Frontier Courtship Part 1

Frontier Courts.h.i.+p.

by VALERIE HANSEN.

Prologue.

Ohio, 1850.

Clouds boiled black. Threatening. Lightning shot across the sky in endless jagged bursts of fire. A bl.u.s.tery gale swept the hilltop as if bent on clearing it down to the last blade of gra.s.s.

Alone, Faith Ann Beal stood her ground in spite of the scattered drops of rain that were beginning to pelt her. She leaned into the wind for balance, determined to withstand the rigors of the early spring storm long enough to place flowers atop her mother's resting place. After the horrible tempest they'd all weathered mere days ago, it was going to take more than a little wind and water to deter her.

Faith kissed her fingertips, bent to touch them to the damp earth, then paused for an unspoken prayer before she said, "I'll keep my vow to you, Mama, no matter where that duty takes me. I promise."

s.h.i.+vering, yet loath to leave, she straightened and took a shaky breath. Everyone's life had changed in literally seconds when the tornado had mowed a swath through Trumbull County. It was still hard to believe her own mama was gone to Glory, along with so many of their closest family friends.

There was little left of the farm where nineteen-year-old Faith and her younger sister, Charity, had grown up. The lower part of the chimney still stood behind the iron cook-stove, but the rest of the house had been reduced to a pile of useless kindling. The roof had blown clean off the barn Papa had built, too. Most of the livestock that had survived the storm had been rounded up and quickly sold for traveling money.

A hooded bonnet partially sheltered Faith's cold-stung, flushed cheeks and she clasped her black wool cloak tightly to her. Despite that protection, her body still trembled from marrow-deep chill. The sweet, peaceful life she had taken for granted was gone. Over. She felt as if her soul had been trapped and frozen within the numbness that now filled her whole body.

Looking down to where her mother lay beneath the freshly turned earth, she gained comfort by imagining her dear one asleep in the arms of Jesus, instead.

"Oh, Mama, why did you have to leave us?" she lamented. "And why did you make me promise to take Charity and look for Papa? What if I can't find him? What if he's lost forever, like so many of the other men who went to seek their fortunes?"

Bittersweet memories of her father's initial departure, his last hugs and words of encouragement to his family, rushed to soothe Faith's wounded spirit. Would she have reneged on her deathbed promise to her mother if she'd still had a comfortable home in which to wait for her father's return? Perhaps. Perhaps not. It was a pointless question. No choice remained.

"Oh, dear G.o.d." Her prayer was as plaintive, as wistful, as the wind that carried it. "Please, please show me what to do. Spare me this obligation."

No reprieve came. She hadn't truly expected divine intervention to lift her burden. Instead, she found herself remembering how she'd clasped her mother's hand and listened intently as the injured woman had spoken and wept, then had breathed her last with a blissful smile softening her features as she pa.s.sed on.

"Lord willing, I will come back," Faith vowed, making peace with the past as best she could. In her deepest heart she feared she would never again climb that desolate hill to look down on those verdant valleys and farms of Ohio.

Bending over, the edges of her black cloak flapping wildly in a sudden gust of frigid air, she laid a bouquet of dried forget-me-nots on her mother's grave, turned and walked resolutely away.

Behind her, the storm tore the fragile flowers from their satin ribbon and strewed tattered fragments across the bare ground, destroying their beauty for the moment in order to plant the seeds of future blooms.

Chapter One.

Fort Laramie, early summer, 1850.

"Look out!" Faith yanked her sixteen-year-old sister to safety, barely in time. Ma.s.sive wheels of an empty freight wagon ground across the footprints they'd just left in the powdery dust.

True to her nature, Charity gave a shriek. She cowered against the blunt end of a water trough while she worried the strings of her bonnet with fluttering fingers.

Faith caught her breath and waited for her heart to stop galloping. Fort Laramie was not at all what she'd expected. It was more a primitive frontier trading post than a real army garrison. No one seemed to care a fig about proper deportment, either. The rapidly rolling freight wagon that had just cut them off would most likely have run them down without a thought if they hadn't dodged in time!

As it was, she and Charity were both engulfed in a gritty brown cloud of powdered earth, undefined filth and bothersome, ever-present buffalo gnats. The tiny insects had been driving their mules crazy since before they'd reached the lower Platte. Not to mention getting into everything. Even her biscuit dough. She grimaced at the thought.

Waiting for the worst of the blowing dust to clear, Faith spied an opportunity, took hold of her sister's hand and dragged her back out into the fray. "Come on. We can't stand here all day."

"Ouch! You're hurting me." Charity's voice was a childish whine, far less womanly than her budding body suggested it should be.

At that moment, Faith's singular intent was surviving long enough to reach the opposite side of the roadway, whether Charity liked the idea or not. She refused to slow her pace. "Oh, hush. Stop complaining. You'd think I was killing you the way you carry on."

Charity's blue eyes widened. "You might be!" Planting her heels, she brought them to a staggering halt in front of the log-and-adobe-walled trading post. "I don't like it here. It's so...so barbaric. And it stinks."

Faith couldn't argue with that. Between the pa.s.sage of hundreds of draft animals, plus careless, slovenly local inhabitants and travelers, the place smelled wretched. Though the high adobe walls surrounding the fort were obviously necessary for protection, she couldn't help thinking they'd all be better off if the tightly packed settlement was more open to the cleansing wind and rain of the plains.

Intent on finding the best in their situation, she nodded toward a group of blanketed Indians sitting silently against the front of the trading post. "Look, dear. Isn't all this interesting?"

Charity pressed a lace-edged handkerchief over her mouth and nose. "Not to me, Faith Ann. I think it's awful." She lowered her shrill voice to a whisper, her sidelong gaze darting to the stony-faced Indians. "Do you suppose they understand what we're saying?"

Faith boldly a.s.sessed the native women. They were short, like herself, but twice as wide and far more rounded, and seemed to be cautiously avoiding meeting her eyes. Even the smallest children were careful not to look up at the sisters.

"I suspect they may," Faith said, a bit ashamed. "Else why would they act so shy?" Lifting her skirts, she urged Charity up the high step onto the boarded walkway. "We probably hurt their feelings."

The blue eyes grew even wider. "Do you think so? Oh, dear." The fair-haired girl blushed as a tall, manly, cavalry officer in a uniform of blue and gold doffed his hat, bowing graciously as he pa.s.sed.

Faith's quick mind pounced on the occasion to raise her sister's spirits. "There," she said quietly. "See? Aren't you glad you washed up and put on your best bonnet?"

"Captain Tucker already said I looked lovely, today," Charity countered, blus.h.i.+ng demurely and twirling the tails of the bow tied beneath her chin. "I think he's wonderful."

Her sister was appalled. "Handsome is as handsome does, as Grandma Reeder used to say." Faith likened the horrid wagon boss to an unruly billy goat, bad to the bone and just as dangerous a creature to turn your back on. She knew better than to criticize him openly, of course, because he literally held their future in his hands. But that didn't mean she had to pretend to admire him. He was a necessity. Nothing more.

Leading the way into the trading post, Faith took one whiff of hot, stale air and wished she could hold her breath indefinitely. The cloying smells were no improvement over the pungent aromas of the street, they were simply more varied. Spices, coffee beans, vinegar, mola.s.ses and salted fish added their own tang to the almost palpable atmosphere.

Judging by the overwhelming odor of sweat and smoke liberally laced with dried buffalo dung, most of the customers had long ago abandoned any notion of bathing, too. Not that Faith blamed them. Now that she and Charity had spent two long months traveling from Independence, Missouri to Fort Laramie in the Territories, they, too, realized how few of their old customs and manners fit the wearying trek.

Glancing around the crowded room for the proprietor, she spied an older woman with a topknot of gray hair. Faith watched her deftly wrap and tie a package, hand it to a matron in a dark wool dress, accept payment, then turn to help the next of the noisy, milling customers.

"Come on." Taking her sister's hand, Faith began to lead her between the piles of flour sacks, kegs of tar and barrels of pickles to wait their turn to order supplies.

They were quite near their goal by the time Faith paid full attention to the tall, broad-shouldered man at the counter ahead of them. He was as rustic as anyone present, yet different. Intriguing. For one thing, he didn't smell as if he never bathed! While his back was turned, she took the opportunity to study him.

Long, sandy-colored hair hung beyond the spread of his shoulders. Worn buckskin covered him from head to toe. When he moved even slightly, he reminded Faith of the sleek, sinewy cougar she'd seen stalking a herd of antelope through the waving prairie gra.s.ses along the lower Platte.

Embarra.s.sed to have been so bold, she lowered her focus. The man was speaking and his voice sent unexpected s.h.i.+vers up her spine. Her cheeks flamed as if touched by the summer sun. Surprised by the uncalled-for reaction, Faith nevertheless set aside her ideas of proper etiquette once again and peered up at him, listening shamelessly.

The storekeeper was looking at something cradled in the man's outstretched palm. "Sorry, son. It's been too long. I can't say for certain. Maybe. Maybe not."

Sighing, the man turned to go. With the Beal sisters directly in his path there was little room for polite maneuvering.

For a heart-stopping instant his troubled gaze met Faith's. Held it. His eyes were the color of smoke, of a fog-shrouded mountain meadow at dawn. And his beard, almost the same hue as his buckskins, continued to remind her of a stalking mountain lion. Faith caught her breath.

The man nodded politely, pus.h.i.+ng past them toward the door. Charity gave a little squeak of protest and fell back as he pa.s.sed. Faith stood her ground. She had never felt so tiny in her entire life. Yet she experienced no fear, even though the plainsman was rough-hewn and dusty from the trail.

The gray-haired woman noted Faith's watchful interest. "Feel kinda sorry for him, I do."

Faith frowned. "I beg your pardon?"

"That big fella. He's lookin' for his betrothed. Might as well be lookin' for a will-o'-the-wisp. Got about as much chance a findin' one."

"Oh, dear. I'm so sorry."

Faith saw him pause to show something small to several groups of people, then square his hat on his head and leave the trading post. Thinking of her own home and family, her heart broke for the poor man. She knew all too well what it was like to lose a loved one. As she absently laid her hand over the heart-shaped onyx pendant containing a lock of her mother's hair, she vowed to add the stranger's quest to her nightly prayers.

The shopkeeper shrugged. "Happens a lot out here. Folks windin' up lost, I mean. Now, what can I do for you ladies?"

Focusing on the reason for their visit, Faith took a sc.r.a.p of paper from her reticule and handed it over. "We'll need these supplies. Do you have them all?"

"Coffee'll cost you dear," the woman said, licking the point of a pencil and beginning to check off items on the list. "The flour's no problem, though. And the bacon. You'll have to go across to the mercantile if you want a paper of pins."

"All right." Faith couldn't help glancing toward the doorway where she'd last glimpsed the intriguing man. Sadly, he'd gone.

"Indians steal pins if I keep 'em here," the shopkeeper went on. "Candy, too. Regular thieves, they are."

Charity grasped her sister's arm in alarm. "You see? I told you we shouldn't have come."

"Oh, nonsense. Surely you don't think there were no thieves at home in Ohio." Faith shook her off.

"You in a hurry?" the proprietress asked. "Otherwise we'll have this packed up and ready to go in an hour or so. Have to send Will out to the smokehouse for another side of bacon. You put aside enough bran to pack it in a barrel real good like?"

"Yes. And there's no hurry," Faith a.s.sured her, ignoring Charity's scowl. "Our friend Mr. Ledbetter is at the blacksmith's getting a wagon wheel fixed. No telling when we'll be ready to go back to the train."

"I got lots o' pretty Indian trinkets," the woman urged. "Or you could do what most of the ladies do and go wonder at the dry goods in the mercantile. They got twenty...thirty new bolts o' calico since winter. Been meanin' to go have a look-see myself. Never seem to find time." She wiped her hands on her ap.r.o.n. "Tell 'em Anna Morse sent you."

Faith thanked her for her advice. "We'll be back in a bit, Mrs. Morse. We're the Beal sisters. This is Charity and I'm Faith. We're with the Tucker train."

"Yes," Charity added proudly. "Captain Ramsey Tucker is kindly looking after us."

Faith noticed an immediate change in the woman's countenance. Her gray eyebrows knit, her wrinkles becoming more p.r.o.nounced as her eyes narrowed in a wary expression. It was somewhat of a relief for Faith to see that she, herself, was not the only one disturbed by references to the captain.

That realization gave her pause. What might Mrs. Morse know about their wagon train? And would she reveal the truth, if asked?

Faith glanced nervously at her sister. Any candid conversation must not take place in front of Charity. The silly girl was too smitten with Tucker to be trusted to hold her tongue, especially if the news was disturbing.

Pondering alternatives, Faith recalled their schedule. They were to lay over in camp the rest of today and tomorrow before pus.h.i.+ng on to California. In that length of time she was bound to be able to sneak back into the fort and make some discreet inquiries of Anna Morse. She only hoped she could live with whatever secrets were revealed.

The sun had crested and started toward the west as Faith waited on the plank walkway in front of the trading post. A small bundle from the mercantile, wrapped in brown paper and tied with string, lay at her feet where it had been for the past three hours. The rest of their purchases remained inside.

s.h.i.+elding her eyes from the afternoon glare, she seemed oblivious to the people pus.h.i.+ng past. She fanned her burning cheeks with an embroidered handkerchief while looking left and right in antic.i.p.ation of the arrival of the Ledbetters' wagon. Repairs to the wheel must be taking a very long time.

Charity tugged at her sister's sleeve. "It's fearful hot and dusty out here. I'm going back into the store." She pulled harder. "Come with me."

"Just a moment more." Faith pushed her slat bonnet off the back of her head, letting it hang down her back by its strings while she dabbed away the drops of perspiration on her forehead.

"No. I'm frightened," Charity insisted. "I told you, Ramsey...Captain Tucker...warned us not to come into town at all. He said he'd take care of buying our supplies for us. He was right. We should have listened to him."

Faith could hardly tell her gullible sister that the nefarious captain was not going to get his hands on any more of their money if she could help it. Not even to run simple errands. She'd paid dearly for their spot with the train because she hadn't known any better. Now, she knew they'd been cheated. She wouldn't play the fool twice.

Instead of arguing she merely said, "We'll be fine."

Cupping one pale hand around her mouth, Charity made a pouting face and leaned closer to whisper. "The Indians get more terrible looking all the time. See them scratching? I hate to think why. Makes me want to dip the hem of my skirt in kerosene to ward off the fleas!"

"You're being a silly goose." Faith took her sister's shoulders, physically turned the girl to face the door to the trading post, shoved the paper-wrapped bundle into her hands and gave her a push. "All right. Go on. Suffer in the stench of those stacks of awful buffalo hides if you want. I'm perfectly happy out here."

Charity turned back. "The captain told us to stay together."

"Captain Tucker is merely our guide," Faith said flatly. "I will not pretend we aren't beholden to him, but neither will I cede to his every command."

"I can't believe you're being so mean. He's a brave and wonderful man."

"That remains to be seen." Faith took a deep breath and made a decision. "Look, I can't abide standing here wasting my time any longer. I have wash to do and food to prepare back in camp. Fixing one loose wagon wheel shouldn't take this long. I'm going to walk to the blacksmith's and see what's delayed Mr. Ledbetter."

Charity gasped. "You can't do that! Not here. Not alone."

"Then you'll come with me?"

The pale girl stepped back quickly, clutching the package to her breast. "I can't. It's not fair to ask me."

That reaction was what Faith had counted on. Two months as her sister's constant companion and chaperone had been an insufferable trial. If the Lord hadn't granted her an extra dose of patience, she'd surely have throttled the girl by now, especially when Charity had claimed she'd accidentally lost both their black dresses while was.h.i.+ng them in a flooded river and they'd been forced to cease wearing mourning for their mother far too soon. For Faith, a few minutes respite from her familial duty would be like a breath of cool breeze in the midst of oppressive heat.

She composed herself, then said, "All right, Charity, dear. Then why don't you go inside and check the rest of our order to be certain everything is exactly as it should be?"

"I could do that." The younger woman began to blink and smile sweetly. "The captain would be proud of my efficiency, wouldn't he?"

"Undoubtedly. I'm certain Mr. Ledbetter will tell him you are the picture of virtue. And you needn't worry about me. It's obvious the army has plenty of men here to keep the peace."

"Oh. Well, if you're sure you'll be all right..."

Wheeling quickly, Charity gathered her skirts and darted through the door.

Faith breathed a relieved sigh as she turned away to look down the street. She'd often thought it must be a sin to wish for self-serving favors from heaven, yet there were times she couldn't help hoping some suitable young swain would soon rescue her from her sister's trying foolishness.

Tiny flies continued to buzz around Faith's head. Beads of perspiration gathered on her temples while sweaty rivulets trickled down her back between her shoulder blades. Ignoring the discomfort, she squashed her bonnet back on her head, whipped the ties into a loose bow and started off.