Frontier Courtship Page 2

  Instead of arguing she merely said, “We’ll be fine.”

  Cupping one pale hand around her mouth, Charity made a pouting face and leaned closer to whisper. “The Indians get more terrible looking all the time. See them scratching? I hate to think why. Makes me want to dip the hem of my skirt in kerosene to ward off the fleas!”

  “You’re being a silly goose.” Faith took her sister’s shoulders, physically turned the girl to face the door to the trading post, shoved the paper-wrapped bundle into her hands and gave her a push. “All right. Go on. Suffer in the stench of those stacks of awful buffalo hides if you want. I’m perfectly happy out here.”

  Charity turned back. “The captain told us to stay together.”

  “Captain Tucker is merely our guide,” Faith said flatly. “I will not pretend we aren’t beholden to him, but neither will I cede to his every command.”

  “I can’t believe you’re being so mean. He’s a brave and wonderful man.”

  “That remains to be seen.” Faith took a deep breath and made a decision. “Look, I can’t abide standing here wasting my time any longer. I have wash to do and food to prepare back in camp. Fixing one loose wagon wheel shouldn’t take this long. I’m going to walk to the blacksmith’s and see what’s delayed Mr. Ledbetter.”

  Charity gasped. “You can’t do that! Not here. Not alone.”

  “Then you’ll come with me?”

  The pale girl stepped back quickly, clutching the package to her breast. “I can’t. It’s not fair to ask me.”

  That reaction was what Faith had counted on. Two months as her sister’s constant companion and chaperone had been an insufferable trial. If the Lord hadn’t granted her an extra dose of patience, she’d surely have throttled the girl by now, especially when Charity had claimed she’d accidentally lost both their black dresses while washing them in a flooded river and they’d been forced to cease wearing mourning for their mother far too soon. For Faith, a few minutes respite from her familial duty would be like a breath of cool breeze in the midst of oppressive heat.

  She composed herself, then said, “All right, Charity, dear. Then why don’t you go inside and check the rest of our order to be certain everything is exactly as it should be?”

  “I could do that.” The younger woman began to blink and smile sweetly. “The captain would be proud of my efficiency, wouldn’t he?”

  “Undoubtedly. I’m certain Mr. Ledbetter will tell him you are the picture of virtue. And you needn’t worry about me. It’s obvious the army has plenty of men here to keep the peace.”

  “Oh. Well, if you’re sure you’ll be all right…”

  Wheeling quickly, Charity gathered her skirts and darted through the door.

  Faith breathed a relieved sigh as she turned away to look down the street. She’d often thought it must be a sin to wish for self-serving favors from heaven, yet there were times she couldn’t help hoping some suitable young swain would soon rescue her from her sister’s trying foolishness.

  Tiny flies continued to buzz around Faith’s head. Beads of perspiration gathered on her temples while sweaty rivulets trickled down her back between her shoulder blades. Ignoring the discomfort, she squashed her bonnet back on her head, whipped the ties into a loose bow and started off.

  Wide cracks between the rough-sawed boards of the walkway captured the narrow heels of her best shoes, forcing her to either descend into the street or chance taking a bad fall. Since Charity had never learned to handle the mule team, Faith certainly couldn’t afford to be incapacitated. Not unless she wanted to be compelled to put up with whatever form of retaliation or retribution the unctuous Captain Tucker decided to arrange.

  Since their last set-to over his brutality toward one of her mules that very morning, she’d suspected that the captain would shortly come up with some lame excuse why relief drivers, Ab or Stuart, could no longer be spared to handle her wagon. Well, fine. It would be her pleasure to show Ramsey Tucker that at least one Beal sister was capable of something besides giggling helplessness. If he wouldn’t provide the assistance he’d promised when she’d joined the train, Faith would handle the lines herself, just as she had at home in Ohio.

  She set her jaw. Tucker had underestimated her for the last time. She’d stood up to him before and she’d do it again. And, oh, was he going to be scalded!

  Faith shuddered at the memory of his dark, penetrating eyes, the way he’d stared at her, spitting that disgusting tobacco juice at her feet. He was not a person to be taken lightly. But then, neither was she.

  Clouds of choking dust billowed from beneath passing rigs as Faith hurried down the street. Grasping the brim of her bonnet, she pressed it closer to her cheeks. The din around her was so loud, so packed with shouts, curses, strange tongues and the sound of rolling wagons and clanking harness traces that Faith didn’t see the danger or hear anyone call out a warning until a melee erupted directly in her path.

  A door flew open. Glass shattered. Shutters banged. Three uniformed cavalrymen careened off the walkway and down into the street, tumbling, pushing, swinging and cursing as they went.

  Faith jumped aside. One of the men, a thin, filthy fellow who reminded her of a rickety calf, was bleeding from his nose. He wiped the blood on his dirty sleeve, then flung it aside, dotting her skirt with ugly red splotches.

  Disgusted, Faith was wiping at the stains in the green calico when a fourth man lurched off the porch. He hit her a jarring blow with his full weight. Breathless, stunned, she went sprawling in the dust.

  For an instant she lost track of where she was or what had happened. All too soon, it came back to her. Raising up on her forearms she tasted the gritty substance of the well-traveled street and found her mind forming thoughts quite inappropriate for a lady. Her only clean dress was a grimy mess, her bonnet was askew and, worst of all, no one in the crowd seemed to even notice.

  Pausing on her knees, she assessed her pain. Something was very wrong. If she hadn’t been in such unexpected misery she would very likely have lectured the careless men on the impropriety of brawling in the streets. As it was, she knew she’d be doing well to merely maneuver out of harm’s way.

  One of the soldiers had collapsed, gasping and retching, in a drunken haze beneath the hitching rail. The larger of the two remaining was beating the rickety-calf man to a pulp.

  Gathering her soiled skirts, Faith lifted them above her shoe tops with one hand, lurched to her feet and stumbled around a corner. Finding a bare wall, she leaned against it and closed her eyes.

  It hurt to move. To breathe. She pressed both palms hard against her aching side. Dear God! As much as she hated to admit it, Charity was right. The streets of Fort Laramie were no place for a stroll.

  At the passage of a shadow across her flushed face, Faith’s eyes snapped open. The muscled shoulder of an enormous reddish-colored horse was a scant three feet from the tip of her nose. She heard saddle leather creak as its rider leaned forward.

  “You should have better sense,” he grumbled.

  Her blurry vision focused. That beard. That hair. The buckskins. It was him. The man from the trading post who was searching for his lost bride-to-be. She drew a short breath and winced as pain shot from her side to her innards. “Sarcasm is quite uncalled-for, sir.”

  “Where’s your man?”

  “I hardly think that is a proper question,” Faith shot back, grimacing in spite of herself.

  He dismounted beside her, his tone a little more gentle. “You’re right. My apologies. Guess I’ve been alone on the trail too long. Are you badly hurt?”

  Suddenly not certain, Faith sagged back against the wall. “I…I don’t think so.” Taking a deeper breath, she assessed the searing pain that increased every time she moved or dared inhale. “Oh, dear.”

  “Can you walk?”

  “Of course.” What a silly question. Why, she’d never had a sick day in her life, not even when she’d been left to try to cope after Mama had died. Faith bit her lower lip.
Today’s problems were sufficient for today, as the Good Book said.

  The plainsman stood by, waiting, his mere presence lending her added fortitude. She would straighten up, stand tall and prove to him she was fine. The moment she tried, however, agony knifed through her body, bending her double. She bit back a cry.

  “Have you got a penny?” he asked, sounding disgusted.

  The slim cords of Faith’s reticule were still looped around her wrist. Had she been in better command of her faculties, she might have questioned his request. Instead, she raised the drawstring bag to him without speaking.

  “Good, because I don’t. I’d hate to waste a whole dollar on this.”

  Although pain was coursing through her like the racing water of a rain-swollen stream, she was still capable of a modicum of indignation. “I beg your pardon?” Her mouth dropped open. What audacity! The man had invaded her reticule to withdraw the asked-for penny.

  “This will do.” Flipping the oversize copper coin into the air and catching it several times, he whistled at a young boy who was passing. “Son! Over here.”

  The boy’s face lit up when he spied the coin. “Yessir?”

  Connell bent low, holding out the penny as inducement. “I want you to fetch that Mrs. Morse from the trading post. You know her?”

  “Yes, sir!”

  “Tell her a lady is hurt and needs her. Then bring her here and I’ll pay you for your trouble.”

  Young eyes darted from the coin to the pale, disheveled woman leaning against the wall. “Did you hurt her, mister?”

  Faith managed to smile. One hand remained pressed tightly to her ribs, but she put out the other and laid it on the buckskin-clad arm of her Good Samaritan. “No,” she said. “There was an accident and this gentleman came to my rescue. Now, hurry. Please.”

  “Yes, ma’am!” The boy was off like a shot.

  Breathing shallowly to minimize her pain, Faith peered at the man on whose sturdy arm she was leaning. Soon, she would release her hold on him. Just a few seconds more and she’d feel strong enough to stand alone.

  “I do thank you for looking after me,” Faith managed. “No one else seemed to even notice.”

  “They noticed.” How delicate she seemed, Connell McClain thought. Her skin was soft, like the doeskin of his scabbard, only warm and alive. And her eyes. No wonder they had reminded him of a deer’s the first time he’d looked into them. They were the most beautiful, rich brown he’d ever seen.

  He scowled. Better to keep the woman talking and draw her thoughts away from her injuries. She didn’t look well. If she passed out on him before Mrs. Morse arrived, he didn’t know what he’d do with her.

  “The Indians wouldn’t help you because they don’t dare touch a white woman,” he explained. “And if the soldiers got involved, they’d have to admit they were the cause of your troubles. That could mean the stockade.”

  “Oh.” The woman glanced at the street and seemed to realize passersby were eyeing her with curiosity. “I’ll bet I look a fright.”

  “You have looked better,” he said, remembering the strong response he’d had when he’d almost bowled her over in the trading post. Some of the pins had come loose from her hair and it was tumbling down over her shoulders. He hadn’t imagined that the coffee-colored tresses under her bonnet would be nearly as comely as they actually were.

  Nodding, she folded her arms more tightly around her body in an apparent effort to cope. Between the sweltering heat and the pain she was evidently experiencing, it was little wonder she was struggling so.

  “I expect they think I’m your kin, so they’re leaving us alone,” he offered.

  “I’m truly sorry to have inconvenienced you, sir. If I had money to spare, I’d gladly repay you for your kindness. My sister and I are on our way to California. After arranging our passage I’m afraid we have very little left.”

  A sister? Connell vaguely recalled that there had been another woman with her in the trading post, but for the life of him, he couldn’t picture what she’d looked like.

  An unexpected twinge caught her unaware and she gasped before she again gained control of herself. Tears gathered in her eyes. He hesitantly cupped her elbow with as light a touch as he could manage and still support her.

  “I’m sorry for being such a ninny,” she said, with a faint smile. “I’m usually quite brave. Really, I am.”

  “I’m sure you are, ma’am.”

  “I can’t be seriously injured, you know.” She looked east toward the wagon camp. “I may have to drive the team when we leave here.” Her voice trailed off. She could tell from the way the man was looking at her that he had already decided she was, indeed, badly hurt. Coming on top of so much throbbing pain, the thought of not being able to function on her own was too much for her.

  Darkness pushed at the edges of her vision. Flashes of colored light twinkled like a hundred candles on a festive Christmas tree. Nausea came in waves. She fought to keep her balance, but it was no use. Closing her eyes, she began a slow-motion slide toward the ground.

  Connell saw her going out. The doe’s eyes glassed over, then rolled back in her head. He cast around for help. Where had that fool boy gotten to?

  The plainsman instinctively grabbed Faith’s arms, then made the split-second decision to catch her up in spite of his misgivings. Next thing you knew, he’d probably be shot by the woman’s jealous husband or brother for trying to help her. They’d bury him on the prairie in an unmarked grave and forget he’d ever lived. Then, who’d be left to find out what had happened to poor Irene?

  Connell lifted the unconscious Faith in his arms, trying not to jostle her ribs as he swung her across his chest. She was so tiny. Barely there. He couldn’t just walk away and ignore her plight. He wasn’t going to leave her until he’d seen to it she was safe and well cared for.

  He could only hope that someone, somewhere, was doing the same for his intended bride.

  Chapter Two

  Connell met the breathless boy halfway to the trading post.

  “She die, mister?”

  “No. Fainted. Where’s Mrs. Morse?”

  “She ain’t comin’. I told her what you said but she didn’t believe me.” He trotted alongside, struggling to keep up with Connell’s long, purposeful strides. “Kin I have my penny, anyhows?”

  Connell muttered under his breath. No telling what had happened to the coin. Chances were he’d dropped it when he’d had to catch the girl.

  He glanced down at the eager child. “Look in the dirt, where we were before. If it’s not there, follow along and I’ll get you another. And bring my horse. His name is Rojo. That’s Mexican for red. Call him by name and he won’t give you any grief. He’s a full-blooded canelo I picked up in California and I’d hate to lose him. I’d never find another one like him out here.”

  “Aw, shucks. You said…”

  Connell was in no mood for argument. “Go, before somebody else finds your money.” The boy seemed to see the logic in that suggestion, because he took off like a long-eared jackrabbit running from a pack of coyotes.

  Crossing to the trading post, Connell and his frail burden solicited few inquisitive glances. He looked down at the sweet face of the girl. Her cheeks were smudged and her hair nearly undone. The bonnet hung loosely by its ribbons. Her doe eyes were closed, but he could still picture them clearly.

  She stirred. Long, dark lashes fluttered against her fair skin like feathers on the breeze. She was so lovely, so innocent looking, lying there, the sight of her made his heart thump worse than the time he’d fought with Fremont against the Mexicans in San Jose in ’45.

  The quick lurch of his gut took him totally by surprise. He stared down at the girl. She was all-fired young. Much younger than Irene. Couldn’t be more than eighteen or nineteen if she was a day. That made her ten or so years younger than he was; about the same distance apart in age as his mother and father had been.

  Clenching his jaw, he tried unsuccessfully to set aside
the bitter memories of his childhood, the mental image of his mother’s funeral and the cruel way his father had behaved afterward. If it hadn’t been for Irene and her family taking him in and showing him what a loving home was supposed to be like, no telling what would have become of him back then.

  Connell took a deep breath and started across the street, his purpose redefined, his goal once again in focus. It didn’t matter how attracted he might be to this woman. Or to any other. It was Irene he had to think about, Irene he had sworn to find. To marry. If he had to spend the rest of his life looking for the truest friend he had ever had, then he would. Without ceasing.

  The unconscious girl moaned as Connell mounted the walkway in front of the trading post. Several Indians edged out of his path.

  As he made his way into the store, all conversation ceased. He headed straight for the proprietress.

  Anna Morse clapped a hand to her chest. “Land sakes! The boy was tellin’ the truth.”

  “Obviously.” The plainsman reached her in six quick strides, his tall cavalry boots thumping hollowly on the floor. “Where can I put her?”

  “Let’s take her upstairs,” Anna said. “Her sister’s right over…” Pointing, she snorted derisively. Charity had fainted dead away. The girl lay draped across a stack of flour sacks while two other women and a child patted her hands and fanned her cheeks. “Never mind. We’ll see to her, later. Bring Miss Faith this way.”

  Faith. Connell turned that name over in his mind. He’d have guessed she might be called after a flower or some famous woman from the Bible, like Sarah or Esther. Hearing that she was, instead, Faith, gave him pause. Yet it fit. A strong trait, a gift necessary for survival especially when crossing the plains, Faith was appropriate. How was it the scripture went? Something about…“if you have faith as a grain of mustard seed, you can say to a mountain, move, and the mountain will move.” This tiny woman was going to need that kind of unwavering faith if she was to survive the many rigors that would face her on the trail.