Faith of the Heart

by Jewell Tweedt

  Simonson chuckled. “You got it boss. I‘ve got some wanted posters to go through, and I’ll take care of the morning rounds. Go get some shut-eye. You look beat.”

  Maxwell nodded and headed out the door rubbing his bleary eyes. Already he was thinking about frying up a mess of eggs and bacon, taking a long nap and changing into clean clothes.

  A little rest is all I need. A man gets tired and his thoughts get jumbled up.

  He retrieved his horse from the livery stable next door and swung up into the saddle. He trotted down Dodge Street, turned north and headed home, whistling a jaunty tune, and feeling better already.

  Back at the jail, Percy stirred up the fire in the stove, poured freshly ground coffee and water into the beat-up enamel pot and gathered up the wanted posters to have another look. In a river town like Omaha you never knew who was going to show up and Percy prided himself on being ready to recognize crooks that were wanted.

  Deputy Simonson had worked for Sheriff Maxwell ever since he had arrived in Omaha. At 23, Percy was a serious and dedicated lawman. Off-duty he was much less reserved and enjoyed kicking up his heels with his gal, Connie Rose. They were active in their church and participated in spelling bees and singing contests. What Percy lacked in vocal talent he made up for in volume and enthusiasm. Connie’s energy and cheerful disposition always made people feel good. Their good looks and good natures made them a popular couple in town. It was expected that someday the two would marry, and they talked about it sometimes but for now they were both happy with the ways things were. He had his job as deputy, she owned her café and there wasn’t any need to change things. Life was pretty darn good.

  Percy took the last swallow of the now-cold coffee and reached for his gun belt. It was time to make the rounds and see what was happening in town. First stop, check on Miss Secord at the mercantile and buy a couple of cents worth of licorice, then swing by the bank and the saloons, and then pop into Rose’s, see his gal, and devour her blue plate special. Yup, life was pretty good.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Just Outside Gettysburg, April 1865

  “Cal, land sakes! Cal!” Cassie burst into the cabin. “Boy, listen, the war is over! Over!” She dropped her bundles on the old table and rushed over to the cot where Cal was sleeping.

  “Cal!” She shook him hard and his eyes flew open. “What, old lady, what did you say?”

  “I said,” she screeched, “it’s over! General Lee done surrendered last week in some town by name of Appo… Appomattox Court House in Virginia.”

  Cal swung his thin legs over the cot’s edge and stood up. He grabbed Cassie and hugged her fiercely. “I just can hardly believe it’s over. Come sit down and tell me everything!”

  He pulled her over to the table and pushed out a chair with his foot. She sat down with a sigh and fished out a newspaper from her bundles. “Here, read for yourself. I gots to catch my breath. I darn near ran all the way from Gettysburg.” She fanned her face and leaned back. “Too much excitement for this old ticker of mine. I was like to have me a heart attack.”

  Cal didn’t answer; he was too engrossed in the Gettysburg paper. It was over. Lee had surrendered to General Ulysses S. Grant. Men were finally going home.

  But I don’t have a home. I can’t stay here, I’ve been a hermit too long. I certainly can’t return to Gettysburg and Claire. She probably thinks I’m dead and it’s too late to face her anyway. So now what?

  Cal looked up from the paper. Cassie was asleep in the chair, head tipped back, snoring softly. He felt a quick surge of tenderness for the old gal, his only friend and companion for the past several months. He owed her so much, yet she expected nothing from him.

  He tip-toed out of the cabin and stood in the yard, seeing nothing. The tenderness had turned to rage. Yes, the war was over but he had lost so much; his health, his wife-to-be, his entire future. Someone was going to pay for what they’d done to him. Why he’d nearly died fighting to preserve the union. Now it was time to fight for him. Even if that meant in a different city with his new identity. He’d get what was coming to him.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Omaha, Nebraska, Late July 1869

  It was a sweltering hot Sunday afternoon in July, and most folks were either wading in the creek to cool off or sitting on their porches sipping lemonade. Claire was stooped over in her garden, weeding, sweat pouring down her forehead and into her eyes. The store was closed for the day and she was enjoying being outdoors, even with the heat. The garden was dry and full of weeds; Claire felt she had avoided it long enough and decided to tend to it before it became overgrown with unwanted vegetation. She lugged several buckets of water from her well and the dry plants soaked it up as fast as she could pour it on. It was a lot of work, but come winter she would enjoy the foods she canned or stored in her tiny cold cellar. Last fall she had put up the vegetables that Aunt Ginny had planted, but this year the work was all her own doing.

  It gave Claire a good feeling knowing that she was providing for herself and succeeding. Her store was flourishing and she’d even hired a young man to work in the afternoons several times a week. Billy was a hard worker and helped Claire where she most needed it. He lifted heavy loads for her and moved the larger items around the store, saving Claire’s back and time. Plus, he was good with the customers. The menfolk felt more comfortable buying their tobacco and such from him and the young gals liked his cheeky grin. He was exceedingly honest and fast with figures. Best of all, having Billy as help allowed Claire to slip away once in awhile. She had become fond of renting a horse to take rides into the country for exercise and to learn more about her Nebraska home. Once in awhile she would stop in to visit with some of her customers who lived on farms. She had even started a kind of informal delivery service, bringing supplies and mail to farm wives, which earned her new customers and friends. It excited Claire that she was managing so well, and her grand plans for the store were finally beginning to take shape; a proud accomplishment in her mind.

  As she bent to stake up a bean plant, she felt someone grab her around her waist and clamp a filthy hand over her mouth. Fetid breath hit her face.

  “No sounds now girly. I mean it.”

  Claire struggled, but the arm squeezed tighter. Her attempts to scream came out as muffled grunts against the dirty paw.

  “We’re jest gonna go into that there store of yours and git me a few things. Quit squirmin’ or you’re gonna git hurt.” Claire managed to twist in the man’s arms. He was a dirty, burly man; heavy, strong, and shabbily dressed. He had an old hat pulled low on his forehead, but she could see his tiny bloodshot eyes. They were the ugliest, most yellow eyes she’d ever seen and she stared back, searing his face into her memory. The man shoved her forward, making her stumble. He jerked her upright again, hard, and pushed her through the kitchen door. Claire caught her foot on the ledge and cried out, but the brute holding her shook her hard.

  “I said, shut up!” He squeezed hard enough to bruise her arm, and Claire had to bite her lip to keep from screaming. Right behind the large cowboy was another man, tall and scrawny as a bean pole. He grinned and Claire saw a mouth of brown decayed teeth.

  “Hey Bud, whatcha gonna do with her? She seen our faces.”

  “Shaddup, you idiot.” Bud growled, clearly in no mood to tolerate his companion.

  He dumped Claire onto the kitchen floor. When she opened her mouth to scream, he stuffed a dish towel into it and tied it tightly behind her head. Bud disappeared through the store’s entryway and reappeared moments later with a length of rope to tie her hands. After making sure she was securely bound, he shoved her through her home into the closed store.

  “Lady, I need us some cash and grub to get through ‘til better times. Me and my friend has had some bad luck, but yore gonna change that. Just give us what we want and we won’t kill ya.”

  Claire glared at him and tried to yell through the gag, but it was useless. She tried to work at the rope to free her hands, but soon the h
ard fibers were cutting into her wrists, making it more difficult to move. She felt blood trickle down her hand and onto her perfectly polished floors. Her heart was racing and fear made her almost sick to her stomach.

  If I could just get my hands loose, she thought. Her pistol was in the bedroom under the mattress, and she could kick herself for not carrying it with her at all times. But she did have a sheathed knife in her skirt pocket that she’d been using to hack at weeds in the garden. If she could work her hands free to get at it, she might be able to escape unscathed.

  Bud moved to the register and yanked the cash drawer out. Cursing, he smashed it on the floor. Only a few coins rolled out. He grabbed Claire, shaking her so violently that her neck snapped back, and he pulled the towel from her mouth.

  “You scream, I’ll kill you!”

  Claire nodded frantically, licks of real fear burning her belly.

  “Money, where’s the cash money?” Bud hissed into her face, his putrid breath making Claire’s throat catch, her eyes water.

  She tried to answer calmly, but her voice wavered as she spoke.

  “I… I d-deposited it yesterday in the b-bank.”

  He cursed again and began to pace the room. Claire feared he would shoot her out of anger and braced for the bullet.

  “Bud,” his gangly friend interrupted, eager to please “she’s probably got something around here, doodads or baubles. Somethin’.”

  Bud thought for a moment, letting the idea sink in. “Yeah… Frank go see what you can find in that bedroom.”

  Claire’s eyes widened.

  Not the gun! Oh, please Lord, don’t let them find my pistol!

  She sucked in some air and said, “In my bureau are some jade ear-bobs, take them. There’s a little cash in the top drawer, take it too and just go away. Please!”

  Frank sprinted through the doorway and she could hear him rummaging around the bedroom, throwing aside furniture in his haste. A lamp smashed to the floor and the bureau drawers followed. She strained to hear the bed being overturned, but it wasn’t.

  Meanwhile Bud stuffed the towel back in her mouth and pushed her down into a chair.

  “You stay there and don’t do nothin’. I kilt a woman before and I ain’t got no problems with doin’ it agin.”

  He began to fill a large burlap sack with flour, sugar, beef jerky, coffee, and bacon. He filled a second bag with ammunition, tobacco, and several jars of Claire’s homemade peaches. Claire fumed silently, the fear temporarily replaced by anger, but there was nothing she could do except sit and watch him raid her store. She scanned the windows, but the curtains were drawn tight and the front door securely bolted. It was Sunday afternoon and no one would come to the store. It was always closed on the Sabbath and Billy wasn’t scheduled to work until Tuesday.

  Frank came racing back into the room, laughing at their good fortune.

  “Lookee, lookee at what I got here.”

  In his grimy fists were Claire’s jade earrings, a gold necklace, and her mother’s silver candlesticks. Sticking out of his pocket was her emergency money stash. There was no pistol.

  Quietly breathing a sigh of relief, Claire looked away. She’d be sorry to lose her belongings, but they weren’t as precious to her as that pistol, one of the only remaining possessions she had of her father’s. Now if they’d just go! Bud finished stuffing the second burlap sack and pushed it toward Frank.

  “Come on, let’s git outta here! Grab the girl and let’s go.”

  Frank ambled over and tried to untie Claire from the chair, but when he came close she kicked out and knocked him over. Her captor startled, Claire tried to run out the back door and yell for help, chair and all, but before she had gotten two steps Bud yanked her down again. Winded, she could hardly struggle as he untied her and stuffed the towel back into her mouth. Throwing her over his shoulder, he picked up one of the bags and motioned for Frank to grab the other. They tromped back through her living quarters and out the back door, not even bothering to close it.

  Hidden behind the neighbor’s barn stood two horses hitched to a rickety old wagon. Bud dumped Claire into the back and tossed a stinky horse blanket on top of her.

  “Lady, you make one noise and I’ll shoot you dead. Don’t matter to me iffen yore alive or dead `cept maybe you’ll come in handy later.”

  Frank snorted, “I can think of a way she’d come in handy.”

  “Shut up you fool; there’ll be time for that later.”

  Claire stiffened under the blanket. She would cut them before she let them touch her. She might be outnumbered, but she’d fight before she would let herself give up. She said a quick prayer of deliverance and tried to settle her mind.

  Calm down, listen to the sounds, figure out which way they’re going and start trying to come up with a plan. Claire tried to listen to the horses’ hooves to know which direction they were traveling, but it was impossible to tell.

  I’ve got to see where we’re going. Maybe if they stop I can escape. Silently, she pleaded they would stop at a saloon and get drunk, but they kept plodding onward. Clearly they were in a hurry to get wherever it was they were headed, and they were probably nervous about the stolen cargo in the back of their wagon.

  After a few minutes, Claire got up the nerve to slowly lift up the edge of the blanket with her shoulder, but she couldn’t see over the wagon’s tall side. She lay quietly and tried to hear their conversation in the hope that they would reveal their destination. Claire didn’t know what she would do when she found out where they were going, but she thought it was better than not knowing at all. Straining her ears, she could only make out bits of their argument as they quietly debated what to do with her. She sent up one last fervent prayer that Sheriff Maxwell would miraculously ride to her rescue and catch the thieves red-handed before she drifted off into a fitful sleep.

  Claire awoke disoriented and soaked with sweat, her mouth cottony and shoved full of cloth. The memories of that afternoon flooded back to her and a sob caught in her throat, tears streaming down her cheeks. She was still bound up in the wagon, but it had stopped moving. The rough horse blanket stank and Claire felt like she was suffocating from sleeping all afternoon in the summer heat. When her panic passed and her eyes finally ran out of tears, she managed to kick the smelly covering off. She could hear the two crooks arguing as they sat near a campfire.

  “I say we keep on goin’. We gots to get further away from town than this.” Frank chugged from a whiskey bottle and wiped his mouth with a dirty hand. Bud glared at him and grabbed for the bottle. After taking a long swig he replied, “We gone far enough. That ole wagon seat is busting my rump and the rear wheel’s about to fall off. Besides, nobody’s gonna miss this spinster lady ‘till tomorrow and we’ll be long gone by then. Get off your lazy behind and go grease up that wheel. I’ll tend the fire.”

  Frank rose slowly, uncurled his lanky frame and mumbled under his breath “Five miles, I bet we done gone only five miles.” Claire’s mind raced. Five miles, that’s about how far Tom’s ranch is from town. Did we go west? Could we be near it? I have to get out of this wagon! The aroma of hot coffee and frying bacon made her stomach rumble. She began to struggle and managed to sit upright. Claire tried to call out, but the gag in her mouth allowed only a few grunts to escape. Frank looked up from the wagon wheel he was repairing and leered at her.

  Bud swallowed the last of his whiskey and hauled himself up from the fire. He lumbered over to the wagon and peered at Claire. She did her best not to show fear and glared back.

  “I guess it wouldn’t hurt none to give you some supper. I got to keep our girl healthy. Now don’t scream cuz I hate screamin’. Besides no one’s gonna hear ya out here anyways.”

  Claire nodded. He untied the gap and she worked her mouth, stretching her jaw and trying to get the saliva to flow again.

  “Please untie my hands, I need to, uh, relieve myself.” She blushed furiously.

  Bud just grunted and untied the rope. He pointed to s
ome trees a few yards away.

  “Won’t do you no good to run girly. There ain’t nothing out here but wolves and coyotes.”

  Claire peered around. They were out in the middle of nowhere. Afternoon had slid into early evening and shadows began to lengthen. She sighed and headed for the trees searching for any signs they were near the ranch house. There, wasn’t that the ridge behind the ranch? A surge of hope rose through her chest, but was quickly replaced by despair. They could be anywhere. Determinedly she pushed it aside and thrust her chin out. I will not let them see me scared. I’ll have to outsmart them. Why, oh why didn’t I listen to Tom and Connie when they tried to tell me to be more careful?

  After taking care of her bodily needs, she returned to the fire and squatted down. The evening had turned cool and she was only wearing the old calico dress and shawl she’d had on while working in the garden. The heat felt good on her skin and she was ravenous.

  Frank handed her a plate of beans and bacon and a tin mug of coffee. Never had such plain food tasted so good, even if it was stolen from her own store. She tried to eat slowly; she didn’t want her hands bound up any sooner than necessary. When she finished, she gathered up the mugs and plates and wiped them clean with an old rag. The men didn’t seem to be paying any attention to her and she tried to be as unobtrusive as possible. They were smoking pipes and talking quietly. She inched closer to them as she wiped down the utensils, straining to hear, but she couldn’t get near enough to make anything out. When she finished Claire sat at the far side of the fire against a fallen log and tried to come up with a plan.

  As the embers burned down, Bud came toward her with the rope and tied her hands in front of her.

  “Git some shut-eye girly, we’re moving on at first light.”

  Claire made no sound, hoping he’d forget to gag her and he did. She ducked her head so he wouldn’t see her slight smile before she realized that no one could hear her scream anyway. Her spirits dropped. She curled up on the hard-packed earth and eventually fell asleep hunched into a tight ball, dreaming of a tall sheriff riding to her rescue.