The Preacher's Bride Claim

by Laurie Kingery

  She’d written her mother the evening she’d arrived in Boomer Town, reassuring her of her safety and describing the setup of the tent city and the variety of “homestead hopefuls,” as she had called them, of all ages and nationalities, who populated it. She’d mailed the letter from the temporary U.S. Post Office operating in—what else?—a tent.

  This letter would be longer. She’d explain her decision to obtain a horse and describe the fine Appaloosa. She’d tell about her attendance at the daily chapel prayer meetings—which would please her mother, she knew.

  Mary Margaret Hawthorne was a devout woman, despite the fact that her faith had been tested by the loss of her husband and the looming threat of the loss of the farm they’d worked together. She’d fretted about Alice’s safety when she’d been in New York City, training and then working as a nurse. Mary had been even more anxious, Alice knew, when Alice had announced her plan to gain land in Oklahoma. Not only did it mean such a long journey alone for her only child, there was the danger of the Land Rush itself.

  She’d describe her medical rounds in Boomer Town, which doubtless would surprise her mother, since Alice had been adamant that she had left nursing behind the moment she’d left Bellevue for her father’s deathbed.

  She’d describe the people she’d met in the camp, including the Thornton brothers, of course, and in particular, the eldest Thornton, the preacher—though she wouldn’t tell her mother how conflicted she was about Elijah. Alice didn’t want to give her mother a reason to think she might have found love at last when she hadn’t decided how she felt about him herself yet. Did she love him, or was she going to bury that feeling and stick to her original plan? She hoped the very act of writing the letter would help her sort those feelings out.

  She’d spent a good hour writing all these things and was resharpening her pencil with a paring knife when she heard the soft sound of footsteps approaching her tent.

  “Alice? Are you within?” a voice asked diffidently, a voice that was female and heavily accented.

  “Yes, Katrine, come in,” she said, happy for the interruption.

  The Danish girl ducked her head and entered. “I hope you’re not busy. I won’t stay if you are....”

  “Of course not. I’m never too busy for a friend. What can I do for you?”

  “I need nothing, thank you. Lars told me about the Indian boy you and Reverend Thornton found and all that happened with that.”

  “Yes. It was most fortunate Lars happened along when he did.”

  “The Gilberts are kind people. The boy will be blessed, whatever time he can pass with them. But I really came to invite you to supper with us. We will have venison steaks, now that Lars is back, but as soon as he eats, he will be at work salting the rest of the meat, tanning the hide and so forth long past dark. He will be like a man obsessed. I will have no one to talk to, so I thought if you came, we could make girl talk, ja? I am cutting out a new dress, and I want your o-pin-ion—” she pronounced the word very carefully “—about the trim for it.”

  Alice laughed, glad that Katrine’s idea of “girl talk” didn’t seem to include a discussion of men, as it always had back at Bellevue when she was a probationer nurse and the other probationers could only chatter about the handsome doctors on the ward. “Yes, some girl talk would be very good.” No one at chapel had reported a need for nursing tonight, so she was happy to have something to fill her evening. “And I can contribute to the supper,” she said, and told Katrine about the soup.

  “Ah, so that’s what I smelled simmering over your fire. Ja, that would be good.”

  “I’ll just leave a note in case anyone comes looking for me,” Alice said, putting away her letter to finish later. She was actually glad of the reprieve—she’d examine her feelings for Elijah more closely another time.

  * * *

  “Halt!” cried a cavalry officer, holding up his gloved hand and setting his horse into a trot. He unsheathed his saber and held it aloft, then used it to point to the west at a line apparently only he could see. “No prospective settlers are allowed to go past this point, not till noon on the twenty-second.”

  Elijah pulled up his reins and signaled for Alice to do the same. He thought the young soldier’s manner rather officious—surely it would’ve been sufficient to use his finger to point out the boundary, rather than the saber. But with the troops spread so thin along the border in the attempt to keep back the Sooners, he could understand that the soldiers’ tempers were getting a mite frayed.

  “We weren’t desiring to, I assure you, Lieutenant,” Elijah assured the red-cheeked young officer, after taking note of his shoulder insignia. “I am Reverend Thornton, and this is Miss Hawthorne—” He gestured toward Alice, sitting her Appaloosa mare beside him.

  The soldier touched the brim of his hat respectfully in Alice’s direction. “Lieutenant George Marsh.” His voice was brisk and no-nonsense, with a faint get-on-with-it edge.

  “We were merely trying to locate a particular captain, known to be in Oklahoma—or at least he was. His name is Captain Richard Lawson.”

  Marsh shrugged. “Don’t know him.” The soldier’s eyes were slits under the hand he held under his brim to shade them from the powerful sun. “That’d be like looking for a needle in a haystack, Reverend. Do you know how many troops are massed along the territory perimeter? Why, the Fifth Cavalry alone—”

  “We understand the difficulty, Lieutenant,” Alice interrupted smoothly, and so sweetly that Elijah thought Lieutenant Marsh didn’t even realize he’d been interrupted. “But we have to start somewhere. Could you steer us to the officer in charge? He must have served some time in the army to be a ranking officer, am I right? He might know the man we’re seeking, and if he doesn’t, perhaps he could start an official inquiry?”

  Bright spots of color had bloomed on the young officer’s cheeks while Alice spoke. Elijah guessed it had been a good while since Lieutenant Marsh had spent any time with a lady. He seemed to melt in the face of Alice Hawthorne’s smile. Elijah himself knew the feeling.

  “Why are you looking for him, ma’am?” Marsh asked, visibly trying to keep that brisk, official tone, but failing miserably.

  Elijah tensed. If she mentioned Dakota’s name or his mixed blood, and said the boy was Lawson’s son, they might be summarily dismissed. The cavalry had spent years battling Indians, and despite the fact that Oklahoma had once been given entirely to the Indians, many soldiers didn’t think very much of them.

  “We’re searching for him on behalf of his son, Lieutenant, an eight-year-old boy.”

  Elijah smothered a sigh of relief. Very wisely said, Alice.

  Marsh was silent for a moment, studying them, then he nodded to a small frame building surrounded by a cluster of tents some hundred yards up the line. “My commanding officer’d be Major Bliss, ma’am. You can find him in that guard shack, yonder.”

  “Thank you, Lieutenant. We appreciate your help,” she said, smiling as if the young officer had actually produced Captain Richard Lawson on the spot. Elijah could imagine her using that smile on crusty, temperamental surgeons with amazing results.

  Marsh fingered his hat brim again and wheeled his horse around with an unnecessary flourish. “Good day, Reverend, ma’am. I hope you find him.”

  They trotted their horses in the direction of the building. “Remind me to appoint you head of our future church fund-raising committee,” Elijah said, letting his admiration show in his voice, once they were out of earshot.

  “My mother always said you can catch more flies with honey than vinegar,” Alice said with a wink.

  Despite her success with the young lieutenant, Elijah realized Marsh was right. The chances of finding Captain Lawson with a simple inquiry at the border were abysmally small. Probably the best they could hope for was setting an inquiry in motion, if the commanding officer in the ar
ea could be persuaded the need of a small boy to find his father was important. Should the matter of Dakota’s race became known, Elijah prayed this Major Bliss was free of anti-Indian bigotry.

  They served an all-powerful God, Elijah reminded himself, who was capable of finding one particular grain of sand in a desert. One who had no prejudice, and who considered the needs of a small boy as important as the prayers of kings.

  There were not one but two officers sitting at facing desks in the small frame building when they entered. Each had been bent over a stack of papers, but they rose immediately at the sight of a lady.

  “We were told we could find the commanding officer for this sector here,” Elijah said.

  “I’m Major Bliss,” said the older man. He had silver at his temples, but his military bearing was proud and erect. “And this is Captain Fairchild,” he said, indicating the younger man. “And you are?”

  Elijah made the introductions. Alice explained their mission, again avoiding any mention of Dakota’s name.

  “Captain Richard Lawson...” the major said, his eyes losing focus as he thought. He rubbed his chin and turned to the other officer. “Captain Fairchild, didn’t Colonel Amboys mention a Captain Lawson one time?”

  “I believe so, Major.”

  From the shared look in their eyes, Elijah suspected they knew something about Lawson, but he couldn’t be sure, and if they didn’t volunteer anything, he could hardly accuse them of suppressing information.

  “Please, Major, any assistance you can give us will be much appreciated,” Alice said.

  “Dunno if it’s the same Captain Lawson you’re looking for, of course, but it’s worth a try....”

  “Where might we find this Colonel Amboys?” Alice prompted with gentle directness.

  “At the next guard station south, about five miles. The farther south one goes, the more Texans are tryin’ to crowd into Oklahoma before the date, and they take a lot of work to contain, I can tell you....”

  Elijah sensed a barely leashed impatience rising in Alice, but one had to know her to spot it, and the major didn’t know her. A telltale tightening of lips, a straightening of her spine...

  “So we can ride south five miles along the borderline and expect to find him?”

  “Let me send a soldier to make inquiries, ma’am,” Major Bliss offered. “Those Texans are a rowdy lot. I wouldn’t want— In the meantime, Miss Hawthorne, I could offer you and the reverend some refreshments.”

  Was the major taken with Alice and trying to keep her here? Or was he only trying to spare them a possible encounter with “rowdy Texans” and a long ride in the hot sun?

  “Oh, no,” Alice said quickly. “I wouldn’t dream of inconveniencing you, Major. We have good horses. We’ll just ride south and find this Colonel Amboys. Just straight down the borderline to the south?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” the major said with barely hidden reluctance.

  “Thank you, Major Bliss, Captain Fairchild,” she said. “You’ve both been very helpful. Good day.”

  Swiftly they mounted up and headed their horses south. Elijah held up till Alice was beside him. “Again, my compliments on your diplomacy, Miss Alice,” he said.

  “Thank you. I can only imagine how long it would have taken to send a messenger there and back,” Alice replied. “Besides, I think we’re much better off speaking to the man directly so we can see his reaction.” She turned to look at him. “Didn’t it seem as if those men back there knew something and didn’t want to say it?”

  Elijah nodded. So Alice had seen the look passed between the major and the captain, too, and had interpreted it as Elijah had.

  The reason became apparent when they reached the next guard shack in about an hour and a half, after a stop to water their horses along the way. Colonel Amboys, whose face had at least ten more years of weathering than the major’s and was so barrel-chested his brass uniform buttons strained to stay fastened, looked dismayed as soon as Elijah said the name of the man they sought.

  “Captain Lawson—that’s Captain Richard Lawson, you say? Ironic. Those of us who are old hands with the Fifth Cavalry—not these pups still wet behind the ears, mind you—were just talking about him the other day when the officers had a sector meeting. Why don’t you sit down, Miss Hawthorne?” he said, indicating the seat he had just vacated.

  To Elijah’s surprise, she did so without demur. Perhaps it was because they were finally going to get to the heart of the matter. Amboys gestured Elijah to one of two spare chairs along the wall and took the other for himself.

  “What did you say your relationship to him was?” he asked Alice.

  “Oh, we’re not related,” Alice assured him, and the colonel’s expression lightened somewhat.

  “Not a...special friend of his, were you?” the colonel persisted carefully.

  Elijah’s fists clenched involuntarily at his sides. Apparently the colonel thought Alice might be Lawson’s sweetheart.

  “No,” Alice said, looking puzzled. “I’ve never met the man. His son has come looking for him, so we were trying to find him for the boy.”

  The colonel wiped his brow with a rumpled handkerchief. “That’s good.” He noisily cleared his throat. “I’m afraid the captain was...shall we say, a bit of a scoundrel? Toward females, I mean.”

  Alice blinked, and Elijah saw the moment when full understanding reached her. “So you thought I was perhaps an abandoned lady friend of his?” she said, and looked as if she was caught between a laugh and an outraged sniff.

  Colonel Amboys grew a bit red in the face. “Yes. I—I’m sorry to offend a lady’s sensibilities, but, yes, he was. Especially toward females among the tribes he was supposedly protecting.”

  Suddenly Alice stilled. “You said he was a scoundrel. What happened to him? Was he transferred elsewhere? Back East?”

  Colonel Amboys pulled at his collar as if it were too tight. “Perhaps it would have been better for him if he had been sent back East,” he began. “He was disciplined for his behavior among the Cheyenne, and transferred—but just to the next division, which supervised the Comanche reservation, which is just south of the Cheyenne’s land. Unfortunately, he soon displayed the same predilection among the Comanches. One of the braves...ah, took exception, shall we say?”

  “Please, sir, speak plainly,” Alice said, her voice level.

  The colonel raised weary eyes to Alice’s while Elijah looked on, holding his breath.

  “I’m saying Lawson is dead, Miss Hawthorne. The Comanche brave killed him for dishonoring his sister.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Alice could only sit there for a moment, absorbing the enormity of what the colonel had told them. She’d assumed Dakota’s father was either no longer in the army or had been transferred far away, and would be effectively out of their reach, but she hadn’t imagined he’d be dead.

  “Miss Hawthorne, are you all right? Can I get you some water? Perhaps a small glass of brandy?” the colonel asked, hovering over her and fluttering a piece of paper like a fan. It would have been comical if his news hadn’t been so sad. “I can assure you the brave was dealt with and paid the penalty for his crime.”

  She saw Elijah come and stand beside her, and felt the warmth of his hand on her shoulder. Instantly the tears that had threatened to spill on Dakota’s behalf stopped stinging, and she felt immeasurably stronger.

  She waved away the fluttering paper. “Brandy won’t be necessary, Colonel, thank you. I’m all right. Merely saddened on his son’s behalf.” She rose. “We appreciate the information, sir. We’ll inform his son.”

  “But I’m sure word was sent to his widow back East—Ohio, I believe,” the Colonel said, pouring her a glass of water and handing it to her. “Wouldn’t his son have been notified...?” His voice trailed off and he cleared his throat again.
“You’re saying he had a child...other than his children by marriage?”

  “Yes, Colonel,” she heard Elijah say. “Born of that same predilection, as you called it. He’s half Cheyenne.”

  “I see.” The colonel’s face was carefully blank. “Is there...anything else I can do for you, ma’am? Reverend?”

  “I don’t believe so. Thank you for your time, Colonel,” Elijah said, and ushered her out to their waiting horses.

  “You folks be careful, now. Looks like the summer heat’s building up to a storm.”

  It was true, Alice saw. While they’d sat in the colonel’s office, the blistering sun that had sent rivulets of sweat trickling down her back while she rode here had now gone behind lowering clouds. But Elijah didn’t appear worried, and as often as not, she’d seen the clouds blown away by the ceaseless Oklahoma wind without loosing their damp load.

  They were both silent until they were well away from the guard shack and riding again toward Boomer Town.

  “Elijah, how are we going to tell Dakota?” she asked, breaking the silence that had been punctuated only by the chirping of birds and the occasional sound of voices as they passed more homesteaders camped at the border.

  “We should pray about it, and ask the Lord to guide us to the best way to tell Dakota,” he began. “It won’t be easy, no matter how we do it.”

  “Of course, but how will he take it? Will he want to run back to his tribe? That might be best, but some of them didn’t accept him because of his white blood,” she reminded him. “Poor little boy, trapped between two worlds.” Before she could stop it, a tear slid down her cheek and then another.

  Wordlessly Elijah handed her his handkerchief, and as she dabbed at her wet cheeks, she heard him sigh.

  “We’ll need to do it soon, so he’s not tempted to leave on a search that we now know is futile,” he said at last. “You know, it’s likely for the best, as far as Dakota’s concerned, that Captain Lawson is gone. Though it’s tragic that Lawson never changed his ways, of course. With the character he had, though—or lack of it—it doesn’t seem likely Lawson would have been a positive influence on Dakota, even if he’d been willing to have the boy.”