Had the man not thought about such things before Dara arrived?
“Also, we’re a few days from moving this camp twenty miles down the track to Cheyenne. Four thousand people have flocked to the town already. I won’t have the control there that I do here. I’m left with a dilemma. Either demand the girls stay cooped up in our home—a decision neither would be happy with—or find a way to let them have their freedom.”
“So you want me to look after them….”
“Exactly. You’ve proven you can protect Becca and Dara, and having you around would give William and me peace of mind.”
The man had to be soft in the head, offering an almost-stranger the responsibility of protecting his kin.
Or maybe he was soft in the head. His farm chores were done for the winter, so taking this position would keep him busy, allow him to listen for any underhanded dealings the railroad planned for the Cheyenne … and let him spend time with the spunky woman he was growing to love. That alone was payment enough.
Chapter Seven
Cheyenne, Dakota Territory Eight days later
How severe is the scarring?” Dara looked over her shoulder as Uncle William removed her stitches.
“It could have been far worse. That beast could’ve killed you if not for Mr. Wells.”
The mention of Gage’s name set her belly aflutter as memories of his fervent prayers, his kind reassurances, and the strong safety of his arms on that ride enveloped her again. That night, after they’d tucked her into bed, Gage had peeked in at her as she drowsed. Thinking her asleep, he’d tiptoed into her room, held her hand for a moment, and kissed her fingers ever so gently. He’d caressed her cheek. “Feel better, princess,” he’d whispered as he rose. In that moment, her heart became his, though how she would explain her love of a poor Southerner to Papa was another matter entirely.
“The scarring will fade.” Uncle William’s words jarred her from her thoughts.
“It gives you character.” Becca grinned from the corner.
“Character?”
“Certainly,” Becca continued. “How many women can say they’ve been attacked by a wild animal and lived to tell about it?”
They all laughed. As Uncle William retrieved something from his medical bag, Dara threw a pillow at her. It thunked Becca in the face, and they both laughed harder.
“So will you finally release me to ride my horse again, Uncle William?”
“I’ve already had this discussion with Mr. Wells. I see no reason why you can’t. But please. Take it slowly, and … watch for wild animals.”
Her face warmed, whether because of the teasing or the mention of the handsome Southern gentleman, she wasn’t sure. “Yes, sir.”
The pillow, thrown by Becca, slammed into her head. Uncle William glared at his daughter, though Dara guffawed.
“Finished.” Uncle William laid aside his instruments. “It’s good to see your sense of humor returning. I’ve missed it.”
She tugged her chemise back into proper position, rose, and gave him a quick hug. “I’ve missed it, too, Uncle.”
He kissed the crown of her head. “Make yourself presentable. I’m sure Mr. Wells will be here soon.” He collected his things and slipped from the room.
Becca flashed her a toothy grin. “You’re smitten with him.”
“Who?”
“Don’t be coy. You know precisely who.” She retrieved Dara’s clothing, her voice a mere whisper. “You blush every time his name is mentioned.”
As if on cue, Dara’s face warmed. “He’s quite gallant.”
“And handsome. And kind, and attentive, and a gentleman, and I think he’s just as smitten with you.”
“He is not.”
“No man would pack his things, close up his home, and follow a moving rail camp unless there was a very important reason. Like a beautiful, intelligent, charming woman.”
“Stop yammering and help me dress!” Giggling, she snatched her corset from the pile.
Once she’d slipped into the garment, Becca tightened the lacing. “What will Uncle Connor say if Mr. Wells asks to court you?”
All mirth fled. “I would hope he’d agree, but Papa’s so hard to understand. For all I know, he’ll look as far as the fact that Gage is a poor Southerner and dismiss any such advances out of hand.”
Becca tied the corset then stepped in front of Dara. “You were laughing more than I’ve seen in a long while … until I asked you that question. Forgive me. I feel like I just put a fly in the punch bowl at the grandest cotillion of the Boston social season.”
After an instant, Dara pushed a smile to her lips. “Then we’ll drink tea, my dear.” She pantomimed sipping from an imaginary teacup.
They sank into laughter again, and Dara finished dressing, the pair emerging into the living quarters a few moments later. The room was empty, Papa’s early-morning breakfast dishes still cluttering the table. Very unlike Matilde, who normally had the dishes washed, dried, and put away within minutes after each meal.
“Matilde? Uncle William?”
“Papa’s bag is still here.” Becca waved at the medical case in the seat of a nearby chair. “He wouldn’t have gone far.”
A quick search of Matilde’s quarters revealed her bed unmade—another abnormality. She and Becca stepped into the chill November air and found Matilde sitting on one of the platform steps, Uncle William and Gage staring intently at her.
All eyes turned to them. “What’s wrong? Matilde?”
The freedwoman turned glassy brown eyes her way. “Feeling a mite poorly this morning, Miss Dara. That’s all.” She reached for the railing. “I’ll be in directly to prepare your breakfasts.”
Uncle William shook his head. “No, you won’t. You’re weak and feverish. I’m prescribing bed rest.”
“No, sir.” She rose but clutched the handrail as she teetered on the edge of the step.
Dara looped her arm around Matilde’s thin waist as heat radiated from her body. “You heard the doctor….”
She led Matilde inside, guiding her toward her quarters.
“No, missy,” Matilde protested. “Who’s gonna take care of you and Miss Becca? Doctor Will—”
“We’ll care for ourselves until you’re well.”
The woman shook her head as they reached her small quarters. “I been sicker than this and still worked. Don’t want to upset Mr. Connor.”
Dara’s belly knotted. She faced Matilde and cupped her friend’s face in her hands. “You’re not a slave anymore. You’re a free woman. None of us, Papa included, expect you to work when you’re ill.”
Fat tears welled in Matilde’s eyes, and Dara pulled her into a huge hug. “You’re safe here.”
Matilde nodded her head against Dara’s shoulder. “I know. You always did tell me that, missy. I’m trying to believe it.”
“Good.” She led her to the bed. “I’ll send Becca to help you change clothes, and Uncle William will want to look in on you. I need just a moment with Mr. Wells, and then I’ll return to sit with you.”
Matilde sank to the edge of the bed, her cheeks tear streaked. “Yes, Miss Dara.”
She trotted down the hall to where Becca, Gage, and Uncle William waited in the parlor. “Becca, would you help her change clothes?”
“Certainly.” Becca departed.
“How is she?” Uncle William asked.
“Fearful.” Dara willed her uncle to understand.
“Of being sick?” Gage asked, confusion lacing his words.
“Indirectly.” She heaved a breath. “Matilde was a slave in North Carolina, owned by a particularly vile piece of—”
“Dara.” Uncle William’s cautioning tone stopped her long enough to suppress the venom that threatened to erupt.
“Her owner beat her for the smallest infractions—or no reason at all—and … did worse things to her for the more serious ones. There’s a deeply ingrained fear of the consequences of failing to do her work.”
Gage cleared hi
s throat roughly. “I knew of men like that in Georgia.” He shook his head, inhaled deeply as if he would speak again, but walked out the door instead.
“Papa?” Becca called from down the hall. “You can come in now.”
Uncle William excused himself, and Dara stepped onto the rear platform where Gage stood. He stared over the fledgling town of Cheyenne, a deep scowl marring his handsome features.
“Did I upset you?” she whispered.
“If she was a slave in North Carolina, how’d she end up in Boston with you?”
“She found her way to the Underground Railroad.”
Gage looked at her. “You hid runaway slaves?”
“Not regularly, no, but at times. She was the last of seven that Mama and I hid during the war. She ran away in winter, and by the time she reached us, she was heavy with her owner’s child and on death’s doorstep with pneumonia. The conductor knew Mama’s brother—Uncle William—was a doctor, so he hoped we might have the medical knowledge to help her.” Dara shook her head. “We applied mustard plasters and other remedies, prayed for days that she’d pull through. By the time she finally did, Mama and I had grown to care about her so much, we offered to keep her with us. She agreed but said she wouldn’t take charity. She’d stay only if we’d pay her as a servant.”
“Where is her child?” Gage asked.
“Her little girl was stillborn. Perhaps that was God’s providence, given the circumstances, though Matilde grieved for her.”
Gage removed his hat and turned toward the town again.
“What’s wrong?”
He eventually shook his head. “In the South, slaves weren’t people. They were property. Their dreams and their hopes were of no importance. I never gave that a lick of thought until the war, until Sherman marched through Georgia and killed my pa, set my home and barn on fire.”
Dara stared. “I’m so sorry.”
“My three-year-old son, Braden, was asleep inside. Ma and Beth rushed in to get him, but the flames spread too fast. They all died in the fire. I never even got to see my boy. He was born after the war began.”
Unable to find adequate words, Dara took his work-roughened hand in hers.
“To Sherman’s men, my family was just a bunch of filthy Southerners standing between them and their goals. Doubt it ever occurred to them that all we wanted was to live a peaceful life on a little plot of land in nowhere, Georgia. Just like it never occurred to me that those slaves were people with their own ideas and dreams, or like white settlers trying to force the Cheyenne to give up the life they’ve always lived. God’s challenging the things I always thought I knew, things I took as gospel truth. It turns my stomach that I never saw how wrong they were before.”
She slid nearer. “I’m so sorry about your family. Your son.”
He tugged his hat on and faced her, slid his hand from her arm to her shoulder and on to her cheek. The pad of his thumb brushed across her lips, and her heart beat a little faster. As his gaze locked with hers, his fingers curled around the nape of her neck, and he pulled her gently to him.
“Dara?” Becca called from inside.
Dara drew back, putting a foot of daylight between them. Breathless, she dropped her gaze. “I need to attend to Matilde. I won’t be able to ride with you today.”
She darted inside before he could stop her.
“How’s the patient this afternoon?” Gage grinned at Matilde from the doorway of her small quarters.
“Better, sir.” She winced, pushing sweat-dampened curls away from her face.
“Most of her symptoms have gone,” Dara spoke from beside the bed. “She’s keeping food down. Her fever broke within the last hour. Her achiness is subsiding. But now her throat is hurting.”
“Glad to hear you’re improving, ma’am.”
Matilde nodded but didn’t speak.
He turned to Dara. “And how’s the nurse faring?”
“I’m well. Thank you.”
Gage turned again toward Matilde. “Would you mind if I borrowed her for a bit?”
Dara tried to protest, but Matilde shook her head. “No, sir. Go on.”
“Thank you kindly, ma’am.” He pulled Dara from her chair.
“What do you think you’re doing?” she grumbled as he led her into the hall. “I told you I need to stay with Matilde.”
“You’ve been with her the last two and a half days. Your uncle says Matilde’s improving. Becca’s willing to stay in case she needs anything. So you and I are going for that ride we’ve been talking about.”
“Gage, I shouldn’t.”
He pushed her out into the parlor. “Some time outdoors will do you good.”
“Yes, it will,” Becca chirped from an upholstered chair. “Go have some fun.”
She eyed them. “You two are conspiring against me.”
“Only because you’ve been cooped up in this train car since you got here. Nursing me, then recuperating from your own wounds, and now Matilde’s illness. You deserve to get away from all this seriousness.” He held out his arm in an invitation. “What d’ya say?”
“Won’t it be getting dark fairly soon?”
“That it will.” He nudged her with his elbow.
“Perhaps we should wait until tomorrow. It hardly seems appropriate for us to be out alone after dark.”
“Quit fussing, Dara,” Becca chided. “He asked my papa for permission to take you out. He’s sworn on his life and the lives of his future children that he’ll protect your honor.”
“Thank you, ma’am.” He grinned at Becca then turned again to Dara. “We won’t go far. I promise.”
She finally looped her hand into the crook of his elbow. “All right. But only a short while.”
They donned their coats and gloves and stepped outside, where their horses waited.
“So where are you taking me?” She mounted easily.
Gage motioned to the western sky, already streaked with myriad shades of blue, lavender, and pink. “The sunsets are beautiful. Thought we’d sit on the plains and take one in.”
Understanding lit her expression. “That’s why you were being so persistent.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“I’d like that.” Her eyes glinted. “As long as I won’t be attacked by a bear or another wild creature.”
He chuckled. “That won’t happen so long as it’s my job to protect you.”
Her smile faltered for an instant but reasserted itself. “Then let’s go.”
Gage swung into his saddle and led her away.
They rode for a couple of miles, Dara chattering on about Matilde’s condition until Gage turned to her. “I brought you out here so you could forget about all that for a while.”
Her cheeks flushed. “I’m sorry. I suppose I’ve been rather consumed.”
“Just a little. So what were you like as a child?” He searched the landscape for dangers, gaze lingering on the colorful sky.
“I suppose like I am now. I cared for those less fortunate, only then, it was animals. A bird with a broken wing, a friend’s cat that had just had kittens.”
Gage grinned. “I can’t imagine you scooping up a wild bird and carrying it home.”
A sweet giggle escaped her lips. “I didn’t. Papa scooped it up and brought it home.” She paused. “Mama and I marveled at his gentleness while he bound the bird’s wing and tried to keep it warm. He even went so far as to dig worms from the yard and hand-feed the little thing.”
“Your pa …?”
Dara sobered a little. “Hard to believe, isn’t it? But once, long ago, he was a doting father who would do anything for his only child. Back then, I never sensed his work was more important than Mama or me. All I remember was how loved I felt.”
She fell silent, a distant look glassing her eyes.
“What happened?”
“I wish I knew. About a year after that incident, he left. He and Mama never told me why or where he went. Mama would only say that he was working and promis
ed he would return. But then the war began, and he joined without coming home. At the end of the conflict, we received notice that he’d taken a job with the Union Pacific. He didn’t return then either. It broke my heart.”
He drew up and dismounted, scanning the plains as he did. “So the day you arrived here you hadn’t seen him in years.”
She halted but didn’t dismount. “Seven, to be exact.”
Seven years. She’d have been ten years old at that time. Far too young to be without her pa’s guidance. He circled around and lifted her from the saddle, her hands settling on his shoulders as he did. “You have no idea why?”
“No.”
Gage retrieved the blanket he’d tied behind his saddle and spread it on the ground, and they sat.
“When Mama passed a few months ago, I had to make a choice. Move in with my grandparents or Uncle William and stay in Boston where everything was known and comfortable—and risk losing my father forever. Or come west and try to rekindle the closeness we once shared. My grandfather cautioned me to stay, but Uncle William offered to move west with me if I wanted to go.” A wistful expression crossed her fine features. “I didn’t want to regret not trying, but it’s hard when he pushes me aside for his work.”
“I’m sorry.” He slid nearer. “It angers me the way he treats you.” The way Forsythe dismissed her at the Cheyenne camp, or how he repeatedly focused on paperwork, taking his dinner across the room, away from his family. Dara had put her life aside to become a part of his, and Forsythe was too self-absorbed to care.
“Thank you.” She rested her head against his shoulder. “You have quite the penchant for making me feel safe.”
“That’s the goal.” If he could, he’d protect her from every danger, be it a cougar or her own pa’s neglect.
They sat in silence for long minutes, watching as the sky changed colors and the shades deepened. The yellow-orange rays of winter sun shone from behind a single line of large clouds.
Of Rags and Riches Romance Collection Page 5