“We weren’t attacked there,” Carmela said. “The last stop was burned by Indians.”
Price swung around to look at her. “Now wait a minute. Was it outlaws or Injuns?”
“It was both, sir,” Carmela said.
Freeland nodded. “Before we were attacked, we came into Westfield station, and it was abandoned. No team, no people. We rested and went on. When we got to the next one, it had been burned out and the men stationed there killed. We buried them and rested the horses. Shortly after we left there, we were attacked, but not by the Apache that burned them out. These were white men.”
Price shook his head. “Hard to believe. You’d best come in and sit down. I reckon you two have had a hard day.”
Young Jerry nodded sagely. “We knew they was trouble down the line.”
With his tools from the shed, it took Windle only seconds to cut the chain on the handcuffs. Carmela pushed the bracelet back and rubbed her wrist.
“You all right?” Freeland asked.
“Yes. It feels good though.”
He nodded. The constant pressure and frequent tugs on the chain had rubbed his wrist, too, until it was sore and swollen. He thought he saw abrasions on Carmela’s skin.
He leaned toward her. “I expect you’d like to use the necessary.”
She flushed. “Yes, thank you.”
Freeland turned to the station agent. “Maybe you could escort Miss Wade out back while Mr. Windle tries to get my bracelet off.”
“Sure thing.” Price gestured with his shotgun. “This way, miss. And Jerry, you keep watch out the front winder. We don’t know if them outlaws or the Apache will show up here next.”
“Yes sir.” Jerry took up his post with the rifle, and Price took Carmela outside.
Windle eyed the metal bracelet on Freeland’s wrist and selected a tool. “So your prisoner got away. Where do you reckon he went?”
“He followed us when he couldn’t catch a loose horse. Carmela and I managed to overpower him. We left him lying in the shade unconscious a few hours ago.”
“So he might be our next visitor.”
Freeland grimaced. “It wouldn’t surprise me a bit.”
“We’ll block the door again after you folks are done out back,” Windle said.
Freeland noticed a cupboard, two chairs, and a table that had been dragged near the front door to barricade it with. These men took the danger seriously, even when they didn’t know its nature.
Windle followed his gaze. “We don’t take to the idea of bein’ scalped.”
“I don’t blame you.” Freeland held his arm out for the blacksmith to work on it. “I don’t know if you can pick the lock. I rather foolishly beat on it with a rock.”
“Well, we’ll see about that. Come sit down.”
By the time Carmela and Price returned, Freeland’s handcuff was off, and Price gave him some horse liniment to smear on his wrist.
Windle smiled at Carmela. “Come have a seat, young lady. We’ll get that hardware off you in two shakes of a lamb’s tail.”
Carmela sat down where he indicated and placed her wrist on the rough wooden bench the blacksmith was using as a worktable.
“I expect you’re hungry,” Price said.
“We haven’t eaten for almost two days,” Freeland admitted.
“Soup. I’ve got some on the back of the stove. I don’t usually keep a fire on hot days, but soup’s the best thing if you haven’t et for a while.” He laid down the shotgun and moved about the end of the room near the cookstove, unhurried but purposeful.
“I’d probably eat it cold right about now,” Freeland said with a grin.
“Well, here, boy. Here’s some cornpone to gnaw on while you wait.” He shoved a square black pan into Freeland’s hands. It was half-full of cornbread, and a knife lay in the empty part where the rest had been. “Don’t have no butter, but we’ve got us some applesauce in the crock yonder.” He nodded toward a shelf.
While Freeland puttered about finding plates for himself and Carmela and heaping them with cornpone and applesauce, Price laid the fire in the stove.
“Man, do you have to light the fire?” Jerry whined from the window. “It’s already an oven in here.”
“I can eat cold soup,” Carmela said quickly.
“Me, too,” Freeland said.
“Well, I got to say, it’s not really cold.” Price took the lid off his stewpot and frowned. “It’s as warm as you and me. I made a big batch yesterday, expecting the stage passengers.”
Freeland peeked over his shoulder. “That looks fine. Dish it up.”
“Aw, we need coffee, anyway,” Windle said, not looking up from where he was working. “Heat it, Ed. Don’t make the lady eat cold stew.”
Price muttered to himself and added kindling to the firebox. Freeland took the two plates to the table and found utensils.
“Did I get you?” Windle asked Carmela anxiously after his tool slipped.
“No sir; I’m fine.”
“Good. I’m almost done.” He filed away at the metal on Carmela’s wrist.
Freeland took the opportunity to scrounge up two cups. Just as he set them on the table, Windle cried gleefully, “There you go!”
Carmela jumped up, smiling and working her wrist back and forth. “Thank you, Mr. Windle. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it.”
“Oh, I got a good idea how much.” The blacksmith gathered his tools.
“Breakfast,” Freeland said, smiling at Carmela. “Or maybe it’s lunch.”
Price chuckled. “Afternoon tea. Enjoy.”
Carmela came to the table, which was crowded against the other furniture near the door. Freeland had decided not to move it in case they needed the barricade, but he had set two chairs down for them. She eyed the tin plate before her with satisfaction then glanced over at Freeland.
“Would you ask a blessing, please?”
Freeland didn’t mind, though he felt his face heat a little, knowing the other three men were listening. He nodded and bowed his head.
“Dear Father, we give thanks for our safe arrival here. We thank Thee for this food, and we ask Your blessing and safety for those in this house. Amen.”
“Amen.” Carmela smiled at him across the table.
A few minutes later, Price brought two cups of tepid coffee to the table.
“Here, miss. It ain’t real hot, but you might need something to wash the pone down with.”
“Thank you,” Carmela said. “Your cornpone is delicious. Did you make it yourself?”
“Yes’m. Have to provide a meal for the passengers.”
“I’d like to get your recipe, if you don’t mind. I don’t think I’ve ever tasted any as good.”
Price smiled, and his eyes gleamed. “That’s right nice of you, miss. Of course, you’s powerful hungry. Everything tastes good when you’re hollow.”
She laughed.
“It is good,” Freeland said. “So’s the applesauce.”
“Thankee.” Price pulled the bench over and sat down between them at the end of the table. “That stew’ll be ready right soon. So, what’s your plan now, Deputy?”
Freeland sipped his coffee, thinking about it. Carmela would be safe here with Price, Windle, and the boy, Jerry. At least, she’d be much safer than she had been out on the desert with him.
He eyed Price, trying to read the older man’s expression. “I’d like to go back and see if I can recapture my prisoner. Would you lend me a horse and a gun for a few hours?”
The station agent ran a hand through his shaggy, graying hair. “Well now, I’m not sure as I could do that, Deputy. We’re short on assets right now, and we need to keep our one good team ready for when the next stage makes it through, whenever that may be. You saw how dangerous it is to get to a station and not have a fresh team waiting for you.”
Freeland’s heart sank. This was the answer he had expected. “You must have a saddle horse, and I’d come back before dark if I didn’t find him
.”
Price shrugged. “Or he might find you and ride off on my horse. No, I can’t let you do that. What with that desperado out there, and the Apaches that burned the last station, and an outlaw gang that held you up yesterday, well, that don’t sound like very good odds to me.”
Freeland pulled out Silas Holden’s derringer. “You got any cartridges that would fit this thing? It’s the only weapon I’ve got.”
“You going to commandeer my horse if I do?”
“No sir,” Freeland said.
Price nodded. “I’d sell you a few, but I don’t reckon you’ve got any money left.”
“I have a bit,” Carmela said. “How much are they?”
Price looked at her in surprise. “Held out on the road agents, eh? Good for you. I’ll let him have half a dozen for a dollar.”
“Do you have scissors and a needle and thread?”
“Surely.” Price fetched a small basket and handed it to her. He nodded toward a curtained doorway. “My cot’s yonder. You can rest in there after you’re done eating, miss.”
“Thank you.” Carmela rose and went through the curtain carrying the basket.
“Spunky gal.” Price went to the stove to stir the stew. “Guess this is ready.” He brought Freeland a bowlful.
“That smells real good.” Freeland picked up his spoon.
Jerry turned from his post at the window. “Can we have some, too?”
“Hold your horses,” Price said. “Let the guests eat. If there’s some left, and I reckon there will be, you’ll get it for your supper. Now, you’re supposed to be keeping watch.”
Jerry frowned and turned back to the window.
Carmela returned soon and gave Price a dollar.
“Why, thankee,” Price said with a grin. “I’ll get your stew. It’s nice and hot now.”
She was quiet while they ate. Freeland didn’t press her. He was weary beyond conversation himself. And yet, they should settle what would become of her. With her uncle out of the picture, he felt responsible for her well-being.
When they had finished and Price took their dishes away, refusing help with the washing up, she headed toward the curtained doorway. Freeland rose and followed her.
“Carmela,” he said softly before she could enter the other room.
She stopped and turned to face him. “Yes?”
“I need to talk to you.”
Something flickered across her face—disappointment? Apprehension. No, he decided, she was afraid.
“Are you going to leave me alone here with them?” she asked. “Please tell me if you are.”
Freeland shook his head, angry at himself that he had even considered going off and leaving her with three strange men. No matter how kind they appeared to be, he couldn’t do that.
“I’ll wait,” he said. “I’ll make sure you’re safe at the next town.”
She hesitated. Her lower lip trembled. “Uncle Silas—”
“We can’t do anything right now. I’d need more men. Price is right about that. It’s too dangerous.”
“So, you’ll get me to Prescott?”
“The next town is Wickenburg,” Freeland said. “It isn’t much, but there’ll be more people than there are here.”
“Will they have a decent place for me to stay?” she asked.
Freeland thought back to the last time he’d ridden through the cluster of tents and a few huts at Wickenburg. He couldn’t remember seeing any women there, unless there were a few barmaids in the makeshift saloons.
“I’m not sure.” Wickenburg might be far more perilous for Carmela than here at the isolated way station. “I won’t leave you there if there’s not.” As soon as he’d said it, he knew he’d made a promise he might regret, but how could he do otherwise?
Her smile was his reward. “Thank you. That means a great deal.” She pushed the curtain aside and went through. He had a brief impression of a small dim room with crates of supplies piled high on one side and a bunk on the other.
He went back to the table. Jerry and Windle were drinking coffee now, and Jerry had a bowl of stew in front of him. Price had taken his place at the window.
“Not much in Wickenburg,” Windle said.
So he had heard.
“How far is it?” Freeland asked.
“Forty miles or more.”
“Fifty,” Price called.
Windle nodded. “It’s a rough stretch. There’s one more station between here and there, to change teams. They haul in the water.”
“Long stages,” Freeland said. “I remember. I made the trip once before by stage, and I’ve ridden it a couple of times.”
Jerry slurped in a spoonful of broth.
Windle sipped his coffee and wiped his mouth and mustache with the back of his hand. “What you plan to do about the girl’s uncle?”
Freeland shook his head. There was no good solution. “He may be dead. I can’t face a pack of outlaws alone on the chance he’s alive. I’ll take her with me to the territorial marshal, I guess. He can decide what to do.”
“He’s your boss,” Windle said flatly.
“Yeah. I’m hoping he’ll get up a posse to go after Dix right away, and maybe we can find out what happened to her uncle.”
“Maybe that Dix fella will come to you here,” Jerry said.
Freeland hoped so, in a way. He didn’t want anyone to get hurt, but if Dix came looking for a horse, surely the four of them could capture him. One way or another, he had to get Carmela to safety. He didn’t like to admit it, but he might have to go with her all the way to Prescott before going after Dix. She was his responsibility now, and he had to find her a safe place to wait until the marshal could find out if her uncle was still alive.
Carmela lay on Price’s bunk, staring at the rafters above. What outcome did she wish for in this unforeseen predicament?
She didn’t wish Uncle Silas dead, and yet she might be better off without him. If he died at the outlaws’ hands, what would she do? What could she do? She didn’t have enough money now to go back to New England, but she couldn’t stay out here in the desert.
Perhaps when she got to the capital, she could find a place to live, and maybe even a job. But what skills did she have? She could sew passably, and she could cook a little if necessary. She had practiced weaving baskets to lend authenticity to her speeches, and she had read many accounts of pioneers and explorers, anything to be had about the southwestern Indian tribes. She had even tried her hand at pottery in New Hampshire, where a skilled potter had given her lessons that Uncle Silas paid for. Part of the debt she had run up, she thought bitterly. But she couldn’t very well set up a pottery shop in Arizona.
How would she support herself? The idea of going on alone and fulfilling the speaking engagements her uncle had scheduled repelled her. Without Uncle Silas, she would stop doing that immediately. That was one thing she positively knew.
Her mother had always taught her that things turned out best for those who loved God. That was hard to accept now, with her parents gone and the deception she’d been forced to live for the past eight years. Now she was utterly alone, but she couldn’t shake off her faith. Bad things happened to God’s people, she knew that. She wasn’t sure why He allowed suffering, but somehow, all of this was supposed to lead her to a good outcome—if not in this life, then in the next.
This life might be one long test. If she held fast to her belief, she would find peace in heaven. She hoped it was more than that. She hoped she would see some resolution for herself, Uncle Silas, Freeland, and the other people trapped at this way station.
She formed a silent prayer in her mind and drifted off to sleep thinking, Lord, I believe You care about us. Please show me what to do.
Chapter Nine
When Carmela entered the main room in the morning, Jerry stood over the stove, stirring something in a frying pan. Price lay rolled up in a blanket in a corner, Freeland stood on guard at the window, and Windle sat at the table nursing a cup of coffee w
hile he waited for his breakfast.
“Good morning,” she said.
“Morning, miss.” Windle’s teeth showed amidst his luxuriant beard.
Jerry waved his spatula. “Grits and bacon coming up, ma’am.”
“Thank you, Jerry.”
She walked to the window, and Freeland turned toward her. He appraised her face and gave her a tired smile.
“Sleep well?” he asked.
“Not bad. How about you?”
“Not so well. I finally got up and relieved Price a couple hours ago, so he could rest.”
Jerry fixed their plates and sat down with Windle and Carmela. He wolfed his food and then fixed a portion for Freeland so he could spell him at watching.
Freeland sank down in the chair beside Carmela with a sigh and reached for his coffee. She was nearly done with her meal, and Windle had cleaned his plate. The blacksmith rose and took his dish to the stove.
Freeland closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them, he caught Carmela watching, and his lips quirked. She hoped her cheeks didn’t bloom crimson, not that it would matter much with her sunburned complexion. Windle returned, his plate holding a second serving nearly as large as his first.
“So what’s the plan?” he asked as he plunked down onto the bench. “You folks sticking it out here?”
Freeland nodded as he loaded his fork. “I’ve thought it over. I think we should stay with you until either another stage comes through or a party from Wickenburg comes to find out what happened.”
“Probably wise.” Windle plunged his spoon into the mound of grits on his plate.
The two men talked a bit more, and when he had finished his food, Windle announced that he would go out to feed the mules. He took his dishes to the washing area and went outside, wearing his holstered revolver and carrying the shotgun.
Freeland leaned back and looked at Carmela. “Get enough to eat?”
“Yes, thank you.”
He smiled. “I imagine grits isn’t your first love, being from the North and all.”
“I’ve encountered it in my travels. It’s not much different from the cornmeal mush my mother used to make.” She rose and brought the coffeepot from the stove to refill his mug.
My Heart Belongs in the Superstition Mountains Page 8