won’t be gone long,” said Nellie. “Just you keep your mouth shut.”
“Maybe we should take her with us,” whispered Lydia. “Then if we’re caught, Pa will most likely blame her.”
“Good idea. You’re coming with us.”
Callie opened her mouth to protest but closed it before she could get the words out. Why shouldn’t she go? She’d love to visit Florida, who seemed so jolly and friendly, compared to Ma, who could see nothing good in anything. Pa would be furious if he found out, but he was a heavy sleeper. The chances he’d wake up and discover them missing were slim. Besides, if he did find out, what would he do? As a child, she had lived in fear of the sting of a switch on her legs for the least wrongdoing. So had all the children of Calvin Whitaker, the two older boys receiving the most severe beatings. The switchings had stopped when she’d reached adulthood, but she still feared him. His thundering threats of eternal damnation still struck terror in her heart. She’d risk it, though. The more she thought, the more she wanted to join the laughter and excitement across the meadow. Would Luke McGraw be there? Not that he’d pay her the slightest attention, but still, she liked the idea of seeing him again.
“All right. I’ll go with you.” She’d worry about eternal damnation later.
Unlike her stepsisters, she owned only two dresses. The one she wore, a limp, worn hand-me-down of Nellie’s, was far too big. She’d just washed the other, which was just as shabby, so she had no choice but to wear what she had on.
Hardly breathing, the three crept from the tent and crossed the field. When they reached the Ferguson train, they cut between two of the wagons in the circle and headed for the large campfire that blazed in the middle. A lively scene awaited. Around the fire, people sat on crates, boxes, and camp chairs, chatting and laughing. Two men with scraggly beards passed a jug back and forth. A sprightly fiddler danced as he played a polka, while several couples bounced and bounded around the bonfire to the lively tune.
Florida Sawyer gestured to them to come sit next to her on a long log by the fire. “Hello, girls. Come on over! Glad you could come. Where’s your Ma? Did she change her mind?”
Lydia snickered. “Not exactly.”
Nellie added, “We sneaked out. Don’t tell Pa.”
Florida grinned. “I reckon you girls are old enough to know what you’re doing.” She glanced around the campfire. “Luke?” When he didn’t appear, she shook her head. “That brother of mine isn’t much for dancing. Keeps to himself too much.” She looked toward a tall man standing nearby who’d been listening. “Thank heaven, here’s someone I’d wager will be glad to dance with you. This is the leader of our wagon train, Magnus Ferguson. We call him The Colonel.”
Magnus stepped forward and gave them a warm greeting. Callie was struck with how handsome he was. Tall and powerfully built, he had a thick head of blond, curly hair and a strong-featured, clean-shaven face, an appearance she much preferred to men who wore wild, unkempt beards. Even had she not been told, she would have guessed Magnus was a leader by the way he carried himself with a commanding air of self-confidence.
Beyond his initial polite greeting, Magnus paid her no attention. He offered his hand to Lydia. “Care to dance, Miss Whitaker?”
“I surely do!” Eyelashes fluttering, Lydia instantly stepped forward. “I do love the polka, Mister Ferguson.”
Callie laughed to herself. Not to her knowledge had Lydia ever danced the polka or anything else.
Magnus took Lydia’s hand and assumed the correct position for a polka. How could her stepsister possibly manage? She needn’t have worried. When they started out, Lydia hesitated, nearly stumbled, but then caught on to the step. The couple bounced away, Lydia looking as if she’d danced the polka all her life. How pretty she looked, her blue eyes bright, her long, blond hair swinging about her rosy-cheeked face.
“She sure is a pretty girl.” Florida regarded Nellie and Callie, who sat beside her. “You need dance partners, too. Let’s see…” Her gaze scanned the crowd. A young man spied them and headed in their direction. Florida made a face. “Oh, no, not him.”
The young man strutted up. In his early twenties, he was tall, dark, and clean-shaven with slick good looks. His gaze focused on Nellie. “Don’t believe I’ve seen you before. Introduce us, Florida.”
“Nellie, this here is Coy Barnett. He’s one of Jack Gowdy’s hired hands.” Florida’s voice lacked her usual warm enthusiasm. Callie sensed she didn’t much care for the young man who stood before them. Nellie seemed not to notice. When Coy asked her to dance, she eagerly said yes.
Watching the couple join in a cotillion, Florida frowned. “You’d best keep an eye on your stepsister.”
“Why?”
“I don’t trust the man. Don’t ask me why, I just…there’s something about him I don’t like.” She brightened and got her smile back. “Now we need to find you a dancing partner.”
“Goodness, no.” Callie hadn’t given the slightest thought that she, too, might enjoy a dance. “Don’t worry about me. I’m content to sit here and watch.”
“Fiddlesticks.”
Despite Florida’s protest, no one asked Callie to dance. Not that she minded. She knew no man would want to dance with a straggled-haired girl in a ragged old dress. It was just a treat to be with people who were laughing and enjoying themselves.
After a time, another partner whisked Lydia away. Magnus Ferguson soon returned, all congenial, with a big smile on his face. “You haven’t danced yet, Miss Whitaker? Would you like to—?”
“I don’t care to dance.” She wasn’t a charity case.
He didn’t pursue the subject but sat down beside her. They chatted. He’d been a merchant back in Pennsylvania where he came from. Successful, she gathered, although he didn’t say. He was a widower, his wife having died in childbirth two years ago, and the baby, too. Wanting to start a new life and escape old memories, he had formed this wagon train and had been elected leader. Unlike other companies headed west, peace and harmony prevailed in the Ferguson wagon train, thanks to himself and his five-man council, called captains. So far, not a single dispute. “Your family ought to join us.”
She reluctantly shook her head. “I doubt Pa would want to do that.”
Magnus said no more on the subject. They talked a while longer before someone came with a problem and drew him away. What a nice man. She was grateful he’d taken the time to sit and talk to her. He seemed anxious to marry again. He wouldn’t have a problem. A well-to-do widower like Magnus could easily find a wife, especially since he wasn’t half bad-looking.
The music still played. Tired of sitting, she left the bonfire and dancers and went for a short stroll around the camp. Passing one of the wagons, she spied Luke McGraw occupying the wagon seat. In the bright moonlight, he was dressed no differently than the other men in a plain shirt, dark trousers, and sturdy boots. He appeared to be cleaning a rifle.
He looked up. “Good evening.”
She nodded and kept on walking.
He gazed down at her. “So it’s you. Not dancing?”
She stopped. “I don’t know how to dance.”
“Sorry I asked.”
“Why aren’t you dancing?”
“I’ve got better things to do with my time.”
“Is this your wagon?”
“It’s my sister’s. A bedroll’s good enough for me.” He rested the rifle against the seat. “Florida won’t give up and leave me alone. If it was up to her, I’d spend every evening charming the ladies.”
She couldn’t resist. “From what I’ve