“He’ll love everything you do,” Miranda smiled knowing it was the truth. Whether he hated yellow curtains or not, he would love anything Becca did.
Miranda insisted she didn’t need help with supper and sent Becca and Winifred to their rooms to unpack and rest from their train trip. Becca drifted off to sleep on the comfortable bed and dreamed of Adam until Winifred’s knock woke her.
Becca hurried to the kitchen apologizing for sleeping so long and did her best to help over Miranda’s insistence she sit and enjoy a cup of tea.
When Adam and Roy entered the kitchen, Roy stopped and smiled. “Fried chicken. Who did you get to kill the chickens today Randa?”
“Cody…his dinner is in that basket by the door.”
Becca looked back and forth between Miranda and Roy. “You don’t kill chickens?”
Miranda raised her hands as if in surrender and shook her head slowly. “I have done a lot of things on this farm including to help birth a calf, but I will not kill a chicken. If the men around here expect to eat chicken, they know someone has to kill them for me. It’s a good deal for both of us. I get chicken to cook, and they get a better meal than what’s served in the bunkhouse. Since Cal married Nell, the men aren’t as happy with their food.”
Roy laughed out loud as he pulled out a chair. “I think they would stand in line to get you chickens, my dear. They all love your cooking as do we.”
Winifred smiled knowing Becca would fit in well with this loving although slightly strange family.
Adam had asked Becca a lot of questions in their letters and the ones he had now he didn’t want to ask in front of his parents. He sat quietly and ate his dinner while his Pa asked all the questions one would expect of a future daughter-in-law. Schooling, farm experience, church, the usual.
Adam did ask one question. “Are you able to ride a horse? I never asked, I just assumed since you grew up on a farm.”
Winifred bit back a laugh. Adam scowled worried he asked the wrong thing.
“I have four older brothers. I can outride them all. I think my father had me riding before I could walk. Mama wanted me to wear pretty dresses and be a little lady. She said after four sons, she deserved that much, but I loved the outside. I still remember the look on her face the day Pa, and I returned from one of our rides, and she saw me wearing my brother’s old clothes. She gave up on trying to raise the perfect lady and sewed me a split skirt and riding shirt, but on Sunday, I wore pink and frills for mama.” Becca smiled at the memories.
“Great,” Adam said. “Did you learn to shoot a gun? Sometimes you need one out here.”
Winifred laughed out loud this time. “She shoots better than she can ride. It’s in her blood.”
Becca turned three shades of red and dropped her head.
“What? What’s Miss Winifred talking about? We never talked about shooting in our letters and why is it in your blood.”
Becca took a deep breath hoping Adam wouldn’t run after she told her story. “Have you ever heard of Deadeye Hattie Mae from Kansas and a bounty hunter that went by the name of Dane?”
“The supposed female gunslinger? Sure, who hasn’t? I think they wrote a few dime novels about her. Everyone knows it’s fiction, but good reading,” Adam answered and took another bite of chicken.
Becca met his eyes and nodded. “Hattie Mae was my grandmother.”
Adam dropped the chicken onto his plate. “What? She was real? The stories were real? She’s your grandma?” He was babbling at this point.
“Yes, I was going to tell you about her. The dime novels are mostly fiction, but I have her journals,” Becca answered staring straight into Adam’s eyes.
Chapter Six
Becca set her fork on her plate and explained that she believed her grandma wrote in her diary over a period of time since the stories at times seemed disjointed as if she wrote bits and pieces of memories when she had time. She began … My Grandma Hattie was forced to moved West with her first husband. Orphaned at fifteen, she married at age sixteen, and although she wasn’t excited about heading West, she obeyed her husband and helped him prepare. Four years later, they began their journey. The trip was harder than either expected especially with two small boys. They settled next to a stagecoach stop with no name somewhere in the middle of Kansas. He had enough money saved to start a new life somewhere out West and decided to stay where they were and opened a small mercantile. My grandma’s husband spent most of his time traveling to bring supplies to the middle of the barren area. Alone for long periods of time except for a few customers and the couple that ran the stage stop, Grandma Hattie practiced shooting until she was the best she could be. She knew that danger could arrive one day and she wasn’t going to let anyone harm her or her boys. She wore a gun holster at all times, and according to the man who ran the stage shop, she could probably outdraw most men. Her husband didn’t return from one of his supply runs, and Hattie’s store ran out of merchandise, and in turn, she ran out of funds to even buy a meal at the stage stop or get stage fare back to the city.
A group of riders came into the stop with two wounded men. They left them to be treated at the stage stop but needed another rider. The head rider, a man who went by the name of Dane, promised good pay but none of the latest group of stage passengers took the offer. Dane said they were trailing a gang of stage robbers. When he mentioned that the gang were also responsible for robbing supply wagons and killing drivers, Hattie asked the question she dreaded. In her heart of hearts, she knew her husband was dead, but a small part of her prayed he met another woman and decided to leave her and the boys behind. Maybe, just maybe, he might feel guilty at some point and return with enough money to send her and the boys back to Ohio.
“Was one of those supply wagons robbed about four months ago south of here?” Hattie asked with sorrow in her heart.
The leader nodded, “We found him shortly after and buried him. The gang took what they could carry, but left quite a bit behind.”
Hattie swallowed her fear and asked, “Did you notice whether or not there were two crates of candy and Christmas decorations or any wooden train cars?”
“Yeah,” the man on the large black stallion answered, “both crates were broke open, but most of the candy sticks and decorations were tossed on the ground. The train cars lay alongside the man as if he wanted to hide them from the gang.”
A single tear slid down Hattie’s cheek. “The second crate of treats and decorations were for us, and the train cars were for the boys. Christmas was coming, and my husband wanted to be sure they had something to enjoy.”
Dane tipped his hat, “I’m sorry for your loss Ma’am, and we’ll do our best to catch the men responsible.”
Grandma Hattie asked him, “I can shoot as well as most men, and I can ride a horse better than I can shoot. You need another gun, I’d like to ride with you. Those outlaws stole my boys’ father, my husband, and our future. I want to make them pay.”
The two other riders laughed until they nearly dropped off their horses when Dane shot them a look. They quieted and apologized to Hattie.
Hattie nodded, “Apology accepted, but I’m serious about riding with you and making those men pay.”
Dane dropped off his stallion and said, “Well, Ma’am I know a few women that ride nearly as well as me and could shoot, but none of them had the courage it takes to ride off to parts unknown in search of bloodthirsty killers.”
Hattie straightened herself up to her full five feet six inches and answered, “You have met her now. What do I have to do to prove it to you?”
Dane stared at the young woman dressed in a soft blue calico dress, shrugged, and motioned with his chin to a tree across the track. “See the knothole? Show me how many times you can get close to it.”
Fast as lightning, Hattie pulled her gun and fired six shots each one hitting the small knothole. Smiling, she slid the gun back into her holster and said, “I’m not quite as good with a rifle, but close. Want to see?”
Little Billy stormed over to the tree mumbling, “It’s a trick. There is no way she’s that good.” He inspected the tree practically sticking his nose against it trying to find anything that might explain what happened. He pulled his knife out and dug out one of the bullets. He could tell it was recently fired. No sign of aging. He walked back and tossed the bullet to Dane. “I see it but still…” Little Billy shook his head and walked away.
“Well, Ma’am, if we didn’t need another gun, I’d never ask you to ride with us, but we have to stop the outlaws, and I hate being outnumbered. It’s not that we can’t take them, but outlaws have a bad habit of collecting others along the way. No telling how many there might be when we catch up with ‘em, but you still seem too genteel to ride with me.”
Hattie glared at him and hurried back into her mercantile. A few minutes later she returned dressed in a split riding skirt, a dark brown button down shirt that Dane assumed belonged to her husband, and a pair of sturdy riding boots. Her gun belt hung at her hips, and she slapped a hat on her head hiding most of her copper colored hair.
“You may think I’m too genteel, but I have two very important reasons to ride with you. My boys lost their father, and we have no way to get back to Ohio. I have no way to support them here except to use my mercantile as a bordello which I refuse to do. I take it there is some sort of reward, and if so, I’d like to only ask for enough to get my boys and me back to Ohio and to pay Mrs. Rafferty for watching my boys while I’m gone.” Hattie stood with her hands on her hips staring into Dane’s eyes.
Dane pondered the idea for a few moments. He had a lot of respect for the lady, and they did need an extra gun. “Very well, we’ll leave in the morning. Now, let me get inside and see about my men and make arrangements to pay for their care.”
Hattie followed Dane into the stage stop where Mrs. Rafferty and her daughter were busy removing bullets from the two injured men. Hattie brought Dane and his two men plates of stew and biscuits while they waited for Mrs. Rafferty.
An hour later, Mrs. Rafferty walked into the room and announced that both men would recover as long as infection didn’t set in, but they couldn’t be moved for two or three weeks. Dane paid her for her work and for taking care of them for the next few weeks. He said he’d get word to them where they could meet up once they were healed. Hattie explained that she needed to leave and over Mrs. Rafferty’s worries about her safety, she agreed to watch the boys. Dane dropped a few gold coins on the table to cover the boy’s care.
Hattie slept fitfully that night holding her boys close. She woke before sunup, kissed her sleeping boys, and rode West with Dane, Little Billy, and Jackson.
Grandma Hattie didn’t add a lot of details about the weeks she spent with Dane and his men, but she did write about missing her bed, and that sleeping on a blanket on the ground was not comfortable. Her need to avenge her husband kept her going through vicious thunderstorms, avoiding hostile Indians, living most of the time on hard tack and jerky with the occasional meal of roast rabbit, not having the privacy she needed, and being referred to as an apprentice bounty hunter. After two weeks of riding, Jackson and Little Billy finally began to accept her which made riding with them easier for Grandma Hattie.
Several weeks out, they stopped at a homestead to see if they could buy food and were nearly shot by the man until Hattie removed her hat and asked politely if they could buy a few eggs and maybe some bread. The homesteader seemed shocked to see her and told his wife to pack up what they needed. That night they feasted on fresh bread with jam, eggs, and slices of sweet cinnamon cake the kind woman packed for them.
Dane explained to Grandma Hattie that the men they were looking for liked to rob small businesses and people that couldn’t defend themselves well. The leader, a man that called himself Hacky, loved fruit and the first thing they did when they arrived in any town was to get all the fruit from the local mercantile or boarding house. Hacky once shot a man because he didn’t have any fruit. Hacky wanted to make a name for himself by leaving a clue at each crime. It could be an apple core, some orange peelings, an empty tin from peaches, or a jam jar. It helped lawmen to assure they could solve the crimes once they captured Hacky and his thugs and they earned the name Fruit Gang.
Dane, Hattie, and the others caught up with Hacky and the men who killed Hattie’s husband about two months after they started out. Two of the three outlaws were killed in the gunfight, and three were taken to the nearest large town and hung for their crimes.
Dane insisted Hattie share in the bounty money, and he escorted her back to the stage stop and her boys. Before leaving the town where Dane collected the bounty, he insisted that Hattie make a new traveling dress for her trip back to Ohio and instructed her to sew pockets containing her money in the petticoats.
“Never let anyone steal everything from you,” Dane insisted. “Keep enough money readily available to keep any outlaw from searching you and give it up freely. Don’t fight them. You most likely won’t win. Take care of yourself and those boys.”
Hattie took a step forward, “Dane, thank you for everything.”
Dane touched her cheek with his fingertips and kissed her forehead, “If I had met you earlier, life would be different. I have to leave, my men and I are on the trail of two cold-blooded killers.” He swung up onto his black stallion and rode off without looking back.
Hattie wiped a tear from her eye and hurried to catch the stage back to Ohio and start a new life with her boys.
Becca smiled at Adam. “That was the end of Grandma Hattie’s story although there was a newspaper story torn from a local paper that told the story of a group of ruthless bounty hunters led by a lady gunslinger. They referred to the lady as Mae, the mysterious leader that disappeared after bringing in the Fruit Gang. There isn’t anything in the diary that says Grandma Hattie was the infamous Mae, but her name was Hattie Mae.”
Adam sipped his coffee wondering how much of the story was true and whether or not Becca had inherited her grandma’s ability to shoot.
“One last thing,” Becca said. “The last line in Grandma Hattie’s diary was a warning to her family that revenge was never something that will bring peace. It eats at the core of your soul according to Grandma Hattie. The family believes she either shot one of the wanted men or witnessed the hanging. Whichever, it left its mark on her.”
Adam said, “Your grandma sounds like a resourceful lady and braver than some men.”
“I don’t remember her, but Mama told me Grandma Hattie returned to Ohio and married my grandfather. She had two more children, one, of course, was my Mama. It’s why I have the journals she wrote. I didn’t know any of this until Mama was dying. She told me to pull the journals out from a box in the back of her wardrobe. I learned about my grandma’s story as I read the journals to Mama. She knew she was dying and wanted me to know I could do anything I needed to do and that I came from strong stock.” Becca finished her story with a broad smile. “I believe I have Grandma Hattie’s spirit.”
Adam looked at Becca and wasn’t sure about spirit, but he was sure she’d captured his heart.
Chapter Seven
Becca woke with the sun just starting to peek into her window. She stretched and then curled back into a ball hugging her pillow. She was going to see Adam’s house today. The house that would soon be hers and Adam’s. She had wanted to wait until the perfect time to tell Adam about her family and Grandma Hattie, but she was happy Winifred brought it up the previous evening. Adam didn’t seem shocked by her account of Grandma Hattie’s exploits in Kansas. He even suggested she try and get the journals published so the true story of Grandma Hattie would be known. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to share them, but she promised to think about it. Adam’s father suggested she might try and have the actual stories printed in the local paper, but he suggested she wait until she could write under the name Mrs
. rather than Miss or she’d have every young man from Lake Michigan to the Mississippi River vying for her hand. As the granddaughter of the infamous Hattie Mae, she’d be a catch in all the men’s eyes according to Mr. Greiner.
Right now all she wanted to think about was seeing her new soon-to-be home and spend some time with Adam. Of course, Winifred would accompany them as her chaperone, but Winifred seemed to approve of Adam, so maybe she might get a little time alone with him. Would she have to wait until they were married to get a kiss? She hoped not. Deciding she spent enough time daydreaming, she rose from bed and glanced out the window at the rolling fields of the Greiner farm. Since Adam suggested they ride to his ranch this morning, she dressed in a dark blue split skirt and matching blouse. She braided her long hair and twisted the braid up the back of her head knowing it was the best way to keep it from flying out of its pins and distracting her while she rode.
Opening her door, she heard Adam’s laugh coming from the kitchen. Her heart beat faster knowing her handsome husband-to-be was just a few feet away. She hurried down the stairs and walked into the kitchen wearing her brightest smile.
Adam popped off his chair as soon as he saw Becca, “Good morning, you look lovely this morning.”
Becca blushed not only at Adam’s words but the knowing looks on Miranda’s and Winifred’s faces. “Good morning, Adam, Mrs. Greiner, Winifred.”
Miranda smiled at the young woman who she hoped would soon call her Ma rather than Mrs. Greiner or Ma’am. “Please sit, Becca. Winifred helped me with breakfast, and it’s ready.”
“I’m sorry I slept late. I was exhausted last night. Are you sure I can’t help,” she asked and placed a hand on the back of a chair.
“No, just sit.”
Adam pulled the chair out for Becca, “Allow me.” He smiled at her again, and Becca’s heart began to beat faster again. Would she always feel this way? She said a silent prayer that she would.
Adam's Heart Page 4