Before the Larkspur Blooms

by Caroline Fyffe - Prairie Hearts Series 02 - Before the Larkspur Blooms

  When Jake didn’t respond, Gabe looked at him. “What’s wrong? You’ve been quiet for days now.”

  “Nothing. Just taking it all in.”

  What could he say? Friday was his deadline, and it would be here before he could scrounge together the seventy-five dollars he owed Rome. He’d saved every cent he could over the past two weeks, but where was he supposed to get that kind of money? He wouldn’t be able to. That was just it. And Jake wasn’t sure what Rome would do when he showed without the full amount.

  Gabe nudged him and then motioned with his head. Sarah and Markus stood rooted to the spot, hand in hand, as they stared up at the scary fairy-tale giant. Their heads craned up on their little necks, trying to guess his next move. When he looked their way, Sarah dashed behind Gabe, came around, and grabbed Jake’s legs. “Save me, Jake,” she cried. Markus had disappeared into the crowd. “He’s gonna get me.” Her voice was a mixture of laughter and fear and put a hurt so big inside of Jake’s heart he almost gasped. He’d messed up bad. He stood to lose everything he held dear. He’d not go to Chase—to see the disappointment and disgust in his eyes would be the last straw. He was thankful Blake had taken off for the ranch and hadn’t heard about the outcome of the poker game. Somehow Jake had to find a way out of this mess. He reached down and picked Sarah up. She threw her arms around him and buried her face in his neck to hide.

  Hoot, hoot, hoooooooooooot.

  All heads turned. A quarter mile away, the black-and-silver engine of the Union Pacific rounded the bend; the tall stack puffed gray smoke into the air and left a trail of soot billowing in its wake. Sarah looked around excitedly at the sound and scrambled out of his arms. She ran off toward Jessie.

  The train got closer. Flags attached to the sides whipped in the wind. Ladies waved handkerchiefs out the windows. The band started up, and a jaunty tune filled the air. Everyone moved toward the depot with the giant, on his stilts, bringing up the rear.

  The engine slowed. Thirty yards out, brake pads met metal wheels and great clouds of steam whooshed out from below, followed by an earsplitting screech. It pulled up gradually at the spanking-new depot platform and rolled to a stop.

  “Logan Meadows,” the conductor called loudly from inside. It was only a moment before the door opened and short Mr. Peabody stepped off, followed by several smiling men and women. The conductor set a wooden box in the middle of the platform, and the railroad man climbed up.

  “Hello, one and all. It is with great pleasure that the Union Pacific’s inaugural trip to your fair town, arrived”—he flipped open his pocket watch and looked at it for a moment, then snapped it closed—“exactly twelve minutes past noon. Everyone is welcome to board this beautiful machine and take a look around. The train will remain for four hours and will depart precisely at four o’clock. Not a minute after.”

  The townspeople swept forward, anxious to get, for some, their first look inside a train car. The conductor stood at attention by the door Mr. Peabody had appeared from, helping the ladies by taking their hand and steadying them as they climbed the three steps. Another conductor stood ready at the rear door for exiting.

  Gabe looked at him. “You want to take a look inside?”

  “Sure. Thought that’s why we’re here.”

  Gabe stopped. “Hold up—here comes Blake.”

  Blake swaggered over, on his face the typical smirk he wore whenever Chase wasn’t around. “Boys,” he said and slapped Gabe on the shoulder. He looked at Jake and nodded. “You fixin’ on taking a look?”

  The train was short, three passenger cars long, plus engine and caboose. It wouldn’t take but five minutes to tour the whole thing.

  “Yeah,” Jake responded. His troubles weren’t Blake’s fault, he reminded himself. He could have refused the whiskey. Could have declined the poker game. The responsibility for his actions belonged to him, no one else.

  Sarah stuck her head out the window and waved.

  “Hey, Sarah,” Gabe called to her and waved back. “How is it?”

  “Nice. I like it.”

  Markus, always her shadow, did the same. “I like it, too,” he chorused.

  Thom took notice when Rome rode into town. The man had picked up his gelding four days ago and turned in Win’s rented mount. He and Rome had yet to meet face-to-face, but even if they did, Thom doubted Rome would remember him. The outlaw believed everyone in his band had perished and along with them anyone who could point a guilty finger at him. Still, Thom was careful to avoid being near the man. He intended to clear his name. His plan wasn’t perfect—it could backfire—but one thing he’d learned from all those years locked away: nothing was certain.

  Laughter came from the train. Markus, in the middle of a passel of children, walked down the aisle, his hand landing on one seat back and then the next.

  As they exited, Jessie called everyone over. “We’re having Sarah’s party in the park now. I’ve brought along a nice big cake if you’re interested, Thom.”

  Markus ran up to him. “Are ya comin’, Thom?”

  Thom smiled. The boy seemed to have lost all his distrust of him. Hannah was still in the restaurant, serving away. He’d gone over to the Silky Hen to check on them before coming to the gathering, but she had everything under control and had shooed away his help. He crouched down to Markus’s height. “I wouldn’t miss it.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  Jessie’s conscience pricked. I need to talk with Chase. He has a right to know. Lost in thought, she brushed her unbound hair opposite the bedroom mirror. She’d never kept a secret from Chase. It was eating her alive.

  Chase came into the room and toed off his boots. With deft fingers, he ran down the buttons on his shirt and shrugged out of it, then tossed it on a chair in the corner. “Why so quiet?”

  Through the reflection, she tried to smile, but it was impossible. Not when Chase looked at her with love and respect written all over his face. Today was meant to be a very special day. Sarah had loved the tea set and the doll from Markus. She’d been showered with love from Gabe and Jake, and Thom Donovan, too. But Jessie had been nervous and jumpy. So many newcomers at the festival grounds. She’d been suspicious of each and every one. Hot, painful prickles made her blink and look away.

  “Hey, what’s wrong?” Chase closed the distance between them and went down on one knee. He lifted her chin with a calloused finger. “I can see it in your eyes, Jessie. What’s troubling you?”

  Should she tell him? Maybe there wouldn’t be any more letters. With all the trouble happening with the rustlers, Chase didn’t need to be distracted. The outlaws had hit the Cotton Ranch again just last week down at the widest part of Shady Creek. One of Seth Cotton’s men had been gunned down in cold blood. “Just tired, I guess.”

  His expression said he didn’t believe her for a moment. “Sarah really loved the tea set, didn’t she? I’m so glad we spent that money. What good is it if it just sits in a bank and—” Her voice broke.

  “Out with it.” His tone was sharp. He stood, looking down at her. “Something is upsetting you. You’ve been anxious all day. The secret I kept from you three years ago almost broke us apart, and I won’t stand for any more.” He shot her a stern look. “What’s troubling you?”

  Jessie set her brush aside and stood. Took a deep breath. “It’s about those letters that you found in my drawer.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Go on.”

  She swallowed. Wished she hadn’t started this tonight. They were both worn out from the busy day. What could a day or two more matter? He wasn’t going to make this confession easy.

  He released a slow breath as disappointment crossed his face. “Fine. If you don’t trust me enough to share this gossip, this meddling—whatever it is—I’ll read it for myself.” In two steps he was at the dresser. He yanked it open. Riffling through her things, he pulled out the three correspondences and took the pages from the opened envelope.

  Minutes ticked by. He was a good reader, but slow. Jessie
wanted to run to him and take them and hurry and read them aloud. She didn’t, though. Over the years, she’d learned he hated to be read to. He’d take as long as he needed to figure out the words, the sentences, work for an hour on a difficult page—but he always persevered. She respected him for it all the more.

  His arm dropped to his side, his fingers pinching the two rumpled pages in his hand, the unopened letters in the opposite fist. She stepped away when his anger all but jumped at her. “When were you going to tell me, Jessie? When they drove up to our door and took Sarah from her bed?”

  “You don’t know that it’s Sarah they’re looking for. There were lots of babies at the orphanage.”

  “Not many with a birthmark that resembles a butterfly on their shoulder blade, or am I wrong?” His expression clouded. “How could you keep this from me? Something so important? She’s my daughter, too.”

  Jessie knew it was pain, or fear, that made him speak so harshly. He turned away and went to the window, staring out into the darkness of the night. She longed to go to him, but something held her feet grounded to the floor.

  “Did you think you could just bury your head in the sand and they’d go away? You’re smarter than that, Jessie.” He’d never shouted at her before. Sure, they had had disagreements, but someone always gave in before it got this far. She worried that the children might hear and be frightened.

  “Chase, please. Sarah and Shane will be scared if they hear you.”

  He nodded. Looked at the wall for several moments. “It’s time we find out what the other letters say.”

  Jessie nodded.

  He went to the bed, sat down, checked the postmark, and opened the second envelope.

  Jessie’s hands shook, so she clutched her fingers together and sat by his side.

  “Dear Jessie,” Chase began. His voice no longer sounded angry, just old and sad. “Since I did not get a response to my first letter I have pre-presumed”—Chase struggled with the word—“it was lost en route to you.” Chase started and stopped. Emotions clogged his throat. “I’m writing today to ask you again if the child you and Mr. Strong adopted three years ago has a bi-birthmark on her back, just above her shoulder blade. It is no larger than a nickel. It sort of resembles a butterfly. We are interested in knowing. Yours truly, Mrs. Hobbs.”

  He tossed the letter on the bed and ripped open the last letter, the one that had arrived two weeks ago, turning her world upside down. “Dear Jessie, I still have not heard from you. The reason for my last letters was ob-obvious, and now the child’s kin have already started for Logan Meadows to see for themselves if your girl is the one they are searching for. Please help them. They have money. It would be in the best interest of the child if she went back with Mr. and Mrs. Stockbridge. Yours truly, Mrs. Hobbs.”

  Chase stood. “It’s Sarah.”

  “What if they’re here already, Chase? What can we do?”

  “I don’t know. I need to talk with Frank.”

  Jessie wished he would hold her, silence her fears, but she knew he didn’t have any more answers than she did. This one Chase couldn’t fix. She said the only thing that would come out. “I’m scared.”

  “So am I. I don’t know about all this, Jessie. I know cattle, when to breed and when to brand. I know horses, how they think and how to grow ’em strong.” He looked her in the face. “I don’t know a thing about the law pertaining to adoption and such. Do you remember the day Sarah was left at the orphanage? Did somebody drop her off?”

  Jessie nodded. She remembered the day as if it were yesterday. It was the day after she’d turned thirteen, and for months all she’d prayed for was that God would send her mother back. As a birthday present. Jessie had been waiting so long, so many heartbreaking years. Before leaving her, her mother had promised she would be gone only a few days. But days turned into months and months into years. Still, Jessie begged God to let this birthday be different. But the day came and went, no different from other years. No fanfare, no cake, no mother.

  “It was about four o’clock in the afternoon,” she whispered, not trusting her voice. “I finished my household chores and sat on the front porch steps watching people go by. The July heat was stifling. Flies were thick. Mrs. Hobbs, as she did every summer day, disappeared into her room until the cool of the evening. Mr. Hobbs was gone. I went around to the back of the house to get a drink from the well. When I returned there was a wicker basket on the porch by the front door. A newborn swaddled in a pretty pink blanket slept peacefully inside, unaware she’d just been given away.”

  “So no papers were ever signed?” he asked.

  “No.”

  Chase slung his arm over her shoulder and pulled her close. “I’m so sorry, Jessie. I know how much you love Sarah. We’ll get through this.” He practically choked on the words. “I promise.” He swiped at his eyes with the back of his hand and buried his face in her hair.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t share this with you, Chase. I told myself it was because you had the rustlers to worry about. I didn’t want to add to your burdens. But honestly, it was more. Once I told you, I’d have to face the fact that we might lose her. I couldn’t do that. I still don’t think I can.”

  Chase leaned back. Still close, she could see the tiny brown-and-gold flecks in his eyes. The fine lines that time had etched on his face. My beloved. My Chase. He’d made it possible three years ago for her to keep Sarah; somehow, he’d do it again. “Can you ever forgive me?”

  “You were only worried about Sarah.” He brushed a strand of hair across her forehead. “Just wish I knew if, or when, the people Mrs. Hobbs is talking about are going to show up here in Logan Meadows.” He paused and picked up the last letter. “Mr. and Mrs. Stockbridge. I feel like I need to get a plan together, but there is no plan to get. Facts are facts. We’ll just have to wait and see.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  Three days passed with no further attacks from the rustlers. Jake hefted the last sack of grain into the back of the wagon parked in front of Winston’s Feed, then wiped his hands down the sides of his pants. Glancing across the bridge and down the street, he contemplated the Bright Nugget, wondering how he was going to get out of the mess he’d created. He climbed into the box, took up the reins, and hauled the horses around. He started back up Main Street for the ranch.

  Tonight was the night.

  Tonight he’d ride out to the south fork of Shady Creek and meet Rome, explain that all he had now was twenty dollars. Somehow he’d get the remaining fifty-five dollars, plus the seven fifty interest. His guitar was worth five to a tenderfoot; there were more and more of ’em in town these days. Other than that, all he had of value was his horse and rig, but without those he wasn’t able to work.

  Rome seemed a decent man, a bit of a braggart perhaps, but other than that, Jake felt sure he would work with him until he could repay what he owed. At least he hoped he would. However they worked it out, it still didn’t change the fact that he’d lost a heck of a lot of money. Hard lesson learned.

  Discouraged, Jake swiped his hand across his moist brow and pulled the horses to the side of the road to give ample room to a man driving several milk cows and a goat down the middle of the street.

  “Jake,” a female voice called.

  Daisy waved to him from the balcony of the Bright Nugget. Seeing her brought back a fresh rush of embarrassment. He forced a smile and waved back. Philomena stepped out beside her. The older girl saw him and then whispered something into Daisy’s ear.

  “Jake,” she called again. “Can I talk with you?”

  “Sure, Daisy. I’ll come in.”

  Just as he set the wagon brake, Nell Page and Seth Cotton, brother and sister, trotted up the street on horseback. Nell pulled the reins and squeezed with her legs, fighting her good-looking paint every step of the way. The horse tossed his head and jumped sideways at people walking by. He shied at stationary objects, too, like hitching rails and chairs. He even jumped back at his own shadow. White foam dr
ipped from his sides and from between his legs. Nell didn’t look all that much better.

  “He still not broke, Nell?” Jake laughed. Seth pulled up. From his perch in the wagon, he was eye to eye with the two on horseback.

  “Hush up, Jake,” Nell replied hotly. “I don’t need you pointing out his shortcomings. He’s high-strung.” The horse stood still for a full three seconds, his sides quivering and eyes wide, taking in one scary thing after the other. She reached down and patted his sweaty neck.

  “What’s wrong with him? He should be plenty gentle by now. Is this his first trip to town?”

  Seth rolled a toothpick between his teeth as he contemplated the horse next to him. “Nope, his fifth. His dam was exactly the same. Took me a good six months before she was safe for anyone to ride. Even then, you had to be on guard or she’d leave you in a pile of dust. She turned out to be a great stock horse, though, and we’re hoping the same for this one.”

  Jake glanced up, recalling his promise to go in and see Daisy. She was gone, but Philomena stood there, hands on hips, glaring down at him.

  “Uh, ’scuse me.” Boot to wheel, he climbed down to the boardwalk. “I have some business in the Bright Nugget.”

  Jake strode into the saloon. He didn’t see Daisy right away, but Dwight stood at the bar with two other fellows. His foot rested on the brass footrest, and his hat was tipped back.

  “I’d bet money that Donovan is our man. He has a history of rustling. A dog can’t change his spots even if he tries.”

  Jake hadn’t made it past third grade, but he knew slander was wrong. Dwight didn’t have any evidence on Thom. If he did, Albert would have arrested him already. It rankled to hear a good man talked about like that. Don’t get involved. You’re in enough trouble already, he reminded himself. I don’t need Hoskins on my back, too.