Two for Home

by Tinnean

  “You’ve got a mule team?”

  “Yes.”

  Steve tugged on his lower lip. Oxen and mules had more stamina than horses, so that was a good thing. He did some rapid calculations. “It should take you a bit more than two months to get to the Dakotas.”

  “That long?” Fox began to look a little panicky.

  Steve shrugged. “Possibly longer, because you’ll want to take it easy. You don’t want to run the flesh off your livestock.”

  “Livestock?”

  “I assume you’re bringing cows or sheep with you.”

  “Oh…uh…no. I was informed they’re already on the property,” Fox hastened to explain.

  “Hmm.”

  “We can arrive sooner, yes?”

  “No. The jostling of the wagon could very well bring on an early birth.” Mrs. Fox could just as likely lose the baby before they even got halfway to their destination, although Steve was reluctant to say as much. “I’d suggest you delay your journey until after the baby is born and your wife has had a chance to recover.”

  “Next spring? But I…It’s imperative we get there as soon as possible.”

  “I’m sorry—”

  Fox scrubbed his face, then raised his head and met Steve’s gaze. “A thousand dollars.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Two thousand.”

  It took a moment for Steve to pick up his jaw at that outrageous amount of money.

  “Name your price. I’ll pay whatever you ask.”

  Steve narrowed his gaze. For a man to make an offer like that…Something was definitely off. “Why do you need to get to the Black Hills so badly?”

  “What makes you think—” Fox’s shoulders slumped. “My…uh…father left the property to whichever of his sons could get there first. My other brothers are unmarried and don’t have the…the encumbrance of a pregnant wife and three young children to slow them down. I was tipped off and managed to make a head start, but they’re hard on my heels.” He didn’t meet Steve’s gaze, and Steve became even more certain something was rotten in Denmark.

  “I have to go to St. Joe,” he said, and waited to see how Fox would react to that.

  “I see. In that case, I won’t take up any more of your time.” The man looked miserable.

  “How are you set for supplies?” Yep, that’s you, Steve Marriott. A real sucker for a hard-luck story.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Look, if you’re determined to make the journey, I’ll take you to St. Joe. For a quarter of my regular fee.” He held up a hand. “I’ll be taking a single wagon about a quarter of the distance I usually travel.”

  Fox smiled in relief. “Thank you.”

  “Don’t thank me just yet. The reason I’ll be taking you north is I’m meeting some friends there. Afterward, I’ll see about finding someone who can take you on to the Black Hills.” Steve went to his saddlebag, withdrew a list, and handed it to the man. “This is what I tell my charges they’ll need for the journey.”

  Fox grabbed the paper but barely gave it a glance. He seized Steve’s hand and pumped it gratefully. “Thank you. Thank you—”

  “Don’t mention it.” Steve freed his hand. “You go see about what you have and what you’ll need, then stock up. I’d planned to be on the road to St. Joe by tomorrow—”

  “Oh, but—”

  Steve held up a hand, forestalling the protest he knew was coming. “We’ll leave in a couple of days. That should give you enough time to stock up.” Even with the wagon, Steve figured they’d still arrive in St. Joe well before Mrs. Pettigrew and young George and their family rolled into town.

  “Thank you,” Fox said again. “Thank you.”

  Steve tipped his hat and strode back into the stable, anxious to avoid more effusive thanks.

  * * * *

  The Fox children were quiet and well-behaved, and Mrs. Fox kept them—even the boy—with her during the journey.

  “I’ll be so relieved when we arrive in St. Joseph,” she murmured one evening over the campfire. “How much longer will it be, Captain?”

  “About another week, ma’am.” They’d already been on the road for seven days. Normally it wouldn’t have taken them more than three days if they’d pushed the mules, but Steve insisted on an easy walk that didn’t tire the mules or upset Mrs. Fox’s delicate constitution, although they still had to make frequent stops while she was indisposed in the bushes at the side of the road.

  Fox, on the other hand, almost danced with impatience every step of the way.

  Finally, Steve took him aside. “As soon as we get to St. Joe, I’ll find another wagon master or scout to take you on to the Black Hills.”

  “But…but I want you to take us. You’re trustworthy and…and honorable.”

  “Look, you’ve made it clear you want to be there lickety-split. I’m afraid I won’t be able to accommodate you. I’ll be waiting for my friends to show up, and since they’re traveling a fair distance, I can’t even begin to say when they’ll arrive.”

  “Very well, Captain,” Fox said, once again looking unhappy. “We’ll wait with you.”

  “I won’t beat about the bush, Fox. Is this likely to get me killed?”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  Steve sighed. It had been a long week, and the upcoming week was promising to be even longer. “Is someone following you who has an itchy trigger finger?”

  “I assure you most sincerely that is not the case. Why would you even suggest such a thing?”

  “I understand you wanting that piece of property, but there’s land for the taking out here.”

  Fox looked away. “You can’t begin to imagine what it’s like to possibly lose the one thing your father left you.”

  Couldn’t he? “My family was from Kentucky. After the War, as I was heading west, I detoured to visit Sycamore Grove. The trees the farm had been named for had been shelled to kindling, the buildings had been burned to the ground, and the fields were nothing but sere.” There was a fresh grave in the small cemetery where Marriotts had been buried since they’d come over the mountains to their lush valley; the marker bore the names of his mother and father. He learned from the lone neighbor who was still there that his sisters had taken shelter with an aunt who lived in Pennsylvania. Steve had backtracked to make sure they were well and left them as much money as he could spare.

  “I…I’m sorry.” Fox had turned pale earlier, but just then color ran high in his cheeks. “I’m a bastard.”

  “I wouldn’t say that.”

  That got a smile out of the other man. “I meant that literally. I was born on the wrong side of the blanket. That’s why it’s so important to me to get to that land. My wife’s family didn’t approve of her marrying me. They think all I’m good for is to plant a baby in her belly every year.”

  Steve was inclined to think Mrs. Fox’s family was wrong about that. Bert was at least four years older than his sisters. He had no intention of saying as much to Fox.

  “I have to prove them wrong.”

  Steve shook his head. “Never mind.” From what he remembered of Mrs. Pettigrew, she was a kindhearted woman. “We’ll head out as soon as the Pettigrews arrive.”

  “Would you…would you mind keeping quiet about my wife’s pregnancy? She isn’t comfortable with strangers knowing about it.” He gave an abashed chuckle, and Steve wondered if she didn’t want people to realize what she and her husband did in the night.

  “That won’t be any trouble,” he told Fox.

  Once more Fox seized his hand and pumped it vigorously.

  Steve sighed again. It was going to be a very long week.

  Chapter 13

  Thanks to all the delays, by the time Steve and the Foxes arrived in St. Joe, the Pettigrews had already been in town a number of days.

  Steve sent word to the hotel where they were staying, and the reply asked him to join them at the hotel’s dining room.

  He took the time to wash the dust off hi
s face and hands before he presented himself at the hotel. He was ushered into the dining room, which was empty this time of day.

  Bart Hall, a good friend of George’s, was waiting at a table set in a corner. Beside Hall sat a very pretty woman.

  Steve tipped his hat to her and offered his hand to Hall, whom he’d met when he’d brought Tom’s body home.

  “Uh…where’s George?”

  “Captain, let me introduce you to my wife, Georgiana,” Bart said.

  It seemed to be a non sequitur. Steve studied the woman, and then his jaw dropped and his eyes grew wide as the reality of the situation struck him. “George?”

  “It might make things less confusing if you call me Georgie.”

  He recognized the voice, but he still couldn’t find words to express how dumbfounded he was.

  “We’ll tell you all about it,” George said softly. He raised a gloved hand to signal a waiter. “Coffee, please.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He hurried away, and they made small talk until the waiter returned with three cups of coffee, a pitcher of cream, and a bowl of sugar cubes, as well as a plate of cakes. “Compliments of the manager, ma’am.”

  “Thank you,” George said. “That will be all for now.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He left them, and George began to bring Steve up to date on what had happened since they’d last seen him.

  Steve listened, saddened when he learned of Mrs. Pettigrew’s passing after a long illness, and angered when George—Georgie—went on to tell him of the abuse his youngest siblings had suffered at the hands of their mother’s father and brother.

  “After Mama passed, our preacher told me the court would never permit me to become guardian to my sisters and brother—”

  “Your mama had a baby boy?” Steve remembered she’d been pregnant at the time he’d brought Tom’s body home.

  “Yeah. Thomas—we named him after Papa.” Sadness touched Georgie’s eyes.

  “I apologize for interrupting. Why weren’t you permitted to be their guardian?”

  “My age, mostly. I was seventeen when Mama passed. So her father became their guardian. I stayed as close as I could, working for their uncle, but the St. Claires wouldn’t let me see the children much. I don’t know why the old man treated Noelle so well and Charlie so badly, but her back is still scarred from the beatings he gave her.”

  Steve couldn’t repress a sound of disgust. “Men who treat women and children like that need to face the consequences.”

  “He did.” Georgie exchanged a glance with Bart, and Steve wondered about that. “I killed the old man. And I beat the living daylights out of Uncle Lewis.”

  “Lewis St. Claire s a vindictive man, Steve,” Bart said in a stone-cold voice. “He’d have had the coppers after Georgie.”

  If he was that vindictive, why hadn’t George dealt with the son as he had with the father? This was an odd situation; he’d give it more thought another time.

  Meanwhile, Bart continued speaking. “We figured the only way to throw dust in his eyes was for George to dress as a woman and Noelle—we’re calling her Chris now—” They could see Steve’s confusion, and Georgie explained.

  “Because she was born on Christmas, we called her our Christmas angel, so it was no great leap to changing her name to Chris.”

  “All right, but I still don’t understand.”

  “She and Charlie are dressed as boys. The authorities might look for a man accompanied by his two sisters and his brother, but they wouldn’t think of searching for a woman with three boys.”

  “I reckon that makes sense.”

  Georgie nodded. “We want to get to our valley in the Dakota Territory. Thomas and the girls should be safe there.”

  “So we are on our way to the Dakotas?” Steve thought of Tom’s ranch, which Tom had described to him, described the creek that ran through the valley, the whitetail deer and the bison and elk that ran wild. It would be a good place for them, and perhaps he’d bargain with the local Indians for a patch of land of his own nearby. But he hadn’t mentioned the Foxes yet. “I…uh…have a favor to ask of you.”

  “Ask away.”

  “I ran into a family of five in Independence who are looking to settle in the Badlands. They want me to be their wagon master.”

  Bart slid an arm around George’s shoulders. “They’re going in the same direction we are, hummingbird.”

  “A family of five, you say?” Georgie worried his lower lip.

  “Yes, the Foxes, a husband and wife, a boy a little older than Chris, and two little girls who are around the same age as Charlie.”

  “I think it would be a good idea. Is he a rancher?”

  “No, a farmer.” Steve knew most ranchers had no use for “sodbusters,” believing the fences they put up kept cattle away from decent grazing land.

  “Well, we need crops.”

  “Then you don’t object?”

  “Not at all.”

  “You’re a good man, Georgiana Pettigrew.”

  “Georgiana Hall, Captain.”

  “You two really got married? I can’t get over that.” Steve had enough experience in the world to know there were men who preferred to be with other men. Well, wasn’t he one of those men? Not that he’d tell anyone. The only person he’d ever be apt to act on it with was Sharps. He felt a little easier about that, since he knew Sharps had turned nineteen on his last birthday, but Steve thought sadly the odds of him ever seeing the young man again were very slim—he still hadn’t heard from the older Browne.

  “Do you object?” George asked.

  “Hmm? Not my place to. I’m just pleased you’re happy, Georgie. Now, come on. I’ll take you to meet Albert Fox and his wife and children.”

  Chapter 14

  Everyone seemed to get along well, the weather was decent for the most part, and the miles rolled by.

  And then they camped a few miles outside the town of Willow Crick, which they’d been assured was a town of good, god-fearing people. Bart and Georgie decided to ride into town.

  “You go on,” Steve said. “I’ll stay with the wagons.”

  “I’ll stay with Captain Steve, too,” Thomas announced as he grinned up at Steve, and Steve ruffled the boy’s blond hair.

  Accompanying them were Georgie’s “brothers” Chris and Charlie. Also riding along was Frank Thompson, a friend of Bart’s and Georgie’s, who Steve had met at Tom Pettigrew’s funeral and who was traveling with them. At the last minute, Fox decided to go along.

  “My wife will benefit from some chamomile tea,” he said with a frown and a sigh. “She’s not used to this kind of life.” He clambered awkwardly onto his horse, which had more things wrong with it than right. It was obvious Fox wasn’t knowledgeable regarding horses, which made Steve wonder how well he would do farming.

  Well, that wasn’t his business. He waved off the little party.

  “What are we going to do, Captain Steve?” Thomas asked.

  “I think it will be a good idea to give each mule a thorough going-over.”

  “May I help?”

  “You sure may.” He set about showing young Thomas how to do it.

  “Georgie’s been showing me how,” the little boy informed him. He was too small to raise the mule’s hoof to clean it, but he was able to run a currycomb over the animal’s hide.

  “So that’s why you’ve been doing such a good job.”

  “Yep.”

  After they finished with the mules, Steve made lunch for them, some salt pork and a can of peaches. “I’ll just go see if Mrs. Fox and the children need any help with lunch,” he told Thomas.

  “I like Emily.”

  “She seems like a nice little girl.”

  “She’s very nice. I think I’ll marry her.”

  “You might want to wait until you’re a bit older.”

  “Okay.” The little boy used two fingers to retrieve a slice of peach from the can, and Steve chuckled and shook his head. Kids.

  He’d on
ly taken a few steps toward the Fox wagon when Charlie came racing into camp on Noelle’s pony. “Captain Steve!”

  Steve caught her as she tumbled out of the saddle. Her hat hung from its thong down her back, the wind had made a wild tangle of her hair, and her eyes—she’d always seemed a contained little girl, but just then a blind man could see how upset she was.

  “Whoa, Socks. Whoa.” Thomas flung aside his can of peaches and jumped forward to catch up the pony’s reins, although Socks was a good, steady mount who wouldn’t have run off.

  “What’s wrong?” Steve asked. “Where is everyone else?”

  “George and Noelle are g-gone,” Charlie said with a hitch in her voice. She tugged him aside and kept her voice very low. “A couple of bad men stole Georgie and Noelle—”

  “What?”

  “Shh. They shot Mr. Fox, too. You don’t want Mrs. Fox to get upset, not right now.”

  Steve kept his voice down. “But why would those men do that?”

  “I don’t know. There were three of them, and they just rode up to us and shot Mr. Fox down, then two of them grabbed George and Noelle. I could have shot those men if I’d had my rifle, but Georgie made me leave it in camp.” Her brother had bought it for her from a family whose taste for pioneering had vanished when they’d lost their son to a snake bite. In spite of Charlie’s upset, she sounded aggrieved. She’d become quite the tomboy since the last time he’d seen her, determined to do everything her big brother could do. She was still a little girl, though, and she sniffled and dashed away the tears that streaked her cheeks.

  Steve rubbed her shoulder, trying to offer what comfort he could. “Are Bart and Frank all right?” He needed to have as much information as she could give him before he went after them.

  She nodded. “Bart put me up on Socks and told me to ride to camp, but before I did, I saw what happened. Frank shot down one of the men, but they couldn’t shoot at the other two in case they hit George or Noelle.”

  “Did Bart and Frank go after your brother and sister?”

  “No, they couldn’t. The stupid sheriff arrested them. He wouldn’t believe them when they told him what had happened.”