Mountain Dreams Series: Books 1 - 3: Mountain Dreams Box Set 1

by Misty M. Beller

  Finally, the dream changed and she was standing near the top of a mountain, looking out at the most beautiful sight she’d ever beheld. A herd of cattle grazed in a distant valley, looking like brown and black dots on a pallet of green. Beyond them, more mountains rose up majestically, their sides covered with trees around the bases, but the color gradually changed to white caps of snow on the peaks. She stood there with the wind gently ruffling her hair, filled with the most amazing sense of peace.

  Leah awoke from the dream with sunlight filtering through sheer curtains. The feeling of peace lingered as she stretched and sat up in bed. Memories of the evening before flitted through Leah’s mind, when she rose and padded to the desk to retrieve her Bible. The recollection of Robert Talbert wasn’t enough to completely steal her peace, though.

  Underneath the Bible was the Richmond newspaper, and Leah again saw the advertisement for a bride in Montana. She picked up both the Bible and paper, then moved back to snuggle cross-legged in her bed. As she fingered the paper, glimpses from her dream wandered through Leah’s mind. Mountains, cattle in a valley, a sense of rightness.

  Did God want her to go to the Montana Territory? Surely not. What was in Montana anyway? Ranches, apparently. She pictured a vast field with hundreds of cattle, a two story ranch house in the distance with a wrap-around porch and friendly lanterns in the windows, welcoming her home. The scene felt warm and homey—a place she would like to be.

  But was she really thinking about marrying this man? A perfect stranger? Hadn’t she learned her lesson yet? But the “God-fearing” part was a promising sign. She couldn’t remember a time that Simon had ever brought up the subject of God.

  But to agree to marry a man sight unseen? Maybe she could stay at a hotel for a few months while they became acquainted. She didn’t have to commit to anything until she was sure he wasn’t a secret wife-killer.

  That sounded like the most reasonable plan she’d come up with yet, so Leah began her morning toilette. Now all she needed to do was find a way to get to Montana.

  ~

  The further Leah walked down Walnut Street, the fishier the air became. Finally, the wharf stretched before her, with the mighty Mississippi expanding behind it. Lined along the river’s edge were double-decker boats, chimney stacks rising from both sides like horns. Each boat had a large wheel on either side, at least those she could see. In addition to the ships lining the shore, a few more loitered in the middle of the river, as if they were waiting for an invitation to join the party at the shore.

  Party may not be quite the right description of what was happening on land, but it was definitely a large gathering of people and things. Wooden crates were stacked everywhere, some laying around haphazardly while many others were stacked in tall rows, creating formidable walls. Wagons and horses waited patiently along the road, while men moved between them, unloading and loading the wagons like armies of ants carrying crumbs of food. To add to the bedlam, Herring Gulls soared around the sky, occasionally floating down to land and waddle along the river’s edge, picking at remnants of who-knew-what.

  Leah turned onto Main Street, walking parallel to the wharves and trying her best to avoid the moving wagons, and the muck left behind by the horses that pulled them.

  Not only was the place busy, but it was noisy, too. Men called commands or banter to each other, each one trying to be heard above the din of the others. The gulls screamed their part of the conversation, too.

  Leah tried to appear inconspicuous as she made her way among the working men. She was glad she had worn a simple brown walking dress so she didn’t stick out as much as she would have in a bright lavender or red gown.

  Apparently she wasn’t completely inconspicuous, though, because almost every man she passed either doffed his hat to her or, if his hands were full, nodded in greeting. Most seemed respectful enough, but a few stares had been coarse. Leah moved swiftly past them.

  As she strolled, she imagined the adventures each man had experienced aboard the various ships. Two men talking on a dock caught her eye. They weren’t in motion like most of the others, but seemed to be in the midst of intense conversation. The older appeared rather distinguished, with a full but trimmed beard and a sharp quick eye. He wore a well-fitting suit that didn’t disguise his lean, muscular frame. His companion, dressed more like a ship’s mate in shirt sleeves rolled to his elbows, was speaking with great animation. The man with the beard had his head bent slightly, listening to his friend’s discourse. His piercing eyes caught Leah’s and watched her while he listened to his companion. Something about the man’s demeanor caused her to stop and wait while they finished speaking.

  After giving a short answer—which sounded more like a command—to his friend, the well-dressed man moved toward Leah and presented her with a formal bow.

  “Good day, fair maiden.” His voice was deep and resonant.

  “Good day, sir.” She gave him a polite nod.

  “It’s not often our humble wharf is graced with the presence of a lovely lady amidst the cargo.”

  Wisdom had taught her to ignore a comment like that, even if the way he said it sounded more fatherly than crude. “Is that your ship docked behind you, sir?”

  He turned to glance at the craft in the water. It wasn’t the largest boat there, but his voice took on a hint of pride. “Aye, the De Smet. She’s a strong little lass. Only been in the water a couple o’ years, but she’s earned her salt. Can skim the Missouri better’n any raft out there.” He waved a rough hand in the general direction of the other boats.

  Leah felt the edges of her mouth lift in response to his obvious adoration. “So you generally travel the Missouri river north? Do you journey all the way to the Montana Territory?” She felt her chest tighten as she awaited his answer. It was too much to hope the first ship captain she spoke to would be going to Montana…and have passage available for her.

  “Aye. She’s aimed for Fort Benton at daylight tomorrow. I’ve scheduled a regular supply run.”

  Fort Benton, Montana. The hotel clerk had said that was the farthest town that could be reached by boat on the Missouri River. Her heart picked up speed.

  “Do you… also carry passengers?”

  He gave her a slow perusal, not trying to hide his appraisal. What was he looking for?

  “A few.” He eyed her speculatively. “Who wants to go?”

  Leah raised her chin and eyed him back, a move she’d seen her father make on many occasions. “I’m looking to purchase passage to Fort Benton.”

  His face was impassive. “And what’s your business there?”

  Leah wasn’t sure that was any of his business. For a minute she wondered exactly what business she did have going to the Montana Territory.

  “I’ll be visiting a friend… near Butte City.”

  He seemed satisfied with that explanation. “Fare’s $300. You won’t find a vessel to get you there faster than the De Smet.”

  Leah’s heart surged, but she tried to hide her excitement with a nod. “Thank you, sir. What time should I be prepared to leave in the morning?”

  “Be here with your bags at six o’clock. We’ll be wavin’ goodbye to Louey by seven.”

  “Thank you, sir.” Leah reached a hand to shake on the deal, as her father had always done. He seemed mildly surprised but reached out to clasp her hand securely.

  “It’s a pleasure, ma’am. I’m Captain La Barge, by the way.”

  Chapter Six

  Leah skirted two boys playing jacks on the sidewalk and an elderly gentleman helping his silver-haired companion alight from a carriage. According to a street vendor she’d asked, the telegraph was located in the Post Office at the corner of Eighth and Olive Streets. Just a few blocks north and away from the water.

  She was pleasantly surprised to find a new four-story granite building at that location. It was an impressive structure with the words U.S. Court and Post Office across the front.

  The pungent aroma of fresh cut lumber and pa
int wafted to her as she entered. While the clerk helped a stout, middle-aged woman mail her letters, Leah pulled the now-worn newspaper page from her reticule, pressing the many folds firmly. When Leah approached the counter, she recalled Emily’s many hours of instruction and looked the clerk in the eyes.

  “How can I help you, miss?” The clerk looked exactly the way she’d imagined he would, slender and balding with a smudged apron and rolled up shirtsleeves.

  “I’d like to send a telegram, please.”

  “Sure thing.” He reached for paper and a quill, dipped the pen in an inkwell, then eyed her expectantly over the top of his spectacles. “Where to?”

  Leah glanced at the advertisement in her hand. “The town of Helena in the Montana Territory. The telegraph should be addressed to Abel Bryant at the Bryant Ranch near Butte City.”

  The man scribbled, nodding as she spoke.

  “And what should the wire say?”

  Leah took a deep breath. She’d practiced the message several times in her mind during the walk here, but hoped she got the wording right. “Mister Bryant. In response to advertisement in the Richmond Inquirer. I am twenty-two years, pleasant and God-fearing. Will be traveling to Butte City via steamboat to arrive late June. I will locate you upon arrival. Signed L Townsend.”

  The clerk didn’t look up with surprise or scorn as she’d expected. She had carefully worded the message so it wouldn’t be obvious she was responding to a newspaper ad for a bride, but he must suspect such a thing. Why else would she send a description of herself?

  He counted the words and announced the total cost, then copied the information into his log. Leah paid him, surprised at how expensive the message was. When the clerk finally did look up to receive her payment, his gaze—cool and judgmental—bore into her. Still, he didn’t speak to condemn, only took her money, nodded stiffly, and moved toward a machine in the corner.

  “I’ll send the message now. Have a good trip.”

  Leah’s cheeks could have boiled water as she flew out the door.

  ~

  The De Smet was more lavishly appointed than Leah expected. The porter led her first to her cabin, which was small but appeared to be clean. A narrow bed was tucked against one side of the room, while another wall held a washbasin and door to the outer deck. Leah’s trunks had already been placed against a third wall, and the fourth held a small straight-back chair and the door to the interior hallway.

  No closet or even a wardrobe. Where could she hang her gowns? Perhaps she could lay out the gown that she planned to wear next so any wrinkles would loosen…hopefully. She prayed the ship provided a laundry service. Since there wasn’t much to unpack, Leah headed back outside to watch the ship leave land.

  As she stood at the rail, the towering city of St Louis slid away until it was nothing but a memory on the horizon. Then a bend in the river obliterated the metropolis completely, leaving fertile banks covered in foliage of all kinds—flowering trees, bright green grass and an unfamiliar leafy vine that covered whole sections of land and brush. The scenery was mostly untouched by human hands, although every so often they would glide past a farm or two.

  After watching the passing beauty for almost an hour, Leah decided to explore the ship. On the upper level, she found a long narrow salon in the center, surrounded by the ring of passenger cabins. Mahogany wood panels lined the walls of the salon, and the furniture consisted of brocade-covered chairs in rich colors, mahogany wood tables, and elegant light fixtures dangling from the ceilings. A handful of passengers were scattered around the room, either reading or talking in groups of two.

  Leah’s eye was caught by a man in the back corner, dozing with his legs propped on a nearby chair. He wore the uniform of a porter. Upon closer inspection, she found him to be the porter who had assisted with her own trunks. He was young, maybe not quite twenty, and his baby face sported a thin mustache, like he was having trouble getting it to grow in. Leah felt a tender smile as she turned to leave the room.

  The outer deck that surrounded the passenger cabins formed a complete oval. She moved to the lower deck and found it to be a semi-oval, closed at one end. It supported extra cargo storage, with crates and bundles filling much of the space on the deck. Only a single walking aisle around the perimeter was open. The minute she made her way inside, her nose told her the purpose of rooms on the lower level—food. She stood in a long dining hall, with the most wonderful sweet and tangy aromas wafting through the room. A door at the far end of the room led to the kitchen and the origination of that wonderful fragrance.

  Just then, that door swung open and a waiter charged through carrying a tray of dishes. He gave Leah a patronizing nod, then proceeded to set the tables. It seemed her cue to exit. The rest of the lower level appeared to be for the crew and more cargo storage, so Leah wandered back to the upper deck to enjoy the passing landscape. It reminded her a little of the Virginia countryside, but with a bit more tropical feel.

  ~

  What a pleasant affair dinner proved to be that evening. Leah found herself seated at one of the round tables next to a Mrs. DeSchmidt and her husband. Mr. DeSchmidt was a merchant from St Louis who specialized in purchasing raw goods from towns along the Missouri River, then reselling them to factories in the city to be processed into finished goods. On this particular trip, he traveled to Glasgow to purchase tobacco and hemp, and his sweet wife had accompanied him.

  Mrs. DeSchmidt was robust, with a motherly manner and chocolate eyes that sparkled when she spoke. Although their children were grown and settled with their own families in St. Louis, Leah imagined that Mrs. DeSchmidt was probably the ideal grandmother.

  A younger man she guessed to be in his mid-thirties sat next to Mr. DeSchmidt. During introductions, Mr. Henry Crenshaw proclaimed himself to be a journalist traveling all the way to the Washington Territory to write a series of articles for his home newspaper.

  “And where is home, Mr. Crenshaw?” Mrs. DeSchmidt inquired.

  “Columbia, South Carolina, Ma’am.” His strong southern drawl sent a ripple of homesickness through Leah.

  “I traveled to Columbia for business a few years back.” Mr. DeSchmidt stroked his white beard. “I remember the people there were quite friendly.”

  Mrs. DeSchmidt leaned across her husband to address their fascinating guest. “And which newspaper do you write for, Mr. Crenshaw? We’ll make sure to watch for your articles when they’re reprinted in the St. Louis papers.”

  “The Daily Phoenix, Ma’am, and thank you.” His chest puffed with pride. “I hope to find some interesting stories to send back to our Eastern readers.”

  Leah’s curiosity was aroused. “And what type of stories do you anticipate finding, Mr. Crenshaw? Tales of gold and wild Indians?”

  His brown eyes widened and met Leah’s, his serious manner exuding courtroom honesty. She was mostly joking, so his response surprised her. “That’s entirely possible. A reporter from the Charleston Daily News traveled to the Montana Territory and was almost scalped by real Indians.”

  “Oh my,” breathed Mrs. DeSchmidt. Her husband shook his head in awe.

  Despite Leah’s interest in the topic, especially as it included Montana, she almost giggled at the younger man. His luminous eyes and hair slicked to one side, along with his clean-shaven face, gave him a school-boy look, despite the faint wrinkles that were beginning to form around his eyes and forehead.

  But Mr. Crenshaw wasn’t finished. “They say the country out there is absolutely wild, with five Indians to every white man. And the Indians would just as soon scalp you as shake hands. Why, a reporter from the Savannah Tribune was traveling with a wagon train a few years ago when the whole train was attacked. Half the men were killed before the soldiers showed up.”

  And so the meal continued, with Mr. Crenshaw regaling them with stories of how other reporters had experienced the wilds of the Northwest. After each story, Mrs. DeSchimdt would exclaim in reverent wonder and Mr. DeSchmidt would shake his head in amaz
ement.

  For her own part, Leah didn’t credit three quarters of Mr. Crenshaw’s wild accounts. Still, the country did seem rather un-tamed. What exactly was she getting herself into?

  ~

  The next two months were exceedingly pleasant for Leah. When the weather was nice, she spent most of her time on the upper Promenade Deck, reading and re-reading either her Bible or one of the dog-eared novels she’d brought from home. Over the weeks, the scenery changed from mostly forest to miles of tall grass with a scraggly tree tossed in for good measure. The air also shifted from the muggy feel of St. Louis to a cooler, thin atmosphere.

  The passengers disembarked at the various stops, with new travelers taking their places. By the first week in June, though, the passenger count had dwindled, being replaced by supplies.

  “Why do you need so many supplies if the trip is almost over?” she asked one of the crew. He was a tall, lean man, with a thick curly beard that reminded her of a wooly black sheep.

  “Ta sell.” He said it as if she should have known that bit of information. “That’s where the Cap’n makes most o’ his money, from sellin’ goods to the Terr’tory.”

  “At Fort Benton?” It made sense, she supposed. Probably a lot of goods had to be shipped from the civilized states.

  “Sure, then they ship ‘em on down the Mullan Road to Helena and the rest o’ the towns. They pay a purty price fer ‘em, fer sure.”

  “I can imagine.” Although, she really couldn’t. She didn’t have a good knowledge of how much supplies cost, even back East. She’d never had to purchase food or household goods. Those were the responsibilities of the housekeeper and steward. So naturally, she really didn’t know how much more expensive things would be in Butte City. But logic predicted the additional freighting charge would increase costs.