A Promise to Believe In

by Tracie Peterson

  “We’ll be over for lunch today, since the stage won’t be in until supper,” Simon told Gwen.

  “That will be fine. We’re having leftovers from the funeral dinner. I hope that will be acceptable.”

  “It’s food and I don’t have to fix it,” Simon declared with a grin. “What man could ask for anything more?”

  Beth watched Nick and Simon walk across the backyard toward Rafe’s. They wouldn’t stop for a drink—at least not yet. She knew they both sampled something stronger than coffee on occasion. It was probably the biggest reason she’d flatly refused Nick’s advances. She didn’t want a husband who would spend his nights with drinking pals instead of staying in with her.

  Of course, Gwen said that her head was full of all sorts of romantic notions, and she was probably right. Beth loved to read gothic romance novels late at night after everyone had gone to bed. She dreamed of being rescued and swept away by a larger-than-life hero, of sharing a passionate love that would last the ages.

  She sighed and began to wash the breakfast dishes. Someday things will be different. Someday I’ll find the man of my dreams, and we will fall in love. Beth closed her eyes and tried to draw a picture of the man in her mind.

  “I see you’re daydreaming again,” Gwen said as she brought the last of the dishes in from the table.

  “Dreams are free and hurt no one,” Beth replied.

  “What rubbish. Dreams can cost you plenty. Look what it did to Pa.” Gwen set the dishes down on the counter beside where Beth worked. “Has he been there all this time?”

  Beth looked up. “Who?”

  “Major. He’s been moping these last few days, and I just wondered if he’d been here by the stove all this time.”

  “He’s waiting for Pa to take his morning walk, I would guess,” Beth replied.

  Gwen nodded. “Poor dog. He sleeps at the foot of the bed for a while each night, then gets up and paces back and forth, like he’s expecting Pa to come walking through the door. The clicking of his nails on the wood floor is enough to drive me mad.”

  “Maybe we should just tie him up on the porch for a few nights.”

  Gwen nodded. “Maybe. We’ll see if he doesn’t settle down soon.”

  But as the days went by, Major only seemed more reclusive and despondent. He stopped sleeping in Gwen’s room and took to pacing throughout the house all night, looking for his friend. During the day he could often be found at the cemetery, faithfully keeping vigil over his master’s grave. Gwen tried everything she could to bribe and coax him back to his old cheerful self, but she finally gave up. Obviously pets needed to mourn in their own time and way.

  Their cat continued to tend to his priorities, regularly bringing offerings of rats, mice, and the occasional gopher and depositing them on the porch steps. Gwen tried not to get too upset with him—after all, he did appear to mean them as gifts—but she couldn’t have rotting animal corpses on the porch when the stage arrived.

  “Calvin,” she chided as he brought in yet another catch. “Perhaps you should take some time to rest and reflect.” The cat looked up at her as if considering the idea, gave a single yowling comment, then took himself off to his favorite porch chair for a nap. Apparently her suggestion was acceptable.

  Gwen finished sweeping the porch, then retrieved the dead mouse and delivered it around to the back of the house. This was her routine, and Calvin would know where to find the snack later. She was just about to make her way back to the front when Dave Shepard came out of the saloon and gave her a wave.

  “How are you doing, Gwen?”

  “Not too bad, Dave. Thanks for asking.” The lack of formalities bespoke of their similar age and that they’d known each other since the Gallatins settled into the area four years previously.

  “Lacy calm down yet?” he asked casually.

  “No.” Gwen forced a smile. “I have a feeling she’ll keep at this until Sheriff Cummings does something about it.”

  “I don’t suppose my talking to her will help.”

  She gave a laugh. “No, I don’t suppose that would help at all. Lacy sees you as the enemy. You’re not doing your job, as far as she’s concerned.”

  Dave pushed back his felt hat and nodded. “I know she feels that way, but I’m afraid she’s going to bite off more than she can chew. Those boys who were at the saloon that night were a rough bunch. They’ll protect their own, and Lacy is just going to put herself in danger if she keeps at it.”

  “I’ll talk to her again, Dave, but I’m not promising it will do any good.”

  “Well, at least it’s worth a try.”

  Gwen wasn’t convinced, but she said nothing more on that subject. Instead, she walked to the porch and asked after Dave’s family.

  Dave leaned against the support post and shrugged. “Ma’s working herself to death. She’s so lonely since my sisters went back East, she can hardly see straight. She’s been sewing and cookin’ up a storm for the ranch hands—for me and Pa, too. I’m sure that as soon as there are vegetables to can, she’ll be busy at that.”

  “It can’t be easy for her to be without female companionship,” Gwen admitted. “I plan to make a trip out to the ranch for butter and eggs day after tomorrow. You might tell her. It could give her something to look forward to.”

  Dave nodded. “Wish you’d convince Lacy to go along. I think Ma could do wonders for her.”

  Gwen shook her head. “Lacy’s just struggling with life. She’s never been the same after losing our mother, and frankly, Pa wanted a boy so much, he encouraged Lacy to be a bit more masculine.”

  Laughing, Dave pushed off from the support. “There’s nothing masculine about her, and that’s the trouble. If she looked more like a man, she wouldn’t garner the stares she gets now. When she was just a kid of fifteen or so, it wasn’t such a big deal, but in case you haven’t noticed, she’s filled out quite a bit.”

  “Apparently you’ve noticed,” Gwen countered.

  “Who can help but notice? Like I said, she’s gonna get herself in trouble if she’s not careful.”

  Gwen remembered Rafe’s comments days earlier. Here was yet another man talking about her little sister’s figure. She supposed it was time to put her foot down about Lacy’s wild ways.

  “I’ll talk to her, Dave. I’ll try to encourage her to come with me to your ma’s, too. Maybe she can say something to Lacy.”

  “I’ll tell Ma to expect you.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  The rains of May brought a brilliance of green to the countryside, creating a radiant, ethereal glow. The mountains were a pale shade of lavender, with snowy white tops that gave definition to nooks and crannies. The valley floor was dotted with farms of freshly turned dirt and trees that, though small, were budding out to add their own glorious color to the scheme of life.

  Gwen thought this the finest time of year. It was still cool—even cold at night—yet warm enough to bring flowers to bloom and trees to leaf. Gwen tried her best to rally a garden out of the dirt not far from the hot springs. It was the bane of her existence each year, as the ground seemed most inhospitable, but every spring, Gwen once again would strive to create something from seemingly nothing. If only the growing period were longer, she was certain they could have a veritable feast.

  The Gallatin House property was set up in such a manner that the house stood at the bottom of a large horseshoe-shaped layout. The chicken coop and hot springs house were up the left side of the U, while the outhouses—one for men and one for women—and the storage shed were on the opposite side. The yard in the middle was utilized for the visitors with a nice arrangement of homemade chairs and small tables. Many a night, Gwen took her comfort here watching the starry skies overhead or the soft glow of amber and pink twilight reflected on the mountains.

  “Gwen, there’s a freighter coming in,” Lacy called from the back door.

  Stretching to relieve her sore back, Gwen waved. “I’m coming. Hopefully it’s Joe bringing us a nice supp
ly of flour and sugar.”

  “Not to mention coffee and tea,” Lacy added. “We’re very nearly out, and I figured I’d have to go to Bozeman for more.”

  Gwen had nearly reached the house when she spied Lacy’s rather snug-fitting pants. “Lacy, I need to say something, but I don’t wish to start a fight.”

  Her sister frowned and put her hands on her hips. “What did I do wrong this time? I scrubbed the kitchen just like you showed me.”

  “It’s not that. I don’t know why you’d even say such a thing. I can’t remember the last time I gave you grief about something as serious as what I need to say today.”

  “Then you’d better just let it out and get it over with,” Lacy said, crossing her arms.

  “You have to stop wearing britches.” Gwen squared her shoulders and met Lacy’s defiant gaze. “The men are starting to talk. They are noticing your . . . well . . . how shall I say . . . womanly attributes?”

  Lacy laughed. “They’d notice them whether I was buried in layers of petticoats or walking naked down the street. They notice you and Beth, as well. They’re men, and they’re looking for wives or companions. Of course they notice. We’re some of the only single women in a two-hundred-mile radius.”

  “But the pants are much too form-fitting. Look at you—there isn’t an inch of you that isn’t clearly defined. It wasn’t so bad when you were a little girl and your form was straight up and down. Now you have curves and . . . well . . . curves.” She sighed. “I worry that you’ll attract inappropriate attention, and people will think less of you—or of me for letting you go about that way.” Gwen knew that while Lacy wouldn’t care about her own reputation, she wouldn’t want Gwen or Beth hurt.

  Opening her mouth to retort, Lacy closed it again and let her arms go limp. She looked rather defeated, and Gwen felt sorry for her. Her sister was still such a child in so many ways.

  “The split skirts are fine. They at least give more fullness. I wouldn’t ask you to give them up,” Gwen hurried to add.

  “I suppose I can stop wearing the pants, but when winter gets here, I may go back to them. I’ll at least put them under my skirts. They’re warmer than petticoats.”

  “That would be acceptable,” Gwen said with a smile. “Thank you, Lacy. I know how hard everything has been for you.”

  “It’s been hard for you, too, and I don’t aim to make your life even more troublesome,” Lacy countered. “I heard you talking to Major the other night. You told him you blamed yourself for Pa’s death. You’ve mentioned this before, but I never thought much of it. But you think you’re cursed, don’t you?”

  Gwen hadn’t expected this line of questioning, but nodded. “I can’t help it. Everyone I love has died, except for you and Beth. I’m tempted to leave before something happens to either of you.”

  “Oh no. You aren’t running off and leaving us,” Lacy said, shaking her head vehemently. “We’re in this together. You aren’t a curse, in spite of what you believe. That’s just nonsense. Now come on. The freighter will be looking for a meal, and if it’s Joe, he’ll be looking for a big meal. I’ll get the coffee on the table.”

  Gwen nodded and followed Lacy back into the house. She washed her hands at the washbasin and dried them thoroughly, then hung up her apron.

  “Freighter has a passenger,” Beth announced as Gwen walked toward the door. “He’s the dashing type—bluest eyes I’ve ever seen. Looks all duded up—probably another eastern city man, come to find his fortune in gold and gemstones. He brought his own horse and saddle. Nick just took them away.”

  Smiling, Gwen walked out onto the porch with her sisters as the man walked casually from behind the freight wagon. Joe waved from his seat.

  “I see you girls are still as pretty as a summer day,” he called. “I’ve been dreamin’ of some of your great apple pie. I hope I’m not going to be disappointed.” He jumped down from his side of the wagon and dusted himself off. “I’m gonna talk to Rafe for a minute—he’s got quite a few crates here. Then I’ll be back for lunch.”

  “Sounds good, Joe,” Gwen replied before turning her attention on the stranger. She sized him up as somewhat of a dandy. “Good afternoon. Would you like to clean up a bit and then have some lunch?”

  The man’s blue eyes stared a hole in her as he glanced from one sister to the next. “What I would like,” he said, narrowing his gaze, “is to know which one of you hussies married my brother, then killed him off.”

  Rafe was starting his day with a double bourbon when Joe walked through the front door. The glass was midway to his lips when Joe bellowed out his name.

  “I’m right here, Joe,” Rafe said, putting a hand to his head. “You don’t need to yell. My head already feels like it’s about to rupture.”

  “Didn’t see you sittin’ there in the dark. Sorry about that.” Joe made his way to Rafe’s table. “I have a dozen or so crates for you. Thought maybe I could get that boy of yours to unload them while I eat lunch. I’m on a tight schedule today and can’t waste any time.”

  Rafe nodded. “Cubby’s in the back. I’ll let him know.”

  “Good enough. Tell him they’re the crates at the back of the wagon. You got my money?”

  “Don’t I always? Drink?” Rafe questioned, holding up his glass.

  “It’s a little early for me, Rafe.” Joe shook his head. “I’d never make it to Old Town if I started drinking now.”

  “Suit yourself,” Rafe said, downing the drink. He got to his feet and yawned. “So what’s new in the world?” He went to the bar and grabbed the cashbox. Counting out the money due Joe, he added, “Any Injun problems?”

  Joe grinned. “Not betwixt here and Salt Lake. Had a few grizzlies givin’ folks problems down Ennis way. There’s some floodin’ on the Madison—the Gallatin, too—but I don’t reckon it to be too much of a problem here. Had a letter from my sister down in Fort Worth. Guess they’ve been havin’ a rough time of it with twisters and bad storms. Hail laid down their crops three different times.”

  Rafe yawned again. “Cubby!” he called out, forgetting about his head. He put one hand to his temple while handing Joe the cash with the other.

  “Yeah, Pa?” The boy came from the back room, broom in hand.

  “Go unload the freight wagon. Joe will show you what belongs to us.”

  The boy put aside the broom and nodded. Joe smiled at Rafe. “Pleasure doin’ business with you. I’m sure to see you on my way back. Save some of the good stuff for me.”

  Rafe nodded. “Do me a favor and see if you can’t get those Gallatin girls to sell me their place while you’re sharin’ lunch with them.”

  Joe and Cubby both turned at this. “Sell to you?” Joe asked. “I can’t imagine those girls selling out for any reason, least of all to you.”

  “Everybody’s got their price.”

  “Yeah, well, I doubt the girls can be moved that easily. It’s like I was tellin’ that young feller who rode up with me—those girls might have lost their pa, but they ain’t lost their minds. The roadhouse serves them well. I can’t see them leavin’ now.”

  Rafe narrowed his gaze and fixed the old man with a hard stare. “What young feller are you talking about?”

  “That city dude who asked me to ride him to the Gallatin House. He’s over there right now gettin’ ready for his lunch. That’s where I wanna be, too, so enough with the questions. Like I told you, I’m in a hurry.”

  Rafe let them go. He knew Joe could be quite cantankerous if pushed. He needed to know, however, who it was that had come to see the girls. Maybe it was a lawyer sort, or worse still, some distant male relative who’d actually inherited the property.

  He frowned and decided it couldn’t hurt to make a visit to the Gallatin House. He could feign the need to order a pie or two. The girls didn’t care for his company, but they’d tolerate his commerce. Maybe he’d even beg to stay for lunch. It wasn’t beneath him to invite himself in, if it served his purpose.

  “I can’t be
lieve your rude, outlandish nerve,” Lacy said as she stepped in front of Gwen. “Who in the world are you to come here and suggest any of us are hussies?”

  The man removed his hat and fixed Lacy with a hard stare. He seemed completely void of emotion—except perhaps anger or indignation. Yes, that was it. The man seemed downright offended.

  “One of you certainly is that or worse,” the man countered.

  Gwen watched as Joe and Cubby went to the back of the wagon. Joe seemed to be pointing out what belonged to Cubby’s father. She wondered for a moment if Joe had any idea who this man was and why he’d insisted on coming to Gallatin House.

  “My brother was Harvey Bishop. I was told he married a Gwen Gallatin and then died shortly afterwards. I want to know which one of you is that woman.”

  “Well, people in hell want . . .”

  “Lacy! Curb your tongue,” Gwen rebuked.

  “Well, he should curb his. He’s no gentleman.”

  The man stood his ground. “Which one of you married my brother?”

  Beth stepped up to declare, “I hardly think it’s any of your business. Harvey told us he was an orphan, so for all we know, you, sir, are a liar. If not, then Harvey couldn’t have cared much for you or your interference in his life, or he would have mentioned you.”

  Gwen was touched by her sister’s protective nature. She kept looking at the man to detect some resemblance—some memory of Harvey in the man’s stern expression—but there was nothing. This serious stranger was nothing like the man she’d married.

  “I think you should go next door if you’re looking for a room,” Beth said, crossing her arms. “You’re acting like an animal, and that’s where they bed down.”

  “Beth!” Gwen exclaimed and stepped forward to put her hand on Beth’s shoulder.