Brides of Georgia Page 2

  He turned his head to call over his shoulder. “Are you ladies comfortable back there?”

  Mrs. Cobb replied first. “Yes, Nathaniel, we’re fine.”

  Miss Locke’s snort of disagreement followed on the heels of the widow’s words. “I don’t see how you can expect us to be comfortable when you’ve hit every rock and rut between here and Fort New Echota.”

  Nathaniel started to offer her the reins but refrained from doing so, afraid she might take him up on it. He tightened his grip.

  Mrs. Cobb clucked her tongue. “‘He that refraineth his lips is wise. The tongue of the just is as choice silver.’ Abby honey, it’s a long way to Raleigh. Criticism will only make the road bumpier.”

  A grin tipped Nathaniel’s lips upward as he snapped the reins to encourage the horses to step up their pace a bit. Stopping the wagon to kiss Mrs. Cobb would likely earn him further scorn from Miss Locke, so he satisfied himself with basking in the silence that resulted from the widow’s gentle rebuke.

  Growing up in the preacher’s house, he was accustomed to hearing scriptures used as a ready answer for any of life’s questions. But Nathaniel hadn’t bothered to look for a verse that instructed a man who’d been branded with dishonor. Reverend Danfield would be disappointed, more so than he already was. Nathaniel’s insistence on joining the army instead of becoming a minister hadn’t been well received by the man who raised him. How could he write to the kindly preacher and tell him about the dishonorable discharge? Nathaniel shook off the thought.

  Nathaniel traced his finger along the crude map and frowned. According to Rufe, the hostler at Fort New Echota, they should have come to a miner’s road by now. Nathaniel had patiently endured the elderly man’s ramblings about fighting in the Revolution and being among the first to carve out an existence in the part of Georgia they now navigated. While the old gent spun his stories, he scratched out the markings on a scrap of oilcloth with a piece of charcoal and assured Nathaniel if he followed the miner’s road, he’d be in Blairsville in less than a week, cutting a couple of days off their journey. Counting off the sunsets and sunrises in his mind, they should have come upon Blairsville two or three days ago.

  When he’d steered the team onto the trail they currently followed, he’d thought this was Rufe’s miner’s road. By the time they’d made camp last night, the road had narrowed to a path barely wide enough for the wagon. Surely if they pressed on today, they’d come to Blairsville, where they could replenish their supplies.

  He leaned to his left and glanced around the corner of the wagon at the women who were engaged in making breakfast. The colonel’s daughter had proved her worth at helping with the cooking and setting up camp each evening. She and Mrs. Cobb got along well. All her faultfinding seemed to be reserved for him. His uncertainty about their position would no doubt spur a whole new round of criticism. The relentless rain they’d encountered the past two days had slowed them considerably, and the colonel’s daughter had all but accused Nathaniel of causing the inclement weather. If God used each circumstance to teach His children some spiritual truth, Nathaniel hoped he learned it quickly.

  Nathaniel grimaced as he recalled the conversation he’d overheard the night before between Mrs. Cobb and Miss Locke. He wanted to resent Miss Locke’s attitude, but her lamenting over being sent away struck a nerve. More than most people, Nathaniel understood the sting of rejection.

  Felicia’s rejection.

  He gritted his teeth against the uninvited memory and stuffed the map into his bedroll. The aroma of fresh coffee and frying fatback drew him to the campfire. Miss Locke glanced up from pouring coffee into a tin cup. She made a lovely picture standing there in the midst of the early morning sun that created planes of ethereal light beaming through the trees. Lovely, as long as she didn’t open her mouth.

  Mrs. Cobb handed a tin plate to Nathaniel. “There’s still some honey in the crock.” She tucked an unruly tendril of gray hair into her bonnet. “Do you think perhaps you could snare a rabbit for supper?”

  Nathaniel looked past Miss Locke through the trees. Woods should be full of game. He nodded. “We’ll stop early this afternoon, and I’ll go hunting.”

  “Stop early?” The disagreement in Miss Locke’s voice grated on Nathaniel’s nerves like a striated note from an out-of-tune fiddle. “We’ll be on this cow path you call a road forever if we stop early. It doesn’t look as if it’s been traveled in years. Weren’t we supposed to arrive in Blairsville before now? You know we’re running low on food and other supplies.”

  “Abby dear, Nathaniel is doing the best he can.” Mrs. Cobb patted the younger woman’s shoulder and handed him a tin cup of steaming coffee.

  The sigh that escaped Miss Locke’s lips defined her melancholy mood. “Do you think we’ll reach Blairsville today?”

  It wasn’t a question he wanted to answer. The sinking sensation in his stomach mocked him as he stared at the women over the edge of his coffee cup. He wished he could assure both ladies that they were on course and on schedule. Old Rufe’s map and directions were proving as faulty as the man’s memory of the battles he’d fought. Other men at the fort could have given him more accurate directions, but none would speak to him. His stigma of dishonor caused doors to slam in his face. Rufe was the only one who talked to him.

  Deciding honesty was best, he took a sip of coffee and met the expectant gazes of both women.

  “I hope so.” He didn’t blink as he looked squarely into Miss Locke’s eyes and braced himself for her reaction. “This miner’s road is not what I expected.” He jutted his chin toward the rising sun. “For the most part, this trail is heading straight east. After the rain and clouds cleared last night, I checked the position of the Polaris star to the north and the constellation Orion to the south. I had hoped this miner’s road would lead us in a more northeasterly direction.”

  “You hoped?” Miss Locke sputtered. “Do you mean to tell us we’re lost?”

  Irritation burned in his chest. “I just told you we can accurately determine our position by the sun during the day and the stars at night.” At least that much was true, but he stopped short of telling the women they weren’t lost. He stuffed the last bite of corn bread in his mouth and dropped his empty tin plate into the bucket on the tailgate.

  “If you ladies will break camp, I’ll start harnessing the horses. I want to be ready to roll in twenty minutes.”

  Miss Locke planted her hands on her hips. “But you just said you don’t know where this road leads.”

  He gave her a hard look. Her dark-brown eyes snapped with tenacity, and the curve of her cheek presented a mighty temptation for a man to forget himself. Mahogany hair pulled back into a single thick braid down her back caught the morning light. But present circumstances carved a chasm between them.

  “Twenty minutes, Miss Locke.” He strode off to tend to his task wishing they were closer to Raleigh.

  As the lingering raindrops evaporated from the foliage and the sun rose to its zenith, Abby was grateful for the canopy of trees. The ascending terrain most of the morning had hampered their progress. Mr. Danfield pulled back on the lines to bring the team to a halt and glanced over his shoulder at her and Florrie.

  “We’ll stop here for about thirty minutes to rest the horses. I’ll see if I can find a stream to fill the canteens.”

  Florrie tucked away her knitting. “We’ll have some lunch ready for you when you get back.”

  When Abby slid to the end of the tailgate, Mr. Danfield offered his hand and helped her disembark the wagon. The strength of his hand sent tingles all the way to her elbow. Without a word, he slung the canteens over his shoulder and proceeded up the trail. She followed him with her eyes. Was it her imagination or had the way grown narrower? The ravine to the left plunged several hundred feet and the woods and thick underbrush on the right hemmed them close to the edge.

  Abby busied her hands helping Florrie with assembling a lunch of leftovers. Nathaniel returned to the wagon and
tossed the canteens inside. He accepted the piece of cold corn bread Florrie handed him and sat on a rock. He appeared troubled, as if he had something he needed to confess.

  “Ladies, you aren’t going to be happy about this, but I’m afraid the trail up ahead is impassable.”

  “What do you mean?” Distress filled Abby’s chest. With every passing day the knot in her stomach grew. At first the prospect of spending the rest of the year with Aunt Charlotte nurtured resentment, but as she and Florrie talked last night, the widow’s gentle understanding caused Abby to admit regret in forcing her father’s hand. Given another chance, she’d repent of her insolence and disrespect, but it was too late. She was already more than a week’s journey away from the fort, following a trail on a wooded mountainside that led to who knew where. Needles of panic pricked her. “Are we going to have to cut our way through? I thought this was a miner’s road.”

  Florrie laid a calming hand on Miss Locke’s shoulder. “What do you propose, Nathaniel?”

  He swallowed the corn bread and took a sip of water from his tin cup. “We have no choice. We’ll have to turn around.”

  “Turn around? And go where?” Abby flung both arms out to her sides. If she could choose, she’d opt to go back to Fort New Echota. But the privilege of choice had been taken out of her hands.

  Mr. Danfield gestured in the direction they’d come. “Two days back we passed a trail that branched off to the north. It seemed to be well traveled, but according to the map and directions I was given—”

  “What map? Whose directions?” She tried unsuccessfully to keep the petulance from her voice.

  The deposed army officer stood and drained the remainder of his water cup. “Miss Locke, we need to turn this wagon around. You can help if you want to, but if not, please do me the favor of staying out of my way.”

  Mrs. Cobb wrung her hands. “Abby! Nathaniel! Both of you stop this. Squabbling isn’t going to get us where we need to go.”

  “Hmph.” Abby crossed her arms and turned her back on him.

  Was this a bad joke? As much as Abby dreaded going to Raleigh, being lost in the wilderness didn’t hold much appeal either. She watched as Mr. Danfield maneuvered the horses to the side and then guided them to step back, turning the wagon sharply backward. The left rear wheel dug into the soft, rain-soaked dirt. She waved both hands over her head.

  “Stop!”

  Mr. Danfield threw her a vexed look. “What is it, Miss Locke?”

  She pointed to the wheel. “You need to put something under this wheel before it sinks in any deeper.”

  Mr. Danfield stomped over and scowled at the wheel. “I’ll see if I can find some flat rocks.”

  Florrie bustled over and looked over the situation. “We can help, can’t we, Abby?”

  Before she could reply, Mr. Danfield held up his hand. “No, no. I don’t want you ladies carrying rocks. They’re likely to be muddy after two days of rain. Besides, you might find a snake living under a rock.”

  Abby pondered his last statement. She couldn’t dismiss her father’s opinion of the man. Disallowing her and Florrie to help him with the rocks might be chivalrous, but dishonor was a designation she couldn’t ignore. Sometimes snakes weren’t the only things of which to beware.

  Once he had a number of rocks in place, he took the reins and waved his hand toward the ladies. “Miss Locke, if you and Mrs. Cobb will please stay over there while I back this wagon up.” He whistled to the team and encouraged them into motion.

  The rocks worked, and the wagon lurched backward. The instant the left rear wheel cleared the rocks, however, the soft dirt crumbled and collapsed under the weight of the wagon, triggering a small landslide down the ravine. The rear wheel pitched downward, slamming the wooden spokes on an exposed boulder. The wagon tipped precariously.

  Abby clapped a hand over her mouth to prevent a scream from escaping. Thumping and scraping noises inside the canvas-covered wagon testified to the shifting of the cargo. She heard the trunks slam against the tailgate.

  Mr. Danfield calmed the spooked horses. “Whoa, there.” He looked over to where Florrie stood clinging to Abby’s hand. “You ladies keep back. That ledge is unstable.”

  The initial alarm that tightened her throat ripened into anger in the space of a single heartbeat. She crossed her arms over her chest and allowed the sarcasm to spill from her mouth. “Now is a fine time to realize that. Why didn’t you check before you began backing the wagon up?” She sent him the hottest glare she could manage.

  He didn’t give her a glance but instead slowly edged to the back of the wagon to inspect the left rear wheel. She heard him heave a sigh.

  “The wheel spokes are broken.”

  “Oh dear. What will we do, Nathaniel?” Florrie clasped her hands under her chin.

  He came around the front of the wagon, patting the horses as he went. “We have a spare wheel tied under the wagon bed, but I’m going to have to use a lever and fulcrum to raise that corner of the wagon up. First, I need to lighten the load.”

  Heat rose into Abby’s face. “This is outrageous. When my father hears of this—”

  “Abby, please.” Florrie spun and gripped her by the shoulders. The widow spoke as sternly as a schoolmarm. “Your anger isn’t helping. Let’s give Nathaniel a hand unloading.”

  Mr. Danfield picked up a large rock and positioned it behind the right rear wheel before reaching in and grabbing two bulging satchels. He tossed them to the ground and eyed Abby. “I’m going to make sure the brake is set. Don’t try to climb into the wagon.”

  He strode to the front of the wagon and set one booted foot on the hub of the wheel to climb to the driver’s seat. A gravelly laugh sounded behind her. She whipped around. Two men, the lower half of their faces covered with neckerchiefs, pointed guns at Mr. Danfield.

  Chapter 3

  Abby’s breath caught in her throat. One of the men aimed his gun in her direction. It looked like a cannon. Her heartbeat roared in her ears. Mr. Danfield raised his hands and moved toward Florrie like he was stepping on glass. Abby fought off a wave of dizziness and clenched her fists, forcing air into her lungs. She would not swoon.

  “You, I said move.” The gunman wearing a leather vest and faded red neckerchief waggled his weapon in her face. “Get over there.”

  “Miss Locke?” Mr. Danfield spoke in a quiet, even voice. “Just do what they say. Come over here with Mrs. Cobb.”

  “Please, Abby.” The quiver in Florrie’s voice pierced Abby’s heart. How dare these hooligans frighten Florrie. Outrage ignited deep within her chest. “Mr. Danfield, do something.”

  The other man wearing the blue neckerchief over his face cackled. “Sonny boy is doin’ just fine, missy. Now do as you’re told and you won’t get hurt.”

  She backed up toward Florrie. The poor woman’s hands trembled as her fingers clutched Abby’s sleeve. Abby cut her eyes toward Mr. Danfield, who reached to push her behind him.

  “Take what you want, but leave these women alone.”

  Abby couldn’t believe her ears. “What do you mean, telling them to take what they want?”

  The man with the red neckerchief laughed. “She’s a spit-fire, ain’t she?” Abby shivered under the scrutiny of his cold eyes.

  The outlaw glanced over his shoulder. “See what’s in them bags there.”

  “No!” Abby started to take a step forward, but Mr. Danfield grabbed her arm and tugged her back behind him.

  “Stay put, and be quiet.”

  Indignation rankled her as the second man yanked articles of clothing from the satchels and tossed them in the dirt. “I’ll not be quiet. He has no right—”

  Mr. Danfield spun to face her. His glower froze her words before they could cross her lips. He hissed at her through clenched teeth, “What would you rather lose? Your belongings or your life? Now be quiet, and do what they say.”

  Abby glared back. Her chest heaved in and out, and her stomach twisted into a knot.

  �
��That’s good advice.” The man in the vest sent a piercing look in Abby’s direction, while the one with the blue neckerchief yanked her reticule from the satchel.

  “What have we here?” The thief tugged on the strings holding the purse closed, but the first man stopped him.

  “Toss it here. We’ll look inside later when we bivouac.” He brandished his gun and motioned Mr. Danfield toward the team. “Unhitch them horses and bring ‘em over here.”

  Abby saw the muscles in Mr. Danfield’s neck stiffen, and he hesitated for a long moment. When the man pulled back the hammer of his pistol, Mr. Danfield lifted both arms out to his sides.

  “All right.” He moved toward the horses. “Just leave the ladies alone.” He followed the criminal’s order with wooden-like movements, continually glancing at Abby and Florrie. Ire curled its claws around Abby’s stomach. Her mind raced to remember where Mr. Danfield kept his rifle. Under the driver’s seat. Could he reach in for the gun while unhitching the horses?

  Mr. Danfield loosed the horses from their harnesses and led them where the outlaw directed, looping the reins over a low-hanging branch. He returned and positioned himself in front of Florrie, motioning Abby to stay behind him. The bandit standing before them directed the other to raid the back of the wagon. The second man holstered his gun and climbed up the front wheel, swinging his leg over the driver’s seat and into the back of the wagon. The very idea of either one of the malefactors touching her things—especially those things hidden in the bottom of her smaller trunk—sent shafts of revulsion through her. No, they would not put their filthy hands on her precious keepsakes. She lunged forward.

  The outlaw in the leather vest startled when she knocked against his arm. His gun fell to the ground. Before she could draw breath, Mr. Danfield dove for the weapon. A tangle of arms and legs ensued as the two men fought for control.