by Regina Scott
“Not so fast, Miss Alice. Let me dish you up some breakfast,” Mrs. Gilbert offered, pointing to a covered skillet.
Alice began to demur, not wanting to consume what might be the couple’s limited resources, but the woman waved away her polite refusal. “Nonsense, it’s the least we can do after what you did last night, and I’m guessing you hurried right here soon as you woke up, didn’t you, poor lamb? You still look tuckered yourself, if you don’t mind me sayin’ so.”
The woman’s efficient kindness was a balm. Alice surrendered, and was given a plate heaped with scrambled eggs, bacon and biscuits. Afterward she felt as if she could take on the world or at least whatever challenges Boomer Town had to offer today. With a last admonition to her patient just to rest today and a promise from Mrs. Gilbert that she’d make sure he did so, Alice took her leave.
It might be a good day to look at saddle horses, she thought. There was a corral full of them at the end of one of the rows of tents that passed for streets in Boomer Town, watched over by a wiry man with the shifty, knowing eyes of a born horse trader. She’d strolled past the corral before, spotting a tall, handsome bay that looked as if he could run. But then there was that chestnut mare with the sweetest face…
Alice had taken the train as close as she could to the territory, then purchased a tent and camping supplies, a wagon and two stout horses to pull it the rest of the way to the border of the Unassigned Lands. She’d chosen Boomer Town—one of the many tent cities along the boundaries—more or less at random. The wagon horses were kept with others of their kind in a common corral, and she had paid a fee for their upkeep.
She’d initially planned to make the run in the wagon, but she hadn’t expected there would be such hordes of would-be homesteaders waiting with her. More arrived every day. Now Alice thought the heavily laden wagon would hold her back, and only a fast horse would ensure her a good claim.
Alice figured it was probably best to buy her horse sooner rather than later to be sure of getting a good one. That would mean paying for its feed between now and the big day, but she’d have the advantage of getting to know her mount’s temperament and ways in the meantime.
But if she wasn’t driving her wagon into the Unassigned Lands, she’d have to leave it here in Boomer Town until after she had staked her claim. Already enterprising gents were offering to secure such wagons, stock and belongings for a fee until successful homesteaders could return for them, but could they be trusted? Alice reasoned it would be better to make friends with other settlers who were leaving their possessions in Boomer Town with family members and barter with them to watch over hers, too.
Before heading to the corral, Alice walked back to her tent and changed from her calico dress into a dark-colored blouse and the divided skirt she’d packed for riding, for she’d want to try out a horse’s paces and manners before laying down any of her precious cash.
“Yes, ma’am,” the horse trader said, when she arrived at the corral and told him that she wanted to buy a horse for the run. “I can give you your pick of this corral for four hundred dollars.”
Shock rendered Alice momentarily speechless. “Four hundred dollars? B-But these look like mustangs!” she sputtered. The handsome bay and the sweet chestnut mare no longer paced the pen with the others. Four hundred dollars would be a considerable dent in the cash she had left that had to last until she had a dwelling built and crops in.
She closed her eyes for a moment in an attempt to stay calm. “I was told to expect a price more in the range of two hundred, and that was for a saddle-broken horse.” These horses looked as if they’d been captured only yesterday after a lifetime of running loose over the prairie. If only she’d come yesterday, maybe she could have bought the bay or the chestnut…
“Horseflesh’s in great demand, what with the Land Rush approachin’,” he told her, his face smug. “Price is only goin’ up in the future, so you’d be wise t’ buy today.”
“I assume that includes a saddle and bridle?” she asked stiffly, knowing the answer even as she asked.
The trader shook his head. “Bridle an’ saddle are a hundred dollars extra,” the man said with a smirk, nodding toward a pile of used cavalry saddles that looked much the worse for wear, with frayed stirrup leathers and girths, many with cracks and holes in the leather between the pommel and cantle. He seemed to be enjoying her distress, the scoundrel.
“Guess you could always use shank’s mare,” he added, with a meaningful glance toward her legs.
Alice willed herself not to take offense. Though she’d heard several were planning to do just that—walk—such a plan was the purest folly, a sure way to end up with nothing. She suspected the horse trader was trying to use her ignorance to sell her a nag at an exorbitant fee, but it was useless to accuse him of that. He’d likely only raise the price.
“Sir, you are no gentleman to try to take advantage of a lady like that,” said a man’s voice in a pronounced Southern drawl. “And with such inferior stock fit only for carrion.”
“Who asked you?” the horse trader demanded angrily.
Alice ignored the trader, whirling to see a tall, distinguished-looking man who appeared to be in his forties, dressed in the dark blue uniform of a soldier.
“Private Bryson Reeves, ma’am,” the man said, sweeping off a forage cap as he gave her a courtly bow. “I’m part of the Security Patrol tasked with assisting and protecting homesteaders before and after the Land Rush.” He had ginger-colored hair, with eyes that might have been green or blue-green, she wasn’t sure, for he squinted against the sun as he straightened again.
His manner was as charming as his face was well-favored, and she certainly welcomed his intervention. She hadn’t heard anything about a Security Patrol, but maybe the officer could persuade the greedy horse trader to be more reasonable.
“Private Reeves, I am Miss Hawthorne,” Alice said. “Am I correct in thinking that the price this man’s asking for his stock is outrageous?”
“You are, Miss Hawthorne, ma’am,” he agreed, flashing her a broad smile. “I’m honored to meet you. If you will allow me, I will show you a selection of much superior mounts, fit for a lady and fleet of foot. If you will follow me just a little ways?”
He offered her his arm, but since they’d only just met, she pretended not to see it and said, “Lead on, Private Reeves.”
He took her to another pen at the other end of Boomer Town, one in which half a dozen tall, long-legged horses paced restlessly, snorting and showing the whites of their eyes. “Kentucky Thoroughbreds, ma’am, brought here especially for their speed. They will have no equal on the day of the run and will leave poorer specimens, such as the ones in the corral we just left, eating their dust. Am I not right, gentlemen?”
A trio of soldiers—dressed just as Private Reeves was, of about the same age and also bearing the insignia of privates—and a fourth man—dressed in denim trousers and a striped shirt and leather vest—separated themselves from the fence they had been leaning on at the far side of the corral and came toward her.
“My comrades-in-arms, Miss Hawthorne, Privates McGraw, Strafford and Wellington, and our friend, Lemuel Harkinson. It is he who had the brilliant idea of bringing Thoroughbreds from Kentucky to sell for the Land Rush to those smart enough to seize the advantage their proven speed can afford.”
“Ma’am, I am enchanted to meet you,” Harkinson said. “I would be delighted to put you in possession of one of my excellent Thoroughbreds.”
Having a mount bred to race would give her an advantage, Alice thought, but her experience with the other trader had made her wary. “They’re handsome animals,” she agreed, for it was certainly the truth. “And what are you asking for one of your horses?”
“Five hundred dollars,” he said, sinking her hopes with those three words. “And worth every penny, when you consider the excellent homestead you’ll be able to claim by riding one of them. Why, it’ll be like riding the winged Pegasus of ancient mythology.”<
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“No doubt,” she agreed. Her body felt heavy with disappointment. “But I’m afraid it’s beyond my means, sir. Good day. And thank you, Private Reeves.”
She started to turn away, but Reeves put a gentle hand on her wrist, detaining her. “Miss Hawthorne, it would be my very great honor to buy one of Mr. Harkinson’s horses for you,” he said, bowing again.
She felt her jaw drop open. “Private Reeves, that’s quite chivalrous of you, but it’s out of the question. I could not possibly accept such an off—”
“Please, ma’am,” he said, interrupting her with such a winning smile that she could not be offended. “Where my fellow soldiers and I come from,” he said, his drawl thick as Georgia clay, “we were raised to protect ladies, especially ladies such as yourself who are…on your own, I take it? Please, let me know if I have mistaken the situation, but if you are without the protection of a husband or father or brother, my mother would have wanted me to assist you in any way I could. If you won’t let me give the horse to you, consider it a loan. We can settle up later, once you’re turning a profit on the land I’m sure one of these mounts can gain for you.”
There was no way she could accept, even when the man invoked his mother and an atmosphere of Southern courtliness. The more sensible part of her questioned how a mere soldier could afford a gift such as the one he proposed, even if he was taken with Alice, as his expression suggested.
“As I said—”
“But just consider, dear lady—”
“You heard the lady,” a firmly spoken masculine voice said behind her, a voice she’d heard before. A voice that was very welcome right at this moment. “She’s not interested. Good day, gentlemen. Miss Hawthorne, I’ll have Gideon find you the proper mount,” Elijah Thornton said, “and at a reasonable price, too.”
*
The other men’s gazes felt like four sharp daggers between Elijah’s shoulder blades as he escorted Alice away from them. Deciding to focus on Alice rather than worry that he’d just made enemies, he watched the lady beside him pull herself together.
“Thank you for coming along when you did,” Alice said once they’d put more distance between themselves and the men lounging at the horse pen. “I knew to be wary of sharp horse traders, but Private Reeves was so insistent. I’m sure he was trying to be helpful, but…”
Elijah was fairly certain helpful wasn’t at all what the private was trying to be. He hadn’t heard clearly what the man was trying to talk Alice Hawthorne into, but he’d seen the other men gazing at her speculatively, like wolves eyeing a tethered lamb. A righteous, protective fury rose up in him as he imagined what the men had likely been thinking.
“I’m happy to be of assistance,” he said, when he could trust himself to speak.
“I suppose there was no harm done,” she said, straightening her shoulders and elevating her chin a little. “I’ve dealt with overly gallant men before—doctors in the hospital and so forth. One just has to be firm, but Private Reeves wouldn’t let me get a word in edgewise.”
Alice must have seen concern in his eyes then, for she added, “I soon learned how to deal with such men at Bellevue, and by the time I finished my training, I was treated with respect.” She took a breath. “These men said they’re part of the ‘Security Patrol’ to ensure the safety of the homesteaders. Reverend, have you heard of such an organization?”
Elijah nodded. He had seen them riding around the camp, very proud and important in their blue uniforms, yet wearing only the privates’ insignia. He’d overheard them with their distinctly Southern voices, conversing with a couple of Hungarian immigrants. It seemed to Elijah that they had been overly interested in the foreigners’ circumstances. And why were men of mature years only privates, unless they had only recently joined the army? They’d bear watching, for sure.
“I—I had intended to relieve you at the Gilberts’ this morning,” she said, interrupting his thoughts. “I’m sorry, but I fear I overslept.”
He smiled at her reassuringly. “I’m sure you needed it. I’ve never seen such calm and fortitude as you displayed last night, Miss Hawthorne.”
The color rose in her cheeks, and she stared straight ahead as if embarrassed at his praise. “It’s no more than was expected of me when I worked as a nurse, Reverend Thornton,” she said. “A nurse cannot be of any help if she is wringing her hands and swooning, can she?” She went on without waiting for an answer. “In any case, I checked on Mr. Gilbert a little while ago, however, and I was very pleased with how he was progressing. The wound looked as good as I could have hoped for, and his wife had already seen to a slight fever he’d developed. I’ll call on them again this evening.”
“Excellent. I appreciate it, Miss Hawthorne.” He cleared his throat. “I was actually out looking for you. I’m already in your debt for helping my deacon, I know, but there’s a member of the congregation whose child is ailing, and I was wondering if I might ask you to visit them?”
He held his breath, wondering if she would agree. She’d said she’d left her nursing career behind, but after she’d performed so heroically last night, he dared to hope that she might have been so gratified by saving a life that she’d reconsider her stance against becoming a nurse again, and benefit Boomer Town.
Chapter Five
Alice was silent, remembering her reluctance to do anything that might make her stand out so it would be easy for Maxwell Peterson to find her. But really, what were the odds of him or his minions learning that she was here simply because she chose to help some inhabitants of a tent city hundreds of miles from New York?
She should not act like a frightened mouse the rest of her life, when there was something she could do to aid her fellow man. It had felt good, saving Keith Gilbert’s life last night, and receiving his gratitude and that of his wife, Elijah Thornton and his brothers. A patient’s appreciation, and his family’s, had been what had kept her and so many other nurses enduring long hours and scant pay.
“I—I’ll understand if this is something you no longer wish to do,” Elijah said, before she could speak, “and remain grateful that you could aid my deacon last night. I know you said that you no longer wanted to pursue a nursing career.”
He looked so apologetic that Alice realized how long the silence had gone on and spoke quickly. “Oh, no, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to leave you waiting so long! That is— Yes, I will go see this sick child, if you will show me the way. I suppose we should stop back at my tent, though, so I can pick up my bag.”
Within minutes, she had retrieved her bag and followed Elijah to a tent in the middle of Boomer Town. An anxious-looking father stood waiting for them at the entrance of the tent.
“Thank God you found her,” he said, spotting Alice and the preacher. “It don’t seem like my Nate’s ever gonna stop throwin’ up. I’m Jeremiah Kindell, miss, and I sure hope you can help him, like I hear you done with Keith Gilbert last night.”
“I’ll be happy to do what I can,” she murmured, touched by the man’s faith in her.
“Please, come inside,” he said, lifting the tent flap. “My wife’s in there with him.”
As Alice’s eyes adjusted to the dim light within the tent, she saw not only a wife and child within, but three other children, as well, all wide-eyed and fearful. She gave them an encouraging smile before focusing on the boy lying on a sheet in the middle of the tent, his head cradled in a worried-looking woman’s lap.
The boy looked to be about seven or eight, and was pallid except for a spot of hectic color along each cheek. Alice could see pearls of sweat beaded on his forehead and damp hair plastered down at the edges. A cloth-covered bowl lay near his head, evidently at the ready in case he vomited again.
“What can you tell me about your son’s illness, Mrs. Kindell?”
“We had this sack a’ green apples I was gonna make into a pie, and Nate got into ’em when I wasn’t lookin’. He musta et six of ’em at least afore I noticed,” the tired-looking woman said. “Sin
ce then he’s been crampin’ and heavin’ ever’ few minutes, since last night.”
Alice breathed an inward sigh of relief. A simple case of green-apple stomachache, a common ailment in active, ever-hungry boys. Nature would take its course and ease his symptoms in time. “I’m sure I can help him feel better,” she said, and reached into her bag. “Do you have a pot I could use to make a tea for him to sip?”
After the woman rose and fetched one, Alice mixed ground ginger root, allspice, cinnamon and cloves, poured in some water fetched by the boy’s father and encouraged the wan-looking boy to sip some.
“Give him a sip or two every few minutes,” she advised the mother. “He’ll feel better in a while, though he might have to visit the privy soon.”
“Thank you so much,” Mrs. Kindell breathed. “God bless you, Miss Hawthorne—”
“Hey, is that nurse still in there?” a man’s voice called from outside the tent. “I got me this boil…”
And so it went. Word had spread that a nurse was seeing those with ailments over at the Kindells’ tent, and before the afternoon was over, she had lanced the man’s boil, seen a young man with quinsy throat, salved and bandaged a burn, treated a case of catarrh and pried a splinter out of a finger. And the afternoon was gone.
“I fear my simple request has ended up consuming the rest of your day, Miss Hawthorne,” Elijah said after the patients finally stopped coming.
“That’s all right,” she told him, realizing that the time had seemed to fly for her because she’d felt productive and useful. “The only plan I had today was to look at horses. We’re all of us just waiting for the twenty-second, aren’t we?”
He nodded in acknowledgment. “You’re a good and generous woman.”
Her stomach rumbled just then, reminding her that she had never been able to start simmering the beef bone and the rest of the ingredients for her supper stew.