Maps of Fate Read online

  “Are you all right, Milady Marx?”

  Rebecca diverted her stare from the two-track to the lanky, beautiful blonde next to her. Inga’s exquisite Scandinavian facial features were anxious.

  “Yes, Inga. Thank you, I am quite fine,” Rebecca mustered a faint smile, and looked back to the road.

  The trail here was well used, if one could call it that, sniffed Rebecca to herself at the bumpy, tracked ruts that had been worn by the wheels of many wagons. The lands within twenty miles of the west bank of the Mississippi, and south of Missouri River, whose course they were parallel to, were sparsely populated. Farm houses— some white, some red—and barns of the same color, or unpainted weathered grey or chestnut amber, peeked from the edge of fields and nestled in clusters of trees. The landscape was a gently rolling, never ending patchwork of cultivated farm lands, grassy pastures, and large clumps of leafless woodlands. Here and there a farmer stumbled behind a hand plow pulled by oxen or mules. Several stopped their work and stared—wistfully, it seemed to Rebecca— at the almost one-third-mile string of wagons creaking westward.

  The day was warm for March. The rutted tracks wove through the trees and open areas, casting the prairie schooner in sun and shade. The clang and thumps of wheel and wagon parts and tools in the jockey box bolted to the side of the schooner was annoying, and Rebecca was uncomfortably surprised at the film of perspiration on her upper body when the blasts of sun cut through the humid air and fell on the black wool of her dress. I shall have to pay better attention to the weather. Black may not be the best color for sunny days.

  After several hours of stony silence, broken only by her curt reply to Inga, Rebecca thought she had made her displeasure with the two lovers’ antics clear, and she turned to Johannes. “When do you think we will stop for lunch?”

  Johannes looked back at her over the top of Inga’s head and smiled. “I was beginning to think the excitement of the trail had rendered you speechless.”

  Rebecca felt her cheek muscles tighten. He really is an insufferable rogue, even if pleasant on the eye. Rebecca appraised him with an aloof, unblinking stare. Johannes was a handsome, tall, well-built fellow, if a bit on the lanky side. His endless, often sardonic smile was set in a rugged Viking face framed by a shock of blond hair. His unwavering pale blue eyes had a rarely absent, sometimes impish, twinkle. He reminded Rebecca of a happy-go-lucky schoolboy on the verge of playing another prank, but she knew that under that beguiling manner lurked a worldly soul and quick mind. She had met men like him on her father’s trading ships, mostly officers. Despite their outward jovial natures, they were cold, hard and decisive in a crisis.

  She flashed a guarded smile. “The trip thus far has been pleasant. Such quaint little farms, and the weather is much better than I expected.”

  His expression of mild surprise at the civility of her answer was not lost on Rebecca. She decided to press the momentary thaw in their dialogue.

  “So, Johannes, what times of the day do you think we will stop to freshen up and eat?”

  “Truth is, it is not up to me. I don’t believe we will be stopping except for very short breaks to tend and water stock. We are but a couple of hours into a journey of almost two months. Stopping for lunch each day could add weeks to the travel. The longer we are on the trail, the more danger. Simply said, delay increases our exposure to unpleasant events, such as floods and storms, or from parties adverse to our interests, or wanting what we have.” He paused, “And I’m quite sure there are many of those between here and Cherry Creek.”

  Though Rebecca was reluctant to admit it, the rationale of his answer was irrefutable. She quickly mulled several counterpoints she could raise to make an argument, but found she could not quarrel with the logic. Her inability to intelligently respond added to her unsettled feeling. She realized with a start she had never thought of how basic day-to-day needs would be handled on the trail.

  Her eyes flicked from Johannes, to Inga, and back to Johannes. “You mean we will not stop at all during the day?” A sudden thought struck her. “But… what do we do when we need to be… private?” She felt herself blush, and noted with satisfaction that Inga’s head snapped up, and she turned widened eyes to Johannes.

  Looking from one woman to the other, realization clearly dawning, Johannes cleared his throat. “Perhaps we will stop briefly from time to time during the day. The wagons and wheels will need to be checked periodically, and if we need water…,” he nodded back to the three, thirty-gallon wooden planked casks securely lashed to the side of the prairie schooner, “there will be waste if the wagon is moving. According to Reuben’s maps, as we get further west in the weeks to come water will become a far more scarce and valuable commodity. Sloshing water on the ground will not be a luxury we can afford.” He flashed a smile at Inga. Rebecca’s shoulders gave an involuntary jerk at the mention of “maps,” but Johannes was so focused on Inga that he did not notice.

  “When you ladies need those private moments, Reuben or I could accompany you for safety, or you can walk out into the brush and then catch up with the wagon. There are enough oxen-drawn rigs in this column that I think you could catch up easily at a fast walk.” He paused and chuckled. “Of course, it depends how long you must be away from the wagon, and I presume that how you dress and in how many layers will be a factor.” His eyes danced with amusement as he glanced at Rebecca.

  Rebecca, still distracted by Johannes revelation, was unable to muster a snappy response.

  “Oh, my,” exclaimed Inga, “I’ve never given those basics any thought.” She radiated such deep concern that Rebecca had to stifle a laugh, but her mind returned quickly to Reuben’s maps. Were they anything like hers? She gave a quick thought to coaxing more on the subject out of Johannes. No, she smiled to herself, I can learn more from Reuben.

  That plan settled in her mind, she turned to Inga. “Fine thing it is. We will be bouncing on this hard uncomfortable wagon seat for months, and that will mean more frequent needs for privacy than normal, with far less opportunity.” She raised her eyes to Johannes. “Regardless of the hardship, I intend to dress as a lady.”

  Johannes shook his head slowly, practically beaming his amusement. “As you wish, Rebecca.”

  “Perhaps you should talk to Mac. Maybe you could convince him to be amenable to a scheduled series of stops each day for the ladies.”

  He snapped the lines across the backs of the horses, with a gentle touch Rebecca noticed. His eyes expertly checked the line attachments and collars as he spoke, “Understand, Rebecca, Mac is not one I would expect to endorse any delay. I believe if we didn’t have to stop at all, he wouldn’t. Each time we halt without the wagons in a circle as a defensive perimeter, we are far more prone to attack. If we stop in single file for more than just a few minutes, it must be only in an open area from which an ambush could be spotted in advance.”

  “How do you know so much about this, Johannes?” Rebecca was fully aware that Johannes was not keen on questions concerning his past, and when he popped the horses again it was with a bit more force than necessary. Then he turned to her, that grin once again creasing his lips. “Library books, Rebecca. I read many library books as a youth.”

  The sound of a galloping horse moving its way up the long string of wagons toward them could be heard above the bumps, thumps and creaks of the prairie schooner. Reuben reined in on Rebecca’s side of the wagon. Lahn was apparently displeased at the interruption in his run, and Reuben had to hold the palomino back several times.

  Rebecca smiled coyly at him. “Mr. Frank, how pleasant that you join us. Your job of standing in the stirrups and waving your hat in the air has kept you quite occupied.”

  Reuben pulled on the brim of his hat before replying, “And good day to you too, Rebecca.”

  Promptly ignoring her, he and Johannes launched into a discussion about some river they would have to cross, while Rebecca discreetly studied him. He was a very attractive man, well built, in a sensuous, but wholly masc
uline way. His face was ruggedly handsome—wide-set green eyes, angular, square jaw, with dark brown hair that had a hint of curl. Her gaze dropped to his hands. They were large but not overly so, calloused, powerful, the fingers in proper proportion to palms.

  Her mind drifted back to their chance evening encounter between the train cars weeks ago en route to St. Louis from New York. Their sharing the same Pennsylvania Railroad train west, had been a surprise—not all pleasant—to both of them. One evening a sudden jostling on the tracks had thrown her into him as they tried to pass one another between cars. Those hands had grasped her back to steady her, then their eyes had met and he had drawn her into him.

  She remembered the kiss—her very first kiss, ever—the sway of the train, the sounds of the track, the energy that coursed through her body as his lips found hers, the fierce pounding pressure in her chest, the perfect fit and press of their bodies, and the strange warmth that spread from her stomach downward between her hips. Caught up in the moment, she had responded, pressing herself to his form, parting her lips to mold to his, and, to her own dismay, instinctively running her eager, searching tongue hungrily inside his mouth.

  Fate kept throwing them unexpectedly together. They had noticed one another on many occasions during the Atlantic crossing of the Edinburgh, but their encounter on the train was the first time they had touched, and the feel, the smell, the magnetism of their bodies was one of her constant memories.

  The rush of desire had surprised and scared her. Frightened by her own reaction, she had ended that kiss with an attempted slap to his face. He had caught her hand in a vice-like grip. Even in the twilight between the cars, she was struck that his eyes had changed from green to grey. She often wondered what color they might have become had she not pushed him away. She had seen him angry only one other time. She and Inga, and Reuben and Johannes had by yet another quirk stayed at the same upscale hotel on Fourth Street in St. Louis. She had swallowed her pride and asked Reuben if the men would assist her and Inga in the furtherance of their trip west. Johannes had been enthusiastic, Reuben far less so.

  The day they were loading the wagon in St. Louis, she and Reuben had a thunderous argument—quite a public display. She demanded to bring all six of her oversized, ornate trunks. Reuben insisted on a limit of three, and when she refused, he dumped all six carry-alls from the rear of the wagon. One exploded as it hit the street, festooning the sidewalk directly in front of the hotel entry with her clothes, much to the delight of Johannes, amusement of onlookers and the sing-song laughter of the Chinese coolies Johannes had hired to help load.

  Reuben was particularly frustrated by the one trunk she always kept double locked, and by her adamant, foot-stomping refusal to open it, coupled with a demand that he discard his “old, scuffed leather case” to make room. His eyes had flashed to grey. “No!” he had snapped with such force that she said nothing further.

  They finally compromised on three trunks, one of which would be the one locked. The balance of her clothes, jewelry, tea sets— except one, four-piece setting—and valuables would be stored at the hotel until her intended return in the fall. Though she had never planned to travel beyond St. Louis, she had no choice. She was forced to go further west, if she was to keep the promise she had made to her father on his deathbed. To fulfill that vow, she had to follow the map he had left her to the mysterious piece of land bequeathed to him by the King of Spain in Las Colorades, on the flank of Las Montanas Rojas, the Red Mountains, in the rugged southwest corner of the Kansas Territory. The acreage was hers by inheritance.

  The map, and other gifts of his, formed the secret, treasured contents of the locked trunk. She wished the business of his estate and related matters completed as quickly as possible. Her mother was frail, and their family finances in disarray after her father’s passing. Her goal was to maximize monies from a sale of the property and make a speedy return to far more civilized environments. Rebecca had assured Mum she would return to their stately London row house by late fall.

  Reuben moved one hand along the length of Lahn’s reins, and as she studied the curves of his fingers, she found the tip of her tongue running over her upper lip. Was she never to have control of herself around him?

  “You are looking a bit pink, Rebecca, are you okay?”

  She stiffened and tore her eyes away, paused briefly to reclaim her composure, and then looked up at Reuben. “We were just discussing the daily routine. Is it true that we will not be stopping and the time ladies have for privacy will be limited?”

  Johannes shook his head and chuckled. “Now you wish to compare answers?”

  Reuben looked from Rebecca to Johannes, and then back to Rebecca. Inga nervously fidgeted, smiled sweetly up at him and interjected, “Good morning to you, Reuben.”

  “Pleasant day, Inga. You look very lovely this morning. Has Johannes shown you how to drive the team?”

  “He has given me some instruction, but I’m afraid there’s more to learn.”

  Johannes boomed out a laugh. “Then we shall just have to continue the instruction, won’t we?”

  Reuben chuckled, “I doubt you need that excuse, Viking that you are.”

  Reuben turned his attention back to Rebecca, “Apparently this is not the first time you’ve made this inquiry.” He smiled, “Stops, when they occur, will be short-lived and sporadic. I would suggest setting aside some hardtack, salted beef, or jerky before we move out each day. Certainly nothing that needs preparation. We brought several water bags. You should probably fill them in the morning and keep them up front in the wagon with you for easy access. From here to Cherry Creek will be a very basic lifestyle.”

  Rebecca felt his eyes rove down her figure, his gaze lingering at her breasts, and again at her waist. Her heart skipped, and she was immediately annoyed with herself.

  “You might want to consider a bit less on clothing, Rebecca. Layers of clothes are great for warmth but we are heading into months of higher temperatures, and they can get in the way and take far more time to deal with.”

  Rebecca narrowed her eyes. “Well, whatever the normal customs on these wagon trains,” she said, pursing her lips, “I am a lady and I intend to be and look like one, each and every day.”

  “Suit yourself,” Reuben shrugged. “I overheard Mac say something this morning. The phrase stuck with me. ‘You can lead a horse to water but you can’t make ’em drink’.”

  He turned his attention to Johannes. “We need to talk about some of the other wagons. Remarkably, there are two other passengers from the Edinburgh in one. By the way, I would be happy to switch out with you and drive a while if you want to get some time on a horse.”

  Johannes shook his head, showed a moment of curiosity, and then looked sideways at Inga. “Maybe later in the day. Right now I think I must focus on teaching Inga…and Rebecca if she wishes…” he looked over to Rebecca with that teasing grin, “…to drive this team.”

  “It just so happens gentlemen, that I know how to drive a team, ride a horse, and shoot a rifle.” Rebecca shot each of them a defiant look. “Rather well, actually.”

  Reuben and Johannes eyes met. Neither responded. Inga’s eyebrows arched and she stared at her mistress.

  After a long moment Reuben laughed, nodded at Johannes, and tipped his hat to Inga and then Rebecca, “I think you are in good, but mischievous hands. I will see if we plan to stop before evening. Mac is gonna do a roast tonight with one of the train’s two pigs. It’ll give us a chance to meet one another and become better acquainted. I think he also wants to make sure everyone knows his rules. When we make camp, we can figure out the sleeping and other arrangements.”

  Johannes smiled from ear to ear, looked at Inga and, knowing full and well that Rebecca was watching, winked at her. Inga blushed, smoothing the fabric of her dress where it draped over her knees.

  Reuben slapped his thigh, released a low chuckle, and then gently spurred Lahn into a canter toward the head of the train.

  CHAPTER 8


  MARCH 18. 1855

  LUDWIG’S DIAMONDS

  Mac could feel the wool of his jacket bind slightly across his back as his broad shoulders moved side to side with the prance-like walk of his feisty mount. He heard the drumbeat of horse hooves behind him but, already familiar with the rhythm of Reuben’s palomino, he did not turn around as the young man rode abreast of Mac’s reddish mare, slowing his gelding to a walk.

  “Much obliged for your help getting this outfit rolling this morning,” Mac said, leaning over the opposite side of his horse and spitting a gooey, dark brown stream of chew into the ruts on the wagon road. “Seems you have yourself a hell of a horse there, too. Good looking animal.”

  “Wasn’t much to it,” replied Reuben. He reached forward and patted Lahn’s shoulder. “A good horse indeed. He thinks like me.” Mac watched Reuben shift in the saddle. “I like this western saddle, but it is much different than ours back in Germany. Puts pressure in different places,” he said, grinning.

  Mac suppressed a laugh. “I’ve seen them European saddles. Reminds me of some female sidesaddle. I’d go bareback before I sat my Irish ass in one of them.”

  The two of them rode in silence for several minutes. Sunlight filtered through the grey, coarse-barked trunks of oak, elm and beech where the two-track wound through stands of trees, the broken rays alternately brightening, then darkening the sheen of their horses’ coats. Mac glanced at Reuben from time to time, sizing him up. Reuben was not an overly big man, maybe six feet. He was powerfully built in a sinewy way, with muscled shoulders that tapered to a slender waist. His body was built for action, his hands had seen work, and the steady level look from those green eyes didn’t waiver.

  “A fifty-two caliber Sharps rifle?” Mac nodded toward Reuben’s scabbard.

  “Yes, with Enfield adjustable ladder sights out to twelve-hundred and fifty yards.” Reuben leaned forward and patted the exposed stock of the Sharps where it protruded from the heavy leather.