Glory (19 page)

Sunday was a day of rest, except when rains plagued them during the week and muddy conditions forced them to stop. Then they would travel even on the Lord’s Day, after a short worship time. Jackson said the Lord would understand.

Glory helped with the stock as often as he would permit her, and Ruth took on as many extra duties as she could,
but the weight of responsibilities fell directly on Jackson’s shoulders, which were beginning to ache on a daily basis.

He silently prayed for the weather to hold as his eyes searched the clouds. It had rained every night for the past week, bad thunderstorms with wolves howling in concert. Shoving his sweat-soaked hair off his brow, he was tempted to curse the relentless heat that raged every minute the sun was up, but he knew that it was better than the blizzards that would halt them on the trail if he didn’t make up time somehow. And cursing wouldn’t set well with the Lord, whose favor he sorely needed.

Lord,
Jackson prayed, eyeing the ominous sky,
please help the weather hold. I won’t even complain about this cursed heat if you’ll just help us to not lose any more time.

The mare’s stone bruise had healed, and he’d ridden her every day, ranging ahead to check the trail or falling behind to be sure they weren’t being followed. Amos was never far from his thoughts.

On a few occasions he’d seen wisps of smoke from a fire not far from their camp. When he’d ridden out to check it, he’d found freshly doused ashes, but no one present. There was no doubt in his mind that someone was trailing them. It was one more worry, but there was a more immediate concern on his mind that afternoon as he tied his mare to the back of the wagon for the noon break.

No matter how far he’d ridden from the wagon that morning, he’d been unable to avoid hearing Mary’s racking coughs as she’d tossed on her fever-soaked pallet inside the wagon.

The inescapable dust that billowed around the wagon, penetrating its canvas and even the dampened cloths placed over Mary’s face, made her ailment worse. There were alarming moments when Mary was wheezing so badly that everyone waited, praying that she would catch her next breath.

Ruth disappeared inside the wagon to spoon bites of milk-soaked corn bread into the girl’s mouth, but she was coughing so hard that she was unable to keep the food down. As the hours passed that afternoon, Mary grew weaker.

That night when the wind finally died, Ruth successfully fed Mary thin soup that seemed to ease her raw throat and give her a small measure of strength. When she could manage a few words, Mary’s concern was that her condition was slowing them down.

“Nonsense,” Lily soothed. “It’s the road, not you, holding us up.”

Lily climbed into the wagon to stay with Mary, and Ruth joined Jackson. They spoke in quiet tones as they walked a short distance away.

“She won’t last much longer at this rate.” Ruth drew her shawl tighter around her shoulders. After sunset, a penetrating chill had settled over the flatland. “She needs a doctor.”

Jackson nodded. “Dodge City is half a day’s ride ahead.” He stopped to face Ruth squarely. “We’ll find someone there to look after her.”

Ruth gazed up at him. “Mary’s concerned that she’s
creating another delay. She knows it’s important to make up for lost time. And now—”

“Let me worry about time,” he said. “Assure Mary that we’re doing fine.” He turned to head back to camp, refusing to meet Ruth’s inquisitive eyes.

“Would that be the truth?” Ruth probed gently.

“Get some rest, Ruth. You’ve been working double time.”

“I’m not the only one.” She glanced at the others gathered around the campfire stealing casual glances their way.

“Leave it to me, Ruth. I’ll get you to Colorado safely.”

The next afternoon they detoured into Dodge City and, after making inquiries, found that it had a physician, of sorts. They arrived at his office where Jackson carried in a weak and feverish Mary. The other women trooped in behind him, crowding the cramped quarters until there was scarcely a breath of air.

“If you don’t mind,” said the elderly, stoop-shouldered doctor, casting an encompassing glance around the room, “I would like to examine the patient privately.”

“I’ll stay,” Ruth volunteered. “It is customary for a woman to remain present while another woman is being examined, isn’t it?”

“Very well,” the doctor conceded.

Jackson gave a terse nod, and the other ladies filed out, their eyes lingering on Mary as they shuffled to the door. Jackson turned to follow them, pausing to speak to the doctor quietly. “You will step out to speak with me after
your examination.” It was a statement, the kind the wagon master often made, that was never mistaken for a request.

“Indeed,” the doctor replied as he placed his glasses on his nose and bent to his task.

Jackson closed the door behind him and took a seat on the first bench outside the doctor’s office. He watched Glory lead the mules to the water tank and return them to their positions behind the wagon.

It didn’t bother him anymore to see her helping out. At first, he’d been worried that she would get herself hurt, but now he realized that she was as good a hand with the stock as he, probably better. He watched her soothe his riding mare, stroking her neck, then lifting and checking each hoof for rocks or other debris. The mare was calmer around Glory than she was with him. The girl caught him watching her and flashed a friendly smile.

He felt a tug on his heart. It was easy to like her. She was natural, honest, and too open for her own good. She used none of the feminine wiles that he’d seen in others. She could be stubborn, even confrontational, but there wasn’t a calculating bone in her body. Not like his mother. Now there was a woman who could use and abuse others to suit her own selfish purposes. Amelia Montgomery could manipulate practically anyone into anything until she grew tired of the game.

Glory was nothing like his mother. Still, he kept his distance. The last thing he needed was to get involved with the orphan. He might be just a wagon master, but it was the
life he’d chosen. Not a job he planned to do forever, but for now it suited him. He was taking care of people who would be otherwise helpless, and he liked his job. No commitments, no woman to run his life or run him off when she tired of him.

He watched Glory rub down the mare and decided she wasn’t helpless in the wilds or anywhere else for that matter, but there were people who wouldn’t hesitate to take advantage of a woman alone on the frontier. Ten years stretched between this girl and him, years that represented a world of experience. And yet there was something about her that drew him out of his shell. She could make him laugh or make him want to tear out his hair—and sometimes both at the same time.

Technically she wasn’t a mail-order bride, and she swore she didn’t want to be. But she’d have no choice in the matter. She had youth and natural beauty. Once Wyatt saw her, Jackson had no doubt he would want to arrange a suitable marriage for her. The prospect bothered him the few times he let himself think about it. He was trying to make sure that she learned the skills she would need as a wife. Her reading and writing were coming along faster than he’d anticipated; her domestic skills needed improvement, but then she’d had no role models until she’d joined the girls on this trip. He hoped her future husband would appreciate her spirit and not try to break it. She was a special woman, and he couldn’t stand the thought of her being mistreated.

Glory stepped onto the porch and dropped down on the
bench beside him. Looking up at him in that trusting way of hers, she grinned. “Heard anything about Mary?”

He shook his head. “Not yet.” He was close enough to overhear the doctor’s easy voice inside but unable to make out his words.

The door opened, and the doctor motioned to Jackson, who rose to join him. Glory hopped up and started to follow, but the doctor closed the door, effectively shutting her out.

The day dragged on. Jackson took turns with the girls sitting with Mary, holding her hand, encouraging her to take small sips of soup the woman from the café sent over. Folks here in Dodge City were a good sight friendlier than those in Squatter’s Bend, Glory decided.

She sat on the doctor’s porch, hands on her chin, staring at the activity going on around her. Across the street a man and a youth loaded grain into the back of a wagon. Two women standing in front of the millinery chatted between themselves, admiring the display of colorful bonnets.

Farther down the street, music drifted from an establishment with wildly swinging doors; Glory figured the business was another one of those places with painted women and boisterous men, who drank until they had to be carried out by their arms and legs.

Her eyes caught sight of a striking young couple coming out of the general store. The woman had long, dark hair
that fell to her waist; the man couldn’t take his eyes off her. She laughed, smiling up at him as he carried her bundles and beamed like a besotted fool.

Sighing, Glory watched as the couple crossed the street and walked down the plank sidewalk toward her. Would a man ever smile at her that way, wear his heart in his eyes for the whole world to see? She’d told the others she didn’t want a man in her life, but she supposed that wasn’t exactly true. She didn’t want just
any
man, but if Jackson were to decide—

She caught her wayward thoughts and dismissed them immediately. Wasn’t likely Jackson would ever smile at her the way the tall, dark-haired gentleman was smiling at his lady.

The couple drew closer, and Glory could hear the two sharing another laugh. Drawing her legs back so they could pass, she smiled.

The gentleman returned the greeting, tipping his hat politely. “Good afternoon.”

Glory’s smile widened. “Afternoon, sir.” Her eyes fixed on the beautiful lady, and Glory realized that she was not much older than she. The young woman wore a gown of lavender blue and a matching hat, and her violet-colored eyes resembled pools of cool, deep water. She slowed when she saw Glory. “Hello,” she said. “Isn’t it a perfectly lovely day!”

Glory thought it would be lovelier if Mary were better, but she nodded. “Yesterday was cooler.”

The couple exchanged a personal look, and the woman
giggled, color dotting her pretty features. Glory didn’t know what was so funny about her innocent observation, but the man and woman found it amusing. Squeezing the gentleman’s arm, the woman extended her hand to Glory, beaming. “Please excuse us; we’re newly married.”

“Oh!” Glory jumped to her feet, admiring the handsome gold band on the third finger of the woman’s left hand. “It’s very pretty.”

Still laughing, the woman held her hand in front of her, staring for what Glory suspected wasn’t the first time at the symbol of her husband’s love. The couple exchanged another look, and Glory realized they’d sooner be alone than chatting with a stranger.

The man recovered first, clasping the woman’s hand tightly. “Forgive our giddiness. We’ve been married less than a month.” He lifted his wife’s hand and lightly kissed it. “We’re Dan and Hope Sullivan.”

The couple locked gazes with each other, and Glory envied the adoration she saw in their eyes.

Mrs. Sullivan turned and looked at Glory. “My husband’s work has brought him to this area, but when it’s finished, we’ll be on our way home—well, not home, but to Michigan to visit my aunt. Hopefully, my two sisters, Faith and June, will be there with their new husbands, and we can have a family reunion before Dan and I begin our new life in Virginia.”

Hope then told Glory about her sisters and Aunt Thalia in Michigan, and how her name had been Kallahan until a few
weeks ago. Before Glory knew it, she was telling the Sullivans about Mary’s asthma and about Jackson Lincoln, how he was taking five women to Denver City to be mail-order brides. But not her, she insisted.

“Mail-order brides?” Hope exclaimed. Both she and the man seemed to find that quite humorous. They laughed, and Dan leaned over to steal a brief kiss from his wife.

“Not me,” Glory reiterated. “I’ve paid my own way, so I don’t have to marry. Only Patience, Ruth, Lily, Harper, and Mary.” She turned to look at the doctor’s closed door.
If Mary doesn’t die.

She couldn’t bear the thought of losing Mary to death. It wasn’t fair. Death had worn out its welcome with her. Mary was young and alive, looking forward to the day when she would have a husband.

Please, God, please spare Mary’s life.
The prayer came so naturally she didn’t realize she’d thought it.

Hope leaned closer to Glory, smiling conspiratorially. “My sisters and I were mail-order brides. We were all supposed to be, but Parker Sentell came along and June fell in love. Then Dan happened along for me. Only Faith married her intended, Nicholas Shepherd, and—well, it’s a very long, very complicated story. But I’m happy for your friends, and I’m so sorry about Mary’s illness. Is there anything Dan or I can do to help you?”

Glory shook her head, aware of how her appearance contrasted with Hope’s. Glory was wearing trail-worn pants
and a shirt, and her hair was stuffed under a wide-brimmed hat. The lovely Mrs. Sullivan was all sweet smelling and looking pretty as a sunrise. The comparison only served to remind Glory why Jackson would never look at her the way Dan Sullivan looked at Hope.