by Merry Farmer
“Yessir.” Ben scrambled quickly past him, jumping out the back of the wagon and dashing off.
Cade’s suspicions remained. He shuffled to the back of the wagon and lifted the lid of Lynne’s hope chest. Everything was just as she’d left it. The doll still lay tucked in her bedroll of napkins, head askew. The rest of the linen and a few of Lynne’s fancier clothes were folded and where they should be. The purse her father had given her was tucked in the corner as usual. There was nothing more, nothing less than there should have been.
Still, Cade knew that something was wrong.
The rain picked up just as guests were beginning to arrive at the tent beside Mrs. Weingarten’s wagon. Lynne sighed at the turn in the weather but put on a smile and helped her friends serve tea. It had been so long since she had had a taste of society and the way that life was supposed to be that she was willing to put up with a little dampness. Callie had brought out her mother’s silver tea service, and even though the teapot had been damaged the day that miner tried to rob her wagon, it made a lovely centerpiece. Lynne could almost pretend she was at home entertaining her father’s guests.
“Would you like a biscuit, Mrs. Finch?” she asked, presenting a tray of everyday, ordinary trail biscuits to a tired-looking young woman holding a baby in one arm.
Mrs. Finch hesitated. “Yes, thank you.” She took one from the plate, then turned to fetch tea from the table before Lynne could continue the conversation. Her eyes never truly met Lynne’s.
“A biscuit, Mrs. Merriweather?” she asked one of the farmer’s wives who stood at the edge of a larger group of women.
“Um….” Mrs. Merriweather glanced to her companions. “Yes, all right.”
“Is something wrong?” she asked.
Mrs. Merriweather blushed scarlet at the question. Instead of answering directly, she said, “How is your young man?”
Lynne blinked. “Mr. Lawson?”
“Yes. Him.” Her answer was flat.
Lynne looked past her to the other women in the group. They were pretending not to notice her standing there, tray in hand.
“Mr. Lawson is doing well,” she said to all of the women, even the ones ignoring her. “He’s been working very hard to keep me safe, as my uncle hired him to.”
“Yes, I’m sure,” one of the women pretending not to notice her murmured. The middle-aged woman next to her snorted and raised a hand to hide her laughter.
With a growing frown, Lynne said, “It hasn’t been easy, considering how little help he’s had in finding the man who attacked me.” She raised a hand to the bandage around her throat. She’d hidden it with a ribbon and broach, but it was what it was.
“I am sorry for that,” Mrs. Merriweather said, lowering her eyes. “It must be troublesome, being so nearly….” The unspoken word ‘killed’ hung in the air.
“You seem to be coping well with the danger,” the woman who had been pretending to ignore her said, still not looking fully at her. “You and Mr. Lawson.”
Her friend tittered again.
Cold prickles of something caught between anger and shame sizzled across Lynne’s skin. They were judging her. She knew it was her own fault for behaving so boldly on the trail, but what did they expect her to do? Travel the entire weeks-long journey in mourning with her tail between her legs? Give in to her fear? Dismiss the handsome, caring man who was intent on protecting her?
“Biscuit?” she asked instead, offering them the tray.
The women each took one, some refusing to meet her eyes, others staring right at her as if they were being served by one of the miners.
“You have such impeccable manners, Miss Tremaine,” Mrs. Merriweather said, polite but strained.
“Yes,” the other woman said. “I’m sure you’ll have no trouble finding employment at one of the finer saloons in Denver City.”
Rage boiled up from Lynne’s gut, making her smile sharp and forced. These woman knew nothing. They didn’t know what it was to be threatened, to have their families threatened. They didn’t know what it was to cling to a warm ray of hope in the middle of a desolate situation. All they could do was stand there and judge her for having enough backbone to face her fears head on. She was her Papa’s brave girl, no matter who she had to stand up to.
“Yes,” she answered, fighting to keep her voice from quivering. “I’m sure your husbands would agree.”
Without waiting to hear their replies or to see more than the shocked looks on their faces, she pivoted and marched off. It was a crude jab, one she never would have considered making if she was at home in St. Louis or in Lexington, but the cows deserved it. She would not give in to bullies, whether they had knives or merely sharp words.
“Lynne. What’s got you looking like someone spilled salt in your tea?” Cade asked as he strode into the tent.
She had never been so glad to see someone in her life. “Polite society,” she answered, more than a little growl in her voice.
From the looks of things, Cade understood what she was talking about. “I’ve had a few… interesting comments myself while looking for our Briscoe Boy.”
Lynne huffed and carried the tray of biscuits to the central table. A crowd of sorts was swarming around the table, including Callie’s husband John, Reverend Joseph, and a couple other men. The rain had picked up to a torrent and hammered on the canvas that made up the tent. The roof was sagging in a few places and leaking in others.
“That’s sort of what I want to talk to you about,” Cade said.
He took her arm and pulled her away from the crush of people in the center of the tent. They stopped just at the edge, near one of the tent poles. Cade was already soaked and wore his wide-brimmed hat and a slicker to ward off the rain.
“Did you find something?” Lynne asked, excitement building in spite of the rain and the gossiping biddies.
“No.” Cade’s shoulders sank. “No one saw a thing. Well,” he rubbed his freshly-shaven chin, “no one saw a thing that has anything to do with whoever’s after you. They’ve all seen a lot of the two of us spending time together.”
Lynne crossed her arms and made a face. “If these neighbors of ours would put half as much effort into helping us as they do into looking down their noses, we wouldn’t be in half the trouble we’re in.”
To her surprise, Cade grinned. It wasn’t just a surface grin either. It lit his eyes and made his face shine with warmth. “I think we’ve proven that we’re capable of getting into more than our fair share of trouble, with or without the wagon train gossips.”
She laughed. “I consider it a victory. If we’re causing trouble of our own, then whoever is trying to hurt me must feel as though he’s falling behind.”
“Which has its good points and its bad points.” Cade tilted his head to the side, considering.
Behind them, at the center table, someone had raised their voice over something, but Lynne hardly noticed. Cade slid closer to her, taking her right hand with both of his and holding it between them.
“Lynne, this is the worst possible time and place for this, but I’ve been doing a lot of thinking these last few days.”
“Yes?” Her heart sped up.
“Chances are we’d vex each other from now until our end of days, what with how stubborn each of us are, but I don’t think I’d mind that too much.”
“I don’t think I’d mind either.” Heat flooded her cheeks even as the world seemed to tip around her. The rain drummed on the tent and something thumped behind her, but she didn’t mind.
“I don’t like the way people have been talking about you. You and me. I hate to do anything that makes it look like I’m giving in to someone else’s foolish opinion of things….”
“But?” Lynne prompted him.
He leaned closer, letting out a breath that was at once defeated and energized. “Lynne, how would you like to be my—”
A loud rip sounded behind them. Half a beat later, the central tent post cracked. Lynne whipped around to see wh
at was going on just as Reverend Joseph swiped Callie’s silver teapot off of the table.
“Drop it!” one of the men standing near the table shouted, but Reverend Joseph ignored him. He shot out into the rain, the man who had shouted and John Rye rushing after him.
Lynne didn’t see where they went. She craned her neck to watch, but the tent ripped further, spilling more cold rainwater on the guests below. A few women screamed. A second later and one whole side of the tent collapsed.
Cade tugged on Lynne’s arm to pull her out of harm’s way and into the clearing beside the ruined tea party. Between the rain and the struggling people under the canvas, the tent continued to fold, post by post.
“Should we help them?” Lynne asked, clinging to Cade’s arm.
“No, wait, look!”
Cade pointed across the writhing mass of canvas to where a man was running off. He had his coat collar turned up over his neck and his hat pulled low, hiding his face, but he clearly clutched a knife of some sort in one hand.
“It’s him!” Lynne shouted. She lunged forward, anger swirling anew. How dare her attacker disrupt Mrs. Weingarten’s tea party then just run off?
“Lynne, wait!”
Cade came barreling after her. He grabbed her arm and yanked her back against his chest just as Reverend Joseph and Kyle went tearing past them on horseback. Lynne had come inches from being trampled. Cade hugged her close, shielding her head with one hand, as two more horses shot past, nearly knocking into them. The last one held both John Rye and Callie.
By the time the danger of being trampled was past and Cade let Lynne go, the camp was in turmoil. Women were weeping and wailing under the tent canvas as they tried to break free. Mr. Evans was bellowing orders to his assistants. Farmers and miners were running every which way.
“Stop him!” Cade raised his voice to join the chaos. “Stop the man with the knife!”
Two of the farmers chased after the man, who had nearly made it to the river. They caught him by his coat and dragged him down, kicking and screaming. In short order, they had wrestled the man into submission. He was wrenched to his feet and dragged back toward the sodden camp.
Cade grabbed Lynne’s hand and raced to meet them. “We’ve got him!”
Chapter Fifteen
The rain was still pouring down in sheets by the time Cade and Lynne met the two men who had caught the blackguard with the knife.
“Who is he?” Cade shouted as they approached. “Make him show his face.”
The two men were only too happy to oblige. They swiped the man’s hat from his head and yanked his collar down. Cade vaguely recognized the man as one of the miners, one of the ones who had been causing trouble.
“It were only a joke!” The white-faced miner held up his hands in submission. “A joke. Honest.”
“We found this on him.” One of the men who had caught him presented Cade with a small silver pocket knife.
Cade took the blade and studied it. It was old with spots of rust in a few places. A chip had been taken out of the metal near the point.
Lynne pressed close to his arm and leaned over to take a look. “A pocket knife?” She raised a hand to her throat.
“It were a joke,” the miner wailed on. “I just wanted to see all them stuffy, snooty folks swim. I didn’t mean no harm, really I didn’t.”
“What’s going on over here?” Pete growled as he marched toward them. His eyes were blazing with fury and the miner backpedaled to get away.
“I believe we’ve caught the man who’s been trying to hurt Lynne,” Cade said.
“Huh?” the miner squealed, his voice raising two octaves with the one syllable.
Cade rounded on him, grabbing him by the collar while his right still held the knife. “Who are you and why did you attack Miss Tremaine?”
“We know that,” Lynne said, the breathlessness of surprise being replaced by fury. “You’re one of the Briscoe Boys. You threatened my family. No one threatens my family.”
“The what?” The miner cowered as Pete reached them.
“I’ll see to it that you’re driven back to St. Louis to stand trial for attempted murder.” Cade shook the man.
The miner shouted and shriveled away from him.
“Hold on, Cade.” Pete came to a stop by Cade’s side. “I’ll take that.” He plucked the knife from Cade’s hand.
“There has to be a marshal or some sort of law enforcement here at the crossing,” Cade went on. “At the very least, I want this man arrested.”
“It was a joke!” the miner sobbed, sinking to his knees when Cade let him go. “Just a joke.”
“Attempted murder is not a joke,” Lynne said.
“He’s not the man who tried to kill you,” Pete said, though he sounded sorry to say it.
“But he was caught running from another attempt to hurt people, knife in hand,” Cade protested. Though even now, with the first flush of anger subsiding, he was beginning to have his doubts. Whoever was threatening Lynne was clever. This miner looked like he couldn’t find his way out of a pail with a torch.
“That’s Cletus Zuber,” Pete told them. “He’s been a thorn in my side for years.”
“But,” Lynne sputtered.
“He used to ride the trail with me and take folks west until he proved himself an incompetent drunk. I fired him last year, only to have him show up in Independence telling me he was going to strike it rich in Colorado.”
“I am too, yes I am,” Cletus said through his sobs.
“He’s no Briscoe,” Pete finished.
Cade felt Lynne sigh and slump at his side. “But the knife,” she said.
“It was just a joke,” Cletus said again, feeble this time.
“Take him up to my wagon and make him sit out in the rain until I figure out what to do with him,” Pete told the other two men. “I’ve got bigger fish to fry right now. You two had better find some place to keep warm and dry until this storm is over,” he told Cade and Lynne, then strode off with a scowl dark enough to give the storm a run for its money.
Cade and Lynne were left standing in the downpour, empty-handed.
“If that man isn’t the one who tried to kill me,” Lynne said after a dreary pause, “then the real killer must still be out there somewhere.”
Cade liked the sound of it coming from her even less than he liked it coming from his own mind. She was still in danger. Worst of all, in the rain, as she watched Pete and the others drag Cletus off, her determination sank to uncertainty and worry.
“We’ll find the real trouble-maker,” Cade assured her, reaching for her hand. It was cold and she twined her fingers in his with a little too much eagerness. “Come on, let’s go back to the wagon and dry off, like Pete said.”
They walked hand in hand across the open plain of wet grass and increasingly muddy ground to where Lynne’s wagon stood apart. The rest of the wagon lines were still in chaos. The tent that Cletus had slashed was a messy pile of muddy canvas on top of a few capsized tables. Some of the men were already trying to re-erect the tent posts, if only to have a place to lift the canvas out of the way. Mrs. Weingarten picked through the smashed dishes and ruined food under the tent with a stoic face while a dozen other ladies sat nearby, weeping and sobbing for home. There was no sign at all of Callie and John or any of the men who had ridden off in such a hurry.
“I’m beginning to think Pete may have a point,” Cade said as they drew near to the wagon.
“About what?” Lynne let go of his hand long enough to hoist herself inside. Her dress was so sodden and heavy that Cade had to help her.
“This has to be the strangest wagon train I’ve ever heard of. What on earth was that business at the tent with the teapot and those folks riding off so fast like that?”
“I have no idea.” Lynne sighed and scooted farther into the wagon as Cade climbed up behind her.
The inside of the wagon provided better shelter than standing around in the open, but it was not the same as being
inside a building. The canvas wagon cover had been oiled to keep out the rain, which it did reasonably well. But it didn’t stop the dampness from seeping through, and it didn’t truly feel warm.
“You’d better get out of those wet things,” Cade told Lynne as he turned and fitted the oiled canvas covering over the back opening of the wagon. It would give Lynne some privacy and hopefully keep a little more of the rain out. He shrugged out of his slicker and unbuttoned his vest.
Lynne already had her hands at her neck, unbuttoning her blouse with a frown when he turned around. “I’m tired of feeling so helpless,” she said in a small voice.
“I know the feeling.” He finished with his vest and sat back to pull off his soaked boots, putting them in a corner.
There was a pause with nothing but the sound of the rain pattering on the canvas above them before she said, “I’ve felt helpless my whole life.”
Cade stopped halfway through pulling off his wet socks. “You? Lynne Tremaine, scourge of the Oregon Trail?”
Her frown melted into a weary half smile as she finished with the buttons of her blouse and shrugged out of it. “The only way to combat that helpless feeling is to stare it straight in the eyes and refuse to admit that you’re afraid. But it’s only a ploy. I’m afraid all the time.”
The way she lowered her head, heavy with defeat and sadness, was like a kick in Cade’s gut. This whole time he’d been working to protect her when really she was capable of protecting herself. It hurt to see her full of doubt now. He’d never known anyone with more courage and determination than Lynne.
“Being brave is about more than not being afraid,” he said, finishing with his socks and scooting closer to her.
She had removed her wet blouse and set it aside and was reaching for the fastenings of her skirt, but he stopped her and took her hands. She blinked and met his eyes, anxious and questioning.
“Being brave is about being afraid, but pushing forward in spite of that fear. I’ve seen you do that every day since Independence.”