“It’s so evil. Anne paid him every cent she’d promised him, even though he’d only gone halfway with us.”
“I figured.” Eb sipped his coffee.
“She wanted to be sure he wouldn’t be stranded out here. Do you think he’ll make it to Schwartzburg on his own?”
“Likely, unless this storm caught him bad.”
“He’s obviously resourceful,” Elise mused.
“That’s one way of putting it. He knows the country, and we’re only a day’s ride out from the trading post at Schwartzburg. Oh, it’ll take the wagons four or five days more, but he’ll be there tomorrow, I reckon, if he keeps moving.”
Elise let out a long breath. “So.”
Anne came back with the coffeepot. “I’ll put this on the fire. You gentlemen come back in a while, and we’ll give you another round.” She came over to stand beside Elise. “Dan’s looking over our wagon cover.”
Eb handed Elise his empty cup. “I’m heading out with a couple of men to look for the missing stock. Dan will take care of you though.”
Elise went to the front of the wagon, where Daniel was standing on the seat, peering over the wagon top.
“How bad is the damage?” she called up to him.
“Could be worse. It’s mostly the front end that tore. I’m thinking if your extra cover will fit, we could put it right over this one. That would give you extra strength on the part that’s still good, and it would be less work in the long run.”
Anne came to stand beside Elise. They looked up into the front opening and could see the sky through the large gashes in their “roof.”
“Do you think we could mend this one?” Anne asked. “If so, maybe we should take it off now and work on it in the evenings.”
Dan shook his head doubtfully. “It’s pretty extensive. I think I’d leave it on. You can baste some of the tears together from inside at your leisure.”
“How is your wagon, and Hector’s?” Elise asked.
“Hec’s is all right. Mine’s got one rip. For some reason, we didn’t get it as bad as you did—or maybe our cloth was stronger, I don’t know.” Dan hopped down beside them.
“I’d be happy to stitch yours up this evening,” Elise said. “Maybe we can take a piece off this one where it’s torn worst and use it for a patch.”
“You don’t need to do that,” Dan said.
“You’ve helped us a lot. I’d be glad to do something for you.”
Daniel nodded. “All right. Now, let’s get your extra cover out.”
“I know right where it is,” Anne said. She and Dan walked to the back of the wagon. Elise decided to leave them alone to do it. If anything needed to be said between them, she didn’t want to hinder them by her presence.
“Miss Finster.”
She whirled and smiled as Rob approached her. “Hello, Mr. Whistler. I’m so sorry about your horse.”
“Don’t fret about it, ma’am. How are you and Miss Stone faring?”
“Well, thanks to the gentlemen of this company. Daniel Adams is helping Anne get out our spare wagon cover now.”
Rob looked up at the still-damp canvas. Ragged edges fluttered in the breeze.
“Good. We’re going to stay right here until morning. The stock needs time to settle down. We’re a ways from water, but most folks have enough to last a day.”
“We can all use the afternoon to make repairs and dry out, I expect.”
He nodded. “And at daybreak, we’ll move on.”
“I wish we could do something about your horse,” Elise said.
Rob pushed his hat back and squinted up at the sky. The clouds were higher and sparser now, and the wind carried them along eastward.
“Well, she was a good mare, but…I hope we’ve seen the last of Costigan.”
Elise had hoped for a town or at least a small settlement at Schwartzburg. What she got was a small trading post and livestock dealer. Schwartz had begun the post where a large creek flowed into the Platte, as a place to capitalize on the trade with wagon trains and Indians. He also collected horses and mules, which he traded to the army. Wagon trains were not allowed to camp within two miles of the post so that Schwartz’s livestock could have the grass within that distance.
Whistler’s company, as they were known along the way, camped just after noon as close as they could—two miles east of the post, where the grass grew lush and a line of elm trees edged the river. The Harkness men emptied their farm wagon and offered to drive up to a dozen ladies to the trading post so they could shop.
“You go ahead,” Elise told Anne. “There’s no need for us both to go, and I’ll catch up on things here.”
“If you’re sure.”
Elise smiled. “I am. Mr. Whistler says prices are exorbitant here, and I doubt there’s anything I’d want to purchase.”
“All right.” Anne opened her purse and took out a roll of American bills. “Here, I’ll leave this with you so I won’t be tempted. If it can’t be bought for a few coins, we’ll do without it.”
Elise tucked the money deep in her pocket and looked around to check if anyone was watching. With Thomas gone, they were probably safe. No more problems had surfaced in the last few days beyond weary livestock and leaking wagons. Some of their fellow travelers had seen their osnaburg or canvas coverings damaged beyond easy repair in the hailstorm and hoped to buy more fabric at Schwartzburg.
Elise busied herself with baking gingerbread by Rebecca’s recipe, mending, and washing out a few underthings. She felt quite domestic. Perhaps there was hope for her as a housewife someday. Several men in their company had taken to coming ’round in the evening and chatting with the ladies, and not all of them goggled at Anne. Their attention made Elise feel feminine, and she longed to wear a pretty gown again. Her two calico dresses had faded and hung shapelessly.
There was talk of dancing that evening. On a whim, she opened Anne’s largest trunk and looked over her mistress’s gowns. If they didn’t overdo it, perhaps they could wear something a little dressier this evening than they had since Independence. If she could persuade Anne, the battle was won. She laid out a modest brown plaid walking dress with an ecru underskirt for her mistress and opened her own trunk to find something suitable for herself.
She took the gingerbread out of the dutch oven at the perfect moment. Now for some biscuits. As she worked the handle of her sifter, she thought about Eb Bentley. He was nothing like David Stone, yet he embodied many of the qualities she’d always considered essential in a man—in a husband. There. How shocking was this admission? She peered into the sifter and found only a small mound of worms and a couple of beetles. She tipped them into the fire and scooped another pint of flour into the sifter.
“Elise!”
Her name came from a distance, borne by the wind, but it was Anne’s voice that called. She squinted westward. Eb’s pinto pounded toward her along the trail from Schwartzburg and—could it be? Anne was perched behind the saddle, peeking around Eb’s shoulder and waving her handkerchief, her skirts billowing above her knees.
Elise plunked the sifter down beside the bowl of flour, lifted her skirt, and ran to meet them.
Eb stopped the pinto so quickly that Speck almost sat down on the trail. Anne slid off the horse’s rump and was standing up beside Elise before Speck got his feet under him again, as though Anne and Eb had practiced the maneuver and performed it on purpose.
“Elise! There’s news!”
By now alarm had seized Elise. When Anne threw herself into her arms, Elise clutched her fiercely. A quick glance up at Eb’s face revealed nothing.
“What is it? Tell me.”
Anne sobbed. “Uncle David. They say he’s buried in the graveyard near the trading post.”
CHAPTER 19
Anne collapsed in Elise’s arms. Eb jumped off the pinto’s back as she swooned and helped Elise lower her gently to the grass beside the dusty trail.
“Anne? Anne, my dear.” Elise patted the girl’s face. She h
adn’t any smelling salts nearby, though there was a vial buried deep in one of Anne’s trunks. They hadn’t needed them since St. Louis.
“It’s a shock,” Eb said. “I could see she was stunned when she heard it, and I told her she should wait for you to come. She insisted on telling you herself, so I brought her back here.”
“Thank you,” Elise said. “I’m not sure what to do.”
“I can carry her to your tent.”
His intent eyes and evident concern made her heart clutch for an instant. “Perhaps that’s best. We’ve smelling salts, and I’ll make her a strong cup of tea.”
Anne’s eyelids fluttered, and she blinked up at them. “Oh dear. Have I swooned?”
“Yes, but don’t distress yourself. You’ll be fine.” Elise brushed a tendril of fine, dark hair back beneath Anne’s hat brim. If Eb weren’t hovering, she’d loosen the poor thing’s corset strings.
“The trader,” Anne said faintly. “He’s German.”
Elise wondered if Anne had temporarily lost her senses. Of course the trader was German, with a name like Schwartz. Anne’s eyes widened suddenly and focused on Elise once more. “Uncle David. He died here. The trader said so.”
Elise frowned. “Did he say when? Or how it happened?”
“A few years ago. He wasn’t just sure when, but he was certain it was Uncle David. He says there’s a marker in the cemetery.” Anne sat up and grasped Elise’s wrist. “We have to go and see it.”
“Of course.” Elise glanced at Eb. “I hate to ask, but would you go with us?”
“Sure. I’ll get my other horse. Can one of your mules go under saddle?”
“I believe Thomas rode Chick a few times.”
He nodded. “I’ll see if I can borrow a couple of saddles.”
Elise almost insisted on sidesaddles, but that might be a bit optimistic.
Eb stood. “Miss Stone, may I carry you to the camp?”
“I should say not. I’m perfectly capable of walking.” Anne reached for Elise, and together they rose. Anne inhaled deeply and straightened her shoulders. “I shall be fine.”
Elise smiled at Eb. Anne’s spirits were back to what they should be.
“At least let me put you up on Speck, and I’ll lead him,” Eb said.
Anne consented and let him boost her into the saddle. When they reached camp, she slid down with a steadying hand from Eb. She looked into the tent and stopped halfway under the flap.
The dresses, Elise thought. She’d left them laid out on their bedrolls.
“I don’t believe I shall dance tonight,” Anne said.
Elise feared Anne would faint again. “I’m sorry, dear. It was presumptuous of me.”
“You didn’t know about—” Anne sobbed.
Elise looked over her shoulder at Eb. “Give us a few minutes.”
He nodded. “I’ll get the other mounts.”
An hour later, they rode toward the trading post together. Eb had scrounged up one sidesaddle without Elise mentioning it. Mrs. Libby, who was past sixty, had come up with it. Anne insisted Elise use it on Eb’s spare horse, a solid brown gelding that Eb inexplicably called “Pink.” Anne rode Chick astride, with the voluminous skirt of her riding habit cascading about the mule’s flanks in waves of blue velvet. It held enough yardage to cover her ankles, to Elise’s relief. The last thing they needed was trappers and Indians ogling her ladyship’s limbs.
Elise had only ridden a few times, and for the first mile she was too terrified to think of anything but maintaining her balance and gripping the pommels between her knees. By the time they could see the buildings, her confidence had marginally returned. Although Eb claimed he hadn’t ridden Pink for a couple of days, the gelding moved calmly and seemed willing to follow Speck anywhere.
The trading post was made of mud brick—adobe, Eb called it. “Those walls are a couple of feet thick,” he told them. “They’ll stop a lot of bullets.”
“Is there need for such protection?” Elise asked.
“Oh yeah. Schwartz sells livestock to the army. The Indians will try to run off the herd every chance they get.”
Anne seemed lost in her own thoughts, paying no attention to the conversation.
“Now remember, Schwartz is a shrewd one,” Eb said as they tied up the horses. “He’ll squeeze the last penny out of a traveler.”
“He’s dishonest?” Elise asked.
“Hasn’t been proven, but likely. Last summer when we got here, another wagon train had lost thirty head of livestock while they camped nearby. The wagon master said it wasn’t Indians that stampeded their herd, but Schwartz denied any knowledge of it.”
Elise patted her pocket where Anne’s hoard of money still lay. She fully intended to return to camp without parting with a cent.
“Now, I see Rob’s horse, Bailey, tied up yonder,” Eb said. “Whyn’t I go in and see if he’s inside? I’ll tell him what’s up, and he can go with us, too.”
Eb must distrust the trader deeply to want his friend’s support for something as innocuous as a visit to the graveyard. Elise nodded. “We’ll wait here for you.”
He went into the building. Elise and Anne walked over and stood in the shadow of the eaves. The heat was oppressive, but at least they were out of the direct rays of the sun. A couple of other buildings sat nearby—one no more than a hovel, which Elise hoped was a storage shed, not a dwelling. The larger structure appeared to be a barn, and she could see several men moving between it and a fenced pasture east of it.
A cluster of people from the wagon train came out of the trading post.
“Hello,” Mrs. Legity called. “You been inside yet?”
Elise shook her head. “No. Did you find any bargains?”
Mrs. Legity snorted. “Not what I’d call bargains.” She pulled up suddenly and looked Anne over from head to toe. “That outfit looks a mite hot for this weather.”
“Perhaps you’re right,” Anne said with a sweet smile.
Elise noted the beads of perspiration on her mistress’s brow. As soon as the others had walked on toward the Harkness wagon, she pulled out a handkerchief.
“Allow me.” She patted at Anne’s forehead. “I’m so sorry. Mrs. Legity is right—that habit is far too heavy for this sun.”
“It was a choice between modesty and comfort, I fear. For once, I wish I’d been less proper.”
Elise held back a laugh. “My dear, if your friends knew all the rules of propriety you’ve broken in the last three months, they would never receive you again. I can only hope that you don’t suffer heatstroke for the sake of convention.”
“Yes. I should have just leaped on the mule wearing my calico. Lavinia would have done it.”
“I daresay she would.” Elise was glad Anne could laugh about the wardrobe situation, but would she go back to her mourning weeds soon?
The door to the trading post opened, and Rob and Eb came out together.
“What’s this all about?” Rob asked the scout. Eb quickly told him about Anne’s earlier visit to the trading post and what Schwartz had told her.
“There’s another fellow behind the counter now,” Eb told the ladies. “He says Schwartz is out at the corral. Binchley hoped to trade in his oxen here for some better ones, and Schwartz is showing him what he’s got.”
“Shall we go out there and speak to him?” Anne asked.
Rob offered Anne his arm. “Let me escort you, Miss Stone. We’ll find out where this graveyard is.”
Elise walked beside Eb in their wake. The enormity of Anne’s news hit her. If David was dead, their mission was ended. She would never again see the man whose memory she’d treasured all these years. They could return to Fort Laramie with the next cavalry detachment or train of freighters’ wagons that came through heading eastward—and thence on to Independence and eventually New York and London. Was she ready to return home?
More important, perhaps, was the question of the earldom. Would the authorities in England accept whatever evidence the
y could collect? Elise doubted a death certificate existed.
Schwartz greeted them and left Mr. Binchley with instruction to think over his offer.
“I’m so sorry that I had to bear you such sad news, miss,” he said to Anne in heavily accented English. He glanced at Elise, Eb, and Rob. “I see you’ve brought your friends to support you. You’d like to see Mr. Stone’s grave of course.”
“Yes, sir, I would. At once, please.”
Rob patted Anne’s hand and addressed the trader. “Where is this graveyard of yours, Schwartz? We’ll take Miss Stone there to view her uncle’s grave.”
“I’ll show you. It’s beyond that grove yonder.” He pointed toward a distant clump of trees.
Rob frowned down at Anne. “Shall we get the horses? Or perhaps we can borrow the Harknesses’ wagon.”
Eb looked toward the road. “Wilbur’s left to go back to camp.”
“I can walk that far,” Anne said.
It was a stroll of a quarter mile, and had their purpose been less grim and the sun’s rays less intense, it might have proved a pleasant stroll. Though the path was not well worn, someone had recently gone before them through the grass that nearly reached Elise’s waist.
In a few minutes, they arrived beneath several spreading willows, which gave a welcome respite from the sun. Schwartz paused in the shade and pointed to where the path continued.
“It’s just down there a few steps more. Mr. Stone is buried on the left side of the lot. It’s marked with a wooden cross, as are most of the graves.”
“His name is on it?” Eb asked.
“Oh yes.”
“We’ll find it.”
Schwartz gazed at Anne for a moment. “An Englishman, wasn’t he?”
She nodded. “My father’s brother.”
“I am sorry.”
“Can you tell me how it happened?” she asked.
Schwartz inhaled deeply and looked toward the river. “He came by with a company of other travelers in the summer. This time of year or a bit later.”
“How did the man die?” Eb’s gaze bore into the German.
“He was sick when he got here. Asked if he could lay up a few days and then catch up to the others. I let him sleep in the cabin with my men—wish I hadn’t though. He got worse, and they were all afraid they’d catch his disease. It wasn’t cholera though. I made sure of that before I let him stay on. He died the third day, I think it was.”
THE Prairie DREAMS Trilogy Page 21