Kate trudged after him. Her heart beat now with a painful slowness.
’Twas nearly enough to keep her from thinking about the tenderness of her feet. As the road had pitched downward, beginning on the other side of the gorge, the more chafing she felt, especially on her torn and bruised toes—but she’d chew her own tongue to shreds before asking to ride again.
And then, as she rounded a slight bend, it seemed the whole of Kentucky spread before her. A wide basin, thickly forested, lay between her and the rippled, folded hilltops stretching beyond, as far as the eye could see. She stopped, toes throbbing, just for a moment, letting the sight give her strength and determination.
This was her land. She would keep walking, regardless of what it took.
Miss Gruener had gone strangely quiet after they’d reached the saddle of the gap. Dazzled with the height and the view, no doubt, but after her pestering way with questions the last few days, it was a puzzle to be sure.
Not that he wasn’t glad for the respite. It left him with less distraction than before.
And the Hughes boy seemed to have simmered down, except that now he was chattering at Thomas rather than the girl, clomping along beside Ladyslipper. Thomas listened with half an ear, but something about the girl’s gait, as the traveling party made its way down from the gap, caught his attention. And then he realized—her torn-up feet. Walking downhill likely put more pressure on those toes.
“A minute,” he said to Jacob Hughes. “Miss Gruener, hold up,” he called. She turned, her expression bemused, as Ladyslipper caught up to her. “Are your feet giving you trouble?”
She hesitated on the reply. “I—am well enough.”
The flush gave her away. He dismounted. “Let me see.”
“I promise you, I’m not infirm—”
His look cut off her protest, and with a huff, she perched on the edge of a boulder and slipped the moccasin off the foot he’d remembered was the most injured. Blood soaked through the bandages over her toes.
“As I thought,” he murmured.
“I’ll be fine,” she muttered.
“You’ll ride until we make camp. And then you’ll soak that in the creek.”
Her face was crimson now. “I’m otherwise able-bodied. Why such a fuss over this?”
He bent until their eyes were on a level. Not that he didn’t already have her full attention. “I’ve seen men get foot scald from a simple wetting in the creek, and then have to walk until the flesh was fair to rotting. Hate to see that happen to you, Miss Gruener.”
Those coffee-dark eyes widened, her pink lips parted. She shut her mouth with a snap and gave a quick nod.
“Now. I’m well able to walk in your place. Can you handle my mare, do you think, or would you rather I lead? She’s a spirited one.”
“You—are welcome to lead.”
That was more like it. While she slipped the moccasin back on, he led Ladyslipper around until she stood angled to the hill, giving the better advantage to mounting. Then he knelt, one hand cupped for her to step into. Without a word, she accepted the leg up and was shortly settled on the mare. A slender calf peeked from the hem of her petticoats before she covered it with a tug and a twitch. Her face remained set in stone.
“You could sit aside if you prefer,” he said. “She’s a smooth enough stepper.”
“Astride is fine,” she answered. “I’ve plenty of years riding my Papa’s wagon horses.”
And likely until not too long ago. Thomas turned back downhill to hide his smile.
“Something amusing, Mr. Bledsoe?”
Not quickly enough, apparently. He shook his head. “Just remembering the rides my sisters and I would steal. Not just on saddle and wagon horses, but on my uncle’s oxen as well.”
“Oxen?” She chuckled, and the laugh chased all the former tightness from her face.
Best he keep his eyes on the path.
“I’ve ridden an ox,” Jacob chimed in.
Miss Gruener laughed again, and Jacob threw her a scowl. “I have! ’Twas our neighbor’s. I rode it on a dare.”
“Did you stay on?” she asked, still chuckling.
“I did,” he answered with pride.
“And you?” She looked at Thomas this time.
He couldn’t help his grin. “Nay. Not often.”
She laughed so hard she doubled over in the saddle.
By this time, of course, they’d drawn the attention of Karl Gruener, who was standing in the road waiting for them, his mouth creased in worry. “Is something amiss?”
“I’m fine, Papa,” his daughter said, at the same time Thomas explained, “Her toes started up bleeding again.”
Mr. Gruener’s gaze went from his daughter to Thomas, and the frown deepened. “Did she fall again?”
“No, Papa, just that—apparently just the walking downhill and chafing inside the bandages. I don’t mean to worry you.”
The man’s eyes softened when he looked at the girl. He glanced back at Thomas after a moment. “So she simply needs to ride for a few days longer.”
“Aye.”
“Well then.”
Gruener looked as if he were not happy with his daughter up there on Ladyslipper, but Thomas couldn’t think of any reason why he’d give serious objection to that. “It’s no trouble for her to use my mare today. Tomorrow she can go back to the packhorse. I can scout just as well without riding—maybe better.”
And it was the truth. The only advantage a horse gave him while scouting was being able to cover more ground, and then speed of flight if he ran into trouble.
In case of the latter, he’d likely need to fight his way out of it anyway, rather than run.
Gruener still looked reluctant but nodded. “Very well. If ’tis truly no trouble.”
“’Tisn’t.”
Thomas felt the weight of all their eyes in that moment—Gruener, his oldest son, and the Hughes boy. In the absence of anything else to say, he clicked his tongue to Ladyslipper and kept walking.
It was just another few miles—three or so, maybe—to the ordinary on Yellow Creek where they’d talked of stopping for the night. And where he just might have more word for Carrington.
As it turned out, their traveling party stopped briefly at the ordinary for a rest and news, then pressed on a few more miles. Papa took over leading Mr. Bledsoe’s beautiful mare and was the one to help her down and give her a leg back up when they set off again.
He said little more about the whole thing, but Kate knew he was unhappy about it. She’d truly tried to be careful—obviously the wounds on her toes were more severe than she’d thought. And if the road were not so steeply pitched, or if she’d stepped in a different way, perhaps they’d not have chafed so—
She’d have to ask Dulsey if there were another way to wrap her toes, perhaps cushion them better. And maybe if she weren’t allowed to walk tomorrow, she’d be mended well enough to do so the day after.
“What more should be done to make this a road, Papa?” she asked, seeking to break the strained silence between them.
He gave her a look, which she could not quite decipher. “You see that they’ve cut trees and brush and widened the way, at least in part. Next would come the work of shifting rocks, digging ditches on either side, making it smooth and level where possible. It is greatly improved already, but much work remains. Thus why we are not waiting before we make the journey.”
“Yes.” He’d explained that before, but she didn’t mind hearing it again. Not if it took his mind off her injury and whatever displeased him about it all.
“But you see how rough the path is, this side of the gap. Why it would have been useless to bring a wagon.”
He was absolutely correct about that.
She angled her head and peered up at the forest canopy, the oak and chestnut arched high above them, just now putting forth their leaves. In another few days, no doubt they’d wake one morning and find the forest completely leafed out. It always amazed her every sprin
g how that happened.
And the laurel and rhododendron were now in bloom, where they lay along the steep hillside, both above and below, extending to the edge of the creek and beyond. It cheered her heart just to watch the wind ruffle the pale pink clusters—
“Daughter.” Papa’s voice was soft, but grave, startling her back to immediate anxiety.
“Yes, Papa?”
“You—will have a care, will you not? With our Mr. Bledsoe?”
“Why would I not?”
But he only gave her a long look from beneath his hat, the blue eyes almost sad. “Surely you are not so unknowing?”
“I—I know not to be a coquette, or—do anything else that might be improper, Papa.”
He returned to regarding the path ahead of them. “You are a comely young woman, Kate, ripe for the picking. Or you shall be soon,” he said, while she felt the heat rising in her cheeks and would have protested. “And he, a young man who I imagine is not unappealing and who seems to have no attachment elsewhere. I’d not be opposed to one forming between the two of you, but—I’d not see you have your heart broken. Or his.”
“Papa,” was all she could get out. He’d never been so direct with her about such matters before.
And here she’d been trying not to think of this particular subject, at least not from this perspective, and Papa himself seemed determined to make things more difficult.
“First Jacob, and now you,” she murmured.
His gaze was sharp again. “Jacob Hughes?”
“Yes.” Too late she realized the more-familiar use of his first name. “He was asking me yesterday whether or not—whether there was interest on my part for Mr. Bledsoe. I told him no.” Beyond curiosity about his story, that is. She swallowed. “And now you—you seem to presume there is.”
Papa’s mouth quirked at the corners. “I’m more surprised your Mama or sisters have not mentioned it.”
Upon reflection, so was she, truth be told. “Perhaps they’ve both been too busy.”
“Not too busy to notice, I wager,” he said.
“Likely not,” Kate said with a short, bitter laugh. So it was only a matter of time before they too were hounding her about it.
So how was she to escape? They’d weeks yet on this journey, and Mr. Bledsoe was going nowhere except with them.
Yet that did not answer—
“Why, Papa? Why do you think it would only end in…heartbreak?”
He shook his head, slowly at first, then more firmly. “Perhaps I am wrong,” he said at last. “I cannot explain why I feel uneasy about it.” He angled her a smile, but it was strained. “Do not trouble yourself about it overmuch. Just—be cautious. As you have already assured me you will.”
His words did not convince her, however.
As if she could simply not trouble herself.
They made camp just a few more miles down Yellow Creek. Thomas retrieved Ladyslipper from the Grueners and set about scouting in earnest around the campsite.
Plenty of Indian sign, but none of it new enough to concern him. Circling the campsite a second time, farther out, uncovered no more. No matter. He needed to return to camp and plan the night’s watch.
The two elder Hughes men, John and Jim, and Pat Murphy, all readily agreed. That would be plenty. Jacob Hughes wanted a turn, but Thomas told him he’d better serve staying in camp and helping there. The boy put on an obvious pout but didn’t argue.
Thomas sympathized. At Jacob’s age, he was still trying to figure out how to live with his natural family again after returning from the Shawnee. But he wasn’t willing to voice that in their hearing.
Kate Gruener was, as he had told her to, sitting on a boulder at the creek’s edge, soaking her feet. And looking completely enthralled with her surroundings. Thomas forced himself to look away and keep moving.
At least she’d heeded his warnings. Or appeared to.
It had been a long day, and Kate was glad, all things considered, that she’d gotten to ride the last half of it. Mr. Bledsoe’s mare truly was as smooth a stepper as he’d said. And the creek water felt so good on her feet, even though the initial shock of the cold had made her yelp.
She could not get Papa’s words, or Jacob’s, out of her thoughts, however. Perhaps that was the nature of the journey itself, that she’d too much time for reflection.
Or perhaps she needed to just come out with it and ask Mr. Bledsoe the questions she longed to. Then she could satisfy her curiosity and move on to getting to know the rest of the traveling party.
Which she had been doing already, but with having to sit in camp the last few days…not that the other women weren’t kind in coming to inquire after her health, but still.
And there was plenty to do in camp—she couldn’t argue that.
Dulsey made her way down the bank to where Kate was sitting. “You done soaked enough for now, I reckon. Let me wrap them again. Although, Lordy, how you think to get back up that bank—”
“I’ll manage, Dulsey.”
The Negro woman gave her a long look. “You tired enough, for sure. Not even givin’ me your usual sass.”
Kate could think of no reply to that. She lifted her feet out of the water and turned so Dulsey could reach them. “I was wondering if there’s any way to bandage them differently so they don’t chafe so much.”
“Hmm, p’raps.” Dulsey bent, considering. “P’raps if I wrap each toe separately first…”
Kate let her work, glad her feet were still mostly numb from the cold water. At last she sat back with a firm nod. “There. Now get those moccasins back on, and I’ll help you up the bank.”
She went carefully, using stones and tree roots as stepping places, Dulsey steadying her and giving her a hand up when she needed it. The new way of bandaging did seem to help.
Back at camp, she settled in to help Mama. Supper was speedily finished, but neither Papa nor Johann were back. “Well,” Mama said. “I was thinking to send a plate up to Mr. Bledsoe—”
“I can take it,” Kate said and hopped up.
Mama and Dulsey both rounded on her. “Your feet—”
“Dulsey wrapped them a new way, and how better to put it to the test?”
Dulsey rolled her eyes, and Mama shook her head but dished out a plate, folded the spoon inside a scrap of napkin, and poured the coffee. “Do you know where Mr. Bledsoe went? And can you manage it all?”
“I did, and I can.” Kate took the napkin and spoon, the plate on top of that, the coffee in her other hand, and set off before anyone could say her nay. Or before the pounding of her heart could make her reconsider. Fortunately she had indeed seen the direction Mr. Bledsoe took, up a slope far less steep than the creek bank, and one that afforded places to step easily.
Lord God, help me find him. Help me know the right words to say. And—help him see You and know that You are with him. Even if he thinks You are not.
Please help me ask the right questions.
As the way pitched more steeply, however, she had to stop to balance the plate over the mug so she had a hand free to lift her skirts.
And please, please let me not trip and spill everything!
She made it to the crest of the hill without mishap and stopped to catch her breath and look around. Now, which way had he—
“What are you doing out here?”
Her head snapped up, and just in time she caught the plate in her other hand. She swung to face him, seated on a giant log. “Oh—there you are. Papa was nowhere to be found, so—”
The ice in his eyes fair stole the breath from her lungs.’Twas a wonder his coffee didn’t freeze right there in the cup. Without another word, she stepped toward him, lifting the cup and plate.
He’d laid aside both hat and hunting frock, and as he set his rifle against the fallen tree and rose to accept her offering, the loose, faded blue shirt half covered his thighs but didn’t completely obscure what she’d not noticed before—that it was not the usual breeches he wore beneath, but bucks
kin leggings and a breechclout. Not unusual attire for a frontiersman but—why did she find it so startling?
She passed off his supper, then withdrew to a small boulder and perched herself upon it while he seated himself again and dug in.
He eyed her feet.
“Dulsey wrapped them again, a new way,” she supplied, before he could ask. “So far they feel much improved.”
He shook his head, gaze dropping to his plate. Gracious, but he put the food away quickly. Fully a third of his portion was gone already. He swallowed, took a swig of the coffee, then fastened a severe look upon her once more. “You should not be here.”
That blasted burn spread through her again. How was it he could so quickly make her feel thus? “You needed your supper while ’twas hot.”
Another shake of his head.
“And…I hoped you’d share more about your family.”
He hesitated, finished chewing, and cleared his mouth. “Why?”
“I enjoy hearing about them.” The frost in his gaze had not abated. “Your sisters must be—remarkable. Your uncles as well, since you saw fit to mention them.” What sort of family produces a man as intriguing as you? was on the tip of her tongue, but she bit it back.
“You truly are a nosy sort, aren’t you?”
Kate’s throat dried, but a tendril of indignation fired her resolve. “I find it intriguing, as I told you before”—there, she’d managed to use the word in a safe manner—“to hear folks’ stories.”
Huzzah, she’d managed that more gracefully than she could have.
But Mr. Bledsoe had gone too still, eyes narrowed. “Aye. Nosy.” He shoveled the last third of the plate into his mouth in two bites, then chased it with another gulp of coffee. Standing, he set the cup aside, and held the plate and spoon out to her. “My thanks. I’ll bring the mug later, make sure it’s washed. Now if you’ll pardon me—I’m here to keep watch. For that I need quiet, not some chattering squirrel of a female who can’t keep her attention away from where it doesn’t belong. The safety of this entire traveling party may depend upon it.”
Kate reeled as if slapped, then took the plate and spoon in numb hands. She closed her mouth and, with a slight curtsy, made her retreat with as much dignity as she could muster.
The Cumberland Bride Page 9