“Help you, ma’am?” the station agent asked.
“Yes, thank you. I wondered if there’s a way for me to send a message ahead to Fort Laramie and have it get there before I do.”
“Not much goes faster’n this stage, ma’am,” the agent said.
The shotgun messenger frowned. “Well now, Billy, that ain’t the strictest truth. You know, if she was to hit it just right, she might get a military messenger to carry a letter for her.”
“I s’pose that’s true.” His companion nodded. “Sometimes the army will send dispatches and such, and they travel pretty fast. Could be someone will pass you heading out from Fort Dalles or one of the other posts along the way. Might beat the mail coach. Not by much though.”
“Oh. Is this a mail coach?” Millie asked.
“No ma’am. This line doesn’t have the contract for that.” The station agent’s face was so sour she feared she’d touched on a sore spot. His competitor must have reeled in the lucrative contract.
Her hopes to inform Polly of her impending arrival dashed, Millie broached her next question.
“Would it be possible for me to retrieve something from my valise?” she asked the shotgun rider.
“Surely, ma’am.”
He had her bag down in an instant, and Millie quickly removed the small items she wanted. She thanked the man and stepped away.
She hoped for a word with Mr. Stone before she boarded, and so she waited a few yards away from the coach, watching the men complete their work.
She’d written to Polly last fall, when the restaurant in Elkton closed, about the possibility of visiting her. But once she’d decided to stop at The Dalles with Sam, she’d sent a note saying she guessed she would postpone the trip. She hadn’t wanted to cut off the option, but she’d really hoped things would work out with Sam this time. What had she been thinking?
To her relief, David Stone soon appeared around the corner of the building, and she stepped briskly toward him.
He glanced about as though hoping to spot an avenue of escape, then stopped and waited for her to reach him.
“Mrs. Evans.”
“Mr. Stone. I wondered if I could have a private word with you, sir.”
“I see no need for it.”
“Oh, but I do. Great need.”
“I’ve nothing to say to you, Charlotte.” He blinked and looked away.
She realized he’d slipped, not intending to use her given name. She’d be flattered that he remembered it, except that was the assumed name she’d used when she tried to lure him into a hasty marriage. His cheeks colored, and she looked down at her hands.
“It’s Millie actually.”
“Indeed.” He strode past her and opened the door to the coach.
His accent still thrilled her, though she understood he’d been in America more than twenty years. Whether he’d been farming or mining since she last saw him, she didn’t know, but the clothes he wore gave him an aura of success. A well-cut suit of good cloth, pearl buttons on the figured satin vest, and a hint of subdued luxury—a plain gold watch chain peeking out near his belt. If he was still farming, it was for the entertainment of it.
She walked over to him, afraid for a moment that he’d climb into the coach and shut the door in her face. But he stood there with a resigned air, holding it for her. She might have known he would retain his manners, even though he obviously despised her.
Once in the stage, she hesitated then turned to address him. “Would you like to sit on this side, or do you prefer your former seat?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
She moved over to the farther side of the seat and settled her skirts about her. For an instant, she wished she’d worn her finest gown. Then she recalled that David’s niece had told him Millie had stolen it from her, so that would never do. Her cheeks heated at the memory. He had every right to think ill of her. But she might not get another chance to speak to him in private, so she turned to him as he sat down next to her.
“Forgive me, but I must have a word with you.”
“I really see no advantage to that, Mrs. Evans.”
He’d left the door open, and at that moment the farmer and the man in the suit climbed in, followed by another man, this one wearing a plaid flannel shirt and worn whipcord trousers. The three eyed her and David, and lined up across from them on the opposite seat. Between them, a bench seat would accommodate more passengers, but no one wanted to sit on that without a backrest unless it was absolutely unavoidable. So now she had one man beside her avoiding her gaze and three across the way ogling her. Millie resigned herself to endure the next twenty-five miles with nothing resolved between her and the man she might, under other circumstances, have truly loved.
David crossed his arms and leaned his head back as the stage began to roll toward the mountain crossing. Charlotte Evans, of all people. Or Millie, as she now claimed. It figured that she’d deceived him in that, too. Could there be another person on earth he would less like to have met up with? And to be forced to sit beside her for—how long?
Why, oh why hadn’t he simply declined to get back in the coach? He might have had to wait a couple of days to catch another stage, but a quiet interlude in the Oregon wilderness would be preferable to several hours locked in a box with Charlotte.
“Good day, ma’am,” the newcomer on the seat opposite David said, staring at Charlotte.
“Good day,” she replied.
“Going to Boise?” he asked.
“And beyond.”
He nodded.
“I’m going to Boise myself,” said the farmer. “I hope you have a pleasant journey.”
“The same to you, sir.”
Charlotte knew how to speak prettily without encouraging a fellow; David had to hand her that. She was so good at the role, he’d thought her a true lady.
“I’m going to Boise as well,” said the man in the suit. “Henry McCloskey’s the name.”
“How do you do,” Charlotte said.
“What’s your line?” the man next to him asked.
“I represent the hardware trade.”
“Aha, a drummer,” said the farmer.
“A sales representative, sir.”
The man chuckled. “Well, I’ve got a hunnerd and twenty acres in the Owhyee Valley—I run sheep mostly. Name’s Stoddard.”
The three men chatted among themselves, occasionally throwing a question Charlotte’s way. After a half hour, the newest man, who had declared himself a miner, eyed David keenly.
“And you, sir? What do you do?”
“I’m half owner in a stagecoach line,” David replied.
McCloskey’s eyebrows shot up. “Not this one?”
“No, thank heaven.”
The three men chuckled. David couldn’t resist a sidelong glance at Charlotte. Her lips curved in a genteel smile.
“Not from these parts,” the miner said.
“No, sir, though I’ve been in Oregon six years.”
“He’s a Britisher,” Stoddard said with an emphatic nod that crumpled his beard.
David said nothing, which he supposed some might consider rude, but he didn’t want to talk about himself. Already he’d given out more information than he wanted Charlotte to know. The fact that he’d made a success of the stage line since he’d last seen her might be enough to set her scheming. What would happen if she knew he was on his way to England to claim a large estate?
At last they reached another way station and stopped to change teams. They all got out to stretch their legs, and Charlotte let the other passengers drift by and then grabbed David’s sleeve.
“Please, Mr. Stone. I really must speak to you. Forgive me for being such a pest.”
He gazed pointedly at her fingers, clutching his broadcloth sleeve. Charlotte pulled her hand away as if it had burned her.
“I’m sorry. But you must believe me when I say that I’ve changed since last we met. I do hope you’ll find it in your heart to forgive me for the
wrongs I committed then.”
David observed her through slits of eyes. He didn’t believe a word she said. If her urgent news was that she no longer took part in swindling innocent people, or that she wouldn’t conspire to have him murdered this time, she could save her breath. He’d had a few hours to think about it, and he suspected she’d been keeping track of him.
“Tell me,” he said, “did you take the same stagecoach as I did by design?”
“Oh no, sir,” she cried. “That was purely coincidence, I assure you, though if I may be so bold, I’d call it a providential one. I’ve repented of my wrongdoing. I’m grateful that God allowed me a chance to tell you so.”
David scowled. Now she was bringing the Almighty into it. If she thought that would convince him, she was wrong. It only made him more suspicious.
“So where are you traveling to?” he asked at last. “You said beyond Boise.”
“That’s correct. I’m heading to Fort Laramie. I hope to live with my cousin, who is married to a minister there.”
He nodded, thinking about the length of that journey. They’d be confined in the coach together for several days. He shuddered.
Charlotte—or rather, Millie—had turned her attention to her rather bulky handbag. Perhaps this would be a good time to disengage himself.
“Excuse me,” he said.
“No, wait!” Her bewitching green eyes held dismay, almost panic. “I have something of yours. I need to give it to you.”
“Something of mine?” He frowned but waited. She drew out a small, leather-covered book and handed it to him. “Your Bible, sir. Please forgive me for taking it.”
David took the familiar book and held it tenderly, stroking the soft leather. He’d wondered how it had disappeared from his hotel room in Scottsburg a year and a half ago. He should have known. But even given Charlotte’s character, he never suspected she’d steal a Bible. Money, yes, but God’s Word? Hardly.
“And this.” She held out a small wooden box, and David frowned.
“What’s that?”
“Why, your cuff links, sir.” She glanced off to the side, as though to be sure no one else could overhear. “I’m truly sorry.”
David tucked the Bible under his arm and took the little carved box. He lifted the cover and stared down at the onyx cuff links his grandfather, the fifth Earl of Stoneford, had given him on his twelfth birthday. He’d known they were missing, but he’d suspected one of the hotel staff had pilfered them from his room while he was recovering from a wound. He’d never had an inkling that Charlotte had been in his room, much less ransacked it.
“Thank you.” He tucked the box in his coat pocket, and his fingers wrapped around it for a moment. How close he’d come to losing his heart to her—but all she’d made off with was his cuff links. He’d been blinded by her charms. The knowledge left him feeling witless and old.
She looked up at him with a pained expression. “I took ten dollars, too, from your dresser. You’d left it there with a note to the hotel owner, saying it would cover your room.”
“Indeed?” He stared at her, unable to think of anything more trenchant.
She nodded. “I burned the note. And I spent the money, I’m afraid. I promise I’ll pay it back though, as soon as I’m able. If you’ll give me an address—”
“Forget it,” David said. He was touched that she’d returned his keepsakes—the onyx cuff links were actually worth more than the money she’d stolen. But there was no way he’d tell her how to reach him in the future. He never wanted to see her again.
Her stricken face reminded him of how much he’d cared for her. Charlotte could be so charming…pity she’d gone so wretchedly wrong.
“I read some in your Bible. The truth is, that’s partly what brought me to change my ways. And so I thank you for that.”
David hated the way her guileless manner played on his sympathies. She was a fake and a fraud. He knew that. But she was very good at it. “Look, I have a new Bible now. Keep this one if you like.”
She gasped, and her face lit with surprise and joy. “Oh, thank you, sir. If you’re sure—I’d love to keep it, above all things.” She took it from him with trembling hands that appeared almost reverent.
“Yes, well, let’s say no more about this. The past is the past.” He touched his hat brim and turned away. If he made a beeline for the outhouse, she could hardly chase after him and press further conversation on him. But he wondered—was even a tenth of what she’d said the truth?
CHAPTER 3
Millie was not completely surprised that David Stone shunned her. After all, she had stolen from him and tried to lure him into marrying her so she could live in style. Without meaning to, she’d endangered his life.
If only he’d give her the chance to show him that she had transformed into a new Millie Evans.
She almost laughed aloud at the thought. He hadn’t even known her real name. She’d introduced herself to him as Charlotte Evans in Scottsburg, because it sounded more elegant than Millie, and he’d still thought the name belonged to her.
The stagecoach jostled and swayed. She was very careful not to move too close to David. More than anything right now, she wanted to avoid giving him any new reason for displeasure.
She was pleased to see that he’d recovered from his mishap. He looked as handsome as ever—tall, fair-haired, with compelling blue eyes—and if anything, more prosperous. The stagecoach line was news to her. So he’d given up farming and prospecting and invested in a real business. She was certain it would thrive under his guidance.
Where was he going? He hadn’t chimed in when the others had discussed their destinations. Maybe he was thinking of expanding his stage line and had come to check out some of the roads. Perhaps he contemplated adding this very line to his own. Hadn’t the ticket agent in The Dalles said prices were lowered to break the competition? Wouldn’t that be ironic, if he was riding this coach to see if he wanted to annex the entire line? She’d ascertained long ago that he was shrewder with financial matters than he was with women. If only certain people hadn’t interfered, she’d have reeled him in and had a fine husband.
She turned her face toward the window and silently scolded herself. She must stop thinking that way. God certainly didn’t want her to go on viewing David Stone as a potential husband, rich or otherwise. If she wanted to please the Lord—and she did now—she had to get those thoughts right out of her head. But it was hard to do when he was sitting right smack beside her.
The stage kept rolling, day and night. They stopped only to change teams. At swing stations, they had twenty minutes to tend nature’s needs and perhaps grab a quick bite of something. Home stations served full meals, and they had a half hour at those. Of course, they had to pay for every bite they ate, and Millie’s funds dwindled quickly.
On the second day, they climbed out at a home station and the men hurried inside.
“Taking dinner, Mrs. Evans?” McCloskey, the drummer, asked.
“Oh no, thank you.” She’d bought one full meal the day before and had decided she’d have to limit herself to one per day and perhaps a biscuit and a cup of tea in the mornings. If she could hold off and buy her full meal in the evening, she’d feel as though she’d accomplished something and deserved her supper.
“You hardly ate any breakfast,” McCloskey protested. He hadn’t shaved for at least two days, and a grayish stubble speckled his chin. “Come on, lass. I’ll treat you.”
Millie was tempted to accept, but David lingered near the door to the station, conversing in low tones with the shotgun rider. Was he listening to see what she would say? Even if he wasn’t, he’d see her eating with McCloskey.
Besides, Millie would feel beholden to the drummer for the rest of their journey. Was that what he wanted? Would he expect something in return? Most men did expect a profit on their investment.
“No thank you,” she said. “I’m really not very hungry. I’ll have something this evening.”
McCloskey frowned. “Coach make you queasy, does it? I don’t think this one’s as well sprung as some. Sure you won’t join me?”
“Quite sure.” She gave him a cool smile.
“All right then.” He lumbered inside.
Her stomach growled, and Millie hurried around the corner of the building, out of sight and sound of David and the shotgun rider.
As they journeyed over the Blue Mountains, David asked himself many times why he was doing this. The air dropped below freezing at night in the upper altitudes, and he wasn’t about to cuddle up to any of the other passengers. They huddled under the buffalo robes the driver distributed. Millie Evans kept to her corner, thank heaven. The male passengers took turns on the backless bench seat in the middle. McCloskey, Stoddard, and the miner—whom he’d learned was named Tuttle—stayed with them. Other men came and went, from one stop to another.
By the time they wound down out of the mountains and approached the Grande Ronde River, they had eight men and Millie, all bound at least as far as Boise. They sat three to a seat, unless one or two ventured up to the roof, where some claimed they could sleep.
All of the others tried to engage Millie in conversation. She answered them politely but did not encourage them. David ignored her.
He felt an occasional twinge of guilt that he hadn’t offered her a modicum of protection by continuing to sit next to her, but he couldn’t bear to be any closer to the woman. As soon as it became necessary to admit a third person to their seat, he retreated into the other corner. After that, they had to put up with whomever chance—or Providence—placed between them. For one stage, a matter of a couple of hours, it was a slightly inebriated farmer who reeked of manure and cheap ale. Poor Millie-Charlotte spent most of that time with her handkerchief close to her nose. Everyone concerned breathed easier when he got out at the next station and did not return.
THE Prairie DREAMS Trilogy Page 66
