“Margaret, hold your tongue,” Mrs. Swanson ordered. “The girl was undoubtedly taken by force.”
Margaret snorted her contempt. “Was she? That man made regular visits, didn’t he? If it was so unwanted, would her father have drunk himself to death instead of killing the cur? Would she have kept the baby instead of sending it to the orphanage? I think not.”
Kate dug her nails into the cloth handle of her sewing bag and clenched her jaws until they ached. How smug they all were. Especially Margaret. It was common enough knowledge in the kitchens that she was far from virginal.
Maybe she’d been a fool to love a man who only made infrequent visits, maybe she should have refused his advances, but she hadn’t, and she was making the best of things. Of course she’d borne the child conceived that night. Who wouldn’t after being ushered into a filthy room where a supposed midwife would “take care of her problem”?
Surely everyone was entitled to a mistake no matter how large. She’d learned her lesson.
Margaret Swanson’s voice caught Kate’s attention once more. “Her father told Dr. Walls she showed no remorse at all.”
Kate shoved open the bedroom door, sending it crashing into the walnut table close by, the edge of the marble table top cracking the oak door panel. “How dare you condemn me? You’re the one who’s marrying to get a father for the bastard your cousin’s husband gave you! At least I was in love with my baby’s father even if he didn’t return the affection!”
Mrs. Swanson collapsed onto the arm of the settee, and Margaret’s eyes glazed over with fury.
Kate reached out, gripped the shoulders of the wedding gown, and yanked. Bits of imported lace and elaborate crystal beading flew in the air.
“What are you doing?” Margaret shrieked.
Kate wrestled the torn garment from her. “Since you haven’t yet paid, I’m taking it away—along with my little half-breed bastard!”
“You can’t do this! Come back here! Give me my dress!”
Kate fled the room, her feet thudding on the carpet.
“Come back here, you whore!” Margaret screamed after her.
Ignoring her, Kate dashed down the stairs, nearly stumbling over the trailing length of the torn wedding gown. Old pain and fresh anger raced through her.
Margaret’s ranting could still be heard all the way in the kitchen. The cook and maids averted their eyes as Kate strode to the stove and shoved the silk gown into the firebox. She watched it burn before taking her son from the basket and walking across the room.
Luella followed her to the door. “Take care, Kate. Take care of yourself and Jamie!”
Kate walked briskly along the crowded sidewalk, meeting the reproachful look of one of the Swanson’s relatives with a belligerent expression. Damn them. Damn them all to Hell.
Anger bolstering her energy, she hurried the quarter mile to the railroad station. She half collided with a man emerging and didn’t bother to apologize. Brushing past the few others inside, she went to the closest window, shifted Jamie to her other hip, and emptied the contents of her small purse on the counter. “How far will this take me?” The clerk ignored her. She shoved the money under the window. “How far?”
The young clerk consulted his charts. “Any stop between here and Laramie in the Wyoming Territory.”
Kate glanced at the map on the adjacent wall. Wyoming was far from New York and close enough to Indian lands so Jamie might not stand out. At least she didn’t think he would. Still, the name “Laramie” bothered her for some reason. She took the small wad of bills she kept tucked in the waistband of her skirt for emergencies. “Will this take me farther?”
The clerk consulted his charts again. “You can transfer to a stage coach and go to Freewill if you really want to.”
Freewill. It was like freedom in a way. “Tell me about this place.”
The man pointed to a display of travel leaflets in the metal rack beside the window. She picked up the one he indicated.
“You want the ticket, lady? The brochure is five cents extra.”
She searched in her reticule for the change and shoved it under the window, scanning the leaflet as the clerk readied her tickets. Freewill was described as a small but steadily growing town thanks to mining operations and travelers who stopped over to rest or trade goods. Many decided to stay put and stake their claims to the available grazing lands.
The clerk pushed the tickets forward. “C’mon, lady. You’re holding things up. The train West leaves first thing tomorrow.”
***
Kate boarded the train the following morning, willing her hope and dreams for a bright future for herself and her son to push away the doubts and fears that had been gnawing at her since the predawn hours.
This was frightening beyond reason. She’d never traveled so far and certainly not alone. Of course she’d learned a lot in the year since her father’s death. She’d learned just how capable and intelligent she was to be able to provide for herself and Jamie with help from no one. Leaving was the right decision. It had to be.
Although it would have been very easy to accept the “offer” from her father’s competitor, a haberdasher named Horace Winslow. He’d offered time and again to buy the tailoring business and employ her as a seamstress, but that job came with other more “personal” responsibilities she had no desire to take on.
It had been galling to have to sell him the excess fabrics and things she couldn’t pack into her few trunks for less than half their value, but what choice did she have? Not much. She needed to get away from Albany.
Once seated, Kate glanced down at her mother’s wedding ring. She’d been wearing it on a length of ribbon but now it adorned her left hand. As long as she was beginning a new life, she’d decided to fabricate a new past to go with it. From now on, she would be the widow of a Canadian fur trader. At least it would explain Jamie’s coloring. The man who fathered him had been part French and part Indian.
She closed her eyes a moment, not wanting to relive the pain of that night. Thankfully the nightmares had stopped when Jamie was born, but the degradation remained, and she wondered if it would ever go away.
***
Several Days Later
John Avery stared out the window of the stagecoach wishing his horse hadn’t stepped in that damned gopher hole. This trip would have taken longer on horseback, but at least he’d have been spared the two Texans who, unfortunately, had been his traveling companions since the last way station.
“Say, Red, what’s the difference between a nigra and a heap of buffalo shit?”
“I dunno, Chet, what?”
Chet’s thin lips twitched with amusement. “You wouldn’t puke if your sister touched a pile of shit.”
Predictably, Red threw back his shaggy head and laughed.
John took a deep breath and bit back the anger as he’d learned to do in childhood. Perhaps he should have put on his government blues for the journey. Then maybe these damn fools would have the decency to respect the uniform if not the black man wearing it. He glanced at the Texans out of the corner of his eye. Thankfully their conversation had turned to the calico queens whose company they’d recently enjoyed.
He turned his attention back to the scenery passing outside the stage window. It felt good to be away from the desolate outposts, poor food, and even poorer supplies for a while, but he couldn’t ignore the nagging emptiness at having to leave behind his fellow scouts and the way of life that had become so familiar to him.
The long Army career he’d envisioned was gone now, but at least he was alive and free thanks to Colonel Gregson. It was still hard to believe that the white officer had stood up for him, using his influence to avert a court-martial despite the fact the man assaulted had been Gregson’s nephew, Captain Harry McDermott.
He closed his eyes, momentarily sickened by the memory of Harry McDermott skewering a pregnant Apache woman with his saber then wiping the bloody blade onto the head of her horrified five-year-old daughter.
The slowing of the stage was a welcome respite from his dark thoughts, and John got out of the coach as soon as the driver stopped in front of Pleasantville Station. The weather-beaten cabin and stable served as a stopover for the final leg of the journey to the town of Freewill.
John stretched his cramped legs just in time to hear one of the Texans exclaim, “Great-God-Almighty! Can’t a body go anyplace without bein’ surrounded by nigras an’ injuns?”
John cast a sympathetic look toward the other waiting traveler—a young white woman with a baby whose coloring and features suggested Indian blood. Stark fear shone in her eyes. She encircled her child with her arms, her tense posture relaxing a fraction when the Texans turned their noses up at her and followed the stage driver to the long trestle table at the far end of the main room.
The baby dropped a dried gourd rattle, and John stepped forward to pick it up, sensing that the young mother had been bending for it the better part of the day.
“Stay put, ma’am, I’ll get it.”
Kate looked up into the face of a tall, muscular black man whose smile was as warm as a midsummer’s day. She responded in kind, realizing it was the first time she’d smiled since leaving Albany. “Thank you, Mr.—”
“Avery. John Avery.”
“My name is Kate Le Master.”
He watched with amusement as Jamie raised a chubby hand, trying to knock the rattle from her grasp.
“My sister has two about the same age.”
Kate winced, unable to imagine having two Jamies to keep after. One nine month old was more than enough. “My prayers go out to her, Mr. Avery.”
“After having spent a week with them, I hope those prayers get answered.”
They shared conspiratorial smiles, and in those few seconds, her spirit lifted a little
The station’s cook announced that dinner was ready.
The dirt the thin, filthy man had acquired God-knew-where nearly filled the craggy wrinkles on his face. When she approached the table, her empty stomach churned. The tin plates, cups, knives, and forks lay in various stages of decrepitude, still bearing evidence of that day’s lunch. In fact, the meal itself was the very same thing she had been unable to eat earlier in the day. It was no more appetizing now.
The thing that had barely passed for butter earlier was runny and rank, the ham was slimy looking, turning gray at the edges. The dust-flecked biscuits resembled small chunks of rock, while the sugar bowl was literally crawling with flies, ants, and other things.
Kate swallowed hard as she watched the man who’d insulted her eagerly spoon that slop onto his plate. She should have stayed in Albany no matter how badly people treated her. It was foolish to think she could fashion a new life for herself with only her sewing skills out on the frontier. The farther West she went, the worse things seemed to get.
Anxiety, fear, and disgust twisted her stomach a final time, and she rushed outside.
Mr. Avery joined her a few minutes later and willingly shared the small supply of food he’d brought in his saddled pack. “It ain’t much, just some bread and jam, dried beef, and what I call fruitcake, but there’s enough for both of us.”
“You’re very kind, Mr. Avery.”
He refused the money she offered him. “You keep it, ma’am. Maybe someday I’ll need a helping hand from you.”
Kate thanked him then tucked the money safely away while he divided up the food and refilled his canteen from the nearby well.
“Jamie certainly took to that fruitcake of yours. Where did you get it?”
“I made it. A fellow I scouted with during the war showed me how. It’s mostly just serviceberries crushed into a jam and mixed with a few ‘secret’ ingredients and then dried in the sun.”
John thought it best to let the ‘secret’ ingredients remain secret, considering they were chopped grasshoppers.
His gaze drifted off toward the horizon as the sun’s last rays slipped lazily from view. When he looked back, Kate was stifling a yawn and Jamie was emitting soft baby snores. “Judging from the table they set in the station, I don’t imagine you’ll be wanting to sleep in one of their guest beds.”
A veil of revulsion fell over her delicate features. “I didn’t even think of that.” She sighed. “I’d better take my chances with whatever lives in the grass out here. It would seem the lesser of two evils.”
“Or weevils,” John quipped. He retrieved his bedroll from the top of the stagecoach and let Kate and Jamie use it.
“I feel guilty, Mr. Avery. You must think I have no business traveling if I can’t provide my own bed.”
“It’s no bother at all, ma’am. I know taking care of that little boy is like two jobs in itself.”
Kate smiled then her expression wavered as she looked to the stage station. “Do you think those men will stay inside?”
“I imagine they will, ma’am, but don’t you worry. I’m used to sleeping while being able to hear what’s moving around. No one’ll bother you.”
The gentle snap of a twig roused John after dawn. The bleary-eyed stage driver sucked in his breath and froze in his tracks at the sight of an Army-issue Colt revolver pointing at his chest. The man held his hands out at his sides while John pushed his hat back from his face with his free hand.
“Take it easy now, mister. I don’t want trouble. I jus’ wanted to see if you was up. We’ll be leaving in about a hour.”
John uncocked the gun and returned it to his holster. He woke Kate and then went inside to see if any fresh food was available. The only things that seemed safe were the warm biscuits and blackberry jam. He took some outside and shared them along with his remaining dried beef.
When the surly Texans hauled themselves out of the way station, Kate tensed. John gave her a nod. “It’s liable to be a really long trip with those two. They stayed up all night drinking and gambling with the cook. From the sound of it, they lost.”
Kate snatched up Jamie, who had begun crawling in the direction of the men. The baby balked in a high-pitched cry, which sent one hung over Texan into a tirade.
“Shut that half-breed up, or I’ll kick his red ass clear to Dakota!”
John stepped in front of Kate and Jamie. “Look, we have a long day ahead of us. You go on about your business and Mrs. LeMaster and her boy will do likewise.”
The man backed off a step, but it was plain to see that riding the rest of the way with them would be like sitting atop a keg of black powder with a candle in hand.
Chapter Two
Freewill, Wyoming
As Vivienne crossed the packed dirt street toward the stagecoach office, she was surprised to hear Cody’s voice boom. “What do you mean you put him off the stage!”
Pushing past the crowd gathered in the office doorway, she watched the easy-going Cody lift the dusty stage driver a good foot off the floor. “Where did you leave him?” he demanded, pressing a horn handled scalping knife to the driver’s throat.
“A-a couple miles out-just-just past the Devil Tree.”
Cody dropped him and left the office, missing the caustic comments of sympathetic onlookers who helped the driver to his feet, all of them undoubtedly jealous of the Indian’s half ownership of the town.
Vivienne looked down her nose at them then went to inquire about her freight.
The stage owner’s son, Sonny Logan, gave her his usual syrupy smile. “Of course those curtains arrived on schedule. We Logans always make good on our promises.”
“Considering the prices you charge, you should.” She ignored his muttered reply when something the stage driver said caught her attention. She whipped her head around, her cheeks heating with anger. “You, there! Stop!”
She hurried forward, the silk of her skirts and petticoat rustling around her. “What did you say about a woman and a baby?”
“I said I hope the nigra kills the whore an’ her half-breed bastard before they git here. Ma’am.”
With a powerful shove, Vivienne sent the man sprawlin
g to the floor once again. She cursed him under her breath as she rushed to the stable behind her hotel and had her fastest horse hitched to a light wagon.
***
Grumbling in English, Mandan, and Shoshone, Cody raced his horse and a spare out of Freewill. This was not the kind of welcome he’d planned for his old friend, and he hoped John wouldn’t change his mind about settling in Freewill. He urged the horses on until at last he passed the lightning-ravaged tree some imaginative soul had christened the “Devil Tree” because of the eye-like knotholes and two gnarled, horn-shaped branches near the top.
When he caught sight of Avery in the distance, Cody let out a loud whoop and waved his slouch hat. As he drew closer, he thought his eyes might have been playing tricks on him when John stepped forward, revealing a white woman sitting atop one of two humpbacked trunks, hugging a squalling, squirming black haired child.
He slid off his mount and walked the horses forward, his gaze fixed on the woman who took no notice of him. She stared at the Devil Tree, her oval face dirt-streaked and framed by strands of nut-brown hair that had long since escaped the confines of its pins.
John said something, and she looked up, her large eyes brimming with tears and silent pain. Even in her disheveled condition she was striking, and Cody was touched by her distress in a way he wouldn’t have thought possible. He tore his gaze from the woman and clapped his friend on the shoulder. “I came as fast as I could. What the hell happened?”
“All hell broke loose about an hour out of Pleasantville. Little Jamie there was fussing and crying and those two cowboys just got meaner and uglier, calling him and Mrs. LeMaster names. They went after the baby, and I knocked one of them out with a valise. The driver told us to walk the rest of the way, and I didn’t see much point in arguing the matter.”
Dreams, Deceptions and Desires Page 2
