Sweetwater (2 page)

“I’m thirsty.” The younger of the two whimpered as she had been doing for hours.

The woman controlled her irritation and reminded herself that she couldn’t fault the little one for complaining. The children had been under a terrible strain for a year, and it had been only two weeks since they had escaped from their home in the middle of the night. So much had happened to them in such a short time.

“We’ll get a drink of water at the hotel … if there is one.”

Standing beside her trunks, which had been dumped onto the split-log porch of the unpainted building that served as the stage station, Virginia was aware of the stares of the crowd. Her stylish dark green blouse suit, trimmed with black satin strips around the lapels and the bottom of the skirt, marked her as different from the people lined up to watch the stage come in. Roughly dressed, whiskered men eyed her, but turned away when she sternly returned their inquisitive looks.

A sign on an unpainted building caught her eye. Well! At least this ramshackle town had a hotel.

The girls waited beside the baggage, the younger girl taking refuge behind the older one.

“Cass, you and Beatrice stay here by our trunks while I get someone to take them to the hotel.”

“Please call me Cassandra, Virginia. I’ve told you that I don’t like being called Cass. It’s something you’d name a dog … or a horse. I’m surprised you allow yourself to be addressed as … Jenny.”

“I don’t mind in the least being called Jenny.”

With a sigh, Cassandra wrinkled her brow and looked disgustedly around at the unpainted buildings, the rutted roadway littered with horse droppings and at the persons who stared at them rudely.

“This is a poor excuse for a town. It isn’t at all what I expected.”

“It isn’t exactly what I expected either, but it’s perfect for us. We agreed on that before we set out on this journey. Remember?”

“I understand. They can’t extradite us back to Allentown from a territory.”

At times Jenny was in awe of this little half sister who at nine years of age had such an adult grasp of their situation. She looked down into the upturned freckled face, exposed to the sunlight by the new blue velvet bonnet with the brim turned back. Both girls had the blue eyes of their mother, who had been their father’s third wife, and Beatrice had her blond hair. Cassandra had dark red hair, almost the same color as Jenny’s, inherited from their father.

In the course of his three marriages George Hepperly had sired four daughters, all the while longing for a son to take over his shoe business and carry his name into the future. He had been wise with his investments but unwise in his choice of guardians for his children.

When George remarried a year after Jenny’s mother died, Margaret had been ten years old and had resented Jenny from the day she was born. On the other hand, Jenny had loved the woman her father married next and had been delighted when her little sisters came along. She had not spent much time with them because she had been educated at a boarding school and had spent summer vacations with her mother’s relatives in Baltimore. After finishing school, she had stayed on with an aging aunt and had been unaware of the situation that had developed back home after her father’s death until Tululla, George Hepperly’s cook for many years, had written to suggest a visit.

“I’m thirsty.” Beatrice tugged on Jenny’s hand.

“There’ll be water at the hotel, sweetheart.”

“These unwashed barbarians obviously do not intend to help us with the baggage.” Cassandra’s voice rang out.

“Shhh …”

“They have no manners,” she continued, but this time more quietly.

“That’s no reason for us not to use ours.”

A man in a black serge suit emerged from the building. His coat was open, showing a gold watch chain stretched across a brocaded vest. His black boots were polished, but dust-covered. The men on the porch parted to make way for him. He eyed Jenny, and then the girls, with a frown before he carefully removed his hat. His hair was jet-black with wings of white at the temples. His mustache was sprinkled with gray and trimmed to slant down on each side of his mouth.

“Mrs. Gray?”

“I’m Virginia Gray.” Jenny, annoyed at the irritation apparent in his voice, grew even more so when he so limply shook the hand she offered.

“Alvin Havelshell, ma’am.” Steely blue eyes went to the girls standing beside the baggage. “I didn’t know you were bringing your children.”

“Is there a problem with that?”

“No. It’s just that I expected a much older woman … ah … not a young married lady with children.”

“Are you objecting to the children?”

“Not at all, Mrs. Gray—”

“
Miss
Gray. I’ve never been married.” Jenny was a tall woman. Even though she and Havelshell were of equal height, she managed to look down her nose at him and watch his face redden and his lips flatten in reaction.

“It’s just that you’re not … not what I expected.” The frown on his face drew his brows together.

“Where have I heard
that
before?” Cassandra murmured.

Mr. Havelshell’s cold stare caused the child to move slightly behind Jenny.

“I have a copy of my contract with the Bureau of Indian Affairs. My attorney went over it carefully. It specifies nothing about age or marital status. Would you like to see it?”

“That won’t be necessary.” He spoke curtly and stepped out into the road to motion to the driver of the wagon to pull it up to the station porch. “I’ve arranged for your transportation out to Stoney Creek. This all yours?” He gestured toward the huge pile of baggage.

“It is. The driver can take it to the hotel. I plan to spend the night there. The children are tired and thirsty, and I’ll need to buy supplies in the morning before we go out to Mr. Whitaker’s ranch.”

“The supplies have been taken care of. A full bill of goods, paid for out of Whitaker’s estate as stipulated in the will, is in the wagon. Here, you fellows, help Frank load the lady’s trunks.” He stepped to the station door as the men came reluctantly forward. “Harvey, bring a bucket of water and a dipper. The ladies are thirsty.”

Jenny seethed over the high-handed way he was overruling her wishes but decided not to make an issue of it now.

“How far is it to Stoney Creek?” she asked when she could get his attention.

“Not far. Not far a’tall.”

“Considering that it’s already afternoon and we’re tired from the journey, I’d rather we spend the night in the hotel and have a full day tomorrow to get settled in.”

Havelshell came so close to her that Jenny backed up a step. He lowered his voice and spoke in a confidential tone.

“Ma’am, the hotel has been taken over by … ah … ladies of the night. It’s not a fit place for you and the young ones.”

“He means whores, Virginia,” Cassandra prompted in a loud whisper when a blank expression crossed Jenny’s face.

“What’s whores?” Beatrice’s childish voice carried her question to the men loitering nearby. They snickered.

“I’ll tell you later.” Cassandra took the dipper of water offered and held it while the little girl drank.

“You’ll do no such thing,” Jenny admonished in a whisper, glancing at the man who stood at the end of the station porch holding on to the reins of his horse. He, like the others, had an amused smile on his face. She shot him a look of dismissal, then swept her flashing green eyes over the other men like a hand, wiping the grins from their faces.

While leading his horse to the water trough beside the station, a dark-haired, clean-shaven man paused, as had every other person on the street, to observe the scene on the station porch. He tilted his head and grinned. If the Indian agent had expected a docile maiden lady to take over Stoney Creek Ranch and Indian school, one he could either bend to his will or scare off, he was in for a surprise. This auburn-haired woman, although slender as a reed, was obviously no spineless creature. She hadn’t come all this way to be sent packing because folks didn’t want her here. He would bet his bottom dollar on that!

This morning Trell McCall had picked up enough information at the saloon to know that folks in town were pretty worked up about the Indian Bureau bringing in a teacher for the Indian children when they didn’t have one for their own kids. It had something to do with old Whitaker’s will and his arrangement with Indian Affairs back in Washington. The townsfolk didn’t care about that and would be sure to give her the cold shoulder. Their attitude usually wouldn’t bother Havelshell in the least. He must have another reason for wanting to get her out of town.

Trell seldom visited the town cradled in the bend of the Sweetwater River, but he was glad he had come this day. The lady was something to see. She was tall, proud, and as handsome as a thoroughbred filly. She reminded him of Mara Shannon, his brother Pack’s wife, who had come out of a fancy school in Denver and had taken over the McCall ranch near Laramie. She had tamed the wild, bare-knuckle-fighting freighter and taken his young brothers, Trell and Travor, in hand as well.

Trell stifled a chuckle. From his position at the end of the porch he’d heard every word said. The lady had a mind of her own. She had refused to satisfy Havelshell’s curiosity about the children. That was sure to set the busybodies to talking! Not that they needed much of an excuse. The fact that she was the long-awaited teacher for the Indian school was enough.

Havelshell was speaking in low tones to the wagon driver, who was tying his horse to the tailgate. He was stocky with longish hair and a short, curly beard. He peered at Jenny with large dark eyes and she looked boldly back, seeking to evaluate this man with whom she and the girls would be leaving town. It was impossible to judge his age. He could be twenty-five or fifty. She decided that he was nearer to twenty-five when he sprang up agilely into the wagonbed and rearranged the sacks and boxes to make room behind the wagon seat.

“Here you are, little ladies. You’ll have a nice easy ride on the feed sacks.”

Without asking permission, Havelshell lifted first Beatrice, who let out a frightened yelp, and then Cassandra into the wagon. Both girls were shocked when grabbed by the strange man. Beatrice climbed up onto the grain bags, but Cassandra continued to stand and glare at the man who had put her into the wagon.

“Just sit down, Cassandra.” Jenny sympathized with her sister, but there wasn’t anything she could do about it now.

“Figured you’d need feed.” Havelshell ignored the young girl’s obvious resentment and spoke to Jenny, then added, “That is if the chickens haven’t been carried off by those thievin’—” He left his words hanging.

“Carried off by animals?”

“No, I mean stolen by the Indians. They’ll steal you blind if you don’t watch them. They have no sense of honesty, you know. Don’t expect the little bastards, oh, sorry, excuse my language, to learn anything. They’ll come to school, all right, to see what they can steal. They’re a stupid lot. Don’t seem to want to catch on to the way decent people live. Don’t give them any slack, or they’ll run you in the ground. If you find you can’t manage them, let me know, and I’ll deal with it. They don’t understand anything but a strong hand.”

Jenny decided then and there that Mr. Havelshell was an arrogant bigot. He continued, speaking in a confidential tone, as if they were the only two people in the world smart enough to understand what he was talking about.

“Just let them know who’s boss right off, and watch them like a hawk watches a chicken.” He tilted his head toward the wagon. “Frank will see you out to the place. The team and wagon belong out there. I’ve taken the liberty to lay in what I think it will take to get you started. There’s grub, lamp oil, and feed for the chickens. If there’s anything you need—send word. We’ll run a tab for you here at the store and take the money out of your pay when the Bureau sends it.”

“I’ll pay for whatever we need with a check drawn on a bank in Laramie. I insist that any communications that come to me from the Bureau remain unopened.”

“I don’t think you understand, Miss Gray. I’m in charge here.” His face reddened angrily.

“I understand perfectly that you are the agent in charge of Indian affairs on the reservation. I am in charge of the school. My contract is with the Bureau in Washington, not with you. I will repeat what I said: any mail that comes to me, personal or from the Bureau, is to be sent out unopened.”

She turned her back, dismissing him. She was so angry that she was afraid she would say something she would regret later on. If she had embarrassed him, it was his own fault for bringing up the subject. The idea that he had the gall to suggest he take payment out of her pay! Lordy mercy! She was going to have to work with this arrogant, jackass of a man!

Never in her life had Jenny climbed the wheel of a wagon to reach the seat. She had ridden in farm wagons to the field or on picnics, but always sitting on the tailgate. She gritted her teeth, lifted the hem of her skirt, and placed her foot on the spoke of the wheel. It was easier than she had expected once she grasped the hand of the driver and he pulled her up. She heard something in her skirt rip as she fell into the seat. The driver clicked the horses and the creaking wagon moved away from the station.

Jenny was sure that she had given the men who were lined up along the station wall a glimpse of her legs, but it was of no consequence to her. She had more important things on her mind.

Admitting to himself that he was as bad as the loafers who lingered in the road and in front of the station to gawk at the new arrivals, Trell McCall waited until the wagon left town before he tied his horse and went into the station. Harvey, the station manager was looking out the dirty windowpane trying to get another glimpse of the departing wagon.

“Ain’t she somethin’?” He turned and shook his head.

“Who’re you talking about?”

“Ah … ya know. The Indian teacher. Too bad, is all I can say.”

“Too bad for what?”

“Too bad she come all this way for nothin’. She ain’t goin’ to last out there. She ain’t stout enough fer one thin’. ‘Nother thin’, what’s a city woman like her know ‘bout the Shoshoni? Havelshell ort to aput her back in the coach and sent her back to where she come from.” He shook his head again. “Folks ain’t likin’ it that the government sent a teacher to teach the Indian kids when they ain’t got no teacher for theirs.”