Trail of Destiny (Hot on the Trail Book 5)

by Merry Farmer

  She was silent for so long as she worked her way through the basket of laundry that Jarvis didn’t think she would answer.

  At last she said, “Harry was killed at Antietam, September of last year.” Her voice shook, but she went on. “It seems like it was a thousand years ago, and it seems like it was last week.”

  “Yeah.” He pushed out a breath of relief and brushed his hand back across his hair. “It’s like that when folks die, isn’t it?”

  She peeked at him through her pale lashes as she took the last of the shirts from the laundry basket.

  “Sometimes I wish that I’d never met him,” she confessed, lowering her eyes. “And sometimes I wish I’d met him much sooner. Either way, we were meant to be together. At least….” She didn’t finish.

  Jarvis’s heart thumped in his chest. He shifted his weight, thrusting his hands in his pockets, then walking with her down the line of laundry to the end. When she got there, she finished hanging the last shirt.

  “Seems like you and I have a few things in common,” he said.

  “Do we?”

  He nodded. “It might be nice for the two of us to sit together sometime, talk about things. Strange though it sounds, sometimes it helps to talk about things in order to let them go.”

  She lowered her basket and stared at him. He knew what would come next. She would shout at him and accuse him of being callous, and tell him she didn’t want to let her dead husband go.

  Instead, she sighed and shook her head, then pushed past him.

  “You’re very kind, Jarvis. No one has asked me to talk about Harry, not at all. Not even when we were married.”

  “Well that doesn’t sound right.” He followed her toward the fort’s main gate.

  “My parents didn’t approved of our marriage, so they didn’t want to hear about it.”

  That was a surprise.

  “I want to hear about it,” he said.

  Alice stopped abruptly inside the gate, spinning to face him. “I appreciate that, but why on earth would any man want to hear a woman go on about another man?”

  “Maybe I can help?”

  She sighed and squeezed her eyes shut, as though he’d given her a headache. Then she shook her head and put on a smile that felt forced.

  “No one has been as kind to me as you’ve been, Jarvis. I’m not used to it. But that doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate it.”

  “Flint!”

  The sound of his name being called yanked Jarvis’s attention toward the target range. Col. Connor stood with his fists on his hips while his brothers-in-arms lined up in a tight, sniggering row behind him.

  “Oh dear,” Alice said, the barest, tiniest hint of humor in her tone.

  “Flint, get back over here,” Col. Connor shouted. “You did not receive orders to pester our guests.”

  “Yes, sir,” Jarvis called back and turned to go. Before he started off, he said to Alice, “Could we talk sometime? I’d like to.”

  “I,” Alice stumbled, flushing as he sidestepped away. “I’m in mourning,” she finished.

  “Mourning doesn’t last forever,” Jarvis told her, delaying as long as he could without getting his head chewed off by the colonel. “And after mourning, we could go for a nice, afternoon walk.”

  He grinned at his own joke, then left her to think about it as he ran back to target practice. His father could grouse at him all he wanted for what he saw as making a mess of his life, but Jarvis knew that with a little patience, he could make Alice’s life better.

  Chapter Four

  Life in New York City had been a flurry of activity. Alice’s family was well-placed enough that she had never lacked for social calls or balls to attend. There had always been noise and conversation, fashion and art. Ft. Bridger, Wyoming was about as far from New York City as she’d ever imagined anyone could get. But as she swept a broom across the floor of Col. Connor’s office, pushing a pile of dust out through the door and into the open yard, she considered that it might not be half bad.

  Working with her hands for the last few days wasn’t half bad either. She laughed at herself. Who would have thought that a pampered city debutante would enjoy sweeping offices and doing the wash, and even helping out in the kitchen at a frontier outpost? She answered herself that anyone who had glimpsed the troubles her father’s business had been heading for in the early days of the war, anyone who had seen her help out at home, when they’d had to let all but one of the maids go, would have known.

  Truth be told, she liked work. She took her broom outside and crossed from Col. Connor’s office to the mess hall at the other end of the yard in the center of the fort. Work gave her a sense that she was not just a useless pair of hands flittering about. Ft. Bridger gave her something to think about besides grief.

  As if on cue, she caught sight of Jarvis Flint across the yard, drilling with a group of other militiamen. They were doing various strengthening exercises, some of them tossing heavy objects back and forth, others lying prone on the ground and pushing themselves up with their arms. Jarvis was one of the ones hanging from a bar that had been set up between two poles and pulling himself up until his chin was over the bar. His shirt was sweaty and sticking to his frame. He was certainly well-built, with arms that Alice wasn’t sure she could wrap her hands around. He had his long hair tied back in a ponytail, but it too was damp. She wondered how he was allowed to keep his hair so long as part of the militia.

  Two beats too late, Alice realized she had stopped walking, and that she was standing and staring. Heat flushed her face and she forced her eyes away, moving on. She hadn’t really just stopped to stare at a man, had she? It was impossible. At least he hadn’t seen her staring. Or so she hoped.

  She made it to the mess hall, grateful to be out of the direct sun and away from tempting thoughts of strong, kind militiamen. She had no business thinking those thoughts, and did her best to chase them away with her broom. As she swept the dusty hall, she imagined pushing away all improper thoughts—thoughts she didn’t need, thoughts that weren’t in the least bit useful.

  Although, Jarvis Flint was one of the kindest men she had ever met. He had been so eager to help her and her father. He was still helping. He’d checked on Papa as much as the doctor, and Alice had half a mind to think that his attentiveness was the reason her father was making such a quick recovery. What would they have done if Jarvis hadn’t been so willing to bring her father fresh water, and even an old Indian remedy one of the other militiamen had told him about?

  When she found herself near a window, she peeked out. The militiamen were engaged in some sort of running activity now, sprinting back and forth across the fort’s yard. Jarvis shot out ahead of the others, his face set in determination as he crossed the space faster than Alice would have thought possible. His legs must be as powerful as his arms, the legs of an athlete. She imagined that they were as thick as tree trunks, with defined muscle covered by soft skin.

  She gasped and twisted away from the window. Where had that thought come from? Soft skin? Worse still, she had undressed him in her imagination to paint a mental picture of what those legs would look like without trousers. Kindness was one thing, but the moment she began mentally undressing a man—a man who had shown her nothing but kindness and consideration—she knew she had overstepped a very important line.

  It must be the heat, she told herself, sweeping twice as hard and fast as before. The heat was making her silly. She pushed the pile of dust she’d formed to the door at the other side of the room, which let out far away from the drilling militiamen. Her mother would scold her if she knew the kind of visions she’d conjured up. Emma, even Emma would laugh at her. Dear God, Harry would—

  But no, Harry wouldn’t do anything. Harry was dead.

  She swallowed as she swept the dust out of the mess hall, then stepped into the shade on that side of the building. Maybe it was a mistake for them to have stopped here. She was in mourning, after all. Mingling with a pack of men, no matter h
ow kind, was madness.

  Then why did she feel as though she was exactly where she was supposed to be?

  There was nothing to be done but move on. She was on the side of the fort that held the barracks, so she took herself and her broom down the line to the last whitewashed building where her father was.

  “Ah, Alice, my dear. I was wondering where you were,” he greeted her as she stepped into the long, empty room. He was sitting up in bed, reading a newspaper, but he set it down when Alice entered. “My dear, you’re flushed. Is something wrong?”

  Knowing she was caught made Alice blush harder.

  “It’s the heat, Papa,” she made her excuse. Not the thought of handsome, strong, undressed militiamen with long hair and kind eyes. “I’ve been sweeping today, and all that moving has me a little overheated.”

  “Then come here and sit down and have a glass of water,” he bade her, gesturing to the chair beside his bed where she’d spent many hours sitting these last few days. But perhaps not as many hours as she should have to avoid inappropriate thoughts.

  Alice took a seat and poured herself a glass of water from the jug on her father’s bedside table. She wiped damp hair back from her face.

  “I hope they’re not taking advantage of your kindness,” her father said. His words were slower than usual and he coughed at the end of his sentence. His color was still off, but his fever was gone.

  “No, Papa,” she assured him, taking another long drink to cool her body and steady her mind. “I’ve enjoyed working. It keeps my mind off of some things.” But not off of others.

  Her father managed a weak smile. “I wonder if we did the right thing, dragging you and your sister all the way out here into the wilderness when we could have stayed and made a go of things back East.”

  “I like it here,” she rushed to reassure him.

  “Really?” He laughed. It was a happy sound, even if it broke down into a racking cough by the end.

  “Papa, you should be careful not to tire yourself out,” she said. She set her glass of water aside and poured one for him.

  He took it as his coughing fit subsided and drank as if no one had given him water for days. At least she knew that wasn’t the case. Why, Jarvis had brought the jug of water to him just a few hours—

  She sighed and sat heavily in her chair. Jarvis again. She needed to be more careful about where her thoughts went when she wasn’t paying attention.

  “Hmm,” her father hummed, setting aside the glass. “My dear, I’ve heard you sigh many times since we left New York and before. That sigh was different.” He arched one eyebrow, a signal for her to confess.

  “I suppose it’s because I’m tired from work,” she said, unable to meet his eyes. Her hands fussed with the black of her skirt.

  “Hmm.” The way he hummed this time made Alice certain she’d been caught doing something wrong. “This passel of young men we’ve found ourselves stuck with haven’t been rude to you, have they?”

  “Oh no, they’ve been very kind,” she answered, a little too quickly, if her father’s knowing grin was any indication. “I mean, they haven’t been any more or less kind than they should be.”

  “I see.” Her father nodded, his smile growing wider.

  She was in trouble, all right. Her father was the most brilliant man she knew. Nothing escaped his observation. Unfortunately.

  “Where is that nice Mr. Flint who has been instrumental in taking care of me?” he asked.

  “Jarvis is outside, training with the rest of his outfit,” she answered, again too fast. She cursed herself inwardly. Whatever this was, it was happening far too quickly.

  “He and I had an interesting conversation this morning when you were out there helping in the fort’s kitchen,” her father went on.

  “Oh?” she asked, too shaky to look at him.

  “Yes. He’s a bright young man with a variety of prospects. And he seems to like you.”

  She forced a laugh and risked meeting her father’s eyes. “I like him. I like all of the militiamen. They’re so different from the men I knew back in New York. They’re not as sophisticated or educated, but they’re brave and strong and helpful.”

  “Some more than others?”

  Alice huffed out a breath. She couldn’t let this war of hints go on any longer.

  “Papa. Harry gave his life for what he believed in. He was brave and strong and helpful too. I married him. I love him. He hasn’t been gone for more than a year.” She swallowed the well of grief that pushed up through her chest.

  “I know, my dear, I know.” Her father’s tone changed to sad and full of regret. He patted her hand, but was prevented from doing or saying more as another round of coughing seized him.

  Alice refilled his glass of water and handed him a handkerchief, glad that her troubles could be ignored for a moment. Her father seemed so tired when he was through coughing that she stood and reached for her broom.

  “I should let you rest,” she told him.

  Her father hummed in response and rested his head against the pillows behind him. Alice turned to go.

  “Don’t be so quick to hold on to grief, my dear,” he said before she could get away.

  She turned back to him with a frown. “I’m not holding on to grief, Papa. It’s holding on to me.”

  “Yes, well, maybe there’s someone else for you to hold on to out there,” he said.

  A burst of frustration squeezed her gut. “Don’t get any ideas, Papa. Love is something that only happens once. I’ve had my chance, and I wouldn’t trade that for the world.”

  “Good girl,” her father said, more than a little drowsy. “But just because you’ve loved once, doesn’t mean you shouldn’t at least try something new to see what happens.”

  His words left prickles on her skin. “Try something new?” The image of strong arms and fast legs and long hair let loose instead of restrained in a ponytail flashed to her mind.

  “We are in a new land, after all,” her father reasoned. “Who knows what’s waiting for us out here? Just keep yourself open to finding it.”

  “All right,” she humored him. “I will.”

  She turned to go, but he reached out and said, “And Alice, put the broom away. Working is good, but what you need right now is some fresh air and sunshine. Why don’t you go for a walk?”

  Part of her bristled at the idea of her father ordering her around, like she was still a child. A bigger part of her longed to wander outside of the fort, breathing the clean air and listening to the sounds of the wilderness.

  “Yes, Papa,” she said and set her broom against the door to the barracks. Her poor father was still sick, after all, she told herself. It was only right to follow his wishes while he was recovering.

  In order to get to the fort’s front gate so that she could leave for her walk, Alice had to cross through the yard where the men, where Jarvis was still training. She kept her eyes straight forward and her imagination in check. She even held her breath until she was through the gate and had the palisade wall between her and temptation.

  Temptation? Was that right? It couldn’t be. She hardly knew Jarvis. It had taken her years of subtle flirting and stolen glances to realize she loved Harry, and even longer than that for the two of them to declare themselves. But she was young and innocent then. Now? Not so much.

  She shook her head to brush away those thoughts as her footsteps took her away from the fort and into the parched grass around it. It was easy to see why so many people were flocking west these days. With mountains on the horizon in front of her and miles of open land spreading out from them, this land was bursting with promise. Alice wished she knew more about farming or animal husbandry or any of the things that seemed poised to make this land great one day.

  She laughed at herself and turned to circle around the side of the fort. Her society friends would never let her hear the end of it if they could hear her thoughts now. Funny thing, though, she hadn’t spent more than a few moments thinkin
g about any of them as her family had traveled west. She’d been too busy wondering what, if anything, was out there for her, why she was so compelled to move forward. The Wyoming wilderness seemed to whisper those answers to her.

  “Alice.”

  Alice jumped at the sound of Jarvis calling her name. She spun to find him striding toward her across the rugged grass. His shirt was still damp with sweat, but his smile made up for it. She stopped to wait for him, smoothing her hands over her black skirts and breathing steadily to still her racing heart. It was only racing because she’d been startled. That had to be it.

  “I saw you leaving the fort,” Jarvis said as he reached her.

  “Oh?” Inwardly, she shook her head at herself. That was the best reply she could give? She was out of the habit of being social.

  She covered her silliness by continuing her walk around the fort. Jarvis walked in step with her.

  “It’s dangerous to go wandering around without protection,” Jarvis told her.

  She sent him a sideways look. “It can’t be that dangerous,” she said. “There’s nothing out here. Just sun and sky, mountains and fields. I like it.”

  Jarvis’s brow flew up. “You do?”

  “I do,” she echoed. “It’s peaceful, pretty.”

  He smiled, but that smile quickly faded. “It can be dangerous too. Wild animals, snakes, even Indians, now and then.”

  Alice considered his words. “Would you be surprised if I told you I wasn’t afraid of snakes?”

  Jarvis laughed. “I don’t think I’ve ever met a woman who wasn’t afraid of snakes.”

  “There are worse things out there in the world,” she said. Bullets and generals and noble causes, for example.

  Jarvis shrugged. “We try not to go out on our own, or at least not to go out too far.”

  “That’s probably the smart way to do things,” she agreed. “I never thought I’d hear myself say this, but I like all this nature.”

  “What was your life like before this?” he asked. “Back in, where was it, New York City?”