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Authors: DeAnn Smallwood

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BOOK: Unconquerable Callie
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Chapter 16

“Well, folks.” Seth’s voice rang out in the evening twilight. He stood, coffee cup in hand, aware of each face; the people who depended on him. “Good news and bad. The scows are charging fifty cents a wagon to ferry you across.”

Murmurs followed.

“Fifty cents is pretty steep for some of us, Seth.” Concern laced the words.

“I know,” Seth replied. “Now here’s the good.” He tried to smile, but the effort was wasted. The situation was serious. “Those of you who want and can pay the fifty cents will load your wagons on the scows. For those of you who aren’t familiar with the word”—he paused—“scows are nothing more than a large flat boat. We’ll put the wagon on and block the wheels with wood so it won’t roll off. There’ll be room to ride on the scow, but horses, cows, and oxen will have to swim for it.”

“We’re waiting for the good news, Seth,” someone called from the crowd.

“I’m getting to it.” A weary smile creased his face. “It’s possible to build a raft. We can tie willow branches together and cut some of the rushes to put on top. Then we’d roll the wagon onto the raft and ferry it across the river.” Silence filled the air as each person mulled over the choices.

“There’s another way,” Seth said slowly. “We can seal the wagons.”

“Seal them? What do you mean by seal them?” several people asked at once.

Seth waited for the clamor to die down before continuing. “We seal the wagons tight by filling in all the cracks with tar or candle wax mixed with ashes. It’s a job, but I’ve done it before, and it works. Everyone will have to pitch in.” He scanned the circle. “The children can help make the wax paste and put it in the open spaces in the wooden planks. If you have animal skins, use them to cover the inside to make the wagon even more waterproof.”

Callie stood up. “It’ll float, Mr. McCallister?”

“It’ll float, Callie.” Somewhere between allowing her to join the council and the cookie target, Seth had dropped the “Miss Collins.” Callie wasn’t sure if he was aware of the informality, but she was and it warmed her.

“You take off the wheels and push the wagon into the water.” For a moment, he spoke only to her.

Then, raising his eyes to the others, he said, “Just like a flat boat. Children and women can ride inside the wagon. Each wagon will need two or three men to ride inside also and steer it with long poles. We’ll need others to ride horses along in the water and steer it from the outside.”

He paused, clearing his throat.

“I’m not telling you this is an easy, fast way.” His voice was flat. “It can take an hour for each wagon to cross. There’s also the chance the wagon will tip over and you’ll lose everything in the river. If the current is strong and flowing fast, a wagon could be dragged away and we won’t be able to catch it. There’s risk, but there’s also the chance it’ll float right on across like a clumsy boat.”

“Take a minute, talk over your options, then let me know. Don’t worry about the time it takes to cross. I planned on us losing some time here, at least a couple days. I’m hoping we can cross in a day, then take a day to rest. I imagine by now the ladies have some washing to do.” Heads nodded. “We need to replenish our water supplies, too. After crossing the Missouri, we’ll have some dry spots and you’ll need all the water you have, maybe more.” His words hung like rain clouds in the sky. Then the deluge came. “After we cross the Missouri into Nebraska, we’ll be entering Indian territory.” Seth walked over to a coffee pot, and refilled his cup. The sweet Missouri air became saturated with a foreboding chill.

Callie walked over to him. Behind her, families discussed their options. For many, there were only two to be considered. There was little money to spare and if the crossing could be accomplished another way, then that’s how it would be.

“Mr. McCallister,” Callie said quietly.

He turned. “Yes?” he asked, his eyes warm and questioning.

“I’ve made my decision.”

Seth inclined his head. A lantern hanging on the end of a wagon cast its yellow glow over the man, burnishing his dark hair and bringing a luster to his tanned face.

Callie caught her breath. The feelings inside her were not possible. Not possible and not permitted. She pushed them aside and said, “I’ll pay the fifty cents and load my wagon onto a scow. I’d like to do the same for the Monroe’s.”

“Jacob Monroe agreeable?” Seth’s words cut to the point.

“I don’t know,” Callie answered slowly. “I haven’t asked.”

“Better,” Seth said firmly. Then in a softer voice, he added, “He’s a proud man, Callie. Might rankle him to have his way paid.”

“By a woman?” she countered.

“Nope. By anyone.” Seth’s laconic reply eased the irritation she was feeling.

“Okay. I’ll talk to him. Mr. McCallister, if at all possible, I’d like my wagon to be the first to cross.”

“Why’s that?” A chill crept into Seth’s voice. Callie’s selfish request disappointed him. He was coming to admire and care for this woman too much. And if there wasn’t a fiancé . . . but there was, and he’d do well to remember that.

“Because, once I’ve got my wagon safely on the other side, I’ll be free to help the others. I can fill cracks for those deciding to float their wagon across. I can also help pole and guide a wagon on a raft. You’ll need all hands and help you can get. I’m strong, Mr. McCallister.”

The fist around his heart eased. Callie may be petite in stature, but her heart and determination were large. She was a woman meant for this hard, new land. She would meet it head on and whittle it down to size.

He nodded. “I’ll see that yours is first. Then the Monroe’s, if you can convince Jacob.” He shook his head and teasingly said, “I feel sorry for Jacob. Siccing you on him is like letting a badger lose.” He turned to a group of men calling his name.

Callie went over to where Jacob, Phyllis and Caleb sat, and stood on the fringe of their conversation. Phyllis glanced up and saw her. Smiling a welcome, she scooted over and made room for Callie next to her on the log.

“I can leave if you need to discuss this privately,” Callie offered.

“Nonsense,” Phyllis snorted. “You’re family, Callie.”

Jacob smiled. “The four of us are braving this together, Callie. You’ve helped us realize our dream. I hope we’re helping you.”

“Oh, you are, Jacob. I rest easy at night having the three of you to share this with. I miss my aunt. Other than her, I have no one.”

“You’re forgetting someone,” Phyllis said, a smile in her voice.

“I am?” Callie asked.

“Your fiancé,” Phyllis said.

“Oh, yes, of course. Frank. I guess I’m not used to thinking that way.” She hoped she sounded convincing. The mythical Frank was becoming more of a problem than he was worth. Still, he’d got her this far.

“Made your decision?” Caleb asked. “How we gonna do it, Callie?”

“On the scow,” she answered. “Jacob, how were you planning?”

“Well, Callie, it’s no secret that we’re short of money, Jacob answered. “I’m relieved you’re crossing on a scow. I was hoping you’d choose that way. I think we’ll build us a raft, and we sure could use Caleb’s help. This way, you may not need him after you cross.”

“No, of course not, I’ve already talked to Mr. McCallister and he’s agreed to put my wagon first. Caleb”—she paused—“and I will be available to help at whatever task is needed. Still, I was going to ask a favor of you, but seeing that you have your plans made, I won’t.” She sat still, her hand folded in her lap.

Phyllis reached over and gently touched her shoulder. “Callie, ask. If Jacob and I can help, we will. Won’t we, Jacob?”

Jacob nodded. He leaned toward her, encouraging her to speak.

“Well, Jacob”—Callie paused for effectiveness—“you’ve become one of the leaders on the train. No.” She held up her hand to stop his words. “It’s true. Everyone respects you.”

“What’s that got to do with your favor?” Jacob asked.

“I’m worried about some of the others on the train,” Callie said. “Some of the men are city born. They haven’t toughened up yet and sometimes their decisions are poor. I don’t mean anything disrespectful. I admire them for attempting this journey and for trying as hard as they do. Their wives are gentle raised, too. And while some are facing the hardships with strength, others aren’t. I’ve come to care for the people we’re traveling with, as I know you and Phyllis have.”

Both heads nodded. Jacob’s face was sober as he was forced to agree with her assessment of some of their companions on the trail.

“I’m especially worried about Hattie and John Benson,” Callie said.

“I am, too, Callie,” Phyllis broke in. “She’s not faring too well, and to be honest, John has all he can handle and more trying to keep up with the rest of the wagons.”

“I’ve helped him some,” Jacob said. “But you’re right. He’s got a ways to go. I know you and Caleb’s been taking care of Charlie. You, too, Phyllis. He’s a handful, but he’s pioneer stock.”

There was silence and smiles as they thought of the delightful little boy.

“There is a way we can help them more and also help the rest of the wagons. Mr. McCallister, too,” Callie added, enjoying the feeling of his name on her tongue. “But Jacob, it all depends on you. It depends on the favor I’m asking.”

“Callie,” Jacob said, “you’ve danced all around the barn on this one. Best way to ask is just spit it out.” He rubbed his hand over the lower part of his face, his eyes fixed on her.

“Would you let me pay your wagon across on a scow? Just a moment,” she said, forestalling his reply. “If you would cross this way, then you, Phyllis, Caleb, and I would be free to help out wherever we’re needed. I’d like to offer Hattie and Charlie to cross over in my wagon. Hattie isn’t up to much work and with her safely across, John would be able to work with an easier mind. Jacob, he’ll need you no matter which way he decides to cross. I feel they won’t choose to use a scow. They probably want to save every cent they have to put into their farm. And, there’re others we can help. You heard Mr. McCallister say that there needs to be extra men on each wagon that has been sealed and floated across. If there’s a disaster, which there’s a good chance of, you’ll be there to lend your clear thinking and your strength.”

Callie took a deep breath. She’s said all she could. Wetting her lips, she eased back on the log and waited for his response. If he said ‘no,’ she’d just have to accept it.
Please
, she thought,
please let him accept my offer. It’s the best for all of us.

Phyllis looked up at Jacob, her glance full of pride. By the look in her eyes, Phyllis agreed with her every word. But Callie also knew that no matter what, Phyllis would abide by her husband’s decision.

“Callie,” Jacob said slowly, “I thank you kindly for your offer . . .”

Callie held her breath. He was going to refuse her.

“And for your kind words,” Jacob said. “I don’t know about agreein’ with the praise, but I do agree with your logic. I’d be proud to accept your offer.” He held up his hand, cutting short her pleased exclamation. “On one condition.”

“Okay,” Callie said cautiously.

“The fifty cents will be held out of Caleb’s wages at the end of the trail. I won’t do it any other way,” he said, stifling her response.

“Jacob, thank you,” Callie said, as she stood up. She beamed at them both. “I don’t like it, but I’ll agree. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ll go inform Mr. McCallister to put you second in line.” She strode away, her step light.

“Phyllis,” Jacob said. “Why do I have the feeling I’ve been worked like a dog worrying a bone?”

“Because,” Phyllis said with a smile and hug, “you have. Face it, Jacob, no one stands much chance when Callie Collins gets the bit between her teeth. No one.”

Chapter 17

Light was barely breaking over the waters of the Missouri when the sound of axes rang out. Like an angry beehive, the camp was awake and busy. Pots of melting candles sat on open fires, while others were busy cutting willows and saplings to lash together for rafts. The wood smoke blended with candle tallow sending forth a not unpleasant fragrance. Ashes saved from last night’s fires were combined with wax as Seth had suggested. Children, huddled by the warmth of the fires, smiled as they awaited word from their mothers saying that the mixture was ready and they could begin filling the wagon cracks. This was a unique task and promised to be as much fun as work.

Women straightened from stirring the ash and candle mixture, placing their hands at the small of their backs. Heat from the fire seared their faces and constant care had to be given to keep long skirts away from the flames. Hems were already dirty and covered with ash, but no one complained. No one, that is, except Henrietta Widden.

She sat on the bench of her son’s wagon, spitting out orders and advice to Becky and her son. Becky was on her hands and knees, kneeling on the dew-damp prairie grass, helping her husband lash together their raft. They had given in to Hattie’s demands and reluctantly agreed to float their wagon across on a raft. Both Becky and Tom had argued for sealing the wagon tight by filling in the cracks with tar and the ash mixture then floating it across, but Hattie would have none of it. She didn’t want that “disgusting mess” dirtying up her wagon. That the wagon belonged solely to her son was of no consequence. Hattie would have her way or make everyone else miserable until she did. Tom had tried to reason with his mother, explaining that their wagon was heavy and cumbersome and possibly dangerous to float across on a raft.

“Nonsense,” the old woman had snapped. If Becky would part with a few chests and pieces of furniture, leaving them behind on the bank, the wagon would be lighter. Of course, nothing was mentioned about the heavy steamer trunk full of bric-a-brac and useless memorabilia that she refused to part with. Nothing was said about the heavy dresser she insisted she couldn’t do without. No, nothing was said about Hattie’s treasures, but plenty was said about the few necessities Becky had brought with her. Becky, hoping to still her mother-in-law’s sharp tongue, approached Callie. Callie smiled in sympathy as Becky asked if there was any possibility that several of their trunks could be added to her wagon since the scow supported more weight. Callie readily agreed.

Hattie sat and smiled triumphantly as Callie, Becky, and Tom carried trunks and wooden boxes to Callie’s wagon. For all Hattie knew, they could have been carried off to be abandoned on the river’s bank. Still, there was no offer of help from the mean-spirited woman, even though she had gotten her way. The wagon was lighter, but not by much. Tom made one last effort to convince his mother, but to no avail.

Becky and Tom worked hard, cutting and lashing the willows under Hattie’s scrutinizing surveillance. Tom tried to spare Becky the heaviest loads and would often take a bunch of willows that he thought too heavy out of her arms. He’d smile and whisper something to her, and Becky would blush and surrender the load. Callie was sure Becky was expecting their first baby and Tom and her had guarded the secret.

They would cover the raft with rushes, roll their wagon on it, and Tom would ferry it across. Becky would ride over with Callie on the scow. Tom wanted her nowhere near the unwieldy raft. Phyllis had offered Hattie to ride beside her when the scow took the Monroe’s wagon across. Hattie refused. She insisted on staying behind with her son. Tom begged her to reconsider, reiterating the risk of the crossing.

Hattie vehemently shook her head. “No.”

Then, Tom got firm and told her she was to accept Millie’s kind offer. Hattie broke into tears.

“Tom doesn’t love his poor, old mother. You’re unfair and uncaring. You care only for yourself and that woman you married. I’m unwanted, in the way, a burden,” she wailed loudly.

Finally, Tom gave in. Dangerous or not, Hattie would have her way. She could perch on the wagon’s bench, her head held high with righteous indignation. She wasn’t budging an inch and would wait all day, if necessary, for their turn. Unfortunately, their place for crossing was near the end of the line.

Seth guided Tom on building the raft, but he, too, shared Tom’s concerns. He felt sorry for the young man and was only too glad to get away from the complaining woman, once he was needed elsewhere.

Callie watched the various exchanges, at once sympathetic toward Tom and Becky and furious with Hattie for being such a stubborn, bitter woman.

Then, with Caleb’s help, she brought her wagon to the river’s edge, where there was a scow waiting and ready to ferry anyone with fifty cents. The oxen were released and Seth and a couple other men on horseback herded them safely across. The wagon rolled on boards and blocks of wood secured the front and back of the wheels. Callie, the palms of her hands damp with fear, climbed into the wagon, followed by Becky.

Seth caught a glimpse of the expression on Callie’s face and saw her eyes wide with apprehension. Still, when all was ready, she gave a firm nod, and the scow was pushed away from the bank. Callie kept her eyes focused on the receding shore, not allowing herself to look down at the swirling water. Look or not, she felt the unforgiving river pulling and pushing at the bottom of the scow. She swallowed hard, thankful she had nothing in her stomach but her morning coffee.

Two men, bearded and appearing as if they’d been carved from knotty wood, ferried them across. They shouted orders and what Callie was sure was curses to each other in a language she found out later was French. One man, obviously in charge, held a black cheroot in his mouth and a red bandana on his head. He clamped on the cheroot, his teeth white against his mahogany skin as he talked and cursed around it.

Becky’s knuckles whitened as she gripped the wagon seat, trying not to look back at the riverbank where a worried Tom stood, arms at his side, watching her drift away.

A movement near the front of the scow caught Callie’s attention. It was Seth, the water up to his horse’s belly. A sense of well being filled her, and she felt as if the wagon was embraced in his strong arms and, like an ebbing tide, fear began to recede. The water was up to Seth’s stirrups now and his horse was swimming.

Callie felt concerned about the man and horse, but it was unfounded worry. They had crossed the Missouri!

Once safely on the opposite bank, Callie and Becky saw the wagon off and the oxen secured. Becky would stay with them while she would ride back to help others. She wasn’t looking forward to crossing without the meager protection of the wagon. She would be alone on the scow with two men who spoke so little English.

Just as Callie reached the rocking scow, she heard a voice call out behind her.

“Move out!”

Callie turned to the voice, objections ready to fly from her tongue. Why would he tell them to leave her?

He rode up alongside of her. “Give me your hand, Callie.” He leaned over the side of his horse, arm extended, muscles bunched, fingers ready to clasp. “You’re riding across with me.”

Callie looked at him and his smile offered along with the hand-up.

“I am?” she asked.

“Yep. You’re safer with me and Tramp than on that scow with those two. Come on.” He slightly raised his arm and flexed his fingers.

“But, Mr. McCallister. Your horse,” Callie stammered.

“Tramp’s a trooper. He can carry two easily. We’ll cross back up a ways where it’s not as deep. We needed the depth here for the scow, but Tramp sure doesn’t.” His words were light, reassuring. Confidence oozed from the man.

Callie stepped to the horse’s side and trustingly put her arm up. Seth grabbed her, his hand closing around her arm, encasing it in his firm grip. And with a gentle strength, he pulled her up and swung her around in back of him.

“Put your arms around my waist, and hang on.” He clicked his tongue and Tramp willingly stepped into the water. Callie closed her eyes and hung on with all her might. She rested her forehead against Seth’s broad back. Once, she felt Tramp’s feet fumble on the river rocks and involuntarily cried out .

“Easy,” Seth said softly. “He’s just getting his footing.”

The hem of Callie’s long skirt dragged in the water, and in the middle of the river, she felt Tramp’s legs moving with surging power as he swam across to the other side. The momentum of Tramp’s lunge as he topped the bank threw Callie back and she tightened her grip around Seth’s waist, not caring that she was squeezing the air out of the man. It was with great relief and a sigh of thankfulness when she, with Seth’s help, slid down from Tramp’s back. Seth didn’t release her but held her arm tight in his grasp giving her time for the trembling to stop and her legs to support her. She took a deep breath, then stepped back.

Seth’s eyes were as blue as the summer sky and held a twinkle to rival the stars at night.

“Thank you, Mr. McCallister. I think,” Callie added, her voice shaky.

“Callie,” Seth said, “don’t you think we know each other well enough now that you could call me Seth? After all, you darned near squeezed the life outta me back there. I’ll be wearing your handprints around my middle for days to come. Seems like dropping the Mr. McCallister would be the neighborly thing to do under the circumstances,” he said, a mocking grin on his face. Then, tipping his hat, he swung his horse around and left her there on the bank of the Missouri, speechless.

BOOK: Unconquerable Callie
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