Open Road

by M. M. Holaday

  “Never got it. I just came ’cause it was time to come. She OK?”

  “Oh yes, sir, she’s fine, she’s wonderful.” Jeb sounded like a fool. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Win smile. “We’ll take you to her first thing tomorrow.” Jeb nodded his head north toward Paradise.

  “That way?” A low whistle came from Gus. “Damn glad I ran into you boys. I’d be chasing that little bird all over the territory. I was headed for Denver.”

  “You’re the new station keeper in a town called Paradise,” Win said.

  “Shew, she’s got me a job already?”

  “Our boss just started a private coach service. She’s already at a swing station,” Jeb said.

  This brought a chuckle out of Gus. “I’ll be damned.” He looked at the dark sky. “I guess it’d be foolish to travel at night.” He turned back to Win and Jeb. “Let’s get a drink. I’m bone dry.”

  “Yes, sir,” Win and Jeb said in unison.

  “If you two keep calling me ‘sir,’ you’re buyin’. It’s just Gus. C’mon, let’s go knock ourselves off these pedestals she’s got us on.” Gus picked up his bag and headed for the saloon.

  Inside, Gus deftly removed his jacket, loosened his tie, and motioned to the bartender to send over three glasses and a bottle—all in the time it took for them to sit down. Win uncorked the bottle and poured the drinks. Gus lifted his in a brief salute to their health, and then drained the glass with one swallow and let out a satisfied sigh.

  Gus knew everything about Meg’s experience with the wagon train from the letters she’d written, causing Jeb to wonder what she’d written about them—or, more specifically, him. Gus said in her last letter, they’d arrived safely in Denver, and he figured his little bird had landed long enough for him to catch up with her. Then he asked about his new job; Win explained about the stage route through Paradise and told him about Gray Wolf. Gus said he looked forward to meeting him, as if meeting Indians were something he did every day. Jeb poured another round.

  Gus paused before he drank and said, “I can’t figure out why Meggie campaigned so hard to run a station. She can’t cook. I suspect she’s doin’ it for me.” He squinted at his glass.

  “She got attached to Paradise as soon as she saw it,” Jeb said. “She said it was where you two were going to buy land for a ranch.”

  Gus blinked a few times. Jeb sensed that hearing about the ranch made him emotional. Her strong attachment to Gus was clearly reciprocated.

  “She says you saved her life, Gus,” Win said.

  Gus shook his head. “Aw, hell, I needed her as much as she needed me—maybe more, truth be told.” He swirled the whiskey around in his glass. “I wouldn’t normally say this to such new acquaintances, but from all that Meggie wrote about you, I feel like I know you both. I barely tolerated the job at the stables. But then this little redheaded whirlwind blew in, with her brand new horse. Her eyes all sparkly, a grin spread ear to ear, and that hair of hers—always a mess. She was the reason I stayed on all those years. Couldn’t leave once she came along; made a promise to her ma.”

  “You knew her mother?” Jeb asked.

  Gus got a wistful look in his eye and nodded. “The last time we spoke was the day before she died.” He winced, as though feeling the tug of an old scar. “She and Mr. Jameson came down to the stables to say good-bye to Meg before they caught the train to Lawrence. He was going to invest in some newspaper. She gave Meg a quick hug, one that was meant to last a couple days, not a lifetime. She didn’t know. Meg scampered off, and, as she left, Elise Jameson thanked me for taking Meggie riding and making her daughter so happy. I told Miz Jameson that Meg was a natural, acted like she was born on a horse and was a real joy, sweet and funny. Her ma shook my hand real genuine-like. Just as she was about to walk out the door, she said, ‘Take care of our Meggie now,’ with a smile I’ll never forget. She was the kind of woman that the best of men don’t deserve. She was a fine person. When they didn’t come back and Meggie ended up living with her aunt and sonofabitch uncle, I couldn’t break my promise. So, I stayed to look after her.” Gus paused to take a sip of whiskey. “Did the best I could, but an old bachelor like me . . . We managed, I guess. When she got that ranch idea in her head, I’d tell myself I was a blame fool for getting sucked into her pipe dreams, and, yet, it was contagious. She’d chatter on and on, and pretty soon, she had me believing it, too.” He chuckled. “And see? Here I am. Now, who saved who?”

  Jeb finally understood the kinship between them, and his jealousy of Gus dissipated. “She’s mighty devoted to you,” he said, feeling generous toward the old man.

  “She has a powerful hold on my heart; that’s a fact. She came into the stables one day . . . she was about ten, I’m guessin’. She says, ‘Gus, I love you and you love me, so we gotta get married. I don’t see any other way around it,’ ” he said, chuckling. “Damn, she was cute. She had a dirt smudge on her nose. If all love was the same, I’d have snatched her up in a minute, but, of course, it ain’t. Instead, I had to sit her down and explain a few things to her about birds, bees, and men. The kind of talk that’s supposed to come from a ma. Felt bad for her, especially since that goddamn aunt wasn’t worth spit. The day Meg started her female business, she got scared, didn’t know what was happening to her. Found her hiding in Biscuit’s stall, curled up in a corner, blood on her pants. I sat down with her and she crawled up next to me. I explained what I knew about it, which wasn’t much, but I guess was enough for her. Brought her back to my place to let her clean up. She was washing out her clothes and complained, kinda irritated like, that she didn’t see why women couldn’t just go into heat like horses.”

  Jeb smiled at the image of Meg as a little girl, passing the time with the old stableman. He remembered how she put her arm around the little girl from the train, Lizzie Moberg, probably just as Gus had done with her. One thing was certain: if her gentle nature came from Gus, so did her cussing.

  “We’ll take you to her first thing in the morning,” Win said.

  “Aw, hell, I can find my way.”

  “We’re going that way anyway; got a delivery in Paradise,” Jeb said.

  Gus leaned forward, eyeing them both. “So, how’s it goin’—you both angling for my Meggie?”

  Jeb glanced at Win, not knowing how to answer.

  Gus leaned back and chuckled. “Well,” he said, smoothing his mustache, “matters of the heart ain’t easy. You just make sure you don’t break hers, ’cause she’s special.”

  The next morning, the wagon lumbered along far too slow for Jeb, who could only imagine it must feel slower for Gus, squashed in beside them on the bench seat.

  When they crested the hill, Meg was in the yard staking out a garden plot for the following spring. She looked up when she heard the wagon. Gus removed his hat to reveal his snow-white hair. She dropped the stakes, picked up her skirts, and ran toward him.

  “Gus! Gus!” She raced up the hill. Gus hopped down almost before the wagon had fully stopped. She stopped just short of him, out of breath, and stared at her friend as though checking to be sure her eyes weren’t deceiving her.

  Hat in his hand, he spread his one arm out and smiled. “C’mere, you.”

  She walked into his arms, her face screwing up with emotion as she wrapped her arms around his waist, buried her face in his neck, and began to sob. Despite all she had been through, this was the first time Jeb recalled seeing her cry. Gus brought his arm around her and they clung to each other with so much emotion that Jeb got a lump in his throat himself.

  “I shouldn’t have run away, but I was afraid for Biscuit.”

  “Protecting what you love is as natural as breathing.” Gus held her close.

  “I was real scared, Gus.”

  “Only fools are never scared.” Gus pulled her back so he could look at her. “Darlin’, you’re the bravest person I know.” He cocked his head. “When did you get so pretty, too?”

  “Oh, Gus!” She wiped the tears from
her face. “I bet you still won’t marry me, though.”

  Gus threw his head back and laughed. Intended to be a private joke, Win and Jeb nevertheless laughed, too, and Meg noticed. “Oh, no! You didn’t tell them my growing-up stories, did you? Win’ll tease me to no end.”

  “Not all. Saved the really good ones for when I need a favor.” With their arms wrapped around each other, they strolled slowly back to the way station. Jeb and Win followed them into town.

  The man Meg worshipped was back in her company, and while Jeb was happy for her, he couldn’t help but wonder what it meant for Win and him. Their pact, the purpose of which was to keep their friendship intact, seemed pointless. If anyone was the focus of her attention and her life, it was Gus.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE: MEG

  Paradise

  Gus fit into the little Paradise community like a missing piece of a puzzle. The comfort of his presence and their plans for a future ranch completed a picture Meg had kept in her mind for a long time. Filled with joy, she hummed happily as she and Gus oiled tack together in their new barn.

  “Oiling tack ain’t that much fun, Meggie. From the looks of things, I’d say you got a fella.” He worked the oil into the leather with one hand faster than she could with two.

  “What? Me? No. Besides, Win and Jeb made a stupid pact that I wouldn’t ruin their friendship.”

  “That don’t matter. Which one of those boys caught your eye?”

  Meg paused to consider the question. Both were handsome; both treated her with respect. Win was funny and charming; Jeb was kind and thoughtful. “Both.”

  Gus chuckled. “God help us, then.”

  “Have you ever been in love, Gus?”

  “I have. A couple of times. It’s a powerful feeling.”

  “What happened?”

  “Well, the first time I fell in love, I asked her to marry me.”

  Meg stopped oiling Biscuit’s bridle and looked at him in surprise. “Gus! Why didn’t you ever tell me this?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe after you proposed to me, I figured it might make you jealous.” He cocked his head and winked at her.

  She laughed. “I was ten! I’m serious. Tell me what happened.”

  “Well, we were young and foolish. Her pa didn’t think much of the idea and sent her away. Never saw her again.”

  “Oh, how sad!”

  “Not really. When I look back, I think I dodged a bullet there.”

  “But then you fell in love again?”

  “Yup. But she was already married. Happily, too. So, being the gentleman that I am, I left her alone. She never knew.”

  Gus would never say it because he was, as he said, too much of a gentleman. But Meg knew the woman who had stolen his heart the second time was her own mother. She saw it in his eyes when he talked about her. Meg knew Gus had watched over her all these years because he’d loved her mother, and Meg loved him for it.

  “Gus, what does it mean if I like both Win and Jeb?”

  “It means you ain’t ready to settle down yet. ’Til then, you just stick by your ol’ Gus.”

  PART TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX: WIN

  The road to Paradise, two years later, Summer 1867

  Win couldn’t decide which bored him more, holding the reins of the stubborn, stupid mule team or riding shotgun—keeping an eye out for bandits or hostile Indians. Both tasks required enough attention to keep him from daydreaming about the expeditions Albert Rothenberg had mentioned. After nearly two years freighting for Clint, Win’s feet itched.

  “Can’t this team go any faster?” Win fidgeted in his seat.

  “Speed isn’t what’s annoying you, Win.” Jeb slapped the reins against the rumps of the mules anyway. “You get this way every time you read a newspaper.”

  Jeb was right about that. Lately, the news was a pebble in his boot.

  The latest irritant was from the Montana Post, which predicted a large emigration from the East this season along the North and Platte River routes—fortune seekers hunting for gold and silver in the mountains in Montana. Some prospectors arrived by steamboat on the Missouri River at Fort Benton. Others came overland, following the Bozeman Trail, named after John Bozeman and John Jacobs, the men who found a cheap, direct route from Fort Laramie to Virginia City, a prominent mining city in Montana. No one seemed to care that the Bozeman route cut through land between the Bighorn Mountains and the Black Hills, Indian territory by treaty. White prospectors and settlers disrupted the last remaining unspoiled, sacred hunting grounds of the northern Cheyenne, Arapaho, and Lakota Indians.

  “Listen to this,” Win said, reading from the newspaper. “ ‘There is a sickly sentimentality existing in some quarters that revolts at progress. If they prefer barbarism to civilization, and that because a race of blood-thirsty, treacherous knaves claim to have prior rights to these mountain and valleys as hunting grounds—’ ”

  “I read it, too, Win,” Jeb said. “I swear, I’m gonna keep all newspapers away from you. You get ornery every time you pick one up, and then fuss all the way to Paradise.”

  “ ‘Claim’ to have prior rights? Of course the Indians have prior rights! It’s their land, for cryin’ out loud,” Win said. “White people are trespassing, Jeb, and they know it.”

  Despite his indignation, tucked inside Win’s shirt was another article from the Montana Post about a survey expedition led by Clarence King. Congress had authorized a thorough geographical, topographical, and geological survey of the territory between the Missouri River and the California line. A strip 100 miles wide, with the 40th parallel and the Pacific railroad line as the center, was to be “put under scientific examination, and the results mapped and recorded for the benefit of all civilization,” the article read.

  Maybe scientists could contribute to a body of knowledge that really would benefit all mankind. Different from gold seekers, in Win’s mind, scientists had motives far more noble than pure monetary profit. But even science didn’t capture Win’s heart. To him, exploring the unknown was far more enticing than either gold or science. Joining a scientific expedition was the more appealing way to see new territory.

  A bump in the road pulled Win out of his reverie. Paradise lay just over the hill. The only part of hauling freight that appealed to Win anymore was seeing Meg at the end of the line. Pretty and full of fun, Meg brightened an otherwise dull route. Her attention toward Win and Jeb, evenly distributed and revealing no preferences, was shrewd on her part. She had made it clear she was dead set on getting her inheritance released as soon as possible, so they could buy land. She and Gus openly discussed their attempts to release her trust money before she turned twenty-one. In truth, Win liked Meg a lot, but he wasn’t ready to settle down anyway, and her determination to buy land for a ranch before doing anything else helped assuage any serious rivalry that bubbled up occasionally between Win and Jeb. Her fixation on her inheritance kept his ego in check as well. Nothing did that better than when Meg would gallop out to meet their wagon, only to have her ask breathlessly if they had a letter from her Council Bluffs attorney.

  The only seemingly content one of the group was Jeb. Win frequently reminded him that they were Meg’s two best prospects in the whole territory, just to stir up and annoy his otherwise happy and satisfied disposition. Jeb was the only one who didn’t act like his life had stalled; the only one who wasn’t waiting impatiently for something else.

  Paradise came to life when anyone passed through town, and Win and Jeb arriving with their weekly delivery was no exception. Angus and Blackie, always eager to share news, hurried over as soon as Win and Jeb pulled up to the Carters’ store.

  “Been over to Meg’s yet?” Angus asked.

  “Just got in,” Jeb said. “Anything wrong?”

  “Nah. Been pretty interesting, though.”

  “Angus, you dang Scot.” Mick emerged from the store. “You always gotta be first!”

  “Aw, I wasn’t gonna tell the whole thing; I was just
gonna get ’em curious.”

  “We’re curious,” Win said, his arms spread to show his impatience. “What happened?”

  “Well, you’ll be proud of your gal. She damn near stopped a massacre.”

  Mick sighed. “You exaggerate everything, Angus, for crying out loud.”

  “I can’t stand this. I swear—Georgia!” Win called out. Georgia appeared at the door. “What the hell happened? Is Meg all right?”

  “She’s fine, honey,” Georgia said. “We’ve had some excitement, though. Four wagons came through here. The folks were pretty grim. A big fellow named Rivers did all their talking for them, like he was running the show. He said they had been attacked by Indians, yet there was no evidence to support the accusation. Mr. Rivers said they had gotten lost, and that’s when the Indians swarmed them—”

  “You know as well as we do that Indians, particularly ‘swarming’ ones, could’ve easily wiped them out,” Mick said, “but I’d be a damned Indian-lover if I called him a liar.”

  “You are a damned Indian-lover, Mick.” Angus seemed to enjoy arguing about anything.

  “Hush, you two, and stop interrupting,” Georgia said. “Meg and I were in the station with the women. We didn’t believe Mr. Rivers’s story either, and were asking questions when Running Elk showed up. That’s when all hell broke loose. One of the women saw him and screamed. Rivers tried to shoot him, but he got away. Meg shielded him by jumping on the back of his horse and rode behind him, knowing Rivers wouldn’t dare shoot a white woman, particularly in the back.”

  Running Elk frequented the station and was often present when Win and Jeb arrived in town. Despite Meg’s early reservations about her ability to teach, she had done well. She and Sharp Eye’s son had become friends. Everyone in town liked him, too.

  “They met up with One Who Waits and Sharp Eye, who were painted up and ready for war.” The concern in Georgia’s voice was enough for Win. He dropped the sack of grain back into the wagon. Jeb was already heading for the way station.