first stars twinkling. Every day was a gift.
Patrick mashed around the bread in the last few teaspoons of broth. The South at the end of the war had barely enough food and clothing for their soldiers. Prisoners received nearly nothing. Between disease, starvation, and insect infestations, some of the wounded never stood a chance at survival. They’d had no way to cook the ingredients given them while incarcerated in the converted warehouse.
He’d die and go to hell before he’d eat cornmeal or rodent ever again.
“Sir?” Rogers sat down beside him. “We delivered the water. Did you want us to send another barrel tomorrow?”
“No.”
***
Rachel opened her eyes. Isaac slept nearby, his snores having woken her. She smiled as the last thing on her mind before sleeping returned to her thoughts. Patrick had written, “Must return to Weston ASAP” on the evening they’d met. Reading in his journal a couple of days ago about how he’d shared her affections from the beginning continued to make her happy.
She sighed and sat up. They’d been so close to kissing. She could almost still feel his breath on her lips. Clove, she suspected while creeping out of the wagon bed. He always managed to smell spicy. She’d have to ask him why cinnamon one day, mint the next, and clove the day after.
Nature was calling her, thanks to plenty of water Patrick’s men had provided them. She eased out of the wagon. The entire camp lay quiet. Fires had died down to embers, which gave her a little bit of light to see a couple of the men guarding them. Very few trees or bushes grew around them. She went to one of the guards and whispered, “I need to take a necessary walk.”
He nodded, and she continued on to a scrubby bit of brush. On her way back to their wagon, Rachel noticed several men sleeping near the campfire. No one was watching her, so she detoured a little to find Patrick among them. She eased closer and could see him smile in the dim light. Resisting the urge to brush the hair from his forehead, she stepped back.
Being so close to a man she longed to kiss awake couldn’t be proper at all. Rachel went back to the wagon. Her dream had been to live and work in Santa Fe. But every time she talked with Patrick, her heart wanted to follow him.
Once at the wagon, she saw Isaac was awake. A little surprising, given the early hour. “Good morning.”
“Morning.” He rubbed his eyes. “Have you been up long?”
“No. Long enough to take a walk.”
“Mm-hmm,” he mumbled while climbing down to where she stood. “Breakfast?”
She smiled, knowing what he wanted. “Yes, and coffee first.”
“You’re my favorite sister,” he said while shuffling toward the scrubby brush along a dry creek bed.
Soon, Rachel had a full fire going, coffee simmering, and ham sizzling in the Dutch oven. Isaac approached, scratching the back of his neck. “If we were near a river, I’d ask if you fell in,” she teased.
“No such luck.” He sat cross-legged on the ground next to her. “Some of the men were trading war stories, and I fell into the conversation.” Isaac took the cup of coffee she gave him. “I almost miss being around other soldiers.”
“You’re not in the army anymore, though.”
He took a sip. “No, and sometimes—well, I won’t say I miss it. Miss the people, though.”
Rachel nodded, understanding what he meant. She missed having lady friends, especially now while in an all-male group. The gentlemen had all been mannerly, but weren’t close. She dropped dough into the pan. Maybe one was, but she didn’t think of Patrick as a friend.
“Good morning.”
She looked up with a smile. “Good morning, Captain.”
“I wanted to make sure you knew we’d be at Dodge by midafternoon. We’ll likely not stop for a noon meal.”
“So we’ll get to see your new command?” Isaac asked. “How easy do you think the transition will be?”
“I won’t know until I get there.” He waved off Rachel’s offer of coffee. “It’s my first time to be completely in charge.”
Isaac took the offered coffee for himself. “The soldiers won’t take you seriously. I’d watch out for resentment from officers who feel they should be in your place.”
He squatted next to her. “I have several good men in my command, so I’m optimistic about the assignment.”
Rachel had difficulty not being mushy over his enthusiasm. Patrick’s confidence in his plans complemented hers and contrasted Isaac’s pessimism. “Do you know what sort of place it is?”
“A little. The fort is new, built over the summer. I expect the buildings will be a lot like Fort Larned’s, except newer.”
She smiled despite a developing sense of dismay. “Sounds wonderful. I’m excited for you.” He would never leave such a plum assignment, and she couldn’t blame him. After their overnight or two at his new post, Rachel would never see Patrick again.
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