Frontier Courtship (3 page)

Standing in the upstairs room in her chemise and drawers, Faith listened at the slightly open door, then quietly eased it closed. Thanks to the tight bindings around her midriff, she’d managed to get out of bed without too much discomfort. She hated corsets. Always had. But she had to admit wearing one might have spared her poor bones.

Placing her forehead and palms against the wood of the door, she closed her eyes for a moment, hoping that somehow, when she opened them again, her current predicament would prove to be no more than a bad dream.

Such was not the case. Breathing shallowly when she really wanted to sigh deeply, she straightened and took a long look at the room. The bed sagged in the middle where the ropes had stretched, but at least it was clean. Mrs. Morse had hung her soiled dress on a peg next to the pine washstand. On the floor in front of it was a small rag rug, just like the ones Grandma Reeder used to make, and laid across the foot of the bed was a plain lawn wrapper.

Barefoot, Faith crossed to the bed and slowly threaded her arms into the wrapper, folding it closed. The process was painful, though not nearly as bad as she suspected trying to put on her dress would be. Pensive, she tied the sash and padded across the cool wooden floor, in search of a breeze from the open window.

The wide, busy street lay below, it’s clattering traffic an ongoing performance. Wagons of all shapes and uses were passing, as well as riders and enough foot traffic to more than fill the fondly remembered old streets of Burg Hill. In the midst of all the hubbub sat a man in buckskin astride a giant horse the color of a rusty rose.

With a trembling hand, Faith drew aside the lacy curtains and studied the traveler who had so recently borne her to safety in his arms. It was a kindness she hadn’t expected here in this wild country. She fingered her pendant and thought of home. Of family. Oh, how she wished her mother were there to be a companion in her travails, to understand her the way Charity never could.

Well, at least her Good Samaritan had the hope of someday finding his missing betrothed, Faith mused, looking down at him and stifling a tiny twinge of jealousy. She would never again see her dearest ones or the home place she’d loved, no matter how hard she wished or prayed or toiled.

Suddenly realizing she had taken her deliverance for granted, Faith was penitent. Not only had she been spared the fate her poor mother had suffered, she’d been rescued a second time since then. Given the unsympathetic reactions of the other travelers she’d encountered at the fort, it was a wonderment she was not still lying in a heap in the street.

In retrospect, Faith realized she’d drifted in and out of consciousness while being carried to the trading post. She’d felt the rumble of the man’s voice beneath his buckskin shirt as he’d told the boy she’d fainted. There was also a vague recollection of a gentle hand on her face as someone touched her to brush back a lock of hair. Could that have been him?

Stepping in front of half of the curtain, she toyed with the loose curls that hung down over her shoulders. Decent, grown women didn’t let anyone but their husbands see them with their hair thus, Faith reminded herself. And they certainly didn’t stand in a window clad in nothing more than their chemise and a wrapper. Yet she didn’t move away, even when the man’s head tipped back and he gazed boldly in her direction.

Did he know who he was watching? He must. If not, why stare like that? There was plenty to see in the street below without bothering to peer into a tiny window fifteen feet above the entrance to the trading post.

Faith knew she should step back into the shadows. Displaying herself was indecent. Wanton. Still, there was the remembered touch of a hand on her cheek, the pounding of a strong heart beneath her ear as he bore her away in his arms, and the concern she’d glimpsed in his eyes as mental darkness had overcome her.

One more look, one more thought of intense gratitude wouldn’t hurt. She knew she’d never see the man again. He had a quest of his own—the search for his bride—while she must complete her own journey. That their divergent paths had crossed at all was amazing. She only wished she’d had an opportunity to thank him in person.

Wanting to memorize the image of her rescuer so she could later pay proper homage to his compassion, Faith swayed closer to the thick, white-painted casement. Beneath his beard and mustache, she thought she saw a smile, though it was impossible to be certain at such a great distance. Hopeful, she raised her hand as if bestowing a blessing.

In reply, the man tipped his hat, then squared it on his head, reined his horse hard and rode off.

Faith’s heart pounded as she watched him go. Clearly, he’d entered her life to profoundly influence it. No matter how far she traveled or how many more years she lived, she’d never forget him.

Sudden awareness made her breath catch. Of course! The man on the red horse had been the answer to her fervent prayers for deliverance. Accepting that notion tempered her perspective of the ordeal in which she was currently embroiled. Without his amazing intervention she might actually have died, alone and ignored.

And gone to be with Jesus, she countered, certain her lonely soul would approve of the idea, just as it had ever since her mother’s fatal accident. This time, however, Faith found she was no longer looking forward to joining Mama in heaven. Yes, she wanted to see all her loved ones again someday, but her earthly tasks weren’t complete. Not yet.

By proving she wasn’t truly alone in her current trials, a heaven-sent stranger had inadvertently opened her eyes—and her heart—to the possibility of a bright, worthwhile future.

And she didn’t even know his name.

N
ear evening, the sun turned the adobe walls of Fort Laramie a pale crimson. Myriad cooking fires were burning in the distant wagon camps. Anna brought Faith a bowl of warm gruel with pork trimmings and a cup of broth made with boiled, dried vegetables.

“I’d a fetched you more if I’d figured you could hold it,” she said, setting the small pewter tray down on the top of the washstand.

“Whatever you’ve made is fine.” Faith managed a smile and arose with care, her bare feet silent on the wooden floor. Thoughtful, she paused. “I don’t know when I’ll be able to repay you for all your kindness. If I were going to be here longer I’d offer to work off my bill.”

“Ain’t necessary. It’s been paid.”

“But…how? Surely my sister didn’t…”

“Not her. Forgive me for sayin’ so, but she’s about as worthless as a pocket on a pouch.”

Blushing, Faith stifled a chuckle. The analogy was funny and most apropos. “Then, how was it paid?” Tempted by the aroma of the hot broth, she raised the cup to sip while Anna spoke.

“Them fellas what busted you up took up a fine collection—with a little prodding.”

Faith paused as the liquid trickled down her throat, warming her against the cool of the evening. “Prodding? I don’t understand.” But in her heart, she did. Unless she missed her guess, her buckskin-clad benefactor had once again come to her rescue. A faint smile began to lift the corners of her mouth.

Anna snickered. “From the look in your eye, I’d say you’ve got the right idea. Didn’t see it happen, myself, but talk is, your Mr. McClain dusted the floor of Maguire’s with them boys in blue.”

“Oh, dear.” Faith pressed her free hand to the base of her throat, over the mourning pendant. It was strange to hear the big man referred to as her Mr. McClain. So,
that
was his name.

“Quite a sight, they say, and I can sure see why. That boy’s a big one, all right. Strong as Finnegan’s ox.”

“He’s hardly a boy,” Faith observed, sipping more broth to cover her urge to smile at the ridiculous comparison. “Did he say what his given name was?”

Anna raised an eyebrow. “Can’t say as he did. Why?”

“I just wondered.”

“It’s good you’ve got a friend like him, considering the mess you’re in.”

Lowering the cup of broth, Faith set it aside before taking advantage of the comment to ask, “When you say mess, are you referring to my injury, or to our business dealings with Ramsey Tucker?”

“Both. Mostly Tucker, I reckon.”

Faith reached for the older woman’s callused hands, clasping them tightly. “Please. I must know everything you’ve heard.”

“You won’t like it.”

“Ramsey Tucker has made more than one inappropriate suggestion regarding my lack of a husband or father to care for me and my sister during the crossing. I’d hardly be shocked at anything you’d tell me about his character. He’s detestable.”

Nodding, Anna led Faith over to the edge of the rope bed and they perched together on the wooden frame. “You’re right about him. He’s passed through here seven or eight times. I liked him less every time I laid eyes on him.”

“But why? I’ve seen that he’s cruel. He’s even whipped my poor, innocent mules for no reason except pure meanness. But there must be more. I feel it.”

“Maybe so. Not that I have any sworn word on it, mind you, but I hear your captain’s been made a new widower on just about every trip.” She paused, patting Faith’s hands for comfort. “They say he picks out a woman of property, sidles up to her, and before she knows it they’re married. Trouble is, his brides don’t reach Californy.”

Faith’s eyes widened. “And he inherits?”

“Every penny. And all his dead wife’s possessions, to boot. Makes himself a pretty piece of change, what with sellin’ off their rigs and all.”

“Oh, dear Lord!” Faith’s hands fluttered to her throat again. “He started making up to my sister after I rebuffed him.”

“That ain’t good. Not good at all.”

“I know. But what can I do? We have to get to my father somehow.”

“Stay here then. Wait for the next train to come through and join up with them.”

“We can’t.” Ringing her hands, Faith began to pace, oblivious to the pain in her side. “Tucker has most of the money I was able to raise by selling what was left of the farm. We can’t afford to pay again. And we might not be able to talk another party into accepting us, even if we could. Not two women alone.”

Shrugging, Anna got to her feet. “You’re probably right about that.” She reached into her apron pocket, came up with a fistful of coins, and placed them in Faith’s hands. “Here. Take this. It’s not much but it’ll help.”

“Oh, I couldn’t.”

“Have to, as I see it,” the shopkeeper countered. “It ain’t my money. It come from the soldiers I told you about. Way too much for what little your stay here cost.”

“Well…”

“Good girl. Take whatever the Good Lord supplies and don’t ask questions. That’s the way to get by out here.”

“Thank you.” Faith smiled with gratitude. “Now, what advice can you give me about handling Ramsey Tucker?”

Snorting in derision, Anna shook her head. “That’s another kettle of burnt beans, ain’t it? As I see it, all you’ve got to do is keep your little sister locked up tight for the next couple o’ thousand miles. Anything so’s she don’t go gettin’ all het up about marryin’ that son of perdition—excuse my plain speakin’.”

“No pardon necessary. I’ve thought to call him worse than that myself, once or twice.”

“I’ll bet many a sensible woman has. It’s the foolish ones what get taken in and pay so dearly. I’ll be prayin’ for you, Faith. I truly will.”

“Thank you. Please do. I suspect I’ll need all the help I can get before I ever set eyes on the American River.”

Dozing in the soft, slightly sagging bed, Faith was nudged into wakefulness just before dawn by the low timbre of a man’s voice. Before she was fully aware of what she was doing, she’d donned the wrapper again and tiptoed across the floor to her door, opening it a crack so she could listen.

The voice was unmistakable, both in its inflections and its concern. She knew if she looked out her window to the street below, she’d no doubt see a big red horse waiting at the hitching rail.

The trouble was, she couldn’t make out what her self-appointed defender was saying. Nor could she hear Anna’s quiet responses. At home in Ohio she never would have ventured out onto the upper landing dressed as she was, but this wasn’t Burg Hill. This was the frontier. Her need to know was greater than any false modesty. Nervous, she crept to the railing and looked down.

The plainsman had slicked back his sandy-colored hair and, hat in hand, was speaking with Mrs. Morse at the base of the stairs. One booted foot rested on the bottom step.

“You’re sure she’ll be all right?”

“Fine,” Anna said. “She’s a strong one. Stubborn.”

“Her ribs?”

“Prob’ly cracked, like we figured. No fever, though. I checked on her twice during the night.”

He took a deep breath, releasing it noisily. “Thanks.”

Anna merely nodded. “Soon’s I get the store ready for today’s business I’ll take her up some breakfast. The train fixin’ to pull out soon?”

“Looks like it. Think she’ll be able to travel?”

“Oh, it’ll hurt, that’s for certain. But she’ll do.”

Connell muttered an unintelligible curse. “What are idiotic women thinking when they try to make a journey like this practically alone?”

Still poised one floor above him, Faith closed her hands tightly over the banister. She’d heard it all before. Too often. Who had made the rule that women ought to live their lives according to the rigid rules men set down for them, anyway? It didn’t have to be that way.

Her father had left his family to pursue gold. Wealth. Supposed happiness. Waiting behind, her mother had adjusted beautifully to life without a husband to sanction her daily decisions, and Faith had every intention of following that good example. Nobody, least of all a drifter, was going to tell her what she should or shouldn’t do. The fact that he’d helped her once didn’t give him any right to criticize her personal choices.

The hackles on the back of Connell’s neck began to prickle. He’d spent the past eleven years making his way through varying degrees of wilderness. The ongoing experience had honed his natural senses to a keen edge. Either an Indian was about to chuck an arrow his way, a hungry rattlesnake had a bead on his ankle, or Faith Beal had overheard his last comment. For the sake of his hide, he hoped it was the latter.

Raising his eyes, he looked up the stairs, intending only a quick glance. What he saw changed his mind in a blink.

The rising sun was coming through a window behind her, giving her a golden, glowing aura. The plain white wrapper was belted at her waist, its long sleeves gathered at her wrists, the skirt reaching to the floor. And her hair! Soft brown curls framed her face and cascaded in a tousled sheet of silken beauty over her shoulders. Most of the women he’d known, including Irene, had plaited their long hair at night. The wild, untamed look of Faith’s tresses took his breath away.

Nodding, he acknowledged her. “Ma’am.”

In spite of Anna’s sputtered protest, Faith did not withdraw.

“I apologize if I offended you,” Connell said, seeing undisguised ire on her face as he spoke.

“Not at all,” Faith said. “I’m quite used to men assuming that because I’m a woman I’m about as dumb as an old muley cow.”

Connell stifled a chuckle. “Some of those ol’ mossey-backs are pretty smart critters. It might be a compliment, ma’am.”

“I doubt it. At any rate, my sister and I do thank you for your care and concern, even if it is uncalled-for.”

“A pleasure. Can I take a message to your sister for you? I’m headed out that way.”

It was a reasonable enough offer, considering. And she did need a way to either get word to Charity or find her own ride to the wagon camp. “Yes, please. Ask for the Beal wagon and have my sister send Mr. Ledbetter back for me, if you please.”

With that, Faith stepped away from the railing and disappeared into her room, shutting the door firmly. She was suddenly weak, dizzy. Not that she intended to admit it to anyone but herself.

Pouring fresh water from the ewer into the shallow basin, she splashed her face and breathed as deeply as her ribs would allow until her head cleared some.

Anna had managed to rinse most of the previous day’s grime out of her green calico and had returned it to the peg beside the washstand. Though Faith would have preferred to sponge off her whole body before getting dressed, she logically decided against removing the tight bindings and chancing further injury.

Back home, she’d seen Gunther Muller die from a rib that poked into his lungs. It wasn’t a pretty sight. He’d lingered for hours while neighbors gathered to pray and offer their support. In the end, he’d died gasping for air. When he’d breathed his last, Hilda had gone out to the corral and put a bullet into the prize bull that had stomped her husband to death.

Faith shivered at the memory. Before she left Fort Laramie she’d be sure to pick up some extra muslin for bandages so Charity could replace her bindings when it became necessary.

Thoughts of the days and weeks ahead before she was fully healed made Faith’s heart lodge in her throat. So far, their trip had been fairly easy compared to some of the stories of hardship and loss she’d heard. From now on, however, it was going to be dreadful. Pure and simple.

Not sure she’d have time to eat before the Ledbetters came for her, Faith concentrated first on buying the muslin. Accepting a parcel of fresh biscuits from Anna in lieu of a morning meal, she then waited inside the store, scanning the busy street.

Will had been going in and out, loading goods for a teamster headed up the Platte toward the Black Hills and Deer Creek. He stuck his head back in the door to holler, “Wagon’s here for you, Miss Beal.”

She rose stiffly from her perch on some sacks of beans and said politely, “Thank you.” Approaching Anna, she held out her hand in parting and found herself swiftly swept into a gentle but encompassing hug.

“You take care, you hear?” the older woman warned, her eyes suspiciously moist, her wrinkled forehead creasing even more as she spoke. “Watch your back.”

“I will. The Ledbetters are good people. They’ll stand by me, I’m sure.”

“Still…”

“I know. I’ll be careful,” Faith vowed. “I promise. If you’re ever out Sacramento way…”

Anna stood back. “Doubt I will be, but thank ya.”

It was hard to make herself break away and leave the haven of Anna’s presence. “Well…”

“Have a safe trip.”

“Lord willing.”

Turning away, Faith stood tall and walked out the door into the bright morning sun, shading her eyes with her right hand. Her bonnet ribbons, reticule and the string around the small bundle of muslin were looped over her opposite wrist.

Ledbetter’s spring wagon was waiting, all right, but Ramsey Tucker was in the driver’s seat! The sardonic grin on his face set Faith’s teeth on edge.

“What are you doing here? Where’s Mr. Ledbetter?”

“He had chores in camp.”

“Chores you assigned him?”

Tucker spit tobacco juice over the off side of the wagon. “Maybe. So what? Get in.”

She started to place her hands on her hips, realized the motion made her left side hurt worse and lowered her arms. “I’d rather walk, thank you.”

“You do and you’ll be walkin’ from here to Fort Bridger, missy. I’ll see to it.”

“Don’t you dare threaten me.”

Tucker cursed. “Come on. Get in. I’m tired o’ foolin’ with ya.” He reached down and grabbed her arm, giving it a mighty tug that lifted Faith’s feet off the ground.

She stumbled and swung against the front wheel of the wagon. Searing pain shot through her. Set knives to her spine. Made her cry out.

So far, the package of unbleached muslin had padded her side. It slipped slightly off center when she banged against the wheel rim a second time. If only Tucker would let go of her she’d gladly board!
Anything
to get him to stop jerking on her arm.