Always and Forever

by Beverly Jenkins

  And he stormed out.

  For a moment Grace stood there stunned, then became so angry she wanted to throw something. How dared he keep jerking her heart back and forth this way!

  She was pacing and muttering curses when she looked up and saw Katherine Wildhorse standing in the tent’s opening.

  With concern in her voice, Katherine asked, “Whatever is the matter?”

  Grace shot her a look and said, “He makes me so angry I could scream.”

  “Who?”

  “Jackson ’pigheaded’ Blake.” Grace said, then added tartly, “A more stubborn and arrogant man has yet to be born.”

  “What has he done now?”

  Grace stopped her pacing, held Katherine’s eyes a moment, and said, “He kissed me! Again! In his arrogance, he believes I enjoy it!”

  Katherine chuckled, “Well, do you?”

  Grace admitted slyly, “Just between you and me? Of course. His kisses make me see sunsets.”

  Grace looked into Katherine’s smile. “Stupidest, damnedest experience of my life.”

  They both grinned.

  Katherine asked, “So what are you going to do?”

  “Pray I make it to Kansas without killing him or falling in love with him. Do you have any idea where I had to meet him to ask about him mastering the wagon train?”

  “No, where?”

  “A whorehouse outside of Chicago known as Sunshine’s Place. He mistook me for a whore named Lilah.”

  To Grace’s surprise, Katherine confessed, “Lilah’s quite nice, actually.”

  “You know Lilah?”

  Katherine nodded, “Sure do. Miss Sunshine, too. In fact, Dix and I were married there.”

  Grace couldn’t believe her ears. “You were married in a whorehouse!”

  “Yes. The preacher mistook me for one of the girls. I was horrified.”

  Grace put her hands to her mouth and stared at Katherine with widened eyes. “Katherine, I know it’s impolite to pry, but this sounds like a dime novel, and I can’t wait for us to know each other better so I can hear the whole story.”

  Katherine laughed.

  “I’m serious. How long do we have to be friends before I know it all?”

  “I think you are as outrageous as I, Grace Atwood.”

  “And I think you and I are going to get along famously, Katherine Wildhorse.”

  They shook hands to seal their pact.

  Grace felt unbearably short standing next to the statuesque Katherine and said, “You know, I always wanted to be tall like you, able to look a man in the eye and sock him in it if need be. A good kick in the knee is about all I can give from down here.”

  Katherine’s grin showed even white teeth. “Well truthfully, I’ve never wanted to be any shorter, at least not since becoming full grown. Though you tiny ones always make me feel clumsy, awkward. You take dainty little steps; we giraffes stride.”

  Grace disagreed. “But the carriage and confidence. I envy that.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, you and that husband of yours complement each other well, both being so tall.”

  Katherine confessed. “He’s the tallest man I’ve ever known. I’m accustomed to looking down at men. I’ve never had to crane my neck up. It can be disconcerting at times.”

  “I’ve seen the way he looks at you.”

  Katherine chuckled. “What do you mean?”

  “His eyes follow you a lot when he thinks you’re not looking. Passion eyes, if I can be frank. It’s the way Blake looks at me sometimes—makes me feel like my clothes are about to catch fire. Like I said, stupidest damnedest experience of my whole life.”

  “Well, it’s obvious he moves you. Do you love him?”

  Although she knew she was lying, she said, “Lord, I hope not. Do you love your husband?”

  “I haven’t known him long enough.”

  Confused, Grace asked, “What does that mean?”

  “I wed Dix to satisfy a debt.”

  Katherine then gave Grace a brief account of the how and whys of her marriage.

  When she finished, Grace stared in amazement. “Your father stole the property of a United States Deputy Marshal? And you had to marry him!”

  “Or watch my father be thrown into prison or hung.”

  “My goodness, Katherine, and you agreed?”

  “What choice did I have?”

  “In reality none, when it comes right down to it—but my, what a choice. Although it didn’t hurt to have Dix turn out to be such a handsome specimen. If he’d had the face of a mule, my father might’ve been up the creek without a paddle.”

  They both laughed, then Grace asked, “Is he as kind as he seems?”

  “So far.”

  Grace noted the wistful look on Katherine’s face. “Well, a man as magnificent as that shouldn’t be too hard to love.”

  “Look who’s doling out advice,” Katherine cracked. “What about Blake?”

  “Jackson Blake had undoubtedly broken a lot of hearts in his lifetime, but his streak stops here.”

  “So you say.”

  Grace added truthfully, “So I hope.”

  Chapter 8

  On the morning of June 3, 1884, the women prepared to leave. In spite of the gray day, townspeople and relatives of the brides descended on the valley to witness the departure, and at precisely 8 A.M., all bowed their heads as Belle recited a prayer to bless the journey. After the amens faded, the atmosphere lifted when to their surprise a five-man band from the town appeared on the rise and broke into a rousing tune. The elated women mounted their wagons, and while the onlookers cheered heartily, expertly guided their teams up the rise. Grace was so moved by the outpouring of support she had tears in her eyes as she drove past her waving godfather, Martin Abbott. He’d come to see her off and to deliver some letters from the aunts and her friends at the bank.

  “The aunts send their love,” he shouted. “Keep yourself safe, baby girl!”

  “I will,” she yelled back. “Tell the aunts I love them too and I’ll write as soon as I can.”

  Her heart full, Grace Prescott Atwood set her eyes forward. She and her brides were finally on their way.

  The ladies knew from Jackson’s talks that he wanted to cover at least sixteen miles a day. Only a few women like Loreli and Fanny, whose father owned a livery back in Ohio, had ever driven such a distance, but they were all determined to accomplish the wagonmaster’s goal. Interactions between Grace and Jackson had been polite during the morning’s festivities. He looked as though he were still angry, but she didn’t care. She doubted his anger surpassed her own.

  Taking her mind off the handsome but maddening Jackson Blake, Grace concentrated on her driving. The women were two to a wagon: the Mitchell sisters were together, as were Fanny and Zora, Tess and Trudy, and Loreli and Belle, to name a few. Grace and Katherine Wildhorse brought up the rear in the supply wagons and were amongst the few women driving alone.

  In his role as scout, Katherine’s husband Dixon had ridden ahead before the brides broke camp to see if he could secure them a farmer’s field to camp in for the night. He rode back to the wagon train late that afternoon with good news. A farmer about ten miles outside of Aurora had agreed to let them camp.

  “How much will he charge us?” Grace asked the mounted Dixon and Jackson as they matched their pace to the pace of her wagon.

  “Six dollars.”

  She thought that a bit exorbitant, but—“Jackson, what do you think?”

  “Sounds fine.”

  In the past she would’ve questioned such a short, clipped response, but she reminded herself that Jackson Blake and his moods were no longer any of her concern. She told Dixon to ride ahead and make the arrangements. Dix nodded, touched his hat, then headed his coal black stallion north. Jackson met her eyes and looked on the verge of saying something, but instead rode away without a word. Grace shook her head then returned her attention to her driving.

  They arrived at their destina
tion just as night fell and the bone-weary brides reined their teams to a halt. They’d covered ten miles, a fair piece for the first day, according to Jackson, but everyone knew they would need to pick up the pace if they wanted to reach Kansas City on schedule.

  To the surprise of everyone, the farmer’s apple-cheeked wife had a sumptuous meal waiting, one that must’ve taken all day to prepare because there were spitted hogs, corn pudding, and yams. Grace thought she’d died and gone to heaven when the woman brought out strawberries and ice cream for dessert.

  “Women have to look out for each other, no matter what color we are,” the wife explained sagely, as she set the desserts on the two trestle tables.

  Evidently, her husband did not share her views. Grace was in her wagon preparing for bed when she heard, “Grace, we have a problem.”

  It was Jackson. She bent and made her way to the back of the wagon, swearing to feed him to sharks if this “problem” involved kissing. “What’s wrong?”

  “The farmer wants more money. He says he needs to cover the cost of the food.” Grace could see the anger in the hard set of his jaw.

  “No one asked him to feed us.”

  “I know.”

  “How much more does he want?”

  “Ten more.”

  “Ten! Is he out of his mind?”

  “Nope, just greedy. Says either we pay or we leave.”

  Grace sighed with angry frustration. “Where is he now?”

  “Up at the house.”

  Grace hopped down from the wagon and walked with Jackson to the small whitewashed farmhouse. They found the farmer, Otis Burns, standing on the lantern-lit porch smoking his pipe. Dixon Wildhorse stood waiting on the steps. His jaw was as tight as Jackson’s.

  Grace stepped to the porch and asked in a falsely pleasant voice, “What is this about more money, Mr. Burns?”

  “Just as I told them,” he said, pointing with his pipe, “I need to cover the costs of the food.”

  “We didn’t ask you to feed us.”

  “True, but you didn’t think I’d feed the bunch of you just out of the kindness of my heart, did you? Vittles cost money.”

  Grace wanted to wring his beady-eyed little neck.

  “Either pay me or move on. Don’t make me no never mind.”

  Grace looked to the men flanking her and said, “Get everyone up. We’re moving on.”

  Jackson smiled. He’d yet to meet any man capable of besting the hellion.

  Burns’s wife, Olga, stepped out on the porch. Drying her hands on an old dish towel she asked, “Did I hear you say you’re leaving, Miss Atwood? This time of night?”

  “Your husband’s left us no choice, Mrs. Burns.”

  She turned confused eyes on her husband, then looked back to Grace. “What do you mean?”

  “He’s insisting we pay for the beautiful meal you provided. We weren’t told about that part of the bargain beforehand.”

  “Neither was I.” Turning blazing eyes on her husband, she asked, “Whatever is the matter with you, old man? Why are you trying to cheat these nice people?”

  The farmer stiffened.

  “And I don’t want to hear any cock-and-bull explanations. We had a good harvest last year and we’ve more food stored than we know what to do with.”

  It was quite easy for everyone to see who held the reins in this household. Mrs. Burns then turned to Grace. “My apologies, Miss Atwood. I fed you because it was the Christian thing to do.”

  “No need to apologize. We appreciate your generosity.”

  “Well, you’re welcome, and don’t worry your head about more money. Otis here didn’t mean it.”

  Grace nodded. “Goodnight. We’ll see you in the morning.”

  “Goodnight.”

  As Grace and her men turned to leave, they heard Mrs. Burns tell her husband angrily, “You ought to be ashamed of yourself!”

  They smiled.

  Dixon parted from them and went off to his wagon and his wife. Jackson walked with Grace back to her wagon.

  As they reached it he stopped and asked, “Would you really have rounded everybody up and headed out?”

  She replied truthfully, “And have to listen to the Mitchell sisters whine about it? No. He had me over a barrel. Why do you ask?”

  “Just curious.”

  For a moment there was an awkward silence.

  Grace finally said, “Well, goodnight.”

  As she turned to climb back into the wagon, he stayed her with a gentle hold on her arm. “I’m sorry if I’ve hurt you, Grace.”

  His voice and eyes were genuine, so much so, she said, “I—have to go. Goodnight.”

  Without a backward glance, Grace disappeared into the wagon. Later, as she lay on her bedroll in the dark wagon, Grace thought back on what he’d said. Why in the world would he tell her that? Surely he didn’t think to work himself back into her good graces? She’d had quite enough of his on-again, off-again attraction. If he didn’t want to be with her, then fine. She didn’t want to be with him either.

  The train was now five days out and the journey was going relatively well. Their next landmark destination would be Fort Madison, more than two weeks away. Jackson planned for them to cross the Mississippi just south of there to enter the state of Missouri.

  On the eighth day, they came across a lone covered wagon. At first, everyone thought it had been abandoned because of the broken right back wheel, but a dark-skinned young woman emerged and began waving frantically in their direction. Jackson held up his hand, signaling a stop. The brides pulled back on their reins, glad for the respite.

  The woman’s name was Yancey Fitzgerald. In the wagon were her three young sons. As Jackson and some of the women inspected the wheel to see if it could be repaired, Yancey told Grace her story. “My husband died about six months ago and his mother no longer wanted to support my boys and me, so she turned us out.”

  Grace wondered what kind of grandmother could turn her back on her own grandchildren. “Where are you headed?”

  Yancey didn’t know. “Someplace where I can start over.” She was a cook and housekeeper by trade.

  When Grace asked if she would like to travel with the brides, the woman nodded enthusiastically. “You’ll have to let me cook, though, I don’t cotton to charity.”

  So it was decided. Loreli and Daisy retrieved one of the spare wheels from Grace’s wagon. With the help of a few other brides, they took off the busted one, replaced it with the new, and in under an hour Yancey and her young sons pulled their wagon into the line.

  By the fifteenth day, the monotony of the drive and the sameness of the landscape were beginning to take their toll. A few of the women had gotten into arguments over nothing. The food, mostly jerky, potatoes, and rabbits, were making everyone crave a good hot meal, and the rumors surrounding Belle Cannon’s condition were being fanned by the Mitchell sisters.

  The next day, they were forced to alter their route because of a Reb farmer who refused to let them cross his land. This was the second such occurrence, and like last time, having to go around would not only add a significant number of miles to the journey and waste valuable daylight, it would also keep them from accessing any fresh water on his property. The brides groaned because most would’ve killed for a bath.

  From where she sat behind her reins, Grace could see the displeasure clouding Jackson’s face as he weighed what to do. In the end though they all knew they had no choice; they’d have to go around.

  They drove until dark, then halted as Dix rode back to the wagons. The ever resourceful marshal had found another man who not only agreed to let them camp in his fields for the night but had a good-sized freshwater stream. Hallelujahs filled the night air.

  The brides celebrated by washing in the farmer’s stream and Loreli shocked the socks off of the Mitchell sisters and their supporters by stripping naked and wading into the stream. It had been many days since they’d had a chance to bathe fully and Loreli had done the same thing then.
And just as then, many of the women imitated their constable and followed her into the cold water naked as the day they were born, the judgmental Mitchell sisters be damned.

  That evening the brides relaxed around a large fire inside the ring of wagons to eat Yancey’s rabbit stew and to enjoy each other’s company, but the atmosphere changed when Sarah Mitchell stood and declared, “As good Christian women, I think we have a right to know if Belle Cannon is carrying an out-of-wedlock child.”

  Grace saw Belle stiffen as all eyes turned her way, but before Grace could put the sanctimonious woman in her place, Loreli asked coolly, “What business is it of yours?”

  The tone and Loreli’s cold golden eyes made Sarah pause as if she weren’t sure she wanted to proceed, but she drew up her formidable bulk and plowed ahead anyway. “Because some of us don’t wish to be sullied by such an association.”

  Trudy asked pointedly, “And if she is, what are you proposing we do?”

  “Leave her at the next nearest town.”

  Grace stood. “We aren’t leaving anyone anywhere.”

  Fanny said, “And besides, we don’t even know if she is carrying. So she’s been sick, so what?”

  There were a few mumbles of support. Belle had been sick, so sick Loreli had been driving their wagon alone.

  Suddenly Belle got to her feet and everyone quieted. She looked at the faces gathered around the fire and stated in a firm yet soft voice, “Yes, Miss Mitchell, I am carrying an out-of-wedlock child, but the only person I have to answer to is the Lord.”

  “Hear! Hear!” Zora crowed.

  Grace smiled at Belle’s words. In spite of Belle’s solitary ways, she was well liked. Before the morning sickness claimed her, she’d always pulled her share of the load and Grace had never heard her utter an unkind word about anyone. That so many women seemed to be on her side filled Grace’s heart.

  Belle sat down.

  Loreli scanned the crowd. “Anything else?”

  “Yes. I say we take a vote,” Molly Mitchell countered.