“Thanks, Buck.”
Faith turned to the depot, eyeing the fancy red Concord coach, not looking so fancy now with mud splattered all over its yellow wheels. She was proud of running this place, proud of all she’d learned about horses and hitching, coaches and how to handle patrons of the Wells Fargo line. That’s what it was now. Ben Holladay, who Hilda had told her was once one of the richest men around, and who had a monopoly on most transportation all over the West, had overspent and had been caught “stealing from Peter to pay Paul,” as Hilda had put it. According to newspapers they received weekly from Denver the year before, the man had apparently broken some kind of federal laws and had paid huge fines and lost just about everything. He had sold the Holladay Overland Mail & Express Company to Wells Fargo & Company last year.
Now the railroad. She was not going to let Sommers Station die. She would soon begin inquiring through ads she planned to mail to newspapers in Denver and Omaha, asking people who might want to take advantage of the railroad and start new businesses or settle on railroad land to come there to Sommers Station. Growth would mean a need for carpenters, blacksmiths, store owners, bankers, and such. Once she managed to get a few more people there, growth would take place naturally, one thing requiring another, until the town would mushroom. More passengers meant that more food would be needed, which in turn meant something bigger in the way of a restaurant, maybe a rooming house for those staying the night.
Her mind was swimming with possibilities. How wonderful it would be if there were others there year-round—company, friends, other women! Whatever those men inside had to say to her, they were not going to talk her out of staying right there at Sommers Station. They were not going to take any of this from her. Let the railroad come. She would be ready for it.
She lifted the skirt of her rather ragged wool dress to avoid mud as she headed to the depot, again suddenly self-conscious of her appearance. She walked to the pump and washed her hands before going inside to see the men seated at the long table always set out for passengers. Johnny, who had not a bashful bone in his body, was sitting on one of the younger men’s lap. Faith thought how he was so like his father, brash and outgoing, afraid of nothing.
She removed her stretched-out, badly worn woolen sweater and hung it on a hook. “I’ll get you some stew, gentlemen.” She could feel all of them watching her, sensed their curiosity. One by one she set bowls of buffalo stew in front of each of them, then put out a loaf of fresh bread and a bowl of fresh-churned butter.
“Do you do all this yourself?” asked the one Buck had called Tod Harding. “Make the butter? Do the cooking? Take care of the kid? Keep this place tidy?”
“Take care of the horses,” Faith went on for him. “Clean out stalls, carry water, chop wood, whatever it takes. This is a far cry from the fancy hotels you men are obviously accustomed to, but it’s warm and dry and part of your fare.”
The others were already eating. “Very good stew, Mrs. Sommers,” one of the older gentlemen told her.
“Thank you.” Faith poured coffee into tin cups, then sat down at one end of the table. Johnny climbed onto her lap. “Buck says you men are all from the railroad,” she said.
“Yes, ma’am,” Tod Harding replied. He introduced himself, then added proudly, “My father is Nicholas Harding, owns a freighting wagon line down on the Santa Fe Trail. Now he’s invested in the Union Pacific. He also owns several supply stores across the country. I’m here to investigate new places where he might open more stores as the railroad comes through. The rest of these men”—he nodded to a very distinguished-looking gentleman with white hair, then went on around the table—“Robert Belding, Marcus LeBlanc, Edward Hogan, Hank Beecher, and Larry King—they’re all with the Union Pacific, here to check out other possibilities for railroad land. This place is on land that’s part of the government land grant for the railroad—land that will one day be very valuable once the tracks come through. We feel that since there is already a stage depot here, and considering the distance between Salt Lake City and Cheyenne, it’s a good place to use as a train depot also. It will be especially useful for trains coming east out of the desert, a good watering post, as well as a gathering point for cattle being shipped east from ranches directly north of here.”
Faith brightened. “I am glad to hear that, Mr. Harding. I have already been planning ways to keep Sommers Station alive.”
Harding grinned, a smile that Faith couldn’t help noticing was movingly handsome. Again she was ashamed of her appearance. Women in places where these men came from surely were much more refined and fancy.
“Well, that’s good news, and we can help you,” Harding answered. “The railroad will grant you use of the land, but eventually you will have to pay for it. If you have some kind of business going here, or new ideas, you should begin setting aside some money. For all you know, Sommers Station will be quite a little settlement someday.”
Faith straightened proudly. “That is my very intention, and I already have a growing nest egg for just that. I earn money from passengers who pay me to do mending, washing, earn tips for my cooking.” She had told no one, not even Buck, that she kept money hidden in a secret place in the wall, and she would not tell these men, either. “I remind you that this land still runs with outlaws, so anything I tell you cannot go beyond these walls. You seem to be respectable businessmen, so I think I can trust your discretion.”
“Of course,” Belding told her.
Harding shook his head. “You surely are a wonder,” he told her.
“I am just a woman trying to survive out here, Mr. Harding, and who has a son to support. I have already been thinking of placing newspaper ads for people to come to Sommers Station and take advantage of the coming railroad and the revenue it can bring.”
Hank Beecher chuckled. “You’re a smart woman, Mrs. Sommers. I’ve never met a woman who was so independent at such a young age. You surely can’t be more than eighteen or nineteen.”
“I am almost twenty-one.”
“Well, you are certainly an unusual woman,” Mr. LeBlanc told her. “We were told a young woman ran this place, but we didn’t believe it. Tell me, don’t you miss civilization? Don’t you want to—well, you know—go to dances? Meet young men?”
Faith reddened a little. “I am much too busy to think about dances and courting, sir. If God means for me to marry again, He will send the right man at the right time. But that man will have to understand that I plan to continue building Sommers Station and will not sit home at a hearth knitting sweaters.”
They all laughed at the remark, and Faith felt her pride and confidence growing.
“Well, of course, the cities that will truly grow with the railroad are Cheyenne and Salt Lake City,” Tod told her. “My father is already building stores there, in readiness for new business. The West is going to mushroom now that the war is over, and the railroad will only make the growth that much faster. I’m sure Sommers Station will do well, and I intend to be back in a year or two to get something started here myself. I will see that tracks are laid from the main line to this point. I hope you’re still here when I come back to open my own business.”
“Oh, I will be, Mr. Harding. I promise you that.”
His eyes glittered as though he was very pleased. “Good.”
“Now, Tod, remember—the young lady said she had no time for men and courting,” Belding reminded him.
Faith reddened more, but she noticed Tod Harding did not seem at all embarrassed. His brashness reminded her of Johnny, which attracted her, even as it set off the warning bells. She did not intend to fall in love with any man who might manhandle her the way Johnny had, and this man seemed like the kind of person who liked to control all those around him. Since he came from a wealthy family, he probably also expected women to sit home embroidering or attending social clubs and gossiping about each other. Men like that didn’t marry women like Faith Sommers.
Why she even entertained such a ridiculous thought,
she wasn’t sure. She told herself that the aching loneliness she’d been ignoring for three years was getting the better of her, and she warned herself not to let that loneliness cause her to make foolish decisions.
“I have apple pie,” she told them, rising. She set Johnny on his feet, and he toddled off to sit down on the floor and play with a small wooden horse. All the men voiced their desire for pie. Faith began heating water for washing dishes, then carved and served pie when everyone was through with their stew.
The men told her wondrous stories about how the railroad was being built, and she tried to imagine men drilling and dynamiting their way through the mountains, making tunnels big enough for locomotives. It had been a long time since she’d seen a train, but she certainly remembered how big the engines were. Before long they would be chugging and thundering their way past Sommers Station.
She listened intently to more railroad talk, investments that had been made, talk of millions of dollars. She noticed that Tod Harding seemed to enjoy impressing her by mentioning how much his father had invested. She reminded herself that being married to a man with money could end up being a life close to slavery, a life as confined as when she’d lived among the Quakers.
Buck came in and announced that the team was changed and he was ready to go. The men cascaded Faith with compliments about her cooking, and Faith wrapped a piece of pie for Buck in a cotton napkin.
“You should eat first, Buck.”
“No, ma’am. We’re runnin’ a little late, and I want to make the next station before nightfall. You should know there’s word of a new gang of outlaws runnin’ these parts. They already robbed a stage carryin’ an army payroll. One of ’em is a big Indian who they say is a half-breed and mean as hell. You keep an eye out.”
“I will, Buck.”
As everyone grabbed coats and hats and went out, Tod Harding lingered behind. “Aren’t you afraid when you hear talk about a gang of outlaws in these parts?” he asked Faith.
“I try not to think about it too much, Mr. Harding. God has protected me and provided for me so far. I have no reason to think He won’t keep doing it. I grew up with Quakers, and prayer keeps me going. I’ll admit I hated the prayer meetings when I was young, but I do have a strong faith.”
His eyes moved over her curiously again. “I can see that. You’re quite a woman, Mrs. Sommers.” He buttoned his overcoat.
“Thank you, Mr. Harding. I’ll take that as a compliment.”
He put on his hat. “I must say you’re too lovely to be buried here, though. You should go to a city—”
“I like it right here, Mr. Harding.”
“Ready to roll!” Buck shouted.
Harding put out his right hand before pulling on a glove. “Nice to meet you, Mrs. Sommers. You remember what we said about growth. This is one location we think could benefit from the railroad. Others will close. Take advantage of what you have here, or others will run you out of business.”
“I’ll remember that, Mr. Harding.”
He looked her over once more, a hint of arrogance in his eyes that made her a little uneasy.
“You’d better get on the stage,” she reminded him.
“Oh! Yes. Good-bye, Mrs. Sommers.”
“Good-bye, Mr. Harding.” She watched him run to the coach and climb inside. Buck whistled and shouted and slapped the reins, getting the team under way. As the coach splattered past the station, she waved to Harding, who was watching through a window. He waved in return. Faith suspected there would be a good deal of conversation between him and the others about the strange woman who ran Sommers Station.
Suddenly all was quiet again. There was not even any wind today, only a still cold. She thought of Buck’s comment about outlaws and a half-breed Indian. She thought of Tall Bear and wondered what had become of him. Buck’s warning had left her feeling more uneasy than she’d wanted to admit. She rubbed the backs of her arms and went inside, closing and bolting the door, deciding she had better make sure all three of her rifles were loaded and ready—just in case.
Chapter Seventeen
April brought a sudden weather change for the better, and Faith awoke to a sunny morning and the singing of birds. She wrapped a shawl around her shoulders and stepped out onto the porch, unconcerned that she wore only a flannel gown. There was no one to see her in it. She breathed deeply of sweet morning air, took in the sight of wildflowers blooming amid green grass over many square miles of rolling hills. It was a sight to behold, the entire view ringed by distant mountains that were still covered with snow.
It was moments like this that she was most glad she’d stayed there, these moments of quiet beauty. She and little Johnny had survived another rugged winter. Just last month she had celebrated the boy’s third birthday with a cake and a rollicking snowball fight in a wet March snowfall that soon melted into a warm spring.
Three years! That meant she had been here nearly four years now. She walked back inside and built up a fire in the cookstove to heat some water to wash. By then Johnny was sitting up on his cot rubbing his eyes. “Potty, mommy,” he told her.
Faith smiled, thinking how sweet a child was when he was still warm and sleepy. She walked over and gave him a hug, then pulled some shoes on his feet and put a jacket on him. She kept her shawl on and carried Johnny outside to the privy, glad he no longer needed diapers. The boy liked calling himself a “big boy,” often walked around saying so and pointing at himself whenever other people were around.
They each took care of personal needs, and when Faith left the privy, Johnny was standing in dewy grass pointing across the wide expanse of rolling hills.
“Buck,” he said.
Faith studied where he pointed to see what looked like several riders coming. She frowned, watching them a moment before a hint of alarm began to filter through every nerve end. They were riding fast, and it was early morning. Indians liked to attack in early morning. And why else would riders be coming so fast this hour of the morning if not to try to surprise her and catch her off guard? Until she was sure who was coming, she had better be prepared.
She grabbed Johnny and ran back to the station, glad the horses were still in the shed. She had intended to let them out to graze before coming back inside, but that would make it easier for someone to steal them. She rushed inside and closed the door, bolting it with a heavy board that latched all the way across the doorway. She closed and locked the shutters, opening one outside window first so that she could point a rifle through the hole in the shutter made for that purpose. She’d warded off other Indians and outlaws, she told herself, so she would just have to do it again, if the men coming meant harm.
She hurriedly threw off her gown and pulled on a dress, not bothering with a camisole. There was no time. The important thing was not to be caught wearing only a nightgown. A woman had to be careful around strange men, whether Indian or white. At least Indians usually wanted only horses. Out in these parts a woman could be in more danger from lonely, lawless white men than from Indians. That’s what Hilda had often warned her about.
She frantically fumbled with the buttons of the dress, managing to hook most of them. By then she could hear the sound of thundering hooves that sent vibrations through the ground so that she could almost feel their approach under her feet. Her rifles were always kept ready and loaded. She took down all three, stacking two next to her at one of the windows. She kept ammunition inside a little stand under the window. Keeping one rifle in hand, she hurried to a cupboard where she kept one of Clete Brown’s six-guns on a top shelf, along with the holster that came with it, in which several bullets still rested. She carried the six-gun to the window and ordered Johnny to hide under his cot.
The boy just stared at her, looking ready to cry. “No,” he answered, which was what he said to just about everything lately. Various passengers had teased her about the “terrible twos,” and she could see that the theory that a two-year-old was difficult was certainly right; but now he was three and still being
stubborn.
“Do as I say, Johnny,” she told him. “We’re playing a game. You have to hide as long as you can from whoever is coming.”
He grinned then, happy with her explanation. With a squeal he ran to the cot, got down on fat knees, and crawled under it.
Faith shoved the rifle barrel through a hole and watched…and waited. She told herself to stay calm. The horses came closer, but she heard no shouting and war whoops. They couldn’t be Indians. They always did plenty of shouting and yipping when they were on the attack, and by the heavy, thunderous sound of the horses, she guessed they were bigger than Indian ponies, probably shod.
White men. There was only one reason white men would come riding in so fast this hour of the morning. It was possible they were being chased by Indians, but that was not likely, since she’d heard no war cries. Besides, Indians seldom began causing problems this early in the season. Trouble usually arose only during summer buffalo hunts. The men outside were most likely outlaws, intent on overwhelming the station with a surprise attack.
She prayed Johnny would stay under the cot. “Mommy is going to practice shooting her rifle, Johnny, so don’t be afraid. Remember, stay under that cot so nobody can find you.”
The boy laughed again. Faith concentrated on the horses and their riders that charged in front of the station. She could hear more horses behind the cabin and was glad there were no windows or doors there.
“Get the horses!” someone shouted.
Faith saw two men head for the shed. She took careful aim and squeezed off a shot. One of the men cried out and fell from his horse.
“What the hell—” someone yelled.
A spray of bullets hit the front of the depot, one of them splintering the top edge of a shutter. Faith closed her eyes and ducked her head to keep pieces of wood from flying into her face. Anger began to replace fear then, and she looked through the hole and took aim again, reminding herself she had little Johnny to defend. She fired again.
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