by J. R. WRIGHT
“I can’t yet, less you want wet flour.” He looked back out at the rain and then down to the canvas covered wagon. “Where’s Tom?”
“He and White Bird went for a ride up on the west rim. Tom wanted to test out that red roan horse he spent most of the winter gentling for her. They won’t be back till dark,” Mary said, casting her eyes back to him, a fresh idea on her mind. “Are you hungry?”
“You offerin’?”
“Now, just what the hell did it sound like, Grady?” Mary went inside. She was determined to get a look at that letter from Anne Budd, and would, even if it required conking Grady over the head with a skillet to do it. What she hadn’t told anyone was that recently she had come across a bundle of old letters among Sarah’s things; ones she hadn’t burned. These, as it turned out, were very revealing as to who this Anne Budd really was. Now she just had to know if this woman finally comes forward in this letter.
Grady went through the door behind her and soon settled into a chair at the kitchen table. Looking himself over, then, he laid the letters down and went to the back porch to wash up. He knew how Mary always insisted he be freshly scrubbed when sitting up to her table and went now to avoid the tongue lashing he knew would eventually come, otherwise.
Grady had no more than stepped through the rear door from the kitchen to the back porch when Mary had the letter over a steaming stock pot on the range. Within a minute she was carefully peeling open the envelope, and soon after, reading the letter. It was a short letter, compared to others Sarah had received from this Anne Budd – whose real name was Breanne, she had recently learned. She also was anxious to know who that Luke was, that was mentioned so often in the other letters? Maybe she would discover the answer to that in here, as well.
Hearing Grady coming, she ducked into the pantry, where she read the letter through twice. Mostly it was about Sarah. Other than that Mary couldn’t come up with a reason why the woman wasted the stamp. It was all gibberish to her. Maybe if she reread the other letters, it would eventually jell. But for now she needed to get this back in Grady’s possession before he realized it was gone. Carefully, she resealed the envelope and put the letter into her apron pocket before returning to the kitchen.
“If you want your eggs fresh, Grady, you’d best get to the coup and gather whatever you can eat.”
“What’s wrong with those there on the counter?” He pointed to the near full basket of eggs Mary had gathered that morning.
“You want yesterday’s eggs, fine!”
“I’m going!” He reluctantly lifted his huge body out of the chair one more time and lumbered toward the rear door again.
CHAPTER TEN
An hour after the rain stopped, Luke and White Bird returned to the house. They had taken shelter in the cave where Luke and Sarah had spent that first winter here during the heaviest of the downpour, but returned wet nonetheless. Upon entering the two of them headed directly for the parlor where a lazy fire burned in the fireplace. They were chilled to the bone and very much in need of dry clothing.
“Mary!” Luke shouted out while the two of them peeled off their outer clothing.
“Coming!” Mary responded from the upper floor. She had seen them ride up, noticeably wet, and went for wool blankets from a spare bedroom. By the time she got to them, however, Luke was down to his red flannels and White Bird was facing the fire stark naked, shaking miserably.
“Oh, honey!” Mary handed off one of the blankets to Luke, then tightly wrapped White Bird in the other. Once completing that, Mary brought a chair close to the fire and helped White Bird sit on it, hoping that would serve to settle the poor girl’s violent shakes. “I’ll get some hot tea,” Mary then said and hurried from the room.
“Thanks, Mary,” Luke returned and began massaging White Bird’s arms and back. “There’s nothing more chilling than a cold spring rain.”
“Tom Hill good husband,” White Bird said through chattering teeth and did her best to smile up to him.
“I’d better get you up to bed,” he said and scooped her into his arms before she had a chance to object.
No more did he have her tucked in and a fire built in the fireplace, than Mary entered the room with a pot of tea and two cups. After sitting the tray on a nearby table, she went to a chest of drawers and removed a nightdress for White Bird.
“Tom, I can handle this,” Mary said, eyeing him in the wet long johns poking at the struggling fire. “You’d best get into something dry, yourself.”
With that, Luke went to a nearby closet, withdrew a pair of tan canvas trousers, along with a brown wool shirt, and headed down the hall to the bathroom, where he intended to wash up before dressing into them. Coming back to the room a short time later, he noticed Mary had White Bird propped up on some pillows and was giving her spoons of honey, along with sips of the hot tea. It was immediately obvious White Bird was enjoying the attention, much as a child would under similar circumstances.
“How’s she doing?” Luke went to the bed.
“She’ll be fine,” Mary responded, without taking her eyes away from White Bird. “Just a little chill, that’s all.”
“Well, we want to be sure! I’m not prepared to lose another wife to pneumonia,” he said, concernedly.
“Pneumonia…” White Bird said for practice. She didn’t know what it meant, but thought it may be worth remembering in case it ever came up again.
“Yes, honey. It’s when your lungs fill up with fluids,” Mary explained. “I know it’s way too early to tell, but if ever you find it hard to breathe, you need to tell us, okay?”
“Okay,” White Bird said, then breathed deep to test her lungs. Following that, she coughed, to check that function as well.
Luke stayed in the room just long enough to put on some socks and a pair of moccasin boots. Pausing at the door, he turned back to Mary. “Is Grady back? I thought I saw his wagon down at the little barn when we came in.”
“Yes,” Mary said. “I fed him, then he unloaded the supplies. After that I don’t know where he went off to.” She gave another spoon of honey to White Bird.
“Was there any mail?”
“Now, you’d have to ask him that!” Mary gave him a spiteful look. She was still angry over what Grady had said; she was no longer allowed to handle the mail. “He didn’t give it to me, if he has any.”
With that, Luke went down the stairs, put on a dry hat from the rack near the door, and went out in search of Grady. He found him moments later in the bunk house sound asleep. And judging by the way the man snored, he had been there awhile. Before shaking him, Luke noticed letters poking out of Grady’s jacket pocket and removed them. One was from Kenny Hardy, as expected. The other, not expected, addressed directly to him, was from Sarah’s friend, Anne Budd.
He had written several letters to Sarah’s friends and relatives after she died, but this was the first to respond thereafter. Even Sarah’s aunt in Independence hadn’t, and he knew her, even though only slightly. Of course, Sarah’s aunt may have a reason for keeping herself distant. Sarah still owned the dress shop the aunt operated. Perhaps she was worried he would make demands, which he had no intention of doing. In fact he would send the deed to the property, once he found it among Sarah’s papers. He was sure Sarah would want it that way, although they had never discussed it.
Now about Kenny Hardy, Luke sat on a nearby bunk and opened the letter. A quick read told him Kenny expected to arrive by train into Cheyenne on or about the first of May. It was now the middle of April. That meant Luke would need to leave here in a week, at the latest, if he was to pick up Kenny himself as he’d previously planned. He had things to do in Cheyenne anyway, and this would give him the opportunity to kill two birds with one stone. Now he wondered if maybe White Bird may want to accompany him. It would give her a chance to see the city, any city, for the first time. They would take Sarah’s buggy, if she did, and bring an extra horse for Kenny to ride back.
Opening Anne Budd’s letter then, he noti
ced the pages were blotchy as if it had gotten wet. Or were those tear drops, left there by the sender?
Dear Mr. Hill,
I am so sorry to hear of your loss. Sarah’s passing came as a shock to me as well. Through the years we had become very close, and I will deeply miss her. The past few years were happy ones for her, Tom. Even though she never mentioned you by name in her letters, and I don’t know why, I could tell she was content at last. And I hope that pleases you as much as it has me, because I’m sure you were largely responsible for it.
Another thing, Tom, knowing Sarah as well as I did, I know she would want you to go on with your life. If you are of a mind to, perhaps you should consider taking another woman as your wife. I’m sure Sarah would be alright with that. She told me once, life was too short for grieving, and I’m certain she meant it.
I hope this helps with your future decision making. If you would care to write me from time to time, I would greatly appreciate it. It may help us both keep our Sarah’s memory alive.
Until then,
Anne Budd
Luke couldn’t help but tear up a little, once finished with the letter. He’d already decided to write this woman from time to time, as she asked. Perhaps it would be good for the both of them. But as far as having Sarah’s blessing for marrying again, he already had that, he was confident.
Putting both letters in his pocket, Luke headed back for the house. Suddenly there was a harmony in his heart he hadn’t felt since being with Breanne. It was as if a heavy weight had just been lifted from his shoulders, and he wanted a drink to celebrate the feeling.
That evening White Bird came down to dinner. Other than some aching bones from being chilled, she seemed to be fine in both body and spirit. So good, in fact, that when Luke asked her to accompany him to Cheyenne, she screamed with joy and leaped to him with a lengthy hug.
“Cola go to Cheyenne with Bordeaux. Say she like.”
“What will you want to get for yourself while we’re there?” Luke was anxious to know.
Without hesitation she said, “Tom can buy White Bird new dress.”
Hearing this from the other end of the table, Mary had a thought. There were dozens of Sarah’s beautiful dresses packed away upstairs. All of her sewing things were there as well. Even some extra material for dresses she never got around to making. Why shouldn’t they be put to use? She doubted Tom would object. After all, Sarah had been dead for near a year now. It was time he was over her.
No doubt White Bird was slimmer in the hips than Sarah was, but a few stitches could remedy that. She would get started tomorrow. White Bird could help too – it was time she learned to sew anyway.
On the morning they were to leave for Cheyenne, Luke pulled the buggy up to the big house and went inside to bring out the luggage. Just as he entered, he caught a glimpse of White Bird coming down the stairs in a familiar blue dress. She looked absolutely striking with her hair put up, her huge brown eyes and face gleaming with pride.
“Isn’t that Sarah’s…?” He pointed and looked to Mary, who had come down before her.
“It was,” Mary said, “but it’s White Bird’s now. She did all the stitching required to make it fit, herself. Don’t you think she’s lovely?”
“I do,” he said and went to her. “Now, go take it off. I can’t have you wearing Sarah’s things, White Bird. I’m sorry!”
“Now you wait just a cotton picking minute, Tom Hill!” Mary stepped up to him. “This little girl worked her fingers to the bone altering those dresses. And why did she do that? To look nice for you!”
“But they’re Sarah’s, Mary!”
“Well, as it turns out, Sarah doesn’t have a use for them anymore,” Mary persisted. “Besides, if I knew Sarah the way I think I did, she would be absolutely delighted to have her creations live on and have a chance to be seen again, especially on such a beautiful lady. I think she would be proud, don’t you, Tom?”
“Of course she would.” Luke then remembered the letter from Anne Budd the other day. “She was that way, wasn’t she?” He glanced to White Bird, who awaited a decision anxiously.
“She was!” Mary smiled, hoping for a favorable decision.
“Okay, I was wrong,” he said. “Mary’s right! Wear anything of Sarah’s you want; her jewelry, her shoes…” He glanced at the larger of the two bags by the door and figured a lot of that was in there anyway.
Understanding that, White Bird came screaming to him with a kiss. “Thank you, Tom. I’m so happy!”
“Well, I’m glad you’re happy.” He took her in.
“Thank you, Tom.” Mary kissed him on the cheek, as well.
“You’re welcome, Mary. Now, can we go?” He stooped for the bags and took them out.
“Remember, honey,” Mary said to White Bird as she helped her into a traveling duster, “put a little rouge on the cheeks each morning. It helps to accent those beautiful dimples.”
“Thank you, Mary.” She went down the steps and allowed Luke to lift her into the buggy.
Mary brought out the large food basket she had packed for the trip, then waited on the porch as they pulled away. She was thinking how relaxing it would be for two weeks, just her and Calvin alone in the big house. It would also give her a chance to do some more digging. She just had to know who that Anne Budd really was, and why Sarah had kept her such a secret from everybody all those years.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
When Luke first came to Cheyenne in the summer of 1867, it was a fearsome town. Having sprung up overnight in the wake of the railroad, tent saloons and gambling halls lined the main street, whores and ruffians walked it, and gunslingers ruled the roost. Now, near two years later, even though he’d been here many times in between, it boasted five thousand permanent residents and had taken on a more permanent look. Many of the newer buildings were clad in brick, and with over three hundred legitimate places of business now, a better class of people seemed to travel the streets – at least by day.
Wanting to get White Bird settled before going on to the bank to deposit the proceeds from the cattle delivery to the Indians last fall, Luke pulled the buggy up to the rail in front of the Empire Hotel. The Empire was not only the newest hotel in Cheyenne, but the only one fit for a lady. Luke and Sarah had stayed here on two occasions and found it to be quite comfortable and extremely accommodating, compared to the other fleabags in another part of town, where whores roamed the hallways and guns were fired off on the street all night long.
As it was, they were two days early of Kenny Hardy’s expected arrival from New York. That was plenty of time to complete his business beforehand. Luke also wanted to show Kenny about town before heading back for the Tea Cup and a summer of hard work.
A young man of some Indian heritage appeared and took their luggage, just as Luke was bringing the red stallion up from behind to tie it separately at the rail. He then removed the saddlebags and lifted White Bird down from the buggy.
From the moment the two of them passed through the door into the spacious lobby, until they reached the check-in desk thirty feet away, Luke noticed the clerk hadn’t taken his eyes off White Bird. No doubt White Bird was a beautiful woman worthy of a stare, but this man’s expression told another story; it was almost one of distaste. Even before the well-groomed, bespectacled young man, dressed in a starched, white shirt, red bow tie, and black vest, focused his attention to him and opened his mouth, Luke already knew what he was about to say. Then, when he finally came out with it, Luke was instantly angry.
“I’m sorry, sir, but we don’t allow Indian people in this establishment,” the clerk said with a distinct eastern accent while pointing to a sign on the wall behind him that read: “Peoples of the Indian Race will NOT be Accommodated in this Establishment.”
“Now let’s set the record straight, Mister.” Luke pulled the heavy saddlebags off his shoulder and dropped them on the counter. “This beautiful lady is not an Indian, sir! She’s my wife.” He opened the straps on one bag, expos
ing the six thousand in gold there, and plopped five double eagles in front of the clerk. “Apply that to my bill! Now, you can give me the grand suite overlooking the street, if it’s available. I’ll be needing it for at least five days, maybe longer.”
“Yes, sir,” the clerk said, not looking any too happy about what just transpired. “Shall I take care of your horse and buggy?”
“Instruct your liveryman to give the horse a double ration of oats. She’s had a rough go of it for the past three days.”
“Where did you travel from?” The clerk loosened up a bit, waved the porter over and handed him the key.
“Tea Cup Ranch.”
“Where exactly is that located? I haven’t found anyone that knows where it is.”
“Well, maybe we don’t want to be found?” Luke wasn’t finished being mad. “Who’s asking?”
“The name is Wilder, Willie Wilder. Are you Tom Hill?”
The clerk offered a hand but Luke ignored it. He wasn’t yet sure where this man was going with all these questions.
“That depends on why you’re asking?”
“Well, sir, the new territorial governor came to town a few months back. He stayed for a time here at the hotel before moving on to his new residence. While here he was asking how to locate the Tea Cup Ranch. I don’t think he ever found out. But he said he needed to talk to a man named Tom Hill.”
“Did Governor Campbell happen to say what he wanted with me?” Luke had written the governor many months ago, at Bordeaux’s insistence. Now he was glad he had. Perhaps the governor had come up with a way to help in Luke’s efforts to hang onto the Tea Cup, after all.
“No, sir. But you can find him of an evening over at the Cheyenne Cattleman’s Club. He dines there near every night.”
“Cattleman’s Club? Never heard of it! I didn’t know there were enough ranchers in these parts to support a club of their own.”
