Glory

by Lori Copeland

  “Well,” Lily said, biting her lower lip, “you will someday, perhaps.” Her youthful features sobered. “What will you do, Glory? You can’t live out here alone. Colorado is a harsh, unforgiving land. The winters are long and hard. You won’t know anyone, and you have no skills.”

  “I do now!” She could read reasonably well, thanks to Ruth’s tutoring. Harper had taught her to cook; folks didn’t clamor for seconds, but she was getting better, and she hadn’t made anyone sick in weeks. Thanks to Lily, she could sew a decent stitch. Mary had taught her to add and subtract. Seemed to her she was as qualified as anyone else to find work.

  Harper, who’d been silent, said softly, “Maybe I could get a job, pay Mr. Wyatt back, and then you and me could stay together.”

  The girls turned to look at the mahogany-skinned girl. Ruth frowned. “Why, Harper, I thought you wanted to get married.”

  Harper’s words were barely audible. “No, I never wanted to get married. The orphanage said I had to. Don’t like most men,” she said, her voice dropping lower. “Most men—they’re mean to a body.”

  “Mean?” Ruth leaned over and took her hand. “Why ever would you say that?”

  Shifting to her hip, Harper lifted her blouse and showed them her back, crisscrossed with deep white scars.

  Patience’s soft gasp covered the stunned silence.

  “Dear Lord in heaven.” Lily turned away.

  “You never said anything,” Mary whispered.

  “Wouldn’t have done no good. Folks at the orphanage knew about it, said they wouldn’t let Ma have me if she came back. She brought men home—”

  Glory’s cheeks burned hot. “They had no right to do that to you. Poppy said a man who’d beat a woman was no better than a rabid animal.”

  “Men are mean when they’re drinking,” Harper whispered, tears pooling in her dark eyes as she trembled beneath the heavy blanket. “I’ve … I’ve been thinking that I don’t want to get married to some man I’ve never met. I don’t want no man beatin’ me every night till I bleed. Glory and I can get us a place—”

  “Oh, Harper.” Mary hugged her, switching turns with the others as they comforted her.

  “Not all men are bad,” Glory argued. “Look at Jackson. He’s kind and protective, and I can’t imagine he’d lift his hand to a woman. We’ve all seen him about as mad as he could be, and he didn’t treat us bad.”

  Dabbing her eyes with her handkerchief, Harper managed a weak grin. “Guess that’s true, Glory. He’d have beat you silly weeks ago if he was turned that way.”

  That brought a laugh from everyone. Glory’s reputation for stepping on Jackson’s nerves was legendary.

  “I’ll bet Mr. Wyatt has a wonderful young man waiting for you,” Mary said. “Handsome, strong, just itching to be a proud papa and a loving husband to you.”

  The girls shared a nervous laugh this time. Glory, for one, wasn’t so sure about marriage. If she’d been stuck with any of those men that Poppy had tried to pawn off on her, she wouldn’t be happy about it.

  “Harper, you’ll be just fine. We pray that Mr. Wyatt will be a kind man and that he’ll find a good husband for you. It’s Glory we have to worry about.” Lily reached up and turned down the lantern, and the girls settled into their warm blankets. Gusts shook the wagon, and sleet peppered down on the canvas.

  Closing her eyes, Glory thought about Jackson sleeping under the wagon, wondering if he was warm enough, if his pillow was soft enough, if his bedroll sufficiently heavy to withstand the cold mountain air. She’d like to do so much for him: wash his clothes, fix his meals, and be the last one he talked to before his eyes closed in sleep.

  Lily snickered.

  Pretty soon Patience giggled.

  Lifting the blankets over their heads, the two girls dissolved into guffaws. Before long, they were all giggling.

  “What are we laughing about?” Ruth squeaked, her shoulders heaving with suppressed laughter.

  “I don’t know,” Mary sniggered. “Shh, keep your voice down. Jackson will hear us.”

  The wagon rocked with the girls’ ill-concealed giggles. Glory’s sides hurt from trying to keep quiet. The last thing she wanted was to disturb the old bear, Jackson.

  “Girls!”

  Too late. Slapping her hand over her mouth, Glory shook harder, tears rolling down her cheeks now.

  “Yes, sir?” Harper called, bending over double, pulling her knees to her chest.

  “It’s late!”

  “Yes, sir!”

  The six girls, tears rolling down their faces, laughing so hard their heads hurt, made every effort to sober. Each attempt failed miserably, and they burst into renewed peals of laughter. Burying their faces in their pillows, they gasped, chortled, sure they would die if they couldn’t stop.

  Eventually, the spell passed, and none too soon. They expected to see Jackson part the back curtain and yank a knot in their tails.

  Lying on their backs, they wiped tears from their eyes, hiccuping.

  “What was that all about?” Ruth whispered.

  No one knew, but the thought produced another brief round of snickers.

  “I know,” Patience whispered.

  “What?” they said in a hushed chorus.

  “It has to be those silly rules Lily was teaching Glory yesterday.”

  Glory sat up, wiping her eyes. “My lands, I’d forgotten those—” She started giggling.

  “What rules?” Mary scooted closer to Glory.

  “Some old rules Lily thinks I should learn so I can be a proper lady.”

  By now the girls were sitting up, eyes brimming with curiosity, dying to know what was so funny.

  “What are these rules?” Harper asked.

  Glory glanced at Lily, and they both grinned. “You tell them, Lily.”

  “Okay.” The girls lay back down and got quiet. “Promise, no one laughs?” Lily fumbled for a match, lit the wick, and then took out her book.

  They all promised to stay quiet, certain Jackson would skin them alive if they woke him a second time.

  “All right. This book, I think it comes from Boston, but I’m not sure. It has rules men and women are supposed to abide by.”

  “And they are?” Ruth plied.

  Clearing her throat, Lily began to read: “‘Ladies and gentlemen, when meeting on the sidewalk, should always pass to the right. Should the walk be narrow or dangerous, gentlemen will always see that ladies are protected from injury.’”

  “That doesn’t sound so bad.”

  “It gets worse. ‘Ladies should avoid walking rapidly upon the street, as it is ungraceful and unbecoming. Running across the street in front of carriages is dangerous and shows want of dignity.’”

  Glory giggled. “That lets me out.”

  “‘When walking with a lady, a gentleman should insist upon carrying any package that the lady may have. Before recognizing a lady on the street, the gentleman should be certain that his recognition would meet with favor.’”

  “How would he know?” Glory asked.

  “An educated guess, maybe?” Harper ventured.

  “‘No gentleman should stand on the street corners, hotel steps, or other public places and make remarks about ladies passing by.’”

  Patience snickered. “Especially about her weight.”

  “Or the size of her caboose,” Harper whispered.

  “‘Upon the narrow walk, for her protection, the gentleman should generally give the lady the inside of the walk, passing behind her when changing corners. A gentleman walking with a lady should accommodate his step and pace to hers. For the gentleman to be some distance ahead presents a bad appearance. And last but not least, the gentleman accompanying a lady should hold the door open for the lady to enter first. Should he be near the door when a lady, unattended, is about to enter, he will do the same for her.’”

  “What’s wrong with that?” Glory murmured, getting sleepy from all the merriment. “I think that’s nice.”

 
“Me too,” Harper said. “Better than letting the door slam in her face.”

  That brought on another round of giggles, but the long day finally took its toll. Soon the wagon settled down, the lantern was turned down, and the occupants rested quietly, listening to the howling wind.

  Just before Glory drifted off to sleep, she thought about the rules and decided that Jackson would observe every one of them.

  Because Jackson Lincoln was a gentleman.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Marshall McCall stayed the night, sleeping under the wagon beside Jackson.

  The next morning the sleet had changed to a steady snowfall—big white flakes that Glory tried to catch on her tongue.

  “Hop back in this wagon, girl,” Harper warned her. It was Glory’s habit to be the first one dressed and out every morning. “You can’t go out there in those worn-out boots.”

  Glory scrambled back into the wagon. “I put on my flannels, wool dress, and jacket,” she explained.

  “Well,” Harper said, “that’s good, but you can’t wear those thin boots. Time to be wearing your winter boots.”

  “Don’t have any.” For most of the trip now, Glory had been wearing whatever change of clothes another girl wasn’t wearing at the time, but she had only the holey boots she’d been wearing when she’d joined them.

  “Lucky thing.” Harper handed her a pair of dark leather boots. “Jackson picked up a spare pair when we stopped at that trading post some time back. Thought someone might need them, and we all wear close to the same size.”

  Glory’s eyes widened in surprise. Jackson seemed to think of everything. Despite all the trouble she’d caused him, with all the responsibilities he had, he still kept her—well, all the girls’—needs in mind. A rush of tenderness for this man filled her heart. To think he cared enough to be sure the women had what they needed, even clothing. Even for her.

  “Thanks,” Glory murmured in awe, lacing the boots up to her calves. She couldn’t remember ever having a good pair of boots to keep her warm and support her ankles on the rough trails.

  Moments later, Glory was helping Jackson harness the oxen. When he walked around the team to join her on her side, she glanced up at him warmly. Time to show him her gratitude. She reached down and gathered her skirt with both hands and hefted it up to her knees. “Well,” she said with a big smile, “what do you think?”

  Drawing a thick strap over the ox’s broad back, he paused to glance over. When she looked down, his eyes followed hers to the pair of shapely legs she was revealing to him. “Good grief,” he muttered, glancing up to her face incredulously and back down to her legs again, seemingly before he could stop himself. “What are you doing? Drop your skirt, girl.” His eyes shot left and right, looking for a safe place to look, his expression guilty. “What will people think if they see you—you can’t go around hiking up your skirt and asking a man what he thinks!”

  Glory’s shoulders stiffened. “I’m asking you what you think of the new boots,” she huffed. “What do you think I was asking about?”

  “Well, I … uh, you kind of took me by surprise,” he stammered. “I didn’t rightly know what to think.” His tone turned defensive. “You should be more specific when you’re asking questions.”

  “It’s a sad thing when a person can’t thank another person for her new boots without him getting all cranky.” She looked away, feeling stung by his reaction. If anyone else had tried to thank him, she felt sure he would have been gracious. “I declare sometimes you are fussier than Poppy after two weeks of snowed-in cabin fever.”

  She turned on her new heel and marched to the back of the wagon to saddle the marshall’s horse. Why was it, she thought in a fit of pure frustration, that she couldn’t even try to return a kindness without Jackson taking offense?

  Ruth banged two pots together to signal it was time to gather around the campfire for a hearty breakfast of biscuits and gravy. They crowded around to warm themselves and share a meal that would have to hold them through a cold morning’s work. Ruth said the blessing and began serving, handing the first plate to their guest.

  “Dylan,” Jackson began, studying the marshall over the rim of his coffee cup, “I’d sure be appreciative if you’d accompany us for the next several days.”

  The girls watched the handsome lawman expectantly, their smiles inviting. Harper shoved another biscuit onto his plate before he could refuse, and then followed it with a ladle of cream gravy. Mary refilled his coffee cup before he had a chance to ask.

  “Thanks,” he said with an appreciative nod. “I must say, Jackson, if I hang around too long, I’ll get fat and spoiled.”

  “I don’t think that’ll happen too soon. The girls and I will have all we can handle today climbing to the divide.” He glanced at the threatening sky. “If possible, I’d like to be through it before nightfall. Having you with us will increase our chance of making good time.”

  “Seems the least I can do for the kind hospitality you’ve shown me.”

  Glory stepped up with the reins to Dylan’s black gelding. “I saddled your horse, Marshall. I know we’d feel better if you rode along with us.”

  He smiled at her in a teasing way. “I imagine you feel better knowing you won’t be wearing my handcuffs today.”

  “Yes, sir,” she replied, blushing quickly, her gaze dropping away. Everyone chuckled and smiled at Glory sympathetically.

  Dylan looked at Jackson and then glanced around to include the ladies. “I accept your invitation.”

  “Good.” Jackson nodded, looking relieved. “Let’s gather round,” he began. “We’ve got maybe our toughest day ahead of us.” A gust of wind whipped around them, sending up sparks from the campfire to swirl with the snowflakes. “The weather is going to make it slick going. Each of you will have to walk as much as you can to lighten the load. The animals will struggle just to pull the weight of the wagon.” He sent a meaningful glance in Glory’s direction. “And stay close. Don’t wander away even for a minute. If you need a break, let Dylan or me know, so we can stop the wagon. Too easy to get lost in a snowfall, and it will get heavier the higher we go.”

  The girls murmured their agreement and dropped their heads as Ruth, then Jackson, led them in a brief prayer for safe passage.

  Because she didn’t have her stamina back, Mary was chosen to sit on the back of a mule tied behind the wagon. Glory gave her a boost, and Mary scrambled aboard, clutching the mule’s heavy leather collar for support. Patience climbed aboard the other mule to keep Mary company. The girls planned to alternate throughout the day with one or another of them sitting on the back of the other mule tied next to Mary’s. It gave them an occasional rest from walking, and the gentle mules accepted their slight weight without a problem.

  On the trail, Jackson ranged ahead to check conditions while Dylan rode beside the wagon. Ruth was at the reins, and three girls walked beside the oxen, helping her keep them in the middle of the trail.

  As the trail grew steeper and slicker, Ruth slapped the reins and called encouragement to the oxen that trudged slowly, leaning into the traces, dragging the wagon behind them. Glory and Harper smacked the oxen on their wide rumps and pulled at their harnesses when they veered off the rutted trail.

  Glory kept an eye on the marshall, who was riding alongside the wagon and staying real close to Ruth. As the wagon climbed higher, the wind almost snatched their breath away. Glory moved to the back of the wagon.

  “Care for a break?” Dylan asked Ruth amiably, touching the brim of his hat with his right hand. “I can climb aboard and take the reins for a while. Your arms have to be tired.”

  Ruth turned her head and looked into his crystal blue eyes framed by lashes dampened from the blowing snow. She stared for a long moment, then blinked suddenly and looked away. It was then that one of the oxen stepped in a hole and nearly jerked the reins out of her hands. “Ouch!” she exclaimed at the sharp tug on the leather that pulled her shoulders and lifted her off the seat for a sec
ond until she could lean back.

  “Got him!” Harper shouted as she pulled up on the ox’s halter until he regained his footing.

  Ruth huffed a moment, catching her breath. Then she gasped in surprise as Dylan settled his weight on the seat beside her. He leaned away to secure his horse to the side of the wagon and then turned to reach across her. His gloved hands wrapped around her gloved hands on the reins.

  “I-I can handle it,” she stammered defensively, stiffening her arms to lean as far away from him as she could.

  “Just trying to keep the tension on,” he said, his hands tightening on hers. “Just ease out from under me.”

  Glory punched Harper, who’d join her behind the wagon, and the girls grinned.

  “Looks like the marshall’s sweet on Ruth,” Harper whispered.

  “It surely does,” Glory said. “Sweet as honey.”

  Ruth pulled her hands out from under his as quickly as she could, but his firm grasp slowed her. “You can loosen your grip,” she said sharply.

  “Let’s take it slow. Wouldn’t want those oxen to take a crazy notion and run off now, would we?” He chuckled. When he glanced her way, their faces were scarcely inches apart.

  She cleared her throat and slid to the far edge of the wagon seat. “I hardly think the oxen could run anywhere at this point.” Ruth’s face flushed despite the icy snow pelting it.

  “I’m kidding, Ruth,” he said reassuringly. “It is Ruth, isn’t it?”

  “It is.” She rubbed her shoulders with her hands.

  “You okay?”

  “Oh yes, fine,” she said quickly. An awkward silence stretched between them. “Uh, I want to thank you for the way you treated Glory last night.”

  He nodded. “She seems like a fine girl, more sincere than most folks I meet.”

  Ruth’s eyebrows shot up. “You mean more sincere than most criminals, don’t you?”

  “I generally say what I mean, ma’am,” Dylan responded evenly.

  “Well,” Ruth said with a sigh, “it’s a good thing you know this Charlie Gulch.” She paused a beat before continuing, “If you hadn’t, I dare say you would have arrested her, right?”