The Major's Daughter

by Regina Jennings

  Mr. Wilton’s gouty knees made him look like he was in the process of lowering himself into a chair. Frisco didn’t own a chair, so the peddler stood there half squatting. “The city man came. It was earlier this morning. We were still selling breakfast—”

  “He said we owe a dollar for a permit,” Sophie interrupted. “Said we had to have a permit to sell anything here.”

  Frisco let a bite of the crumb cake melt in his mouth before he answered. “What city ordinance established that?”

  “Told you he’d be the one to talk to,” Sophie said. She nudged her husband. “Go on. Tell him.”

  “There ain’t no city law that I know. I don’t remember voting—”

  “He wanted the money in his hand,” Sophie said. “Cash money. Why would we be handing over our cash money just because some bloke shows up at the wagon asking for it? What’s he got to do with it?”

  “Who was asking?” Frisco flicked a crumb off his shirt.

  Mr. Wilton grunted as he tried to straighten his back, then settled back down into his peculiar squat. “I’d never seen him before. He said he was a new deputy but looked like a dirt farmer. Had ears the size of—”

  “When he was gone, McFarland came and asked us lots of questions. He asked why we thought we had the right to squat in Plainview without land. I told him it was a free country, and he said that people pay fees, even in a free country. Then I told him we knew a lawyer and we’d be talking to you about it. After that, he said he’d leave it be for a spell, but we needed to come to an understanding, and soon.”

  “You’ve got to obey the laws, even if the laws are new,” Frisco said.

  “I don’t like it, Frisco,” Sophie replied. “I think those deputies are just wandering around, coming up with ways to shake a dollar off my limbs.”

  How, in all his planning and preparing, had Frisco underestimated his fellow man’s propensity for bickering? Settling disputes like this could be a full-time job. No wonder McFarland was content to walk away and let Frisco deal with them.

  “Deputy McFarland is a busy man,” Frisco said. “I’ll check the new ordinances and let you know if you owe anything. Until then—”

  “Does it strike you as odd,” Sophie said, “that McFarland doesn’t do any deputying? Back in Topeka, he bought and sold property. He takes this post to bring the law to the people, and now he’s spending all his time measuring roads, arranging elections, and having secret meetings.” She looked at her husband and, seeing his crooked necktie, began to fuss over him.

  “Just because you weren’t invited doesn’t make them secret,” Frisco said. The way she tugged on her husband’s collar had Frisco fearing that she would knock the old man over. “And once things like property lines and streets are settled, there’ll be less unrest. People will simmer down and get comfortable. Establishing the city can’t wait until all the hubbub dies down. It’s got to be the priority.”

  Sophie had quit messing with Mr. Wilton’s collar. Her eyes glazed over with the same bored looked she used to get when Frisco gave her the complete narrative of a street fight he’d seen. “If it happens again, we’ll fetch you,” she said.

  Frisco finished the last bite of cake. “I’d be happy to check into it. In the meantime, live peaceably as much as you can.”

  “You’re one to talk.” Sophie took Mr. Wilton by the arm and helped him turn around in twenty-six slow, shuffling steps. Once they were faced the right way, she waved her arm over her head as a farewell, her loose red sleeve catching the wind and ballooning full sail.

  Frisco stood with his hands on his hips and looked past them at the activity all around him. The town was as busy as an anthill. Toting, hauling, constructing, bartering—everyone was scrambling to improve their lot in life. Unfortunately, a few were also swindling, cheating, and hogwashing to improve their lots. All the virtues and vices of the human race on display. All but one: There weren’t any lazy people about. Lazy people didn’t want any part of it.

  Would Redhawk have been the same? Frisco stepped forward to steady a stack of packages a man was carrying as he walked past. With a nod of his head, the man continued. Had Frisco gotten what he wanted, would they be this far along in their progress? Or would his planning and his city map have proved superior to the hasty settlement that had gone on here?

  Was it too late to find out?

  He was running out of time. How many of his investors were watching the calendar for May 22? He hoped with each passing day—each day of construction on his house in town, each day Caroline was faced with monotonous labor—that she would reconsider his offer to trade lots. But she wouldn’t be likely to capitulate if he didn’t remind her.

  He gathered his papers and notebooks into his traveling case. That was all that was laid out, since he’d never completely unpacked his case. Not until he was home, and this tent was not home.

  He’d rather leave his bag somewhere more secure than his tent, so he carried it out to Patrick.

  “Are you moving out?” Patrick asked around the three nails in his mouth.

  “I’m coming back, but can I put this inside your wagon until then? I don’t want my notes to blow away. I might bed down at the fort if the weather turns tonight.”

  “The fort where the redhead is from?” Patrick grinned, dropping the nails from his mouth. His expression was reminiscent of the eleven-year-old boy who used to help Frisco sneak out at night. “I don’t know what she sees in a scalawag like you.”

  “I didn’t say she saw anything. Why? Do you think she likes me?”

  “Always fishing for a compliment, aren’t you? Well, I’m sure it was just indigestion or some other malady. She’ll recover soon enough. In the meantime, keep your socks dry—”

  “—and your stomach full. Thanks, Paddy. I’ll remember that.”

  After a brief explanation to Millie, Frisco stowed his goods in the wagon and set out on foot. He’d rather leave his horse in the care of the livery man for this short walk. The smell of fresh grass overtook the hundreds of campfires as he passed through town and out to the fields. Funny how it had only been a couple of weeks, and already the sod in town shared man’s smell.

  What was he going to do with Caroline? Part of him feared that he’d crossed a line the night of the dance. He wasn’t such a cad that he’d play on her sentiments for profit. Or was he? He found her intriguing. Did their dispute forbid him from admiring her?

  Not wanting to incur the wrath of her father, he had to tread lightly. Not wanting his property damaged, he would work to help her maintain it. Not wanting to leave her empty-handed, he was preparing the town lot so it would be a tempting alternative. It was like threading a needle while riding in a runaway buggy.

  Approaching his land from the north brought him past Caroline’s friend’s plot. Miss Herald had a bag of seeds tied over her shoulder and was spreading them over a newly plowed field. It would be rude not to say hello once she spotted him. Frisco veered off course as Miss Herald crossed the field to meet him.

  “Good day, Miss Herald,” he said. “Looks like you’ve been busy.”

  She lifted her chin, and Frisco tried not to gape. Her face was covered in soot, and her hair was mussed. Even her dress was singed.

  “I don’t want to be ungallant, but you’ve . . .”

  “I’m well aware, Mr. Smith. I had a fire in my kitchen, and since my kitchen is the only room in my house, it was quite an ordeal.”

  “Is everything all right? Is there anything I can do?”

  “Thank you, but no. It’s out. I’m trying not to get behind in my planting.”

  “I won’t keep you any longer, then. I’m just passing through.”

  “On your way to see your claim?” Her blue eyes narrowed beneath the brim of her straw hat. “I want you to know that we didn’t intend for her to take your property. That wasn’t the idea, and we’ve let her know it.”

  Frisco took a step back. Even Caroline’s best friend took his side? Interesting. “I would
think that Miss Adams’s plans would be more suited to town than a lonely farm. Although I did see her designs for her house. They’re impressive.”

  “Thank you. I helped her draw them up, but that was before she and Bradley crossed swords. Unless one of them blinks, it’s going to be downright uncomfortable around here.” Miss Herald slung her arm in an arc, sprinkling seeds everywhere.

  Frisco had been ready to leave, but that statement warranted asking after. “What does Corporal Willis have to do with this?”

  “He knows you’ve been wronged. He feels horrible about benefiting from Caroline’s help while she was taking advantage of you.”

  Frisco twisted his mouth in thought. It would be ungallant to encourage Corporal Willis in his outrage. On the other hand, when counting allies, Bradley Willis was a good man to have on your side. Especially as Caroline’s closest neighbor. Yet Frisco knew to be careful wading into family disputes. He’d learned from fighting on the streets that no matter how estranged two brothers were, you had to watch your back when fighting one if the other was present.

  “Tell Bradley thanks for his concern, but I’ll deal with Miss Adams in my own time. Meanwhile, if she needs something from you, please help her. I don’t want her out here without any friends or family to rely on.” Besides him. He’d be there for her. One didn’t let a lady of one’s acquaintance struggle alone if there was remedy for it.

  Miss Herald eyed him shrewdly. “I won’t make promises I can’t keep. Just look around.” She flung another handful of seeds to the wind. “I’m up to my eyebrows in work. If Caroline can’t make it on her own, she might as well give your land back. Good day, Mr. Smith.”

  Frisco tipped his hat and moved on. Caroline seemed to have a knack for getting crossways with people. That was why he found her so interesting.

  He spotted Caroline from a distance. A bright sunbonnet shaded her auburn hair as she put a foot on a shovel and hopped to drive it into the ground. She clearly hadn’t given up yet, even though lifting the shovelful of rich soil was a strain. She flipped the shovel, turning over the soil, then stabbed it back into the ground with a thud. Without pause, she broke the sod again and turned over another scoop of virgin earth.

  Good thing he’d worn his working clothes. Frisco needed more land broken, and she’d picked the perfect spot. On his map, this area was part of the land he was going to keep. As soon as Nesbitt finished building Frisco’s house in Plainview, he’d have him come out and start on his home here at Redhawk. By winter, he’d have a snug place to sit by the fire, safe from the cold wind. It might be awkward if Caroline wasn’t gone by then.

  A dark wet line on her blouse ran the length of her spine. The air was heavy with humidity but missing the usual cooling breeze. But then a gust came at them, swirling her skirt around the shovel as she stepped on it again.

  She startled when she saw him. He noticed her hands tighten around the shovel, but then her chin came up and she composed herself. With unusual patience, she waited for him to get close enough to deliver her pert address without undue exertion.

  “Mr. Smith, how pleasant it is to see you. What brings you so far from your home?” Her face glistened with sweat. A thin wisp of hair was plastered to her neck.

  “Far from home? I disagree.” He kicked at a dirt clod as he inspected her work. “What exactly are you doing to my homestead?”

  Ignoring his assertion, she turned over another heavy scoop of earth. “I’m putting in a garden of specialized and profitable herbs. I have to have more than the paltry square you planted.”

  “I appreciate your help, but don’t expect any compensation. I can’t afford to pay you for improvements on my land.”

  She grunted as she dug in again. “To tell the truth, I might as well work. Otherwise, the days go by so slow and lonely.”

  “Lonely? With your friend Miss Herald so near?” The shadow that crossed her face told him he’d hit the mark, but she didn’t let it linger.

  “Your company is appreciated, but I’m not confident in my ability to maintain a conversation while laboring. Please don’t think me rude.”

  Her pink cheeks brought to mind the vigorous dance they’d shared. Frisco filled his lungs in a long draw. That was a memory he would enjoy for years.

  “Save your breath,” he said. “I can chew the fat while you work and cure your loneliness at the same time.”

  He found a clear spot in the grass out of reach of the sharp point of her shovel and flopped on the ground next to her canteen. He bent a stalk of grass in two and set it between his teeth. Her shadow danced, stark and defined, over the ground as she moved. The moist heat from the earth amplified the scent of prairie grass beneath him.

  He’d sat here and passed the time many a day. Catching his breath after digging the well or constructing the dugout, he’d enjoy the breeze here on the plain and imagine what life would be like once the territory was open and the land was truly his.

  Having Caroline Adams working his garden was never in the plans. If it weren’t for the implications of her presence, he might have enjoyed having such a determined companion. He rolled the stem between his teeth. Maybe he was enjoying it despite the implications.

  “Things in town are progressing,” he said. “You might be interested to know that there’s a church meeting regularly on Sundays and Wednesdays. Some industrious ladies managed to put together a Sunday dinner after church, which shows promise of being a regular event.”

  “I’ve missed church,” Caroline wheezed. “I’ll come to the next one.”

  “I thought you might. You know, it’d be easier to attend if you lived closer. The house on my property has the frame up already. In another week the roof and walls should be completed. It’ll still be rustic, but better than the rabbit hole you’re living in now.”

  “No, thank you.” She seemed to be moving more quickly now. “I told you, your plot in town isn’t large enough for what I have planned.” The furrow had reached the length she wanted, and she started on a second row running parallel. No telling how fast she could have worked if she’d had a plow. Frisco decided buying her a plow went against his self-interest.

  “In case you’re concerned about my well-being,” he continued, “I’ve been retained by several citizens over various legal questions. So far about half my pay has been in barter, but I’m finding that the work searches me out. That’s unexpected. Honestly, I imagined that my only chance at success here was being the founder of Redhawk. I didn’t understand how easy it is to succeed in a new territory. There are no old guards. Everyone has a shot.”

  He fingered the stitching on his moccasin boots, looking for loose spots that might need to be resewn. “I guess when it comes down to it, I was just looking for a way to rise to the top. I thought I needed to control every aspect of the town to do that. Now it looks like I was mistaken. When Ike McFarland asked me to represent the city, that’s when I had to check myself. Me? Frisco Smith? In my experience, I’m more likely to be run out of town than be asked to serve with the city leaders. But who knows? If they find out more about me, they might send me packing after all. Until then—”

  He flinched as the shovel dug into the ground near his knee. Caroline dropped to the grass next to him. She reached for the canteen, took a long drink, then settled in, sitting cross-legged in her loose work dress.

  “If they find out what about you? What are you hiding?”

  Frisco’s throat jogged as he tried to remember exactly what he’d said. He hadn’t really thought she was listening. “You can’t stay here,” he said. “You said yourself that you get lonely. Trade me plots. You should be in town—”

  Caroline ignored the bead of sweat rolling down her cheek. She was completely focused on him, just when he didn’t want her to be. “What are you afraid they’re going to find out? Everyone knows you’re a boomer. Everyone knows you’ve been arrested repeatedly. It’s part of your credentials. What else is there for them to know?”

  Images flashed
before his eyes. The boy hiding in his bed with blankets over his head while older boys fought in the foundling house. The runaway ducking behind barrels in an alley to hide from a deputy. The youngster waiting until after dark before spreading a blanket in the livery, hoping to get a full night’s sleep before he was run off.

  Caroline’s gaze sharpened. “What are you hiding?” She gave him time to answer, then added, “Am I safe here with you?”

  “Of course,” he said. “I’d never hurt you or any other woman. Your father knows my criminal history well enough. If he was worried about my character, don’t you think he’d find a way to have me shipped off?”

  “Your friend said something about being a foundling. What did he mean by that?”

  “You know the meaning of the word.”

  “But I don’t know all that it implies. Were you adopted?”

  “No.”

  “Lived in an orphanage?”

  Frisco had mangled the grass he was chewing. He feared her knowing his deficiencies more than anything, and at the same time he wanted her to know. He wanted her to know him. Of all the people he’d met in his life, Caroline seemed to have the sense to understand. To withhold both scorn and pity.

  He began to talk. “Living in an orphanage was a nightmare. Bigger kids picking on the little ones. Feeling adrift, trying to make friends and then watching those friends get moved without any warning. But the outside world was sympathetic. Ladies’ groups would make us clothes. Churches would serve us meals on holidays. As long as we stayed with the orphanage, everyone pretended to care about us.”

  Why was he telling her this? Him, a grown man, bellyaching about whether he was cared for. She’d think him weak. He tossed away the blade of grass and started to get up, but Caroline grabbed his arm.

  “They pretended to care, but . . .”

  “I’ll break ground. You can rest a spell.”

  He stood and picked up the shovel. After weeks of meetings and paperwork, he needed to exert himself. He needed to put in a good day’s work so he’d be exhausted enough to sleep. Whether he was helping Caroline or helping himself by improving the property didn’t matter at this point. The waters were muddied. Just like in town, they were all trying to improve their lots. Progress for one was progress for all.