by Jodi Thomas
He wasn’t like the other men. He never tried to talk to her or kidded her about being so homely that men wouldn’t take her upstairs even if the ride was free.
A few men would try to see if she was developing, but her mother wrapped her breasts every morning before Em slipped on the dress made of rough wool. It hung to her ankles and was hot in the kitchen, but it was the only way her mother would risk her working in the saloon.
If anyone knew she was twenty, she wouldn’t be invisible. So she dressed the part of a girl not grown and shuffled her feet as she stared at the floor.
Eight years ago, when she’d just turned twelve, her father pulled her out of her bed before dawn and said it was time she earned her keep. Two of her sisters had married the year before and the third had run off.
Em was the only one of his worthless daughters left, and her father planned to take advantage of her shy ways. He knew she wouldn’t fight him; he’d beat that out her when she was little. She’d do as she was told. Em, the baby, would never run away. She wouldn’t have the energy after she learned to work. He’d make sure of that.
Em had to play the role or her father swore he’d turn her out to starve. She was small, but beneath her baggy clothes her body was definitely a woman’s. Her mother cut her honey-brown hair blunt to her shoulders with bangs that hung in her eyes. As time passed, she braided it so her mother wouldn’t cut it again.
At first she just washed dishes at the saloon where her father tended bar. She hauled supplies for the tiny kitchen, kept the fire going, and helped the old cook. When the cook died two years later, Em did both jobs.
Her father made sure she never saw her pay.
Though she had three sisters, her father swore Em would never leave him. Her hair was usually dull brown from the cook stove’s smoke. As it grew longer, she stuffed it in an old hat she’d found left in the bar. Her skin was dull from never seeing the sun, and her body thin. Em’s arms were scarred from burns. It had taken her a year to grow strong enough to lift the heavy pots without occasionally bumping her skin.
Her father reminded her now and then that she was worthless. She’d questioned him once about her pay, and he’d bruised the entire left side of her face with one blow. Em stayed, never owning a new dress or even a ribbon for her hair. Six nights a week she cooked, then cleaned at the saloon after midnight.
On the seventh day the saloon was closed. While her parents went to church, Em went in early to clean the upstairs. Half of the rooms were for the doves and their hourly guests. The other half were rented out to travelers. Once a week the sheets were changed and the rooms swept out, no matter how many times the rooms were rented.
The barmaids were nice and often left a quarter on their beds. A traveler once left a dollar. Em kept whatever money was left in the rented rooms hidden away in a rusty tin in the kitchen. It was mostly only change, but someday she might need it.
Long after Trapper’s poker game was over and the saloon closed, she cleaned. In the silence she wished she could go on his journey. Even a dangerous adventure would be better than this. She’d grow old here, her days all the same.
When she finished cleaning, she heated one more pot of water and carried it upstairs to a back storage closet. At one time it had been a tiny room, but now the bed was broken, the windows boarded over to prevent a draft.
An old hip tub sat in one corner. Once a week, in the stillness before dawn, Em took a bath and pretended to be a lady. The drab, scratchy dress came off, as did the wrappings to make her look flat-chested. By candlelight she dreamed of more to her life than cooking and cleaning. If she just had a chance, she’d be brave, she told herself as she used the bits of lavender soap the girls tossed out.
In the silence, with warm water surrounding her, she relaxed and fell asleep. The tiny room’s door was locked. No one would look for her.
When a noise downstairs jerked her awake, sunlight was coming through the cracks in the boards.
Em jumped out of the tub so fast she splashed water on her wool dress. Panic gripped her. She’d freeze walking the mile home in wet clothes.
She wrapped herself in a towel one of the barmaids had given her when she left, headed back to New Orleans on one of the paddleboats.
The barmaid had whispered, “Get out of this place, honey. It will rot your soul.”
Em knew her parents wouldn’t worry about her being late today. She often slept in the corner of the kitchen on the bench where deliveries were dumped. Her father never wanted to wait on her to finish her cleaning, and it never occurred to her that he might come back for her. She’d stayed in the kitchen a few times on Sunday so she could catch up.
As long as she did her work, he didn’t care where she slept.
Em paced the tiny room. Over the years it had become a storage room for broken things no one had time to fix and lost luggage no one ever came back to claim.
A dusty black bag in the corner caught her eye. It was worn. The leather had been patched on one side. It had been in the corner for years.
She remembered the day she’d turned twelve and her father said she had to work. He’d almost dragged her into the back of the saloon. He’d showed her around the place and told her she’d have no more birthdays. She couldn’t remember how long after that she’d found the forgotten little room. It became her one secret place where she could think and dream.
Now, feeling much like a thief, she loosened the straps on the old bag. Maybe she’d find a shawl or coat she could wear home. Em promised herself she’d return it tomorrow.
One by one she pulled the things from the bag. A black dress, undergarments, a shawl someone had crocheted with great care, and a pair of ladies’ boots with heels too high to be practical.
It seemed to be everything she needed. She’d dress like a lady in the fancy clothes if only for a day. She’d walk through town with her head up. She’d be a woman and no longer pretend to be a girl.
In the bottom of the bag she noticed a thin black ribbon. When she tugged, a false bottom pulled open. Below lay three black boxes. They were made the same size as the bag, so unless someone looked closely, no one would see them.
Em pulled them out as if finding a treasure. The first was a small sewing box, packed full. The second was loaded with creams, a little brush, and a comb set to keep her hair in place. The third box held a Bible with money hidden one bill at a time between the pages. It wasn’t much, but it might be enough to buy a ticket on the paddleboat or passage on the stage to the next town.
A gold ring lay in the corner of the third box.
Em slipped on the ring. It was a perfect fit. It was small, thin, the cheapest kind sold at the mercantile, but she’d never worn a ring before, so she felt beautiful wearing it.
Carefully, she began to put on the underthings. They smelled of dust, but they were clean. To her surprise, each fit. She’d seen camisoles in the stores, but she’d never felt one lightly touch her skin. The bodice pushed up her breasts and slimmed her waist.
With each piece she felt like she was shedding her old skin and putting on another. The shoes were a bit too big. The jacket a little too small.
When she stood and looked in the cracked mirror, Em didn’t recognize herself. She pulled her damp, clean hair back with the combs and a woman stood before her. A lady in black with a widow’s pin over her heart.
A plan shot through her thoughts. This was her chance. If she didn’t take it, she’d wish every day for the rest of her life that she had.
Em rolled up the damp wool dress along with the towel and put them inside the leather bag. Then she circled the shawl over her shoulders, held her head high, and walked through the silent saloon. She quickly crossed to the kitchen and got the rusty tin that held her coins and rushed to the saloon’s front door.
As a man entered, he held the door for her and said a polite, “Mornin’, ma’am.” He didn’t realize his daughter was stepping out of his life.
“Goodbye, Father,” she whispered wh
en the door closed.
With shaking bravery she walked toward the dock where people were already gathering to welcome the paddleboat’s arrival.
Chapter 3
Trapper spent the morning preparing for his new job as if it was an assignment during the war. He studied maps, learned a bit about his employer, the girls’ father, Colonel Gunter Chapman. He’d been an officer in the Mexican–American War back in the 1840s. He was ruthless and came home with injuries. But that hadn’t stopped him from moving farther west from the protection of even the forts and starting a huge ranch.
Trapper had seen that kind of man many times in the war. A king on his land.
Trapper bought clothes for winter, a new hat and a warm coat from his winnings last night. He’d worn most of his clothes too long for them to be presentable. Now, when he got to Dallas, he’d be dressed more like a cowboy, a Westerner. And, if the raiders killed him along the way, he’d have a fine funeral outfit.
Walking toward the dock, he planned. He’d meet the little ladies, tell them the rules for the trip, and get underway. He decided he needed only three rules. One: Be ready to travel at sunup. Two: Stop at midday for thirty minutes to rest, take care of private needs, and drink water. Three: At sundown make camp. He’d cook a meal of whatever he shot along the way or use the supplies.
When Trapper had checked the wagon, he noticed the teamster hadn’t packed but two blankets, so he bought the girls each one. After all, they were little girls, and they’d need comfort.
He also added apples and canned peaches to his load.
Trapper was feeling hopeful about the journey. He’d bought two extra rifles and several boxes of bullets. He’d get these girls home safe and collect his five hundred dollars. Then he’d drive away in his new wagon with Midnight tied to the back.
A man who has a wagon, a horse, and enough money in his pocket to buy land was rich indeed. For the first time since the war he allowed himself to dream. He thought about something besides surviving one more day.
As he waited, he saw a small widow lady sitting on a bench near the dock. Trapper remembered the teamster had told him to hire a woman to travel with him, but surely he could handle five little girls.
There were so many women in black right after the war, it seemed like every woman dressed the same. Strange, he thought; the men wore blue and gray, but all the widows wore black. Mourning had no side, no color.
The paddleboat pulled up to yells and waves from the waiting crowd. As cargo began to roll off the side, passengers walked off the front in a thin line. It wasn’t long before he saw a tall woman in a light blue cape marching with five little girls behind her. She had to be the nurse traveling with his cargo. They all wore a uniform of sunny blue and white. They reminded him of a mother goose and her goslings. He guessed he was about to become the father goose.
Trapper had no doubt these were his charges. The first girl was tall, only a head shorter than the nurse. Her blond hair was tied back, as if she was trying to look older. The next two were shorter, with auburn hair. The younger and thinner of the pair wore an old wool cap and seemed to be crying. The fourth girl was probably about five and was round as a goose egg. The last one, and the smallest, seemed to be having trouble staying in line. She weaved back and forth as she kept jumping up and down as if she could see everything if she was two inches higher.
Trapper straightened and removed his wide-brimmed hat. There were several families meeting travelers, but he was the only man standing alone in front of a small covered wagon. Eventually, the nurse would find him.
The tall woman weaved her way around groups of people and the girls followed in a row. Well, all but the last one followed. The littlest one seemed to be having trouble keeping up.
Finally, the lady noticed him and headed his way. She stopped three feet from him and the girls lined up behind her. Except number five, who bumped into four and almost knocked two and three out of line.
“Are you the driver for Colonel Chapman’s girls?” The woman’s voice was cold and held no hint of a Southern accent.
“I am.” Trapper bowed slightly, not sure what to say or do. He decided to keep the poker game quiet. “I’m Trapper Hawkins, ma’am.”
“I understood there would be a nurse traveling with you to take care of the girls’ needs.”
He thought of saying he could handle them, but for the first time he wasn’t sure. Number five had lost her shoe and was starting to cry. The tall one, number one in the line, was glaring at him and the chubby one, number four, was laying her head on one shoulder, then the other, as if trying to see if he might look better from another angle.
“Mr. Hawkins, I’m sure you got the instructions. I assure you I will not be releasing my charges to you until you fulfill your part of the bargain. A woman to tend to their needs is essential.”
He thought of giving up. Letting the oh-so-proper lady take them back. They’d be safer on the boat, if the rumors were true. “If I don’t have a lady with me, you planning to turn around?”
“No. I’m going to file charges on you for breach of contract. Then I’ll notify the girls’ father and wait here until a proper escort can be arranged. Colonel Chapman will not be happy if his exact orders are not followed.”
Trapper didn’t even know if there was a crime called breach of contract in Texas. They had too many murders, robbers, and cattle thieves to mess with a breach of anything.
The woman pushed out her chest and made her stand. “If the colonel doesn’t have his daughters home by Christmas, there will be hell to pay.”
Trapper had no idea what she was talking about. He was starting to look forward to the outlaws on the trail.
“I’m loaded and ready, ma’am. I’ll get them to Dallas.”
She opened her mouth to fill him in on all the facts when number five started limp-walking on one shoe and fell over her bag. Her foot went through the handle, so now she limped with one leg and dragged the bag with the other.
He just watched her. This last kid had the coordination of a day-old calf.
To no one’s surprise, the tiny girl started crying.
The chubby one, number four in line, started to help the littlest one up, but the nurse cleared her throat so loudly several people turned in her direction.
Number four looked like she might cry too, but she let go of number five.
The nurse said to him in her lecture voice, “We don’t baby our girls. Not even the littlest one. Understood? These girls are Texas princesses. Born in this wild state. They’ll grow up to be strong women, not crybabies.”
Trapper thought of pushing the nurse off the dock and seeing how strong she was, but he figured she’d file charges for that too.
Before anyone could move, a lady in black knelt down and lifted number five off the dock, freed her foot from the bag, and cradled the crying girl in her arms. “Come sit on the back of the wagon, child, and I’ll put your shoe back on. It’s far too cold a day to go without it.”
The nurse glared at the woman for a moment, then seemed to relax. “I see the traveling companion for the girls has finally arrived. She’ll be too soft on the girls and we’ll have our work cut out for us when they come back to school in February. However, it is good to see you picked a proper lady.”
As the widow tied the little girl’s shoe, the nurse stepped away to direct the luggage to be loaded into the wagon.
Trapper leaned toward the widow. “Lady, if you have the time, would you act like you’re traveling with me? Just till we get out of sight of that woman. I got to get these girls to Dallas and I’m not sure that nurse will let me do my job without a proper lady traveling with us.”
“I was going to Dallas also.” The widow’s voice was low, almost a whisper. “The stage doesn’t seem to be running this week. If you’ll let me ride along with you, I’ll play the part all the way.”
Trapper was shocked. “You would?”
She nodded. “I’d be safer with you and five girls th
an traveling alone. If you prove to be a not-so-honorable man, I have a weapon and will shoot you.”
He smiled. Her voice had a bit of the South in it and she could shoot. She had to be a born Texan. They understood each other. If he broke his word, she’d shoot him, no breach of contract needed.
“I’m Mrs. Adams.”
Trapper removed his hat. “I’m Trapper Hawkins. You’re doing me a great favor, ma’am.”
The nurse came back as men finished loading the wagon. “I’d like to introduce my little ladies before I leave them with you.”
She started with the oldest. “Catherine Claire, thirteen. Anna Jane, eleven. Elizabeth Rose, ten. Helen Wren five.” The nurse pointed to the smallest, still in the widow’s arms. “Sophia May is four. Colonel Chapman had three wives. All died in childbirth and none gave him a son. Poor man.”
Trapper studied them as the nurse gave instructions to Mrs. Adams and marched back to the boat. The tallest daughter, with her blond hair, would probably be from the first wife. Two and Three from a redheaded wife. And Four and Five from the third wife. He’d guess that wife had brown hair and big brown eyes.
Trapper turned to his charges. “Look, little ladies, I doubt I’ll straighten those names out in three weeks, so how about I call you in order by number?” He pointed to the tall blonde, first in line. “One.” Then the two auburn-haired girls. “Two and Three.” He smiled at the next and couldn’t help but laugh as she giggled, waiting for her number. “Four,” he said, touching her nose. The tiny one waited for her new name. “You’re Five. It’s a game we’ll play.” He glanced at the widow. “A secret game. Like code names.”
When he noticed the widow asked no questions, he added, “Only we have to call her Mrs. Adams. She deserves our respect. She lost her man in the war.”
All the girls nodded except Five. She was spinning around again like an unbalanced top.
Chapter 4
After a stop at the outhouse behind the church, Trapper headed out smiling. He could almost feel the five hundred dollars in his hand. For once he was planning a future and not running away from a past.