High Plains Bride

by Jenna Kernan

  “Where is she?” shouted Fast Bear.

  Lucie cowered. “Who?”

  “My slave!”

  Alice, he meant Alice. Lucie looked about her in confusion and tried to form a coherent sentence. “I do not see this one.”

  Fast Bear howled and wheeled his horse away, tearing off at a gallop.

  Had Alice heard that the soldiers were just behind them and fled?

  Such an act was foolish desperation. Now Fast Bear pursued his slave. If he caught her, Lucie knew Alice’s only escape would be through death. Alice had told her she chose death before the dishonor of marriage. Lucie drew herself to her knees and closed her eyes praying for Alice’s safety.

  The kick to her shoulder sent her sprawling to her face. Yellow Bird was on her, swooping like her namesake as she dragged Lucie to her feet.

  “Pick it up, toad.”

  Chapter Ten

  The bright sunshine streamed through unfamiliar curtains, reaching Thomas’s throbbing eyes. His temples pounded with the results of last night’s efforts. Had it been Sarah’s birthday, he wondered. No, the warm air told him it was not October.

  He recalled the hotel and Sarah in the same instant. He rolled onto his back and groaned at the sensation of his head splitting like wood beneath a dull axe. His hand fell to his side and touched something soft and warm.

  That brought him sitting up despite the pain. Had he been so drunk he’d brought home a whore?

  Sarah mustn’t find out.

  He tried to remember last night as he blinked down at the female curled at his side. Auburn hair spilled across the pillow. He gasped.

  Sarah lay beside him, his Sarah, in yesterday’s rumpled dress. He longed to peek under the coverlet and see if she wore silk stockings. Images of the New York garters filled his mind as his gaze galloped the distance from her hidden heel to her soft cheek.

  She blinked and rolled onto her side to face him.

  “How’s your head?”

  “Painful.”

  She sat up and swung her legs off the bed. Thomas struggled to rise to his elbow to catch a glimpse of her ankle but the hem of her skirt fell like a veil. He dropped back onto the pillow as Sarah reached the water jug and poured a glass. Returning, she offered it to him. He drained the contents in three thirsty gulps, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

  “Why are you here, Sarah?”

  She sighed and turned to the window, lifting the lace edge to stare out onto the street.

  “I’ve never seen you so drunk. I was worried.”

  Shame washed over him as he realized she’d witnessed him at his lowest moment. Could he show her nothing but weakness and mistakes?

  “Thank you for looking out for me,” he said.

  She nodded her acceptance and then cleared her throat. Her thumb rubbed nervously over the top of her opposite hand, and Thomas braced for whatever Sarah was preparing to say.

  “I have to apologize,” she said.

  Confusion wrinkled his brow. Whatever he’d expected, it wasn’t that.

  “You? For what?”

  She spoke quickly now, as if in a rush to get it all out. “Last night, when I found you, I thought—that is, I found your empty billfold.”

  Thomas automatically lunged for his boot, only to find it missing. Fear gushed through him.

  “No, no. It’s all there.” Sarah pointed to the side table. “I found the one in your coat while removing it. I assumed you had lost our traveling money at gaming. I’m sorry, Thomas, for having misjudged you.”

  Had she? He’d been so drunk that any thug could have rolled him for his money. Damned irresponsible. He silently vowed to do better.

  He could not fail her this time.

  “Do you drink often?” she asked, failing in her attempt to make the question sound casual.

  His first thought was that he only drank when he mourned her loss. But he would not give her that information.

  “Some,” he said.

  She raised her chin, her expression changing to disapproval with the simple narrowing of her lovely gray eyes.

  “I thought I knew you better.”

  He dragged himself up, forced by the pressure of his bladder.

  “You don’t know me at all.”

  Some of the starch went out of her spine. “Perhaps not.”

  “You hungry?” he asked.

  She nodded.

  “I’ll meet you downstairs in thirty minutes, then.”

  He could see by the tightening of her lips she didn’t like being dismissed. She said nothing as she sat to don her shoes.

  “Have you a buttonhook?” she asked.

  When he shook his head, she sighed and stood, carrying her shoes.

  He had dreamed of having her in his bed so often he’d lost count, and now he was tossing her out. Her scorn and the sickness of the drink combined to deter him from pursuing his impulses. It seemed the timing was always off with them—except that one night. That evening, the timing had been perfect.

  He thought of Sarah, young and lithe, her body working in rhythm with his, and could not stifle the sigh of longing.

  He grasped her free hand, conscious that he reeked of stale beer.

  “Don’t judge me by last night, Sarah. I’m asking to make a fresh start with you.”

  She glanced down. “Is that even possible after so much?”

  “I’m willing to try and mend some fences.”

  She studied him. He resisted the urge to squirm.

  “We have to talk about Samuel.”

  The denial sprung to his lips, but he bit it back.

  “Why?”

  She drew a long breath as if gathering her strength. “Because he asked me on his deathbed to find you. I didn’t think I had the strength. When they took Lucie, I found I did.”

  “Because you had no one else to turn to.”

  “True.”

  “What did he say, exactly?” Thomas found himself leaning in, yearning for his brother’s words. His eyes burned with unshed tears as he waited.

  Sarah hesitated. “He asked me to tell you he loved you and that he was sorry. He asked for your forgiveness.”

  “Why?” But he knew. He understood that Samuel had known the truth of Lucie’s paternity and had lied to keep him away. Had he also lied about his father’s contempt and his mother’s reproach? How much of Thomas’s beliefs were built on sand?

  Damn Samuel for interfering and damn himself for believing him without speaking to Sarah. The list of wrongs stretched from here to Illinois. He lifted his gaze to meet Sarah’s.

  “He told me we were going to Oregon, but I think he wanted to see you. He had been sick a long time and the journey weakened him. Then he got cholera. He tried to write you, but was too far gone. He made me promise to tell you he was sorry.”

  She turned away to look at the rays of light streaming through the lace curtain.

  “Why did he leave the farm?”

  Her head sank to her chest. “He didn’t leave it, Thomas. He lost it to debt.”

  “What? Samuel was the best farmer in Illinois.”

  “He changed. Even went to doctors about his troubles, but they didn’t help him.”

  “You’re saying he got too sick to run the farm and had to move on?”

  She hesitated.

  The tension built in his chest as possibilities popped up like weeds in a garden. “He wasn’t right in the head—is that it?”

  “No, not that. He just grew sad, quiet and…”

  Thomas gripped her arm. “And?”

  Her eyes swam with tears when she lifted her face.

  “He drank, Thomas. He drank all the time.”

  His hands slipped away from her as Sarah’s words collided with the picture of his strong older brother. The man he’d envied all his life, the man who had everything.

  His denial came quickly. “No.”

  “Yes.” Her pronouncement was final and her expression brooked no argument.

&
nbsp; Still he shook his head, refusing to believe that Samuel could have won Sarah—through lies, that was true, but still, he had married her—only to lose her to drink.

  He stared at her in astonishment. Acceptance filled him slowly.

  “He gambled, too, and made a public spectacle on more than one occasion.” She glanced away as her words tumbled out. “Hard to hold your head up sometimes. It was difficult on all of us, but especially on Lucie.”

  “Why?” whispered Thomas.

  “Samuel?”

  He nodded.

  “For a long time I thought it was because I wasn’t a proper wife to him. I never loved him enough, you see.” Sarah’s gaze flicked to his and then back to her hands. She clasped and unclasped them as if kneading dough.

  Thomas sat frozen on the bed. Shock did not even begin to cover his state of mind. Samuel had drunk and gambled himself into poverty, dragging them along with him. The urge to deny her words rose again, but he pushed it back. The miserable set of Sarah’s shoulders assured him this was the truth.

  But not all of the truth.

  Samuel probably could not live with his lie. It must have eaten him up inside like a cancer. Thomas imagined lying to keep Sarah at his brother’s expense. The jolt of pain that shot through his insides assured him that Samuel had suffered. Thomas swallowed the lump rising in his throat. All these years he had cursed them and all these years they had been cursed.

  Their marriage had been childless and unhappy. This tragedy had spared no one.

  “He couldn’t live with himself,” said Thomas.

  Sarah nodded. “All this time, I thought it was me. But at the end he asked for my forgiveness. I gave it without really knowing what he had done.”

  “Now that you know, do you still forgive him?”

  Sarah’s head sank. He’d never seen her look so downtrodden. Tentatively, Thomas laid a hand upon her shoulder. She covered it with her palm and met his gaze.

  “I do.”

  Thomas pressed his lips together, wondering if he were man enough to do the same.

  “I’m sorry to have to tell you about our troubles, Thomas. I’ve never spoken to a soul about them. But you needed to know how he suffered from his lie. I do believe it killed him. I thought that once you knew, it might make it easier.”

  “What?”

  “Forgiving him. You must, Thomas. Or it will eat you up inside, too.”

  Thomas glanced back at the prairie behind them. The world seemed divided by the two ruts of the wagon wheels stretching as far as one could see in both directions. Late September brought the possibility of early snows, but they had hurried along, traveling with a military convoy of ammunition, food and whiskey for the army in Dakota Territory. The presence of a small cannon, prominently displayed, brought some comfort to him. With more than a hundred mounted fighting men, their column seemed impressive, but Thomas knew the Sioux warriors could number in the thousands.

  They met several Sioux along the trail. Men and women begged for handouts. Major Swenson seemed of the belief that these Indians were merely scouts and that if they found a train poorly protected, they could quickly rally their warriors to massacre.

  The fort could not be far off now. Thomas searched the never-changing eastern horizon for some sign of civilization. Deer Creek Fort lay behind them and at day’s end they would reach Fort Laramie.

  He wondered if the eastern newspapers had acted as he had hoped. Before leaving Sacramento, Thomas had sent a copy of the Daily Bee with Mr. McClatchy’s wonderful scathing article by Wells Fargo to the eastern newspapers in Philadelphia, Boston, New York and Washington, D.C. Mr. McClatchy had once worked for the New York Times and had given him a letter of introduction addressed to the owner, outlining his purpose and requesting their assistance in pressuring the military to act on behalf of white captives.

  With luck the letters and the McClatchy article had already hit their mark and, like a rock thrown into still waters, they would soon cause ripples across the plains.

  Sarah’s horse tripped and stumbled. She quickly recovered the slack reins and glanced Thomas’s way.

  “I think I nodded off again.”

  The monotony of this section of the journey lulled everyone. But out there, beyond that sea of grass, their enemies prowled like wolves and Lucie waited in bondage. She might be only miles from their train.

  “Nearly there now,” he assured Sarah.

  She smiled. “I don’t think I’ll ever be able to walk normally again.”

  “We’ve come a long way.”

  She nodded.

  They had traveled far in miles, but not at all in their troubles. Since Sarah’s revelation regarding Samuel, they had not spoken of the past, unless it was of Lucie. Sarah seemed different when surrounded by others. Her eyes flicked constantly to the men in the unit and she spoke polite nonsense much of the time. When he tried to broach the subject of their history, she said that she would not air dirty laundry in public.

  Thomas glanced about the vacant prairie. “In public,” he muttered.

  What had happened to the bold, carefree spirit he had fallen in love with? The answer came to him like a crushing weight upon his chest. He had killed her, by leaving her alone and pregnant to face the scorn of everyone she ever knew. Dread of disdain now marked her.

  He resigned himself to keeping the topics of discussion to the weather and traveling conditions. In this way they managed an uneasy truce. The tension still stretched between them like a telegraph line, but he preferred that to reliving his past and she seemed to prefer it to jeopardizing the respectability accorded a grieving widow.

  Sarah showed a narrow chink in her armor when she spoke of Lucie. She told him all she could of his girl, but Samuel’s ghost seemed to follow them with each step. Thomas did not know what to do. He did not think Sarah would ever forgive him and knew he would never forgive himself for leaving her.

  “Tom?”

  Something about Sarah’s tone put him on instant alert. He glanced about, seeing no visible threat, then lifted an eyebrow at Sarah.

  “I have something—well, I think you should have it.”

  Something of Samuel’s. Oh God, not his wedding ring. He swallowed back his apprehension.

  “What?”

  She reached into her saddlebag as the horses walked along and drew out a folded sheet of green paper. He recognized it as the cover of a photograph. She hesitated a moment, gripping it, and then extended her hand toward him. He accepted the offering. When Sarah took an instant too long releasing the gift, he knew what lay inside.

  He opened the cover and stared down at Lucie’s face.

  Pale ringlets cascaded over her slim shoulders—strawberry blond to match his own, according to Sarah. He needed no convincing to see the pale eyes that echoed her father’s and the same slim nose. Goosebumps lifted on his arms to see his features recast as a young girl. His hand quaked, sending tremors vibrating upward to his heart. The resemblance was so strong it stopped his breath a moment. He studied Lucie for signs of her mother and gradually saw Sarah’s freckles, her bright smile and stubborn chin. Here was the blending of their souls made flesh.

  Their daughter.

  How difficult it must have been for Sarah to stare at a face so similar to his each waking day.

  Thomas lifted his gaze to meet Sarah’s. His words came out strangled and thin. “She’s beautiful.”

  Tears ran down Sarah’s cheeks and she nodded.

  “Thank you,” he said.

  “She’s so much like you and not just in appearance. A real hard worker, but fun loving. She can be an imp, playing tricks on folks, just as you once did.”

  Sarah looked away, wiping her face.

  No one had described him as fun loving in years, and he hadn’t played a practical joke since…he thought back and he stiffened as he realized that the day Hyatt had died, he had changed in more ways than he even recognized.

  He stared down at the photo of the girl and knew he w
ould give his last breath to bring her back to her mother.

  A shout came from the front of the column of soldiers. Thomas glanced up to see the front guard topping a small knoll.

  “They’ve sighted the fort,” said Thomas. He took a final look at his daughter and then tucked her image safely into his breast pocket. Sarah didn’t have to give him this picture, but he was so grateful.

  Before the hour passed, they entered the high earthen walls of Fort Laramie. Their arrival raised several curious eyebrows among the soldiers drilling in the street. It was well past the season for travelers and their appearance from the west was out of the ordinary.

  Thomas noted three women gathered in the shade of one of the walkways, leaning so close together that their heads nearly touched. Beside him, Sarah drew back her shoulders, straightening in the saddle. He recalled her opinion of the officers’ wives. When the bedraggled survivors had limped into this sanctuary, instead of organizing a rescue party and a speedy search for captives, the officers had continued on with their evening ball. One glance told him that Sarah still seethed.

  Before his foot touched the dirt, one of the women was picking her way across the road, carefully avoiding the scattered manure.

  She paused before Sarah. “Mrs. West, how unexpected to see you again.”

  “Mrs. Douglas.” Sarah dismounted and turned her back on the woman as she flipped up the near stirrup and loosened the cinch.

  Mrs. Douglas cast a look back to the two women who lurked in the shadows. They both motioned her forward. She drew a breath.

  “How goes your search?”

  Sarah’s face reddened and she dropped her chin as she turned to face the woman. Thomas recognized the signs of attack, but the Douglas woman merely stood there, smiling stupidly with her hands clasped before her.

  Thomas extended his hand. “I’m Thomas West, ma’am.”

  She briefly clasped his fingers, seeming grateful. “Oh, how lovely to meet you. Pauline Douglas. My husband is second in command. Did you say West?”