Owen Family Saga Box Set: Books 1-3

by Ward, Marsha

  George grinned. “We was hoping to ask you for a place to camp tonight on your land.”

  “You’ll have it.” Angus hung up the harness he’d been mending and put away his tools. “Come with me. Molly will be glad for the company. We don’t get enough to suit her, seems like.” He started for the house.

  Robert matched his pace. “Womenfolk like to be sociable. I know Mrs. Bingham has enjoyed seeing her old neighbors again as we’ve passed by.”

  Angus pulled the door open and paused before entering his house. “Come say hello to Molly, then drive your wagons into the dooryard and water your animals at the well. You can make a proper camp after we eat.”

  “We’ll bring food to contribute,” Robert said. “Mrs. Bingham likes us to add to the meals we’re invited to.”

  Angus laughed. “Fair’s fair, I reckon. Molly!” He ducked his head and strode through the doorway. “Molly, we have company.”

  ~~~

  Jessie’s spirits lifted as she helped prepare the meal. Molly Campbell was a jolly woman who laughed and told jokes and shared news of all the people who had come west from the Shenandoah Valley with the Owen family. The laughter untied the knot that had cinched Jessie’s innards since Randolph Hilbrands had spoken of James and Ellen. Maybe I’ll hear some news of James, she thought. Mr. Hilbrands said he came south.

  Since there were so many people, the men took seats at the table first, while the women stood aside, serving the food and chattering to each other. Jessie was content to let the conversation roll over her.

  Young Andy mentioned the horse he’d been training. “Pa, I think that mustang is about finished up. Do you want me to start on the horse that bucked James off?”

  Jessie’s ears pricked up at the mention of James’s name. Finally some news.

  Angus laughed. “You’re sure eager to follow in his dust,” he said.

  “You have horses to break, Mr. Campbell?” George asked.

  “I do. James Owen came through and he started them off, but he was in a hurry to get through the Pass, so I let him go on. He’s supposed to come back and finish the task, but I need a horse gentled down right away for Molly to ride.”

  “That James Owen!” Molly said with a click of her tongue.

  Jessie’s ribs ached as she held her breath, waiting for more information, but Molly only put a pie on the table and stood back.

  “I can gentle a horse for you,” George said. “That is, if you don’t mind.”

  “Pa,” Andy protested, “I can finish the horses.”

  Angus held up his hands. “It don’t matter to me who does the job, so long as it gets done.” He cut into the pie and served himself a large piece before sliding it down the table. He turned to the boy. “I have plenty of other chores for you, Andy.” Then he turned back to address George. “If you want to tackle working the kinks out of the colts, I can pay you in cash or supplies.”

  “We have use for both, if you’re willing to split up the payment when I’m finished.”

  “The deal is done.” Angus stuck his hand over the table and George shook it, then attacked his piece of pie.

  Jessie felt like screaming. The men finished their dessert and vacated their seats so the women could eat. As they filed out the door, she tried to think of a way to bring the conversation back around to the topic of James. Molly had information, and she wanted to hear it.

  The women sat. Molly launched into a story. Jessie passed her plate down the table for stew, then added a biscuit at the side when it came back to her.

  When Molly finally finished her tale of the blacksmith’s wedding, Jessie asked, “Do you get many visitors here?”

  “Not so many as I’d like, Jessie girl. There’ll be even less as winter comes on.” Molly spread a bit of jam on her biscuit and raised it to her mouth. She lowered it to say, “I reckon the last visitors we had were James Owen and that Mexican girl he had with him.” She put the biscuit to her mouth again and took a bite.

  The bottom dropped out of Jessie’s stomach. She swallowed hard and asked, “Mexican girl?”

  “Yes. He said he was taking her down to her folks in Santa Fe. She got stranded somehow at the church up in Leones.” She paused to take food and chew it. Finally she continued. “I suspected there was more to it than that. Amparo—that was her name, Amparo—looked at him in a special way, like they had a secret he wasn’t sharing with us. Later on, I got a letter from Muriel Bates. She said the blacksmith told her husband that James and the girl were married.”

  Molly must have kept on talking, for Jessie’s ears buzzed. Her head felt hollow, but throbbed, as if it were expanding and contracting. White dots filled her vision, then black dots, and she knew she was going to throw up, if she didn’t faint first.

  She left her seat so suddenly that the chair overturned, but she couldn’t stop to put it upright. She had to leave the kitchen. She had to escape the heat and the talk. James Owen had got married!

  ~~~

  Jessie wiped her mouth on her apron. Getting rid of her supper had relieved the pain in her stomach, but the hurt in her heart remained. She was sobbing. Even though the news of James’s betrothal to Ellen Bates had cut into her soul like a hot knife, knowing that he was free and somewhere in this country had given her hope. Jessie shuddered. She couldn’t think of James anymore.

  She wiped her eyes and looked around. She’d been lucky when she left the kitchen. No one had been around. Just then, two men came out of the stable, laughing and talking. George and … Ned.

  Ned! Ned wants me. James doesn’t. Ned does. He’ll take care of me, and I’ll never have to think about James Owen again.

  She ran toward Ned, forcing a smile. He’ll be happy. I’ve got to be happy. “Ned,” she called.

  “Jessie?” He smiled at her, and left George, taking long strides to meet her. “What is it?”

  Jessie halted and let Ned approach. He says he loves me. He’ll never leave me. She grabbed her upper arm with the other hand and waited. He’ll make me happy.

  Ned smiled down at her, and she lifted her head. “I’ll marry you,” she said.

  Ned’s smile widened to a grin. “You mean it?”

  “Yes.” She waited, her fingers gripping her arm. She’d be safe with Ned.

  Ned picked her up by the waist and swung her around. She clutched his shoulders to keep her balance.

  “Jessie, I’m the happiest man in the world. We can get married at the next town.” He put her on her feet.

  Married? So soon? She hadn’t thought beyond her acceptance of Ned’s offer. What if I get pregnant? She thought of Hannah, and the physical discomfort she was going through in carrying her child. “I think we should wait until we get to Albuquerque to wed. We have so far to go. I don’t want to be … like Hannah is.” She watched disappointment mask Ned’s eyes. Then he accepted her condition, though his shoulders sank a bit.

  “I reckon you’re right, honeybunch. I wouldn’t want you to be burdened by—” He pressed his lips together, sighed, and nodded. “We’ll wait.”

  Chapter 18

  It took George a while longer than he’d bargained for to gentle all the horses to Angus’s liking, so it was already far into December when the Bingham party got on its way again.

  A few days into their renewed journey, Hannah asked Robert to stop the wagon so she could walk for a while.

  “I can’t stand the jostling for a minute more!” she exclaimed when Robert protested, so he put her off the wagon on the side of the trail and climbed up to the seat again.

  “You’re sure?” he asked her again.

  “Yes!” She began to walk, or rather to lumber, beside the wagon. After a while, George rode up with a long stick that he offered her.

  “Miss Hannah, this might make it easier to walk.”

  Hannah accepted the stick and laughed. “I reckon I make a comical sight.”

  George grinned. “Your sister worried you might fall and lay beside the track for hours before you could g
et up.”

  “You tell Heppie that I’m going to laugh at her when she’s as round as a tub and can barely walk.”

  “What?” George’s face went slack.

  “She is bound to be in my state someday, and I’ll tease her back. You tell her I said so.”

  George smiled, tipped his hat, and rode away toward the front of the wagons.

  Although Hannah struggled to walk, being on her feet for a while was preferable to enduring the jarring motion of the wagon. She stopped to rest from time to time, leaning on the stick, and eventually the three wagons pulled ahead of her.

  During one rest, Hannah rubbed the top of her belly after the baby inside kicked her. Robert will love you, she said to the child. No matter who you are, he will provide for you and treat you as his own. You are my flesh, and that is good enough for him.

  She looked ahead, and saw one wagon pulling off the road. A figure descended from the wagon seat and came toward her. She stood and watched him for a while, a smile playing with her mouth, and then she started toward him, swinging the stick in time with her steps. He began to lope. She continued her clumsy gait. She could see his face, and he was grinning broadly. She stopped, and he broke into a run. She waited.

  Robert skidded to a halt and stood in front of her, his breath coming in great heaves. “If you can’t ride, I won’t either,” he gasped.

  She put her hand on his bearded cheek and sighed. “You are impossible.”

  He took her hand and kissed it. “I’m impossibly in love with you, and I miss you.”

  She laughed. “I haven’t been off that seat more than an hour.”

  “The longest hour of my life,” he said, and enveloped her in his arms. “Come, walk with me.”

  She laughed again, shrugged out of his embrace, and dug her stick into the ground. “You came to walk with me!” She started toward the wagons.

  He hustled to catch up and laid his hand on top of her belly. “Baby, you have the most obstinate mother in the world.”

  “Robert,” she said, pushing his hand away, “don’t do that. Somebody might see you.”

  He looked around, then up in the sky. “Who? That hawk circling up there?” He pointed. “I doubt it cares.”

  She giggled. “I care.” She tripped a bit on a stone, and he steadied her.

  “See how you need me around?” He put his face close to her stomach. “Mama needs me, little one.”

  She stopped and turned her glowing face toward him. “Yes, I need you. I think I’ve walked enough. Carry me to the wagon.”

  “It’s just over there!”

  She bent over, breathing heavily. “I know it, but I can’t go any farther on my own.”

  “You’re a caution, Hannah Fletcher,” he said, and scooped her up. He carried her the five yards to the wagon, and helped her onto the seat, laughing all the time. He hauled himself up, took the lines in his hands, and looked at Hannah. “You are so very dear to me.” He yelled at the mules and got them into motion.

  Chapter 19

  Jessie rode on the wagon seat beside Luke as they approached the next town on the trail. The weather had steadily grown colder, and she clasped a shawl around her shoulders. The sunbonnet she wore was for warmth as much as for shade, and she shivered as they crossed the stream that lay in their path.

  Ahead of them, a long street meandered under the shadow of a stair-step mountain. They were the last wagon in the little train and the dust had been bothersome, so Jessie was glad they would soon stop for the evening. George had mentioned something about spending some of his cash on rooms in a hotel. Perhaps that was too wasteful of him, using his hard-earned money on hotel rooms. However, the closer they got to their destination, the more excited she grew at the thought of sleeping in a real bed. Of course, she would have to share it. Probably not only with Ma, but with her sisters, if the room only had one bed. The women would have one room, and the men another. She laughed at her mental picture of all of them jumbled together. The bed better be soft!

  When Luke pulled up their horses at last, Jessie waited for the wagon to stop lurching, shook dust from her shawl, and climbed down from the seat. She pushed back her sunbonnet with one wrist and let the sunlight warm her hair. As she looked around, she saw a worn-looking, bearded man on a black mare across the street. He sat with his head bowed, his hat shadowing his face, and clutched a rope that extended back to the mounts of four other men.

  “Luke,” she said as her brother got down from the wagon. “Look at that. Those men are tied on their horses. Do you suppose they are outlaws?” She whispered the last word, cupping her mouth between her hands.

  “Maybe,” Luke said. “Do you figure that man is the sheriff?”

  She shrugged her shoulders. “Why is he just sitting there?”

  “He looks played out to me. Could be he’s afraid he’ll fall off his horse if he moves.”

  The man shifted in his saddle, and Jessie saw his face. She hugged herself, taking in a great gasp of air. Before she could help herself, she let it out in an explosive, “James!” Her hands flew to her mouth as he turned toward her. “James,” she said his name again, calling out this time. “I thought I’d never see you again!” As a great rolling joy enveloped her, she bit her lip and started across the street.

  She heard a strange, guttural cry, and realized it came from his mouth. Moisture slid down his cheeks. She watched him struggle, trying to catch his breath, and finally, he inhaled.

  She reached his side, and he looked down at her from his seat atop the mare. After a moment, he extended his left hand, exhaled, took another breath, and held it a moment before he expelled it softly.

  “Jessica.”

  Jessie looked at James’s face for a moment. He looked as used up as though someone had hit him on the head with a shovel, then beaten him into the ground. Her gaze shifted, and she stared at the hand he held out to her, red and work roughened. The joy sank from her heart and drained from her body, leaving her cold and desolate. That hand had probably held Ellen Bates’s hand. It had most certainly led his wife to their marriage bed. It was the hand of a married man, not the carefree James from her past.

  “Jessica,” James repeated, whispering. “Jessie Bingham.”

  Jessie watched James struggle. What was wrong with him? He should be happy, with a new wife and all his life in front of him. She looked around, fearing his wife would come out of one of the doors that lined the street. How could she bear to meet the girl named Amparo?

  “Jessie,” he said again, dropping his hand to his thigh. “Miss Jessie,” he amended formally. “I left you in Virginia.” He closed his eyes and shivered. “How did you get to Trinidad?”

  Jessie started to speak, but broke off as a large man with a closely trimmed black moustache appeared in the doorway of the sheriff’s office. She stared at the badge on the man’s vest. She looked up at his face. His skin was brown, darker than the leather of his vest. This man is the sheriff? She wasn’t sure she was interpreting what she saw correctly. What sort of place had brown-skinned people in authority?

  The sheriff looked over James’s train of captives. “What is this, young man?” he asked, his accent thick, nearly unintelligible. “Who are these hombres?”

  “They’re the men who escaped the hotel shootout, Sheriff. I tracked them down. Yonder is your escaped prisoner, Frank Blue.” James motioned to one of the men. “I brung him back for justice,” he said. Jessie hunched her shoulders at the flatness of his voice.

  “I must thank you, joven.” The sheriff removed his hat and held it over his heart. “Please receive my condolences on the loss of your wife.”

  Jessie furrowed her brow, unsure of what the sheriff had said in his heavily accented English. Did I hear right? Did he say “loss of your wife?” She put a hand to her abdomen, rubbing a bit at the lump of dread growing there. She looked from the sheriff to James.

  He was nodding, his eyes glazed. He dismounted from the black mare with great caution, took careful s
teps toward the sheriff, and handed him the lead rope. A brown dog trotted up and thrust its nose into James’s dangling hand. Next it sniffed at Jessie’s skirt before it caught a new scent and followed it around the building.

  “Can someone tend to my animals?” James asked the sheriff. “This mare and that there sorrel are mine, and the pack mule too.” He rubbed his forehead, eyes closed. “They took the other three horses from the town.”

  “Sí, joven.” The sheriff nodded, looking closely at James. “You have not slept, no?”

  “No.” James shook his head and tethered his horse. “If you need me, I’m going to see Philo about a room.”

  “Está bien,” the sheriff said, and went to see to his prisoners.

  “James,” Jessie began. She stopped speaking to glance over him again. He looks so tuckered out, she thought. He’s worn down to a frazzle. Something mighty bad has happened to him. Her stomach clenched.

  As Jessie paused, James ducked under the reins to the other side of the horse, untied a worn satchel resting behind the cantle of his saddle, slid his rifle from the boot, and turned to face her.

  She almost cried out at the pain in his eyes, but stopped herself, her insides churning around her own pain. She blurted out, “James, that brown-skinned man, that sheriff. Did he say something about your … wife? A loss?”

  A look that terrified her flickered across his face, but was gone in an instant. “Yes, he did,” James said. “She’s dead, about a week past.”

  “Dead,” Jessie echoed. Her heart quaked, and she felt herself shaking. She needed to say something, some word of condolence, of comfort, but the only thing she could think to say was, “How horrid!”

  James looked away, out into the street. Jessie wondered what he was looking at so intently. Then he spoke in a hollow voice, stretching out the words as though to the rhythm of a slow heartbeat: “It … ain’t … been … pleasurable.”

  Jessie heard footsteps behind her, a man clearing his throat.