Montana Sky_Baling Wire Promises

by Linda Carroll-Bradd

  “Why’s Mister Andrews riding behind us?”

  “Nah, that’s not him. His horse has two colors. That one’s black with white socks.”

  “Then who’s that? Miss Fantine, who is that stranger man following us?”

  Fantine let Erin’s and Julian’s argument float around her awareness until she registered the key word—stranger. “What are you two talking about?” The horses were headed down an incline, and she had to focus on looking ahead for rocks or holes that might pose a danger. She’d be happy when they reach an expanse of flat prairie.

  Ahead, Pete had stopped at the top of the next rise.

  A few minutes later, she pulled abreast of him and set the brake, glad for a spell of stillness.

  “Not sure what you hoped for in a town, but that looks to be Honey Grove.” He swept an arm toward a few buildings interspersed in copses of trees.

  Unable to keep her posture from slumping, she sucked in a breath. “That’s not a town, it’s a hamlet.” Would supplies be available to buy or barter? As much as she resisted, she turned to Pete, seeking reassurance. “I’d hoped for a way to get in touch with the Virginia City orphanage.” A lump of self-chastisement settled in her chest. How gullible was she not to put two and two together? From the lack of roads or even well-worn paths, she should have realized any town they encountered would be more rustic than where they’d been.

  Pete adjusted his hat lower. “I agree it’s small, but let’s see what’s there.”

  Following his lead, she guided the horses across the fields until she saw Pete stop, wheel around the horse, and canter back in her direction. “Whoa.” The unexpected action signaled trouble, and she tightened her grip.

  “Don’t come closer.” His eyes squinted as he shook his head. “I spotted sticks with yellow rags planted across the road into town. Quarantine.”

  The dreaded word echoed in her head. A dangerous illness had the town in its grip. Her heart went out to those who might be suffering. “Should I walk in and see what healing is needed?”

  “No!” Shaking his head, he glanced at the wagon bed and back to her, his eyes wide.

  His sharp answer sounded more like a bark, and she jerked. “Maybe items from my remedy bag could assist. The least I can do is offer.”

  “We ride in double in case we have to make a hasty retreat.”

  After instructing Ander to take the team’s reins and the other children to stay inside the wagon, Fantine accepted a hand up and somehow got herself perched on the saddle blanket behind Pete. The logical hold was to put her arms around his waist to keep from sliding off. Which meant she was in close physical proximity with this big man, and she couldn’t ignore the firmness of his body as she pressed close. At a walk, they approached the grouping of six or eight buildings. Fantine listened for sounds of animals, people talking, or children at play. An eerie stillness shrouded the area.

  “Hail the town.” Pete straightened in the saddle and cupped a hand around his mouth. “We’re travelers wishing to offer aid.”

  “What now?” Fantine leaned around Pete’s side to watch for movement.

  A man dressed in a full-length black robe came around the side of the building, wiping his hands on a towel. His face was long and somber. “We’re quarantined. Stay back.” He held up a staying hand.

  “I saw the warning flags.” She grabbed onto Pete’s arm and slid off the horse. “I’m a healer and have remedies that might help, sir, uh….”

  The priest stopped about ten feet away. “Father Frederick. And you are?” His gaze moved past them to the wagon where the children waited.

  Pete dismounted then stepped forward and to the side partially in front of Fantine. “I’m Pete Andrews, and this is my wife, Fantine.

  “No, I’m not. We’re not married.” Fantine jumped forward, not wanting to be shielded.

  Shaking his head, Pete hissed.

  She scowled in return for the audacity of his proclamation. “Well, I can’t lie to a priest. Didn’t you see his collar?”

  “Perception, remember.” After the single word, he remained silent, twisting the sole of a boot into the dirt.

  “You are traveling together posing as husband and wife? And in the company of impressionable children?” His eyebrows crawled toward his hairline.

  “You two sort out the medicines. I’ll be right back.” After a squeeze to her elbow, he turned, swung himself into the saddle, and trotted Blaze toward the wagon.

  What is that about? Confused about what message he was submitting with that touch, he stared for a moment or two longer.

  “Miss?”

  “Sorry, Father.” Fantine turned back to the priest and pulled the strap of her remedies bag over her head. “Please allow me to share what might be helpful. What symptoms are you seeing?”

  “The standard ones for influenza—headache, runny nose, coughs, fevers—but now, people are developing thick mucus and a deep barking cough.” He cleared his throat and ran a hand over his face. “I sent a rider to Sweetwater Springs four days ago to ask Reverend Norton for help and supplies. Two dead so far, one a babe in arms. I fear a wagon train that passed through here two weeks earlier carried the disease.”

  “Oh, how awful.” Pain stabbed her heart. Fantine dug into the bag and pulled out two small glass jars. “Here is what I have of willow bark and licorice root. Do you know how to infuse them?”

  “Yes. And thank you.” He accepted the jars then glanced over her shoulder before pinning his green-eyed gaze on her. “How are you in this situation, miss?”

  Taking a deep breath, she looked at the wagon and saw Pete focused on something in his hands. “The children and I are the survivors of an orphanage fire. Sisters of Piety in Missoula.” She waited for a response and spotted his nod. “I’ve vowed to deliver them to an associated establishment in Virginia City. Pete is our escort.” The guilt she had kept at bay for several days bit—guilt at the promise she’d made, at their controversial traveling arrangement, and at how she had probably ruined her reputation.

  “I see. Although the deed you’ve undertaken is laudable—”

  “Father, I have a solution.” Pete stepped next to her. “Marry us.”

  “What?” She gaped and stared, her thoughts whirling. Why would Pete want this?

  “I cannot in good faith do that. Marriage has a sacred intention…” Father Frederick shook his head and pursed his lips. Glancing between them, he huffed out a long sigh. “Nor can I in good conscience allow you to travel onward as you will undoubtedly do. That would be a greater sin.”

  Thirty minutes later, a stunned Fantine sat on the wagon seat, guiding the team away from the ravaged town of Honey Grove. They rode along a creek bank surrounded by rolling prairie. Not only had she stood next to a man that she learned was really Petya Andrusha—he’d promised to explain later—but two teenage brothers had been added to their group.

  Their father had been the other victim of whooping cough. Father Frederick assured them that Garth and Kerr had shown no signs of the illness since bringing their pa into town. From what he knew, the boys had no other relatives. Being relocated in the Virginia City orphanage would settle his conscience about their fates.

  She ran her thumb along the underside of her left hand, feeling the ring of baling wire Pete, or Petya, shaped and placed on her finger with the promise to protect her and the children. As she touched the ring through her glove, she watched Pete ride alongside the two blond-haired youth who sat dejected in their saddles. Every once in a while, they straightened and looked around or nodded before resuming their slouches.

  “I remember being sad like that.”

  Ander’s quiet voice surprised her, and she glanced to her right on the wagon bench. In her three years of knowing him, she’d not heard him speak of his childhood. “You do? When was that?”

  “The night when bad men set fire to our caravan and shot my papa. Mama yelled for me to get out, but the fire burned her and baby Yera.”

  Anot
her fire tragedy. She swallowed hard. “I’m so sorry that happened to you, Ander.” Shifting the reins to her left hand, she reached out with her right and squeezed his shoulder.

  “I don’t know why people hate sheep. I like them. When I grow up, I’ll herd a flock just like Papa.” He nodded once, and his hat flopped low on his forehead.

  “That’s a good goal. I’ve noticed what diligent attention you give the horses and the goats. With that kind of caring effort, you’ll be a prosperous shepherd.” Sensing a sullenness overtaking the group, she started a round of “O Susanna” and the children chimed right in. Their voices rose with the jaunty tune, and even the riders ahead turned at the cheery sound.

  Even as she sang, Fantine wondered at the broken spirits of all the children under her care. How had she thought she had the skills to help them? For any of these children to grow up secure, they needed to be part of a family where the activities and chores kept them busy. A solid routine in a loving atmosphere would push the shadowy and sad memories to the farthest corners of their minds.

  A sharp toot sounded, which stopped the singing.

  She looked ahead until she spotted Pete. With the flute he’d used, he pointed toward a less-worn path. When the team reached the double row of beaten grass, she saw it meandered down from a rise toward a bridge over the creek. Within minutes, the horses’ hooves beat hollow clumpings on the boards, and then they rode into a cleared spot under a canopy of oak and willow trees. “Whoa, girls.” She set the brake and looked around. To the left were a barn and corral, with a field containing long rows of ripening grain beyond. To the right stood a two-story house that had once been painted white or pale yellow. The only visible color clung under the window sashes and in the shadow of the eaves.

  After releasing his two horses into the corral, Pete walked to the wagon. “Let me check out the house before you go inside.”

  “Sure.” Fantine looked around for the brothers. “Where are—”

  “Went straight to the barn.”

  Nodding, she gazed at the house, and her eyes welled. She didn’t care about the peeling paint or the sagging porch or the dead weeds in the flowerbeds. The structure had four walls, a roof, and doors that closed. Already, she gained a sense of safety. Knowing not much daylight remained, she turned to the children and outlined what chores needed to be done as soon as they were released from the wagon.

  “Heard the skittering of mice when I first entered, but nothing bigger.” He reached up and settled a hand on the brake as he spoke. “Pantry is partially stocked, with most of the food kept in tins and barrels, instead of sacks. Potatoes and carrots in baskets on the shelves are gnawed on. More evidence of mice upstairs in the bedrooms. All three need sweeping.”

  At the mention of fresh vegetables, she sat straighter. Maybe she could harvest from the garden for tonight’s supper. Seeing him lean close made her duplicate the action.

  “What’s the risk of the disease still being in the house?” His brows wrinkled.

  She laid a hand over his, hoping to relieve the worry she saw in his gaze. “None. Whooping cough is passed from person to person. Since no one has been living here, no infection remains.” She thought about what details her mother had told her about the disease. “But to be sure, we’ll use all our own bedding until I can wash everything. And we’ll keep some windows open.” The last statement stretched a smile over her lips.

  “What?” He tapped a finger at the side of mouth and cocked an eyebrow.

  “We’re sleeping within four walls tonight and have a bit of control over our environment. I’ll be cooking on a stove again. That makes me smile.”

  “All right.” He glanced to the side. “Ander, think you can do the sweeping before you join us in the barn?”

  “Yes, sir.” The boy scrambled down from the wagon.

  “Not enough sunlight is left to go hunting tonight. I’ll handle the milking after I unharness the team.”

  “I’m anxious to see what the larder holds.” Holding on to the edge of the seat, she lowered a foot onto the hub of the wagon wheel and was whooshed to the ground by a set of strong hands. “Oh.”

  With gentle pressure, he turned her to face him. “I felt a bit awkward in front of the Father earlier. But every groom deserves a kiss from his new bride.” Sweeping off his hat, he lowered his head and brushed his lips against hers.

  Warmth was her first sensation followed by little tickles every place his scratchy beard encountered her cheeks and chin. What she savored most was the intimate connection that held longing and possession. She grabbed his strong arms to hold herself upright and felt the loss when he eased away.

  The children in the wagon giggled and whispered.

  Watching Pete untie the goats from the back of the wagon, Fantine pressed a hand to her lips. The kiss made the earlier ceremony real, and for the first time, she acknowledged she was Pete’s bride. She stripped off her glove and studied the makeshift ring. Straight lines marred the surface where the file scraped the metal as he’d smoothed the cut ends. Words that she’d hurled at him in anger about getting by with whatever she had came back to haunt her. Everyone knew baling wire was only a temporary fix.

  ****

  Hours later, the Hakon brothers, Fantine, and Pete sat at the kitchen table, sipping coffee. Pete had observed each of the children as they settled into being under a roof again. Fantine told him the littlest girls fussed and fought about entering the house. She’d had to invent a game of hunting treasure to entice them to step over the threshold for the first time. Sleeping dormitory-style continued, with Fantine and the girls in the big bedroom, Pete, Ander, and Julian in another. They let the Hakon brothers choose which of their own rooms to share. Furniture had been shuffled, the bedstead in the father’s room angled against the wall, and the mattresses and bedding brought in from the wagon.

  Pete glanced down at the inventory list he’d started. He’d determined the boys were due an accounting of the farm’s holdings to allow them to place a claim for the property. Either the orphanage or a judge somewhere would need to establish value of the assets, in case a decision was made to sell. “You said a cow and a team of oxen are at a neighbor’s farm.”

  Garth, the fifteen year old with green eyes, nodded. “At Sverting’s to the east.”

  “Astrud and Oskar are the oxen, and Haldis is the cow.” Kerr, who carried a sprinkling of freckles over his nose and cheeks, glanced from under his too-long hair. “Milking was my job.”

  “You did great with the goats earlier.” Pete was tempted to press a hand to the boy’s shoulder but sensed that he shouldn’t…not yet. Better to use just words. “The nannies sensed an experienced milker. I haven’t been doing the chore long.”

  “Do you two have any questions of us tonight?” Fantine sipped at her coffee.

  Pete noticed she ran a finger over the bowl of ceramic tea cup she’d chosen for herself. Probably belonged to the kids’ mother who’d died two winters earlier. Although their father’s death was tragic, the boys told him they’d known for the last couple of days that he wouldn’t recover. A horrible realization that must have been frightening for ones so young.

  The boys glanced at one another, a green gaze met a blue one, and they shrugged.

  “Father Frederick said you’re taking us to an orphanage.” Garth sat back. “What’s that like?”

  Knowing he didn’t have an answer, Pete waved a hand in her direction.

  “I worked in an orphanage until a couple of weeks ago. All the other children in our group lived there, for some that’s all they ever knew. Our home was big, with chattering and singing and laughter made by the adults and children living there—twenty-three in all. We planted a garden, raised the goats, and our children’s choir gave performances. Classes were held for children until they finished eighth grade. Older children got jobs or apprenticeships in the town.” Fantine leaned forward and placed a hand over each boy’s. “An orphanage is a place for you to live and grow until you’re
old enough to take care of yourselves.”

  “And then we can come back here?” Thirteen-year-old Kerr stared at her then ducked his head to hide a tear slipping down his cheek.

  “We can’t promise that, Kerr. At least, not yet.” Pete rested his forearms on the table. Of course, the boy would want to keep the connection to the family home. “Because the matter will go before a judge at some point. Tomorrow, we’ll look for where your father kept his important papers and see if he had a will or the deed to the farm.” He looked across the table into Fantine’s concerned gaze. How had he reached this point? A week ago, he’d been on a solo journey through the territories for a family visit. And now he was married—in name only, he reminded himself—and had eight souls to protect. Although he might get an argument about Fantine’s ability to take care of herself. “For the time being, you’re part of our group, and Missus Fantine and I will make sure you stay safe.”

  Chapter Seven

  Morgan’s Crossing

  Cinnia Andrusha exited Morgan’s Mercantile and squinted against the slanted rays of the setting sun. Settling the handle of her basket higher on her forearm, she walked down the steps, started across the dirt road, and glanced around the small mining town.

  Down the road skipped Juanita Rivera, her long dark hair flying with each hop-step. “Hi, Miss Cinnia.”

  “Hi to you, Juanita. On any errand for your mother?”

  The young girl nodded. “We’re making tortillas and ran out of lard.”

  “I’ll bet Rosa appreciates you being helpful.” She exchanged a farewell wave before the girl scampered into the store. So help with cooking was something she could look forward to in the years to come with her child. That thought brought a smile to her face.

  On the steps of the new boarding house/hotel, a brown-haired woman who must be the manager Laura shook out a dust rag.

  Voices drifted from her right, and she turned. A few men walked down the hill from Morgan’s gold mine, talking and laughing on their way to the faded yellow miner’s boarding house.

  Probably looking forward to one of the cook’s hearty meals. Cinnia wouldn’t mind having Bertha Brungar cook for her. The morning sickness phase of her pregnancy had passed, but as yet, she hadn’t regained her appetite. The door to her husband’s leather shop stood open, and she walked inside. “I picked up a surprise at the mercantile.”