What was she to do? Where could she go? Could she find employment here somewhere? But she had no skills, no special training. And what if James was right and she was shunned by polite society, by the very people she’d thought were her friends? She buried her face in her hands and gave into the tears she’d managed to keep at bay for the past two days. She’d tried to be strong, stronger than she felt. But fate seemed determined to keep her down in the mire. She was just the daughter of the town drunk, after all.
After a few minutes, she raised her head and wiped her cheeks. There had to be an answer to her dilemma. She bolted upright as a sudden thought took hold. What about Sarah Montgomery? She’d married Rand Campbell and followed him out west somewhere. Emmie had been so excited when Ben became engaged to Sarah, hoping that her influence would temper Ben’s violent mood swings. But, of course, once Rand returned alive from the war, that engagement ended.
She’d run into Sarah’s mother-in-law, Margaret, at Beitman and Wolf’s dry goods counter last week. Margaret had said her daughter-in-law was pining for some female companionship; she wished she knew of some young woman to send out to keep Sarah company, she had said.
Would Sarah welcome the sister of her ex-fiancé? Sarah had always treated her like an older sister and acted as though she genuinely cared about her. She’d even sent a congratulatory letter when she’d heard of her marriage to Monroe.
Emmie rose and went to fetch her bonnet. If she hurried, she could get to Margaret’s in time for lunch.
two
The stagecoach lurched and rolled its way across the arid landscape. Emmie clutched the seat to keep from falling across the lap of the soldier sitting next to her. She still could hardly believe she was out here in the Great American Desert. The soldier had told her earlier that they should arrive at Fort Laramie today.
Catherine Courtney had given her a month to find other living arrangements. After a flurry of telegrams and last minute plans, Emmie had found herself standing in a train station about to leave for a far-off place she’d only vaguely heard of. Now, ten days later, her journey was about to end. She bit her lip and tried to still the nervous pounding of her heart.
The scenery was certainly nothing to get excited about, she thought, peering out the open window. Dry buffalo grass, sage, and weeds undulated as far as she could see in every direction. She already missed the soft greens of Indiana. No towns or settlements, just endless plains of wilderness without much promise.
But there was no other option except James, and almost anything was better than that. She could surely stand the isolation for a while. Then she could try to come up with another plan if this one didn’t work out.
“Ever been west before, Miss?” A grizzled soldier in the seat across from her leaned forward and smiled a gap-toothed grin. His angular face was rough and reddened from the sun, and his uniform was none too clean. But he’d been friendly without being too familiar during the entire trip from Fort Leavenworth.
Emmie fanned her face and tried to keep her stomach from roiling at the stench of his breath mixed with the smell of rank, unwashed bodies and dusty leather in the tightly packed stagecoach. “Never,” she said, forcing a faint smile to her pale lips.
“You ain’t seen nothing until you seen them mountains out here. Lots of wide-open spaces.”
The stage lurched again, and one of the soldiers up on top shouted, “Laramie up ahead!”
Emmie craned her head in a decidedly unladylike way out the window and tried to see, but the laboring horses threw up too much dust. She drew her head back in as the driver cursed at the flagging horses and urged them toward their destination. They stopped briefly at a swiftly running river, then the driver cracked the whip again and urged the team onto a waiting ferry. Her heart pounded as the fort grew nearer.
She pulled a handkerchief out of her reticule and wiped her face with it. She knew she must look terrible. Her face and neck felt gritty with cinders from the train and her scalp itched. Large patches of dust and mud clung to her skirts and shoes. She tied her blue bonnet firmly under her chin as the driver pulled the team to a halt beside a crude adobe building. Soldiers milled around outside and just across a wide parade ground Emmie could see a neat row of whitewashed adobe buildings. This was the famous fort? This nondescript assortment of rough buildings and barren wasteland? Her heart sank at the thought of living in this primitive place.
As she stepped off the stage, she gasped and almost fell when she caught sight of a throng of Indians outside the entrance to the building. She pulled her cloak tightly around her as a shield against the dangerous-looking natives. She’d heard of all the Indian atrocities just a few months ago. The papers had called 1865 “the Bloody Year.”
Her garrulous soldier friend chuckled at her dismay. “They won’t hurt you none. Those Injuns are Laramie Loafers. They’re too dependent on gov’ment rations to cause a peep of trouble.”
They looked plenty savage to Emmie. She gave them a wide berth as she hesitantly followed the soldiers into the building. Inside even more Indians milled around. A counter made of rough wooden planks and piled with all kinds of necessities lined the back of the store, much like a general store back home. Barrels of sugar and flour and tea sat off to one side, and wide shelves behind the counter held a wide assortment of items from coffee grinders and Arbunkle coffee to ribbons and beads and boots. The smell of coffee, dust, and sweat was almost overpowering. A single kerosene lamp swung from the ceiling, and its sickly glow cast a yellowish pall over everything.
Suddenly aware that the overwhelming babble had ceased and every eye was staring at her, Emmie flushed and forced herself to approach the sutler standing behind the counter. “Excuse me, sir, but could you tell me where I might find Lieutenant Rand Campbell?”
“That lucky lieutenant always has purty wimmenfolk lookin’ for him.” A scrawny soldier with bright red hair stepped up beside her before the sutler could answer. “I kin take you to Sarah.” He thrust out a brown hand. “I’m Lieutenant Jackson Wheeler, but you kin call me Rooster.”
Emmie hesitated, then shook his hand gingerly. “I–I’m Emmie Croftner.” She’d debated about what name to use and had decided on her legal one. She wanted to try to forget all about Monroe, if she could.
“Let’s git out of this here crowd of buzzards. Rand and Sarah’s little place is over yonder on the other side of the parade ground.” Rooster opened the door for her and grabbed her satchel from her unresisting hand. “They’ll be tickled pink to see you. You here to help with the wee one?”
“Yes.” Emmie let the soldier ramble on. She was too tired to think or respond. She spared a quick glance around at her surroundings as she followed Rooster around the parade ground.
Soldiers stood in neat lines at attention on the parade ground as the trumpet blew a vaguely familiar tune. Two more soldiers lowered the flag from the flagpole in the middle of the field. Emmie was unable to quell the twinge of excitement and admiration at the rows of blue uniforms. There was something so masculine and attractive about a man in a uniform. Not that she was interested, of course. Between her shiftless brothers and her lying “husband,” she’d had enough of men to last a lifetime. She just wanted a place to heal and a good friend to talk to.
She couldn’t help gawking as she followed Rooster’s spry steps. A surprising amount of activity seemed to be going on all around the fort. She could see a forest of tepees on the north side of the grounds, with squaws stooping over campfires and half-naked children shouting and running between the tepees. Horses pranced around the stable on the far side of the grounds, and beyond that, barren sage-dotted landscape stretched right up to the edge of the purple mountains in the distance.
Rooster stopped outside a neat white bungalow with a wide front porch. He bounded up the steps and pounded on the first of two doors.
Sarah opened the door with a squeal of delight and flung her arms around her. “Emmie! Oh, I’m so glad to see you. The stage must have been early�
�I intended to be there to meet you. Come in, come in.” She drew her in and waved her thanks at Rooster before shutting the door.
Emmie hadn’t seen Sarah for nearly a year. Not since she broke her engagement to Ben and followed Rand out here to this desolate place. The bright golden hair still gleamed and her green eyes still sparkled with joy and excitement. She’d gained a little weight with her pregnancy, but Emmie thought the soft roundness suited Sarah’s petite femininity.
“I’m chattering like a magpie, and you must be exhausted,” Sarah said. “Would you like to freshen up while I fix us a cup of tea?”
“That would be lovely. I’m just grimy from the trip.” Emmie took off her bonnet and smiled at Sarah.
Sarah shuddered at the mention of the trip. “How well I remember the journey out here,” she said. “Horrible food, no bathing facilities, no place to sleep. Why don’t I heat some water for a bath? Rand won’t be home until supper time. You can have a lovely soak.”
“Sounds heavenly. But I’ll get it ready if you show me where everything is. Shouldn’t you be resting?”
“Now you sound like Rand.” Sarah laughed. “I feel wonderful. I have a long way to go—almost four months. It will be a long wait. I’m so anxious already.”
Emmie followed her through the tiny quarters. The small entry led to a parlor about ten feet square. It was a homey room with an army cot, obviously used as a sofa, that was covered with a colorful Ohio Star quilt in burgundy and blue calico and matching pillows. Warm burgundy calico curtains and matching table covers topped with lace doilies added more color. A crude table and two chairs stood under the front window and held a Bible, a copy of Shakespeare’s plays, David Copperfield, and Wuthering Heights. A mantle over the fireplace held a delicate rose tea set and several small china figurines.
Just off the parlor was a small kitchen. The rough table and chairs were painted the same warm burgundy as the curtains in the parlor. Pots hung from pegs along one wall and a small cookstove sat in the middle of the room. A dry sink with a plank counter sat in one corner.
The door in the left wall of the kitchen opened into a tiny bedroom with only room for a bed and small chest. Sarah started to lift the hip bath from its peg on the wall, but Emmie quickly stepped forward and took it down herself.
“I don’t want to be a bother. I’m here to help you,” she scolded.
Sarah laughed as she pointed out room in the corner for the bath. “I’ll heat some water.”
An hour later Emmie felt like a new woman. Her dark hair shone and the lavender dress deepened the violet in her eyes. The ladies drank their tea and ate warm bread with thick butter and jam as they chatted. The months since they last talked seemed to fall away.
Sarah sat down her teacup, and her lively smile faded. “I was sorry to hear about your husband. You were married such a short time.”
Emmie carefully chewed the last bit of her jam and bread before answering. She knew she needed to tell Sarah the truth, but she didn’t think she could face it yet. She’d told her she wanted to take back her maiden name since she’d been married such a short time. But Emmie was smart enough to know a secret of such magnitude never stayed hidden. There were already a few people who’d looked at her oddly in the last few days before she left Wabash.
Sarah patted her arm, her emerald eyes luminous with tears as she saw her friend’s agitation. “We don’t have to talk about it yet. Someday when the grief isn’t so fresh and you want to tell me how wonderful Monroe was, I’ll be ready to listen. It’s still very difficult to talk about Papa. I still miss him so and it’s been almost a year.” She dabbed at her eyes with a lace-trimmed handkerchief and quickly changed the subject.
By the time Rand came home, tired and dusty, the two young women were deep in gossip from home. “I’m starving, woman,” he shouted as he strode into the parlor followed by Joel, Sarah’s younger brother.
Emmie didn’t remember Rand very well from before the war, but she was impressed by him. He exuded a quiet strength and compassion that were unusual in a man. And he was very good looking, she thought. A shock of dark hair and expressive brown eyes, with dimples that made you want to smile with him. No wonder Sarah wasn’t interested in Ben with Rand back in the picture. But how would he treat the sister of his archrival?
But her fears were groundless. Rand was the perfect host and teased her unmercifully about breaking the hearts of all the soldiers as Sarah put the delicious venison stew she’d prepared on the table. “Usually we go to officers’ mess,” she explained to Emmie. “But I didn’t want to share you with the men your first night here. They’ll be around soon enough when they hear there’s a young, beautiful widow in their midst.”
“They already know,” Rand grinned. “I had at least ten men ask me about her. I had to tell them I hadn’t seen her for over six months and she might be an ugly hag by now. I can see I was mistaken.”
Emmie flushed. “I’m not interested in finding another husband,” she said firmly. “Not ever.” Any mention of her looks always made her uncomfortable. She knew she was very ordinary. Only Monroe had ever called her beautiful, and it was obvious now that he’d lied. Her real attraction had been the money Ben had promised.
Rand raised his eyebrows but said nothing. After supper the ladies cleared the table and washed the dishes, then followed him into the tiny parlor. He took down two harmonicas, handed one to Joel, and they began to play “Nearer My God to Thee,” as Sarah sang the words in a clear, sweet soprano. Emmie knew the song a bit; it was one her father bellowed when he was drunk, so after a slight hesitation, she joined in with an alto harmony.
“That was wonderful,” Sarah said, clapping her hands. “We like to have devotions together at night. We sing and Rand reads a passage of Scripture. Would you like to join us or are you too tired tonight?”
“I’d love to join you.” Something about their simple, heartfelt faith pulled her. She’d always felt that God was too busy to pay any attention to someone like her. But Sarah and Rand acted like He was right there with them.
Rand picked up the worn Bible on the table by the window and flipped through the pages. “We’re up to Psalms,” he said, settling his broad-shouldered frame into the chair. He began to read Psalm Sixty-One in his deep voice. “Hear my cry, O God; attend unto my prayer. From the end of the earth will I cry unto thee, when my heart is overwhelmed: lead me to the rock that is higher than I. For thou hast been a shelter for me, and a strong tower from the enemy.” His voice faltered and fell silent as he saw the tears sliding noiselessly down Emmie’s cheeks.
“No, no, go on,” she choked. “It’s what I needed to hear.”
As he finished the psalm, she felt a curious peace. She wanted to find out more about this personal God her friends seemed to trust so completely. This was certainly the ends of the earth like the Scripture mentioned, she thought with an inward smile.
three
Ta-dum-dum. The shrill notes of the bugle pierced the dawn air, and Emmie bolted upright in the narrow bed Rand and Sarah had fixed her in the hallway. Without sliding out of bed, she looked out the window at the top of the door. Streaks of pink heralding the day lightened the dark sky. She slid out of bed, shivering as her bare feet touched the cold floor, and padded to the door. She could hear the shouts of men across the grounds as they groomed their horses. She pushed open the door and took a deep breath of sage-scented air.
She was here at Fort Laramie, that famous bastion of might against the hordes of savages threatening the settlers trekking along the Oregon Trail. Or so the men back home said. She herself hadn’t seen any threatening hordes in the short time she’d been here, just those Laramie Loafers. But there were certainly a lot of impressive-looking soldiers. She shut the door and watched through the window as the men scurried toward the mess hall. The two-story barracks across the parade ground was alive with blue-coated men hurrying toward their breakfast, then on to saddle their horses or start their fatigue duties of the day.
> She poured water from the tin pitcher into the cracked bowl sitting on a cloth-covered crate. As she splashed cold water over her face and neck, she shivered. Pulling on a simple blue cotton dress, she braided her long dark hair and coiled it around her head. By the time she’d finished her ablutions, she could hear Rand and Sarah moving around the kitchen.
“Good morning,” Sarah said as Emmie came toward her with a smile. “Did you sleep well?”
“I woke up a few times when somebody yelled ‘All’s well.’ ”
Sarah and Rand chuckled.
“Night watchman. You’ll get used to it,” Rand told her. He kissed Sarah and picked up his hat. “I’m going to be late for boots and saddles if I don’t get a move on.”
“Boots and saddles? What’s that—some kind of war game?”
Rand grinned at the question. “That’s the call to mount our horses and get on with our day. I’ve got to lead a detail to escort a wagon train coming in and then round up some beef for Cookie—that’s what the cook’s called at any fort I’ve ever been at. But I’ll wager the men will be finding any excuse to come over here to meet you.”
Rand’s prediction came true. Nearly every man in the fort made some excuse to drop in over the next few days. Emmie felt strange even going outside for a walk or going to the sutler’s store. Men stared at her with awe and deep respect in their eyes. It was very intimidating, especially when she felt as she did about all males. Except for Rand. He was a very nice man, God-fearing and honest to a fault. But there couldn’t be two like him in the world.
Each soldier showed up hat in hand, his hair slicked back with a hair tonic that smelled of spice, blue uniform brushed and pressed. Emmie felt sorry for them, but she let Sarah deal with sending them away. Two even proposed marriage, practically in their first breath.
Plains of Promise (Wyoming Series Book 2) Page 2