by Merry Farmer
“She was saying last night that you didn’t look happy.”
Her brother, sister-in-law, and nephew had died just over a week ago. What did he expect her to do, dance and sing? “It’s been a tough few weeks,” she said.
Mr. Evans called for the folks who had taken their animals to the river to head back and hitch up. Callie was momentarily distracted as the camp buzzed to life, ready to move on. Elton didn’t go away.
“It’s not too late, you know,” he grinned. “I just want to see you happy after all you’ve been through.”
The coil of unease in her gut pushed at her like a spring about to pop. “Mr. Finch,” she said, doing her best to be polite, “I appreciate your concern, but there are other, single women who would be glad of your attention. Perhaps Emma Sutton?” She felt guilty for suggesting her friend’s name, but desperation got the best of her.
Elton merely smiled his overly charming smile. “Emma Sutton doesn’t interest me in the least.”
“Can I help you?” John’s gentle voice from only a few yards away was a relief. He strode up the side of the wagon toward Callie, leading his pair of oxen and holding a jug. He left the oxen at the front of his wagon and stepped deliberately between Elton and Callie. He offered Callie the jug, which she took as her excuse to walk away toward the back of her wagon.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Rye.” Elton nodded, but with an edge now. “I was just making conversation with your lovely wife.”
John glanced from Elton to Callie as she hovered by her wagon. Callie sent him a guarded look of frustration, but she couldn’t read the look he returned.
“Thank you for keeping her company, Mr. Finch.” His tone took on a dismissiveness Callie had never heard from him.
“Any time,” Elton returned, a little too friendly.
An uncomfortable shiver shot down Callie’s spine as he turned and strode away.
John watched him go before joining Callie at the wagon. He waited for several beats to say anything. “Could you help me with the oxen?”
“Sure,” she answered, still frowning.
Without words, she followed John to his wagon and wrestled with the task of coaxing the oxen back into their yokes. It was a difficult chore that she had yet to master, but at least it required so much of her concentration that she could forget about Elton for the time being.
When they were finished, with nothing to do but thank their neighbors for their help and wait until everyone was ready to move out, John slid his hands into his pockets and studied Callie through his glasses.
“Are you still wearing that buckskin?” he asked.
It wasn’t the question she had expected. A sheepish tickle formed in Callie’s chest. “I thought we went over this.”
She broke into a bashful laugh in spite of herself. What must he think of her attempt to copy him?
John’s face relaxed. He shook his head and reached for the lapels of the buckskin.
“Take the jacket off.”
He helped by pushing it back from her shoulders. A flutter went through Callie’s stomach. It was the first order he’d given as her husband. It was comfortably irritating.
“Then you need to take your jacket off too.”
His eyes widened. She shrugged Greg’s jacket off and tossed it back up into her wagon’s seat. The prairie breeze instantly felt cool on the damp skin under her soaked blouse. She turned back to John. He was still studying her and thinking, like a man with a puzzle. Callie crossed her arms and nodded to his buttons. He caught the significant expression and let out a breath, shrugging out of his jacket. For some reason, she felt like she’d won a tiny battle.
“I guess we’d both do better to give common sense a try for the afternoon,” he said with a faint smile.
“I have to admit, this feels better,” she answered.
For a few minutes, they stood side by side, waiting. Callie wracked her brain for some topic of conversation, some way to pass the time, but it felt just as right to stand silently with him. In the short time they’d known each other, not once had John pushed her outside of her thoughts and into babbling nothings. She liked it, odd though it made them.
“Is Mr. Finch a friend of yours?” At last, John asked her the question she’d been anticipating.
She wasn’t sure how to answer. “Sort of. He talked to Greg now and then before, but not me. And….” There seemed no point in pretending things had happened any way other than the way they had. “He seems to think I’ll change my mind about marriage.”
She waited for John to have some sort of jealous, angry reaction. Instead a thoughtful look came over him and he asked, “Why did you pick me over him? He may cheat at cards, but he’s young, handsome.”
He was blunt, but unlike Elton’s prying, it didn’t make her uncomfortable.
“Honestly, I didn’t choose you over him,” she said. “I chose to have a life in the city instead of a life out in the wilderness.”
John nodded, hands in his pockets. “So if I had been going out to Denver City to set up a ranch and Mr. Finch had been going to start a business in town, your decision would have been different?”
“Yes.” She took in a breath, not sure if her answer was true. There were other things about John that she liked besides his plans to settle in the city. She watched him carefully to see if he was offended. He didn’t seem to be. “My brother was the one who wanted to make this journey, not me,” she went on. “I would have been happy to stay in Bethlehem forever. I’m not cut out to be a wild frontiersman.”
He surprised her with a quick smile of camaraderie and touched her arm. “Neither am I.”
It wasn’t until they were on the move again, and Callie was sitting in the driver’s seat with Mrs. Weingarten and her youngest daughter for company, that she realized what had made John smile. Their temperaments were far better matched than anyone could have predicted. Callie grinned from ear to ear at the thought.
“And what has you smiling as if you had a secret?” Mrs. Weingarten asked.
Callie shrugged, letting out her breath on a sigh. “I think I just realized that I made a good decision.”
“And what decision might that be?”
She answered Mrs. Weingarten’s curiosity by changing the subject. “Did you tell Mr. Finch that you thought I was unhappy?”
Her eyebrows shot clear up to her bonnet. “I did nothing of the sort!”
It was a relief. “He told me you said I looked unhappy.”
“Uff! He must have heard me wrong. Of course I expressed some concern for you in the wake of your family’s death,” she patted Callie’s leg, “but you seem to be handling that grief very well, all things considered.”
“What choice do I have?” Callie mumbled.
She didn’t have any choice. She wasn’t dead, so she had to keep moving forward. It was the way life worked. Just like the wagons rambled slowly but steadily on toward their destination, her life inched along toward whatever fate had in store. Only now she was determined to make that life one with John at its center.
Chapter Six
“So… so that’s why the Good Book tells us that we should be good to each other,” Reverend Joseph stumbled on through his impromptu Sunday sermon. “Because… because that’s what Jesus taught all those years ago. Right.”
John sat on the makeshift bench by Callie’s side, head bowed. He drifted in and out of attention as the young minister delivered his disaster of a sermon. Reverend Joseph had turned downright green when a group of farmer’s wives had asked him to hold another Sunday service. They had insisted that the wagon train needed more godliness, and while they praised his efforts to counsel the rowdy miners one-on-one, they thought a full service was in order.
“And now I’ll read a little from the Bible,” Reverend Joseph said, red-faced, a fine sheen of sweat on his forehead. He stood in front of the ramshackle congregation, clutching his heavy, black-bound Bible in front of him with white knuckles. He raked a thumb over the pages, but
didn’t open it. The poor man’s face grew redder and redder.
John wondered what kind of a minister Reverend Joseph was. Clearly, he was straight out of training for whatever denomination he belonged to and had no idea how to conduct a service.
“Here you go, Rev.” Kyle stood up and walked to the front to hand Reverend Joseph his Bible, already opened and marked. “Read this.”
Kyle swapped out Reverend Joseph’s black Bible for his brown leather one. The reverend took the open book but watched Kyle return to his seat with panic in his eyes. He gulped and glanced down at the page Kyle’s Bible was open to.
“‘A-and it came to pass in an eveningtide, that David arose from off his bed, and walked upon the roof of the king's house: and from the roof he saw a woman washing herself; and the woman was very beautiful to look upon.’” The miners sniggered. Reverend Joseph gulped and went on with the story of David and Bathsheba.
John frowned, giving up all attempts at focus. There were plenty of lessons to be learned from David’s story, but he doubted many people would see past Reverend Joseph’s discomfort over reading about Bathsheba being stolen from her husband. John closed his eyes, concentrating on the verse, ‘the woman was very beautiful to look upon.’
Callie’s smiling face came to mind, not Shannon’s. It puzzled him, but there it was. The way Callie had looked when they were swimming in the stream together the day of their wedding stood out clearly. She was so brave to face what she had to face, then and now. And she was beautiful, with smooth skin and bright eyes. He had let himself watch her go about her business, setting up camp when they stopped and taking it down when they moved on, with quiet appreciation. She would make some man happy one day.
Why not him?
The thought flew in out of nowhere and fluttered in his chest like a bird caught in a cage. He opened his eyes and stared at the ground. No, he reminded himself, his course was already set. He’d made a promise to himself to be with Shannon as soon as he delivered the goods in his wagon to Koenig’s store, as soon as he saw Callie safely to Denver City.
But Shannon’s hadn’t been the face that came to his mind when he thought of a beautiful woman. Callie’s had.
“‘And when the mourning was past, David sent and fetched her to his house, and she became his wife, and bore him a son.’” Reverend Joseph finished the story and cleared his throat.
Prickly heat spread down John’s back. He didn’t think his mourning would ever be past, and yet….
“Um, okay, let’s say a silent prayer now,” Reverend Joseph said.
They all bowed their heads. Callie let out a soft breath and folded her hands on her lap. Silence drifted over them, broken only by the wind through the prairie grass and a hawk somewhere high above. John said the first prayer that came to his mind, a Hail Mary, but his heart was caught in more earthly concerns.
What if he was wrong? What if, in spite of the pain and the sorrow that had haunted him for so many months, life really did go on? Could he abandon the course he’d set for himself? And if he did, would that be a betrayal of all that he and Shannon had shared? Was death truly the solution to his pain, or could it be life?
“Amen,” Reverend Joseph said. “The service is over.”
The bewildered congregation stood and began to move, some muttering, some shaking their heads, others smiling to make the best of things. They picked up their benches and barrels and headed off to their wagons. John finished his prayer, then crossed himself. He stood to see Callie watching him with a startled look.
“Are you Catholic?” she asked.
“Yes.” He turned to pick up the bench they’d brought for the service.
“Oh.”
“Is that a problem?”
“No, not at all.” She shrugged. “I’m not. Is that a problem?”
He shook his head. “Do you mind if I ask…?” They started back to their wagon together.
“I was raised Quaker, but we were never very religious,” she said.
“I can’t say that I’m a particularly good Catholic,” he replied honestly.
Of course he wasn’t a good Catholic. Taking your own life was a sin. But all this time, that had been his plan. His face and neck burned with shame, his heart with confusion.
“I feel sorry for Reverend Joseph,” Callie went on, oblivious to the turmoil making each of John’s steps heavy. She leaned closer to him. “That wasn’t a very good sermon.”
“No,” John replied. He couldn’t say anything else. He’d been so certain of his path, so sure of what he needed to do. Now?
“I suppose his mission is to convert the Indians or the miners,” Callie went on
“Yes, that must be it.”
A grin pulled at Callie’s lips. “I hope for his sake that it is,” she said. “Because he’ll never draw a crowd through preaching.”
John marveled at her. It had only been two weeks since Callie’s brother and his family had died, but already she was able to smile, while he…. He didn’t deserve her, that much he knew. But for the time being, at least, she was his to help and comfort. And he was hers, confusion, heartache, and all.
“The animals are taken care of,” he said once they reached their wagons and the bench was put away. “Is there anything you need me to do?”
“Hmm.” She stood with her hands on her hips, biting her lip as she looked around. Sunlight played in her hair, making her skin look warm. She may not have thought she made much of a pioneer, but at that moment she looked as though she could conquer the world.
He wanted to kiss her. His heart stopped at the thought. He wanted to take her in his arms and hold her and remember what kissing felt like. Her lips would be soft and sweet. She would sigh and cling to him, her caress welcoming and gentle. She would make his body stir, make him feel alive again.
He cleared his throat and writhed on the spot. What would Shannon think of….
Shannon wasn’t there. Shannon would never be there again.
“Why don’t I fetch some water from the stream?” he said, voice little more than a rumble.
“We could always use water.” Callie’s brow knit in bewilderment as she watched him.
The tangle of confusion in John’s gut yanked tighter. “I’ll get it.”
He hurried to the back of the wagon to fetch a bucket and one of their jugs, then rushed away toward the stream. As fast as he walked, he couldn’t get away from the turmoil in his heart or the voice in his head that whispered maybe it was time to live again.
How did you talk to a man about the things going on inside of him?
Callie puzzled over the impossible question as she worked over the fire, pouring some of the water John had fetched into a pot. She set it to boil so that she could make more tea. The rest of the bucket was intended to be a bath.
John sat on a crate by the side of the wagon, eyes narrowed in concentration behind his glasses as he sharpened one of their cooking knives. He seemed at peace now, but the fretful, tortured look that had been in his eyes after Reverend Joseph’s sermon had stayed with Callie. She chewed her lip as she emptied a few soap flakes from a can into the remaining water in the bucket and stirred them. They had both suffered losses. They were both mourning. That could be it. John had loved his wife very much. But she had loved her brother too. And Greg would have wanted her to move on.
Maybe John needed help moving on.
She took a rag and dunked it in the soapy water, then crossed to hand it, dripping, to John where he sat. She brought the bucket with her.
“What’s this for?”
“This is your Sunday bath,” she replied, her face expressionless in imitation of his. She was sure she couldn’t hide the joking twinkle in her eye as she pretended to be him, though. Maybe all John needed was a smile, a bit of humor.
“This?” He stared up at her.
She did her best to appear serious. “Finest facilities the lonely prairie can provide.”
She couldn’t keep her grin inside. It spr
ead across her lips and across her entire face before she could stop it.
The corner of his mouth tweaked up in what passed for a smile. He took the rag from her, removed his glasses with one hand, and handed them to Callie. The he pressed the wet cloth to his face, running it over his hair and down to the back of his neck.
“Not bad,” he commented, squeezing the rest of the water across his shoulders and plunging the rag back into the bucket. “Think I’ll have another.” He unbuttoned his shirt and tugged it off over his head.
A glimmer of hope grew in Callie’s chest. He was smiling. She was getting somewhere. If she could just take him a little further, maybe he would open up. Maybe she could help him.
While John cooled and cleaned off, she looked at his glasses. They needed cleaning just as badly as he did. She dipped them in the water, wiped the lenses on the edge of her skirt, then held them up to look through them. The world seemed odd and warped through those lenses. She held them closer to her face, put them on. How strange that something that helped one person to see more clearly completely distorted the world to another.
She turned to look at John to see if she could focus on him. He glanced over to her at that moment, and after a startled pause broke into a soft chuckle.
He laughed. He actually laughed. The sound made Callie grin from ear to ear.
“You can’t possibly see a thing through those.” John shook his head, a smile in his voice now. “I’m blind as a bat without them.”
“Can you see me?”
“Well, yes, but you’re standing close. I can’t see much beyond you though, at least not distinctly.”
“Then you’re not blind as a bat. A mongoose, maybe.”
“Are mongooses nearsighted?”
“I have no idea,” Callie giggled. He was still smiling. She could tell. She took off the glasses so that she could see him better. Yes, a weary, unpracticed smile rested on his wet face. Callie handed the glasses back to him.
“I’d rather not be a mongoose,” he said as he slid the glasses back on. “Thank you for cleaning them.”