The Heart's Frontier

by Lori Copeland;Virginia Smith

  It’s wrong to become attached to a possession. The loss of a quilt doesn’t mean a thing. Mama’s love in making it is what matters.

  She swallowed back a sob and blinked to clear her eyes in time to see the wagon disappear behind a ridge where the trail curved behind them.

  “This is the way of the Englisch.” Papa put a hand across her shoulders in a rare display of affection. “Come, daughter.”

  He turned them around with their backs toward their wagon, and they began their march.

  Dinnertime had come and gone when Emma spied a settlement up ahead. Rebecca saw it too.

  “Look!” She pointed toward the small cluster of buildings nestled in the center of a swell in the surrounding prairie. “It’s a town.”

  “Where?” Maummi shielded her eyes with a wrinkled hand. “My eyes are failing me after all the harsh sun. Is it a big town?”

  Emma glanced down at her. Maummi’s eyes had started to fail her long before today, but she stubbornly refused spectacles. Not for reason of vanity, Emma was sure. At least, not vanity of looks.

  She slipped a supportive arm around her grandmother’s waist. “Not too big, I think.”

  “Big enough.” Papa gave a decisive nod. “The Lord has brought us here, and He will provide.”

  Papa increased his stride, his eyes scanning the buildings in front of him as he walked ahead. They hurried to keep up with him.

  A carefully lettered sign at the edge of the settlement announced that they had arrived in Gorham. Emma had never heard of such a place. The town consisted of one wide path carved through the center of a dozen or so buildings. A cluster of saddled horses were tied to posts in front of a building halfway down the dusty street. Beyond that, at the far end of the settlement, a wagon had been pulled up long-ways near a wide covered porch in front of a general store. A man appeared carrying a crate. He loaded it onto the wagon and then disappeared back inside.

  “We will ask for help,” Papa said.

  They started in the direction of the store, dust swirling around their feet with every step. Emma inspected her apron. The white cloth was covered with dirt from the trail. Rebecca’s skin had, indeed, turned a rosy red from the sun, and a smear of mud covered one cheek. Emma knew her face appeared no better, as trail dust had mixed with perspiration for the past several hours. A tendril of hair waved free at her temple, and she smoothed it back into place beneath her prayer kapp.

  Music drew her attention to the building where the horses stood clustered. A pair of half-length wooden doors swung in a wide doorway. She’d heard a piano once, long ago when she was a child and had traveled to Hays with Mama and Papa. She’d hovered outside a window and peered inside, watching a man bang on a black-and-white keyboard while the air was filled with a magical sound. Like now.

  The roar of men’s voices drifted to her from inside. A woman’s laughter tinkled above them. Rebecca drew to a halt, her wide eyes fixed on the doorway.

  “It’s a saloon.” An alarming note of awe deepened her whisper.

  Maummi stopped to spear her with an outraged look. “Ach! Where did you hear the name of such a place?”

  She lifted a hand and pointed at Emma. Maummi rounded on her, hands planted on her hips. Emma nearly took a step backward, but she managed to hold her ground.

  “Hearing is not the same as visiting.” A lame defense, to be sure. She couldn’t help adding one mischievous observation. “The music is pretty, don’t you think?”

  Maummi placed a hand over her heart and staggered where she stood. “Jonas, this is not a good place for us. My heart hurts. We must leave immediately, lest the evil ways of the Englisch lure our Emma and Rebecca away.”

  Above his beard, Papa’s lips twitched as he suppressed a grin. Then, with an effort, he sobered. “The Lord has led us to this place for a purpose. He will send us help—”

  The saloon doors swung outward and a body sailed through. Emma jumped back, a hand over her own heart. A man landed at their feet with a gigantic poof of dirt.

  When the dust cleared, she stood gaping down into the face of a cowboy, his wet hair plastered to his head.

  A grin broke across Papa’s face. “See? The Lord has sent us help.”

  Emma searched the dazed face at her feet. Disappointment stole any consolation Papa’s words might have offered.

  The Lord might at least have cleaned him up first.

  THREE

  Stars exploded behind Luke Carson’s eyes when his skull cracked against the hard-packed road.

  That low-down, no-good…I’ll wring his scrawny neck!

  He lay on his back, eyes closed, breathing dirt and planning retribution on his best friend and top cattle wrangler. He’d taken falls trying to break ornery wild stallions and landed softer than this. He planned on giving Jesse a whupping he wouldn’t forget. But that had to come later. Right now he had to fish him out of that saloon and sober him up, or they would never get the herd back on the trail this morning.

  When Luke’s ears stopped ringing, he opened his eyes and found himself surrounded. Four people stared down at him, their heads silhouetted against the bright blue sky. The old woman had a puckered-up face like one of those potatoes McCann fried up for the men a couple of days ago. Beside her a young girl stood with her mouth gaping wide. An older girl stood directly above him, her face flushed and damp, her narrowed eyes fixed on him with a speculative stare. She and the other females were covered up with black dresses despite the heat, and they wore skimpy little white hats on their heads with dangling laces. The man beside them looked even stranger, with a clean-shaven lip and a bushy beard covering his chin. He wore suspenders over a white shirt and had a wide-brimmed straw hat.

  White teeth showed between the man’s smiling lips. “Thank the Lord. Help has landed at our feet.”

  Luke frowned. “What?” The fall had knocked the breath right out of him, and he was preoccupied trying to force gulps of air into his lungs.

  “The Lord has saved us,” the man repeated. “Thanks be to thee.”

  Worried creases appeared between the older girl’s eyes. “We may need to help him first, Papa. He isn’t breathing properly.”

  “Don’t…need…help…” Luke panted as he rolled to his side and then struggled up to his knees. His lungs finally relaxed, and he drew in a couple of deep breaths. He’d get Jesse for this if he had to hog-tie him in his sleep first.

  The oddly dressed people watched as he climbed to his feet. The moment he was vertical, the man stepped in front of him. “Will you help us, sir?”

  Luke shook his head to clear the last of the fuzz away. He didn’t have time for beggars. He had two thousand head of Texas longhorns to drive to market and little time to do it.

  “Sorry. Can’t help,” he mumbled. Dusting off his hat, he jammed it on his head and turned to walk away.

  The man lifted his forefinger. “Sir!” Luke ignored the call and left them standing in the street while he headed for the saloon. When he stepped inside, he paused for a moment while his sun-dazzled eyes adjusted, and then he located Jesse, who had moved to a corner table and had a woman on his lap.

  When he spotted Luke, a wide grin split his youthful features. “You back for more? Leave me alone. Better yet, how about a pay advance so I can have another drink?”

  Apparently he’d drunk enough whiskey to pickle his brain. The fight seemed to have left him, but Luke was going to have his satisfaction with the numskull. He was tired of dragging him out of every dance hall and saloon they passed. Disgusted, Luke shook his head. “You don’t need another drink.”

  Jesse spoke in a whiskey-slurred voice to the frill-covered woman in his lap. “My friend here doesn’t drink, which means he doesn’t approve of me drinkin’ either.” He appeared to find that funny. He threw his head back and guffawed.

  Luke heaved a sigh and held out a hand to the saloon girl. “If you’ll excuse us, ma’am, I need to get him back to camp while he’s in good health.”

  “Ha
s he been ill?”

  “He’s about to be.”

  She slid off Jesse’s lap and then bent to lift his hat and plant a kiss on his forehead. “Stop by next time you’re through these parts, sugar—and collect your pay first.” She winked and turned with a flounce of her bustle and crossed the room to a table full of poker-playing cowboys.

  Jesse grinned up at him. “Didja hear that, Luke? She called me sugar.”

  Luke shook his head. “Come on, numskull. It’s time to go.”

  “Where’re we going?”

  “I’m going to beat the living daylights out of you, and then we’re going back to camp.”

  “That’ll be nice.” He grinned lopsidedly. “Let’s drink to that.”

  Luke helped Jesse to his feet and held on to the back of his vest when he wobbled on unsteady legs. “Is he paid up?” he asked the barkeep.

  “Nope. Owes thirty-five cents for that last bottle.”

  Luke dug the coins out of his pocket and tossed them on the polished mahogany bar, and then he hauled Jesse through the doors and out into the sunlight.

  The four black-and-white-clad people had not moved.

  Now that he was no longer dazed from his fall, he recognized their clothing. He’d passed through settlements of similarly dressed folks a few times. They belonged to some religious group. He stopped short.

  Stirring, Jesse slurred, “Luke, do you see what I see? We’re being overrun by nuns.”

  He gave Jesse a shake that would have knocked him off his feet if he hadn’t had a good grip on his shirt. “Watch your mouth. They’re God-fearing folk.”

  The man approached, and the females followed behind. The soft lilt of an accent gave the words a foreign sound. “Sir, our wagon and oxen were taken by thieves. Will you help us?”

  Luke met trusting brown eyes and felt a stirring of discomfort. “Sorry, mister. I have a herd of two thousand head milling around a couple of miles from here, and I’m running behind on getting them to market.”

  The smile faded, replaced by a forlorn countenance, complete with sad eyes.

  Jesse took a step toward the ladies and spoke to the taller girl. “You’re kind of young to be a nun, aren’t you?”

  “I’m not a nun. I’m Plain.”

  Jesse’s head cocked sideways as he stared at her face. “Aw…you wouldn’t be so plain if you’d smear on a bit of rouge and put on a pretty dress instead of wearing that black sack. You ain’t ugly.” He flashed a grin.

  The younger girl giggled, and the old woman drew herself up with a sharp intake of breath and a look that would have seared a rock.

  Luke smacked the back of Jesse’s head and knocked his hat down over his eyes. “Not that kind of plain, you numb wit. That’s what they call themselves. They’re…” He searched for the word.

  “We are Amish.” The bearded man extended a hand. “I am Jonas Switzer. These are my mother and daughters.”

  The old woman continued to scowl and the younger girl giggled again. The oldest daughter dropped her head demurely in acknowledgement of the introduction. Long dark lashes lay for a moment against the soft curve of her high cheekbones. Jesse was right about one thing. This particular woman was a far sight from ugly.

  Luke shook Jonas Switzer’s hand. A strong grip, his skin rough and calloused. The hand of a man who has known hard work. “Luke Carson.” He jerked a nod toward Jesse. “This disrespectful knothole is Jesse Montgomery.”

  “Hey! Is that any way to talk about your best point rider?” Jesse jerked away from his grip, wavered on his feet for a second, and then caught his balance.

  If it hadn’t been true, Luke would have been quick to correct him, but besides being a pain in the backside, Jesse was the best point rider in his outfit and a longtime friend.

  “You say thieves took your wagon?”

  “Ja. They went that way.” Jonas pointed toward the western horizon. “They left us with nothing.”

  Luke took off his hat and scratched his head. “I understand your dilemma, mister, but I don’t have time to help. I’m being paid to get Simon Hancock’s cattle up to the railhead in Hays. We’ve been on the trail for two months. Our lead group got spooked yesterday, and we rode a hard stampede right up until dark and then spent half the night gathering strays. We’re at least a dozen miles off course, and I have less than a week to get the herd to market.”

  True, the train wouldn’t leave until Monday, and at the pace they had kept they would arrive by Friday if nothing else delayed them, but there was no sense cutting it closer than he had to.

  The younger daughter stepped up beside her father. “Papa said the Lord would send help, and when we saw you we knew for certain that He’d answered our prayers.”

  The old woman plucked at her sleeve. “Still your tongue, Rebecca.”

  “’Tis the truth. Isn’t that right, Emma?” Despite her protest, she stepped back beside her grandmother and lowered her head demurely.

  “She does speak the truth.” Emma’s soft, low voice fell on his ears like a warm breeze on a chilly night. “What we’ve lost are only things, but without them we have nothing. If the Lord places it in your heart to help us, you will have our gratitude.”

  Dark blue eyes rose to meet his. The trust he saw in them, and also in her father’s, stirred something in his chest. Something he didn’t like.

  The voice of reason came from an unlikely source. “Sorry, folks. We don’t have time to chase down a wagon and steal it back from a bunch of thieves.” Jesse plucked off his hat, smoothed his hair, and put it back on his head. The slur had become less pronounced, but his movements were still slow and overly careful.

  Once again, Luke couldn’t argue with him. These seemed like nice people, but he didn’t have time to spare. “I’m sorry,” he told Jonas. “I wish I could help.”

  “Ach!” The grandmother slapped a hand to her chest and wilted against her elder granddaughter. “My hutch will end up as firewood for the man with black teeth.” The girls each took an arm to support her, and she sagged between them.

  Jesse inspected her. “Your ma doesn’t look so good,” he told Jonas. “You want me to get the doc? He’s inside the saloon playing poker.”

  The woman’s eyes went round as she cast a startled glance toward the establishment. She drew in an outraged breath and straightened, giving an offended sniff. “Danki, no.”

  “You’re welcome.” The cowhand staggered sideways a step.

  Luke steadied him. What he needed was a couple of hours of hard riding to sweat the whiskey out of his blood, but they couldn’t leave the Switzers stranded in the middle of the street with nothing. Especially when they thought the Lord had sent him to their aid. Luke didn’t think it all that likely the Lord would send him here to retrieve a drunk cowhand and rescue a stranded Amish family, and he certainly didn’t think the Lord expected him to desert his herd long enough to deliver them forty miles east to Troyer. Still, he wouldn’t feel right walking away without doing something.

  He dug cash out of his vest. “I really am sorry I can’t help.” He pulled out some folding money and thrust it into Jonas’s unresisting hands. “Here’s enough to pay for a couple of nights lodging and to send a message for someone to come get you.”

  Jonas stood looking at the money as though he’d never seen cash before. Luke touched two fingers to his hat brim and nodded a farewell to the women, and then he grabbed Jesse by the arm and marched him away. With a minimum of trouble, he got his unsteady buddy in the saddle. When he’d mounted himself, he pointed Bo toward the eastern edge of the settlement. Jesse fell in beside him, though he was starting to look a bit pasty, and his hat sat unevenly on his head.

  At the end of town, Luke glanced over his shoulder. The Switzers had not moved. They stood watching him leave, looking for all the world like lost children. Guilt knifed him in the gut. They looked as though they had no idea what to do with the hand they had been dealt.

  Chances were, they didn’t.

  From
what he could recall, Amish folks kept pretty much to themselves. Had Jonas and his womenfolk ever stayed in a boardinghouse before? Did they even know what a telegraph was?

  Ride on, Luke. You’ve done all you can, and more than most would. You can’t spare the time to help them find their wagon.

  But at the sight of the girls in long black dresses with their white head coverings, and of Jonas in his suspenders, his conscience refused to be soothed. With a sigh, he halted.

  “Wait here.”

  Jesse drew his horse up to a stop. “Where you going?”

  “Don’t ask questions. I won’t be a minute.”

  He turned Bo and headed back toward the waiting family. They watched his return with fixed gazes. When the horse stopped in front of them, all four heads turned upward, their eyes fixed on him expectantly.

  “The boardinghouse is there.” He pointed at a building down at the western end of the short road.

  They looked but didn’t move.

  He spoke slowly, as if to children. “You go inside and ring the bell. The owner’s name is Mrs. Minerva Gorham. Tell her you need a place to stay and that you want to send a tel-e-gram. She’ll help you out.”

  Emma’s head shot upward. An angry flame erupted in her eyes, and her lips tightened. “Come, Papa. We need to get Maummi out of the sun.” She gripped her grandmother’s arm, turned, and set off toward the boardinghouse at something short of a march, pulling the old woman along with her.

  Luke stared after her. What had ruffled her fur? She looked as mad as a barn cat in a rain barrel.

  Jonas followed their progress for a few seconds and then turned back to him. “I thank you, Mr. Carson. The Lord truly did send us help.” He folded the money, removed his straw hat, and tucked it carefully inside. When he’d replaced the hat on his head, he looked back up at Luke. “After you deliver your cows in Hays, go a few miles farther to Apple Grove. Ask for the farm of Bishop Miller. He will see your money returned to you.”

  Luke chuckled. “Just like that? I walk in and say, ‘I helped Jonas Switzer over in Gorham, and I’m here to get my money back,’ and he’ll hand it over?”