Orphan Train Brides

by Caroline Clemmons

  “I brought the adoption papers for you to sign. Your wife has already signed them but she needs to sign again under her married name.”

  “Glad to.” Ford scrawled his signature and dated it. “I’ll fetch her if you’ll wait a bit—she’s dressing for supper.”

  “Take your time. Looks like the Mockingbird Flats Boardinghouse puts out a fine meal and it would be a pity not to partake at my leisure.”

  Ford ambled up the first flight of stairs, then took the last two flights two risers at a time and pounded on Polly’s door.

  “Just a minute,” she called.

  “No, now. I’m coming in.” He turned the knob and entered the sitting room. She wasn’t there.

  “I’m dressing,” she said from her bedroom. “I’ll be out in a minute.”

  “It’s about your children. A Mr. Ecclestone from the Children’s Society is downstairs—you need to sign the adoption papers.”

  “I already did.”

  “You need to sign your married name, and you better do it now, before he finds out Noah and Evie are missing. I’ve already signed. We can use the excuse of going for a buggy ride to get the hades out of here and then we’ll head to the Red Dog and see if we can pick up the children’s trail.”

  “Oh, dear.” She was quiet for a moment. “Would you come in and help me with the buttons on the back of my dress? I’d have chosen another but this one has a split skirt.”

  He’d been thinking about her dress—what it hid, more like it. “I’m coming in.”

  She opened the bedroom door, turned away, then reached back and pulled her hair to the side. There must have been two dozen tiny little buttons. Fastening them all would take some work with his sausage fingers but he’d get the job done. Even though he’d rather unfasten them. But now wasn’t the time to be thinking about such things.

  “I could do this a lot faster with a button hook,” he told her.

  “On the dressing table.”

  He fetched the hook and it worked fine, but he had a hard time not noticing that she didn’t wear a corset. Her waist was so small, she sure didn’t need one.

  “All done. Let’s get those papers signed.”

  “I’ll grab my bonnet and gloves.”

  Downstairs, she greeted Mr. Ecclestone. “I hope you had a good day, and please do take your time and enjoy our supper.”

  “It’s delicious. Compliments to you and your cook.”

  “If you don’t mind, I can sign the papers now. My new husband and I have other plans for the evening and we wouldn’t want to be late.”

  “Of course not.” He stood and retrieved the packet from his briefcase. “Sign right next to your husband’s name, please.”

  She did, and handed the papers back to him. “Thank you. We’ll be on our way now.”

  “Congratulations on your marriage. I didn’t know you had a beau.”

  “We haven’t known each other very long. You just hurried things up a bit.”

  “So Mr. Daily said.” He sat back down to his meal. “Enjoy your first evening together as man and wife.”

  Polly waved to everyone as Ford escorted her out of the boardinghouse and to the stable.

  “I didn’t get a chance to saddle the horses so you wait out front and I’ll get it done.”

  “It’ll take half the time if I saddle Lily.” She brushed past him, grabbed a curry comb, and headed for her paint mare.

  Ford felt awkward letting a lady saddle her own horse, but Polly seemed to know her way around the stable well enough.

  And his supposition was right, for she’d saddled her horse just as he was pulling the cinch on his rental.

  “If you’ll help me up—I have a regular saddle but I ride sidesaddle in town.”

  He saw the sidesaddle sitting on a sawhorse. “Why didn’t you use the sidesaddle?”

  “In case we have to do more riding than we hope.”

  “In that case, we’ll have to come back and supply up.”

  “Saves time from saddling twice.”

  He couldn’t argue with that, and he gladly lifted her onto the saddle—gave him another chance to put his hands on her waist.

  They rode straight to the Red Dog Saloon. Cowhands had arrived from surrounding ranches and the party was just getting started. Everyone walked hither and thither except one man who was sprawled on the boardwalk at the side of the saloon.

  Polly shifted in her saddle. “Where do we even start?”

  “The drunk. Looks like he’s been here a while.” Ford dismounted. “I’m going to have a talk with him. You stay here, and keep mounted.”

  “He’s passed out.”

  “I bet if I offer him a drink, he’ll wake up in a hurry.” Ford went into the Red Dog and after several minutes of waiting in line, came out with a jug of whiskey, which he hid behind his back as he approached the unmoving fellow.

  He squatted beside the man, who wore dusty battered clothes, and nudged him. His gray beard was caked and clumpy, and he gripped an empty cup.

  “Buddy, have you seen two children in this part of town earlier in the day?”

  The man opened one eye. “Might’ve.”

  “A boy and a girl?”

  “Most likely.”

  “Which way did they go?”

  By now, both of the man’s eyes were open but he hadn’t moved a muscle. He rolled onto his stomach, pushed himself to his knees then flopped over on his butt in a mostly sitting position that no man could get into if he wasn’t three sheets to the wind.

  “Don’t rightly remember.”

  “If I fill that cup, will that help your memory any?”

  “Could. Let’s try it.”

  Ford poured the cup half full and the man took a drink, some of it spilling out the side of his mouth.

  “Now, which way did those children go?”

  “Seems like they hid on a whiskey wagon.” He took another drink. “Yep, that’s sure enough it.”

  “Which way did the whiskey wagon go?”

  The drunk held out his cup. “Might need more memory elixir for that.”

  Ford filled his cup a little fuller than last time. “I’ll give you the rest of the bottle if you tell me everything and tell it true.”

  “A boy and a younger girl. They hid on the whiskey wagon. That’s Duff Doyle’s rig.”

  “You know him?”

  “Used to work for him when he traded with the Comanche. He’s got a better gig now, selling rotgut in brand name barrels.”

  “I need to find those children. Which direction did Doyle go? North?”

  “North.” He grabbed the bottle out of Ford’s hand. “Likely to Dailyville, then on to Indian Territory.”

  “Thanks, buddy. Tell you what, when I get back to town, I’ll buy you another bottle. You got a name?”

  “Doyle. Sweeney Doyle, Duff’s big brother.” He took a swig straight from the bottle and went back to sleep.

  Ford stood. “Sleep tight, Sweeney.”

  “We’d better get going while it’s still light,” Polly said, still horseback.

  “First, we need to supply up.” Ford took the rental horse’s reins from Polly and mounted. He adjusted the reins in his left hand and asked, “Is there a back door to the boardinghouse? Back stairs?”

  “There’s a door to the kitchen.” Polly nudged her mare to a fast walk. “We can go there.”

  Ford had to urge his horse to keep up with Polly’s. “That’ll do. Maybe the cook can rustle up a bag of food and some coffee. We can send Merry up to your room to fetch blankets for bedrolls and a change of clothes. I’ll ride to the mercantile and hope it’s open. We need canteens.”

  Chapter Nine

  “Pull back, Polly,” Ford said. “The faster the horses go, the longer they’ll need to rest.” He pointed to a copse of trees alongside a creek bank. “In fact, we should stop and water the horses up there.”

  “I know we need to keep a steady pace for the horses’ sake. I’m just upset.” Polly hadn�
�t been so distraught since Mr. Bird had given her a whipping with a willow switch the day they’d taken her and the three others from the train to the Birds’ farm. She’d filched a piece of cake. But she’d been dreadfully hungry and at least had food in her belly when she took the lickin’. “We’ve been riding for two hours now and haven’t found hide nor hair of the children yet.”

  “They got at least six hours’ head start, sugar. Even though wagons go slow, they can cover a lot of territory in six hours. One thing about it, we can be sure they stayed on the road. If they were riding horses, we’d have to track.”

  “It’ll be dark soon. I’m sure they’re scared and hungry.” The desperation Polly felt resembled that old gut-churning fear that somehow, some way, for whatever reason, she’d been put on this earth by accident, unwanted in any family. As a child, no adult had ever loved her or even been kind to her. She couldn’t let that happen with Noah and Evie. They’d had enough hardship already.

  “We won’t catch up to them before dark—it’s almost a certainty. But we do have to take care of the horses and feed ourselves. We might as well overnight here.”

  “I know you’re right about stopping for the night but I’m not feeling very practical right now.” And one thing Polly had always been known for was her practicality. Not when it came to her children, though. The sooner she could hug them, the better.

  Within a few minutes, they’d arrived at the copse. Ford swung down and the instant his feet hit the dirt, he was already on his way to help her off her mare. As he reached up for her, she braced both hands on his strong shoulders. And even though he held her a mite close on the way down, she couldn’t say she minded. In different circumstances, she might’ve been inclined to hang on a moment longer.

  “I’ll take care of the horses,” he said, stepping back. “You rummage around in the food bag and see what we have for supper.”

  Polly was all too happy to have something to do. A two-hour horseback ride had given her way too much time to ponder. She preferred not to think about her childhood on the Birds’ farm, and she remembered little before then. Noah and Evie were a blessing to her, but more than merely missing them, she felt a responsibility to right the wrongs that had been dumped in their laps for so many of their young years.

  She opened the food bag and found a feast. “Ford, do you want cherry pie or peach pie?”

  “Both,” he called from the stream bank where the horses were drinking. “You pick your favorite and I’ll have the other one, for they are both my favorites.”

  Setting up their supper only took a few minutes so Polly spent the rest of the time chasing off flies, ants, and bugs while watching Ford unsaddle and rub down the horses. He was definitely good scenery and she felt a mite ashamed for appreciating his brawny good looks instead of worrying about Noah and Evie. After all, Merry had called her a champion worrier, Queen of the Handwringers.

  Something about Ford put a stop to her worries, though, or at least dampened them some. Being around him made her feel as if everything, no matter how dreadful, would be all right. He’d make it that way.

  “I’m hungry as a bear,” Ford said as he strode toward her. “Want me to make a campfire? I forgot to tell you that I have lucifers in my pocket.”

  “I’m too hot for coffee, and none of the food needs warmed up, so not having a campfire is one less thing to deal with in the morning.”

  “Agreed. Let’s dig in to our wedding supper.”

  She served him his plate. He ate everything on it and she did her plate of food justice, too.

  He put his fork down and said, “We might as well get to know one another. After all, we’re married.”

  “In name only.” But she blushed anyway. Legally, he had every right to claim his husbandly prerogative. And legally, she was obligated to perform her wifely duties. “You go first. I’m not very good at this sort of thing.”

  “I doubt many of us are,” he said. “But I don’t mind starting. I grew up on Grandpa’s ranch doing all the things that rowdy boys do. My best friend was the segundo’s son, Jorge. Of course we could all ride well and I can rope and shoot, brand calves, and all the other chores that need to be done during a roundup. I love the ranch and I never wanted to leave it, but Grandpa Moses decided the Rocking MAD would be more profitable if we didn’t have to hire a veterinarian so he sent me to Cornell—that’s in Ithaca, New York.”

  “So you’re a veterinarian now?”

  “Doctor of Veterinary Medicine, at your service. And a ranchman without a ranch.”

  “Why on earth did you buy a herd if you didn’t have any place to keep the cattle?”

  “They’d just come in off the ship from Scotland and the broker was in the saloon crying in his beer that the deal had fallen through. He offered me a heckuva good deal because he didn’t want to stay around in the States any longer than he had to. I told the broker that I would buy the whole herd if he would ship them. But later, Grandpa gave me to know that if I hadn’t started a family, he wouldn’t sign the deed over, and I couldn’t buy cattle. Since I already had, that meant I had a herd of purebred Angus cattle and no place to put them.”

  “Why do you have to have the deed? Couldn’t you just rent pasture from your grandpa?”

  “He flat out refused, and I know why. It was a transparent ploy to get me to do what he wanted me to do, which was to get married. Now I’m married to a beautiful, smart lady and we’ll see what happens when we get there.”

  She blushed at his compliment but ignored it lest she say something she shouldn’t. “Get there?” Polly hadn’t planned to go to the ranch at all. “You didn’t tell me we were going to the ranch.”

  “If we don’t find the children sooner, we’ll be at my home late afternoon tomorrow. It’s right along the road so we might as well stop by. Besides, Grandpa Moses might have seen the youngsters and help us out.”

  “Why is he so dead set on you getting married?”

  Ford sighed and rocked back on his elbow. “Grandpa has always lived for family. ‘Family first,’ he’s said a thousand times. But after I left for Cornell, Uncle Junior was killed by a widow-maker, then Grandma passed—Grandpa said of a broken heart.”

  “And you were gone all this time? That must’ve been hard for you.”

  “It was, but it got worse. The next year, my folks came down with yellow fever and he lost both of them. And my three cousins passed from the fever within a few weeks after that. I wanted to come home but Grandpa pointed out that I was better off in Ithaca.”

  “I’m dreadfully sorry you had to mourn all alone. And to top it, their passings put the Daily legacy squarely on your shoulders.” She wondered what it would be like to be part of such a close family, to have a patriarch who really did put family first.

  “Yep. Grandpa has two other sons, my uncles, but they headed to the silver mines in Idaho a decade ago and Grandpa Moses doesn’t expect they’ll ever come back. That leaves me to create the next generation to inherit the ranch.”

  “So you’ll be wanting children from your wife?”

  “Of course, but not because of the ranch. Or just because of it. Youngsters are fun to have around and I’ve always hoped I’d be a father someday—like my pa. I couldn’t have asked for a better father. So yes, I do want to have a family. Grandpa’s just doing his best to hurry up the process.”

  * * *

  They tidied up the campsite and Ford got out the bedrolls. It was their wedding night but considering the circumstances, he could hardly press the issue of an actual wedding night, although keeping his hands off her was a trial. He had to be content just enjoying her company while quashing his desire to kiss her senseless.

  And maybe it was for the best since they’d only met that morning.

  He unrolled the blankets. “Where do you want to sleep?”

  She lowered her eyes and took a deep breath. “Would you mind terribly if we slept side by side?”

  “Not at all. Safety in numbers, they say.�
�

  “And, um...”

  “Go ahead, Polly. Ask me anything. I’ll do whatever I can to make you comfortable. Rocks and stickers don’t make for a sound sleep, most generally.”

  “Would you sleep beside me? It’s a new moon and I’m...scared of the dark.”

  Her raised eyebrows and pursed lips convinced him she was telling the truth about the matter.

  “Warmer that way, too.” He adjusted his blankets alongside hers.

  “I expect so. Texas nights can be cool.” But she didn’t move a muscle toward her blanket.

  He sat on his and toed off his boots, then patted her blanket. “Take your shoes and bonnet off and make yourself to home.”

  She gazed at him a moment before she sat in a very ladylike fashion.

  “Maybe you could tell me a little of your background. I know you were adopted from the orphan train and it didn’t work out so well. But what about before that?”

  “I lived in an orphanage in New York City.”

  “And before that?”

  “Not much to say. I kept warm and dry when I could and ate when I had food.”

  The idea of a little girl all alone in the big city made him cringe. How could anyone abandon such a sweet little girl? “How’d you get food?”

  “Filched it, or stole money to buy it. Most of the street arabs were accomplished pickpockets and they were happy to teach me.”

  “Do you remember your folks?”

  “No. My only memory is the scent of lavender and a hug. There are a few years where I don’t remember anything at all.”

  “That’s a sorry situation—no child should be in such a dire circumstance, yet I know they are, and I regret not paying attention to the urchins begging on the street when I visited New York City.”

  “Not much one man can do. There were thousands of us.”

  “Which was worse—the orphanage or your adoptive parents’ place?”

  “The latter. I had such high hopes, and they shattered all my dreams. Merry felt the same. The orphanage was awful—dreary and bleak. They fed us little, and we had to march in line wherever we went. But at least we didn’t have false hope.”