A Place Called Home Read online

  The three men were stocky and not very tall, with shocks of bristly dark hair that seemed to have successfully resisted all attempts to tame them. Livi nodded in greeting.

  "Next is Lem Stewart. Lem and his sister are going to their aunt and uncle's place just west of Hazel Patch." Lem looked washed out, weary, odd in a man of such tender years.

  "And this is Hyram Boggs. He and his missus seem to have taken God at His word and been 'fruitful and multiplied.' Your youngsters will certainly find companions among his brood."

  "Mr. Stewart." Livi acknowledged them. "Mr. Boggs."

  "I'm Joss Smiley," said the next man, a handsome, sandy-haired fellow.

  "And I'm Turnip Carter."

  Looking at the stringy little man with his round, flushed face and scraggly beard made it clear to Livi that Turnip lived up to his name.

  "I'm pleased to meet you, gentlemen. I'm Olivia Talbot. These are my children, Tad and Cissy. We want to thank you for letting us join up with you."

  There was a moment of silence, a moment of lowered eyes and shifting from foot to foot.

  Apprehension twisted beneath Livi's breastbone. Surely they weren't going to deny her passage at this late date. Not when her horses were saddled and her creels packed. Not when her children were so eager to get under way. Not when she had finally managed to gather her courage for the trek ahead.

  "About that, Mrs. Talbot." Hyram Boggs broached the subject hanging thick in the air. "Just why is it you are traveling to Kentucky alone?"

  Livi drew an unsteady breath. Sensing that these men were going to be far more stringent in their questioning than Reverend Lindenwood had been, Livi tried to shoo her children away. Cissy went gladly, having already discovered playmates among the churchmen's children. Tad stoically sat his horse, guarding his mother's back.

  "My husband died a little more than a fortnight ago, shortly after we left Lynchburg," Livi began. "He filed his claim for land just west of Logan's Station and cleared a section of it last fall. His brother's there now, getting ready for planting. I need to reach the farm with the seed corn as soon as I can."

  Livi told the lie far more convincingly than she had the previous evening and raised her chin a notch when she was done.

  The men nodded, still frowning, still eyeing her. "Let me be frank with you, Mrs. Talbot," Boggs went on. "We have some reservations about taking you and your family with us. We're going to be passing through some rough and dangerous country, and we're concerned about you keeping up."

  "I assume we can keep any pace your own wives and children can," Livi offered levelly.

  "What about food?" Lem Stewart wanted to know. "You've got no man to hunt for you."

  "Tad will do a bit of hunting when he can, and Captain Anderson was kind enough to sell me some smoked and salted meat. If we run out on the trail, perhaps I can buy what we need from one of you."

  As much as she'd hated to sell David's horse, John Anderson had given her a good price for it. Now the additional coin might help to smooth their way.

  The men murmured among themselves and finally Boggs asked the question Livi had been dreading. "But can you and your boy defend yourselves on the trail, Mrs. Talbot, if it comes to that?"

  She straightened as if a ramrod had been inserted up her spine. "Do I look like the kind of ninny who has never fired a gun?" she demanded.

  To them, she probably did. Surely she had earned that distinction, coming from a long line of women who spent their days doing petit point and drinking tea—ninnies by these men's definition. Doubtless she bore the stamp of it.

  Livi focused her fiercest scowl on the men and shifted the long rifle across her arm as if the stance were second nature to her. Any doubts she had about defending her family she kept to herself. John Anderson had schooled her in the basics of handling firearms, in loading and cleaning and shooting them. But if truth be told, her accuracy left much to be desired. Nor was she certain she would be able to shoot a man if it came to that. To her eternal shame, Livi hadn't been able to pull the trigger on the gun the night her husband died.

  Around her, the men rolled their shoulders and shifted their feet. They beetled their brows and grumbled under their breath, but in the end, they took Livi at her word. Even Hyram Boggs backed down. In the days to come, these men would watch her and test her and do their best to bully her, but for the moment they had accepted Olivia Talbot as one of them.

  After a brief discussion, the group broke up. Livi hooked one foot in the stirrup and vaulted into the sidesaddle without so much as a helping hand. At Tad's whistle, Cissy came running across the wind-washed field.

  As they waited, Tad reached across and patted his mother's arm. "You did good, Ma."

  "Did I?" Livi asked almost breathlessly.

  "Yes, Ma, you did."

  Tad's words warmed her, fanned the spark of pride and determination that had begun to smolder inside her chest. Somehow she had managed to get this far and secure passage for the journey west. It brought them one day closer to Kentucky, one day closer to fulfilling her husband's dream. And for the very first time since David's death, Livi Talbot began to think she might somehow face what lay ahead.

  Chapter 4

  "You managing to keep up, little lady?"

  Livi had watched Hyram Boggs canter the length of the pack train. She'd seen him smile and nod benevolently at others as he rode, but his patronizing tone as he asked after her and the children stirred the rich roux of uncertainty bubbling in her chest.

  "We're doing as well as anyone could expect, Mr. Boggs," she answered with as much gumption as she could muster.

  "We should be making camp in an hour or so," he went on. "Dark comes early once you get into the hills."

  They had indeed gotten "into the hills." In the course of today's march they'd splashed through the ford on the North Fork of the Holston River, traversed the Clinch Mountains at Moccasin Gap, and were following Little Moccasin Creek to the west and north.

  "I suppose we'll be climbing Troublesome Creek Gorge tomorrow," Livi offered. While stranded at the Block House, Livi had made it her business to familiarize herself with the landmarks described in David's journal. "From what I understand, it lives up to its name."

  "That's true enough, little lady," he answered, lifting heavy, wedge-shaped brows. "Tomorrow we'll find out just how game the members of this pack train are."

  Boggs's challenge lingered even after he'd spurred his horse to where the Carter family was bringing up the rear. Though he had other reasons for riding the length of the pack train, it was obvious Boggs expected to find her and the children lagging. He had been looking for a chance to bedevil her, to point out just how ill-suited she was for the wilds. Just as Reid Campbell always had.

  If she were more certain about their ability to keep up, if she weren't quivering with exhaustion, Livi might have thought fast enough to answer Boggs' challenge. But she wasn't sure how she and the children would fare in the rough terrain, couldn't imagine what words could put a man like Hyram Boggs in his place, and didn't dare risk his wrath.

  In the saddle behind her, Cissy broke off singing a nonsense song about apples, beans, and turnip greens. "When will we be stopping for supper, Mama?"

  "Mr. Boggs said in an hour or so."

  "But I'm hungry now."

  As Livi fumbled in the canvas bag for a piece of jerky, a new blaze of nausea surged up her throat. With an effort she quelled the queasiness, just as she had been swallowing it down all day. Living and eating and sleeping in close proximity with so many others, Livi knew she couldn't keep her pregnancy secret for long. She just hoped that when her companions discovered that she'd deliberately misled them, they'd be too far from the Block House to send her and the children back.

  The sun was setting behind the hills when the party of churchmen and their families turned into a U-shaped meadow to the right of the trail. Already cloaked in shadow, the field was swiftly being divided into campsites. Since Livi and the children were sec
ond to last in line, the choicest places had all been taken when they arrived.

  Tad immediately saw the way of things and circled around to the left, motioning toward a hollow beneath an arc of pines.

  "This campsite lies lower than I would like," he grumbled, sounding very much like David, "but unless we get rain tonight, it should do us well enough."

  Cissy pointed to the roseate glow tinting the sky beyond the hills. "Red sky at night," she piped in singsong, "sailors delight. Red sky at morning, sailors take warning."

  "That's very good, Cissy," Tad said. "But we're not exactly on the ocean here."

  "Doesn't that rhyme count on land, Mama?"

  "I suppose it does," Livi answered with a grunt, lifting a creel off one of the horses. "At any rate, the stars are coming out, so it seems unlikely it will rain."

  "Oh, they are coming out, Mama. And the sky is just like apple fritters."

  Livi paused, the packsaddle in her arms. "Like apple fritters?"

  "Like the sugar on the top," her daughter enlightened her, one corner of her mouth hitched up in exasperation.

  After wrestling the saddle to the relative protection of the pine's shaggy branches, Livi stepped back to look. High above, the heavens shaded in a few quick strokes from scarlet through orchid, mauve, and violet to a clear, almost iridescent blue. Stars were popping out, sparks of faceted white shimmering through the merge of colors.

  Livi gave her daughter a secret smile. The stars did look like granules of sugar sprinkled on a batch of apple fritters.

  "I think the campsite will be fine for tonight, Tad," she said, turning to reassure her son. "But tomorrow—"

  "I'll take care of tomorrow," he promised her.

  With unprecedented ease and alacrity, Livi and the children set up the campsite. Tad and his mother erected the tent, Cissy gathered wood. While Tad made the fire, Livi stirred together batter for the hoecakes that were a staple of life on the trail. A few slices from a slab of bacon sizzled beside them in the frying pan, sending up tendrils of sweet, salty smoke that turned Livi's stomach inside out.

  For a time, the other families were similarly employed. But as soon as the meal was eaten, the dishes washed and put away, others in the pack train began to filter past the Talbots' campsite. Some stared long and hard as they made their way toward the stream. A few nodded in greeting. Some of the children Tad and Cissy played with at the Block House stopped by to say hello.

  In the course of the evening, three of the women in the party wandered over to introduce themselves. The first, Ada Lindenwood, the reverend's wife, made her "duty call" to welcome Livi and the children. The moment she opened her mouth, Livi knew how much Ada disapproved of them.

  "Why, my dear, this is such a brave and unorthodox thing for a woman to do," Ada trilled, "to continue on to Kentucky when you've no man to protect you. How very—resourceful you must have become since your husband was called home. Darling Amos so admires your determination. He saw it as his Christian Duty to allow you and your precious children to accompany us to Kentucky. Just as I see it as my Christian Duty to make you welcome."

  Livi ground her teeth to keep from telling Ada Lindenwood where she could take her welcome and her "Christian Duty."

  Tacy Boggs came by some minutes later, one baby on her hip and another growing beneath the pleats of her apron. She didn't even bother to veil her hostility. "Hyram says you got no business being on this train. Hyram says you're putting us all in danger being here without a man. Hyram says—"

  "If Hyram has anything to say," Livi cut in, her cheeks burning, "you tell him to come and see me himself. I don't fancy hearing his words chewed twice."

  Tacy Boggs went off in a huff.

  Aching with disappointment, Livi watched her go. She'd counted on finding some common ground with the women on the pack train, on forming bonds with others braving the same dangers and hardships she was.

  There was no doubt that her situation was different from theirs. Widowhood granted her certain rights the other women did not have—to consult with the men on issues pertaining to the journey west, to express her opinions, to vote for or against a course of action that would affect them all. They were rights that gave her unprecedented freedom, rights that weighed with unaccustomed responsibility.

  But Livi was a woman and a mother first. She'd hoped for someone with whom she could commiserate when her back ached and exhaustion dragged her down. She'd wanted friends who would join her around the campfire, who would make her forget she was frightened and alone. She'd wanted someone she could turn to if things went wrong.

  "Mama?"

  Cissy's soft voice scattered Livi's thoughts. Turning, she faced two dark-haired, dark-eyed girls whose ages must bracket Cissy's own, and the woman who was certainly their mother.

  "These are my new friends, Ann and Verity," Cissy told her.

  "And I'm Ann and Verity's mother, Molly Baker. I thought I'd stop by and see how you were settling in."

  Gratitude swelled in Livi's chest. "I'm pleased you did."

  "You met my pa this morning," Molly went on. "Turnip Carter?"

  Livi nodded and watched as the three girls sat down in front of the tent to play with their dolls. Ann's and Verity's were dressed in chintz and calico. Cissy wore a tattered tabby gown.

  "Are you traveling with your husband, too?" Livi asked, turning her attention to the woman beside her. She was every bit as done up as the dolls, in a fashionably cut bodice, bustled-up overskirt, and bright red shoes.

  Molly Baker shook her head. "Pa and Ma took the girls and me in when Ben was killed at Yorktown," she volunteered. "I've been sewing dresses for ladies in Petersburg to earn our keep."

  "There won't be much call for dressmaking in Kentucky," Livi observed. "Nor money for fripperies."

  "I'll work on Ma and Pa's place till towns sprout up. It won't be long at the rate folks are crossing the mountains. And how is it that you and your young'uns are traveling alone?"

  Livi sacrificed a bit of her precious tea to make a new friend and told Molly as much of the story as she dared.

  "Aren't you purely terrified of where we're going?" Molly asked, wide-eyed. "After your David up and died, how can you bear to brave the hills alone?"

  "What choice do I have?" Livi answered. The simplicity of those words startled her. Making the decision to go on to Kentucky hadn't been simple at all.

  "Besides," Livi went on, "it's better traveling with a group. I was terrified to be in the woods by myself."

  "I agree." Molly nodded emphatically.

  As she settled on her pallet a good while later, Livi's own words came back to her. There was comfort here in the camp, companionship, and security. She could hear the crush of leaves beneath the sentry's feet as he made his rounds, the hum of voices, the piping of weary children drifting toward sleep. Faint golden light warmed the canvas walls of her own tent. In spite of the lack of acceptance, there were people here to call on, to count on. With that knowledge clutched close, Livi drifted into dreamless sleep.

  * * *

  During her years in Lynchburg, Livi had grown accustomed to the smoky ridge of mountains on the horizon. She'd learned to like the way they framed the stores and houses and barns of the small James River settlement. She'd found them protective, calming, benign. But neither those hills nor the ones she'd passed through since had prepared her for the pinch and press of the mountains they encountered three days out on Boone's Trace.

  Just beyond the Clinch River ford, hulking gray rocks shouldered close to the road. Boulders jutted out of the broken earth. Trees stood sentry wherever they could, clinging to the edge of the trail, risking impossible slopes, their roots trailing down like raveled rope. High above, the mountains squeezed the wide expanse of sky to a narrow vein of dusky blue. Even the stream the pack train forded, and forded again, had to twist its way along the jagged scrap of valley floor.

  The mountains weighed on Livi—like responsibilities she'd accepted, decisions she'd made
. Like the sliver of chasm rising around her, the life she'd chosen seemed harsh, unforgiving, and inescapable. With David here, the way mightn't have seemed so torturous or so terrifying. David would have shielded her, borne the weight. But David had left her to face this wild, exacting world alone.

  As the day progressed, the trail moved laboriously upward, the track narrow, the pace slow. The horses picked their way, their haunches working, their forelegs braced for steep descents. There were no long vistas here, just the brows of distant hills.

  They drew off the road at Little Flat Lick in the early afternoon. As one, the travelers let out their breath. For all its relative brevity, it had been a grueling day. While the women set up camp, the men gathered rifles and powder horns, muskets and shot. They hied off into the woods to hunt. Before she could gainsay him, Tad slipped away, taking David's rifle.

  From time immemorial, the saline spring that bubbled to earth in this wooded glade had been a gathering place. Animals had come here to lick the salt, women to dip and evaporate the water over smoldering fires, and men to hunt. Game was plentiful at such a place, and soon rifles were cracking and booming deep in the woods.

  Livi was just boiling up a pot of gruel when she heard the tramp of footsteps crossing the compound, the rumble of masculine voices. Glancing up, she saw her son stalking toward her, bare-chested and streaked with blood.

  Her breath snagged in her throat. Tad was hurt—shot or stabbed. Gore smeared his bony chest. His hands were gloved red to the elbow. She started toward him at a run.

  Only as she closed the distance between them did she notice that Tad was leading a swaggering procession in the direction of their campsite. Men with guns on their shoulders and grins on their faces. The two walking directly behind her son were carrying a white-tailed deer strung up on poles.

  Livi let out her breath in a hiss as the band of hunters shambled to a halt before her. She could smell the excitement on them, the sweat, and the tang of blood. Her stomach lurched.

  "Boy got his first big kill," Sam Willoughby crowed in explanation. "Shot this buck here slick as you please."