by Al Lacy
“I know there are plenty more Indians on the other side of the fort, Captain. Any of them hostile that you know of?”
“Yes. Shoshonis have been acting up in southern Idaho. We’ll escort you a few miles beyond the fort, but we won’t be able to go even as far as the Idaho border. We’re having problems with the Paiutes due west of the fort and need to patrol it regularly. Colonel Lynch, our commandant, hesitated to send this large a unit for this mission, but your Mr. Moore told him what kind of Indian forces you’ve been having to fight, so he wanted to make sure your wagon train had the protection it needed.”
“I’ll thank him for it when I see him,” smiled Rip.
When the cavalrymen filed into the circle, the people gave them a rousing cheer. The wagon master sought out Marian Moore and told her about her husband. He asked if the colonel had ever experienced pleurisy before. When Marian said he had, Rip said he was probably having a recurrence and that she shouldn’t be too worried.
John Stranger went to the wagon where Breanna and Carolyne were and found Breanna feeding her tiny namesake. Stranger had a special love for infants and children. He held baby Breanna in his arms and made over her.
John and Breanna then joined Rip at the side of the wagon while Carolyne remained inside to change a diaper. Stranger drew Breanna close to him, encircling her in an arm, and said, “Rip, all this talk about the possibility of Indian trouble after the wagon train leaves Fort Bridger has me concerned.”
“Yeah,” sighed Rip. “Me, too.”
“Since Breanna is going to stay with the train all the way to San Francisco, I’ve decided to do the same. I doubt there’ll be any Indian trouble once the train reaches the Sierras, since the Mohaves are friendly to whites. But I want to make sure this little lady is safe.”
Breanna’s face lit up. “Oh, John! It’ll be wonderful to have you with me!”
“It’ll be more wonderful for me,” he smiled.
“Well, I’ll be plenty glad to have you in the train, John,” Rip said. “I’ve never seen you use that iron on your hip or the Winchester in your saddleboot, but I’ve got a feeling you’d be a pretty good asset in an Indian attack.”
“More than you can even imagine, Rip,” Breanna said.
“You didn’t do so bad yourself with that Derringer,” Stranger said.
Breanna’s fair skin tinted. “It was him or me.”
“She has done all right during the attacks too, John,” Rip said. “I put a Colt .45 in her hand, and she used it to good advantage. Where’d you learn to shoot like that, lady?”
“My Uncle Harvey taught me. Mom’s brother. He taught my sister and me both how to use a handgun and a rifle. Mom, too. He said he hoped we would never have to use a gun, but if the occasion came, he wanted us to be able to defend ourselves.”
“Smart man,” Clayson nodded.
“Sweetheart, how about you and me taking a little moonlight walk?” Stranger said.
“I thought you’d never ask.”
The couple excused themselves to Rip Clayson and Breanna slipped her hand in the crook of John Stranger’s arm as they moved slowly into the woods. An owl hooted from a tree limb somewhere ahead of them, and the night breeze rustled through the branches of the towering pines. They walked slowly, moving from moonlight to shadows to moonlight.
“Oh, John,” Breanna said, “I’m so glad you’ll be traveling with me for the rest of the trip. It’ll be so good to have you close for that long.”
“I’ve been close many times when you didn’t know it. I sure like it this way best.”
As if they had practiced it, both of them stopped at the same moment, turned face to face, and looked into each other’s eyes. A lock of hair had come loose and was dangling on Breanna’s forehead, dancing to the rhythm of the light wind. The moon reflected in her eyes.
“I love you, Breanna. Mortal words could never express how very much I love you.”
She reached up and stroked his right cheek, her fingers running over the twin-ridged scars. “And I love you, darling. Words fail me too … but in the language of the heart, we both know, don’t we?”
John nodded, then lowered his head and kissed her sweetly, tenderly. They held each other for a long moment, then started walking again.
“Tell me about your sister,” John said, squeezing the hand that was once again in the crook of his arm. “What little time we had together in Kansas, you barely mentioned her.”
“Dottie is two years younger than me. She’s my only sibling. We were both born and raised in Leavenworth. So, Mr. Stranger, you’re getting a Jayhawker in this deal.”
“I’ll take her.”
“And of course I’ve already told you the sad story about my parents … about Daddy running off with that other woman, I mean.”
“I’ve not forgotten it. I know that was devastating to your mother, but it must have been hard for you and Dottie too.”
“Terribly. I don’t think we could have made it without the Lord’s help.”
“Dottie’s a Christian too?” John asked.
“Yes. About three weeks after I came to know the Lord, I had the joy of leading Dottie to Him.”
“I’d like to know how you came to know the Lord.”
“It’s sort of a long story,” said Breanna, smiling up at him, “but when there’s more time, I’ll sure tell you about it. I was nineteen at the time. Most wonderful thing that’s ever happened to me. Want to know what the second most wonderful thing that ever happened to me was?”
“Is it anything like the second most wonderful thing that ever happened to me?”
Breanna stopped, looked up at him, then said, “If your second best thing to being saved was having me come into your life … it is exactly like it.”
Words were useless at that moment. John and Breanna found ecstasy in each other’s arms and in the magic kiss they shared.
John took Breanna by the hand and led her to a fallen tree, where they sat down. “I want to hear more about Dottie since I’ll be meeting her at the end of this journey.”
“All right. Dottie and I have a deep love for each other. I haven’t seen her in nearly ten years, but we’ve kept in contact through letters.”
“What does she look like?”
“She and I look so much alike, by the time we were in our teens, people used to ask if we were twins. Our facial features will surprise you. Our hair is exactly the same color, and we are the same size. She tells me in her letters that even though she’s borne two children, she still could wear my skirts and dresses.”
“Eyes?”
“Same blue as mine.”
“Any inclinations toward nursing, like her sister?”
“No. All she ever wanted to be was a wife and mother. That’s what caused her to answer an advertisement in the Leavenworth newspaper when she was eighteen. In her eyes, she was practically an old maid, and when she saw Jerrod Harper’s ad in the paper, she jumped at it.”
“You mean mail-order bride?”
“Yes. Jerrod is older than Dottie. About five years, I think. The ad said he was a Civil War veteran, that he owned a farm near San Francisco, and that he was a born-again Christian and was looking for a born-again wife.”
John pulled at an ear. “Civil War veteran, eh? You said she went out there and married him a little less than ten years ago?”
“Yes.”
“But the war was just getting started ten years ago. It wasn’t quite six months old. How could he have been a veteran?”
“Dottie found out he’d been wounded at the Battle of Wilson’s Creek in Missouri early in the war and was given an immediate medical release from the army.”
“Oh, okay. That would tally out.”
“Jerrod is from Missouri. He’d joined the Union army at the very outbreak of the War. Became a sergeant quite quickly.”
“What kind of wound did he have? Does it bother him now?”
“The medical condition that put him out of the War was shel
l shock, according to Dottie.”
“Same thing as combat fatigue.”
“Yes. Jerrod sustained some physical wounds, too. A cannonball exploded close to him. Shrapnel cut him up quite a bit, but it was the combat fatigue that caused the army doctors to release him. Some men get over it, other’s don’t. Sometimes it will seem that a shell-shocked man has gotten over it, when he actually hasn’t. It will lie latent in him for months, even years, then crop up again.”
“Something stimulates it?”
“Sometimes. A sudden loud noise or flash of light. Actually anything that takes them off guard or by surprise. With many, there is no obvious cause at all that sets them off.”
“Sets them off? You mean, they go berserk?”
“Yes, quite often. In the medical field we call them ‘startle reactions.’ When the shell shock is active in a man, he’ll be easily irritated. Many become violent. They’ll do things that in their normal state they would never even consider. When the startle reaction subsides, they’re always very sorry for what they did. They often live under a cloud of guilt for their violent actions. They actually become two people. It’s called dementia praecox. Often they get so bad they have to be locked up in an asylum.”
“Do you know if Jerrod has had any problems with it?”
“Dottie hasn’t said. I would think if he had, she would mention it in her letters.”
“So as far as you know, she’s happy with her mail-order husband?”
“Yes. I tried to talk her out of going off and marrying a man she’d never met … but Dottie is headstrong.”
“Like her sister.”
Breanna smiled. “Her fear of becoming an old maid drove her to answer Jerrod’s ad. His reply convinced her that he was a dedicated Christian and that the Lord would give them real love for each other. From her letters, I can say it’s worked out exactly like that. The Lord has given them two wonderful children. James is eight now, and Molly Kathryn—they call her Molly Kate—is six. I have pictures of them at my apartment in Denver. They’re adorable.”
“If they’re related to you, they have to be.”
“Oh, you!” Breanna gave him a playful jab on the shoulder.
“You say their farm is near San Francisco?”
“They have thirty acres about twelve miles south of the city. They have orchards of various kinds, and raise strawberries and lettuce. Possibly other things, too. I don’t know.”
“Well, I’m sure you’re eager to see them. You’ve never met Jerrod or the children, right?”
“Right, but I can’t wait to meet them and see Dottie again.”
“I’ll look forward to meeting them myself.” John paused, then said, “Well, we ought to head back.”
“All right.”
“But before we do, let’s talk to the Lord together.”
John and Breanna held hands, and John led them in prayer, asking the Lord to guide them and give them wisdom so they might know His perfect will and His plan for their future. He closed by thanking God for bringing them together and for giving him the love of the most wonderful woman in the world.
This brought tears to Breanna’s cheeks, and before they headed back, John kissed them away.
2
THE STARRY-EYED COUPLE walked slowly back toward the wagon train, savoring every moment of their private time together.
Breanna told John she had prayed many times a day that the Lord would bring him back to her so she could tell him how much she loved him. She brought up the times he had been there to protect her from harm, then had slipped away, leaving her another silver medallion.
“Oh, John,” she sighed, “each time I thought my heart was going to shatter with sorrow.”
He patted the hand that gripped his arm. “Just doing as you told me—staying out of your life. At least, to a degree.”
“I know, darling. The only person to blame was myself.” She thought a moment, then said, “That day in Hay Springs when you appeared out of nowhere and made that awful brute who was manhandling me eat his cigar, I—”
“He got off lucky. I had other plans for him—that is, before that rifleman across the street knocked me out. When I came to, you were gone.”
“You do know what happened, don’t you?”
“Yes. You had an obligation in Denver, and you had to leave immediately on the stage.”
“I’m glad they explained it to you. I wrote a quick note and left it with the marshal to give to you. I’m assuming you never got it.”
“No, I didn’t. What did it say?”
“It said for you to come to Denver and see me as soon as possible.”
“Well, I guess it wasn’t the Lord’s time for us to get together.”
“I can see that now,” Breanna said, squeezing his arm. “And then there was that train ride in the Colorado Rockies—you all dressed up like a stoop-shouldered Mexican.”
John laughed. “Really fooled you on that one, didn’t I?”
“Well, yes and no. I kept studying you, with something scratching at the back of my mind. Then when we were told you had overcome the outlaws and were taking them down the mountain in the caboose, I knew. I just knew. You fooled me for a while … but when it was all over, I knew it was you.”
“Even before Ridge Holloway put the silver medallion in your hand?”
“Yes. Even before that.”
They walked silently for a few minutes, then John said, “Breanna …”
“Yes, darling?”
“There’s something I need to tell you, and I guess now’s as good a time as any. It’s about Frank Miller.”
Breanna stopped, causing him to stop also. She looked up at him in the pale moonlight with brow furrowed. “Yes? What about Frank?”
“I learned in South Pass City that he broke out of jail, bent on killing you … and what for.”
“He’s on the loose?”
“He was. But now he’s dead.”
“Dead? What—?”
“On the trail. He was following the wagon train, intending to kill you. The Snakes captured him, tied him to a tree, and left him for the wild beasts.”
“I … know about those tactics. But are you telling me you knew Frank? You recognized him?”
“Yes. We met in Cheyenne City a few weeks ago. I heard a man call him by name, so I talked to him.”
“And now you found him dead, torn apart by wild beasts?”
“I came along as he was being mauled by a cougar. I killed the cat and was going to cut Frank loose, but he told me there wasn’t time. He had something to say, and he had to say it quick. He barely got it out before he died.”
“What did he say?”
“He said when I found you, I was to tell you that he was wrong. That he knew you had tried to save his wife. His last words were, ‘Please tell her I’m sorry … for everything.’ I believe he really meant it.”
Breanna nodded, too overcome with emotion to speak. She moved close, wrapped her arms around John, and laid her head against his chest. They clung to each other for several minutes, then without speaking, turned and walked toward the camp.
At sunrise the next morning, wagon wheels grated on rocky ground, and the long line of prairie schooners rolled southward. The cavalrymen rode alongside them and behind them, and Captain Newt Meyer rode out front with Rip Clayson and John Stranger.
As usual, Breanna Baylor sat next to Curly Wesson on the seat of his wagon. She had her Bible open on her lap and was reading aloud to him. From time to time, she lifted her eyes to set them on the broad back of the man on the big black gelding.
They were moving into desert country, less green and more brown, more rocks and fewer trees. The bunch grass and buffalo grass dotted the sandy land with their small clumps of green. The sun gave off less heat than it had only days before, and the wind was not as warm. Autumn was making its presence known in Wyoming.
About two hours had passed when Clayson turned and trotted his horse along the line of wagons, chatt
ing with the men who walked alongside their wagons and with the troopers. It took him about twenty minutes to make his way to the end of the line, then trot back to the front. Breanna happened to be looking up when Rip rejoined Meyer and Stranger. She saw Stranger say something to both men, then wheel Ebony about and ride toward the lead wagon. Drawing abreast, he turned Ebony around and pulled up alongside the wagon on Breanna’s side and saw that she had her Bible open on her lap.
“You preaching to Curly?” he asked, returning her smile.
“Not exactly. The Lord knows he needs it, though!”
“Hah!” cackled the old man. “Now just what makes you say that, missy?”
“Nothing, Curly, I was only kidding,”
“Have you been preaching to him, Breanna?” Stranger asked.
“Oh, yes. In fact, you’ve no doubt noticed a change in him since you rode with the train for a day or two back in Nebraska.”
“Not sure I know what you mean,” Stranger said.
“Remember that horrible lump Curly always had inside his mouth?”
Stranger grinned. “Well, I hadn’t given it any thought, but now that you mention it, he is a little more respectable looking.”
“Tell him what happened, Curly,” Breanna said.
“This little gal preached at me ’bout gittin’ saved, John. Like you done when you was ridin’ with us.”
“Yeah?”
“Yessir! An’ that’s exac’ly what I did. I asked the Lord Jesus to save this ol’ sinner, wash him in His blood and save his wretched soul. An’ He did, John! He did.”
“Hey, wonderful, Curly!” exclaimed Stranger. “Welcome to the family!”
“Thanks. Shore is good to know everythin’ is all right between me and the Lord.”
“Nothing can match that kind of peace, can it?”
“No, sir! An’ I don’t need that chew no more neither!”
“I was just reading to Curly from the book of Proverbs,” Breanna told John.
“Ah, yes. The business office of the Bible,” he replied, nodding. “If all of us would apply the wisdom in that book to our lives every day, we’d save ourselves a lot of heartaches and be a lot more pleasing to God.”
