by Prairie Wife
Eden wrinkled her nose in a delicate grimace. "What is that smell?"
"Buffalo chips, Miss Sullivan," Sam replied. "They're ideal for fire when they're dry, but this rain tends to soften 'em up."
Eden brought her blanket up over her nose. "I believe I'd like to lie down now. Do you mind, Mr. Burnham?"
"Not at all." Sam picked up the young woman and carried her to one of the wagons, under which he and Amy had laid out a pallet of blankets.
William Hunter accepted a cup of coffee from Amy and sat cradling his injured arm. "It's kind of you to come for us, Miss Burnham."
"It's Mrs. Shelby," she corrected him.
"Sorry, I was thinking since you were Mr. Burnham's daughter that your name was the same."
"That's all right. My husband and father are partners. Shelby Station belongs to all of us."
"And your husband allows you to place yourself in danger out here?" Barnett asked.
Amy cast him a glance. "My father taught me to ride when my family came to Nebraska. When I met my husband, he taught me to shoot and protect myself, Mr. Barnett. I'm not helpless and my husband doesn't treat me as if I was."
William Hunter hid a smile at Amy's response and continued as though Barnett hadn't interrupted. "My son started a newspaper in a small town west of Denver City," he told Amy. "He wrote a while back, asking me to come join him now that he has the shop operating and has built a house. So I sold my little cobbler shop in Pennsylvania, and took a train. I thought I'd be at my destination tonight."
"It should take only another day or so to get you there," she assured him.
Hermie joined them, and a few minutes later Sam returned. His knees cracked as he knelt beside the fire. "Cussed rain gets to my joints every time," he said.
"Your knees seemed fine whilst you were totin' Miss Sullivan about," Hermie observed.
Sam pointedly ignored that comment.
Hermie and Amy shared a sly glance. Come to think of it, her father had been showing Eden considerably more attention than he had the other travelers.
"Do you have children, Mrs. Shelby?"
William Hunter's innocent question jerked Amy's thoughts in another direction and caught her by surprise, twisting the knife that was always at the ready in her heart. Quickly picking up her rifle, she stood. "I'll make sure the rest of the women get bedded down, and then I'm turning in."
"Did I say something wrong?" William asked Sam.
Sam shook his head. "She's a little tetchy on the subject."
"Fine daughter you have there."
"Finest daughter a man could ask for," Sam agreed. But his expression showed more than pride as he watched Amy assisting the women. Compassion was her nature. She'd always been ready to offer help or sympathy or just an ear. He'd seen a change come over her after his grandson's death. It was as though she'd put her life up to that point behind her, and her new life had started the day after they'd buried Tim.
The briefest mention brought censure. Sam, Jesse, even the help had been abiding by her wishes for the past year. No one, not even Jesse, forced her to talk about Tim.
And things had grown worse than that.
Though Sam went home to his own place every night, talk got back to him that Jesse had been staying nights at the boardinghouse. He couldn't shake his growing feelings of concern, but he didn't know what to do to help her.
Chapter Five
By morning, the rain had turned low sections of the prairie into knee-deep mud. Two of the wagons were mired nearly to the axles, and the tired teams couldn't budge the conveyances forward. The smells of wet animals and soggy wool clothing permeated every breath. Amy and her father considered their slim choices.
"We could try harnessing all the horses to one wagon to pull it loose," Sam suggested.
Amy nodded, mulling over his idea. "But we'd have to do that to both wagons, and the animals are already tired. I wouldn't want to risk injuring them. Besides, how could we even be sure they could continue pulling the loads once we got the wagons out of these holes? We could easily just roll into others."
Sam peered at her through the battering rain. "Jesse would have my hide if his horses came to harm."
"He'd want us safe first," Amy was quick to say. "But that plan won't guarantee to keep us moving."
Frustrated and wet, Sam and Amy reinforced the shelters. They'd run out of dry chips and kindling, so they didn't even have warmth or coffee. The poor travelers they had taken under their wings huddled chilled and wet to the bone beneath the makeshift tents, forlorn and miserable.
It had been Amy's suggestion to come out here and get them, and now they were worse off than before. Back at the train, they could have used coal and wood for fire, and eventually someone would have found them. Amy berated herself for her shortsighted plan and her stubborn insistence on coming. Silently, she also cursed the rain. If Jesse had come in her stead, perhaps he would have done a better job.
One of the women opened a box of chocolates she'd been taking to her intended husband and shared the confections. Amy ate her ration without enjoyment, wondering how long they could keep up their strength without real food.
She pulled a brimming pail under the tent. At least water wasn't a problem.
After more thought, she took her father aside at the corner of their shelter. "I think I should take one of the horses and head for the station."
"No, Amy, it's not safe with the Cheyenne up to no good. You could run into trouble."
"I don't think we have much choice."
He seemed to consider their options. "I'll go."
She knew he was the wiser choice for the job. Without argument, she nodded.
Jesse had intuitively placed two saddles under the canvas in the rear of a wagon, so Sam got a horse ready. Amy touched his arm, refusing to let herself think of the dangers he might run into alone.
"I'll be fine," he told her.
She nodded and released him. In the past he would have hugged her, but he merely placed his foot in the stirrup and mounted with a creak of leather.
Amy ducked back under the tent as he rode out. Hard as she tried to bridle her thoughts, she imagined him riding through the storm—and sent up a prayer for his safety.
Less than an hour later, a whinny and the sounds of harnesses alerted her to someone's approach. It sounded like too many horses to be her father returning, and Amy stood, peering apprehensively. The Cheyenne didn't shoe their horses, but on the soggy ground she couldn't tell by the sound whether the animals were shod.
Through the downpour, she made out two figures on horseback leading a dozen more horses. Her father and.. Jesse. She'd never been so glad to see anyone in her life.
Amy ran out into the rain to meet them.
Both men dismounted. A grin split her father's face. "Look who I ran into."
Rain streamed from the brim of Jesse's hat. "I'd been following the rails hoping I was heading in the right direction when I saw Sam riding toward me."
Amy noted the horses he'd brought. "You knew we ran into trouble."
"Figured as much, with all this rain. You all right?"
She nodded. "Just wet. Who's looking after Cay?"
"Mrs. Barnes. Let's get you home."
She followed him and her father to help harness the additional teams. Jesse approached one of the mired wagons with a spade and used the tool to shovel mud away from the axles.
Within minutes the muscle of the additional horses had all three wagons moving.
Amy and Hermie gathered their belongings and took down the tarps. "I need some help," Amy called to Jesse.
Jesse responded by hurrying to where Amy stood beside a woman seated on a crate. She looked to be a little older than him, with dark hair. She held a shawl tucked around her shoulders.
"This is Eden," Amy told him.
"How do, ma'am."
"Her foot's broken."
Jesse picked up the woman and carried her to a wagon.
"It's 'miss,'" she said
from beneath a dripping bonnet. Her admiring gaze took in his features appreciatively.
"Pleasure," he replied.
"You're a sight for sore eyes."
He nodded politely and hurried to get the teams moving forward, then climbed onto the seat beside Amy. She handed over the reins and he took the lead.
"I knew you'd worry," she said.
"Last night when I saw the rain wasn't letting up, I headed out." He wanted to wrap his arm around her and pull her up against his side to reassure himself that she was all right.
"I never thought we'd get stuck like that."
"You had no way of knowin' how much rain there would be."
"Maybe if I'd let you come instead... I just pray no one gets sick from exposure."
"It wouldn't have been any different if I'd been along," he assured her. "In fact, it would have been worse, because you couldn't have readied more teams and brought them alone."
"Do you really think so?"
"Yes, ma'am."
Somehow his wife had felt responsible for the safety of these people from the very first. She'd made it a way of life, caring for others; it was her nature to take on the additional effort. But it didn't set well with him that she blamed herself for something out of her control. "We'll get them to the station and have them dry and warm in no time."
Six horses hauling each wagon made for quick travel, and by late afternoon, they pulled into Shelby
Station. Biscuit darted from the barn, barking excitedly and sniffing the passengers who climbed down.
Cay hurried out and shushed him, sending him back inside the barn with a gentle command. When their eyes met, Amy thought he wanted to say something, but he turned quickly and lent his hand to helping with the animals.
***
Amy had never been so glad to let the hands take over the care of the horses and wagons. She assigned her guests to rooms at the boardinghouse, placed a few of the men in the barn and had Adele help arrange pallets in the parlor.
Mrs. Barnes greeted her with a pat on the shoulder. "Go get yourself a hot bath and some dry clothes."
"You don't have to tell me twice."
Adele and Maggie had hot water and towels at the ready, and it was so good to be in out of the rain that Amy didn't mind standing in line for her turn in the bathhouse.
Rarely were all three tubs in use, but this evening they never stood empty. Adele and Maggie continuously carried water and hung towels around the stove to dry.
After Amy's bath, she helped the dark-haired woman bathe and dress and get settled in a room on the main floor of the boardinghouse. Sam had fashioned Eden a crutch, and Amy gave it to her now. "My father made this so you could get around in your room."
"How thoughtful of him. He's a dear man."
"I'll bring your supper," Amy told her. "You stay put and rest that foot. Call out if you need something. There's usually someone nearby who will hear you."
"You've been so kind already," Eden said, "but I would surely enjoy a cup of tea."
"I'll see that you get some."
Back at the house, Pitch was helping Mrs. Barnes fry ham and potatoes.
"Have the hands eaten?" Amy asked.
"They have," Pitch replied. "Mrs. Barnes figured we'd do a first shift for the guests who've finished with baths and then feed the rest on the next."
"Good plan," Amy told them with appreciation. She looked around the roomy well-appointed kitchen. "I wasn't gone that long, but it's sure good to be home."
Mrs. Barnes swept past her with a plate of sliced bread. "Some days seem like weeks, don't they? You sit now. I won't take no for an answer."
Amy sank gratefully onto a bench.
Just then, Jesse opened the door and stepped inside. He'd dressed in dry clothing and had left his boots out on the porch. He hung his holster on a peg. "Can I get a meal? Thought I could wait until after the boarders, but my belly's eatin' a hole in my backside."
"No, you won't wait," Amy told him, and waved him onto a seat beside her. "Where's Cay?"
"Sticking close to Sam. Helping him with the horses." She took slices of bread and slathered them with butter and jelly for the two of them.
Mrs. Barnes placed thick portions of ham on their plates. Pitch scooped crispy potatoes wedges into a serving bowl. "There's slaw here, too," he said.
Amy and Jesse ate together, then sat back to enjoy a hot cup of coffee before the guests from the parlor came in to seat themselves. When they did, the Shelbys gave up their seats and moved to drink their coffee in the other room while it was temporarily vacated.
Amy carried in their cups while Jesse stoked the fire in the fireplace. She sat in her favorite side chair; Jesse took the rocker, crossing one ankle over the other knee.
"When was the last time you saw so much rain?" Amy asked.
"Spring. Have you forgotten?"
"I guess I'm never right out in it for that long at a stretch. I thought it would never stop."
Jesse glanced out the window and rocked the chair with the stockinged foot on the floor. "It hasn't yet."
"I even felt sorry for the horses."
Jesse turned his blue gaze on her.
The house settled with a creak and a gust of wind whirred down the chimney.
Jesse's gaze flickered across the clock on the mantel. The time hadn't been right since she'd stopped the pendulum.
"We sure can get a lot of miles out of talkin' about the weather, can't we, Amy?"
Cringing inside for fear of what he'd bring up or expect of her, she sipped her coffee and said nothing.
"Was going the right thing to do?" His question wasn't what she'd been expecting, but she didn't mind answering it.
"Yes."
"Then I guess you did the right thing."
Amy shrugged. "I'd like to think someone would do the same for me."
"I'd like to think they would, too."
"Cay did all right while we were away?"
"He did fine. During the day, he helps with the stock and the chores. Of an evenin' he's hearing stories from the hands, learning to tie knots and such. It couldn't hurt him to have another influence as well." Jesse paused, leaving her to wonder what kind of an influence he meant. "I've been thinking he needs to finish his schooling. I can order books. Between the two of us, we should be able to teach him."
She wasn't sure what she thought of spending evenings with Cay, and she hated how selfish that made her feel. "I don't know. How will we know what he needs to learn?"
Jesse shrugged. "I reckon we could ask Leda Bently what a boy his age should be studyin'. She teaches her children during the winter." He jerked a thumb toward the kitchen. "Maybe one of the women in there'd have an idea."
"Maybe."
He stopped rocking. "If you don't want to help, I'll do it."
"I just worry about you becoming too attached to the boy, Jesse."
"For heaven's sake, why?"
"Your mother told you he was already making trouble. I'm afraid he'll only cause us problems and then run off at the first opportunity."
"Well, he hasn't made any trouble yet. His mother ran off and left him when he was little more than a baby. He's had a sickly woman motherin' him and no father. You'd see the need for us—for a family if you'd let yourself."
She raised a palm to stop Jesse's ire. "I'll help teach him."
He stood. "I don't know what you have against the boy. You're hangin' back when it comes to helping 'im, but you risked your neck to save a bunch of strangers."
He was right, and the fact that he'd pointed it out shamed her. "I said I'll help."
"Nobody wants to feel like they're not wanted." His voice was low and filled with emotion. "Don't make that boy feel like he's not welcome here."
"Of course he's welcome. I'm just not sure how well I can teach him."
"You'd have been teaching Tim if we hadn't lost him. You'd be teaching more children—if you wanted to have them."
Not this. Not this again. What was it
he wanted from her? Couldn't he just leave the subject alone? Talking about the past wouldn't change anything. She got up and headed for the kitchen, where she could lose herself by keeping busy in the crowd of strangers.
From the corner of her eye, she saw when Jesse followed and set his mug beside the basin. The door squeaked opened and closed.
Pitch gave her a curious glance from across the room.
She knew their conversation had been too quiet to overhear, so he must have seen something on Jesse's face or in the way he carried himself from the room that made him question Jesse's abrupt leave-taking.
Or maybe a telltale look was on her face.
Before the second shift of diners arrived, Mrs. Barnes gently eased Amy away from the stove and pushed her toward the other room. "Go on upstairs. You've been out in the weather and gone without decent rest, and you're ready to fall over where you stand." She waved the hem of her apron as though Amy were a pesky fly. "Shoo."
Amy wearily climbed the stairs and entered the bedroom. In the darkness, she stood in front of the window and gazed down on the outbuildings where light poured from windows and doors. Shelby Station was always filled with comings and goings. People from all walks of life passed through for various reasons and headed to their destinations. Strangers who eased Amy's discomfort in having to live with herself.
Conversation drifted up from downstairs, chair legs squeaked on floorboards and iron kettles clanged. Living as she did amid a constant stream of activity and purpose, how was it she always felt isolated and adrift?
Amy survived with her heels dug into the here and now to keep from sliding off into the past or the future where nothing was safe and where she risked the chance of caring too much. Sometimes she thought that so much of her spirit had bled from her that she was nothing but a walking, breathing shell.
And then Jesse had gone and said something that proved there was more on the inside of her after all— more to board up with walls of denial and secure with self-preserving nails. But she was good at construction. She didn't even have to think about building barriers anymore—it was survival instinct.
