by Keli Gwyn
“There you are. I heard you were in town again.” Red-rimmed eyes blazed, and a quivering chin jutted high. With hard steps, she marched across the floor. She wore black, unusual in the high desert heat. She even had a black hat with weepers trailing down her back.
The maître d’ flapped behind her ineffectually, with small cries of “Madame Babineax, please.”
Coming to a halt before Caleb, she clutched her purse. Both he and the major rose, placing their napkins on the table. Meghan, frozen by the righteous indignation in the woman’s pose, stood slack-jawed, a sense of foreboding wrapping around her like a cloak, the dessert tray forgotten in her hands.
“Excuse me, ma’am?” The major bowed. “How may we be of assistance to you?”
“I don’t want to talk to you. It’s this yellow coward I want to address.” She scrabbled in her purse and pulled out a large white chicken feather. “My son is dead. Killed in France, while you sit here dining in comfort without a worry in the world. But no more. This entire town is going to know you for the coward you are. I hereby bestow upon you the Order of the White Feather.”
A gasp went up from the diners. Meghan’s skin prickled as Caleb went white under his tan. The woman tucked the feather into his shirt pocket and slapped it hard.
“Any man who would refuse to enlist, then calmly sit in the nicest restaurant in town plotting how to profit off the very war he is too cowardly to fight in, well, that man deserves a chicken feather and much worse. You should be thankful I didn’t bring tar with me. The people of this community are patriotic and proud, and we know a flat-out coward when we see one. You, sir, are a coward.” Her face quivered with emotion, her eyes blazing.
Caleb said nothing, his lips pressed into a thin line.
The major couldn’t hold his tongue, however. “Madam, please. You are mistaken. You judge him unfairly. Why, this man—”
“Sir, please. Let it go.” Caleb shook his head.
“But, you can’t let her go on thinking—”
“Please.” There was a hard edge to his voice, and his eyes went steely.
A lump formed in Meghan’s throat. He wasn’t even denying it. In spite of all the evidence to the contrary, she’d held on to a shred of hope that the whispers and accusations of his cowardice weren’t true. And yet, when faced with this humiliating debacle, being called out in front of the town and this fine army officer, he put up no resistance. He just stood there mute, letting his accuser win.
He was a coward.
Blinking back tears of disappointment, she turned away. She couldn’t bear to look at him, so shameful and weak. How had she ever imagined him to be fascinating and interesting? Mrs. Gregory was right.
He deserved that chicken feather.
“Why didn’t you explain to that woman? Why just stand there and take it?”
Major Alexander’s questions hung in the air as they bounced along the rutted road leading to Caleb’s place along the river. Caleb turned the wheel to avoid a rock.
“Aren’t you going to answer me? You had every right to throw that feather back at her.” The major’s mustache jerked. “A distasteful custom if there ever was one, handing out chicken feathers to those deemed too cowardly to enlist. Started over in Britain, Admiral Fitzgerald rousing the press and then silly girls continuing it to spur young men to enlist. Ridiculous.”
Caleb glanced down at the tip of the feather protruding from his shirt pocket still. A writhing ball of humiliation twisted in the pit of his stomach. Bad enough to be humiliated in front of the major and the entire complement of customers in the restaurant, but to have Meghan witness his disgrace. The horror in her eyes, the confusion at first, and then the distaste. It gnawed at him like a hungry pack rat. He’d known the instant she went from incredulous to disillusioned. All the light had gone out of her, and she’d turned away from him just as the rest of the town had. She’d held out longer than most, but in the end, things had gone just the way he had expected from the first.
“What are you going to do with it? You should’ve thrown it away or left it at the table. Why keep it?”
He grunted. “Believe I’ll hang on to it. The way this town is riled up against me, I figure in a week or two I’ll have enough to make a fan. It gets powerfully hot here most days. I could use a fan.”
“McBride, I don’t know how you can joke. I checked up on you, and I’m very sorry about your…well, your infirmity, shall we say.” He cleared his throat and stared out the windscreen, as uncomfortable as everyone was who learned about Caleb’s foot. Not knowing what to say, not knowing where to look. And unconsciously treating him differently than normal men. Some behaved as if he were a freak, something to be ashamed of, like his father had. Others seemed to consider that it was his mind that was twisted and warped, that a weak foot meant a weak intellect. And then there were those like the major, who tried to bluff, to act as if the notion didn’t bother them, but subtly, they behaved as if Caleb were fragile. They were so embarrassed by the whole notion, they walked on eggshells, trying not to let him know they were uncomfortable.
“Fifty horses will really stretch us. Is there any money to hire another wrangler or two?” Caleb changed the subject, freeing both himself and the major from awkwardness.
The major grabbed onto the new topic, relief coloring his voice. “I’m afraid there isn’t at the moment. The truth is, this war has made the higher-ups have to rethink their strategies. This newfangled tank, airplanes, trench warfare. The mounted cavalry is becoming obsolete. The War Department is putting more money into mechanizing our troops than it is into acquiring and training horses. We’ve only got about six of these operations like yours going across the country. At the start of our involvement, we had close to fifty.”
Caleb pondered this as the house and barn came into view. If the war went on long enough, he’d be out of a job. He could leave the Needles area. When he’d first been approached about taking on the job of training horses for the cavalry, the idea had appealed, even though they’d sent him to this inhospitable region—both the climate and the people as it turned out. He’d thought of little else than doing what he’d been hired to do, knowing that when the war ended, he would shake the dust of this town off his boots and not look back.
But that was before he met Meghan. Before she erupted into his life and made his heart spin wild dreams. Dreams where he had someone special who loved him, in spite of his flaws. Someone who knew the real him, the real Caleb who lived inside his less-than-perfect shell. Someone who would believe in him in spite of what everyone else thought or said.
He pulled to a stop before the porch and killed the motor and his foolish thoughts. Joshua came out, letting the screen door slap closed behind him. His brows arrowed toward each other, and distrustful lines formed on his forehead. Joshua hated strangers. Like a dog who had been beaten, he would circle warily, sniffing things out before he formed a judgment as to whether to trust the newcomer. Caleb had a fair idea of how the boy felt.
The major hopped from the truck, shading his eyes and surveying the property with as close a scrutiny as if he were a prospective cash buyer. He was silent for a long time.
“You should be proud of yourself. I can’t imagine how you turn out such fine horses on such a barren spit of land.” His piercing blue eyes met Caleb’s. “Only the best trainers are still in business. Those near fifty other trainers I mentioned before? One by one they’ve been shut down as demand decreased. But we let them go in order of their abilities as much as for their geographical locations.”
Joshua’s dark expression lightened a bit, and Caleb shrugged and nodded. Again he wished the townsfolk could hear the major’s praise, though precious little good it would do.
The boy clomped down the wooden steps and pointed to Caleb’s pocket. “What’s that?”
“Nothing.”
“It doesn’t look like nothing. It looks like a chicken feather.”
“Your keen powers of observation are staggering. Ye
s, it’s a chicken feather.”
“Why do you have it in your pocket?”
The fiery shafts of humiliation returned, and Caleb swallowed hard. “Did you finish the chores while I was gone?”
“Yeah, but that sorrel mare’s getting worse. I think she’s got a case of the wobbles.”
“I’ll check on her.”
“He staying to supper?”
“ ‘He’ is Major Alexander to you, and no, I’ll run him back to town before then. Major, this is Joshua Hualga, my assistant. Joshua, this is Major Alexander, the man who buys the horses we train.”
The major sized up the boy, stuck out his hand, and gave Joshua’s reluctant hand a brisk shake. “Good to meet you. You’re doing good work here. McBride’s horses are consistently the best turned-out mounts coming into Fort Riley. You should be proud.”
“Yes sir.” Joshua tucked his hands into his back pockets and lost a little of his wariness.
“I’d be interested in seeing your training methods, McBride.”
The major had a reputation as a fine horseman, and his experienced eye missed nothing. He ran his hands down forelegs, stood back and watched the animals both on the long line and under saddle, and gave some practical advice on what to do with one little bay with a tendency to bite.
They finally worked their way around to the last pen and the sorrel mare Joshua had mentioned, alone in the small pen. Joshua climbed the fence and dropped lightly into the corral. The mare turned her head to look at him but stayed under the shade shelter. Her legs splayed at odd angles, her stance wide as if bracing herself on a rolling ship deck.
“Hmm, I think your wrangler’s diagnosis of the wobbles might be correct.” The major tapped his trim moustache.
“Lead her around, Josh.” Caleb folded his arms on the top rail. He lifted his lame foot to rest it on the bottom rail and missed the slat. Lurching, he let out a surprised grumble, mentally smacked himself for being so careless, and looked down at his boot as he lifted it again to make sure he got it placed right.
The major had clearly noticed Caleb’s stumble, but he turned his attention back to the horse as if nothing had happened.
Caleb studied the mare. “At first I thought she got into some loco weed, but now I think it’s more serious.”
The mare swayed and lurched, keeping her head low and walking as if she couldn’t quite feel the ground.
“She’s worse under saddle.” He pushed his hat back and swiped at the sweat on his forehead. “I haven’t put a saddle on her in a week, hoping she’d come out of it, but I think she must’ve injured her back somehow.”
The major climbed the fence and slowly approached Joshua and the horse. He ran his hand under her mane, patting and murmuring. “See if she’ll back up for you, Joshua.” He kept his tone low and soothing.
Though Joshua pulled back on her halter, and even put his hand on her chest, all the while commanding her to back up, the mare stood still. Her brown eyes appeared bewildered, as if begging them to help her, to tell her what had gone wrong.
“That’s enough, son.” Concentrating, Major Alexander started at the withers and pressed along the mare’s spinal column. Bone by bone, he worked his way toward her hips. Just back of where the saddle would sit, he pressed and the mare’s head came up, her eyes widened, and she skittered away from him with a neigh. Joshua hung on as she slewed around, her legs going in all directions.
Somberly, the major joined Caleb. “There’s a back injury there all right. Maybe a tumor, maybe a compression fracture, but something.” He fisted his hand and banged it on the top rail. “A shame. I remember purchasing this mare near Santa Barbara. Big and rangy, and certainly up to carrying an officer through the French mud.”
“Nice temperament, too.” A weight settled in Caleb’s gut.
“Best to get it done soon. Especially if it’s a tumor. She’s in a bit of pain now, but that will get worse.”
Joshua released his hold on the halter and loped over. “What are we going to do?”
“Nothing for it. We’ll have to put her down.”
The boy gnawed his lower lip, staring at the mare. “Are you sure?” He blinked rapidly. From the bright sunshine or tears? Joshua presented such a tough face to the world. This was the first crack Caleb had been able to detect in his armor. Well, that and the hunger in his voice when he talked about studying medicine.
The major put his hand on Joshua’s shoulder. The boy tensed, but he didn’t shrug it away. “I’m afraid so. Maybe someday a veterinarian will invent a surgical procedure to help a horse with the wobbles, but for now the only thing we can do is put her down.”
Joshua nodded. When the major dropped his hand, the boy tucked his hands into his pockets and moved a few steps away.
“I’ll take care of it when I get back from town. You don’t have to be here.” Caleb gripped the top rail, pushing back until his arms were straight and lowering his head to stare at the ground for a moment. He hated the thought of Joshua being anywhere around when he put the mare down. An idea struck him. “In fact, if you want to, you can take Major Alexander to the depot.”
Joshua’s head swiveled. “Really?” His eyebrows rose. The truck was Caleb’s pride and joy, and though they’d had some driving lessons, Joshua hadn’t been allowed off the ranch while behind the wheel.
“I think you’re ready for a trip to town.” Perhaps a little reward would distract Joshua from the sadness of losing the mare.
Normally stoic features softened, and white teeth flashed. “I’d like that.”
“Straight there and straight back, but don’t hurry. I’d rather you got there slowly and in one piece, and I’m sure the major would, too.”
As they disappeared down the long, dusty lane, Caleb pulled the feather from his pocket. Though he’d joked with the major about keeping it, he had no desire to hang on to the offensive object. The wind fluttered it, and he opened his fingers.
The feather floated, skittered, dropped to the ground, and was borne away on the hot breeze. Just like his hopes and dreams of being with Meghan.
Chapter 11
I sure wish we had mornings off instead of afternoons.” Meghan tied a voile scarf over the top of her hat and under her chin. Digging for her gloves, she glanced at Natalie. “Are you sure you want to come with me? You could take a nap. I’ll admit you look a little better since you’ve been working at the soda fountain, but you still don’t look any too robust.”
Natalie shook her head. “It’s much too hot to try to sleep. At least in the automobile there will be a breeze.”
Meghan threw her bag on the seat and went around to the front of the car to turn the crank. Getting permission to use the hotel’s transportation hadn’t been easy. She’d had to prove her driving skills not only to Mr. Stock, but to Mrs. Gregory as well. Only the fact that she wanted to go door to door appealing for Red Cross money swayed them in the end. The engine sputtered to life, and she hurried around to slip behind the wheel.
“Where are we going first?” Natalie raised her voice to be heard above the rattling.
With one hand on the wheel, Meghan dug in her bag for the map Mr. Weeks from Claypool’s Department Store had drawn for her. “We’ll drive north along the river for about ten miles and stop at places along the way back toward town, then, if we still have time, we can swing south and hit a few places in that direction.” Though one place on the map she intended to give a wide berth. No way would she stop at Caleb McBride’s. Having his name on the quilt would mean sure disaster when it came time to auction it off. In fact, if folks knew he’d contributed, she likely wouldn’t get another signature at all.
That white feather. Why hadn’t he stood up for himself, given his reason for not enlisting? At least had the fortitude to…what? What did one expect from a coward? It was like asking a lemon tree to produce apples.
Why? Why couldn’t she get him out of her head? Even with concerted effort she couldn’t eradicate him. He’d said he wanted noth
ing to do with her, she knew she wanted nothing to do with him, and yet, he occupied far too many of her thoughts and dreams.
Natalie trailed her hand out the window, cupping the breeze. She laid her head back on the seat and closed her eyes. At least the road was fairly smooth, though the dust they raised coated everything. Perhaps Meghan should’ve taken Mr. Stock up on his offer of driving goggles.
Flat, sandy desert stretched out on both sides of the road, though on their right, a greenish-gray smudge marked the brush that grew along the riverbank. When she’d reached the farthest noted point on Mr. Week’s map, she turned in along a narrow, rutted path toward a house in the distance.
“How’d it go at this one?” Natalie poured some water from the jug they’d brought with them onto her handkerchief and dabbed her throat and swiped the back of her neck. Her cheeks bore pink blotches, and the hair at her temples clung to her skin. The car roasted in the sunshine.
Taking the jug, Meghan let some of the lukewarm water trickle into her mouth. She wrinkled her nose, both at the tepid fluid and the reception at the house. “Pass. She’s got no money and too many mouths to feed.”
At most of the houses along the road the answer was the same with varying degrees of animosity. Some were apologetic, some antagonistic, and in all, she garnered only two donations. Four dollars. With each stop, the temperature rose and Meghan’s spirits fell.
“Don’t be discouraged. It’s four more dollars than you had before.” Natalie shifted on the seat and pulled her blouse away from her skin. “Maybe we should call it quits for today. It’s hot enough to melt rocks. It’s got to be well over a hundred degrees, and there’s no shade out here.”
A dull headache had started at the base of Meghan’s skull. “I’m not ready to give up yet. There’s still the south road. Things might be better there.”
Natalie passed her the water jug. “There’s not much left. Maybe we should be done.”
“No.” She shook her head, surprised when a wave of dizziness washed over her. “I can drop you off at the hotel if you want, but I can’t afford to wait another week to go out again. I don’t have many afternoons off between now and when the quilt needs to be done.” Lifting the water jug, weakness made her arms tremble, and water sloshed onto her chin and ran down her neck. The momentary coolness jarred her, and she blinked. Almost immediately, evaporation set in, leaving her parched.