Forsaking All Others (24 page)

Then, there he was, emerging from the kitchen. He glanced in my direction and I closed my eyes, hoping the darkness in the room hid my wakefulness. I’d had them open long enough to see that he carried a tray, and on it the teapot and cup. The sound of snoring was joined by that of the tray being set down on the long, low table in front of the gathered chairs. I hazarded to open my eyes again to see Colonel Brandon, in his shirtsleeves, removing his own boots. He poured what I assumed to be tea from the pot into the cup and settled back into one of the chairs, propping his stockinged feet up on the table.

I knew with the slightest whisper, Colonel Brandon would be at my side. I wanted to thank him, to call him over and thank him for preserving both me and my unborn child, but I did not. Instead, I lay perfectly still, loath to move at all lest I attract his attention, for he could see me from where he sat.

Moments later, when he bowed his head, I knew he was not dozing, but praying. More than that, I knew the God to whom he prayed. I closed my eyes, knowing he would stay there all night. Watching me. Protecting me. Praying for me. And I wished, with all my heart, that I were free to return his love.

Chapter 19

Fifteen days. Never before would I have thought to be grateful morning after morning for clear skies and dry land, but for fifteen days the Lord stretched out a road before us that seemed nothing short of a miracle. I watched through a single, small window as an entire country passed by. Mountains and rivers and endless, endless grass. We had rain that never exceeded being refreshing, sun that did nothing beyond providing warmth, and just enough of a chill at night to bring me to curl up around my growing child and drift to well-earned sleep.

Sometimes we would have the stagecoach to ourselves, but often we shared our journey with a myriad of interesting people—many of whom were businessmen hoping to profit from the burgeoning and increasingly accessible West. Never again, though, were we compelled to create the illusion that we were husband and wife. In fact, neither of us spoke of that night again for the duration of our journey. When not engaged in conversation with a travel companion, we spoke very little beyond the pleasantries of health and sleep. Private Lambert, never far from either of us, took on a role of something between a protector and a manservant, and as we neared the Nebraska border, I began to wonder just how I would get along without him.

Neither Colonel Brandon nor I ever discussed just what would occur once I was safely returned to my parents’ home. Perhaps that is why he seemed to be so keen on crafting a distance between us. We continued to stop at regular intervals to rest or change out the horses, and as we came further east, each stop took on a second purpose as Colonel Brandon inquired about any kind of message he might have received. More often than not, a thin envelope with an official seal had been left with the station attendant, and he became increasingly solemn with each missive.

Because we’d taken a different route from the one that had borne me west, I traveled day after day with little knowledge of exactly where we were and how far we would travel before reaching a familiar landmark. Then came the afternoon when, at a short rest break, I learned we would spend the night at Fort Kearny. Until then I’d known only that we were in Nebraska. And Nebraska. And Nebraska. But I knew Fort Kearny. It was on the Platte River, the same river in which I’d been baptized into the church before being wedded to Nathan Fox, just days after leaving my home. Four days, if I remembered correctly. Maybe five. So far away from my husband, so near my parents, and no idea if I would ever have a home with either. When Nathan and I first married, we needed only a blanket on the ground to have a home, and in the months since leaving him, I found I still required little more. In some of our stops along the trail, I didn’t quite have that.

The lodgings at Fort Kearny, however, brought me an unprecedented level of comfort. This was no mere stagecoach station. It was barely twilight when we drove through a fortified wall; soon after, the horses came to a jangling stop outside an impressive white, two-story structure with gabled windows and a wide wraparound porch. This time, rather than the lone, grizzled attendant that so often met us at our disembarking, a man in a sharply fitted military uniform stood at attention. Colonel Brandon saluted him before offering his hand to help me down the folding steps.

Once on the ground, however, I quickly lost my position of being the center of Colonel Brandon’s attention. I was handed off to a Mrs. Hilliard, who offered the same pitying lecture as had Mrs. Fennel and the handful of other women I’d encountered along the way before ushering me into the house.

Oh, and what a house.

Not since my last visit to Rachel and Tillman’s had I the opportunity to see such elegance and luxury. Velvet and foil paper on the wall, a floral-patterned carpet on the floor, and mahogany wainscoting running the length of the room.

“My goodness, but you’re a mess,” Mrs. Hilliard said, obviously taking no pains to spare my feelings. “Here’s your room—” she opened the first door on the left at the top of the stairs— “with a wrapper robe hanging on that hook right there. Take these things off. That door leads to the back stairs, and I’ll have a bath waiting for you. I’ll bet it’s been ages since you had one.”

It had, but my misgivings must have been apparent because she added, “Don’t worry. None of the men stay here. Drivers have a different lodging, and the officer will have his own quarters.”

“And Private Lambert?”

“Barracks. Just us women tonight.”

The tub was set up in a washroom behind the kitchen, and to my delight I learned that my dress would also receive its long-overdue laundering. It didn’t occur to me until later, when I was wearing a clean, cotton gown and nestled between clean, cotton sheets, to wonder what I would wear the next day.

As it happened, I didn’t need to worry. I awoke the next morning to streaming sun—the first morning since beginning our journey that I hadn’t had to hang my head out of a stagecoach window to see the dawn. Panicked, I jumped out of bed, donned the wrapper, and threw open the door, only to find a surprised Mrs. Hilliard—lace bonnet perfectly in place—on the other side with a silver, dome-covered plate on a tray.

“Well, I thought you’d be hungry for breakfast, but I didn’t expect this.”

“Have they left me?” Although I couldn’t imagine a more ridiculous question.

She offered a motherly, indulgent smile. “Of course not, dear. Your Colonel Brandon has business with the commander here—highly confidential, of course, but something to do with new orders.” She spoke this last while leaning over the tray and offering me a wink. “Here’s hoping he’ll get a commission that’ll keep him a little closer to home, eh?”

“Oh,” I said, grasping her misunderstanding. “Colonel Brandon and I are not married. I have a husband. In fact—”

“Now, now—” she nudged past me with the tray—“there’s them that judge and then there’s me. A man gets lonely stationed out in the middle of nowhere. You just be sure he does right by you. I know right well what kind of salary he draws, and it’s plenty to set the two of you up someplace nice.”

Clearly, by “the two of you” she meant me and the baby. At my look of surprise, she patted my arm. “Now, don’t you worry. I’m sure none of those men have noticed a thing, but you can’t hide your condition from a woman who has borne as many children as I have.”

“Colonel Brandon is not the father of this child.”

“Truly?” She looked confused but not convinced.

“Truly,” I said, hoping my insistence would protect Colonel Brandon’s reputation. “As much as I appreciate your hospitality, I would appreciate in turn if you would respect my privacy in this matter.”

If I offended her, she gave no sign, offering instead a saucy wink as she dropped the tray on the bedside table, saying, “Indeed, m’lady,” before sashaying out the door.

I knew I should chase her down and force the truth upon her, but at the time I was grateful for a hearty breakfast and a soft bed to which I was allowed to return. In fact, I slept most of that day, disturbed only by the ministrations of Mrs. Hilliard, offered with a knowing look. At supper she informed me that my presence would be required in the dining room at seven o’clock the next morning, and when I awoke, I found my dress and underthings—all clean and starched and pressed—on the foot of my bed. I’d slept through their delivery.

Colonel Brandon was waiting for me at a long oak table when I made my first appearance in the dining room. Although the table could easily accommodate a dozen diners, it was set for only two, with an empty plate to Colonel Brandon’s left. He rose to his feet as I walked in, a formality never neglected in all our days of travel.

“Good morning, Mrs. Fox.”

“Good morning, Colonel Brandon.”

“I hope you slept well.”

“I slept all day,” I said, slightly embarrassed. “I was afraid you’d moved on without me.”

“You are the reason I’m here,” he replied, capturing none of the humor of my statement.

“And how exciting to be so close. Three more days, do you think?”

“To the Missouri, yes. I’m not sure how long after the crossing. I’ll see to it that I get to a map before you leave.”

“Before
I
leave?”

Mrs. Hilliard came through the swinging door with an enormous tray of cooked eggs and bacon. Neither Colonel Brandon nor I spoke until she had served us and made a slow, listening retreat.

“I’m afraid I won’t be accompanying you from this point on.” He made quite a show of slicing his eggs, creating a mass of yolk and white in the middle of his plate.

“Why not?”

“I’m needed here.”

“Here?” It seemed to me, from my limited experience of window gazing, that Fort Kearny was a well-established entity. I could not imagine any institution needing Colonel Brandon more than I did.

“It may come as a surprise, Mrs. Fox, that there are matters in this world more pressing than your own. We are a country still at war in Utah, and quite possibly heading into another one. Brigham Young might have threatened a skirmish in the West, but relations between the North and the South are commanding our attention as well. I assure you, the stakes there are much higher.”

I was thoroughly chastised by the end of his statement, unable to do more than pick at my own food.

“So I’m to take the stage alone?” I tried not to sound accusatory, but apparently I failed because Colonel Brandon could not meet my eyes.

“I’ve given over your charge to Private Lambert. Or if you prefer, I can see if we cannot find a woman to serve as your escort and chaperone.”

“No.” Perhaps in remembering Mrs. Hilliard’s insinuating, I spoke too quickly, as Colonel Brandon seemed taken aback. “I am quite comfortable traveling with Private Lambert. He is quite the capable gentleman, like traveling with one’s brother.”

“Younger brother.”

“Yes, but quite capable.”

In Private Lambert, we found a common affection, and a companionable silence fell between us. Mrs. Hilliard came and went, bringing tea and milk and muffins, clueless as to how much it all tasted like dust. Had I been in any other frame of mind, it might have been delicious, and if Colonel Brandon’s intake gave any indication, it was. Then again, I matched him bite for bite, tasting nothing.

After breakfast, I went to my room to wash up, and when I came downstairs, Colonel Brandon was waiting to escort me outside. I still had only my one small bag. Colonel Brandon took it from me and handed it over to a young boy in a blue cap, who offered an amateur salute and was given one in return.

“He’s about your son’s age, isn’t he?” I took the arm Colonel Brandon held out for me.

“I’d wager,” he said, and we walked out onto the front porch.

Rather than the large, rumbling stagecoach that had driven us these past eight hundred miles, a sleek, black carriage pulled by a team of six matched horses awaited.

“It will make for a much smoother ride.” He pointed out the features of the wider wheel base and the lighter cab.

“But just as fast?”

“Four mornings from today you’ll ferry across the Missouri. Then—I checked the map—about half a day’s ride and you should be home.”

“To Kanesville?”

“To Kanesville.”

“Then even sooner. My parents live about ten miles north of there.”

“Then perhaps you’ll be there for lunch.”

“If Papa’s up for it. If he’ll even see me. If he’s even alive.”

“Now stop.” With his free hand, Colonel Brandon cupped my chin and tilted my face toward him. “You haven’t traveled all this way to let such doubts enter your head now. You will go home, and you will be welcomed with open arms. And I’d give anything to be a part of it.”

“But duty calls here?”

“It does.” From the look in his eyes, I couldn’t be sure if he was fulfilling a duty or embracing escape.

I turned my face away from his touch and looked to the team of horses that stood so patiently in the cool morning.

“Then I must thank you for bringing me this far. I’ll be grateful—” I turned to him—“really, forever, that God brought me to you.” I meant for those to be my parting words and attempted to take my hand from his arm, but he trapped it, covering it with his.

“We have the same prayer.”

“Oh, Colonel Brandon—”

“Please, can’t you call me Charles?”

“No,” I said, feeling my own heart break in his eyes.

There was a great deal of bustling activity at the front of the house as Private Lambert arrived with the man I assumed to be our driver—another soldier with an even younger face. Still, Colonel Brandon pulled me closer, tilting his head toward mine.

“Surely you know how I feel about you,” he said, stating a fact as plainly as any I knew.

I responded with another. “I am a married woman.”

“For how long?”

“In my husband’s eyes, for eternity. In the eyes of the law, until I choose it to be otherwise. In the eyes of God, for now. Today, and that’s all I am promised.”

He stepped away. “Forgive me. I must sound like some sort of vulture.”