Heartbreak Trail Part 5

Not to Lucy's surprise, but to her great chagrin, Jacob nodded in agreement. "I cannot argue with the scriptures."

"So you refuse?" Cordelia's lower lip trembled.

Jacob's tightening jaw and cold eyes told Lucy in advance what his reply would be. "I have spoken."

My husband is an idiot. Lucy caught herself. How could she think such a thing? But who, other than an idiot, would allow his brother to make his decisions?

"Don't you worry," called Bessie. "There ain't nothing to cooking. We'll show you how."

Hannah nodded in agreement. "We'll have you flipping slapjacks in no time."

"I ... don't ... cook!" White-faced, Cordelia stalked to her wagon and disappeared inside.

Hannah clucked in sympathy. "Poor thing, what's she going to do?"

Bessie chimed in. "Well, she ain't going to find a new cook in the middle of nowhere."

"Cordelia either cooks or she starves." Agnes gave a nod of satisfaction. "That goes for her mealy-mouthed husband and Chadwick, too. Serves her right for being so uppity."

Lucy had heard enough. Amidst the continued murmurings from the crowd, she returned to their tent, pitched next to the wagon. She was rolling up bedding when she heard voices outside. Peering out, she saw her husband and his brother returning, followed by Clint Palance.

"Hold up, Captain!" Clint called.

Through the small slit opening, Lucy watched Jacob and Abner halt reluctantly. "What do you want?" Jacob asked. "If it's about going after Sukey, I refuse to break my rule for some crazy woman."

Clint smiled pleasantly. "I'm going to ride after the Turners. Maybe I can get Sukey to change her mind, maybe not. It's worth a try. Don't wait. Start without me, and I'll catch up."

Abner's eyes blazed. His mouth took on an unpleasant twist. "No, you won't. My brother is the leader of this wagon train, duly elected. You are under his command and will do as he says."

Clint pushed back the wide brim of his hat with his thumb. He slung his hands to his buckskin-clad hips and rested his tough, sinewy body back on his heels. Ignoring Abner, he addressed Jacob. "Here's the way it is. Charlie Dawes and I were hired to lead your wagon train to California, and that's what we'll do. What we won't do is take any of your s.h.i.t." He flicked a glance at Abner. "Or your brother's, either."

Abner's face suffused with red. His eyes bulged out as if he were about to choke. Before he could speak, Clint spoke, still addressing his remarks to Jacob, who stood sputtering. "Anything else? Have I made myself clear?"

Clint turned to leave, but Jacob grabbed his arm. "Don't you dare turn your back on me! I'll take this to the council. I'll-"

"You do that." Clint made no move to loosen his arm from Jacob's grasp. Instead, he regarded Jacob with the cool, fearless eyes of a man who had fought a band of savage Indians and won, and an angry grizzly bear and survived. "Now take your G.o.dd.a.m.n f.u.c.king hand off my arm."

Jacob dropped his hand so fast it could have been touching a red hot iron. Clint started to walk away. Puffing himself up with righteous wrath, Jacob boomed after him, "Exodus sixteen, Verse eight, Clint Palance, 'Your murmurings are not against us, but against the Lord!' "

Clint stopped in his tracks and turned. The merest hint of a smile hovered around his lips. "Ecclesiastes seven, Verse sixteen, Jacob Schneider. 'Be not righteous over much; neither make thyself over wise.' "

He walked away, leaving both Jacob and Abner with their mouths hanging open.

Oh, hilarious! The look on Jacob's face! Self-righteous Abner for once at a loss for words. Lucy had to clap her hand over her mouth to stifle her laughter. She wondered how an irreverent man like Clint could have delivered just the right scripture. Seconds later, she was making herself busy with the bedding when Jacob stepped into the tent, face still red, his breathing heavy from his rage. "Did you hear that? That profane man has taken the name of the Lord in vain! He must be dismissed. I shall not tolerate-"

"We'll never reach California without him."

"Didn't you hear him? He blasphemed!"

"Then cover your ears next time." Arms full of blankets, Lucy shouldered her way past her husband and out of the tent. Back in the wagon, it occurred to her that she'd never shown him such defiance. Because of it, her spirits soared in a way she couldn't quite understand. What she perceived was, it was about time she spoke up, time she stopped allowing Jacob to bully her. In future, she'd speak her mind more often.

As for Clint, she ought to be incensed that he'd made a fool of her husband, shocked by his salty language, appalled at his disrespect. Instead, she kept picturing his fearless, nonchalant manner. Jacob was taller than Clint, and heavier, yet she sensed if he hadn't instantly removed his hand from Clint's arm, he would've found himself a.s.s-over-tea-kettle on the ground, his dignity in tatters.

Chapter 6.

Throughout the morning, the wagon train made slow but steady progress. By noon Clint had still not returned. Cordelia stayed hidden in her wagon, leaving Nathaniel, Chadwick, and their two hired men to fend for themselves for their meals. Some of the wives, including Lucy, gladly gave biscuits, beans, and pancakes to the hungry men, but all knew such generosity couldn't continue.

At the noon break, Bessie stopped by Lucy's cooking fire. "That Sukey had better come back soon." She rolled her eyes heavenward. "Jesus wants us to share, but John doesn't like to keep handing out all that extra food."

"Jacob's the same." Lucy didn't care to describe her husband's flare of temper when he saw her doling out food from their precious supply.

"We only have enough for ourselves," he'd thundered. She'd talked him into being generous for one more meal, pointing out that a leader of men should not appear stingy. He'd reluctantly conceded. "But just one more meal. We're not going to feed the whole camp. The Bentons can starve, for all I care, or better yet, turn around and go back home."

She and Jacob were sitting on the wagon seat eating their noon meal when in the distance she saw Clint Palance riding back alone. With growing apprehension, she watched him draw closer. Jacob hadn't said a word concerning this morning's ugly scene. She wondered if he'd be polite to Clint or if he was still in a rage over the man's failure to obey and his so-called blasphemy.

Clint rode straight to Jacob's wagon and touched the brim of his hat in greeting, casually, as if the earlier confrontation never occurred. "Sukey won't come back, Captain. She's h.e.l.l-bent on going to Ohio with the Turners."

Lucy held her breath while her husband sat silent, his broad face expressionless. No doubt he was trying to decide whether to lash out at Clint again or stifle his anger and resentment. Jacob cleared his throat. "That's too bad. Will you inform Mrs. Benton?"

What a relief! Jacob sounded none too gracious, but at least civil. He wasn't going to dismiss Clint and Charlie, thank the Lord. "I'll inform Mrs. Benton if you like, Mister Palance," Lucy said.

Clint smiled in relief. "If you wouldn't mind. I don't relish being the one to tell her."

Minutes later, Lucy approached the Bentons' wagon, wondering what had possessed her to volunteer for the unpleasant task of breaking the bad news to Cordelia. She went around to the rear of the wagon and knocked on the backboard. "Mrs. Benton? It's me, Lucy Schneider."

She heard a sharp "Go away," from inside.

"I have news of Sukey."

Cordelia poked her head through the opening. "Good or bad?"

"For you, bad."

Tight-lipped, Cordelia jerked back the canvas flap and climbed to the ground. She faced Lucy with crossed arms and a frown. "Sukey refused to return?"

"Mister Palance said he tried, but Sukey wants to go to Ohio. It's a free state. I doubt she'd ever want to return to Atlanta where she'd still be a slave."

"That little ingrate! I treated her well. Never whipped her once, and this is the thanks I get."

"Apparently, she just wants to be free."

Cordelia's shoulders sagged. Her thin, aristocratic face grew haggard, the lines around her mouth more drawn. "What am I going to do? Nathaniel won't even consider going back to Atlanta, and I can't cook. I won't cook!" She extended her dainty white hands palms up. "These are the hands of a lady. They weren't meant for hauling wood and baking biscuits and G.o.d knows what. All my life I've had servants to wait on me. I've never had to dress myself or comb my hair. I have never once cooked my own meal, and I can't change now. It's too late."

Lucy looked down at her own hands. Like Cordelia's, they had once been soft, smooth, and alabaster white. Now they'd begun to brown and roughen. An ugly red burn from a cooking pot marred her palm. "I know it's not easy, but-"

"I never wanted to come on this trip!" Cordelia wailed. "This was all Nathaniel's idea, him and his manifest destiny. I'm much too delicate for this, much too ... too ..."

Spoiled and pampered were the words that sprung to Lucy's lips, words she forced herself to suppress while Cordelia sputtered. She couldn't suppress her anger. Just who did Cordelia think she was, some sort of princess? Better than the rest? The remains of the sympathy she'd felt for this mollycoddled woman vanished, replaced by mounting scorn. "Do you realize your husband and son have nothing to eat?" She was none too kindly. "To say nothing of your hired hands."

The distressed woman fluttered her eyelids in bewilderment. "What do you mean?"

"Because you won't fix them a meal, your husband and son, as well as your hired young men, have been begging food from your neighbors. So far, everyone's been generous, but believe me, it won't last."

"Perhaps I can hire one of the women-"

"Not likely. Every woman in this wagon train is already worked to death, and furthermore ..." She paused, surprised at herself. What had come over her? She would never have uttered such a sharp retort in the fancy parlor on Beacon Hill. Instead, she would've mouthed the usual shallow plat.i.tudes, never dreaming of saying what she really thought. Now her cultured, cozy little world lay far behind her. On a journey like this, no one cared about genteel manners, idle chatter, or polite little lies. Simply surviving each grueling day was all that mattered.

"You have no choice. You must do what needs to be done. It's as simple as that."

"You're suggesting I cook?"

"We'll all help. Bessie and Hannah have already volunteered, as well as-"

"I don't care to be beholden to women like that."

"Women like what?"

"You know, of a lesser standing. Really! I suspect some of them don't even know how to read or write."

"Who cares? You should be grateful they're willing to help."

"I couldn't possibly! I'm much too delicate, and frankly, such manual labor is simply beneath me."

Something snapped. She'd had enough. "My dear Cordelia, let's not get into a discussion concerning what's beneath you and what's not. Maybe you were the leader of Atlanta society, but you aren't anymore. You're no better than the rest of us. You'd best remember you squat behind a bush just like the rest of us."

Cordelia gasped. Her hand flew to her heart. "Why, Mrs. Schneider! I find your remark to be ... to be ..."

"Yes, I know, extremely crude, and you're shocked. Well, that doesn't change the fact you'd better pull yourself together and start doing your part." Lucy could hardly believe she'd just said that. Perhaps she'd gone too far, yet it was high time someone set this sn.o.bbish southern belle straight.

Cordelia remained silent for a very long time. Finally, she heaved a resigned sigh and muttered in a very small voice, "I see I have no choice. Very well then, I shall try."

On her way back to the wagon, in high spirits after her success with Cordelia, Lucy pa.s.sed by the one small wagon that belonged to Palance and Dawes. She saw Clint in front, building a fire. "Mrs. Benton says she'll cook!"

"That's good news." Clint strolled over to chat. "Mrs. Benton has some funny ideas, but she's got a lot of grit. I suspect once she gets the hang of it, she'll be fine."

"I think so, too." Remembering the events of the morning, Lucy tried to stifle her curiosity but couldn't. She tipped her head to one side. "By the way, wherever did you come up with that quote from the Bible? Was it just luck or do you know the scriptures as well as Abner and my husband?"

"You heard?" The lines around Clint's eyes wrinkled in amus.e.m.e.nt. "Were the Captain and his brother properly impressed?"

"Oh, yes." She let loose a bubbling peal of laughter. "Properly impressed, indeed."

Clint nodded with satisfaction. "My father taught me the Bible. Yes, I could match your husband scripture for scripture if I had to." There was a pause in which he seemed to debate whether to say more. "Back home in Kentucky, my father was a preacher."

"How nice."

"Not really. He raised me with a Bible in one hand and a birch whip in the other. I got tired of being beat. Left home when I was twelve."

"Oh, I'm sorry." She sensed he'd just revealed a confidence not often shared.

"Don't be sorry. It was the best thing I ever did. I never looked back. Since then, I've led the life I wanted to lead." He folded his arms and regarded her with curious eyes. "What of you? Are you leading the life you want to lead?"

She responded with a cynical laugh. "Now what do you think?"

"What do I think?" He paused, seeming to gather his thoughts. "You view this journey as the worst thing ever happened to you. I predict that some day you'll think otherwise. That's because I see depths in you that you don't even know you have."

"Really?" She was astounded.

"Yes, really. I see strength, determination, a will to survive. I see a woman who was meant for something more than sitting in a fancy Boston parlor serving tea, much as you might believe otherwise."

"So far I'm hating it. So far I'm scared to death of all the things Augustus Turner talked about. Accidents, drownings, Indians-"

"You're a survivor. If ever I saw a woman meant to pull through, no matter what, it's you."

Struck speechless, she wondered if he was only trying to flatter her. She searched his sun- and wind-burned face, marked forever by the jagged scar from the grizzly, and saw only honesty in his eyes. She should have known. Clint Palance was a man who didn't tell lies, not even little white ones. She found herself immensely flattered. Aside from her father, none of the men she'd known had gone beyond mouthing meaningless blandishments about her pretty eyes, pert little nose, soft, silky hair. Come to think of it, Jacob hadn't even said that much. Since they'd left Ma.s.sachusetts, she'd spent endless hours cooking, scrubbing, and taking care of his child, yet he hadn't expressed one word of thanks or appreciation. She doubted he ever would. "Thank you. That was kind of you to say."

"Truly meant."

She wanted to stay and talk, but standing in the middle of the campground, she could almost feel the sharp eyes of Agnes Applegate drilling into her back. "I'd best be off."

He touched his hat. "Good day."

"Good day." Her spirits high, she wiggled her fingers at him in a bubbly little wave. When she turned, sure enough, there was Agnes staring directly at her with a wise little smirk on her face. You old gossip. She gave a gay wave to Agnes, too. Clint's flattering words still in her head, she walked toward her campsite with buoyant steps.

She was almost there when she saw Jacob standing beside the wagon awaiting her return, fists clenched, face livid. Dear Lord! Had he seen her laughing conversation with Clint? The gay wave? The happy spring in her step?

"What were you doing talking to Palance?" Jacob demanded when she drew close, the volume of his voice lowered only by his awareness of the sharp ears of close neighbors.

"I-"

"I won't have you talking to that man, do you understand?" His chest heaved. His breath came in short, angry pants.

"Jacob, I-"

"Do ... you ... understand?" His quiet words came hissing through barred teeth, reminding her of a wild-eyed, salivating wolf about to spring on its prey. The effect frightened her more than if he were shouting. She fought her impulse to bolt and run-mustn't make a scene-and forced herself to stand and listen. "For the good of the company, I must tolerate that blasphemer, but that doesn't mean my wife is to speak to him, ever! Do I make myself clear?"

She tried to answer but found herself unable to speak over the lump of panic in her throat. Thank G.o.d for the neighbors. She had the feeling that if Jacob were not aware of their curious ears and eyes, those clenched fists he held tight to his sides would surely have struck her by now. "Jacob, why are you so angry? I was only telling Mister Palance about Cordelia. She's agreed to cook."

She waited, desperately hoping she'd dispelled her husband's fury.

Jacob remained silent, glaring at her until, gradually, his heaving chest and anger-contorted face returned to normal. "You mind what I said. Clint Palance is a wicked, worldly man. You stay away from him. Now get back to work." He spun around and left.

Deeply shaken, she noticed little Noah peering at her through the canvas with round, frightened eyes. He must've heard every word. She wanted to climb inside the wagon and hide from the world, but for her stepson's sake, she forced herself to be calm, act normal.