Why, and who?
Iris intently listened for voices but only heard a horse snort outside the wagon, and wind blowing through the tall grass.
She squeezed her eyes as tears and memories flooded back. She'd jumped from the train with a purpose, and it wasn't to survive. Someone, whoever was traveling in this wagon, saw her jump and pulled her out of the river.
And took her clothes off to keep her warm before tucking her in their own bed.
Iris hadn't planned to open her eyes this morning. A fresh wave of tears turned into sobbing knowing her plan to leave this hurting world had failed.
Why did someone save me?
She'd thought of shooting or stabbing herself, but was afraid to inflict such suffering on her body. Jumping from the train seemed like a quick and painless way to break her neck and drown. She'd tied the ribbons of the cloak with extra knots so the weight of the full-length cloak would weigh her down.
And darn if the person hadn't saved her cloak too. It was on a hook by the door. And her reticule?
Iris jumped and buried deeper in the quilt as the door of the wagon opened. Would this man hurt her too, before she had another chance to end her life? She shut her eyes trying to look like she was still asleep.
"Missy? You awake? I found your reticule."
She couldn’t help but open her eyes and stare at the man holding her little purse in the small space of the wagon. He was in his mid-twenties, had thick dark brown hair and kind dark green eyes.
"Hello, Missy. I'm sure glad you're awake now," the man shyly smiled as he spoke.
No! I’m not glad to be alive! Iris wanted to scream she wasn't glad she was awake, but didn't want to scare the kind-looking man. And he did seem to be genuinely worried about her. According to a pair of pants and shirt hanging on the makeshift clothesline, he's risked his life trying to save hers.
How she wished he had failed, but then he looked like the type of man who would be heartsick if he hadn't been able to save her.
Why hadn't there been people like him in her life instead of—
"My name is Fergus Reagan, and I'm a photographer. I set up my camera to take a photograph of the train crossing the bridge and about died of fright seeing you being, ah...thrown off the train."
Thrown? Is that what he thought? She'd jumped with a purpose—to end her life of misery.
"What's your name? I've been calling you 'Missy' since I didn't know."
Iris squeezed her eyes shut, wondering what in the world should she do? Act deaf and dumb? Tell the man why she jumped?
"You are perfectly safe with me, Missy. I'm a pastor's son and we six brothers were taught to honor, respect, and protect women and children. I didn't even peek, ah, when I undressed you and put my union suit on you.
"I'm from Clear Creek, Kansas but I've spent the last few months driving through the Nebraska countryside photographing homesteaders. My brother, Mack, is building me a photography studio on Main Street, but I'm no good swinging a hammer so I left for a while. I decided to take my camera and several crates of dry plates to western Nebraska where there's still homesteaders living in sod houses."
"Why?" She couldn't help asking. Mr. Reagan's green eyes grew wide when she finally spoke aloud.
He cleared his throat. "Uh, because I want people to have a memory of their family and their start of life on the prairie."
"Why?"
Mr. Reagan's expression was solemn to the point of sad when he spoke while searching her eyes. "Because life is short and a photograph of a loved one may be all they have left."
He licked his lips; probably trying to decide how much to push her for answers to the many questions that had to be banging around in his head.
"No matter what, I'm glad I saved you, Miss. Maybe I can help you turn your life around now that you have a second chance?"
There it was. He knew she jumped on purpose.
"I wish you hadn't." she whispered, not meeting his compassionate eyes.
"Remember I said I was a pastor's son, so I firmly believe the Lord has a better plan for you rather than being dead. Otherwise I wouldn’t have been in this same exact spot."
Iris searched the inside of the wagon, noticing he followed right behind.
"Oh, and I owe you a new ribbon for your cloak. I had to cut it with my pocketknife to get it off you. It about drowned both of us."
Iris blushed with shame, knowing he knew she'd knotted the ribbon on purpose.
"How about some coffee and food?" He wasn't pushing her for her name or more information.
"How about a chamber pot?" Iris grimaced asking but she really needed to use one.
"Uh, you'll have to go outside. Being a man traveling by myself, I didn't pack one." Now his face flushed.
She felt along the back of the union suit, relieved she felt a back flap.
"Could you hand me my shoes and cloak?" Now that she was awake and hadn't used any facilities for a long time, she had to go now, or wet his bed.
He quickly grabbed her shoes thinking along the same line as she.
"How about just slipping these on and I'll help you down the steps." He picked up one foot, shoved the legging up and slid her foot into the shoe, and then the other. Mr. Reagan slipped a hand under her shoulder to steady her as she stood up.
"You doing okay? Let's get your cloak and head outside. The cloak is still damp but it will protect you. You’re going to feel the cold after being inside the warm wagon."
Iris was grateful for his help because she was unsteady on her feet. Her head hurt as well as her back. Had he said how long she was unconscious?
"If you want to lean against the wagon for support, I'll go on the other side to give you some privacy. Just call out when you're ready to go back inside."
And that quick she was alone and fumbling with the buttons on the back flap of the union suit.
After relieving herself and buttoning the back flap, she leaned back against the wagon looking at the railroad bridge a short distance away. She had jumped off a moving train, that far down into a river, and survived? Why didn't she die? She shivered thinking about what she attempted.
"You ready?" Mr. Reagan called from the other side.
"Yes, sir."
He walked around the wagon, looked at the bridge and then at her. "I'd like it if you called me Fergus. ‘Mr. Reagan’ is my father, and 'sir' is a respected elder."
"All right. You can call me…Iris."
Fergus held out his elbow for her to grasp. "Pleased to meet you Miss Iris. Would you like to accompany me inside my temporary home for breakfast?"
After a moment’s hesitation Iris nodded and grabbed his elbow to steady herself. Although she didn’t want to be alive, the thought of a hot cup of coffee spurred her to follow his suggestion.
***
Iris ate a few bites of oatmeal, drank a cup of coffee, and then crawled back into bed, exhausted from doing so little. Didn't even bother to change out of his union suit, unfortunately. The suit he had on yesterday evening was still too damp to put on so he would have liked to have worn his spare suit. Instead, he had to think of the woman wearing it in his bed.
Iris reached up often to rub the lump on her left temple, and seemed oblivious to the condition of her hair for the hour she was awake. He still wondered if a blow to the head caused her concussion before she jumped. Her bruises told a tale even if Iris didn't talk. Someone had meant to harm Miss Iris.
And he felt like a sitting duck waiting for that person to follow the tracks back to where Iris jumped off.
Fergus doused the fire in the stove and secured everything inside the wagon so they could travel away from the railroad tracks. He thought about waking Iris to tell her they were moving, but she'd figure it out if she woke up. Iris wasn't strong enough to sit on the wagon seat beside him nor had she the dry clothes to keep warm while riding outside anyway.
"Let's go, Dapper." Fergus flicked the reins over the big horse's back to signal it was time for them to depart
. Since Iris didn't seem to need a doctor's care, they'd head away from the string of little towns along the railroad. In other words, it was a good time to get lost. He didn’t know why he felt so protective of her, but he did.
But maybe he was being stupid, thinking he could protect her. If this had happened at home in Clear Creek, Fergus would have run to Marshal Wilerson's jailhouse office before he changed out of his wet clothes. But Fergus didn't know people up here to turn to, so he was on his own.
So, maybe her name was Iris, or that was just the first name that popped in her head. No last name. No mention of where she was from or where she was headed.
It was easy to guess she was from a southern state by her soft drawl. But she was a long ways from home then, being on a train going through Nebraska. Where was she traveling? California? Montana?
With whom was she traveling? The thought of a person hurting another made Fergus cold skin heat up. It wasn't right. His father's words of protection, respect and honor kept rolling through his brain.
Dapper's snort pulled Fergus out of his thoughts. He was gripping the reins too tight, giving the horse mixed signals.
"Sorry, but our cargo became much more precious than all those dozens of dry glass plates and camera equipment you've been carefully pulling around."
Fergus relaxed as much as he could, bouncing on the seat in front of the boxed wagon. The old sheepherder's wagon had served him well. Before he left home, he painted "photographer" on the side so people knew who was driving across their land. And that gave him more business than he realized was possible.
He was welcomed into people's ranch homesteads, them anxious not only to talk to someone, but also to have the opportunity to document their fresh start out in the middle of nowhere.
One hundred and sixty acres of Nebraska grassland, a small cattle herd and a sod house was the extent of their lives. Some ranches, established a decade ago had barns and other outbuildings, and occasionally a new wood-frame home.
After a few times he wasn't surprised now when the people would want to display their wealth in front of their sod home. It wasn't as simple as stopping, taking their image, writing down their information to mail them the photo back and moving on.
It took at least a few hours to set up the display, the family to change into their best clothes and bring their teams of horses—and sometimes their milk cow or goat—up to the house to be included in the photograph. But the stories the homesteaders told and the meals they shared with him were part of the experience for him.
Fergus had enjoyed roaming the area, searching for the next homestead, but he had a deadline to be home by now.
He and his family had decided to use North Platte as the town to leave messages to him while he was gone. Every week or so he’d stop in town to check for mail, telegrams and pick up supplies. His brother Angus sent notice that he was marrying Daisy Clancy on November fourteenth, so he’d turned south the next day. One more week of traveling and he’d be home.
"Fergus? Fergus?" He could hear Iris' muffled calls from inside the wagon.
"Hang on as I slow down to a stop," Fergus yelled over his shoulder. After stopping the horse and setting the brake, Fergus crawled down from the bench and walked around the back to open the door to talk to her.
"You okay?"
Iris sat up in bed, her arms wrapped around her knees. "Where are we going?"
She sounded confused, but she knew to call out his name.
"Heading east a ways to get away from the train tracks, then we’ll head south again." He hesitated but continued. "I assume you don't want someone to find you?"
Her dark eyes widened as she bit her bottom lip, keeping in the answer.
"Iris, I won't judge you for your past if that's what you're worried about. But I can't help your future unless you tell me what's going on."
She looked at the wall when she whispered, "I wasn't planning on a future."
"Well, now you have one, so we need to act accordingly. Should I take you to a town so you can get back on the train?"
Iris cowered, instantly shrinking against the wall as if she was about to be…hit?
Fergus stepped into the wagon and sank to one knee beside the bed. "Iris, I would never strike or hurt a woman in any way. You can trust me. I can dig out my Bible from the cupboard and swear on it if it would make you believe me."
"You carry a Bible?"
Fergus couldn't help but grin. "I'm a preacher's son and my ma personally packed a Bible along with two batches of my favorite cookies." He tried to lighten the mood and gain Iris' trust.
"Where are you going? Can I travel with you?" Her desperate words stung his heart.
“I’m traveling home to Kansas because my brother’s wedding is in a week. Where were you headed before you left the train?”
"Someplace I didn't want to go."
Well, that was obvious. Fergus bent his head and rubbed his forehead with his thumb and forefinger, trying to figure out how to word his next question.
"We need to be honest with each other, Iris. We don't know each other, but I feel like I can trust you. Do you feel the same way about me?"
She stared at the wall again. "I've never met a man I could trust."
"Even your father?"
Iris flinched as if his words caused pain.
Fergus went back to rubbing his forehead again, wondering if she jumped off the train to get away from her father. Something else dawned on him.
"How old are you, Iris?" She looked older than eighteen did, but he needed to know if she was still a minor. He guessed that would matter in some states.
"I’m in my mid-twenties. Honest." She met his gaze straight on so it must be the truth. So she was around his age.
"Are you married?" Her question startled Fergus because he’d never been serious about a woman.
"No.” Then it dawned on Fergus she may be running away from her husband. “Are you?"
Iris bit her lip and looked away. "No."
So she was with a man who wasn't her husband. Was she someone's mistress? He didn’t think she was an escaped prisoner.
Silence filled the tiny space because he didn't know what to say and she didn't want to tell him anything else at this point.
"Did you need a minute outside?" Fergus just remembered she'd called out to him.
Confusion filled her eyes until she blinked.
"I was wondering if we’d be stopping soon for lunch." At least it was good she was getting back her appetite, unless she was just throwing out the question.
"According to my map, it's a little ways to a creek, so we'll continue driving before we stop for a rest. There's a tin of crackers in the cupboard to the right of the stove and a jug of tea strapped to the stove pipe if you need food."
"Then I'll step outside a minute and then eat a few crackers."
Iris strength and balance were better this time as he helped her down the wagon steps. She'd be all right if she didn't come down with pneumonia.
Once Iris settled back in the wagon, they resumed their travel.
For the most part, travel had been easy. He'd bought the 1885 version of the Nebraska State Atlas and was able to follow the map to find railroads, towns, water sources, and homesteaders along the way. Not like it would have been for the first explorers of the area, but he was all for knowing where he was, versus being lost and not knowing.
The landscape changed each week as the grass matured from green to golden brown, after the first frost. Like the western half of Kansas, trees were few and far between in this part of Nebraska. He'd traveled as far north as North Platte before looping both directions, always coming back to town when he could.
Temperatures were cooler than home and he was surprised when frost came two weeks earlier than what he was used to. Dapper had stood out in a few thunderstorms and the wagon mired in mud once trying to cross a creek, but otherwise the travel had been uneventful until last night.
Overall, he enjoyed traveling by himself, b
eing a bit of a loner, if that was possible in his large family. He could be around people if he wanted to, or camp out by himself, quietly enjoying nature's sounds or reading a book.
So how did he feel with a companion traveling along? A man would be sitting beside him, talking about whatever crossed their minds.
But a woman—who tried to kill herself—traveling with him? For some reason he thought they'd get along though.
He was a patient man, and would never think of prying into someone else's business. Fergus couldn't help but grin, thinking how his brothers would react to mysterious Iris.
Angus, a railroad detective, had spent his days watching people on trains riding between Kansas and Colorado. Angus would analyze the situation from all angles and figure out Iris, better than she knew herself.
Seth managed the horse herd on the Straight Arrow Ranch, north of Clear Creek, for Isaac Connely. He'd raised and trained Dapper Gray, the big Morgan gelding Fergus was using on this trip. Seth was quiet, observant and never went back on his promises. Even though Fergus wasn't a blood brother to Seth—or Angus for that matter—they had the closest personalities. Seth would treat Iris as gently and patiently as he would a skittish horse.
Now Mack, Fergus' real brother, and a carpenter, was talkative and kind-hearted. He'd be teasing Iris into laughing; making her feel better about herself without realizing Mack had charmed her into it.
Cullen, well, he'd have a hard time talking to Iris. Fergus was afraid Iris would remind him of his own mother, a soiled dove. Even though Cullen's mother died when he was young, he'd always carried the stigma of her life in him. The Reagans raised him, fought his fights, but he had always been a quiet loner.
Then there was sixteen-year old Tully, the baby of the family. Five older brothers couldn't keep the kid out of mischief. Right now, he was working for Seth, his parents hoping he'd stay out of trouble, or he'd learn some sense from Seth. Tully would smile and talk non-stop to Iris, never caring one twit what her background was.
So what would his family think if he brought Iris home? His parents would have questions, but they wouldn't judge her on her past, only wonder how she was going to live her life in the future.
Fergus' Honor (Grooms With Honor Book 2) Page 2