The Wayward Heart

by Jill Gregory

  The stagecoach was a handsome, egg-shaped vehicle slung between sturdy axles by two thick, strong, leather thorough braces. It appeared to have been freshly painted, and the portraits of two beautiful women adorned the gleaming, finely carved door panels. Four spirited grays pranced before the carriage, obviously restless to be off. As Bryony surveyed them and the coach, a thrill of anticipation ran through her. She, too, was impatient to start.

  The stage driver, a thin, wiry fellow, began loading the passengers’ baggage in the boot at the rear of the coach. Mr. Parker brought over Bryony’s trunk and two bandboxes, and panting ever so slightly from the exertion, exchanged introductions with the driver before indicating the young woman at his side.

  “Mr. Wilkins, this is my client—Miss Bryony Hill. She’ll be traveling as far as Winchester, in the Arizona Territory. I’d appreciate it if you’d keep an eye on her. This is her first journey alone.”

  Wilkins ran his shrewd dark eyes over Bryony’s willowy form. “Shore seems young to be headin’ west all by herself,” he concluded, between chews on his tobacco. “But if that’s what she’s doin’, I’ll be glad to keep an eye on her, leastways as far as I go, until the next driver takes over.” He winked at Mr. Parker. “Mebbe two eyes, since she’s such a looker. Purty girls can get into a lot of trouble, if you know what I mean. And if you’ll pardon me for sayin’ so, ma’am, you’re by far the purtiest thing I’ve laid eyes on in many a year, east or west.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Wilkins, you’re very kind. But I assure you, I don’t have the slightest intention of getting into any trouble. I’m well able to take care of myself.”

  The stage driver gave a loud guffaw. “Good for you, little lady! That’ll make things easy for both of us, and that’s fine with me.”

  With an amiable nod at Mr. Parker, he resumed his task of heaving baggage into the boot.

  Bryony, though a little surprised by the stagecoach driver’s frank way of speaking, liked him. He seemed an easygoing, good-tempered sort of man. She only hoped he was as competent with the reins as he was at casual banter. Then her journey—the first stage of it at any rate—would indeed be speedy.

  Amid a bustle of last-minute activity and frenzied good-byes, Bryony boarded the stage, sinking into a cushioned seat at the front of the coach. Before she had time to do more than arrange the folds of her skirt about her legs, there was a shout from the driver, the crack of a whip, and then the horses broke into a brisk trot. Hurriedly, she leaned out the window, waving a white silk handkerchief at the short, fair-haired lawyer, who waved back, trying to smile encouragingly at her.

  “Good-bye, Mr. Parker!” she called. “And thank you!”

  “Take care of yourself!” he shouted hoarsely, and then he, along with the crowd of other well-wishers outside the depot, was lost in a cloud of dust as the horses gathered speed and the coach bowled rapidly along the wide, paved street.

  Bryony settled back, suddenly aware of how crowded it was inside the stage. There were seven other people squeezed together within its small, rounded confines, all of them struggling to find a comfortable position for their knees, elbows, and feet. Beside her sat a portly, distinguished-looking man with a long, gray mustache. He wore a dark, well-pressed suit and carried a shiny black cane, which seemed to be very much in the way.

  After trying unsuccessfully to prop it beside him, he finally laid it down beneath the seat, then straightened up, smiling at Bryony as he caught her friendly, interested glance.

  “How do you do? I should have known that cane would be in the way, but I’m in the habit of never being without it. Silly, wouldn’t you say? Allow me to introduce myself. I’m Dr. Brady. Dr. Charles Brady.”

  “I’m happy to meet you, Doctor. My name is Bryony Hill. Are you traveling far?”

  “All the way to San Francisco. I’m considering opening a new medical practice there.” He chuckled. “My friends all say I’m too old to begin anew in a strange environment, but I’ve had this urge to try something different ever since my wife passed away last year.” He blinked rapidly. “I need the change, you see. My memories of Lucy are too strong here in Missouri.”

  He continued, brightening as he spoke. “I hear that California is a wonderful place, so I’m going to see for myself. If I like it, I just may pack up and move out there for good. Wouldn’t that surprise all of my acquaintances in St. Louis!”

  She smiled at him. Here was someone else who felt the urge for change, for adventure. Somehow, at the start of her journey, it was comforting to know that she wasn’t alone in her yearning for a new life.

  “Good luck to you,” she exclaimed warmly. “I hope you find the west to your liking.”

  “And you, Miss Hill? For where are you bound?”

  She explained about her ranch in the Arizona Territory. “So you see, Dr. Brady, I believe we have something in common. Both of us seek a new life in the west, though neither of us knows quite what to expect.”

  Before too long, the other passengers in the coach began introducing themselves. Across from Bryony and Dr. Brady, in the middle seat, were Tom and Martha Scott, and their small, towheaded daughter, Hannah. Their seven-year-old son, Billy, sat on the far side of Dr. Brady, making faces at his younger sister. The Scotts were a farming family, returning to California from a visit in Missouri. They had moved west five years before to begin homesteading, and this had been their first trip to visit their eastern relations since the move.

  After the Scotts had introduced themselves, there was a brief, awkward pause while everyone looked expectantly at the tall matron and her daughter, ensconced on the seat at the rear of the coach. They, in turn, eyed the other passengers with frigid hauteur.

  “Excuse me,” Dr. Brady said hesitatingly, breaking the silence. “I’m Dr. Charles Brady, and this is Miss Hill, and Mr. and Mrs. Scott. How do you do? I don’t believe we’ve had the privilege of learning your names, ladies.”

  “Indeed.” The matron sniffed, regarding him with raised eyebrows. “I am Mrs. Oliver—Mrs. Douglas Oliver—and this is my daughter, Diana.”

  The younger woman nodded coldly to the other occupants of the coach. Her pale blue eyes flitted from one to the other of them, resting briefly on Bryony, at which point they seemed to grow even icier. Diana Oliver was not beautiful by any means, but she possessed an aloof, aristocratic prettiness that was quite attractive in its own way. However, the frosty expression in her pale eyes, and the fact that her thin pink lips were set in a permanent straight line, did nothing to enhance her charm. Her thin, pinched nose and haughtily arched brows added to her appearance of unpleasant superiority. With one hand patting her elaborate blonde coiffure beneath its apricot plumed hat, she spoke in a high, disdainful voice.

  “I do hope, Mrs. Scott, that you will be able to control your children during the length of this journey. My mother’s nerves will not be able to endure any screeching or crying, and I must say that if we had known children would be present on the trip, we no doubt would have waited for another stage, despite the fact that my dear papa is anxiously awaiting our arrival in San Francisco.”

  Bryony gasped at the rudeness of this speech, and even Dr. Brady caught his breath in shock.

  “Well, now, we’ll sure do our best to keep the young ‘uns quiet,” Tom said in a strained voice. “But you know how children are. I can’t make no promises, ma’am.”

  Mrs. Oliver sighed. “Surely you should be able to control your own children, sir. I assume you don’t allow them to behave in an unruly fashion at home—or perhaps you do?”

  Bryony glanced at little Hannah and Billy. They were sitting perfectly still, staring unhappily at Mrs. Oliver and her daughter. Hannah, her eyes wide, had snuggled closer to her mother, obviously realizing that she and her brother were the cause of discord amongst the occupants of the stagecoach. Looking at those two little forlorn faces, Bryony felt a sudden burst of anger toward the Olivers, who were causing trouble so needlessly. She had a strong suspicion that they were de
liberately trying to intimidate the Scotts, to impress them with their own self-importance.

  And they seemed to be succeeding. Martha had flushed crimson at Mrs. Scott’s words, and she glanced uncertainly at Tom, who seemed equally discomfited. The children were looking more miserable every second.

  “Tell me, Miss Oliver,” Bryony said coolly, “are you and your mother in the habit of anticipating difficulties before they arise? The children seem to me perfectly well-behaved, and I can’t see any reason at all why you should be so concerned. Can you?”

  Two spots of color appeared on Diana Oliver’s thin cheeks.

  “I’m merely trying to protect my mother from any possible disturbance,” she snapped. “As I mentioned before, her nerves are in no condition to tolerate rowdy children. And I really can’t see, Miss Hill, why this matter is of any concern to you.”

  “Exactly,” Mrs. Oliver added in irritation. “It’s quite impudent of you to interfere, young woman. This discussion involved only ourselves and the Scotts. It is certainly none of your business.”

  “I’m sorry, ma’am, but you’re mistaken.” Bryony’s jade-green eyes met the matriarch’s gaze squarely, then held the daughter’s gaze for one brief, purposeful moment. “If you and your daughter persist in anticipating problems needlessly, you’re both going to irritate my nerves. And that is very much my business.”

  Now it was Mrs. Oliver’s turn to gasp. She and Diana exchanged indignant glances, and flounced backward in their seats, turning their heads away from the other passengers in a huff to abruptly end the discussion.

  Dr. Brady gave a stifled chortle of laughter, and squeezed Bryony’s arm. “Bravo, my dear,” he whispered in her ear. “I do admire your spirit!”

  The Scotts threw her a grateful smile, and turned their attention to soothing the unhappy children, while Bryony leaned back in her upholstered seat and gazed out the window unseeingly, pondering her exchange with the Olivers.

  Those hideous women, she thought. I’m glad I gave them a setdown—for if ever two people deserved one, they certainty did! Her only regret, upon reflection, was that she may have added to the strain amongst the passengers, and this would make for further unpleasantness during the journey.

  Her worries faded, however, as normal conversation resumed between Dr. Brady and the Scott family, and she realized that no one intended to pay the slightest attention to the unpleasant Oliver women. The sound of the children’s laughter did much to ease her anxiety.

  It was nearly April, and the barren Missouri countryside, showing small signs of the approaching spring, rolled steadily by. Here and there, Bryony caught a glimpse of green buds on the solemn black trees, and flocks of birds frequently swept across the sky from the south, bringing with them the promise of spring. Red and white farmhouses and open pastures still blanketed with snow dotted the landscape, giving her a sense of comfort with their peaceful familiarity. She began memorizing every detail of the Missouri scenery, aware that soon she would be viewing landscapes vastly different.

  The thought was both intriguing and unsettling, and for a moment she longed to cling to the solid farmland she knew. But presently, her sense of adventure rose up to claim her again and she began watching with fresh eagerness for the slightest change in the tranquil scenery.

  At first, the cushioned seat in the stagecoach was comfortable, but after the first few hours of continuous travel, Bryony felt every jolt in the road, and her body began to ache. She wondered how she would ever be able to sleep sitting up, and soon learned the answer: she wouldn’t. At least, not very well.

  Throughout that first night, she kept being shaken awake by the pitching, rocking motion of the stagecoach as it lurched along the dark, uneven roads, and by morning, she was so stiff and sore that any movement was torturous for her.

  The other passengers were enduring the same agony; they had all chosen to follow the common practice of traveling both day and night in order to reach their destination more quickly, and they were all regretting their decision by the time dawn’s first, faint pinkish light tinged the horizon. It was a bone-weary group that climbed down from the stage for breakfast at the relay station, partaking of a paltry meal of unbuttered shortcake, dried beef, and bitter, unsweetened coffee. After an all too brief respite, they were summoned back to resume the journey, feeling none too certain of their ability to withstand such torment for many more days. But eventually, they adapted to the discomforts of their mode of travel, and were even able to snatch a few hours of sleep during the night.

  The days passed one by one, and when not involved in a friendly game of whist, or perhaps euchre, with her fellow passengers, Bryony spent many absorbing hours drinking in the scenery. The landscape changed daily, as they crossed the steep stony Ozark Mountain range and entered Indian Territory, progressing gradually across the wide desert expanses of Texas, and the vast, rather frightening wilderness of New Mexico.

  Gone were the peaceful farmhouses of Missouri; the country through which she now traveled was desolate and forbidding, but breathtakingly beautiful because of its wild, natural splendor. As the stagecoach wound its way precariously around narrow mountain passes, walled in on either side by towering red boulders that stretched skyward like rocky giants, Bryony felt a strange thrill run through her body, and a prickly sensation brushed ghostlike down her spine.

  How tiny and insignificant she and the other passengers and the stagecoach seemed, dwarfed by the awesome magnitude of their surroundings. This feeling persisted even when they had crossed the mountains and were hurtling across the barren desert floor, with the sun beating down from a vivid blue sky. Here, in the west, nature seemed so strong, so terrifyingly powerful.

  She hoped she’d have the strength to survive in this harsh, formidable land.

  As the journey progressed, a friendly camaraderie sprang up among the passengers, except for the two Oliver women, who maintained a disdainful distance from the rest of the company. But Bryony soon grew fond of Dr. Brady and the Scotts, and she was always eager and happy to help Martha with the children, keeping them entertained with lively, amusing stories that she invented herself, soothing them when they bumped their heads after a particularly jarring jolt in the road, and enfolding them comfortably in her arms when they attempted to sleep. Both she and Dr. Brady were fascinated by the stories Tom and Martha had to tell about life in the west, wanting to glean as much information as possible.

  One afternoon, shortly after they’d passed through El Paso, Dr. Brady began questioning Tom about the lawlessness that was rumored to be rampant in this part of the country.

  “Is it really as bad as they say?” he inquired. “Or is all this talk about bandits and desperados an attempt to scare away city folks like myself?”

  Tom shook his head. “I’m sorry to say, Doc, that most of the stories are true. In California, the mining boom attracted lots of thievin’, low-down fellers seeking a quick way to get rich. And a lot of ‘em didn’t care if they did it honest or not. Texas, New Mexico, Arizona—they’re the same way. Big, wide-open spaces attract a certain breed of men—not that they’re all like that, mind you, but many of ‘em are just rough, wild characters who figure they can get away with anything. Sheriffs aren’t none too plentiful around these parts—and a lawman who goes after a real dangerous desperado? Well, he’s more scarce than water in the desert.”

  Dr. Brady looked solemn at these words, and Bryony bit her lip. “Tom, tell me about Arizona Territory. Is it as bad as Texas and New Mexico?” she asked, leaning forward slightly in her seat.

  “Shore is. Why, Tucson is one of the worst towns of the lot, filled with rustlers, thieves, gamblers.” Seeing her alarmed expression, he tried to smile reassuringly.

  “Well, now, Bryony, I wouldn’t get too scared just yet. After all, you won’t be in Tucson. You’re going to Winchester, which is some fifty miles east of there. And besides, there’ll be a whole mess of wranglers at that ranch of yours, all bustin’ to protect you from any kind
of trouble.”

  He grinned, running a large hand through his thick, sandy hair. “I reckon one of those wranglers will pack you off and marry you before the summer’s end, and then you won’t have to worry about anythin’ anymore!”

  Everybody laughed, except Bryony, who blushed rosily at his forthright words.

  “Hush, Tom,” Martha scolded, though she was unable to keep from chuckling herself. She turned to Bryony with an apologetic smile.

  “You’ll have to pardon him,” she said kindly. “He doesn’t mean to be embarrassin’ you, but with you bein’ so pretty and all, there ain’t no doubt but that he’s most likely right.”

  “Thank you,” Bryony replied, “but I’m not in the least anxious to marry. And as for worrying about these terrible men, well, all I can say is that they’d best start worrying about me! I intend to purchase a gun of my own as soon as I arrive in Arizona, and I’m going to learn how to use it. No one is going to intimidate me!”

  The men exchanged amused glances at this determined speech coming from such a fragile-looking beauty, but Dr. Brady replied, “Yes, my dear, that is probably a good idea. It doesn’t hurt to be armed, and able to protect yourself. In all seriousness, Tom, don’t you agree?”

  “Shore. But I wouldn’t want to see her goin’ up against a real gunfighter, like Wes Hardin or Jim Logan.”

  “Jim... Logan?” Bryony caught her breath as her heart gave a sudden, painful jolt.

  “Why, Bryony, what is it?” Dr. Brady exclaimed in concern, reaching quickly for her pulse. “You’re as white as parchment, my dear! Whatever is wrong?”

  “N... nothing.” She shook her head, taking slow, deep breaths. Fighting for composure, she attempted to smile at her worried companions. “I’m perfectly all right, really I am. It was only that name...” Her voice trailed off.

  That horrible man—that killer! An icy shiver traveled down her spine. How she hated him! And yet, somehow, she felt a kind of morbid curiosity to learn more about the man who had killed her father.