Where the Heart Is Romance Collection

by Andrea Boeshaar

“Is someone with you?”

  “Um… no, sir.”

  “Good.”

  Millberg closed the distance between them, and Dillon prayed Penny wouldn’t cough, sneeze, or sniffle.

  “About this afternoon, Trier…”

  Dillon placed his hands on his hips. He’d known all evening that this was coming. “Yes, sir, what about it?”

  “You were inexcusably rude to my daughter.”

  “You’re right. I was. And I apologize for it. I’m afraid the heat got the best of me.”

  “Your apology is unacceptable, and I have a mind to dock your wages.”

  Dillon wanted to protest, but with Penny so near, his pride wouldn’t let him.

  “Did you hear what I said, Trier?” Orson chuckled. “You’re awfully quiet all of a sudden.”

  Dillon clenched his jaw in anger. “Do what you have to do. I was wrong and I admit it. But with all due respect, sir, your daughter needs to mind her manners just as much as I do.”

  “How dare you say such a thing! Lavinia has impeccable manners. She’s gone to the finest boarding schools and studied under the most sought-after instructors. No, Trier, it’s you who needs to mind your manners. You’re nothing but a crude farmhand, and that’s all you’ll ever be.” With that, Millberg turned on his heel and stomped off.

  Dillon fumed in his wake, hating the fact that Penny had overheard the entire conversation. Well, at least she heard the truth; he was a farmhand and that’s exactly what he always would be.

  Suddenly, he felt something poke his backside. Glancing over his shoulder, he found Penny holding his rifle out to him.

  “Here. Shoot him.”

  After the momentary shock ebbed, he carefully accepted the gun. “I’m not going to shoot anyone.” Taking Penny’s hand, Dillon helped her out of the tent.

  “Then give me back that rifle, and I’ll shoot him!”

  “You’ll do no such thing!”

  “He’s a horrible man to talk to you that way, Dillon.”

  “I agree, but killin’ him won’t do any good.”

  Penny gasped. “I wasn’t planning to kill him. Just shoot him. Afterwards, Josh can dig out the bullet—it’ll serve that troll right.” She reached for the gun, but Dillon held it away from her. He began to laugh. If this little darlin’ wasn’t the pluckiest thing he’d ever met…

  “Give me that gun.”

  “I will not, either! You’re a little spitfire, Penny Rogers, you know that?”

  As if to make his point, she stomped her foot, and Dillon laughed all the harder.

  She laughed, too. “I’m just teasing. I really wouldn’t shoot someone—not even Mr. Millberg.”

  “You’re a mighty good actress. I’ll attest to that. In fact,” he said, leaning closer, “I prefer you in this role rather than playing Juliet.”

  “Really?”

  “Really!”

  “Penny-lo… is that you?”

  She spun around so fast that Dillon felt the hems of her skirts brush against his boots. “Yes, Papa, it is I.”

  The bushy-haired man stepped out of the shadows. “Good evening, Mr. Trier. It cooled off nicely, didn’t it?”

  “Yes, sir, it sure did.”

  “Papa, Dillon won’t let me shoot Mr. Millberg,” Penny whined, causing Dillon to grin. “That troll said the most atrocious things. He called Dillon a ‘crude farmhand,’ and that’s not true.”

  “Of course it’s not.”

  Dillon felt his cheeks warm with embarrassment. Bad enough that Penny heard the insult, but now her pa knew about it, too.

  “Well, don’t despair, my darling,” Isaiah said. “Someone is bound to shoot Orson Millberg before this journey is over.”

  Dillon started chuckling once more. He thought the pair was quite the comedy act; and in that moment, he decided his family would get along nicely with the Rogerses.

  “Come along now, Penny, I’m sure Mr. Trier needs his rest—as do we all.”

  “Yes, Papa.”

  “Oh, um, Professor Rogers?”

  “Yes?”

  Dillon cleared his throat. “Might I speak with you tomorrow before breakfast?”

  “Does it, by chance, concern my daughter?”

  “Ah… yes, sir, it does.”

  “Hmm… well, in that case, I’ll have to think about it for a month or two.”

  “Papa!”

  The older man laughed, putting Dillon at ease. Certainly Isaiah Rogers wouldn’t make light of the situation if he disapproved… would he?

  “Yes, of course, you may speak to me tomorrow, Mr. Trier, unless you would prefer we talked over the matter tonight so you can sleep. Wouldn’t want you to fret all night long. Despite what Penny’s told you, I’m really not a monster.”

  “Oh, Papa, I never said anything of the sort.”

  “And I never thought it,” Dillon added. He glanced at his boots before looking back at Penny’s pa. “I reckon tomorrow is soon enough… if you’re agreeable.”

  “I am.” With that, Isaiah put a fatherly arm around Penny’s shoulders and led her toward their wagons. “See you in the morning, Mr. Trier.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Good night, Dillon,” Penny called sweetly.

  “G’night.”

  As he watched father and daughter disappear into the night, Dillon shook his head in wonder. If he married Penny Rogers, life certainly wouldn’t be dull.

  But first, he’d have to convince her pa that he was worthy enough to court her.

  Lord, he prayed, You’re going to have to put the right words in my mouth, ’cause this farmhand sure don’t know how to persuade an intelligent, sophisticated man like Isaiah Rogers.

  Chapter 7

  Papa, please, please tell me how your conversation went with Dillon this morning?” Penny begged as their wagon bumped over the volcanic-like terrain. “I haven’t had a chance to talk to you since we started off after breakfast.”

  “I’m sure the suspense has been eating you alive,” Papa teased.

  Penny made a tsk sound with her tongue in reply and her father chuckled.

  “All right, all right… well, Mr. Trier asked me if he could court you once we arrived in Oregon.”

  “And?” Penny prodded, growing annoyed.

  “And I told him I would think about it.”

  Penny brought her chin back in surprise. “What? You didn’t give him your blessing? Why?”

  “Because, my dear, I’m not certain that you will be happy on a ranch. You were born and raised in a refined setting. You’re unaccustomed to the rough-hewn life and all the back-breaking labor that goes with it.”

  “Papa, I’ve lived a rough-hewn life on this trail. I’ve adapted quite well.”

  “Yes, you have, and I commend you for it. But, Penny-lo, you don’t want to live like this forever, do you?”

  “Sarah followed Abraham wherever God led him. She lived in a tent.”

  “We’re not discussing the Sarah of the Bible. We’re discussing Penelope Anne Rogers.”

  “Papa—”

  “Your mother would turn in her grave if she saw what’s become of us!”

  Penny shook her head. “Oh, Papa, what a silly remark. Mother is in heaven, and I’m sure the Lord has kept her informed of our activities.”

  “If that’s so, then your mother has every right to be disappointed in me. This is all my fault….”

  “Papa?”

  Penny narrowed her gaze and considered her father’s profile. He certainly behaved out of character this morning. Gone was his lighthearted outlook on life, and the sparkle in his eyes had dulled. “Papa, what’s wrong?”

  She placed her hand on his arm, and, at last, he gazed in Penny’s direction.

  “What’s wrong is my little girl has grown up,” he replied soberly. “What’s wrong is that she isn’t in love with a scholar, but a rancher.”

  Looping her arm around her father’s, Penny laid her head against his shoulder as they bounced along. �
�Vocation doesn’t make the man. A man’s worth comes from within him. Dillon loves the Lord; he’s hardworking and honest.” Penny popped back up. “And to think that he put his life in jeopardy in order to help Bernie Williams capture that awful Anna Schmitt!”

  “That’s just my point, Penny-lo. You see only his heroics. You’re not considering the entire picture, as I am.”

  Penny sighed, feeling a stab of dejection pierce her heart. She wondered how she would ever change her father’s mind. Almost at once, the first verse of Proverbs, chapter twenty-one, sprang to mind. “The king’s heart is in the hand of the Lord, as the rivers of water: he turneth it whithersoever he will.”

  In that moment, Penny realized it wouldn’t be her who turned Papa’s heart… but God!

  Beneath an overcast sky, the prairie schooners nooned near the Salmon Falls. The air was heavy, causing the pioneers to feel sticky and uncomfortable in spite of the cooler temperatures.

  As Penny nibbled on repast, she scanned the campsite for Dillon. The daily rotation of wagons this morning had put him at the back of the train. Finally she spotted him eating with the Cole brothers, but she couldn’t catch his eye to even give him a smile.

  Several hours later, they were back on the trail. They made good time and traveled an amazing forty miles.

  “Quite a feat!” Papa declared after Rawhide made the announcement. “Our average has been ten to fifteen miles a day. Why, we’ll reach Oregon in no time!”

  Penny felt encouraged by the thought, except it was short-lived. That evening, instead of supping with her and her family, as Dillon was wont to do, he and several other men drove the animals some three miles away, where the grass grew thick and lush. Nearer to the trail, it had dwindled to almost nothing because of so many immigrants and their animals traveling this route over the last decade.

  At least Lady Macbeth will eat her fill, Penny thought as she crawled into her bedroll. The cow’s milk supply had all but dried up from the many months of traveling. Moreover, the poor animal had grown so thin.

  As we all have, Penny added on a cynical note. Then she chided herself for not possessing a more positive outlook. But she was tired, so very tired, and she felt discouraged by her father’s hesitation regarding Dillon.

  “I’m so impatient, Lord,” she whispered into the darkness.

  Penny suddenly recalled Pastor Brewster’s message last Sunday. It had been based on Isaiah’s fortieth chapter, verse thirty-one. Pastor Brewster had talked about maintaining a peaceable temperament during this last leg of the journey. Everyone battled exhaustion, but looking to Christ at all times would give the Christian insurmountable endurance along with a quiet, untroubled spirit.

  Penny knew the reverend spoke the truth because his words were backed by scripture. “But they that wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings as eagles; they shall run, and not be weary; and they shall walk, and not faint.”

  Run and not be weary, she thought. Walk and not faint.

  With those words in mind, Penny fell fast asleep.

  The next morning brought the first crossing of the Snake. Up until now, they had followed a crude course of the river’s south bank. They had camped close to it, nooning at its tributaries; however, they had yet to cross it. Rawhide had decided to ford the Snake rather than follow the river until they reached what had once been Fort Boise. He selected a place known as “Three Island Ford”—a place where the river was divided by three small islands that could be used like steppingstones. Rawhide claimed it was the easiest passage. A mile upstream, he’d said, there was another location called “Two Island Crossing,” but the river was deeper, ran swifter, and the likelihood of drowning increased. Rawhide added that in order to ford the river at Two Island Crossing, the wheels would need to be removed from each wagon so they could float across like tiny boats. The wagon master declared the task “too much of a chore.” So, with the help of several Indian friends, Three Island Ford became the choice of passage.

  Penny stood on the shores of the wide, rushing river, watching as the first of the wagon train prepared to cross—Josh and Bethany among that initial group.

  Please, God, Penny prayed, please keep Beth safe. She’s so frightened of the water.

  “She’ll be all right.”

  Startled, Penny whirled around and saw Dillon had come up behind her. She immediately noticed a cord of thick rope that wound around his shoulder and hung to his waist. “How on earth did you know what I was thinking?”

  Dillon chuckled. “Wasn’t hard once I followed your line of vision.” He looked toward the wagons. “Everyone knows your sister-in-law is scared senseless of the water. It’s only natural that you’d worry about her.”

  “Yes… yes, I am worried about her.” Penny faced him once more.

  “I can’t rightly promise that I’ll keep trouble away, but I’m going down to help and I’ll do everything in my power to keep Mrs. Rogers safe. So don’t fret. All right?”

  Penny looked at him askance, wondering if she could keep such a vow.

  “Come on, now,” he coaxed with a charming grin. “Give me your word.”

  “I promise,” she said at last, meaning each syllable. Then she smiled. “I always feel so much better when you’re around. You’re my hero.”

  The poor man actually blushed at her candid remark.

  Dillon gave the brim of his hat a parting tug; and, after he began his descent off the steep bank, Penny let out a long, slow breath. Would she ever learn to curb her wayward tongue?

  Onlookers gathered on either side of Penny. They all stared down at the three white-bonneted wagons making ready to cross the river. The August sunshine beat down on them and sparkled on the water like the silver heads of stick pins imbedded in flowing blue silk. Surrounding the wagons that were hitched to oxen were men on horseback—men who included Rawhide’s Indian friends.

  At first the half-naked, long-haired men were a fright to behold, and the majority of the wagon train opposed the Indians’ help. But Rawhide made it clear that, without the aid of his practiced Indian friends, crossing the Snake would be many times more difficult. The likelihood of drowning would increase. Families chanced losing their entire belongings.

  Folks soon came around to see his point.

  Amidst the din of the men shouting directions to each other, the wagons made it safely to the first of the islands. Then the second. Then the third. Cheers went up around Penny, who looked to the heavens and praised the Lord. Bethany had made it across unscathed.

  Maybe, just maybe, crossing the Snake River wouldn’t be so problematic after all!

  Chapter 8

  As it happened, crossing the Snake River was a painstaking event that took nearly three days. But finally it came down to the last four wagons—the Barneses’, the Millbergs’ two, and Papa and Penny’s.

  Dillon helped Rawhide and the Indians secure the carts. When he reached the Rogerses’, he smiled up at Penny.

  “Are you scared?”

  “Not a bit. I’m a terrific swimmer.”

  Dillon’s brows furrowed, and he appeared none too pleased by her admission. “You’re no match for the Snake River, Penny. Remember that. There’s a powerful strong undercurrent that would’ve swept away the oxen had they not been yoked and hitched. Would’ve swept away the men on horseback, too, if they wouldn’t have held fast to the wagons.”

  “Are you purposely trying to frighten me?”

  Dillon’s expression softened at once. “I’d do no such thing. I just want you to take care—really good care.”

  Penny tipped her head, gauging his reply. “Are you worried about me, Dillon?”

  “Sure I am! And if I had my way, I’d be driving your wagon with you and your pa on board instead of ferrying the Millbergs’ piano across the river.” He glanced down at the soft dirt beneath his boots. “I don’t much like the fact that I won’t be able to help you if trouble comes.”

  “Papa and I will manage, Di
llon,” Penny assured him. “You needn’t worry about us— except I’m most grateful that you do.”

  Dillon nodded, then slapped his hat on his head. “I reckon I’d do just about anything for you.”

  Penny was touched to the very core of her being. “You are ever so gallant, Dillon Trier.”

  He shrugged, looking a tad embarrassed, but at last he handed up the reins. Penny gave him her sweetest smile in return.

  “All right, ever’body, listen up!” Rawhide’s gravely voice interrupted their tender moment. “The river’s movin’ awful fast today on account of that rainstorm last night. It’s gonna be a mite harder to cross today and that means takin’ extra special precautions. Understood?”

  Murmurs of acquiescence emanated from the group as Dillon made his way back to the Millbergs’ wagon. Papa climbed aboard theirs, took the reins from Penny, and sat beside her.

  “We’re as ready as we’ll ever be,” he muttered.

  “You’re not fretting over the crossing, are you, Papa?”

  “Of course not.”

  His words, however, failed to convince her; and Penny couldn’t understand all this “to do” about nothing. To Penny, the Snake didn’t seem so imposing. But she’d never been afraid of water, nor had she ever been affected by a drowning tragedy like Bethany. On the contrary, Penny associated lakes, rivers, and streams with pure enjoyment; and, in her estimation, this whole ordeal was highly overrated.

  The wagons pulled out slowly and rolled into the water. Deeper, deeper, they went. Penny felt the wagon shudder with the force of the current. The oxen were in up to their ears, and the men struggled to keep them from drowning. Water lapped over the edges of the wagon, and Penny suddenly recalled every terrible story she’d heard about this crossing. Suppose they were true?

  In the next moment, as if she’d somehow conjured up the catastrophe, the Barneses’ wagon swayed violently before tipping onto its side. Its white canopy broke away, spilling the entire contents of the wagon—including the Barneses’ children!

  Horror-struck, Penny stood. She barely felt Papa’s steadying hand at her elbow. All she could think of was the children! The children! Why weren’t the men going after them? Why were they trying to save the animals instead? Couldn’t they see that the children were being swept away?