THE Prairie DREAMS Trilogy

by Susan Page Davis

  “I was hoping.”

  Thomas fished a folded piece of paper from his pocket and passed it to Peterson. “Here’s where they went today.” He smiled at the memory of the afternoon he’d spent trailing them about the city. “The older one—Miss Finster?”

  Peterson nodded.

  “She had the driver give her a lesson on the way back to the livery.”

  “Really? A lesson in driving?”

  “Yup. Independent, that one. She’s a fine-looking woman though. They both are.” Thomas had to wonder why the handsome Miss Finster was still unmarried. Those fellows in England must be blind.

  Peterson lifted his glass and took a swallow. “All right, stay on the job.”

  Thomas nodded. “They seem to make an early night of it.”

  “As proper ladies should.”

  Peterson didn’t suggest that he should keep watch once the ladies retired to the hotel in the evening, and Thomas was glad of that.

  “What if they give up and go back to England?”

  “Then your job ends.” Peterson scowled. “And mine will have only begun.”

  Thomas inhaled slowly as he watched the thin man. Peterson definitely hoped these two women would lead him to David Stone. But why? What was so important that this man would continue the search even if Stone’s loved ones gave it up?

  Independence was a rough and rowdy town with growing pains. No cobblestones here. No horse cars or fancy shops.

  Eb’s boot heels thudded on the bare boards as he mounted the steps to the Kenton House. Rob Whistler was still on the road with the emigrant train they’d formed in St. Louis. He didn’t need Eb to scout for them on this leg, so he’d ridden past the caravan and on ahead to check on the rendezvous field and secure permission to use the hotel lobby as an office for a few days.

  “Mr. Bentley!” The desk clerk’s call drew Eb’s attention, and he strode over to see what the fellow wanted.

  The short man behind the desk smiled at him. “You have some callers.”

  “Already?” Eb wished they’d wait for Rob to arrive. He didn’t have the easy manner with farmers and haberdashers that Rob had.

  The clerk nodded toward the sitting area behind him. “Yonder. I must say they’re classy ladies.”

  Ladies? Eb turned slowly. A woman in a gray-and-cream-striped silk dress with an emerald-green cape and a green hat rose from one of the chairs and smiled at him. Her full skirt swayed gently, and her blue eyes sparkled.

  “Hello, Mr. Bentley.”

  “Miss Finster?”

  She nodded. Beyond her, Miss Stone sat demurely on another chair.

  A week had passed since he’d seen the two women in St. Louis, but here they were in Independence, looking as lovely and well groomed as ever. He’d been sure they’d give up the search for Miss Stone’s uncle.

  “We decided to continue our journey,” Miss Finster said.

  Eb did some quick calculations. He’d have seen them on the road if they’d driven. “You must have taken the steamer.”

  “That’s correct.” Miss Finster’s face skewed for a moment, and he gathered that the voyage had been cramped and unpleasant, but she said no more about it. “The best information we could gather was from you, sir, with your description of the Englishman in Oregon City. That and a possible clue from the gentleman who owns the building David Stone leased for his store in St. Louis. We’ve pinned our hopes on those bits of news.”

  Eb’s heart sank. He didn’t want to be responsible for their disillusionment. “Now, ma’am, you’ve got to understand, I’m not at all sure that was him. I don’t know his name or where he went to or anything.”

  “We realize that. But La—that is, my companion, Miss Stone, feels very strongly that she must do everything within her power to locate David. It’s a family matter, you see.”

  Eb didn’t see at all. He had a raft of cousins back in New Hampshire himself, but he didn’t feel compelled to go see them. He’d had no news of his family in years.

  Miss Stone came over to stand beside her friend. “We did seek out other British citizens as you suggested. We found several during our time in St. Louis. One woman who married an American attorney remembered David Stone.”

  “Well now. I expect that was an encouragement.”

  “Yes.”

  Miss Finster smiled, and the transformation of her face almost made Eb glad she’d found him again. Her features formed such a pleasant view that he could stand and watch her face for a long time, the way he did sometimes in the Cascades, watching the sun dip behind the high peaks, leaving purple and orange streaks on the snowcaps.

  “Indeed it was, sir. Mrs. Stanley told us that she and her husband invited Mr. Stone to dinner once so that they could talk about England, and a pleasant evening they had.”

  “But she didn’t know what became of him?” Eb asked.

  “We feel that what she told us confirms—or at least adds to—what you said. David Stone decided about ten years ago to sell his business and go farther west.” Miss Finster shrugged. “The Stanleys couldn’t tell us any more. They’d never heard from David after he left, but they were sure he would head for the Pacific and probably open a store there, as he’d done fairly well here in that line.”

  “I guess that makes sense, but I still—”

  “Which is why we want to join the wagon train for Oregon.” Miss Stone’s eyes widened as though she was shocked at her outburst. Her gloved hand flew to her lips.

  Miss Finster smiled. “Yes. That’s exactly what we want to do. It’s why we came here to see you, Mr. Bentley. What do we need to do to join your wagon company?”

  Eb stared at her. “You…uh…you want to—” A vision of the two refined ladies gathering buffalo chips for their campfire flickered across his mind. “Oh no, ma’am. That’s not possible.”

  “The nerve of that man.” Elise could barely contain her ire as she and Lady Anne marched down the boardwalk in search of a livery stable. “He has no right to tell us we can’t go.”

  Lady Anne scurried to catch up.

  “I’m sorry.” Elise slowed her pace. “I’m so incensed with that—that—scout.”

  Lady Anne chuckled. “Dear Elise. I felt certain you’d come out with some vulgar name, but it isn’t in you, is it?”

  “I guess not, but if we start hobnobbing with teamsters, I may learn a few earthy expressions to use on Mr. Bentley.”

  “I know it’s upsetting,” Anne said, “but if it’s Mr. Whistler’s policy, we’ll have to abide by it.”

  “I think Eb Bentley’s making it up.” Elise paused at the end of the boardwalk and peered at the rutted dirt street below them. At least the roadway they had to cross wasn’t a river of mud like the one they’d encountered in St. Louis two weeks ago.

  “He said Mr. Whistler has made it his policy since his first trip across the plains, when he had so much trouble with a widow woman who couldn’t control her own livestock.” Lady Anne’s reminder came out gently, in a ladylike tone.

  Elise frowned. “I know, but I intend to go ahead with our plans. If we need a man to drive our wagon, we’ll hire one.” She threw Anne an apologetic glance. “That is, if you wish to and you think we can afford it.”

  “I believe we can. Once we know how much a wagon and team will cost, we’ll have a better idea.”

  Elise nodded. Lady Anne would not be able to collect more money from her trust until the first of the year—a long nine months from now. She’d taken all she could from the bank before they left England. They had to plan carefully, or they might run out of funds in the middle of the wilderness. If only they didn’t need to hire a man. She’d learned the rudiments of driving a horse. Surely it couldn’t be that difficult—after all, the wagons would move slowly.

  “Well, Mr. Whistler should be in Independence the day after tomorrow. We’ll get the full story from him on what’s required.”

  “Yes. I’m sure he’ll let us go if we just adhere to his rules.” Lady Anne patt
ed her arm.

  “There’s a bakery shop,” Elise said. “Let’s stop there and ask directions to the nearest stable. That Eb Bentley was rather vague about where we could buy our equipment. I’ll tell you right now, I don’t trust him.”

  CHAPTER 6

  Eb was surprised at the relief he felt when the wagon train came in sight. He’d ridden out two miles from town to meet Rob and the emigrants. The white dots crawling down a hill in the distance were covered wagons approaching from the east. He trotted his spotted gelding, Speck, toward them and soon distinguished Rob’s form at the head of the convoy. The man on the tall chestnut horse wore his usual wide-brimmed black hat and a red neckerchief that stood out from the dullness of the scene.

  Speck cantered willingly toward the train. Eb pulled him up and swung around to ride side by side with Rob.

  “Howdy,” Rob said.

  “You made it.”

  “Sure did.”

  Eb looked over his shoulder at the wagons that were strung out single file behind them. “Looks like more than eight wagons.”

  Rob grinned. “Twelve. The Harkness family added one, so they’ve got three in all, and the Adams brothers each have their own wagon. We added two more families between St. Louis and here.”

  Eb nodded. It happened a lot. Families who’d been waiting for the season to start joined up with the first train that came through.

  “There’s already twenty-eight at the field. More coming in every day.”

  “Good,” Rob said. “Can we pull out Monday?”

  Eb grimaced. “Not sure. Several people have come to ask me about going. Some of them aren’t ready.”

  “Did you give them the list of supplies and equipment?”

  “Yup.”

  Rob nodded. “If they’re ready by next Monday, we’ll take ’em. But I won’t let anyone start off half-cocked. Not on my train.”

  “Well…”

  Rob’s eyes narrowed as he studied Eb. “What?”

  “Those ladies.”

  “What ladies?” Rob scowled at him fiercely—a sure indicator his patience was wearing thin—probably as thin as the seat of the twill pants Rob favored when he rode horseback all day. Not a good sign when they hadn’t even reached Independence.

  “The English ones.”

  “English?” Rob pulled his head back, and his eyebrows nearly collided. “You mean those two gals in St. Louis? Miss Stone and Miss…Miss Finster, wasn’t it?”

  “They’re the ones. Only they’re not in St. Louis anymore. They’re here.”

  Rob jerked back on his reins, and his chestnut stopped abruptly. “How can they be here? I left them healthy and beautiful in Saint Louie last week.”

  “Took the steamer.” Eb let Speck keep walking, and Rob had to trot Bailey to catch up with him.

  “All right, so they’re here. What’s going on? Are they still looking for Miss Stone’s uncle?”

  “Yup.”

  They went on in silence for a few steps.

  “Well?” Rob’s voice rose.

  “Well, what?”

  “Edwin Bentley, you are the most irritating man I know. If you weren’t such a good scout, I’d trade you in for someone else. Someone who’d speak up and say what he meant instead of dropping little nuggets on the trail.”

  Eb had to chuckle at that. “You know me, Rob. I ain’t no prospector, and I ain’t a big talker.”

  “You’re also not usually a man who butchers the English language. What’s up with those English ladies? There’s got to be some reason you brought up the subject, or were you just awestruck by their pulchritude and had to share your devotion with me?”

  “Haw. They want to get a wagon and go west.”

  Rob’s jaw dropped.

  Eb said quickly, “I told them you’d say no, on account of they’ve got no man to drive them.”

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa.” Rob’s gelding stopped dead. “Not you, you lunkheaded nag!” He kicked Bailey, and the chestnut began walking again.

  Eb shoved his hat back. “They’re single ladies. I told them it’s your longstanding policy not to let women attempt the crossing without a man to handle their livestock.”

  “Well, yes, but—”

  “What do you mean, ‘but’?” Eb glared at him. He’d had a bad feeling about this. Ever since they’d met the ladies, Rob had kept bringing up how dainty and courteous they were, almost like he wished he’d see more of them, which didn’t make sense, because Rob had a perfectly good wife waiting for him at home in Oregon. Maybe Miss Stone’s story had stirred his heart and he was feeling magnanimous. Eb hoped it wasn’t something more than that.

  Ever since he’d gotten his wife, Dulcie, safely to Oregon a couple of years ago, Rob had hinted that Eb should find married bliss as well. He wouldn’t be thinking along those lines now, would he? Miss Stone was too young for men their age—Eb was pushing forty pretty hard, and Rob was a couple of years older. But Miss Finster—well, if the herd was culled according to age, he suspected she’d be in the holding pen with him and Rob. And if Rob was getting notions about having an eligible woman in Eb’s age range along on the trek to Oregon, he would have to put a stop to that right now.

  “You can’t think of letting them set out alone. Why, those women have never done a lick of work in their lives. They’re ladies.”

  Rob smiled. “Oh, I suspect they can ply a needle and maybe even bake a cake.”

  “Ha! Not likely.”

  Rob was unsuspecting; that was it. When it came to dealing with men, he knew a pickpocket or a professional gambler when he saw one, and he could weed out the greenhorns on the wagon train quicker than you could wolf down a flapjack. But women? His friend had a soft spot. He always voted in favor of helping widows and ladies in distress. And when a woman started crying, watch out! That’s why Rob had made the policy in the first place—so he could invoke it when his emotions threatened to beat the stuffing out of his logic.

  “So you discouraged them?” Rob asked.

  Eb thought about that. The ladies hadn’t looked too glum when they’d left him. In fact, Miss Finster had an irate spark in her eye that made her look, if anything, more handsome.

  “It wouldn’t surprise me if they came ‘round to question you about your rules. They’re set on going out to look for Mr. Stone.”

  “They should go by ship,” Rob said.

  “Around the horn?” Eb couldn’t imagine the proper ladies undergoing that ordeal.

  Rob shrugged. “They sailed across the Atlantic, and you said they took the steamer here. Sounds like they’re right at home on boats.”

  “Why don’t you suggest that to them?”

  “Maybe I will.”

  “Good.”

  The buildings on the outskirts of Independence came into view, and Eb shot Rob another glance. Better be on hand when the ladies confronted him, or that old soft spot might come to the fore. And Eb was determined not to guide a gaggle of helpless females through Indian Territory.

  Try as she might, Elise hadn’t been able to discover where the wagon master and his scout were lodging. She’d thought they must be at the Kenton House, since that was where she and Anne had found Mr. Bentley a couple of days ago. But this morning the clerk told her the gentlemen weren’t actually staying at the hotel, and he didn’t think they’d be in today.

  The town was half-grown and a bit on the wild side. The ladies had traipsed about to several hotels and boardinghouses and found no trace of Whistler and Bentley.

  “You might try out at the rendezvous field,” the owner at the last place had suggested. “If they’ve got a wagon train that’s leaving soon, they’re probably sleeping right there on the ground.”

  And so they went to the livery stable and inquired about renting a horse and buggy with a driver.

  “Got no driver available,” the liveryman said.

  Elise swallowed hard. “Well, then I suppose I shall have to drive myself.”

  Anne’s eyes grew round, but
she kept her peace, for which Elise was thankful.

  The liveryman looked her over doubtfully. “Are you sure, ma’am?”

  “Yes, sir, I am. I should like a well-behaved horse though.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He named a price which seemed to Elise exorbitant.

  “That’s more than we paid in St. Louis, with a driver included.”

  The man spat on the ground. “This ain’t Saint Louie, ma’am. Do you want the rig or not?”

  “Yes.”

  Elise and Anne waited while the man harnessed the horse to a small single-seat buggy with a black cloth top. At least they would have some protection from the fickle sun.

  “Are you certain it’s safe to go alone?” Anne whispered.

  “I learned the rudiments of driving,” Elise said. “We need to consult Mr. Whistler today. I don’t feel we have another choice. And with a calm horse, what can go wrong?”

  The owner led out the sorriest-looking animal Elise had ever seen. Its back curved lower than normal, and she could easily count its ribs behind the leather tugs.

  Anne, who had regularly ridden her father’s hunters to hounds, also eyed the horse askance. “That animal doesn’t look healthy,” she ventured.

  “Take it or leave it.”

  Anne looked to Elise with questioning eyes.

  “We’ll take it.” Elise was surprised by her own grim determination. She went to the buggy, held up her skirt, and climbed in. The liveryman had the grace to give Anne a hand up on the other side.

  “Good day, ladies. I’ll expect you and Prince back before sunset.”

  Elise decided it would do no good to comment on the pitiful horse’s regal name. “Shouldn’t I have a whip or something?”

  The man frowned at her. “Naw, you’ll be all right. Just snap the reins on his flanks and he’ll go.”

  “All right,” she said dubiously. “And if you’d be so kind, sir, would you repeat the directions to the wagon train’s field for me one more time?” He did, and Elise tried to memorize the roads and landmarks he named.