The Brides of the Old West: Five Romantic Adventures from the American Frontier

by Peggy Darty, Darlene Franklin, Sally Laity, Nancy Lavo

  Looking up from his text, he scanned the rapt faces before him and smiled gently. “There’s hardly a one of us who hasn’t at some time or other questioned the Lord’s doings. Especially these last hard weeks, as we’ve all of us watched helplessly at the hardships that came to folks who were once part of this travelin’ family of ours.”

  Bonneted heads nodded, and murmurs circulated in the ranks.

  “But in spite of all that comes by,” the leader continued, “whether sickness, or death, or accident, I know we can still trust God. There’s no lack of people in this world who don’t give Him any part of their lives a’tall. Can’t help wonderin’ what gets them through the hard times, or where they turn for help. There’d be none to find if we just threw up our hands and turned our backs on the One who made us, the One who is workin’ out His purposes through all the circumstances of our lives. Yes, I said all,” he injected without a pause. “There’s not one among us who’s here by chance.”

  Amanda’s ears perked up.

  “It doesn’t make a lick of difference what made us choose to make this trip,” the speaker said with a firm nod. “What does count is that the God who brought us here will never let us down. Think about that today and tomorrow—and all the tomorrows yet to come. Trust your well-being to the Lord and keep a good hold on His strong hand. And whatever effort you’ve been givin’ to complainin’ about hills or rivers or dust or mud, spend instead in thankin’ God for takin’ you through it. If you see somebody beside you startin’ to sag, bolster him up with a kind words or better yet, lend a hand. This journey is gonna take all of us pullin’ together, helpin’ one another along.”

  Deacon Franklin rocked back onto his heels and tucked his Bible under one arm, and a twinkle in his eye accompanied his smile. “Well, that’s all I have to say this morning. Be sure and enjoy this nice purty restin’ spot the Good Lord put here just for us, right enough! Now, let’s close in prayer.”

  A new calmness began to flow through Amanda’s being as she closed her eyes. The words hadn’t come from behind a proper pulpit. The speaker was not in reality a man called to be a preacher to the masses, and the speech hadn’t even been what one might term a sermon. Yet her spirit felt strangely comforted and encouraged. She almost felt like dancing.

  Behind the furrowed gray trunk of a swamp ash, Seth flicked a crumpled leaf through his fingers and headed for the cook wagon. No sense having Red catch him listening in on a sermon, that’s for sure! It wasn’t worth the endless mocking that was certain to follow.

  It beat all, though, how this bunch seemed to handle the misfortunes and tragedies that struck so relentlessly now. Unlike some of the travelers he’d taken west in previous years, these folks even seemed sincere in believing what that farmer told them. Took it right to heart. Of course, Grandpa had been that way, too, he remembered. Never once doubting the Good Book or the Lord above. Seth could still picture the shock of white hair above the aged face, could still see the piercing eyes that seemed to see clear into a person’s soul. The old man’s voice contained a gravelly quality, as if preaching had used it up somewhere along the way. But those long arms of his, which could spread so wide to make a point, had felt mighty warm and strong wrapped around a young boy’s shoulders.

  An unbidden memory came to the fore of times he and Drew had ridden double on old Lulabelle while Gramps took them along on a preaching trip. He’d sit the two of them right in the front row, where one look could still their squirming through the longest sermon. Seth smiled, knowing if he thought back far enough, he’d have to admit there was a time he thought of becoming a circuit-riding preacher himself! Wouldn’t Red get a kick out of that!

  Seth emitted a ragged breath. A lot of years had passed since then. He’d ended up on a far different path… but a very small part of him was starting to hunger for the kind of sincere faith he’d known as a young lad.

  “Sarah?” Alvin extended a hand as they left the service. “Will you come for a walk with the rest of us? Aunt Harriet wants me to pick her some currants and chokecherries.”

  She smiled, but shook her head, mildly disappointed. “Can’t. I promised Bethany I’d help her make a flower crown.”

  “You could do that later.”

  Sarah felt compelled to refuse. “I wouldn’t want to disappoint her, Alvin. She’s only a little girl, and I—”

  “—sure spend a lot of time with kids that aren’t even related to you,” he finished. “You used to be more fun.”

  Ignoring the critical note in her friend’s usually jovial tone, Sarah just nodded. “I still like to have fun, Alvin. But sometimes there are other things that need doing. Anyway, it’s hard to resist a pair of big blue eyes.”

  “Exactly.” A rakish gleam lit the hazel depths of Alvin’s. “Won’t I ever get to finish that sketch I started of you?”

  “Sure you will. We’ll have plenty of time together, you’ll see. Now, I really must go. Thanks for the invitation, though.”

  “Right.” The edge of his lip took on a strange curl before he turned and strode away.

  Almost wishing she’d accepted, Sarah stared after him. She felt Amanda step to her side.

  “It’s really sweet of you to turn down an afternoon’s frolic just to keep a little girl happy.”

  “I promised,” Sarah Jane said simply.

  “I know. I’m very proud of you.”

  “Really?”

  A blush tinted her sister’s cheeks. “Well, it’s just—You know. When we first spoke of coming west, I was afraid you’d get in one pickle after another. But you’re changing by the day.”

  Sarah cocked her head back and forth. “I imagine it’s called growing up.”

  “I suppose. Just wanted you to know, I like the change.”

  “Thanks, Sissy. And while we’re at it, I’d like to say I’m sorry for not being more help sewing, cooking, driving… I’ve let you down. That’s going to change, too.”

  When the company again took up the journey, a new, lighter mood prevailed… until the nine-year old Thornton boy, riding the tongue of his family’s wagon on a dare, plunged under the wheels shortly after departing Ash Hollow. An unexpected funeral took place that noon. The little body was laid to rest in a grave dug right beneath the rutted trail. The wagons to follow would pack the earth hard again, too hard for wolves to ravage.

  And another new baby came into the world that night.

  “‘The Lord giveth, and the Lord taketh away,’” Mrs. Randolph muttered as Amanda poured a cup of coffee for them both outside the schooner. “My old heart goes out to Jennie. He was their only boy, you know. The others are girls. He’d have been a big help when they got settled in Oregon.”

  Sipping her own coffee, Amanda could barely swallow.

  “Say, these are right fine apple fritters your Sarah made.”

  “She’s been—well, we’ve been practicing.”

  “And it shows.”

  “Thanks to you.”

  The older woman sloughed off the compliment. “Pshaw. You’d have picked up all the cookin’ you needed in time anyway.”

  “Even if that’s true,” Amanda said, patting her friend’s arm, “you surely made it much easier for us. We both appreciate it.” She paused with a smile. “I don’t know if I’m going to want to part with you when we get to the California Trail and you and Mr. Randolph head off to go be with your sons. What did you say their names were?”

  “Nelson Junior an’ Charlie,” the older woman said proudly. “Don’t mind admittin’, though, if I had my druthers I’d still be back home in our Allegheny Mountains. At my age, thought of sittin’ in my rockin’ chair in front of a cracklin’ fire was soundin’ mighty pleasurable. But when Nelson, the oldest, got the notion to go see what lay beyond the hills, he up and took our other’n and they lit out. Ended up in northern California—far as they could get—then convinced their pa an’ me to come, too. One of ’em might even come to meet us partway.”

  Amanda smiled. “Well
, it’ll truly be a whole new life for you then—without having to start from scratch, like most of. us. You might even arrive to discover they’ve built you a nice little cabin, fireplace and all, complete with a rocker.”

  “If not, I brung my own along,” she admitted with chagrin. “Didn’t want to take a chance. It was my own ma’s. Our two boys got rocked on it, so did our girl. ‘Course, little Rosie wasn’t with us too long…” Blinking away a sudden sheen in her faded blue eyes, she looked Amanda up and down, then tapped a crooked finger against her bottom lip in thought. “You’d make our Charlie a pretty fair wife, if you don’t mind my sayin’ so.”

  Amanda, having raised her mug for another sip, swallowed too quickly and choked instead.

  “There, there,” her neighbor crooned, thumping her on the back. “Just take a deep breath, now. You’ll be right as rain.” Barely stopping, she resumed the conversation where she’d left off. “Nelson Junior took himself a wife out west. Found her in Sacramento. Name’s Cora. But our Charlie’s still loose.”

  Amanda had to giggle.

  Barely stopping for breath, Mrs. Randolph rambled on. “‘Course, I know you an’ Sarah Jane have high hopes of openin’ a store an’ all—which sounds fine. Real fine. I think folks will need new clothes, just like you said.” Handing Amanda her empty mug, she ambled to her feet. “Well, I’d best be gettin’ back. But store or no store, give some thought to my Charlie, would you? Don’t mind tellin’ you, a body could do worse havin’ you for a daughter-in-law.”

  At this, Amanda couldn’t resist hugging her. “Or you for a mother-in-law. Thanks for coming by.”

  CHAPTER 14

  For three more weeks, the train continued along the sandy banks of the North Platte. A mile or two off to the left and right, two lines of sand hills, often broken into wild forms, flanked the valley beneath the enormous sky. But before and behind, the plain was level and monotonous as far as the eye could see.

  “Nights are growing colder now,” Sarah read to Amanda from her open journal; Tired of walking, she had hopped aboard for a short rest. “Even though it’s still the dead of summer, the temperature continues to drop as we go higher. Soon we’ll glimpse the peaks of the Laramie Mountains, I’m told, their frosted caps sparkling diamond-white against crystal blue sky.” Amanda smiled to herself. Her sibling had always possessed a gift for writing, and the abundant wonders of the trail brought that talent to the fore. More and more often she would look up after finishing a paragraph, obviously eager to share her latest entry—whether it chronicled the pesky sand flies that replaced the mosquitoes everyone found such a torment during the nights at Ash Hollow, the thunderous sound of a buffalo herd on the move, the delicate appeal of grazing antelope, or how the landscape was becoming more brown than green and was empty now of timber, sage, and even dry grass.

  And Amanda couldn’t help noting a vast improvement in the younger girl’s vocabulary as the miles passed. Sarah’s association with artist Alvin Rivers revealed itself in new, eloquent words and phrases she now used in her diary. She did not share all of her innermost thoughts concerning Alvin, but had no qualms about revealing passages about special times she spent with the Hill children.

  But best of all, in Amanda’s estimation, had been her sister’s written accounts of the various landmarks whose unique formations had come into view while still a whole day’s travel away. Sarah painted word pictures… visions of glorious rainbow hues cast over the towering shapes by the ever-changing play of sunlight between dawn and dusk. She likened the mounds of stone to castles and ships and slumbering animals. Amanda felt those images would remain forever in her mind.

  She truly appreciated the diversions in the tiresome journey. More than once she had caught herself straining for a glimpse of the wagon master and that gray horse of his, then would quickly chide herself for such foolishness. Having Sarah’s daily narratives to concentrate on kept her wandering thoughts in line.

  Not long after the snow-patched Laramie Mountains appeared on the far horizon, cheers and whistles came from the front of the company. Sarah, walking beside the wagon, jumped onto the slow-moving vehicle, then craned her neck to see around the outfits ahead. “Mandy! It’s Fort Laramie! And I’m just covered with trail dust. I do wish we had time to freshen up.” She grabbed the hairbrush from a basket beneath the seat and tugged it through her curls, then removed her apron and fluffed out her skirt. “Do I look all right? I hear we’ll be able to replace the flour and other supplies.”

  “If there’s any to be had after everyone else restocks, of course,” Amanda reminded her. “No doubt it’ll cost us dearly.”

  “Well, whatever the price, we’ll have to bear it. We’ve still a long, long way to go.” She paused. “Oh! Look at the sparkly river—and all the Indian shelters everywhere!”

  Amanda nodded, her gaze lost in the sharp contrast between the Black Hills, thick with cedar, and the area’s red sandstone. Speckled with sage, the sparse grass was turning yellow. She flicked the reins to keep pace with the others, urging the mules up the steep bank leading to the entrance of the fort, where huge double doors had been raised to permit the train to enter.

  “Not as impressive as I expected,” Sarah murmured, nearing the cracked, decrepit adobe walls. But exhaling a deep breath, she waved to the sentry perched in the blockhouse erected above the gateway as they pulled inside, where Indians in buffalo robes stared down at the new arrivals from perches on the rampart. After stopping the team, Amanda glanced around the interior. Long, low buildings stretched out in a large circle, forming the walls around a great open area crowded with Indians and traders. Among the horde strolled lean, rough-looking frontiersmen, their long rifles at the ready for any sign of trouble. The noise and bustle of the bargaining reminded Amanda of Independence. Within moments, Alvin Rivers came to offer a hand to Sarah, then to Amanda. “Word has it we’re to rest here for two whole days. Mind if your sister and I explore a bit?”

  Amanda smiled as she stepped to the ground and arranged her skirt. “Not at all. I’ll likely do some of that myself, once I’ve tended the animals.” That evening, the replenished emigrants joined forces and shared their bounty with some of the fort folk. The men quickly assembled makeshift banquet tables from wagon boards propped up on barrels, and the women filled them end to end with heaping platters of roast hen, antelope, buffalo steak, fried fish, and all manner of vegetables and breads, followed by a delectable assortment of berry pies, tarts, and jelly cakes.

  Much laughter and banter passed to and fro as everyone caught up with the latest news from back East. Word regarding conditions of the trail ahead brought raised brows and shakes of the head, then expressions of resignation and determination.

  When at last every appetite was sated, an even grander celebration began. Double the usual number of instruments broke forth in song, aided by clapping hands and stomping feet, which drew the more energetic souls to frolic.

  “You should go have some fun with the other young folks, Amanda,” Mrs. Randolph said, gesturing after them. “Leave the cleanin’ up to us old fogies.”

  “I’d rather not. Really,” Amanda assured her friend. “I prefer to be useful.” But a small part of her wished she still felt as young as Sarah and her friends. In an effort to tamp down the wistful longing, she began humming along with the happy tune while she worked.

  “Land sakes,” Mrs. Randolph exclaimed, putting leftover bread and biscuits into a sack. “I’m full near to burstin’!”

  “Me, too,” Ma Phelps chimed in. “I might never take another bite of food as long as I live. Or at least till tomorrow.” She guffawed at her own levity.

  Amanda had to grin as she gathered some half-empty tins and scooped the remaining portions of the pies into them. She licked berry juice from her sticky index finger and glanced around for another chore.

  Disassembling tables with some of the other men a few yards away, Jared Hill looked up and caught her gaze with a smile. “Care to go for another strol
l with me and the kids?” he asked.

  Spending time with the little family had become a commonplace activity by now. She shrugged a shoulder and nodded.

  A sudden movement in the shadows between two of the warehouses revealed Seth Holloway as he spun on the heel of his boot and stalked away.

  “Oh Alvin,” Sarah breathed, flipping through his sketchbook as they sat on crates outside his uncle’s wagon, somewhat apart from the noise. “These are truly wonderful.” She studied a sketch of a vast buffalo herd, then one of a valley filled with the animals’ whitened bones and skulls, before turning to the more pleasing views of Chimney Rock and the majestic Courthouse Rock. “I was certain nothing could be more beautiful than your drawing of Devil’s Gate, but this…” She leaned closer to examine his most recent landscape, Fort Laramie and the Laramie River, with the Black Hills as a backdrop. She ran her fingers lightly over one of the bastions.

  “What about these?” he asked tentatively, taking down a second drawing pad and holding it out.

  Sarah observed the peculiar gleam in the young man’s blue eyes as she took the proffered book from him and opened it. The warmth of a blush rose in her face. Page after page presented renditions of her. All were very good… and almost too flattering. She swallowed. “But I never posed for these.”

  “You didn’t have to. Everywhere I look, I see you. Don’t you know that by now?” Taking the sketches from her unresisting fingers, he stood and drew her to her feet, encircling her with his long arms.

  He had been a perfect gentlemen over the hundreds of miles the train had traveled, almost always sharing her company with other young people. Now, Sarah’s heart raced erratically as she felt Alvin’s breath feather her neck. “Please, don’t—” she whispered.