Dance on the Wind

by Brenda Jernigan

  Brandy nudged him. “So are you going to make me guess?”

  “I’ll be sweepin’ out The Golden Lady Saloon,” Billy mumbled. “Like I said, it ain’t much.”

  “Well, at least you got a job. That’s wonderful,” Brandy praised him, trying to make him feel a little better. She sensed his disappointment. “I don’t know if I like the idea of you in a saloon, though,” she said as she walked into the street and in front of a horse and rider she didn’t see until too late.

  The horse reared and whinnied, the rider swore, and Brandy gasped at her close call, but she didn’t bother to stop. She didn’t feel like hearing another lecture, so she scurried out of the way with Billy tagging at her heels.

  “That was a dang stupid thing to do,” Billy yelled. “You never pay attention to where you’re goin’. Twice in one day! Don’t you ever learn?”

  She slowed down, but her heart still pounded frantically in her chest. “I didn’t see him.” She didn’t have time to act like a scared goose. She took a deep breath and pretended nothing was wrong. “Now, as I was saying, we need money, remember?” She looked at Billy, and he nodded. “At least your job will help until Sam sends money.”

  “Who’s Sam?”

  “My future husband, of course.” Brandy laughed, the idea of home and marriage warming her.

  “You mean your future husband, you hope,” Billy teased. “It’s good he doesn’t know what you look like.”

  She eyed him with a calculating expression. “Why do you say that?”

  “Oh, nothin’.” Billy shrugged. “You’re just ugly, that’s all.” His brown eyes danced with mischief.

  Brandy punched him in the arm, then started for home without him. She liked this new relationship she and Billy were developing. She only hoped it would last.

  Three brats were better than four, any day.

  4

  “What the hell!” Thunder swore and jerked back on his horse’s reins to avoid the woman who had darted into his path. She had merely paused, tilted her face up at him, blinked several times, and then hastened farther down the street, a young boy chasing after her.

  Turning in his saddle, Thunder watched her, his attention focused on her manner of dress. As hot as it was, she was clothed in drab black, much too hot for a day like this. Her hair, or at least the few strands that blew in the wind, appeared to be the only color she wore. The severe bun on top of her head looked much like that of a Boston matron, not the young woman she apparently was. Evidently, she sought to hide her beauty, but the sun reflecting off her chestnut hair gave it a rich color that made him want to touch it.

  There was something familiar about her. Where had he seen her before? Then it came to him! She was the woman from the graveyard. Of course. She’d been the one who’d stirred his curiosity. Then a more terrifying realization washed over him. How long had it been since any woman had aroused him?

  However, if she didn’t watch were she was going, she wouldn’t live long in this town, or any other.

  Thunder nudged his horse forward. If their paths crossing was to be as brief as this, he could handle never seeing her again. She was much too enticing.

  Hammering from the blacksmiths’ shop drew Thunder’s attention as he rode by. A smithy placed a finished wheel in a huge stack, a sure indication that a wagon train was pulling out soon. The busy streets were filled with men, horses, and mules all hurrying to their destinations.

  It felt good to be in Independence. It was just one step closer to his homeland and one step farther from his past. No more would he think about the war. The corner of his mouth lifted in a sardonic smile as he said, “And they call Indians savages.”

  Before returning home, Thunder decided he wanted to say goodbye to Ward Singer, a friend who was preparing a wagon train to move west.

  Thunder had first met Ward in Boston when Thunder had been fool enough to fall in love with Ward’s beautiful niece, Elaina. She was a chapter of his life he wanted to bury permanently, but he thought of Ward fondly. Ward had been one of the few bright spots in Thunder’s eastern experience.

  Ward had always been an adventurer and loved the challenge of taking wagon trains out west. He’d been in Boston to see his family and ended up staying for a couple of years, and, of course, he’d wanted to do his part in the war. Though Thunder had met him through Elaina, their friendship hadn’t developed until they became irrevocably bound when Thunder took a bullet meant for Ward by running in front of him. After he was wounded in yet another skirmish and considered useless by the Union army, Ward returned to his former love: guiding wagons out west.

  Finding Ward would be easy. All Thunder had to do was look for the largest group of canvas-covered wagons. Sure enough, that’s where he’d find his friend, right in the middle of it all.

  He saw Ward towering over the crowd as his mount cantered toward the camp. With dark blond hair and a bushy mustache, Ward was tall and burly with wide shoulders straining his brown homespun shirt. Bent over to work on a wagon wheel, he apparently hadn’t noticed Thunder’s approach.

  From the rear it appeared Ward hadn’t changed much. His middle had thickened, probably the direct result of his fondness for food and spirits.

  Thunder wondered if Ward would think he’d changed. The last time Thunder had seen his friend, he’d been a clean-cut Union soldier. Now he wore faded blue Union trousers streaked with dirt and sweat and a loose blue chambray shirt. His hair was considerably longer.

  Thunder slid soundlessly off his horse and landed in the soft dirt. Like a feather on the wind, he approached Ward from behind and wrapped his arms around Ward’s neck. “You should watch your back, old friend. I’ll not always be around to protect you,” Thunder whispered in Ward’s ear.

  “Bullshit!” Ward bellowed as he stood up, taking Thunder with him.

  Thunder loosened his grip so Ward could turn and face him. “Somebody else could be after more than just rehashing old times,” Thunder said with a smile.

  “Thunder!” Ward shouted. “God knows, son, it’s been a long time,” he said as he grabbed Thunder’s arm and slapped him on the back. “Let me take a look at you.”

  Ward smiled with pleasure. Slowly his gaze traveled over Thunder, noticing the change in his comrade’s coal-black hair, which had grown long. Even the man’s skin had darkened under the summer sun. “Damn if you haven’t turned savage on me, boy.”

  “As you well know, I am half savage,” Thunder replied. “And I could get a hankering for a scalp real soon.” He grinned. “I’d be careful if I were you.”

  Ward laughed. “There’s not much left to scalp,” Ward said, removing his hat and rubbing his thinning hair. “How about giving me a hand with this here wagon wheel?”

  Thunder held the wheel, his muscles straining beneath his shirt, while Ward made the adjustments.

  “So what brings you to Independence?” Ward asked.

  “I’m heading home. Figured you’d be here, so I stopped by so you could buy me a steak”

  Ward straightened and wiped his hand on a rag. “Well, old friend how about dinner . . . and a job?”

  “Job?”

  “I’ve been praying for a miracle, son . . .” Ward paused and grinned before adding, “And you showed up. I think it’s a sign, don’t you?”

  Thunder took a couple of steps backwards. “Whoa. What the hell are you talking about?”

  Ward gave a brief nod toward the white canvas. “See these wagons?”

  “I cannot help but see them.”

  “Well, we’re just about ready to head west, and my scout got himself killed in a bar fight. It’s already the end of June, which is much later than I normally take a train out. So, I just happen to be in need of a good scout. Seeing as you’re heading that way anyway, and you’re the best damn scout there is ... you could help me out.”

  “What makes you think I want the job?”

  “I’m hoping you’ll give me a hand because I’m your friend, and a friend in desperate
need.” Ward smiled at the frown he received. “Let’s get some grub, and we’ll talk about my proposition. Things will look better after you’ve sunk your teeth into a good, juicy steak.”

  “In that case, the steak better be damned good.”

  That night over dinner, with a lot of friendly persuasion, Ward talked Thunder into accepting the assignment, but only after assuring him that his only responsibility would be scouting. Ward promised he’d take care of everything else, and Thunder wouldn’t have to get involved with any of his fellow travelers.

  * * *

  The weeks passed slowly as Brandy waited for the letter that would be their salvation. So far, they had managed to survive one day at a time. Every day, Brandy expected a letter to arrive, either from Sam asking her to marry him, or the dreaded letter telling them they would have to leave the parsonage.

  This morning she had awakened with another headache, and it had lingered all day. Brandy rubbed her temples to alleviate the pounding. She seemed to have headaches frequently these days from the stress of trying to keep her unhappy family fed and warding off fights between them. Coping with her charges had become increasingly difficult. Why couldn’t they just do as they were told without questioning everything?

  Brandy was sure of one thing: She didn’t ever want children of her own. They were too much trouble.

  Her stomach churned when she thought of selling the few gold items left in the chapel, but she had to pay the bills. They used the little money that Billy made to buy food. The only item left was a gold cross that she refused to part with. It was her only remembrance of Father Brown.

  She prayed for a miracle. The sooner it happened, the better.

  Unfortunately, her cooking hadn’t shown much improvement. Mary had proved to be a natural cook and had taken over. Of course, Mary never failed to point out just how useless Brandy was.

  Billy had settled down. His new responsibilities seemed to agree with him. He liked his job at the saloon. Often he would come home with exciting tales of what happened at the bar and especially the fights. The children would gather around him eagerly, listening to every word as Billy spun his tales over supper. Even Brandy admitted she enjoyed the stories, though she wondered sometimes if they were appropriate for the children’s ears.

  On one such night, Brandy protested. “Perhaps you should quit, Billy. That place sounds much too dangerous. You could get hurt or, worse, killed.”

  Billy’s eyebrows shot up. “You mean you’d care? You seem to forget that I’m the only one makin’ any money around here. We do have to eat. Maybe you’ve got a better way to make money?”

  Brandy thought for a moment before offering a weak, “No.”

  “I didn’t think so.” Billy grinned, exuberant in the fact that, this time, he was right. “Besides, when the guns come out of their holsters, you can bet your boots, I don’t hang ’round. I might be many things, but a fool ain’t one of them.”

  They were down to their last loaf of bread and a few eggs when the letter finally arrived from Sam Owens. Brandy took the letter to Father Brown’s office and placed it in front of her, unread. For a moment, she was afraid to open it. What if it was a refusal? What would she do?

  No, Brandy didn’t even want to think of that possibility. Convincing herself she’d written a good letter describing her glorious attributes, she carefully opened the envelope with shaking hands. She whispered a quick prayer, then began to read.

  * * *

  Dear Brandy,

  I found your letter very interesting. You sound like just the woman I’ve been looking for. I love to eat, and I look forward to enjoying many meals with you.

  * * *

  Brandy couldn’t help but snicker. They might have many meals together, but how wonderful they were would be very doubtful.

  * * *

  I never spoke of children, but we can decide that after you ’re here. I look forward to seeing you and hope you’ll book passage on the next wagon train. I trust you’ll not be bored traveling alone. I’m sending enough money so you can hire someone to handle the wagon. The money will be wired to your bank tomorrow so that you may pay past debts and arrange for your trip. Until we meet—take care.

  Your future husband, Sam Owens

  * * *

  Brandy wiped the tears of relief from her cheeks as she laid the letter down in her lap. It wouldn’t do for the children to see her crying; they would think she was weak. But the strain of holding their ragtag group together was soon to be over.

  She thought of the money, money to pay the bills. What a relief! At long last, she had seen her salvation. Remorse did nag at her for thinking about the money when she should be thinking of her fianc6. However, she didn’t know Sam yet, and she did know all the creditors.

  She wondered if the wire had reached the bank yet. She checked the date on Sam’s letter. Two weeks ago. Surely the money would have arrived by now.

  Brandy felt great gratitude toward Sam, but couldn’t help wishing she were marrying someone she loved. Or at least knew! On the other hand, she wasn’t sure there was anyone out there she could love.

  This might be the only way she’d ever get a husband. After all, she was very plain. Billy had pointed it out often enough. Come to think about it, no one but Father Brown had ever told her she was pretty, and he was probably being nice.

  Brandy was excited and scared at the same time. Having chosen her course, there would be no backing out. She was going to a strange land to meet a man she didn’t know.

  Did that mean she was crazy?

  Or just desperate?

  Probably both, she thought. She began jotting down a list of things that needed to be done. First, she’d have to talk to the wagon master and book passage. She’d heard there was a small wagon train heading west, and it was booking up fast. First thing tomorrow that small matter would be taken care of. But tonight, she’d get a peaceful night’s sleep, knowing their bills would soon be paid, and all their problems solved.

  * * *

  Early the next morning found Brandy twisting her hair into its usual knot. Quickly, she fastened it with hairpins.

  “There.” She peered into the cracked mirror, approving the older look of a chignon. She had to collect the money from the bank, then convince the wagon master she was serious about traveling west and wasn’t some silly female who had no idea what she was doing.

  On the way out, she bumped into Mary.

  “Where are you going?” Mary asked, raising her chin defiantly.

  “I have to run an errand,” Brandy called over her shoulder without bothering to stop. “I won’t be long.”

  Mary didn’t question her any further, but Brandy could feel the girl’s watchful eyes as she left the parsonage.

  She headed straight for the bank and found Sam had been true to his word and wired the money. That was a good start to their relationship, she couldn’t help thinking.

  She paid her creditors first, relieved to be free of the burden. There was even a spring in her step as she set off on foot to book passage on the wagon train. The long walk took her to the far edge of town.

  The fluffy white canvas of each prairie schooner contrasted starkly against a clear, azure-blue sky as Brandy approached the camp made up of at least twenty wagons. She weaved in and out of the wagons in search of the wagon master, but found no sign of a man who appeared in charge. She asked several travelers who kept saying, “He’s around here somewhere.” Finally, she found a woman who pointed to the man she needed.

  The wagon master stood almost six feet tall and possessed the powerful build of a bull. He wore trousers of coarse homespun with a gun strapped down to his leg. He appeared older than she’d thought he would be, but his face suggested a kindness of heart. The man watched her approach, and Brandy prayed her observation was correct. There was no question in her mind . . . this man was in charge.

  “Hello,” she said. “My name is Brandy—” She paused, then quickly added, “Brown.” She really did
n’t know what her last name was, but since Father Brown had raised her, she’d take his name.

  “Nice to meet you, Mrs. Brown.” Ward nodded. “I’m Ward Singer. What can I do for you?”

  She raised her hand to shade her eyes from the sun. “I’d like to book passage on your wagon train.”

  “I do have room for one more wagon,” he informed her as he stepped politely to the side to block the sun from her- face. “Where’s your husband, Mrs. Brown?” Brandy lowered her hand. “It’s Miss. I’m not married.”

  Mr. Singer gave her a leery glance. “Then the answer is no.” He stared at her. A suggestion of annoyance hovered in his eyes.

  Icy fear twisted around her heart. “But I must go west.”

  “Lady, you’re crazy if you think you can make the trip alone!” His voice had gotten louder. “What do you hope you’ll find there?” Ward shook his head at her. “I can tell you . . . it’s trouble.”

  “Please, mister, you have to listen,” Brandy pleaded, grabbing his arm. She’d never dreamed he’d turn her down, and she had no more pride. If she had to get on her knees, she would. She tried to think of some way to convince him. Then she remembered Sam’s letter. “Look at this.” She handed him the letter.

  “The name’s Ward,” he said as he read the letter and then looked at her for a long moment before handing it back to her.

  He shoved his hands into his pockets and cocked a gray eyebrow as he stared down at her. “You want to travel on my train . . . alone. Little lady, you don’t look crazy, but no one in their right mind would let a woman travel unaccompanied by a man.”

  “But, I have money. I can pay my own way,” she rushed to tell him, hoping the money would change his mind. She fought a wave of dizziness as she stood a little taller, preparing to argue further.

  “That’s not the issue.” He kept his eyes focused on her. “Do you even have a wagon?”