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

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

  Tildie nodded.

  “Now, taking under consideration that you’re going to repent of these seven sins, what we have left is how you’re going to deal with them in the future.”

  She nodded again.

  “Number one, hating the hateful man. Best just say you’re sorry for taking over God’s job of being judge and jury. Then, forget about that one. Number two, telling the Gospel through clenched teeth, so to speak. Thank Him for using you anyway and move on to number three. What was Number three?”

  Tildie thought for a moment.

  “Being angry with God for forgiving John.”

  Jan nodded and was silent for a moment. “Best just say you’re working on getting over it and ask for some help. Number four, doubting God is ready and willing to forgive you of your sins. Thank Him for waiting for you like the father waited for the prodigal son and tell Him you’re ready for any fatted calves with your name on them. Might say you’re sorry again. It’ll make you feel better.

  “Numbers five, six, and seven—anger, resentment, and lack of trust. Phew! Guess you’re just a lowly, no-good follower like Peter, Paul, doubting Thomas, Barnabas, and Mark to name a few.”

  Tildie gasped. She looked at his earnest face and saw kindness there. Shyly, a smile warmed her face. He was right. She had been trying so hard to overcome her weaknesses, she’d been so busy browbeating herself for her failures, she’d forgotten how great God is.

  “Thank you, Jan.” She hugged him. “Sometimes when you talk to me, I feel like my own father is giving me advice.”

  “Your father?” Jan’s eyebrows rose an inch.

  “Yes, he was a schoolteacher and a strong Christian. He always seemed to have words of wisdom from the Bible. He was so mature and stable. With him around, I felt secure.”

  “You feel secure with me?”

  “Yes, I trust you. More than I would have trusted my own big brother, Daniel. Daniel was good with figures. He worked in a bank, but he wouldn’t have known how to handle this, and he certainly wouldn’t have walked across the plains of Colorado.”

  Jan sat quietly for a moment. “So, what happened to your big brother?”

  “Influenza. My parents, too. It took almost one third of the population of Lafayette in seven weeks.”

  His arms tightened around her. There was so much sadness in her past. He wanted to protect her, make the days ahead comfortable and easy for her. Maybe he was feeling protective like a father. Her warm compact body fit so snugly against his side. No, he definitely was not feeling fatherly. He let her go and slapped his hands on his knees. “Well, since I remind you of your father and older brother, I best act like one of ’em and shoo you to bed. We have a long walk ahead of us tomorrow.”

  She stood up and looked down at him. “Thank you again, Jan. I feel much better.”

  “Sure,” he said as she turned and walked back to the blankets where the little ones slept.

  Jan stooped to ruffle the fur around Gladys’s neck and spoke so only his canine companion could hear. “Seems like I’m not much interested in being like a father or an older brother to Miss Matilda Harris.”

  He sighed and looked out into the vast starry sky.

  “Father in heaven,” he prayed. “What are You proposing I do about this?” Taking advice he’d handed out to others, Jan decided to pray and sleep on it.

  CHAPTER 8

  Tildie stood on the hill overlooking a man-made structure that barely marred the landscape. They’d reached the trading post. Disappointment dragged at her steps as she followed the skipping children down the gentle slope. They were excited to reach anyplace. Jan said this hovel held a wonderment of goods. Tildie swallowed hard against the tears. She chided herself. Had she expected Brenner’s Mercantile on Main Street Lafayette?

  The building proved to be little more than a man’s sod house with shelves lining the only room. She found no material she could use to make a skirt, blouse, bonnet, or anything that would get her out of the Indian garb. This didn’t bother her as much as it would have three months earlier. She liked the feel of the heavy leather. It was actually cooler than cotton, which would have clung to her as she perspired. As they walked through the brush, her Indian dress and leggings didn’t catch in the branches as a white woman’s clothing would.

  With no bonnets available, Jan bought her a comb and a man’s hat from the three men’s hats on the shelf. Her image in the warped shiny tin piece Jake used as a mirror made her grin. She looked a vision with her pale deerskin dress, two long blond braids hanging down, topped with a black felt hat. Jan also bought a hat for Boister. Boister’s face was a nut brown. Tildie’s was beet red, having burned, peeled, and burned again. Jake recommended some ointment for her burnt skin.

  Jan bought three horses. Since he’d made no purchases just for the little girls, he told them they could name the horses.

  Mari named hers Charger, remembering a story Tildie had told her about knights in England who rode noble steeds. An undistinguished roan with a sway back, but good teeth, Charger hardly looked the part his name implied. Soon they fell to calling him Charlie.

  Evie insisted her horse be called “Horse.”

  When Jan turned to Boister with a question in his eye, Boister walked over to the third horse, a bay, and stroked her shoulder and neck as high as he could reach.

  “Do you want to name her?” asked Jan.

  The horse bent her head and nuzzled Boister around the neck and down the front of his shirt, looking for a treat.

  “Greedy Gert.” Boister smiled. He reached in his pocket and pulled out a dried apple slice he’d gotten from Jake. Greedy Gert lipped it out of his palms and scarfed it down quickly.

  Two old saddles came with the horses. The harnesses looked decrepit, but Jan thought them usable. Boister rode Greedy Gert with only an Indian girth. Tildie held Evie in front of her on Horse, and Jan carried Mari on Charlie. They made good time on the trail, bypassed Fort Reynald, and headed up a canyon beyond Manitou Springs in just a couple of days.

  “We’ve got to get up into that tree line.” Jan came back from leading their little procession to ride beside her.

  Tildie looked up the steep embankment to the thick fir trees. It would be a hard climb and once there, the going would be rough.

  “Why? The way is easier here,” she protested.

  “Air’s cooled off considerable in the last few minutes. Look at the sky—clouds are gathering from the west. It’s raining in the mountains. The reason there’s no tall growth in this canyon is it’s a run-off. Down here we could be caught in a flash flood.

  We’re going up to be safe.”

  Tildie nodded her head, thanking God Jan knew these things. She never would have picked up the signs. She’d been daydreaming about the ranch, wondering what life would be like in the little house with just her and the children—and without Jan. She was getting used to having him around.

  Jan dismounted and led Mari on the horse up the side of the incline. Boister followed with Evie and Tildie bringing up the rear.

  They progressed slowly. The wind picked up as they neared the crest, and Tildie became aware of a steady roar distinctly different from the bluster of the wind.

  “Jan, I hear something.”

  “I hear it, too. Concentrate on where you’re going.”

  Gladys stood at the top watching their climb. She added her encouragement in urgent, sharp barks.

  A few heavy raindrops pelted them in huge drops. The cadence of their sharp ping against the rocks picked up. Soon the torrent forced Tildie to duck her head and bend over Evie to protect the child with her body. Horse blew through her nostrils expressing her displeasure and Charlie answered. Horse tossed her head and tried to push past the middle horse.

  Jan quickened the pace. The noise grew louder and, although Tildie had never had experience with the sound, she knew it was deadly and coming down the canyon. She could no longer hear Gladys’s bark. She couldn’t hear the horses or Jan—nothing b
ut the deafening roar of rampaging water and great rumblings of thunder.

  Jan and Mari climbed over the edge. He tied the reins around a branch and lifted Mari down, then turned to hasten Boister’s mount. “Dismount and tie him off, Boister,” he shouted over the roar.

  The rain dissolved the ground into a slippery mass. A crack of thunder broke above them, and Horse reared, lost her footing, then fell sideways against the rocks. Tildie let go of the reins and, with both arms around Evie, tried to clear the falling horse. She flew backward and to the side, fortunately next to the mountain, not the drop to the crevasse below. She twisted so Evie was on top of her, trying not to let go or fall on her. Tildie heard the horse scream in terror and sensed Horse’s hooves scrabbling for purchase right beside her. A hoof caught her on the side, and as she rolled, her head struck something. A flash of light, immediately followed by a crash of thunder, echoed the pain within her skull. Evelyn screeched.

  Through a haze of pain, Tildie saw Jan above her. He wrenched Evie from her hold and turned to pass the little girl to her brother right behind him. Jan pulled Tildie to her feet. She gasped as pain enveloped her right side. The Swede took no notice and half-dragged her up the last few feet to safety. She could hear nothing but the roar. A great wall of muddy water, carrying logs, small boulders, and other debris passed beneath them. With the swirling waters just inches from their feet, Jan pulled her higher over the ridge.

  The noise level dropped immediately. Tildie heard Evie and Mari crying. She turned from Jan’s arms to reach them. A pain pierced her back high between the shoulder blades, and blackness engulfed her.

  Vaguely, she became aware of sounds and movement beside her. Rain splashed on her face, but she couldn’t lift her hands to wipe it away. The rain and wind still pounded the earth, but the thunder muttered in the distance. A small, cold rivulet of rain ran through the mud by her side. Tildie could feel it, knew it was there, but couldn’t move away. She tried to open her eyes, to speak, but the effort was too much. She slipped again into oblivion.

  She was cold. She could hear a fire crackling, but she couldn’t move toward it. She tried to open her eyes. She couldn’t. There was something warm on each side of her. The girls. She was between the girls. It was so cold. She gave up trying. It was better to sleep.

  “Tildie, drink this,” a voice commanded her. Someone lifted her head and shoulders. It hurt. Please, she begged. Leave me alone. No words came. The warm broth dribbled down her throat and down her chin. She tried to swallow. Leave me alone, she wanted to cry. She swallowed.

  The voices. Sometimes she recognized the voices. Evie chanting her version of a lullaby. Mari asking for something. A cup? Her supper? Tildie couldn’t quite hear.

  Quiet. The world smelled wet. Smoke drifted from a fire, filled with the acrid odor of soggy wood trying to burn. The wool of the wet blanket stank. She wanted to move.

  Someone moved her gently, but it felt like she was being tossed from side to side. Don’t, she screamed but knew there was no sound. Please, please, please let me be.

  Warmer. The sun beat down on her. Now the blanket smelled musty. Mari repeated a counting rhyme in a sing-song voice.

  “Pick it up. Lay it out. One for baby. Don’t you pout. Pick it up. Lay it out. Two for brother, inside out. Pick it up. Lay it out. One for sister. She can’t count.”

  The sun was gone. A voice mumbled in her ear. On one side the warmth of a small figure curled against her side. On the other, a body stretched full-length beside her. A warm arm rested over her stomach. A heavy thigh nestled against her own. She could feel his breath on her cheek. She heard the words.

  “Heavenly Father, bring her through this. Heal her, Lord. I’ve done all I can. Give her strength. Give her life. Give her healing. Bless her. I thank You for bringing her into my life. I thank you for Marilyn, Evelyn, and Boister. They need her, Lord. Heal her. Make her recover.” The words went on, and Tildie slept.

  She opened her eyes. Over her was an impromptu lean-to fashioned out of cut and woven branches. She moved her head to the side. A neat, small fire blazed inside a circle of smooth round stones. Boister fed it sticks. Mari attempted to comb her own hair as she sat on a log, a little behind her brother. Beyond that, three horses were tied to a rope suspended between two trees.

  So Horse had not plummeted to her death, nor bolted and run. With that thought came a conglomeration of memories, some distinct, others hazy and dreamlike. Tildie lay still, trying to sort them out.

  The horses moved restlessly. One snorted, and one whinnied softly. Tildie heard Evie’s chatter right before Jan strode into the little clearing with Evie riding his shoulders and Gladys trotting beside him. He tossed a dead rabbit to Boister, who caught it and held it up to admire. Jan reached up and, with one motion, grabbed a giggling Evie and swung her down to sit beside her sister. Tildie noted Evie’s hair was cut in a rather ragtag style, close to her head. With two long strides, Jan crossed the clearing and crouched beside her. His huge form blocked the sun and she couldn’t see his face with the light behind him.

  “You’re awake.” He waited for her to respond. When she didn’t, he continued. “Are you thirsty? Do you want a drink?”

  “Yes.” The whisper was hardly audible.

  “Mari, bring a cup of water,” he called and sat down beside Tildie. He lifted her to a sitting position, her back against his chest. The pain seared through her, and even as it threatened to turn her stomach, she realized that the pain was not as intense as it had been during the long hours she’d slept and roused, barely conscious.

  Mari brought the cup.

  “Is she all right?” she asked.

  Tildie had closed her eyes against the pain. She opened them to look into Mari’s dear, little, concerned face. She tried to smile.

  “Tildie, we thought you would die. We prayed,” Mari whispered.

  “I’m not going to die,” she managed to say.

  “Drink this.” Jan had taken the cup. One of his strong arms supported her around the waist. The other hand held the cup to her lips. She drank, but even swallowing caused the pain to rise and ebb away. She paused.

  “More,” she whispered. The next sip brought less pain. She leaned her head back against Jan’s shoulder and relaxed. It was then the blanket slipped, just enough to expose her bare shoulder. The cool air hit her skin, and she realized her dress was gone. She was wrapped in blankets. Her eyes grew wide, and she stared around the campsite. It had the look of a place that had been inhabited for a while.

  “How long?” she croaked.

  “Eight days.”

  “My dress?”

  “It was wet through, and you were cold.”

  “Evie’s hair?”

  “She cried when I combed it and it got more and more tangled. I cut it off.” With the last admission, Jan’s voice filled with regret.

  “‘Sall right.” The words came out slurred. “Grow.”

  “Is she all right?” asked Mari again. Boister seemed to just come aware of the activity in the lean-to. He’d been cleaning the rabbit. He came to the lean-to with bloody hands, holding a bloody knife.

  “Is she awake? Will she live?” he asked.

  Before Jan could answer, Tildie struggled to lean away from him.

  “Sick,” she muttered as she turned away from the gruesome sight of her cousin’s hands. She fought the nausea and felt Jan’s hand on her back.

  “Go wash up, Boister. Yes, I think she’s going to make it.”

  CHAPTER 9

  Now she was used to sleeping in Jan’s arms. For days, she had been getting stronger. The pain still hovered, but only as a ghost of its former self with sharp reminders when she breathed too deeply or suddenly moved.

  At night, the children all nestled between her and the back of the lean-to. Jan lay down between her and the outside. He cradled her gently, and she relished the warmth that came through the blankets. He offered her no consideration for her modesty as she became better. He uninhibitedl
y helped her to slip the Indian dress over her head and gently lifted her while Marilyn pulled it down over her hips. He strapped the leggings back on her legs, and it was he who supported her when she was able to get up and go relieve herself in the woods. Several times, she fainted when the pain grabbed her after an ill-advised movement. He caught her and held her until she revived.

  Once she woke up in the middle of the night, whimpering in his arms.

  “Hush now, honey,” he crooned soothingly. “You’re going to be all right. The pain will go away. You’re going to live. You’re going to get over this. Hush, now. I’m here.” His voice calmed her as he spoke, some to her and some in entreaties to their heavenly Father for mercy on her, healing, and strength.

  Another week went by. She awoke one morning to frigid air and a dusting of powdery white snow on the ground.

  Boister stirred the pot over the fire. The girls still huddled in their blankets at the back of the lean-to. Jan bent over a tree-pole construction.

  “Jan,” she called. He left his project immediately.

  “Do you need to get up?” He knelt beside her.

  “No, not yet. What are you doing?”

  “I’m building a travois, an Indian litter for carrying you to my cabin. We can’t stay here any longer.”

  “How far is it?”

  “Not far as the crow flies, but we aren’t crows.” He smiled down at her, and she decided not to press him for answers.

  She was better. She could almost put her weight on her legs, but she still couldn’t take a step. She’d asked what he thought was wrong.

  “I think a couple of broken ribs. You have a massive bruise on your back. There’s even the outline of Horse’s foot in deep purple. There may be some injury to your spine, though thank God, you don’t seem to be paralyzed. Also, you had a concussion, and one leg was bruised from the knee up to your hip. I couldn’t find sign of a broken bone, but it sure was one ugly bruise.”

  She was embarrassed that he had examined her so closely and turned the subject away from herself. “The children were all right?”