She was glad she had not wasted bullets on trying to get food as she might need them for protection. All she had was her reticule containing a lace handkerchief, a small hairbrush and a bottle of lavender water and a few dollars. She had also stuffed a few dollars in her shoes as an extra precaution in case she was robbed.
What a predicament to be in. Still, it could have been worse, she might have been stranded out in the open with no food or water. Worse still, being held prisoner by Esmeralda and Cedric. Had she not escaped, she would have been married to him by now. No matter what happened to her out here, it would not be as bad as living as Cedric’s wife. A shudder of distaste shook her body at the thought.
She filled the coffee pot and placed it on the fire while she set to work using the flour, sugar, and water to make a dough. She divided the lump of dough into four, and would cook it in the coals, hopefully it would come out like a biscuit or small loaf of bread. She would bake it now while there was plenty of light, eat half for supper and save the rest for breakfast. All she had to do was keep calm, use her brains, and wait for rescue.
By the time the dough was cooked she was starving. It was late afternoon now, by the looks of it. The sun had all but disappeared behind the hills. Night would probably fall quickly out here.
Her bread turned out quite well, the crust on the outside was a little burnt yet the inside was quite soft as she wolfed it down. Normally she drank tea, although weak black coffee was drinkable.
After washing up the used dishes in hot water she’d boiled in the fire, she washed her face and hands with a piece of rag she had found.
It was the best she could do. She was too scared to risk stripping off to wash her body in case someone came. A ridiculous notion under the circumstances. It was not as if she had any clean clothes to change into.
Stretching out on the floor, she tried to sleep. The overwhelming silence was broken only occasionally by a coyote’s howl.
CHAPTER FOUR
Next morning, after eating the left-over bread washed down with two cups of weak coffee, Jasmine sat in the sun and brushed her hair. Smoke still spiraled from the chimney, so she could venture further away to explore her surroundings.
Would there be a creek close by? If so, there might be fish. No one would come this early unless they had camped out overnight, an unlikely scenario. Plaiting her waist length hair, she left it to hang down her back and set off.
Silence reigned; it was pleasant, and not at all frightening. How fortunate it was that her father had brought her up to be fearless and to know how to look after herself. Neither of them could abide weepy, clinging women. Her own mother had been a refined, yet strong woman, a true pioneer in spirit. Her father had been devastated on returning from the war to find she had died of snake bite. Fortunately, a kindly neighbor had taken her in until he returned.
She should not keep dwelling on the past, but what else was there when she had no idea what her future held? No creek meant fish was off the menu, the water birds also.
Trudging back to the cabin, she wondered what other small animals inhabited the area. It was awful having to use supplies provided by someone else and not be able to replace them. Could she perhaps leave some of her precious money? Not knowing who the cabin belonged to, she decided her money would be wasted if the wrong person found it. Had she had plenty she would have taken the risk and left a few dollars.
An hour or so after breakfast, she happened to notice a slight haziness. A dust cloud, maybe. By her reckoning, it was too early for the stage. She patted the pocket of her dress and on feeling the hardness of the gun was comforted by it.
She squinted into the distance. Horse’s hooves were stirring up the dust. Waiting on the porch, she sent up a quick, silent prayer for it to be someone who could rescue her.
A small coach pulled by two horses came into view. It was definitely not the stage. She rushed forward to meet it.
“Howdy, Ma’am,” the middle-age man touched his hat.
“Howdy, yourself.”
The man climbed down and opened the door to let two middle-aged ladies alight.
“Good heavens, my dear,” one of them said. “What are you doing out here?”
“The stage left me behind yesterday.”
“Left you behind?” the man exclaimed. “I’m Tim Russell, though everyone calls me Rusty. Mrs. Mildred Crenshaw, and my sister, Mrs. Hazel Donaldson.”
The women both smiled.
“I’m pleased to me you. Come inside, the coffee pot is on and you’re welcome to share with me.” She briefly explained what had happened.
The man stared at her through narrowed, speculative eyes. “Have we ever met before?”
“No, I don’t think so. I’m Jasmine Dunbar.” She blurted out the name before she remembered she was supposed to be Polly Wilson.
He snapped his fingers, causing her to jump. “Richard Dunbar’s daughter?”
“Yes. How did you know?”
“I served with your father during the war. You have the same pale green eyes as he did. He was the bravest soldier I ever met.”
“I always thought he was.”
“What a coincidence,” Mrs. Crenshaw said.
“A small world indeed,” her companion agreed. The woman had the strangest expression on her face.
“Would you like to come inside?” Jasmine laughed, feeling happy for the first time in months. Fancy meeting a man who knew her father.
“How is your father?” he asked. “We lost touch after the war.”
“He died a few months ago.”
“I’m sorry, Miss Dunbar,” he said, sounding as if he truly meant it.
“Call me Jasmine. I’m hoping you will be able to give me a lift into the nearest town.”
“We’re going to Laramie,” Mrs. Crenshaw said, “and you are certainly most welcome to come along with us.”
“Thank you, I was heading there.”
“We have our own provisions,” Rusty said. “The two ladies don’t like roughing it too much.”
“We eat as we go and set up camp at night,” Mrs. Crenshaw smiled, even though worry clouded her eyes. “Do share our cookies and cake. Your coffee sounds lovely.”
“We’re just stopping to give the horse a rest,” Rusty said.
Mrs. Donaldson poked her head inside the cabin. “Doesn’t look much.”
“It isn’t, although it was a Godsend for me.”
“How disgraceful, those men going off and leaving you behind, it’s nothing short of criminal. You should report them,” Mrs. Donaldson said.
“I will if I can. My luggage is with them, not that I had much to start with.”
Mrs. Donaldson halted at the door. “Do you need any help, my dear?”
“No, I’m fine. I can bring the coffee out when it’s ready, shouldn’t be long.”
“Good, I’ll give Mrs. Crenshaw a hand. She is quite worried and upset at the moment.”
“I’m sorry. I did think she looked, well, rather anxious.”
“Yes, she is.”
Jasmine was tempted to ask what was wrong. It was none of her business and they would tell her if they wanted her to know.”
“My brother speaks highly of your father.”
“My father was a good man. He came back from the war to find my mother had died and me being cared for by neighbors. He could have been bitter, yet never was, only sad.”
“War is a terrible thing. I lost my husband in it.”
“I’m sorry,” Jasmine said with sincerity. What a devastating blow that would have been to a young woman.
When the coffee was ready, Jasmine carried the pot out to the others, who in the meantime, had spread a large blanket on the ground under one of the large trees. Plates and cups were laid out, not to mention a tin of cookies.
“This looks delicious.” Jasmine sat between Mrs. Donaldson and Rusty.
They all ate hungrily, except Mrs. Crenshaw, whose brow was creased with worry.
“It will
be all right, Mildred, you can sort things out,” Rusty said.
“I feel so bad about that poor young man being duped. Well, I was duped as well.”
Rusty paused from eating. “You’ve made so many good matches, it stands to reason you would have at least one failure.”
“I know. I know.” Mrs. Crenshaw wrung her hands. “I’ve let the young man down. He was so worried about not getting the approval from the Land Agency people.”
“You can find him someone else,” Rusty said. “I still don’t know why you had to travel from Cheyenne to see him personally. A letter would have done.”
“No, it’s only right I should see him face to face and apologize for the Agency letting him down.”
“Well, luckily you were still in Cheyenne,” he said.
Jasmine was not sure what they were talking about, exactly. It was obviously serious and very distressing to Mrs. Crenshaw, who seemed such a nice lady.
“I’m sorry, my dear, prattling on like this. What are you running from?” Mrs. Crenshaw suddenly asked.
Shock tore through her. Was she so transparent? “How do you know I’m running from something?”
“I can tell, my dear. I’ve had quite a lot of experience with young women trying to escape intolerable situations. Tell us, it will make you feel better and maybe we can help.”
“Whatever you say here will go no further, Jasmine,” Rusty said. “Discretion is Mildred’s second name.” He stared her straight in the eye. “I owe Major Dunbar a great debt, and if I can repay it by helping his daughter, I will.”
“Thank you, Rusty. I do feel I can trust you. I just don’t know what to do from now on.” She proceeded to tell them the whole terrible story.
None of them interrupted her. Mrs. Donaldson gasped a couple of times, while Mrs. Crenshaw’s eyes were full of compassion, Rusty’s with anger.
“They ought to be flogged,” he grated. “If I could get my hands on them….”
“You did right to flee,” Mrs. Donaldson said. “What fiends they are.”
“I know, I just hope they won’t find me.”
“You were clever. I like the way you operated, jumping from coach to train, buying a ticket to one place then getting off somewhere else. You’re smart liked your father,” Rusty said.
“All I ever wanted was a caring husband and a family, now I will probably never get my wish. I’m a fugitive and a thief, thanks to them.” She brushed the tears from her eyes.
“We should be going,” Rusty said, “if we want to make it to Laramie before dark. You are definitely coming with us.”
“I’m ready; I only have to douse the fire. I washed everything up after I had breakfast.” Jasmine hurried off with the coffee pot, which was now empty. She tipped water on the fire to make sure it was out. She felt bad about not cleaning the fireplace but could not keep these kindly people waiting.
If Mrs. Crenshaw had been in Cheyenne, she wondered why they had not travelled up by train. Still, had they not done so, they would never have passed this way and rescued her. God was certainly looking out for her.
Once Jasmine was sure the fire was out and everything left in order, she hurried toward the coach. The women were already inside while Rusty waited with the door open.
“Thank you. I’m sorry if I held you up.”
“You didn’t.” He grinned. “For a woman you move mighty quick. Is that all you’ve got?” He glanced at her reticule.
“Yes.” She patted the pocket of her dress. “And a handgun.”
Chuckling, he helped her into the coach. “And I bet Major Dunbar taught you how to use it.”
“He sure did. I can shoot a rifle or a handgun better than most men.”
“Your father would be proud of you, Jasmine.”
CHAPTER FIVE
Within minutes they had driven off. No sudden jolting start, no cracking whip or swearing, merely a gentle swaying motion. The seats were upholstered in brown leather, comfortable enough to sleep on.
“Thank you so much for giving me a lift. I might have had to wait a couple of days for the next stage to come along.”
“I’m glad we passed by. Now, my dear,” Mrs. Crenshaw pursed her lips slightly. “Mrs. Donaldson and I were talking about your dilemma while we were waiting, and we might have a solution to both our problems.”
“Oh, yes?” she asked eagerly. “I’ll do anything as long as it isn’t criminal.”
Mrs. Donaldson closed her eyes and clasped her hands on her lap.
“I run the Westward Home and Hearts Matrimonial Service,” Mrs. Crenshaw said.
“Matrimonial Service?”
“Yes. I match young men who are looking for wives with young women looking for husbands.”
“You do?” Jasmine could not contain her shock.
Yes. I vet everyone carefully.”
“You mean become a mail-order bride?”
“Exactly.”
“I’m not sure about that. A mail-order bride, makes a woman seem, well, desperate I suppose, as for the men….”
“There are various reasons why a young woman needs a husband. She could be escaping an intolerable situation at home, finding herself homeless, destitute, or maybe even be on the run, like you.”
“And the men? What’s their excuse?”
“Out here it is mainly a lack of respectable women of marriageable age. Maybe the man is a widower looking for a mother for his children. They might need to be married to inherit a ranch, or maybe they are just lonely and want the love of a good woman.”
“It sounds risky to me,” Jasmine said. “A woman could end up with some ugly brute of a man.”
“Most of the marriages I arrange work out very well. There have been at least forty babies born to these marriages. You should consider it, Jasmine. It will mean changing your name to that of your husband. You would have his protection, and more importantly, if those dreadful people did find you, it’s too late, you’re already married.”
“It would solve a lot of problems but look at me. I’m homeless and on the run. I only have the clothes on my back and a few dollars. What man would want to marry me? Besides, I don’t have the time to be exchanging letters.”
“True. I’m going to Laramie to meet a nice young man. He was let down at the last minute by a young woman who exchanged letters with him and agreed to marry him.”
“Maybe he wasn’t as nice as you thought.”
“No, it was her I made the mistake about. She’s a fraudster who I have now discovered pretends to want to marry a man. Gets him to send money to pay for her fare, then she takes the money and disappears with her husband.”
“How dreadful.”
I can’t believe I was duped.” Mrs. Crenshaw wrung her hands. “Now, because of me, this man stands to lose his ranch.”
“What? How?”
“He got a land grant property a few miles out of Laramie through the Homestead Act of 1862. After living there for five years, if the man makes improvements to the land, he gets to keep it. This man has done the work required, but he feels, and I am inclined to agree with him, it would be helpful to have a wife. The agency inspector who comes to check these properties seems to favor married men.”
She paused for a moment. “Now, marriage was not a legal requirement when the Act was written into law, but it’s this man’s interpretation of it. He has the final say and there is no appeal likely to succeed. The land would be repossessed and given to someone else.”
“That is so unfair if he’s done all the work.”
“Exactly, and I’m sorry to have to say this; in some places, the system has been somewhat corrupted. There are a couple of wealthy ranchers around Laramie who want all the small land owners out. You can see what I’m getting at.”
“Yes. A person would have to be blind not to.”
“The man has only a couple of weeks left. If you could see your way clear to marry him, I’m sure he would agree to a marriage in name only until you got to know each other
better.”
“I feel sorry for the man, I really do, but marriage…”
“After a few weeks, once he gets the land, you could have the marriage annulled. I don’t normally suggest this, but under the circumstances, in this case, I will.”
“Can I think about it?”
“Of course, you can, dear. Maybe you could meet the young man first. He has had a hard life, grew up an orphan and was wounded in the war. This was going to be his big chance, and now through no fault of his own, he risks losing everything he’s worked for.”
Mrs. Crenshaw was deliberately tugging at her heart strings and they both knew it. Where was the harm? Marriage for a few weeks would give her somewhere to stay until she sorted out her life. She felt despicable thinking like this. If he was a decent man, maybe they could make it a proper marriage.
The possibilities swirled around inside her head. She had nothing, was destitute if she failed to find employment. She did not have the luxury of being too picky. He had served in the war, which made him a patriot to her way of thinking.
“All right, I’m prepared to meet him,” she said, wondering what she was letting herself in for.
“I normally do reference checks. Rusty speaks so highly of your father and you were honest with us, so under the circumstances, I think we can disperse with that.”
“I don’t have any references you could check in St. Louis. In Virginia, I would have plenty of people prepared to vouch for me, but if you made contact with them….” She shuddered. “That would be the first place Esmeralda would have looked for me. She could even have people snooping around there now.”
“I agree, far too dangerous. It would take too long. Zane doesn’t have much time.”
“His name is Zane?”
“Yes. Zane McIvor.”
CHAPTER SIX
Zane nervously paced the lobby of the hotel. He glanced at his pocket watch for the twentieth time. Two days ago, Mrs. Mildred Crenshaw had contacted him about arranging to meet her here to discuss his position. Rage surged through him, tempered only by the worry of losing his ranch.
Jasmine's Journey Page 3
