Gage’s muscles knotted with a mixture of frustration, anger, and fear. “And what about the epidemic that’s surely tearing through the Cheyenne camp right now?”
“Wells, I’d go with you in an instant if I didn’t have duties to attend to here. As soon as I’m certain we’re safe, I’ll join you at their camp. For now, you’ll have to go without me. Take one of the girls. I’ve instructed both in what to expect with Matilde’s illness.”
“I’d rather take Dara, sir. The Cheyenne can be distrustful of outsiders.”
“Then go with my blessing, and Godspeed.”
He gathered his horse then went to the makeshift stable to saddle Dara’s mount. However, as he looked over the horses, hers was nowhere to be found.
“Hey.” He strode up to the stable hand. “Where’s the chestnut mare you keep for Mr. Forsythe?”
“That handsome woman living in Mr. Forsythe’s quarters asked me to saddle it for her this morning.”
Every nerve sparked. “What time?”
The fella shrugged. “Ain’t rightly sure. Hours ago.”
Gage swung into the saddle, walked his horse to the Pullman car, and dismounting, tied the mustang to the railing. He ran into the Pullman car.
“Dara, that better be you!” Becca called from the hallway. An instant later, she trotted into the parlor, eyes widening. “You’re not supposed to be here.”
“I’m looking for Dara.”
“That makes two of us.” She hurried toward him. Palms firm against his chest, she tried to push him toward the door. “You still can’t be in here. Matilde’s got smallpox.”
Gage stood his ground. “I can’t get it. Do you know where Dara is?”
Her eyes clamped shut, and she shook her head. “No. I haven’t seen her since Papa was here this morning.”
“Any idea where she might’ve gone?”
“No.” Her blue eyes brimmed with tears. “She was going to tend to Matilde, and I was supposed to help. This isn’t like Dara. I’m frightened.”
As was he. Could she have been so angry at him that she’d ride off alone? “Was she upset?”
“We both are. I love Matilde as much as she does.”
“I mean about anything else …”
The girl nodded sheepishly. “She was quite angry last night. At you. She shut herself in our room when she returned, but she sat again with Matilde later. Neither Papa nor I could coax any information from her as to what happened.”
“A misunderstanding is all. Was she still upset this morning?”
“Quiet, not openly angry.”
No information that helped. “Thanks. Get back to Matilde. I’ll see if I can’t find Dara.”
She hugged him tight and drew back, red cheeked.
He grinned then scrambled outside and back down the steps, but he paused when his hand skimmed over something soft on the railing. Something dark and thin knotted around the metal fencing, ends fluttering in the cold winter wind. Standing on the lowest step, Gage found a dark green ribbon tied in a bow.
The one Dara had given Walks In Shadows.
Chapter Ten
Exhaustion pulled at Dara as she stepped from Spotted Hawk’s tent and shielded her eyes to look over the Cheyenne camp. She’d survived the first night. It hadn’t been easy. After some talk, she and Walks In Shadows had finally ridden to Spotted Hawk’s tent, where Walks In Shadows called to her father from horseback. When he’d stepped out, bundled in a buffalo robe and shivering with fever, the Cheyenne woman rode to the outskirts of camp.
To Dara’s surprise, Spotted Hawk’s English was pristine. Together, they’d circulated among the tents, and Dara was eventually able to quarantine the sick—or rather, separate out the few who weren’t displaying symptoms yet.
Dara walked to the riverbank, waterskins in hand, mind clicking through the myriad tasks she must accomplish. With more than one hundred sick, her tasks outweighed her strength to complete them.
She squatted beside the water and broke the thin layer of ice with a stone, then dunked first one waterskin, then the other, into the icy water.
Lord, I don’t know what I was thinking. I knew the numbers of Cheyenne that live here. How could I have dreamed I’d be able to care for all of them myself? I need help. I need You.
As the second skin filled, Dara looked across the camp. Early morning sunlight glinted against the frosted grass, almost blinding her as a silhouetted figure stepped from inside Spotted Hawk’s tent. Dara stood, shading her eyes to see who was moving about. The figure took a few steps her way, blocking the glinting sunlight just enough that she could see.
“Gage.”
The waterskin only half full, she plucked it from the stream, snatched up the full one, and dashed back into the camp. “Gage!” Dara fell into his arms.
“You all right, princess?” he whispered against her hair as he held her.
“Yes.” Now. She nodded against his shoulder. “Just tired.” Very tired. “Where did you come from? It’s barely past dawn.”
“Once I guessed where you’d gone, I set out. I’d have been here sooner, but it got too cold last night. Had to make camp and build a fire.” He pushed her back to arm’s length. “What in the name of Pete were you thinking, coming by yourself?”
Dara heaved a sigh. “I was trying to help.” Just what Mama would’ve done.
“By yourself?”
“Walks In Shadows found me, said there was a great sickness here. When she described the symptoms, I realized it was smallpox. I admit, I didn’t think it through like I should have. I was upset at the news about Matil—”
Her heart stalled for an instant as realization struck. “Gage, Matilde has smallpox. So do the Cheyenne. If you haven’t been vaccinated, you could be infe—”
“Your uncle told me.” As if seeing the waterskins for the first time, he took them from her. “I was vaccinated during the war. I’ll be fine.”
“Thank the Lord.” Relief washed through her. “I’m so glad you came. There’s too many for one person to attend to. I need help.”
Gage’s expression clouded. “I can’t. Not yet.”
“Why?”
“Dara, they were infected by the blankets. I overheard a conversation between Marston, Adgate, and Vickers. The railroad conspired to hurt the Cheyenne, somehow laced the blankets with smallpox and gave ’em out. Vickers is the one that blew up the boxcar.”
“On purpose?” Her own father had done this?
Gage hung his head. “I need to burn those blankets. Once that’s done, I can help with whatever else you need.”
Dara nodded, trying not to let emotion and exhaustion get the better of her. “All right.”
He carried the waterskins to Spotted Hawk’s tent, and each set about their tasks. Dara moved from one patient to the next, offering water and checking symptoms. As she ducked out of a tent, a lone figure on horseback rode over the hill toward the camp.
“Gage?” she called as he appeared, carrying several blankets. Her belly knotted as she recognized her father.
They walked in his direction, and her father dismounted. Strangely, he crammed his hands deep in his trouser pockets.
“Papa.” Every nerve flared warning.
“William told me what happened.” He shifted a glance past her to Gage and then toward the Cheyenne camp.
Dara glared. “How dare you show up here after what you did to these people.” Her hand arced toward his particularly pale cheek.
Gage caught Dara’s wrist as a line of riders crested the hill behind Forsythe. “Wait.”
All the fire she’d directed at her pa suddenly turned his way. She jerked free, gave him one mighty shove, and stormed past him, racing toward the stream.
Gage turned back to Forsythe. “Why are you here?”
The other man’s Adam’s apple bobbed repeatedly. “I brought help.”
“That so?” The same anger from Dara’s gaze boiled in his belly. “How do I know you didn’t bring them to clean
up the mess you made?”
“I swear to you, Wells.” Forsythe shifted uncomfortably. “I didn’t know what Marston and Adgate’s true intentions were. The Cheyenne and the railroad have had their conflicts, but I would never have been party to such actions.”
Silence prevailed as Gage sized up the other man. Always before, Forsythe had been the picture of control. A man who wielded power like a weapon. Yet, now there was only remorse in his gaze, a penitence Gage had doubted Forsythe might possess. This had rocked him in a way little else could.
“Just so you know, I called the US Marshals in. They’ll be arresting Marston and Adgate.”
A good start. Gage glanced to the odd assortment of people he’d brought—several muscled track layers, a couple of soiled doves who worked the rail camp, and numerous new faces.
“You sure they can’t catch smallpox?”
“They’re all immune.”
“Good. We need the help.” Gage stationed the ragtag bunch among the various tents. When only Forsythe remained, Gage stalked toward the stream, leaving him in the dust.
“Wells, what do you want me to do?”
Gage faced him. “Wait there while I fetch Dara. You two need to talk.”
He hurried down the shallow incline of the bank, Dara turning as he approached.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, diving into his embrace. “I shouldn’t have pushed you. I was just so angry at Papa, and you stopped me fr—”
“Shhh.” Gage cupped her face in his hands and kissed her—soundly. She stiffened, but almost instantly her turmoil seemed to drain away, and her fingers wound into the thick fabric of his coat. Only when the trembling in her limbs subsided did he come up for air. Still cradling her face, he rested his forehead against hers and looked into her ice-blue eyes. “I love you, Dara Forsythe.”
She stared back at him. “I love you, too.”
“I’m real glad to hear that. You had me worried the other night.” He stole another quick kiss before he pulled away and took her hands in his. “Do you trust me?”
Dara nodded.
“Then I want you to walk over there and talk to your pa.”
Blue eyes rounding, she glanced around him and shook her head. “I have nothing to say to him.”
“I beg to differ, princess. You’ve been asking to talk since the day that cougar attacked you. If what I’m seeing is right, now’d be a perfect time.”
“Truly, I don’t know what to say, Gage. Not after what he’s done.”
“I don’t think he did anything. Not knowingly, anyway. He swore to me it was all Marston and Adgate’s doing, and I believe him.” He let that sink in. “Please go talk to him, darlin’.”
“Only if you’ll come with me.”
At her reluctant consent, Gage led her back to her father. Uncomfortable seconds ticked by before Forsythe spoke.
“Dara, I’m sorry.”
“For what, Papa?”
“For everything.”
“That’s not good enough,” she hissed. “What are you sorry for—which part? Show me you know how you’ve hurt me.”
Her raw words, the anguish in Forsythe’s eyes drove a stake through Gage’s heart. Lord, help them work this out, please.
“I’m sorry”—Forsythe gulped but met her eyes, tears pooling in his own—“for the man I’ve become. I’m sorry I left you and your mother all those years ago, and I’m sorry I wasn’t there when she died.”
A sob tore from Dara’s small frame, and she launched herself into her father’s arms. “Why, Papa? Why did you go?”
When Forsythe’s tears also began to fall, Gage attempted to brush past, give them time to work through their wounds, but Forsythe caught his arm and mouthed two words. Stay. Please.
Hesitantly Gage nodded and stood a few feet away.
“I’ve let you believe I’m something I’m not.”
“What does that mean?” Dara tried to look up at him, though he held her fast to his chest.
“I was born to the poorest of the poor, with no hope of ever making anything of my life.” Forsythe looked straight at Gage as he spoke the words, then dropped his focus to the ground. “By the grace of God, I met your mother and grandmother. They helped me get a job in your grandfather’s factory, and over the years your mother and I fell deeply in love. However, your grandfather wouldn’t consent to our marriage. In his eyes, I wasn’t worthy of his daughter, so we eloped. Your grandfather never let me live it down.”
When Dara held him tighter, Forsythe pressed his eyes closed.
“After years of his badgering, your mother and I felt it best for me to leave, prove myself once and for all. It was never meant to be seven years, Dara-girl. We’d planned on two at the most. But then the war started, and I joined the Union. Somewhere along the way, I lost sight of what was most important. I let pride and greed rule my heart. It wasn’t until you came that I’ve been able to see what I’ve become. To my shame, I don’t like that man. I wish I had stayed. I missed out on so much.”
“I wish you had, too, Papa. Mama and I missed you terribly.”
“Mr. Forsythe!” a woman’s panicked shriek split the air. They all jerked to face the camp as one of the soiled doves raced toward them. “Come quick. That Vickers fella’s here!”
Both Gage and Forsythe ran toward the heart of the camp.
“He come barging into the tepee I was in and started digging around amongst their things,” the woman panted. “When he saw me, he ducked back out, jumped on his horse, and rode off.”
Forsythe ran to his horse at the far end of the camp, and Gage darted between Spotted Hawk’s tent and the one next to it. Grabbing his Whitworth and his saddlebags, Gage swung onto the paint’s bare back and raced to the edge of the camp. In the distance, Vickers galloped his horse full speed. Forsythe trailed far behind him.
Gage slipped from his mount’s back and, with practiced precision, loaded his rifle. He leveled the gun over the paint’s back and sighted in on his target. After careful aim, he blew out half a breath and squeezed the trigger. The Whitworth kicked against his shoulder, and he waited the extra instant to see Vickers tumble from his horse. Gage reloaded, sighted in on Vickers again. The distant figure lay prone, though moving. Forsythe reached him a moment later and hauled the man to his feet. Satisfied, Gage gently lowered the rifle’s hammer and turned.
Dara stood only feet away, a half smile lighting her tear-streaked face.
“You all right?”
Her smile widened as she nodded. “There’s a whole lot more Papa and I have to discuss, but I think I will be.”
“Yeah, there’s a rather important matter I need to discuss with your pa myself, princess.”
Epilogue
Cheyenne, Dakota Territory Three months later
Dara, are you coming?”
At her husband’s call, Dara Wells pulled free of her papa’s lingering embrace and pecked him on the cheek one last time.
“I’ll miss you.”
“Not near as much as I’ll miss you, Dara-girl. I’ll send word as soon as I’ve reached Washington, DC, and I’m already making plans to return for Christmas.”
“You’d better.”
When the train whistle blew, Dara turned, took Gage’s hand, and descended from the train car’s platform before it chugged into motion.
Papa stood on the lowest step and waved until the train rounded a bend in the track just outside town.
Dara turned to face Gage and Becca.
“How you doing, princess?” Gage asked.
She mustered a brave smile. “I’ll be fine.”
Becca’s eyes misted. “I’m not. I was coming to really enjoy Uncle Connor again.”
Gage looped his arm around the girl’s shoulders. “C’mon, squirt, I told you. The work he’ll be doing with the Bureau of Indian Affairs is important.”
“But you’re working with the bureau, and you’re not going to Washington.”
“No, but I’m the territorial agent. I
handle things here locally. Your uncle will be setting policies in place that’ll care for the Indian tribes in the whole country.”
Uncle William dashed up, out of breath, and peered down the tracks. “I missed him,” he panted. “I’m sorry. I spent all night tending a patient and couldn’t get away.”
“It’s all right, Uncle William. He knew you wanted to be here.”
He loosed a frustrated sigh.
“Reckon we ought to get home.” Gage started walking toward their horses. “Matilde’s going to have breakfast ready soon. You’re both welcome to join us.”
William looked at Becca. “Don’t mind if we do.”
Arm in arm with Gage, Dara looked around the street at several new buildings being constructed as two supply wagons hauled wood to the work sites along muddy, snow-dusted lanes.
Cheyenne. No paved streets. Primitive stores by Boston’s standards. But it was growing.
It was home.
Jennifer Uhlarik discovered the western genre as a preteen, when she swiped the only “horse” book she found on her older brother’s bookshelf. A new love was born. Across the next ten years, she devoured Louis L’Amour westerns and fell in love with the genre. In college at the University of Tampa, she began penning her own story of the Old West. Armed with a BA in writing, she has won five writing competitions and was a finalist in two others. In addition to writing, she has held jobs as a private business owner, a schoolteacher, a marketing director, and her favorite—a full-time homemaker. Jennifer is active in American Christian Fiction Writers and is a lifetime member of the Florida Writers Association. She lives near Tampa, Florida, with her husband, teenage son, and four fur children.
The Right Pitch
by Susanne Dietze
Dedication
For Tamela, with thanks.
Author’s Note
Baseball has changed a bit since its inception (some scholars say the 1780s!), so some of the rules described in The Right Pitch might be strange to us in the twenty-first century. Umpires (called judges) were culled from the stands, pitchers stood in a box instead of on a mound, and the national anthem wasn’t played at ball games until the 1918 World Series. For flavor, I used the 1876 terms for player positions except for one: a catcher was called a “behind” back then, but I used our modern name for clarity’s sake.
Of Rags and Riches Romance Collection Page 7