Midnight Secrets

by Janelle Taylor

  “That’s mighty heavy thought, Miss Avery. You really pull deep into yourself when you’re distracted. I’ve been walking beside you for fifty feet and you didn’t know I was here. Be glad I’m not an enemy or you’d be in danger. I’m worried about this saddle-napping you do.”

  Ginny halted and looked at him. With scant moonlight and illumination from the fire, she could barely make out his expression; after she squinted and strained to do so, it was unreadable. The combination of his darkly tanned flesh, ebony hair, and black garments made him almost as invisible.as a new moon. He smelled fresh, as if he recently had a bath. She was impressed that a trail man took such care with his body and clothes. The only things ever a little slack in his grooming were a habit of not shaving until evening and of mussing his hair with his fingers, yet those things oddly enhanced his appeal. Her study only required seconds, but it seemed longer. “Don’t be worried, Mr. Carr. I simply have a special matter on my mind tonight. I didn’t realize I needed to stay alert in camp, not with an expert gunsman and plenty of guards around to protect me. Besides, with your enormous skills, I bet you could sneak up on a bird and capture it.”

  Steve was aware he had been scrutinized, and it aroused him. He murmured in a husky tone, “Is that a fancy way of complimenting me?”

  Ginny felt warm, shaky, and tingly being so close to him in the dark. How she wished things could settle down between them, but perhaps it was best if they didn’t. The stars fall down if he wasn’t already too tempting! If he ever pursued her seriously, she’d never be able to resist him. “No, you’re the one with that skill, too. I wouldn’t be surprised if you sneaked up on me so you could scold me for another lapse of attention.”

  He chuckled and grinned, revealing snowy teeth. In a mirthful tone with left hand over his heart, he said, “Why, Anna, you wound me deeply with that accusation.”

  Ginny frowned at him for his jest. “Do I indeed? I would imagine few things get to you, Mr. Tough Scout.”

  Steve fingercombed his hair as he prepared his answer. “You’re right, but those few things are real special or they wouldn’t work on me.”

  She struggled to appear poised and unaffected by him and his words. “I would certainly hope so.”

  Steve gave her a swift and close eyeing. She was as enticing as a wagon of gold. Her hazel gaze sparkled with interest and conflict. Her light-brown hair, or maybe dark tawny, snaked its way from her crown to her waist in wriggling curls and waves. Her lips called to him to kiss them. Her flawless skin urged him to stroke it. Could he? Should he? Not yet. “You’re a strange filly, Anna Avery, different from all the other.”

  “I hope so: I’d hate to be exactly like everyone else. I’d prefer to be a pink cloud in a sky filled with white ones.”

  “Ah, pink, a soft and warm and lovely color, not stand-out bold and fiery like red. Good choice. What color would I be if I were a cloud?”

  Ginny was surprised by his question and response to her whimsical remark. To let him know how he often treated her, she said with bravery, “Black. You’re stormy, unpredictable, threatening, and powerful.”

  Steve took her comparisons to have dual meanings, as her mood implied. “That sounds about right. You’re a good judge of character.”

  She had half expected—more accurately, hoped for—him to refute, explain, or apologize. “I hope so,” she murmured again to pique him. To escape the disturbing banter, she left him to join the others, and he tagged along without another word.

  Following light conversation, one of the men asked Steve to tell them about Texas.

  Steve knew it was the duty and custom for leaders to entertain and enlighten travelers with stories and information. He used an easygoing manner as he complied. “She’s big, with mountains and valleys westward, forests in the eastern part, and desert in the western section. Lots of flat, open prairies and grasslands. Most areas have rivers or streams. You have to be careful of flash floods in low-lying sections; they can sweep away horse and rider or even a wagon in the blink of an eye. Her weather isn’t ordinarily bad, but she can boil your brains in summer and freeze your bones in winter if she takes a mind to. She’s like a divided horse, half tamed and half wild.”

  Steve had everyone’s attention and interest, so he assumed he was doing a convincing job. “Cotton, cattle, and farming are her big interests. The Revolution with Mexico for independence ended in ‘45. Bandidos still raid across the Rio Grande sometimes, but they stay near the border for a quick escape, far from where any of you will settle. Right now, she’s still excluded from the Union; she tried to get back but they wouldn’t allow it. They elected a Unionist governor last year and voted on a new constitution that renounced slavery. Hasn’t helped yet. Military law rules her under Radical control and that new Reconstruction Act but there’s little trouble from either one. General Sheridan is in command of the Texas-Louisiana district; I’m sure all of you recall his name from the war.”

  “Damn right we do!” Brown sneered, and others nodded agreement.

  Steve didn’t give the men time to start rehashing their grievances. “Texans are proud, stubborn men who know how to fight,” he said, and related their deeds during the war. “She had legendary lawmen who could face down an entire mob or gang alone; the Union put Rangers out of power fast to prevent any threat from them.”

  “You said there wasn’t much trouble there?” a man asked Steve.

  “Very little trouble with gangs of soldiers or raiders like you have here. Texans have occasional problems with rustlers on ranches and outlaws along stageline routes. She’s too big and spread out to entice many villains to work there; they’d have to do too much riding.”

  “Do you do this kind of thing—escort wagontrains—all the time?”

  “Not all the time,” Steve answered Mrs. King’s question, “but I’ve made my share of trips across country. Mostly I’ve taken trains from St. Louis to the Far West, to Arizona and California or to Colorado and the Oregon Territory. It’s mostly gold and silver that draws folks there. Outlaws, too.”

  “What do you do when you aren’t escorting wagontrains?” Cathy asked.

  “A little bit of everything and anything, ma’am.”

  The dark-haired beauty persisted. “Such as?”

  “Guard for gold and silver shipments or freight lines, shotgun for stagecoaches, scout and guide for the Army or private companies, Indian fighting: you name it and I’ve probably done it or will do it.” He chuckled.

  “Indian fighting?” Cathy’s husband echoed. “In Texas?”

  “West Texas has problems with Apaches and Comanches, but none of you are heading there. Most of the trouble is northward in the Dakota lands. The Sand Creek massacre in Colorado started the worst of it. The Indians made treaty in ‘51, but it’s been broken too many times and ways to count. They’re working on a second one now and hope to have it signed by fall. It’ll be a wise move; those Indians are powerful and cunning and fearless; they won’t surrender their lives and lands without heavy bloodshed on both sides. You’d think everybody had had enough of killing.”

  Ginny fretted over the knowledge of fierce Indian trouble in the area where her father supposedly lived. Without help and protection, how could she get there safely? She halted her frantic musings to listen to the rest of Steve’s revelations.

  He talked about Chivington’s massacre, the Indians’ retaliation, and the Bozeman Trail conflict. He finished with the tale of a cocky officer’s fatal battle with the legendary Crazy Horse. “Fetterman was led into a cunning trap with his men and slaughtered with the ease of throwing a stone. Some of his troops were part of Sherman’s bloody campaign through this state.”

  “Served ‘em right after what they did here!” the Georgian declared.

  “Yesiree, maybe them redskins will take revenge for us,” Brown murmured with a happy smile and a glitter of hatred in his eyes.

  “You said we won’t have trouble with outlaws in Texas?” one man asked.

 
; “Not much, maybe a little along stage and mail routes.”

  “You ever killed an outlaw, had a shootout with one?” another asked.

  “I try to mind my own business and keep out of trouble. You should never challenge a man or provoke one to challenge you unless you’re certain you can outdraw and outshoot him. Never covet a gunslinger’s reputation. There’s a saying: ‘Live by your guns and you die by them,’ and it’s true.”

  “You surely know how to handle your weapons,” someone else observed.

  “It’s my job. Besides guiding you folks, I have to protect you.” Steve took the interest off him by saying, “The bad ones work the Missouri, Kansas, and Arkansas areas. Most of them are leftover Jayhawkers or men from Quantrill’s raiders.”

  “We’ve heard of him, read unbelievable stories in newspapers,” Jeff Eaves said. “He was killed in ‘65, wasn’t he?”

  “Yep, in Kentucky. He led federal troops on a wild chase for years. People’s opinions of him differ from good to bad, from misguided patriot, to heartless thief, using the war for his own profit and glory. His band killed innocents and burned and looted both sides: that’s been proven,” he added when two men looked about to argue in favor of the notorious man.

  When neither spoke, Steve continued. “War taught men to kill and some to enjoy it. Some outlaws seem born mean and greedy; others are driven to it out of revenge. Folks say the worst ones from Quantrill’s band haven’t stopped killing and robbing innocent folks since the war ended.”

  Steve noticed that no one asked about the Jayhawkers: plundering marauders who had been antislavery raiders in Kansas, Missouri, and their bordering states. He began tales about notorious outlaws and their criminal deeds.

  “They must have people giving them shelter or they’d be caught by now.”

  “I’m sure they do, Mrs. Wiggins,” Steve told Mary. “Some folks see them as famous, and others are afraid to turn down their… requests.”

  “They should be Jim Crowed like Negroes are. Segregated, like we do those Galvanized Yankees! You ever met those traitors during your travels, Steve?”

  “Plenty of them in the West.”

  “You mean they admit what they done?” Brown scoffed.

  “They don’t think they have anything to be ashamed of, Harry. Nor do most folks out West; those men did too much good to be rejected and insulted. Much as you and others despise them, it might be wise to keep those feelings to yourselves or you’ll offend new neighbors and friends who might have personal reasons to like them. You have them everywhere out there: many stayed after the war and made fresh starts alone or sent for their families. Most won’t return to the South because they are viewed as traitors.”

  “We sure didn’t want them back here, the stinking polecats! Nothing but a bunch of betrayers and gutless weaklings. I won’t befriend one.”

  “What are Galvanized Yankees, Mr. Brown?” Lucy asked.

  “Let Steve tell you; I can’t stand the taste of the words on my tongue.”

  Steve explained what they had done out West.

  Ginny, who had listened quietly and intently, spoke up. “I don’t understand, Mr. Carr. If they did so much good and all they wanted was to get out of horrible Yankee prisons, why was that so bad?”

  “Hellfire, girl, are you crazy?” Harry Brown shouted. “They betrayed our side, went against their own families and friends.”

  “How so, Mr. Brown?” she pressed to learn more about her Galvanized Yankee father and his possible motive for remaining out West.

  “They went over to the side of the damned Yankees who was killing their people and robbing them or burning them out! A decent and brave man don’t do nothing to help his enemies. Nothing!”

  “You’re saying you think it would have been better if they had stayed in those awful prisons instead of doing good work that didn’t harm the South?”

  “I spent plenty of time in a prison, but I wouldna ever gone over to the Yankees’ side. About cost me my leg, too!”

  “But what they did out West will help all of us who are going there. Isn’t that worth something, worth forgiveness and compassion?”

  “Hell, no, girl, it ain’t!”

  Steve was about to jump into the hot talk, as he didn’t like how Brown was looking at or speaking to Anna Avery, who was only asking questions to grasp the tragic situation. She had a tender and compassionate heart that moved him. He was relieved when both people went silent so he didn’t have to cause any conflict.

  As people chatted about less serious topics, Ginny drifted into deep thought. She knew the embittered and vengeful man couldn’t be reasoned with or appeased. It was evident a few others present didn’t like what those ex-Rebel soldiers had done but those didn’t feel or react as strongly, thank goodness. She realized that if she was faced with a similar choice, she would have done the same as her father had, following his capture at Stones River at Murfreesboro in early ‘63. That was how Mathew Marston had gotten to Colorado, and tonight’s revelation could prove a partial answer as to why he had remained. He had done some of the jobs Steve Carr had mentioned, and she was proud of him for doing so. She was glad he hadn’t stayed in prison and suffered needlessly. Why couldn’t these men see that it was better to live and build rather than kill and destroy? She could hardly wait to reach her father’s side and be reunited. No joy could be greater than to see his smiling face again.

  Ginny sneaked a look at the virile scout, who was silent and alert. After what she’d learned, could she take Charles Avery’s suggestion about hiring Steve as her guide and protector? Perhaps she shouldn’t keep her deathbed promise to Johanna Chapman. Perhaps she should head straight to Colorado to begin her search. Maybe she should make her final decision after she got to know the mysterious scout better, and after she learned if he was indeed available to be hired.

  For all she knew, Steve could be heading back immediately to escort another wagontrain to Texas or farther west. That would place enormous distance between them. What if she never saw him again after this journey ended? Despite their many conflicts, that wasn’t what she wanted. She wanted—Stop thinking such foolish things, Ginny Marston! It’s impossible for more reasons thanyou can count on both hands. Forget about winning Steve Carr. Forget your silly romantic notions. Your goal is to reach Colorado and find your father, not find a husband along the way…Certainly not a quicksilver and enigmatic male, her mind added.

  Ginny told herself she was inexperienced and, maybe even ignorant when it came to men and romance. She had been instructed to think of serving and pleasing her mate first and her family second, never herself, to defer to her husband’s whims and desires at all times. One was to look and behave her best at all times: be charming, demure, ladylike, and servile. One’s only goal should be to find the “proper” man, wed him, bear his children, and cater to his needs. It was believed that a woman was nothing without a husband, no matter if she had talents and skills elsewhere. She must have a mate to be respectable and accepted. She must be taken care of, not fend for herself. Only females in the lowest class supported themselves and remained unwed, even if not by their choice, but the result of cruel fate.

  Surely, Ginny thought, there was more in life for a woman. There must be other challenges and rewards. Why was wanting and needing more than a husband so wrong, so unacceptable by society? What made a man stronger and smarter and braver? Didn’t their lessons this week prove a woman could do the same tasks and take the same risks men did? Why must a woman only cower, bend a knee, and serve?

  Until she met Steve Carr, she hadn’t been tempted to pursue a man. She hadn’t met one who caused such flames to burn in her body or such hungers to torment her soul. But dare she follow through with her temptation? Dare she risk a broken heart if she lost the chase, as Steve was probably unattainable? Dare she risk tossing obstacles into the difficult and dangerous path she must travel?

  CHAPTER 6

  Steve guided the women to an Ogeechee River location where th
e water was deeper and swifter and where the banks had more of an incline. After repeating their instructions of the previous day, he added a caution he had forgotten: “Watch out for large rocks in stream beds; they’ll bust a rim or a spoke. If a river is too bad on the trail, we’ll have to use an extra team to help pull wagons across. That causes delays but can’t be helped. We’ll have to ferry or float wagons across the worst sites; it slows us more when wheels have to be removed along with loads then replaced on the other side. Now, if nobody has a question, let’s get moving.”

  Ginny was apprehensive but not terrified. Her biggest worry was making a mistake that would cause Steve to scold her. She kept her concentration at peak level and used everything he had taught her. Paying attention was simpler when the handsome man wasn’t close.

  At one point, Steve had to climb aboard Cathy King’s wagon to get it unstuck after the dark-haired woman let it halt in midriver and mire down, on purpose Ginny surmised with annoyance. She watched how the two of them had to sit close and snug on the short seat with bodies touching. She witnessed how Cathy brazenly and wantonly gazed into the scout’s eyes and thanked him for rescuing her. She fumed, knowing she would have been scolded whereas Cathy didn’t receive the slightest reprimand. For all she knew, the guide didn’t care about the woman’s marital status; Cathy certainly didn’t. If the sultry flirt had her way, she would entice Steve into the woods to roll on the ground, and he might go! In England, she had heard gossip about men having mistresses or fiery moments in the arms and beds of wedded women. Her anger mounted with’ her jealousy. She warned herself to cease her distraction.

  After the women made two successful crossings in a row, the smiling teacher told them to take a break then meet for self-defense lessons.