Courting Kate

by Rich, Mary Lou

  He stiffened, then lowered his head. “What would you like me to say? How Melody has sacrificed so much, yet she never complains? How happy she was over a simple piece of bacon I couldn’t even provide? How I love her so and would give her the moon and stars if it were in my power? As it is, I can barely keep a roof over her head. Now with the child coming...” He broke off and covered his eyes with his hand. “I feel like such a failure.”

  “Stephen, don’t.” She placed a hand on his shoulder. “I don’t know of anyone who works harder.”

  His face bleak, he turned. “The bank has cut my hours. I don’t want Melody to find out. God knows how we will survive.”

  After Stephen left the room, Kathleen remained, staring out into the darkness. Her throat tightened with suppressed tears. She couldn’t impose any longer. No matter what, she had to leave. Walking slowly into her room, she glanced at the paper lying on the bed, recalling the advertisement for the mail-order bride.

  Now she was that desperate.

  Chapter 3

  Oregon, November 1868

  “Giddap, ya four-legged sons-a...” The pouring rain drowned out the rest of the driver’s curses.

  After leaving Yreka, the Concord Stage had crawled along the steep, muddy slope of the Siskiyou Mountains, its six horses blowing, scrambling for safe footing with every step. The storm had become even more fierce at the higher elevation. Thunder roared and the mountains trembled. Bright forks of lightning speared the earth, illuminating cloud-covered peaks.

  Kathleen clung to the leather strap next to her seat and prayed the horses would be able to pull the heavy coach up the slippery grade.

  The vehicle had been built to accommodate sixteen passengers, five on top and nine inside. At present, it contained herself and two other females, all of whom rattled around in its padded leather interior like stones in an oversized bucket. The two women sat in the forward-facing seat at the back. Kathleen had chosen the third seat in the middle, facing her traveling companions.

  “Mercy sakes, I could walk and get there quicker than this,” the elder, Bessie McGuire, complained.

  Selina, Bessie’s daughter-in-law, smiled and patted the old woman’s mitten-covered hand. “Now, Ma, you’ve been over this road enough times to know how long it takes.”

  The coach hit a bump and skidded sideways.

  “I only hope that driver gets us there in one piece.” Crinkling her mouth into a gap-toothed grin, Bessie raised her booted feet and braced them against the opposite seat, showing a good deal of flannel petticoat in the process.

  In spite of her fear, Kathleen found it hard to repress a smile. Although she hadn’t known Selina and Bessie long, they had her admiration. While their rough speech and clothing would scarcely qualify the pair as ladies, they, unlike herself, seemed to belong to this primitive land. Their leathery skin and red, calloused hands, now covered by thick wool mittens, told her they were not averse to hard work.

  It would take more than meeting a stranger to frighten them, Kathleen thought, chiding herself for her own lack of courage. Her scolding didn’t help. She admitted it. She was scared. Scared to death.

  Why had she been so foolish? She should have waited until she found out more, but at the time the advertisement had seemed like an answer to a prayer. Now it loomed like an approaching nightmare. Before this day ended she would meet the man she had traveled over three thousand miles to marry. A man she wouldn’t know if she ran over him in the middle of the street. She didn’t know the color of his eyes, whether he had light or dark hair, or even if he had any hair at all. The only thing she had to go by was what the advertisement stated:

  Handsome, prosperous lumberman requests lady of quality to share spacious home in Oregon’s beautiful Siskiyou Mountains—object matrimony.

  Not much to base a future life on. Not much at all.

  They had corresponded—if you could call it that. She’d sent a letter asking for more information, along with a faded out-of-date photo. She’d been amazed that his return letter had arrived so quickly—then dismayed when she realized he’d answered none of her questions. His reply contained little more than a terse note saying, “You’ll do,” along with money for her train fare to Sacramento, the end of the railroad line, and a stage ticket from there to Jacksonville, Oregon.

  She worriedly twisted the ties on her reticule. What if he wasn’t handsome? Men had been known to have an exaggerated opinion of themselves. Looks weren’t all that important, she decided, as long as he wasn’t mean-spirited.

  What if he was cruel and inclined to beat her? What would she do then? She was thousands of miles away from everything she had ever known.

  Would her fiancé be in Jacksonville to meet her? What would she do if he wasn’t? What if he hadn’t received her letter saying she was coming? One of her stage companions had told her that the mail delivery this time of year was so erratic that sometimes the letters didn’t arrive for months.

  Kathleen was almost grateful for the distraction when a wheel of the stage slid off into a rut, catapulting the passengers upward to bang their heads on the roof.

  “Mercy sakes, I swear that driver is tryin’ to kill us,” Bessie said, rubbing her palm over her thinning white hair. She retrieved a man’s felt hat that she had discarded earlier and tugged it on, then anchored it in place with her muffler. “Now if he tries that again, maybe I can keep what few brains I’ve got left from gettin’ addled.”

  Kathleen wished her own problem could be solved that easily. For the second time that day, she had ended up on the floor.

  “Child, you might fare better if you moved back here with us,” Bessie said. “At least you can brace yourself so’s you don’t end up black and blue.”

  “If you’re sure I wouldn’t be crowding you.”

  The old lady let out a whoop of laughter. “You’re so little, it would take six of you to fill up the rest of this seat. Besides, you can share this lap robe. That outfit, while mighty pretty, don’t appear like it’s none too warm.”

  “It is a bit thin for the weather.” Shivering in her black silk bombazine traveling costume and light wool cloak, Kathleen settled in beside Bessie and gratefully tucked the quilt around her. While she didn’t want to admit it to the ladies, that outfit was the warmest she had. Unlike Selina and Bessie who wore boots, heavy dresses and flannel petticoats, she was ill-prepared for severe weather. Something she’d soon have to remedy, she decided.

  “Suppose it’ll snow?” Bessie asked, peering eastward toward the higher Cascade peaks.

  “Maybe if it gets colder, but right now it seems a bit too warm out for that. Thank God,” Selina added under her breath.

  “In another couple of weeks the pass will be full of snow and ice. Then, even if a stage could get through, which is unlikely, it would be a hair-raisin’ trip.”

  Thinking about the ordeal she had already experienced, Kathleen gave thanks that she had come when she did. But at the same time, anxiety made a knot in her middle when she realized that once she reached Jacksonville, if things didn’t turn out as she had hoped, the winter weather would make it impossible for her to leave.

  She imagined herself trapped, hemmed in by dark, inhospitable mountains, a stranger in an even stranger land. She shivered. Get hold of yourself, Kathleen. It will be all right. It had to be.

  She forced her concerns aside and envisioned a rosier picture. She imagined herself being met by a well-groomed, fair-haired gentleman who would kiss her hand and solicitously ask about her journey. He would see her to her accommodations, and over dinner they would get acquainted. If they decided they suited, then, after a lengthy courtship, they would wed. After the ceremony, he would drive her to a stately, two-story house. The lawns would be spacious and tree-shaded, and the grounds well kept with flower arbors. Of course his home couldn’t be like the plantation she had left behind in Georgia, but still... “Whoa!” the driver yelled, pulling the horses to a walk.

  “Are we there?” Kathleen a
sked hopefully, peering through the rain-dotted window.

  “I wish we were,” Selina replied. “We’re pullin’ into Robin’s Roost to have a bite to eat and change horses.”

  “Robber’s Roost is more like it,” Bessie amended. “And as far as being there—” The old woman chuckled. “We’ve only made the summit. It’s worse goin’ down.”

  Worse? Before she could ask Bessie to explain, the door opened, and the buckskin-clad driver stuck his head inside.

  “All out. And don’t take all day eatin’. I want to get off this damned mountain before dark.” He spat a stream of tobacco juice, then ambled toward the shotgun guard who was waiting for the hostlers to change the teams.

  “My, isn’t he a pleasant soul,” Kathleen declared.

  “Charlie Parkhurst ain’t known for his politeness, nor his manners.” Selina jumped down, then held up her hand for Bessie. In spite of her advanced age, the spry old lady jumped flat-footed to the ground. Ignoring the drizzling rain, she set off in pursuit of the driver. “Wait up there,” she ordered.

  Parkhurst turned, his expression sour as his demeanor. “Yeah. What do you want?”

  “What happened to the regular stage driver? He was a gentleman, not like another I could name,” Bessie said pointedly.

  “He had an accident. Stage rolled over. He’ll be laid up for a spell.”

  “Sorry to hear that. Anybody else hurt?”

  “Yeah. They sued the company. Cost it a lot of money.” He narrowed his one good eye and picked up a slender chunk of iron. “You can bet it wouldn’t happen to me. If’n I had an accident, I’d check out the passengers. Them that was dead, I’d leave alone. Them that weren’t—” He hefted the wagon iron suggestively. “They wouldn’t be filing no claims.” He smiled maliciously, then walked away.

  “Humph!” The old lady shot him a scathing glance then returned to the others.

  “Would he do that?” Kathleen asked, horrified by the idea. “I’d hate to put him to the test.” Selina took Bessie’s arm and escorted her inside.

  After a dinner of scorched beans and tough steak, Kathleen and her companions had barely climbed aboard when the Concord lurched on its way. The stage kept to the mountain side of the road, when possible. Mostly it skittered over the slick surface like a drop of water in a hot skillet, coming all too near to the yawning abyss for comfort. Bracing their feet on the seat across from them, the other two women chatted. Kathleen stared straight ahead, too terrified to make any attempt at speech.

  Now along with the usual chuckle of the axles, a steady click, click, click rose from the wheels of the stage. And another sound. Bells.

  “What’s that clattering noise?” Kathleen asked.

  “Brakes,” Selina replied. “The grade is so slick and steep that he is keeping them locked.”

  “And the bells?”

  “He tied them to the harnesses. That’s to warn anyone coming up to get out of the way.”

  The road was so narrow Kathleen shuddered to think of what might happen if they met another wagon, or even a horse and rider.

  By the time the ground began to level out, Kathleen vowed no matter what happened, she would never go near that mountain again. Releasing a quivering sigh, she glanced at Selina.

  “The pass is a sight better now than it used to be,” Selina said, tongue-in-cheek. “If it hadn’t been a-stormin’, we would have had no problem at all.”

  Managing a doubtful smile, Kathleen stared out the rain- streaked window.

  Now that they’d reached the valley floor, the horses stretched into an easy gallop, racing past cornfields, with their weathered stalks tied into upright bundles, and brown-grassed pastures. Kathleen stared at the lantern-lit farmhouses and wondered if one of them might belong to her future husband. As suddenly as it had started, the rain stopped, and a brilliant rainbow lit the late afternoon sky. “Oh, it is beautiful,” she cried.

  “You ought to see it in spring. Everything is so green it hurts your eyes,” Bessie said.

  “We like it here, but the winters take some gettin’ used to.” Selina added with a smile, “However, some years we still have flowers bloomin’ at Christmas.”

  “We never had much of a winter in Georgia. Might be a nice change.” Especially if you were warm and dry and seated comfortably in front of a cozy fireplace, she thought, hoping her new home would have a large fireplace. Beyond the oak-covered foothills, the mountains loomed dark and menacing, their forest- crested tips covered with snow. Kathleen shivered. At least she wouldn’t have to live up there.

  After stopping to change horses again, they were quickly on their way. Now, instead of the slap of water and mud that had been the case, the stage wheels crunched in a thick layer of gravel, a definite sign of prosperity.

  Kate peered out the window. By the increasing number of dwellings, she knew they must be coming into Jacksonville. Her heart drumming with both fear and anticipation, she was eager to get a glimpse of the place where she would make her home.

  While Jacksonville was nowhere near the size of Atlanta, it appeared to be a thriving community. They passed several residences, one of which seemed so imposing that she craned her neck for a second look. Farther on, she noticed a newspaper office and a harness shop.

  “Whoa,” Charlie Parkhurst yelled, bringing the stage to a stop in front of a long, two-story white building. A sign dangling between two chains read UNITED STATES HOTEL. Much to Kathleen’s amazement, the driver opened the door and courteously helped each of his three female passengers to the ground. “I hope you’ll find the diggin’s comfortable, ladies.” After placing their luggage in the lobby, he returned, respectfully tilted a begrimed felt hat, then climbed atop the stage.

  Kathleen and Selina looked at each other, then burst into giggles. “Was that the same man?” Kathleen asked, watching the coach disappear around a corner.

  “Wouldn’t dare be rude to us now. Too many people around,” Selina said wryly. She glanced up and down the street. “I don’t see your fiancé, but he might be waiting inside. Or he might be in one of the saloons.” She pointed toward a group of buildings in the next block.

  Kathleen blamed a blast of wind for the tremor that made her draw her cloak a little closer. The area in front of the hotel did appear deserted. No wagons. No horses. No Mr. Blaine. Selina and Bessie waited expectantly. Still Kate hesitated. Now that she had arrived, she lacked the courage to go inside.

  As if sensing her thoughts, Selina shot her a reassuring smile before turning to her elderly companion. “Come on, Ma. Let’s get you out of the cold.” She took her mother-in-law’s arm and escorted her through the hotel’s double doors.

  The odors of manure, wet earth and freshly cut lumber scented the raw, cold air. Across the street, unpainted boards of a false-fronted building gleamed fresh and new against the more weathered, grey appearance of its neighbors. Down the block, an impressive brick building took up most of the corner, and Kathleen wondered if it might be a bank. Past that, the tinkling of a piano drifted through the swinging door of a brightly lit drinking establishment.

  Taking in the sights and sounds, she wondered if she would ever feel at home in such a place. She dallied, thinking to delay her entry into the hotel a little longer.

  Then, down the street, several men left the lights and noise of the saloon and strolled in her direction.

  Fearing they might approach her, she gripped the brass doorknob and hurried into the lobby.

  The combined stench of smoke, Macassar oil and unwashed bodies assaulted her senses, but the hotel itself seemed much better than other places the stage had stopped for the night.

  Cream-colored lace curtains adorned tall narrow windows. Polished brass spittoons sat at strategic locations along the floor beneath pale blue damask-covered walls. Oriental rugs, mud-splattered, but elegant, ran the length of the lobby. Off to one side, visible through open double doors, linen-draped tables denoted the dining room. He was probably waiting for her there.

&n
bsp; Taking courage from this vestige of civilization, she moved to the dining room doorway and waited expectantly. Although a number of the tables were occupied, no handsome, smiling gentleman stepped forward to greet her. He had to be here somewhere. She signaled a waiter and gave him a message.

  The man went from table to table, earning her several curious stares, then the waiter returned, shaking his head. “He isn’t here, miss. You might check with the lobby.”

  “I’ll do that, sir. Thank you.” Gathering her composure, she moved toward the hotel desk. Except for a whisky salesman in a garish gold-checked suit, and the hotel clerk, this area, too, was empty.

  Waiting until the salesman had left, Kathleen stepped forward and nodded at the bell clerk. “Good evening, sir. Could there by chance be any messages for Miss Kathleen Deveraux?”

  The man checked various pieces of paper impaled on a brass spindle. “Nope. No messages.”

  While Kathleen felt disappointed that Mr. Blaine hadn’t met her, she also felt relieved. At least this way, she would have a chance for a hot bath and a good night’s sleep before he arrived. Tomorrow she wanted to look her best. She refused to dwell on the possibility that he hadn’t received her letter and might not show up at all.

  “I was expecting someone to meet me,” she said. “Since it appears he’s been delayed, I’ll need a room for one night.”

  The man peered at her over his glasses. “You leaving on the morning stage?”

  “No, sir, I’m not.”

  He gave her a suspicious look. “We don’t cater to—”

  Gracious me, he thinks I’m a... “My fiancé will be here to fetch me sometime tomorrow,” she added primly, praying that would indeed be the case.

  Her answer seemed to satisfy him. He shoved a ledger toward her. “That’ll be six dollars for a first class room. That includes your evening meal.”

  Kathleen gasped. “Six dollars? Don’t you have anything less expensive?”