by Tracey Cross
Love Finds You™
Love Finds You™
BY TRACEY CROSS
SummeRSIde
PRESS ™
Summerside Press™
Minneapolis 55438
www.summersidepress.com
Love Finds You in Deadwood, South Dakota
© 2010 by Tracey V. Bateman
ISBN 978-1-60936-003-0
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any form, except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without written permission of the publisher.
Scripture references are from The Holy Bible, King James Version (KJV).
The town depicted in this book is a real place, but all characters are fictional. Any resemblances to actual people or events are purely coincidental.
Cover Design by Lookout Design | www.lookoutdesign.com.
Interior Design by Müllerhaus Publishing Group | www.mullerhaus.net.
Summerside Press™ is an inspirational publisher offering fresh, irresistible books to uplift the heart and engage the mind.
Printed in USA.
Dedication
For Jesus, who makes all things new.
Acknowledgments
It bears repeating that no book is accomplished by the efforts of one person. It takes a village, or in my case, a small continent to take it from basic idea to finished product.
Thanks to:
Stephanie Grace Whitson—for a wealth of information and places to look. I fell in love with your books when I read Walks the Fire many years ago and have been a fan ever since. Thank you!
Frances D.—my mom for helping flesh out the tough spots during a crazy deadline.
Chris and Angie—for reading the book and at least telling me you loved it.
Carlton, Jason, Rachel, and Ramona, my Summerside team—you guys are the best!
Kids—Cat, Mickey, Stevan, and Will, for doing extra chores without complaining too much, for cooking suppers (especially you, Cat), and working out many of your own issues. You continually amaze me with your love and dedication to God and to me. I love you so much.
Rusty—my soldier husband. Come home soon; we miss you.
DEADWOOD. THE NAME CONJURES UP COLORFUL VISIONS OF THE Wild West. Hollywood has produced exciting musicals and TV series based on this town—but do they portray Deadwood as it really was? The year was 1876 when a miner name John B. Pearson struck gold. He might have run up and down that canyon, waving his hat and yelling in excitement. Or maybe he glanced around furtively, in fear of thieves. The one thing we know for sure is that the canyon walls were lined with dead trees, which gave the site the name Deadwood Gulch.
Prospectors soon converged on the area with dreams of striking it rich. But after a few initial mining successes, the gold was mostly gone. All that was left was a town filled with the rough and the lawless—folks like gambler and gunfighter Wild Bill Hickok, who was shot dead in 1876 during a poker game in Deadwood’s Nuttal & Mann’s Saloon. Decent folk shied away from the town, and the few who tried to brave it often regretted their decision. This era of Deadwood came to an end in 1879 when a raging fire swept through the business district. The election of a new sheriff and the rebuilding of the city brought law and order to Deadwood. In 1890 the railroad came, and the community changed forever.
Today the town of Deadwood, population just over 1,300, is the seat of Lawrence County. Overlooked by the famous Mount Moriah cemetery, the resting place of both Wild Bill and Calamity Jane, it boasts museums, tours, more than sixty casinos, and tales of the past.
Tracey Cross
PART ONE:
THE HOMESTEAD
Chapter One
Early April, 1879
It had simply never occurred to Jane Albright that Tom might be dead. Gracious, if she feared for his life each time he failed to arrive home in a reasonable amount of time, she’d spend every waking minute in an absolute state. After all, the trip to Deadwood took a month, and that was only one way. With weather upsets, the swollen North Platte, and breakdowns, she never expected to see him within three months of each departure.
So, although he was two weeks overdue, she’d hardly given his absence a thought until late last night when Hank Barnes came rolling in on the freight wagon with Tom in the back, covered from head to toe with his bedroll.
Standing next to her husband’s grave, Jane barely found the grace to speak a psalm over him. Even as she said a closing prayer, she found the words automatic and insincere. Were it not for her son, Danny, standing next to her, fidgeting like only a five-year-old could, she might have foregone the funeral altogether and just told Hank to bury him without paying final respects. But she couldn’t have her son remembering that she hadn’t given his pa a proper burial.
Hank, Tom’s partner, stood respectfully by the grave he’d tended to himself, his battered hat clutched in calloused hands that had worked much too hard for it to all end this way.
Jane’s amen brought his head up, and, as one, they turned away from the gravesite of the man who had caused such upheaval for them both, leaving them to salvage what they could of the ruins.
“How long before the lender calls in the note?” Jane stared at the grizzled bullwhacker, trying to wrap her head around the fact that her husband had left them with nothing. Less than nothing, in fact. He’d left them in debt, which was the worst thing he could have done.
Hank cleared his throat and stopped walking when they reached the doorway to the sod house. “Mr. Lloyd has been patient for too long already, ma’am. He—um—it was due in full three months ago. Tom never made even one payment.”
A wave of nausea seized Jane’s stomach. Her mind refused to believe that there was nothing to be done. Mama Rose had always said, “Where there’s a will, there’s a way.” That might have been the only thing the nasty woman had ever taught Jane, but the lesson had been well learned.
Jane squared her shoulders and tilted her head a little to look Hank in the eye. “We’ll just have to convince him that you and I are not of the same inclinations toward sloth and drink as Tom was. Any reasonable man will be willing to give us a bit more time to gather the payment. How long do you think it might take to catch up?”
Realizing she was doing all the talking and Hank wasn’t holding her gaze, Jane frowned, scrutinizing him. It couldn’t be a good sign that his boots shifted. The forty-year-old man was squirming worse than little Danny when he was about to get into trouble. “What aren’t you telling me, Hank? Whatever it is, just come right out with it.”
“I hate to have to tell you this, ma’am. ’Specially when you got that boy to care for and the…” He glanced at her midsection, then darted his gaze to his worn-out boots.
Heat rose to Jane’s face, and irritation crept through her. Tom must have been bragging about the baby. She hated to think ill of the dead, but what kind of man announced his wife’s pregnancy? That was just—common.
But that wasn’t Hank’s fault. Stuffing back her frustration, she patted his arm. “Come inside and have some dinner. Together, we’ll figure out what to do.”
He shook his head. “I reckon I best be getting on before dark.”
“Are you going to try to make a start for Deadwood this late?” Jane’s eyebrows lifted. With impending darkness, all sorts of cutthroats and thieves would be lurking about. Not to mention Indians. “Surely you can wait until morning. You’re welcome to sleep in the barn.”
“Miss Jane, I hate to do this to you, but I got a wife of my own to take care of.” The misery on his face, a combination of sympathy and panic, touched Jane’s heart.
“I know, Hank. How is Tildy?”
�
�She’s packing.” Finally, he made solid eye contact. Jane wasn’t sure she liked the message written there.
“Packing? But what do you mean? Where is she going?”
“Not just her. We’re moseying on west. To Oregon.”
A gasp made its way to Jane’s throat. “But what about the freighting? The oxen and wagons? How are we going to pay the loan back if you’re not here to help?”
“I’m sorry, Miss Jane. Tom took the loan in his name.”
Narrowing her gaze, she searched his red face. “What exactly are you trying to say?”
“I’m free and clear to take my family and go.”
Words failed Jane at the utter coldness of his statement, and the equally cold implication. He would not be held responsible for the loan, even if he had benefited from the debt. After all, he had taken his share of the freight money.
“You’re leaving it all to me? Is that what you’re saying?”
He kept his gaze averted as he nodded. Then he glanced up, embarrassment clouding his face. Good! He deserved every twist of guilt the Lord sent to convict him of this unbelievable sin and lack of character.
“You and the boy are welcome to come along with us.”
“Leave our land?”
The very thought seemed ludicrous. Leave her homestead? The place where she’d fought blizzards and drought and loneliness while Tom was gone? Where she’d nearly starved to death that first year? No. This was her land, and she wasn’t giving it up. One day she would leave this place to her children. If she left now, what would she have to give them? With no husband and no prospects? She’d end up in another marriage of convenience—maybe to a man worse than Tom had been. No, Hank couldn’t possibly be serious. Even if he truly believed she might consider such a ridiculous offer, Jane knew the invitation was nothing more than an attempt to assuage his guilty conscience.
There was nothing to do but let him go. She gathered a deep breath. Why demand what he wasn’t going to give? “Hank, you’ve been a good friend to me these last few years. If you hadn’t taken Tom under your wing, I don’t know how we’d have survived. I won’t pretend to understand your abandonment. But I’ll make out all right.”
After a brief wince over her use of the word abandonment, Hank’s features gave way to relief, and he found his voice. “I’m dreadful sorry to be leaving you like this.”
“It’s no matter. I bear you no ill will.”
“That’s mighty kind of you, Miss Jane.” He seemed indecisive, as if he was about to stay after all.
Jane held her breath and watched his inward struggle play out in his expressions. When he looked her head-on, she knew she’d lost.
She offered a half smile. “Please give Tildy my best and write when you reach Oregon.”
“You sure you won’t change your mind? They say single women are scarce out West. You’d find yourself a right good man quick as you could snap a finger.”
Shaking her head, Jane took a step back as though he might snatch her up and force her to go. “I’m determined to make a go of it right here. This land belongs to my children, and I’m not about to walk off and let it go.”
“At least you won’t have those beasts to tend to all alone.” He nodded toward the pen, where a pair of oxen made short work of what little grass remained.
“I’m not sure I know what you mean.”
“I reckon I haven’t mentioned it yet.” He cleared his throat. “I’ll be taking those oxen off your hands for the trip.”
Jane’s jaw dropped at the audacious statement, said so matter-of-factly, as though she had no say in the decision. “You’re going to do what?”
“I’m planning on taking those animals. You won’t be needing them, and I reckon I’ll hitch them up to take us on to Oregon.”
“Wait just a minute, Hank.”
“Yes, ma’am?”
She gathered all the courage she could muster, shaking her head vehemently. “You can’t have them. Those oxen are part of the freighting business. I’m keeping them.”
His anger flashed. “What good are they to you?”
“Well, I have to find some way to get the freight running again.”
An indulgent smile played at the corners of his lips. “How do you plan to do that? All the hands quit because Tom owes three months of wages. You can’t do it alone, and you’ve no way to hire anyone on.” Without waiting for her answer, Hank resumed his walk toward the animals.
“I–I’m not sure, but I’ll figure it out somehow, and I’m going to need the oxen when I do.”
Watching him disregard her completely and continue to walk toward the oxen—her oxen—was too much for Jane. She snatched up the shotgun by the door and leveled the barrel at him just as Hank gathered the leather straps of the oxen. “Hank! You’re not taking my property.”
He turned, and his eyes widened. “I never would have thought it of you, Miss Jane.”
“You’re leaving me no choice, Hank. Now you have a choice. Stay here and help me raise the money the company owes to Mr. Lloyd, or walk away and leave me with the burden. But I can’t let you steal from me.”
“Steal?” His face twisted with outrage. “These animals are mine as much as yours.”
“No, sir, that isn’t true.” She shook her head so hard, some of her hairpins loosened. “The oxen are part of the freighting company.”
He gave a short laugh. “Truth be told, they ain’t the company’s either. Lloyd is going to come take them away. Technically they belong to him.”
“We’ll see about that.” Jane set her jaw and stared him down, determined not to waver. “And even so, Mr. Lloyd’s claim on them is another reason you aren’t taking them and leaving me to explain why he isn’t getting his money or the oxen. Have you no scruples whatsoever?”
He scowled. “How about if I buy them from you?”
Jane blinked and stared. If he had cash to purchase oxen, why hadn’t he paid the lender instead?
As if reading her mind, Hank answered the unasked question. “We sold our land. That’s how I got some cash money to outfit our journey west.”
“Who would be foolish enough to purchase a homestead when there’s so much free land for the taking?”
He shrugged. “Could be because there’s a soddy on the land and a wood barn already built. So what do you say about me buying those two?”
“Unless you’re offering me enough to pay off the loan so my home is safe, then I’ll have to say no.”
“Miss Jane, you got to be reasonable.” He took a step in her direction but stopped when she cocked the gun. He scowled. “I can’t get to Oregon with my horses. I need those animals.”
“Too bad. Go buy some oxen in Sidney. I’m not going to tell you again. And don’t think you’ll come steal them from me after I go to sleep, because I intend to stand guard all night.”
“You’re being stubborn.” Hank’s lips twisted in a sneer. “The way I see it, I’m doing you a favor taking them off your hands.”
“The way I see it, those oxen are the key to my children’s future. If you test me, I won’t hesitate to shoot. And I don’t believe the law would blame me.”
Jane’s legs shook violently under her heavy skirt. She had never pointed a gun at a human being before, and she didn’t like the feeling. She wasn’t entirely certain she could squeeze the trigger, so she prayed Hank wouldn’t call her bluff.
Thankfully, he didn’t. “You win. Keep the beasts. They’ve seen better days anyhow.”
As she watched him mount his horse and ride away, Jane had never felt so alone.
Only a tug at her skirt forced her to shove away the tears of self-pity and focus on her boy. She looked down and smiled. Danny had removed his shoes and shirt, and his trousers were rolled up to his knees. He wore the headband and feather she had made him weeks ago.
“Can I play Indian?” Danny asked. His chubby hands held up a pot of rouge for her to take. Why Tom had ever thought she’d wear face paint was beyond her, but he
had brought it home as a gift after a trip to Deadwood. But the paint had served to offer hours of play for Danny, so all in all, she’d felt it was money well spent.
“May I play Indian,” she gently corrected, setting the rifle back in its corner just outside the door.
Danny grinned. “May I?”
“Of course you may. But it’s too cold still for you to go barefoot. You’ll have to put your boots back on before going out.”
“Indians don’t wear boots.”
She smiled and tweaked his nose. “Well, Indians have cold feet, then. You must wear boots.”
“Aw, Ma.”
As she painted his face, Jane couldn’t help but find it sad that the boy didn’t even mourn the loss of his pa. But Tom Albright had been a harsh man, a drunkard, with never a kind word for his son. His death at the hands of a two-bit gambler seemed fitting somehow.
In life he had abused and neglected them and in death left them destitute. But Jane was determined to turn all that around. She had no idea how but held a steady confidence the Lord would show her the way.
Early May
Dusk was settling over the Nebraska plains when Franklin Lloyd finally spotted the Albright homestead. It had been a long ride from Deadwood, and he already felt the relief to his bones that his journey was coming to an end.
A beautiful orange sky had begun to fade at the edge of the prairie line, but the view still took away Franklin’s breath, filling him with hope that perhaps here, in this part of the country, he might find some peace at last. Perhaps living where there was no filth and human greed or any other human vices, he might be able to reconcile Martha’s death and learn to fellowship with God once more. The two years had dulled the pain of losing his pretty bride, but God had never explained the necessity of taking her, and Franklin needed to understand why.
