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Authors: Cheryl St.john

Tags: #Fiction, #Romance, #Contemporary, #Historical, #General

Prairie Wife (9 page)

BOOK: Prairie Wife
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"That will only leave you more shorthanded. I'm going, Jesse.
There are women and children out there who need help. It's the right thing to
do."

His gaze took in her determined expression. He looked away for a
moment as though gathering his thoughts, then met her eyes. "I'm against
this, but I know I'm not going to stop you. Keep that rifle with you at all
times."

Jesse had taught her to shoot the rifle during their courting
days, and she was a fair shot. He'd been adamant about her being able to
protect herself. "I will."

He caught her arm and she glanced up into his intense blue gaze.
Obviously he wanted to say something more, but the moment grew awkward and he
released her.

"Not knowing how many passengers you'll find, I had three
teams harnessed to wagons. Hermie is going with you."

Sam and the hand approached as if on cue.

"If you're not back by tomorrow night, I'll come after
you," Jesse told her father.

Sam shook his head as he replied, "Wait 'til light the next
morning."

He and Jesse shook hands, and Jesse slapped Hermie on the
shoulder. Jesse helped Amy up onto the wagon seat and stood on the side of the
wagon for a moment. Without giving her time to think or object, he leaned
forward and kissed her, then jumped to the ground. She raised a hand in silent
farewell and lifted the reins.

***

Amy had plenty of time to think over Jesse's objections and his
reaction to her determined plan. She'd never had cause to question his feelings
for her. He'd never been anything but straightforward, attentive, protective.
Everything that was wrong between them had started out as her fault.

Everything.
And that was the single insurmountable
fact she couldn't live with.

They stopped for a quick meal at noon and, with the sun high in
the sky, filled water jugs from a stream. Shortly after, they found the
railroad tracks and followed them east. The air cooled toward evening, and
lightning streaked the distant sky and thunder rolled across the prairie. Sam
had grown frustrated at not having located the train. They'd been following the
rails for several hours.

"I think we're going to have to camp here and try to find the
train come light," he called back to Amy.

She nodded her understanding, but as she did, she noticed a plume
of smoke in the sky. "Look!"

"Could be them. Or could be Cheyenne," her father called
back. "I think we'd best wait 'til daylight."

She trusted his judgment, but knew this delay would make them late
getting home and that Jesse would worry.

Jagged lightning split the sky close by, thunder rumbled and
Hermie's mumbled cussing could be heard as they hurriedly ate a meal and stored
their gear, fat raindrops splatting on their heads and shoulders.

Amy and her father ducked under her wagon to sleep on the pallets
they'd prepared. Hermie had taken refuge under another.

"Are you doin' all right?" Sam asked.

She settled her hips, trying in vain to find a comfortable spot on
the hard ground, and made sure her rifle was dry and within reach. "I'm
fine."

"You have gumption, Amy. Aren't many women who'd come out
here in the off chance that they could help somebody they don't know."

"I have a good life, Daddy," she told him, softly
calling him the name she reserved for when they were alone. "I know the
hardships out here. Nearly every week I see women torn from everything safe and
familiar, living out of wagons, risking danger just to find what they hope is a
better life for their families. Sometimes I don't know how they do it."

"They do it just like you and your mama did when we first got
here. You've had some hard times, too."

She didn't reply.

Rain struck the tarpaulins covering the wagon beds and poured off
in sheets to the hard-packed ground, the sound loud and steady. Amy tried not
to think of her comfortable home and soft, dry bed back at the station.

After several minutes Sam said, "Either you or Jesse is gonna
have to make some changes soon. The two of you can't go on with things the way
they've been."

Her heart constricted painfully. Of course her father knew. But
now her private troubles were out in the open, plain as day.

"A bottle of whiskey is a poor substitute for a lovin' wife
and a warm bed," he added.

Her father had seen Jesse's drinking. Her shame grew. "Has he
said anything to you?"

"Not about you. He respects you too much."

"Don't worry yourself about it."

"Well, I do worry. The man is your husband. We're a family.
At least, we used to be. Don't feel like it much anymore."

Amy turned on her side away from her father, away from his probing
words. She didn't need her glaring imperfections pointed out to her. Talking
only made her feel more and more like a failure and less like the woman
everyone expected her to be.

"Good night, Daddy."

Sometime later, a soft snore told her he slept. And when she was
sure he couldn't hear her, she let her ragged breathing escape and struck the
ground several times with a fist.

Later, much later, she slept.

***

Rain continued to pour through the night and into the early-morning
hours as they harnessed the teams and headed east. The sky cleared temporarily
as they came upon the derailed train a half hour later. The area was littered
with flimsy tents constructed of soggy blankets, tarpaulins and piled trunks.
Seats and bunks had been removed from the railcars to provide beds for the
injured.

Fortunately for the passengers traveling the Union Pacific, a
doctor had been among them, and those hurt had been cared for. There were at
least fifty who needed transport. Riders had gone ahead and behind to alert the
railroad officials and delay any scheduled trains.

While Sam was thinking through the options, another caravan of
wagons found the site, so the drivers met to discuss which travelers each would
take.

Amy helped Hermie take care of their horses while the gathering
divided and collected belongings. Amy couldn't remember ever being so wet or
physically miserable. Trunks and valises were loaded as thunder again echoed
across the heavens.

Ready to join them for the trip back to Shelby Station were twelve
adults and six children. Two of the adults had been injured—William Hunter, an
elderly gentleman with his arm in a sling, and Eden Sullivan, a pretty brunette
with her foot in splints.

Sam carried Eden to the back of his wagon and settled her as
comfortably as possible. By the time everyone was situated among the trunks,
they barely had time to get moving before another rain shower drenched them.

Amy again pulled her slicker over her head and shoulders. Instead
of stopping for meals that day, they ate hard tack and jerky, but with the
added weight and on increasingly muddy ground, travel was slow. When night
fell, they were forced to camp. Amy helped her father rig tents out of
tarpaulins and poles, then she strung ropes as close as possible to the fire to
dry their clothing.

"Will those Indians come after us?" a wide-eyed Eden
asked Sam as he fed the smoldering fire.

"Nah, they caused what trouble they set out to do and are
probably long gone."

"I think we're fortunate to be alive," a man by the name
of Barnett said. He picked up a stick and lit a cigar. "I've heard stories
about the Indians out here in the territories."

"Some of those stories are probably true," Amy told
them. "But what you don't hear are the counts of Army regiments wiping out
entire villages of Sioux and Cheyenne, women and children included. The bands
are protecting themselves and their hunting grounds the only way they know
how."

"Did a party attack the train or the passengers?" Sam
asked.

"I call derailing tons of steel an attack," Barnett
replied.

William Hunter spoke up. "We saw them from a distance only.
They sat on horseback and observed our predicament. I suppose they think
they're discouraging travel by rails."

"I suppose they do," Amy said. "But the Army seems
determined to drive them away. This incident will no doubt cause more regiments
to be assigned to the area."

"Is your station safe from attacks?" Eden asked.

"We've never had trouble with the Sioux or the Cheyenne who
live nearby," Amy answered. "In fact we've often traded with them.
More so right after the war, before the Army refocused its attention on getting
rid of all Indians."

Amy didn't care if she sounded defensive. People coming west had a
right to know the truth. The subject was dropped, but she didn't know if their
minds were set at ease. She guessed the new pot of coffee had been boiling long
enough and used a flour sack to remove it from the fire.

Eden was sitting hunched beside the fire with the rest of the
bedraggled travelers, her injured foot propped on a valise. She had long dark
eyelashes, and a way of speaking with a charming little pout. "Is Nebraska
always this miserable?"

"You never know about the weather in these parts, Miss
Sullivan," Sam replied. "The ground can sure use the rain,
though."

"Are you a farmer?" she asked.

"No, but I have a small orchard to fulfill my homestead
agreement," he told her.

"What kind of trees?"

"Mostly apple. My Amy here makes the best apple pie this side
of the Divide."

"Where were you traveling, Miss Sullivan?" Amy asked.

"I'm on my way to look after my sister's children. She's been
sick."

"I'm sorry to hear that. Where does she live?"

"Denver City."

Amy handed her a cup of coffee. "You won't have that much
farther to travel after your foot's had a chance to heal."

"What's your town like?" Eden asked.

"Well, it's not much of a town, really. There's a restaurant
down the road a way. We run the stage station, trade horses and do any smithing
that's called for."

"Smithing?"

"Blacksmith. One of our men works steel for horseshoes and
wheels, tools and such."

"Oh, so there are others at your station?"

"Yes, we're the only station with beds for the night, so we
get a prime share of business."

"So you have a hotel?"

"Not a hotel." Amy glanced at her father, and they
shared a grin. "More like a boardinghouse. There's a mercantile not far
away. Our mail and shipments are delivered right to our door, so we don't want
for much."

Eden wrinkled her nose in a delicate grimace. "What
is
that
smell?"

"Buffalo chips, Miss Sullivan," Sam replied.
"They're ideal for fire when they're dry, but this rain tends to soften
'em up."

Eden brought her blanket up over her nose. "I believe I'd
like to lie down now. Do you mind, Mr. Burnham?"

"Not at all." Sam picked up the young woman and carried
her to one of the wagons, under which he and Amy had laid out a pallet of
blankets.

William Hunter accepted a cup of coffee from Amy and sat cradling
his injured arm. "It's kind of you to come for us, Miss Burnham."

"It's Mrs. Shelby," she corrected him.

"Sorry, I was thinking since you were Mr. Burnham's daughter
that your name was the same."

"That's all right. My husband and father are partners. Shelby
Station belongs to all of us."

"And your husband allows you to place yourself in danger out
here?" Barnett asked.

Amy cast him a glance. "My father taught me to ride when my
family came to Nebraska. When I met my husband, he taught me to shoot and
protect myself, Mr. Barnett. I'm not helpless and my husband doesn't treat me
as if I was."

William Hunter hid a smile at Amy's response and continued as
though Barnett hadn't interrupted. "My son started a newspaper in a small
town west of Denver City," he told Amy. "He wrote a while back,
asking me to come join him now that he has the shop operating and has built a
house. So I sold my little cobbler shop in Pennsylvania, and took a train. I
thought I'd be at my destination tonight."

"It should take only another day or so to get you
there," she assured him.

Hermie joined them, and a few minutes later Sam returned. His
knees cracked as he knelt beside the fire. "Cussed rain gets to my joints
every time," he said.

"Your knees seemed fine whilst you were totin' Miss Sullivan
about," Hermie observed.

Sam pointedly ignored that comment.

Hermie and Amy shared a sly glance. Come to think of it, her
father had been showing Eden considerably more attention than he had the other
travelers.

"Do you have children, Mrs. Shelby?"

William Hunter's innocent question jerked Amy's thoughts in
another direction and caught her by surprise, twisting the knife that was
always at the ready in her heart. Quickly picking up her rifle, she stood.
"I'll make sure the rest of the women get bedded down, and then I'm
turning in."

BOOK: Prairie Wife
7.93Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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