“No, thank you. But please be sure to tell your wife thank you. If you could give me directions to the boardinghouse, I will be on my way.”
“ ’Tain’t hard to find. You head on south over the railroad tracks. The snow’s froze hard enough to walk on, and you’ll see their house off to your left. Snugged right up against the hill. Two story with a porch across the front. All the others round there are only one level. But you get confused, you could stop at any house and ask for directions.”
Just then the door blew open, and a man stepped in, putting his shoulder against the door to slam it shut. “Colder’n a witch’s…” He paused when he saw a woman sitting on the bench. “Sorry, ma’am. I thought Owens was here by his lonesome.”
“Howdy, Jake. What can I do for you?”
“Jest hoped you had a coffeepot on.” He patted his chest. “Got a little somethin’ here to put in it.” Jake wore a coat of pelts, dusted with white, and a broad-brimmed black felt hat. For some reason the grin he sent her made Amethyst want to take a few steps back. As the man rubbed his hands together in the heat of the stove, she caught a whiff of something so rank that her eyebrows shot up. She drew a handkerchief from her sleeve, ostensibly to wipe her nose, but in reality to cover the odor.
“Sorry, but I’m plumb out of coffee. Perhaps Adams has a pot on.”
“Better head on home, then. Thanks for the warm-up.” The man named Jake turned and headed back out the door.
If he was typical of the people living in Medora…Amethyst thought longingly of home, but the stationmaster had been most cordial, and she hoped Mrs. Hegland would be too. If I can find the place.
“If it’d been anyone else, I’d have asked him to take you out there, but I trust Jake Maunders about as far as I can throw a buffalo.” He stared at her long enough for her feet to want to shift and her hands to wring. “I hate to send you out in this weather.”
“But the sun tried to break through.”
“That’s ’cause you’re looking south, and the bad weather comes from the north, right down off the Arctic, and blasts on through here. There’s nothing to stop it.” He shook his head. “And I know Miz McGeeney don’t have no room, nor are there any beds over at the dormitory, but then, they don’t take women anyway.”
He appeared to be muttering to himself, so Amethyst picked up her bags and started for the door. “Thank you for the soup. I’ll be fine.”
He followed her to the door. Once outside he pointed to the south. “See that house over there, the big one? That’s the boardinghouse.”
“All right. That doesn’t look too far.” Not if I’d not been sick. Should she ask him to find her a conveyance? But surely he’d have suggested one if one were available. If only she didn’t have the carpetbags to carry too. “Thank you again.”
She started off bravely but hadn’t gotten across the train tracks before she had to stop to rest. She looked over her shoulder to see black clouds hovering beyond the top of the cliff behind the town. Surely that hill protected the town of Medora. Off to her left she saw a three-story building with a tall brick smokestack. Perhaps that was the slaughtering enterprise Mrs. Grant had spoken of. Amethyst took the scarf from around her neck and tied it over hat and head, tucking the ends into the front of her coat. She raised the collar to protect her neck and started out again. The north wind at her back pushed her enough to make the walk somewhat easier, but the cold seared the inside of her nose and down into her chest. She stopped again and adjusted her scarf to cover her face up to her eyes.
Her stops grew closer together, and each one took longer for her to get moving again. She passed several small houses, one with smoke coming from the chimney, one looking silent as death. A dog barked, but even the animal was wise enough not to venture out.
Glancing back, she thought the clouds looked closer and the town not far enough away. She plowed onward, the crust of ice on the snow enough to hold her weight. The outline of the house blurred, and she stopped to break the ice from her scarf where her breath had frozen. Too exhausted to utter the words, her mind kept up the refrain, Help me, oh, Lord God. Be my strength and my shield. The snow smacked her on the head as she sank down.
“Get up!” She heard the voice and, using every remaining bit of strength, stumbled to her feet. Four feet, ten feet, she staggered on, her bags forgotten where she’d dropped them.
A dog barked, then set up a frantic howl.
Was that voices she heard or the wind playing tricks with her mind? She slipped on the ice and crashed to the ground again. Lord, my help, my salvation. I cannot rise again.
A dog whined, and a warm tongue licked her face. He wriggled close to her and howled again. The mournful sound sent fear up her spine. Was she to die here? No, just rest a moment. Just a moment. That’s all she needed.
The heat of the dog’s body penetrated her coat, and she wrapped both arms around the animal, clinging to the heat, the whimpering creature.
“Get up!” That voice again.
But I cannot. I cannot breathe. I cannot.
The dog tugged on her coat, taking his warmth away. She pushed herself to her knees. Were it not for her skirts strangling her, she would crawl. The dog returned and stood beside her. She braced her hand on his back and inch by inch got one foot underneath her and then the other. Now bracing both hands on his back, she heaved herself upright and staggered forward. The dog whined just ahead of her, encouraging her.
When he barked again, this time with joy, Amethyst ceased her slow forward motion.
“Brownie!” The voice sounded fairly close.
Amethyst brushed the ice away from her face again so she could see. Snow swirled around her, but out of it loomed a real person. “Help.” Did she only think the word, or did she really say it?
“Oh, Brownie, good dog. Here, let me help you.”
Amethyst collapsed into the woman’s arms.
CHAPTER SEVEN
“Are you sure you want to do this?”
“Yes, General, I’ve been thinking of it for some time. This just makes it certain now.” Major Jeremiah McHenry motioned to the black patch covering his missing left eye. Better a missing eye than missing in action. That along with what seemed to be becoming a permanent limp from a bullet to the thigh would cut short his military career. He didn’t mention his stumbling over everything or that he couldn’t even get his foot in the stirrup right.
“So what do you plan to do?”
“You mean with all the wealth I’ll be receiving in my pension?” Actually, along with what he’d saved through the years, he had a pretty good nest egg. Jeremiah smiled on the inside, but smiles had long before taken leave of absence from his face. Fighting the Apache in the arid Arizona Territory stole the hearts of many and the minds of some. While they’d finally shipped Geronimo off to Florida, Jeremiah had been assigned to remain with the troops at Fort Bowie.
“I wish it were more. You’ve earned it.” The general leaned back in his leather chair. “You didn’t answer my question. Are you heading home?”
“No, I’m heading back to the badlands of Dakotah Territory. Those buttes and cliffs—never could get them out of my mind. There’s no one that important left at home in Kentucky, so I plan to find me a stream, build a log house nearby, run a few head of cattle, and take up with the friends I made there.” Find me a woman like Ruby and perhaps even have me a family of my own. Some dreams one kept to himself.
“You taking Kentucky?”
McHenry nodded. “He’s lame in the shoulder and me in the thigh. We’re a couple old war horses put out to pasture.”
“I could transfer you to Fort Beaufort.”
“Why are you so insistent on hanging on to me?”
“Good men like you are getting harder to find.” The general pushed a decanter across his desk. “Pour yourself another.” He steepled his fingers, wrists against his chest. “I will be reassigned soon, and I want you on my staff. You could enjoy the winter here, which is really Arizon
a’s best season, recuperate from your wounds with light duty, and I will give you the promotion you so richly deserve when I am reassigned. I’m hoping for Washington.”
“If that is your dream, sir, I hope you are posted there. My dream lies in the wild and beautiful badlands, where the eagles cry, the fish leap from the river, and the people care for one another.” He thought to some of the ruffians he’d met there and added, “Most of them anyway.”
“But you’re a soldier.”
“According to those papers I signed, I was a soldier.”
“I will tear them up if you give me the word.”
“General, I know you are an honorable man, and I trust you would not do such a heinous thing.” McHenry sipped the whiskey he’d poured. He’d most likely never have such quality again, but then, he used hard liquor only medicinally anyway. He was sure Jake Maunders or Williams still had access to rotgut if he ever wanted to burn his innards out. Staring over the rim of the glass and into the flame of the lamp, he saw a campfire with Rand Harrison on the other side. Some of the other cowboys lying around, telling stories late at night, swapping lies as they joked. The fire threw dancing shadows up on walls of red ochre and pale cream sandstone with dark gray capstone. Though after Ruby Torvald arrived in Little Missouri, he and Rand had not been so friendly, more like bull elks in rut. Of course, courting the same woman can do that to a friendship. But that was long gone. Rand had married the spitfire, and McHenry wished them every blessing, periodically even corresponding with them.
“The only place I’ve seen to rival a Dakotah sunset is right here in Arizona Territory. Someday this country will be covered with ranches too. But give me the grasslands of the prairie over the cactus anytime. You ever need a place to put your thoughts back in perspective, come to Medora and see me. I’ll take you hunting.”
The next day when the train stopped at Bowie, McHenry loaded his horse, some feed for the animal and food for himself, a water barrel, a trunk that contained all he owned, and himself onto a railroad car bound east to Kansas City. There he would board a northbound train for Chicago, then west to Dakotah. Rather a long way around, but he’d see a lot of country.
In spite of the cold he sat in the doorway, Indian fashion, a heavy woolen Navajo blanket over his shoulders, and watched the miles slide by. Mountains, deserts, plains covered with snow, the sun so bright on it, he had to tip his hat near to his nose to shield his one good eye. Rivers frozen, rivers flowing sky blue beside white-covered banks threaded with red willow, spirals of smoke marking the houses, barns snug against the season. He saw cattle drifting before the wind and deer eating the tender tips of branches. When the light was right, he read his Bible, starting with Genesis and on through the Old Testament. He figured he’d get through the New Testament before spring. When the conductor asked him why he didn’t come to the passenger cars to get warmed up, he shook his head.
“Horse has to put up with the cold, so guess I can too.” But he accepted the hot coffee and the visit. From Chicago west, it was one holdup after another. The wind whistled through the cracks between the exterior boards, but the load of hay he bought in Chicago insulated him and Kentucky from the worst of the cold. That and their heavy blankets. The pot of coals burning in an old washtub provided enough heat to keep them from freezing. Every time he tripped on something, he reminded himself that his vision would adjust eventually.
He and Kentucky had moved into a local livery for two days to wait out the blizzard that struck Fargo. By the time the train headed west, he could hear the buttes and spires calling his name. But when the conductor called out, “Dickinson,” Jeremiah opened the door in spite of the cold wind and rode in the doorway the remaining miles, watching for landmarks to tell him where they were and how far he had yet to get home. The letter he’d written to tell Rand Harrison he was on the way still lay in the trunk. He figured he’d get there about the same time as the letter would have anyway.
The journey had washed the twenty-five years of army life and all the fighting clean out of him, so when he led Kentucky off the train on December 24, 1886, he felt reborn. A new man with a new life, or at least he hoped so until he tripped over the ramp, saved from falling only by his grip on Kentucky’s halter rope.
“Well, Captain McHenry, fancy seeing you walk off that car.” The Medora stationmaster stared in wonder.
“The name’s plain Jeremiah McHenry, and by the looks of the weather”—he inclined his head towards his horse—“we better get us a place here in town for a night or two.”
“Very wise. Another hour or so and it won’t be fit for man nor beast.”
“Paddock still own the livery?”
Owens nodded. “He’ll be right glad to see you. They moved over here across the river after de Mores got going good.” He looked off to the buttes behind the town. “Welcome home, Ca— McHenry. We’re glad to have you back.”
“I’ll pick up my trunk later. You want me to haul it inside?”
“No, I’ll take care of that. What you going to do with that hay?”
“Pitch it out when I find a sledge to haul it. Railroad said no hurry.”
“Where you going to live?”
“Gotta go looking for a place to build me a house, but for now thought maybe the cantonment.”
“Cattle company took that over. You might try out to Heglands’. That big house over there.” He pointed across the railroad tracks.
“Thanks. Maybe Harrison will have some work for me till I find a place.” At least I hope so. Spending the winter over at the barracks still might work if there’s room. Only God knows the next step, and He’s not telling.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Amethyst’s teeth chattered so loud she could hardly hear what the woman said.
“Th-thank y-you.” She forced the words between stiff lips. With her feet in a tub of lukewarm water, someone rubbing her arms and shoulders through a heated blanket, and the stove bathing her in warmth, she knew she was still alive. Returning to life from so close to death hurt more than one would think. Some demon was stabbing her feet with the sharpest of needles, and her throat burned in spite of the warm drink they’d forced on her. The woman said it was from breathing such cold air. Her jaw ached from clenching it to try to keep her teeth from falling out.
“Thank our good Lord for our dog, Brownie. He insisted he had to go out and went tearing across the snow like he was chased by a wolf. When he found you, he set to barking, and we knew something or someone was in trouble. Although last time it was a small cat he brought home. Carried that little cat in his mouth as gentle as its mother would.”
Amethyst glanced down at the dog now sound asleep in front of the stove. He’d saved her life. God was looking out for her. No doubt about it. She coughed and flinched at the same time.
“Have some more of this tea. The honey in it should help soothe your throat. Are you feeling any warmer?”
Amethyst nodded. This time she could hold the cup to her mouth herself. Before, her hands shook so much, the warm liquid splashed out. She wasn’t sure if she was warming from the outside in or the inside out, but the two seemed to have met in the middle.
“I am Pearl Hegland. Were you coming to stay at my boardinghouse?”
Amethyst nodded. “The stationmaster sent me here.”
“He should have found someone to drive you, with the storm coming on like that.”
“I would have made it just fine, but I got sick on the train and spent several days at a doctor’s house in Fargo. Guess I haven’t gotten my full strength back.” Please, heavenly Father, protect me from sickness again. I’m already so far behind schedule that Pa must be worrying himself sick.
“And your name?”
Amethyst shook her head slightly, feeling the rasp of the blanket against her hair that now hung around her shoulders. “I’m sorry. I am Amethyst Colleen O’Shaunasy from Pennsylvania. My father refused to call me Amethyst, said it was a foolish name, but when I left home I decided to no longer
use Colleen and took up Amethyst as my name. Sometimes I forget to answer when someone calls me that, however.” Amethyst—Colleen—use whichever you want, but you are babbling like your pa when he’s had too much to drink.
“Well, Miss O’Shaunasy, I’m sure you are exhausted after your ordeal. What a strange welcome you’ve had to Medora. I have a room upstairs that is vacant. Would that suit you? I can help you up the stairs, since near freezing like that makes one terribly weak.” Pearl knelt down and tenderly lifted one of Amethyst’s feet from the water, inspecting it carefully. “I don’t see any white spots. You are very fortunate. The white indicates frostbite. Let me see your hands.”
Amethyst felt herself slumping more and more into the chair, melting from the glorious heat. While she tried to pay attention, she felt as if she were looking at her hostess from the wrong end of a spyglass. Her voice came and went as if a door opened and closed on the sound.
After carefully inspecting each finger, Pearl rubbed Amethyst’s hands gently between her own. “There’s a white spot on your little finger, but it’s not very big. God was indeed watching out for you.”
“Indeed.” Amethyst turned at the sound of a child crying.
“That’s the baby waking from a nap. Let’s get you tucked in upstairs so I can go take care of him.”
Amethyst wanted to say, “Take care of the baby first,” but the words wouldn’t move past the fog insidiously taking over her mind. She knew Mrs. Hegland helped her to stand and waited a moment for her to regain her equilibrium. She recognized they were climbing stairs, but the moment she collapsed on the bed, she knew only warmth and softness as she floated away.
Amethyst awoke sometime in the night to feel a cool hand on her brow and the covers tucked more securely around her.
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