Spring in Iowa was different from spring in the Ozarks but just as beautiful. Sunshine coaxed flowers to peek through partially opened buds. Robins hopped along the ground searching for worms. They and other birds were particularly fond of the soil Hans had turned over for the garden plot. As leaves began to fill the branches of nearby trees, the twittering of birds building nests lent a special musical background to the work. Constance hummed along with them while she pulled the weeds trying to grow between the rows.
Some days, several other people joined her in her toil. When Hans was one of them, she liked to watch him out of the corners of her eyes. His well-developed muscles rippled as he worked with a hoe or planted another row. She wondered how his shirt kept from ripping, he filled it out so well.
That thought brought a blush. She felt the warmth creep up her neck and onto her cheeks. Hopefully, if anyone noticed, they would just think it was the sunshine giving her the rosy cheeks. She quickly averted her gaze and kept her head down.
One day, she decided it surely had been enough time to receive an answer from the letter she had sent the Smiths back in Arkansas. When she arrived at the post office, several other people stood in line to pick up mail. She had to wait her turn to talk to the postmaster.
She took her place behind a man she had never seen before. When he reached the front of the line, he and the postmaster started a long conversation. Since she was the last person in line, she wandered around the room, looking at various notices tacked up on the walls. Anything to make the wait more bearable.
The man talked really loudly, and one word stuck out to Constance. He said the name Mitchell. She started back across the room to ask him if he was kin to them, but he continued talking, and she could hear every word.
“It’s too bad about those boys. I think they just lost their way after their parents died.”
The postmaster nodded his agreement.
Constance couldn’t hold in her curiosity any longer. “Excuse me, sir. Were you talking about Jim Mitchell by any chance?”
The man turned toward her and nodded, his scraggly beard bobbing up and down in rhythm with his head. “Yep. Him and his brother.”
“I’ve been trying to find Jim Mitchell. He and my father were in the war together.” She tried not to sound too eager.
“Well, I was just telling Hiram here”—he gestured toward the man behind the desk—“that both those boys got in a gunfight in a saloon north of here, and it didn’t end good for them. They both died from their wounds.”
Shock robbed Constance of speech for a moment. Jim Mitchell was dead. If that was true, she would be released from her promise, wouldn’t she? But what about the gold?
“Where did you say this happened?” She stared up into the man’s face, trying not to show him how interested she was in his answer.
He scratched his cheek through the beard. “Let me see. I think it was at Camden Junction. It’s about a five-hour ride north of Browning City. I heard tell they are both buried there. Seems like they were the end of the line for the Mitchell family in these parts. It’s just too bad. I always did like their parents.”
Camden Junction. Constance would have to find out where that town was located. Maybe she could go there and be sure this man knew what he was talking about.
After finding out that she didn’t have any mail, Constance walked slowly back to the boardinghouse. What did all this information mean to her? How she wished that God would talk to people today. She wanted to ask Him what she should do about all that was happening in her life.
That gold had to be somewhere. Maybe it was on the farm. Tomorrow after she finished baking, she would go out there and see for herself. She knew Martha planned to take her students to work in the garden, so no one would miss her.
All the time she worked in the garden that afternoon, she wanted to tell Mary what was going on, but she didn’t want to worry her. Maybe if Constance found the gold and gave it back to the government, then she would feel released from her promise to her pa. No one needed to know what Jim Mitchell did. She didn’t want to give his family a bad name now that he was gone…if he really was.
The next day, she started baking earlier than usual. By the time Mrs. Barker got to the kitchen, Constance had a couple of pans of biscuits all ready for breakfast. She had started making double the amount of bread every other day, so she wouldn’t need to bake bread today. There was enough left from yesterday’s baking. By the time Mrs. Barker had breakfast ready, Constance had enough pies made to last through supper.
“You really are in a hurry.” At least Mrs. Barker didn’t sound upset. “Do you have special plans for today?”
“I just thought I would spend some time looking around the countryside today. Maybe I have spring fever.” Constance kept her eyes on her work.
“You know, Constance, if you want to take a day off from the baking, it would be okay. You do more than your share of the work around here as it is.” Mrs. Barker came over and gave Constance a quick hug.
Tears sprang to Constance’s eyes. Mrs. Barker made her feel more like a family member than an employee and boarder.
When she finished helping clean up the kitchen, she went by to see Mary. After they visited a few minutes, Constance told her that she wanted to explore the area for a while. Mary didn’t seem concerned, so Constance soon left. She walked to the livery stable, being careful not to go by the smithy on the way. When she stepped into the large shadowed barn, an older man came out of one of the stalls.
“Can I help you, miss?” The man leaned his pitchfork against the wooden rails.
“I’d like to rent a horse.” Constance tried not to look nervous, even though the anticipation of maybe finding something today made her almost quiver.
The man looked her up and down, but not in a bad way. “Have you ever ridden before?” He must have been sizing up her abilities. He probably didn’t want an inexperienced rider to hurt one of his animals.
“Yes, we had a horse when I was growing up. I used to ride it across the mountain to school.”
He stood with his hands on his hips. “So it’s been awhile?”
“At least two or three years.” Constance didn’t like being put on the spot like that. Why couldn’t the man just rent her a horse and quit asking questions?
He went into the open tack room and took a bridle off a hook on the far wall. He turned and strode down to a stall at the other end of the structure. After opening the gate, he went in and put the harness on the animal, then led the horse toward her.
“This here horse is gentle but has enough spirit to make your ride a good one.”
“Thank you, Mr…?”
“Jones. Charlie Jones.”
She took his proffered hand and shook it. “I’m Constance Miller. I’d like to rent the horse for most of the day. Should I pay you now?” She had some money tucked inside the waistband of her riding shirt. She’d find a way to remove it privately when she needed to.
“Naw. We can settle up when you get back.” Charlie rubbed the horse’s neck and gave it an affectionate pat.
He went through the open tack room doorway and brought out a side saddle. Constance hadn’t ever seen one. She had just read about them. They sure looked different.
“I don’t know how to use one of those.” Constance pulled on the sides of her split skirt. “I’ve always ridden straddling the horse.”
She watched Mr. Jones go back and exchange the saddle. He hefted it up on the back of the animal that stood patiently waiting.
“What’s the horse’s name?”
“Blaze, but it’s talking about this”—he pointed to the white slash down the horse’s face—“not about how fast he runs.” He chuckled at his own joke.
Even though Constance didn’t think his words were that funny, she laughed. She didn’t want to insult the livery manager. After using the mounting block to get up on the horse’s back, she turned him toward the street and started riding east. It didn’t take her lo
ng to get a feel for the animal, and soon she was moving along at a good pace.
Hans headed toward the livery stable with some harness he had mended for Charlie. In his pocket, he carried a shriveled apple from his root cellar. He liked to give Blaze a special treat when he went by his stall. Maybe he’d take the horse out for a ride, since he didn’t have much work right now.
“Charlie, I’ve got your harness.” When Hans went from the bright sunlight into the shadows of the stable, for a moment he couldn’t see anything. “Where are you?”
“Over here mucking out Blaze’s stall.”
Hans hung the harness on its usual hook before meandering down the length of the building. He leaned his forearms on the top rail of the enclosure and put one booted foot on the bottom rail. “So where is Blaze? I brought him a treat.”
“I reckon you’ll have to wait a bit before you give it to him.” Charlie didn’t let up working while he talked. “He probably won’t be back for quite a while yet.”
Hans dropped his foot back to the dirt floor. “Someone rent him for the day?”
Charlie stopped and peered intently at him. “Yup.” He looked back down at the pile of soiled straw he’d pulled into the middle of the stall. “Some woman. Kind of pretty, but I don’t think I’ve seen her before.”
Hans straightened and shoved his hands into the back pockets of his trousers. “What did she look like?”
“I tole you she was pretty. A little bit of a thing, but she knew how to ride a horse.” Charlie started forking the straw into his barrow.
“Did she have brown curly hair?”
“Don’t know how curly it is, but her hair was brown. She had it pulled back into her sun bonnet.” He hefted another forkful into the conveyance.
“Did she tell you her name?” Hans hoped the thought that came into his mind was wrong.
“Yup. I don’t let anyone take out a horse without leaving me their name. Constance Miller.” Charlie leaned the pitchfork against the back wall of the stall and picked up the handles of the wooden wheelbarrow. “Anything else you need? I gotta go dump this mess.”
“How long ago did she leave?”
Charlie stopped short and set the barrow down on its legs. “You sure do have a lot of questions this morning. Why do you want to know?”
“Miss Miller is a new friend of mine.” Hans knew in his gut where Constance was going. Why didn’t she ask him to go with her? Guess she hadn’t believed him when he’d warned her about possible dangers out there. “I thought I might try to catch up with her. I’m not sure she understands all the dangers that could lurk outside town.”
“Why didn’t you say that right off?” Charlie started down the row of stalls, then stopped. “Blackie here is the fastest horse in this stable.” He opened the gate, went in, and closed it behind himself. “He’s a little skittish, but you can handle him okay.”
Hans started for the tack room to pick up the saddle he used when he rode. “You didn’t tell me how long she’s been gone.”
“About half an hour, I reckon.” Charlie led the horse toward Hans.
Hans made quick work of saddling Blackie. Then he leapt into the saddle and hightailed it down the road heading east out of town. He didn’t want to ride the horse too hard, but anything could be going on out there. It wasn’t often that renegade former soldiers or other highwaymen roamed this road, but it could happen at any time…even today.
When Constance left the edge of town, she urged the horse into a gallop but soon slowed down. The countryside spread around her with an abundance of grass, trees, and wildflowers in a rainbow of colors. She wanted to enjoy all the glory of spring that surrounded her. Unlike her first time outside town when she felt as though the sky pressed down on her, she realized how comfortably the gentle rolling hillocks undulated across the landscape. The beauty of the land bubbled with life, and birds soared above the trees she passed occasionally. Small fluffy clouds rested against the robin’s-egg-blue sky but didn’t block out any of the sunlight.
Since the horse could move faster than a wagon, it shouldn’t take as long to arrive at the farm, so she wasn’t really in a big hurry. It felt good to be on the back of a horse, and it was easier to ride the road cut across this wide-open prairie instead of up and down mountainsides, where the animal had to pick its way between rocks and brush. She didn’t have to watch where her horse stepped as closely here as she did back home.
Even though Constance saw farmhouses, they all sat far from the country road she traveled. A feeling of isolation and loneliness crept upon her. Then she remembered the warning Hans had given about the possibility of meeting outlaws out here. Why hadn’t she thought of that before she left town? Maybe she should have asked him to come with her, but surely he was too busy.
Constance watched the shadows among the groves of trees she passed. Could someone be hiding there waiting for an unsuspecting traveler to come along? If so, the outlaw wouldn’t get anything from her. She hadn’t brought a handbag, and most of her money was hidden under the mattress in her room at the boardinghouse. She knew she should think about putting it in the bank, but she hadn’t expected to stay in Browning City so long.
Blaze must have sensed her apprehension, because he became skittish, side-stepping a little. Constance had to concentrate on controlling the beast. Then she heard it. The sound of approaching hoofbeats. Her heart beat a loud thunder, and fear tasted metallic on her tongue. They were still a long way off. She glanced over her shoulder and saw a lone rider gaining on her. Should she turn off the roadway and hide? It was probably too late for that.
They had been riding so long that she didn’t want to push Blaze any harder. What should she do? She hadn’t seen a farmhouse for quite a while. If she came upon a lane leading to one, maybe she should take her chances there.
She ventured one last glance over her shoulder, trying to gauge how long it would be before the man overtook her.
The closer Hans got to the rider up ahead, the more certain he was that it was Constance. It hadn’t taken as long to catch up to her as he had feared it would. Hopefully, she wouldn’t resent him for coming after her. For some reason, he felt as though he had to protect her—from harm and from herself.
Remembering those moments in Jackson and Mary’s house when their gazes had connected and everything around them had dropped away, his heartbeat sped up to match the fast clip of the hoofbeats. Constance was wearing a dark brown riding skirt that flapped behind her in the wind. A green blouse and sunbonnet completed her outfit. Hans was sure the green flecks in her brown eyes would be prominent today. He imagined her smiling up into his eyes and almost lost his tight hold on the reins. He couldn’t do that while they were traveling so fast.
Constance glanced back and seemed to speed up a little. Didn’t she know who he was? Maybe not. She could be scared, thinking he was an outlaw. It served her right for not being more careful. If he thought she could hear him, he’d call out to her, but he was still too far away to make his words heard over the sound of two sets of pounding hoofbeats. He leaned over Blackie’s neck.
When his attention returned to the rider up ahead, Hans felt his heart leap into his throat. Blaze had stepped into a rut or hole, and his right front leg gave way under him. He went down. With horror, he watched Constance roll with the animal before she let go of the reins and flew away from him. At least Blaze didn’t land on top of her. If he had, he would have crushed her.
Knowing that it wasn’t good for Blackie, Hans urged the horse to go even faster. What if Constance was hurt? His heart stopped beating for a second before rapidly returning to its fast cadence.
When they approached the spot where Constance lay, Hans pulled back too hard on the reins. He would have to apologize to Blackie later, but he had to make sure Constance was all right. He leapt from the horse’s back and dropped the reins, knowing that Blackie wouldn’t wander far from where he left him.
Constance was too still, and her face looked as white as the
snow that had covered the countryside not too long before she arrived in Browning City. Her long eyelashes fanned across her cheeks in a dark brown smudge. Even her lips, which usually were a healthy pink, looked a strange bluish tint. Oh God, please don’t let her be dead.
Hans dropped to his knees on the grassy verge beside her. A faint pulse beat at her throat, and her chest rose and fell in shallow breaths. What should he do now?
nine
Constance floated in blackness, trying to find a tiny speck of light. No other sensation registered in her muddled brain. The sound of hoofbeats rapidly approaching caused her heartbeat to accelerate right along with them. She felt the pounding of each hoof beneath her. Would the horse run over her? And why would a horse be coming toward her when she was asleep?
She realized she wasn’t in her bed. Instead she was lying on something hard. Constance rubbed the fingers of one hand against the surface, only moving a couple of inches. Grass…the ground beneath…a pebble or two. Where was she, and why couldn’t she open her eyes? She tried to take a deep breath but could only grasp a shallow one.
The horse stopped short, and a man’s voice whispered, “I’m sorry, Blackie.”
She heard the animal’s huffing breath and the warm earthy smell of lathery sweat. The man’s voice sounded familiar. She couldn’t quite remember why. Maybe if she lay really still and thought about it, the answer would come to her.
“Oh, Constance, what am I going to do now?”
Hans. At the whispered question, an image of his face swam into her mind. The fragrance of heat and masculinity that she associated with the blacksmith invaded her senses. She forced her eyes open a bit. He leaned over her, only a breath away. For a moment, the look of concern—and something else—in his eyes called to something deep inside her. Sensations she had never experienced surged through her, warring with unrest and unnamed pain.
When Constance’s eyes fluttered open, Hans leaned back away from her, hunkering with his feet under him. Healthy color finally suffused her face, and her breathing sounded more normal.
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