The Trail To Cooper's Farm: Part Two

In Part One Jeannie and Gordon fled Washington and the victorious Confederacy. They met Jeb and Soames, and headed west together.

I’d never seen an airship. I’d heard rumor of them, but they never got as far as Washington before I fled. We awoke to one hanging in the air above us, a chimney belched thick smoke from it’s back end, a glass canopy covered the front. A long rope ladder hung down and we watched two men descend.
The starred cross of the Army of Northern Virginia was freshly painted on the bow of the vessel, along with the name ‘White Oaks’.
I looked round nervously. Jeb and Soames were both visible, but not Gordon. I’d got used to seeing the Southron uniform, though both Jeb and Soames’ stolen outfits were now faded and worn. The ones on the men descending the rope-ladder were crisp and sharp. The light grey trousers were off-set by bright yellow stripes, the jackets nipped in at their waist and I knew the buttons would gleam brightly even before they stepped onto the prairie and turned round.
Instinct made me stay back. These men carried themselves with an air I knew from my youth. There was an assured arrogance in their stance.
Jeb and Soames waited for them between the walkers and the other wagon. It was close enough for me to hear what was said.
The first man to the ground spoke first. He was probably the same age as me. Older than Jeb and Soames by five or ten years. He had dark hair and a mustache that spiraled from his top lip, an affectation that must have been a nuisance to cultivate and maintain.
“Well, how are you men doing?” he called. His voice was loud and from somewhere so far south it was almost the Gulf of Mexico.
“That’s an interesting flying machine you got there, Captain,” Soames said. Both Soames and Jeb had slipped their jackets on. They looked ragged next to the captain.
“The Confederate Aeronautical Service is a mighty impressive thing, proud to fly in it. Now, what are a Lieutenant and Corporal doing all the way out here? I ain’t aware of any secret scouting missions on the prairie tribes. Where you men from?”
“Army of the Potomac,” said Soames, his Boston accent suddenly sounding like he was from Virginia. “With Beauregard.”
“Where you headed now?”
“Maybe Kansas, maybe the Colorado Territory. Find a place to set up home. Now the war’s done, we fancy a simple life. Farm a bit, maybe raise some cattle.”
I hadn’t heard Soames like this before. It made me wonder if he’d done some acting during his time in the seminary.
“Beauregard,” said the captain. “A fine officer. Pain in the ass, but a fine commander.”
“Sure, course we only saw him on a horse pointing at places to attack.”
The Captain laughed. “Ain’t that a truth. Names Gerber. Captain Alphonse Gerber. This here is Flight Sergeant Micheal Dippons.” He pointed upwards “Up there is Flight Sergeant Carl Williams. We saw your camp-fire and thought we’d take a look see at who was all the way down here, so far off the trail.”
He took a good long look round the camp, passing over me without stopping. When he finished he looked back at me, eyes scanning up and down. His face spread into a wide smile. “I see you got yourselves something to do the cooking, and take care of other needs.”
Soames and Jeb both looked round. I was transfixed, unable to move.
“We got the people we need for the trip,” Soames said.
“Y’hear about the bounty on ex-slaves?”
“Who said anything about slaves,” Jeb said.
“Well there aren’t any free niggers anymore. They all came as slaves, they’re being returned to their natural state. Orders of the new Confederate Republic.”
My heart contracted. I’d been under no illusions about the North fighting for the freedom of slaves. Even as they gave me and my girls their money, most of the men happily offered reasons why we were a different, lesser, species, by reason of sex and skin-color.
Jeb and Soames said nothing, just watched Gerber.
“But that’s kind of a side issue, one I’m happy to leave with you fellows as she’s looking kind of on the gamey side. Bigger issue is your walkers.” He gestured towards the machines. “They aren’t available for settlers wandering off into the wild interior. So, tell me, what are you soldiers doing with them, and where are your discharge papers.” He looked at Jeb. “Let’s start with you. You’ve been kind of quiet so far. Where did you say you were from?”
“Dubuque, Iowa”
“A copperhead?”
“No, you son of a bitch, a patriot.” Jeb hit Gerber, a blow which doubled the man over. The sergeant reached for his sidearm, Soames shot him before the gun cleared his holster.
The walker nearest the camp fire leaned back, and riddled the back of the airship. Sparks flew and the machine lurched, spewing smoke from more than its chimney, it drifted sideways, engines screaming and grinding, then there was an explosion and the craft fell, crashing to the ground about fifty yards from the camp. It threw up a cloud of soil and smoke, and after a few moments an explosion which scattered fragments of wood and metal around us. I flinched into the cover of the wagon, ducking low so the canvas wasn’t my only protection.
When I peered up again Gordon was climbing out of the walker and Soames was covering Gerber with a pistol, Jeb was rubbing his jaw, it looked like Gerber had got a punch in. Jeb appeared keyed, tense, the contained power he always possessed fizzed in the air, an aura of barely repressed violence.
“You lost the war, you bastards,” Gerber said.
“Yeh,” Jeb replied, “but you lost this fight. We just wanted to find somewhere to live in peace.”
“Then you shouldn’t have gone stealing things. Didn’t your mama’s tell you stealing was bad.”
Wind whispered the grass and steam continued to hiss from the fallen airship, cooling metal pinged with contractions.
“What we going to do with him?” Soames asked.
“Shoot him,” Gordon said.
“Works for me,” Soames replied.
Jeb’s head started to move, as if he was going to nod in agreement. I had another idea.
“Wait!” I called.
They all turned as I climbed out of the wagon. My skirt caught on a sliver of wood gouged by a fragment of the airship and it ripped right along a seam, leaving me bare legged up to my french knickers.
Soames looked away, Gerber stared lasciviously, Gordon had seen me in stages of undress before and didn’t react, Jeb blushed bright red but didn’t takes his eyes from my legs. I gathered the ruined skirt up and held it around me, clasping it at the side to provide at least a little modesty.
Gerber glanced round and saw Jeb’s face, correctly interpreted the desire, but leapt too far in his conclusion. He laughed, a mocking sound from deep in his belly. “By God that’s rum. She’s you’re doxie. No wonder you Yankee’s couldn’t fight worth a crap if you were all fornicating with beasts like her.”
This time he was waiting for Jeb to hit him and rolled with the punch, launching a grab for the gun on Jeb’s belt. Soames hit Gerber across the side of the head with his pistol, sending the Captain to the ground again.
“Damn it,” Soames said, “we should just shoot him.”
Gerber glared up, blood streaming from where the gun-sight had torn his cheek. “Get it done then, Yankee bastard.”
I was close enough now and kicked the elbow he was leaning on, he collapsed with a scream of pain. There was something about this man that brought back a world of hurt. I didn’t know him, but I knew him intimately. I knew the casual way he thought nothing of beating a slave to the point of death; I knew how he took his physical pleasures on girls barely able to understand what was happening; I knew the delight he took in not having black skin. I knew I wanted him to suffer.
“Strip him naked,” I said, “and leave him to fend for himself. Don’t waste a bullet on him.”
“We can’t do that,” Soames said.
“Ask him how many slaves he’s raped, and killed.”
Everyone looked at the Southern Aeronaut, who sat clutching his damaged elbow, blood still running down his cheek. My shadow fell across him.
“They were just slaves,” Gerber spat.
“I’ll have those boots and breeks,” Gordon said. His Scottish brogue was thick. He stooped and grabbed Gerber’s leg. Gerber made to struggle. “Mannie, you’re going to need those legs for walking. Don’t make me break them.” Between the accent and the hare lip even I had difficulty working out Gordon’s words, but his tone was clear enough and Gerber stopped.
When we stripped him of his jacket Gerber screamed in pain. When I kicked his elbow it was harder than I thought, and the joint was broken. He stood in underwear that was still new enough to be white, behind him the remains of his airship drifted smoke or steam into the air. The assuredness with which he came to us was gone, he was a shrunken version of that man. He mustered himself one final piece of defiance.
“I’ll find you. I’ll kill you for this you Yankee slave loving bastards.”
“Get walking,” Jeb said.
Gerber turned and walked away, lurching as his unclad feet found the sharp edges of stones. As he went I was left with a sense of wellbeing that was fired from two disparate sources. Watching Gerber stumbling off was a tiny revenge for all that people of his ilk were still doing, a revenge for me, and ones I had lost. The other thing was Jeb’s face - the hunger which lit his eyes as he looked at my legs, even while his cheeks burned red with embarrassment.
When Gerber was out of sight we broke camp and travelled due south for a few days. We figured anyone finding the wrecked airship was likely to figure on us continuing west.
The prairie looked the same, the wind blew over the humps and hollows with a sapping monotony. The only difference in our journey was where the sun sat in the sky.
I continued to ride one of the wagons, the three men swapped between the other wagon and the walkers. I did’t enjoy being in the walkers. The confinement reminded me too much of a punishment used on the plantation.
But I thought less of that and more and more of Jeb Soames. For more years than I could remember men had been no more than a tool to take me forward. I had as much emotional attachment to any individual one as I did to the wagon that swayed below me as we crested a small rise. I was not immune to a man’s charms: whether his mental acuity, physique, or billfold. But there was no more question of me forming an attachment as to a favored dress. Each did their turn, were favored for a season of appropriate length, and then discarded.
With Jeb there was a difference. There was appeal in the glances he stole when he thought I wasn’t looking; in the glint of his steely eyes which sparked as brightly as any diamond I had seen; in his palpable desire, tempered by whatever shy reserve prevented him pursuing me openly.
Maybe it was our situation that made him so alluring. I have had plenty of shy suitors, handsome, even rich. But none had made my chest pound as Jeb did. Maybe it was the isolation of this fertile desert, the knowledge that we were the only people for uncountable miles, and Jeb was the one that ticked my boxes.
We came to a pond and small copse of trees and camped for the night, intending to return to our westward course the next morning.
After we ate I collected plates and followed Jeb to the pond, where he was washing the pan and skillet.
“Was there no sweetheart left behind in Dubuque when you left for war?” I asked. I reached past him for the cleaning brush and scraped the tips of my fingers lightly across his forearm. He jumped, as if touching a metal door handle after shuffling through thick carpet in stocking feet. “Oh, sorry,” I said.
He shook his head, and rubbed the arm with his other hand. “No problem,” he replied. “And, no, there was no one back in Dubuque. No one who meant anything.”
The way he said it told me there may not have been when he left, but there had been at some point, and he was still raw. “And you never met anyone on the campaign?”
He shook his head. “No one special.”
“Not even one you paid to visit regularly?”
He looked round, a mixture of confusion, anger, and embarrassment on his face. “What do you me—, I mean, no, well…”
It was almost too cute to watch. I’d always enjoyed teasing the naive younger men who made their stuttering requests for entrance to the house, openly laughing at their discomfort, and then unleashing the girls on them to lighten their loads. I made my smile gentle, understanding. “You were a soldier, not a saint. I bet you were her favorite every week.”
He colored a deep red and stood up.
“I’ve finished the pan,” he said. “Do you need a hand?”
“No thanks, Jeb.”
He stalked over to the wagons with the pan and skillet. Drops of water spattered his pants with dark spots and his legs rippled with firm muscles. My desire grew further.
§
I woke the next morning to sunshine, and the sound of thunder. Another herd of buffalo swarmed across the plain. It was so wide that I could not clearly make out where it ended, and to the left and right it seemed to flow from horizon to horizon like a river.
Gordon was heating the coffee pot on the fire and I joined him.
“When did this start?” I asked, raising my voice above the hammering hooves.
“About an hour before dawn.”
“Where’s Jeb and Soames?”
Gordon pointed south and there they were, standing atop a small hillock and scanning the far horizon. Gordon passed me a tin mug filled with coffee and I wrapped my hands round it, letting the heat build in my hands, bringing a warmth which the days sunshine would not reach for another few hours.
The coffee was rich, a dark roast. It was a touch of luxury, almost decadence, in the middle of a vast human desert. A reminder that, beyond the four of us, there were other people doing other things and, for a moment, I missed the house on Delaware Street. I missed the soft mattress and thick cotton sheets of my bed. Sipping the coffee and watching Jeb and Soames walk back towards the camp I tried to think what else I was lacking. The list stopped when I reached more frequent bathing and clean clothes. It was shock to realize how little I really required, really wanted.
While I was in my small reverie Jeb and Soames arrived back.
“Morning, Jeannie,” Soames called from a handful of yards away.
“Morning, Soames,” I replied. “Morning, Jeb.” Jeb nodded, stifling a yawn. He’d been on the middle watch, finishing round about the time the buffalo arrived and hadn’t yet slept. “What did you see?” I asked.
Jeb said, “The buffalo go as far as the eye can see, maybe all the way to Texas. It must be four or five hundred yards across. We can walk North, or South, but until they pass there is no way East without being trampled. We reckon the herd the other day was a small forerunner to this one.”
“What should we do?”
Soames and Gordon took the walkers to scout further south to see if there was any sign of the herds end. Jeb was to get his rest.
“Use the wagon,” I said. “It’s comfier than your bedroll.”
A few hours later I took him a coffee. He was still sleeping, his chest rising and falling gently. Around his chin a slight darkening showed he hadn’t shaved. I shook his arm, beneath the worn cotton of the army jacket it was firm, even in rest. He didn’t stir. I squeezed the solid muscle, feeling the contours beneath my fingers. Slowly he crawled up from the depths of his dreams. Watching him do so made the fluttering in my stomach, the thump in my chest, move to a higher level.
His eyes flickered open. The confusion of sleep showed fear, a level of vulnerableness which slid inside me like a knife. By the time his face showed recognition I was committed to something I’d been considering without conscious thought from the moment I decided to make him a drink.
“I bought you coffee,” I said.
“Thanks.” He wiped his eyes.
“D’you want a kiss?”
“What?”
“It’s just that, the way you’ve been looking at me, I thought it might appeal to you.”
He said nothing, just stared back. In the shade of the wagon his eyes were more grey than blue, a granite which for a moment I thought I’d been wrong about. Then he nodded, just a little. We looked at each other, eye to eye. Nothing else existed and I leaned forward, placing the cup aside.
His lips were softer than I expected. Maybe the metal confines of the walker prevented the prairies constant wind from drying them out. I closed my eyes and melted into the kiss. His arms wrapped around me, cords I was willing to accept.
I slid my hands beneath the covers, seeking his skin. It was hot and soft, silk over steel muscle. I scraped my nails against his torso and he jumped, gasping, breaking the kiss. We looked at each other. Words were useless. I sat up and pulled my dress over my head, leaving me in my knickers.
Turning, I dropped the garment to the side. When I looked back Jeb was staring at me.
I reached up, lacing my hands behind my head, accentuating my breasts. “You like what you see?”
He barely nodded.
“You can touch,” I said.
He reached up. His hands clasped my breasts and I sighed. It was involuntary. All those small looks, all the glances and accidental collisions around camp had led to this and now his hands were on me the response was driven by more primal urges.
When, after a short time, it seemed he’d run out of ideas I lowered my hands, clasping his to my breasts, rubbing the back of his hands, while his coarse palms continued massaging me. Beneath his palms my nipples were stiff and tender. Each movement sent shivers through me, up through my neck and into my head, and down, further down.
Eventually I said, “How about I come under that cover with you?”
“Sure, sorry, are you cold?”
I shuffled over and Jeb lifted the blanket.
“No,” I said. “But the rest will be easier if we’re closer together.”
I fumbled the first button of his tunic. He started undoing the rest. I reached lower, deftly dislodging the buttons of his fly, feeling the firmness beneath. Reaching inside I rested my hand against him.
He gasped a little. I looked up, tilting my head slightly. “Are you okay?”
“Sure, sure. I need to take—“
He rushed to take his army jacket off. I kept my hand in place, not moving. After his jacket he shucked his singlet and we were naked torso to naked torso. I moved my hand, rolled on top of him and leaned in to kiss. Jeb slid his hands across my back, I slid fingers along his sides, dragging my nails slowly as our kiss went on.
He slid his hands down, over my ass, then back. When he slid down again he slid under the lace. I clenched my fingers, digging my nails into him. He stopped.
“Sorry,” he said, “was that—“
“Shut up, and kiss me.”
I drove into him, devouring him. His hands restarted their quest for me.
Without warning he grasped me, and rolled sideways, then again. Now he loomed above me, his eyes blue and gray and warmer than the ocean off the Carolina coast, desire fired them and it fired me. I pushed at his pants, urging them down. He took over, leaning back and sliding his pants and shorts down, revealing himself. I slid my thumbs into my knickers, lifted my hips, and pushed.
Jeb leaned over, his breath warm against my face. I reached between us and took him, leading him to me.

Afterwards we lay together. The thunder of buffalo hooves continued to pound the earth. We slept.
When I woke the buffalo were still there, but the light of day was diminishing. Jeb slept on, his breathing deep and regular. Lying there, with his arms still around me, it felt like the world was right. It didn’t matter what had happened back east, it didn’t matter what may happen out west. Right now was perfect, a moment where the world had stopped, frozen in time and place, and we were at it’s center.
I sighed, warmth ran through me. Then I heard the familiar clank of a war-walker. It would have been easier to stay where I was, I’m not the shameful type, but I didn’t know how Jeb would respond to the others knowing of our tryst. Easing myself out of his arms I slid my knickers and dress on and went to put more wood on the embers of the fire, building it up so we could prepare food.

§

When Jeb joined us later he said little, and barely looked at me. He had an air of brooding intensity, like he was worrying away at a problem. I had a feeling the problem was me. Had the consummation of our flirtation been lacking? Did the thrill of the chase outshine the capture? I said nothing. Gordon handed him a bowl of bacon and beans and he ate while looking at the ground.
Gordon looked at me, one eyebrow arched in a question. I stared back without changing my expression.
“Looks like a rough day’s travel tomorrow,” Gordon said. “All up and down and prairie dog burrows all over the place.”
“I’m sure Miss Brash will be able to find them all.”
I looked up, expecting to see Jeb’s lips curled in a smile. He was still, head down, face grim. Soames and Gordon looked at him, and then at me. Gordon’s eyebrow arched again. This time I shrugged.
“You okay, Jeb?” asked Soames.
“Sure.”
Soames looked at me, eyes creased with questions. I didn’t have answers. Jeb’s response was cold.
“Jeb,” I said.
“I gotta go pee,” he said. He dropped his half-finished dinner on the ground and stood, swiveled on his heel and walked off. His footsteps crunched the dry soil of the prairie, the fire crackled and threw off sparks as wood shifted, the rumble of buffalo hooves continued.
“What’s that about?” Soames asked.
I shook my head and stood up. “I’m going to find out.”
I followed Jeb to the small rise that he and Soames had stood on that morning.
“Jeb?”
He didn’t turn round, just looked west past the herd and towards a horizon where the setting sun splashed the sky with pinks and reds.
“Back in Washington what did you do?” he asked.
“What?”
“What did you do for work?”
I just stared at him.
“Where you a whore?”
I’ve never been ashamed what I did. I wasn’t going to start now just because this man had made me feel nice. “Yes I was, a damned good one. Good enough to have a whole house of whores working for me.”
“I could tell. That was more than a quarter ever purchased. Here,” something clinked on the stones by my feet, “a dollar for your efforts this afternoon.”
I slapped him, open handed and hard. As I walked back to the camp I was in turmoil. My feelings for Jeb had grown deeper than I suspected. I thought they’d been returned.
Back at the camp Gordon and Soames looked at me expectantly.
“Ask the bastard yourselves,” I said and headed to my wagon.
A scream cut the night. Jeb. Then a call. “Help!”

To come in Part 3 - Cooper's Farm

Story by stuartcturnbull, art by Darkmoon_Art on Pixabay