by Jodi Thomas
Miss Alyce Wren was moved back to the wagon with Winter. McCall asked Sloan to ride far ahead to give warning. Then she turned in the direction the patrol had gone.
Sloan didn’t see the sense of it. Except that he knew the patrol was looking for the same folks they were. Following them onto the plains might be the fastest way to find the Cheyenne or to get themselves killed.
But by dawn he knew they’d made a mistake. He was bringing the horses into line when McCall stepped to his side.
“Someone’s watching us,” she whispered, away from the children’s hearing.
“Who?” Sloan looked around but saw no one.
“I don’t know who, but Miss Alyce can feel them,” McCall answered, still only an inch from his side. “Before first light, she told the children to disappear into the wagons. I thought I’d better warn you now, in case they are within hearing distance by the time you get the horses harnessed.”
“I don’t see anyone,” Sloan tried to reassure McCall. “Alyce Wren just feels them? What kind of alarm is that? Yesterday the old woman told Winter she could see him as a man. He would dance in moonbeams with a woman with sunshine hair. What kind of thing is that to tell the boy? The day before that she told me she could hear my soul pacing even while I was eating supper. You might want to look for a more reliable source.”
McCall looked at him as though he were the crazy one. “Miss Alyce is never wrong about her feelings. It’s in her blood on her mother’s side as far back as the Dark Ages. She can feel things all the way to her bones the way most folks feel with their fingers. It’s a gift she’s had since childhood. She showed up at my ranch the night before my father died and waited in the barn in case I needed her. Once he was dead, she came in the house without a word and did all the preparations before a burial. If she feels company, we’ve got company.”
Before Sloan had time to argue, riders broke the horizon.
He watched as a small patrol of eight men rode directly toward them. They wore dusty blue uniforms, and from the looks of them, it had been some time since they’d seen a fort.
Without moving, Sloan watched the captain pull ahead of the others. He didn’t slow his horse until he was within twenty feet of them, kicking up dirt as he pulled his reins.
McCall slipped her fingers around Sloan’s arm in a way that looked like a familiar wifely gesture. But he could feel her tense beside him.
“Mornin’!” the captain shouted in a friendly voice as he climbed down from his horse. “How are you folks this frosty sunrise?”
“Morning,” Sloan answered, watching the man carefully. He’d learned years ago never to trust a man who offered his friendship too quickly.
The captain removed his hat and nodded first at Sloan, then McCall. “We saw your camp and thought you might have some coffee left. We’ve been riding all night trying to make it back to the fort, and our coffee rations ran out days ago.”
McCall smiled in an almost shy way. “Of course.” She moved toward the coffeepot. “We have plenty since the others died.”
The captain stopped so fast he looked as though he’d frozen instantly. “Others?” the words echoed from him.
Sloan shook his head, not believing McCall was trying to pull such a lame trick.
“There were seven of us heading north to a ranch just before you reach Indian territory. A fever hit us the third day out, killing all but my husband and me. And one of the children, of course, who is in the wagon burning with the sickness now.”
To Sloan’s surprise, the captain believed her lie. He backed away as if afraid to breathe the air near them any longer. “You folks are a long way from any fort.” He seemed to be debating telling them to turn around, but that would mean they would be headed the same direction as the patrol. “I…I hope you find that ranch you’re looking for.”
“Don’t worry, Captain.” McCall smiled so sweetly she looked more like a girl than a woman. “You’re in no danger. My husband and I aren’t sick. And we’ll gladly share the coffee for any news about what’s to the north.”
He didn’t seem to want to believe her now. “I’d best be riding. All I can tell you folks is there’s trouble north. I’d keep my guns oiled and ready.” He tipped his hat at Sloan. “This is no land to be bringing a woman into, but I guess you got your reasons.”
“I do,” Sloan answered.
McCall slipped her hand back on Sloan’s arm and waved as the captain climbed into his saddle.
Sloan watched in disbelief as the soldiers rode away. When they were well out of hearing range, he turned to McCall. “I can’t believe they fell for such a story. Didn’t he even think about how strange it looked for the two of us to be traveling in two wagons?”
Her face bore none of the satisfaction he expected. Instead, her eyes were dark and rimmed with tears. “It wasn’t all a lie,” she whispered. “Another reason I came to find you was to tell you one of the children is sick. Miss Alyce is holding her in the wagon now so she wouldn’t cry out while the soldiers were here.”
Six
BY NOON THREE of the children were ill with fever. Sloan rode ahead until he found an embankment that curved into itself, allowing them to pull the wagons close and have protection from the wind on three sides. He sent the older children to find as much wood as they could. Then he cut tall grass and spread it beneath the wagons for bedding.
Pulling out all the boxes of supplies, he braced them against the far side of the wheels to help keep any wind off and hold the fire’s heat. Winter helped him use a horse to carry the water barrel almost a mile to the nearest stream to be refilled. When they returned, the other children had collected so much firewood it almost made a wall in front of the vee’d wagons.
While the others made camp, Sloan saddled one of the extra horses and circled from as far out as a fire might be seen to make sure they were safe. After half an hour, he knew he’d chosen the location wisely. The wagons disappeared into the terrain, and the ragged edges of cliffs beyond made any smoke blend with the gray-colored rocks.
At nightfall, when he headed back, he had a strange sense of coming home as he neared the campsite. Everyone was huddled into the space between the wagons with the fire in the center. McCall had untied the wagon tarps and roped them above with rawhide strips so that they formed an awning between the wagons, with plenty of holes for smoke to pass.
After he unsaddled his horse, Sloan rubbed the bay down before joining the others by the fire. To his surprise, rabbits were cooking on spits and Miss Alyce was stirring a pot of stew.
“What’s this?” he asked as he stepped into the space that almost had the atmosphere of a teepee now. The smell of food and the warmth of the fire were thick in the air.
McCall looked up from where she sat feeding a child. “Supper.”
Sloan grinned. She was starting to be as tight with words as he was. “I know,” he said. “Rabbit. But how? I didn’t hear a shot.”
McCall pointed with her spoon toward the little girl across from her. “Morning Dove can kill rabbits with rocks.”
Sloan looked at the child, who offered him a stick of meat with pride.
“Thank you,” he said, wishing he knew her words. “I’m very grateful.”
He leaned over and smelled Alyce’s stew. An odor akin to rotting livers assaulted his nose. For a moment, he thought he might have found the reason Miss Alyce Wren remained a “miss.” Cooking didn’t seem to be one of her talents. Looking up at the old woman, he said, “I think I’ll just have the rabbit.” He moved away from the odor before he breathed again.
Miss Alyce laughed. “The potion’s not for you, young fellow. It’s to put on the children.” She lifted the pot and moved to the opening of the shelter. “I’ll cool this off in the moonlight. I’m in no mood to have folks turning up their noses at my potions. These potions have pushed away many a fever in my father’s time and mine.”
Sloan sat down beside McCall. He could hear Alyce still mumbling in the darkness beyond
the fire, so he whispered to McCall, “How sick are the children?”
“We’ve three with fevers and two more who don’t look so well. Alyce says she’s not sure what it is, but she thinks we’d best stay here a day or two. Camped, we can keep them warm and doctored. On the road, that would be hard to do. If we got caught out in bad weather, it could mean pneumonia for any already running a fever.”
“I agree.” Sloan took a bite of his supper. “We’re protected on three sides here; so except for the water supply, this is a great place. The sky to the north looks darker every hour. Even without the fever I’d suggest staying here for a while.”
He glanced at McCall. Dark circles had formed beneath her blue eyes, and her shoulders weren’t the military straightness he’d always seen. “Is there anything I can do? You look exhausted.”
She shook her head. “No, we just have to wait out the fever. Miss Alyce brought dried herbs with her in case of trouble such as this.” She looked at him with eyes that made him wish he could think of more answers. “We seem so alone out here. So very alone.”
Sloan slowly reached and covered her hand with his. “Pray we are,” he whispered. “For all our sakes.”
Their glances met in the firelight, and he thought he saw a touch of fear in McCall’s eyes. Fear from a woman who seemed made of granite? Maybe the fever was not something she thought she knew how to fight. Maybe the endless hours were catching up with her.
Without a word, McCall pulled her hand away. He didn’t try to hold on, though he felt a need to touch her just a moment longer than she seemed willing to allow. If she were crumbling, she wanted to do so alone.
Looking into the fire, Sloan decided he’d be wise to change the subject. “How’d Miss Alyce learn so much about doctoring?”
McCall resumed feeding the child. “Her father was a doctor in Mexico. Folks say he was so rich he owned land on both sides of the Rio. When Texas fought for independence, he sided with the revolution and lost almost everything, including all his family except Alyce Wren.”
Sloan leaned closer as McCall continued, “My grandfather said Alyce’s father had a little box of a wagon and traveled around doctoring when needed. He delivered me, then fought for three days without sleep to save my mother. When he couldn’t save her, my grandfather said he cried like a child. After that he took Alyce Wren with him and started wandering across Texas, looking for answers. He learned some of the Indian ways of doctoring. But in the end, he grew sadder and sadder because there were so many people he couldn’t save. My father said once that Alyce’s father had too soft a heart to live on this earth. Alyce thinks he was a knight who finally got tired of fighting invisible dragons.”
Sloan didn’t move. He wasn’t sure if he needed to hear more of the story, or if he just liked the idea that they were talking.
McCall finished feeding the child and held the little one tightly in her arms. “Alyce thought her father was a great man and never left his side. She acted as his nurse, cook, and driver for years. By the time he died she was an old maid and penniless. My grandfather never forgot the way her father had cried. When they built the stage station a few years later, he paid for the second floor with the understanding that Miss Alyce could live in a room there as long as she liked. At first she only spent the winters. In the summers no one really knew where she went in that little wagon of hers. As the years passed, her stays became longer and longer. Since the war, I don’t think she’s left the station except on day trips. She’s always claimed she didn’t have the ‘gift’ like her father did, but sometimes people still ask her advice. There’s not a house within a hundred miles that she’s not welcome in, or a man under fifty she doesn’t order around as if he were a boy.”
“An interesting lady.” Sloan accepted a cup of coffee from one of the children. The warmth through the tin cup felt good on his hands…almost like a handshake. “Do you think your grandfather loved her?”
McCall’s head jerked up. Obviously the thought had never entered her mind. “Why would you say such a thing? My grandfather never said a word about loving her.”
“He took care of her. Even after he died, sounds like he made sure she’d always have a place in the station to call home.”
McCall tried to remember back to her childhood. There had been little talk of love in their home, mostly just duty and honor, and bravery. But as McCall thumbed through the memories of her life, Miss Alyce’s face, aging with time, kept flipping up. She’d been there for every crisis. When someone was ill. She’d also been there for every joy. Never close enough to be family, but never out of the picture.
“Is that what you think love, is, taking care of someone?” McCall watched this man called Sloan and wondered what kind of life he came from. Somewhere there must have been a mother, a family, a home. But he’d never mentioned any time in his life but the war.
“Maybe.” Sloan shifted uncomfortably. He usually didn’t spend much time talking about love, but he wanted to talk to this woman. He needed to talk about anything. He’d been silent too much of his life. “I noticed at first men speak about love with words of passion, but as they get older they communicate in words of caring. You know, like they want to spend the rest of their lives taking care of someone.”
“Have you ever felt that way?”
Sloan shook his head and threw the coffee grounds in his cup into the fire. “No. I seem to have enough trouble taking care of myself.
“Maybe I no longer believe in love. Maybe I never did. Not even love for a cause. There’s nothing worth fighting for, nothing worth living or dying for, when you get right down to it.”
McCall stood and carried the child in her arms to the bedroll beneath the wagon. She didn’t look at him as she moved. He wondered if he’d disappointed her with his talk. She seemed to be searching for just what he didn’t believe in. Something to live or die for.
Miss Alyce rattled back from the shadows, swinging her herb pot. “It’s ready,” she announced, as if she thought the children might line up for the smelly stuff.
Winter circled the fire away from Alyce and sat down beside Sloan. He didn’t say a word, but looked as though he’d been elected to the spot.
Sloan nodded at the boy. “Can you get the water tomorrow? I need to scout around and make sure we’re alone.”
“Sure,” Winter answered.
“We’re alone,” Alyce said as she frowned at Sloan. “I’d feel it in my bones if anyone was watching. So you get some sleep tonight, young fellow.”
Sloan looked up and was amazed to find she was talking to him, not Winter. He opened his mouth to comment, but thought better, wishing he could see the Alyce of long ago. Fifty, even thirty years ago, she might have been a striking woman with less weight on her and fewer wrinkles. If McCall’s grandfather had loved her he’d kept quiet about it, but Sloan guessed Alyce knew. From the way McCall talked about her family, Alyce wouldn’t have fit in, but that might not have stopped the love from growing.
“I’ll still keep watch, though you feel safe,” he mumbled as he grabbed an extra blanket and stepped from the flimsy shelter. It was warm between the two wagons, but he felt crowded. Walking thirty feet away, he sat down on a grassy spot where he’d left his gear and relaxed against his saddle. With the blanket beneath him and his coat slung over him, he was warm enough.
The day had been endless. He’d thought a few times of talking to McCall about turning back and waiting until spring. This was crazy, to head across open land in December. He’d heard men talk about how the weather this far north could change so fast a man would freeze before he could find enough wood to build a fire.
Sloan pulled his hat low and folded his arms across his chest. Stretching his legs out, he crossed his boots at the ankle and tried to sleep.
But Satan’s Seven rode through his dreams as they did every night. When he’d been in the Yankee prison, a pack of seven men ruled the camp from the inside. The guards were only soldiers who’d drawn the short straw and h
ad to patrol the perimeters. Satan’s Seven set the rules inside. They were a rough group of cutthroats who would stop at nothing to ensure their power. Sloan managed to avoid them most of the time, but when the recruiters came looking for men to join the Union army and serve on the frontier, he crossed the Seven.
The Union recruiter spent days talking to the prisoners, convincing them that all they’d be doing was fighting Indians—they’d hold no weapon against a fellow southerner. Satan’s Seven saw it differently. They swore to find any man who joined and cut out his heart while it still pounded. To prove their point, they murdered the first man who said he’d join with the Yankees. After that the recruiter took his converts from camp immediately. Sloan knew if Satan’s Seven were still alive, they were looking for him. Even now.
Once in a while he would hear of a man being found staked spread-eagle as the Seven would do, with his heart cut completely out of his chest. Sloan wondered and worried. He had changed in four years, shaved his beard, gained a little weight, but they’d know him if they saw him, just as he would know them. He had heard a rumor once that three of the Seven were from Texas. Maybe he’d come this direction because he was tired of looking over his shoulder and wanted to finally face the nightmares.
“Sloan?” McCall’s voice interrupted his thoughts.
He leaned up, shoved his hat back, and watched her walk through the darkness toward him.
“McCall,” he answered in a low voice. “It’s a little late for a stroll.”
She knelt beside him, so close he could feel her warm breath. “I came to get your promise,” she whispered.
“All right,” Sloan answered. “You’ve got it.”
McCall didn’t laugh. “This is no light matter, sir.”
“Nothing with you is, my general.”
She placed her hand on his arm, and Sloan smiled, thinking he was getting accustomed to her slight touch. But he still couldn’t keep his muscles from tightening as the warmth of her hand passed through his shirt. He had spoken the truth before. Whatever she asked him to promise, he would. She had a manner about her that made “no” fall out of his vocabulary.