The Reluctant Bridegroom

by Gilbert, Morris

“My pa knows him well,” Sky remarked. “Thinks highly of him—and my father is a Methodist missionary.”

  “That so?” Penny studied Winslow carefully, then shook his head. “Reckon I can’t help you none, Mr. Winslow. Dave here told me you need a chaplain for all these brides—but don’t see as I’m the man for you.”

  “Why not?” Sky asked.

  “I got dismissed. Got no papers with the Methodists anymore.”

  “How’d that happen, Brother Penny?”

  Penny lifted his head, and his thick shoulders squared. “Said I was a fanatic.”

  The idea tickled Sky, for he knew that the Methodists as a whole were branded fanatics by other denominations. If they labeled Lot Penny a fanatic, he wondered what it meant. “Well—are you?” he asked with a smile.

  “Reckon so, accordin’ to their views—and yours, too, maybe. When I hear from God, Mr. Winslow, I shout it from the housetops! No bishop can keep me quiet when the Almighty gives me a message.”

  “Don’t see anything wrong with that,” Sky shrugged. “It’s pretty much the same way my pa preaches.”

  “Well, it wasn’t just that,” Lot Penny admitted. “Scripture says that God gives gifts to men. Well now, some people think all the miracles ended with the apostles in the book of Acts—but I don’t! We ain’t seen the last of His mighty miracles. Everything from healings in the body to the raisin’ of the dead!”

  “You’ve seen the dead raised, Lot?” Dave Lloyd asked.

  “Don’t matter if I have or not. It’s in the Book, so it’s so!” Winslow studied the stubborn set of Penny’s jaw and said, “I’d like you to come along, Brother Penny. We need a man who can lay it out plain, and I think you’re capable of doing that.”

  Lot nodded. “ ‘Pears you’re a-goin’ to have trouble with some of the men no matter how plain I lay it out, Mr. Winslow. Some of ’em already been talking about what they’re going to do when the women get here. If them men ain’t converted, there’s gonna be trouble for sure—but I’ll go and preach for you.”

  “Good enough,” Sky nodded. “They’ll keep their hands off those women one way or another—either you convert ’em, Brother Penny, or I’ll shoot ’em.”

  Lot Penny thought about that, then nodded. “Just like the Bible, Brother—either law or grace. Turn or burn—that’s God’s way!”

  “He’s a good blacksmith, too, Sky,” Dave said as they walked away from the wagons. “ ’Course, his preachin’ is pretty rough—got the bark still on it.”

  “You couldn’t have done better,” Sky complimented him. “It’s going to be a rough trip, Dave. I reckon Brother Penny is just the preacher we need. Hope you did as well picking the rest.”

  “Like I said, they’re tough, but I let one or two of ’em go that wouldn’t do. Reckon we can find most of the rest in one saloon or another if you want to run ’em down.”

  “No, tomorrow’s fine.” By now it was about six, so he and Dave walked back to the hotel and ate supper at a small restaurant nearby. After they finished, the two rose and walked along the main street, past the steepled brick courthouse to the white frame church. They found the Rev. Ira Whitlow in the small parsonage behind the church building. He was a thin man with a hatchet face and kind eyes. “Certainly you may use the building for a meeting, Mr. Winslow,” he responded to Sky’s request. “Miss Dickenson came earlier, and I was most impressed with her.” He shook his head, adding, “The whole town’s talking about your venture. It’s very—unusual.”

  “That’s not as bad as I said when I first heard of it, Reverend,” Sky grinned. “I said only an idiot would try such a crazy scheme—but here I am. A man never knows what he’ll do.” Then he added, “You may not agree with this—but I’ve asked Brother Lot Penny to be our chaplain on the trail.”

  “Ah, well, he’s a strange man, Mr. Winslow. We’ve had some interesting theological debates—but despite our differences, I think he’s a godly man. You could do worse—much worse.” The men thanked him for his help and prepared to leave. “Glad to oblige, gentlemen. Come to services Sunday,” Rev. Whitlow urged.

  “We will if we don’t leave earlier,” Sky replied. “But I hope to leave on Friday at the latest.”

  As they made their way back through town, Lloyd spotted one of his favorite watering holes—a saloon called The Wagonwheel—and suggested, “Let’s have a drink.”

  “Not for me, but I’ll go along.”

  They went inside and took their places at the long bar. A burly bartender came to serve them. “Hello, Dave. The usual?”

  “Sure, Tony.” He took his drink and the two talked while he drank it, then ordered another. “There’s Tom Lake, one of the drivers, Sky,” he said, waving his glass at a man who was standing alone at the end of the bar. “You better meet him. Might be you won’t want him along.”

  “What’s the matter with him?”

  “A drunk.” Lloyd shrugged and added, “But he can drive a wagon, and he was the best I could do.”

  Sky followed him down the bar to where the man was bent over, looking into his glass. “Hey, Lake, this is the boss, Sky Winslow.”

  “Hello, Lake,” Sky said and put out his hand. Lake looked at him through a pair of bloodshot eyes and took the hand with a limp grasp. Sky noticed that the man’s hand, while not soft, was not calloused like most men’s. Lake was a slight man of average height, with dark hair and eyes that contrasted strangely to his pallid complexion.

  “Glad to meet you,” Lake said. “Have a drink?”

  “Not for me.” Sky watched as the man waggled a finger at the barkeeper and downed the drink in one thirsty gulp, shuddering as the raw whiskey went down. Setting his shot glass down, Lake turned to face the two men. “Guess we’ll be pulling out soon?”

  Sky didn’t answer right away. The man bothered him; while the thin, intelligent face was not the countenance of an evil man, Tom Lake could prove to be a liability. Better to replace him with a tougher man than have him play out on the way.

  “Lake, I don’t want you on this trip,” Sky said bluntly. “You’re in bad shape, and this is gonna be a rough trip.”

  “I can pull my weight!”

  “I doubt it,” Sky replied. “There aren’t any saloons along the way—and even if there were, I don’t need any man who can’t handle his whiskey.”

  “I can leave it alone, Mr. Winslow,” Lake protested, pulling himself to a more upright position. He wiped his sweating brow with a nervous hand. “I don’t have to drink.”

  “You’ve been drunk every night, Tom—and most of the time while you were on the job,” Lloyd interjected quietly. “I told you Mr. Winslow would have the final say about a job, and he says no. Sorry.”

  Lake’s mouth twitched nervously; at Lloyd’s words he dropped his head for a moment and studied the floor. There was some dignity about the man, Winslow noted, though his clothes were the poorest quality and his face was ravaged. He had taken a rebuff that would have angered most men, but now he faced them with pale lips and said, “That’s right, Dave. I have been drinking a lot. But it stops the minute we pull out of Independence! If you see me take another drink, leave me at the first trading post.”

  “Can’t trust you, Tom,” Dave shrugged. “You better try to get a job here in town.”

  Lake’s eyes did not waver. “I’m asking for a chance, Mr. Winslow. No more whiskey for me—and I’m the best man with sick stock you could get.” He stopped then, his eyes begging.

  Sky regarded him steadily, weighing the odds. He knew that the desert would try Lake’s thirst in a way the smaller man could not imagine. He finally said, “You really know stock?” The other man nodded eagerly, saying, “Want me to name every bone and muscle in a cow?”

  “That won’t be necessary—but your staying off liquor will be.” Sky nodded as he turned to go. “See you in the morning.”

  When they were on their way down the street, Dave said, “Didn’t figure you’d take him, Sky.”

  “Prob
ably shouldn’t have—but then, I probably shouldn’t be here myself, Dave. Every man deserves a chance to prove himself.” Winslow’s tone made Lloyd turn to catch a glimpse of Sky’s face, but he couldn’t read anything in its expression. “We’ll try to get everything pulled together tomorrow, Dave. We’ll bring all the drivers in with the women for one meeting tomorrow night, then pull out at dawn the next day.”

  “Be quite a meeting,” Dave remarked as they walked into the hotel.

  “No. Short and sweet,” Sky returned, then amended that. “Well, short—but maybe not so sweet.”

  The next morning at breakfast he took Edith aside. “We’ll pull out tomorrow, Edith. Have all the ladies at the church tonight at seven.”

  “All right.” Edith considered him for a moment. “Are you worried, Sky?”

  “Yes.” The flat monosyllable spoke volumes, but he went on. “Everybody should be worried. It’s a dangerous trip.”

  As Sky disappeared through the door, Rita cornered Edith. “Are we leaving today?”

  “No, tomorrow—those who decide to go.”

  Rita gave the woman a quick glance. “That was for my benefit, wasn’t it, Edith?”

  “I think you ought to stay here. The rest of us are going because we have to—but you can get a man here.”

  Rita looked at her with a startled expression. “Why—that’s just what Sky told me!” She lowered her voice. “Why is everyone trying to stop me? I’m not that much worse than the other girls!”

  Edith put her hand on Rita’s arm and said in a kind voice, “I’m not judging you, dear, but this trip is going to be difficult, even for those who are accustomed to a hard life. You’re used to easy things and soft living.”

  “So are you, Edith!”

  “Ah, you see that? But there’s a difference between us.”

  “What difference?”

  “You can get a man—and I can’t.”

  The woman’s blunt honesty struck Rita, and she stared at Edith, saying, “I don’t believe that—about you, I mean. You’re smart. Look how Sky picked you to be over the rest of us.”

  “He sees I’m efficient—but most men don’t like that in a wife. I’d rather he’d look at me like he does at you.”

  “At me? Why, he hasn’t spoken to me ten times on the entire trip!”

  “You’re attractive to men, and he’s a man.” Edith was tiring of the conversation. “We’ll leave early, I think. Get what you need from the stores.” She wheeled and walked away.

  Sky was so busy that day he didn’t take time to eat until Dave reminded him, “Boss, it’s almost seven. Women will be at the church soon.”

  “All right. I guess we’re ready for sunup, Dave.” He raised his voice and called to the other men. “All right—time for the meeting.”

  He walked with Dave down the street to the church, nervous and tense. The dangers of the trail ahead did not bother him half as much as the speech he was about to make.

  The church was brightly lit with lamps along the wall, and the women were all seated up close to the front as Winslow walked in, followed by the drivers. At a word from Lloyd, they sat down in the rear as Sky stepped up on the platform.

  He saw May Stockton on the first row next to Karen Sanderson, who was as cool as ice as usual. Rita sat on the second row to his left, next to Rebekah, who was holding Timmy. A few of the others he knew, but most of them were just vague memories of a brief interview weeks ago. I’ll know them all pretty soon, he thought grimly, then spoke up.

  “This meeting won’t take long,” he began. As he described the journey ahead, he outlined the hard rules that must be followed, and warned them once again of the dangers. Rebekah only half listened to him, thinking, I’ll bet he doesn’t know how handsome he is. Glancing at the faces of the women in her line of vision, she knew that most of them were thinking the same thing.

  For the first time since he arrived in New York, Sky Winslow had put off his city clothing; the tawny buckskins clung to him, clearly revealing the muscular outline of his body. His dark, wedge-shaped face was broken in the reflection of the lamplight into sharp planes, smooth and strong. Sky was not handsome in the same sense Tyler had been, Rebekah realized; he was too hard for that—the fishhook scar at the left corner of Winslow’s mouth only emphasized his toughness. As she was thinking these things, Sky caught her eye; she knew he couldn’t tell what she had been thinking, but she flushed anyway, forcing herself to pay attention to his words.

  “That’s about all—except for two things. It’s still not too late for you to change your minds.” He looked over the sea of faces in front of him, and added, “It was a tough trip just getting here; as you know, Miss Taylor went back to New York yesterday. This thing just wasn’t for her. If any of you have any doubts, for any reason, just tell me or Miss Dickenson, and we’ll see that you get back to your home.”

  He waited, half expecting one or more to take him up on the offer, but no one spoke. “All right—now the last thing. The trip ahead is going to be a long one, and we’ll all get to know each other pretty well by the time it’s over. But I want to make one thing very clear before we even start: There’ll be no mixing between women and men on this train.”

  A stir went over the crowd, and May Stockton piped up, “What do you mean—‘mixing’?”

  “I mean, no walking together, no parties, no friendships.”

  “Don’t you trust us, Mr. Winslow?” Karen Sanderson’s face was calm, but there was a challenge in her husky voice, and a rustle went over the women at her question.

  It was the challenge Sky had known would come, but he had expected it from another quarter. Aside from Edith Dickenson, there was no woman with the maturity that Karen had, and he wished another had spoken. Nevertheless, he turned to face her and said evenly, his voice edged with authority, “No, Miss Sanderson, I do not trust you.” He waited until the gust of disapproval from the women died down, then added, “I don’t trust myself either, nor any person in this room. Not under these conditions. I was against this trip from the beginning for this very reason. I can handle Indians—but no man can handle romancing on the trail—and I don’t propose to let it happen.”

  “Reckon we’re all grown-up!” A male voice broke across the room, and Sky glanced up to see Jack Stedman rise to his feet in the back of the room, a look of resentment on his face.

  “I’m not going to argue about this thing,” Sky announced. “We can discuss the other rules, but this one’s not debatable. If you can’t live with it—man or woman—don’t be in the train when it leaves in the morning!” He looked at the women and asked, “Anything to say about this matter, any of you?”

  Edith said firmly, “You know what to expect better than any of us, Mr. Winslow. If you say so, then that’s the way it must be.” A slight smile played on her lips. “Guess I want a husband as much as any of us do—but I can wait until we get to Oregon.”

  “I can hold out if you can, Edith!” Mary giggled.

  As the women filed out, Rita stopped close to Sky and whispered, “You take care of the womanizers, Sky—but who takes care of you when you get romantic?”

  “I’ll lend you my gun, Rita,” Sky responded. “You can shoot me if you see a romantic light in my eyes.”

  “I’ll think about it,” she said and filed out with the others. Outside, she caught up with Rebekah and laughed. “Never thought I’d be headed out with a bunch of men and a ‘Hands Off’ sign around my neck!”

  “Like Edith said, it has to be that way, Rita.”

  “Oh, does it? We’ll see how long rule number one lasts!”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  INCIDENT AT FORT KEARNEY

  For the first two weeks on the trail, rivers marked their progress. Sky chose to start out easily, so the first day they made only six miles, and by the time they crossed the Wakarusa two days later, a loose order had settled upon the train.

  At four o’clock each morning Sky fired a single shot signaling the beginning of t
he day; in a short time slow-kindling smoke rose from the campfires while half a dozen men rode out to move the stock toward the camp. From six to seven breakfast was eaten, wagons reloaded, and the teams yoked. The fourteen wagons moved out promptly at seven, leaving the camping spot—so lately full of life—to sink back into the profound solitude that reigned over the broad plain.

  Sky rode out scouting each morning, leaving Dave Lloyd in charge. There was no danger, he knew, so close to Independence, but he brought back meat every day, and it was good to keep the minds of the drivers and the women alert to the idea of danger.

  At noon, the teams were not unyoked, but simply turned loose from the wagons while a quick meal was eaten. This was the time when Sky settled any arguments which may have arisen that morning, and when minor repairs were made.

  By late afternoon the men and the beasts were tired, so Sky would choose a spot to camp while there was still daylight. The drivers grew expert at pulling the train in a circle so tight that the hindmost wagon precisely closed the gateway, forming a barricade. Everyone joined in to prepare fires of buffalo chips to cook the evening meal, pitch tents, and prepare for the night. For the first week, almost everyone went to bed as soon as the meal was over, but as they toughened up, the sound of talk and low laughter scattered in the air as the women gathered in small groups, and the drivers carried on the inevitable card game beside their own fire.

  They crossed the Kaw River, and a week later the Big Blue. It was May by the time they forded Sandy Creek and hit the Little Blue early in the afternoon. Rebekah took off her shoes and splashed across the stream, stopping long enough to dangle Timmy’s feet in the water, laughing as he drew them up with a grunt. Swooping the baby up in her arms, she saw Sky Winslow riding back with an antelope across the pommel of his saddle. He unstrapped it and tossed it to Lloyd, who drove the first wagon, then looked up and saw her. Dismounting in an easy motion, he tied his horse to the rear of the second wagon and came to stand beside the stream just as she and Timmy came splashing up to the bank.

  “We made good time today,” he said with a hint of awkwardness. He had done no more than greet her in passing since the train had pulled out of Independence. Then again, he hadn’t talked with any of the other women except for Edith Dickenson—and sometimes after supper with Rita Duvall. Rebekah knew that he was skeptical about her coming on the trip, but there was nothing she could say to make it appear better to him.