A Love Defying The Odds (Historical Western Romance)

by Cassidy Hanton

“I just don’t understand. What harm are they doing here? We care for ourselves, for the most part, and we even help out in Shortcrag. The children help weed gardens and the older girl bakes bread for the people who cannot—”

  “That is all well and good, Miss Jones, but the truth of the matter is they are needed elsewhere. The girls have positions at a shirtwaist factory where they will be apprenticed as seamstresses. The boys, as they are slightly older and more physically capable, will work for the railroad. There’s talk that they will begin laying track any week now, and there’s much demand for workers.”

  “Workers? These are children!” Lucy cried.

  “And as such, they are old enough to learn that the Lord helps those who help themselves. He loveth not a lazy person, and these children have been a burden on the kindness of others for long enough. It is time for them to earn their keep and learn a trade. The school, such as it is, will be closing at the end of the month.”

  Lucy seemed to wilt in her chair, her hopes dashed. The woman, dressed severely in black and with a countenance that matched her dreary attire, reached into her bag and retrieved a small pouch.

  “I expect that you will be properly grateful for the funds that I’ve managed to secure for you. The donors are, after all, charitable, loving, Christian people who acknowledge all that you’ve done for these children all this time. This money will be sufficient to get you started on your way, but you’ll take care not to squander it. It may not be so much as you might have hoped.”

  Lucy took the purse and barely registered its weight. Charitable? Loving? There was barely enough in the tiny pouch to count as any heft in her hand. Still, she nodded her thanks, barely trusting herself to speak.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Alexander. Please give the donors my regards,” she said in a flat voice, void of all emotion.

  “That I will. You’ll be hearing from me with the final arrangements very soon. Good day, Miss Jones.”

  The older woman stood up and left the room, leaving Lucy to fight back her tears. She wanted nothing more than to throw herself on her bed and have a hearty cry, but she knew it would only frighten the children.

  The children…

  “Miss Lucy?” the youngest of the boys asked. Lucy startled, wondering how much he’d heard.

  “Yes, Jeremiah?”

  “What’s a railroad?” He looked at her with such inquisitive unconcern that she felt her heart rending in two.

  “Oh, it’s nothing to worry about today!” she answered, forcing herself to smile. “Not when there’s fun to be had outside! Go get the others and we’ll all go down to the creek to look for berries.”

  “And frogs?” he asked, jumping up and down.

  “Yes, but only if you promise to let them go this time and don’t try to hide them in your pockets again!” Lucy said, pretending to be cross with him. “I had such a fright when a dozen frogs floated to the top of the laundry tub!”

  Jeremiah’s tiny gap-tooth smile melted her heart before he ran off to find the others while Lucy forced herself to be more cheerful. She would not squander the time she had left with these darling children by feeling sad, but instead would ensure they had pleasant memories to carry them through all of the dark days that lie ahead.

  Lucy watched the darling boy through the window as he ran to find the others. When he shared the news of the day’s outing, the children’s faces broke out in broad grins and laughter. The girls even hopped up and down in excitement, clapping their hands with joy.

  Joy, Lucy thought miserably. Soon, there would be no joy for any of them. Perhaps not for a long time, but worse, perhaps not ever again.

  She couldn’t even worry about her own situation, or how she would fare. What would she do? Where would she go? Lucy had no income, no real skill other than tending to the children—although she was a good hand at sewing for them and cooking, as well as growing a meager garden—and with what the Aide Society had provided, she might have only enough funds to board a train and end up somewhere even more desolate.

  “I can’t think about that at the moment,” Lucy said out loud, standing up taller and feeling somewhat defiant. “The children aren’t gone yet. Today’s not the day to whimper about it.”

  Lucy straightened the kitchen, returning the untouched teacups to the cupboard, then hurried outside to gather the children. They retrieved their old baskets from the cellar, lined them with flour sacks so none of the precious fruit could escape through the odd hole here and there, and set off to pick blackberries.

  Along the way, Lucy continued their lessons as she had done countless times before. She called on them one by one to name a plant that grew along the path or a critter that ran in front of them. She quizzed them on the kinds of clouds that drifted overhead, asking them to tell what the weather would be like later that day or even the next.

  The younger ones sang their counting songs and their letters, the older ones recited their times tables to perfection. Forten proudly recited all the names of the presidents in order, while Annie stated the major battles of the War Between the States with their dates and locations.

  And none of this will do them a bit of good where they’re headed, Lucy thought, slipping back into her earlier somber mood. It will be nothing but backbreaking work from dawn ‘til dusk, or even dangerous work that ripped their tiny limbs from their bodies in mill factory machines or locomotive engines. It was deadly work that required children for they were small enough to fit into the spaces that no man could or would go.

  “Miss Lucy! Look what I got!” Jeremiah shouted from where he peered into the scrub up ahead. He reached in and pulled out the longest snake Lucy had seen in quite some time. “Can I bring him home with us?”

  “That all depends,” she answered calmly, “can you tell me what kind it is?”

  Jeremiah turned the wriggling snake this way and that, holding it up to look at the markings on its back.

  “Is it a corn snake?” he asked hopefully.

  Lucy shook her head. “No, sir. That means he has to go back in the bush there.”

  “Aw, lemme try one more time! Is it a rat snake?”

  She shook her head again and crossed her arms. Forten tugged on the sleeve of her shirt.

  “Miss Lucy, let me run and tell him. Please. I know… I know all about what’s gonna happen soon, and I just want him to have a little something happy to remember about where we’re from.”

  Lucy looked down at Forten in surprise. He’d always been the quietest, the most intuitive of all the children. Of course he’d already know. She should have thought ahead.

  Finally, she nodded. “Go on then. Tell him and make sure he puts it in the shed when we get back. It’ll help with the mice.”

  Forten sprinted to the younger boy, cupped his hand to his mouth, and whispered something in his ear. Jeremiah brightened and held the snake up even higher.

  “It’s a king snake!” he proclaimed confidently.

  Lucy laughed, then pretended she’d been defeated. “Oh my, I guess I have to let you have it since I gave my word!”

  Forten helped Jeremiah guide the snake coil by coil into the front pocket of his denim overalls, then took him by the hand the rest of the way to the riverbank.

  Lucy watched them, all of them. The girls began a game of seeing who could skip the highest while the boys gathered flat stones to skip across the water. This was truly a happy day, one that served its purpose: giving the children an arsenal of memories to carry with them through the darkest times ahead.

  That evening, after supper, the children gathered around Forten’s feet in the front room as he read aloud from David Copperfield. Lucy looked in on them and noted the scene happily.

  “Children, stay as you are. I’m going to deliver the berries we’ve set aside for Mrs. Mayhew.”

  She shut the door quietly behind her so as not to distract the children from the story, then crossed the open, dusty town square to where Mrs. Mayhew still lived.

  At one time, her
home had been a boarding house filled to the brim every week with travelers from back east, come to seek their fortune. Shortcrag, Nevada, had made a name for itself purely by mistake when a gold nugget, the size of which had never been seen in this part of the West, was retrieved from the river. After more than ten years of being inundated with fortune-seekers who turned the small outpost into one of the largest mining towns in this part of the state, the truth had come out.

  A prospector from north of the area had overturned his canoe and lost much of his find. Once the last piece had been retrieved, the miners were long gone and the town had no reason to exist anymore.

  Most of the proprietors had seen the signs early on and moved their businesses elsewhere. A few stubborn holdouts like Mr. Popwell were determined to die where they’d lived, no matter how long it took.

  But Mrs. Mayhew… Lucy knew why she wouldn’t leave, and she was certain it had everything to do with a young school caretaker and her little charges.

  Lucy rapped on the door to the boarding house, then stepped back and waited, knowing it would take the old woman some time before she could come down and open it. She waited in one of the wide swings that hung from the open rafters overhead, pushing gently with her feet against the old hand-hewn boards of the porch. Several minutes passed before Lucy heard the turn of the old lock and saw the light from inside spread out across the darkened floor.

  “Why, Lucy? Is everything all right?” the woman asked, worry flooding her features.

  “Oh, everything’s fine, ma’am. I’ve just come to bring some of the berries the children picked today. I know how you enjoy them, but the path down to the riverbank is not easy.”

  “That is so kind of you, but my dear, I cannot take food out of their tiny bellies! You just take them right back, and here, let me get you some flour and baking powder to make them some flapjacks with them…”

  Mrs. Mayhew shuffled around to head towards her kitchen, but Lucy stopped her.

  “Oh, no! We have plenty. We picked this basket just for you,” she insisted, holding it out. Mrs. Mayhew frowned as she envisioned the children toiling on her behalf, then smiled gratefully.

  “Thank you! I do like fresh blackberries! But I must give them something in return. You wait here, don’t you go anywhere now!”

  It took the older woman quite some time to make her way to her kitchen and then scuttle back to the porch, but when she did, she held out a bag of sugar. Not the brown-tinged molasses sugar that most people this far used, but easily a pound of blissfully bright white sugar.

  “Oh no! We can’t take something so costly! You should save this!” Lucy insisted, but Mrs. Mayhew shook her head.

  “Save it for what?” she asked wistfully. “For company? For a visit from my relatives? Ha. No one makes the trip to Shortcrag anymore, unless they’re here to bring bad news.”

  The woman shuffled over to one of the oak rocking chairs and lowered herself into the seat with great effort. Lucy held the back of it steady for her, then sat down in one opposite her.

  “I remember this town when it was a busy place, filled with all manner of people coming and going,” Mrs. Mayhew began. “To tell you the truth, I’m not sure I liked it any better then. Some of the folks that came here were honest, hard-working people who were just trying to make something of themselves, even if it was just hoping to get lucky with gold. But others? I wouldn’t cross the street to spit on ‘em if the good Lord had set them on fire. They were mean, they cheated folks, they drank more than a person should… I wasn’t sorry to see them go.”

  She looked up at Lucy and smiled. “But you, my dear. I’ll lose a piece of my heart when you and those children are gone.”

  “I feel the same way,” Lucy answered. “I can’t even let myself think about it. I don’t fear for myself, but those children… I’ll never see them again.” She wiped at a tear that betrayed her stoic face, and added, “I don’t know who will take charge of them, and if that person is kind or cruel, generous or a cheat. It hurts more than I can ponder.”

  “And it will never stop hurting, I’m afraid. You will never stop worrying and wondering what happened to them,” Mrs. Mayhew counseled sweetly. “All you can do is trust in the Lord that he holds them in his hand.”

  Lucy was quiet, pondering the older woman’s words. She was right, of course, namely in that there was nothing Lucy could do to stop this terrible injustice. She had to simply trust that the children would be fine, but deep down, she knew the pain would leave a lasting scar on her heart. It wasn’t as if the children were going to loving homes and she could at least be happy for them; instead, they were going to a lifetime of drudgery and danger, and nothing Lucy said or did could stop it.

  Chapter Four

  “Matthew? Would you indulge me for a little chat?” Genevieve called out from the front room as her son passed by.

  Matthew stopped and hung his head briefly. It had been over an hour since the last hand had gone to the bunkhouse and Uncle John had headed for home, but Matthew had remained.

  He’d helped Gertie carry all the cook pots and serving dishes back to the kitchen despite her protests, then insisted on toting the heavy washtubs full of wash water outside for the maids who’d been doing the washing.

  These things had been part of his chores since he was big enough to be a help, and he saw no reason to stop now that he was grown. The sun would be up at its usual early hour, and he needed to get to bed. Still, his dear mother beckoned, so…

  “What is it, Mother?” Matthew asked brightly, belying his exhaustion.

  “I want to talk to you about a personal matter, one that I’ve been meaning to bring up,” she began, already looking uncomfortable.

  “Personal matters usually don’t make for polite topics of conversation, if my memory serves,” he replied, teasing her.

  Mrs. Miller only smiled wanly, then said, “This matter is far more important than you may realize. It concerns your future.”

  Matthew grew instantly somber, already dreading her next words.

  “Son, I’m afraid we’ve done you a terrible disservice by raising you out here where there was no one for you to know. You’ve got no kinfolks, no friends in Tuckerrise, only ranch hands and businessmen.”

  “I don’t mind it a bit, Ma. I’m proud to have been raised out here, out on the land that you and Pa worked so hard for. I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

  “But Matthew,” his mother pressed in earnest, “how will you find a wife? What of a family of your own, someone to inherit your hard work the way you took on your pa’s ranch?”

  “Well, I hadn’t rightly thought on it,” Matthew admitted. “I’ve had my fill of work out here, and I couldn’t say if a wife ever entered my thoughts.”

  “That’s surely understandable. But it’s time to think of these things,” she chided lovingly. “You’re twenty-six years old, you have a legacy to keep in this ranch now. It’s time to think of a family of your own.”

  Matthew was quiet as he sat and looked to the west-facing windows. He knew his mother was right, and if he was honest with himself, he’d thought quite a few times about a wife and a family. But every time he so much as pondered the way to go about meeting and courting a young lady, something else about the ranch drew his attention.

  From locusts and wildfires that destroyed the hay crop to floods that drowned half his calves one year, some trial or danger always seemed to distract him. How could he even think of something as frivolous as finding and courting a willing bride in the busy town nearby when his entire livelihood—and that of the people who depended on him—was at stake?

  “Mother, I will certainly give your wise counsel a lot of thought. I’m not too proud to admit that I’ve wondered on these things myself. But I just cannot leave the ranch to go… well, where does one even go to look for a bride?” he said, laughing helplessly.

  “Never you mind that!” Genevieve replied excitedly, clapping her hands together. “I know just the thing. A gr
eat number of men have done the same…”

  She turned to reach behind her for a stack of paper she’d obviously attempted to keep hidden. Matthew’s eyes widened as she held out the newsprint and pointed to places she’d circled in pencil.

  “See there? Men from all over this region—some of the wealthy, some with barely enough money to hire a team at harvest time—have placed advertisements for brides!”

  “What?” Matthew demanded, his brow furrowing in consternation. “Who would make such a rash and thoughtless decision as to order a bride from a catalog like a new plow or a timber saw?”

  “Oh, don’t be so flighty! They’re not ‘ordering’ a bride, they’re making their intentions known. Look,” his mother said, coming over to sit beside him and read aloud. “This man lists the size of his farm, the state where he resides, the mention that his homesteading claim is paid back in full… oh dear, and that he is widowed and needs a bride to care for seven children!”