Tame the Wild Wind

by Rosanne Bittner

  “A baby!” The old woman clucked, shaking her head. “My, my.” She leaned back in her chair, staring at a fireplace that was cold for the moment, since the cookstove created all the heat that was needed on chilly mountain mornings. It was only in winter that both the cookstove and fireplace were needed for warmth. “Well, it’s for sure you can’t go all the way back to Pennsylvania with no money and a baby growin’ inside you. And since you don’t know nobody farther west, and since it’s dang dangerous country out there, I’d say you might as well stay right here with me.” She leaned forward again, resting her elbows on her knees. “It’s a fact I’m gettin’ old, and I could use the help cookin’ and all. Your board and food would be free, and we’d have each other for company. I borned four kids of my own, and I’ve helped bring other women’s babies into the world, so I reckon I can help birth yours when the time comes.”

  Faith put a hand to her stomach, afraid of having a baby way out here with no doctor. Back in Pennsylvania she’d known women who had died in childbirth, and her own mother had lost babies. Still, she had little choice but to stay there for now. Someone like Hilda surely knew how to help. “Where are your children now?” she asked.

  The old woman shook her head. “Well, three died before they got growed up.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry, Hilda.”

  “Well, you learn that death is just a fact of life, child. Anyway, the one that lived, my son, he went off lookin’ for gold in California and never come back—don’t know if he’s dead or alive.” Painful sadness was obvious in her eyes. “Me and my husband, we come here to work for Ben Holladay’s Overland Express ’cause he pays good and we needed the money after losin’ a supply business in Denver to fire. Then Pete, that’s my husband, he was shot by outlaws who was after the spare horses.”

  Faith ached at the thought of all that the woman had lost. “Does that happen often? Outlaws coming here to rob you?”

  “Outlaws, Indians. Sometimes I scatter them off with my shotgun. No, it don’t happen real often. I reckon the rewards is worth the risk, except it wasn’t worth my husband’s life.” She blinked back tears and took a deep breath. “Well, that left me here alone, and I didn’t have no place else to go, so I just stayed on. I know how to tend horses. I figured there wasn’t nothin’ I could do for that sick one that died yesterday. I’m glad Buck was here to help. Anyways, I can do lots of things. I can even hitch a team to a coach. I cook for travelers and give them a place to sleep. Ben Holladay, he pays for the accommodations. Nothin’ fancy, but it’s a roof over your head and a warm place to be come winter. You got weapons?”

  “Yes, I have two rifles and two six-guns and a small pistol.”

  “Good. That’ll do. We always keep shutters and doors closed and bolted at night. There ain’t generally so much trouble. And if you want adventure and excitement, it comes through here every time a stage arrives. You never know who will be on it, and you meet all kinds of interestin’ people. Maybe you’ll meet a man come through here someday who you’ll end up marryin’.”

  Faith smiled sadly and shook her head. “I don’t know, and I don’t really care right now. And if you really don’t mind, then I guess I will stay, Hilda. I can cook, gather eggs, help with the horses. I always worked hard back in Pennsylvania. I don’t need anything fancy. I just want my freedom.”

  Hilda laughed, her many wrinkles made more prominent again. “Well, that’s one thing you get when you come west, girl. There’s plenty of freedom out here, and hardly anybody to judge what you do or who cares. It’s a real different life, and it’s sure a place for the young, not the old. Maybe someday you’ll end up runnin’ this station yourself.”

  Faith leaned back and rocked slowly. “I never thought of that. Everything is so new to me, I can’t think beyond the next ten minutes. I told myself all I can do is take one day at a time and not worry about tomorrow right now.”

  “Well, I’d say that’s good advice. So you stay right here with me, and if you’re to do somethin’ else, the chance will come along when it’s proper.”

  “Yes, I suppose it will. Thank you so much, Hilda, for offering to let me stay.”

  The woman waved her off as she rose from her chair. “Honey, you’re doin’ me a favor, bringin’ me company, helpin’ me with my work. It’s sure no bother to me. Fact is, you can go out right now and gather me some eggs. If I’ve figured it right, there will be another stage come through here today. I don’t know what’s gonna happen when the railroad comes through, but for now the Overland is busy as ever.”

  “Railroad?”

  “Oh, yes. The Union Pacific people was here not so long ago, sayin’ when they build that there transcontinental railroad, it will come right through here. Do you think they’ll really manage such a thing? I can’t see how they’ll get through the Sierras and the Rockies—but, then, man has a way of doin’ what he sets out to do. I don’t expect it will be anytime soon, but can you imagine a railroad stretchin’ all the way across this country and through the mountains to California?”

  Faith rose, shaking her head. “No, I can’t imagine it.”

  “Well, it’s not our worry for now. You go gather them eggs, and I’ll heat some water for washin’ dishes.”

  Faith walked out into the cool morning air. She liked Hilda. She was a wise old woman who was easy to talk to, and she had stamina. It felt good to be relatively safe for now, good to have something to call home, even though part of the time it was a place that had to be shared with strangers. This was beautiful country. She didn’t even mind the danger. Helping Hilda with the place would help keep her mind off Johnny’s grave back there…somewhere. She could probably never find it again if she tried.

  She looked around the depot, log buildings with sagging roofs, chickens strutting about, her wagon sitting beside the main building. Life here certainly would be a far cry from the rich, glamorous life Johnny had promised her, but she certainly would not lack for excitement. Out here a woman alone had to grab whatever opportunities came along, and for now this stage station was her only opportunity for survival.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Faith was surprised and frightened by the pain, and right now she hated Johnny Sommers for causing it. Now he wasn’t even here to see her suffering, to see his child about to be born. Hilda had tried to explain what to expect, but no explanations could prepare her for this reality. Deep, wrenching cramps clawed at her insides, and although she knew it was useless, she tried to keep the baby from coming, afraid of even worse pain as it was born. Hilda kept telling her not to fight it, but her voice sounded so far away. She wanted her mother, missed her terribly at this moment.

  She was terrified that she would die here, two thousand miles from home, with no help, no one but Hilda to stand over her grave. And if her baby lived and she died, who would take care of it? Hilda was too old to be taking on a child. Maybe Matthew Kelley would come for his grandchild.

  She had written her father, and Johnny’s parents, made up a lie about how Johnny had died. Maybe this pain was God’s punishment for lying to them and for killing Clete Brown. She had told Johnny’s parents that she and Johnny had traveled with a wagon train, and that Johnny had been caught under the oxen while pulling them across a river and had drowned. She’d written that she had gone on with the wagon train but had decided to stay with an old woman at a stagecoach station until her baby was born.

  It seemed plausible. She had recently written a second letter to her father, explaining that she planned to stay at the stage station, that she enjoyed the work and this was a way to take care of herself. At least that part was true. Sommers Station was home now. That was what Hilda had decided to name the depot, thinking it needed a name more personal than just the Overland Express. Faith was proud of the name. She had something all her own now, freedom, independence, a respectable means to make money. She could do this and still care for her baby, though right now that baby was being mighty stubborn in arriving.

  “It’s
coming!” Hilda said. Faith could not help another scream, even as she heard the thunder of horses outside. Perhaps Hilda had meant a stage was coming. “I’ll be right back, child,” Hilda told Faith, disappearing through the curtained doorway to the outer room.

  Faith hated the thought of being in the back room screaming in childbirth while passengers came inside to clean up and eat. She wasn’t even sure how long she had lain here, but she knew the next stage today was due around five o’clock P.M. She’d gone into labor around three A.M. Fourteen hours! Had she really been going through this that long?

  Finally she heard voices again. “Oh, sometimes the first one is a real bugger. A woman’s young body has to get loosened up and learn to give a little. They get easier after the first, don’t you agree, Hilda?” That voice, a woman’s, sounded familiar to Faith. “Course, I never had any of my own, but I’ve seen plenty of girls in my profession end up pregnant, and I’ve helped deliver plenty of them myself. It was one of them that told me the second one’s easier than the first. She went and gave away two babies. Me, I’m more careful. I don’t think it’s right giving some poor kid the title of bastard.”

  The voice was close now. Plenty of girls in my profession. Someone pushed aside the curtains that divided the two-room depot, and the woman came prancing in wearing a beautiful fur coat and hat, a fur muff still caught on one hand.

  “Bret!” Faith said. “What are you doing here?” Another pain came then, and she grasped the iron bed rails. Bret and Hilda both checked to see if the baby was showing yet, and Faith felt ashamed.

  Somewhere amid her pain she heard Bret saying she and Ben Carson had decided there was too much Indian trouble farther north. Indian trouble. Was Tall Bear part of it? She had never forgotten him, never stopped wondering where he might be now, if he was all right.

  It had been a hard winter with few supplies, Bret was saying, and she was tired of the danger and hardship. “We’re headin’ back south, maybe to Central City. It’s not far from Denver, and there’s still prostitutes and plenty of gambling there,” Bret said. “And it’s a lot safer. Lo and behold, we come through here and find out you’re not only still here but you’re having your baby, honey. I figured I could help. We’ll stay over and take whatever stage comes along in the next couple of days. Ben doesn’t mind.”

  The pain subsided again for a moment, and Faith watched Bret remove her fur coat and hat, complaining about the bitter winters in the mountains. They certainly were that. One snowstorm in February had barricaded the door to the stage depot so that Hilda had had to climb out a window to make her way to the horse shed. Another horse had died this winter, but six had survived. The only good thing about the weather was that it had kept away outlaws and Indians. There had not even been a stage run through there in all of January and February, and very few this month. But it was now almost the end of March, and a sudden warming last week had melted much of the snow in the foothills, although there was still plenty higher up in the mountains.

  “I can’t believe a stage got through them Rockies,” Hilda told Bret.

  “Oh, the whole trip has been a nightmare,” Bret answered, leaning over and putting a cool rag to Faith’s forehead. “We holed up in some of the most ungodly places. I’ll tell you, I never want to go through anything like that again. I was sure we’d meet our Maker before we ever got this far—but, then, Ben Holladay hires some of the most experienced, rugged men he can find, and he gets his coaches through anything. Fact is, during one of the times we had to hold up because of weather, one of them drivers and me went off alone and had a right good time.”

  She cackled in her unique way of laughing that at the moment hurt Faith’s ears. She wondered how old Bret was. Her face was so painted, it was hard to tell if it hid her age, or made her look older.

  “When did you get that heating stove in here?” Bret asked Hilda. “I don’t remember it.”

  “Mr. Holladay had it sent out on the last supply wagon that come in last November,” Hilda answered. “One of the drivers set it up for me. I’m awful glad now. Even though we didn’t have passengers who needed the room over the winter, it sure helped keep the whole place warmer, and now I can keep Faith here, warm, while she’s in so much pain.”

  “Warm? For heaven’s sake, Hilda, it must be a hundred degrees in here!” Bret complained, applying the cool rag to her own forehead. “Holladay’s men must have cut you plenty of wood.”

  “Well, me and Faith, we cut some extra ourselves. You ought to see this girl work. Why, she’s adapted to this life just fine—knows how to hitch teams, cleans out the coaches, cuts wood, does wash, and she’s a damn good cook. Did you see the sign out front?”

  “I sure did! Sommers Station.” Bret cackled again. “You must be damn proud, Faith! And in a few minutes you’ll be having a little baby to take care of. I have a feeling you can do that and still run a stage station. Looks like you’re taking over for Hilda just fine.”

  At the moment none of it mattered to Faith, and it irritated her that neither of them seemed to realize how much pain she was in. Still, she supposed they were just trying to make her feel better. The pains became deeper, more gripping, and Hilda’s and Bret’s voices seemed far away. From then on all she heard was “Push!” “Breathe!” “Don’t push!” “Push!” “It’s coming!” “You’re doin’ good, girl. It’s halfway out!” “Push!” “It’s out!” “It’s a boy!” “Cut the cord!” “Wrap him up!”

  She heard a squeal, then the hardy cry of a baby. A boy! A son for Johnny Sommers…a son who would never know his father.

  Bret massaged her stomach, saying something about forcing out the afterbirth. Hilda washed her and changed her gown. The baby kept crying. Bret helped Faith roll to her side, packing pillows behind her for support. She washed her breast and then brought the baby close. “You’ve got a kid to feed, honey.”

  Faith studied the tiny bit of life lying next to her, wrapped in blankets now, his face and fists beet-red from crying. She managed to pull him close, and he planted his tiny mouth over her nipple. The crying immediately ceased. How strange, Faith thought, that after just being born a baby knows immediately he wants to eat, and he knows how to take his food. How very strange.

  She had come to this land to find freedom and adventure, to be a rich married lady. She had certainly found freedom and adventure, but no riches, and she was a widow with a new baby now. “I’ll make a good life for you, little Johnny,” she said softly. What else could she call him but little Johnny? Johnny for her husband, and Matthew for her father. She would have to put a new entry in her diary. Johnny Matthew Sommers, born March 30, 1865.

  They had to be stopped, and Red Cloud and his warriors would stop them. This summer Tall Bear would not hunt. He would only make war. Forts had been burned, way stations along the Bozeman Trail had been burned, but that was not enough. Last fall Colorado Volunteers had massacred a village of peaceful southern Cheyenne, a tribe the Sioux considered brothers. They were Black Kettle’s people and had made no trouble, but the Volunteers had murdered and mutilated women and children, even slaughtering women huddled in a ravine with their babies.

  Survivors had fled north to tell of the terrible killings, and both the Cheyenne and Sioux were more determined than ever to save at least what was left of their land in the Black Hills and in Powder River country. More prospectors had tried to come, some shooting Indians down as though they were game to be hunted. More buffalo and other game were being killed. Trees were being cut down. Trash was left on beautiful Grandmother Earth, water polluted. More soldiers were sent west this summer, and Indian scouts had told them it was because the white man’s war in the east was finally over.

  Let them come! They would make them want to go back home! Tall Bear rode on many raids, attacking soldiers, forts, wagon trains of supplies and those bringing more people. Sometimes he and the warriors with whom he rode ventured almost as far south as Fort Laramie, not so far from where he had found the white woman alone last
summer. He had not forgotten her, her hair as red as canyon rocks, her eyes as blue as deep waters, her skin fair but slightly burned by the sun. She was a small thing, but strong, not just physically, but on the inside. He had admired that woman, was surprised he’d been unable to forget her. He sometimes dreamed of being a white man, just to be able to see her again.

  She was probably gone now, perhaps moved on to more civilized places like the city that was called Denver, or maybe all the way to Oregon or California. That was where most whites ended up. There were cities out there, big cities with many white-man attractions, as St. Louis had been. She would have no reason to stay in this country.

  He would never see her again. But he could not stop wondering what she was doing now, if she’d had her baby, if she had taken another husband. Surely it would be easy for her to find a man, pretty as she was. She had been the first white woman he’d ever thought about this way, the first one he’d ever imagined in his bed. He could even remember her name. Faith Sommers.

  Something about their run-in with each other had left him with feelings of premonition, and a sense of something left undone. He strongly believed in fate, and he could not get over the feeling that there had been a reason for their meeting. Still, it made no sense. They lived in two different worlds, and now he had no idea where she had gone. It seemed foolish to keep thinking of her, and joining forces with Red Cloud on the warpath had helped him keep her off his mind…except deep in the night.

  “Many wagons!”

  Tall Bear jumped up from the fire he had made, as other warriors prepared for yet another raid. Charging Bear, one of the most bloodthirsty of their war party, was riding in a circle around their camp, rallying them to another battle. “On the white man’s trail! Many wagons come, big ones with supplies for the miners! Soldiers are with them! It will be a good kill! If we can stop them, more white men at the end of the trail will give up and go home!”