He hugged her tight. “Our marriage was so new. I wanted to give you time to adjust before I forced my feelings on you.”
At that, Delia laughed. “Force your feelings? It’s love that would have made everything with our sudden marriage right.”
Pulling back from her, he considered those words. “Do you think, Mrs. Anders, that you might return my feelings someday?”
“Oh, I do love you, Roland Anderson. Or Rol Anders. Or whoever you decide to be.” She giggled at that. “Yes, I’ll be your Valentine. I want to be your love and value the times you can be with me.”
He grinned, “How about if I be a simple husband, father, and horse trainer?”
She laughed with a joy that flowed out of her entire being. “Sounds like the man I want.” As the words left her mouth, he turned her so that no one could see and took her lips with his.
And he was definitely the man she wanted. Now that neither she nor her husband were marshals, a boring everyday life was possible.
What a dream come true!
Epilogue
Belle, Wyoming
March 1873
The little foreman’s house no longer looked small. Rooms had been added at the back to accommodate a family.
Not long after Valentine’s Day the year before, Paps approached Rol about staying on at the ranch. The old man had no son. He’d said, “I’ve taken a liking to that little gal of yours. Kind of value her visits with me.” Then he’d offered Rol the chance to buy into the ranch operation.
Soon after, the men signed a paper allowing Rol to buy in as an equal partner in the stud farm. The younger man had used his savings and an inheritance from his parents, grateful to be able to build a future on the ranch where his little family found so much happiness.
With his partner’s permission, Rol and Hank Lucas had started running a small herd of cattle. That, along with the horses should bring them enough income in the future.
Right then, he stood behind the black and white paint, waiting for her addition to his future profits. The paint he’d purchased to ride back to his family the year before was a fine stallion. He eagerly waited to see the foal the mating would produce.
He knew the mare relied on him as she labored. While he had to be in the barn, another laboring mother drew him. He looked again and again toward the house. His mother-in-law had been very clear that he didn’t belong in the room. Even so, he longed to be with his wife.
In the new bedroom Rol built for his bride, Maisey laid a cool cloth on her daughter’s head. No matter that the air outside had a crisp bite, Delia’s struggles had her sweating.
In March, Maisey had traveled west to attend her daughter’s proper wedding. When her son-in-law invited her to stay, Maisey grabbed onto the invitation to be part of this family.
She’d been happily spoiling her granddaughter and waiting for this new one to arrive. While it wasn’t the first baby she’d delivered in her thirty-six years, Delia’s little one certainly would be the most precious.
Maisey’s low, comforting voice advised, “You just relax some ‘tween them pains. Won’t make it through this lessen you do.”
Doing her best to listen, Delia breathed out on a sigh as the pain ebbed. Now that she didn’t have the pain to focus on, her mind went back to her fears.
Out loud, she prayed, “Lord, don’t let it be a girl.”
Her mother harrumphed. “Lot a good praying that now. It’s formed and ready to hatch, girl.” Softening her tone, she tried to sooth her laboring daughter. “Anyways, girls are just as much a blessin’ as any boy could be.”
Delia shook her head, groaning as a pain gripped her. As it abated, she worried again.
“A girl is so vulnerable, especially with mixed blood. And what if the baby has darker skin?”
Maisey tutted and placed a new cloth on her head as a new contraction rippled across her daughter’s stomach. “Now girl, just plan on that. What with your husband’s olive color. And him not even—”
The sudden change in the laboring woman had her mother hurrying to check between the bent and parted legs. She barked, “You stop that a minute. Rest while I work down here.”
Supporting the small head whose quick appearance shocked her, Maisey gave the go ahead to push. In only a matter of minutes, the infant slid into his grandmother’s hands. As soon as she’d cleared his mouth, the boy crowed his displeasure at entering the world.
Delia thought she’d used the last of her energy, but at the baby’s cry, she sat up with arms outstretched. Once Maisey had his cord tied, she handed the bundled child into those arms.
The baby looked up at his mother with unfocused eyes. “Mama, look. He has my lighter eyes.”
The older woman didn’t bother to correct her daughter. In good time, Delia would learn that baby’s eyes started that way and usually changed. All that mattered was her girl’s peace of mind. With the baby born a boy, Delia had what she wanted.
Her daughter crooned to her son. Then she looked up. “He has his father’s wavy hair, too.” She stopped and looked ashamed. “I didn’t even think that Rol needs to see him. Please send Eenie for him.”
Focused on the miracle of her child, Delia startled as her husband sat down on the bed next to her. He laid a comforting hand to her shoulder. “Sorry, honey. Didn’t mean to scare you.”
Rol pulled back and studied her tired face. “Are you alright?”
She nodded. “Better than alright. We have a son!” Her excitement belied the fatigue he saw. Reassured about his wife, now Rol could be excited, too.
Running a finger over the baby’s cheek, he smiled down at him. At the touch, the baby’s mouth opened as he searched.
Watching him root to nurse, Rol chuckled. “Looks like he wants his first meal. We’d better wait before bringing Eenie in to see her brother.”
Helping his blushing wife, Rol positioned the baby on her bare chest. Maisey came alongside and showed Delia how to bring the breast to the baby’s mouth so he could latch. Within minutes, he loudly suckled.
“Strong little guy!” The new father smiled. He had a new foal in the barn that had the strong lines of its father. Now, he watched his handsome child embrace life with gusto.
“You know, I’d really like to name him after Paps. Kind of cement the family bond we’ve created with him.” He looked down at her, studying her reaction.
A silvery tinkle of laughter came from the head bent over the nursing baby. “Paps Anders. Are you sure?”
Contentment rippled through him. She could laugh after laboring only an hour before. This wife would be alright, not like Deborah.
“You know I saw his name on the paper we signed.” His tone teased her also. Then he grew serious as he made the pronouncement. “Patrick Johnson Anders. What do you think?”
Delia smiled up at him, happiness radiating from her. “I think we’ve got a good start on our future, don’t we?”
With a lump in his throat, Rol could only nod. He knew this was a blessing he didn’t deserve. Slowly, though, Delia’s love was helping him to forgive himself for not being there to save Deborah. Looking at his son, he realized the Lord was blessing them so he needed to completely let that guilt go.
Putting a hand to the back of his wife’s head, he kissed her gently. A kiss of love but not passion. One that reaffirmed the bond and commitment he had with this woman.
“Yes, we have a good future ahead, Lord willing.” Smiling at Delia, he traced a finger across her lips. “You’re the star in my sky. Keep burning bright for me.”
She leaned in, kissing him lightly. “Forever.”
Author’s Note
Believe it or not, our heroine could have been a marshal. Many times, a U. S. marshal would recruit temporary deputy marshals from among the local residents in an area where he was working. The U. S. marshal had the authority to swear them in for a brief time.
A great example of a temporary marshal was Wyatt Earp, actually. At the famous battle of the O.K. Corra
l, he had been made assistant to his brother, a deputy U. S. marshal. So many people remember him as the central lawman when nothing could be further from the truth.
As an additional note, I want to mention my inspiration for Delia Perkins. Recently, my husband and I toured Monticello, Thomas Jefferson’s home. I was flabbergasted at what I learned about the ancestry of Sally Hemings. She, like Maisey in my novel, was a sister to Jefferson’s wife. Jefferson and Hemings had two daughters who disappeared from history after the young women chose to take on new identities and live in the white community. From them, the idea of Delia passing as a white woman and hiding her heritage grew in my imagination.
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Grace for a Drifter
The Belles of Wyoming #15
Chapter 1
“Watch your step, ma’am!” A hand came out to steady Grace Winkleman as she made her way down the steps of the only hotel in Fort Bridger.
Smiling, she thanked the doorman. Intent on saying goodbye to her friend and fellow teacher, Amelia Grayson, the steps took Grace by surprise. Slightly lifting her cotton, navy skirt, she made her way down the remaining steps. At the bottom, she waved to her worried-looking friend to let her know she was fine. Amelia waved back and entered the hotel’s door.
It had been a fine week. One of the things she enjoyed about teaching in Wyoming was the yearly get together required of educators. The small teacher convention allowed for the discussion of lesson plans and activities as well as for learning new theories and methods. Though it might not be a state yet, Wyoming certainly was a progressive territory.
Grasping her carpetbag in her left hand, Grace raised her right to fan her face. The August heat seemed unusually brutal for the late morning. Crossing the street, she made her way to the dry goods store about a block from the hotel. Paps Johnson told her to meet him there if she wanted a ride back to Belle.
Belle! The musical sound of the town’s name brought a sweet smile to her face. It became a haven for her three years ago when she needed a new start after the incident. Silly spinster that she’d been, she’d fallen hard for the fast talker. The town had advertised for a teacher at the very time that she had needed to start over far from her home state of Missouri.
Even though the small town provided her with only a handful of pupils, she had a house to live in and a decent wage. The commitment by townsfolk to those few children and their education impressed her three years ago and continued to touch her deeply. The people of Belle made the town a truly wonderful place to live.
Seeing Paps at his wagon, she lifted a hand in greeting. The old man nodded in her direction and came around his wagon to help her out of the street and onto the boardwalk. Without a word, he took the carpetbag from her grasp and set it gently into his wagon, amongst the other goods he would transport back to Belle.
“Timing’s good, Miss Winkleman. I just now finished loading and was thinking as how I’d like to be on the road home.” He flashed a semi-toothless grin at her as he spoke.
“I am gratified not to keep you waiting, Mr. Johnson, and I do appreciate the ride. It has been a wonderful week here in Fort Bridger, but I am ready to head home.” As she spoke, Grace allowed Paps to help her up into the wagon. She settled herself on the hard seat and spread her skirts about her.
Turning away from her, Paps bellowed a deeply spoken farewell to the store owner before looking back at the schoolteacher. “Sure you don’t need to buy anything at this here store afore I start the team a moving?”
She shook her head. “No, I had a chance yesterday to shop. The conference lasted only five days, so I had one free to explore Fort Bridger with Miss Grayson. Perhaps you’ve met her, the teacher in Glenda?”
Paps grunted and moved his head to indicate he hadn’t. Without another word, he clicked to his team of mules and tapped the leathers softly to their backs. Her week of vacation might be over, yet Grace didn’t care. She’d be glad to be home in Belle.
If she had looked over her shoulder at that moment, she might have been concerned. As it was, she stared straight ahead and spoke to Paps of the exciting ideas she’d learned that week. The old man might not be an educator, true. Still, he listened and nodded his head in the correct spots of the conversation.
Behind her, the store proprietor and a black-haired man stood on the boardwalk and watched the wagon leave. The man pointed in her direction and spoke with a trembling voice. Shock marked his expression. The store owner answered his questions, supplying the schoolteacher’s name and the town where she lived. He smiled over the idea that someone would be interested in a spinster teacher.
He didn’t understand that the other man had just seen a ghost.
On the thirty-mile trip to Belle, Grace asked about the happenings in the town over the last week. Paps rubbed his jaw and thought. “Suppose the buzz round town is mostly Martin’s accident. Too, everyone’s excited for the cake walk and dance this weekend. Folks enjoy winning things, even if it’s only someone’s lopsided cake.”
Paps shifted on the seat and angled his head to spit over the side of the wagon. Grace looked away and pretended not to see the man rid his mouth of the clump of tobacco. Once his mouth was free, he continued with the news from Belle.
“Heard tell that Hoyt Cole plans to get married. Other than that, the only happening I can recall was the latest story of Spencer Brannon. Can’t believe that boy thinks he can work a herd. Falls from his horse more than he rides the range.” Then the man began to retell the story of Spencer’s latest debacle.
Grace shook her head in response to Paps’ story. She felt sorry for the man who tried hard to live up to his cousins. She was glad for the fundraiser. The cake walk would be the perfect time to visit with parents and pupils alike. She liked to connect with each family before the start of a new term and appreciated not needing to rent a buggy to do that.
The freighter finished his tale and looked at her, surprised when she didn’t laugh. She smiled weakly at him, realizing she’d been lost in her thoughts and hadn’t listened. Apologizing, she encouraged him to tell her more about news from the outlying ranches around Belle. He grunted deep in his throat but started another story. Grace moved the warm air around her face with her beautifully painted fan and forced her mind to concentrate. She knew the man loved an audience for his stories and would continue to talk until they reached Belle. Concentrating became forced as she looked at the fan and remembered the man who gave it to her on the night that changed her life.
By the deep guffaws coming from Paps, she realized she’d missed his story. What a terrible companion for the man! She’d turned maudlin today, remembering that terrible time in her life. Perhaps she should get rid of the fan to forget about the man who presented it to her. A jolt of grief knifed through her at the thought of parting with this last connection to him.
Belle Creek lay just ahead of them. Beyond that, she saw the outline of buildings and knew they were almost home. Grace swallowed a sigh of relief, not wanting the kind livery owner to hear it. Paps had been kind to bring her from Fort Bridger. Still, fatigue and sentiment made her long to be alone.
Like a gentleman, he directed the mules to the schoolhouse and her small dwelling that connected to the back of it. The coziness of those two rooms drew her and she quickly thanked her driver and hurried into the rear of the school.
The one long room had been divided for the teacher. She entered into her combination kitchen and sitting room. To the far end stood a wall with a door placed into it. On the other side was her bedroom. It shared a wall with the large schoolroom. Truly, it was all the space she needed to be comfortable and allowed her privacy she wouldn’t have if she’d needed to board with various families as some teachers did.
/> That had been the way she’d lived in Missouri. At first, the school board had required her to move each month to stay with a different family. Since her aunt lived within the district, Grace had been able to convince them that she should simply live with her. By then Errol had started romancing her and she hoped to hide her romantic activities by not living with the nosy families. Months after Errol disappeared it became impossible to hide the result from anyone in the town.
Thinking about that result brought her aunt’s last letter to mind. She’d been full of complaints. The farm didn’t bring in enough income. She didn’t have a washing machine like her neighbor, Edna Martin, did. Uncle Ralph had grown miserly and spiteful. The list of grievances continued.
The woman’s complaints didn’t surprise her. What Grace longed for in the letters was a mention of Robby. Her aunt had wanted a baby for so long. Now that she had her son, why didn’t Aunt Milly mention him? The three-year-old must be accomplishing new things all the time and Grace was greedy for any hint about his life.
Tears flowed down her face. Enough of this! Grace stiffened her spine and unpacked her carpetbag. Having the hotel launder her clothes before she returned to Belle had been a splurge. As she put away clean garments, she reveled in the luxury of not needing to hunch over her scrub board for another week. Tomorrow she could focus on arranging the schoolroom.
The next morning, Grace carried a basket of staples over one arm and strolled to the school. She’d had a visit with Livvy and learned more about the dance that Saturday. From the sounds of it, she should be able to meet with every family from the area that night. Before the evening was over, she would have a reliable grasp of who to expect for school in September.
Looking toward the livery, Grace noticed a wagon parked there. That in itself wasn’t surprising. The letter on the canvas held her attention. It was a traveling cobbler. Had she ever heard of a cobbler who went from town to town?
The Teacher's Star Page 9
