St. John, Cheryl

by Prairie Wife

  "Who're Vanessa and Tim?"

  Jesse tucked his handkerchief away. "Vanessa's Amy's mama. Tim's our boy."

  That answer seemed to be enough, but there was more on his mind because he frowned and asked, "What about a marker for Gran?"

  "You can help me make one." Jesse worked the other two crosses from the hard-packed ground. "These need a new coat of paint while we're at it."

  It didn't take long to make a simple wood cross, paint Jesse's mother's name on it and freshen the paint on the other two markers. He and Cay had all three finished and set into the ground by supper. They stood side by side on the hill, each lost in his own thoughts.

  Jesse took moderate comfort in the fact that his mother and Amy's mother lay on either side of his son. They weren't really there, he reminded himself, and glanced up at the sky where the sun headed for the horizon. Take care of each other.

  "Well, I'm hungry, how about you?" he asked Cay.

  The boy shrugged and followed him to the basins beside the porch to wash.

  During the meal, Sam brought Jesse up to date on the travelers who'd been through while he was gone. Amy took special care in placing the best pieces of meat on Jesse's plate and freshening his coffee. If she stopped long enough to lay a hand on his shoulder or lean against him, the last shred of his brittle soul would shatter.

  As it was, the ache inside grew like a hunger he couldn't seem to appease. When he'd finished eating, he pushed back his chair and waited as the others filed out.

  Only Mrs. Barnes remained, and she was busy washing pans in a tub of suds.

  "Come here, Amy," he said, and motioned for her to follow him toward the back room, which he unlocked.

  She hung back until he gestured again, and then she entered hesitantly. He closed the door, confining them in the small space.

  Amy clasped her hands before her and waited, her expression impassive.

  Jesse knelt to the bags he'd stored there for lack of a better place. Among his mother's clothing had been her jewelry and personal things. He took out a silver case engraved with roses and stood to hand it to Amy. "This is for you."

  It took several seconds for her to accept the box. She ran her fingers over the top. "It was your mother's."

  "There are a few pieces inside. Go ahead and look."

  She opened the hinged lid, revealing a few brooches, a locket and two pairs of earrings.

  "You don't have to wear them if you don't like them."

  She raised her gaze. "I do like them, Jesse."

  "Well. I want you to have them."

  Amy owned jewelry that had belonged to her mother, as well. If they had a daughter, she would inherit the pieces someday. None of the items was particularly valuable, except for the sentiment they held. Jesse didn't say what he was thinking. They didn't talk about things like that anymore, and chances for more children were slim. Their plans for the future and a family were all buried in that little plot on the hillside.

  He wanted to tell her how bad he felt that she hadn't met his mother, how many regrets he'd experienced these past days. But he didn't.

  Amy closed the lid. "Thank you. I'll keep this on my bureau."

  If she touched him, all the pieces of his soul would come together and he'd feel whole again. If she touched him, he'd know she was doing it out of duty or pity and not because of any great love she felt for him. If she touched him and he showed his weakness for her, he'd hate himself later.

  But he didn't have to concern himself, because she kept her distance. He felt so cold, he didn't know how it could be only late September and not the dead of winter.

  "A trunk came yesterday," she told him. "Probably more of her things. It's in the parlor."

  "I'll look through it in a day or so. You can open it if you like."

  She shook her head and reached for the doorknob.

  "Good night, Amy."

  She left, and what little warmth had remained in his bones seeped out. Jesse locked up, crossed the kitchen and made his way to the barn.

  In the tack room, beneath his saddle, he found the remainder of his case of whiskey and popped the cork on a fresh bottle.

  The burn started at his throat and a path of fire spread to his belly. After several swigs, his limbs were warm and the cavity in his chest glowed like a coal furnace. He was damn tired of denying himself. Tired of disapproval and guilt and helplessness, and if this eased the loss of everything he'd once held dear and no longer had, well, who the hell could blame him?

  Jesse wrapped the crate in a horse blanket and carried it to his room at the boardinghouse.

  ***

  The following morning Amy encountered Cay in the hallway on her way downstairs.

  "Morning," she said.

  He merely nodded.

  "Is your room okay? Do you need anything?"

  "Room's fine." He made a point of looking directly at her and saying, "Thank you" before sliding past her and hurrying down the stairs.

  She watched him go with conflicting emotions. He was young and would be alone if not for them. But she wasn't going to get her hopes up that he'd blend right in to their family and way of life. Hope had a way of turning sour and it was best to be practical.

  She'd been in the kitchen only a half hour when a stage driven by Pearly Higgs pulled into the station. The gray-bearded ribbon-sawer made his way to the house, hung his hat and holster on a peg and rubbed his hands together in glee. "I been a-waitin' for a stack o' your flapjacks, Miz Shelby."

  With fanfare he pulled a gold coin from the pocket of his buckskin shirt and plunked it on the table.

  Amy poured him a cup of coffee and set a plate before him. "It'll be just a few minutes while I get the griddle hot again."

  "Watchin' you work only makes the waitin' more pleasurable," he said with a grin.

  Sam entered through the back door, poured himself a cup of coffee and took a seat across from Pearly. "What's this I hear about a train derailing?"

  "A party of Cheyenne tore down telegraph wire and lashed a stack of rails to the tracks. Train came along last night." Pearly cracked a fist into the other palm to demonstrate the collision.

  Amy winced.

  "Cheyenne are just tryin' to protect their land," Pearly said with a shrug.

  Sam took a sip from his mug. "Yeah, but the Army will see this as an act of war and reinforce their efforts to round the Indians up."

  "Were many people hurt?" Amy asked.

  "Don't rightly know," Pearly replied. "I heard it from a rider comin' from the south."

  Thinking of all those people stranded on the prairie, Amy looked at her father. "Do you think there's something we can do? Should we go see if they need doctors and stages?"

  Sam scratched his chin. "I s'pose we could take a few wagons and see if anyone wants to come back to the station with us. They can catch rides from here."

  Amy looked to Mrs. Barnes. "Can you handle things if I go with my father?"

  "You go ahead—we'll do fine," the woman assured her.

  "You're fixin' to go?" Sam asked his daughter.

  She removed her apron, then placed the twenty eggs she'd boiled that morning in a clean coffee tin and covered it "No reason that I shouldn't."

  Knowing better than to argue, Sam raised a brow and turned to Pearly. "Exactly where did this happen?"

  While her father got directions, Amy packed food and stacked blankets and crates on the porch.

  Jesse pulled a team and wagon into the yard and stalked toward her. Apparently her father had told him Amy's plans.

  "Amy, you can't go off like this, it's not safe."

  She gestured to the gun lying with her belongings. "I have my rifle. And I'll be with my father."

  "Maybe so, but we don't know about the Cheyenne that attacked that train. They could still be out there."

  "We've always been on good terms with the Cheyenne," she replied. "They see the trains as the threat, not us. Their actions have been more like deterrents than attacks."
<
br />   "You can't be sure. I'll go, and you stay here."

  "You need to run the station," she told him logically.

  "Then I'll send one of the hands in your stead."

  "That will only leave you more shorthanded. I'm going, Jesse. There are women and children out there who need help. It's the right thing to do."

  His gaze took in her determined expression. He looked away for a moment as though gathering his thoughts, then met her eyes. "I'm against this, but I know I'm not going to stop you. Keep that rifle with you at all times."

  Jesse had taught her to shoot the rifle during their courting days, and she was a fair shot. He'd been adamant about her being able to protect herself. "I will."

  He caught her arm and she glanced up into his intense blue gaze. Obviously he wanted to say something more, but the moment grew awkward and he released her.

  "Not knowing how many passengers you'll find, I had three teams harnessed to wagons. Hermie is going with you."

  Sam and the hand approached as if on cue.

  "If you're not back by tomorrow night, I'll come after you," Jesse told her father.

  Sam shook his head as he replied, "Wait 'til light the next morning."

  He and Jesse shook hands, and Jesse slapped Hermie on the shoulder. Jesse helped Amy up onto the wagon seat and stood on the side of the wagon for a moment. Without giving her time to think or object, he leaned forward and kissed her, then jumped to the ground. She raised a hand in silent farewell and lifted the reins.

  ***

  Amy had plenty of time to think over Jesse's objections and his reaction to her determined plan. She'd never had cause to question his feelings for her. He'd never been anything but straightforward, attentive, protective. Everything that was wrong between them had started out as her fault.

  Everything. And that was the single insurmountable fact she couldn't live with.

  They stopped for a quick meal at noon and, with the sun high in the sky, filled water jugs from a stream. Shortly after, they found the railroad tracks and followed them east. The air cooled toward evening, and lightning streaked the distant sky and thunder rolled across the prairie. Sam had grown frustrated at not having located the train. They'd been following the rails for several hours.

  "I think we're going to have to camp here and try to find the train come light," he called back to Amy.

  She nodded her understanding, but as she did, she noticed a plume of smoke in the sky. "Look!"

  "Could be them. Or could be Cheyenne," her father called back. "I think we'd best wait 'til daylight."

  She trusted his judgment, but knew this delay would make them late getting home and that Jesse would worry.

  Jagged lightning split the sky close by, thunder rumbled and Hermie's mumbled cussing could be heard as they hurriedly ate a meal and stored their gear, fat raindrops splatting on their heads and shoulders.

  Amy and her father ducked under her wagon to sleep on the pallets they'd prepared. Hermie had taken refuge under another.

  "Are you doin' all right?" Sam asked.

  She settled her hips, trying in vain to find a comfortable spot on the hard ground, and made sure her rifle was dry and within reach. "I'm fine."

  "You have gumption, Amy. Aren't many women who'd come out here in the off chance that they could help somebody they don't know."

  "I have a good life, Daddy," she told him, softly calling him the name she reserved for when they were alone. "I know the hardships out here. Nearly every week I see women torn from everything safe and familiar, living out of wagons, risking danger just to find what they hope is a better life for their families. Sometimes I don't know how they do it."

  "They do it just like you and your mama did when we first got here. You've had some hard times, too."

  She didn't reply.

  Rain struck the tarpaulins covering the wagon beds and poured off in sheets to the hard-packed ground, the sound loud and steady. Amy tried not to think of her comfortable home and soft, dry bed back at the station.

  After several minutes Sam said, "Either you or Jesse is gonna have to make some changes soon. The two of you can't go on with things the way they've been."

  Her heart constricted painfully. Of course her father knew. But now her private troubles were out in the open, plain as day.

  "A bottle of whiskey is a poor substitute for a lovin' wife and a warm bed," he added.

  Her father had seen Jesse's drinking. Her shame grew. "Has he said anything to you?"

  "Not about you. He respects you too much."

  "Don't worry yourself about it."

  "Well, I do worry. The man is your husband. We're a family. At least, we used to be. Don't feel like it much anymore."

  Amy turned on her side away from her father, away from his probing words. She didn't need her glaring imperfections pointed out to her. Talking only made her feel more and more like a failure and less like the woman everyone expected her to be.

  "Good night, Daddy."

  Sometime later, a soft snore told her he slept. And when she was sure he couldn't hear her, she let her ragged breathing escape and struck the ground several times with a fist.

  Later, much later, she slept.

  ***

  Rain continued to pour through the night and into the early-morning hours as they harnessed the teams and headed east. The sky cleared temporarily as they came upon the derailed train a half hour later. The area was littered with flimsy tents constructed of soggy blankets, tarpaulins and piled trunks. Seats and bunks had been removed from the railcars to provide beds for the injured.

  Fortunately for the passengers traveling the Union Pacific, a doctor had been among them, and those hurt had been cared for. There were at least fifty who needed transport. Riders had gone ahead and behind to alert the railroad officials and delay any scheduled trains.

  While Sam was thinking through the options, another caravan of wagons found the site, so the drivers met to discuss which travelers each would take.

  Amy helped Hermie take care of their horses while the gathering divided and collected belongings. Amy couldn't remember ever being so wet or physically miserable. Trunks and valises were loaded as thunder again echoed across the heavens.

  Ready to join them for the trip back to Shelby Station were twelve adults and six children. Two of the adults had been injured—William Hunter, an elderly gentleman with his arm in a sling, and Eden Sullivan, a pretty brunette with her foot in splints.

  Sam carried Eden to the back of his wagon and settled her as comfortably as possible. By the time everyone was situated among the trunks, they barely had time to get moving before another rain shower drenched them.

  Amy again pulled her slicker over her head and shoulders. Instead of stopping for meals that day, they ate hard tack and jerky, but with the added weight and on increasingly muddy ground, travel was slow. When night fell, they were forced to camp. Amy helped her father rig tents out of tarpaulins and poles, then she strung ropes as close as possible to the fire to dry their clothing.

  "Will those Indians come after us?" a wide-eyed Eden asked Sam as he fed the smoldering fire.

  "Nah, they caused what trouble they set out to do and are probably long gone."

  "I think we're fortunate to be alive," a man by the name of Barnett said. He picked up a stick and lit a cigar. "I've heard stories about the Indians out here in the territories."

  "Some of those stories are probably true," Amy told them. "But what you don't hear are the counts of Army regiments wiping out entire villages of Sioux and Cheyenne, women and children included. The bands are protecting themselves and their hunting grounds the only way they know how."

  "Did a party attack the train or the passengers?" Sam asked.

  "I call derailing tons of steel an attack," Barnett replied.

  William Hunter spoke up. "We saw them from a distance only. They sat on horseback and observed our predicament. I suppose they think they're discouraging travel by rails."

  "I su
ppose they do," Amy said. "But the Army seems determined to drive them away. This incident will no doubt cause more regiments to be assigned to the area."

  "Is your station safe from attacks?" Eden asked.

  "We've never had trouble with the Sioux or the Cheyenne who live nearby," Amy answered. "In fact we've often traded with them. More so right after the war, before the Army refocused its attention on getting rid of all Indians."

  Amy didn't care if she sounded defensive. People coming west had a right to know the truth. The subject was dropped, but she didn't know if their minds were set at ease. She guessed the new pot of coffee had been boiling long enough and used a flour sack to remove it from the fire.

  Eden was sitting hunched beside the fire with the rest of the bedraggled travelers, her injured foot propped on a valise. She had long dark eyelashes, and a way of speaking with a charming little pout. "Is Nebraska always this miserable?"

  "You never know about the weather in these parts, Miss Sullivan," Sam replied. "The ground can sure use the rain, though."

  "Are you a farmer?" she asked.

  "No, but I have a small orchard to fulfill my homestead agreement," he told her.

  "What kind of trees?"

  "Mostly apple. My Amy here makes the best apple pie this side of the Divide."

  "Where were you traveling, Miss Sullivan?" Amy asked.

  "I'm on my way to look after my sister's children. She's been sick."

  "I'm sorry to hear that. Where does she live?"

  "Denver City."

  Amy handed her a cup of coffee. "You won't have that much farther to travel after your foot's had a chance to heal."

  "What's your town like?" Eden asked.

  "Well, it's not much of a town, really. There's a restaurant down the road a way. We run the stage station, trade horses and do any smithing that's called for."

  "Smithing?"

  "Blacksmith. One of our men works steel for horseshoes and wheels, tools and such."

  "Oh, so there are others at your station?"

  "Yes, we're the only station with beds for the night, so we get a prime share of business."

  "So you have a hotel?"

  "Not a hotel." Amy glanced at her father, and they shared a grin. "More like a boardinghouse. There's a mercantile not far away. Our mail and shipments are delivered right to our door, so we don't want for much."