Brides of Prairie Gold (4 page)

"I'm the stranger in the group," Miss Munger explained. "It would be better if the representative is someone the rest of you know and trust."

The rest of the brides drew a slip of paper from Cody's hat, exchanging sidelong glances when little Mrs. Waverly hesitated, then also drew one of the papers.

"Well?" Sarah Jennings inquired. "Who drew the X?" Cody spotted the false tone covering her disappointment. Mrs. Jennings had wanted the position. He regretted that she hadn't gotten it.

"I did," Perrin Waverly whispered. She stared at her slip of paper in disbelief.

Cody sighed. Observing her consternation, he sensed pride had motivated her to draw rather than an actual desire to be the women's representative. She continued to examine the marked slip of paper with a shocked expression.

Augusta Boyd stiffened. "I will not take orders or accept decisions from that creature! We will have to draw again."

During the ensuing abrupt silence, Cody wrestled with his decision not to interfere. Judging by the reactions of the other brides, Perrin Waverly was something of an outcast. She was probably a poor choice as their representative. But it struck in his craw that Augusta Boyd appeared to believe the world should spin to her tune. He kept his mouth shut, but only with great effort.

The silence continued until Ona Norris, one of the younger brides, appealed to Cody. "Perhaps Mr. Snow should"

He raised his hands. "Work it out among yourselves."

Uneasily, they turned back to each other while Cody continued to gaze at Miss Ona Norris. Ona Norris was barely into her twenties, pretty in the way that young women always seemed pretty, youth placing a bloom on otherwise conventional features.

Jane Munger, sharp-eyed and sharp-featured, finally spoke. "Everyone here knows everyone else, so maybe you see things differently than I do. Maybe you think it makes sense to keep drawing from Mr. Snow's hat until Miss Boyd approves of whoever pulls the X." She looked at Augusta and raised an eyebrow. "But I think we should honor our agreement. We agreed to accept as our representative whoever drew the X."

Perrin Waverly lifted grateful eyes to Jane Munger. Her cheeks had turned fiery after Augusta's comment.

Hilda Clum and Sarah Jennings glanced at each other, then Sarah cleared her throat.

"Miss Munger is correct." She cast a troubled glance toward Perrin Waverly, speaking with obvious reluctance. "If we begin reneging on our agreements at this point, it doesn't augur well for the journey." Clearly, her statement made her uncomfortable, but she turned to Perrin, drew a breath, and said, "Therefore, I agree that the choice is made."

"I concur," Hilda Clum added after a brief hesitation.

Mem Grant nodded and elbowed her sister, but Bootie Glover sat twisting her hands together and gazing at Augusta with an uncertain expression as if she sided with Augusta but lacked the courage to stand against the majority.

Mem muttered a sound of exasperation. "My sister and I support Mrs. Waverly in accordance with our prior agreement."

Eventually, reluctantly, all the women grudgingly nodded assent except Augusta and Winnie something-or-other. Uninterested in the discussion, Winnie dreamily contemplated the flame dancing within a lantern glass.

Perrin rose in front of her chair and pressed her gloves together. "I've never done anything like this, but I pledge that I'll do my best to represent our interests to Mr. Snow." Briefly her cinnamon-colored eyes flicked toward his. Then she glanced at Augusta Boyd's rigid expression of loathing and bit her lower lip. "If I have to make decisions, I'll do so fairly."

Augusta stood and snapped her fingers at her maid. Cora Thorp pushed to her feet and handed Augusta a small beaded purse.

"You'll regret that you refused to take my advice to choose someone else," Augusta announced curtly. "I doubt it will take long for Mrs. Waverly's low character to reveal itself. I predict we shall all suffer for tonight's lapse of judgment."

Sweeping her velvet skirts to one side, she tossed her blond curls and glided from the meeting room, Cora Thorp a step behind her. The other brides smoothed their skirts or gloves, looking everywhere except at Perrin.

Perrin Waverly stood as straight and stiff as a ramrod, her hands in small, shaking balls by her sides. Although her lips trembled and humiliation pulsed on her cheeks, she spoke in a steady voice.

"Mr. Brady was kind to allow us the use of his hall. I'm sure he would appreciate it if we restore his chairs to their original places," she said quietly.

Grateful for a task to relieve the awkwardness, the women jumped to their feet and scraped their chairs back into line.

"Be at your wagons by five-thirty," Cody called as they hurried toward the door. "We depart at six o'clock sharp." He touched Perrin Waverly's arm, holding her back.

When the others had departed, he detailed her duties as the women's representative and suggested they meet for a few minutes every evening. While he talked, she straightened the rows of chairs, turned down the wicks in the lanterns.

"May I escort you home, Mrs. Waverly?" he inquired politely as they emerged from Brady's Mercantile and stepped into the darkness draping Main street. The lanterns on a gig bounced past them then receded. Otherwise the street was deserted.

"No!" she said sharply. She glanced toward a low light shining in the apothecary's bay window, then she sighed and spoke in a milder tone. "Thank you, but I'm just around the corner."

Silk roses adorned the brim of her bonnet; the color had faded to a dusky pink that matched the color of her lips. "Tell me something. You don't seem to lack spirit, so why do you allow Miss Boyd to insult you?"

He could have kicked himself. But despite his intention not to get involved with these women, he had always cheered for the runt of the litter. And that was Mrs. Waverly. Although she'd been affirmed as the women's representative, none of the brides truly accepted her except Jane Munger, a stranger to the group.

Instantly she stiffened and lowered her head. "I doubt my problems would interest you, Mr. Snow."

In other words, mind your own business, Cody thought. And she was right. "Sorry I asked," he muttered, angry with himself. He had no idea why he felt so drawn to this small prickly woman or why she had scratched his interest. Runts were always more trouble than the rest of the litter.

She clutched her shawl tightly against her throat, seeking protection from the chill night breeze. "Good night, sir."

"Good night." And good riddance, he silently added, vowing to put her out of his mind. The brides were just freight, he reminded himself as he watched her walk away from him.

When she reached the corner, she turned abruptly and stared back, her features lit by the dim light in the window of the apothecary. "Sometimes people don't have choices." She delivered the statement in a defensive tone that dared him to disagree. He could have sworn thorns sprouted from the faded roses trimming her bonnet.

"I believe people always have choices, but I'll concede that sometimes it doesn't appear that way."

"You're wrong," she stated flatly. "Sometimes there are no alternatives, none at all. Regardless, everyone deserves a fresh beginning. That isn't asking too much."

He didn't understand her defiant tone. The conversation seemed too mild to warrant the angry tremble in her voice. "I'm definitely in favor of second chances," he agreed, frowning.

She nodded curtly, then spun on her toes, leaving him to watch the seductive sway of her skirts as she marched beyond the apothecary's window. Cody imagined he spotted a giant shadow cast by the chip on her shoulder.

"Damn it." He waited until she rounded the corner like a soldier on parade. And he caught himself wondering how she would look with a smile curving those beautiful lips. He hated it, truly hated it, that such a thought would enter his mind.

Three-quarters of the town rose early on a chill spring morning to see the brides off. Church ladies passed out hot coffee and tarts baked in honor of the occasion. A sprightly fiddler moved through the crowd playing a wedding polka and encouraging hand clapping and a spontaneous jig here and there. During the night a well-meaning prankster had painted Oregon or bust on several of the wagons and a cheer went up at the sight.

Other than Perrin Waverly, Jane Munger, and the sisters, Mem Grant and Bootie Glover, all the brides had a collection of family or friends to wish them bon voyage and good luck. Hurried embraces were exchanged, tears shed, and last-minute gifts pressed into trembling hands. Then Smokey Joe Riley banged his dinner gong, signaling it was time to climb aboard the wagons.

Webb Coate cantered to a stop beside Cody at the head of the line and they watched with thin smiles as the women decided who would drive first before they took up the reins trailing across the broad backs of the oxen. One of the cattle tied behind Thea Reeves and Ona Norris's wagon broke loose. Midway down the line, a bonnet tumbled under the wheels.

"It will be a damned miracle if we get these women to Oregon," Cody observed, watching a young boy rush to toss the crushed bonnet back toward a wagon seat. The throng of spectators cheered as Miles Dawson jumped from his horse to retie the cow to the back of Miss Reeves's and Miss Norris's wagon.

Webb turned sparkling black eyes toward the low hills they would cross before nightfall. His hair lifted off his shoulders and the fringe on his buckskins fluttered in the cold wind.

"We'll make twelve miles even with a late start."

Cody looked at him. "You love this, don't you?"

"I'd give half of my father's fortune to do nothing but scout trains for the rest of my life."

Cody's smile broadened. "That sound you hear is not the wind. It's your father rolling in his grave."

Webb laughed. "Actually, I think he would have understood. What's hard for me to understand is why you've decided this is your last trip."

"You know the reasons."

Someday soon the plains would explode into violence. Each time Cody led a train through Indian territory, he observed fresh confirmation of growing anger and unrest. He had friends in both the Indian and white cultures and he wanted no part of the coming conflagration. That it would come, he could no longer doubt.

"Well, Captain." Webb leaned on the carbine resting across his thighs. "Are we ready or are we going to sit here all day?"

Cody looked down the line of wagons toward the townsfolk bunched together near the ferry. He thought about the eleven greenhorn women in his charge, twelve if he counted the maid. God help them all and keep them safe.

He removed his hat and swept it in a broad wave above his head.

"Wagoooons hooooo! Move 'em out!"

The journey began.

They rolled past the first graves shortly after the noon rest on the third day.

"Mr. Coate says it's cholera." Drawing her shawl tighter around her shoulders, Perrin peered at the mounded earth through a thin fall of spring snow. She tried not to think about how cold her feet were. "They didn't get very far."

The wagon she shared with Hilda Clum tilted over a large stone, then rocked past the pair of wooden crosses. Falling snow obscured any names that might have been carved in remembrance.