Untamed Journey (3 page)

A white-haired gentleman smiled in sympathy
at Ruth’s obvious efforts to avoid any physical contact with Jasper
Smith. At a subtle nudge from his wife, he leaned across the aisle
and took Ruth’s hand. “Don’t you pay any mind to your companion, my
dear. We men can be purely uncivilized until we come across a real
lady, and she reminds us of our proper place.” With Ruth’s small
hand held in his, he stared directly at Smith, as he spoke his
warning.

Smith snorted in disgust, not the least bit
intimidated by a dandified threat from an old man. “Mister, let me
tell you some stories of real men. Take Missy’s husband here. Darn
near single-handedly killed a band of Arapaho back in ‘64, when
them savages tried to stop good white folk from settling here.”

The old woman visibly blanched at this news
and quickly averted her eyes. Ruth knew when someone wasn’t telling
her the entire story, and the old woman across from her had that
look now. She’d seen that look growing up, as good Southern
gentlemen tried to protect the ladies in their life from harm.
Unfortunately, Ruth quickly learned that once a girl’s men were
dead and gone in War, she found out about all the ugly things never
spoken out loud in mixed company.

When the silence grew, Smith stood up in
disgust at the weak company. He’d been expecting gratitude at
Masterson’s bravery against the Indians. It was just like city folk
to want a warrior when death was knocking, but turn their noses up
when they were tucked safe and sound on a speeding train. How did
they think the tracks below them got laid clean through Indian
lands? he thought bitterly. Smith stormed off without saying
another word.

Ruth leaned forward and gazed directly into
the elderly woman’s eyes. “What is it? I need to know what you’re
not telling me.” Ruth’s eyes silently begged for the truth. Once
again, she had no one but herself to rely on, she thought tiredly,
coming quickly to the conclusion that her unknown husband was not
going to be the protector she had dreamed of.

The old woman exchanged glances with her
companion, who quickly nodded his agreement. “Tell her what you
know, Betsy. She’ll find out soon enough. It’ll be better coming
from you.”

Betsy pursed her lips in distaste and quickly
told the tale everyone in the Colorado Territory knew by heart.
“That band of Arapaho Mr. Smith talked about was massacred in their
sleep. The men were off hunting. When a group of whites arrived
disappointed at no fight, they spilled blood just the same - old
men, women, and even children
.
Everyone was killed. If it
hadn’t been for the fact that the Army came across the camp before
the Braves even returned from hunting, no one would know what
really happened. The Army, fearing reprisal, then systematically
tracked down the Indian hunters and killed or imprisoned them to
prevent retaliation.”

Ruth felt sick and defeated, fearing her
husband had something to do with this. “Didn’t the Army arrest the
white men for murder?”

“The Army Colonel in charge claims he tried,
but by the time his scouts had returned the Indian men to the
reservation, the white men’s tracks were long-since washed
away.”

Betsy patted Ruth’s hand in comfort. “I’m
sure your companion was just telling tales, my dear. I know it’s
hard to believe, but out here, there are some who think killing any
Indian no matter the cause is just fine and good. He probably
thought being from the East that you’d be terrified of any Indian,
and you’d be impressed.”

Ruth’s color didn’t return. She feared the
woman’s words were false and said to comfort her, when there was no
true comfort to be had. She politely excused herself and headed
down the aisle, hoping some fresh air would clear the fear out and
help her think.

As she stepped outside onto the tiny platform
at the end of the car, she found her peace of mind once again
destroyed by the presence of Jasper Smith. The man leaned against
the iron rails, smoking a cigar not two feet to her right.

He attacked before she could turn and
re-enter the car.

“Missy, them weak ones don’t last long out
here. They die young or turn tail and run back East to more
civilized folk.” Smith turned and spat out the side of the speeding
train. He chuckled openly when Ruth cringed in disgust.

“You, little wifey, had best grow a tougher
hide, if you expect to keep your husband interested,” he added,
scratching his thinning brown hair.

“Since I’m not your wife, Mr. Smith, I’d
appreciate it if you didn’t call me that. These nice people might
get the wrong idea about this proxy marriage.” Ruth vowed to
maintain her bravado at any cost in front of this man.

His eyes narrowed. “Well, ain’t you a
delicate southern lady all of sudden. It seems to me a ‘lady’ would
be a little more particular about selling herself to the highest
bidder - sight unseen.” He grabbed her arm roughly, leaving a
bruise. “I’m off to get myself a drink and play some cards. Don’t
you go nowhere, ya hear? Your husband wouldn’t like it much if you
were to jump off the train and hurt yourself. You just might end up
a worthless cripple, instead of having the decency to die.”

Ruth bit her lip to keep herself from crying
out. Smith would enjoy seeing her fear, she knew. So she struggled
to keep her emotions off her face, as it finally sank in what she’d
done.

She might not have arrived at her final
destination, but she’d already bonded herself to a stranger, both
legally and in the eyes of the church. No one would help her escape
those bonds, no matter what kind of man Frank Masterson turned out
to be.

Smith tossed his cigar butt at Ruth’s feet
before returning back inside the train car.

Trying to gather her wits, she gulped down as
much fresh air as she could manage. She’d be damned if she survived
the War just to end her life like a coward, all because of one
bully. She thought back over her life for the past four years and
quietly gathered her strength for the battle ahead.

F
rank Masterson was a
big man and used every pound of that strength, as he bullied his
way to the front of the line at the Land Surveyor’s Office. He was
cursed and jostled along the way, but no one made any real effort
to stop him. He was unapologetically ruthless and mean, and people
could see it in his eyes. He seldom had to put forth much effort
anymore to get his way. Sometimes he regretted the loss of that
challenge, he thought absently, but not today, when he was in a
hurry.

“Hey, you!” He shoved his meaty hand into his
coat pocket and produced nearly two dozen homesteader deeds, all
signed over into his new wife’s name. “I’ve got a handful of claims
to register, and I don’t have all day.”

The skinny clerk examined the documents and
made a token effort at upholding the law. “How’d you come by these?
You need the original owners to come in person, so I know these are
genuine signatures.”

Masterson narrowed his eyes. If he hadn’t
wasted all morning digging up a grave for that damned slut’s body,
he’d have gotten here first thing, before he had a crowd of nosy
bystanders peeking over his shoulder. He could have just paid the
man his usual bribe directly, instead of playing games.

“You know me, Charlie. It’s my business to
buy up unwanted homesteads from widows and orphans who just want
cash to go back East. These aren’t gold mines or anything special.
There’re just tiny lots of unwanted land, with hardly enough water
to scratch out a living. I have a sworn statement for every last
one, signed by the circuit judge, saying they were duly bought and
paid for. You take a look. That there’s Judge Meyer’s signature,
all right and proper.”

Masterson tapped his meaty fingers on the
rough wooden desk, as the clerk took his time examining the
signature, putting on a good show for the handful of gold miners
and green settlers crowding the tiny office.

“All right then,” the clerk said, adjusting
his wire-rimmed glasses. “I see that this here is the Judge’s
signature and we can file all your claims, in no time a ‘tall.”

Masterson knew the clerk had spotted the
forgery, but the impromptu speech seemed to satisfy the onlookers,
who were growing impatient to take care of their own business.

After Masterson finished registering his
claims, nice and legal, he headed toward the telegraph office,
which was conveniently located across the rutted dirt street. Just
as he’d expected, he had a sweet little telegram waiting for him.
He read the news that Jasper Smith had married Masterson to Ruth
Jameson and they were on their way home.

Masterson couldn’t wait to bed his new bride.
He’d be leaving this town barely satisfied as it was, and by the
time he made it home, he’d be randy enough to fuck Ruth’s aging
auntie. He cackled at his own dark humor as he rode out of
town.

J
asper Smith insisted
on walking Ruth to the door of her sleeping compartment. The
unrelenting grip on her arm meant Ruth would have to make a scene
if she protested.

Thank God her husband was rich and had been
able to afford separate quarters for the two of them, she thought.
Ruth imagined if her husband were smart enough to have gotten so
rich, he must realize the kind of man he had in Smith. And maybe
Masterson didn’t trust Smith alone with her virginity any more than
she did.

“Here we are, Ma’am.” The conductor stepped
aside politely after sliding the door open and motioning her ahead
of him. The doorway was narrow enough that Smith was forced to let
go of her arm, so she could enter the room.

She hadn’t kept up much with God since the
War, but Ruth decided to pray now that there was a good strong lock
on the inside of her sleeping compartment. Otherwise, she wouldn’t
sleep at all.

She was surprised at the size. She’d only
ever been on one train – the one she’d taken with her aunt to meet
Jasper Smith in Kansas City – and then she had been forced to make
due sleeping upright in the common cabin. Now Ruth wondered if her
aunt had traded in the more expensive sleeper tickets her husband
had purchased for them and pocketed the extra cash.

Ruth might have been bitter at her aunt’s
deception, except that the little bit of money she’d shared with
Ruth had come in handy to buy ammunition for her Papa’s war
revolver. She was comforted by the weight of the gun, which she’d
sewn into the hem of her skirt. She sighed in relief as the
conductor showed her how to lock the door.

“Shall I put your luggage over here, Ma’am?”
The conductor offered as soon as it became apparent the man with
her wasn’t going to offer.

“Thank you, but I can manage.” Ruth could
carry her entire world with just one hand. Her bag was half-empty
since she’d outgrown most of her old clothing years ago.

“Suit yourself. Dinner’s at six sharp in the
next car over.” The conductor turned and walked down the narrow
corridor, passing two more doors. “Here’s your cabin sir.” The
conductor turned around only to see that Smith had not followed
him.

“Isn’t one of these rooms free - one next
door to my missus? We just got married, dontcha know?” Smith
grinned at the conductor and lowered his voice, but Ruth was still
able to hear his next comment. “I need to keep an eye on this young
thing. There’s riffraff and such on these trains.”

Ruth quickly shut the door, carefully locking
it as the conductor had shown her.

Smith’s eyes narrowed. That uppity bitch
could use a lesson in manners, he thought resentfully. She thought
she was better than him, just because she caught herself a rich
husband. Just wait until she learned the lay of the land. He wasn’t
likely to get a piece of her, not if the boss had his way. But he
wouldn’t put it past Masterson to gift her to a few of his high and
mighty friends, to seal a deal or two.

Just as the conductor was turning away to
welcome new passengers onboard, Smith grasped his skinny arm. Smith
placed ten dollars – in silver – into the conductors hand and
asked, “How about you pretend to drop that key to the missus’ room?
She’s a bit skittish and I don’t want to be waking up the neighbors
if she won’t let me in.”

Smith could read the doubt in the conductor’s
eye. He had the same uppity manners as that bitch in there,
thinking a man like Smith wasn’t good enough for the likes of her.
Smith pulled out the marriage license and waived it under the nose
of the conductor. “We’re official, dontcha know. Married the damn
girl, I did. Good and proper in front of Judge Wiley of Kansas
City, just yesterday.”

Smith placed another silver dollar into the
conductor’s sweaty palm and waived the marriage license under his
pointed nose.

As he felt a key slide into his waiting hand,
Smith couldn’t help grinning. He watched the conductor hurry down
the corridor, glancing once at the door to Ruth’s compartment.

Smith tucked the key safely in his pants
pocket, next to his growing hard-on. He tossed his bag into his own
compartment and went in search of a drink. He’d wait until everyone
was asleep before teaching the new Mrs. Masterson all about what
Jasper Smith did and did not like in a whore.

R
uth finally gave in
to the demands of her shaking legs and sat on the edge of the bed,
once she heard two pair of footsteps fade away down the corridor.
She was breathing too quickly and forced herself to take several
slow, deep breaths. Ruth Jameson would
not
faint, she swore
to herself.

She was tired of being intimidated, and
refused to be helpless on top of it. Her Aunt Kate’s overbearing
manner was one of the reasons she’d considered this arranged
marriage. She’d desperately wanted out of her aunt’s household and
the misery plain on every gaunt face in Virginia. Ruth had
convinced herself that this unseen man would be her way out.