And it wasn’t the shaking wagon that caused the problem either; it was her hair. It was too thick and too long and impossible to keep in place. She should have chosen a hat three sizes bigger. The picture she would present with a huge hat perched atop her head made her chuckle.
“What you can find to laugh about is beyond me,” muttered Aunt Belle.
A bench had been fashioned along one side of the wagon and padded with bedding for the ladies’ comfort. Aunt Belle wasn’t impressed. She had been sullen all morning.
“Things aren’t as bad as all that.” Rebecca patted her aunt’s blue-clad knee hoping to improve her temper. “We have more space than we would in a stagecoach, and we have it all to ourselves. Besides, at a stage stop we would only get a moment’s rest while they changed the teams. This way we’ll have more opportunity to walk about as the teams are rested.”
“It’ll take us longer to get there, then,” was Belle’s reply.
Rebecca resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “Not as long as it would take if we waited out this war,” she said, forgetting for a moment that she was trying to soothe her aunt.
Aunt Belle shuddered.
“Come over here, Mother, and watch the prairie go by,” Alicia suggested. She had abandoned the seat an hour ago and had curled up on a bedroll where she could peek through the small opening between the wooden box and canvas side.
“There’s nothing out there to see,” Aunt Belle declared.
“There are the soldiers,” Rebecca said, winking at Alicia.
Aunt Belle nearly came out of her seat. “Alicia! Come away from there before they see you!”
“They already know we’re here,” Rebecca reasoned. “Besides, it’s just a crack. What will they see?”
“It’s unseemly!”
Alicia rose obediently. She was short enough to stand upright under the square frame that held the canvas. Rebecca mouthed a “sorry” as her cousin passed to take a seat on the other side of Belle.
Alicia gave her a forgiving smile. “Will we be stopping for lunch, do you think?”
“Of course,” Rebecca assured her. “I’ll ask the driver if he knows anything.” Before her aunt could stop her, she flung herself toward the front of the wagon and scrambled under the canvas and over the back of the seat.
“Mind if I join you for a few minutes?” she asked the driver after he had hastily made room for her. “It’s much cooler out here than inside.”
“I can stop and help you roll up the sides if you’d like,” he offered.
“That’s kind of you,” she said, trying to locate the lieutenant in the column ahead. “Aunt Belle prefers her privacy. Your name is Brooks, isn’t it?” He had been introduced that morning when he was assigned to drive their wagon, but she had barely noticed the young enlisted man.
“Yes, ma’am. Victor Brooks.”
“Have you heard when we’ll be stopping to rest?” The new recruits were riding four abreast directly in front of their wagon. She stood up for a moment to get a better view beyond, assuming the lieutenant was leading the column.
“Ain’t been in the army long enough to even make a guess. All I know is to mind my sergeant, steer clear of officers, and eat whenever they give me a chance.”
Rebecca laughed. “I hope they give us that chance soon.”
“Me and my messmates are supposed to cook for you ladies as well as ourselves. I reckon that means we roast your rabbit before we boil our salt pork.”
Rebecca turned and studied the soldier for the first time. Judging by his smooth skin, he was in his early twenties, but there was a hardness about his eyes that made him look older. She couldn’t tell if he was resentful of the assignment or had intended his comment as a joke.
“Oh dear,” she said with a sigh. “I seem to have forgotten to set out my rabbit traps so tonight you’ll probably be cooking double rations of pork.”
Brooks gave a mirthless laugh. “Not likely, ma’am. Dixie Boy will be looking out for himself, and for you too, I reckon. I imagine there’s a hunting party out what won’t get a bite of what they kill.”
Dixie Boy? She had a feeling this soldier was headed for trouble. Arguing with him wouldn’t help, though, especially if he turned out to be right. He had evidently heard stories, she had too, of officers who dined in elegance while the troops ate the standard rations. Or substandard as they called them.
“Did you see a hunting party go?”
“Three men were sent ahead a while ago.”
Rebecca scowled. Why would she be so disappointed if Brooks was right? “Maybe they’re scouting out a river crossing,” she suggested.
“I wouldn’t know, ma’am.”
“Tell you what, soldier,” Rebecca said, standing again as the column ahead mounted a rise. “If you turn out to be right, I’ll see you get a share.”
“Why, that’s kind of you, ma’am,” Brooks said.
Rebecca smiled. She had located him finally, riding a bay horse in the lead of the column. She sat down when he was once again hidden by the other soldiers. “But that won’t be till evening anyway. The noon meal is usually too hurried to cook anything. And General Hale’s wife packed us a lunch.”
“I should have guessed.”
She leaned closer and spoke softly. “If it won’t make your messmates jealous, I’ll see if I can’t save something back.”
“What my messmates don’t know, can’t upset’em.”
They caught up with the three outriders at a creek and rested just beyond it. Stock was fed and watered, fires were quickly built and coffee boiled. Rebecca wanted to spread a blanket on the ground and eat Mrs. Hale’s lunch picnic style, but Aunt Belle refused to leave the wagon except for a brief excursion into the trees. Even with Rebecca and Alicia standing guard, she found the experience humiliating.
Brooks offered them coffee, but otherwise they were left alone to eat their lunch in the same confining space they had shared all morning. Rebecca listened to the voices of the men outside and felt like a prisoner. She hoped the lieutenant would come to check on their well-being and comfort but knew Aunt Belle would probably voice her complaints. When he hadn’t come by the time they started down the trail, she told herself it was just as well.
She slipped out to the seat again shortly after they started, bringing the driver two pieces of cold chicken. He seemed surprised, though not particularly pleased to receive the offering, as if he would rather have had his worst notions confirmed than have the chicken to eat. She decided she didn’t like Victor Brooks.
Still, she determined to be nice to him. She and her companions were dependent on him in many respects, and he would no doubt take more care for their comfort if she was kind to him.
Brooks, busily eating the chicken, didn’t seem inclined to talk so Rebecca watched the column ahead, especially the officer when she could get a glimpse of him, and wished she was riding alongside him. As she imagined smiling up at him, the wind took a swipe at her hat. She grabbed for it too late.
“Stop!”
Brooks stared at her. Only after seeing the heat in his eyes did she realize that her hair had come completely unpinned and tumbled around her shoulders.
She gathered it into her fist, and Brooks came to his senses,