Maps of Fate

by Reid Lance Rosenthal

  “From the northwest.” Reuben gestured with his hands as if he was ushering her through the door to a formal gala event in a great ballroom, “Shall we?”

  Rebecca laughed, their horses abreast of one another. “Yes, Mr. Frank, we shall.” She gently dug her heels into the bay’s side, and they began to move parallel with the wagons, her legs almost touching Reuben’s.

  They rode in silence, content in each other’s company, and in the wide open spaces punctuated by the occasional rolling hill or abrupt rise of a butte, accented here and there with scraggly stands of scrub and occasional patches of trees. The startling blue of the sky above deepened. Ahead was an endless, undulating expanse of land, its brown-gold grasses rippling in the wind, which had become more constant. The grasses changed colors and reflected the sun as the currents of air stirred them, as if engendered by the stroke of some unseen hand. On the western horizon the line of white-edged clouds seemed to have grown, fading to a dull grey where they disappeared behind the curve of the earth.

  Occasionally, Reuben would turn his eyes to Rebecca. Engrossed in the scenery, he noticed her occasional deep breaths, seeming to inhale the essence of the vastness, then hold it, before exhaling slowly.

  Rebecca felt consumed, yet comfortable, lost, but found, in the vastness. She puzzled over those paradoxes, acutely aware of the creak of leather, smooth and slightly cold, in the quiet of the morning, mixed with the occasional snorts and prances of Lahn and the bay mare she was riding.

  Reuben had moved slightly ahead of her. Her eyes followed his silhouette. Straight back, muscled thighs, casually at ease, and confidently in control. His head moved imperceptibly back and forth, and she knew his eyes were sweeping their path, ever vigilant. His presence and demeanor made her feel safe, secure.

  With a smooth motion and the calmest movement of his hand, he pointed to a distant band of animals. They were small, beige and white, and all facing the train, alert. Deciding whether to watch or run, she thought. She smiled to herself. I well know that feeling.

  “Antelope. These are the first I have ever seen. I read about them back in Prussia. See that buck?” Reuben swung his finger, “the one with the horns? If you look close, you can see that the bucks have a black cheek patch that the females don’t. They are members of the goat family rather than the deer family. Very fast runners. They are supposed to be good eating, though I read that if they are excited, they have huge hearts, and just a few seconds of fear and their muscle tissues fill with adrenaline. When that happens, my father’s scout said, most dogs won’t even eat the meat.”

  “I put them at about three hundred fifty meters, Reuben. Perhaps we should shoot one or two for food.” Rebecca reached back for her Sharps.

  “No, if Mac wanted camp meat, he would have already sent Zeb or the Kentuckians out there. Hell, Elijah and his son could shoot them from the wagons without moving,” he chuckled. But Rebecca noticed when she mentioned the idea of hunting the antelope, his look had been one of mild surprise and respect.

  “Reuben, if you don’t mind me asking, I heard Johannes say something about maps that you have….” Her words froze in her throat as she was met with an intense stare; Reuben’s eyes suddenly a fiery green, with a hue of steel grey, and a measure of hurt, perhaps?

  “I should’ve known.” Reuben wagged his head, his disgust evident. “If you wanted to know about the damn maps, why didn’t you just ask me over supper one night, or back by the wagons some morning. You didn’t have to go to all the trouble of building up to this ride together.” He spat the last word out as if distasteful and spurred Lahn into a lope.

  Rebecca reined in, shocked, her mind racing and a sinking feeling in her chest. “Damn,” she muttered to herself and put her heels to the bay.

  She caught up with Lahn shortly and slowed her horse to match his stride. Reuben stared straight ahead. “Reuben, I…”

  Reuben’s head remained fixed, but from the side of his mouth, in a cold tone jarred slightly by Lahn’s gait, he said tersely, “Never mind, Rebecca. I’d be happy to tell you about maps. I ask only that you don’t bring them up to anybody else. What do you want to know?” His voice was emotionless, and cold.

  Rebecca moved the bay closer to Lahn, then reached for and grabbed Lahn’s nearest rein between Reuben’s hand and the hackamore and tugged slightly, slowing the palomino. Reuben looked at her hand as if it were an irritant. The two animals stopped. Rebecca rested her fingers on Reuben’s thigh. She could feel the warmth in the muscles under her hand and was distracted for just a second. “Reuben, look at me. Please.”

  Reluctantly, he turned her way. His shoulders moved forward, and he rested his upper body on a forearm perched on his saddle horn. “What?” The word was a report, like a rifle shot.

  “I understand why you are upset. And, it is true in the beginning I used my looks and wits as I always have, and your attraction to me…” Reuben’s head snapped up, his eyes narrowing. She could see that they were shading more grey, and continued hastily, “and my attraction for you, Reuben. It is true. I have been attracted to you since first time I saw you on the deck of the Edinburgh, talking to Sarah. I didn’t even know you, but I was jealous,” she smiled. “And I noticed your eyes lingered on the tight wrap of my skirt when the wind blew it back against my legs.”

  Reuben’s eyebrows arched in surprise. The steel grey in his eyes began to soften. She held his stare and continued. “I realize I can be difficult at times. I feel something in me changing,” she sighed, “a large part of it is you,” she swept her arms around at the rolling emptiness around them, “and this. I have no idea what will happen. I want to be honest with you. My plans are still to sell my father’s inheritance and return to England, but I find myself with less and less resolve.” Her hand tightened on his thigh, and he dropped his to cover hers. The calluses where his fingers met his palm were warm and somehow seemed to fit perfectly between her small-boned knuckles.

  “I am worried about my Mum,” Rebecca said quietly. “She was ailing when I left. The family finances are in tatters. My father lost all three trading ships shortly before his death. Someday, I shall tell you what one of our servants said to me. He is an aborigine, whom my dear father firmly maintained until his death, was clairvoyant. But now I want you to know that I’m earnest. And…”

  She took a deep breath and was surprised to feel the wet trickle of a tear on her check. “I’m scared and confused. You’re the first man I’ve ever been attracted to. I keep thinking about that kiss back on the train. It was my first kiss, ever,” she dropped her eyes in embarrassment and squeezed his thigh again. “I’m so sorry I tried to slap you. I’ve been meaning to apologize since that night, but my pride wouldn’t let me.”

  She looked up to find Reuben’s upper body leaning into her, his face only inches from hers. She opened her mouth to speak but her words died as his lips covered hers, their tongues dancing a soft kiss within the kiss.

  Lahn shook himself impatiently, separating them from each other, forcing Reuben to sit upright in his saddle. Rebecca knew her head was still slightly tilted, her lips partly open. Reuben laughed, “I think Lahn is jealous.”

  Rebecca giggled. “He should be.” Their eyes locked again. She could see a reddish hue underneath Reuben’s dark tan. She knew her features reciprocated his blush.

  “I am honored, Rebecca, that I am the first and only man to have ever tasted your lips.”

  His words were nearly as evocative as his touch. She felt a strange, dreamy longing. She leaned over, putting one finger to his lips. “Kiss me again,” she said, almost purring.

  Their lips met, deep and searching, and she shuddered. Reuben drew his face away a few inches, “Rebecca I…do you think we…”

  Rebecca was sure he could hear the rapid beating of her heart. She cleared her throat. “Reuben, I have a map, too. My father was given a Land Grant by King Ferdinand of Spain. I don’t know all the details, but it was at a time prior to it being an American territory. T
hat was only five or six years ago, before that place they call Texas threw out the Mexicans, I am told. My solicitors in England tell me it’s a completely valid claim, which was verified by my father’s attorney in New York. It appears to be quite large, approximately one thousand hectares.”

  She looked around, immediately feeling foolish for worrying about anybody overhearing. Harris and Margaret’s Conestoga, the last wagon in the line, was already several hundred yards ahead and south of them. “My father was delirious on his deathbed, but he kept telling me there was gold. I don’t know anything about land, Reuben. I know about gold trading from my father’s business, but I know nothing about mining, if by some wild chance the ravings of a dying old man prove to be miraculously true. If that is the case, I would be shirking my duty to my family by selling it.”

  Glancing off in the distance, her voice dropped to a whisper. “I have this feeling, this premonition I am going to love it regardless of its other values. I know you will be busy, very busy, setting up your ranch, and I have no idea how far your land is from my father’s grant, but I would appreciate if I could rely on your honest advice as the situation unfolds and the facts become known.”

  Reuben nodded slowly. His expression was soft and warm and there was a tender look of concern on his face. Rebecca had a wild urge to kiss him again.

  “I will help in any way I can, Rebecca. You know that I would help a friend, even if we weren’t… weren’t…” His voice trailed off. “The distances could be large. Where is the land grant?”

  “I will show you on the map this evening if we can find time alone from prying eyes, although Inga knows about it—and I would trust Johannes, despite the hard times we give each other,” she laughed. “It is on the western flank of a mountain range somewhere in an area in the southwest part of the Kansas Territories. I can’t pronounce the name.”

  She saw a startled look rush across Reuben’s face and his eyes widened. “The Uncompahgre, by any chance?”

  Rebecca was surprised. “Yes, yes, I think that’s the name. I didn’t know how to say it.”

  “Un-com-pa-grey. What is the name of the mountain range?” Reuben had unconsciously shifted in his saddle to search her face, his brow furrowed, his eyes bright.

  Rebecca, surprised at his extreme interest, watched him closely as she answered, “Las Montanas Rojas.”

  Reuben jerked Lahn’s reins and the gelding tossed his head in protest, but complied with a grudging stop. “The Red Mountains.”

  “Yes, Reuben. What is it? How did you know that?”

  Reuben shook his head slowly, half in disbelief, half in obvious wonder. “Do you believe in fate, Rebecca?”

  Rebecca thought for moment. “Prior to coming to America, I believed that fate was something we each created for ourselves. I still believe that’s partially true. But here, you, this place, the people we’ve met, all of these brave souls risking their lives, chancing everything to travel a thousand miles to a place they’ve never seen, filled with such hope, and some spirit I can’t define, has changed my most basic perceptions. For the first time, I truly believe there is a God.” She raised her eyes to his. “So yes, Reuben, I believe in fate.”

  A soft smile played over Reuben’s lips. “So do I, Rebecca Marx, so do I. We will look at the maps together. You’ll see that the maps my father’s scout drew also detail lands in the Uncompahgre on the south and east flanks of some mountains…” he paused, “called Las Montanas Rojas.”

  Rebecca heard her own deep intake of breath and felt her eyes widen. “Really, Reuben? You’re serious? This is not a joke? Was that old leather case you were so attentive to back when we crossed the Osage your map case?”

  Reuben reached across the space between the horses, and put his hand on hers. “Yes, you are observant. That is my map case. It was my father’s and his before him. It used to contain the maps to the family’s cattle farms in Prussia—the old country.” He smiled. “Now it contains maps to the family’s future. It is true, Rebecca. Destinies and connections are shaped by forces far larger than any of us. Our charts…” he paused, thinking, “you might call them the maps of fate.”

  He straightened up and shook his head as if to clear it. “Even more unusual, is that we have two maps from the scout. There was to be a third. The scout said he had drawn it in his last letter. But he was killed by Indians, and his brother, who was supposed to have received the third map, disappeared in New York.” His eyes looked intently into hers. “It was, though we’ve never seen it, supposedly a map showing potential gold deposits on the lands the scout recommended for the ranch.”

  Rebecca raised one hand over her mouth, an overwhelming flood of emotions, thoughts, questions and thrills avalanching through her in a jumble.

  “There’s one more thing you should know, Rebecca, if you don’t already.” She just looked at him, her mind numbly racing, her hands still over her lips. “You know that Inga and Sarah have become quite close.” Reuben laughed, “And we are both well aware that Inga and Johannes couldn’t be closer.” Rebecca felt her lips move in a smile beneath her fingers.

  “Sarah has confided in Inga that she and Jacob have a map. I have not seen it, nor has Inga, and Sarah is very closed mouth about it— understandably so given her horrible predicament with that son of a bitch Irishman. But, from the little that Inga has apparently been told by Sarah, and has dribbled to Johannes, the map is also a gold map. And, apparently, marks a place somewhere in the Uncompahgre.”

  CHAPTER 24

  APRIL 25, 1855

  AFFRONT

  Reuben’s mind was spinning. The joining of their lips had been consuming. More than a kiss. The maps, and destinies somehow magically intertwined. His father’s words, ‘There are no coincidences, none at all.’ He paused and glanced toward the wagon train to buy time to formulate the question in his heart. To his astonishment, the wagons were circling up. Can’t be much more than early afternoon, he thought.

  He was about to turn to Rebecca when he saw a rider galloping to intercept them from the head of the train. The wind had picked up noticeably. The billows of dust that exploded from the hooves of the approaching horse swirled, caught the air currents and hurtled past the two of them from several hundred yards away. Across the broad expense of landscape, stronger gusts of wind flattened the grasses, turning their brown stems and tender green undershoots into moving waves of silver-gold ribbons.

  As the horse and rider drew near, Reuben recognized Mac. The wagon master reined in Red brusquely within a few feet in front of them and looked sharply at each of them. “You two all right?”

  “We are, Mac. Why are we stopping so early?”

  Mac turned his body in the saddle, and pointed to the northwest. The clouds that had been a thin distant strip, hugging the horizon when they started out that morning, now consumed a third of the sky. Their leading edges boiled in a misty tapestry of dull grey, transcended to a solid grey, and mutated finally to dark, angry grey-black which stretched solidly north to south across the entire northern and western skylines.

  A strong gust of wind blew by them. Rebecca hunched her shoulders into it, and Mac almost lost his hat. “Damn hat. One of these days I’m going to put me a rawhide chinstrap on this thing.” He pulled the felt down tight almost to his ears and turned up the collars of his coat. “I think we’re in for a nasty blow. The spring storms can get vicious out in this flatter country. We’re circling the wagons behind that hill. I think it’s about the highest place around for miles. Might break the wind.” He glanced back over his shoulder. “I got a funny feeling that when this one hits, if we’re not ready, we ain’t gonna have a chance to get so. Temperature is dropping too. Feel it?”

  Reuben nodded. “What you need me to do?”

  “Well, you won’t be practicing with that Colt this evening,” Mac grinned. Another bluster of wind churned around them, and Mac bowed his head into his neck and held his hat, his eyes fixed behind Reuben. Craning his head, Reuben could see Zeb a hal
f-mile out, Buck and the three pack mules seemingly braced forward as they trotted in the direction of the wagon train, directly into the teeth of the increasing gales.

  “Zeb knows it, too. If he didn’t think this was going be a whopper, he wouldn’t be coming to the train. Reuben, we’re going to have to make a corral for all these critters, each rig within a few feet of the next, otherwise they will be scattered to hell and gone in the morning, or whenever this thing let’s up. Hopefully, it will be short-lived. Help Charlie, John and the folks unhook the teams. I need eight men behind each wagon. Stick the wagon tongue of the rear wagon over the axles of the one in front. That will form a tight circle with the stock in the middle. Hopefully, it’ll just be rain. If it’s snow, it could take a week for things to dry out, and we’ll be fighting mud between here and the Little Blue, maybe Fort Kearney. After everyone is unhitched, talk to Charlie and John, and help them with whatever they need. They’ve done this a time or two before, but it’s been a few years.”

  Mac turned to Rebecca with a slight bow of his head, his hand still holding his hat in place. “Miss Rebecca, I like that rifle sheath ya got rigged up there. Where did you learn to do that?”

  “Thank you, Mac. Reuben showed me how to do it this morning.”

  “That so?” Mac grinned and leaned over to spit. An air burst caught the gob of tobacco spittle and blew it back on his trousers. “Damn.” Mac began to laugh.

  Rebecca and Reuben exchanged glances. She blushed deeply and found sudden interest in her hands folded over the saddle horn, which Mac noticed with a smile in his eye. Still wiping his trousers with his hand, he suggested to her, “You might want to get down there, Mistress Marx, unsaddle, and set up your wagon. No sense to start fires with this wind, and there’s little fuel.”

  It took several hours of grunting, groaning manpower to position the wagons into a closed circle, organize the stock, and get the animals in the center before pushing the last wagon into place, closing and completing the corral. The line of clouds was now directly overhead and the first precipitation was beginning to beat down on the pioneers as they made final preparations.