by Tracey Cross
“It so happens my own mother wasn’t a lady.” Mr. Bedlow’s voice was cold as ice. “But Mrs. Albright is, and I won’t have her manhandled in my office.”
Mr. Lloyd’s gaze swept Jane’s face. She was trying hard not to cry out from the pain of his fingers. Immediately he turned her loose. “I’m sorry, Jane. I didn’t mean to be so rough. But you can’t work for Bedlow. He’s bad news.”
“You are incorrect, Mr. Lloyd. I may work for whomever I choose.”
“There you have it.” Bedlow’s gaze never left Mr. Lloyd’s. “I’ll thank you to leave my office. And for pity’s sake, don’t insult me in my own establishment. It’s bad form.”
Jane turned her back in an effort to avoid Mr. Lloyd’s intense brown eyes.
“All right, Mrs. Albright. If this is the way you want it, I’ll see you in Deadwood.”
His boots stomped across the room and through the front waiting area. When he left the building, he slammed the door so hard the building shook.
Suddenly Jane felt the urge to run after him and tell him she’d changed her mind. That she would work for him, if he wanted her to. She turned toward the door and almost reached for Danny to do just that, but Mr. Bedlow’s voice stopped her. “Well, now. Shall we talk terms? I’d have preferred another position for you, but I see you are set in your ways and won’t be satisfied with anything other than a freighting position. There is an expedition beginning this morning. Get your wagon and bring it back here so we can get it loaded.” He glanced at Danny. “Where’s the boy going to stay while you’re on the road?”
Jane drew in a breath at the question. “He’ll come with me, of course.”
Mr. Bedlow studied her face briefly, then nodded. “It’s your choice, but you alone will be responsible for his well-being. His meals come out of yours.”
“I alone have taken care of my son since the day he was born, and I have no intention of passing along his care to anyone else.” Jane held out her hand. “I thank you for the opportunity to haul supplies for you. You’ve done me a great service.”
He took her hand, turned it over. “These are hands that have seen hard work.”
“As I told you.”
He traced her calluses with his fingertip. “If you decide freighting is not for you, I can give you a more suitable position in Deadwood.”
Jane didn’t even want to surmise what position he might find suitable. She jerked her hand from his. “No thank you.”
“You misunderstand. I’m making you a fair and almost honorable proposition.”
“Sir, I don’t know what you have in mind but—”
He gave a short laugh. “Nothing, Mrs. Albright. I am jesting at your expense. Forgive me.”
Jane studied his face, wondering why he backed away from what he’d been planning to say. Whatever it was, she was grateful he had changed his mind.
She nodded. “I shall return soon with my wagon and oxen. Come along, Danny.” With her head high, she left his office.
Six months—that was how long she had to save her home for her children. She couldn’t fail. She would not. She clasped Danny’s hand tightly and placed her other hand on the soft spot where her baby grew. These children would not grow up without a home, a place where they knew they belonged. If she had to work blisters into her hands and knots into her muscles—whatever it took, she would not let Mr. Lloyd take her home away.
PART TWO:
DEADWOOD
Chapter Six
Early June
Tomorrow the wagons would reach Deadwood. Jane nearly wept with relief at the very idea. For the past two days, even the oxen seemed to sense they would soon have a few days to rest, for they moved without as much hesitation.
Camp tonight was a cheery affair with music and dancing.
When Mr. Bedlow spoke of a line of wagons, she had been concerned about spending a month alone with freighters whose morals were questionable. But as he had promised, he had “taken care” of the situation, and the men left her alone in favor of the three saloon girls Mr. Bedlow was sending to Deadwood. He had gone on ahead by stage to open Bedlow’s Saloon and had taken two of his favorite young women with him to start things off.
Oh, how she hated the high-pitched laughter and drunken slurring of speech. How she abhorred the very idea that Danny had to be exposed to such debauchery. She had to remind herself daily that he was very young and would likely not remember any of the trip. And when she returned to Sidney for the next load of supplies, she had every intention of leaving Danny with Bess Crawford. The good thing for Danny was that the men and the women doted on him, so to him, this new adventure was like Christmas.
The music ebbed quickly tonight, and Andy Armor began to play softly. Jane moved toward the fire to gather the dishes. The three-fingered harmonica player nodded when she approached. Noting his tin cup was empty, she lifted the coffee pot from the fire and refreshed his coffee.
His eyes twinkled his thanks, and without stopping, he slowly began to play “Amazing Grace.” Jane took a deep breath, fighting tears, and sank onto the log the men had laid out to sit on. She closed her eyes and allowed the music to wash over her. How long had it been since she’d spent time in real prayer? They rose before dawn and often didn’t get to sleep before midnight. Most nights, she fell asleep as soon as she took her place on the pallet next to Danny. O Lord, she silently prayed. I haven’t been behaving much like a woman covered by Your grace. Forgive me for neglecting You.
As she poured out her heart to God, the new life inside her made its little presence felt. “Oh!” She hadn’t meant to speak out loud. Her hand went to her stomach, and her eyes flew open.
Mr. Armor stopped playing and stared. “Something wrong, ma’am?”
A tiny smile touched her lips at the goodness of God. “No, Mr. Armor. Everything is wonderful. Thank you for playing that song. It was a beautiful reminder to me that God is with me. I’m not lost at all from His sight. He found me and knows exactly where I am.”
He cleared his throat and looked away. “Glad you liked it. Wish I’d known. I’d have played it every night.”
“No you ain’t!” Bob Thacker growled from his bedroll. “I ain’t listenin’ to no church music.”
“What’s a-matter, Bobby?” Sarah, a buxom woman with hair too red to be real, teased. “Afraid you’ll get religion?”
“That ain’t never gonna happen!” He glared at the woman and sneered toward Jane. “Besides, give this one a week in Deadwood, and she won’t be askin’ for no church music, neither.”
Refusing to engage in an argument with the half-intoxicated freighter, Jane picked up the stack of dishes and stood. “Good night, all of you. Pleasant dreams.”
She peeked in on Danny and then dipped the dishes in the cool, sudsy wash water. She would finish the dishes, then crawl in beside her little boy. Her aching muscles strained for the moment.
It was unfortunate that Bob held such a disdain for the hymn. He led the wagons and had been put in charge, so it was unlikely Andy would defy him and play “Amazing Grace” again. But that wouldn’t stop her from humming it if she chose.
And she did. When she was halfway through the pile of dishes, she heard a branch crack and lifted her head sharply. One couldn’t be too careful out here. There was always the threat of Indians and outlaws. But neither of those proved to be the case. Molly, a young prostitute of no more than sixteen years old, walked toward her, smiling. “The men are asleep. I thought you might like some help with the dishes. It’s not fair that Bob makes you do them.”
Molly was rosy-cheeked and cheerful naturally, not from opium or alcohol—as far as Jane knew, anyway. “There’s a towel right there. You could dry if you want.”
She nodded and began to dry. “I liked the way Andy played ‘Amazing Grace.’ It took me back to the days when I lived on my grandma’s farm in Kansas.”
“How did you happen to find your way to Sidney?”
Jane had never asked before. Had barely s
poken to the women on private terms like this. But the question seemed natural, so she didn’t hold back.
Molly sighed. “It was just my grandma and me. Ma left when I was little—nearly broke Grandma’s heart. I tried so hard to be good to make up for my ma’s wicked ways. After Grandma died, the bank said there was nothing for me, and the land had a mortgage, so I had to leave.”
With her arms up to her elbows in suds, Jane could only nod. “I am facing similar circumstances. Only I’m widowed. So I’m forced to haul this freight until I pay off my debt and clear my land.”
Molly gave a short, humorless laugh. “I answered an advertisement for a housekeeper.”
“Let me guess—someone wanted more than housekeeping.”
“Yes. Mr. Bedlow. He said I owed him for the fare out here and the new clothes he had sent me, and I had to do what he wanted or he’d set the law on me.”
“How long have you been with Mr. Bedlow?”
“Three years.”
Jane gasped into the night air. Anger shot through her. “Are you telling me you were only thirteen when you came to Sidney?”
“Yes ma’am.” She ducked her head as though ashamed. “But Mr. Bedlow didn’t make me entertain until last year. I only cleaned and served drinks before that.”
This young, innocent girl had been raped over and over every day for a year. “Oh, Molly. Have you paid your debt?”
“Yes. I am free to go, so he says. But others have tried to leave, and Mr. Bedlow doesn’t take kindly to it.”
“So what if he takes kindly to it or not? I know, come back with me when I go to Sidney. You can find a position as a seamstress or domestic somehow. I’m sure Bess Crawford will help you.”
Molly wiped the last dish and set it on the stack. “It’s too late for me to do anything else.”
“Don’t be silly. It’s never too late. A bright girl like you could find a position. Or maybe you can find a decent man and settle down.”
When Molly fixed her lovely eyes on Jane, suddenly Jane felt as though she were the child.
“Thank you for speaking with me, Miss Jane. It was nice. I’ve wanted to a lot, but Mr. Bedlow told us to stay away from you.” Her eyes grew worried. “I hope you won’t say anything to him about this.”
Outrage shot through Jane. How dare that vile man taint these women and then cause them to feel as though they were somehow untouchable. On impulse, she reached out and drew the girl to her. Molly’s arms remained at her side. Embarrassed, Jane pulled back.
“Good night, Mrs. Albright. And good-bye. Once we get to Deadwood, it won’t be proper for you to speak to me.”
She watched Molly, knowing that only because of God’s grace had she escaped the same fate. Orphaned at a young age, Jane had been taken in by a greedy, lazy, fat old cow who made her and the other children in the orphanage call her “Mama Rose.” Mama Rose had forced Jane to apprentice in the shop of a seamstress, where she’d learned quickly and become in such high demand that Mama Rose eventually allowed her to leave the shop and commission dress orders herself. She shuddered to think where she would be if Mama Rose had been inclined toward ungodly practices.
Jane lay down next to Danny and pressed her hand to her fluttering stomach. It had been a month now. If Mr. Bedlow kept his word, she would have half the money by this time tomorrow. When she got back to Sidney, she could give it to Mr. Lloyd and load up for one more trip like this one. Then she’d never ever have to leave her home again.
She drifted to sleep, dreaming of the little soddy waiting for her to come home and build the rest of her life.
The relentless sky opened, dumping another hard rain on the saturated town. The streets were already inches deep with mud. Horses and oxen struggled to lift one leg after the other. The freight coming in today was going to be a mess. Still, he had every intention of meeting Bedlow’s wagons and taking Danny and Jane away from the riffraff as soon as they climbed down.
Impatiently, Franklin turned and walked back toward the counter. He hoped the wagons would arrive soon. Behind him, the bell over the door clanged, and the aroma of cinnamon filled the air. He turned to see Mam Truman, an old Negro woman, shuffling into the store, a cloth-covered basket over her arm. The red bandana covering her nearly white hair was soaked, and she wiped a wrinkled hand across her dark face.
“I swan! I think I saw a few dawgs and cats comin’ down out of the sky.”
“Hello, Mam.” Franklin chuckled. “Is that what you’ve got in your basket? Because we don’t need any more dogs and cats roaming the streets of Deadwood.”
She laughed and waved a hand at him. “Nawsir. Sumpin’ better than cats in here. Got my twisty cinnamon bread.”
“Umm. That’s what I’m smelling.”
Casey, his apprentice, usually handled this type of business transaction, but Franklin had sent the boy on an errand an hour ago, and he still hadn’t returned. He tossed her a dry rag from beneath the counter. “Here, set your basket down and dry yourself off.”
While she patted her face, neck, and head with the towel, Franklin raised the cloth off the basket and counted the loaves out on the counter. Mam’s bread was famous in Deadwood, and he understood why. His Chinese cook, Cheng, insisted on making his own bread and pastries for the house and was insulted when Franklin had brought several of Mam’s delicacies home. So, rather than force the issue, Franklin enjoyed some of the bread now and then at the store.
He opened the cash register and counted out the right amount of coins into her hand.
“Thank you kindly, Mistah Franklin. I gotta get goin’. I’ll be back later in the week.”
“Don’t go out in this downpour, Mam. Wait until it lets up.”
“Naw. I gwine be late if I don’t scurry. I still have two more general stores and a café to deliver to.”
He stood at the door and watched as she climbed into her wagon and flicked the reins at the sodden mules.
At another rumble of thunder, Franklin checked his watch again. The wagons should be rolling into Deadwood by now. His scout had come back yesterday with the news that they were within eight miles of town. His stomach dipped and dove at the thought of seeing Jane again. For the life of him, he couldn’t figure why. But he was anxious to make sure she was well and no harm had come to her.
The scout had assured him she seemed well, but he wouldn’t be satisfied until he saw for himself. Most likely the rain had delayed their progress.
His own wagons were a full day behind Bedlow’s. He had more supplies and had chosen to take a slower pace to preserve the animals.
He put all the bread in a bread basket for customers to choose from. At the first shouts from the townsfolk and rattles from the oxen and wagons, Franklin stepped out of his office and headed over to Bedlow’s General Store. Most of the supplies would be unloaded there.
He searched from wagon to wagon but didn’t see Jane or Danny. He heard a woman’s voice, strong, commanding, confident. With a shock, he realized he’d overlooked her driving the first wagon. Beneath a large hat that covered her mass of blond hair, Jane’s face remained tense with concentration as she called to the oxen and cracked the whip with precision, demanding that they move through the sludge. He couldn’t hold back a grin. Pretty Miss Jane had proven him wrong. She was as capable as any man, just as she had predicted.
The manager of the general store, an unlikely businessman with chaps and a six-shooter, was outside to greet the wagons. Craig Shewmate was just about the meanest man in town, which was saying a lot for a town like Deadwood, and a crook to boot. The only man he hadn’t tried to swindle was Bedlow, and that only because Bedlow was powerful and wouldn’t blink before putting a bullet through Craig’s head.
Jane pulled to a stop and Franklin moved forward to help her from the wagon. Before he could make his presence known to her, she stood holding the whip. He stopped short, observing her transformation from the young woman he’d met a month earlier. First, she had set aside proper female attire i
n favor of trousers, a red plaid top, and a fringed jacket made by the Indians. She must have purchased it from one of the Indians at Fort Sidney who came to trade for dry goods. The second surprise in her appearance was that she seemed to have gained several pounds—an unusual occurrence on the trail. Bedlow must be feeding his crew pretty well.
Craig glanced inside the wagon. “Are any of your personal things in there?” he asked.
Jane held up a burlap bag from the wagon seat. “This is it.”
Franklin hung back and waited while Craig looked around inside the wagon. After a few minutes, the store manager jumped down. He gave a grunt and spat a stream of tobacco juice.
“All right then. You’re free to go if you choose. The wagons move back out in three days, but Mr. Bedlow will expect to see you in the morning.”
A frown puckered Jane’s forehead. Clearly she had no idea what she should do during the interim.
Franklin stepped forward, and Jane finally spotted him. She didn’t speak, but Danny, who had been peeking from behind the canvas, now jumped out. “Ma, look—it’s Mr. Lloyd!” He fell into Franklin’s arms.
“Danny, be careful!” Jane admonished.
“We made it, Mr. Lloyd. Look at us.”
Cheyenne emerged from under the wagon, his tail wagging as he nosed forward, trying to get attention. Franklin obliged and scratched the dirty dog’s head.
“Ma says I grew an inch while we were on the trail. Do you think I did?”
“Only an inch? I’d say an inch and a half.” Franklin set the boy down and reached for Jane. She settled into his arms, and he slowly lifted her down. He had dreamed of her for weeks. Now, even dirty, wet, and dressed like a man, she stirred his heart. “How was the trip?”
She pushed gently out of his arms. “As well as can be expected, I suppose.”
“Come to my house. I have a room made up for you and Danny, and my housekeeper is drawing you a bath.”
He could see the hunger that came into her eyes at the mention of a bath. But she shook her head. “Aren’t you angry with me?”
