by Rita Hestand
The policeman was very helpful pointing him to where he could rent a buggy and which direction to go.
He rented a buggy and arrived about three in the afternoon in front of an old Victorian home. It was huge. He craned his neck to see the third story. It had a wraparound porch and looked quite grand. He wondered if Priscilla came from a big family. She hadn't mentioned anyone but a sister.
He wasn't surprised, she said she had maids, and it would take one to clean this place, he noted.
He knocked on the door and a maid answered. "Hello, I'm looking for Priscilla Collins." He told her.
The black maid stared at him, "Ain't no Priscilla here," she told him and almost closed the door.
But a young woman passed by and heard the name and stopped.
"Wait," she cried and pushed in front of the maid.
"You're looking for Priscilla?" she asked her cheeks flushed, but a ready smile on her face.
"That's right."
"Who are you?"
"I'm Lance Rogers."
"Oh, oh my God!" the girl fanned herself. She looked rather flustered. A flush came to her pretty young cheeks as she stared at him, her blue eyes taking him all in. All of him. She was beautiful but not over seventeen or eighteen. "Come with me." She told him.
"But Miss Daisy, your folks aren't home and it ain't right to let a man, a stranger in the house like this." The maid fussed after her.
Lance glanced at the fine curtains and the high ceilings, the winding staircase and the girl in front of him with interest.
"It will be fine, Sally." The girl told her. "He's not exactly a stranger."
The girl took his hand and before he knew where she was going, she took him upstairs to the third floor. She opened a door and another young girl stood in the bedroom. She was younger and just as pretty.
"Daisy, who is this?" The young girl came up to them and stared at Lance, a smile coming to her face. "He's gorgeous."
Daisy shook her head, "This is Lance Rogers, you're intended." Daisy's brow raised significantly.
Lance stood stone still, the girl couldn't be over fifteen or sixteen.
"Oh! Oh my!" The girl shrieked. Nervously she paced the confines of her bedroom not daring a glance at him. For a long moment Lance took in those last few words with difficulty.
They both stared at him now, waiting for him to say something.
"Yes, I told you this would happen." Daisy reproached her.
"I can't believe it. Aren't you from Texas?" the young one asked.
"Yes, I am. Is Priscilla here?"
The girls looked at each other and frowned.
"I told you. You can't accept a marriage proposal like that and not expect someone to show up asking what is going on." Daisy insisted. The young girls' face looked almost tearful now.
Lance stood at a real unease now. The way she was talking, one of them was Priscilla. It couldn't be! He was almost afraid to ask.
"I guess I'm in a lot of trouble." The young girl came to stand just in front of him. "I'm Priscilla, well, not really, but me and my sister wrote those letters to you. I figured when I didn’t show up, you'd know I was no longer interested."
Lance still hadn't found his voice. He looked from one girl to the next. Marriage proposal. His? This was Priscilla? How could it be? How could he have not known?
"Y-you are Priscilla?" He stared at the young girl standing at the post of the bed. "You sent me all those letters?" he asked.
"W-we did, yes." She hung her head in shame. Her blonde curls fell over her shoulders and her face turned a bright red.
Lance stared from one girl to the other. "I don't understand this. You've been writing me for two years? That would make you about fourteen when you started writing me?"
"W-where are mom and dad." The younger girl asked her sister, as though he hadn't said a word.
"They are still at the church, decorating. But they won't be all afternoon, so you better make this quick, or you are going to be in a world of trouble."
When the young one didn't respond Daisy sighed and shook her head.
"Please, sit down, I'll try to explain." Daisy told him and looked at her sister for some back-up. The young one looked to scared to say much more.
"I don't think you really have to, at this point." Lance sent them a reprimanding glance, then smiled suddenly as his sense of humor kicked in. He didn't want to scare them to death, they were kids as far as he was concerned.
"It started as a joke." Daisy tried to take up for her sister's bad behavior. "But when your letter got so serious, we got nervous. We had to come up with an explanation of why she wasn't there."
"There is no sick mother, I take it?" Lance shook his head.
"N-no, I'm sorry. Did you come a long way?"
"From Texas."
"Oh yes. Oh dear." The young girl backed away. "I didn't mean for it to go so far. But I mean you are from Texas, just look at those boots and hat," she nodded to her sister. "I got tied up in those letters. It was fun, at first, and you were so poetic and sweet. I don't recall you asking me how old I was. But it's probably best we didn't. I'd have lied about that, I'm sure."
He shook his head and laughed out loud. "I even had a preacher ready to marry you the minute you arrived. Just like you asked."
"Oh my! I didn't mean to cause such a ruckus!" the young girl replied. "It was so romantic, though. You described Texas to me and talked about your ranch and how lonely it was at times. I remember you mentioned a flower, a bluebell."
"Blue Bonnet," he corrected her.
"Yes, that was it."
"Well what did you think was going to happen" Daisy insisted, shaking her head at her sister as a reprimand.
"There was one thing, that I couldn't understand. In the first few letters I received; you mother was dead. Then at the end, you said she was sick, so I felt something was not right about all of this, I just didn't expect this. I suppose in a situation like mail order brides, you should always ask the age, but it seemed to rude to ask."
"I can understand that." The younger girl leaned against the window now. "Are you terribly angry at me?"
"Look, I helped her write some of those letters, but when it got serious, I told her to tell you the truth and quit writing to you. I knew this would happen. We are in a world of trouble. I told you so." She told her sister again.
"Why did you do it?" He asked, trying to keep a straight face. It was a good thing for them that he had a sense of humor.
"Boredom for one." The youngest admitted.
"Our folks won't let either of us date. So, I thought I could create a romance in my letters and Daisy helped me write them. Did you enjoy them?"
"Y-yes, I guess I did. I swallowed them hook, line, and pole."
"I'm sorry," she came up to him. She batted her long lashes at him and smiled shyly up at him. "Can you forgive me?"
"I suppose I can. Besides, you did me a big favor."
"What do you mean?" they both looked shocked.
"Well, because of you and your letters and your insistence on a wedding, I met the girl of my dreams and married her."
"Oh, then, everything is alright?" The young one cried.
"Well, except I've spent nearly a week getting here, when I needed to be on a trail drive." He told them.
"Again, I apologize," the young girl came up to him and put her hand on his. "I'll never do that again. I’m so glad you can forgive me. And it was awfully nice of you to come in person. I never dreamed you were such a good-looking man. But your letters were always so nice, and I'd read them to my friends."
He looked into her green eyes and blonde hair and shook his head. She was beautiful for her age; they both were and obviously they had some pretty strict parents. "I am curious about one thing."
"What's that?" Daisy asked.
"Whose picture did you send?"
"One of my cousins, it wasn't a very good one, we had it made at the fair."
"It doesn't even resemble you."
<
br /> "I know, I guess you think I’m pretty silly. I mean, if you hadn't been such a nice person, this might have turned out very badly."
"It's not the word I'd use, but it does come close."
"Well, now that I've settled this mystery I'll be on my way. But, listen, next time you write someone like that, wait until you are older, and tell the truth." He suggested. "It'll cause a lot less trouble for everyone."
"Yes, of course, you aren't going to stay and tell my parents?" she frowned.
"No, I wouldn't do that to anyone. It's nice meeting you, what's your real name?"
"Carol Collins."
"Nice to meet you both, and your letters were extremely well written. Save it for when you are older." He winked and left.
As he was leaving, he heard Daisy tell the maid, "Not a word to our parents, understand?"
The maid hollered, "I don't know nothing, but you better not do this again, whatever you were doing!"
"Yes ma'am," Daisy and Carol replied, waving at him as he left out the door and smiling.
"He's gorgeous." Daisy cried, and he turned to look at her with a big smile.
He shook his head and headed for town. He needed a good meal and some rest, so he checked into a nice old hotel and had a big supper, then went to bed. It was hard to believe that two young girls could write such wonderful letters. Still, he was glad in some ways. He didn't have to confront an irate Priscilla and explain how he married another. They'd never know what a bind they got him out of. And this would certainly be something to entertain the boys on the drive.
Train rides could be tedious, and he wasn't looking forward to the next few days.
He couldn't wait to tell Trudy what had happened. He still couldn't believe he fell for such a thing. It wasn't the girls that seemed stupid to him now, it was himself. He swallowed everything they wrote. It was a wonder they didn't laugh in his face.
He hoped Trudy didn't laugh. He'd really fallen for those letters; they were entertaining and well written. He knew instinctively if he told their parents, those girls would have been in a lot of trouble, and he didn't want to do that to them.
Chapter Eighteen
Taking the train back, Lance deliberated whether to go by the ranch and tell Trudy about his Boston visit. Still, he was late now getting back to the herd. But making her wait three to six months to hear the news seemed cruel.
He still had a hard time believing that he hadn't caught on to the stunt beforehand. He remembered how scared Carol Collins looked and how ashamed Daisy seemed. Still, when he left them, and didn't tell their parents he knew they would be grateful.
Knowing he had to get back to the herd, Lance decided to ride hard to catch up with the herd then he'd take the time to get a letter off to Trudy when he stopped at Ft. Reno.
He made his first camp just this side of the Red River and caught a rabbit with a home-made contraption and roasted him for his supper. He was tired and hungry and didn't waste any time getting some sleep. Since it was getting hot now, he'd get up early and travel just before dawn.
That next morning, he ran into a small Arapaho party who asked if he had any whiskey, when he told them no, they eyed him suspiciously then moved on. He knew they were a renegade tribe that was probably dodging the army. He did his best to be friendly and offered them some jerky he'd bought at a previous settlement. They took most of it and gave him a set of beads and a blanket. He thanked them and went on his way.
The Red River looked low and he ferried across it. The man that operated the ferry was Red Davis and he told him they were having an early drought.
"Well, I certainly hope we get some rain," Lance told him. "I got a herd to move through and water can always be a problem."
"Out here, when we got a drought going, we usually get a gully washer sooner or later. And that can be bad too.
Lance couldn't help but worry about the herd. Water was a commodity that was very important not only to the herd but the men who drove them.
He knew the men traveling with the herd would do everything they could to find water.
He ran into a sheriff's posse later that same day and they were shooting it out with some outlaws. They saw him and detained him, questioning him on what his business was. When they found out he was a cattlemen bent on catching up with his herd, they let him go. The Sheriff eyed him suspiciously though until he was out of sight. The man was an untrusting soul, Lance thought to himself. He didn't stick around to find out how the shoot-out was going to go.
Oklahoma territory was a dangerous area, not only because of renegade Indians, but land jumpers and outlaws escaping from Kansas and Texas to hide close to the Indian camps.
He stopped long enough to help a man and his wife traveling to California, they had a busted wheel and he helped the man repair it well enough to get him to the next settlement. They offered to share a meal and camp for the night and Lance was happy to have some better cooking.
"Where you headed?" Mr. Granger asked as they settled over the evening meal.
"Catchin' up to my herd. I had to make a trip to Boston, and I've been traveling for some time."
"Boston?" Mrs. Granger looked interested. She was a brown eyed, dark haired beauty of about thirty, but her eyes lit up when he mentioned Boston. "That's a long way?"
"Yes ma'am. Took me a week to get there," Lance told her.
"Did you go by rail?" the husband asked.
"Mostly, yeah. Took a boat trip up the Mississippi to St. Louis, from there it was just a matter of changing trains."
"I've always wanted to see the East," the woman looked a bit mystical.
"They sure have a lot of new-fangled things, like trolley cars, street lamps everywhere. The hotels are really nice there too." Lance told her. "They don't have Sheriff's they had constables and policemen in uniforms. I saw a kid riding something he called a bicycle. The got mailmen that deliver mail right to the house."
"It must have been exciting."
Lance really hadn't paid that much attention, his reason for being there had distracted him to say the least. But he wouldn't be telling these people about it. They seemed very nice and a little lost. She had a northern accent and he figured she might have been to Boston herself.
He rested easy that night.
The next day he was on his way again after he thanked them for their hospitality.
A blue norther rolled in about mid-morning, and with it a rain-storm. Lance got his slicker out and rode onward. The temperature dropped too and made for discomfort.
He stopped at one little community at a saloon, to get a drink before bedding down. It warmed him considerably. There were some rowdy men at the bar, and they were doing their best to make trouble. When they spotted him, they knew he was a stranger and they began picking at him.
"I don't want any trouble, friend." Lance told the drunk man who kept pestering him.
"Well then, why'd you stop here then?" The man asked with a laugh.
"Wanted to warm up a little." He told him.
"You ain't from around here, are you?" the man asked.
"No, I'm catching up to a herd." He told him.
"Cattle man, I should have known." The drunk laughed.
He kept pushing Lance, sticking his finger into his chest and inviting him to leave.
"Yeah, well, I'll be on my way." Lance told him.
"Wait a minute mister, I'm still talking to you."
"Well friend, I've been traveling all day, and I'm beat. Thanks for the hospitality." Lance grinned.
But the man wouldn't stop. "We don't like strangers in our town."
"No problem, I’m leaving."
Lance turned to leave, and the man drew his gun on him.
"I wouldn’t do that, if I were you?"
"Oh yeah, why not?" the man laughed showing a set of dirty teeth.
"Put the gun up Harry, he ain't doin' no harm." His friend encouraged.
"Maybe, maybe not. How do we know he's a cattleman?" the drunk asked.
"Well now, ain't this interestin'. I thought you a coward, maybe I was wrong."
"Maybe you were," Lance firmed his lip, his hand ready for a fight.
The drunk cowboy shot his gun off, close to Lance's feet. "Let me see you dance, cowboy."
Lance turned once more to leave.
The cowboy shot closer this time, almost hitting Lance's foot.
He fired another shot creasing the top of Lance's ear. Lance turned around and fired, hitting the cowboy in the hand, "Enough." Lance said, gritting his teeth and out of patience with the man.
The cowboy grabbed his arm and swore.
"Put your gun up Harry." His friend came to help him.
The Sheriff came in and stared at them. "What's going on here."
"Nothin'," Harry's friend said.
"He shot me in the hand." Harry cried wrapping his bandana around his bloody hand.
The Sheriff turned to look at Lance, "Did you do that?"
"I did. He shot at me, clipping my ear." Lance told him.
The Sheriff saw the blood from his ear and nodded. "Get goin' mister." He told Lance.
Lance nodded and walked out the door.
After he rode out of town, he dabbed his ear with his bandana and shook his head. "That's what I get for going into a saloon."
He found a small cove to rest for the night and made himself a little shelter from the rain and went to sleep.
When the sun came out the next day it was humid and uncomfortable. He picked up some speed. He made it to Ft. Reno and stopped.
The Fort was buzzing with people. A troop of soldiers was marching on the grounds; women were hanging up wash aside the barracks. Children played to the side of the parade grounds, some marching like the soldiers.
He checked in with the army, letting them know he needed to camp there for a bit. The Captain was a busy man, but he told him he could get some food in the mess hall and he could take a cabin at the end of the barracks if they were empty.
Lance was grateful.
After he ate, he went to rest for a while. It was nothing more than a room with a bunk, but it was comfortable, and he fell asleep instantly.
When he woke, he sat up and got out his paper and pen to write a letter to Trudy. He told her all about his trip to Boston and that everything turned out fine and he'd be home as soon as they got the cattle to market. He went into detail about the girls, thinking she'd get a kick out of hearing about it.