by Merry Farmer
Emma relaxed, letting out a breath and lowering her head, cheeks bright with blush.
“How about that widower, John Rye?”
An odd twist struck Callie’s gut. She’d noticed Mr. Rye more than once, but mostly because he looked so sad and kept to himself. She spotted him now, several wagons ahead of her in the train, sitting alone by his campfire, staring into the flames, face drawn with grief. He was dressed all in black. Oddly enough, she knew how he must feel.
“Perhaps,” Callie said, feeling it was a touch more than ‘perhaps.’
Mrs. Weingarten nodded. “Of course, you could try Cade Lawson.”
Lynne jerked straight. “Cade?”
“Why not? He’s young, he’s easy to look at, and he doesn’t have a wife. At least not one that we know of,” Mrs. Weingarten said. “Does he?”
“No, no he doesn’t.” Lynne twisted her fingers together in her lap. “I wouldn’t include him in your consideration, though.”
Callie saw a spark of mischief in Mrs. Weingarten’s eyes. “And why not?” the older woman asked. It seemed Greg wasn’t the only one pushing someone to find love. Whether Lynne saw it or not, Mrs. Weingarten was egging her on.
“Why….” Lynne scrambled for an answer. “He’s stubborn as a mule, for one. He’s forever telling me to ride in the wagon or stay away from his horse. Well, he started saying that after I rode Arrow the other day. And he tried to keep me from walking with you when your brother was sick, Callie.”
Yes, Lynne was head-over-heels in spite of herself.
“He seems sensible enough,” Mrs. Weingarten argued. “And he does a good job of watching over you.”
“That’s just it,” Lynne said. “He does too good a job. I can hardly settle my thoughts when he’s around, he’s so overbearing. If it’s not one thing, it’s another. Why, I’ve even been dreaming of him, that’s how overpowering he is.”
“I don’t think I would consider Mr. Lawson,” Callie said to put her friend out of her misery. She wouldn’t consider Mr. Lawson any more than she would consider Dr. Meyers, and for the same reason.
“So Mr. Finch or Mr. Rye, then,” Mrs. Weingarten said.
Callie nodded. She looked up the line of wagons to Mr. Finch then down to Mr. Rye one last time. “I’ll speak to them each in the next few days.”
Chapter Two
John knew Callie Lewis would come to speak to him. He had watched as Greg Lewis and his wife and son’s bodies were carried out of their wagon yesterday when the train had stopped. He had stood there, black with envy, for a man who could die along with his wife and child. He’d failed to do the same when Shannon and little Patrick died, and every day since then had been his punishment.
He had seen the young ladies comforting Lewis’s sister, seen Mrs. Weingarten counseling the poor woman, and seen the group of them picking out all of the single men in the wagon train with calculating glances. He knew Callie would approach him. What he still didn’t know was how he would respond.
She marched up to him with grim and solemn steps as soon as the wagon train stopped for the midday meal and rest.
“Excuse me, Mr. Rye?” she asked, eyes downcast, shoulders slumped.
The least he could do was treat her with the compassion that her grief deserved. He rose from his seat beside his campfire where he was reheating some beans and adjusted his glasses. “Can I help you, Miss Lewis?”
She took her time raising her eyes to meet his. Her lips pressed together in a quivering line, and pink splashed her cheeks. John’s heart squeezed tight in his chest in sympathy. It was a terrible shame for a woman so young and pretty to be in the position she was in. He fought through his own grief to make his expression as kind as he could.
“I don’t know how to start this,” she said, then swallowed. Her long, graceful neck was accentuated by the movement. Thick, brown hair framed her drawn face in waves where it escaped from the braid down her back, sweetly informal.
He had to help her. “I’m so sorry for your loss. It must be hard to lose someone so—”
His voice cracked, taking him by surprise. In an instant, the barely healed wound of Shannon’s death was torn open again. She was gone. How was he supposed to go on? The blackness closed up his throat and stung behind his eyes. He twisted away from Callie.
“I was told that you lost your wife a few months ago.”
“Yes,” he replied. “Six months.”
Callie spared him the embarrassment of falling apart by taking a step forward and addressing him directly. Too many others refused to look him in the eye when his grief overcame him. “You must have loved her very much.”
He nodded, cleared his throat, and said, “I did.”
“I loved my brother too.”
John could see that she did. He could see a reflection of his own pain in her eyes. It didn’t make things better, but it helped somehow.
“I saw you and your friends and Mrs. Weingarten talking yesterday.” He had to face this head-on, to be as open and honest with her as he could.
Her cheeks splotched redder. “Yes. They were advising me about what I should do now.” She clutched her hands in front of her, wringing them. Her eyes lowered and she swayed as though she might run. “It’s hard enough on the trail with a small family, but for a woman on her own, it’s…it’s even harder.”
She was brave. The thought bubbled up through John’s grief. He even caught himself smiling, though faintly. When was the last time he had any thought that wasn’t dark and despairing? But no, Callie Lewis was a brave woman to face what she was facing without collapsing… as he had.
“Mr. Rye, would you mind if I sat down?”
John blinked out of his thoughts with a stab of guilt. “Yes, yes, of course you should sit. Here.”
He gestured toward the crate he had taken out of his things, going so far as to brush it off with the handkerchief in his pocket the way he had dusted shelves in his father’s store. As she sat, he tucked his handkerchief away, adjusted his glasses, and fetched another crate to sit on beside her.
“Forgive my rudeness,” he said. “I’m so out of practice with polite society that I’ve forgotten myself.” His words were truer than she ever needed to know. “How can I help you?” He sat straight, as if conducting an interview with an employee, even though that level of stiffness felt wrong, given the situation.
Callie squeezed her hands in front of her, almost as if she was praying, then glanced up to meet his eyes. “Mrs. Weingarten tells me I’m in a dangerous position. I think she’s right. I’m alone now, with no protection. She thinks I should make a trail match, that I should marry one of the single men traveling with us.” Her face grew progressively redder as she spoke, but speak she did.
She deserved so much better than him, but he said, “I take it you’re considering me?”
She nodded. “Do you mind?”
What a strange question. Did he mind if a pretty young woman beset by tragedy turned to him for help of a decidedly personal nature?
“I’m not ideal husband material,” he said. Dear God, he had said the same thing to Shannon when he had fumbled through his proposal years ago. She had disagreed with a giggle and kissed him until he had laughed so hard he could barely finish his offer.
Callie merely said, “I’m not looking for an ideal husband, just someone who could….”
“Protect you?” John offered when she stumbled. “See you through to Denver City?”
Her brow shot up. “I was going to Oregon.”
“I’m going to Denver City.” For some strange reason, a twist of disappointment pulled at his gut.
Callie shrugged. “To be perfectly honest, Mr. Rye, it doesn’t matter where I go now. I never wanted to go west in the first place, so one destination is as good as another for me.”
“I see.” A sprig of hope poked through his thick, black grief, baffling him.
“Would you… would you mind telling me a little about yourself?” she asked. “I need
to be sure I’m making the right decision before I make one.”
Again, an inexplicable smile tickled the corner of his mouth. The only reason he could come up with for it was that he and Callie had so much grief in common. He should treat her as gently as he could, which included smiling. That must have been what the tiny kernel of warmth in his chest was about.
“I used to work in a general store in Independence,” he explained. “I’m heading to Denver City to take a job helping out at a general store there. The owner, Mr. Koenig, is a friend of my former employer. My wagon is actually stocked with supplies and goods for that store.”
Callie nodded as if she wanted him to go on. He wasn’t sure there was much else to say. The rest of his life seemed so far away now.
“So you intend to live in the city and work in a general store?” she prompted him.
A hot flush crept up his neck to his face. He didn’t intend to live in Denver City. He didn’t intent to live at all. Not without Shannon. He had one last responsibility to fulfill—to deliver the goods entrusted to him to Koenig at his store—then he would finish what he’d failed to do in Independence. Then he would know peace.
But for Callie, he answered, “Yes. Denver City.”
Callie nodded. “I hear it’s a surprisingly sophisticated city for the West. When we were planning our trip, Greg mentioned it’s boomed in these last few years since all of the silver deposits were discovered.”
“It has,” John answered. Not that it mattered to him, but he found it interesting that it mattered to her. That spark of warmth in his chest pulsed brighter. “What do you know about the West?”
She shrugged. “I know it’s a hard life. I know that there are several cities that are growing fast. They are almost as developed as cities back East now, though smaller. I know that all of the West is full of opportunity, or so Greg would always say.”
Her color drained and the light in her eyes faded. In spite of himself, John reached out and took one of her hands in his. She managed a brief smile. Yes, Callie Lewis was a thousand times braver than him. She was fighting through her grief already. He wasn’t worthy of being her husband. He could hardly wake up in the morning, let alone fight.
“I believe you’ll make a fine life for yourself no matter where you end up,” he said.
She tried to smile again. “Thank you, Mr. Rye.” She stood, letting go of his hand and smoothing her skirts. “I have one other gentleman I’d like to speak to, but if… if I find that I require your assistance, I will come back to let you know.”
As unreal as the situation felt for him—to be told she had to consider one other possible husband before she let him know if he got the job—he knew it must be a thousand times more awkward for her. He caught himself rubbing his chest over the spot of warmth deep inside.
“Please take your time, Miss Lewis. Make the best decision for you.”
“Thank you, Mr. Rye.”
As she walked away, John shook his head over the new idea that had taken root in his mind. Perhaps he could handle two final responsibilities before ending his life.
John Rye wasn’t at all what Callie had expected. She finished her lunch with Mrs. Weingarten and her family, wondering how a man could be so kind and so sad at the same time. He had been polite and patient with her, but through their entire conversation his eyes had a haunted look. Mr. Rye must have loved his wife dearly. Callie wondered if people saw the same grief when they looked at her. Would her sadness over Greg and his family last as long as Mr. Rye’s? Did sorrow like that have an end?
“Miss Lewis.” Elton Finch approached their camp, startling Callie out of her contemplation of Mr. Rye’s grief. “I heard you might want to speak to me.” His broad smile and flashing blue eyes jarred with her somber mood.
Callie cleared her throat to shake away her thoughts. Dwelling on grief wouldn’t help her make the decision before her. She took a last sip of her cold tea and stood. Mr. Finch’s smile brightened as she stepped around the campfire to him, as if he knew exactly why she wanted to talk to him and what he would say in response. For some reason, that made her itch with discomfort.
“Don’t worry, I’ll clean up for you,” Mrs. Weingarten told her with an encouraging smile.
“Thank you.” Callie nodded to her. She took a deep breath, summoned all her courage, and faced Mr. Finch. “Would you mind if we walked a bit so that we could have some privacy, Mr. Finch?”
“Certainly.” His smile grew. “And you can call me Elton. It’s only fitting.”
“All right. Elton then.”
He offered his arm, but Callie pretended not to notice. She hugged herself and started away from the wagon train and off across the tall prairie grass. Elton followed.
“It’s a fine afternoon, isn’t it?” he said, striding to catch up to her.
“I… I suppose.” The sun was bright and cheerful, the air was warm without being oppressive, but weather was the last thing on Callie’s mind. Butterflies tumbled through her gut and she chewed her lip as she came to a stop, out of earshot of the rest of the wagons. “I don’t know where to begin,” she mumbled.
Elton Finch was young. Younger than Callie, if her guess was right. He faced her with a grin that held all the same wide-eyed idealism that Greg had embodied. He was the kind of man who could charm most girls off their feet.
“I know why you asked me to walk out with you,” he said, leaning closer and turning on that charm.
“You do?” She writhed in discomfort at the easy tilt of Elton’s hat, the casualness of his posture.
“A pretty young thing like you needs a man in her life. Someone to take her in his arms and keep her safe from the trials of the world. I’m honored that you would come to me in your time of need.” He inched closer to her.
She took a step back. John Rye would never crowd in on her like that. She may not have known him well, but she could tell that much from their earlier conversation. It was as much a comfort as it was a surprise.
“Yes, well.” She cleared her throat. “Mrs. Weingarten has advised me that now would be a good time to find a husband. The trail can be a dangerous place, and—”
“Say no more,” he smiled. “I understand completely. You’ve got your brother’s things to consider.”
“My brother’s things?” She swallowed a burst of annoyance. They were talking about her future, not Greg’s possessions.
“I heard your brother say one night, before he got sick, that he’d brought all of your worldly wealth with him, all the way from Pennsylvania. I’ve seen some of the fine pieces of furniture and the like that you’ve got in your wagon.”
Callie pressed a hand to her chest to fight down the uncomfortable squeezing in her chest. “Our parents died last year. We liquidated as much of our inheritance as we could and were planning to start a new life on the Pacific coast.”
Why was she telling him these things? Her every instinct warned her to keep silent and walk away.
“I’m sure your brother would have made a good life,” Elton said, still smiling, still oozing charm. “I could make a good life for you.”
“Oh? What kind of good life?” Her heart sped up. This was the kind of information she needed to know.
“I see great things out on the frontier,” he said, shifting his weight to one hip and spreading his arms to show his point. “I’m gonna make a name for myself, a big name. It’s gonna start with buying a big plot of land in Oregon. Paul, my brother, and his family are gonna buy a plot near mine. We’ve got plans to build homesteads nestled in the fertile land between the mountains and sea and to start farms. Not just any farms, though. I’m going to get mine started, then hire other folks to work the land for me.” His eyes shone with the prospect.
“They say the land is fertile as can be out there,” he went on, “but the way I see it, the real profit is in owning a farm, not working one. Why get your own hands dirty when you can put other poor fools to work getting dirty for you? I plan to live on the lan
d like a king. The crops just spring up out there, they say, and the cattle all thrive. It’s an entrepreneur’s paradise.”
Callie’s mouth had slipped open during his speech. She closed it now and pressed her lips together. “So you mean to exploit settlers moving west?”
He shook his head. “Not exploit, employ. Why, they’ll be lining up to work for me when they see everything that I can accomplish. Just a little capital is all I need, and I’ll be the richest man in the West.” As an afterthought he added, “And as my wife, you’ll be the finest lady west of the Rockies. Just think of it.”
Callie did think of it. Life on a farm, struggling to set up an enterprise that would profit off of the labor of others.
“I’ll take good care of you, Callie,” Elton finished, sliding closer. “Between your nest egg and my ambition, we’ll make all those naysayers green with envy.”
Callie inched away from him. “I see. You certainly do have a plan.” Whether it was a plan she could live with was another story.
“We should reach Ft. Kearny tomorrow, or so I’m told,” Elton said. “We could have Rev. Joseph marry us straight away, as soon as we get there. We could be husband and wife by the end of tomorrow.”
The idea filled her with dread. She studied Elton. His smile was too broad. John had been so much more respectful. Elton assumed far more than he should. John was humble, but he was also deep in grief for another woman. She weighed the options before her. Grief or greed? No choice this important was ever going to be easy.
“I’ll let you know if I need your help, Mr. Finch,” she said at last. “I have a lot to think about first.”
“Let me know soon,” he said. “We’ve got a lot of planning to do, you and I.”
With a last smile and a wink, he turned and strode toward the wagons. Callie caught several sets of female eyes watching him with eager interest. Elton Finch was the obvious choice for any young woman looking for a handsome and ambitious husband, but Callie was relieved to see his back.
She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, focusing on being as fair as possible about the decision before her. Elton represented the life of a true pioneer. Life with him would mean a homestead, open space, and adventure. Perhaps more adventure than she wanted. Life with John would be life in the city, quiet and steady, but loveless. It came down to a simple choice. Country or town? Adventure or calm? Boldness or reserve?
