Kate really did love to play, but with being on the trail and all the preparations beforehand, she felt so out of practice. She gently tugged the case from its cocoon of quilts and opened the battered lid. The instrument shone in the firelight, old and worn, the nicks and scratches marking the journey it had made from Ireland all those years ago with her pa. But the years and scratches and miles had only made its sound more rich, more full, as if it carried in its voice the wisdom and passion of every person who had ever held it. Kate gently picked up her old friend and cradled it on her shoulder beneath her chin. Then she plucked the strings and winced. The weeks of jostling in the wagon hadn’t been kind to the strings. Rubbing resin on her bow, she drew it across the bridge and deftly turned the tuning pegs until the notes rang true.
A cheer went up as she emerged from the wagon, fiddle in hand. A small crowd had already gathered around their fire, so she plopped onto the wagon tongue and played a few experimental notes, reorienting her fingers to the delicate strings after weeks of leather reins and harnesses. Within seconds she was back. Her heart filled with music, and her hands poised, ready to play.
Kate struck the opening notes of a whirlwind jig, and wide smiles broke out on the faces of the people gathered round amidst a flurry of finding partners. Her parents, the Schmidts, and Danny and Hannah all swirled and laughed, while the Schmidt boys bobbed goofily on the edges. Ian seemed content to watch, clapping the beat and lending his baritone to the lively song. Even though Danny had all but forced her to play, it still made her glad that her music brought joy into people’s lives.Besides, she thought with a sly grin,I’ll just have to get Danny back someday.
She ended the jig with a flourish and immediately jumped into a reel. Turning and stomping feet kicked up the dust, but no one seemed to mind it now. By the time she finished the reel, more people had joined inthe dancing, drawn by the sounds of laughter and music, and soon they had an impromptu dance in full swing.
An older man came and sat beside her, cocking his head with a half smile, listening to her play, then he pulled out a harmonica and jumped in on accompaniment. They were soon joined by a young lad with a hand drum and a bright tenor, and they played together, not knowing each others’ names yet fused in friendship through the music they brought. As the evening wore on, they learned the nuances of each person’s skills and style, as if they’d played together all their lives, each taking lead where they knew the songs best, lending harmonies as they learned. It was beautiful, and Kate loved it.
Faces flashed past her, familiar and unknown. Danny danced with Hannah for the fourth time. Maria came with James and little Davie; Ian finally joined in, dancing with a shy girl in a yellow dress. Kate even saw Sebastian there, partnering with every pretty girl who would have him, and she smiled as she watched him now, spinning a lanky girl half a head taller than he. Over Sebastian’s ten-gallon hat, Kate glimpsed Andrew leaning against a wagon wheel, shoulders hunched a little as they always were, surveying the crowd. Their eyes met over the swirling heads, and he smiled, dark eyes sparkling in the firelight. Her heart lurched a little and she fumbled a few notes, hastily covering her mistake by embellishing the melody. Goodness’ sake, she’d better concentrate!
But her mind continued to wander. She switched to an aire, slowing the tempo to give everyone a bit of a breather. Where was Jacob? If Sebastian and Andrew were both here, surely he would be as well. Kate smiled to herself. He hadn’t seemed to mind her roping and riding like a cowboy.
She let the harmonica man take over the melody and she played an accompaniment of long, low tones. Her eyes scanned the faces of the dancers. Then she found him, on the far edge of the light, partnering a blushing redhead with ivory skin and a tiny waist. She watched the two ofthem smiling and gliding gracefully together, and her heart grew heavy, like a piece of floating paper caught in a sudden rain. She looked away. Why did it matter so much? The joy of the evening left her in a rush as the last notes of the song faded into the soft, ebony blackness beyond the fire. A contented hush descended. Out in the night the crickets took up the music, quietly calling to each other.
Someone yawned, and the stillness broke. People slowly left in groups and pairs. Kate nodded a farewell to her fellow musicians, saw Danny escorting Hannah, and Jacob left with the red-haired girl’s arm looped through his. Her sodden heart wilted further. She sat in melancholy silence until everyone had gone, and even the rustling of her family bedding down for the night stilled. Kate remained, gazing into the pulsing embers of the dying fire. Her heart ached with an inexplicable sadness, and out of it welled a song. She picked up her fiddle again, placed her aching fingertips on the warm strings, and tenderly began to play.
It was a song she’d heard once, from an old Scotsman longing for the heather moors of his home across the sea, remembering the lullaby his mother had sung to him on stormy nights in the highlands, simple and achingly beautiful in its melancholy. Kate closed her eyes. She sank into the slow, deep strains, pouring out her longings, expressing things from her heart that she couldn’t articulate. The passion spilled out of her fingers, drawn out of her body like the unraveling of a thread until, with the final notes of the song, it drifted away quietly in the twilight, a gossamer strand floating on the cool, indigo air. Kate let out a slow breath, satisfied to have given her heavy heart a voice. She sat soaking in the stillness of the night.
From somewhere out in the slumbering prairie grasses, a voice answered her fiddle with the same soft, heartfelt song, a rich baritone caressing the melody with words she couldn’t quite make out. The voice, enigmatically familiar, carried the same longings she had poured out into her song, telling her that they too knew the weight of yearningsunfulfilled. The voice finished, wrapping her heart in its warm glow, then drifted away, a ship gliding on a glassy sea of stars.
Jacob lay back against his saddle, weary and content after hours of dancing. Seb and Andrew were already snoring. He grinned, thinking of that pretty redhead. What was her name again? She hadn’t said more than two words, and besides, they’d been too busy enjoying the music. He smiled. Boy, was that Kate a wiz with the fiddle. What else could that girl do? Watching her was like stalking a deer in the forest: if you weren’t paying attention, you’d miss something remarkable.
As the twilight deepened into night and he began to drift off to sleep, his ears caught a faint song wafting toward him. His mouth turned up at the corners, his eyes still closed. Kate was still up. Then he cocked his head, listening. Such a familiar melody. A soft song, a warm song. He couldn’t place it, but the tender strains tugged at his heart. Where had he heard this song before?
Memory blossomed. His mother, sitting at his bedside, singing a lullaby to calm his fears after a nightmare. He could almost feel the gentle touch of her hand brushing his tangled hair back from his forehead like she always did, could see the well of love in her beautiful green eyes as the candlelight warmed her soft face. His breath caught. He sat up and ran a hand through his hair. It ached to think of her. Sometimes it felt like his only glimpse of happiness and love had been buried in the cold ground beside her.
He let the song wash over him. Then he joined his voice with the words he hadn’t known were still etched on his heart after all these years, remembering, mourning, honoring, singing of dreams. A sorrowful peace settled over him as the last lines of the song floated out into thehills. He heaved a sigh and lay back, looking up at the stars, thanking Kate for bringing him back to such a tender memory.
Then he slept, dreaming of his mother.
Chapter 11
“We’llbecomin’upon Fort Kearney in a couple days. S’pose we’ll have to take a day to restock.” Jacob glanced over at Proctor, cautiously gauging his mood. The trail captain hunched over his knees, driving his wagon, staring straight ahead. Proctor didn’t respond. Jacob cleared his throat and tried again. “Yessir, these folks will be mighty glad to rest and resupply.”
Proctor spat a stream of tobacco juice and muttered savagely, “We wouldn’t need to stop if these fools had started out with the right supplies in the first place.”
“Not everyone’s as experienced as you are,” Jacob said, his tone conciliatory. “’Sides, a day or two of rest, and everyone will be in top shape for the next leg. I bet we could make even better time.”
Proctor cursed. “It’ll have to be two days.” He spat again. “That Irishman and his ‘Lord’s Day.’”
Jacob said nothing. He didn’t want his head bitten off because Proctor was in a bad mood.
Seb rode up beside them, the stub of a cigarette hanging from his mouth. “There’s a creek yonder, just over the next rise. It’d make good camp for the night.”
Proctor narrowed his hawkish eyes. “Seems a little early to be stoppin’.” Jacob tensed at the quiet menace in his voice.
Seb eyed Proctor and continued carefully. “It’s a deep draw, with a mess of brush at the bottom. Might not get all the wagons through ’fore dark.” Even his friend’s devil-may-care attitude went underground around the trail master. This devil just might care.
Proctor stared at Seb ’til he nearly squirmed in his saddle. “Fine,” Proctor spat out. “We’ll just have to start an hour earlier tomorrow.” Jacob frowned. Was that really necessary? It’s not like getting to Fort Kearney earlier would make Proctor more accepting of stopping there. But Jacob held his tongue. Best not to test him, especially in one of his moods. Seemed like he was always in one of his moods. “Tell these idiots we’ll have a day and a half at Kearney and not a minute more. I don’t want to waste any more blasted time. And make sure they stock up on water. Leavin’ the Little Blue tomorrow will be the last ’til we hit the Platte.” He turned back to driving without another glance in their direction.
Seb and Jacob left Proctor to his ruminations and found Andrew. They drew lots to see who would try to bag some game in the tangle of bush in the river valley.
Seb drew the short straw. “Gosh darn. Now I gotta go take me a leisurely stroll down to the river without a single person askin’ me some half-witted question that an idiot would know the answer to. Just my luck,” Seb said with a grin, lighting a fresh cigarette with the butt of his last one and turning his horse away.
Jacob looked at Andrew. “Want to split up? Take opposite sides of the circle and meet in the middle?”
“Sure, boss. Whatever you say,” Andrew said.
