Heart of a Dove

by Abbie Williams

  “Hey, you two, you cleanin’ hooves?” he asked amiably, and despite everything I smiled at him.

  “You’re just in time to help, kid,” Sawyer said, winking at me before he leaned one shoulder into Whistler’s left side with practiced movements. I watched his strong hand as he ran it down her forearm; at the knee, she lifted her hoof politely, allowing him to cup it and wield the hoofpick he’d caught up from the ground.

  I gathered up the other hoofpick, which Sawyer had dropped when I jumped into his arms. I moved to Juniper’s left front leg and leaned into him; he too lifted his hoof when I put pressure against his forearm, and I cupped his hoof on my thighs, glad I was still clad in trousers and boots as I scraped dirt from his hoof. He was well-shod and not terribly dirty, though I kept a sharp eye for any rocks or other debris lodged there. Malcolm had a third tool, which he bent to apply to Aces. For a time we worked in companionable silence, as the gloaming light burned rose-pink before a gray twilight. I worked my way counter-clockwise around Juniper, ending with his right front leg. Sawyer had already moved on to Admiral, leaving Fortune for me.

  “Lorie, you got any a-them caramels left?” Malcolm asked from behind me, bent over the final hoof on Aces.

  “I think you ate them all that first night,” I reminded him, and could sense his sulk.

  “I’m buyin’ me a pile a candy next town we see, that’s what,” he concluded.

  “Hi, girl,” I murmured to Fortune, Boyd’s sorrel. She whickered a little and nudged my chest, and I collected first her front left hoof, peering hard for rocks within it as darkness swept rapidly over the prairie.

  “Them fireflies are out again,” Malcolm noted, leaning his elbow over Aces’ back and indicating with the hoofpick in his hand.

  “I’ll finish her up,” Sawyer said at my side.

  Malcolm was preoccupied; as I stood, I leaned into Sawyer and held fast, stealing a hug. His arms caught me hard and close for far too brief an instant. As I drew away, he tucked a strand of hair behind my ear and surely felt the blood in my temples throbbing in the wake of his fingers.

  I joined Malcolm. The fireflies were just as stunning as they’d been the night with the Spicers, glinting in numbers perhaps thousands strong. The eastern sky was awash with stars, the air utterly still with the evening. Scents that seemed muted by day’s light, released now in the gloaming, rose up from the prairie, the wildflowers and the sweet grasses and, in the distance, the musk of the riverbank.

  “Lorie, you’s feeling better, ain’t you?” Malcolm asked me, looking over.

  I nodded, smiling at him.

  Sawyer joined us and the fireflies lost all interest as I looked at him and could not drag my gaze away. His eyes held mine and I felt renewed.

  “I smell supper,” Malcolm said, giving Aces a final pat. “C’mon, you two.”

  At the fire, Boyd was smoking, tending a pan of biscuits. He said to us, “I could relish a good brisket, that’s God’s truth.”

  Angus sat oiling a harness strap and joked, “Let me go wring a couple of necks and we’ll have fried chicken too.”

  “Aw, Gus, don’t speak of fried chicken,” Malcolm all but moaned. “It’s been so long.”

  Malcolm politely offered his hand to help me sit. Sawyer stowed the tools and then joined us, to my left as usual. I had casually resituated myself so that Malcolm was displaced, forced to sit on my right rather than left, allowing me to be that much closer to Sawyer. Malcolm didn’t seem to notice and plopped down with an air of suffering about him.

  He asked, “Boyd, you remember Mama’s scald on the chicken? Oh dear lord, what I wouldn’t give.”

  “Those blackberry tarts she made,” Sawyer said, shaking his head as he gazed into the fire. “It was worth every crack over the knuckles to steal off with those, fresh from the windowsill.”

  “An’ her custard pies,” Boyd remembered. “Lorie-girl, how’s your hand at makin’ pies?”

  I admitted, “I used to help Mama in the kitchen, but it’s been a long time. Her specialty was strawberry preserves. She prided herself on her preserves.”

  “These biscuits are looking less desirable by the second,” Angus said, adjusting the harness over his lap. “Anyone for a rack of ribs, while we’re at it?”

  “Aw, will we be settled by hog-boiling time, Gus?” Malcolm asked. “Then we’ll have ourselves a right feast. Shredded pork…headcheese…”

  “By then I do hope so, son,” Angus told him. “It will be well into September and we’ll need to have a cabin near built. A barn, and solid fencing. We’ve our work cut out for us.”

  September.

  My innards grew cold; I could hardly bear to consider that far into the future. If I was carrying a child, I would be well along by the autumn months. My head grew light as blood leaked from my face. My vision threatened to narrow. With all of my effort I forced those feelings away, feigning preoccupation with the fire. I knew that I had to tell Sawyer what I suspected, no matter how he might regard me after. My eyes flashed to him, desperately, to find his upon me already, concerned.

  What’s wrong, Lorie?

  I’ll tell you later, I promise, I thought back.

  “Once we reach the next town, I’ve a letter for Jacob,” Boyd said. He blew smoke from the side of his mouth. “I been meanin’ to tell him that we’re bringing along a new sister.”

  I looked across the fire at him in surprise. I said softly, “He’ll be a mite curious about that.”

  Boyd laughed. “Aw, he’s a good fella. Malcolm won’t remember him well, as Jacob left Tennessee in ’fifty-six. He went north an’ found himself a wife, an’ now they’ve four children. His wife is part Winnebago In’jun. Mama just about went into fits, but Uncle Jacob’s letters always seem right happy.”

  “Malcolm mentioned that. What’s her name?” I asked, wishing I could slip my hand into Sawyer’s. Just the sight of his hands from the corner of my eye, so strong and capable, made me ache with longing. Everything about him demanded and claimed my attention, from his wrist bones and the hair that dusted his forearms, to his expressive slanted eyebrows and dark lashes, to the bold line of his jaw and the shape of his beautiful lips. I had tasted him beneath my tongue, and my belly went weightless yet again, with wonder and desire.

  “Hannah,” Boyd said in answer to my question. “Her own daddy was a Frenchman who settled in northern Minnesota an’ married a local woman. Jacob’s children speak both languages, In’jun an’ English.”

  “We’ve In’jun cousins,” Malcolm said excitedly. “Ain’t that right interesting, Lorie?”

  “It is, at that,” I agreed.

  “Uncle Jacob said that the lakes there teem with fish, speaking of fishing, Lorie-girl,” Boyd said. “There’s forest to clear before one can farm, but I figure with all of us clearin’ we’ll have a pasture in no time. Plenty of lumber for building a cabin. Or two.” His dark eyes twinkled with optimism, addicting as any drug. He continued, referring to Sawyer, “With our blacksmith here to shoe our horses, an’ breed ’em, we’ll be setting pretty in no time a’tall.”

  Sawyer sent a grin Boyd’s way, and my heart pulsed with yearning.

  “Best be careful making such a statement. Rap wood, cara d’aois,” Sawyer told Boyd, who obligingly did so, using a nearby split log.

  “You sound just like Ethan,” Boyd said. “He was always the superstitious one. I suppose it’s the Irish in you.”

  “We’ll have to adapt to the weather there,” Angus said. “The snow, I’ve never heard the like.”

  “Higher than a man’s head,” Sawyer added in wonderment. “I read Jacob’s letter at Christmastide. Jacob explains that they wear snowshoes.”

  “An’ a body can sink into it an’ get lost!” Malcolm chirped. “How do the horses manage to pull a wagon?”

  “The
y’ve sleighs, with runners,” Angus explained.

  “Boyd,” I said, catching his attention. “Will your uncle…will he…”

  Boyd presented his sternest frown, and I knew I was seeing a glimpse of his father, Bainbridge Carter, the man I’d heard so very much about. He said firmly, “He will love you, Lorie-girl, an’ no mistake. An’ I won’t hear another word about it.”

  I did not wish to weep, but tears filled my eyes all the same. I shuddered with emotion, feeling all of their eyes upon me. I tried to explain, “I’m sorry…it’s just that I’m so…grateful to all of you…”

  Malcolm hugged me immediately and at last Sawyer couldn’t resist and put his right hand on my back. Though I needed so much more than that, I accepted this touch as a gift.

  “Lorie-Lorie, you’re my sister now,” Malcolm said. “I can’t imagine a time I didn’t know you, just.”

  Sawyer caught my braid, low on my back, squeezing it before withdrawing his hand. I felt his reluctance to break our contact, as it matched mine.

  The sun was gone, the coyotes yammering. We ate and the men chatted at the fire while Malcolm and I washed and dried the dishes; it had been Malcolm’s idea that he and I work as a team. He hummed as he dried.

  “I do like being on the trail,” he said to me.

  “Me too,” I said honestly; the boy couldn’t begin to imagine how much I meant those words. “It will take us another two months of following the Mississippi to get where we’re going. That’s what Gus said.”

  “It’ll be into August when we get there. We’ll work like honeybees.”

  “We surely will,” I told him, handing over the final dish.

  He dried it and then yawned hugely, prompting me to do the same. I used my shoulder to wipe the resultant tears, as my hands were wet. Malcolm called out, “G’night, you-all. I’m to bed.”

  “Me as well,” I said. I could scarcely keep my eyes open.

  “’Night, you kids,” Boyd teased.

  “See you in the morning,” Angus told us.

  “You-all won’t mind if I play for a spell, will you?” Boyd asked then. “I was feeling the urge to, earlier.”

  “No, I’d love it,” I told him, though I was looking at Sawyer as I spoke. He gave me a flash of a wink.

  I wanted to go to him and kiss him, to wrap my arms around him and hold tightly; I wanted this so badly my chest ached. He told me with his eyes, I’ll be right here.

  I ducked inside my tent and undressed, curling atop my bedding and setting out my soapstone bear. Minutes later the haunting sound of Boyd’s fiddle sang across the night. I fell asleep to its sweetness. When I woke much later, it was fully dark, seeming silent enough to hear for miles. I crawled on all fours, my scraped knees hurting, but even before I reached the entrance I sensed that it was not Sawyer outside my tent. It wasn’t his breathing that I heard but instead Boyd’s, with his characteristic growling snore.

  Of course; it would seem strange if Sawyer insisted on sleeping before my tent every night, when they’d agreed to take turns.

  Disappointment engulfed me as I sat hugging my bent legs. Then I stretched out with my thoughts, calling to him, Are you awake? I’m here thinking of you, Sawyer. I wish you were near to me. I wanted to listen to you breathing, hear you so close to me.

  Some might have said it was my imagination, but I knew he heard me. It was all I could do not to crawl out, regardless, right over Boyd and into Sawyer’s tent. But Angus was there; Sawyer was not alone.

  Lorie, I’m here. I’m right here.

  I rocked back and forth, holding fast to my knees.

  I love you, I love you so. Oh Sawyer, please hear me.

  Surely the force of my thoughts was like a beacon flying to him.

  You know that I love you, Lorie, you know that. Never doubt it.

  And with that knowledge in my heart, I sank back into my bedding and slept to dawn.

  - 17 -

  We pressed north, sometimes within direct sight of the Mississippi, but more often it receded into the distance. The traffic along the route was meager; we hadn’t encountered a single soul since the Spicers, which was fine by me. I shared the duty of driving the wagon with Malcolm, while the men rode ahead to scout for game. Though we were well-provisioned with stores of flour, salt pork, dried fruit, coffee, cornmeal and even a tin of brown sugar, we had decided last night that fresh meat was in order.

  “Boyd still won’t let me shoot the pistol,” Malcolm said as we rode along in the endless center of the prairie. I was used to this sensation by now, almost comforted by the unchanging nature of the landscape. A restless wind herded the clouds like livestock, due west of our position. The air was humid and warm, with little breeze despite the sky’s clear agitation on the distant horizon. The land appeared utterly empty and yet it was not. It teemed and bounded and crawled with life, with constant motion, with the endlessly whispering grasses and wildflowers as varied in hue as the silk ribbons I wore to Sunday service as a little girl. I breathed in slowly through my nose, inhaling the sweet, sharp scent of the prairie.

  “Well, thank goodness for that,” I agreed, whole-heartedly. “It’s a shame you ever have to learn to use a pistol. The danger of them!”

  “Aw, Lorie-Lorie, don’t be such a girl. I can shoot me the Winchester neat as a pin,” Malcolm bragged. “But I long to shoot me a pistol. Boyd kept his piece from the Army of Tennessee.”

  “I pray that you’ll never have to go to war,” I told him, elbowing his side. I muttered, needling him, “Boys.”

  “I gotta learn. What if I get called upon to defend you, or our belongings, huh? What then?” he demanded, in the manner of one speaking to a slow-learning child. His tone changed to anticipation as he observed, “Here comes Whistler!”

  My spine straightened, everything within me surging to sudden life. I stood on the wagon seat and at last spied Sawyer riding in, his rifle braced over his lap. I sat, slowly, as they neared, gladness and relief spilling through me; I hated to have him out of my sight for any length of time.

  “You shoot anything?” Malcolm called, waving both arms.

  Sawyer rode near enough for me to see his face and I scanned him quickly for any signs of having been hurt; I couldn’t help myself. There were a thousand dangers all around us. His eyes came directly to me and he smiled softly, resettling his hat. He said, “Gus took a deer, about a mile up.”

  Malcolm whooped at that.

  “I’m glad you’re back,” I told Sawyer, wishing I could reach over and grasp his hand, even for a moment. Just to feel him. I hadn’t touched him since he’d asked permission to kiss me. It seemed a hundred years since then.

  “I hate being out of sight of you,” he told me, admitting this even with Malcolm present.

  Malcolm frowned like a great horned owl. He said, “Lorie’s plenty safe with me, Sawyer. Even if I can’t shoot a pistol yet.” He sensed an advantage and added eagerly, “I could if you’d teach me. Then I could be called upon to defend you-all!”

  I giggled at his sincere effort, as Sawyer laughed and echoed my thoughts, saying, “Well played, kid.” His gaze came back to me and he asked, “Lorie, you want to ride a spell?”

  I was already clad in Malcolm’s trousers, as they were so much more comfortable and practical than my skirts, and no one here scolded me for disobeying social rules in such a fashion.

  Before I could reply, Malcolm pleaded, “I do! Please, I do, Sawyer!”

  We could sit together on the wagon seat, I thought instantly, and Sawyer realized this at the same moment.

  “Hold up there and we’ll switch places, kid. You’ve wanted a turn on Whistler, haven’t you?”

  “Hell yes!” Malcolm cried, as I halted the team.

  “I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that,” Sawyer told him, dismounting as Malco
lm leaped down and approached Whistler with open palms, crooning to her. Sawyer patted her neck and then handed the reins to the boy, who climbed astride with care, shifting his hips and acquainting himself with her smooth gait. Sawyer took a moment to stash his rifle in the wagon and adjust the stirrups to Malcolm’s much shorter legs. Aces gave a whicker from the front of the wagon, and Malcolm called, “Sorry, boy!”

  “Take it easy, now,” Sawyer said. “No racing her, not when I can’t join you.”

  Malcolm nodded agreeably, settling his hat into place. He said, “I promise, Sawyer. Might I walk her ahead just a spell?”

  Sawyer nodded and Malcolm sent Whistler into an immediate trot. As the boy rode away, Sawyer turned to me with a grin, letting his eyes linger on me; Malcolm was yards away, his back to us, and I reached for Sawyer, unable to stop myself. He caught my hands into his, kissing my knuckles and then my mouth. We only dared to kiss for seconds; when Sawyer drew back, I made a pleading sound.

  “Lorie,” he whispered intently. The tone of his voice made my eyes open instantly. His eyes, just inches from mine, were so intense that my heart throbbed fiercely. He said, “I can’t imagine an angel with a sweeter face. You don’t know what you do to me.”

  “I do know,” I told him, just as intently. “It’s the same for me.” I clutched his right hand, so much larger than mine, and placed it above my left breast, where my heart was thrusting almost through my flesh.

  His eyes burned into mine and we kissed again, urgently. I gripped his shirtfront, where his own heart pounded frantically. We were risking ourselves; Malcolm could turn back to spy us at any moment. I clung to Sawyer and surrendered completely to his kisses, never wanting to stop. But we must, and we both knew it, easing apart. He caressed my neck, placing one last kiss flush on my lips before turning to collect the reins, slapping them lightly over Juniper and Aces. Malcolm was many paces ahead as Whistler clipped along at a steady trot.

  “Well, I’m terribly glad to see you,” Sawyer said, regarding me with a smile dancing in his eyes. His hat was askew and he righted it, adding, “In case you hadn’t gathered that.”