Sunrise Over Texas

by MJ Fredrick

  “If we get an early start. You got the bedrolls made for you and your family?”

  “Bedrolls, hardtack. The food’s ready, and as much water as we can carry. The wagon’s in good shape?”

  “As safe as I can make it. I can’t see your mother-in-law sleeping on the ground. How did you manage when you came out here?”

  She nestled closer as a chill swept over her, and he tightened his arm around her. “Oh, the soldiers were very solicitous of us, made it as comfortable as they could. We didn’t walk a step if we didn’t want to.”

  He chuckled softly. “She’s going to hate me, then.”

  “Very likely she already does.” She eased onto her back and stared at the ceiling. “I hate that this is over.”

  His breath caught for a second. “What?”

  “This.” She swept her hand across his chest. “We can’t be doing this as we travel, and we certainly can’t be doing this when we reach the colony. Certainly you signed some kind of moral agreement when you signed up with Mr. Austin? Before you decided to come here?”

  “No, because I’m joining my friend, remember? I don’t have a grant of my own.” His voice was tight. “Do you think this is immoral?”

  She shifted away, hating that her off-hand remark would drive a wedge between them. Surely he had to know this was over, that society would frown on their illicit relationship. As pleasurable as it was, as happy as it made her, they couldn’t continue. “It’s certainly against everything I was taught, giving myself to a man who’s not my husband.”

  He sat up, the lines of his body tense. “You came to me, Kit. You knocked on my door, knowing I was alone, knowing I wanted you.”

  She swung her feet over the edge of the bed, bringing the quilt with her. The chill in the room was evident without the heat of his body against her. “I wanted you, as well. Why are we fighting?”

  He dropped his feet to the floor and glared. “Because you look at this as a sin!”

  “It is a sin!” She shoved her hair from her face with a shaking hand. “Your wife, my husband, they haven’t even been gone a year.”

  His mouth twitched and eyes darkened at the mention of Angelina, a subject she’d avoided for that reason. “We found comfort in each other. Why is that wrong?”

  “Because it’s a sacred act.”

  He curved his hand around her jaw and forced her to meet his gaze. “And you don’t think I worship you?”

  No, she knew he did, and this time her breath caught with the memory of his reverence as he kissed every inch of her body. They’d grown more bold tonight, doing things…Her face heated at the memory, but he wouldn’t let her look away.

  “You make me feel like a woman more than I’ve felt since I lost Daniel,” she admitted.

  “So why is it wrong?” He dragged out the words.

  “There could be a baby.”

  Both of them stilled. She didn’t know why she hadn’t thought of it before, and the horror in his eyes let her know he hadn’t considered it either. Or if he had, he hadn’t made the connection between wanting her and having to watch another woman labor and perhaps die.

  “I’m going back.” She drew away from his touch and reached for her clothes. “We need to get an early start in the morning. It will be nice to not have to cook on that awful stove anymore.”

  “Kit.”

  She looked over her shoulder and saw the regret etched in the lines of his face.

  “I don’t want this to be over.”

  She didn’t know what he wanted her to say, didn’t know what could be different. She stood and leaned over to kiss him, her hand on his shoulder, wanting to let her touch linger.

  “I thank you for it,” she murmured. Then, winding her hair back into a bun, she slipped out of the room, her heart breaking.

  ***

  The next morning he hardly looked at her as they packed the wagon. The wind had come up, bringing another cold front, but the weather was dry. They’d discussed postponing the trip until it warmed, but Kit had decided to press on. Now that her decision was made, she didn’t want to think about backing out.

  Even if backing out would have meant another night or two in Trace’s arms.

  But no, she saw Mary thinner, and Agnes. If they waited much longer, the women wouldn’t be strong enough for the journey, and Atrius wasn’t bred to pull the wagon plus passengers for a long period of time.

  Trace was matter-of-fact this morning and didn’t gift her with his dimpled smile or even a warm look. No, he’d distanced himself from her after their conversation last night. She wouldn’t allow his decision to hurt. She needed to use it to make the break easier.

  “Tell Mary to get her cow,” he said once the wagon was loaded to his satisfaction and Atrius was in the traces. “Are you all dressed warm enough?”

  “Wearing everything we own.” She held her arms out so he could see the added weight, the stiffness of her movements. The movement almost teased a smile from him, and disappointment struck when she failed to draw it out.

  “Make sure everything’s secure, in case we need to come back.”

  The possibility of returning was something they hadn’t discussed. She supposed if they were attacked, or they just couldn’t make it, they would have to. But she hoped they wouldn’t have to make that choice. Deciding to move on to the Austin colony instead of going back to Louisiana had been difficult enough, but they reasoned the colony was closer and would have food. Once they had supplies, they could return to civilization.

  At least, Kit and Agnes and Mary would. She didn’t know about Trace, if he still craved the adventure of living on the frontier after a few weeks of it.

  “There’s one more thing I need to do,” she murmured. She excused herself as Trace loaded the last of the water, and as Agnes and Mary secured the one bag of belongings that Trace had allowed them to bring.

  She crossed the yard to Daniel’s small grave, her heart heavier with each step. She couldn’t do this. She couldn’t leave her baby here with no one to watch over him, with no one to remember him. The thought of him in the earth, with not even a box to hold him, only her wedding quilt wrapped around him, tore at her. She couldn’t catch her breath. She doubled over, blinded by her tears.

  Heavy footsteps behind her signaled Trace’s approach.

  “I’m not ready to go yet,” she said without turning to face him. “I don’t think I can. I don’t even have any flowers to leave.” Only the crude wooden cross that would disintegrate over time, with his name cut into it with a knife. She didn’t remember making it, only remembered the knife slipping time and again, slicing her hands, reminding her she was alive. She still had the scars.

  “I made this,” he said, still behind her, his own voice gruff. He reached around her and presented her with an iron cross made from the hearth grate. Daniel’s name was etched on it, probably by Trace’s own knife, and the year 1825. “It’s no thing of beauty, but I thought it would give you peace, knowing it might last for some time.”

  Her vision blurred and her heart swelled as she took the cross in her own shaking hands. “It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. Thank you. Thank you, Trace.” She smiled in his direction, not able to see his face through her tears.

  “Do you want me to place it?” he asked, resting his hand on her shoulder.

  She shook her head. “I’ll do it.” She dropped to her knees and scraped into the hard dirt with the end of the cross, making a hole deep enough so the cross would stand upright, watching over her son. She packed the dirt around the base and lowered her head a moment, prayers flying through her mind, prayers to watch over her baby, to keep them safe on the road, prayers of thanksgiving for sending Trace to her.

  He gave her that time and was standing over her when she finished. He grasped her arm as she climbed to her feet. Turning into his chest, she gave into her tears one more time. He folded his arms around her and held her until she didn’t have any tears left. She eased back, touched his face
and kissed him softly, not caring what Agnes or Mary thought, just needing him to know she was grateful.

  “Thank you,” she murmured. “I’m ready to go now.”

  Now there was no more reason to stay. Kit opened the doors of the fort so Atrius could lead them out.

  ***

  The wind was biting. The women walked most of the morning with their heads down, hands tucked in their woolen wraps to keep them warm. Trace’s hat blocked the wind. He considered giving it to one of the women but knew they’d each refuse. Perhaps later, when they didn’t feel so brave.

  He needed to guide Atrius, who was not taking well to the sound of the wagon behind him and spooked at every blowing strand of grass. Trace’s unease grew. He couldn’t use the horse to alert him to danger. He hadn’t considered that. So he had to be vigilant. Every muscle in his body was tight and aching.

  The cow meandered despite Mary’s best efforts. Trace’s gloves protected her hands from the rough rope, but her arms and shoulders would be sore tonight with all the tugging she was doing. Their progress was miniscule. It seemed forever until the fort was no longer in sight. He knew because Kit kept glancing back. He could almost feel her longing to return.

  She didn’t walk with him, instead walking with Agnes and urging the older woman along. He couldn’t hear their conversation, but he imagined they couldn’t much hear each other over the sound of the miserable wind.

  He had hoped to make more progress the first morning, but Agnes needed a rest before the fort was out of sight. Her added weight in the cart slowed Atrius. Trace didn’t allow her to ride long. She likely resented that, but he couldn’t tire his horse more than necessary. They had a long way to go.

  They stopped when the women got hungry. Trace gauged it was early afternoon by the slant of the sun that occasionally peeked through the clouds. Atrius needed the rest, as did Kit, who had taken over leading the cow. After Trace unhooked his horse, he approached her.

  “We can leave the cow.”

  She shook her head, not looking at him. “Not yet. She’s not that much trouble.”

  They’d discussed tying the cow to the wagon, but Trace didn’t want to put the extra strain on the horse. “Your arms are going to hurt.”

  “I’ll be fine.”

  But she rubbed her shoulders when she thought he wasn’t looking.

  They sat in the wagon to eat, using the high boards of it as a wind break, all of them happy to be off their feet. Trace imagined they hadn’t walked much in the fort, and perhaps he might have prepared them better for the journey. Hindsight did no good, however. After almost an hour of rest and a lunch of bread and honey, he hooked Atrius up again.

  The pace in the afternoon was slower. He kept an eye on Mary, who seemed to be hobbling. The shoes she and Agnes wore were not practical boots like Kit’s. He wondered why Kit had them and the other women didn’t. He should have thought of that, as well.

  His own exhaustion pulled at him. The strain of being alert for Indians, of worrying about the women, and of keeping an eye on his horse’s health added to the fact that he hadn’t been able to sleep last night after Kit left his bed. A combination of guilt and longing had kept him awake. But he dared not ride now. He’d keep going as long as there was light.

  He missed his conversations with Kit. He hadn’t realized how much they talked until he wasn’t able to speak to her alone. He liked hearing her voice, even as it floated to him from her conversation with Mary. She glanced over and smiled and his heart turned over.

  Hell and damn, he was gone. He hadn’t thought he could love again, and here he was, with Angelina in the ground only four months. What kind of husband did that make him? Was he unfaithful? He couldn’t have found a woman more unlike Angelina if he’d tried. Kit was practical and straightforward, hard-working and stubborn. Angelina had been charming and light and, well, stubborn. He’d had passion with his wife, but the passion he experienced with Kit was different. Angelina’s had been an extension of her personality. Kit’s seemed to have to break through all her other barriers. She broke through them for him, giving him that gift, again and again.

  Her words about the possibility of a baby scared him to the bone, though. He couldn’t have another child, couldn’t risk losing someone else he loved, someone he’d grow to love. The entire length of the pregnancy, he’d worry, knowing what the outcome could be.

  So if she was carrying his child, how would he handle it? Run, as he had when Angelina and his son died? His father believed that was all he could do. Maybe it was. But he wasn’t running yet.

  Supper was a quiet affair, exhaustion dragging at all of them. They hadn’t reached the river, but Trace decided to make camp here anyway. Agnes had already pulled out her bedroll as Kit and Mary warmed a pot of beans over the fire he’d made. Trace hobbled the horse and cow, though he imagined both would be too tired to go far, and dropped to the ground by the fire, stretching his hands out.

  The wind had died once the sun went down, thank goodness, but the temperatures fell as the sun sank. They’d already decided Mary and Agnes could sleep in the wagon. After dinner, they’d place the pot of beans in there to act as a hot iron, keeping them warm. Kit and Trace would sleep by the fire. Trace wanted to remind the women that body heat was best, just so he could hold Kit in his arms tonight and feel her breathing, but he was fairly certain Agnes would make him suffer for it. She wouldn’t kill him outright, because she knew they needed him, but she’d make him suffer, he was certain.

  Exhaustion made him delirious. He grinned up at Kit as she worked.

  “Anything I can do to help?”

  “You need your rest. You didn’t ride at all.”

  She’d only ridden because he insisted, twice, for no more than half an hour each time. And here she was making dinner.

  Again he noticed Mary hobbling. “Mary, what’s wrong with your feet?”

  She sniffled, then her face crumpled into weary tears. “They just hurt so much. My shoes are rubbing them.”

  “Aren’t you wearing your woolen stockings?” Kit asked, her voice a bit sharp. Her own tiredness made her impatient.

  “I was, but they caused the shoes to be too tight, so I took them off.”

  “Where are they?” Trace asked.

  Mary went to the wagon to fetch them.

  “Let me see your feet,” he said when she returned.

  She exchanged a startled glance with Kit, then sat obediently on a rock beside him and unlaced her shoes.

  Even in the shadows cast by the fire, he could see the raw skin on the top of her foot when she unlaced them. Once she slipped them off, he saw the back of her ankle was in the same condition, as well as the tops of her toes. She gasped when she saw the damage, and burst into tears. Across the fire, Trace met Kit’s concerned gaze, then turned back to Mary. She would have to ride tomorrow, slowing them further. She couldn’t walk far with those injuries, and the irritation would only grow worse.

  “Put your woolen stockings on and don’t put your shoes on,” he said. “Sit here. I’ll help Kit with dinner.”

  Kit protested, but Mary didn’t.

  “How are your feet?” he asked Kit as he performed the job she gave him, stirring the beans from a seat on a rock.

  “I’m fine.”

  He studied her face for a minute, but he saw no guile there. “And your mother-in-law?” He nodded toward the dozing woman resting against the side of the wagon.

  “We can ask her in the morning.”

  “Mary can’t walk tomorrow.”

  “I know.”

  “Let’s leave the cow, Kit.”

  “She started following fine after lunch.”

  “Because she’d stopped to eat every five minutes in the morning.”

  “Trace.” She sat on the rock beside him. “I thank you for doing this. You could have been in the Austin colony a week ago and sent back help, instead of carrying us out on your own.”

  He scowled. “If the men in Austin’s colony
are no better than the men who left you behind, I wouldn’t have trusted one of them to come for you.”

  “Don’t be too harsh on them. I was determined not to leave.”

  “I would have knocked you unconscious and carried you out.”

  That surprised a laugh from her. “You would not.”

  “I would. I’d have done it this morning if you hadn’t wanted to leave.”

  She sobered, her gaze on the fire. “What you did for Daniel, that means the world to me.”

  He reached up and stroked her hair. “I didn’t do it for Daniel.”

  She stood then, and moved away. “Dinner is ready. I’ll get Agnes.”

  ***

  Kit woke in the middle of the night on the cold, hard ground, her teeth chattering. The fire had gone down. She sat up to add more wood to it, only to see Trace doing just that. He glanced across the fire at her, shadows and exhaustion etching dark hollows under his eyes. At least she’d been able to feed him well. They’d all had their fill of hot beans, and there was enough left for breakfast in the morning. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been full.

  But now she was cold. “I forgot the first night after a cold front is the worst,” she said, trying to find a warm spot in her bedroll, made from the quilts they’d had on hand at the fort. Her body hadn’t held enough warmth to create one.

  “Bring your bedroll over here next to mine.”

  She glanced instinctively toward the wagon where Agnes and Mary slept. “I can’t.”

  “No doubt they’re sharing body heat. Why shouldn’t we? Besides, they’re asleep, and you know we’ll be awake before they are. I’m not going to do anything but hold you, I promise.”

  “That was a lot more argument than I expected,” she said, kicking free of her bedroll to stand and move it.

  “I’ve been practicing all night.” He shifted so she’d have enough space between him and the fire but would remain a safe distance from any floating embers.

  “I can’t push you away from the fire,” she protested, surveying the arrangement.

  “I’ll be fine. Come here.” He helped her spread the bedroll, then pulled her down with him.