Brides Along the Chisholm Trail Boxset

by Maxine Douglas

  “I’ll need you one day soon, Hawkins.”

  “I’m sure you will. Right now, I need my wife.” Gabe perched himself in the saddle and pointed his horse’s head south. With a swift kick of his heels, the beast took off into a lope.

  He’d get home tonight and into Abby’s loving embrace or die trying.

  The sun disappeared behind the dark line of the horizon. The cheerful colors of sunset did little to uplift the heaviness of Abby’s heart.

  Gabe hadn’t come back since riding out shortly before supper. Abby had continued with preparing the meal, confident her shocked husband would return within the hour once he’d cleared his mind.

  But he hadn’t.

  It appeared he wouldn’t be anytime soon either. The man her heart told her was true and strong rode away as soon as a child came into their lives. Abby clutched her stomach. How could she have misjudged him so? Yet her heart, through the betrayal of his abandonment, remained true to their love. While common sense told her he was never coming back, her heart believed he loved her too much not to come home. That deep down he would love their child.

  When dusk finally gave way to the night, all hope Abby had clung to began to fade. She must accept she was left behind, expecting a child to raise on her own. Gabe, the man she trusted and loved, for reasons she may never know, had deserted her and their unborn babe.

  The cloudless night and bright full moon did little to shed light on the trail leading from Fred. The only sounds were those of the creatures of the night. An owl hooted to a mate. A lonely coyote yipped a mournful tune.

  No hoofbeats.

  No Gabe riding back home.

  “May you find your happiness, Gabriel Hawkins. God willing, I have found mine in the months since we wed. Our child is a gift of that love.” Abby pushed out from the rocking chair she’d dragged out of the house and onto the porch hours earlier.

  She returned to the darkness of the cabin and lit a small fire in the hearth. The supper of biscuits, beans and ham, now as cold as a Wisconsin winter day, sat on the stove top. She covered and stowed the food into the pantry, having no appetite. In the morning, she knew she’d need to eat and make a trip to the trading post.

  Retrieving a piece of precious stationary from her lap desk, she sat fireside and began penning a letter to her friend, Rose.

  My dear Rose,

  We arrived safely in Fred, which has a trading post and a few homes. Ours is a three-room cabin vacated by another family long before we settled in. Up the road from us is the Cook family. Mr. Cook and his brother own the trading post in Fred. Mr. Cook’s wife, Millie, paid me a visit with a warm pot of beans and ham. I am grateful to have a generous woman nearby. The Cooks are from Kentucky and have made their home here in this unsettled territory—and so shall I.

  Deputy U.S. Marshal Bass Reeves paid Gabe a visit the day after we’d arrived. He is a fine man, and I believe has a good heart and soul. After several minutes, Gabe and Marshal Reeves were talking as if they’d known each other for a long time. The war that took so many souls must truly be over when a Confederate soldier and a former slave can take coffee together.

  Our journey through Indian Territory was long and hot. We saw one cattle drive and it was magnificent. The beasts blew up such a spread of dust I thought there was a cyclone on the horizon. Mr. Cyrus Kennedy was out chasing down a few strays when he approached us. Mr. Kennedy was on his way to Dodge City to meet with Logan. He seems a kindly man and I believe Logan will find him agreeable.

  Many nights we slept in the wagon with the canvas drawn back in hopes of a cool night breeze. The days were hot and exhausting. Bathing was done in a stream or pond we happened upon. The heat was unbearable at times. Except for the one time I took ill and we stopped for a few hours, we survived without any mishaps along the way.

  I don’t know how to say this except to just say it outright. I am with child! I am sure that the babe was conceived along our journey. There is an extra room that will serve as the baby’s room and is large enough for the child to grow up in. I am thankful that I have this child, as it is the only one I’ll likely ever be blessed with.

  It is with heavy heart that I must tell you Gabe has left me now that I am with child. Don’t think unkindly of him, Rose. He had only wanted a wife and thought he’d married one that would remain childless. He is a man with much on his mind and soul, so much sadness from the war. I believe he is an honorable man, even though my current situation shows otherwise. Like Robert, Gabe will always hold a place in my heart for I have loved no man more than he. Our babe is proof of that love.

  Have no pity for me as this is the path laid out before me. I will send you word in the spring and introduce you to my daughter or son. The woman I spoke of, Millie Cook, is nearby and I am sure will be of great comfort to me.

  There is a peacefulness in this untamed land that is hard to describe.

  Give my love to Logan and Lilly.

  You devoted friend,

  Abby Hawkins

  Abby placed her pen and paper into her desk, making a mental note to go to Cook’s and drop off the letter in the morning. Dousing the fire, she checked to make sure the door was closed tightly, and then retired to the loneliness of her bed. Slipping into her nightdress, she curled up in the blankets, missing the warmth of Gabe’s body next to her. Draping an arm across the spot where he would have laid, Abby cried herself to sleep.

  Gabe hastily put Spade in the lean-to, tossing the saddle over the side of the wagon. After seeing to the mules and his tired horse, Gabe closed the door, protecting the livestock from coyotes.

  The cabin was dark and unwelcoming, and no smoke came from the chimney as he rode up. What did he expect? That Abby would leave a lantern burning as she waited on the porch for him to return?

  He stood at the bottom of the porch weighing his options. He could sleep in the chair on the porch or by the fireplace in the cabin until morning and hope with all his might Abby would not banish him. Or he could go to Abby as she lay in their bed, hold her close, and beg for her forgiveness.

  Gabe wasn’t afraid of much. He’d faced many an outlaw, the Union army, the rejection of his own flesh and blood; when it came to Abby, he couldn’t face the rest of his life without her. Without their child.

  He stepped upon the porch and silently opened the door, peering into the darkness. A few small embers still burned in the hearth. Striking a match, Gabe lit a lantern, illuminating the room in a soft golden glow.

  Abby’s writing desk sat upon a chair near the hearth. His heart pounded in hopes it hadn’t been long ago Abby had been sitting there. A piece of her plain writing paper and a lead pencil lay on top of the lap desk. Gabe picked up the letter and began reading about their journey, their nights spent in the wagon, and the cattle drive they came across. He smiled at Abby’s words, remembering the day she’d fallen ill and how scared he’d been that he was going to lose her.

  But it was the words she wrote of the baby where his heart soared only to crash when he read, “Gabe has left me.” He’d failed her, plain and simple. Had he lost her this time around because of his fear?

  The door to their bedroom wasn’t latched shut, but he couldn’t bring himself to venture in. The silence in the cabin was like a dark cave—cold. Nothing moved inside or outside the walls. It was as if no beings existed, save for himself.

  Turning down the lantern, Gabe prepared to sleep in the lean-to. As he passed their bedroom, he heard soft whimpering and his heart shattered completely. Tentatively, he held his breath and pushed the door open. In not much more than a whisper he called her name. “Abby?”

  She didn’t stir, just continued to softly cry, curled up in the dark. He’d caused this. His loving wife whimpering in the night, his pillow grasped in her arms. Her back to him, she looked like a child.

  Gabe sat next to her and gathered her in his arms. Her tears stained the sleeve of his shirt. Her swollen eyes blinked several times and then a tentative smile curled at the corners of
her mouth.

  “Gabe,” she whispered before pushing out of his arms and swiping at her tear stained face. “You’ve come home.”

  “Yes. Will you ever forgive me? I’ve been such a fool. I was willing to lose everything that was good in my life. Willing to throw our love away because I was afraid.”

  “Afraid of what? Being a father?”

  “Afraid of losing a child and becoming my parents. Afraid of not being the father our child deserves. Afraid of loving completely without regard to myself.”

  “Gabe—”

  “Shh, let me finish. I love you beyond this place and time. I couldn’t go on to be half the man I’d be without you in my life, Abby.”

  “But the baby—”

  “Will be loved by both his mother and father. He’ll grow to know right from wrong. He’ll not be afraid to give his love freely as I have been until you became my wife—my life. He’ll one day marry and give us grandchildren to dote on in our graying years.”

  “A son?” Abby laughed, the pillow still a barrier separating them.

  “Yes, a son.” Gabe pushed a stray strand of hair from Abby’s face. The moonlight illuminating her soft features. How did I get so lucky as to have married such an incredible woman?

  “What if it is a girl?”

  “Then she’ll be just as her mother is. Strong. Determined. And loved beyond life itself.”

  “Then come, lay next to me and show our baby how much you love her.”

  Gabe pulled off his boots and jeans. As he slid in next to Abby and held her tight in his arms, he knew the world was right again. This is where he was meant to be, holding Abby. Loving Abby. Forever and always with Abby.

  “I love you, Abigail Hawkins,” he whispered, kissing her neck and then that sweet spot behind her ear. “Will you find it in your heart to forgive me?”

  “Oh, quick, give me your hand.” Abby placed his hand over her belly, pressing it gently over the center of the small rounded swell of her belly. After a few moments he felt it, a flutter like the wings of a young bird.

  “Can you feel that?”

  “Is that…?”

  “I think so.”

  Gabe let the tears seep from his eyes as he smothered his face into Abby’s hair. His hand never left his wife’s stomach as they fell into a peaceful sleep.

  8

  Three Months Later

  Abby rinsed then scrubbed a muslin chemise from her tub of laundry. The darkening water splashed onto her apron with each dunk, swish, and wringing out of the item. Satisfied with its cleanliness, she placed it over the rope Gabe had strung across the end of the porch for her to hang the wet laundry on. In the warm southern breeze, it wouldn’t take long for the garment to dry.

  Sliding the undergarment across the rope, she smiled. Their baby reacted to the pair of arms gently coming around her swollen belly.

  “How’s our boy doing this morning?” Gabe whispered in her ear, his voice soft and loving. In a matter of months Gabe had become a doting husband. He’d taken extreme interest in making furniture to turn their cabin into a home for the baby. A small cradle made of pine now sat next to their bed in wait. He’d even fashioned a pie safe from broken crates he’d retrieved from the trading post. As much as she enjoyed his attention to her needs, she longed for some time to herself. She had many things to do with the babe due in a few short months.

  “Our little one is active this morning. I think she wants to come out and play.” Abby turned, gazing into her husband’s eyes. “Like her papa, she’s impatient.”

  “Or he’s still hungry.” Gabe knelt, pressing his lips to the spot where the baby just rolled. Abby loved this time of morning when he said hello to their baby, whispering words only the babe heard. Words meant for their child; a private conversation between a papa and his unborn child.

  “Well, then, now that that is settled.” Gabe stood, capturing Abby in his arms. “Have you completed the wash? I want to go see Walter Cook, but not until I know you are finished for the day. The last thing I want is you trying to empty the washtub on your own. I’ll not have my wife doing man’s work when you’re this far along with child.”

  “Yes, I’m done—for today.” Abby kissed Gabe fully. Desire welled inside her, reminding her of how powerful their love had been in the early morning hours before dawn.

  “You keep doin’ that and I’ll never get to the post,” Gabe teased, releasing her.

  It was always the same; the emptiness she felt when he let go of her. She’d never tire of feeling the hollowness when not in his arms; to her it meant their love was deep and strong.

  Abby stood at the doorway watching Gabe lug the half-full washtub to the end of the cabin to empty the dirty water into her flowerbed. Carrying the tub in his arms, his muscles rippled under the rolled-up sleeves of the cotton shirt. He’d become strong as an ox since leaving Dodge City. There was more labor involved here in the wilderness then walking down the street to the Dodge House or over to the train station to welcome the passengers into town.

  Over the past several months Gabe had cleared and tilled a small space of dirt for a garden where she grew onions, potatoes, and various herbs that took to the red dirt. One day he even surprised her by clearing a path around the cabin and planting some flowers for her.

  As there wasn’t much in the way of crime or outlaws riding into Fred, he’d set about repairing the cabin and lean-to for the winter months with wood from the trees he and Walter Cook chopped down. Her city husband had become a strong and dedicated homesteader—Abby couldn’t be any happier.

  Abby strolled back into the cabin, leaving the inside door open now that there was a screen door. Gabe had fashioned one and put it up after her complaining she needed fresh air through the house and not wanting to leave the door opened wide enough for unwanted creatures to venture inside.

  The fixings Gabe had retrieved from the pantry for a cake sat on the table. The flour bag didn’t weigh more than three pounds, but Gabe wouldn’t allow her to lift anything now that the baby grew and her belly swelled under her clothing. She wouldn’t dream of asking him to lift or do for her as long as she was still capable of doing for herself. But since that night three months ago he’d been protective—overly protective. Abby never mentioned anything about his actions but figured what he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.

  Sieving the flour, sugar, and baking soda into the bowl, Abby worked a pound of butter into the dry mixture. Pouring a pint of water into the bowl, she hummed Camptown Races as she melded the ingredients into a cake batter for tonight’s dessert.

  A horse’s neigh drew her attention. She looked up, expecting to see Spade tied to the porch rail. Instead she watched Marshal Reeves step upon their porch, black hat in hand, then knock upon the screen door.

  “Sorry to bother you so early in the morning, Mrs. Hawkins. Is your husband about?” The lawman waited, his eyes dark and serious, brows furrowed in thought. This was not the happy-go-lucky man she’d grown accustomed to and welcomed at their dinner table more than once over the past few months.

  “Yes, Bass, he’s probably down by the stream fetchin’ some water or in the barn tending to the animals.” Abby dusted off her hands and walked to the door, pushing it open. “There’s hot coffee and leftover biscuits and gravy, if you’d like come sit and have some until Gabe comes in.”

  “No, thank you, ma’am. I’m here on official business this time.” Reeves declined, staying outside the door for the first time in his many unexpected visits.

  “What kind of business, Reeves?” Gabe stood at the bottom of the porch, unrolling his shirt sleeves.

  The U.S. marshal glanced at Abby through the screen then turned to Gabe. “Official. I’ll wait for you by the water trough while my horse takes his fill, if that is right by you.”

  Gabe nodded, then smiled at Abby before joining the marshal. She pushed open the door, her heart pounding like native drums in the night. Pretending to check the laundry on the line, she watched Gabe
and Bass huddled in a private conversation.

  Gabe nodded, said something she couldn’t hear, then looked over at her. Every fear she never knew she had stumbled through her.

  Gabe was being called to duty.

  “Do you know where the Evans gang is, Bass?” Gabe handed the deputy U.S. marshal a bucket of oats for his horse, his hand trembling but from what he wasn’t sure. Fear? Or the possibility of actually doing what he was trained to do—bring down the outlaws in this lawless haven criminals took refuge in.

  “Lost them between here and the mountains to the southwest. I’ve been on their trail for months. Word is they heard of a stagecoach coming through with a strongbox containing bank notes. I’ve got a Creek scout looking for their trail, but…” Bass stroked the neck of the gelding, letting the horse get his fill of the sweet oat mix.

  “You figure they’re headed here? There’s not a stage due for a good month or more that I know of,” Gabe stated, unsure if Bass’s information was correct or not. It could be a setup by Jesse Evans, knowing the U.S. marshal was on his trail. And the information could be months old, if it was good. Anything could happen to change the plans of a traveler from the East.

  “I had a telegram sent to the Pinkerton detective, Logan Granger. A hired stage left three days ago out of Dodge City. A rich businessman and his family from out East going to Texas. Heard there’s quite the bank roll in the strongbox, as well as silver.” Bass loosened the cinch of the saddle, then pulled some jerky from a saddlebag.

  Gabe thought for a moment, trying to remember if he’d heard rumor of anyone heading to Dodge City before they’d left but couldn’t. Six months was a long while to remember what happened in a world now foreign to him.