Always, Wyeth

by Reina Torres

  The two walked in companionable silence in the yard, a man and a young woman side by side in the quiet of the morning. One head and then the other would look up at the horse and then the horse would dart in one direction or another. Performing for an audience, the thought made her smile.

  “Miss Weston?”

  Goodness.

  The familiar clip of Mademoiselle Dubois’ disapproval turned her head.

  “Please do pay attention.”

  Tillie’s smile settled onto her lips. “I am.” She flushed at the curious look from the stage driver. They all knew where her attention had been.

  “Miss, I don’t know what could possibly be keepin’ Mr. Pierson from answering the door. He should be out and ready to receive the mail we have in the lockbox.”

  Tillie waved off his concern. “We did have an early start. Likely he wasn’t planning for us to arrive so early.”

  “It certainly was a jarring and bumpy ride,” Mademoiselle turned her eagle eye and irritation toward the driver. “Did you have to find every rut and bump in the road?”

  “Well, you know…” The driver smiled at the older woman as he swept the hat off of his head and pushed his fingers through his greying waves of hair, lifting them from the flattened coif that his hat had created. “There were a few bumps about an hour out of the last station that we missed ‘cause we were too busy chattin’ ‘bout the weather. Since we are so early, I’d be happy to hop back up in the boot and see if we can’t chase those bumps down for another go, if you’d like.”

  Tillie’s eyes widened slightly at the way he spoke to her companion. If she had dared to inject any sort of humor into their discourse she would have certainly suffered consequences.

  Yet, Mademoiselle Dubois said nothing. The unaccustomed silence gave Tillie an unprecedented opportunity to observe her constant companion from another perspective. The stage driver’s regard wasn’t rude. His tone and gaze rang with humor, but he wasn’t mocking. In fact, the light in his eyes seemed to bear a fair amount of appreciation.

  Her ever-present companion cut quite a handsome figure, even in her severe day gown in the same shade of grey that she seemed to favor for all of her clothing. Her hair, while starting to pale at her temples, still held a lustrous mahogany color. The barest of curly wisps that had loosened around her ears during their journey was the only indication that the slicked-straight hair that she wrapped into a bun at the nape of her neck wasn’t the true nature of her hair.

  The driver was called away to help with the luggage, leaving the two women alone.

  “Hello!!”

  The older woman turned her head toward Tillie like an owl and focused on the voice. “Who is that?”

  Tillie turned and smiled. The young woman she’d seen before was leaning on the corral. She was standing on the second rung of the fence, her braids laid flat against the dark green of her dress. There was a hint of petticoats that showed stark white against her dark leather boots and the straight hem of her skirts a scant few inches above. “I have no idea.”

  The driver and his partner set down a trunk a few feet away and the driver pulled his kerchief from around his neck and swiped at his cheeks. “That young lady over there is Anna Hawkins. Her Pa runs the livery, freight office, and the Pony Express station. Your other things are likely stored in their barn until your home is completed.”

  Tillie raised her arm and waved back at the young woman. They were likely near to each other in age and that alone was a wonderful happenstance. “Hello!”

  “Miss Weston!”

  “Do you ever let her do anything?”

  Both Tillie and her companion turned back to the driver at the same time, but it was Mademoiselle Dubois that spoke; Tillie certainly didn’t have the nerve to. “Excusez-moi?”

  The driver laughed again, a full-throated laugh that tempted Tillie to join in. “I got no idea what you just said, but I guess it don’t matter much.” He tucked his kerchief into a pocket. “I just wonder if you knuckle her under all the time or just in front of folks. I mean, Miss Weston’s hardly done or said a thing you like, but from what I can see, she’s a fine young lady.” He turned his gaze toward the other young woman by the corral. “If Miss Weston here is going to spend much time in Three Rivers; she’ll spend a good amount of time around the likes of the Hawkins family and the O’Neals. They’re the only women who live in town at the moment who don’t make their living in the saloons.”

  Tillie stepped closer and took a hold of Mademoiselle’s arm when she paled at the thought. When the older woman’s eyes met hers, Tillie knew what she was thinking. Tillie had always been watched like a hawk, even more so when Mademoiselle had taken the job of instructing her on the proper etiquette of a young woman. Tillie knew that the stage driver’s intention was to ease the older woman’s concerns, but all he’d managed to do was to give her keeper yet another reason to keep a very close eye on her.

  Managing to keep a polite smile on her lips, Tillie sighed under her breath. “Oh goodness.”

  Chapter 2

  The bunkhouse at the Three Rivers Express Station was better than most. At least that’s what some people thought.

  “I said to take your feet off the table.” Luke gave John a pointed look.

  With a grudging sigh, the rider from Hanover dropped his feet to the floor in a huff. “Folks at my station don’t care.”

  Luke looked up again from his book. “I’ve been to your station and I can tell.”

  Lifting his lap-desk from his trunk, Stone sat on his bunk. “Mr. Hawkins and his missus are clear on their expectations for us while we work for them and live on their property. Besides, it makes sense. We keep clean and we keep healthy so we can work.”

  Joining in, Luke gave his friend a nod. “It’s a fair exchange if you ask me, and the bathhouse makes their water as hot as you like it.”

  Shuddering visibly, John reached a hand back to scratch at his neck. “What if I don’t like it.”

  “Don’t matter. If you want a seat at the table for meals, you come clean or you stay outside.”

  “Suits me just fine. I’ll bunk down in the barn with the horses.”

  Luke shared a look with Stone. “You can try.”

  John’s expression went from curious to downright perplexed. “What does that mean?”

  “It means,” Stone dipped his pen into the inkwell, “that the horses wouldn’t have you either. They don’t like us stinking up the barn anymore than the other riders would like you stinking up the bunkhouse.”

  Unlike the heat, John’s temper wasn’t showing any signs of improvement. The bunkhouse door opened up and Wyeth strolled in with his hair a touch damp and his normal smile slightly askew.

  Luke watched Wyeth fiddle the cuff on his clean shirt. “What’s that?”

  “I keep gettin’ my cuff caught on somethin’ and now the button’s about to pull right off.”

  Stifling a yawn, John shrugged. “You gonna get that Hawkins woman to fix it?”

  “Now look here-”

  “What was your name again?” Wyeth stepped in between Stone and the visiting rider. “John?”

  “Yeah, sure, that’s my name.”

  “This is your first time through here at Three Rivers so I’m gonna try to make things clear. You call her Missus Hawkins. You say it with respect. She’s the wife of our boss and a dear, dear woman. So, you keep that in mind when you speak of her. You hear?”

  While his words filtered through the air, Wyeth’s normal smile fell back in place.

  “’Sides, I don’t need Missus Hawkins to help me with the stitching; I just need to borrow her needle and ask for some thread.”

  That got John’s attention and wrangled a dubious look on his face. “You can sew? You got some frilly drawers under those britches?”

  Wyeth wasn’t fazed at the mocking suggestion from the other man. “Sticks and stones, John,” Wyeth’s eyes widened a little and he turned to his friend. “No offense, intended.”
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  The corner of Stone’s mouth quirked up and he went back to his letter. “I got a thick hide and a thick head, so say what you like about me.”

  John held up his hands in mock surrender. “Hey, you set me straight. I got it.” Sitting up in his chair he leaned his bony elbows on the table top. “Why don’t you go get that needle and thread. Maybe I’ll learn something before heading out tomorrow morning.”

  With that suggestion. Wyeth’s good mood was completely restored. “I learned from my sister Elizabeth while she was helpin’ my Mama mend the clothes for the little ones. I went from watchin’ to doin’ in no time flat.”

  A moment later, Wyeth was gone, the early afternoon sun turning his hair to a light gold as he stepped outside.

  When the door shut with a soft bang, Luke looked up from his book with a quizzical look on his face. “Where did Wyeth go?”

  From his place at the table John’s shoulders shook in silent laughter and a closed fist hit the table. “I think mister know-it-all just ran off to the big house.”

  Groaning, Stone looked at Luke. “Didn’t you tell him the ladies were having tea?”

  Luke’s expression was pained. “I told him when he rode in, before he went off to get a bath.”

  Stone looked at the rider yucking up it up at their table. “You knew and set him off.”

  Swiveling a bit on the seat of the chair, John’s lips pulled tight in a self-satisfied smile. “Wound him up like a top and let him spin.” He lifted his chin in Luke’s direction. “You should take notes.”

  “No thanks.” Luke set aside his book, taking care to slip a ribbon between the pages where he was reading. Sliding off his bunk he headed for the door. “I don’t like what you’re teaching.”

  Humming to himself, Wyeth stepped up onto the porch and up to the door. The spring in his step was genuine. He liked the inside of the Hawkins’ house. The feminine touches put him to mind of his mother and the way she made their home feel like a comfort from floor to ceiling. Rag rugs and embroidered pillows. Watercolors on the walls and curtains in the windows. All of those little touches were evident in the Hawkins’ home and he relished every invitation into the warm interior.

  Scuffing off the soles of his boots he was about to knock when he heard the girlish glee of Anna Hawkins’ laugh. “Mama, remember when the boys-”

  He pushed the door open and poked his head in. “Remember when we did wha-”

  There were four sets of eyes staring back at him.

  Anna’s eyes snapped with laughter. Beside her, her mother Olivia looked at him with a smile full of maternal indulgence while her eyes held a quiet reproach. The woman on the far side of the little table wore a severe outfit made of a grey woolen material that looked like it had been starched so many times that when she set the garment aside at night, it would likely stand up in the corner as if she was standing in it.

  Her eyes narrowed at him and if he thought they were cold before, they were now snapping with frost. He could only offer her the slightest of smiles, trying to ease the severe sentiment she was likely casting in his direction.

  By the time he turned to the fourth lady in the room he was prepared for the worst. Censure? Judgement? He drew in a breath to steady his nerves and swung his attention to the settee and the woman seated beside Anna.

  And stopped short of a complete thought.

  Goodness.

  His mind was awhirl with realization that heaven had come a dear sight closer overnight. Hair like night, eyes like his mama’s warm chocolate that she used to tempt him to sleep as a child. Eyes that he’d likely drown himself in if he wasn’t tied good and tight to something heavier than one of the Morgan ponies they had in the barn.

  She had a gentle, pleasant face, and when her eyes softened from shock and surprise to a curious regard, the gentle bow of her lips quirked up into a sweet graceful smile. His heart did a little flip flop in his chest.

  Someone cleared her throat in the room and then Anna’s laughter tickled his ear. He managed to turn his head away and meet the smiling eyes of Mrs. Hawkins where she held court at the top of the group. “Hello, Wyeth. What brings you to our door?”

  He held out his arm, palm up and stupidly pointed at the button at his wrist. “My button, ma’am.” There was more to say, but he couldn’t quite remember what it was.

  “Your button?” Anna giggled and turned to the other young woman. “Wyeth’s gone and made me a liar today.”

  “Liar?” The word tumbled from Wyeth’s lips. “How’d I go and do that?” His pride had taken a tumble as well as his heart.

  Anna reached out to the plate of cookies that her mother had set out, plucked one from it with dainty fingers and lifted it over the back of the seat, holding it out to him. “I told Ottille that you were the sweetest talker of all the riders and then in you walk in and lose your powers of speech in a heartbeat. What’s a nice young lady to think? She’ll likely think I was tellin’ her a fib.”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t think anything of the kind, Anna.”

  She spoke and her voice wrapped around him like a good and proper noose. A prettier voice he’d never heard. It was soft and gentle and warm and everything he’d ever hoped for but never dreamed to hear.

  He mustered up years of sweet-talkin’ skill that he’d learned from listening to swains come around for his sister, Elizabeth, but he put all of his heart into it. “I thank you for your kindness toward my young friend, Miss. Anna’s always watchin’ out for us riders, tryin’ to keep our spirits high and us out of trouble.” He gave a little bow and accepted the cookie that Anna was waving at him. “’Sides, I’d do anything for one of Missus Hawkins’ cookies. There ain’t,” he caught the cold look from the Grey Lady and amended his speech, “there isn’t a single thing that either Missus Hawkins or Miss Hawkins,” he gave Anna a pleasant wink, “makes that doesn’t make every single one of us hungry riders thankful at every meal that we ended up assigned to Three Rivers Station.”

  Olivia Hawkins gave him an indulgent smile. “I went from one boy to nearly a dozen seemingly overnight.”

  “A dozen!” The lady in gray looked through each and every window in the room. “Where are they? Do they all just walk into your home at any given time?”

  Olivia and Anna looked at each other before Olivia answered her. “The men assigned to this station are young men of good quality. Men we trust around our young daughter, Mademoiselle Dubois.”

  The words had their desired effect. “I see.” Then she turned her gaze toward Wyeth and he felt as if she was trying to look right through him to see if he had a spine. Well, he was certainly sure he had one. It kept him upright most of the day. “Yet, I believe that Mr. Weston wouldn’t feel comfortable with Ottille alone with any of your young men no matter the quality of their characters. A man and any unmarried young woman of quality is a situation that no father would deem harmless.”

  Wyeth’s anger was instant. He doubted that the woman knew that she’d insulted the Hawkins with her words. He only hoped that her obvious concern for the other young woman in the room was true and not just something memorized to pontificate upon.

  He saw Anna’s brow furrow as her mind worked on the reason for the sudden shift of feeling in the room. He saw the painstaking way Olivia set a smile on her gentle features and how her eyes asked for him to remain silent. Wyeth wasn’t sure that he had that ability. No matter how much he cared for the Hawkins family, he also had a good deal of ire for anyone who would speak so carelessly in the face of hospitality.

  “Mademoiselle,” he turned his head to see the angel in blue-checked calico draw the attention of her companion with a softly spoken word. “I believe we’ve distracted Mister-,” she turned back to look up at him with a trusting blink of her warm eyes, “I’m sorry, I don’t think I heard your name.”

  Wyeth was left staring at her for a moment before he realized he owed her an answer. “Oh, sorry. I’m Wyeth Bowles.”

  He was thrilled when Olivia took
the opportunity to introduce the ladies to him and he paid particular attention to the young woman’s name, reciting it over and over in his head.

  She nodded and her smile broadened ever so slightly as if she was holding it back. “Mr. Bowles, I don’t believe you told us what brought you inside. Something,” she prompted him, “about your button?”

  Her comment startled him. It was plain to see on his face. Anna said he had a quick wit and a ready smile, but Wyeth Bowles was not immune to surprise and seemed a little off kilter.

  Since he’d walked in the room she’d felt a subtle thrill along her skin.

  When they started west from Boston, Tillie had read all she could about the plains and the territories, even a copy of The Prairie Traveler that she’d traded her best hat for. Leaving behind the ordered and staid life of Boston, she found herself almost looking forward to the wild and untamed lands. And yet, her experience up until Three Rivers had been one busy town after another where life whirled by with hardly a calm breath to take. She wanted adventure, but she wanted… hoped for a place to call home.

  And in the middle of a lovely mid-morning tea with two lovely women serving as their hosts, Tillie felt like she was meeting friends that she wanted to keep for a lifetime and yet her heart balked at the idea. Walking away from dear friends would be just another wound to her heart.

  “I am sorry,” Wyeth stammered his reply, his eyes focused on her face. “I interrupted your tea and seem to have lost my intent as well.” He turned to look at Olivia. “I was hoping to borrow a needle and thread to sew my button down, Missus Hawkins, but I just returned from a run and forgot that you had company. My apologies.”

  Tillie loved hearing him speak. She was sure that someone had taught him how to have such a gentle address around women. His mother? Sister? For a moment, she felt her heart tumble and still. A sweetheart perhaps?

  “The men sew?”

  Again, Mademoiselle made her opinion known and Tillie felt the uncomfortable pinch between her shoulder blades, which was quickly becoming a common occurrence in her ongoing relationship with the older woman.