Crimson Palace (5 page)

She stood looking in the mirror for a few minutes, trying to picture life on the trail. Grady was right, a lone woman would be a dangerous target. She pulled the pins from her long, thick, raven colored hair and shook it loose until it hung nearly to her waist. This will have to go, she thought to herself as she reached for a pair of shears.

Without a second thought, she began clipping away, leaving only inches of springy curls. When she was through she stood amidst a pile of shiny black tresses. She shook her head vigorously. What freedom!

She felt better already.

For one brief moment her eyes became riveted to her reflection. How different she looked! Patrick would never recognize her like this if she ever did run across him.

And Lincoln Bradley! Suddenly his words came tumbling from her memory. His teasing suggestion that he might come back to see the beautiful woman he had predicted she would become brought a tingling sensation throughout her body. Would he still find her beautiful, she wondered? Was it possible that they might yet meet again?

"What have you done to yourself?" Grady stared incredulously at her as he stepped into the parlor.

She stood before him, hands on hips, feet spread apart. In his absence she had not only cut her hair, but had found some of her brother’s clothes that Rose had lovingly stored away. Finding the closest fit, she had put on a pair of trousers, a shirt and a gun belt. For years she had been wearing heavy work boots under her calico skirts. Worn with the pants, they looked like any ordinary working man’s boots.

"Well, what do you think?"

"I think that if you mean to pass yourself off as a man, you’d better wear a larger size shirt!" he replied with a mixture of anger and exasperation.

Surveying herself in the mirror, she realized he was right. But other than that, she was certain she could pull off the deception. Going through the old trunk, she found several heavy shirts that would be more concealing than the one she now wore. She stuffed all but one of them into a saddle bag. Rolling up a couple more pairs of trousers and pushing them in with the shirts, she stood up and looked Grady square in the eyes.

"I’m going now, Grady. Wish me luck."

"You’re going to need it, you fool girl. And more luck than I can give you.

"Here, let me carry some of that stuff for you," he offered as she grabbed up the saddle bags, bedroll and cooking utensils.

She went to the stalls and selected two sturdy, reliable horses and led them out to be outfitted. Grady watched as she threw on a blanket and then a saddle on one, tightening the cinch carefully.

"I’ll never forget you, Grady." She flung herself into his arms and hugged him with all her strength. "I’ll try to send word to you and let you know how I’m getting along. Be happy," she ended wistfully.

Then, before she could change her mind, she swept up into the saddle. Grabbing the reins of the second horse, she trotted both animals to the eastern boundary of the small town. She turned the horses and sat statue still in the saddle, gazing at the village that spread before her, making note of each and every building and person in view. She sat there for several minutes, and then, with a loud whoopee, she slapped her hat against the rump of her mount and rode thundering down the familiar street, riding hard until the town was far behind her.

Chapter 4

Grady’s right, I must be crazy, Shinonn thought as she sat on her haunches beside the creek, washing her dinner dishes. I must be daft, being out here on the trail alone like this.

Gathering the utensils, she returned to her small campfire. The sun was just beginning to sink beneath the western horizon. She eyed the burning coals with concern. Would their light announce her presence to others? Did she dare keep the fire going as the night grew colder?

Sitting on a boulder close to the still warm remnants of her campfire, she cradled a mug of coffee in both hands. A wave of apprehension swept over her as she sat there all alone in the gathering darkness.

Although the campsite offered a fair amount of seclusion, she still felt exposed. She had chosen a site in a thick stand of trees that straddled a swiftly running stream, more than half a mile from the lightly traveled road. Although the remoteness of the site gave her a fair amount of assurance that her presence would not be noticed by other travelers, in truth, she had never felt so alone before.

If she felt this insecure hidden as she was, what could she expect of the next night? And all of the nights she would have to face before she reached her destination. For that matter, where exactly was her destination, she wondered.

Embers sizzled and spit steam as she threw the remains of the coffee onto the glowing coals. Refilling the mug with water from the stream, she returned to the campsite and doused the last of the fire, opting for the safety of total darkness.

Lying on her back, head pillowed on her saddle bag, Shinonn stared at the millions of stars above, forcing aside the fear which had been building within her. She didn’t have time for fear. She had some decisions to make. She must decide once and for all just where it was she was headed. She had told Grady she was going out west, but from Plainsville, Illinois, "west" consisted of thousands of miles of alien territory.

She had assumed long ago that her brother, Patrick, had most likely headed to California’s gold fields.

Should she trail after him? Did she even want to find that worthless excuse for a man?

But he’s all the family I’ve got left, she reminded herself. Seems like the right thing to do would be to find him and give him another chance to be the man he should be.

Or is it that gambling man you really want to see, a taunting voice from the deep recesses of her mind asked. If she were to be honest with herself, she would have to admit that the man had always teased at her memory. She could never completely forget his soft, rasping voice and admiring eyes. Would his lips be as warm as his eyes, she wondered?

She tried to put his image out of her mind, ashamed she harbored anything but hatred for the man who had killed her father. Sure it was an accident, but the fact remained, if he hadn’t been gambling with her da, maybe even cheating for that matter, she might still have both parents alive today.

What is it about that man that won’t let go of me? Is it revenge I want from him? Or is it to hear his voice again? If he saw me now would he still have that special look in his eye?

She shuddered with a strange emotion as she remembered how he had looked at her that day at the stable. Suddenly she was terrified of these new, inexplicable feelings. No, I don’t care what he sees in me! It’s not his admiration I want. It’s revenge. He’ll pay for taking my da away!

The next morning Shinonn set her mount at an easy canter, heading due west, toward St. Joseph, Missouri. She would have to cross the entire state of Missouri to reach the town which was now famous as one of the largest staging areas for wagon trains heading west. She planned on using the time it would take her to reach St. Joe to form her plans, to take on the identity she would need to assume while traveling with the train.

When she had cut her hair and dressed in Patrick’s clothes, she had taken the first steps to masking the fact that she was a lone female. But the task was not complete. She must make up an entirely new identity for herself. A new name. A new past.

As the horses trotted along, she considered her options. She would have to be young enough to not have a beard, yet old enough to be traveling alone. Fifteen - that would be just about right. And I’ll be an orphan, which is true enough. That’ll explain why I’m all by myself.

Stay with the truth as much as possible, she thought. The fewer lies she told meant less for her to have to remember, with fewer chances of contradicting herself.

Well, I sure as anything can’t keep the same name. But who shall I be? Let’s see. Just looking at me anyone would guess I’m Irish, so what’s a good Irish lad’s name? Um, I always liked the name of Timothy. What could be more Irish than Tim O’Brien? All right, that’s who I am, Tim O’Brien. And I’m fifteen years old. My folks both died of influenza and I’m off to find my only living relative, a cousin by the name of Patrick Flannery, who is working somewhere in the gold fields. That should satisfy most folk’s curiosity.

***

Shinonn slowed her horses as she drew near the outskirts of St. Joseph. The city sparkled in the aftermath of a light spring shower. She passed houses that sat far back on lush, emerald green lawns.

Spring flowers waved gaily to her as she rode down the street.

Filled with a sudden sense of exhilaration, she was tempted to stay right here in this wonderful city. St.

Joseph was nothing like the villages she had grown up in. Was it possible that a more exciting place existed anywhere on earth? The streets teemed with people. Every sort of conveyance imaginable crowded the busy street.

And the shops! Her mind reeled with the wonder of so many stores all lined up side-by-side, block after block. How could a person ever decide which shops to frequent? And who could possibly have money enough to live in such splendor?

Finally, trying not to appear like the country bumpkin that she was, she asked a lounging youth for directions to the wagon train gathering grounds. The young man shifted his weight on the bench he was slouching on and managed to gather enough energy to point off toward the north.

"Jest keep goin’ in that there direction and you’ll soon enough catch the wind of the place. With all the livestock they got out there, they ain’t no way you can miss it," he drawled.

As she continued along the crowded streets, she began to sense a change in the atmosphere. Gradually the masses of "city" people were replaced by a much different type of individual. Now the women were dressed in sturdier fabric; the men wore clothes which would be more practical on a long journey than would a shopkeeper’s black suit.

Soon she noticed an all too familiar animal scent in the air, reminding her suddenly of the stable and corral she had left so far behind. She quickened the pace of her mount, anxious to reach the campsite. Her blood raced with excitement when she heard the lowing of the cattle, the barking of dogs, babies crying.

The homey sounds reached out to her, beckoning her to come and join the adventure.

As she approached the huge open fields where the wagons had been gathered, a sense of awe overcame her. Even her active imagination had not prepared her for the scene which appeared before her.

The camp of waiting travelers, stretching for miles, was a city in itself. Every type of wagon imaginable could be seen, although the most common was the huge Conistoga. For families traveling with all of their belongings for thousands of miles, the Conistoga would seem to be far and above the most practical choice. They were sturdy, and large enough to carry most of a family’s possessions, while also offering them shelter from the elements.

No curious eyes turned her way as she threaded through the mass of people, camp sites and animals.

With all the excitement in the air, who could be bothered with just one more young pilgrim?

Women toiled over fires, preparing the evening meal. Children either helped their mothers or amused themselves around the wagons. Men tinkered with wagon wheels, horse trappings or the massive yokes the oxen would wear as they struggled to pull the heavy load of wagons filled to the brim with family treasures.

A rag tag town stood near the center of the huge encampment. Tent stores had been set up to handle the needs of the waiting travelers. Among the ragged structures, Shinonn noted several hastily built saloons.

Leaving the tent village behind, she continued, looking for a likely place to set up her own camp. She felt exposed among so many people. If she could just find a spot with at least a couple of bushes for a bit of privacy!

Finally, settling for less than perfection, she pulled her mount to a halt and began unburdening the animals. Her camp was next to a small, muddy creak. A scrawny, stunted willow offered shade and the illusion of privacy, if not the fact.

Taking off her sturdy boots, Shinonn stood in the muddy stream as she curried the sweaty horses. They drank gratefully from the water as it swirled past. The cool water felt wonderful after the long days of traveling. And it felt good to be caring for her horses, she realized, as she stretched her aching shoulder muscles with each sweep of the brush across the horses sweaty hides.

As she worked, her eyes scanned the scene around her and she began to form a plan. She wasn’t exactly certain how she would arrange to join a train heading west, but she was determined that within the next few days she would be on her way west.

She managed to set up camp, start a small cooking fire and prepare a simple meal while her mind was totally occupied with the problem of how she was going to go about getting herself attached to a wagon train. Although she still had most of the money she had gotten from Grady, she was smart enough to hold on to all she could.

She wasn’t about to just walk up to one of the wagon masters and offer to buy a spot. For one thing, there was a fair to middling chance that she wouldn’t be accepted. After all, she was just a boy, traveling alone, with nothing more than a couple of horses and what she carried in her saddle bags. Most wagon masters would consider her just one more problem waiting to happen.

But she was certain she could come up with an angle, some way to get herself hired onto a train. With that thought in mind, she spent the next couple of days wandering about the camp, listening to talk, watching the action.

She soon learned that several trains would emerge from the hodgepodge of wagons that were scattered as far as the eye could see. As she wandered, seemingly aimlessly among the mass of people, she kept her eyes and ears open, intent on learning everything she could. She learned which trains would be heading out within the next few days, who would be leading which trains, which wagon masters were the best thought of.

Late in the afternoon of her second week in St. Joe, Shinonn overhead a conversation which made her heart skip a beat. Several men had gathered in front of an outfitter’s tent. Just as she passed the group, she heard one of the men mention that he desperately needed to find a reliable teamster to drive his wagon. His wife had recently given birth and was too weak to drive the wagon as they had originally planned.