Anna raised her hand to her mouth. “The woman you told us about from your trip home from Memphis?”
Caroline nodded. “Hello, Mrs. Kamden.” She regarded the little girl with the big brown eyes.
“This is Maisie, the youngest of my Ian’s children.”
Following the introductions, Mrs. Kamden laid her gloved hand on Caroline’s arm. “Dear, I saw you at the table with your friends, then in line behind us. Are you going west with the caravan?”
“I had hoped to.”
“With your sister and brother-in-law?”
“They’re not going.”
“Oh.” The woman’s lips formed an elongated O that shrank, while her eyes did the same. “Well, with all that man’s talk of death and peril”—Mrs. Kamden looked at the little girl—“I’m having second thoughts about going.” Her ability to whisper hadn’t improved in the least.
Caroline noticed Anna’s attention drift away from their conversation, then saw that Boney Hughes was approaching.
Mrs. Kamden glanced down at Maisie. “It’s time we return to the rest of the family.” She looked up. “The Lord bless you and keep you, dear. And you, too, Miss Goben.”
Caroline smiled. “And you, Mrs. Kamden.”
“Thank you.” Anna’s gaze darted to the woman, then back to the young man now standing at her side.
“Have a pleasant evening, Mrs. Kamden. Miss Maisie.” Boney tipped his hat, and the woman shuffled away.
Caroline needed to do the same. “If you two will excuse me—”
Anna grasped Caroline’s cape. “No need for you to leave. Please stay. We don’t want to make it difficult for Charles to round us up when he’s ready to leave, now, do we?”
“All right.” She looked at the young man, feeling like a third wheel on a pushcart.
Boney cleared his throat. “About the other day …”
Caroline looked down at Anna’s hand, which still had a firm grip on the edge of her wrap. “I don’t wish to intrude.”
Anna drew in a deep breath. “Please stay. Any friend of mine is a friend of Boney’s. He said so himself.”
“I did indeed.” He removed his hat and faced Anna. “I saw the chairs he ain’t fixing, Anna. And I saw the way she is. I’ve heard how hard you’ve been working since Dedrick died.”
“Großvater has been under the weather. Mutter too.”
“You don’t have to hide the truth from me.”
“They’re my family.”
“Marry me.”
Caroline barely heard Anna’s gasp over her own.
“Come with me on the wagon train as my wife. You deserve to be taken care of.”
Tears stung the backs of Caroline’s eyes and she turned away. Since when had she become such a romantic?
“I … uh.” Anna held firmly to Caroline’s cape. “You’ve been gone for five years. We’re not children in the schoolyard anymore.”
“No. We’re not.” He stepped forward, his gaze tender. “Anna, you’re a beautiful young woman with lots of life left in you. If you don’t squander it.”
Letting go of Caroline’s cape, Anna reached for Boney’s arm. “You are a dear to notice and to care.” Her shoulders rose and fell. “This is so sudden.”
Boney nodded. “Will you think on it?”
“Yes.” Her hand swung to her side. “I will think about it.”
An idea dawned …
Yes, Anna would think on it. And so would Caroline. If she had a man willing to marry her, that would put an end to Mr. Cowlishaw’s concerns about her going west with the caravan.
Caroline couldn’t help herself.
She smiled.
Eleven
Braying donkeys woke Garrett on Wednesday morning. Or was he awake? Perhaps he was dreaming.
Rolling, he pulled the wool blanket back over his face. After all, he had behaved like a donkey last evening. Caroline Milburn lived in a hopeless house. She obviously dreamed of starting a new life out west. He’d puffed up under the guise of captain and crushed her hope of a new beginning.
“For her own good.”
Yawning, he tossed to his other side, tangling himself in the blankets. Rimming the edge of the cot, he rolled out of bed. His covers went with him. “What a mess!”
“Couldn’t, in good conscience, approve of her foolish plans.” He had a responsibility to protect those who couldn’t protect themselves. Garrett swatted at the blankets anchoring his feet, then stood. “What kind of a leader would I be if I caved in simply because she was a charming woman?” If she had simply been a charming woman, he would’ve slept better. “Caroline Milburn. Of all people.” He cringed at his reflection in the washstand mirror, then splashed his whiskered face with cold water. It didn’t matter who it was that he’d turned down, he’d made the right decision. Although, he agreed with the mirror that he could’ve been more diplomatic in dashing her dreams.
The sound of hooves and more braying jerked Garrett out of his daydreaming.
The animals were real. And close by. Inside the granary!
Garrett scrambled down the shallow steps, nearly toppling off of the last one.
Rutherford stood near the door with a smug smile on his face. Three donkeys stood at the end of the lead ropes wrapped around his friend’s hand.
Garrett blew out a long breath. He obviously hadn’t latched the door last night, leaving an invitation to a grain feast.
Rutherford glanced up the staircase. “Who you talkin’ to up there?”
“I was talking?”
Rutherford nodded, wagging thick eyebrows.
“What do you think you heard?”
“Only that you’re smitten with Caroline Milburn.”
He brushed his woolen sleeves out to full length. “I didn’t say that.”
Rutherford shrugged. “Some things don’t need spelled out.”
Garrett swatted the air. “You’re a newlywed, hearin’ romance everywhere you eavesdrop.”
Rutherford’s laugh boomed.
Whether he was attracted to Caroline or not, he couldn’t let the young woman risk her life. Surely, there was something else the widow could do. Something safer. More comfortable.
Rutherford cleared his throat. “I’d ask you to help me take these well-fed jennies back to the barn, but”—he looked at Garrett’s bright red union suit—“there are ladies on the property.”
Garrett looked at the open door, then darted up the steps. “See you at breakfast.”
Tomorrow was quilting circle day on the farm, and he’d make it a point to be here. The perfect opportunity to make things right with Caroline. With another day for her to calm down, she’d surely be ready to listen to his explanation and have a better understanding of his position.
Twelve
Caroline pulled a sedate brown hat from the wardrobe. She stood in front of the wavy mirror that hung above her dresser and placed the hat on her upswept hair. Mary sat on the bed watching her every move.
“Why you go away to church?” Her niece’s stocking feet dangled just above the rough wood flooring.
“Sometimes it’s good for me to get out.” Caroline pushed one of Aunt Inez’s pearl-tipped hatpins through her hair. She hadn’t been to the quilting circle the past two Thursdays. Since her run-in with Garrett Cowlishaw at the Boone’s Lick Wagon Train Company meeting, she hadn’t been anywhere but to the grocery. Jewell conducted a Sunday service for the children in their home, but it wasn’t the same. Today Caroline needed more. She’d not attended a formal church service since leaving Philadelphia.
Most of her friends here were members of German-speaking congregations, but Maren had invited her to visit the Presbyterian meetinghouse that she and Rutherford attended—the type of church Caroline had grown accustomed to in the East. Placing the last pin in her hat, she looked out the sunlit window. Her burdens seemed to lift with the promise of warm sunshine. A perfect day for a nice long walk. And an inspiring worship service.
“You were out
yesterday. Remember?” Mary slid off the bed. “You washed the windows.”
Caroline giggled. “I did.” She lifted her Bible from the bedside table. “But I meant I need to be out among other people.”
“Oh.” Freckles dotted Mary’s round cheeks. “Then you’ll come back?”
“Yes.” Thanks to Garrett Cowlishaw’s sensibilities about single women on the trail, she may be here forever. Unless she found a man to marry.
And what better place than in a church?
Mary followed her out of the bedroom and into the kitchen. Caroline had invited Jewell to come along this morning and suggested it would be good for the children, but her sister preferred to stay home. No doubt hoping that if Jack heard enough Scripture, he’d shed his nasty cocoon and become a new man. Caroline sighed. She didn’t have that kind of patience. She may not be a part of the wagon train come spring, but she was determined that things would be different for her. Soon.
Jewell looked up from the table where she sat with her Bible. “You don’t have to go. Are you sure you want to?”
“I’m sure. It’ll be good for me.” Caroline kissed Mary’s forehead, then patted her sister’s shoulder on her way to the back door. “I’ll see you this afternoon.” The moment the door clicked shut behind her, the tension in her shoulders eased. Her neck warmed by the sun, she crossed Main Street and walked up the hill. A cardinal chirped among the new leaves in a mottled sycamore. All signs that spring already had a foot in the door.
A red brick building on the corner of Jefferson and Boone Street housed the Northern Presbyterian Church, its bell tower and steeple a welcoming sight. It was a smaller version of the Presbyterian meetinghouse that she’d attended in Philadelphia. Men, women, and children dressed in their Sunday best mingled in the wagon lot, congregated at the hitching rails in front of the stained-glass windows. Colored families rushed past, down Boone Street, as the bell on their meeting hall called them to worship.
As Caroline approached the front steps, she studied the crowd looking for Maren. “Pastor Munson.” Rutherford Wainwright’s voice caused her to turn toward the wagon lot. Maren was standing beside her husband, her arm looped through his. Gabi held her other hand.
“This is our friend, Mrs. Caroline Milburn.”
Caroline smiled.
“Welcome to the meeting of our church, Mrs. Milburn. I’m pleased you chose to join us this morning.”
She was pleased too. “Thank you, Pastor.”
After their greetings, Caroline followed Rutherford and Maren through the arched foyer and into the narrow sanctuary. Rutherford paused beside a pew that was uncomfortably close to the front and motioned for her to step out of the aisle first.
Caroline obliged him. She picked up the book of Psalms and hymns before seating herself in the middle. She returned the smile of the girl she sat near, who was about Gilbert’s age, but left a space between them in case either of them needed a little elbowroom.
Maren scooted in to her left. When Gabi was settled between her and Rutherford, Maren faced Caroline. “What a pleasant Sunday surprise to see you here. I’m so glad you came.”
“I am too.” She meant it.
It was her own fault she’d been cooped up. Except for the quilting circle, which she’d only joined at Jewell’s insistence, she hadn’t had any outside involvements. She’d considered getting a job to supplement her army widow’s pension, but she’d not had the energy. She’d been despairing, looking for any cave to crawl into. Not all that different from Jack.
But today was a new day. Tinted light streamed in through the arched stained-glass windows lining the sides of the sanctuary. Caroline relaxed her back against the smooth oak, letting her hands rest on the Bible and songbook on her lap. She saw a few people she recognized from town, but no one she really knew. And most of the men were seated with women. Didn’t seem single men were able to get themselves to Christian meetinghouses. Phillip had stopped attending before he met her.
Caroline scolded herself for such a self-centered focus in the house of the Lord. She was here for a boon to her faith, not for a husband. A musical prelude returned her attention to the front. A generously proportioned woman sat at the piano while a more petite woman stood in front of a simple lectern with an open songbook. The pastor walked in from the back, his long black vestment billowing slightly, and ascended the curving stair to the pulpit to the left of the chancel.
“Alas! And Did My Saviour Bleed.” The woman’s voice was not petite. “Hymn 85.”
A memory of Aunt Inez’s off-key voice plucked at Caroline’s heart. This had been one of her aunt’s favorites. One she often sang at the clothesline.
Caroline rose with the congregation and joined in the singing, remembering.
Alas! And did my Saviour bleed, and did my Sovereign die?
Would He devote that sacred head for such a worm—
Before she could finish the refrain, Maren tapped her arm and motioned toward the aisle. Caroline followed Maren’s gaze, pressed her hand to the bench in front of her, and leaned forward. Garrett Cowlishaw stood beside Rutherford, offering her a small, close wave that weakened her knees. Leave it to Mr. Cowlishaw to challenge her conclusion about single men and church attendance.
She scooted her Bible down the bench and sidestepped toward the young lady to make room for Garrett, her elbowroom gone. She hadn’t seen him since the night he’d told her she couldn’t travel west, and she wasn’t too keen on seeing him now. Even in the house of the Lord.
Stepping out of the aisle, Garrett accepted the open songbook from Rutherford. His mind should’ve been on God, or the song and the singing. On anything but Caroline Milburn. When, at the last minute, he’d decided to finally darken the doors of a church again, he hadn’t considered she’d be here. Smiling.
Rutherford was right. Garrett was at the least fascinated by the Widow Milburn. And he really needed to get over it. He was leaving Saint Charles.
She was staying.
He set his hat on the bench. Facing the song leader, he mouthed the words, listening intently to the soprano standing on the other side of Maren.
Thus might I hide my blushing face while his dear Cross appears;
Dissolve my heart in thankfulness, and melt mine eyes to tears.
But drops of grief can ne’er repay the debt of love I owe;
Here, Lord, I give myself away—’tis all that I can do.
Caroline being a single woman wasn’t his only reason for not allowing her to join the caravan. How else was he to protect his heart??
Thirteen
Dressed in a green cotton skirt and a shawl draping her shoulders, Caroline left the house on Wednesday morning a week later. Puffy white clouds formed uneven rows across the blue sky. A slight breeze teased the lace collar on her pleated shirtwaist. She couldn’t apply for a teaching job until spring, which she intended to do since it would no doubt take an act of God for Garrett Cowlishaw to change his mind about her joining the wagon train.
She needed to do something with her time and energy. Something besides finding fault with her brother-in-law and frustration with her sister’s plight. Since Maren wed and moved back to the farm, Johann Heinrich was short-handed at the Dry Goods and Grocery. Emilie was still trying to help her father despite her own new marriage and classes at Lindenwood, but she couldn’t keep up with the demand of all the westbound folks coming in with their lists for provisions. Clerking in the store was a job Caroline could do, and it would give her the income she needed to move into her own room at the ladies’ boardinghouse.
Although the day seemed warmer, sweet smoke from hundreds of fireplaces still scented the air. Deciding to take the long way around for a nice leisurely walk, Caroline strolled up the dirt path along the river. Her reticule swung at her side. Memories of her return to church two Sundays ago splayed across her mind. The sense of belonging. The music. The teaching. Garrett Cowlishaw’s warm smile. How could she stay mad at the man?
A shrill ste
am whistle broke through her thoughts, drawing her gaze to the river’s edge and the large side-wheeler docking there. The New Era.
Caroline stilled. Seemed fitting that the boat would return just as she was attempting to embark on a new era of her own.
Had Lewis G. Whibley made another round trip from Memphis?
He was obviously a man who embraced adventure and didn’t mind traveling. Perhaps he would consider a wagon caravan west an intriguing proposition. People had married for less noble reasons.
Caroline shook her head. Those were not the thoughts of a sensible woman. She’d met the man once. On a boat. He’d been the first to flatter her since she’d lost Phillip. That’s all. But even Mrs. Kamden had noticed the man’s attentions on that January day.
He’d told her he would welcome the day she agreed to run away with him. Even when she’d laughed and refused, he’d remained a gentleman, continuing to see to her every need on the boat. She would simply see if he was aboard. And what could it hurt to greet him if he was? A cordial greeting would afford her the opportunity to see if Mr. Whibley’s interest in her remained intact. After all, he knew she’d gotten off the boat in Saint Charles and was living here. Had he returned with the intention of finding her?
She chuckled. Her desperation for change had her fishing without sensible bait. More than two months had passed since their friendly encounter. A lot could’ve happened in that time.
Doubtful the man was even on the boat.
But despite her doubts and reservations, Caroline slipped the handle of her reticule over her arm and tugged her sleeves straight. She took careful steps toward the river. A week of sunshine had done a good job of melting the snow and drying out the bank between town and the river, but it was a far cry from being without rocks and ridges.
Mona Hodgson - [Quilted Hearts 03] Page 7