Outlaw Hearts

by Rosanne Bittner

  “Thank you very much. You’ve been a big help.” Jake nodded to her again and rode on, heading for the church. It was his last hope. He had already checked at hotels and boarding houses, had already been to the docks and to the “jumping off’ area, which was what some still called the gathering place for those going west by wagon train. Rumor had it that a transcontinental railroad would someday span the West, and he knew tracks were already being built out of Omaha, but he found it hard to believe such a project would ever be completed.

  The fact remained that people still had to go west by wagon, and he didn’t even like to think about the danger that would be for someone like Miranda. The more he searched for her, the more anxious he became to find her, and the more guilty he felt for not going with her in the first place. He hoped that he would find his answer at the church. He had to get out of this town before he was recognized.

  What if she hadn’t even come to Independence first, as she said she would? He had stopped at her cabin, found a man living there alone. He had felt a terrible ache at seeing the cabin bare and unkempt, not at all as homey and warm as when Miranda lived in it. The man had said she’d been gone nearly three weeks already, that all her friends in Kansas City had thrown a farewell party for her. He imagined it must be nice to have good friends like that, and he was almost surprised Miranda hadn’t stayed after all; but then she was a stubborn, independent woman who stuck to her guns once her mind was made up.

  Because of the information, and the danger of being recognized, he had bypassed Kansas City and had come straight to Independence. He had hoped against hope that she would still be in town, but he had found no trace of her. His last hope was the Presbyterian church the old woman had told him about. He headed in that direction, passed a stage station on the way, then drew Outlaw to a halt when he spotted a poster on the outside wall of the station. The packhorse meandered to a halt behind him, and Jake dismounted, holding Outlaw’s reins as he stepped closer to look at the poster, seeing a hand-sketched picture of himself, his dark eyes looking mean and threatening, his hair hanging long and stringy, a grizzly beard hiding most of his face. He moved to catch his reflection in a nearby window, and he grinned. By God, Miranda had a point. He didn’t look much like that poster at all. Still, it was eerie to see his own mug plastered up that way, with the words $5,000 Reward printed in huge, bold letters at the top.

  Wanted, he read, for robbery, murder, abduction, and rape. Jackson “Jake” Lloyd Harkner, description: approx. 6’1”, 200#, believed to be part Mexican, dark hair and eyes, dark skin. $5,000 reward if caught alive. $3,000 dead. Armed and dangerous.

  Jake stepped back and glanced around. People walked by on their busy errands, no one paying him much attention. He adjusted his hat, feeling more than uncomfortable at the sight of the poster. He decided he had better do what he came here to do and get the hell out of Missouri. He remounted Outlaw and headed for the small frame church the old lady had indicated to him. As he came closer, a short, graying man emerged from the front doors of the white building. He made his way down the steps, glancing at Jake and smiling. “Excuse me, sir!” Jake called out. “Might you be the Reverend Bishop?”

  The man brightened. “Yes, I’m Reverend Bishop. Can I do something for you?”

  “Possibly.” Jake halted Outlaw and again dismounted, holding the reins as he removed his hat respectfully. “I’m told you often help people who are headed west find traveling companions.”

  “Yes, I do, but most have gone by now. You have to get an early start in the spring in order to make it all the way west before bad weather sets in.”

  Jake watched the man’s kind, sparkling eyes, wondering at how some people were almost innocent in their trust. He wondered how the reverend would feel if he knew the truth about him. Would he still smile like that?

  “I know that,” he answered. “But there is someone I’m looking for, a Mrs. Miranda Hayes. Back in Illinois, I was a good friend of her family,” he lied, “her father, Dr. Baker, and her brother Wesley. I came here looking for them, went to Kansas City and found out the good doctor had been killed by outlaws. I was real sorry to hear that. Then they told me Wesley had gone to Nevada months ago, and that Mrs. Hayes had been married and lost her husband to the war. She just recently left to go to Nevada to find her brother.” Jake shook his head, putting on a look of dire concern. “I can’t imagine that poor young woman heading out alone to a place like that. I thought I’d try to find her, at least go along for extra protection. I owe that much to her father, who saved my life once.”

  The reverend frowned. “Oh, it is too bad you didn’t show up sooner. On a trip like that, and with women and children along, you just can’t have enough men to provide and protect, Mr., uh, what was your name?”

  “Jake,” Jake replied too quickly. He cursed himself for it, feeling he shouldn’t have used any part of his real name. “Jake Turner,” he finished, using the name of the farmer from whom he had purchased the packhorse. “You know Mrs. Hayes then?”

  “I certainly do!”

  Jake felt a rush of warmth, wondered why his heart always pounded a little faster when he thought about seeing Miranda again.

  “A beautiful young woman, she is. Being widowed and all, I knew she would want good, trustworthy people with whom to travel, so I introduced her to a fellow reverend, Wilbur Jennings. Reverend Jennings is headed for Virginia City with his family. They intend to bring Christianity to the poor, lost miners there who need Christ’s guidance and teaching. Reverend Jennings and his family plan to build a church there and start a school.”

  Jake could hardly believe how trusting this man was, so willing to give out information, apparently not doubting for a moment that he might not be telling the truth.

  “Jennings?” he asked. “Is it a big family?”

  “Oh, yes! The reverend and his wife have four children, and the reverend’s two younger brothers, his father, a brother-in-law and nephew, and a friend of the family are all going. In fact, they’re traveling with a trader, Hap Dearing, and four extra men. Mrs. Hayes should be quite safe, I assure you. The traders know how to defend themselves. Mr. Dearing has made the trip to Nevada before. Fact is, I imagine Mrs. Hayes herself can do a good job protecting herself. Did they tell you back in Kansas City about her shooting that outlaw, Jake Harkner?”

  The man’s trusting ignorance made Jake almost want to laugh. “Yes, they did. I’m just glad she wasn’t hurt. It must have been very unsettling for her.”

  “Yes, I think it was. She didn’t seem to want to talk much about it. I think it still upsets her. She certainly is a brave woman.” The man adjusted his hat. “Even so, I expect she’d be happy to see an old friend of her father and brother show up. I think she was pretty scared to set out for Nevada, but she’s a determined lady. I expect by now they are well on their way out of Omaha—took a steamboat upriver first. I do hope they’re having good weather. Spring can be mighty tricky.”

  “Weather out on the plains can be tricky any time of year. I traveled as far west as western Nebraska once, came back this way during the war.”

  “Oh, were you in the war, Mr. Turner?”

  Yeah, I was a gunrunner, Jake felt like answering, just to see the look on the reverend’s face. “Yes, sir,” he answered. “But I would rather not talk about it.”

  “Oh, I see, I see.” A look of true concern came into Bishop’s gentle eyes, and Jake felt like an ass for having to lie to him. “Do you intend to try to find Mrs. Hayes? They are a good two or three weeks ahead of you, you know. They left May third.”

  Jake looked past him at the open country beyond the church. “Yes, I’ll try to find her. As long as I know the party she’s traveling with, that will help. I’ll ride hard north to the Oregon Trail. I can probably be up there before another steamboat could make it, and I can inquire at some of the forts along the way. It won’t be easy catching up to them, but a
man alone can also travel a lot faster than a whole family with wagons. Those freight wagons will slow them down even more.”

  “Well, Mr. Turner, you’re welcome to come to my home for a good home-cooked meal first to send you on your way.”

  Jake was dumbfounded at the offer. You don’t even know me, he thought. I could rob you blind! He was not used to being around such good, trusting people. He wondered if the reverend had ever known or witnessed any form of violence in his whole life. “No, thank you,” he answered. “If I’m going to catch up with Mrs. Hayes and the others, I had better get started right away. I appreciate the offer, though.” He remounted Outlaw. “You’ve been a big help, Reverend. I’m very grateful.”

  “Well, I’m here to serve in any way I can, Mr. Turner. God be with you on your journey.”

  “Thank you.” Jake nodded to the man and kicked Outlaw’s sides lightly, heading out of town, anxious to be away from civilized places. Thank you indeed, he thought. He could hardly believe it had all been so easy—the old woman telling him about Reverend Bishop, the reverend so willing to give out information. Again he felt controlled by fate. Maybe he was supposed to find Randy. Maybe someone was making it easy for him.

  Someone? He looked up at a puffy cloud overhead, then rolled his eyes at what he had been thinking. Men like him didn’t give much thought to being helped by God. He only kept his mother’s prayer beads for sentimental reasons, not to pray with. Praying was not for the likes of him. Still, if he had prayed, he couldn’t have gotten a much quicker answer than what he had just gotten from Reverend Bishop. He thought finding Randy would be a lot harder than this, but then he hadn’t really found her yet. He only knew where to start looking, and she had a big head start.

  He pulled a thin cigar from his shirt pocket. It was getting warm already, and he wore no jacket. He slowed Outlaw to a walk while he took a match from a little pouch on his saddle and flicked it with his fingernail to light it. He held it to the cigar and took a puff, then waved out the match and threw it aside, thinking again what big country it was where he was headed. His only hope was that the Jennings family and the traders would stick to the regular Oregon Trail. It was his only chance of finding Randy.

  He spurred Outlaw into a faster gait, heading north.

  ***

  Miranda walked beside the wagon, swatting at a fly that kept pestering her. During the day it was flies, at night mosquitoes. She was sure that both, along with the heat, the mud, the sudden drenching storms, the painful cramps in her calves, and the sores on her feet would be much more bearable if she could have kept Opal’s friendship, as well as the friendship of the Reverend Jennings and his brothers.

  Clarence had seen to it that she was left an outsider. What was most frustrating was that she could not directly accuse the young man of anything solid. She simply knew by instinct that he had been talking to his uncles about her, had been planting ideas in their heads. She realized now that she should have known by the hostile look the young man had given her the day when she turned down his advances that he would find a way to get even.

  He had apparently done just that. The first three weeks of their journey out of Omaha, he had hung around her incessantly, pushing his presence on her, making her talk to him when she didn’t want to, finding ways to help her, touch her. Then there were times when she would see him talking to his uncles, all of them stealing glances at her, whispering together. She had no doubt Clarence was telling the pious men that she was some kind of wanton woman who had been flirting with him, a man-hungry widow who seemed to have her eyes set on an innocent teenager.

  Apparently the talk had come around to Opal, who had become colder and more distant. Losing the woman’s companionship hurt more than anything. She wished she could explain. Surely Opal had seen how it was Clarence who made all the advances, had seen how hard she had tried to avoid the young man. But then Clarence was Opal’s nephew. What person would believe a stranger over family?

  Clarence had done a perfect job of exacting revenge and keeping her outside the family circle. Now besides Clarence’s staring eyes, she had to put up with scornful looks from the rest of the Jennings clan. There were five unmarried men besides Clarence among the travelers, plus Hap Dearing and his four men, about whom she knew little. All of them seemed to take delight lately in gawking at her.

  Sometimes she felt as though she was walking naked alongside the wagon, and she was utterly miserable, wondering how she was going to make it all the way to Nevada under these conditions. She was sure the Jennings family were beginning to look at her as some kind of sinful harlot who had been tempting poor, innocent Clarence. They no longer seemed to be impressed by the fact that she had shot an outlaw, but rather were beginning to use the experience as proof that she was not the pure and saintly woman they originally thought her to be. One evening at prayer, the reverend had asked God to forgive her for bringing violence against another human being, even though it had apparently been in self-defense. She thought how hypocritical they were to praise her for what she had done only until they began to think she was some kind of wayward woman herself. That made the shooting suddenly a bad thing.

  They had been on the trail nearly a month now, and the past week had been miserable, both in weather and her emotions. Until today, the weather had been cold and rainy for five days, daily drenching those who had to walk. The wagons had gotten buried in mud more than once, and little Sara had taken sick. Miranda herself did not feel well. Even though today it had warmed and things were drying out, her throat hurt and her muscles ached. Walking several miles every day had at first given her terrible leg cramps and swollen feet, but now it seemed her body was getting more used to the strain and her feet did not hurt quite so much; but overall she remained in misery from emotional turmoil and loss of sleep.

  At first she had shared a wagon with Opal and little Sara, while the rest of the children slept in the second wagon and all the men slept outside. The past few nights Opal had not spoken to her at all, a complete change from their long nightly conversations when they’d first started out. She claimed she was just too tired now to talk, but Miranda knew the real reason. The woman no longer wanted her friendship.

  Miranda felt desperately alone, as if no one were traveling with her at all. She trudged through mud and high prairie grass, sometimes helping Loretta gather a few wildflowers, putting some into the belt of her dress just to make herself feel better. She still thought of Jake often, sure he would have been easier to talk to than these people who called themselves Christians. Jake would not be so quick to judge, certainly not the type to hold a supposed “sin” over someone’s head. The worst part was being judged for something she had not done at all. She had been so sure these were the perfect people with whom to make this long journey. Now she found it ironic that she would rather be traveling with an outlaw.

  Night was falling, and Dearing finally rode up to Reverend Jennings and told the man they would make camp for the night along the river. Miranda breathed a sigh of relief. It had already been decided that the women would be allowed to bathe tonight. Blankets would be hung tent-style beside the river so the women would have a place to undress. It had been ten days since any of them had done more than wash their hands and faces, and Miranda had never felt so uncomfortably grimy. She felt like cursing the brother who had brought this misery on her, but then Wesley had not asked her to come to Nevada. It had been her own decision, and now she was trapped. How could she go back? She certainly couldn’t do it alone, and the wagon that carried her trunk belonged to Reverend Jennings. She had paid them a good deal of what money she had left, leaving her little to pay anyone else to take her, and how could she trust just any stranger that came along?

  Somehow she had to bear up as an outcast until they reached Nevada, and she fought to hold her chin high and not let her emotional abandonment get her down. If she let herself give in to this agony, she felt she would lose her mind c
ompletely. Reverend Jennings would probably declare her mad and go on without her. The old stubbornness that had gotten her through most of her losses and grief was still there to hold her up, along with nightly prayers.

  “We will each take turns bathing tonight,” Opal was telling her as they both lowered the back gate of one of the wagons. “We will have to be very cautious and discreet, what with those traders along. Heaven knows if they can truly be trusted.” The woman looked at her almost scathingly. “You must be extra careful, considering your widowed status, Miranda. You must understand how some men look at a thing like that.”

  Miranda caught the suggestion, felt the hurt. “If my being a widow so disturbs you, Opal, why did any of you agree to allow me to come along? Everything was fine in the beginning. I thought we were becoming quite good friends. I might as well say it out, because I am tired of the way all of you have been treating me lately. I have done absolutely nothing to deserve your turning on me. I don’t like any of this, and I want to know why it is happening.”

  The woman stiffened, leaning a little closer, her usually meek demeanor suddenly, surprisingly stern and full of warning. “You seemed a very discreet, Christian young lady in the beginning; but you have been much too friendly with my nephew Clarence. Don’t you understand that a young man that age is easily swayed by a beautiful, available woman he thinks is in need of a man? He looks at you as experienced and lonely, and he has confessed to my husband that the way you look at him makes him think sinful things.”

  Miranda’s eyes widened with indignation. Fury boiled within her, but she fought to keep her voice down, realizing that to be overheard by the men would only make her look worse, not better. “I know exactly what your nephew is thinking, Opal, and it isn’t because of anything I have done! I have tried to stay away from him, but he won’t leave me alone! If you want the truth, I can’t stand Clarence Jennings, and if he doesn’t stay away from me, I’ll use the same pistol on him I used on Jake Harkner! You tell him to stay away from me and stop spreading lies about me! I have no desire to tempt any man on this wagon train! I am here for one thing only, and that is to get to Nevada!”