by Jae
The mare snorted and sidestepped.
Amy dropped down. "Everything's fine, beautiful. Let's try that again." She grabbed the reins and a handful of mane and rose up in the stirrup, this time a little longer. After a few more tries, she could do it without the mare dancing away. Gently, Amy swung her leg over and slid into the saddle.
For a few moments, she just sat, keeping her body relaxed. It had been hard to learn — staying calm and relaxed while she waited to see whether the horse would explode under her. The first time she had seen Papa do it, it seemed like magic.
The mare's back felt stiff as a board, but when Amy didn't pierce her with sharp claws or spurs, the grulla bent her head around to send Amy a startled glance.
Chuckling, Amy patted her neck. "It's all right, girl."
Gray ears flicked back to listen to her voice.
Amy gathered the reins in one hand and squeezed with her legs.
The mare took a startled step, and Amy relaxed her legs, rewarding the horse for reacting to her cues. One more squeeze with her legs and the mare walked around the corral. It took a while, but she finally dropped her head and Amy felt her muscles soften beneath her. Amy tightened her legs and urged the mare into a jog.
Instantly, the mare's head reared up and she hopped twice before settling down.
Amy grinned as she rode her twice around the corral. Despite her mousy look, the mare promised to develop a pretty smooth gait.
With light pressure, she reined in the mare and dropped to the ground. When she looked up, she realized she had lost her audience. Only Buzz waited in front of the corral. The other men and women gathered farther down the street, in front of the stage depot.
Oh, no, the stagecoach!
Amy wasn't in town to gentle a horse. Phin's betrothed was waiting for her and had probably been waiting for some time. The stage's horses had already been exchanged for fresh ones, and the stage was pulling out.
She opened the corral gate and led the gray mare toward her buckboard.
"Hey!" Buzz called. "Aren't you forgetting something?"
Amy whirled around. "What?"
"My money." Buzz thrust out his hand, palm up.
The two gold coins felt heavy in her hand. It wasn't her money to spend. Too late. She gritted her teeth and handed over the ten dollars.
Stage Depot
Baker Prairie, Oregon
April 20, 1868
THE STAGECOACH swayed to a halt, and Rika braced herself so she wouldn't be thrown onto the laps of her fellow travelers.
She drew in a breath. This was it, her new home. The stage's leather curtains were drawn shut to protect them from the steady rain and the mud flung up by the horses' hooves, so she hadn't yet caught a glimpse of the town. The two passengers stood, opened the door, and climbed down, but Rika was almost afraid to step outside and see what she had gotten herself into.
One of the men offered his hand to help Rika out of the stagecoach.
With one step, Rika sank ankle-deep into the mud on the main street. She shook out her wrinkled, sooty skirts and stepped onto the boardwalk, out of the constant drizzle.
A few dozen buildings dotted the rutted main street. Wooden signs announced the presence of a barbershop, a doctor's office, a blacksmith, and a saddle maker's shop in the little town. In front of the dry-goods store, a brown horse stood hitched to a buckboard.
One of Rika's fellow travelers disappeared into the barbershop; the other climbed onto a buckboard, tipped his hat, and drove off. Now only Rika stood waiting on the boardwalk.
She scanned the faces of the townspeople milling about Main Street, going into and coming out of buildings. The man with the handlebar mustache, her future husband, was nowhere to be seen.
The stage had come in late. Had he gotten tired of waiting and left? What if he changed his mind and no longer wanted a wife? Rika clutched her carpetbag to her chest.
Her gaze darted up and down the street, but no wagon came to pick her up. People hurried across the boardwalk, trying to get out of the rain. Some threw curious glances her way, but no one talked to her. Shivering, Rika slung her arms tighter around the carpetbag.
A few young men wandered over from the livery stable. One of them doffed his battered hat, and when he grinned at her, Rika saw that his front teeth were missing. "Can we help you, ma'am?"
"No, thank you." Rika drew her bag tighter against her chest. "I am waiting for Mr. Phineas Sharpe, my betrothed."
"Ah, then you're plum out of luck, ma'am, 'cause Phin left to drive a few horses up to Fort Boise and won't be back for two months."
Rika felt the blood rush from her face, and she swayed. "Two months?"
"Or more." The man shrugged.
Oh, Jo. Rika was almost glad Jo never had to find out her beloved Phineas didn't intend to keep his promises. Riding off to Boise when he knew his betrothed was coming...
She was stranded in an unfamiliar town, forsaken by a future husband who had apparently changed his mind. What now?
"I'm sorry I'm late," someone said behind Rika.
Rika turned.
A young woman stopped midstep.
Rika took in the woman's mud-spattered bodice and the bonnet hanging off to one side, revealing disheveled fiery red hair. Under a skirt that was ripped up to mid-thigh, flashes of long drawers startled Rika. Behind the woman, a sweat-covered gray horse pranced around.
What did she do to the poor horse?
When the wild-looking woman reached for the carpetbag, Rika flinched away. "Who are you?"
"Oh." A flush colored the stranger's golden skin. She wiped her hand on her skirt, probably not getting it any cleaner. "I'm Amy Hamilton, a friend of Phin Sharpe's." She squinted at Rika. "And who on God's green earth are you?"
* * *
The young woman stared at her. Amy stared back.
"I'm Johanna Bruggeman," the stranger said.
Amy put her hands on her hips. "No, you're not. I've seen the tintype. You're not her."
The fragile beauty of Phin's bride had burned itself into Amy's memory. The stranger, however, was neither fragile nor beautiful. While the tintype hadn't provided colors, Amy could tell that Phin's bride had fair hair. The stranger's brown hair, though, shone with the same coppery gleam as the mahogany coat of Nattie's mare. Her wide brown eyes reminded Amy of a spooked horse.
The woman's gaze flitted around, and she hid behind her carpetbag as if it were a shield. But then she tilted her head and composed her stern features.
Like a mustang, Amy thought. Spooked but unbroken in spirit.
"Of course I am Johanna Bruggeman." Her slight accent made the name sound exotic.
Right. She's Dutch. So was she Phin's bride after all? "Then how come you don't look like the woman in the tintype?"
A muscle in the stranger's face twitched. "Phineas showed you the tintype?"
Amy nodded and dug her teeth into her bottom lip. She hoped she wasn't blushing. Why did she feel like a boy who'd been caught with the picture of a dance-hall girl? It wasn't as if she had ogled the young woman's picture. She raised her chin. "You still owe me an explanation."
The stranger lowered her gaze. "I was too embarrassed to have my picture taken," she said. "I know men don't find me all that appealing, so a friend allowed me to send her picture instead."
Amy slid her gaze over her, judging her honesty – and her appeal – then she looked away.
"I know it's vain," the young woman said. "But I hope you won't judge me for it."
"None of my business," Amy said. She didn't plan on having much to do with Phin's bride. Easy to do, since she would be busy with the ranch. "All right, then let's go. I'll take you to the ranch. My family will take care of you until Phin returns." She kept her movements gentle but firm, as if dealing with a young horse, and again reached for the carpetbag.
Finally, the tight muscles in the woman's hands relaxed, yet she still didn't hand over her baggage.
"Do you have any other bags?" Amy
asked.
A flush stained the young woman's pale skin. "No, just this one."
As far as Amy was concerned, there was no shame in being poor. At least she wouldn't have to drag half a dozen suitcases, bags, and hatboxes to the buckboard and could get back to the ranch sooner.
The ranch and Mama. No doubt Mama would have something interesting to say about Amy's skirt and the mare.
* * *
Gray patches of mist drifted up from the river and mingled with the never-ending drizzle. In the half-light of the fading day, grassland stretched out in front of Rika like the sea beyond Boston Harbor, the wind rippling through the blades. The tang of pine and leather hung in the air.
Rika pushed her sodden bonnet out of her eyes and threw a glance at Amy Hamilton, who sat next to her on the buckboard. Unlike Rika, she didn't seem to notice the gloomy weather.
Rika glanced at the sinewy hands holding the reins.
What a strange, unusual woman. Amy Hamilton was unlike anyone she'd ever met in Boston. After the mindless routine in the cotton mill, at least life out west promised to be interesting.
The brown horse in front of the wagon walked steadily, its head bopping up and down as it pulled them through a valley dotted with trees and bushes Rika didn't know. A creek gurgled alongside them, and the horse's harness jangled with every step. Behind them, the gray horse splashed through the mud. It had whinnied and struggled against the rope at first but had then gotten used to being tied to the wagon.
It's so quiet. After the constant noise in the city and the clatter of the looms in the cotton mill, Oregon's silence made Rika wish Amy would fill it with idle chatter. Amy didn't. Rika looked at her silent companion, and when their gazes met, both glanced away.
Did she believe the lie about the tintype? Rika bit her lip until a coppery taste filled her mouth. She should have thought of that. Since Phineas sent his picture to Jo, of course Jo had to send one back. Rika had assumed Jo would rather use her money to see a doctor than waste it on getting her picture taken. She vowed to be more careful in the future. "A man in town said Phineas would be gone for two months. Surely he was joking?"
Amy flicked her gaze from the road to Rika. "No. Two months. Might be three. He sends his apologies."
"But..." Rika reached into her coat pocket and pulled out the rumpled bundle of letters. "He said that he'd whisk me away to church the moment I stepped foot off the stagecoach, and now he's not even here to greet me." How serious could Phineas Sharpe be about his promise to marry her if he sent this strange young woman to fetch her?
"It couldn't be helped." Green fire sparked in Amy's eyes. "My father needed him to drive a herd of geldings to Fort Boise. Out here, making sure the ranch survives is more important than getting married on time."
Not to Rika. To her, getting married meant survival. "I understand," she said stiffly.
Amy fell silent.
Rika was left to her own thoughts. Thinking wasn't what she wanted to do. She wanted to let go of the past with all that it held, but her future was unsure and stolen from a dead woman.
The wagon crested one last hill. Below them, sheds and barns lay scattered around a two-story main house. Tall pines and spruce flanked the large veranda, and Rika imagined them providing ample shade in the summer and lending shelter from the rain in winter. Paddocks spread out from both sides of the house, leading to a large, circular corral. Rika couldn't see what lay on the other side of the house, but from somewhere, an herb garden saturated the air with the scent of sage and mint.
The carefully tended home seemed like something right out of a fairy tale. Jo would have loved it.
When the buckboard rattled into the ranch yard, a large dog charged up the path, growling and barking.
Rika pulled her skirt tighter around her legs, protecting them just in case the dog tried to bite.
"Quit making such a ruckus, Hunter," Amy said.
The dog fell silent.
When Amy stopped the buckboard, the door of the main house swung open and a woman stepped onto the veranda.
Rika blinked, then glanced back and forth between Amy and the woman. With her flaming red hair and her slender yet sturdy build, the woman looked like Amy's twin. When she came closer, a few lines around her mouth and eyes revealed her to be an older version of Amy.
Her mother?
Amy jumped down from the wagon seat and rounded the buckboard. She extended her hand to help Rika down, and after a moment's hesitation, Rika laid her hand into the calloused palm and climbed down to look at her new home.
* * *
A grin sneaked onto Nora's face when she watched Amy help the young woman off the high wagon seat. The gesture reminded her of Luke, who had taught their daughters well, just by giving a good example.
"You must be Johanna." Nora directed a smile at the slim woman next to Amy. "I'm Nora Hamilton. Welcome to —" Then her gaze fell onto Amy's dress, and her mouth snapped shut.
Mud clung to the hem of the dress and painted an ugly pattern over the once clean bodice. The skirt and petticoat hung in ripped tatters, and Amy's hair looked as if a flock of birds had tried to build a nest in it.
Nora hurried down the veranda steps. "Amy! Are you all right? What happened?"
"I'm fine." Amy folded her hands in front of her body, belatedly trying to hide the large rip in her skirt.
Nora eyed the gray horse tied to the buckboard. "What's that?"
"She's a mare, Mama," Amy answered.
"I can see that. What is the mare doing here? She's not yours, is she?" Nora looked at Johanna, who was politely pretending not to listen in on their conversation.
"No," Johanna said.
"I bought her," Amy said, her gaze fixed on the horse.
"Your father just left, risking his life to sell horses, and you go and buy another one?" Nora shook her head. Leave it to Amy to come home with a horse when she's been sent out to fetch Phin's betrothed. "Where did you get the money anyway?" While Amy had grown up not wanting for anything, she didn't have much spending money in her pocket.
"Um." Amy stared at her mud-crusted boots. "Phin gave it to me."
"Phin?" Their foreman would have given Amy the shirt off his back and vice versa, but with his new bride coming to live with him, he didn't have that kind of money to give away. Nora stared as realization dawned. "You took the money he gave you for his betrothed?"
Sodden locks fell into Amy's eyes. She didn't meet Nora's gaze. "I'm sorry. I know it wasn't my money to spend. I'll pay it all back somehow." Her head came up, and her eyes glowed. "But I couldn't stand there and watch them torment the mare. I just couldn't."
Will she ever be this passionate about someone or something other than horses? Nora hoped that one day, her daughters would be as happy as she was in her marriage.
"Half a dozen men threw her down. They would have bucked her until she died or had her spirit broken," Amy said. "Buying her was the only way to save her."
Nora sighed. A small smile replaced her frown. Luke would have rescued the mare too, no matter the damage to her clothes, her body, or her finances. Sometimes, it was unsettling how much Amy was like Luke.
Ignoring the rain, Nora walked around the buckboard. She reached out to touch the mare's flank but then retreated when she noticed the rope burns and bleeding scratches covering the gray coat. She knew Amy hadn't caused the marks. Someone had tried to break the mare.
In their early years in Oregon, the neighbors had made fun of Luke's gentle horse taming methods. They said if Luke continued to mollycoddle their horses, they would turn out spoiled and unpredictable. Now, years later, every rancher and farmer in the area wanted to own one of the well-trained Hamilton horses.
"You meant well," Nora said. "But taking money that's not yours isn't what your father and I taught you. The money belongs to Johanna. Phin wanted her to buy something to make her feel comfortable — maybe a set of dishes or linen or a new dress."
"I'm sorry," Amy said again, and this time she
looked at Phin's betrothed. "It might take me a while, but I promise to pay back every penny."
"It's all right." Johanna shrugged it off as if they were talking about ten cents, not ten dollars. "I already own two perfectly good dresses, and I don't need much to be content. I don't mind that you used the money to help the horse. When I was growing up, I always wanted a horse."
Amy's mouth slackened.
That was a surprise, Nora thought.
Except for Hannah Garfield, the girls around Baker Prairie didn't understand or support Amy's passion for horses. Nora's gaze roved over the young woman. Maybe she could become Amy's friend.
