Keeping Secrets

Chapter One-1

Chapter One

Elizabeth Hepscott methodically wrapped the reins from the bit collar through the girth toward the dashboard of the buggy. She was eager to get going, as the Army recruits were leaving the train station at ten. She promised Sean she’d see him off. When she attached the supple leather to the tug, the farm horses, Salt Pepper and Butternut, lifted their feet restlessly. They were excited to be leaving even if they, just like Elizabeth, knew they would return to the monotonous life on the ranch. She hiked up her skirt and climbed into the seat. Hooking up the buggy took more time than taking a saddle horse, but the bench seat was more comfortable than trying to ride sidesaddle. She straddled the horses at home, but Father wouldn’t hear of it in town. She pulled the reins and snapped, calling out walk-on to the team.

Her father was old-fashioned, which meant he thought that men and women had very specific roles. Men did important work, and women took care of the men. Therefore, unless she was alone, she wasn’t allowed to drive the wagons. A good daughter, she did as she was told.

As they pulled from the barn, Elizabeth guided the horses toward the right. Spotting her brother, she stopped the wagon.

“Come with me, Jeremy. It’s a beautiful day for a ride.”

“I don’t know.” He scuffed his boot on the ground. “I don’t want to watch the other men leaving when I’m not.”

At twenty, he was two years older than her, and he stood almost six feet tall. He had his father’s dark hair but not the curl. His eyes could look black if he was angry but were usually a soft brown. He had his mother’s fair complexion and freckles, his start of a beard hinted at reds. He was a crackerjack shot, but he also stuttered since he was a child.

“One recruiter isn’t the end.” Elizabeth slid over on the bench. “Please?”

“Oh, all right.” Jeremy climbed into the wagon and took up the reins. He called out, “Salt, B-butter, walk-on,” and the horses stepped forward.

“Thank you for joining me.” Elizabeth folded her hands in her lap, considering why the Army didn’t accept men with a stutter since obviously Jeremy was a strapping man.

They traveled quickly along the pasture fence, fields of grass almost as far as she could see on the other side. The low rising hills were topped with clusters of trees, most in full spring bud, the light green a refreshing change from the dreary winter white and gray. At the river, the only exciting part of the trip, the horses easily forded the water. With the work of homesteading, no one had thought it worth the time to build a bridge. As they rose up the crest of the riverbank, Bent Creek, Missouri, came into sight. Elizabeth seldom forgot how isolated their ranch was from the town. The horses fell into a steady trot, easily pulling the wagon down the rutted path.

The ride didn’t take long this morning; the ground was dry for a change. Bent Creek was officially a town, even though it was just eight wooden buildings and a brick bank. They circled around behind the train depot, and Jeremy pulled the horses to a stop under a sturdy white oak.

“You g-go ahead. I’ll stay with the wagon.” Jeremy tied the reins loosely around the brake handle.

“I won’t stay too long. If you change your mind, come on.”

“I won’t.” He crossed his arms over his chest.

Elizabeth slid down and stepped lightly toward the depot platform. Squinting into the sunlight, she shoved her bonnet off her head, releasing her auburn hair. A soft breeze blew the red, white, and blue buntings across the railing. It seemed everyone was at the train station to send off the young men joining the Union Army. The black steam engine hissed, smothering the sounds from the small brass band playing a march. Children holding colorful streamers ran between the adults milling around the platform while young sweethearts bid each other goodbye.

She spotted her friend standing alone and joined him. “Good day, Sean.”

“It’s a fine morning,” Sean O’Dell said, touching her arm as he spoke. A few stray hairs tried to form a mustache over his lip, but despite his boyish face, he was clearly a man. His shoulders were wide and strong, and Elizabeth thought he looked quite dashing in his dark uniform.

“Are you nervous?” she asked. They had been in school together ever since her family moved to Missouri. Unlike girls even much younger than herself, Elizabeth gave little thought of catching the eye of eligible suitors. With almost every man between sixteen and thirty either on the platform in uniform or already enlisted, the pickings would be slim, for a while anyway.

Sean gave a shy smile. “Not really. We’ll be home by Christmas. I hope you’ll write to me.”

“Of course,” she said, although not sure what she could possibly have to report to him from her boring life on her father’s horse ranch compared to the excitement of the battlefield. Looking around, she became aware that the other girls were in their Sunday best, and she just had on a simple calico dress. She clasped her hands together, rocking on her heels. She gave him a shy smile.

“Thank you for coming out today. I was thinking I’d be the only fellow without a girl.” Sean looked off toward the conductor, who shouted for boarding. Awkwardly, he leaned toward her. With a quick motion, he pecked her cheek.

Elizabeth was so startled she didn’t push him away.

“Goodbye, Elizabeth.”

“Keep your head down and shoot straight!”

Sean smiled. The conductor called again, so he gave a small wave and headed toward the train. His parents, owners of the general store, called his name and waved as he boarded. The train whistle blew, and the band struck up a festive tune. The boys and men on the train hung out the windows and waved to the crowd, who responded with cheers. The wheels rolled forward, and soon, the caboose was getting smaller and smaller as the train disappeared down the tracks.

Mrs. O’Dell wasted no time hurrying to Elizabeth’s side. “I think Sean will have a special reason to think about home.”

Elizabeth twirled a strand of hair. “I’ll be sure to write to him.”

“I know he’d appreciate that. And don’t you worry. You’ll be married before you know it.” She beamed at Elizabeth.

Elizabeth returned a weak smile. It was just a chaste kiss. Mrs. O’Dell probably thought she was an old spinster at eighteen. Maybe I am. Elizabeth tried to think of an appropriate response, something nonchalant. Nothing came to mind. After an extended silence, she said, “I should be getting home.”

“Of course. You ranchers work so hard. Please remember me to your father.” Mrs. O’Dell strolled off.

Elizabeth turned and walked toward Jeremy waiting under the oak. She hadn’t considered being married to a*****e owner and the comparative life of leisure that it might provide. Naturally, she’d still have to cook and clean, but there would be no ranch chores in the biting cold of winter or the sweltering heat of summer. She welcomed the shade of the tree. “You ready?”

“Yes. You know I should be on that train.” Jeremy held out his hand to help Elizabeth into the buggy.

She took her skirt in the other hand and stepped up. She turned and sat on the bench while Jeremy snapped the reins. The horses responded to his call, and the wagon lurched forward.

“You would be a good soldier, I’m sure of that.” Elizabeth enjoyed the air blowing through her hair. “We’ll think of some way.”

Jeremy grunted. “Are you sweet on Sean?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that exactly.” Elizabeth folded her hands in her lap. “I hadn’t thought about it before.”

“You let him kiss you.” Jeremy cleared his throat. “Don’t deny it.”

“That little peck?”

“Yes. People will think you’re sweet on him. And Father wants you to g-get married. Mr. Olson asked about you.” Jeremy snapped the reins, and the horses stepped a bit faster.

“You’re teasing me. He must be as old as Father.”

“Probably. He has a large ranch, though.”

Elizabeth frowned. “That means more work, not less. Married to a wrinkly old man? Ugh. I’d rather marry Sean if I have to make a choice.”

“So, you are sweet on him.” Jeremy sighed. “At least you’ll get married. I don’t fancy any of the g-girls here.”

“What, all ten of them?” Elizabeth laughed.

“We should just stay together. You and me.”

“You don’t want a family?” she asked.

“I just want to join the Army.” Jeremy spit.

They rode in comfortable silence all the way back to the barn. He drove the wagon into the large doorway, the scent of sweet hay filling their noses.

“You go ahead, I’ll take care of the horses.” Elizabeth took the reins, and Jeremy hopped out of the wagon.

Elizabeth unhooked the buggy, hung up the tack, and brushed the horses. She opened the Dutch door to the side corral so the horses could wander out as they pleased. She pumped two buckets and watered the chickens, then scattered some grain so she could sneak the eggs. Only eight today. Someone was getting broody and hiding her eggs. She made a mental note to search for them later. She hummed to herself as she strolled to the low ranch house.

She had just set the egg basket on the worn kitchen table when she heard the gunshot. She glanced at the front door, and the shotgun was already gone from the pegs over the jamb. Could the Indians be back again? She ran to her dresser and pulled out the six-shooter. It would have to do. She checked that it was loaded, quietly eased the drawer shut, and ducked down below the windows toward the front door. Listening as she cracked it open, she saw Jeremy headed around from the run-in barn, a long gun under his arm. She slid out the door up to the corner, crouching low next to the porch rail, her heart pounding. Sweat beaded on her forehead; she took a long slow breath to calm her nerves.

Her father, Peter Hepscott, had run a horse-breeding farm since they moved across the state line from Kentucky. Although horse thieves were hanged, you had to catch them first. Peter stood tall at the corral gate, both strong hands on his long gun pointed to the sky. It seemed he was the one who had made the shot. Elizabeth strained to hear their words. Whatever her father said, he sounded plenty angry.

A scene not much different than this one played in her mind, except in this story, her mother stood on the porch with the shotgun. Her father and a younger Jeremy ran to the corral, a group of men intent on gaining some free horses. Elizabeth was crouched inside the house, peeping out the window. She could see the men riding around the horses, trying to rope them, and her father aiming his rifle. Who shot first, or even how many shots were fired, Elizabeth couldn’t say. She had closed her eyes and covered her ears in fright. When she opened her eyes, the men were gone, her father was closing the gate, and her mother calmly urged her back into the kitchen. Why couldn’t she be brave like her mother?

Another shot rang out, bringing Elizabeth back to the porch; this time, she would not close her eyes. She watched the smoke drift from the handgun of the closest thief. Her father and brother stood defiant, both men aiming their guns at the raiders. She forced her mind to focus on the scene in front of her. It was three men on horses and one on a mule. They were dressed in denim like cowboys. No true horseman would allow his steed to look so pathetic. The horses were thin, their coats dull with dirt. Are they interested in the horses or Jeremy? Although Missouri officially provided troops for the Union, rebel recruiters swept the area looking for sympathizers and reluctant volunteers who could be shanghaied into service for the Confederates. Elizabeth took another long slow breath, resting her pistol on the railing, just like her father had taught her.

The men shifted around in their saddles; her hands were now shaking, her pulse thumping in her ears. Elizabeth altered her position; the blood pinched her foot asleep. The shortest man in the saddle seemed to be the leader, his arm waved around as he spoke. He dismounted his horse and walked toward her father. Although almost a foot shorter, the red-faced bandit stood in her father’s face, screaming something she couldn’t decipher. Her father stood his ground, his back to the gate. Slowly, Jeremy turned his gun toward the man. The leader held up both hands in surrender and climbed back onto his mount. As he turned his horse, he pulled his gun and pointed it at her father.