The Brides of the Old West: Five Romantic Adventures from the American Frontier

by Peggy Darty, Darlene Franklin, Sally Laity, Nancy Lavo

  “Does Alvin Rivers have any other family?” Amanda asked, reverting to the previous topic.

  “Not since he was quite young. His relatives have been raising him. He’s pretty happy, though. Apparently they have a lot of money.”

  Her sister quirked a brow at her.

  “Well, Alvin can’t help that,” Sarah said, her prickles up. “It isn’t as if he lords it over anyone. He’s just had advantages a lot of other young people have never enjoyed. Anyway,” she added, lifting her chin, “we were quite comfortable ourselves not too long ago, if you recall.”

  “True.”

  “So maybe you shouldn’t judge someone you don’t even know.”

  Amanda flushed. “Yes, Mother,” she said wryly.

  “Well, if I’m going to make little Bethany a new doll, I’d best get to work.” Sarah Jane swung her legs over the seat and retreated into the back, where she began rooting through the sewing supplies.

  After a quiet supper of beans and fried mush, Amanda took the dirty dishes over to the river and knelt to wash them. The drowsy sultriness of the spring evening was crowned by the tranquil richness of a glorious sunset, which spread deepening violet shadows everywhere. She filled her lungs with the perfumes emitted by blue lupine and other flowers.

  Splashing sounds from nearby ceased. Not twenty feet away, a man rose to his feet behind a curve in the riverbank that had concealed him from view. Stripped to the waist, he stood motionless for several seconds, his skin glistening like purest gold. When he pulled on his shirt, it clung to his muscular contours in a few enticingly damp places. Amanda caught herself staring.

  So did he.

  Her cheeks flamed.

  Seth Holloway held her gaze, his expression altering not a whit as he fastened the last shirt button. He bent and retrieved his wide-brimmed hat, then nodded ever so slightly before plunking it on his wet head.

  Amanda tried to quell the flush of heat in her face. Why hadn’t she looked away, for pity’s sake? She busied herself scrubbing the heavy iron frying pan in the flowing water with added vigor.

  “Miss Shelby.”

  The sloshing water had covered the sound of his approaching footsteps. Amanda nearly lost her balance as she jerked her head to peer up at him. “Mr. Holloway…” She wondered what else to say, but needn’t have been concerned. He was already striding away without a backward glance.

  Thank heaven.

  After returning to her rig, Amanda did her best to dismiss the mental picture of the wagon master from her mind. Had she been Sarah, she conjectured with a smile, she’d have flown right to her journal to pen flowery phrases of the magnificent vision Seth Holloway had made against the vibrant sky. But she wasn’t Sarah… and anyway, a spinster shouldn’t dwell on such nonsense.

  With new resolve, she gathered her sewing and sat on a crate outside to enjoy the pleasant music and banter of camp as she hemmed the ties of another apron. It was quite gratifying to see the stock for the future store accumulating. Besides the half-dozen other aprons she had completed herself, Sarah had finished quite a pile of calico bonnets and flannel baby blankets. But with the younger girl’s evenings so often taken up by Alvin Rivers and other young people, Amanda knew her own items would soon outnumber her sister’s. Sarah had never lacked for friends. Amanda released a resigned breath.

  A tall shadow fell across her work, blocking the glow from the big center fire. “Excuse me, miss?”

  Startled, Amanda looked up to see that the low voice belonged to Jared Hill. “Yes?”

  He removed the hat from his sandy hair and cleared his throat, then shifted his weight from one foot to the other, as if working up courage to speak. “I came to apologize. Had no call to be short with you when you asked after my kids. I know you meant well.”

  “Oh. Well, thank you. I took no offense, Mr. Hill.” The statement wasn’t quite true, but after Sarah’s comments had put the whole thing into perspective, Amanda felt better about it and had been able to make allowances for the widower.

  He nodded. “Well, I said my piece, I won’t keep you from your chore.” Offering a faint smile, he turned and walked away.

  Amanda’s spirit was lighter as she watched him go back to his own wagon. She had no intentions of forcing herself on the man’s children, but it was nice to know that if she did have occasion to befriend them their father wouldn’t shoo her away.

  Seth laid his hat on a rock, then spread out his bedroll and climbed in between the blankets, resting his head on his saddle. Face up, he clasped his hands behind his neck and stared idly at the myriad stars speckling the midnight sky. It reminded him of something. He searched his memory and grimaced… the Shelby girl had been wearing navy calico. That had to be it. He rolled over onto his side.

  Truth was—and he’d be the last to admit it even to Red—it completely astounded him that those two young women had actually made it across the Big Blue on their own. Or rather, Amanda Shelby had done it on her own. Who would have expected a female of her tender age to have such pluck! A low chuckle rumbled from deep inside him.

  On the other hand, he reasoned, that river was but one of numerous obstacles the train would face. There’d be plenty more opportunities for her to give up and turn back for Missouri. Yep, for all her faith that God would see her through, Seth knew they had to be merely brave words. Most people he’d met only put on that religious act to go along with their Sunday go-to-meeting duds. Come Monday morning, they all reverted back to their normal selves. She wouldn’t be any different.

  ‘Course, when he’d been a tadpole, Seth had possessed quite the religious bent himself, much to his chagrin. His grandfather had seen to that. But after Gramps passed on, and Seth had grown up enough to see a few too many prime examples of church folk, he had wised up.

  Too bad his brother Andrew hadn’t been so perceptive, letting the wool be pulled over his eyes that way by that beautiful but scheming Eliza. Once a female had a man where she wanted him, she went in for the kill. Seth winced. That would be the day he would fall for any woman’s goody ways or holy-sounding words. He was bright enough to see right through people, thanks to her.

  Far in the distance, the lonely howl of a wolf carried on the wind. Seth raised his head to see the men on the night watch add wood and buffalo chips to the fires. He lay back down.

  Enough time wasted thinking about women. There wasn’t one of them worth the time of day.

  But his mind refused to keep in line with his intentions. Seth found himself grinning. He had pretty near scared the prim Miss Shelby out of her skin, earlier. She’d all but toppled right into the little Blue—and he could just imagine the sight she’d have made, all sputtering and flustered, water streaming off that long hair, her dress clinging to those fetching curves of hers…

  Quickly reining in his wayward thoughts, Seth deliberately forced aside the vision of troubled green eyes that had a way of lingering in his mind as if he had no say in the matter. It was beginning to aggravate him how that at times he found himself comparing the variegated greens of the prairie grasses to the shade of those eyes. He’d best start keeping some distance between that gal and himself and concentrate on doing what he was hired to do—get these folks out west. Once he dumped them all off on that side of the world, he’d have no more cause to cross paths with that Shelby girl. End of problem. He squeezed his eyelids closed… but sleep was a long time coming.

  CHAPTER 11

  Wood, water, and grass were plentiful along the friendly Little, Blue, and so were flies and mosquitoes. Several evenings in a row, the wagons stopped to park alongside one another on its shady banks instead of drawing into the customary circle. A big, common fire continued to draw forth fiddles, harmonicas, flutes, and lithe feet of emigrants eager to lose the weary monotony of travel in dancing and music. The menfolk, after tending to needed wagon repairs, would loll about and smoke their pipes, and the women would ignore the pesky insects long enough to visit and swap life stories.

  During no
on stops, Minnie Randolph had introduced Amanda to many of the other travelers. Added to the younger set she’d been meeting through Sarah and Alvin, Amanda now felt more a part of the company.

  “I’ll tell ye,” Ma Phelps, a tall, rawboned woman, was saying as Amanda carried her sewing over by the great fire. “I’ve yet to find a better way to make johnnycakes.”

  A wave of murmured assents made the rounds, followed by a “Hello, Amanda-girl.”

  Amanda smiled and took a seat on the blanket that frail little Rosalie Bertram patted with her multi-veined hand. The woman kept right on subject. “Hazel Withers just gave me a recipe for the most mouth-waterin’ dried-apple pies t’other day. Y’all need to try it.” Her nod loosened one of the skimpy braids in her graying coronet and her nimble fingers quickly repositioned the hairpins.

  Thin, weak-eyed Jennie Thornton squinted through her gold-rimmed spectacles at a nearby wagon as another muffled birthing scream contrasted sharply with the happy music. She exchanged knowing nods with the other women, then picked up the conversation again. “I’m still hankerin’ for some of that buffalo steak the outriders rave about. Ain’t even seen one o’ them critters yet.”

  “We’ll come across them soon enough, from what I hear,” Mrs. Randolph said confidently. “Then there’ll be meat to spare and enough to make jerky, to boot.”

  During a lull in the music, a soft slap sounded from the wagon confines, followed by a tiny cry. “Ohhh, that be our first young’un born on the trip,” Ma Phelps breathed. “Shore hope the little angel makes it.”

  Several seconds of silent contemplation followed. Then the fiddles broke into another tune, and laughing couples linked elbows for the next jig.

  Amanda felt a cool gust of wind. Pulling her shawl more closely about her shoulders, she noticed gathering clouds.

  “Another shower’s likely,” Mrs. Randolph said. “Guess I’ll go make sure everything’s closed up nice and tight.”

  “Me, too.” Amanda folded her project and went to shake out tarps and cover supplies in the wagon.

  Sarah Jane came soon afterward. “Whew!” she breathed airily. “Sure is breezy out there. I hope it’s just another nice rain like we had last night. I might be able to finish that doll for the little Hill girl. There’s only the dress left to do.” Reaching for the blue calico and the shears, she moved nearer to the lantern.

  Amanda nodded. “It’s turning out really cute. Where’d you get the hair?”

  With a slightly embarrassed grin, Sarah flinched. “That old shawl of mine… the brown one. It was getting rather worn, so I pulled a thread and unraveled the bottom row.”

  “Bethany is sure to love her.”

  “You’re not mad at me for being wasteful?”

  “Heavens, no. It was very unselfish—and industrious of you.” Amanda picked up the small muslin figure and examined it more closely, from the tiny embroidered face to the ingenious woolen braids. It was sure to make one sad little girl perk up.

  “I couldn’t think of anything to give the boy,” Sarah said.

  “Well, I can!” Amanda jumped up. “Didn’t Pa bring along that slingshot Johnny Parker gave him for luck?”

  “Now that you mention it, yes, I think so. It’s probably in with the wagon tools.”

  Amanda untied the canvas opening and went to dig through the tools in the jockey box. “It’s here!” she exclaimed upon returning. “It brought us luck after all!”

  Sarah Jane giggled. “Now, should I make the dress with full sleeves, or fitted? And it needs an apron, don’t you think—which, by odd coincidence, just happens to be your specialty.”

  A few nights later, Mrs. Randolph again extended an invitation for supper. Sarah tucked the newly completed dolly deep into her pocket and handed the slingshot to Amanda to do the same, in case the opportunity arose to present the gifts. “What if they don’t like them?” she asked, voicing her worst fear.

  Amanda looked askance at her. “How could they not?”

  “I don’t know. I’m just wondering if we did right, is all. It really isn’t interfering—is it?” Nervously she nibbled her lip, trying to recall when she’d last spent time with children.

  “Don’t be a goose. You’re trying to befriend a lonely little girl, that’s all.”

  “And her brother. And I’m not used to little boys. What if he doesn’t like me?”

  “Really, Sarah,” Amanda sighed. “He doesn’t have to like you, just the slingshot. He probably doesn’t own one yet.”

  “You’re right. I’m being silly. If they don’t like me, I just won’t bother them.” Ever again, she added silently.

  Coming up on the Randolph wagon, the tantalizing smells of crispy fresh fish and amazingly light biscuits greeted them. Sarah swallowed the lump in her throat and drew a calming breath.

  “Oh, you’re here,” Mrs. Randolph said warmly, accepting with a nod of thanks the cheese and the tin of peaches they’d brought along. “Sit right down. Everything’s ready. Nelson? You say grace, will ya?”

  He gave a gruff nod, settling his husky frame on one of the crates by their cook fire. “Almighty God, we thank You for the traveling mercies and for the food You provide us every day. Bless it now, we pray, and make us fit by it. Amen.”

  Raising her head, Mrs. Randolph whisked away an annoying fly. “I swear, such pests,” she remarked, forking a portion of fish onto a plate and handing it to her husband. She passed the next serving to Amanda. “Hear tell somebody up front has come down with the fever.”

  The older man nodded gravely. “And once we come to the bad water spots, there’ll be lots more of it.”

  A shudder went through Sarah. “What’ll they do? The sick folks, I mean.”

  “Pull off by themselves, I ‘spect,” he answered. “Wait it out. See how they fare. Won’t stop the rest of the train.”

  “It won’t?” Amanda asked, obviously shocked. “That’s hardly Christian.”

  “Mebbe. But it’s what we all voted, back in Independence—and the only way to keep other folks from catchin’ it. If they live, the next train along’ll pick ’em up.”

  But what if they don’t live? Sarah looked from one troubled face to the next. Things had gone so smoothly up until this point, she’d actually believed the whole trip would continue on in the same pleasant fashion. Now she felt a deep foreboding that this was just the beginning of woes to come. Who knew how many of this company would be called home to their eternal reward before ever reaching the western shores? Accepting the food Mrs. Randolph held out, she settled back in thought.

  “We’ll wash everything up, Mrs. Randolph,” she heard Amanda say sometime later. Looking down at the plate in her own lap, Sarah noticed it was empty—yet she couldn’t remember eating. Brushing crumbs from her skirt, she stood and helped her sister gather the soiled dishes, then walked woodenly beside her to the stream. “Mandy? Do you think we’ll really make it out west? Truly?”

  “All we can do is try,” came her sister’s honest answer. “We do our best, same as everybody else… and trust God, same as everybody else. In the end it’s up to Him.”

  Sarah pondered the words in silence. “I—I haven’t been keeping up with my prayers,” she admitted at long last, regretting her laxness. “The days seem so busy. There’s so little chance to find quiet times for prayer. I haven’t touched Pa’s Bible—haven’t opened it once since Independence.”

  She felt an encouraging pat on her forearm. “Fortunately, the Lord’s faithfulness isn’t dependent on ours, Sissy, or we’d really be up a crick. It’s never too late to get back to reading the scriptures or talking to the Lord. He’s always there.”

  “Good. I’m going to start praying and reading the Bible again tonight.”

  “And I’m going to be more faithful myself,” Amanda replied. “Lots of nights I’ve been tired and skipped my prayers. That has got to stop. Right now.”

  New hope dawned in Sarah Jane as they finished the dishes and returned to the Randolphs’.
No one could be sure about the future, that was true. But at least she would keep her hand in that of the One who, as the Bible said, knew the end from the beginning.

  The train had stopped early for the night because of the onset of sickness. In the remaining daylight, Sarah peered expectantly at the next wagon. It was empty. But she caught Jared Hill on the edge of her vision, strolling along the river, a child’s hand in each of his. “Mandy?” She nodded in the direction of the threesome. “Shall we go see them now?”

  “Now or never, I suppose.”

  They took their leave and headed toward the water. Sarah Jane, slightly less at ease in the presence of a man easily ten years older than herself, had to muster all her courage, when the tall widower glanced their way and stopped. “Good evening,” she said politely. “I’m Sarah Jane Shelby.”

  “Miss Shelby,” he answered with a nod, a look of surprise on his narrow face. “Jared Hill.” Releasing Bethany’s hand, he took the brim of his hat between his thumb and forefinger and dipped it slightly as he met Amanda’s eye. “Miss.”

  “And who have we here?” Sarah added cheerily, more than glad to switch her attention to the little ones. She bent down to smile at the somber little girl.

  Huge blue eyes grew even wider in the delicate face beneath fine blond hair. The child pressed closer to her father’s leg.

  “She’s Bethy,” her brother announced with four-year-old importance. “Her real name’s Bethany. I’m Tad.”

  Sarah Jane beamed at the towhead, liking him at once, especially the sprinkling of freckles across his nose. “And you must be the big brother.”

  “Yep.”

  “Well, I’m very glad to meet you. I have a sister, too. Right here. This is my big sister. Amanda.” She gestured behind herself as she spoke.

  “Aw, I saw her lots of times. She comes to the Randolphs.”