by Kari Trumbo
Clive nodded, now more sure of the plan than ever, and prayed the sheriff would be there soon. “He set up a wedding between me and his daughter, but I won’t be there. Constance is going to have a baby, but it isn’t mine.”
“Is she pretty?” Cornelius stood and came up to the bars.
“Yup, she’s pretty. She’s also got a streak of mischief in her.”
A smile broke over his face and he chuckled. “I don’t mind that. Don’t really like my ladies placid.”
The sheriff trudged through the door, his mother right on his heels.
“Mom, we need to get Cornelius here to the church on time. He’s going to be me for a day.”
She shook her head and looked at the sheriff. “They appear to be sorry for their misdeeds, sir. Can they be freed now?”
The sheriff frowned and nodded. “I’ll send over the amount of the ticket for the stay in jail later today.”
Clive flexed his fingers, itching to get free and go find Frances.
The sheriff opened the door and he ducked out.
“Clive. She wasn’t there. No use running off just yet.”
He turned and his stomach hit the floor. Frances had nowhere to go. “She wasn’t at home? You checked her room? Did she leave a note, anything?”
She nodded. “I did. I checked the whole house. She didn’t leave a note and her trunk was still there.”
At least she hadn’t sent for a porter right away. There was still hope to find her. It was possible she just went for a walk and hadn’t noticed anything out of the ordinary except that everyone had been gone when she arose that morning.
His mom joined him and they walked quietly back toward her home.
After they’d walked a few blocks, she spoke, “Are you going to tell me what’s on your mind, or just let me guess?”
“You probably have a better guess than I do.” He chuckled, but the noise didn’t satisfy. He needed to talk to Frances, make everything right, get all the secrets out in the open.
“I think you like that girl. I also don’t think you realize she feels the same way.”
“There’s where you’re wrong, Mom. Frances is afraid to get near men after what happened last week. And it was my fault. Because of what I put her through, she may never love me.”
His mother nodded. “You think I’m weak, son?”
He stopped in his tracks. “Of course not! You raised me all by yourself after we lost Pa. You worked your fingers to the bone to help me go to school and put food on the table. Never would I think you’re weak.”
All he wanted was to get home and find Frances there, yet his mother wanted to chat about old times? “Frances knows what she feels, Clive. She isn’t weak, either. She’s struggling under the weight of feelings she doesn’t understand, but she’s not too weak to face them. Especially if you can face them together.”
They came around the corner and he couldn’t stop himself from running. It had only been a day, but soon he’d see her. He rushed through the door. “Frances?” he called up the stairs and waited. When she didn’t answer, he rushed up to her door and knocked, but she didn’t respond. The door was open slightly and he pushed it further. Looking in, she was not there.
He stumbled down the stairs. “She’s still not here. I should go look for her. Rapid City is a whole square mile, she could get lost. I’ll try Swander’s Grocery, I’ve seen her there before.”
His mother nodded and frowned. “I’ll try down by the creek. She was up well into the morning working on that story. She may have just needed a moment to think. If I find her, I’ll send her back to the house.”
“Thank you, Mom. I’ll make a grandmother out of you yet.”
She waved her hand and sighed. “Don’t put the cart before the horse. We have to find her first.”
“If we don’t find her, let’s meet back here at five. She should come back for supper.”
“We’ll have to have something simple if I’m not going to be here cooking, but that sounds like a fair plan.” She tied her loose bonnet. “And Clive...pray.”
Chapter 19
Frances rushed down the stairs, pushing pins into place. The kitchen and sitting room were mysteriously vacant, the sun poured through the windows from high in the sky. She’d slept far later than planned.
“Rissa?” She peered into the living room, just in case the woman was cleaning behind furniture. She turned and entered the kitchen, hoping for a note. All she found were some biscuits and butter left for her. Doubt crept over her. Clive and his mother certainly had been quick to leave. She couldn’t think of any one thing she could’ve done to offend them.
Finishing her breakfast, she brushed the crumbs off her dress and the table before grabbing her reticule and dashing out the door. After locking herself away the full day before, she needed air and some open spaces. The Gap, so named because the river cut a gap between two hills on the west side of town, called her name. It formed two sloped walls, the gateway to the hills. As she strolled toward the edge of town, she spotted Getchell’s Staple and Fancy Groceries. It would be a good place to grab some cheese for a snack and some paper for writing.
Ducking inside the two-story building boasting living quarters above, she let her eyes adjust to the dimness after the bright sun of the street. Her favorite part of the store was the scrolled painting of the wares between the upstairs windows, advertising Confectioneries, Extracts and Spices, Tobacco and Cigars, and Glassware. It took a few minutes to find the supply of paper and pencils, then she selected her cheese. When Frances came to the front counter, she noticed a stack of the Black Hills Union on the counter. There hadn’t been time to indulge in a whole newspaper since arriving. She slipped a copy onto her small pile and payed for her purchases. The shopkeeper wrapped it all up for her and she returned to her walk to the edge of town.
Clive had never mentioned where he lived. Had she walked right by it? If she had, would he have come out to wish her a pleasant morning, if he’d seen her? She shook the thoughts from her head. Clive owed her nothing. He deserved someone as attractive as he was. Someone he could hold hands with, and they would make a beautiful couple. Not so with her. Frances had ordinary blonde hair, blue eyes that were too narrow, and cheeks that were too thin.
It was a long walk out of town, but once there, the Gap was impressive. Some called it the Gateway to the Hills because the gap was like a great entryway to the Black Hills, visible in the distance. A light trickling stream flowed through the center of a wide expanse between two tree covered hills. Since Rapid City wasn’t actually part of the hills, everything was shorter, not as impressive as it seemed in Deadwood, where the hills dwarfed the cities.
Flattening a small area for her to sit, she reclined in the tall grass and stared at the sky. “Lord, I don’t know when it happened... Sometime between fighting with him over my story and watching him with Constance, I’ve fallen for him. I don’t want to return to Deadwood and be alone. I don’t know how to tell if he’s the one for me. My sisters just seemed to know what to do. For all my talk of love and romance, I don’t have any idea where to go from here. Please help me, Lord.”
Frances pulled up her knees and rested her forehead against them. The sun warmed the back of her neck. Clive had warned her about getting burned by the sun that day in front of the mercantile, because Turner wouldn’t like it, he’d said. Would Clive have the same aversion? Would he want to spend time with her outside, riding, planting flowers, taking walks...? Or, would he insist she remain stifled under a bonnet and stay as milky white as Constance?
She groaned and flung herself down into the grass, lying flat. Why should it matter? If he desired Constance, he could have her. There would only be one Frances, and he would have to choose. She sat up and tore into the paper the store clerk used to wrap her purchases. She pulled out the newspaper. The front-page news was about the proposed building site of a hotel, which wasn’t interesting. She flipped it to the back page and read in big letters: Clive Davidson to
Marry Constance Charity at rushed ceremony this afternoon 2:00PM, Thursday June 21st, 1895 at the Presbyterian Church on Kansas Street. All are invited to attend.
The remainder of the article blurred her vision as her tears burned hot at the corners of her eyes. He’d left her, thrown away his promise to help her, then ran off to marry Constance. How had her words made him so angry that he would just leave? He’d called himself her friend, but hadn’t even told her about his wedding... That had to be where Rissa was that morning, preparing for the event. She glanced up at the sky and crushed the paper in her fist. If she hadn’t stayed up all the night before, she wouldn’t have slept in so late that morning. All that was left to do was to get her ticket and go home. She couldn’t face Clive, couldn’t pretend to be happy for him. Why stay in Rapid City? She couldn’t stay to see Clive and Constance marry, and she had no story to tell if Clive couldn’t be in it. Without him, there was no heart, no hero.
Her hands seemed to move of their own accord as she gathered her few things and trudged back toward town. One of the churches peeled the time, three chimes for three o’clock. Her knees wobbled under her, but she pushed forward. She tried to muster some anger against Constance or even Clive, but she couldn’t force herself to feel anything without the burning pain of loneliness. By the time she made it back to Rissa’s, the church bell struck four. She entered the house and found it still empty. Good, she didn’t have to explain to anyone why she was leaving. They didn’t know her feelings, and if she had to explain, she just might break into a thousand pieces all over the floor.
Frances sat at Clive’s desk and gathered the stage ticket from her carpet bag. It was bent, but still usable. She tucked it into her reticule and glanced over her shoulder at the stack of papers she’d left from the night before. She’d managed to edit or rewrite all but the last three chapters. She scanned the pages, proud of the fact that Steve and Maxine had grown so close together, but they had waited until the end to share their first kiss. The reader would be waiting for it, hoping for it...and now it would never be. Not for the reader or her. She picked up her red pencil and slashed the original manuscript where she’d tried to guess what a kiss was like. With trembling fingers, she could barely manage to write the words. She flipped to the last chapter where Steven proposed and wrote LIES in big letters over the whole page.
Love was a lie. She knew that now.
Frances flipped open her trunk, grabbed her two favorite walking skirts, and shoved them into the carpet bag along with one white shirtwaist. She gathered her brush and other tools, shoving them in the bag and snapped the closure shut. When she had what she needed, she grabbed her reticule and headed down the stairs. At the bottom, she couldn’t shake the need to leave a note. They had left her without one, but she couldn’t be as thoughtless. She didn’t want Rissa to think she didn’t care.
Dear Rissa,
Thank you so much for allowing me to stay last night. I do believe I have overstayed my welcome in Rapid City. I miss my home. I know it is a lot to ask, but please keep my trunk until my brother-in-law, Beau Rockford, can send money to ship it back to me. I’m sorry for being in such a rush, but I was hit with a particularly sharp case of home sickness this noon and I must go.
Wishing you all the best,
Frances
The note was short, and it made no mention of Clive. It would be better that way. He probably wouldn’t even wonder where she’d gone. He’d leave on some honeymoon trip, and by the time he got back, the week she’d promised him would’ve been long over. Her thoughts scorched her already wounded heart. She would remember him always, but he would forget her almost immediately.
Hours later, her kerchiefs were soaked, and people had tired of staring at her. The ride from Rapid City to Deadwood didn’t take long, but it felt like a lifetime. No one would be waiting for her, as they weren’t expecting her back for more than a week. She’d have to find a ride out to the ranch or send a message for someone to come get her. She didn’t have the money for that. One of the stages went right near the ranch on its way to Lead, but she couldn’t afford that, either.
The stage moved along, restless men hanging from the top made a mournful creaking as it swayed along the gully between two hills. Two and a half weeks ago, she’d made that trip with her dreams in focus. She was going to walk into that newspaper office and show them how amazing her story was. She was going to sell hundreds of thousands of copies and be just as famous as Charlotte Braeme. Now, she knew better. Charlotte knew life. She was good at making naive girls think love gave you chills and filled your belly with sweet butterflies, but it wasn’t true. She’d never read another dime novel again. Her sister, Eva, had been right. The books were trash and she wasn’t even fit to write that.
The stage pulled into the station and Frances clutched her carpet bag to her chest. There were a few people she knew from church who might be able to get her home or know of someone heading that way. That was the safest plan. It was never a good idea to dilly-dally in Deadwood. The longer you were there, the more likely you’d run into someone you didn’t want to.
Frances tucked her chin and held her breath against the smell in the street as she skirted her way through town to the small church her family ventured to most Sunday mornings. The old circuit preacher who’d originally led Beau and all her sisters to Deadwood had long since retired and now the church was run by Ira Johnson. She pulled the right side of the large double doors open and slipped inside. Pastor Ira sat in one of the pews with his head bowed and the rest of the church appeared empty. After a moment, he turned to her. “Frances, it’s been a few weeks. How was your visit to Rapid City?”
She choked on her reply and plunked down in the pew next to him. Taking a deep breath, she swallowed the pride holding her words. “I’m very glad to be home, sir. I just need a ride out to the ranch.”
“Is your trunk still at the station? We could stop on the way to get it?”
She shook her head. “I’ll have to have Beau wire money. I wasn’t able to get it to the stage. Thank you so much for the ride. I didn’t know who else to turn to.”
He tipped his head. “Is there anything else you need?”
“No, sir. I just want to be home, with my sisters.” Where they could love the hurt away.
She stood and he followed. “I just got here to the church a bit ago and didn’t plan to stay long. I guess the Lord knew I’d have other things to do today.” He laughed as he led her out the back of the church and to his buggy. Only three miles to the ranch and the peace she’d find there.
Chapter 20
Frances hadn’t been at the mercantile. Nor was she at Charity house, which had been empty. Jacob had planned the wedding, even sending a note to the paper to let them know, so that his daughter might know the embarrassment she’d tried to give to others. Fine plan, but if Frances saw that paper, it would only make it worse. He’d even wandered by the church, remaining as hidden has he could, to see if she’d gone there. But why would she? She’d always harbored the thought that Clive wanted to be with Constance. No amount of talk had dissuaded her from her first impression. And how hard had he really tried? Had he engaged Frances in conversation when they had all been out? No, on at least one occasion, he’d purposely ignored her, giving attention to Constance to make her hurt as he’d been hurt seeing her in Turner’s arms. Arms he’d pushed her into. No wonder she was confused.
Now, the hour was late, almost five, and he was out of places to look. Rapid City had never seemed quite so big or lonely. He brushed his boots off before walking in the house, but his mom wasn’t there yet. He took the stairs two at a time and sighed when he saw Frances’s trunk. It was still there. She wouldn’t leave her things... Would she? He glanced at his desk, covered in pages. Mom had said she’d worked well into the morning hours. She couldn’t have finished the whole thing.
Making his way around the bed, he picked up the first page. It was slashed in red pencil with the word LIES scratched across it. A s
mudge at the bottom bespoke of tears. He recognized the scene from the top of the page. The wedding of Steve and Maxine. He flipped through the other pages on the desk and found other red marks and his heart broke a little more with each one. He’d told her to experience romance at the hands of a fool thinking that she could find romance with any partner she chose. He’d been so wrong. The one who’d needed to open their heart and learn...was him.
Clive gathered the pages to his chest and fell to his knees. She was gone. She may not have her trunk, but he knew without a doubt, she wasn’t in Rapid City anymore. Rushing to the stage wouldn’t bring her back. He put the pages in order and set aside the first chapter they’d gone through the night before.
The pages were full of changes, the margins plastered with new bits, phrases, feelings. He fell in love with Maxine even more deeply as he read, but something was different about Steve as well. He read on to chapter eight, voraciously consuming Frances’s words. Steve wrapped his strong hands around her waist and lifted her from the carriage. “You couldn’t wait, could you? Do you have to be so stubborn?”
Maxine’s heart trembled and she turned from him lest he know just what she felt. “I thought you liked my stubborn?” she whispered, unable to maneuver the words past the knot in her throat. Why couldn’t he just tell her how he felt? Couldn’t he ease her worry with a simple...I love you?
Clive let the pages fall from his hands. He’d be a fool not to remember that scene, those feelings, her trembling. He’d recognized Maxine as Frances, but had he missed Steve as himself? Had he been too afraid to see it? He searched through the scattered pages for the first chapter. Steely eyes, almost black hair, tall enough to kiss her forehead if he’d a mind to... He was Steve. How had he missed it? She’d even asked him what he’d thought of Steve. She’d been trying to tell him how she felt, and he’d ignored it. Now who was the lunk head?