The Betrothed (Cutter's Creek Book 7)

by Vivi Holt

  “’Scuse me, sirs. Guards — I’ve got some passengers ‘ere for the train, but the problem is, those men are pursuin’ us.” The guards looked up to where the cabbie’s arm was pointed, their hands finding the holsters each had strapped to his hip. They made eye contact with Kemper’s men, who’d pulled their buggy up on the other side of the street. One look at the earnest faces of the railroad guards, and the man driving the buggy slapped the reins down across the backs of his horses, moving onward into the crowded street and out of sight.

  Harry scurried back to the cab, and leaned his head in through the window to see Camilla there, white-faced and sitting as straight as a poker. He smiled.

  “Cammie, dear, it’s okay. You can come out now. The railroad guards have scared off Kemper’s men. We’re safe.”

  “I’ll just be a moment,” she said, her eyes still wide.

  Harry turned to face Charlotte. “Are you alright, Charlotte?”

  “I’m fine, thank you Harry. That certainly was exciting. Although, I must say I could do without that kind of excitement in my life, if it’s all the same to you.”

  Her heart hammered in her chest, and her head felt light. She pulled a handkerchief from her skirt pocket, and wiped the beaded sweat from her brow.

  “Yes, sorry about that. I suppose I didn’t quite think it all through.”

  “Mmmm… well, there’s nothing can be done about it now. Although I dare say they’ll be waiting for us back at the boarding house, so it’s a good thing we’re not returning there.”

  “I’m sure you’re right. I’ll just go and help the cab driver with the luggage. We’ll be out of New York in no time.”

  ***

  By the time they’d reached Independence, Missouri, they’d traveled for days by steam train and then hours by Stage Coach. Once there, Harry settled the women in a room at a hotel on the town’s main street, and headed back out to gather supplies for the journey ahead. Charlotte and Camilla each took turns bathing in a large, claw-footed tub, and changing into clean clothes, before retiring to the sitting room downstairs to wait for supper to be served in the dining room.

  “I must say, it feels good to get out of those dirty clothes and into something more comfortable. I entirely underestimated how inappropriate that gown would be for traveling in this dusty, pot-holed country,” complained Charlotte, sipping a glass of cool water.

  Camilla nodded, “You’ll be far more comfortable in your shorter house dress, I’m sure.”

  “How long do you think Harry will be?” asked Charlotte, opening a small fan and fanning herself. She wasn’t yet accustomed to the Missouri heat.

  “Not too long, I hope. He said he’d try to buy everything we needed today, so we could get moving first thing tomorrow. I must say, I’m so tired, I do wish we could stay here a little while longer to recuperate.”

  Supper was soon served, and the women were seated in dining room before Harry returned to join them at the table. They ate a hearty meal of roast beef, potatoes, beans, gravy and sourdough biscuits slathered with thick creamy butter.

  “Did you get everything we needed?” asked Charlotte, buttering her second biscuit.

  “I’m afraid not. I think we’ll have to stay a few days more than I’d planned. It might take me a while to find a wagon and team of oxen, hopefully no more than a few days though.”

  Charlotte grinned at Camilla, and took a bite of the biscuit. “I think we could all stand a few more days of this, don’t you Camilla?”

  Camilla nodded, her mouth too full to answer.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Charlotte and Camilla hurried down the hotel stairs with their reticules and sun hats. It was time to leave Independence, and they were fully rested and excited about the prospect of the adventure that lay ahead. They hastened outside to find Harry standing beside a wagon. He was tying a canvas cover in place over the edge of the wagon bed. He’d purchased three yokes of strong, sturdy oxen, which were harnessed to the front of the covered wagon. A chestnut horse and a milch cow, for milking, were tethered to the wagon’s tail end. The back of the wagon was packed full of the supplies and tools they’d need to travel across the country, along with a suitcase each containing clothing and other personal items. He’d said that anything they couldn’t fit in their suitcase and wasn’t essential for their survival had to stay behind. Charlotte had whittled down her wardrobe and knickknacks to the bare essentials, including a few things that had the most sentimental value, and her trunk was stashed in the back of the wagon against the tailgate. The drop-pendant necklace was, as usual, hidden around her neck, this time beneath a loosely tied scarf as well as the buttoned bodice of her house dress.

  Harry jumped down from the wagon bed and landed on the road beside her with a grunt. “What do you think of her?” he asked Charlotte, patting the sturdy boards.

  “The wagon?”

  “She’s a schooner, a prairie schooner. The salesman said she was the best he had, the latest technology. Apparently she’ll float like a boat when we cross rivers and streams. And she’s lighter than the older-style wagons.”

  “It’s wonderful,” Charlotte smiled, her hand still shading her eyes.

  Harry finished tying the canvas in place, and all three of them climbed up to sit on the wagon seat. It was a single hard board of oak, and Charlotte wriggled in place, trying to find a comfortable position, to no avail. He raised the reins in his hands, and shouted “Hiya! Hiya!” The oxen stepped forward with a great tossing of heads, and clashing of horns.

  “The man I bought them from said that they’re only newly broke, so may be a bit ornery, whatever that means,” said Harry, brandishing a long leather whip, the end of which immediately drifted into Camilla’s face.

  She sputtered, “Harry!”

  “Sorry, I’ll get it all sorted out soon, just finding my way.”

  He swung the whip about, and it landed on the back of one of the oxen. With a snort, the oxen charged ahead, dragging the rest of the team with it.

  “Whoa there!” cried Harry, but the oxen only picked up speed. “Whoa! Hold on!”

  Charlotte held on tight to the seat beneath her, eyes wide and heart pounding. People scattered as the oxen pulled the cart faster and faster down the main street. The wagon bounced and bumped over every pot hole, whipping up a tornado of dust in its wake.

  Before long the street had narrowed, and they could see the river up ahead. “I think we should slow down now,” shouted Camilla.

  “Whoa,” said Harry, niggling the oxen’s reins. They didn’t respond, continuing to gallop at a breakneck pace down the road. “Whoa there, whoa!” Harry raised his voice, but the oxen were determined.

  Charlotte felt fear rise in her throat. She could see a ferry ahead where those heading west could cross the Missouri River. A covered wagon was making its way onto the ferry, and the oxen were aiming straight for it. She gasped and her knuckles turned white on the wagon seat. “Harry, the ferry!” she yelled.

  He nodded and yelled louder, “Whoa!”

  Finally the oxen slowed, the leaders snorting and shaking their horned heads against the restriction of the yoke. They pulled up short, just before the ferry, and Harry sat back with evident relief. “Phew, that was close …”

  Charlotte’s entire body shook and she couldn’t let go of her grasp on the wagon seat.

  “I thought they’d never stop!” said Camilla, wiping her brow with a handkerchief. “Harry Brown, you surely do test my nerves at times!”

  Harry laughed and slapped his hat down on his thigh. “Well, my dear, it’s never dull, is it?”

  “No, it certainly is not.” Camilla joined his laughter, but Charlotte stared unmoving at the bridge, her head light.

  “Well, let’s keep moving then,” said Harry, replacing his hat and resuming the reins.

  The covered wagon on the ferry soon reached the other side and Charlotte noticed that there were two more wagons just ahead of it. When the ferry returned to this side
of the river, it was their turn to board. Harry hopped down from the wagon seat, and led the oxen forward, snorting and wild-eyed at the hollow sound their hooves made on the boards. They wanted to veer to either side, but couldn’t because of the railings.

  When they made it to the other side of the river, they found the three covered wagons waiting for them. “Howdy,” said a tall man driving one of the wagons. “Where are you folks from and where are you headed?”

  “We’ve just come from New York City and we’re on our way to Montana Territory,” answered Harry.

  “We’re headed to Wyoming ourselves. You can drive with us if you like.” The tall man’s face was gaunt and his ten-gallon hat sat high on his head.

  “Thank you. I’m Harry Brown. This is my wife Charlotte and my sister Camilla.”

  “Pleased to meet you folks. I’m Bob Becker. Over on that wagon is Seamus O’Brien, his wife Zelda and their little one Connie. And that over yonder is Hank and Wilma Valderra. We’re travelin’ together to pool resources, keep safe and whatnot. Glad you could join us.”

  “We appreciate it. We’ll just tag along behind – let us know if you need anything.”

  “Sounds fine to me.” Bob tapped the brim of his hat with his long bony fingers. Charlotte noticed the holster draped around his hips, and the butt of a pistol gleamed in the sunshine as his wagon moved on ahead of them.

  They fell in behind Bob’s wagon, and the rest of the day passed uneventfully, plodding along in a line through the magnificent Missouri countryside.

  Charlotte found herself relaxing and enjoying the small pleasures of life on the road. She hadn’t realized until that moment how tense their time spent in the city had made her feel and how relieved she’d be to return to the countryside. She was a country girl at heart, and was finally returning to the place where she felt the most peace.

  She glanced up at Harry, seated beside Camilla. He whistled a soft tune as he guided the oxen, a gentle smile crinkling the corners of his mouth. He looked as though he felt the same way she did about leaving the city life behind. She breathed a deep breath of fresh country air and closed her eyes for just a moment, letting the sweet fragrance of spring linger in her lungs.

  Chapter Thirty

  That night the group of wagons clustered together in a circle around a campfire. Harry set up a tent for the women to sleep in; he slept on an oilskin mat under the stars. The weather was fine and the stars lit up the sky with a brilliant blanket of vibrant lights from one horizon to the other. The oxen grazed nearby on the short grasses and Harry picketed the cow and mare beside a nearby stream so they could drink when they wished and graze as well.

  Charlotte heard raised voices coming from somewhere nearby, but the noise soon faded away and the campsite fell quiet.

  When she awoke the next morning, it was to a shout from Harry. She smoothed her hair with one hand and poked her head from the door of the tent. “What is it, Harry?”

  “The oxen. They’re gone.”

  “Gone?”

  “Yes, they’re nowhere in sight. I’m taking the mare and going after them. You’ll have to milk the cow and get breakfast.” He threw on his hat and hurried with a saddle over one arm toward the picketed mare. He stood, looking at the horse for a few moments, then threw the saddle onto her back. She squealed and lashed out a hind leg in his direction. He yelped and the saddle landed on the ground at his feet.

  “Would you like some help?” asked Charlotte, clambering from the tent. She straightened her skirts and hurried to help him. She took the reins firmly in hand and lifted the saddle, placing it carefully on the horse’s back. Once she’d tightened the girth, she helped him into the saddle. “Are you sure you’re up to this?” she asked, her eyebrows arched in concern.

  “I’ll manage. I can’t send you out looking for the oxen on your own, can I?”

  “Have you ever ridden before?”

  “A few times. It can’t be too hard, can it?” He grinned and slapped the horse with one hand, sending her shooting forward.

  Charlotte covered her face with her hands, not wanting to see him land on the ground. She peered between her fingers and watched as he bounced awkwardly away, holding on tight to the mare’s mane.

  Camilla emerged from the tent with a frown. “Where’s he going?”

  “To find the oxen. They disappeared sometime in the night. I supposed we’ll have to tether them each night as well.”

  “Oh dear, I do hope he doesn’t fall and break his neck somewhere.” Camilla stretched her back and yawned.

  “So apparently we’re in charge of milking the cow and fixing breakfast,” said Charlotte.

  “I’ll fix breakfast, since there is no way I’m going near that cow.”

  Charlotte sighed. “Fine. But if she kicks me, you’re on nursing duty.”

  Camilla laughed and wandered off to look for kindling.

  Charlotte milked the cow without incident, thankful that she’d made William the farmhand teach her to milk when she was a child. She heaved the bucket of milk back to camp and found Camilla in a state of despair. She’d finally gotten a blaze going, then stepped back into it and upset the coffee pot, putting the fire out. “Never mind, Cammie. Let’s start again.”

  They set about building a new fire, and before long each had a steaming cup of coffee to sip and a slice of bread to eat. They re-picketed the cow and packed up the camp, then sat down with a deck of cards to wait for Harry’s return.

  It was lunchtime before he showed up, and the rest of the wagon train had long since departed. Charlotte was glad to see he had the oxen with him. She quickly fixed him a sandwich and a cup of coffee, and he ate hurriedly, eager to leave.

  They caught up with the rest of the group again before nightfall, finding their camp on the edge of a clearing. Harry pulled up on the reins and brought the oxen to a halt. He leapt down to unhitch them when they heard shouts coming from the darkened camp. “What the Devil …?” He stood up and peered through the dim light.

  Charlotte could see two men arguing and shoving each other beside one of the wagons. It seemed to be Bob and Hank. The two men were obviously arguing about something. She watched as Harry left the oxen, and hurried toward the men.

  “What’s going on?” he asked, his voice stern.

  She couldn’t hear the exchange that followed, but cried out in dismay when she saw Bob yank the pistol from his holster and point it at the Hank’s head. Harry shouted. Then a single shot rang out through the still evening. Hank slumped to the ground, Wilma screamed and the camp was filled with the yells and cries of the others in the group. Harry grabbed a hold of Bob’s arm and attempted to wrest the pistol from his grip. Bob pulled hard, throwing Harry off balance, and hit Harry on the side of the head with the butt of the gun. Harry stumbled in a circle, holding tight to his head with both hands. Camilla screamed, and Charlotte covered her mouth with her hands in horror.

  As Bob struggled to reload the weapon in the darkness, Harry came to his senses and lumbered toward the wagon. Charlotte took up the reins and whip, and as soon as Camilla had helped him climb aboard, she shouted, “Hiya”, and brought the whip down across the oxen’s backs. They surged forward, just as the gun rang out once more, the boom hovering in the cool air about them. The oxen, frightened by the noise, leapt into a gallop and were soon pitching across the prairie and away from the campsite.

  Harry’s face blanched and he took the reins from Charlotte.

  “What was that?” asked Camilla, her face white.

  “Bob just shot Hank,” whispered Charlotte, holding tight to Camilla’s arm.

  “Heavens! Why would he do that?”

  “I don’t know. They were fighting over some nonsense, something about a missing purse. Out here, it seems, people are a law unto themselves. Let’s keep going. We’ll find our own campsite tonight, and will chose our friends more carefully in the future.” Harry slowed the oxen with a single word, and they trotted through the falling darkness, the sounds of th
e campsite fading into the distance behind them, replaced by the call of crickets and the lonesome cry of a hoot owl.

  Charlotte didn’t sleep well that night, fitfully tossing and turning on her mat. Every sound in the night made her eyes fly open and she gasped when an animal scurried past the tent. Why had Bob shot Hank? What possible dispute would justify killing a man? She hadn’t considered how lawless it might be out here on the trail. Why, anything could happen, and what would be done about it? Who would bring Bob to justice? She shivered and pulled the blanket up close beneath her chin. What a strange, wild and lonely place this was turning out to be.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Harry slid into the saddle and spurred the horse forward with the heels of his boots. She broke into a trot and he bounced painfully in the saddle with each step she took. He was still sore from riding her yesterday, but he wanted desperately to learn how without becoming so badly bruised.

  He heard a snigger as he rode past Charlotte, who strode ahead of the wagon, her fingers trailing along the tips of the tall grasses that lined the wagon track. “What? What are you laughing at?”

  “You. You look ridiculous on horseback.”

  “Oh really? Thanks a lot.” He pulled on the reins and the mare slowed to a walk. He sighed and drew the horse alongside Charlotte. “I can’t seem to stop bouncing when she goes faster like that. Surely it’s supposed to be less awkward and uncomfortable than that.”

  “You have to move with her.”

  “See, that doesn’t mean anything at all to me – I have no idea what you’re talking about. I am moving with her. When she moves, I move.”

  “No, I mean … oh, climb down and let me show you.” Charlotte grabbed hold of his reins beneath the bit and gently pulled the mare to a stop. “Have you thought about what to call her?”