Читать книгу High Plains Bride - Valerie Hansen - Страница 9

High Plains, Kansas Territory

June 1860

The farther west their wagon train proceeded, the more Emmeline Carter missed her former home in central Missouri. The political climate back there had been in constant upheaval, especially since the hanging of the abolitionist John Brown in Virginia a scant six months before. Still, it was the only home she’d ever known, and life on the trail had her missing that sense of security.

Although there had been recent fighting amongst her former neighbors to the point of bloodshed, what was to say that life would be any better in Oregon? The fact that her taciturn father insisted so was not nearly enough to convince Emmeline.

So far, the journey by covered wagon had been trying but not altogether unpleasant. Word among the other women was that there would be many terrible trials to come during their months-long pilgrimage, but Emmeline was willing to wait and see rather than borrow trouble.

One of the worst naysayers had told Emmeline, just that morning, “You’ll soon see, my girl. There’ll be many a fresh grave along the trail before we reach our new homes. If cholera don’t get us, those horrid Indians will. I shudder to think what they’ll do to you and your pretty sisters, especially.”

“Then I shall pray earnestly that we don’t encounter hostiles,” Emmeline had replied, continuing to prepare the morning meal for her family while her sickly mother remained abed in the wagon, and her father, Amos, and brother, Johnny, tended to the oxen.

“Bess, Glory, fetch the twins,” she called, using that as an opportunity to cease listening to the dire predictions of the older woman whose wagon was parked next to theirs. “The biscuits are almost done.”

Emmeline knew that such rumors of catastrophe had to have some basis in fact. It had been frightening to leave home and hearth and start a journey into unfamiliar territory, especially since their already ample family of six now encompassed orphans Missy and Mikey, as well. Yet she was encouraged by the way everyone had helped gather firewood and dried buffalo chips for the fires and had taken turns caring for Mama when she was ill. Even little Glory had taken a turn. So had the eight-year-old twins.

If Mama had had her way she would have adopted their neighbors’ children outright after their parents both sickened and died so suddenly. It was only by divine providence that Papa had allowed her to bring them along in the hopes of eventually finding them a permanent home. Thankfully, they were small for their age and didn’t eat much. Keeping stocked with proper provisions to tide them over between supply stops was always a worry.

The responsibility of doing so had, of course, fallen to Emmeline, which was why she had walked from their camp to town after breakfast and was now getting ready to enter the prairie mercantile. This little town seemed peaceful enough, she mused. Perhaps the territories would be safer, less politically volatile, than her home state had been. As long as her father was around, however, a certain amount of trouble would keep dogging their path no matter where they went.

Emmeline felt like a mother hen as she shooed her brother and sisters and the orphan twins up the wooden steps and into the small store in her father’s wake. Since her mother, Joanna, had stayed in her bed in the covered wagon and sworn she could not manage to rise, Emmeline had had to once again assume charge of the children.

Fifteen-year-old Bess, four years her junior, was helpful in this kind of situation, of course, but Johnny, the next youngest, was worse than useless. She’d thought he was as bad as he could get at twelve. When he’d recently turned thirteen, however, she’d realized that his rowdy years were just beginning.

Since she’d had the foresight to braid her hair and fasten it at her nape, she pushed her slat bonnet back and let it hang by its ribbons to help cool her head and neck. The morning was already sultry to the point of being burdensome in more ways than one. It intensified the strong odors of leather and spices and salted meats inside the store till they nearly made her ill. Rivulets of perspiration pasted tiny wisps of loose hair to her temples.

And it’s only June, she thought, trying to keep her spirits up by sheer force of will.

“Bess, dear, you watch after the twins,” Emmeline ordered kindly. “Johnny, keep your hands to yourself. You know the rules. No penny candy.”

She hoisted five-year-old Glory, the youngest, on her hip and removed the child’s bonnet too. Together they wended their way past kegs of molasses, sacks of flour and other sundry supplies that were piled on the rough plank floor and stacked high on shelves that lined the walls all the way to the low ceiling. Various kitchen utensils and farm tools were suspended from the rough-hewn rafters, making the store seem even more overcrowded.

A man who was clad as a cowboy, dusty from his labors, turned to glance at her as she approached the counter to place the family’s order. Her father had already joined a group of men who were loudly discussing the conditions of the trail ahead of them and Emmeline knew that the mundane tasks had, as usual, been left to her.

The cowboy at the counter had already removed his broad-brimmed hat to show slicked-back, dark blond hair that curled slightly. His blue eyes seemed to twinkle as he nodded politely and wished her a “Good morning, ma’am,” without being formally introduced first.

Emmeline knew social mores were more relaxed on the trail, but her strict upbringing nevertheless caused her to hesitate before she replied with a terse “Good morning.” Seconds later, when he continued to speak, she realized that the man was assuming she was the mother of all these children! What an appalling notion.

“You have a lovely family,” he said, ruffling Johnny’s hair to distract him just as the boy was surreptitiously slipping his hand into a candy jar.

Emmeline, gritting her teeth, said merely, “Thank you,” and gave her brother a scathing look. Then she turned her attention to the pinch-faced, portly woman behind the counter. “How do you do. We haven’t been on the trail long, so we don’t require much, but I was told it was best to keep my larders stocked.”

“That, it is,” the proprietress said as if addressing a nitwit. She accepted the list Emmeline was holding, then leaned closer to speak more quietly. “You’re mighty young to have so many children. How did you manage it?” She briefly eyed Emmeline’s father. “Marry a man with a passel of ’em already?”

“No. That’s my father, Amos Carter, and these are my brother and sisters,” Emmeline explained, taking care to raise her voice enough to disabuse the cowboy of her supposed motherhood. “Except for the twins over there. We’re taking them to Oregon with us in the hopes of finding them good homes.”

“I might be interested myself if they was old enough or strong enough to be of use round the store,” the woman said. “How old are they?”

“Eight, but they’ve had a hard life so they’re small for their age.”

“I’ll say. Plum useless, if you ask me.”

Hoping that Missy and Mikey had not overheard the woman’s cutting remarks, Emmeline noted that Bess was teaching them to play checkers at a small table next to the unlit, barrel-shaped, wood stove. Happily, their attention to the checkerboard and the overall din of conversation within the small store had apparently rendered them oblivious to the woman’s unkindness.

The cowboy, however, was far from unaware. “Excuse me for saying so, Mrs. Johnson,” he drawled, barely smiling at the older woman, “but don’t you think it would be wiser to keep such untoward opinions to yourself?”

The proprietress huffed, “Well, I never,” and turned to go about her business, leaving Emmeline and the friendly stranger standing at the counter together.

“Thank you,” she said, meaning it sincerely. “The twins have had a difficult year since they lost their parents. They’re just now beginning to act like normal children again.”

“My pleasure, miss.” He bowed slightly. “The name’s Will Logan. I own a little spread south and west of here. The Circle-L. Maybe you’ve heard of it?”

“I’m sorry, no. I’m merely a traveler passing through. But I’m sure your ranch is lovely.”

He chuckled. “Well…I wouldn’t say that, exactly. Not yet, anyway. Give it time. I’ve only been in these parts for a little while, myself.” Gesturing at the store building, he added, “My friend and I founded High Plains just a year and a half ago. It’s his mill that’s been providing most of the lumber for the town, of late.”

“Even that magnificent church house we passed just east of here?”

“You can thank our town ladies and the New England Emigrant Aid Company for that,” Will admitted. “The door and windows were shipped from Boston and so was some of the finer wood for the interior. But the structure itself took shape right here in High Plains.”

“Then you should be very proud, Mr. Logan.”

Will grinned and shook his head. “I try hard not to be too highfalutin. Don’t want the good Lord to get mad ‘cause I took the credit for His work.”

“I’m sure that building the big church will satisfy Him,” Emmeline said, noting that her companion did not appear to agree. His smile faded and he seemed to be studying her.

Finally, he said, “I doubt that the Father, the creator of ‘many mansions’ is too impressed by any building man makes.” He replaced his hat and touched the brim politely. “Well, if you all will excuse me, I have to stop at the mill and then head back to my spread. I wish you and yours Godspeed, miss.”

Watching the broad-shouldered, appealing rancher turn and start toward the door, Emmeline was taken by how optimistic he had seemed in spite of the obvious hardships inherent in his line of work, not to mention starting from scratch and building an entire town in the space of just a few years. What an admirable man. His attitude served to make him quite attractive indeed.

She supposed she would need that kind of extraordinary fortitude—and more—to face the rest of her journey. She just hoped she was up to it. Taking charge of her siblings and the twins wasn’t new to her. It was being in unfamiliar territory that gave her pause. Still, as long as they were together, as a family, she supposed they’d manage to cope.

The idea of family caused her to glance over at her father and shiver in spite of the humidity and high temperature inside the stuffy mercantile. Papa might not be the meanest man in the world, but he had to be close to the top of the list.

Emmeline had spent most of her life trying to placate him and protect both her mother and her siblings from his unpredictable fits of temper. That was why she’d never marry or otherwise leave home. Papa had wasted his breath ordering her to stay until little Glory was raised. She wouldn’t have abandoned her sisters, her ill mother or even troublesome Johnny. Not under any circumstances.

The Garrison mill sat west of High Plains proper, a little past Zeb’s impressive, whitewashed, two-story house. Will found his old friend working on the cutting floor instead of sitting behind the desk in his small office.

“Morning,” Will called, having to shout to be heard over the sound of sawing.

Zeb grinned, waved a greeting and loped toward him. “What brings you to town?”

“Just needed a few things over at Johnson’s. And I want to order some two-by-six planks from you. I’m finally going to put a floor in the bunkhouse. There’s no hurry, though. I’ve got all summer to finish the job.”

“Good, because we’re running near capacity.”

“Even now? I thought the rush was over.”

Zeb wiped his brow with a handkerchief as he gestured downriver. “Nope. Guess some of those new settlers are tired of living in tents and wagons. They’re planning to build real houses and maybe a business or two. Good for them, I say—good for all of us.”

“Yeah, definitely. It’ll be nice to see the town continue to grow. I’m amazed it’s come this far in such a short time.”

“Hey,” Zeb drawled with a lazy grin, “you told me this was the perfect place to build. I’m just glad to see that so many others agree with you.”

“So am I. Start my order out with forty boards, as long as twelve feet if you’ve got ‘em. Once I’ve used those I’ll see what else I need.”

“Done. Where you headed now?”

“Home. I’ve got plenty to do. Those heifers are dropping more calves every day. See you Sunday?”

“Of course. Can’t miss church or Cassandra would have my hide.” He chuckled. “I think my sister wants an escort more than anything else so she can show off those new dresses and hats of hers. What better place than in church?”

“And it also might do your soul some good,” Will gibed.

“You just mind your own soul and I’ll look after mine,” Zeb shot back. He eyed the sky. “Take care riding home. The weather looks a bit changeable.”

“Will do. And you try to keep the sawdust out of your boots.”

“That’ll be the day.”

Will was still laughing at their parting exchange when he mounted up, gave his horse its head and let it start home without much guidance.

It was just as well that the sorrel was used to the trail, he mused, because he was preoccupied by thoughts of the pretty young woman he’d just met in Johnson’s mercantile. She couldn’t have been more than nineteen or twenty years of age, yet she’d had the sober bearing of a much older person, as if she were carrying the weight of the world on those slim shoulders.

“And little wonder,” he muttered, recalling the way she’d had to keep the children in line and handle the shopping while her father wasted time talking with other men. Will frowned as he thought of the derogatory references he’d overheard her father make about her as he’d passed the raucous group of men on his way out of the store. The old man was obviously cruel and vindictive. If he also drank to excess, as Will’s own father had, that poor young woman was trapped in an unspeakable home situation. And so were her siblings.

Racking his brain, Will tried to recall the girl’s name and failed to come up with anything except that her father was Amos Carter, her brother was Johnny and the orphans had similar names that each started with an M. She must not have mentioned her own name, he concluded, because he surely would have remembered. Everything else about her, from the deep blue eyes that matched the color of her dress to her dark, silky hair was crystal clear.

And speaking of dark things, he added, growing concerned as he glanced at the sky, it was starting to look as if Zeb’s weather prediction was right. The previously empty sky was beginning to cloud up and show signs of an impending storm. Will could see for miles once he topped the hills to the southwest and it was obvious that the weather was about to change for the worse.

Pausing, he looked back at the beautiful, placid river valley and the fledgling town he’d helped found. The church spire to the east and Zeb’s mill to the west framed a Main Street lined with half a dozen stores. Across Main, backed up against the river and parked beneath a grove of cottonwoods, sat the ragtag group of temporary tents, shacks and wagons that Zeb had mentioned.

Those shelters would offer little protection against the upcoming storm. Will could only hope that the settlers would find refuge somewhere safe. The frequently occurring severe storms on the open plains could be dangerous—even deadly. And it looked as if they were in for another deluge within the next few hours.

Spurring his horse, he headed for his ranch at a brisk canter. There wasn’t a lot he could do for the longhorns he had grazing on the open prairie on both sides of the river, but it was sensible to send a few hands, including himself, to try to prevent a stampede among the critters closest to his house and barn. He just hoped a herd of nervous buffalo didn’t decide to run over his corn plot or trample his corrals the way one had during a bad lightning storm last summer. This storm was coming in fast, and would probably hit hard, pushing the livestock into a frenzy.

He pressed onward, hoping and praying that his instincts were wrong, yet positive that they were not.

The wind had increased and the sky had darkened menacingly by the time he reined in between the main ranch house and the barn. Several of his hands were already mounted and had bridled an extra horse, apparently awaiting his return, while the rangy ranch dogs barked excitedly and circled the riders.

“Clint, you and Bob take the south ridge,” Will shouted. “I’ll ride more west, then circle back to you.” He gestured as he dismounted. “This looks like a bad one.”

“Yeah, boss,” the lanky cowhand replied. “It ain’t gonna be pretty, that’s a fact. You want a fresh mount?”

“Yes.” Will threw a stirrup over his saddle horn and began to loosen his cinch. “Where’s Hank?”

“Already forded the river to try to round up the stragglers over there.”

“Good man.”

Clint nodded and passed the reins of the extra horse to Will, then spurred his mount and headed south with his partner as instructed.

Left alone, Will switched his saddle to the fresh horse, turned his tired sorrel into a corral and mounted up. He’d thought about taking the time to close the storm shutters on the house but had decided he shouldn’t delay getting to the herd. A building could be replaced fairly easily and besides, Hank was no longer inside where he could be hurt if it collapsed. Should this weather spawn a tornado, as Will feared it might, the old ranch cook would be much safer riding the range with him and the others, anyway.

Spurring the new horse, he raced toward open country. “Thank the good Lord I don’t have a wife and family to look after, too,” he muttered prayerfully.

His mind immediately jumped to the settlers in town, and the ones in the wagon train—to the pretty young woman in charge of so many children. Surely her father, or whoever was leading their party, would be wise enough to tarry in High Plains until the weather improved.

Emmeline was walking beside the family’s slowly moving, ox-pulled wagon while her mother lay inside on a narrow tick filled with straw and covered by a quilt.

Ruts in the trail made the wagon’s wooden wheels and axles bind and squeal as they bounced in and out of the depressions and jarred everyone and everything. Pots rattled. Chickens hanging in handmade crates along the outside of the wagon panted, squawked and jockeyed for space and footing on the slatted floors of their wooden boxes. The team plodded along, slow but sure, barely working to move the heavy wagon on the fairly level terrain.

Glory had quickly tired of walking. Emmeline had carried her on one hip for a while, then put her inside with their mother, in spite of the ailing woman’s protests that she simply could not cope with even one of her offspring.

Hoping that her father couldn’t hear her softly speaking, Emmeline gripped the top of the rear tailboard to steady herself and whispered hoarsely, “Hush.” She raised her head and gestured toward the man walking beside the oxen and prodding them with a staff when they faltered. “You know you’ll make Papa mad again if you raise a fuss.”

She hated having to be so cautious all the time, but the alternative was a beating for anyone within the wiry, older man’s reach, and she felt bound to try to protect the others. She’d had to do that more and more frequently, of late.

The sky was so dark at the horizon it seemed almost black, with a ribbon of pale sky showing beneath, as if a table sat atop a thin strip of the heavens visible only nearest the ground. Emmeline had seen weather like this back in Missouri, although not often. If she had been at home she would have gathered her siblings and shooed them into the root cellar for safety. Here on the plains she had no such option, much to her chagrin.

She hiked her skirts slightly to facilitate faster movement. A dozen swift steps brought her even with Amos and she easily kept pace. “Papa?”

“What do you want, girl?”

“Look at that sky. I’m worried.”

“I seen it. Don’t you go tellin’ me how to think, you hear? I been in storms worse’n this before and I’m still kickin’.”

“Yes, but—”

“Hush. Just because you’re nearly growed that don’t make you smarter’n me. I’ve been takin’ care of this family for longer than you’ve been on this earth and we’re all still here.” He glowered at her. “Well? You gonna waste the whole day naggin’ me or are you gonna go look after your mama?”

“Mama’s fine,” Emmeline insisted bravely, although she did put more distance between herself and the reach of her father’s heavy wooden staff. “She and Glory are taking a nap.”

Amos cursed under his breath. “Useless woman. I should’ve got me a younger wife long ago.”

It wasn’t the first time Emmeline had heard him say such mean-spirited things. She couldn’t imagine what her poor mama felt like when Papa talked like that. Little wonder Mama stayed in a sickbed so much. If and when she did arise, she had to face her husband and take more of his verbal—and physical—abuse.

Shading her eyes beneath the brim of her bonnet and squinting into the distance, Emmeline tensed. She hadn’t thought those clouds could possibly look any worse but they did. Rain was falling in the far distance, evidenced by slanted sheets of gray that streamed from the solid cloud layer toward the prairie in visible waves, indicating a downpour ahead.

She spun to scan the surrounding terrain. Darkness at midday was everywhere. Encroaching. Threatening. And the wind from the southwest was increasing, heralding the kind of destructive, unpredictable storm that she’d dreaded.

Emmeline shivered and pulled her shawl more tightly around her shoulders. If all they got from this weather was soaked to the skin and muddy, she’d count it a boon. In similar storms that she’d experienced back home, such signs of impending peril were not taken lightly.

She squinted. The kinds of menacing clouds she was looking at right now were capable of dealing a blow that could mean serious injury, loss of property—and perhaps even death.