by J. R. WRIGHT
“To sell the horses and gear. We have no use for them any longer. We’re leaving out tomorrow.”
“I know. That’s what I was going to tell you,” she said, disappointed he had spoiled her glorious surprise.
“That horse and saddle of yours brought eighty-five dollars. I’ll give it to you once we reach Independence. It’s not good for a woman to be carrying money,” he said.
“You sound like Pierre,” she laughed and began to think of the better times they had had together, her and Luke and Pierre. “The stories he used to tell…”
Then she thought of the other thing she had learned from that Larson. “Luke was traveling with a woman.”
“A white woman?”
“Yes, and apparently young. He mistook her for me.”
“Strange!” Budd focused on her through dusty wire rimmed glasses. “What would a white woman be doing there?”
“May I remind you, I was there!”
“Yes, and look what happened to you.”
Breanne turned away and began to cry.
Harry moved in quickly, taking her by the shoulders to console her. “I’m sorry! I didn’t know you were still worked up over it. I thought we had prayed all of that away back at Beaver Charlie’s…”
“You just don’t pray something like that away, Harry. I’m sure the horror will be with me the rest of my days,” Breanne said, wiping away the tears. “If you want to pray about something for me, pray Luke never finds out I had an Indian baby.” She turned back to him. “Will you do that for me? It’s important…!”
“Of course I will.” He took her by the shoulders again and drew her in to his chest. “Now I need to say something… If ever you… Well, I was just going to say, I love you, Breanne! Now, there, I’ve said it…”
“Harry…!” She whirled away from him and covered her face with her hands. “How can you talk like that…?”
“Because I do. And if it should ever be known something has happened to Luke, I would be honored to make you my wife… If you’ll have me…”
“No, Harry…! I’ll never be your wife, ever…! Regardless of what may, or may not, have become of Luke!
What Budd had not told her was that during that conversation he had had with Albert Larson, it came out that Breanne had mentioned Luke McKinney. That’s when Larson showed him the wanted poster and reported he had it from a reliable source McKinney was dead – killed by Comanche.
But how could he ever tell her that? She would hate him if he even tried to and probably wouldn’t believe him.
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
After a brief stop in Fort Pierre, they arrived in Independence three and a half weeks later, riding a swift river all the way. It had been a thrilling ride, but both were anxious to de-board, and quickly did so once the ramp was dropped to the levee. It was the putrid smell of the rotting buffalo hides they were forced endure the entire trip. Breanne was actually sickened by it most of the trip, especially at times when there was little wind to carry the stink away from the boat. Of course, Harry was attentive when the sickness came, providing Breanne with a ready supply of damp rags, even placing them over her face, at times, to filter the air she breathed, as she lay nauseated on her bunk.
Once on the levee, his single carpetbag in hand, Harry begged the driver of a carriage to give them a lift to a hotel in town. One suitable for a lady.
“That’ll be the Noland House,” the colored driver replied and accepted the dollar coin offered by Harry Budd for the mile ride into town. “I must say, sir, they do have regulars keeping company there.”
“What does that mean?” Harry asked, giving Breanne a lift into the carriage.
“Whores, sir.”
“Well, that just won’t do. Is there another?”
“Well, yes sir, but not fit… You said fit, sir.”
“What is fit about whores? Under the same roof, no less.”
“Just a few… It’s a big hotel…”
“Do they have a bath?” Breanne asked.
“Yes, ma’am. In the room, if you want.”
“Harry.” She gave him a pleading look. “I just want a bath and some fresh air. We aren’t getting either here.”
“Nolan House, driver,” Harry promptly said.
“Yes, sir!” The driver whipped up the horses even before Harry Budd was fully seated in the carriage, causing him to fall back into the seat opposite Breanne.
What the driver hadn’t told them was that he was an employee of Nolan House, hired to bring prospective guests from the boats to their front door on Main Street. That was one of the reasons the Nolan House was the most successful hotel in town.
Breanne remembered it from when she and Luke roamed the streets of Independence the year before. Since the Noland House was in the center of town, she thought it a great place from which to go in search of Luke. If he was here at all. However, she had hope and could hardly wait to get started.
“I thought you were going on to St. Louis, where you planned to catch a boat for New Orleans?” Breanne said, bouncing in the seat as they traveled over the rutted road to town.
“I wouldn’t ride that stinking boat another mile,” Harry said. “There’ll be other boats once you’re settled.” But when he eventually did leave, he expected to have Breanne with him, even if it took weeks for her to discover Luke’s fate.
While Breanne prepared for her bath in the room, Harry Budd went off in search of a dress and some undergarments for her, until fitted with more suitable apparel. But when he returned an hour later, he had much more than a cheap dress and some bloomers. He had a dress maker and sampling of her wares from a little shop a few blocks down the street.
Knocking gently at her door with Sarah Martin by his side, he called to her. “It’s Harry.”
Soon the latch clicked and the door opened with Breanne behind it. “Oh!” she reacted, as she saw Harry was not alone and pushed the door closed. She wore one of Harry’s white shirts. Otherwise, she was wet and naked. Immediately she ducked behind the screen that hid the copper bath tub, brought in, from view. “You didn’t tell me!” She peeked over the screen. “Are those dresses?”
“They are,” Harry said. “I could hardly have you walking the streets of Independence looking like some squaw from the wild country. This lady has kindly consented to come here, to save you the embarrassment.”
Sarah laid the three dresses she brought with her out on the bed and pulled a cloth measuring tape from her pocket. “My name is Sarah Martin. My dress shop is up the street. If you’ll allow me to measure you, we’ll know what we need to do to those Mister Budd picked to make them fit.”
When Breanne stepped from behind the screen, Harry, to avoid embarrassment, turned away and went to the window, where he pretended to be interested in the goings on down on the street.
“The rose polka dot cotton day dress is the closest to your size. Would you like to try it on?” Sarah asked cheerfully.
“I would.” Breanne spotted it on the bed. She let Sarah bring and hand it over the screen. She pulled it over her head, then came out and went to the tilting mirror above the wash stand. There she allowed Sarah to button it up the back. “What do you think, Harry?”
Harry whirled away from the window, assuming it was safe to look now. “Heavenly, Breanne! Just heavenly! You are so beautiful.”
The name she just heard caused Sarah to stop firm and glare into Breanne’s eyes.
“Is there something wrong?” Breanne asked.
“No!” She paused more fully, taking in the young woman before her. “It’s just that the name is so unusual. I mean… it’s a pretty name, but not frequently heard.”
“I know of no other,” Breanne said, feeling the sudden discomfort that had come over the woman beside her.
“We’ll take it,” Harry sounded again from the side. “And the other two, if you can make them fit.”
Breanne went to the bed to examine the other two dresses more closely. They were both of a solid
color, in wool, one a dark blue and the other a chocolate brown. So drab, she thought. And wool would be so heavy and hot this time of year. Ignoring Harry’s last statement, she asked, “Do you have others? When I was in Independence last I bought three dresses from a little shop here on Main Street…”
“Gwendolyn’s?”
“Yes, that was it – an older lady. One of the dresses was a white silk. In fact, I was married in it! I would like that dress again.”
“I do have the white silk. I use it for making many things other than dresses, and I’m sure the cutting pattern must be there somewhere. If you want to come by, we can look through what there is?”
“You work for Gwendolyn?”
“Actually, Gwendolyn retired and went east. I bought the shop and its contents near six months ago, for a reasonable sum, I might add. It’s now called, Sarah’s Fine Things.”
“Oh, good,” Breanne said cheerfully. She liked this Sarah. “You’ll need to give me a little time to do something with this hair, then I’ll be right along.”
“Here, I can help you with that.” Sarah ran her fingers through Breanne’s still wet, golden hair that came down to the middle of her back, twisted it, rolled it to the top of her head, then pinned it with two pins pulled from the many that held her own hair atop her head. “There! We’ll do a better job of it at my shop, once it’s dry,” she laughed.
Breanne laughed too, but Harry failed to find any humor in what had just transpired. Then, eyeing the worn Indian moccasins she was slipping her feet into, he said, “I trust there is a place to purchase the lady a new pair of shoes.”
“Just two doors down from the shop,” Sarah said. “Come along, Mister Budd.” She took the dresses from the bed, went to the door, flung it open, and led the way out of the room.
Harry latched onto the carpetbag, in which he kept his and Breanne’s gold, and trailed them out. “And may I ask, hoping of course not to embarrass either of you, but would you by chance have in your store the necessary other clothing of the nature not readily seen by others?”
Sarah laughed again. “Now don’t you worry yourself, Mister Budd. I can produce all that is necessary of the unmentionables you described in such a gentlemanly way. In fact, it is the bulk of my business. I know of no other place in Independence where one can buy such items made of silk. Women prefer it to the harshness of wool, or even cotton.”
Harry was pleased. Just the thought of it made him feel sinful. Embarrassed now, he trailed along as if he hadn’t heard a word of what she said. But the pleasant thought never left him. Nor did he want it too, sinful or not.
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
Breanne wasn’t in Sarah’s dress shop but a few minutes when she spotted a duplicate to the white silk dress she had owned among the many on display. No doubt the pattern was the same; however, the material was different, and so was the color. This one was a sunny yellow with white lace at the hem and sleeves. She held it up to herself without bothering to look into the full length mirror nearby. “This is it!” she said excitedly. “Only, I need it in white silk. It will mean so much to me to have it again, even if it won’t be the exact same one.” She looked to Harry for his reaction and saw little in the way of encouragement.
“I’m sure it was a beautiful dress,” Harry said. “And if it will make you happy, then you should have another. Even though it is unlikely you will ever wear it again, it’ll be my treat.”
“But I will. I’ll wear it for him, once I find him,” Breanne objected. “And, as for paying for the dress – I’ll be doing that myself. You have done enough as it is, Harry.”
“Now I’m confused,” Sarah said. “I was of the impression the two of you were married. Apparently I was mistaken.”
“I can see why you may have gotten that impression, Miss Martin,” Harry was quick to say. “When I said, My Lady was in dire need, well I guess you took it. The fact is I am here merely to get Missus McKinney settled. Once that is done, I’ll be on the first steamboat out, bound for New York.”
But that wasn’t completely true either. Harry had no intentions of leaving under any circumstances until Breanne discovered the truth about Luke McKinney’s fate. And then, only if she was on his arm.
Sarah, feeling suddenly faint, reached to a nearby chair back for support. Her suspicions this may be Luke’s wife, ever since she heard the name Breanne, now seemed to have validity. But how would she tell her? She needed to know.
Uncomfortable with the silence since he came clean, Harry was looking for an exit. “I’ll just ask Miss Martin again where the shoe store is located…”
“It’s Missus. And to answer your question, there’s a fine store two doors down.”
“Good.” Harry moved toward the door.
“I have an idea,” Sarah halted him. “I’ll be closing soon, and I have a stew on the range in back. Why don’t you and Breanne have supper with me when you return? Say, in an hour.”
“We won’t impose. You have a husband to feed. You couldn’t have prepared enough for unexpected guests.”
“I’m a widow, Mister Budd. I assure you there is plenty. I never quite got used to cooking for one after my husband passed. Please join me?”
“Very well. It’s settled, if Breanne agrees,” Harry said.
“I’m grateful,” Breanne said, with a warm smile directed at Sarah.
To break the long silence after Harry had left, Sarah asked, “Do you have any idea what may have become of your husband?”
“No! Not really. I know he had a desire to go out west someday. He talked about California some in the short time we were together. What makes it worse is, he thinks I’m dead. Otherwise he wouldn’t have gone anywhere. He’d still be searching for me.”
Well at least she knew that much, Sarah thought. He did think she was dead. And he was no longer searching for her when he died.
“I have a wonderful aunt living here in Independence where I reside on a regular basis, except for those times when I am busy and work late at night. I have complete living quarters in the back. It’s small, but adequate,” Sarah said. “I was wondering if you would consider staying here with me? At least for tonight. Then, if you like it, you’re welcome to stay on for as long as you like. I could use a little help around here anyway.”
“I’m afraid I don’t have much experience at sewing,” Breanne said.
“I’ll teach you. Besides, there’s other work, like the cleaning, cooking and errands.”
“I would be grateful for something to do while I’m waiting for Luke to turn up, but I don’t expect pay. My room and board will be more than generous.”
“You stay tonight and we’ll talk about it later,” Sarah said, knowing what she had to do. She just thought it would be easier for both if they knew each other better first.
“Thank you, I’d like that,” Breanne said, tears forming. “You are very kind.”
Harry wasn’t too excited about the arrangement when told after supper. “I can’t say I’m happy about it. I’d hoped to spend the remaining time I have here in her company. I’m afraid with Breanne here, my wishes cannot be fulfilled.”
“You can visit her here whenever you wish,” Sarah said. “And you’re invited to supper each evening.”
She later regretted having offered, when Harry showed up early each morning and hung around the shop until Breanne set off about town, asking strangers if they knew the whereabouts of one Luke McKinney.
During his absence, Breanne spent much of her time anxiously watching passersby from the shop windows, hoping to catch a glimpse of Luke somewhere among the thousands that drifted up and down the street every day.
When a week was nearly up, Sarah asked Harry not to show up for supper that evening. She assured him it might be in his best interest to honor her request, since he obviously cared deeply for Breanne. He reluctantly consented.
After supper, once the dishes were done and put away, Sarah asked Breanne to sit for a while.
“I have som
ething to tell you about Luke McKinney. But before I do, I just want you to know I admired the man for what he was. Through him, I have grown to think dearly of you, as well. I can see now, after this time together, what he saw in you, and now realize why he refused to part with you even though he thought you were dead…”
“You know him? You know my husband – my Luke?” Breanne was shocked and confused. “You know where…”
“Please… Please let me continue… Oh God… this is so difficult…” Sarah took Breanne’s hands in hers and tears welled in the corners of her eyes.
Breanne glared, but remained anxiously silent.
“Luke saved my life,” Sarah painfully continued. “He was searching for you when he came across me after Indians had killed my husband and left me for dead. He took me in and cared for me until we got here in late summer last year.
“At the camp, Pierre and I did the trapping and cared for the furs, while he continued to search for you. Then one day Luke brought what he thought was your charred body from an Indian village that had been raided and burned by another tribe…”
“I was there…” Breanne interrupted. “I was there when that happened. When I saw the grave at the cabin – my grave – I knew then he must have mistaken the maiden who stole my boots from me – and buried her there. So you’re the one who was with Luke when seen by that Albert Larson at Fort Union riding away with the two red horses. Hill… he mentioned the name Tom Hill. Could Luke have used a fake name?”
“Yes… I believe so.” Sarah responded. “I heard that name, too, while there. I saw him last when he delivered me to my Aunt. He never said for sure where he was going from here. However, I did hear later he had joined a wagon train heading west.”
“So he did go west! California or Oregon? I could find him if I just knew where…” Breanne said excitedly and got to her feet.
“I believe it was the Santa Fe Trail. But all that doesn’t matter. He’s dead, Breanne... Luke is dead! He was killed by Comanche out there somewhere in the desert…”
Breanne froze into a glare. “You’re lying! You love him. You love him too, don’t you?”
