High Plains Bride

by Jenna Kernan

  “From her father.”

  Sarah turned to see how Lucie took this news and found her on her feet, waiting with an expectant look upon her face.

  Lucie turned to Sarah. “Perhaps he left us a letter.”

  Corbit reached into his coat pocket.

  “This purse contains some six hundred dollars in coin and notes.”

  He pressed the leather bag into Lucie’s trembling hand. Both women’s mouths dropped open at the sight of such riches. Sarah’s stomach twisted, for she knew what this meant. It was Thomas’s way of caring for his girl in his absence. In that moment, Sarah understood that he was never coming back. She held her breath as the requisitions officer reached inside his breast pocket.

  “These papers transfer ownership of a hardware store, private residence, bank accounts, and a parcel of some four hundred twenty-three acres of land in Bakersfield, California, to Lucie West, as witnessed by myself and Dr. Perry.”

  “What?” Now Sarah was on her feet.

  Corbit turned to her. “He gives her all his holdings and funds adequate to travel to said properties.”

  “But what about him?” asked Sarah.

  “I should say the Union Army will provide for his needs, such as they are.”

  Sarah had a sudden vision of a blue uniform with gold buttons, then a splash of blood and a Union-issued casket.

  “No. We must stop him before it’s too late.”

  “I’d say there’s no chance of that. He seemed determined and completely in control of his faculties.” Corbit extended the packet to Lucie.

  She turned to her mother and Sarah nodded.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  “At your service.” Corbit gave an awkward bow.

  Sarah needed to find Thomas and explain that she was the stupidest, most ungrateful woman in the world. He had no reason to forgive her, but at least she would tell him the truth. She loved him with the whole of her imperfect heart.

  “Where is he bound?” she asked.

  “East, to Illinois. Plans to enlist with the cavalry. Excellent choice really, for a gentleman.”

  “So he would go first to North Platte Station. Can I telegraph ahead?”

  “Normally, yes. But the bloody Sioux cut the line again.”

  Sarah accepted this setback with bitter disappointment.

  “You are the supply officer. Do you have any wagons heading there tomorrow?”

  “Supply wagon goes out every Friday.”

  Two days. Sarah cursed in silence. “Couldn’t your man depart a day early?”

  Corbit looked about to refuse. Lucie stepped forward and grasped his arm.

  “Please, sir. I wish to thank my father.”

  The young man’s face flushed as his broad hand trembled. Sarah had never thought to use female wiles upon the man and was so shocked by Lucie’s masterful appeal that she was nearly as speechless as Corbit.

  “Yes, yes. I’ll arrange it. I’ll speak to my mule skinner. Tomorrow, at daybreak.”

  Lucie released Corbit’s arm and smiled at her mother. Sarah felt a spark of hope. Perhaps they could still catch him.

  That night was one of the worst of Sarah’s life. She would doze and then wake, searching the dark window for some flicker of morning light. At last the blackness ebbed, giving over by slow degrees to a cold winter’s day. She sat upon her bed, her head aching from fatigue and her heart heavy as lead.

  She did not know what Thomas would say if she caught him. But one thing she knew with certainty—if she did not catch him, she would never see him again.

  He had half a day’s head start and rode unencumbered by wagons, and unprotected by the militia. She offered a prayer for his safety.

  She changed into her traveling clothes and slipped into her boots. Next, she turned to the washstand and began her morning ablutions. She was just setting the cord at the end of her braid when Lucie’s image appeared in the mirror. Her daughter sat on her side of the bed, with shoulders slumped and eyes pinched shut.

  Lucie stripped off her nightdress. It was only then that Sarah saw the marks circling her daughter’s upper arms.

  Lucie’s head popped through the neck of her shift a moment later. She noted her mother’s regard fixed on the tattoos and lifted her arm to give her a better view.

  “Did it hurt?” asked Sarah. She did not really expect an answer.

  “Yes. They used a needle to force the charcoal paste beneath the skin. As soon as they turned me loose, I scrubbed my face until it bled, hoping I could wash out the stain, but…” She lifted her hand to her face and shrugged. “As you see.”

  “Why did they do it?”

  “The marks show I belong to the Bittersweet tribe—or did.”

  “Like a brand?” Sarah was horrified, but she kept her outrage in check. For once, Lucie seemed willing to speak of her time in captivity, and Sarah would not jeopardize that with an outburst.

  “Not really, no. Many women chose to wear such marks, not just the slaves. They don’t see them as ugly. In fact, some women think they enhance their beauty.”

  Such strange people, thought Sarah.

  Lucie reached for her dress and stepped into it. In a moment, the mark on her arms were hidden once more. If only the one upon her chin could be so easily disguised.

  “Do you think I’m ugly now, Mama?”

  Sarah hesitated, choosing her words with care. Her first impulse was to deny that anything had changed. But that was a lie and Sarah no longer chose to delude herself or her daughter. If Sarah wanted honesty, she best begin with herself.

  “When I first saw the marks, I was furious. I wanted to get my hands on the one who had done this to my child. Now, I worry how people will react when they see them. I think it will make your life harder.”

  Lucie nodded her acceptance at this.

  “I wish I could protect you from cruel, stupid comments. But I can’t.”

  Lucie sat upon the bed and Sarah perched beside her, draping an arm about her daughter’s narrow shoulders.

  “It doesn’t change how I feel about you. You’re still my baby, even though you’re a young lady now.”

  Her daughter tucked her head on her mother’s shoulder. “Do you think we’ll catch him?”

  Apprehension prickled in Sarah.

  “I hope so.”

  Together they packed their gear. Lucie rolled her new quilt inside her buffalo robe and insisted Sarah take a robe as well. They headed for the mess hall. The cook had the fire stoked and a pot of oatmeal as big as a washtub awaited them. They finished their bowls in short order.

  As they left the mess hall, they retraced their steps past the room Sarah had occupied these many months. Before the door to the left stood Mrs. Corbit clutching her crying baby. It seemed this woman spent much of each night in the cold as her husband slept in peace.

  “My husband tells me you are now a wealthy woman, Miss Lucie. Rather odd, considering you are but Mr. West’s niece.” She did not sound the least bit happy for Lucie. “I am further told that despite Mr. West’s provisions, you are chasing after him like two dogs after a fox. I wonder why?”

  Sarah stepped between her daughter and the condescending busybody. “Well then, Mrs. Corbit, I shall enlighten you. Thomas is Lucie’s father.”

  Mrs. Corbit gasped. Sarah took pleasure in the look of shock upon the woman’s narrow face.

  “Mrs. West! You are not the woman I judged you to be!”

  Sarah smiled. “And for that I thank God. Good day, Mrs. Corbit.”

  With that dismissal she left the slack-jawed gossip to chew her own cud. Sarah breathed deeply of the crisp morning air.

  “Mother? You’re smiling.”

  “Am I? Perhaps because I feel truly liberated for the first time in my life. How I ever let myself be controlled by such narrow-minded little hypocrites, I’ll never know.”

  “But she’ll talk.”

  Sarah grinned. “Let her.”

  “Is this because we’re leaving?
”

  She paused and Lucie did, as well. “No child. This is because I have finally come to my senses. For years I let women like that keep me down and make me feel unworthy. I gave all my power to little ninnies like her, God forgive me.”

  “But not anymore?”

  “Lucie, there’s no pleasing such people. From now on I will live my life as I see fit, and you should, too.”

  Off they went again, reaching the stables. There they found four bleary-eyed soldiers loading a wagon. Before them stood a team of eight mules jangling their traces as they waited.

  Beside them checking each harness was a wiry little man, gray as a winter morning except for his green coat, which bore the distinctive indigo horizontal stripe of a Hudson’s Bay blanket. He looked old and tough as shoe leather and seemed unable to extend his left knee as he hobbled up the line of mules.

  “Good morning,” said Sarah.

  He glanced up, showing watery blue eyes, one of which had begun to cloud.

  “You the reason I’m up before the damn birds a full day early?”

  “Guilty,” she said.

  He gave a guffaw. “I’m Duke VanTongeren.” He waved a hand at his mules. “And this here is Sam and Blue up front, then Duffles and Maria, Meade and Sickles right here and last is Reynolds and General Grant.”

  Sarah recognized the names of the leaders of the Union Army and their commanding officer. She stared at General Grant, a brown mule with enormous ears and a white bristly chin. He lacked his cigar.

  “You named your mules after generals?”

  VanTongeren nodded sagely. “Just the ones in the back. You always find the generals in the back.”

  She smiled. “I see.”

  “I’ll be loaded in a jiffy. You best saddle up.” He glanced about. “Two of you? You understand my job is to carry the goods and my mules. We hit trouble and I see to Sam and Blue first.”

  “Understood.”

  Brennan made his appearance. Circles darkened his eyes, but his smile was unmistakable. Sarah had never seen it before.

  “Ah, Mrs. West. So you are leaving our company at last.”

  Sarah tried not to scowl, but couldn’t manage it. The man was positively gleeful to see her back.

  “Thank you for you kindnesses,” said Sarah, finding her gratitude did not cost her as dearly as she feared.

  “I am happy to see your daughter restored and I am providing a full escort for you and your, ah, child.” He extended his hand. “Best wishes to you both.”

  He could not withdraw quickly enough. She smiled at his light step. The man seemed about to break into a jig. Well, she could hardly blame him. They had butted heads from the first meeting and Sarah was happy to leave his questionable hospitality.

  They went into the stables and found Corporal Abby there.

  “Major Brennan says that Lucie is to have one of his horses.”

  Sarah’s smile slipped. It was an act of kindness she had never expected.

  “I picked this here bay. He’s gentle and smart. Well broke, too.”

  “Thank you, Corporal. Please thank the major, as well.”

  He tipped his hat and left them with their horses all saddled. They mounted and took their assigned places before the wagon. Before them, two columns of three soldiers led the way and behind VanTongeren rode ten more soldiers. Brennan had seen well to their protection.

  Her horse blew white vapor as she waited for the gate to open. Finally, the men before them set out and the parade was in motion. The trail between the two forts had been traveled many times since the blizzard and the light dusting of snow that had fallen overnight did not hamper their steady progress. Still, their journey seemed painfully slow. The heavy wheels of the box wagon creaked on the snow as they rolled over trodden ground. By midday Sarah regretted her decision to wait for an escort, until she recalled the last time she’d traveled with Lucie. She bit back her discontent as the wagon wheel again sank into a soft spot just off the narrow trail, requiring the men to dismount to heave and strain before setting them in motion once more.

  That first night they slept at a relay station and the second in a sod cabin. On the third night, Sarah was especially glad for the buffalo robe Lucie had insisted she bring, because they slept right on the snow. A trading post was a welcome sight the following night. The fifth morning, Sarah grew anxious. They should arrive today and she feared Thomas had already come and gone.

  As the day progressed, the light snow grew heavier. White fluffy flakes stuck to Sarah’s coat and accumulated on the brim of her hat. It was the kind of snow she’d anticipated as a child, a good packing snow. But now the sticky surface clung to the wagon wheels.

  Corbit called the break and dismounted to chip the ice from the rims.

  “How much farther to the fort?” asked Sarah.

  “Only a mile or two, but it will likely take the rest of the day.”

  Sarah lifted her gaze to the trail, already vanishing beneath the fast falling snow. If she ventured out without an escort, she could reach the fort in less than an hour, if she could follow the trail and if there were no raiders waiting to pick off unprotected riders.

  She sighed away her frustration, releasing it in a puffy white breath.

  “The snow will keep him from leaving,” said Lucie.

  Sarah turned to her daughter. Lucie was always perceptive, a trait that had likely helped her survive among the Sioux. She had another quality that Sarah lacked—patience.

  Sarah drew comfort from her daughter’s observation.

  “I hope you are right.”

  “We’ll find him there. But what will you do then?”

  No secrets, she thought, and told Lucie the truth.

  “I plan to get down on my knees and beg his forgiveness. I’m going to tell him that I have loved him with all my heart since I was ten and I cannot bear to lose him again. I’ll plead with him to come to California with us and leave the war to younger men.” Sarah swallowed, drawing up courage to tell her daughter all of it. “Then I’m going to ask him to marry me.”

  Lucie’s eyes rounded. “You’re going to ask?”

  Sarah nodded.

  “Shouldn’t you wait for him to ask?”

  “I’ve waited for fourteen years to marry this man and I’ll not wait another minute.” She fussed with her scarf. “If he’ll have me.”

  How she wished she could turn back time. A small voice in her head scoffed. Turn it back to when? To the day she refused to allow Thomas to tell Lucie the truth, before Lucie’s capture, before Samuel’s death, before Samuel cast Thomas aside or before she learned he lived? There was no going back. Only this moment existed—this one chance to finally make things right, if Thomas’s heart was big enough to give their love one last try.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Thomas stood by the window in the narrow, crowded barracks staring out at the accumulating snow. He cursed. He had hoped to continue east today, alone if necessary. But there would be no traveling in such a snow. Already nearly a foot blanketed the grounds before the barracks.

  What did it matter, today, tomorrow? Soon he’d be miles away from her.

  Oh, Sarah, how I wish I could have made you love me again.

  He breathed a great sigh, fogging the pane of glass before him. For Sarah, the waters were too dangerous for a second swim. He understood that. For years he had protected his own heart, avoiding anyone who came too close. He wrote her name in the condensation upon the glass and then roughly rubbed it with the side of his fist, causing the glass to squeak.

  He wished she’d never come back. At least then he had the comfort of believing her a faithless woman. But now he knew the truth and he knew about Lucie.

  Not only had he lost Sarah, but he had lost the child he had only just found. Sarah would see to her care. She was ferocious as a mother. He could not think of anyone better suited to help Lucie come to terms with her terrible ordeal. But for a time he’d begun to believe there was a place for him in their
world—that he would share in the joy of raising her, seeing her wed. Perhaps even live to see a grandchild come into this world.

  Now, he had nothing but her memory—and the photo. He patted the coat pocket where Lucie’s image remained. He would carry it with him into battle. Perhaps there, he could be of some use. In his present mood, killing men seemed to be all he was fit for.

  He glanced out at the barren landscape before him. Snow piled up on everything, including the men hurrying between buildings.

  He heard the sentry shout. The door swung open as a young sergeant stepped in. The snow on his boots slid away leaving blobs of melting slush in his wake.

  “I need four men to unload a wagon.”

  The men instantly dropped eye contact, suddenly very busy with polishing buttons or boots.

  “Johansen, Taylor, Mackey.”

  The men groaned and rose to their feet.

  “And…” The room seemed to hold its breath. The sergeant smiled, taking his time before finally zeroing in on his fourth. “Nichols.”

  The man stepped into the boot he had only just snatched off the floor for polishing, leaving an unplayed hand of cards before him as he donned his coat and waited for the others.

  “What wagon? Mule skinner’s not due ’til tomorrow,” muttered Johansen, stooping behind Thomas and peeking out the window.

  Thomas turned to see steam rising off the backs of eight lathered mules behind a party of soldiers.

  “Who’s that?” Taylor pointed. “Looks like…looks like women.”

  The men stampeded to the window.

  “Two of them!”

  Thomas turned to see the object of the mêlée and started. He should have known.

  Sarah was dismounting her freckled horse. Every man at the window caught a nice flash of ankle before her skirts dropped into place. A flick of her head sent the long auburn braid swinging to her back.

  A collective “ooh” rose from the men.

  His chest tightened at the sight of her and he could not seem to draw a proper breath.

  “Pretty,” said a man behind him.

  “Wish she’d take off that damned hat,” said another.

  “I wish she’d take off her damned dress.”

  Thomas leapt to his feet and gave a mighty shove, sending this last man rolling to his back. He turned to face the others.