She answered Michael’s many questions about her injury while he ate a leftover biscuit, then she put him down for a nap. When she stepped outside, Grandpa was there with a mess of cleaned fish, lying in a big wooden bowl. Her mouth watered at the thought of fried fish coated in thick cornmeal batter. With the big sack of cornmeal Mr. Coulter had given her, she wouldn’t need to scrimp on the batter. He was kind to replace her groceries. Perhaps she had misjudged him.
Grandpa headed toward the lean-to to put away the fishing poles. Though almost as thin as one of the cane rods he carried, he’d rebounded well from his latest bout of swamp fever. She hated to see him suffering so often but knew she should be grateful to God that he had lived to see his sixties. Many men who’d contracted malaria during the War Between the States, twenty-four years ago, were long gone. God had known how badly she needed her grandfather.
He ambled around the side of the soddy, brushing his hands together in a gesture that Lara knew meant he’d finished a task. He smiled at her then glanced at her bandage, his lips pursed. “What happened?”
“Long story.” She offered him a weak smile. “Let’s sit down outside so we don’t disturb Michael.”
He followed her over to the rickety buckboard that rested in the shade of a persimmon tree and helped her up onto the open wagon bed. With a litheness that belied his recent illness, he hopped up beside her. She arranged her skirts and dangled her bare feet off the edge like a carefree young girl, though her heart felt anything but cheery. She glanced at her grandpa, and he returned her gaze, lifting his brows.
“So? Out with it.” He crossed his arms and leaned against the side of the wagon.
Lara studied the dark circles under his eyes, knowing what she had to share would tax him further. She told him about what happened in town and how Gabe Coulter had helped her; however, she omitted the fact that she’d met the man before.
“Right nice of that stranger to help you out like he did. Wish I’d been around when he brought you home so I could have thanked him.”
Now that Mr. Coulter was gone and could no longer boss her around, her attitude toward him softened. She realized she hadn’t been very nice to the kind man who was only trying to help. Shame coursed through her.
“Was there something else you wanted to talk about? I have chores piled up after being down on my back for three days.” He scratched his chest and stared off in the distance. “Where’s Jo?”
“In town. She helped me carry the milk to the mercantile then disappeared. I figure she’s gone to visit Alma Lou.”
Grandpa shook his head. “That gal needs to help you more. I haven’t done right in raising her. She’s got more grandiose ideas than I don’t know who. Jo needs a mother.”
Lara winced and turned her head away so he wouldn’t see how his comment pierced her heart. She’d done the best she could to raise her sister, but she was only ten years old when her parents died. Jo was only five. Shoving aside her pain and apprehension, she looked at him again.
“I got some news. Tom is dead.”
His blue eyes widened, and his mouth dropped open for a moment. “When? How?”
Lara shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“Then how do you know he’s dead?”
“A man stopped me a few days ago as I was leaving town. He said Tom died in Kansas City and gave me the death certificate. He said Tom left a bag of money there, and he wanted me to go back with him to claim it.”
Snorting a laugh, Grandpa shook his head. “Not likely. That Tom Talbot never had a dollar to his name, much less a whole bag of coins.” Suddenly he got quiet. “What do you mean that man tried to get you to go with him?”
Concern crimped her heart at his worried expression, and she laid her hand on his arm. “I don’t mean he tried to force me. Actually, the man was quite polite. He said his boss needed me to come in person to collect the money. Of course, I told him no and said the same thing you did.”
“That sure is odd.” He wrapped his arm around her shoulder. “I’m sorry, punkin. You know I never cared much for Tom, but he was your husband and Michael’s father, such as he was.”
She leaned into his embrace as tears clouded her eyes. “I realize now that I never should have married him. I just wanted so badly to get you some help.”
“Me?” He gently pulled away to look her in the eye. “You married him to help me?” he said, his tone incredulous.
Her cheeks heated with embarrassment. She’d never planned to tell him that, but it simply slipped out. She fiddled with her skirt, noticing several small rips, probably from her fall, that needed patching.
“I always wondered what you saw in that man. I’m so sorry you felt you had to do such a thing.” He shook his head and stared at the ground. “I should have done better by you gals.”
“You did fine, Grandpa. If not for you, who knows where Jo and I’d be now.” Lara’s feet swung faster. The last thing she wanted to do was to make him feel incompetent. “It’s all in the past. Tom’s gone, and hopefully we no longer have to worry about his debt collectors coming around, begging money.”
“So, you’re not upset about him…being gone?”
How could she explain what she truly felt? “I did shed a few tears for Tom, mostly because I doubt that he came to know Jesus as his Savior before he died.”
Grandpa picked up her good hand and wrapped his around it. “You don’t know that for sure. Many a man will cry out to God when he knows the end is at hand. I saw it over and over again on the battlefield.”
His soft words comforted her, and she leaned her head on his shoulder, absorbing his strength. “Thank you. I sincerely hope he did make things right with God before dying.”
In the distance, she heard the screech of a hawk and the bleat of a goat. The leaves of the trees fluttered in the breeze casting dappled shadows on the ground. Lara sucked in a strengthening breath and sat up, knowing there was more to tell.
“Herman Hancock came by yesterday when you were resting.”
Her grandpa smiled. “Sorry I missed seeing him. Did you give him the rent money?”
She shook her head. “No, I didn’t have it to pay, but it doesn’t matter now. He told me his youngest son is married and returning home with his wife. They need the soddy to live in, and w–we have to move.”
He sucked in a sharp breath. When he didn’t say anything, she darted a glance his way. What was he thinking?
His mouth was puckered as if he’d eaten an unripe persimmon, and he looked deep in thought. Suddenly, peacefulness washed over him, and his features relaxed. “God will provide.”
A nearby rustling noise made Lara jump. Jo burst out of the tall grass, her pretty features crinkled in a scowl. “We have to move? How can you say that God will provide?” She stomped toward them. “When did He ever provide for us?”
She swerved her glare toward Lara. “Tom is dead?” she said in a loud whisper then glanced around, probably looking for Michael. “How come I’m always the last to find out these things?” Jo waved her arms in the air like a hen with clipped wings trying to take flight. “What are we going to do? Where will we live?”
Grandpa sighed and stood. “The Lord will take care of us, just like He always has. Though you can’t see it now, He’s arranging our steps.”
“Ahhh!” Jo pressed her hands over her ears. “I’m so sick of hearing how God will provide, when He never does. How come Alma Lou can have so much, and we have so little?” She turned suddenly and stomped off toward the creek, murmuring to herself.
They both watched her march away, then Grandpa chuckled. “Feels like a cyclone just blew through, don’t it?”
Lara stared at him and couldn’t help feeling a tad bit of irritation herself. How could he not be even a little concerned?
He turned to face her, sober again. “Like I said, God ordains our steps. I feel His hand in this. When the good Lord closes one door, He opens another. Do you trust me, punkin?”
She nodded, since
rely wishing she had the faith he did. How could he be so physically weak and yet so spiritually strong?
He looked at her, all serious now. “Tomorrow, first chance you get, I want you to go back to town and get us registered for the land run.”
Holding his leather satchel, Mark Hillborne stepped off the train from St. Louis and walked straight to the Caldwell ticket counter. As he stood in the short line, he studied the people coming and going. There were all sorts to behold—rich men in fancy suits like his father wore, poor men in ragged overalls, and even an Indian dressed in buckskins. Boy oh boy, he’d finally broken free from his father’s iron thumb.
Soon he’d be participating in the race of the century, but he wouldn’t be riding a horse or driving a wagon in a dusty race to claim farmland. No sirree. He wanted a plot in Guthrie, and the best way to achieve that was to take the train there. Excitement raced through him. The man in front of him stepped aside, and Mark moved forward.
“I’ll take one ticket on the first train out of town on April 22nd.”
The depot clerk pressed his lips together. “Well, now, I can sell you a ticket, but you’ll have to get yerself over to Arkansas City if you want to ride that first train. Ain’t none headed out of Caldwell into Oklahoma that day. And then it’s up to you to beat all them others out to get a seat on that first one.”
“Arkansas City?” He’d arrived in the wrong town for his venture? This could be disastrous. “How far is that?”
The man scratched his beard. “I reckon it’s around thirty miles or so.”
Mark blew out a loud sigh. “Let me have a ticket leaving from Arkansas City on the twenty-second and one that will take me there in three days.” Next he needed to find a telegraph station and make sure his cargo went to Arkansas City instead of Caldwell.
He shook his head at his faux pas, still not sure how he got his research wrong. While the clerk prepared his tickets, he thought about having to race a bunch of yahoos to the train. Mark hadn’t counted on that, but he supposed it made sense. He had read in the newspaper how hundreds, if not thousands, of people had already filed into the Kansas border towns in preparation for the land opening. Were there as many in Arkansas City as there were here? With the run still over a week away, many more would surely come. He’d be fighting a lot of people for a seat on that first train. He clenched his jaw as he saw his dreams of opening the first store at the Guthrie Station blowing away like chaff. He’d never hear the end of it from his father if he failed.
His grip tightened on his satchel. He never should have wasted so much time arguing with his father. Mark paid the fee then pocketed his coveted ticket.
The Podunk clerk handed him his change. “You reckon to set up house in the Oklahoma Territory?”
“Something like that.” Mark exited the depot and scanned the rugged town so different from St. Louis.
A couple of boys ran up to him. “Need some help with that, mister?” the tallest of them asked as he tugged on Mark’s bag.
“No, but you can point me to the telegraph office and a general store.” Gripping his satchel tighter, Mark followed the boys’ directions. He made short work of wiring one of his father’s employees who’d been tasked with helping him to let the man know to send his two carloads of supplies to Arkansas City instead of Caldwell. A few minutes later, he walked into McMann’s Mercantile.
A plump older woman nodded at him. “Can I help you with something, mister?”
“No, just looking.” Mark quickly scanned the store’s canned goods selection and smiled. He’d ordered a far wider variety than this woman carried. Suddenly, he sobered. What if he’d ordered items that people in Oklahoma couldn’t use?
He’d listened to his grandfather, who’d built up his trading post off the Mississippi River into the largest general store in all of St. Louis. Mark ran a finger along a variety of cans then past containers of liniment and all manner of medicines. He stopped at the small clothing section and studied the wares. He hadn’t thought to include overalls, and judging by the large number here, he needed to do that. Tugging out a piece of paper from his coat pocket, he licked the end of the pencil that accompanied it and wrote down overalls. As he circled the store, he listed several more items.
The clerk watched him eagerly, as though she thought he was making a shopping list. He’d need to purchase more farming tools and seed, what with all the people who’d be planting crops after getting their land. And other tools and nails for building.
He finished his list then looked at the woman. Her hopeful smile made him want to laugh in her face. “Can you direct me to the best hotel in town?”
Her eyes blinked in confusion, then she cleared her throat and glanced longingly at the list. He stuck it in his pocket.
“Um…of course. Take a right out the door and walk past the next two alleys. You’ll see the Leland Hotel across the street on your left. Would you like me to fill your order and have it ready to be picked up later?” She glanced at his pocket again.
“That won’t be necessary.” He stepped outside, ignoring her confused stare, and made his way down the boardwalk. After a bath to remove the coal dust from his hair and a warm meal, he’d see if there was any high-quality female companionship to be had.
He walked into the hotel lobby, excitement about the future racing through him. He gave the bell on the counter a sharp tap with his index finger and signed his name to the registration book. Yes sirree, it felt great to be out from under his father’s harsh control. Mark Hillborne was his own man and not a puppet to paternal power. Not anymore. The Oklahoma Territory was the last place his wealthy, refined father would care to visit.
Gabe paced in the street outside the newspaper office, kicking up a cloud of dust over his newly polished boots. Should I or shouldn’t I?
He’d read and reread the notice advertising the land rush, and the idea wouldn’t go away. It was crazy for him to be contemplating such a thing. He’d never participated in a horse race before, but the very thought of it made his gut swirl with excitement.
He could do it. He certainly had a horse that was fit enough to compete. And the danger of racing thousands of people would be invigorating. Not to mention the thrill of winning a claim.
But what was the point? Did he want to be a sodbuster again? In the Oklahoma Territory, no less? Could he even adjust to country life after living high on the hog in the city for so long?
Pivoting again, Gabe nearly smacked into the head of a horse. The buckskin jerked its head and danced sideways. “Hey, watch out!” the rider yelled.
Gabe jumped back, yanking out his pistol. He aimed it at the man and returned the rider’s glare. Sweat trickled down Gabe’s back as he realized he’d probably overreacted, but instinct had kicked in. There were times a gambler had to react quickly, and Gabe had honed his skills. The cowboy rested his hand on his pistol for a moment then broke eye contact and nudged his horse forward. Gabe watched the man until he was sure the rider meant no harm then dropped his gun into his holster. Shaking out his tense fingers, he turned back toward the newspaper office.
As usual, a ragtag group stood in front of the land rush poster, and Gabe worked his way forward. One hundred and sixty acres of land. Free to whomever claimed it first.
Ideas churned in his head. If he won land, he could keep it awhile and then sell it. Or maybe he’d try farming again. His real father had been a farmer, and at one time Gabe had dreamed of following in his footsteps. He’d actually never disliked the hard work, just his bitter life after Stephen’s death.
But dreams change, and farming held little lure. Now ranching—that was something else. He’d always loved horses. And if he raised a small herd of cattle, he’d have plenty of beef to eat. The more he thought about it, the better the idea sounded.
He pushed out of the crowd. “It’s just plain crazy to even consider it.”
A man with a bushy mustache and round spectacles passed by, glancing at Gabe as if he were an oddity.
&
nbsp; He thought of his comfortable suite back in Kansas City, the plush carpeting and soft bed. Anything he wanted to eat could be cooked downstairs by Moe, a former slave, then delivered to his door by a dainty gal with flirting eyes. He even had his own table at the Lucky Chance and a reputation for winning fairly. Could he really give all that up to become a rancher?
His steps slowed in front of the land office. For the first time since he’d been in Caldwell, there wasn’t a long line of people registering for the run. Was this providence?
In actuality, he could race and still keep his hotel suite. As long as he continued to pay the rent, Hattie wouldn’t lease it to anyone else. He might lose his table, though, because there were always other gamblers willing to take his place.
Do it. A voice in his head urged him on.
His fingertips began to tingle, and a shiver of excitement charged through his body. The land run was the biggest gamble of all for most. He’d heard that many people had left their former homes and families for a chance at the free land. For them, failure left them with nothing. For him, it could be an exciting adventure.
What did he have to lose? It cost nothing to ride in the race, and if he won, he’d have land. If he got a claim, he could try ranching for a time, and if he didn’t, well…he could always go home and return to gambling again—or continue on to Texas, a land he’d always wanted to see. As far as he could tell, it was a win-win situation.
Gabe entered the dingy office that smelled of dirt and sweat.
“Come to sign up, did’ja?” A stooped man standing near the window walked behind the counter and picked up a pen. He held it out to Gabe. “Just put your John Henry on that there line and you’re all set. These here are mighty exciting times, m’boy.”
Unable to hold back a wide grin, Gabe took the pen and signed his name.
“Yep, I tell you, it’s history in the making.” The old-timer reclaimed his pen and laid it under the counter. “You sure did come at a good time. First time in a week that there ain’t been a line.”
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