Keeping Faith

The wall of trees, uprooted shrubs, mud and rocks tumbled forward in a crash of violence. A foot-thick limb grabbed Joseph and knocked him into Buster. Water deluged them. They scrambled to keep their footing, but another limb knocked them into the mud, dragged them sideways and back toward the creek.

The water retreated, but the tree held firmly and pulled them with increasing speed toward the racing stream. Joseph dug his heels into the mud and held on to Buster. “Don’t let go!” he shouted at the others. “Don’t stand up.” If they did, another branch would have more leverage against them. That tree was a monster they couldn’t control.

“Captain! Reich, grab on!” came a voice from behind them. McDonald. Joseph looked up past the barrier of the limb and saw his scout throwing out a loop of thick rope. It was the one Joseph had taken from Buster.

“Grab it,” he told the other two. “Look up and grab it, now!”

The loop came down over the limb and Joseph reached for it. Before he could grasp it, another limb tumbled over the first with another wave of water, thrusting them closer to the creek.

“Captain, hurry, try again!” McDonald tossed the rope atop them this time and Joseph caught it. He saw Reich’s strong hand grip it and they jerked to a stop.

The limb scraped along Joseph’s side, digging into his ribs with agonizing sharpness until the tree withdrew as suddenly as it had hit them.

They lay panting in the grip of terror for a long moment, then looked up to find a crowd of rescuers holding the other end of the rope.

Despite a bloody nose and scratches on his face, Buster scrambled to his feet and ran hollering after his wagon. With a practiced stretch of the leg, Reich tripped the demented man, then rolled forward and grabbed him by the arm.

Joseph grasped the other arm and turned to watch as the pine tree hauled off the wagon in the clutch of its green arms and strong limbs. Chunks of wood and wagon flew through the air. A loud creak and groan echoed from the cliffs behind the camp as Buster’s angry cry rose to the sky.

“I could have gotten it!” Buster’s face flushed with fury as he rounded on Joseph.

“No, you would have died and left your brother alone.” Joseph released the scoundrel and nodded to Reich. “Let him go. If he’s crazy enough to go running after it after all this, he deserves whatever he gets.”

Buster fell to his knees and gave a wordless groan of frustration as the axles and wheels sank permanently into the muddy maelstrom.

“Oh, I don’t believe this.” Mrs. Reich came marching toward them through the mud. “You men oughta be ashamed of yourselves.” She leaned over Buster. “Don’t you worry, son. You’re not alone here.” She shot a glare over her shoulder at her husband and Joseph. “Can’t you see the boy’s just lost everything he owns? How would you feel if it’d happened to you?”

“Aw, woman, it wouldn’t’ve happened to Joseph or me because we’d’ve never tempted the creek like that.” Reich put his fists on his hips. “This boy needs to listen. At least he’s still got the horses.”

Audy Reich shook her head. “Don’t you think you oughta have a little mercy? Why, I’d be ashamed. Come along with me, Buster, my boy,” she cooed as she took Buster by the arm. “The doctor will want to get those cuts cleaned and bandaged. Can you walk okay?”

A low grumble reached Joseph, and he turned to see Mr. Reich glaring after his wife and the wayward Buster. “That woman would take any cur in off the street and treat him like a child instead of the man he needs to be.”

Joseph grinned and reached a mud-caked hand out. “And her husband would risk his life to save that cur in the first place.” He patted Reich on his muscular shoulder. “He’d be dead today if not for you, my friend.”

“And you. See what we get ourselves into when we go meddling into the affairs of others?” He chuckled.

“Okay, you two.” Victoria came down the hill toward them with her treatment bag slung over her arm. The sun had burned away the remaining clouds and touched her hair with a red-gold glow. “Heidi can see to Buster, but I reserve the right to treat our heroes first.” She pulled a bottle of medicinal whiskey from her bag and held up a clean cloth. “Did either of you swallow the water?”

Joseph glanced up the hill toward the spot where they had just been treating poor Claude and his rescuers. “No ma’am, not me. I knew better than to open my mouth.”

“Same here, Dr. Fenway,” Reich said immediately. “Kept my jaws locked, not a drop of water passed these lips. You don’t need to go rolling me around on one of those logs and forcing salt water down my gullet.”

Victoria narrowed her eyes at them. “You do realize how dangerous it could be if you did.”

“Sure do, ma’am.” Reich rubbed some of the mud from his hands onto his muddier clothing. “And look at this, not a scratch on me. You oughta see to the captain, though. That tree walloped him good.”

Before she could reply, the big man scrambled through the mud and up the hill after his wife. Joseph watched the traitor escape, then met Victoria’s gaze, wincing inwardly as he anticipated the sting of her medicinal whiskey on his grazed skin.

Victoria nodded toward a fallen log farther up the hill. “We can sit up there. I need to get you cleaned up.”

“Give me the medicine and I’ll do it myself.”

She drew the bottle close to her side. “You’ll do no such thing. I’m the doctor. I’ll also take a look at your ribs.” With a nod toward the place where the limbs had ripped his shirt, she raised her eyebrows. “I need to see if anything’s broken.”

“It’s not.”

“Are you having any trouble breathing?”

He took a deep breath and let it out to show her he was fine, and was relieved to find that at least breathing didn’t hurt. “Just a scratch.” But he followed her when she turned and walked up the hill.

“Have you considered sending the Johnstons back home now?” she asked.

“I’ve considered it every day.”

“We’d be ever so much safer without them. You can see that, can’t you? At least the horses weren’t hitched to the wagon,” she said with a glance over her shoulder toward the creek. “Those boys are a hindrance out here, and now you’re injured because of them. They can ride a lot faster by horseback than wagon.”

“I’m not even sure they’d make it back home alive, and I can’t spare a man to lead them.”

She seemed ready to argue, but instead fell silent. Ten years ago she’d have gnawed on the subject like a dog with a bone. Instead, she led him deeper into the woods to the fallen log, where trees screened them from sight of the others.

When she turned back to him, there was a teasing smile in her eyes. “We can’t have the people losing faith in their captain if you start crying like a baby.”

He checked the log, kicked it and when nothing slithered or skittered out of it, he sat down. “Try me.”

She unfolded her pure-white cloth, pressed the open bottle of whiskey into the material until it was soaked. “This may burn.” A quick but gentle touch of the medicated cloth met the cuts and scratches on his face and the exposed skin of his hands and arms and neck. It stung a little.

“I don’t recall you saying this would be such a dangerous trip.” She dabbed at the dirt around the cuts. “Or such a long one.”

“Difficult. I said it would be difficult. That implies danger, don’t you think? It was why I wanted a doctor to join us this time. We need one in the new town that’s waiting for us.”

“So you’ve told me. Have you traveled with a doctor before?”

“One or two came with my wagon trains to California, but people went their separate ways at the end of the trail back then. This time it’s different.”

She set the bottle down on the log and continued to clean the rest of his face until the white disappeared beneath a coating of mud. “You have quite a bruise on your forehead. Do you recall losing consciousness?”

“I stayed awake for the whole thing.”

“Why is this trip different?”

He couldn’t tell her it was because it was the only way he believed he could convince her to leave St. Louis. “Why are you surprised by the hardships? You told me you and Matthew traveled.”

“We never went by wagon train over rough terrain with barely a trail to follow.”

“I believe I warned you we would have to take the road less followed by others for the safety of our mission. We’ll encounter the wrong people on the main trails. I’m expecting more trouble the closer we come to the border of Kansas Territory.”

Her whole body stiffened for an instant and he saw fear plainly in her eyes.

“Victoria? I’m sorry. I thought you understood. I didn’t mean to frighten you. My plans are to take the southern route into Indian Territory, then head north once we’re well past the border. I’m hoping to have less trouble with border ruffians on that route.”

“You’re right, of course. I knew it would be a difficult journey.” She sank onto the fallen log beside him, her dress already so covered with mud that the black material appeared brown.

Something disturbed him about her posture—erect, stiff. “You were planning to make this a permanent move, weren’t you?” he asked.

She nodded. “I feel safer here in the wilderness with these companions than I have felt since Matthew’s...death.”

A slight change in her demeanor caught his attention. “Why is that?”

“I was determined to keep the clinic open by myself, but many didn’t appreciate my caring for the wounded slaves. I had my windows broken three times, someone tried to burn down the clinic and my wagon was burned.”

“Then I was right to worry. I prayed for your safety all winter, but as I said, the snows made it impossible to get back.”

She took a deep breath and her shoulders slumped. She met his gaze. “Thank you for caring.”

He suppressed a smile. That was putting it mildly. But mild seemed to be all she could handle with him right now. Or maybe ever. Ten years was a long time to harbor the love he’d held for her. He was an oddity, he knew. How could he expect her to still care for him after all the changes in their lives? And there had been plenty. Because of her, he’d never moved on with his life, never married, had lived the life of a loner.

“You definitely had a change of heart since you left for Georgia,” she said.

Yes, he’d changed, but not about her, as she seemed to think. “It took me several months, but your words struck me forcefully when I reached my father’s plantation.”

“And now you’re leading abolitionists into Kansas Territory.”

“Remember those arguments we used to have?” he asked. “As you told me, power corrupts most men. When one human being has total power over another—”

“It’s too easy to become corrupt, to see the slave as nothing more than a piece of furniture or farm equipment.” Victoria nodded. “You really did listen.”

“Now the famous John Brown, outspoken abolitionist, is my greatest hero. Do you know of him?”

She chuckled softly. “I most certainly do. Tell me, what changed your mind?”

“My closest friend on the plantation had long ago been the son of a tribal leader in Africa. Then he was captured by men from his own continent and sold in America. My father named him Daniel. A few years ago, Daniel described the conditions of his journey.”

“I’ve heard a great deal about them. Horrible.”

“Nearly half the passengers on Daniel’s ship died before they reached harbor. I always hated the thought of that, but I knew my father was different. I believed most of our neighbors were, too. I never saw brutality of the type I saw when I was in St. Louis. No one bought or sold slaves in any market near us. My father and our neighbors always traveled to purchase their slaves.”

“What happened to Daniel?”

“When I returned home ten years ago, he was gone.”

She caught her breath. “He’d been sold.”

“You must understand,” Joseph said, “my father was well respected in Georgia by a majority of the slave population because he treated his workers more kindly than most, gave them plenty of food, never broke up families—”

“But he sold Daniel.”

“Another plantation owner wanted him for a young woman who was healthy.”

She scowled. “Brood stock.”

“That was when it hit home for me. You won the argument, Victoria.”

“I never set out to win anything.”

He knew that. He always had, though during their worst arguments about slavery he’d accused her of gloating whenever she proved him wrong on a point. “You were the more mature one. For me, life was a competition.”

She smiled, but it was a sad expression. “Was? Isn’t it still?”

“The stakes have been raised, and I’ve changed sides.”

“Then if ours was a competition, I’m glad I won. Still, I think our conflicts had less to do with maturity and more to do with our differences.” She leaned toward him slightly, enough to raise his hopes. Then she straightened. “I was passionate about slavery, and not much else at that time, if I remember correctly.”

“I do believe you were passionate about one other thing.”

She raised her eyebrows, held his gaze until it dawned on her. “Oh.” A pretty flush stained her cheeks. “Of course, I was young and considered myself to be in love.”

“Considered?”

“I’m afraid I behaved badly when I realized it was not to be.”

He closed his eyes. Why did she have to say that? “It was my fault.”

“Not entirely. Your father blamed you for purchasing your own ranch in a free state instead of carrying on the family tradition on the plantation with slaves.”

“I should have left it at that, but I couldn’t bear the thought of my father dying while holding such a grudge against me. I had to ride to the rescue of my family, as if they couldn’t possibly make it on the plantation without my honored presence.”

“Did your return heal old wounds?” she asked.

“No, it only caused new rifts with those I loved.” He tried to catch her gaze, but she made it obvious that she didn’t want to return to their former subject.

“Did all of your family reject you?” she asked.

He appreciated the compassion in her voice, but he would have enjoyed more. “Only my father. I have a sister and several cousins who moved north. I was so angry about Daniel that my father finally realized I would never stay and run the plantation. He left it to my younger brother.” The sadness of that final break with his father lingered with Joseph all these years later.

“And then you returned to St. Louis to find that Matthew and I had married.” There was a catch in Victoria’s voice, and Joseph saw the sorrow in her eyes. “Things don’t always turn out the way we want them to, do they?” she asked softly.

Joseph’s fingers tingled with the urge to reach up and touch her cheek. He could already feel the softness of it, but he squeezed his hand into a fist. She’d made it obvious she wouldn’t appreciate anything so personal. Oh, Victoria...

* * *

Something in Joseph’s gaze caught and held Victoria breathless. She looked away quickly, but for an instant ten years vanished and they were back on the deck of the riverboat on the Mississippi River, with the water splashing against the shore while she memorized every inch of his face.

“This isn’t the end,” he’d whispered. “It can’t be. I’ll never stop loving you.”

Then the whistle blew and the deck beneath them moved, and the years stacked atop each other once more. She blinked and shook the memory away, but not before she relived the heartbreak of loss. Not again. Never again. She couldn’t bear to feel that kind of pain for a second time.

“You mentioned your admiration of John Brown and his sons.” She forced a grin. “Matthew and I became acquainted with him about five years ago.”

Joseph’s eyebrows rose. “The John Brown? Freer of slaves?”

“See what you missed when you hid out on the Oregon Trail, leading folks to gold and prosperity in California and Oregon, hiding from your friends in St. Louis?” She held on to her teasing lilt, friendly and nothing more, hiding behind it as if it were a cloak. “You could have visited from time to time. Look who you may have become friends with.”

“Did you know he once moved to a town established by Africans so he could learn their ways and help them better integrate into society?”

Victoria enjoyed Joseph’s admiration of the man. “He became a dear friend of Matthew’s and mine. He and his sons lodged with us twice during their travels through St. Louis. We’ve heard many stories of their escapades.”

Some of the excitement left Joseph’s expression. “You’re still in contact with the man, himself?”

“I received word of their condolences when Matthew died. They dared little more contact than that, considering the circumstances. Our plans to leave St. Louis were under way when Matthew was...killed.”

Silence reigned for several long seconds as Joseph’s frown deepened. “You can’t know how shocked and saddened I was when I heard the news of Matthew’s death.”

“I’m still recovering.”

He was silent for a moment, then said softly, “You two became quite close, didn’t you?”

She looked up at him. If Joseph was implying what she thought, he was being completely inappropriate. “We were married.”

“You implied a marriage of convenience.”

“I beg your pardon? Please tell me you aren’t outright accusing me of loving my husband, as if that’s a sin.” What was he doing? Was he actually...jealous?

And yet, hadn’t he always been? Hadn’t she known that was why he’d stayed away? If Joseph had accepted her marriage to Matthew, he would have visited with them the many times she’d heard he was in St. Louis.

“Joseph, ours was a marriage of kindness and goodwill.” He couldn’t possibly expect an apology from her for having tender feelings toward her own husband.

“Goodwill.” Joseph’s voice sharpened. “You cared for him as your employer when you and I were together, but he felt more than goodwill toward you. I know he loved you. Was he satisfied with your simple human kindness?”

She stared down at her hands, feeling the sting of guilt that had haunted her for many years, yet also stinging with offense. “It wasn’t Matthew I loved ten years ago.” The words, and the accusatory tone, were out before she could withdraw them.

“No, but it certainly was Matthew you married, wasn’t it?” He caught his breath audibly, as if he, too, had spoken without thought. “Victoria, I’m... I had no right.”

“No, you didn’t.” She cleared her throat, swallowed, took a deep breath to fight back the hurtful words she wanted to speak. “Forgive me, Joseph, but every woman needs to feel she’s the most important person in her man’s life. I acknowledge that isn’t often the case, but I was young enough to want that for myself. You obviously couldn’t give me that.” He was a different man now, however, an adult who had been tested in fire, seasoned and strong. Why should he continue to suffer for one horribly wrong decision that had ousted her from his life and shattered her heart? “As for Matthew, I was led to believe he wanted a partner for his practice. It was the way he proposed marriage. Businesslike and logical.” So unlike the way she and Joseph had been together, slowly falling in love over the course of a year, unable to stay away from each other, a constant challenge for those who chaperoned them.

She’d dreamed of becoming a rancher’s wife, especially after Joseph built a new room onto his ranch house and started teasing her about becoming “Mrs. Joseph Rickard.”

“I knew he loved you by the way his gaze followed you wherever you went,” Joseph said. “By the way his eyes lit up when he talked about you.”

“So it appears I got what I wanted, after all.”

“I don’t think so. Matthew had priorities that took precedence over your welfare, it seems, or he wouldn’t have drawn you into your present dangerous position.”

“Don’t speak ill of the dead.”

He leaned closer to her and she caught the scent of the watercress he liked to pick along the streams, and the earth and water that had nearly killed him. He sighed and brushed at some drying mud on his sleeve. “Listen to us arguing again.”

“Not everything has changed,” she said.

“I didn’t expect him to marry you after I left. Keep you in his employ, yes, but...you’re right, I was stunned when I found out about your marriage.”

She turned away, barely hearing the voices of the others near camp. “I believe you expected that I would wait for you no matter what, even after I heard of your engagement.”

Joseph was silent for a long moment. She looked over her shoulder at him and saw him staring toward the flooded creek, and she recognized the lines of self-recrimination in the square frame of his face.

“Shouldering the blame can’t repair the past,” she said, gentling her voice. How hard she’d been on him these past weeks, avoiding him when possible. He’d been a perfect gentleman, treating her with respect and kindness while she’d remained reserved.

“I thought my father needed me.”

“Your father sold your closest friend. I’m sorry you had to endure so much.”

Joseph reached for her hand, and to her surprise, she allowed him to raise it to brush his lips against her knuckles. “Leaving you in St. Louis was the most painful decision I’ve ever made.”

“Good. I wanted you to feel the same pain I did.”

“But maybe it was right for you at the time. Had we stayed together, you wouldn’t be a doctor now, and Matthew would never have had the wonderful experience of being your husband for those ten short years.”

Victoria reminded herself to breathe. The intimate touch of Joseph’s hand affected her more than any touch she had received from Matthew, and the guilt of that discovery caused her to withdraw again. Joseph released her without a word.

“Brown is planning to move later this year into Kansas Territory.” She hoped he didn’t hear the race of her heartbeat in her voice.

“He’ll have my support. It could determine the balance of power in the whole nation.”

She allowed the warm breeze from the south to dry the perspiration from her face, and she felt the warmth from Joseph’s nearness when he stepped up behind her.

“No matter how many measures you took to get out of St. Louis discreetly, someone could have followed you. Someone who knew you were friends with Brown.” His deep voice, laced with concern, made her shiver.

A crow cawed deeper in the woods and she gasped, jerking so hard she nearly toppled the bottle still open on the log.

Joseph frowned. “Are you ready to tell me what’s had you so frightened these past days?”

How tempting to place her faith in this man, to allow him control over her life so she wouldn’t have to stand on her own, but that wasn’t what she needed to do right now. She had left her parents in Pennsylvania, her husband in the ground by the Mississippi River. She was an independent woman now, and she didn’t need another man to bolster her. Joseph meant well, but despite the time they had spent together he didn’t know her intentions enough to direct her path.

She turned to look up into his carved-granite face and intent regard. He didn’t know her most important secret, and that was something he especially needed to be aware of in order to protect his wagon train.

Steeling herself against his discomfiting attention, she took a deep breath of rain-cleansed air, closed her eyes briefly and made the decision she knew would change everything. “Matthew...” The words caught in her throat. She swallowed and looked back at Joseph. “He was murdered.”

Chapter Four

Joseph might have been a copy of the wood carving outside the trading post door at the last town, where the wagon train had stopped to purchase supplies. Silence seemed to hum with the power of a beehive. The chatter of the others merged into a low echo in the distance. The wagon train had struggled through deep mud, broken wheels, lost wagons, illness and loss of livestock. Few things had disconcerted Captain Joseph Rickard these past weeks on the trail, but this definitely affected him.