Chapter 3
Caroline had thought the day Jackson left to go to war was the worst day of her life.
She’d been wrong.
She stood motionless among the crowd of well-wishers, her face a carefully composed mask.
The autumn morning sun cast long shadows across the dusty street as family and friends gathered to bid farewell to the newlyweds.
Jackson’s smile was bright as he shook hands and accepted congratulations, but when his gaze met hers, she saw a flicker of guilt in his eyes.
“Godspeed, Jackson!” her father called out. “May you find prosperity out west!”
Caroline's hands trembled slightly, hidden in the folds of her skirt. After pleading a headache the evening Jackson proposed and spending the rest of the night alone in her room, she’d been a proper—albeit reserved—sister of the bride throughout the wedding the following day.
But now the reality of the sudden marriage threatened to overwhelm.
Amanda walked to the fringe of the crowd where she stood, her hazel eyes brimming with unshed tears.
She wrapped Caroline in a firm embrace and held on, even though little effort was made to return the gesture.
“Thank you for coming to the wedding,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.
“I know how difficult it must have been.”
No, you don’t.
“I...” Her sister’s voice broke. “I’m sorry.”
Caroline's throat tightened. “Have a safe trip,” she managed, her voice still raw from crying herself to sleep.
As Amanda turned away, Caroline caught a glimpse of Jackson watching them.
He took a step toward her, and she took a step back.
A troubled countenance came over him, along with an unmistakable look of appeal in his eyes.
She would forever wonder what possessed him to make the choice he did, but it no longer mattered.
The wedding was done. All their fates had been sealed.
Caroline shook her head enough to send a message. She couldn't bear to hear his explanation or see the pity in his eyes.
She flinched when the driver called out that the bags were loaded.
“Best climb aboard,” he bellowed, “or you’ll miss your train.”
With one last look in her direction, Jackson turned and helped Amanda into the waiting carriage.
As it pulled away and disappeared down the road, taking with it the future she’d imagined for herself, Caroline's stoic facade began to crumble.
Her mother sidled up to her and touched her arm. “Are you all right, dear?”
Caroline nodded, not trusting herself to speak, but the motion was a lie.
How could she explain the depth of her shock and betrayal when Jackson—the man she’d loved since girlhood—suddenly married her sister?
She was not all right, and she doubted she ever would be again.
Caroline remained rooted to the spot as the crowd dispersed, her mind a whirlwind of conflicting emotions.
She had always prided herself on her ability to do what was right, to put duty before her own desires.
But now, watching the dust settle on the empty road, she was well and truly humbled, and she questioned whether she had the strength to face the days ahead.
Jackson blinked against the midday sun as he climbed out of the stagecoach at Fort Kearny, his eyes scanning the bustling station.
The tall wooden poles that surrounded the military instillation gave him a sense of safety and familiarity while simultaneously resurrecting demons.
He mentally shook off the past and focused on the present.
And the future.
He’d been mesmerized by the flat plains of Nebraska Territory whizzing past the window. The vast expanse of unfamiliar terrain was unnerving, but its untapped possibilities gave him a zealous optimism he hadn’t felt since before the war.
He took Amanda’s hand and helped her down. “Well, we've made it this far,” he said with a reassuring smile.
She nodded, her face pale beneath her hat. “So, we have.”
“I’d hoped the railroad would have reached the fort by now. I’m sorry we’ve had to spend so much time riding the stage.” The line extended past Omaha, but barely. “We’d best make a trip to the necessary before the driver finishes hitching a fresh team.”
Doing his best to conceal his limp, Jackson escorted her to the row of the outhouses, his arm twitching with the ingrained urge to salute every officer he passed. He hurried to make use of one while she was occupied, then rinsed his hands and refilled his canteen at the water pump.
Amanda’s steps faltered as they made their way back to the stagecoach.
Jackson placed a steadying hand on her elbow, guiding her through the crowd. “Are you feeling all right?”
She turned her face up and gave a weak smile. “Just a bit tired from the journey.”
It was more than fatigue, but he kept his mouth shut and his thoughts to himself. He’d caught her crying several times since leaving Pennsylvania. She missed her home, as any bride would who’d been whisked hundreds of miles away from all she’d known, but she cried most of all for her sister.
Jackson handed Amanda into the coach before turning to help the driver load and lash the trunks of the newcomers.
As he worked, he couldn't shake the image of Caroline's face.
No matter how much he consoled himself with platitudes about sacrifice and honor, the hurt in her eyes would haunt him for the rest of his days.
“All aboard!” the driver called.
Jackson climbed in, settling onto the firm leather seat beside Amanda, acutely feeling the weight of their shared secret. “It won't be easy,” he said as the coach lurched forward, “but we'll make a good life here. I promise you that.”
Amanda's hand found his. “I know we will,” she whispered, her voice breaking.
As the coach rolled toward Sagebrush Springs, Jackson found himself as close to tears as his bride. He had always prided himself on his honor, on doing what was right. Now he wondered if he could ever reconcile the man he’d been with the one he had become.
Early the next morning Jackson shielded his eyes and looked at the sun-bleached sign of Sagebrush Springs Livery. He didn’t need a sign to know he’d arrived, though. The air was thick with dust and the pungent smell of horse dung.
Amanda covered her nose with her handkerchief. “I’ll wait here.”
Jackson nodded then approached the weathered counter, where a middle-aged man with a long face and a grizzled moustache stood, wiping his hands on a rag. “Afternoon. I'm looking to purchase a team and wagon. Are you the man I need to see?”
The man grunted an affirmative. “Dewey Cook, at your service.”
“Jackson Maguire,” he replied.
“What brings you out to these parts?”
“I just purchased land west of here. My wife and I need transportation to get there, preferably horses and a wagon I can use to work the farm.”
Dewey scrunched his lips, tilting his moustache sideways. “Horses’re still scarce. I’ve got a nice matched pair, but they’ll cost you.”
“How much?”
“$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 follow him 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.”