by Rita Hestand
The Lady Train
Brides of the West Book Sixteen
Rita Hestand
Copyright© 2018 by Rita Hestand
All Rights Reserved
ISBN # 9781370567041
Cover Design by: Sheri McGathy
License Note
This book, The Lady Train is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. It may not be copied or reproduced in any manner without express written permission of the author. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy or copies. If you did not purchase this book or it was not purchased for your use, please go to Smashwords.com to purchase your personal copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
The Lady Train is a work of fiction. Though some of the cities and towns exist they are used in a fictitious manner for purposes of this work. All characters are works of fiction and any names or characteristics like any person past, present or future are coincidental.
Dedication:
When our country was young there was a great need to expand and grow, so people moved westward. All kinds of people in many situations moved west. But women were a commodity that was lacking. So mail-order brides were a unique idea to get women to weather the hardships of coming west. Had they not taken a chance on love and their futures, many of us today wouldn’t be here. So, here's to the brave women who found love and happiness by taking a huge chance and going west!
Blessings
Rita Hestand
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
About the Author
Rita's Other Books
1855
Council Bluffs, Iowa
Chapter One
"I'm looking for Seth Barker, know where I might find him?" The lady asked, her hands on her hips, her eyes going over the bartender quickly, noting his impatient frown.
The man gave her an impatient shrug, as though he found her unimportant. He didn't answer but proceeded to pour a beer and shove it down the bar.
Her dark brown eyes narrowed on the man, for not giving her question the time of day. A finely arched brow rose a notch as she eyed him.
She suddenly reached a hand over the smooth surface of the bar and smiled. "It's beautiful."
"Huh?" the bartender didn't know what she was talking about.
"The bar, looks like solid mahogany."
"Yes ma'am." He eyed her carefully now. When she didn't say anything, he frowned.
"Ladies aren't allowed in here." He told her with an unusually harsh voice.
"Forgive me, but I'm not staying, I just need to find this Seth Barker, and I was told he's in here." She didn't waver.
The bartender firmed his lips and stared a hole through her. He was about to say something equally unpleasant when a man walked up behind her. A big man, with a good-sized belly, but a stature that said he could handle himself in any situation too.
"I'm Seth Barker ma'am." The man said.
The woman whirled around to meet, bushy brows leaning over a clear set of blue eyes.
With composure she smiled, her gaze running quickly over him. "I'm Abigail Ashford," she stuck out her hand to a large man with a steely eyed glare and an unwelcome smile.
He shook her hand, obviously noting it's smallness, but his impatience was growing as he sized her up with a smirk.
His rotund beer belly fit with his large frame. His blonde hair was graying at the temples announcing his age as mature, his knowledge as experienced. A bulbous nose called attention to his rather meaty face. His tan had been obviously weathered by wind and sun. But the look in his eye spoke of authority and power and right now annoyance.
This was the man she needed for the job.
"Oh, well, I need to speak with you sir." She told him, blinking as she raised her head and eyes to meet his serious expression.
The arrogant toss of his head told her he wouldn't be bothered, as he almost turned back to the table.
"Could it wait, I'm in the middle of a game?" He asked, turning to see her staring.
"Well, no, it can't wait. You see, I need to solicit you to take our wagons to California." She rushed to say in no uncertain terms. She wanted her voice to be firm and carry authority, but she felt herself falter at his serious demeanor.
"California huh? Why come to me, there are a lot of other men about, just as capable." He told her.
"I was told you are the best. That's why I'm here." She smiled brightly at him, thinking the compliment might go a long way in satiating his ill temper.
"Well, I won't argue that with you, but I'm not interested. You see, Miss, I just returned from a trip to Oregon, and I planned on resting a bit before my next venture. I'm not ready to get back to it yet. It's a long trip, full of rough country, and I'm exhausted." He told her. Then he tipped his hat to her and started to go back to his poker game. "And now, I'm indulging myself in a game of sport. Excuse me."
"Mr. Barker," She called his name loudly and forced him to address her once more. "Could I speak with you for a moment longer?" She asked sweetly.
He turned to her and he was no longer smiling. "Five minutes, you got five minutes."
"Mr. Barker, I need the best wagon master I can find. You see, we're all mail-order brides on our way to California and we need someone reputable to guide us."
At her remark, everyone turned their heads to stare at her. They didn't just stare but looked her up and down.
"Mail order brides?" he repeated a smile at the corner of his mouth.
"That's right. Let me explain something, we started off in Independence, Missouri, but our wagon master took ill before we were a hundred miles out and now we're stuck. We need to reach California."
"Who was your wagon master?" He asked curiously.
"Mr. Martin Lindon." She told him.
He nodded slowly, "Yeah, I know him, yeah, he's good. Well, couldn't you wait until he's better?"
"No, we have a schedule to meet."
"Why?"
"Well," she looked a bit dumbfounded. "The men we are to marry are expecting us by mid-September."
"How many men you got with you now?"
"Three…" She said sweetly.
Mr. Barker was already shaking his head as though he wouldn't even consider it. "Three men? How many women?"
"Twenty-five wagons one woman on each wagon." She told him proudly. "Oh…and three children."
"Children? No ma'am. Not interested." He told her and went back to his table as though the subject were closed.
She stared, wide-eyed at the man. His refusal was like a slap in the face, it jolted her. She hadn't expected it, and she paused to eye the man closer.
He shot her a disgruntled glance, "It's not polite to stare."
He was neatly dressed, she'd give him that much. He had on a clean white shirt, a bolero tie that was untied at the moment, a big black hat on his head and decided frown as h
e spoke with her. Although he certainly commanded authority, his rejection was like a cold slap across her face.
Not liking the way, he turned her down, she firmed her lips, put her hands on her hips and walked straight toward him. "Then if we are killed by Indians or outlaws, it will be your fault. As I tried to get the best for us."
She started to walk away, but his voice followed her.
"See Jim Harper over at the hotel, he's good." He spouted and turned back to his game. The other men at the table chuckled.
The other men razed him, but he wasn't laughing.
She looked at him over her shoulder, then tossing her nose in the air, she stomped out of the saloon followed immediately by more laughter.
Outside, she seethed with anger at his refusal. She was the one that talked all the women into this trip, she was going to do her utmost best to get the best man for the job.
"Did you get him, Abby?" A beautiful blonde walked up to her from the street.
"No Rebecca, I did not get him, he refused." She frowned, studying on the name the man had given her. "We must check about a Mr. Jim Harper over at the hotel. And I refuse to take another no for an answer."
"Oh…" Rebecca followed her. "But I thought he was the best."
"Supposedly, yes, but he's not interested. It seems he just got back from a trip to Oregon and is bound on resting a while before another adventure. He's middle-aged and probably worn out from the last trip, I suppose he has no stamina. That's fine, we don't need him! Maybe it's for the best, he's not very young. Maybe he really does need the rest."
She went straight to the hotel and rang the bell at the desk.
"Yes, can I help you ma'am?" A thin wiry looking clerk with small round glasses on his nose came from a back room. He glanced at her and turned the guest book around for her to sign.
"I'm not looking for a room, sir. I'm looking for a Jim Harper." She told the clerk.
"Room 212. Top of the stairs to your left." The clerk told her, barely glancing at her, but studying the pretty blonde behind her.
"Thank you," She smiled sweetly.
The clerk called after her, "I wouldn't go up just now, Miss."
Abigail ignored the desk clerk. Men had been putting her off all day, she wouldn't have any more of it. She went up the stairs and when she found the room, she knocked. Rebecca waited at the bottom of the stairs for her.
No one answered at first.
So, she knocked again.
Still no answer, but the door swung slowly open. She peaked around the door, to find the man heavily engaged in having his way with a woman.
Red-faced, she ran out of the room and into the hallway. She grabbed her chest. "My word!" She gasped.
"I tried to warn you," the desk clerk shook his head with a slight smirk on his thin lips.
When she went downstairs Rebecca was waiting on her. "Well, did you find him?"
"Oh yes, but we won't be hiring him…" She announced staunchly.
"Something wrong?" the girl asked.
"You could say that," Abby swallowed hard.
"So, what are we going to do?" Rebecca looked dumbstruck.
"I don't know," she plopped into a cushion chair in the lobby and shook her head. "Mr. Harper is indisposed, and Mr. Barker won't even consider taking us." She sighed heavily trying to figure out her next move. "It would seem that this town is full of wagon masters that don't want to do their job."
The clerk was staring at her, so she went up to him once more. "Pardon me sir, but do you know any reputable wagon masters?"
The clerk put his hand to his chin, as though studying the question. "Well, there is Seth Barker…and then Jim Harper, but you've just come from up there, and I guess he won't do either…"
"Anyone else?"
"Well there's one other, that I know of." He paused with a slight frown to his thin lips, "But he's not exactly reputable." The clerk rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "No, I don't think he'd do at all for you."
"Well, it looks very much like we'll have to skip the reputable and go straight to a wagon master." She nodded to the clerk. "Who else?"
"His name is Cully, he's usually at the boarding house at the end of the street. But I don't recommend him to you, lady."
"Oh, and why is that?"
"Well, he's…. never mind." The clerk turned away and didn't finish.
"Well, I don't see as I have a choice, we have to have a wagon master. Desperate measures must be taken. Thank you, you've been very helpful." She told him.
He stared, then shook his head as the two ladies left.
"I sure wouldn't mess with Cully, not with the hangover he's nursing." The clerk whispered under his breath.
She walked to the end of the street and saw a dilapidated boarding house, with peeling paint and shutters that blew in the wind. Squaring her shoulders, she let out a sigh and walked into the boarding house. The living room was empty, but she heard a ruckus toward what she thought was the kitchen. She stepped inside to see a long table filled with men, eating heartily. They were diving into a huge pot of hearty beef stew and there were stacks of hot cornbread still dripping with butter.
A short plumb woman came up to her. She had a round, and very pleasant face, her hair was done up in a big bun, it was dark brown but fading to gray. "Hello there, I'm Bertha Stuart, I own this place, can I help you?"
"Oh yes, thank you. I'm Abigail Ashford and I'm looking for a man named Cully?"
The woman narrowed her gaze, looked her up and down and nodded, "He's in his room, #115. He's probably drunk, so go on in." The woman encouraged her. "I'd take you but, I'm kind of busy right now."
"Thank you, I'll manage." Abby's eyes strayed around the room to the men too busy eating to notice her.
"You sure, honey?" The woman asked her brows going up in question.
"Of course, excuse me."
She followed the long hallway and found the room. She knocked on his door. He didn't answer either. She hoped he wasn't busily engaged too!
Rebecca again waited in the hallway, where a bench was up against the wall, adjacent to the door. She sat down and patiently awaited Abigail's return.
Abigail knocked, there was no response, she turned the knob and walked in to find a man lying across the bed, a bottle on the floor, his arm dangling around it. His hair was a light brown or dark blonde, she couldn't see his eyes, he was lying there across the bed with no shirt on. His skin was a nice even bronze, as though he were often outside working.
She noticed a dog laying at the end of the bed on the floor. He sort of whined.
"Hey boy, you must belong to him. You look like you might be hungry and thirsty. I tell you what, when I leave I'll see if the lady can fetch you some food."
The room reeked of whiskey, though and had there been a window, Abigail would have opened it to breathe.
Undaunted, she stared.
"Excuse me, are you Cully?" She asked staring down at the man on the bed.
He didn't budge.
She went over to the bed and practically rolled him over, then pulled his eyelid up to see if he was alive. He jerked up, his gun in his hand, his blue eyes accessing her as though he couldn't quite make her out.
He ran a hand over his face.
"W-what the hell, lady?" he barked rising on his elbows to stare at her, and letting the gun fall to the bed. Bringing his face very close to hers an eye popped open, and the other remained closed.
"Are you Cully?"
"Yeah, I'm Cully, but who are you?" He asked as he ran a hand through his unruly hair and moved so he could see her. He seemed to have to focus a bit on her.
"My name is Abigail Ashford, I've got a job for you, Cully." She smiled at him.
He seemed to be trying to focus again as his eyes looked wildly around the room, as she stared at him.
"Abigail huh?"
"That's right." She smiled. "Everyone calls me Abby."
When she didn't explain why she was there, he sat up, then looked at her. "We
ll, what the hell do you want?" His voice was gruff and unwelcoming.
"I'm told you are a wagon master."
The other eye popped open now. "Yeah, among other things."
"Good. I have a wagon train that needs a wagon master. You see, the one we had, took sick, and could no longer continue with us. Now we must find a new one. Are you interested in the job?"
He sat up and reached for a boot lying on the floor. "Where you headed?" He seemed to sober quickly.
"California." She announced proudly.
"How many wagons?"
"Twenty-five." She told him.
"Why did you come. I mean…why didn't you send one of the men from the train to fetch me?" He asked putting on his other boot.
She watched, fascinated as the muscles in his back flexed against his well-proportioned body. The only man she'd ever seen half-naked was her father, when he shaved. But this man was not her father, and her eyes took him in, despite her better manners. He had nice shoulders, that tapered to a trim waist and hips that barely flared. His face was strong, with a determined chin, firmed lips and a slender nose. He had thick hair that was quite unruly. "Well, there are only three men on the train, the rest are women and the men stayed to protect them while I came here."
"Protect them from what?" He asked sitting on the edge of the bed and eyeing her suspiciously.
"From anything, snakes, outlaws, Indians, whatever."
"Three men, and all those wagons filled with women?" He gasped, as he stopped mid-air and he looked around the room for his shirt, which was on the back of a chair behind her.
He looked at her a minute, "Could you hand me my shirt, Miss?"
She looked at the shirt on the back of the chair and tossed it to him.
"You homesteaders?"
"No, we're mail order brides."
Now, his head jerked up to stare at her, as though he hadn't heard right. Even cold water splashed in his face wouldn't have startled him more. "M-mail order…brides," he repeated, waiting for her to say no. But the no never came. "All of you?"