Midnight Secrets

by Janelle Taylor

  Steve looked at the beauty who kept—annoyingly—snagging his eye and interest. “I don’t think you want to train in that fancy dress, Miss Avery,” he remarked. To everyone, he said, “It’s best to wear your oldest clothes, ladies, not things you don’t want ruined. If you own pants, those will be easier for you to move around and work in. Don’t worry about looking stylish during lessons or on the trail; we’ll all be too tired to notice. Let’s move out now,” he ordered as if leading a cattle drive to market.

  The others headed toward Lucy Eaves’s wagon, but Steve blocked the disquieting lady’s way and asked, “Why don’t you make a quick change? I’d hate to see that pretty dress spoiled; and so will you. If you hurry, you won’t hold us up too long.” He turned and strolled toward the other women, all of whom observed the scene with interest.

  Ginny stared into his retreating back before she rushed to the Avery wagon where her trunks were stored. His two remarks had stung. She searched for something more appropriate than the promenade dress she was wearing. When she had dressed this morning in town, she hadn’t considered proper attire for her lessons today. She took out a green skirt and blouse and, after drawing the privacy cord, changed clothes. As she fumbled with buttons in her rush not to “hold them up too long,” she fumed, If that was a compliment about my wardrobe, it came through the back door! Her mother used to tell her, “Pretty is as pretty does.” The same was true of handsome, and the leader certainly wasn’t behaving that way. March 24, 1867, was not going to be an easy day, she fretted, if he continued to behave in this critical manner.

  When Ginny rejoined the others, Steve looked her over with an expression that seemed to ask, Are those the oldest and worst clothes you own? She exchanged smiles with Lucy Eaves and Ellie Davis, ignoring him.

  “Now, ladies, we can get started.” As he pointed out parts of the wagon and harnesses, he explained their functions and care.

  Ginny observed the guide with annoyance, baffled by his mercurial ways. He was on one knee as he motioned to the underpinnings of the wagon and detailed its construction. His voice was like gently rippling water as his inflections altered during his explanation. His expression was unreadable. He performed his task with skill and ease, but she sensed he was thinking about something else. Her gaze drifted over his face where not a scar or flaw was visible. Along his chiseled jawline and above his perfect mouth was the dark stubble of one day’s beard growth, instead of ill-kempt, it made him appear mysterious and virile. His soft hair was as black and shiny as a raven’s wing beneath the sun. She remembered he was tall, about six feet and three inches. Her eyes swept past his face of strong, rugged, and appealing features to shoulders that evinced their broadness and strength through the dark-blue cotton shirt that pulled snugly over his torso as he moved his arms to point out different areas of the wagon.

  Ginny found it odd that two pistols were strapped around his waist in a camp so close to civilization. Stranger to her was the fact that they were secured with thongs to his muscled thighs in the manner she had viewed in photographs of western cowboys and gunslingers. The weapons, the initials S.C. intricately carved into the butts and resting in artistically hand-tooled holsters, looked as much a part of him as his darkly tanned flesh. No doubt they provided an important clue to his character; just as the sheathed knife that was strapped to his left leg with its handle peeking over the edge of well-worn boots should tell her he was a man who would defend himself with prowess. She wondered what this man did when he was not guiding wagontrains west, and if he were married or had a sweetheart. Surely there was far more to him, she concluded, than met the naked eye. It was unnervingly evident to her that concentration would be the toughest part of her training with a man like this as her teacher.

  Steve was accustomed to doing and thinking more than one thing at a time, so he knew the beautiful female was studying him and not listening again. He almost corrected her but found it amusing that such a refined lady would find a rough man like him worth her scrutiny. He would be astonished if she could endure the training period; probably within two days she would be begging her father to remain in civilized Savannah, whining peevishly. Surely Anna had been a spoiled, pampered, and wealthy southern belle before the North had challenged the South; and it didn’t appear as if the war had changed those things for her. From his observation during the men’s training, Charles Avery had not struck him as a scalawag—those greedy and traitorous Southerners who sided with Northern conquerors. He, for one, would never forget or forgive what certain Yankees had done to him in that Union prison after his capture at Shiloh. Shu, he had been a fool to get involved in a war that had nothing to do with him.

  This particular mission wasn’t to his liking, either. Unmasking the cunning man and the illegal group of his that was reported to be using this wagontrain as a cover for transporting stolen gems to a contact out West wasn’t the bad part; duping these fine people was. But he always did as ordered. Somehow and someway, he must locate the sinister shipment and stop it from reaching its destination. He must prevent it from being exchanged for arms and ammunition for the Red Magnolias—a band in the Invisible Empire, the dreaded Ku Klux Klan—to use in their evil schemes. The leader of that group was clever; he knew valuable gems would not leave deep telltale wagon ruts as hauling heavy gold would and that the stones could be secreted many places in a loaded wagon or hidden compartment. It was up to him to find the treasure and to expose the culprits responsible.

  To keep his mind off Miss Anna Avery, Steve looked at the gentle redhead, Ruby Amerson, who was trying to take in every word he spoke. A young mother of two babies, one a few months old and the other a little over a year, this training period was not going to be easy for her, he was sure, but she had a determined look in her eyes. He liked and respected that, and there weren’t many people who extracted those feelings in him. He would do whatever necessary to get to know these people quickly so he could complete his mission and move on to his next challenge.

  A child’s piercing squeal had captured Ginny’s attention; the guide suddenly appeared before her and said her borrowed name with cutting sharpness. Startled, she jumped and jerked her gaze to his scowling face.

  “Miss Avery, you can’t learn if you don’t listen,” he admonished with a tone seemingly meant to make her tremble in dread of punishment.

  Unaccustomed to the assumed name, she hadn’t responded to it immediately. She didn’t like being scolded like an errant child. They exchanged challenging looks for a moment before his chilling gaze cleared her head. “I’m sorry, Mr. Carr, but I heard a child scream. I looked to see if anything was wrong.”

  “Children yell all the time when they’re playing, Miss Avery, and I presume their fathers are tending them as ordered.”

  “Yes, sir,” she responded to end the matter. She was miffed by his tone before the other women, who were watching in silence. Her new assessment of him was of an arrogant, rude, and demanding man.

  As if reading her dark thoughts, he asked, “Why don’t you help me show how to grease axles? That should keep your mind where it should be.”

  “I’d be delighted,” she conceded as she struggled to conceal her vexation and embarrassment. Ginny noticed that only one female, a dark-haired beauty named Cathy King, seemed to find the situation entertaining.

  “You’ll need the grease bucket from the back,” he told her, as if to let her know he didn’t intend to wait on her or the others as a servant.

  Ginny made her way through the group of women to the location he had pointed out earlier. Lucy, Ellie, and Ruby sent her encouraging smiles. She lifted the container from a hook and returned to her now-grinning teacher with his irritating smirk of victory. She herself did not smile as she asked, “What now?”

  Steve took the bucket with a mixture of tar and animal fat, pulled out the swab, and demonstrated on one axle how to apply it in the right places and amounts. “Now, you try it on the other three.” Ginny did her best to repeat his actions. The o
ther women followed her from wheel to wheel to observe. At the last one, she asked Steve, who had been silent along the way, if she had done the task correctly.

  “All right for a beginner; you’ll do better with practice. Just make sure you don’t get distracted and miss a wheel or a spot. If you do, it’s certain trouble.” He half turned to tell the others to take a break. “But be back here at two sharp, ladies,” he added.

  In her annoyed state, Ginny let the swab fall lower and stain her skirt. She didn’t understand why he was picking on her, unless something he’d been thinking had put him in a bad mood. When she saw what she’d done, she exhaled in irritation. She commanded herself not to let the contradictory man get to her like this.

  “It’s probably ruined,” Steve observed, “but I warned you to wear old clothes.”

  “These are my oldest clothes,” she retorted in a frosty tone and with a matching glare meant to silence him.

  “Then you’re damned lucky, Miss Avery. The others aren’t as fortunate as you are. I hope you’ll do your best not to create envy in them with your good looks and fine clothes.”

  That’s a curious way to compliment a lady after you’ve humiliated her. “I’ll do my best to behave in all respects, sir,” she said, her voice dripping sarcasm. “You don’t have to be so rude and mean. ‘Never let personal dislikes or disagreements interfere with our purpose for being here,’ you said earlier. As our leader, mine included, you could follow your own advice and be nice.”

  His teeth almost gritted out his reply. “I’m not here to be nice, only to get you and the others out West. If I relax as much as you’ve done this morning, someone could get hurt or killed. Distractions and weaknesses are dangerous. I’m paid to see that everyone—and that means you, too—arrives safe and alive; and I will, in any way necessary, even if it means being ‘rude and mean.’ I can’t afford to be too friendly with people in my charge. If I am, some get lax, take advantage, or get rebellious. I’m sure a charming lady like you will make plenty of friends without needing me as one. See you later.”

  As he walked away, Ginny wondered what in the world that chiding was about, or if it even referred to her minor misconduct. She hoped he hadn’t chosen her to be his example of what happened when he was disobeyed or angered. She didn’t need his verbal abuse, not after what she’d suffered recently.

  So what if he does have the responsibility of eight-four people and the displeasing task of training fifteen women! she fumed. He chose it, so he could be at least pleasant and polite.

  As her thoughts sank in, Ginny realized the seriousness of his job. Maybe he had to be bossy and demanding to maintain authority, discipline, and cooperation. In the past, she’d had teachers like that, and their tough tactics had, in fact, worked to keep their classes in control.

  In all honesty, she had provoked him, however unintentionally. She hadn’t paid attention or taken the lessons with the gravity they deserved. Perhaps her conduct had come across as an air of superiority. She didn’t think she was any better than anyone here. In fact, that moody guide would be surprised by what she had endured and by what loomed before her.

  Ginny absently brushed at the axle-grease stain. It not only smeared but had stuck to her hand. She replaced the bucket and headed to the wagon she would share with Charles Avery, her alleged father. He had returned to town to see someone and wouldn’t be back for a few days. That was good, for it gave her privacy, fewer chores, and it meant he wouldn’t witness her problems before she could correct them.

  She wrapped a handkerchief around her sticky hand and sat inside the wagon to stay out of view while she ate the chicken and biscuits she had brought with her. Other women were busy cooking their food or feeding their families or cleaning up after a cozy meal. She shouldn’t feel guilty about not having as many chores as they did, or for having more time to rest between training periods. They were the lucky ones; they knew how to cook outside—how to cook period! She had helped Charles’s sister Martha for over a week with household chores, but she had only cooked on a stove and never unattended. She stared at the pots in the wagon as if they were enemies out to get her. As much as possible, she must observe the other women and learn from them, preferably while still camped for the week. She could imagine how her ignorance in those areas would amuse Steve Carr, and no matter what she had to do to conceal her inexperience from him, she would do just that.

  Ginny changed her skirt and headed to the river with soap to remove the grease from the stained one and from her hand. She knelt on a large, flat rock to work on her smelly fingers. The combination of animal fat and tar was stubborn and resisted her strongest efforts to remove it; and instead of coming off, it spread to clean areas to make a worse mess. What should—

  “Use this,” Steve offered over her shoulder.

  Ginny jumped in surprise. “You move as quietly as a feather falling. What is it?” she asked, looking at the metal cup he was holding.

  “Kerosene; it’ll cut the grease. Just don’t get near a flame until it’s scrubbed off or you’ll light up the area like a roaring wildfire. Better put cream on afterward; both of those mixtures are harsh on soft hands.”

  She accepted the cup of strong-smelling flammable liquid and thanked him, wondering how he knew where she was and what she was doing, and why he was being nice suddenly. She rubbed it over her hands, grateful it removed the tar. As instructed, she thoroughly scrubbed them with soap afterward.

  Steve had concluded he was being too tough on Anna Avery if he was to get close enough to learn anything from her—if she and her father were his target, that was. Clearly she wasn’t acquainted with household chores or she’d know lamp oil took off tar, so he hadn’t been wrong about her pampered rearing. As she lifted her skirt to pour kerosene on its blackened area, he warned, “It’ll take the color out and weaken the cloth in that area.” Her response made him chuckle.

  “Better faded and thin than to have a sticky mess. I can’t use it again like this.” She didn’t look at him as she added, “It’ll give me something imperfect to wear during lessons, which should please you.”

  She was surprised that Steve didn’t comment on her last remark, but he didn’t leave, either. She felt his potent gaze on her as she labored on the stain. She warmed and trembled, despite the friction between them. When her task was finished and she saw the truth of his warning, she washed and returned his cup. Holding up the garment, she murmured, “Ruined, but better. Thanks for the help.”

  “You’re welcome, Miss Avery.”

  As she prepared her items to leave, she looked at him and asked, “I’m not late for class, am I? You didn’t come to scold me?”

  “No, you have half an hour left. Have you eaten?”

  She returned to gathering her things. “Dirty hand and all.” When he chuckled, she glanced at him and clarified his apparent amusement, “I wrapped it in a handkerchief so I wouldn’t get tar on my food.”

  “I didn’t see you build a fire or cook.”

  “I ate leftovers.”

  “From town, because your father ate with James and Mary Wiggins yesterday before he went to fetch you.”

  “I stayed in town with… my aunt, Father’s sister, until you were ready for the women.”

  “A last farewell, eh? More comfortable there?”

  “I wouldn’t know; I’ve never lived or traveled on the road before for a comparison. Father insisted I stay there while you men were busy.”

  “It must have given him a good opportunity to make friends. The way these families are spread out across Georgia and the Carolinas, no one seemed to know any of the others until they came here. Your father must have gotten to know them by eating with a different one each night.”

  Ginny wondered what was behind his inquisitiveness. Wasn’t, she mused, this curious behavior for a man who gave her the impression he was normally a loner and not much of a talker?

  Steve watched a curious array of emotions drift across her flawless face. She had express
ive green-brown eyes with tawny flecks. Her hair was light brown with golden streaks. She looked around five-and-a-half-feet tall, and was perfectly weighted to that height to be sleek and shapely. He had to admit that she possessed one of the warmest and nicest smiles he had ever seen on anyone. Her voice was pleasing and cultured; she was an educated woman, a refined lady. Steve frowned as his heart pained him with bitter resentment. “Did you hear me, Miss Avery?”

  She caught the sudden edge to his voice. “Yes, every word. I didn’t know you wanted a response. My father is a very genial and social man. Since he was here alone, it was natural for him to make friends with the others. I hope there isn’t anything wrong with them inviting him to dinner.”

  He had to put distance between them. “Of course not.”

  “Then to which remark did you want me to reply?”

  “I was just making conversation and thought you’d shut me out again.”

  “I’m not much of a talker, Mr. Carr. If you’ll excuse me, I have important things on my mind.”

  Me and what I’m saying aren’t important to a lady like you? “When’ we take our stroll this afternoon, best cover that head with a big hat. On the trail, you should keep your arms and face protected. You don’t want the sun to change that soft, tawny skin to a bright and painful red or to a wrinkled brown, do you?”

  She dared not look at him. “I’ll follow your advice, thank you.”

  “We’d better get back to camp.”

  “I’m going now, sir. I’ll put away my things and join you promptly.”

  “Miss Avery…?”

  She halted her departure and turned. He hadn’t moved. “Yes?”

  “Stay attentive this afternoon, and from now on. I don’t enjoy scolding you like a child or shaming you before the others. It breeds hard feelings.”

  Ginny’s smile vanished. From the mellow way he’d spoken her name and his friendly words, she’d expected an apology. “Yes, Mr. Carr, it does breed ill will and could create tension in camp. I promise, from now on, I won’t concentrate on anything except my lessons. I don’t enjoy being humiliated for minor and unintentional mistakes.”