by Lori Wick
All Scripture quotations are from the King James Version of the Bible.
Cover design by Terry Dugan Design, Minneapolis, Minnesota
Cover photo © Richard Nowitz/National Geographic/Getty Images
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to events or locales, is entirely coincidental.
TO KNOW HER BY NAME
Copyright © 1997 by Lori Wick
Published by Harvest House Publishers
Eugene, Oregon 97402
www.harvesthousepublishers.com
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Wick, Lori.
To know her by name / Lori Wick.
p. cm. — (Rocky Mountain memories series)
ISBN-13: 978-0-7369-1820-6
ISBN-10: 0-7369-1820-5
1. Frontier and pioneer life—Rocky Mountains Region—Fiction. 2. Man-woman relationships—Rocky Mountains Region—Fiction. I. Title. II. Series:
Wick, Lori. Rocky Mountain memories series.
PS3573.I237T6 1997
813'.54—dc21 96-51683
CIP
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, digital, photocopy, recording, or any other—except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without the prior permission of the publisher.
Printed in the United States of America
06 07 08 09 10 11 12 13 / BC / 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
One of my favorite books for one
of my favorite people, Roxie Carley.
I’m not sure what I would do without you,
dear friend, and I hope I’ll never have to find out.
This dedication comes with my love and prayers.
About the Author
LORI WICK is one of the most versatile Christian fiction writers in the market today. Her works include pioneer fiction, two series set in England, and contemporary novels. Lori’s books (more than 5 million copies in print) continue to delight readers and top the Christian bestselling fiction list. Lori and her husband, Bob, live in Wisconsin and are parents of “the three coolest kids in the world.”
Books by Lori Wick
A Place Called Home Series
A Place Called Home
A Song for Silas
The Long Road Home
A Gathering of Memories
The Californians
Whatever Tomorrow Brings
As Time Goes By
Sean Donovan
Donovan’s Daughter
Kensington Chronicles
The Hawk and the Jewel
Wings of the Morning
Who Brings Forth the Wind
The Knight and the Dove
Rocky Mountain Memories
Where the Wild Rose Blooms
Whispers of Moonlight
To Know Her by Name
Promise Me Tomorrow
The Yellow Rose Trilogy
Every Little Thing About You
A Texas Sky
City Girl
English Garden Series
The Proposal
The Rescue
The Visitor
The Pursuit
The Tucker Mills Trilogy
Moonlight on the Millpond
Just Above a Whisper
Other Fiction
Sophie’s Heart
Beyond the Picket Fence
Pretense
The Princess
Bamboo & Lace
Every Storm
CONTENTS
About the Author
Acknowledgments
Prologue
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
Each book is a process and an adventure. Each book is a journey. This page is for just a few, out of the many, who have traveled that road with me.
I wish to acknowledge Helen Wick, my mother-in-law. You challenge, encourage, love, and support me. Your ear has never been too busy to listen, and even when it’s difficult, you speak truth to me. Your example in Christ has helped me move mountains. Thank you for remaining ever faithful.
And for Jane Kolstad, my sister-in-law. Your time and efforts on behalf of each manuscript have helped me grow as a writer. Thank you, Jane, for all your help and for loving me unconditionally.
And to the memory of my maternal grandmother, Mabel Strebig. You were so fun, Grandma. My childhood memories of you are sweet, filled with love and caring. I will miss you.
And finally to my husband, Bob. Who would have thought that our journey would be the sweetest of all? I am often guilty of underestimating God, but never so much as where you’re concerned. I am blessed beyond measure because I’m married to you.
The Civil War officially ended on May 26, 1865, when General Edmund Kirby Smith surrendered the last Confederate troops still in the field.
The war to preserve the American Union was finished. Even so, it was ofttimes weeks or months before men could muster out and reach their homes across the country.
The journey to that end is where this story begins.
Prologue
Colonel Nick Wallace stood outside the brick building in St. Louis, Missouri, the documents in his breast pocket forming a lump under his jacket. He moved swiftly up the steps, his aide, Peter Crandall, just a step behind him. The rest of his depleted regiment were garrisoned at the temporary barracks on the west side of the city.
“The general is waiting for you, Colonel,” the private at the door, saluting smartly, said as soon as the two men came into view. The colonel returned the salute and stepped in as the door was opened.
“Colonel Wallace, sir,” a second private announced him, and Nick now saluted his commanding officer.
“Come in, Nick.” The general returned the salute but became familiar as soon as the door was closed. “Have a seat.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Nick reached into his pocket, handed the papers across the desk, and then made himself comfortable in the wooden chair.
The general nodded his approval over the documents and then set them aside. “Thank you for bringing these, Nick. What happens from here?”
“My regiment is ready to head out. We’ll be leaving today. Some are done with their tour of duty; others will serve out their papers after we get to Denver.”
“And yourself ?”
“I’ll stay in Denver, sir. Work with the treasury department awaits.”
“Not to mention your wife,” the general commented, a glint in his eye.
“Her, too,” the colonel smiled, the thought bringing him extreme pleasure.
The general nodded and stood. As much as he would have enjoyed talking to Wallace, he had ot
hers waiting to see him. He came around the desk and shook the colonel’s hand.
“I wish you Godspeed, Nick.”
“Thank you, sir.”
The men saluted again, and Colonel Wallace made for the door. As had come to be the pattern of the last few months, Peter Crandall was immediately by his side, eyes watching and ready for every command. Nick saluted the private at the door and led the way out, Peter following silently in his wake.
Once on the street, Nick spoke.
“I’m headed home, Peter.”
“Yes, sir.”
They walked along, their long legs eating up the yards and eventually many blocks.
“What about you? Where do you head after Denver—a new regiment?”
“I have my discharge papers, sir. I’m going home.”
Nicholas slowed and finally came to a complete stop as he realized he’d never asked the boy where he was from. There had been so little time for pleasantries.
“Where is home for you, Peter?”
“Boulder, sir.”
“Let me see your papers, son.”
Peter surrendered them willingly and stood respectfully as the older man read them.
“You’re free to travel home from Denver certainly. Do you have a plan to get there?”
“No, sir, not at this moment.”
Nick looked at him. There was nothing attention-grabbing about him—just another young soldier who’d seen more pain and suffering than any man his age ever should. But Peter was the most intelligent aide he’d ever had. Not everything was done to perfection—he tended to be messy—but nothing in his service had been wanting since he’d joined the colonel’s regiment some time before Christmas. He’d worked hard, but like so many others, he would soon be forced to make a life for himself outside of the military.
“How old are you, Peter?”
“Eighteen, sir.”
“And you do have family in Boulder?”
“Yes, sir.”
Nick’s mind was made up. He would take him to his home in Denver.
“Come with me, Peter.”
“I always do, sir.”
A smile lit the colonel’s eyes, and he laid a hand on Peter’s shoulder. So alike in stride and thinking, the men turned and continued on toward the west end, first to the camp where the regiment rested, and then to the train station.
Many weeks later Peter stood and witnessed a tearful reunion between the colonel and his wife, his heart clenching as he thought about seeing his own parents.
Nick and Camille Wallace urged Peter to stay more than one night, if not several days, but eager to see his family, Peter was up and gone early the following morning. His destination was the Boulder foothills. Nick had offered Peter a job in Denver with the treasury department but believed he’d seen the last of him. Peter surprised the older man by showing up just two weeks later.
“Peter,” Nick spoke with delight and surprise as the housekeeper showed the young man into the parlor.
“Hello, Colonel. I hope I’m not imposing.”
“Of course not. How is your family?”
“My mother is well, sir, but my father died while I was away.” The words were spoken quietly.
“I’m sorry, son.”
“Thank you, sir. I came back because you’d mentioned a job.”
“Yes, my offer still stands. I always need more clerks. The pay won’t be first-rate—cutbacks across the countryside. You know all about that, but I can use you.”
“Yes, sir, but would the offer still stand …” Peter hesitated, “that is … I’m not 18 as I said I was.”
Nick smiled. How many young men had lied their way into the service? The colonel did not condone such actions, but he’d seen Peter at work: A brighter young man he’d yet to encounter.
“I’m not too worried about it, Peter. How old are you?”
“Just 16, sir.”
Nick nodded his head. “I can still use you.”
“Can you still use me if I’m a girl?”
This time Nick did not smile or speak; he felt incapable of either for many minutes. But at the moment there was no need. Peter was speaking again, and all the colonel could do was listen. It wasn’t many minutes later that the older man decided he still had a job for his aide.
1
Boulder, Colorado
April 1878
Travis Buchanan came from the post office, a stack of correspondence in his hand. As he walked toward the wagon, which was already loaded and ready for home, one of the letters caught his attention. He stopped and read, his eyes studying the signature at the bottom before continuing down the street.
His wife, Rebecca, was expecting him home, but suddenly Travis decided that he had to look into this. He climbed onto the wagon seat, turned the team around, and headed farther down the street. He stopped in front of the Boulder Hotel and jumped down to go inside.
“Well, hello, Travis,” Mel Doyle, the hotel’s proprietor, greeted him.
“Hi, Mel. How’s business?”
“Busy, but no complaints.”
Travis smiled. “Have you got someone registered by the name of McKay?”
He consulted the register. “We surely do. Room 14.”
“Thanks, Mel. I’ll head on up.”
Travis’ long legs took the stairs two at a time, his mind busy as to who this man could be, or if he’d ever seen him before. He didn’t have long to speculate. No more than a few seconds after he knocked, the door to room 14 opened.
“Mr. McKay?” Travis questioned the man inside the room. He received a kind smile.
“Actually, it’s Harrington. McKay Harrington. You must be Travis Buchanan.”
“Yes. You left a letter for me at the post office?”
“I did. Thank you for coming up. Won’t you come in?”
Travis stepped inside, not planning to stay overly long, but finding himself fascinated. He moved across the threshold and turned to study the man.
McKay Harrington wasn’t as tall as Travis’ 6'4" frame, but Travis guessed him to be very close to 6'. His hair was dark and his face clean-shaven, a squared-off jaw giving him a stubborn look. The eyes he turned to Travis were warm brown, friendly, and open. He dressed in a combination of styles—riding boots and denim jeans, with a dress jacket lying across the bed and a string tie hanging loosely below the collar of his crisp white dress shirt. Travis took all of this in in a moment, knowing that at the same time he was being measured as well.
Finally Travis asked, “Have we met?”
“No, we haven’t. I work for the treasury department based in Denver, and I’m here in town on business. Your name was given to me as a possible contact for this area.”
Travis’ brows rose slightly. “But I’ve never done any work for the treasury department.”
“That doesn’t matter. Your name was given to me because of your reputation in this town. I was told that even if you can’t give me the information I seek, you would stay quiet about our meeting.”
Travis was intrigued but didn’t forget the time. The men talked for a moment longer, McKay briefly explaining what he had in mind. Travis would not be overly involved. Still he did not give an answer. Instead he agreed to get back to the treasury man. They shook hands, and Travis swiftly made his way from the hotel. He was already later than he told Rebecca he would be.
“Is everything all right?” Rebecca asked when she saw him. Travis smiled. At one time their marriage had been anything but a loving partnership, but it had grown so that even if he were only preoccupied, she noticed.
“Yes, everything is fine, but I met someone in town,” Travis said, aware of their twin sons playing on the floor. “I’ll tell you about it later.”
Rebecca let it go, but as soon as the boys were in bed and she and Travis were settled in the living room, she looked at him. He smiled, knowing what was on her mind.
“Was there something you wanted to talk about tonight?” he asked innocently.
Rebecca knew that to laugh or even smile would encourage him to tease her more, but she couldn’t seem to help herself. Travis saw that smile, even though it didn’t reach her mouth, and leaned over to pull her very close.
“Whom did you meet in town?” she asked when she was comfortable against him.
“It was a treasury man, but I don’t think I’ll tell you his name right now.”
Rebecca now shifted and looked at him. “That was cryptic.”
“It was, wasn’t it?” Travis admitted. “I was contacted by this man from the treasury department today about some work he wants to do in this area. I didn’t have time to question him thoroughly, but he wanted to meet me in the morning.”
“Did you agree?”
“No, I told him I had church and would get back to him. He’ll be around until Tuesday.”
“What will you do—have him come out here?”
Travis’ hand spread on the swell of his wife’s stomach, and he pulled her a little closer. Their baby was due in just three months. His mind also went to the little six-year-old boys sleeping upstairs.
“No,” he told her. “Not now and maybe never if I don’t get the answers I need.”
“So you think it might be something dangerous.”
Travis kissed her temple. “I just don’t know. He didn’t make it sound that way. I will tell you this: I was very impressed with him and would help if I could, but how that would come about at this point is any man’s guess.”
They were quiet for a time, and then Rebecca said softly, “Boulder is growing, Travis. I’m sure it’s because of our new statehood, but along with the growth, crime has stepped up. I heard a woman in the hardware store this week. She says it’s the alcohol. Did you know there are ten saloons in Boulder? Now I ask you, Travis, why does any town, especially one with less than 3000 residents, need ten saloons?”
“I certainly agree with you, but growth is not all bad.”
“No,” she agreed swiftly. “The paper just said that the university will be ready to open in the fall, and the new building going on all over town is wonderful. Boulder is turning into a beautiful place. But it still wouldn’t surprise me if your mystery man is here to investigate crime.”
