“$350.”
“Hm,” he answered noncommittally. Jackson had made lieutenant shortly after enlisting, and saved a tidy bundle as a result, but that didn’t mean he could throw caution to the wind. “Let me see ‘em.”
“Oliver!” Dewey bellowed. “Bring out that bay team!” He tucked the rag in his pocket and motioned for Jackson to followhim around back of the building. “He’ll be a minute. You can look at the wagons while you wait.”
Dewey pointed to three buckboards in various states of wear and age. “That one’s $70... That one’s $85... And that one’s $90. Which one do you want?”
Jackson walked closer and looked them over. The frugal part of him leaned toward the cheapest, but every workday lost to repairs would cost him. More importantly, Amanda would ride in it, and her safety was priceless. “I’ll take the one for $90.”
A lanky young man with freckles and fiery red hair led two sturdy horses from the barn. “This one’s named Cody,” he said of the horse whose coat leaned more golden, “and this one’s Scout.”
Jackson inspected them even more closely. He’d had his own mount since he was a boy and thought he knew horses, until he’d gotten a true education during the war.
“Man knows his horse flesh,” Dewey muttered to Oliver.
Jackson stood back from the pair of bays and sighed. They had some flaws, but they were a grand cut above most of the war-ravaged stock he’d seen. They’d get the job done.
He turned to Dewey. “Make it an even $400 for the bays and the wagon, and you’ve got yourself a deal.”
Dewey's eyes narrowed. “Cash on the barrel, and none of them worthless Greybacks.”
Jackson resisted the urge to smile. “I fought for the Union.”
“Sold. Harness ‘em for the man, Oliver.”
Jackson paid Dewey then unfolded a map from his pocket. He traced the route with his finger, muttering calculations under his breath. “How far to the old Tipton place?”
Dewey leaned over, eyeing the map. “’Bout twelve miles, give or take. Rough country. Not many neighbors.”
Jackson nodded, his jaw set with determination. “We'll manage.”
He lifted Amanda onto the seat and drove the wagon to the depot to load their trunks. Next, he stopped at the general store and bought enough supplies to get them through the next few weeks.
Amanda watched silently. Her hazel eyes, which were usually bright and flecked with gold, were dull and distant.
Once everything was secured, Jackson joined her on the seat. The wagon creaked as he climbed up beside her and took the reins. “Ready?”
Amanda nodded, though her lips were pressed into a thin blanched line.
As they set off, the wheels groaned in protest against the rutted road. Each jolt seemed to emphasize Amanda’s discomfort, both physical and emotional.
In the short few days they’d been wed, Jackson had learned this was the time of day she felt the most unwell. But that wasn’t the only source of her upset.
He slowed the team and put an arm around his miserable bride. “I know this isn't the life you imagined for yourself, but I’ll do right by you, Amanda. Both of you.”
Amanda's hand instinctively moved to her abdomen. “I know you will, Jackson,” she replied softly. “It's just... everything has happened so fast.”
“It has. But staying wouldn’t’ve changed anything. It would only have made things harder on us all.”
The landscape changed as they went, rolling plains giving way to flat farmland. Tall grass swayed in the breeze, unbroken, save for occasional clusters of wildflowers. Jackson’s eyes scanned the horizon, his jaw tight, and his mind alert to the many possible dangers, both real and born of the Rebel ghosts his mind conjured.
Please, not now.
His hands gripped the reins, and he concentrated on breathing in and out.
Several times along their journey, he’d felt one of his spells coming on and had to fight it back with the sheer power of will. The fact that the war had left its mark on countless men was no excuse. He’d rather die than let anyone witness him reduced to a shaking, sweating weakling.
Once the bout of anxiety passed, Jackson glanced at Amanda, whose face was slack with awe as she took in the vastness before them.
