In the Morning Sun (Hearts at War Book 2)

by Lena Hart

  Logan stiffened as she turned to him. He hoped she wasn’t as good as Mrs. Dobson claimed. The last thing he wanted to do was discuss his upbringing, especially his life as a Southern planter.

  “No, ma’am, I don’t believe I’ve heard Mr. Finley speak long enough to place it.”

  “Well, from your speech and manners, you’re certainly not from the city. Tell us, Mr. Finley, where are you from?”

  “I’m originally from Mexico,” Logan said. “My mother was a Mexican native and my father was an Irish immigrant.” He felt Gracie’s gaze on him and turned to her. There was a curiosity in her eyes he hadn’t expected, but it made him want to share all of himself, if only to have her continue looking at him with such interest. But he wasn’t an idiot. The minute he mentioned his upbringing in Maryland, it would only open him to questions he had no intentions of sharing with anyone.

  “What an unusual mix,” Mrs. Dobson murmured. “But that explains your unique inflections.”

  Logan didn’t think so. His “accent” came from years of trying hard to rid himself of his native language. As a young man, new to a foreign country, he’d been more interested in being accepted that he had all but renounced his Mexican heritage. Now, as an adult, he realized his mistake in that because it left him with only a vague memory of his mother’s culture and a weak grasp of the Spanish language.

  “And where are you lovely ladies headed to?” he asked, changing the subject.

  “Montana,” Mrs. Dobson replied.

  Logan raised a brow. “That’s rough territory. What are fine Christian women like you heading out there for?”

  The older woman smiled knowingly and patted her bosom. “Don’t you worry, Mr. Finley. It’s not my first time escorting a couple of blushing brides to their awaiting betrotheds.”

  Logan tensed, stealing a quick glance at the rigid, silent girl beside him. So she was to be married. He didn’t know why that knowledge bothered him, but it did. Very much.

  “Montana is a long way from New York.”

  “Yes, well, finding good Christian women is a rarity in those parts, Mr. Finley. Especially for the Negro man. But our congregation strongly believes in fostering the Christian faith by encouraging the development of family.”

  “An important endeavor,” Logan murmured, hearing the sting of his own insincerity. Not that he didn’t believe in marriage or family, but he certainly didn’t think the church should dictate or concern themselves with who someone chose to spend the rest of their lives with.

  Mrs. Dobson tilted her head to the side and studied him. “Whenever you get settled, consider writing to us and we can arrange a suitable union for you as well.”

  Logan nodded dutifully but having some innocent lamb who had no idea what she was getting herself into in the wild and rugged territories was not something he wanted in a prospective wife. And that was what both of these young women reminded him of, with their fancy dresses and delicate demeanor.

  Whoever their husbands were, they certainly had enough money to see that they traveled in style. But from what he remembered growing up in northern Mexico, which were now US territories, pretty dresses and proper schooling weren’t going to do much for them in the lawless lands of the west.

  “Well,” he said stiffly, “I wish you three safe travels to Montana.”

  Mrs. Dobson smiled and patted her chest again. “As long as we have faith here, all will go well.”

  Chapter Four

  It wasn’t until they reached Chicago that they learned of the outbreak.

  It had traveled with them from New York and, from what the doctors had concluded, it was the same cholera epidemic that now plagued half the passengers on their train.

  Including poor Mrs. Dobson.

  Gracie held the ailing woman’s hand as the doctor wiped his hand down his apron.

  “She’s too ill to continue traveling,” the weary doctor announced. He stared down at Mrs. Dobson, studying her with tired eyes as she lay pale and gaunt from dehydration on the narrow hospital bed. “She hasn’t fallen as bad as many of the others, but at her age and present condition, a trip to Montana is much too rigorous. She will need rest and plenty of fresh water before she will have enough strength to continue her journey.”

  The old doctor moved on to the next patient, and Gracie returned her attention to Mrs. Dobson. The small hospital was crowded with sick people who had been struck down by the illness, many of them passengers from their train. It had taken them three days to arrive in Chicago, but the symptoms had been slow in coming. It wasn’t until yesterday, after their stopover in Ohio, that they realized how serious the problem was. The symptoms were awful and the pain and discomfort appeared to be unbearable.

  Mrs. Dobson mumbled something in her fitful sleep, and Gracie continued to rub her hand, which now resembled dried prunes.

  “Madeline, where are you?” Gracie mumbled. She couldn’t imagine what was taking the other girl so long to fetch fresh water, but Madeline had been gone a while now.

  Gracie thanked God that she and Madeline hadn’t been struck down by the illness and was glad they had made it to Chicago when they did. Not only was their train to Montana leaving from here, but also the best facilities were in this city, and she breathed a little easier knowing Mrs. Dobson would be properly cared for.

  Gracie also thanked God for Mr. Finley, who had carried Mrs. Dobson to the nearest hospital while the other passengers had to wait for additional assistance to arrive.

  “How is she?”

  Gracie turned to the familiar male voice coming from behind her. “Doing much better than yesterday, thanks for asking.” The vomiting had stopped and the sallow color of the older woman’s skin had lessened, which Gracie constituted as a major improvement. “The doctor says she needs water and rest, but she should be fine.”

  He nodded and came to stand closer to the bed. He began tugging on his gloves and she discreetly averted her eyes. She had noticed the missing digits earlier and wondered what had caused the injury.

  His eyes were filled with sincere concern as he looked down at the older woman, and Gracie wasn’t surprised by it. Mrs. Dobson always did have a way of making people care for her, even in her most ornery moments. And Mr. Logan Finley was no exception. He had stayed closed with them during their trip, proving to be a better travel companion for Mrs. Dobson than she or Madeline.

  “You care very much for her.”

  Gracie smiled softly, hearing the mild curiosity in his tone. “I’ve known her since I was a little girl,” she said, still rubbing the old woman’s arm. “She taught me how to read and write, which is a gift I could never repay.”

  Mrs. Dobson had also helped her secure employment at the church to bring additional income into her family when her father had returned from the war a crippled, broken man. And when the opportunity to become the wife of a wealthy miner had come along, Mrs. Dobson had come to her and her family first, allowing them to secure their financial future.

  “She may sometimes come across as a mean old dragon, but she really is a good woman.”

  The corner of Logan’s lips quirked up, and Gracie found the small act charming.

  “I’ve always had a weakness for fiery old women,” he teased. Then he turned to her, his eyes probing. She returned her attention to Mrs. Dobson before her mind started imagining things that weren’t there.

  “And how are you feeling? You and Madeline have been quiet during the trip.”

  “I’m fine, thank you.” Physically she was, but emotionally… It was as if the farther away they pulled from New York, the harder it was to keep her misery and anxiety at bay, forcing her to draw deeper within herself. Though she did not like to see Mrs. Dobson suffering so, this had been a much-needed distraction.

  “Mr. Finley, I—we never got to formally thank you for helping Mrs. Dobson get here.” He inclined his head, and Gracie added, “I’m sure if she was awake, she would express her utmost gratitude.”

  “Am awake.�
��

  She and Logan started at the low croak that came from the bed. Mrs. Dobson’s sunken eyes were opened in thin slits but as watchful as ever.

  “How are you feeling, ma’am?” Gracie asked.

  “Thirsty.”

  Gracie sprang from her seat. “I’ll go find you some water.” At this rate, she didn’t expect Madeline to come back with the water. She knew the girl was experiencing the same fears and anxieties she was and wondered if Madeline had forgotten her task.

  Or maybe she had fallen ill.

  The thought sprang into her head, and Gracie silently scolded herself for not thinking of that possibility sooner. After she made Mrs. Dobson comfortable, she would go searching for the other girl.

  With a bowl of fresh water and sponge, Gracie hurried back to Mrs. Dobson’s side. Logan moved aside as she came forward to sponge water into the old woman’s mouth.

  “Better?”

  Mrs. Dobson nodded and turned her head away. “Where is Madeline?” she asked, her voice stronger.

  “I sent her to fetch water a while ago,” Gracie said. “But I fear she may have fallen ill. I’ll ask around the hospital to see if anyone’s seen her.”

  “She may have headed back to the train station,” Logan said. “I overheard her asking one of the porters about your baggage.”

  “Then I’ll check there as well.”

  “Take Faith with you,” Mrs. Dobson said.

  “Ma’am?” Gracie began. “Are you sure that’s necessary?”

  “We’re in Chicago, dear. You can never be too careful.”

  With a sigh of resignation, Gracie went through the old woman’s folded clothes and pulled out the small derringer. Though she knew how to handle it—another lesson Mrs. Dobson had seen to it that she acquired—Gracie preferred not to.

  Gracie grabbed her handbag and slipped the small gun into it before stealing a glance over at Logan. There was an amused gleam in his molten brown eyes, and she couldn’t help but return his smile.

  “You New York women are full of surprises,” he muttered.

  “And we’re tough too,” Gracie teased.

  His smile widened, and for a moment she was lost in the beauty of that small action. He was really quite handsome, something she had noticed since the day at the courtyard, but he was even more so when he smiled.

  “Um, thank you again for all you help,” she quickly added, breaking the spell between her and the man who had been a comforting presence, though still very much a mystery. “If I don’t see you when I return, I’d like to wish you safe travels.”

  He shook his head. “You can’t get rid of me that easy, Miss Gracie. I’ll stay with Mrs. Dobson until you get back.”

  Gracie inclined her head before she left, quietly relieved that this would not be the last time she would see him.

  Logan followed Gracie until she disappeared through the doors, still thinking of the derringer in her handbag. He had certainly underestimated her—and the old woman.

  “I’m a woman of faith, Mr. Finley, but I’m no fool. A woman should always be prepared to protect herself.”

  Logan shook his head and took the seat beside her bed. “If I didn’t know better, Mrs. Dobson, I would swear you were reading my mind.”

  She made a sound in her throat that resembled a strangled groan. “Well, I’m glad you do know better. Such witchcraft should not be joked about.”

  “And how are you really feeling?”

  “Like our Lord is calling for me sooner than I’d expected.”

  Logan could only imagine the hell she was endearing. He had never been stricken with cholera, but he’d seen the effects of it enough to know it was a crippling pain. “Is there anything I can get you to ease your discomfort?”

  She shook her head. “Dear Gracie was right. We are tough women.”

  That he no longer doubted. But there was only one in her group that he wished would relax enough around him to open up. He imagined his charm and politeness did little to impress Miss Gracie Shaw. She had kept her head buried in a book or newspaper while Madeline had been silent and withdrawn, leaving him to fill Mrs. Dobson’s need for conversation.

  “I would, however, ask something else of you.”

  “What is it?”

  “Tell me who you really are.”

  Logan stiffened in his seat. “I told you—”

  “Yes, yes, but from that Southern charm, I know there’s more to your story than growing up in Mexico.”

  “For someone barely in recovery, you’re quite astute.”

  “It’s my body that’s ailing. Not my mind.”

  Logan didn’t understand why the sudden interest, but with a small sigh, he told her a highly condensed version of his true upbringing.

  “Why did your father wait until you were sixteen to fetch you?”

  “You’re a smart woman, Mrs. Dobson. You can understand the delicate nature of a man siring a child outside of his marriage. When my father’s wife passed, he immediately made arrangements to bring me to Maryland.”

  Since his father had never had any living children with his wife, the move had been a way to get Logan proper education so that he would take over his father’s lands. Logan didn’t hold any resentment toward his father for taking him from his mother. She had been well cared for before her passing several years ago, and Logan got the opportunity to gain a complete education. He had also gotten to know a man who may not have been a doting father but had been a good and honorable man.

  “I imagined you fought in the war?”

  “I did.”

  He didn’t expand on it and she didn’t ask. She didn’t have to. The bloodiest war in the nation’s history had been well documented, and the lives lost during the four-year battle had been devastating on both sides. Win or lose, he was just glad it was over.

  “At that age, I can’t imagine the adjustment had been easy for you,” Mrs. Dobson finally said, returning to their original discussion. “Being in a new country, learning a new language, and all.”

  Logan shrugged. “It wasn’t. I’ve been called all kinds of names. Bastard, half-breed, you name it. But I’m a quick learner, and I learned to adapt and, eventually things changed.”

  “How so?”

  “Evidently, Americans are more tolerant of a black Irishman than a Mexican immigrant.” Despite his dark features, his Irish descent had made him more acceptable to a group who had no sympathy for those they viewed as different. But his father had been a gainful man. More importantly, he’d been generous with his money. His father’s sizable donations around the community had allowed their neighbors to forgive Logan’s Mexican background. In the end, Logan had quickly learned English, and it hadn’t been long before he was speaking their language fluently. “People started to see me as my father’s son, and eventually as one of them.”

  She regarded him thoughtfully. “If you never told me about your Mexican heritage, I would have never guessed it. You’ve completely conformed to this new culture, and it doesn’t seem to bother you much.”

  “It doesn’t because I know who I am.” And though it had taken some time, Logan had eventually learned to accept it. He had lived two separate lives, and there were times the two sides of him were at war with each other. He’d spent about half of his life in Maryland and considered himself a full American. But the part of him that he had succeeded in hiding away at times fought to be recognized.

  “And that’s why I like you, Mr. Finley. You’re very sure of yourself, and the girls will need someone like you.”

  Logan cocked a brow, confused. “Ma’am?”

  “To see them to Montana.”

  “And why would I be going to Montana?”

  “Because, unfortunately, I won’t be. Those girls need someone strong and smart and with a moral compass to see them to their husbands, not some sick old woman who can barely stand upright.”

  “You do understand my passage to Colorado is already bought and paid for? My train leaves early tomorro
w morning.”

  “The girls’ train also leaves early tomorrow morning. Their fiancés have arranged passage on a Pullman sleeper car for them, which will make travel for the three of you quite comfortable. And without the many stopovers, the trip should be rather quick.”

  Logan shook his head in exasperation. She really was a stubborn one. “I can see to it that they arrive to their car on time tomorrow, and without incident, but beyond that I can’t go any further with them.”

  To his amazement, Mrs. Dobson managed to narrow her eyes at him. “Are you in such a hurry to get to your destination, Mr. Finley, that you can’t escort my girls to their fiancés?”

  He wasn’t, but Logan also didn’t like the idea of spending more time with a woman he wanted just so he could bring her to another man.

  A man who would have all the rights to do to her what Logan couldn’t stop thinking about.

  “Mrs. Dobson—”

  “Before you reject the offer,” she interrupted, “I can assure you that I will send telegrams to Mr. Robert Whitaker and his business partner, Mr. Walter Mercer. They will know of my condition and I will inform them that, with your assistance, they should expect the girls as scheduled. These men have made a fortune for themselves out there. I can’t see why they wouldn’t compensate you for your troubles.”

  Logan thought about that. Not that he would expect compensation from these men, but the possibility was certainly a motivator and would especially come in handy when it came time to purchase equipment for his homestead land. Then again, the trip could prove to be a waste of his time if he walked away with nothing. “And what if these men aren’t feeling so generous?”

  “Then you would have the satisfaction of knowing you did something good for two lovely ladies.” After a brief pause, Mrs. Dobson added, “Maryland was a slave state, Mr. Finley. Did you own slaves?”

  He wondered at her sudden change of topic. “Yes.”

  “How many?”

  “Six.”

  At the time of his arrival to his father’s tobacco farm fourteen years ago, there had only been three. Several had run off during his father’s absence. Another had been whipped to death by the overseer. The incident had enraged his father and resulted in the man’s dismissal. Over time, they had managed to restore those that had been lost to them.