by Jenna Kernan
“That’s my girl.” She wasn’t, of course, but damned if he’d listen to these men as they ogled her.
The soldiers muttered and lifted their hands in gestures of surrender as they withdrew.
“Well, what about the other one?” said Taylor, pointing a dirty finger at Lucie. “Can’t have both of them, can you?”
Thomas leaned down to within inches.
“My daughter.”
Taylor’s eyes widened and he backed away, retrieved his coat and darted out the door.
Thomas, now alone at the window, returned his attention to Sarah. This was what he had hoped to avoid. He couldn’t bear to see her again, knowing she didn’t want him.
Why had she come?
Not after him, that was certain. Suddenly he knew. Of course. Damn the man. Hadn’t Corbit given Lucie the paper and the purse?
That would explain why Sarah pursued him. His heavy heart still beat as he rose. Apparently, seeing her again had not killed him, as he’d feared. Best get the misunderstanding settled immediately.
He drew on his sheepskin coat and headed out into the snow. Lucie stood beside her mother. Thomas drank in the sight of her, trying to memorize every detail to keep locked safely in his heart.
Sarah spoke to Paul Johansen—asking for Thomas’s location, no doubt. He waited for the man to point.
“Sarah.”
She turned at the sound of his voice, standing still in the falling snow. Their gazes locked. She looked as disquieted as he felt. He took the first step.
“Papa!”
He was so focused on Sarah that he did not notice Lucie, but now he turned as she bounded forward, sending clumps of snow flying behind her.
Had she just called him—
“Papa!”
She said it again—looking straight at him this time. Her arms spread wide as she dashed the last few steps and launched herself into his arms.
He glanced at Sarah to see a gloved hand before her mouth as he folded Lucie into his arms. He closed his burning eyes, but could not stop the tears.
“Mama told me everything. I’m so happy.”
Happy? He couldn’t credit his ears, but he still held his daughter tight.
She drew back and he let her go. Lucie bounced up and down before him. “We caught you. Mama’s been so worried.”
He turned to Sarah, finding her still pinned to the spot, her horse’s reins clutched tight in one gloved hand.
Lucie cried, “It’s true, isn’t it? You are my papa.”
He stroked her bright hair and smiled.
“Mama has something to say to you.” Lucie turned to her mother, waiting. Sarah stood stiff as an icicle. “Don’t you?” prompted Lucie.
Sarah drew a great breath and then dropped the reins. She seemed to be wading through hip-deep water as she lifted one leg and then another, making slow progress toward them. He’d seen men approach a hangman’s noose with greater enthusiasm. Sarah had something terrible to tell him. He felt it in his bones and saw it in her wide, frightened eyes.
Black dread settled in his gut.
“Didn’t Corbit deliver the papers?”
She stood just before him now. Lucie shifted to settle her hand in the crook of his elbow. Could his daughter feel him tremble? He prayed not.
At last Sarah spoke. “He did.”
“And the purse?”
Sarah nodded, her rapid breath sending out white puffs of steam like a locomotive.
He stared in bewilderment. Lucie had the papers and the money. Why were they here?
“Tell him, Mama. Tell him what you said to me.”
“I—I.” Sarah dropped her chin, showing him nothing but the crown of her wide black hat.
Lucie sighed dramatically and flapped her free arm. She frowned at her mother and then gazed up at Thomas.
“She loves you. She rode five days through the snow to tell you that she loves you. She said she would ask you to marry her.”
Thomas’s trepidation turned to utter flabbergasted confusion.
“What?”
His ears must be deceiving him. He reached, grasping Sarah’s chin and forcing her gaze to his.
“Sarah? Is it true?”
Tears filled her eyes as she nodded.
Lucie clapped her hands. “I told you.”
“But I thought…” That was when he noted their audience. The soldiers and mule skinner stood in rapt silence. Sarah hated a scene.
He motioned to the others. “Sarah, would you like some privacy?”
She straightened, standing tall. “Hang them. I have something to say.”
“What?” He could not keep the astonishment from his voice. What had come over her?
“I don’t give a fig anymore what people think. I do not need their approval to love you.”
He held his breath, hardly believing his ears.
“Thomas, I’m a foolish woman. I should have known that any daughter of yours was strong enough to hear the truth. I’ve told her everything, including that I never stopped loving you.”
Thomas’s mouth gaped. Everything he wanted in the world stood within his grasp.
He reached for them both and held them tight.
Lucie’s head popped up. “Will you marry her?”
Thomas released Lucie to grip Sarah’s shoulders.
“Is this what you want?”
She smiled radiantly up at him. “Since I was ten.”
“Well, I’ll be.”
Sarah tugged at his jacket.
“Forgive me?”
In answer, he lowered his mouth, claiming hers, tasting the sweetness he never thought to know again.
Her tension melted as he deepened the contact until she draped over his arm. He drew back, grinning. The men stomped their feet, howling and whistling.
She flushed, casting a glance at Lucie. Thomas found his daughter smiling as if addled.
Sarah raised her voice to be heard above the caterwaul of whoops.
“Thomas,” Sarah said, “Will you marry me?”
“Yes, Sarah, I will.”
Lucie gave a cry and clasped her arms about his chest. The men in the snow clapped. Thomas noted the mule skinner wiping his cheeks on a large red bandanna with his arm slung around the neck of one of the lead mules.
Thomas drew Sarah beneath his left arm and gathered Lucie in his right, turning to the men. “Look at my fine family!”
Sarah lifted her hands to her cheeks to dash away the tears of joy.
Chapter Thirty-Two
The night before their wedding, Thomas came to Sarah’s door.
“You asked him?” she said.
Thomas nodded.
“And?”
“He looked as if he’d faint dead away.”
She laughed at this. Sarah would never forget the look of horror on Major Brennan’s face when she’d ridden back through the gates of Fort Laramie. She had turned into the proverbial bad penny that kept turning up.
“He asked me twice if it was some trick before he accepted. Said he’d be honored.”
“Perhaps he feels that giving me away is the best way to be rid of me.”
Thomas laughed. “You are the first bride he has walked down the aisle.”
“Oh, I doubt that, with all the wagon trains streaming through here.”
“He said you would be his first. Never thought to have the honor, he said, as he is a confirmed bachelor.”
Sarah’s smile turned nostalgic. “I hadn’t thought of that. I only meant to try and mend fences. A way to show I hold him no grudge.”
“Well, he’s tickled. Said he’ll have his buttons polished ’til they shine like gold nuggets.”
“That’s fine. And I spoke to the chaplain. He’s expecting us midmorning.”
“I’ll be ready.”
He gripped her hand, wanting to ask a question, but afraid to broach this sensitive subject.
She sensed his unease and sharpened her gaze. “What?”
“I was jus
t wondering if you—that is, we—might still have children.”
Her alluring smile took his breath away.
“Is that what you want?”
He nodded. “I’d like to hold a baby in my arms and be there when our child crawls and walks and knocks over the milk pail.”
Sarah’s eyes filled with tears.
“All the things you missed. I’m so sorry, Thomas.”
“No, no more regrets. From here we move forward together.”
He lifted her hand to his lips and placed a kiss there.
“I love you, Thomas. Now and always.”
“Now and always,” he echoed.
Thomas woke on his wedding day and sprang from bed to peer up at the sky. The gray clouds continued to menace, but no snow fell.
The bugler sounded first call and the men in their bunks groaned loudly or cursed. Thomas made his way to the wash-room, where he nicked his neck in his rush to be done shaving and had to dab at the geyser he’d released until the blood finally clotted.
“Haste makes waste,” he muttered.
An old artillery gunner limped into the room. The man had been here since the fort’s inception and showed no ambition to ever leave. His rough hand clapped Thomas heavily on the back.
“Still time to retreat. I can have a horse saddled for you quicker than greased lightning.”
Thomas smiled and shook his head.
“Guess I’ll make a stand.”
“I’d rather face a war party than one angry female.” He gave his full mustache a stroke.
“Ever married?” asked Thomas
He rolled his eyes. “Why do you think I’m out here? If I got to take orders, at least I takes them from a man.”
Thomas grinned as the man limped off muttering, “No living with that woman and no release except the grave.”
Thomas grinned. “Sorry for your troubles.”
The man turned, still scowling. “I reckon a few years of matrimony will knock that silly grin off your face.”
“Then you should wish me luck.”
“Luck? Ha! You’ll surely need it.”
Thomas grabbed his towel and headed back into the barracks. Reveille sounded as he drew on his trousers. All about him, men scrambled to finish dressing and prepare for morning roll call.
Thomas took his time. He was to meet Sarah in the chapel after drill call.
He wished he had something fine to wear. Instead, he drew on a clean cotton shirt and leather vest. He donned his coat and hat, stepping out to meet the day.
He tromped over the well-worn path from the barracks to the mess hall. Here at Fort Laramie, the officers had a separate mess and Thomas had been invited to make use of it today. He was happy to see several of the officers’ wives already on hand.
Their conversation stopped the moment he entered.
Mrs. Fairfield smiled winningly and nodded.
“How is the groom this fine morning?” she asked, her apple cheeks glowing bright.
“Well, thank you.”
“No cold feet?” asked Mrs. Douglas, the wife of the second in command.
“None.”
“Well, that’s a mercy,” said Mrs. Fairfield. She rose and approached him with an assessing look. “You look very handsome in green, Mr. West. I do believe it suits you.”
“Thank you.” He shifted beneath their scrutiny. “Have you seen Sarah yet?”
“I have, but you shan’t,” said Mrs. Douglas, sounding shocked. “It’s bad luck to see the bride before the service.”
“Well, I’ll take all the luck I can get.” He took a seat. “I wish I had a fine black coat.” He accepted a cup of coffee from a private. “But mostly I wish I could give Sarah a wedding gown. It’s a pity she has none.”
Mrs. Douglas giggled and Mrs. Fairfield jabbed her in the ribs.
“Yes, a pity,” said Mrs. Fairfield. “Though I am certain she will still take your breath away. She is such a handsome woman.”
“Beautiful,” corrected Thomas.
“Just so.” Mrs. Douglas rose. “Well, we’d best be off. We are in charge of refreshments.”
Thomas stood as the women departed. Following her first encounter with them, after the attack, Sarah had given them only the barest civility. She had attended none of their functions, refusing all invitations. When Lucie returned she had guarded her daughter like a mother hen. But all that had changed upon their return from North Platte station. Sarah seemed more outgoing, confident. The women had responded to her change in attitude immediately, except for Mrs. Corbit. She seemed stiff as a corpse. Ah, well, he thought, no sense in trying to please everyone.
After breakfast, Thomas checked on the horses. It was there he heard the sick call, alerting him that the time for the wedding approached. This time he planned to arrive early, if you could call fourteen years late early.
He found several guests already in the pews. The mule skinner, VanTongeren, sat on the bride’s side of the church dressed in fringed buckskin that he’d beaten clean of the worst of the dust. He’d stuck a hawk feather in his matted hair.
Thomas’s side of the church held several officers, including Captain Corbit, minus his wife.
Thomas moved to his place in the front of the church.
The chaplain smiled and then turned back to the altar, arranging the candles.
Drill call sounded and Sarah did not appear. As the minutes ticked by, Thomas began to fidget.
The doors finally swung open and in stepped the bugler. He stood to the side and lifted his silver trumpet to his lips playing an ear-shattering rendition of the “Wedding March.”
Thomas resisted the urge to stick his fingers into his ears as the doors opened again.
He drew in a sharp breath as Lucie stepped into view. Garbed in a pale blue dress, she no longer looked like a girl, but like the woman she was becoming. She held her tattooed chin high as she walked gracefully down the center aisle. Pride swelled in him like a spring rain.
Behind her, Thomas caught a glimpse of Sarah. He gasped. She stood in a shimmering ivory colored gown. The pale fabric contrasted with her rich auburn hair, making her appear to be the goddess of the harvest.
Escorting her with regal bearing, Major Brennan looked quite the dandy with his mustache freshly waxed and his hair shining like a wet beaver.
Lucie led the procession, stepping to the left when she reached the front door of the church. Soon, Sarah stood before him. Her braid was threaded with an ivory ribbon and wrapped to form a coronet about her head. Her smile drew his breath away.
Major Brennan bowed to Thomas and offered him Sarah’s hand before taking his seat.
“You look beautiful,” Thomas said, drawing her to her place beside him.
“Thanks to Mrs. Douglas and her hope chest. We are the same size.”
Thomas absorbed this startling news. Had Sarah actually accepted something from the women she had once so despised? His Sarah had changed. Perhaps she no longer felt it necessary to slay all dragons, or perhaps she no longer saw all women as gossipy threats.
He tucked her hand into the crook of his arm and gave it a squeeze.
“Nervous?” he whispered.
“Only that the roof might collapse under the load of snow and prevent us from wedding.”
He pressed her hand between his arm and body.
“No misfortunes this time and no escape for you.”
Thomas turned to face the chaplain. The young captain did a bang-up job for a man more accustomed to comforting the sick and wounded. He rose to the occasion, offering verses and readings of joy and hope, ending with Corinthians chapter 13.
Thomas grinned until his face hurt. When it came time to say his vows, he could not get them out fast enough. Sarah stood straight and spoke her vows in a clear voice as sweet as an angel’s chorus to Thomas’s ear.
He offered a ring of silver with a pattern of lily of the valley. The blacksmith had fashioned it from a spoon of a sterling tea service Thomas had purchased a
s a wedding gift.
She gasped when he slipped the token on her finger.
“So lovely,” she whispered.
Thomas wondered where she had placed the gold band Samuel had given her and then noted it upon Lucie’s right hand, firmly on her middle finger.
Yes, that was right—a memento of Samuel for Lucie.
The chaplain granted Thomas permission to kiss his bride. He wanted to swoop down on her like a hawk on a chicken, but in respect to the witnesses he leaned forward and planted a modest kiss on her closed lips.
Best save the rest for behind closed doors, he thought.
“I now pronounce you man and wife,” said the chaplain.
Thomas spun Sarah about and marched her up the aisle to the alcove. There they waited to greet their guests. Thomas shook more hands than a politician. He wished they’d just get on so he could have a moment alone with his bride.
He glanced at her. Sarah’s cheeks glowed pink and her lips curled in a smile as she accepted best wishes from Mrs. Fairfield. Thomas glanced at the seemingly endless line and sighed.
Sarah cast him a look of mild reproach.
“Thomas?”
“Why don’t they leave, already?”
Sarah’s eyes twinkled. “Mrs. Fairfield has planned a reception and gone to great trouble to bake a cake in our honor.”
Thomas slapped himself on the forehead. “I don’t want cake.”
Sarah giggled. “Yes, we all know what you want, but you shall be polite. Do you realize they had to use three Dutch ovens for the baking?”
Thomas accepted a proffered hand and shook mechanically.
“I don’t care if they had to use the Dutchman himself.”
Sarah accepted hearty congratulations from the bugler, then turned to her new husband.
“Thomas West, you’ve waited fourteen years, I should think—”
“—you’d understand my impatience.”
The last guest, the mule skinner, offered his hand to Thomas and planted a smacking loud kiss on Sarah’s pink cheek. Finally, the chaplain gave his blessing to them both.
Sarah clasped the man’s hand. “Pray for patience, Reverend, for my groom has none.”
The holy man looked aghast. Thomas shifted his attention to his boots.
