Wildcat Bride

by Lauri Robinson

  The scene was so real, it was as if they were in the room with him. He could almost hear Joe’s scratchy, gruff laugh, and an urge to wrap his arms around his oldest brother had his clenched hands throbbing.

  “Yes, yes, it did,” the Judge said. “It’s magnificent, isn’t it? You know I traveled across Kansas once. Took the train all the way to the coast and back. It’s amazing how the round trip that took Lewis and Clark two and a half years, now takes nine days. Of course, I didn’t take the same route they did, I went through Kansas and out to California. This picture reminds me of that trip every time I look at it.”

  Bug couldn’t pull his eyes away. What had he been thinking? Staying out here, when he had all that back in Kansas. The sun, the wide open spaces, and most of all, his family.

  “Well, let’s see what we have here, shall we,”

  Judge Holden continued. “Mr. Quinter, it says here you were arrested for thievery.”

  “Excuse me, Judge,” Jack said. “But Mr. Quinter was set up. I assume you received the testimonials of the two young lads. If not, the boys are sitting out front in the waiting room, ready for questioning.”

  “Yes, I have them here. Was just reading them.”

  The Judge peered over the top rim of his glasses, eyeballing Bug. “This young woman who claims you stole her purse, had you ever seen her before, Mr.

  Quinter?”

  “No, sir.”

  “And the pouch they found in your pocket, that wasn’t familiar either?”

  “No, sir.”

  The Judge nodded, and made a notation on the pad in front of him. He then turned to Jack. “Mr.

  Houston, it appears you have done a lot of work since Friday.”

  “Yes, sir, I have. Mr. Quinter is a close friend and is anxious to return to Kansas. Which is where he was on his way to, when he was arrested.” Jack leaned back. “He’s very good friends with Miss Reynolds.”

  Pulling his thick brows into a frown, Judge Holden asked, “Reynolds?”

  Jack nodded to the painting.

  The Judge turned wide eyes to Bug. “Eloisa Reynolds? You’re friends with her?”

  A soft, comforting smile rose from his heart and settled on his mouth. “Yes, sir. Matter of fact, as soon as I get home, I plan on marrying her.”

  “Were you at the show the other night?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Her work is truly remarkable.” The Judge turned around to gaze up at the painting for a few minutes. When he spun back around, he laid his pen on the desk, and met Bug’s gaze eyeball to eyeball. “I can make this incident go away, Mr. Quinter. By this afternoon you could be on a westbound train.”

  Bug nodded, knowing there was more to come.

  He’s was willing to do anything. “I’d be obliged, sir.”

  “There was a painting at the show the other night. My wife fell in love with it, but it was already purchased.”

  “Which one?” Jack asked. “Describe it.”

  “It was of an Indian…”

  Bug quit listening while his heart tumbled to his stomach. The very painting he’d accused Eva of exploiting Buffalo Killer and his People was the painting he needed in order to be a free man.

  Would she ever forgive him? She probably hated him so much right now she’d rather spit in his eye than speak to him.

  Because of him, she’d not only left her art show, but ran back to Kansas.

  His gaze went to the painting. When his brothers heard how he’d treated her, they’d probably take him out back and not stop until he had two black eyes and several broken ribs.

  And then there would be Ma to contend with.

  “Wonderful, my wife will be so pleased.”

  Bug snapped his attention to Judge Holden. The man stood now, and Bug rose as well. Holden held his hand out. “Mr. Quinter, I wish you the best of luck with your marriage.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “And, Mr. Houston, I look forward to receiving that painting.” The Judge and Jack shook hands.

  “I’ll get it to you as soon as she completes it,”

  Jack promised.

  The Judge squirmed slightly. “Um, Jack, do you think you could have her personalize it? Maybe just sign the back with, to Fred and Emma?”

  “I’m sure that won’t be a problem, Judge. You should have it by Christmas time,” Jack assured as he moved to the door. “And thanks again. I’m glad we were able to work this out.”

  As soon as the door shut, Bug turned to Jack, “I’ll pay you back, Jack. Whatever it cost you to pull this off, all of it.”

  Jack walked across the other room, toward the hallway door. “I know how much you made working for Staples. In the past three years you haven’t made enough to even begin to cover a portion of what this little episode cost.” Jack pulled the door open, and as Bug walked over the threshold, he added, “And it’s not over, Bug.”

  Chapter Seven

  Bug couldn’t catch a train leaving New York until the next day. He could have taken a freight rail or two, but a passenger train, with connections to Dodge and then Scott, didn’t leave until Tuesday afternoon. Jack had said if he was willing to wait, there was a luxury liner leaving on Wednesday, but Bug couldn’t wait. Wearing new boots, clothes, and hat, he handed over his ticket, took a seat, and let out the biggest sigh of relief a man ever exhaled.

  There hadn’t been a time in his life where he was happier to say good riddance to a city. What all these people found here, he’d yet to discover. No, he’d never discover it, because he’d never be back.

  Legs stretched out in front of him, and with the brim of his hat pulled over his eyes, he waited for the chugging and clanking to begin.

  Half an hour later, he still waited. How many times would that conductor yell ‘All aboard’? He stuck his head out the window. There was still a stream of folks walking up the steps. This car was already full, he was scrunched up next to the window, due to the overly large woman who’d plopped down beside him, and across from him, three kids squirmed about on the tiny bench.

  He liked kids, was looking forward to seeing all of his nieces and nephews. Would he even recognize them? The three across from him, two boys and a girl, must be siblings because all three had red hair and freckle covered faces. Their bright green eyes landed on him.

  He grinned.

  In unison, all three stuck their tongues out.

  He turned back to the window. Whipper-snaps.

  His mother would have thumped all three of them on the back of the head if she’d seen that. A shiver ran up his spine. He spun from the window and surveyed the seats filling the car. Hell, every bench held kids—some of them still in nappers. There were only about four adults, including him and the fat lady next to him in the entire car. And the row outside the window, still boarding, were kids, too.

  He shivered.

  Three days later, Bug squeezed his temples.

  They’d crossed the Kansas state line this morning, and the stops there had him more frustrated than all the others. The occupants of the long train had dwindled, but the whimpering and crying remained.

  Bouncing off the dirty floors and soot covered walls like acorns falling off a tree.

  He couldn’t blame the children. It hurt to watch them go. All he could do was hope the folks who took them in were kind and would give the kids a good home. Every town they came to, the adults would parade a dozen or so children out onto the platform and auction them off like they were cattle in the stockyards.

  Appalled at the first stop, he’d questioned the fat lady, who thankfully was now on a different car.

  He’d made her so mad she’d turned beat red—moments before she hit him over the head with her satchel.

  A kinder, thinner, but older woman had explained it to him. Called it an Orphan Train. Mrs.

  King said she was part of a mission that rescued homeless children from the streets of New York and transported them west,
offering folks along the way the opportunity to adopt them. It sounded a whole lot nicer than it actually was. Brothers and sisters were separated, and the rock in Bug’s guts said the siblings would never see each other again.

  Hell, he’d considered telling the train to drive straight to Scott were he’d beg his family to take the kids in. What was happening wasn’t right. He’d told as much to the kinder woman, but Mrs. King made him see reason. His family couldn’t possibly take in over a hundred children. But damn if it wasn’t hard to watch them walk off the train on shaky little legs and with tear stained faces.

  The three redheaded kids from the bench across from his were siblings. Tucker, Reed, and Heather.

  Tucker was a smart kid, knew his numbers and letters. He was seven, and the oldest. Reed, who was reed thin and coughed a lot, was five, and little Heather, who right now was tucked under Bug’s arm, sound asleep, was only four.

  A shrill whistle split the air, and her little body jumped.

  “Shh,” Bug said, patting her tiny arm. “It’s all right.”

  She snuggled in a bit closer, but when the whistle blasted again, she sat straight up. “Are we stopping again?”

  “Yes, darling, we are,” he admitted. Her little face fell. His heart constricted. “Don’t worry. You won’t have to get off here.”

  “Are you sure, Bug?” Reed asked, covering a cough.

  “Yes, I’m sure.”

  Screeching to a halt that tossed the passengers about in their seats, the train stopped as the whistle blew a final time. Tucker and Reed stuck their noses against the smeared window. It was a small crowd this time, nothing like those in Kansas City.

  “Sit down, boys,” he instructed. The auctions were hard to watch, yet at the same time, he’d fought with himself to pull his eyes away.

  The click of heels stopped near the benches he and the kids sat on. It felt as if fingers of steel wrapped around his spine. He glanced up. Shaking his head.

  Mrs. King puckered her lips. “Mr. Quinter.” Her voice had the school marm tone that could turn fire to ice.

  “No,” he insisted, tightening his arm around Heather.

  “Mr. Quinter.” Mrs. King curled one finger. “A word with you please.”

  He couldn’t argue with her in front of the children, he knew that, so planting Heather between her brothers, he leaned close. “Don’t move. All three of you stay put.”

  They nodded. “We will, Bug. I’ll make sure.”

  Tucker had a cowlick on top of his head that could make a tornado jealous.

  “Good boy, Tucker.” Bug ruffled the kid’s hair, and then ran a hand threw his, smoothing it back before he put his hat on and followed Mrs. King to the back of the train car.

  “Mr. Quinter. You have to stop this. You’ve refused to allow those children to leave the train since New York.”

  He folded his arms. He knew what he’d done.

  She didn’t need to repeat it.

  She let out a sigh. “All you’re doing is getting their hopes up.”

  “I already told you. I’ll take those three.”

  “And I told you, that’s impossible. We have people in the field who have interviewed families and assure they meet all of the qualifications to adopt.” She shook her head. “You haven’t been qualified.”

  “That’s because you won’t give me the papers. I told you I’ll fill them out. I got a Ma, and brothers, and sisters-in-law, and—”

  She interrupted, “And you aren’t married, nor do you own a home and have regular income.”

  He took his hat off, wiped away the sweat on his forehead and plopped it back on. “I’ll be taking care of that as soon as I arrive.”

  “And once you do,” she said kindly, “if you are still interested in adopting, you can contact us and we’ll send out a field worker to interview you. If it all works out, you might even be able to adopt children off the next train.”

  “I don’t want kids off the next train, I want those three. Tucker, Reed, and Heather.”

  “Mr. Quinter,” she said, sounding quite frustrated.

  “Mrs. King,” he reiterated, feeling as irritated as a trapped coyote.

  They both turned when “Mrs. King!” was shouted from the back of the train.

  “Oh, great,” Bug said. “The fat lady’s back.”

  “Mr. Quinter!” Mrs. King admonished, but she didn’t hide the tiny smile tugging on the edges of her mouth.

  Bug grinned back.

  She let out a little huff and poked the tip of one finger against his chest. “Those children get off at the next stop.”

  He nodded.

  As if she didn’t believe him, she repeated, “The next stop, Mr. Quinter.” ****

  Eva packed up her paints, carefully stowing them in the basket. The painting of the derrick was coming along much better than the drilling. Kid and Snake, as well as some of Kid’s ranch hands, had worked on it all week. The tall, A-framed scaffolding stood against the blue sky like an odd, hollow building as it held the long lengths of pipe that descended deep into the earth. Yesterday, they’d hooked it to Snake’s thrashing machine. He’d said something about using the steam powered engine to drive the pole into the ground. Too busy capturing the event on canvas, she hadn’t completely listened to his explanation, until last night that is.

  Snake had said they’d hit rock that was too hard to drive through. Kid said he’d search his books and try to figure out what else they could try. They would, she knew that, but she also knew they were needed at home, especially Snake. The welcome home party he’d planned for September was tonight.

  When Eva and Jessie and Summer first came up with the drilling plan, the men had been skeptical, but since neither Snake nor Kid were willing to deny their wives practically anything, they’d soon agreed to the venture. Eva had financed it, and helped the first few days, but the men insisted she stay home and let them do the heavy work.

  She glanced at the sky. It was past noon, time for her to get ready and go help with last minute preparations. Hog and Randi as well as Skeeter and Lila had arrived yesterday by train. Holding the painting with one hand, she folded up the easel, slipped it over her arm, and picked up the basket of paints. Balancing everything as the wind tossed and teased her skirt, she walked for home. It was sure to be a festive night—but a lonely one.

  An hour later, dressed in a pale blue dress she’d bought in New York, she wondered if it was too fancy for the celebration. The chiffon was light and airy, and the matching shawl would ward off any chill that might happen once the sun set. Jack had told her to buy it, and he certainly had good taste.

  She patted the pleats at her waist one last time. Yes, she’d wear it, because if nothing else, it made her feel pretty. Lila, Randi, Jessie, and Summer were so beautiful, Eva always felt like a field mouse next to them. Not that any of them ever did anything to make her feel that way. Matter of fact, it was just the opposite, the women loved helping each other put up their hair and choose outfits for one another to wear.

  She’d joined them more than once, dressing for different occasions, but like everything else, she made herself feel like an outsider. The only one who wasn’t a Quinter. May never be one.

  Her gaze went to the bedroom window, and she crossed the room to peer out. Far off, just grazing the tip of the horizon was the top of the derrick. The men had worked until sweat soaked their shirts. A few days ago, with Jessie and Summer’s excitement, it seemed like a good plan. Now, it felt like a failure.

  She had nothing to draw Bug home.

  Eva spun about and without a backward glance, strolled out of her bedroom. Summer would be disappointed to know Eva was once again wallowing in self pity. She couldn’t do that to the woman.

  Squaring her shoulders, Eva marched down the stairs. Tonight, for everyone who looked on, she was going to be happy and gay, no matter how hard it was. Her optimism helped, but more than that, the camaraderie at Snake and Summer’
s soon had her heart singing with happiness at the love flowing around her. The entire county had turned out for the event, as well as those from neighboring ones. Hog had his fiddle going long before the sun started to set, and anyone else who had a musical instrument took over whenever he needed a break.

  Table upon table held an assortment of food and beverages, and children played games all afternoon.

  She’d even taken a turn in the three-legged race, partnering with August. Her pale blue dress now had a long streak of dirt down one side—proof they’d fallen over the finish line.

  Elliott Hampton was in attendance, and Eva danced with the lawyer when he asked, enjoying the lively tune someone blew into their harmonica. It was a shuffle dance, where you switched partners continuously, and each time Elliott caught her hand, he’d smile so brightly lines crinkled around his eyes.

  When the dance ended, Eva, breathless, allowed him to escort her to the row of benches.

  “Mrs. Quinter,” Elliott said, nodding at Ma.

  “Mr. Hampton,” Ma responded.

  Eva took a seat beside the older woman. “Thank you for the dance, Elliott.”

  “You’re very welcome.” He gave a slight bow at the waist, and then moved along to join a group of men chatting nearby.

  “He’s a nice fella, that Mr. Hampton,” Ma said, following Elliott’s departure with a steady stare.

  “Yes, he is,” Eva admitted.

  Ma let her gaze roam to the children playing hopscotch. “He’s got a good business going, too, being a lawyer and all.”

  “Yes, he does,” Eva answered, wondering if more was coming.

  It was. Ma let out a deep sigh before she said, “Willamina would be proud of you Eva. I am, too.

  Going to New York City and all like you did. You’re a strong girl. Got a good head on your shoulders, using the talent God gave you like you are.”

  “Thank you, Ma.” Eva breathed through the pain that slipped in at the thought of Willamina not being there. “I miss her. Some days I miss her like it was just yesterday.”