She grinned. Every storeowner’s nose was pressed to the window pane.
The harness and breast plate buckles jingled in unison… the ice and snow wasn’t so bad, the ground was soft, and taking the lane meant she wouldn’t have to endure the townspeople’s gawking. Like Joseph, Pa had warned her not to, said you never know what’s lurking around a bend in the road, but Pa hadn’t heard the townsfolks’ new song about them, either.
She burrowed into her wool collar. The snow blanketing western Kentucky had put everyone in a bad spirit. January of 1898 had started out cold and stayed that way. It being the first day of March, surely the worst was behind them. What more could happen? As Collina made her way home, the wind picked up and so did the snow. Flakes blew about her team like dandelion seeds. She wished it was dandelion seeds and not a storm she had driven her six white horses into.
The horses strained against their harness, heads bent low to the ground, their strong hindquarters digging into the hill as they pulled the heavily laden wagon through the rutted and snow covered lane and up the steep hillside.
She couldn’t see for the blowing flakes. Then just as suddenly as the storm had begun, the wind seemed to sweep the snowflakes away. She could see now that the stars were just appearing in the new night, and through the scurrying clouds that swept the sky like grey ghosts, the soft, mellow rays of the full moon suddenly lit the snow-covered pathway with a luminous glow. The words of Matthew 17:20 came to mind. “If ye have faith as a grain of mustard seed, ye shall say unto this mountain, Remove hence to yonder place; and it shall remove; and nothing shall be impossible unto you.” Lord, please get me and my team home safely is all I’m asking. But if You feel like moving something, please take this smallpox plague off the McConnells’ shoulders.
The old vagrant Mother and Father had fed and clothed during the winter months gave the McConnells the smallpox. That old vagrant who lost his home and family after the Civil War always wintered in the McConnell’s sharecroppers’ cabin. Mother nursed him and Father buried him. Mother said she’d do no different even if she had known the outcome. Nine of the McConnells had contracted the pox. Only she and Mother had proved immune.
She hunched her shoulders to ward off another blow from the chilling wind. What is the matter with me? Mother always said never to look back at trouble, or else it was sure to follow you around like a long tail to a hound dog!
The left front wheel of the wagon rolled into a rut with a jolt. “Whoa, Daisy. Easy Jude.” Collina braced her boots against the bumper panel, her lap blanket falling to the floor. Daisy fell to her knees, then Jude. She could feel the hay on the wagon shift. Daisy neighed, whipping her head from side to side, fighting to free her front leg from the crevice.
Collina jumped down and worked her way to the lead mare.
Daisy’s nostrils glowed red in the pitch darkness. Collina blew on her hands, willing her cold fingers to become nimble and tried to loosen the taut leather straps. “Jesus, help me!”
Her horses neighed. She heard an answering neigh, then a man rode up.
“What—”
“You hurt?” A pair of strong hardened hands wrapped themselves around hers. “Are you hurt?”
The wind whipped away her words of gratitude, as snow peppered her eye lashes. The man, dressed in a large sweeping grey cape, breeches, and a wide brimmed cavalry hat, scowled at her.
“Who are you and why are you riding Pa’s stallion?”
“Guess that means you’re not hurt. Can you hold the harness taut?”
The soldier grabbed the slippery strap, then motioned for her to take his place. Daisy, feeling the slackened pressure, struggled to rise, thrashing out wildly with her foreleg. Collina clung on, digging her fingernails into the wet leather.
“You’ve got as much strength in those arms of yours as a fly does to lift an elephant.”
The wagon moaned, swaying and twisting like a ship lost on a billowing wave. Flakes of timothy hay flew about their heads. She coughed, spewing fragments of the hay from her mouth. Jupiter reared and the front wheels bounced from the force, causing pressure on the shafts of the last four horses.
“Get out of here!” the soldier yelled.
“No!”
The man’s large hand gripped her shoulder like an iron vice and shoved her nearly two yards across the mud and snow.
A groan escaped her. She’d landed hard. Her tongue tasted fresh blood from the gash in her lip. She stumbled to her feet, wincing with pain.
The man threw his hat off his head. His straight dark hair shone blue black in the moon’s rays. Placing his broad shoulder underneath the cross bars, the glint of his steel knife shone in the moon’s light.
“A knife? Don’t cut that harness. It’s from London, England!”
The soldier glanced up.
She gasped at the boldness in his eyes. The blade of his knife gleamed in the moonlight at her to beware. She glanced toward her wagon, recalling the shotgun on the floorboards and inched toward it. Daisy jumped to her feet. “Shove that rock behind the front wheel. Good, now you take the mare and bring me back that gelding. …Good.”
He hooked up Jude, kicking the rock away from the front wheels. “Ya! Ya!” He guided horses and wagon safely onto the high side of the lane. “Only right thing you did was hitch up enough horses to pull this overburdened wagon.”
He hitched Daisy to the one remaining strap, and retrieved his hat. The inside lead rein dangled like a disjointed rudder on a ship.
“I declare, I’ve never seen such an outfit like the one you’re wearing.”
“Franklin Long of the 1st Volunteer Cavalry, ma’am. Roosevelt calls us the Rough Riders.” His cavalier pride was as evident as the cape that swept his broad shoulders.
She couldn’t help but admire the man. Charles Dana Gibson could have acquired his inspiration for his Gibson Man from Franklin Long.
She reached down into her buckboard and produced Pa’s gun and cradled it in her arms. “Just where were you heading with my pa’s horse?”
Franklin smiled, sweeping his big brimmed cavalry hat from his head. “Looking for you, ma’am. Your father gave me permission to ride him when Doc Baker told me to fetch you.”
“What? Now how do you know the Doc?”
“I was heading for Florida and decided to stop in to see my good friend. He, Roosevelt, and I were on the same polo team back in Long Island. Only, seems I’ve got enlisted by Doc Baker as a medical dispatcher for the McConnells.”
Could be he’s telling the truth. She placed the rifle back onto the wagon seat. After all, if he wanted to do her harm, he’d have done it by now.
“Your lip is bleeding a little, right there.”
“If you recall, I encountered a nasty fall.” Her hands felt gritty. She wiped them on her riding skirt. She felt the knot of her scarf playing with her earlobe. She fumbled with the crude tie. There, she had it undone. Her thick hair, once braided neatly down her back, now bounced about her shoulders in wild curls. “Oh no, it’s come undone.”
A half-smile teased the corners of his mouth.
“Here,” he said, extending his handkerchief. The wind played through her curls like notes on a piano. His eyes followed the movement. “A young girl like you shouldn’t be out alone.”
“I’m old enough.”
“It’s a good thing there was a full moon. It helped me get your team unstuck — I apologize for that tumble I gave you.” His fingers wrapped around her hand as if seeking solace for his actions. “Your hand is cold. Here take my gloves.”
He was much too forward to suit her. She yanked her hand away. “I’m fine.”
“It couldn’t be helped... you did a foolish thing taking this lane.”
“I cut two hours off going this way.”
“Oh? Good thing Doc warned me not to expect the expected from you.”
It was on the tip of her tongue to call him a liar. Doc Baker would never say such a thing about her — would he? Oh, the gall
of this man. “Well, I almost made it. This was the last big hill. After this one I’d have been home in half the time it would take going down Haggerman Road.”
Franklin’s thick brows arched in deep angles above his troubled eyes. “I’d just hate to see that pretty head of yours crushed beneath your wagon bed.” He raked his fingers through his hair. “Girl, you need to quit trying to fill a man’s boots. But I’ve got to say, you’ve got more gumption than most men I know. Let’s get you home. Take the stallion; I’ll bring the wagon.”
“Quit referring to me as a girl. I’ll have you know I’m full grown.”
He chuckled. “Sure, kid. Doc Baker wrote me how hard it’s been. How you and your mother have been doing all the work on your farm. I’ll stay on until I get my orders. You’re going to need help now that your father—”
“Do you even know what you’re volunteering for? Lincoln freed the slaves some time ago. It’s not the glamorous Old South of yesteryear and hardly as adventurous as riding off to some exotic country in a shiny uniform.”
His mouth contorted into a grimace. Collina met his scowl. “Then there’s the smallpox. Some believe I’m a carrier, like that Typhoid Mary person. Even after Doc explained to everyone in town about smallpox, but people still part like the Red Sea whenever I walk down Main Street. I can’t blame them. Smallpox leaves terrible pits on your face. No, you go back to your make-believe war and allow the rest of us to live in the real one.”
Her hand gripped his handkerchief. She had the very thing that would crumble that proud and arrogant face. “Here’s your handkerchief, Mr. Long. But are you sure you want it back? Some of my blood’s on it.”
His eyes turned an icy steel-blue color.
She shivered. She’d hate to meet that gaze when he was toting a gun. Then his fingers wrapped around her hand and she felt the strength of them.
“Yes, some of your blood is on it.” Lifting the soiled cloth to his lips, his eyes never left her face. He wiped his mouth and said, “Girl, you’ve got a lot to learn. Now, get on this horse. I’ll follow you with the wagon.”
Her rifle was in that wagon. She didn’t know this stranger well enough to leave him with her team and a loaded gun. She turned to climb onto the seat. Then his arms wrapped around her waist like an iron corset.
“Let go of me!” She could hardly breath, and all she could sniff was his aftershave, which reminded her what she must smell like, thanks to her horse. Next thing she knew, she was airborne and swung over his should like a bag of oats.
She beat him on his back and tried to kick herself free. Her legs felt like they were caught in a vice. What has he got for arms, lead? “I demand you let me down this instant!”
“Get on that horse,” he dropped her to the ground. “Or I’ll place you on him myself — you can ride, can’t you?”
She swung at him. He ducked, holding her at arm’s length. “I see I’ve got my hands full of one spitfire tonight.”
“You’re a bully. Picking a defenseless—” She kicked him in the leg.
“Ow …defenseless …you …why—”
She took the remaining steps to Raymar at a run and jumped into the saddle. A smirk swept his lips. Did he have to look so handsome in that uniform?
“Just as I suspected, you straddle a horse like a full-fledged Injun.” Bending over he rubbed his leg. “And you have a wallop like a boxer. Now go! I just hope you’re not too late.”
“Late?” She’d totally forgotten. “The medicine!” She galloped Raymar toward the wagon, grabbed the package and tucked it into her coat, then turned Raymar sharply toward the lane. He did a half-rear.
The clamor of her horse’s hooves matched beat for beat the pounding of her heart. Was Franklin just being overly alarmed? Still, there had to be something seriously wrong for Doc to ask a perfect stranger to fetch her back.
The large oak doors rested partly open. Collina’s older sister, Myra, gave them a thrust, then stepped back. In the kerosene lamplight, Mother’s big mahogany furniture etched jagged shadows across the Indian rug, the fire on the stone hearth casting crimson hues of light. Collina walked past the small parlor into the bedroom quarters. Like silent sentries, the McConnells stood around the big four-poster bed.
Her mother’s walnut colored hair tinged with silver was swept into a coiffure. A smile creased her lips. She walked toward Collina with a regal poise that always flowed invisibly about her countenance, that impeccable grace that always claimed recognition.
“Collina,” her mother whispered. “Your father’s been asking for you.”
Doc Baker looked up. His greying hair appeared more silver in the lamplight, and the shadows etched deep lines around his forehead and beneath his eyes, making him appear older than his sixty years. Taking the stethoscope off her father’s chest and clicking the earpiece out of his ears, he rested them around his neck. “Did Franklin find you?”
Collina nodded. Pa looked so pale, so tired.
“Good. Your father’s sleeping now. Let him. There’s nothing more I can do.” He slapped his bag shut and started toward the open door, then stopped, glancing toward her mother.
“His heart’s worn out, Maggie, too much for it to handle, what with the sickness. Told him before to stop harboring every tramp from here to the Tennessee line.” His voice quivered, then grew gruff. “I told Ben, I warned him, he needed a rest. Told him the work would always be there but he might not.”
Her mother gently touched Doc Baker’s arm. “He’s a hard one, my Ben, could never stay still for long.”
“Well, I’ll be downstairs if you need me.” Doc turned, swiping his eyes with his big hand.
“Children go on with Doc Baker. I’d like to talk to Collina alone, Maggie said.
Collina felt like someone had punched her in the gut. They couldn’t live without Pa. She blinked away her tears, hurried to the large brick fireplace, and laid a birch log on the hot ashes. A popping noise, then a meowing wail followed as dying embers encircled its prey with hungry fingers, consuming the white parchment with an unquenchable appetite.
“What… what happened? Father appeared in good spirits when I left.”
“A massive stroke, a blood clot somewhere caused it…”
Her father stirred.
“Come, child.” Maggie rose tiredly from the large Bentwood. “Death never waits on convenience.”
“Pa?” Collina bent low toward the still form.
Her father’s eyes opened, fluttering for a moment. He lifted his blue-tinged hand in recognition. His lips worked their way into a crooked grin. “You got that hay and grain from the McWilliams okay?”
She nodded. “With the usual measure of trouble thrown in for flavor.”
His eyes creased into a smile. “It’s the pepper sprinkled on our table meat that gives it flavor, right daughter? What’s the date? Are we still in February or—”
“No, Father, it’s March and would you believe, I just rode our whites through what felt like a blizzard.”
“It’ll not last. Hard times never do… Hardened people… nursed on God’s Word… endure. Collina, above all, ye must take up the armor… the shield of faith… to quench the fiery darts of the wicked one…”
“Oh, Father, you’re going to lick this. Just don’t give up.”
“My journey’s done.” His lips struggled to form the words. “But yours is yet to be. Your mother, she’ll have a lot to do… with tending to your younger brothers and sisters.” He forced his eyes to stay open. “You can manage, Collina, without me. You being just a day past sixteen worries me, but I knew when I first laid eyes on your wee face you’d be my Joan of Arc, my Esther of Shushan.
“Like my dear departed father fulfilled his vision and I be the product. I knew when I looked into your green-blue eyes. I named you Collina, ’cause I saw you were marked to climb beyond the stars….”
She swallowed. Painful tears blurred her vision. She blinked, willing them to retreat. They fell, unheeding her wishes. As s
he brushed them away, her fingers, numbed from the cold, felt like a soothing poultice to her hot moist cheeks.
His forefinger touched one tear as it lay on her chin, then stroked one long dark curl. “I’m sorry, lassie. I’m putting a lot on such thin shoulders.” Her pa gasped for air, his mouth making a hissing noise. “You’re in charge. We’ll keep our land, the good Lord willing.” He coughed. Mother brought him up to a sitting position. Clutching her mother’s arm, Pa said, “We’ve come through worse. Never forget what Shushan represents. You understand, daughter, you will oversee the fields and the breeding… and not let … the legacy of Shushan end.” His eyes closed.
Was Pa dead?
His eyelids quivered like a window shade blown by a breeze. His dark eyes penetrated hers, seeing into her soul. “Our Lord will walk with ye, directing you….”
“But why not Chester or Jessie?”
“Chester’s married and his place is with his family,” her mother interceded. “Jessie’s just fifteen and Robert’s thirteen, both are too young and headstrong for the job.”
“Daughter, I always told you, you should have been a boy, what with all that ambition, you could have been someone, someday.”
“Pa, I—”
“Maggie.” Her pa panted, gasping. He placed a hand on his heaving chest. “Who blew the lamp out? Everything’s so dim.” His hand waved the air and her mother grasped it gently, guiding it to her lips.
“My darling, Maggie, what… would I have… ever done… without you? I’ll love ya always.”
“Yes, my darling, and I’ll always love you.” Maggie’s tears fell on Ben’s hand unnoticed. “Yes, my love, you go home now. We’ll be together soon.”
Collina stumbled out of the bedroom, feeling more than seeing her way down the stairs. Doc was saying something. She felt his hand on her shoulder.
Swept into Destiny Page 28