by P. Creeden
“It’s that man over there,” Lou Frisk pointed to where a man headed out of a saloon. “That’s the bushwhacker.”
“Are you sure about that? It’s been an awful long time since the war. Even if the army does have a bounty out for the capture of traitors, real and true bushwhackers are a rare find.” Tom Crowley’s lips drew thin as he shaded his eyes from the glare of the sun. The two of them stood at the front of the stagecoach office in Springfield Missouri. The man in question still wore the bowie knife often carried by Confederate soldiers during the war in a holster on his belt. But that wasn’t evidence enough on its own.
“I hear tell that there’s a whole group of them. They want to sabotage a train that’s supposed to be carrying that new president... Chester Arthur to some meeting he has in Little Rock, Arkansas.”
Tom blinked. “That’s treason all right, but still not sure about the bushwhacker label you’re trying to put on him.”
Lou Frisk frowned and narrowed his eyes at Tom. “Fine. Go in there and hear the man tell it, yourself. He was going around drunk last weekend, talking about how Charles Guiteau was a patsy and a hero. A hero because he was helping keep the confederacy alive by being willing to take the blame for an assassination he didn’t commit. According to this guy, Miller, the reason President Garfield was shot was because of the fact he wanted to hunt down more members of the true Confederate Brotherhood.”
“You’re not the only one to hear him say that, right?” Tom’s heart picked up speed. If it was true, then this could lead to the arrest of several men and save the president’s life. The bounty the forts had on traitors was near a hundred dollars a head. The more men he found in this deal, the better.
“Of course not, but I’m the one who told the marshal, and he’s the one who sent me to you. I don’t know why someone here in Missouri couldn’t take care of it. Why did I have to wait for a guy from Oklahoma to—”
Tom pushed off the hitching post and headed toward the saloon, dusting off his dungarees.
Lou Frisk chased after him. “Hey! Wait up for me. You can’t go doing this all by yourself. I’m supposed to get a reward, too, right?”
Tom nodded. “Ten percent for the information. Twenty-five percent if you actually help me with getting them in custody.”
“Twenty-five? Shouldn’t I get fifty? I mean if I’m helping you?”
“Thirty, max. I promise you won’t be doing fifty percent of the heavy lifting. You don’t even carry a gun. You can do look out and be an extra body if you want to ride into the fort with me with however many of these guys we can get out of hiding.”
“Fine. Thirty. But I’m not putting myself in danger for it.”
“Trust me,” Tom said with a wide smile. “If you want to help me on this, you’re going to be putting yourself in danger, no matter what. But I won’t allow you to feel it much.”
The man’s lips thinned. “Thanks.”
Worry clouded Lou’s features, but Tom couldn’t worry about that now. If he wanted to get things to go right, he’d need to plan things tightly. But for now, he needed to see how much this guy was telling everyone about his master plans. If Tom calculated right, he’d get the guy to invite him in on it. If not, then Tom would just follow him to his hideout. Either way. Tom was in for a long night.
Chapter 4
“Have you thought at all about becoming a mail-order bride?” the preacher’s wife, Mrs. Wilmington asked. “That or a schoolteacher out west. Those two jobs are the best ones for a woman in your situation.”
Clara frowned. She’d never really thought of becoming a wife as getting a job, but if she thought of it that way, it actually felt more comfortable to her. That was—the idea of answering a man’s advertisement filled her with a bit of fear. Men could be cruel. Men could be mean. To put herself into the hands of one without even having met him made Clara extremely uncomfortable. “I’m not sure either one would be right for me. I don’t have any experience teaching or even raising children—I’m an only child myself. And becoming a wife is more than just a job, right? Won’t he have certain expectations? I don’t know that I could live with a stranger that way.”
Mrs. Wilmington laughed and set the newspaper down on the table that she’d been reading. “I thought you’d say something like that. Look at this.”
Peering over the preacher’s wife’s shoulder, Clara looked at the advertisement she pointed at. Wanted: Independent-minded wife who can support a husband who is rarely home. Husband is a patient, well-respected lawman with a decent income who needs a welcoming home to come back to between trips.
Clara read the ad twice. Something about the thought that she wouldn’t have to be around her husband at all times appealed to her. “Interesting,” was all that she said.
“It is, isn’t it?” Mrs. Wilmington said with a nod. “I think you should answer the advertisement. What do you have to lose?”
What did she have to lose, indeed? Right now, Clara was a woman without prospects, without a dowry, and of an age where it would be questionable whether she could have children or not. This advertisement said nothing about what he wanted from a woman except that she be able to live without him most of the time. She could do that. But would he be willing to see past her spinster-age... her race, even? She swallowed hard. Maybe she didn’t need to say anything about her race. In fact, maybe moving out to Oklahoma, where the address on the ad was from, would mean that she could shrug off her past and no longer be the object of secret scorn. “All right. I’ll write the letter.”
Mrs. Wilmington’s smile widened. “Excellent. I’m willing to help in anyway that you want. I could even read it over for you if need be.”
Clara shook her head vigorously. “No, that’s quite all right. I don’t want to burden you in that way. I can handle it.”
The truth was, that she didn’t want Mrs. Wilmington to know all the things that she would write in the letter. She planned to be as honest as possible and tell her potential suitor about her age, her fear that she might not be able to bare children... but also her hopes for a new beginning out west, and how she’d be independent enough to even make her own income by practicing as a nurse out there, if she can find someone to give her the position. But when she thought about sharing the last detail about herself, the fact that she was born from a family history of slavery, she felt a bit sick. No, she decided, she’d keep that last little secret to herself. After all, what could it hurt?
Tom Crowley counted the number of bushwhackers in the camp at fourteen. It was way too many for him to handle alone... or even with Lou Frisk’s help. The only problem was, that if he got the marshal or local law enforcement involved, it would mean that he’d lose his bounty. He frowned, trying to make the best decision in this situation. Finally, he decided on what to do. “You see how your man, Danny Miller, rarely goes anywhere without that lackey of his, Jones. I say that we get hold of the two of them and take them to Fort Smith in Arkansas. They may not take us seriously enough if we stay here in Missouri, but if we take him closer to the place where the President is supposed to arrive, they will. And we’ll have two of them for questioning.”
“But that’s just two hundred dollars. That means, I’ll only get about sixty-five dollars.”
“Sixty. But what really matters the most right now is our safety. Can the two of us really bring in fourteen men? It’s better if we just settle for the two, get our bounty and then let the law deal with the remaining dozen,” Tom said with a nod and then started back down the hill toward their horses.
“Sixty ain’t hardly worth all this trouble. I thought we’d be getting at least double that, maybe even triple.”
“Greed doesn’t do anyone any good. It only makes things more dangerous for us. Just do as I say and you’ll at least get your sixty to do with what you like, all right?”
“Fine, but I’m not happy about it.”
The two of them went down the hill and waited to ambush both Miller and Jones once they knew they
were heading back toward town for the evening. But the moment they jumped out to get hold of the two of them, Tom found himself alone. “Lou! What are you doing?”
Lou stood by the bush, shaking his head and grabbing hold of both the horses the two men had been riding on while Tom attempted to capture both Miller and Jones on his own. Once Lou had hold of the two horses, he started back toward town. “I can sell both these for about the same sixty and make money and relax tonight. You’re on your own, Crowley.”
Tom’s jaw tightened as he bit down hard on his back teeth and attempted to get a hold of both the men and get them hog tied. He managed to get the most important one, Miller, the talker, but Jones just barely got away after Tom had twisted his ankle hard. Jones took off back toward his camp on foot, limping the whole way. For a split second, Tom imagined shooting the man, injuring him and getting him back where he needed him, but he only had the one horse to transport both criminals with, and that was nigh impossible. So, he just let the man go. It was little more than four miles from where they stood to the camp the bushwhackers had set up. That meant that Tom had a two-hour head start at most. After trussing up Miller, he loaded him on his horse and then took off for the fort in Arkansas. It would be a two-day ride, and a miserable one. He’d do his best to cover his tracks and rest as little as possible to keep that two hour or so lead, but all he could see was a tired stretch of road ahead of him as he took off at a lope.
Chapter 5
A week later, Clara James got a response from her letter that she hadn’t expected. It came in the form of a telegram. Mrs. Wilmington looked up at Clara after reading the small yellow piece of paper that they’d gotten from the telegraph office. “So, he wants you to come on the next train to Oklahoma. That’s amazing. All you have to do is telegraph them back and let them know you’re willing and he will send you fare for the train by Western Union. It tells me he’s very trusting. If he trusts you that much, then it’s likely he’s a trustworthy man, himself.
Clara nodded. If the man was willing to send the money without more than her letter and a telegram saying she accepted, he was either an innocent man or a fool. She let out a slow breath. Did it really matter which it was? According to the advertisement, she’d see very little of him as he ran about catching villains as a lawman. That was what appealed to her, wasn’t it? But he’d had to have read her letter. She’d told him about her age and the chances of her having children with him being very slim. Maybe because he’d be spending so much time away from the home, he didn’t mind the fact that she’d not have children for him. She looked back into Mrs. Wilmington’s reassuring eyes. “What do you think I should do?”
“Pray on it,” the woman said sagely. “Just because I’m the one who mentioned that this might be the right thing for you and felt a prompting in my soul, doesn’t me that it’s truly right. God didn’t tell Jethro that Moses should go free the Israelites from captivity, He told Moses, himself. Likewise, never trust the leading of the Lord that comes from another person, always pray for the Lord’s direct leading on your life to come from inside you.”
Relief pressed against Clara’s sides. The muscles that were taut in her neck and shoulders loosened. She’d been afraid that she would disappoint the preacher’s wife if she declined the offer. But right now, she wasn’t sure what she wanted to do. Prayer sounded like the only real option in this situation. “I’ll do that. Now. Thank you.”
She took the telegram from the woman’s flaccid fingers. Mrs. Wilmington nodded. “Take your time. Even though they sent a telegram, it doesn’t mean that you need to answer this today. Just take your time and think on it. Stay here as long as you need to.”
The hospitality of the pastor and his family was enough to rend Clara’s heart, but she couldn’t keep relying on the hospitality of the church. She needed to go and do something to stand on her own two feet. And maybe becoming the wife of a lawman out west was just the thing for her. “You’re right. I’ll pray about it.”
She gripped the yellow telegram paper in her hand as she started up the stairs to the guest room. Once there, she sat on the bed and read it again. It didn’t give her more information about her husband-to-be. She still didn’t even know his name. But what wasn’t written in the telegram was what Mrs. Wilmington had mentioned. The man was trusting, and therefore, probably trustworthy. Clara hoped so. She was going to be putting her life into a stranger’s hands. Her heart raced in her chest at the thought. Honestly, she wasn’t ready to do this. Setting the paper in her lap, she looked out the window into the trees outside. The last of the reds and oranges still stuck to the branches, as it was well into November. It would be nice to have a family of her own to cook for and spend time with as the holidays were coming up.
Right now she’d be spending Thanksgiving and Christmas with the Wilmingtons if she stayed. It wasn’t right for her to keep leaning upon them. She was sure they’d prefer to spend time with each other without her as a guest, intruding on what should be private family time. In her lap, she folded her hands together, the yellow paper still sticking out from her thumbs. She was so unsure about what she should do, but she was leaning toward going out west and taking the risk. And a huge risk it was, since she’d barely ever even left the county of Fredericksburg. Could she really do this? Could she really trust God to keep her safe in this situation? After taking in a lungful of air, she held it for several moments. If she could trust God that she’d be able to take the next breath, she could trust him in this too. Then she let out the air, bowed her head, and prayed.
As Tom had hoped, Danny Miller sang like a songbird when they reached Fort Smith. And, just as Tom had expected, the soldiers at the fort took the information very seriously. The colonel put the reward in Tom’s hand and leaned in toward him. “You’re doing your country a great service today. Thank you for your diligence.”
Tom nodded. “Thank you, sir.”
He watched as they took Miller toward the jail at the other end of the fort. Danny did very little to resist, but he did level one sharp glare toward Tom. With a shrug, Tom turned around and returned to his horse. It was a good thing that he’d done, saving the president’s stop in Little Rock. Now he could even go home and tell his mother about what he’d done. She loved hearing about those things. However, as he faced the exit to the fort, he realized that if the bushwhackers had any kind of loyalty to Danny, Tom needed to be careful heading back. It was better if he just made his way directly back toward Oklahoma and stayed out of Missouri, at least for a little while.
In the west, the sky was starting to get colored by the sunset. Tom had to decide if it was better to put miles between him and to fort or stay there for the night. A long sigh escaped his lips. He was tired after barely getting any sleep the last two days while riding hard for the fort. Maybe sleeping in a bed for the night at an inn wouldn’t be a bad thing. The only problem was if the bushwhackers caught up with him here in the fort and knew what he looked like. They could hunt him down. He shook those thoughts from his head. If no one saw him heading for the inn, he’d be fine. He went to put his horse at the livery under an alias, just in case, and he decided to use the alias at the inn as well.
A good hot meal he didn’t need to cook over an open fire, a hot bath, and a nights sleep on a mattress sounded like just what the doctor ordered to him. He stepped up to the inn and reserved a room. The meal was the best part of the reward. He’d not had a good steak in a while, but decided to splurge since he’d just gotten paid well for delivering the traitor into the officer’s hands. Afterward, he eyed the main street of the town, wondering if the bushwhackers were out in the saloons, looking to see what they could do about rustling him up or even freeing their compatriot. Tom shook his head at himself as he started up the stairs toward his room. It was just as likely that the group of them gave up on tracking him, and gave up on trying to catch up as he made it closer to the fort. If they were smart, they’d have turned around. Of course, if they were smart, they would have reali
zed the Union had won the war, and quit trying to push for a different outcome to the same old, tired battles.
After his bath, he settled into the bed and let the tension seep from his body. A feeling of loneliness settled upon him as well. He’d spent more time alone then most men. He’d even enjoyed having that Lou fella work with him as a partner, even if it was for a short time and if the man was unreliable. It had been good to have someone to connect with and talk to. At home, all he had was his mother and his sister, Samantha. And his mother liked to nag him constantly about getting a wife or settling down or providing her with grandchildren.
With a huff, he turned onto his side, fluffing up the pillow a bit. Maybe his mother was right. Maybe if he had a wife to come home to right now, he wouldn’t have wanted to dilly-dally in the fort but would’ve rather gone straight back home. Could he have a true camaraderie with a woman like that, or would he be inviting just another person to come and nag him all the time? He had to admit that was what he feared more than just about anything else. He didn’t want the kind of life where he wanted to get away from his wife all the time. If he were to get married, he’d want a true friendship, kinship, or love with his wife.
He sighed. Maybe that was too much to ask out of life.
Chapter 6
On the day before Thanksgiving, Clara James arrived in Fort Towson, Oklahoma. The travel by train for three days hadn’t been so bad as the last day and a half that she’d spent by coach. Even though they stayed at an inn overnight, Clara still felt like the dirt from the road clung to her skin like an extra layer that did nothing to ward off the cold from the breeze they had around them. Though the trees were sparser, with more space between them, this area of the world didn’t look a whole lot different from Fredericksburg. The buildings were more often made of wood than brick, but they were the same height as the trees and the town had a newer feel to it than back home. Clara’s nerves squeezed her chest so that she felt she had to work to even make shallow breaths happen. And her heart beat faster as though it had to stay shallow as well.