Until Tomorrow

by Rosanne Bittner

  “Addy Kane,” Addy offered again, putting her hand out to the younger woman.

  “Hello! I’m Jeanette Booth,” she said with a strong southern accent. “This is my husband, Sylvester. Most just call him Buster. Where are you going, Miss Kane?”

  “It’s Mrs. I’m widowed.”

  Jeanette’s smile faded. “Oh, I’m sorry.”

  “That’s all right. I’m going to the city of Central, in Colorado, to teach.” She turned to the Beans and introduced them to Jeanette and Sylvester.

  “My husband and I are going to Denver,” Jeanette told them. “Buster hopes to find work there, or maybe he’ll even go into the hills and find gold!”

  “Well, I wish you luck,” Addy told her.

  Buster a bashful-looking, sandy-haired young man, grinned and shook Addy’s hand, and then the older George Bean joined them, introducing himself to everyone. Addy sensed the nervous tension among all of them, none of whom had ever been farther west than the Mississippi. Buster’s parents had died in Georgia when their farmhouse was shelled. It had been located right in the middle of a battle between Union troops and Confederates. The farm they had run had been taken over by tax collectors, and Buster was on his way to Colorado to get away from bad memories and start a new life.

  So many lives affected by the war. They all shared something in common, just as she and Cole did. But Cole was not here.

  The stage driver, a cranky, gray-haired man who was not very tall, came out of the station, adjusting a soiled, wide-brimmed hat. “All get aboard!” he told them, before turning to spit out tobacco juice. “We’d best get started if we’re to make it to the first station stop tonight. How many we got?”

  “Five.” The man Addy had spoken to at the desk last night came out with him. “Did have seven, but a man and woman who was gonna’ go on from here changed their minds, decided to stay in Abilene. They figured business was good enough here, I guess, for what they do.” He grinned. “The man’s a professional gambler, and the woman is a professional … well, uh, let’s just say she’s a professional.”

  The driver guffawed, and Addy felt a burning rage in her heart again at the thought of Cole staying here and probably bedding Darla Simms, who she was sure was the woman to whom the clerk was referring. Apparently Darla and her male companion had been planning on going even farther west.

  “Hell, I can’t take seven anyway, Jake. You know that,” the driver told the clerk.

  “Well, I only had six to begin with. This single lady here …” He nodded toward Addy. “I didn’t have her down till she come in for a ticket. I had a suspicion the other couple might cancel, so I booked her.”

  “Well, it’s a good thing. I like a full load.” The driver scanned his passengers, noticing the men wore no guns. “You men carry guns hidden on you? You got rifles along?”

  “Well, no, sir,” Buster answered. “Do we need them?”

  The driver rolled his eyes. “Never mind.” He turned to the man tying baggage on top of the coach. “You ready, Ken?” The man shouted back that he was, and the driver faced his passengers again. “I’m Orum Brown. I’ve drove this route for months now, know it well, but there’s always danger of Indians. It helps to have passengers who know how to use a gun, but we’ll make do. Ken Wilson up there, he’ll be ridin’ what we call shotgun, keepin’ watch, shootin’ at whatever needs shootin’ at, that kind of thing.”

  The man spit again, and Addy crinkled her nose. She thought how much better she’d feel if Cole was along. There certainly were few men any better than he with a gun. She looked around, half hoping to see him coming to join them, yet glad he was nowhere in sight. Having him along would only complicate her emotional state. He was the last man in the world she should take an interest in, in spite of last night, and if this was good-bye, then all the better. Still, it hurt. She boarded the coach with the two couples, sitting beside Mrs. Bean and facing Jeanette and Buster. She grabbed hold of a strap for support, already realizing that this part of the journey would be even more uncomfortable than the swaying, sooty train. Being stuffed into the leatherseated coach with four other people and only tiny windows for air was not going to be pleasant.

  The driver and “shotgun” climbed aboard, and she heard a whistle and a shout. The coach began to roll, and in only moments it began to rock and sway, its big, wooden wheels stirring up dust that rolled into the window so that Addy had to roll down a leather shade to help keep it out. She did not notice someone standing in front of the Roundup Saloon, watching the coach leave.

  Cole Parker puffed on a thin cigar and held up a shot of whiskey. “Bye, Addy,” he said. He took the cigar from his mouth and downed the whiskey.

  Nine

  “This is as close to unbearable as anything I have ever done,” Rebecca Bean lamented. She wiped at her brow with a handkerchief. “I am afraid I must unbutton the top few buttons of my dress. I hope no one will think I am being too brazen.”

  Addy also wiped at the perspiration with her own handkerchief, rubbing it around the back of her neck. “I have already done so, Mrs. Bean. No one is going to think anything of it.” She wondered when the nausea would ever leave her. She wasn’t sure if it was from the intense heat and the stuffiness inside the coach, or if it was from the rocking and swaying motion as the stage barrelled from one station to the next. According to Orum Brown, the point was to get to Denver as fast as humanly possible, as well as keep the coach at a rapid pace in order to discourage Indians from trying to chase it. Because of the wear on the horses, teams were changed at each station.

  She took down one of two canteens that hung on either side of the coach, uncorking it and using it to wet her handkerchief. The canteens were there primarily for passengers to drink from when necessary, as the dust that rolled in was choking, and the heat caused loss of body fluids. She handed the canteen over to the Booths. “Do you need any water?”

  Jeanette rested her head against the side of the coach, eyes closed. She did not seem to even hear, but Buster took the canteen. “Thanks.” His own shirt was unbuttoned half-way down, and George Bean had removed his suit jacket.

  Addy wiped her face and neck with the wet handkerchief, feeling at least a little relief. She could not imagine how the horses could keep such a fast pace in the heat, and she felt sorry for the animals. “Mr. Brown claims we’re about half way to Denver,” she spoke up. “We can be grateful for that much. At least we haven’t been bothered by Indians or outlaws.”

  “No wonder!” George Bean answered. “Who would be crazy enough to bother in this heat?”

  They all laughed lightly, needing something to smile about. From earlier conversations, Addy could tell all four of her fellow passengers were as unsure as she was that what they were doing was right, casting off into an unknown land to start new lives, although they all had valid reasons for leaving their pasts behind. She could not help wondering about Cole, what he was doing now, if he thought about her. She was confused over the right and wrong of what she had done.

  These past years had certainly changed her from the Addy who had existed before the war. She couldn’t find that Addy, and she didn’t know this one. Sometimes she felt removed from her body, as though perhaps she was living in some other woman’s body, some other woman’s mind, a woman who was nothing like the pre-war Addy Kane.

  A gunshot interrupted her thoughts then. It was distant, but unmistakable.

  “What was that!” Jeanette Booth asked, opening her eyes and sitting up straighter.

  Rebecca grasped her husband’s hand. “It sounded like a gunshot.”

  “Yes, it did,” Addy answered. How surprised all of them would be if they knew just how familiar she was with that sound, except that she had heard gunfire only a few feet from her ears. She could remember vividly Jack Slater shooting down that innocent bank clerk, and then Nick; could still see Nick’s own smoking gun after shooting Jack dead. She had decided to tell no one about her ordeal back i
n Illinois. They would only ask more questions than she wanted to answer, and now that Nick was considered dead, she did not want to have to describe him to anyone. He had saved her from rape, and had probably saved her life. He deserved to be free, if only he would use that freedom to change his way of life, which she doubted now that he would. She had in turn saved his life, so they were even, weren’t they? They had had one night of sinful passion, loss of common sense. Now it was done.

  She clung to the hand strap then when the coach seemed to lurch forward at an even faster pace. The driver was shouting, “Hah! Hah! Get up there!”

  “My God, someone must be chasing us!” Jeanette exclaimed, her voice high with fear. Buster moved to the window at his side and stuck his head out.

  “There’s too much dust! I can’t tell!” he shouted.

  “Keep your heads inside!”

  Addy recognized Ken Wilson’s voice.

  “Indians!” he added. “We’re gonna’ try to make it to the next station!”

  “Oh, dear God,” Rebecca Bean groaned.

  Addy closed her eyes, wondering what else could possibly happen to one person on her way west. Indians! If she did happen to reach Central, what other atrocities were going to happen to her in that wild gold town? At the moment it was quite possible she would never get there.

  Now she could hear the Indians, whooping and yipping. They were getting closer! How many were there? Would they all be scalped? The women taken as hostages and raped, made slaves in some Indian village? “Do either one of you men know how to use a handgun?” she asked. “I have one in my purse.”

  “I can,” George Bean replied. “I was in the war.”

  Addy quickly opened her bag and took out a small pistol. “The man who sold it to me said it wasn’t any good unless a man is quite close, but it might help. There’s no sense using it from this distance, but it might come in handy.”

  George took it from her. “I don’t know,” he said, shaking his head. “It’s probably pretty useless in this situation. I hope Ken Wilson knows what he’s doing up there.”

  They could hear gunfire now from up top the coach.

  “I doubt a man can hit anything when he’s sitting on top of a coach that’s swaying and bouncing as bad as this one,” Buster spoke up.

  All five of them clung to the hand straps, hanging on for dear life as the coach bounced and jolted and careened at a maddening pace. Addy feared it would tip over.

  “Next station’s not too far ahead!” Wilson shouted down. “Hang on to your hats!”

  His own rifle fired several more times, but the sound of approaching Indians did not fade. Apparently they were not giving up. Addy closed her eyes and began praying. The coach hit something that sent them all flying right up out of their seats, and Jeanette screamed. Addy hit her right cheek against a wooden garment hook at the side of the coach, but she kept silent, more concerned about her life now than a bruised cheek. For the moment she wished with all her heart that Cole was here. He would know what to do, and he was a crack shot. She considered telling George Bean that if the Indians got to them to please shoot her and the other women before he let the savages take them captive. She had heard so many conflicting stories about the Plains Indians. At times she had felt sorry for how they were treated, all the land they were losing. After all, they had been on the plains for centuries. But she had also heard stories of atrocities that now terrified her.

  “Almost there!” Wilson shouted down. Suddenly he cried out, and Addy gasped when a body fell off her side of the coach.

  “Oh, no!” she shouted. “He’s been shot!” She could not help sticking her head out to see Wilson go tumbling off in the distance, his rifle flying through the air. “Oh, the poor man!” she bemoaned. Her eyes widened then when she saw arrows stuck in the coach. She pulled back inside and looked at the others. “I wonder if our driver is still up there. Maybe this coach is running wild!”

  Terror engulfed all of them until they heard Orum Brown whistle at the team. “Station just ahead!” he yelled. “Get ready to make a beeline for the door! Don’t waste no time for nothin’!”

  Addy reached over and grasped Rebecca’s hand. Rebecca in turn grasped her husband’s hand, and he reached across and took hold of Jeanette’s, until all five passengers had formed a circle of hands. “Dear God, save us,” Addy prayed. She screamed then when the coach again bounced wildly and she fell forward onto the floor of the coach. The others helped her up, and then Addy, Rebecca and George all flew forward into Jeanette’s and Buster’s laps when the coach suddenly came to a scraping halt, dust flying.

  “Out! Out! Make a run for it!” Orum shouted.

  Addy quickly gained her balance and opened the door closest to her, while George opened the other side. All five passengers clamored out and headed for the station, which was nothing more than a sod building, built partially into the side of a small hill. There was only the one door and one window. They all ran, and Addy could feel arrows whizzing past her.

  “Buster!” Jeanette suddenly screamed. “Buster! Buster!”

  Addy turned to see young Sylvester Booth lying face down with an arrow in his back. She started to go to them, but George Bean grabbed her arm. “Get inside! You can’t help him now!” The driver in turn grabbed a screaming Jeanette and dragged her into the station, slamming shut the door just as arrows sailed into it. He bolted it with a heavy wooden bar, then quickly closed the shutters to the window.

  Jeanette kept screaming her husband’s name and ran to peek out of a hole in the shutters. “No! No!” she screamed even louder. “They’re scalping him! They’re scalping my husband!”

  George pulled her away from the window, and the woman swooned to the floor. Addy went to her side, pulling her into her arms. “I know how it feels,” she told her, rocking the woman as she wept against her shoulder.

  “We’re doomed,” Rebecca said, sitting down on the dirt floor beside Addy.

  The sod structure was hot and stuffy, made worse by having to close the door and window. It was also very dark, and it took a few seconds for Addy’s eyes to adjust enough to see who was who. Now the driver was at the window, peering through the same hole Jeanette had used. “They’re unhitchin’ the horses, herding the spares out of the corral,” he said. “That’s probably all they want. Maybe they’ll leave us alone after that.” He hesitated. “Damn,” he muttered then. “They’ve already killed Jed Corey, the station master. He’s hung up on a fence post out there. Looks like he was tortured.”

  “Oh, no, no,” Jeanette wept.

  Rebecca covered her face with her hands.

  “What are we going to do?” Addy asked the driver.

  The man sighed. “I can get a few with my rifle, but not all of them. Right now it would only incite them to find a way in here and murder all of us. I’m gonna’ wait for now, see if they’re happy enough with the horses. I’m just afraid that now that they’ve seen women run in here, the horses won’t be enough for them. They like to use women to get the army and the government to give them what they want. If they get horses, guns, land, they give prisoners back. Women prisoners are the best. They know white men will do anything to get women back from Indian men.”

  “Shoot us first!” Rebecca wept.

  “Well, ma’am, I just might have to do that,” Orum answered. “Let’s wait and see.” He looked back out the window. “They’re ridin’ off with all the horses,” he said then. “Let’s hope they don’t come back.”

  Addy sat rocking Jeanette. “And if they don’t, what do we do then? We have no way of getting out of here. We don’t have enough food and water with us to try walking to the next station.”

  “One thing at a time,” Orum answered. “Another stage will be along within a couple of days, headin’ east.”

  “My husband! If the Indians are riding off, somebody has to bury him while they’re gone,” Jeanette moaned.

  Orum sighed and looked at George. “You
game?”

  “Certainly. We can’t let him lie there in the sun and let the buzzards—”

  Jeanette cried harder.

  Orum opened the door carefully and peered outside. “I’ll see if I can find a shovel in the horse shed.” He kept his rifle steady as he walked farther out, turning and looking up the hill to make sure there were no Indians waiting stealthily above them. Addy left Jeanette to Rebecca and walked to the doorway.

  “I’d like to help,” she told George. “I can say some words over his grave.”

  George nodded and they both waited. It seemed so strangely silent now, after all the yelling and war whoops, shooting and screaming. Addy thought what a strange land this was. It could be so deadly silent, or filled with gunfire and war cries, or with the plunking pianos and general noise of its wild towns. Orum returned with a shovel, and for the next three hours the women waited for the two men to dig a hole big enough for a body. The ground was hard as a rock, and by the time they finished both men were bathed in sweat and looked ready to pass out. Addy felt sick over the thought of Ken Wilson lying farther back, dead, probably scalped. There was no way to go back and bury him.

  Finally the men were able to put Buster Booth’s young body into its grave. They covered it, not wanting his wife to see how awful he looked covered in blood from the arrow as well as having part of his scalp ripped off. They called for Jeanette and the other women then, and Rebecca and Addy helped Jeanette outside, holding on to her while Addy managed to quote some scripture from memory and then said a prayer. Orum ordered them back inside then, and he and George began covering the grave with rocks so that animals could not dig into it.

  The women sat down inside at a coarse, home-made table, with chairs made of logs. Addy thought what a poor excuse for a rest stop this place was. There was no place to bathe, no privacy, no sleeping quarters and apparently no food of any substance. There was only one privy that she had seen, a sagging structure near the horse shed. Apparently this stop was here strictly for changing horses and riding on, but all of them were hot and dirty and miserable, as well as hungry and thirsty.