THE Prairie DREAMS Trilogy

by Susan Page Davis

  She descended from the hackney before his house. Much to her chagrin, Peregrin and his two comrades lived on a better street than she did. She bade the driver to wait, realizing it might cost her an extra twopence. But that was preferable to chasing down another hack later.

  Sweeping up to the front door, she lifted the knocker and gave it three peremptory raps. A moment later, a footman opened the door—a gawky boy whose pale hair stuck up in odd lumps and pinnacles.

  “Is Mr. Walmore in?”

  “Yes marm. This way, please.”

  The boy held the door while she entered, then awkwardly sidled past her to lead her to the drawing room. Merrileigh hated this room—the dark paneling and high, narrow windows reminded her of a solicitor’s office. The three young men sharing this house really should hire someone to overhaul the decorations. She didn’t suppose they had the funds between them though, and if they did, they probably wouldn’t care to spend them on household niceties. Single gentlemen weren’t prone to do a lot of entertaining in their homes.

  She settled in on the worn horsehair sofa and rehearsed how she would tell her tale to Peregrin. He was already aware of her husband’s situation, which should make it quite simple to understand.

  Since Richard and his next brother, John, had died, only David stood between Randolph and the earldom—and the grand estate at Stoneford. How Merrileigh had hoped that David had also met an early end. It seemed so likely. He’d left England twenty years before Richard’s death, and after the first ten years of his absence, the family hadn’t heard a word from him. So why couldn’t he have conveniently died in the American wilderness—leaving behind proof of his demise of course?

  Alas, that cheeky girl Anne—Richard’s only daughter—had traipsed across the ocean and found her uncle David alive and well, presumably panning gold and guzzling whiskey in the Oregon Territory. If Merrileigh had had anything to say about it, the unworthy churl would have died then and there. But Merrileigh didn’t get everything she wished for. Not without hard work, anyway.

  Peregrin arrived five minutes later, disheveled and wearing his dressing gown. Merrileigh frowned but refrained from expressing her displeasure. At least he was home and willing to speak to his sister before noon.

  “Good morning.” She turned her cheek for the expected kiss.

  “Ho, Merry. What brings you out so early?”

  “My husband’s cousin David.”

  “Oh? What’s the word now?” Peregrin lowered his voice and glanced toward the door. “Hold fast.” He walked over and closed it, then returned to settle in beside her on the sofa.

  “Randolph received word from the solicitor’s office that David is on his way home.”

  “Oh. That rots.”

  “Well, Randolph can only think of delightful fall weekends at Stoneford with his cousin, but I tend to share your opinion.”

  “If David comes home, it pretty well means your Albert will never have a chance at the title.” Peregrin stood and walked to the fireplace. He leaned with his elbow on the mantel, his brow furrowed. “What’s to do? I suppose you can’t break the entailment, now that David has turned up.”

  “We couldn’t anyway. Believe me, I made sure Randolph pursued an inquiry in that direction. No, the only way he can come into the earldom and install our family at Stoneford permanently is in the tragic event that David dies.”

  “Mmm. No kiddies, what?”

  “No. That’s one good thing. Mr. Conrad showed Randolph a letter he received from Anne last year, shortly after she’d located David. She stated straight out that he hadn’t married, and so had no male heirs.” She let that sink in. Her brother generally saw the lay of the land if you let him look it over at his own pace.

  “So.” Peregrin’s face brightened. “If old David doesn’t get him a bride, Randolph is still in line.”

  “Exactly.” She smiled at him, feeling they were halfway to understanding each other.

  A discreet knock came on the door panel. Peregrin strode over and opened it. “Hope you don’t mind—I asked for coffee.”

  Merrileigh’s mouth curled. She couldn’t stand the stuff. She declined a cup and waited patiently while the footman served Peregrin. Once the servant was out of the room, she cleared her throat, ready to approach the topic again.

  “Now Perry, I didn’t tell you this before, and perhaps I should have, but the fewer people who know, the less likely it will get back to those we don’t wish to know it.”

  “Oh? What’s that?” He took a sip from his cup.

  “Two years ago, when Anne Stone first took it into her head to go to America and find David, I felt it was in our best interest—Randolph’s and mine, and of course Albert’s—to try to find out quickly whether or not David was still alive.”

  Peregrin’s sandy eyebrows arched. “Oh? Well yes, I can see that it might be an advantage to know, but surely Anne—”

  “To know before Anne knew,” Merrileigh said deliberately.

  He set his cup down on the saucer. “Go on.”

  “Randolph wouldn’t hear of spending any money on it—he couldn’t see the need. He was content to sit back and let Anne spend her funds to do the job.”

  “But you weren’t.”

  “No. It was my opinion that our interests would be better served if we were one step ahead of Anne. If we knew.”

  Peregrin’s eyes opened wide, and he pulled his head back. “Why, Merrileigh, you shock me.”

  CHAPTER 9

  David stepped down from the cramped stagecoach and looked around. Fort Laramie had sprawled since he’d passed through nearly seven years ago. It looked almost a proper town now, and the walls of the old stockade—Fort John—were left in disrepair. The main buildings of the present, garrisoned Fort Laramie weren’t fenced in. The large barracks dominated the other structures, and the Indian encampments seemed smaller than he recalled. The place had looked overrun with tipi villages last time he was here. One of the passengers had said something about the army making the Indian bands move several miles away to protect the grazing for their animals and those of the emigrant trains. Probably a good decision.

  “One hour,” the station agent bellowed. “Dinner available next door. They’ve got fried chicken today.”

  David arched his back to stretch out the kinks and turned toward the station house. It was a bit past noon and quite warm for early June. An hour’s reprieve sounded good. He’d ridden the last fifteen miles squeezed in between mail sacks in a covered farm wagon the Mormon fellows called a stagecoach. At least they were getting through.

  “Mr. Stone!”

  A dreadful feeling hit him, like a pebble plinking off his head. He’d told himself he’d be safe from Millie Evans if he only ate supper and got back on the stage, without strolling down the street or even glancing about the fort’s parade ground.

  Slowly, he turned toward the voice. Sure enough, Millie was hurrying across the street toward him, her feet raising a small cloud of dust that accompanied her wherever she walked. She wore a dainty hat, and beneath it her hair glinted red in the sun. He was surprised that she had on the same faded traveling dress she’d worn two weeks ago. Had she completely lost her wardrobe and her sense of fashion?

  “Thank heaven! I was afraid you’d take the Salt Lake line and I’d miss you entirely.” Her smile seemed a bit strained.

  “Oh?” David did not see any point in telling her how he’d had to piece together tickets on one local line after another to get this far. She had no doubt done the same thing. The overland mail contract to California had gone to John Butterfield, but he was setting up a southern line. The man was probably wise to go through Texas and New Mexico Territory, as the stages wouldn’t have to deal with winter weather, but it certainly didn’t make travel any easier in the North.

  “If I’d had any idea what the route was like…” Millie shook her head. “That doesn’t matter though, does it? We’ve both come this far. I’ve been meeting every stage for the last week, hopi
ng I’d find you.”

  “Indeed?” David normally spoke more than one word at a time—in fact, his family and friends would say he was an adept conversationalist—but Millie’s effusive welcome tied his tongue. Apparently his efforts to disconnect from her had failed. He cleared his throat. “Might I ask why you were so eager to see me again?”

  She put a hand to her brow. “Of course. How uncivil of me. But you see, I’m near desperate. Might we find a place to sit down, and I will tell you my predicament?”

  “Well…” David couldn’t truthfully think of a reason to refuse. “I suppose so, but I need to be ready to board the stage again soon.”

  She nodded. “I hope to find a way to travel on it myself.”

  “Oh? I, er, understood you were planning to make this place your new home.”

  “I was, but—” Millie glanced toward the stage driver, who was throwing luggage down willy-nilly in the dusty street. “Oh sir, your bags. You’ll want to watch them here.”

  “What? I say!” He strode to the edge of the street. “Sir, I plan to go on with you.”

  “You’ll have to wait,” the driver said. “The colonel has several sacks we need to add to the load. Unless you want to ride on the roof, but we’re tying some freight on there.”

  The station agent came to David’s side.

  “I’m sorry, sir. I only just got the word. Most likely the tavern next door can put you up for the night.”

  Dazed, David looked from his discarded valise to the station house and back. “All right, yes. Thank you.” He glanced at Millie, who hadn’t budged an inch. “Uh…Mrs. Evans, perhaps you will be my guest for dinner?”

  She smiled, not the winsome smile meant to charm a man, but a beatific expression of gratitude. David got the uneasy feeling he had restored her faith in mankind, and he didn’t like meaning that to Millie.

  He found himself sitting opposite her ten minutes later in what looked to be a perfectly respectable dining room.

  “It transforms into a wicked saloon after sundown,” Millie confided, “but during the day it’s not so bad.”

  He couldn’t help wondering if she’d seen the inside of the place after dark. They both fell to their dinner, and he noted that Millie ate as much as he did. Had she gone hungry these last few weeks? He couldn’t help a pang of remorse.

  When David had finished the main course, he stirred the coffee placed before him. It seemed the proprietor had no tea. “Now, Mrs. Evans, could you please tell me what this is about? And let’s be direct, shall we?”

  “Yes, indeed.” She brought a fan from her handbag and fluttered it before her face, sending a little backhand of a breeze David’s way, for which he was thankful. The heat had nearly driven him to strip off his coat, which he would rather not do in public.

  “It’s my cousin, Polly.”

  David lifted his cup. “She being the relation who lives here?”

  “Did live, sir. She’s gone on.”

  David paused with the cup nearly to his lips. “Gone on to…?”

  “To glory, sir. She and her husband both. Her husband was the fort’s chaplain this last year and a half, but now they are without one—until the army sends another, that is. Polly and her Jeremiah are buried in the graveyard.”

  “I’m sorry.” David set his cup down. It seemed somehow disrespectful to slurp his coffee when speaking of the deceased. “What will you do now?”

  “That’s just the thing. I don’t know. I’ve had to spend the money you so graciously let me keep from the sale of Old Blue just to get this far and survive here. Lodgings and food. I earned a bit on the way, cooking for the people I traveled with. But that’s run out, and now I’ve not got enough to go on. I fear I’m stuck here.”

  David winced. At least she was telling him straight out instead of hovering around and pilfering from him. But how did he even know she was telling the truth? Maybe she knew she couldn’t charm him again, so she had switched to a different tactic. But how did one convey such a delicate thought? He didn’t wish to insult her if she was truly destitute. Coming on the heels of her bereavement for her brother, even David felt the cruelty of the situation.

  “So you’ve spoken to some of your cousin’s acquaintances?” he asked.

  “Yes, several. They’ve been quite kind, especially the colonel’s wife. The colonel even gave me five dollars, but he said that he couldn’t do anything officially.”

  “And your cousin’s belongings?” David picked up his coffee cup then, to give him something to do besides look across the table at Millie. She did look rather fetching in that hat, though the dress was as drab as dishwater.

  “Oh, they’re to go to Polly and Jeremiah’s daughter. She’s married and has five children, but her husband is coming, or so I’m told, to settle the estate and auction their things.”

  “Ah. Perhaps if you waited for him…”

  “No, I can’t ask them to take me in.”

  “What will you do then?”

  She let out a big sigh and clasped her hands on the table. “I have a plan.”

  David raised his cup slightly in a sham salute. “Always a good idea.”

  She smiled then, and his stomach flipped. She really was lovely, even now when she was poor as a church mouse.

  “Yes, I always thought so.” Millie sipped her coffee.

  “And your plan is…?”

  “Well, if you hadn’t come along, I’d have continued as I have the last several days, walking about town and seeking work. But employment seems hard to come by here.” She raised her fan before her face and waved it, hiding her expression as she added, “Oh, there are jobs, of a sort, but I don’t want that sort.”

  “Ah yes.”

  Millie wouldn’t engage herself as a barmaid or worse, of that he was sure. Better to latch on to a well-heeled gentleman passing through. Like himself.

  She surprised him by saying, “I’m known as quite a good cook, and I’m willing to do housework or laundry if I must, but they have plenty of laundresses for the fort, and the officers hire enlisted men very cheaply to do for them. I had no luck at all seeking a domestic position. At least, not without other requirements, which I refuse to meet.”

  Her face flushed, and she fanned herself again.

  “Yes, well, a military post is no place for a decent single woman.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  So. He’d designated her a decent woman. Now he would probably have to help her out of this scrape or forever bear the guilt of depriving her of the chance to live an upright life.

  “I have friends near Philadelphia. I grew up outside the city. I feel sure I could find an old acquaintance who could give me a reference for work.”

  He cleared his throat. “Perhaps I could have a word with the colonel.”

  “Thank you, but I doubt it would do any good.”

  “Well, since we’ll be here until tomorrow, I might walk over to his office.” A sudden thought struck him. “And where are you lodging?”

  She looked away. “They’ve let me use a little room in the officers’ building, but I fear I’ve displaced a young lieutenant, and they will all be glad when I’ve left.”

  At least she hadn’t needed to resort to a tavern. “Have the officers’ wives been courteous to you?”

  “To some extent. There are only three ladies at the fort now. I am told they expect more this summer, but it’s clear I can’t receive their charity much longer.”

  With a sigh, David set his coffee cup down. “Well, since I have the afternoon free, I suppose I’ll stroll over to the fort.” She wanted him to promise more than that, he could see it in those tragic green eyes. But he couldn’t. Not yet. First he wanted to verify her story. He wouldn’t wish any woman to be forced into her situation, but he wasn’t about to be duped again.

  He pushed back his chair. “Perhaps we shall meet again later.”

  She opened her mouth and closed it.

  David paid for the food and walked out into th
e bright sunlight. The wind over the prairie made the air bearable. He’d left his luggage in the tavern owner’s keeping, and now he took his time getting over to the fort. A sliver of conscience chided him—he ought to have escorted Millie to some safer place, but where would that be?

  It took only minutes and a confident attitude to admit him to an audience with the colonel. He explained his circumstances and quickly told the officer he’d taken a room at the tavern and planned to take the next day’s stage eastward. He didn’t want the man to think he was here to ask a favor for himself.

  “I ran into Mrs. Evans at the stage stop,” he said, watching the colonel’s face. “She’s an old acquaintance of mine.”

  “Oh yes. Charming lady. Such a pity.” The colonel shook his head.

  “Yes,” David said. “She told me of her cousin’s passing.”

  “And her husband as well. He was an excellent chaplain, but he insisted on doing a lot of mission work among the Indians. I fear it killed him.”

  “Oh?” David frowned. “I thought illness took them.”

  “So it did. Diphtheria, if our surgeon is correct. There was a small outbreak among the Brule Sioux. Mr. Morton wouldn’t stay out of their camp. He did great kindness to the Indians of course, but his job was to see to our men’s spiritual needs. Because he tended to the savages, he’s no longer with us.”

  “Ah. But Mr. and Mrs. Morton were Mrs. Evans’s relatives?”

  “So I understand. My wife was very friendly with Polly Morton. She informed me that on her deathbed Polly was fretting. She’d just received a letter saying her cousin was coming for a visit, and she wanted everything neat and clean. My wife assured her we’d get a striker—that is, an enlisted man—to redd up the house for her. Unfortunately, I ended up hiring a couple of men to pack up their belongings instead.”

  David left the colonel’s office vaguely ill at ease. Millie’s story seemed to be true, and the cousin had indeed expected her arrival. That was comforting. The part that bothered him was his perceived responsibility. What did Millie expect him to do?