by Debra Samms
Then, from across the ravine and beyond the broken bridge, Hattie heard the sound of footsteps and voices.
Instantly she was on her feet with her pistol in her hands. Sheriff Strong and the other men also stood up and drew their own weapons. And coming around the corner of the ridge, walking down the middle of the road, were Stan and Bill, the two men who'd gone on the supply run with John Gilbert in the first place.
Hattie's heart sank. "Where's John?" she shouted to them, getting as close to the edge of the ravine as she could and placing one hand against the side of the broken covered bridge. "Where's John Gilbert?"
"He went on ahead," said Stan.
"Went on ahead?" Hattie said. "What do you mean?" But she knew that it could only mean one thing – that he'd gone ahead to San Francisco. With Sarah Weatherall.
"I mean," said a voice from down the ridge, towards the river, "just what Stan said. I went on ahead of them. And now I'm right here."
Hattie and all of the men turned to see John Gilbert hiking up the side of the steep ridge from the river – hiking up on her side of the covered bridge.
"John," she whispered, and turned to face him, though she had the presence of mind to stay where she was. But she'd never felt so relieved in her life than at seeing him climb up over the top of the ridge and walk out onto the road.
"I told the other two to wait where they are," John said, brushing the dirt and mud from his hands. "I went ahead to find a safe way to get down there to the river and then back up again on this side."
John approached them and shook hands with the sheriff and the other three men. "No way to get the horses down there, so we took them back to the docks last night. They can stay there until the bridge can be rebuilt. We walked back out this morning, intending to walk all the way back to Sawyerville. Instead, we found all of you right here at this bridge."
"So, what happened?" asked Sheriff Strong. "What happened to the bridge? Lightning?"
"Lightning," said John. "We were on our way back day before yesterday when it happened."
"The day of the storm," said Hattie.
"Yeah. I'm sure it was a good one in Sawyerville, too. Anyway," he went on, as Hattie nodded, "we left the docks with the horses and the wagon just before noon, heading back to town.
"Just before we got to the bridge here, that huge storm rolled in from the east. We pulled the wagon over and thought we'd wait it out in the back, trying to get out of that pouring rain.
"Then, from up ahead of us, there was a blinding flash and then a huge crack – followed by a lot more noise. I'd never seen or heard anything like it. The horses tried to bolt."
Hattie caught her breath. "They bolted towards the ravine," she said. "Even though the lightning hit in front of them, they had to run somewhere – and that was the only place to go."
"That's right," said John. "I forced them to turn around so I could get them stopped. That's why the wagon is facing west. Anyway – once the rain finally stopped, I walked around the hillside and saw this." He nodded towards the crushed and ruined bridge.
"The men and I could have walked down to the river and back up, like I just did, but the horses couldn't – it's just too steep. And I was sure," he said, with a laugh, "that Hattie Mary would never speak to me again if I abandoned poor Raven and Coffee out here in these mountains."
She gave him a wry grin, and then looked away as the sheriff asked the next question.
"What happened to those two women? Sarah and Lydia?"
"They're gone," said John, looking at Hattie. "Got on the steamship bound for San Francisco. Don't expect to see them again."
"Thought you were going, too, John," said Sheriff Strong.
He shrugged. "Thought I might. But as you can see, I didn't."
The little group was silent. Then John looked at Hattie. "Walk with me," he said, and he left the group to go and stand at the end of the broken bridge.
CHAPTER TEN
In a moment, Hattie joined John Gilbert at the bridge, while across the ravine Stan and Bill began making their way down the very steep ridge to the river so they could climb back up to the other side.
"Glad you're here," Hattie said, stepping close to him, "but I'm a little mystified to see you. Couldn't imagine you wouldn't go with a girl like Sarah, given the chance. She's what I'd look like if I were pretty."
John stood next to the opening of the bridge, resting his hand against the cedar siding. "World is full of pretty women, Hattie Mary. So is Sawyerville, these days. You think I'm going to chase after every pretty woman I see? Wouldn't have much time left for shoein' horses."
"But Sarah likes you. And she wants to live in the city, too. I thought for sure you'd gone off with her, when you didn't come back."
He just shook his head. "I'll admit, I thought about it for a second. But I thought mostly about whether I should look for work in the city and make more money. That sort of thing. It really wasn't her at all."
Hattie cocked her head and folded her arms, but he just laughed. "No. It's true. Didn't you hear her? Sarah wants a man who wears a suit and a silk string tie to work every day. A man who doesn't get his hands dirty. A lawyer. A shopkeeper. Well, that ain't me."
John turned away and looked out towards the river. "I need a woman who's strong, like these Douglas fir trees. Not one who's pretty but fragile, like a flower. Flowers are pretty but they don't last. These trees last almost forever."
"Well, that one didn't," Hattie said, nodding towards the crushed roof. "It took down an entire bridge."
He turned to face her, and grinned. "It sure did. That's how strong it really is. And you see what's left up there? Up on the side of the hill?"
Hattie looked where he was pointing. Among the healthy green trees, the scorched and split remains of a Douglas fir stood just above the ravine. "That's the tree that was hit by the lightning," she said. "The one that broke off and hit the bridge."
"Yeah. But you watch. That stump will grow new shoots next spring, and there'll still be a tree in that spot. When flowers fall, they just dry up and blow away. Not a fir tree."
He walked up and took her by the hand. "I'm a fir tree, too. Takes a lot to break me. And I belong out here in these mountains, on this river, just like the fir trees do. You don't see three-hundred-foot-tall trees in the city."
"No. You sure don't," Hattie said, though her heart beat fast as he stood close to her and held her hand up against his chest. "And you won't see me there, either. I'm staying right here in Sawyerville."
John smiled. "You trusted me, Hattie Mary. That's why you came out here with the sheriff. You didn't jump to conclusions."
"Well – I have to say that I did – at first. I really thought you'd gone off with Sarah Weatherall."
"Then why did you come here looking for me? You could have just stayed where you were and not given me another thought. Plenty of men to marry back there in the Sawyerville logging camp."
She paused for a moment, looking straight into his brown eyes. "I came because – because even though my head told me you must be going to San Francisco with Sarah, my heart told me you weren't that kind of man. I guess my heart won out."
"I guess it did.
John Gilbert led her to stand on the heavy beams at the end of the broken bridge and turned to face her – and then he got down on one knee in front of her.
"No little lightning strike or fallen tree or broken bridge or deep ravine is going to keep us apart," he said, placing both of his large strong hands around her own . "Harriett Mary Norton, will you marry me?"
She caught her breath. "I – yes. Yes, I will!"
John got to his feet and pulled her close against his very strong shoulders. "Sure glad I didn't let a little thing like a broken bridge stop me from getting to that heart of yours, Hattie Mary."
"So am I, John Gilbert."
***
The following Sunday, Hattie left the Sawyerville Ladies' House walking on the arm of Sheriff Strong. Behind them were Molly S
trong and Ruby Swanson, and then a whole crowd of young women hurrying after them.
"Why, Hattie!" Ruby exclaimed, looking at her friend's new skirt. "That's the third skirt you talked about making – isn't it!"
"It sure is," Hattie answered. "Never thought I'd get to wear it this soon – if I ever did!"
But she couldn't help but feel very proud. The skirt was another patchwork design like the others she favored, but this one was made of small pieces of white and gray and even silver fabric all painstakingly stitched together. It was trimmed here and there with small scraps and long pieces of lace.
Instead of flowers, Hattie carried a spray of delicate new fir twigs tied together with a length of the same white patchwork fabric as the skirt. She'd borrowed a white blouse from one of the other girls and they'd curled her hair for her again, and she knew she looked as pretty as she would ever look.
Waiting in a grove of the tallest Douglas fir trees that could be found, standing among the filtered beams of sunlight, was John Gilbert, along with Stanley and Bill and a few of the other men – and, of course, the preacher.
The ceremony only lasted a few minutes. Then the bride and groom turned to face their assembled friends. "Pretty skirt," he said, as she smiled at him. "You remember I said I always wanted a quilt of my own?"
"I remember," she said. "So I'll use my wedding skirt to make you that quilt. I could never think of a better use for it."
Then Hattie Mary kissed John Gilbert under the Douglas fir trees, and together they walked back to Sawyerville and their new life together.
THE END
BRIDGE TO MY HEART
A Sawyerville Brides story
Bonus Book: Matters of Trust
Miss Helen’s School for Western Mail Order Bride Series
CHAPTER ONE
Montana Territory, 1884…
Laura Dean stepped off the train, striving for a bravado she didn’t feel. She had boarded the train in Baltimore six days before and should have arrived at her destination yesterday. But here she was a day later than planned. For some undisclosed reason, the US Army had halted the train, causing their delay.
She stood up, her back protesting the lack of movement during the last few days. She was tired, sweaty and in desperate need of changing out of her dusty, dirty clothing. On top of that, it was already late in the morning, and she was hungry. Since the train had not been prepared to provide another day’s worth of meals to its passengers, breakfast had been a meager affair. Her stomach growled, as if she needed another reminder of how long ago she had last eaten a decent meal.
The purser stepped down behind her, setting the two suitcases on the platform next to her, “Ma’am. Do you have someone meeting you?”
She looked up at him and then looked at the nearly empty platform. There only person she saw was a man stooped over a paper behind the ticket counter. Scanning the immediate area, she saw no one else who appeared to be waiting—especially not a tall man, as Tom Barker, her betrothed, had described himself in his letters. She looked back toward the train, and realized that no one else was getting off. She was alone.
She felt herself panic, wondering what she would do. She bit her lip and felt her hands become clammy. What would she do.
Feigning a confidence she did not feel, she straightened her spine and lifted her chin before turning to the purser. Gathering her strength, she said, “I am confident that my party will be here shortly. Thank you for your assistance.”
The purser furrowed his brow and narrowed his eyes. Saying nothing more, he nodded his head once and stepped back aboard the train.
She picked up a suitcase in each hand and boldly headed for the ticket counter, hoping that she had a message waiting for her.
“Excuse me, sir.”
The man wore a hat that was precariously perched atop his graying head. He lifted his head from the paper he was reading and peered through a pair of wire-rimmed spectacles. “Yes, ma’am. What can I do fer you today?”
“I just arrived on the train. We were supposed to be here yesterday.”
“Yep, sure was. Happens a lot on these frontier lines.”
Laura set her luggage down on the ground. She tried to stay calm, but she felt her heart beat even faster. She stroked the nape of her neck and finally found her voice. “I don’t suppose you have a message for me?”
“A message? Now, that I don’t. But then again, I wasn’t here yesterday. Being as the train wasn’t comin’ and all. You might check over at the telegraph office.”
“And where is that?” Laura asked, hoping her travelling shoes would hold up for a short walk. She’d worn her Sunday best and her dress shoes for the journey on the train, wanting to look her best when she met her husband for the first time. She had not given any thought to how dusty her clothing would get along the way. She lifted a hand to her head, relieved that her bonnet was still in place. Her hair had to be in complete disarray but she wouldn’t be able to do anything with the curly mass until she could wash the dust and grime away. Hopefully that would be soon.
The man behind the ticket counter was speaking and she tried to concentrate on his words and not the dizzy feeling that was coming and going. “Well, you can’t miss her. You just go around the building here and head down Main Street. She’s on the left, about halfway up. Oh, and I’d hurry if’n I was you.”
“Why?” Laura asked. Hurry? Surely I can do this! Back straight and forge ahead!
“Well, see it’s Tuesday. And on Tuesdays the telegraph office closes right after lunch.”
Laura bit her tongue to keep from commenting or asking why. Helen had impressed upon her the need to hold her own counsel and keep her opinions to herself unless she was asked for them. Her predilection to say what she was thinking had been her downfall at the orphanage, and she knew the nuns had celebrated the day she turned eighteen and they could turn her out on the street without guilt. Besides, she probably wouldn’t like the answer the man gave her anyway. She mustered a grateful smile. “Thank you for your help.”
She once again picked up the suitcases and walked around the building. She navigated the wooden steps down to the street level, or what she assumed passed for a street. It was nothing more than a dirt road, with a few buildings scattered here and there along its length. This was a far cry from Baltimore.
Of course she had seen pictures of the territories, but this street was much more rustic than she’d envisioned. The air smelled of horses and dust, tickling her nose and causing her throat to feel like parchment.
Never you mind. This is where you’re supposed to be. If there’s no note for you at the telegraph office, surely someone in town will know how to find Tom Barker.
CHAPTER TWO
The telegraph man was pulling the door shut on his office when Laura finally made it to the end of the street. There were only a few buildings scattered along the Main Street. A saloon. A general store. A small church. And the telegraph office. There were two other unmarked buildings, but they were on the opposite side of the street so she could not to see what services they offered the fine people here.
Or should she say, the men here. There had been several groups of men sitting outside the saloon, and while they’d looked at her curiously, they had not spoken to her. She simply kept her eyes straight ahead, not wanting to invite their attention. She also passed by the general store, and again, several men sat outside or leaned against the horse rails. But she had not seen one woman amongst them.
“Excuse me.” Laura quickened her pace, “Sir?”
The man turned around and looked at her with frank appraisal. “Yes? Where’d you come from?”
“Sir, I came in on the train a few minutes ago. I was hoping you might have a message for me.”
“And who might you be?”
“Laura Jennings. I was supposed to meet Tom Barker here yesterday, but the train was delayed.”
“Ah! Tom’s a good man. You related to him?”
Laura shook her head, “
No sir. I’m going to be his wife.”
“His wife! Why, he done gone and placed one of them mail order bride ads.”
Laura nodded her head and contemplated her response. “I need to find him, and let him know that I have arrived.” She could feel her face heating as a blush stole across it and she tried not to pay any attention to the man’s comments. Evidently her husband to be had not made his intentions known to his fellow townsfolk.
“Well, I ain’t seen Tom in town today. He was here yesterday, but he left pretty quick when the train didn’t show up.”
“Left?” she gasped. She slumped with the weight of her suitcases as they suddenly seemed too heavy to hold. The load of all of her worldly possessions, meager as they were, had become burdensome.
“Well, Tom…he lives about five miles from town, at the base of them mountains there yonder.”
Her hands flew to cover her mouth. “Oh no. Five miles?” There was no way she could walk five miles through the wilderness. What would she do now? It seemed that she had arrived a day too late and he had decided not to wait for her.
“You should probably head on over to the saloon. Jim runs the place and he has a couple of rooms upstairs…”
Her eyes widened in shock that he would suggest a lady such as herself would be receptive to saying at a saloon. Finding her voice, she said, “I can’t sleep in a saloon. That was what you were going to suggest, wasn’t it?”
The telegraph man looked very uncomfortable, but then he smiled and pointed over her shoulder. “Guess you won’t have to make that decision. Here comes Tom now.”
Laura turned around and watched a very tall, very handsome man jump down from a wagon and stalk towards her. He moved as if he were in a hurry, his long legs eating up the distance between them.
“Hey there, Tom. This young lady was just looking for you.”
