A Cowboy at Heart

by Lori Copeland

  But what if a leader was appointed by God? Could he follow the dictates of someone like, say, Jonas? Someone whose integrity could not be questioned?

  Yeah. He thought he could. But what was the point, when Katie insisted she wouldn’t have him even if he wore suspenders and grew his beard long?

  A blur in the distance indicated his approach to Hays City. Shoving his glum thoughts aside, he urged Rex to a faster pace.

  Though noon was still a long way off, the town was awake and stirring. Actually, some establishments never shut down. In times past that kind of constant activity appealed to him, but not anymore. There was a lot to be said for a good night’s sleep and a fresh start in the morning.

  He stopped in at a general store to inquire about the location of the land management office and was heading toward North Fort Street when he heard his name.

  “Is that you, Montgomery? Well, I’ll be a cross-eyed mule. It is you!”

  He turned to find a man advancing on him, a wide smile on his familiar face.

  “Morris! I don’t believe it.” Jesse pumped the man’s hand and slapped him on the opposite shoulder. “I haven’t seen you in, what’s it been? Five years? Six?”

  “At least that,” Morris said. “Not since we rode for Carson on the Chisholm Trail. Hey, are you here for the Elway job?”

  Jesse furrowed his brow. “What job?”

  “You haven’t heard? You know who Robert Elway is, right? He owns a huge spread and five thousand head down in Texas.”

  The name sounded familiar. Jesse might have ridden on a drive for him once, back in the old days. He nodded.

  “Well, he’s looking to lay claim to some land and bring some of the herd up here.”

  Like Littlefield. Jesse grimaced. “Yeah, I hear a lot of folks are doing that these days.”

  “Word is he’s paying good money on account of it ain’t as easy on the trail as it used to be. I’m on my way to talk to him. You ought to come with me.”

  Jesse’s interest perked up. Another cattle drive? He thought he’d seen the last of the trail a few years back. “Where is he?”

  “Right over there in Tommy Drum’s Saloon. C’mon. I’ll buy you a drink.”

  Morris headed across the wide, dirt-packed street. Jesse followed him toward a building with a pair of half-length wooden doors. The distant strains of piano music drifted through them and into the streets. As they neared, the pounding of Jesse’s heart grew loud in his ears. He hadn’t stepped foot inside a saloon in more than a year. A familiar hollow opened up in the center of his chest, a hollow that throbbed with an emptiness no amount of food could fill.

  What could it hurt to go inside and talk to the man? Just because he entered a saloon didn’t mean he had to order a drink, did it? And he’d jump at the chance to get on with another cattle drive. Finally, some real work, something besides busting sod on somebody else’s farm. Resentment he didn’t know existed suddenly blinded him. So he wasn’t good enough for Katie. What made him think that he was good enough for any woman? Why deprive himself of the one thing in life that made him feel better?

  Even as he pushed the swinging doors open, he knew he wasn’t going in there to talk about a job on a cattle drive. The double eagle felt like a weight in his pocket. It might buy a decent saddle and it might not, but for sure it would stand him enough whiskey to fill that empty place deep in his chest.

  His fingers touched the wood, and a thought slammed into his brain.

  Lord, I don’t want to do this. I need Your help.

  Faces loomed in his mind’s eye. Rebecca, who had tracked him down last year to discover he was a drunk, a wasted shadow of his former self. Luke and Emma, their gazes full of pity when he’d showed up without a cent to his name and no place to go. Maummi Switzer, glaring suspiciously as she snatched the whiskey bottle off the bedside table. Butch, his eyes gleaming with admiration as he announced, “I’d rather be like you.”

  And Katie…

  Katie. She’d kept her eyes averted this morning, but when he had finally forced her to look at him, he’d seen sorrow lingering there. Sorrow that grabbed at his heart and squeezed like a fist. How he wished, prayed, he could replace her sorrow with joy.

  Lord, do I have a chance? Could she ever love me?

  One thing was certain. He would never convince her to give him a chance if he was on a cattle drive, where his old life would rise up from the ashes and pull him down again. No chance if he was a drunk.

  He took his hand off the swinging door and stepped back.

  Morris cocked his head. “What’s wrong? Don’t you want to talk to Elway?”

  Jesse stared at him for a long moment and then shook his head. “No. That’s not what I want.”

  He spun on his boot heel, suddenly eager to put as much distance between him and that saloon as possible.

  “All right, then,” Morris called after him. “Maybe I’ll see you around.”

  “Maybe,” he answered without turning.

  A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. The farther his boots took him from the saloon, the stronger his determination grew, until he turned the corner toward Fort Street, grinning like an idiot.

  The letters painted on the locked door read United States Land Office. Jesse paced the wooden walkway, stopping every so often to peek through the window in case someone came in from a rear entrance. Just when he’d decided to leave in search of a tack store, a man wearing a black suit and white shirt rounded the corner of the building, jingling a set of keys in his hand. He nodded a greeting toward Jesse as he stopped and unlocked the door. The cowboy followed him inside. After he hung his hat and coat on a stand, he extended a hand.

  “Good morning, sir. Charles Reynolds.”

  Jesse shook it. “Jesse Montgomery.”

  “How can I help you, Mr. Montgomery?”

  “I have questions about some property west of here, in Apple Grove.”

  “Ah. The Amish settlement.”

  Reynolds rounded a wide desk covered with neat stacks of paper and lowered himself into a chair, gesturing for Jesse to take the one opposite. Jesse removed his hat and, after sitting, set it on his crossed legs.

  “That’s right. One of my friends is having a dispute with a neighbor over the property lines.”

  “That’s odd. Don’t those Amish typically get along?”

  “With each other, yes. This neighbor isn’t Amish.”

  “Let me guess.” He planted his elbows on the desk and steepled his fingers in front of his mouth. “Mr. Andrew Littlefield.”

  Jesse nodded. “That’s right. You’ve heard of him?”

  “Oh, yes. He’s been in here several times in the past six months, filing various homestead claims.”

  Something in Reynolds’s carefully even tone told Jesse he wasn’t overly fond of Littlefield. A good sign for Jonas. “He ran a fence through the middle of my friend’s land, cutting off his livestock’s access to water.”

  The man shook his head. “I wish I could say this is the first time I’ve heard tell of such tactics. We’re seeing more and more men like Littlefield coming up from the south, throwing their weight around and expecting people to stand back and give them whatever they want.”

  “He seems to think that this fence and a notice in the paper is all he needs to make him the rightful owner.”

  A silent laugh shook his shoulders. “Oh, he knows the law better than that. Don’t let him fool you.”

  Something in the man’s tone made Jesse cautious. “I confess I don’t know the law myself. What’s it involve?”

  “A couple of things. First, a man files an application for one hundred sixty acres of surveyed government land.” Before Jesse could ask, he nodded. “Yes, the area the Amish call Apple Grove was surveyed years ago. Then for the next five years, the homesteader has to live on the land and improve it by building on it and growing crops.”

  Jesse perked up in the chair. “Five years? Littlefield hasn’t been here near that long
.”

  Reynolds shook his head. “No, he hasn’t. Unfortunately, there’s another way, and it’s quicker. Under the Homestead Act, a claimant can set up residency for six months and make trivial improvements, and then pay the government one dollar twenty-five cents per acre.”

  His hope deflated. “He’s been here six months, has he?”

  Reynolds looked sympathetic as he nodded. “He came in here last week and paid two thousand dollars on behalf of ten claimants.”

  Ten? Three, no doubt, were Woodard, Sawyer, and Lawson. The others must be widows from back East or others who could be as easily manipulated.

  “But surely something can be done. We can’t let him steal a man’s land.” Not to mention burning his barn, but Jesse didn’t see how that would add to the argument.

  “Look, I don’t like the man. The first time he was in here, six months ago, he was barking orders as though he owned the place. Made me mad enough to spit fire. He had me check into your friend’s claim back then.”

  “Jonas told me he filed his claim back when the Homestead Act was first enacted.” From the serious look on Reynolds’s face he knew the answer to his question before he asked it. “He made a mistake, didn’t he?”

  “Not a mistake, but an oversight. After his five years were over, he was supposed to file for his patent and pay a fifteen-dollar fee.” The man shrugged. “He never did.”

  Fifteen dollars. Jonas had overlooked the payment and now he was going to lose his land. Jesse leaned forward, the fingers of both hands gripping the edges of the desk. “Are you telling me his claim isn’t valid because of a fifteen-dollar fee?”

  “I’m afraid so. Not only your friend, but none of the Amish have finalized their homestead claims. Back then this office hadn’t been opened yet, so all the filings were done through the general land office in Washington, DC. Nobody locally was following up on the claims. It was up to the claimant to know the laws and follow them.”

  Of course the Amish wouldn’t know that. They made a point of separating themselves from the Englisch and probably never bothered to research the requirements of the law beyond the basics.

  “But when you discovered the mistake, why didn’t you let them know?” His voice held a tone of accusation.

  Reynolds drew himself up. “As an official of the government, I couldn’t. Claims are confidential until finalized. Because the initial claims were made through Washington, I wasn’t aware of the situation until six months ago. Once Mr. Littlefield completed an application, it wouldn’t have been right to discuss land office business with anyone else.”

  Jesse snatched his hat off his lap and rose so abruptly the chair fell backward with a loud crash. Littlefield was going to take Jonas’s land, and there was nothing he could do about it. There was also no possibility that Littlefield would pay Jonas for the land he wanted when he legally owned it himself. And what about Amos, John Beachy, and the others?

  He didn’t bother to filter the bitterness from his question. “Can the rest of the people in Apple Grove come in and pay the filing fee before someone runs them off their property too?”

  Reynolds dipped his head. “Of course. Anyone who has filed the appropriate claim, waited the proscribed time period, met the improvement requirements, and paid the fifteen-dollar fee can file for their patent.” The man fixed a sympathetic gaze on Jesse’s face. “Mr. Montgomery, believe me. I respect the Amish. I don’t appreciate a man like Littlefield coming in here and setting up his own kingdom as though he is a dictator. It was all I could do not to throw his two thousand dollars back in his face when he slapped it down on my desk last week. But he turned around and marched out of here before I could say anything.”

  The intensity in Reynolds’ eyes grew sharp. Jesse heaved a breath and blew out some of his frustration with it. He ran a hand through his hair before setting his hat firmly on his head. “I’m sorry. It wasn’t your fault.”

  “No, it wasn’t. The man paid his two thousand dollars and didn’t want to listen to anything I might have to say.”

  His emphasis on the amount for the second time drew Jesse’s attention. Reynolds’ lips were pressed tightly together, but his eyes held an unspoken message.

  “He paid two thousand dollars?” Jesse repeated the amount to see the man’s reaction.

  A slight nod, and the intensity in his gaze increased. “That’s right. Twenty one-hundred-dollar bills, right here on my desk.” He slapped the surface with a palm. “Ten claims at two hundred dollars each.” Again that intense look.

  What was he trying to say? “Ten claims. Two hundred dollars.” Jesse did the calculation. Ten times two hundred was two thousand, all right. If he had that kind of money he’d…

  Realization dawned, and Jesse’s jaw dropped as Reynolds’ unspoken message became clear. He took a step toward the desk.

  “Don’t you mean two thousand for the ten claims, plus a hundred and fifty for ten filing fees?”

  Reynolds leaned back in his chair, silent but with a wide smile on his face.

  Excitement bubbled up in Jesse’s throat, and he released it with a laugh. He’d just been handed the way to beat Littlefield at his own game. “Mr. Reynolds, shouldn’t Littlefield be told that his claim isn’t finished yet?”

  “Yes, he should. Funny thing about that, though.” He spread his hands wide to indicate the piles of paper on his desk. “I’ve been so busy I haven’t been able to spare a minute to send a message out that way.”

  “So, if someone else who has met all the requirements for that land were to come in here and pay that fee, like my friend Jonas Switzer, you’re saying his claim would be officially filed first?”

  “Mr. Switzer or his agent.” He looked meaningfully at Jesse. “An agent being anybody who is acting on his behalf.”

  With a grin as wide as Texas, Jesse reached in his pocket and pulled out his twenty-dollar gold piece. He slapped it down on the desk. “Mr. Reynolds, I’m here on behalf of Mr. Jonas Switzer. I’d like to file for the patent on his land.”

  Reynolds returned the grin with one of his own. “Let me grab the appropriate form and we’ll get that done, Mr. Montgomery.”

  SEVENTEEN

  As Jonas finished plowing the last row in his new cornfield, he saw Amos picking his way through the tall grass toward him. The man’s light step and his smile lifted a weight off of Jonas’s heart.

  “She is well, your Sarah?” he called as Amos neared.

  “Not well, but better.” He came to a halt in front of Big Ed and absently reached up to rub the horse’s forelock.

  “And the child? She is healthy?”

  A light lit in his face. “Ja. So small, but strong like her mother.” He became serious. “Katie says they cannot yet go home but must stay here for a week, perhaps two. I know you have troubles of your own and would not overburden you at such a time, but…”

  Jonas dismissed his concern with a wave. “It is no burden at any time to provide shelter for those in need.”

  No doubt Amos would visit daily, but he must return home to tend his farm. Jonas came around the side of the plow to stand near his friend. A decision of import had been pressing against his mind in recent weeks, and he needed godly input.

  He halted beside Big Ed’s head and reached up to flick a chunk of dried mud from his mane. “I would ask your wisdom concerning an important matter.”

  A knowing expression crept over Amos’s face. “Is it concerning the matter of Weaver’s farm?”

  Jonas watched his friend closely as he spoke. “I have decided I will not move there.”

  Amos did not express surprise but merely nodded. “You will follow Jesse’s plan and claim the land to the south of your house?”

  “Neh. I have spent many hours in prayer and reached a decision.” He clasped his hands behind his back and gazed northward, where his former cornfield lay neatly plowed and ready for planting. If he had known it would become a field for cows, he would have left last year’s stubble in the ground.
“I will leave Apple Grove.”

  Amos’s eyes widened. “And move to Troyer?”

  Here was where Jonas’s plans faltered. “I do not know where I will move.”

  “Troyer is a long way from here,” Amos said carefully. “It would be hard to live so far from everyone you know and love.”

  Therein lay the difficulty with which he had struggled. For twenty years he had made his home among the families of Apple Grove. Through hardship and trials, such as when his beloved Caroline died, or when his girls chose to become Englisch instead of Amish, or like two nights ago, when his barn burned, his Amish brothers and sisters had stood by him and come to his aid. He did have family in Troyer, a sister and nieces and nephews, but because six long days of travel lay between them, he had not seen them in years. He and Mader could make a home there, but if they did they would more than likely not see Emma or Rebecca or their families again.

  He glanced at Amos and then back to the distance. “A shame there is no Amish community nearer.” From the corner of his eye, he saw that his friend watched him closely. “I have wondered if perhaps the Lord might be pleased to start one.”

  Amos’s chest inflated with a sharp intake of breath. “I have wondered the same.”

  Surprised, Jonas turned to face him. “You?”

  “My Alise was a godly woman and a good wife. Together we worked hard to build our home and our farm.” He turned so that he faced the house where his new wife and daughter lay. “It is difficult for a woman to step into the place of another. Perhaps it is time to leave the old life behind and build a new one.”

  Though his words were true, Jonas sensed there was more behind Amos’s decision, so he waited.