Tame the Wild Wind

by Rosanne Bittner

  The woman turned and went out, and Maude was just then approaching the house. She stopped short when she realized Bret must have been visiting with Faith this whole time. “I vas just coming to see if I should keep holding a room,” she called to Faith.

  “Yes,” Faith answered. “Miss Flowers will be renting one for a while until she can build a place for herself.”

  Maude shrugged. “All right.” She turned away, shaking her head, and Faith and Bret both laughed.

  “A dollar a night or five dollars a week,” Faith said.

  Bret nodded. “That’s fine. I’ll have Ben pay you five dollars for our first week when we come back at six-thirty.”

  “I’ll be waiting. By the way, Buck Jones will be here, too.”

  “Good. I’d like to see him again.” Their gaze held a moment longer, two women from two different worlds, who had a total understanding of each other. It seemed so ironic to Faith that the arrival of Bret Flowers was the first truly uplifting thing that had happened to her since Gabe’s disappearance. She was someone from the past who had returned. Maybe it was a good sign. Maybe some day Gabe would also come in on a train, or ride in on a horse.

  One thing and one thing only kept her believing he was out there somewhere and would come back to her, and that was this constant feeling of closeness to him. She could almost feel him standing beside her at times, lying next to her in the night. He’d told her once that the Indians believed in spiritual travel, that through concentration and sacrifice they could be one with the wolf, or the eagle, or the wind. They could take themselves anywhere they wanted to be, including with their loved ones. She’d felt Gabe with her, knew somehow deep inside that when she felt that way, Gabe Beaumont was thinking about her.

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  1871…

  Gabe closed his eyes, again drawing on what strength was left him, reminding himself of the Sun Dance sacrifice, the starvation he’d suffered, the thirst, the pain of the skewers in his breasts. His years with the Sioux had taught him stamina, courage. Most of all he had learned the importance of spiritual removal from the body.

  He concentrated again on taking himself away from the horror and filth he lived in. From what he could determine, he had been thrown into a cell in the basement of the two-story brick building that served as a courthouse at what he had learned from other half-starved, disease-ridden prisoners was Fort Smith, Arkansas, Indian Territory. He no longer noticed when rats crawled over his body, and his nostrils had become accustomed to the smell. There were no windows, but when he closed his eyes, he could be on a mountain, see the sky, the eagle. He could smell the sweet scent of pine. He could see Faith’s face, her beautiful hair. He could hear her voice, instead of the groans and coughing of his fellow prisoners. He could smell her lilac water, taste her lips. He could hear Johnny’s laughter, see his sweet smile.

  He saw real sunshine only once a week, when he was released for two hours to walk in circles around a courtyard for exercise, but even then his ankles were chained together, as well as his wrists. The first four months he’d been here he had not even enjoyed that much freedom, for he had been unable to walk at all. His wound had been left untended for two weeks, until finally one of the bounty hunters who had brought him here decided to take out the bullet in a horrifying, painful procedure with his hunting knife beside a campfire. It had been a sloppy job, and he hadn’t been able to use his leg at all for weeks afterward. He literally had to learn all over again how to walk, with the help of some of the other prisoners. Now he exercised daily in the cell any way he could, wanting to keep his muscles as strong as possible under these conditions.

  Someday he would get out of here…someday. He had to believe that. He must think only of sunshine, fresh air, Faith, Johnny, freedom. What must poor Faith think by now? He suspected Tod Harding would try to convince her that her husband had deserted her, and he would not blame Faith for believing it. Days, weeks, months had gone by…years. He had tried to keep track by making marks on the wall, but he wasn’t sure he’d remembered to mark every day when he’d first got here, he was in so much pain. To the best of his knowledge he had been here almost three years. He had contemplated all kinds of ways to escape, but none of them would work. He asked every day to see the judge who presided over the territory, but the man had refused to see him. He was here without trial, without a chance to defend himself, without a proper, legal sentencing.

  His only appearance before the judge had been when he’d first arrived, when he was too sick and weak from the wound and botched bullet removal even to speak up for himself; but he remembered that the judge had appeared to be drunk at his hearing, completely uncaring and unable even to conduct a legal trial. He had simply ordered him thrown in a cell and had refused since then to see him.

  A lot of people had obviously been bribed to put him here, and the only way he kept from going crazy over his situation was using his ability to remove himself spiritually, to be with Faith and Johnny, to feel Faith lying next to him. He had contemplated ways of escape, but so far three other men had tried and had been shot. There was no way of digging out of this basement prison with its cement walls and floor, and just above was the courthouse and jailers. Whenever the prisoners were outside, their ankles and wrists were chained. After his wound had finally healed the best it would heal, his health would improve no further, his body kept weak from the lack of fresh air, from foul water and bad food, from occasional rat bites. And to run from prison would only make him a hunted man, still unable to go home to Faith. He had hoped to find a jailer willing to write Faith and tell her where he was, but so far none had obliged him.

  He opened his eyes, stared at a damp wall, shifted his position on the hard cot he lay on. The men who had brought him here had told him they had papers saying he was to be hanged, but that had not happened. One of his jailers had said that because the crime did not happen in Indian Territory, the judge had decided he did not have the authority to hang him. Gabe suspected there was more reason than that. The man might be afraid of being found out by the federal government, which was the overseer for this territory. A hanging would create too much paperwork—paperwork that might lead to the discovery of the judge’s dishonesty and drunkenness. It was easier to just throw him down here and forget about him, let his name and existence be forever forgotten.

  His last shred of hope lay in the news from one of the more recent prisoners that the current judge might be replaced. There had been numerous murders in Indian Territory, and it was becoming a haven for outlaws. The government was seriously discussing what should be done to bring more law and order to this wild, unruly land. A new judge could mean Gabe’s salvation…or his demise. If the man would review his case, he’d see he did not belong here—but then again, maybe he’d be hanged, after all.

  He closed his eyes again. He had to stop thinking about the horror of the place. Every day it was becoming more difficult to keep up his hope, to find the spiritual power to remove himself from this hellhole and take to the mountains, to Faith. He could not think about the possibility of having to stay here the rest of his years, although under these conditions that would not be so long. He had to concentrate on Wakan Tanka, on his own inner strength. He had to pray that the love he and Faith shared was strong enough to overcome this separation, strong enough to hold them together in spirit, and that their prayers were powerful enough to bring a miracle.

  “Faith,” he whispered. “Hang on. I love you.”

  At that very moment Faith sat up in bed, sure she’d heard someone whisper her name. She shivered at how real it had seemed, but surely it had just been a dream. She rose and pulled on a robe, walking to a window to crank it open. She could hear a few noises from town, but this window looked out at the distant mountains. She shivered again at the feeling that someone had been in the room with her, standing over her bed and saying her name.

  “Dear God, is it Gabe?” she said softly. “Please, please bring him back to me. Please let hi
m be alive.” The hope was growing dimmer. Nearly three years had passed. If his spirit had spoken to her, maybe it was because he was already dead, but she had never been able to believe that. For the first time since she’d left home, she wished she could participate in a Quaker prayer meeting. Sometimes the power of prayer from an entire group could bring miracles.

  She closed her eyes and prayed again with all her heart and soul for news about Gabe, then just listened for a moment to the howling of wolves in the distant foothills. Wolves always reminded her of Gabe, wild and free, a part of this land. “Come back to me, Gabe. I’ll wait here forever.”

  She closed the window and climbed back into bed, empty…so empty.

  A crowd of surrounding settlers and local business owners gathered at the train depot to welcome the new schoolteacher. Faith had insisted the teacher be a woman, and the town vote had supported her. After all, their mayor was a woman, and out here in the West people liked to think they were more forward thinking than back east. Allowing women to have jobs normally held by men was simply another sign that in this land of opportunity new settlers experienced a totally new kind of freedom. According to newspapers from Cheyenne, Wyoming citizens even thought women should have the right to vote for President some day. For now, here in Sommers Station, women were allowed to vote on various town decisions, and hiring Miss Sandra Bellings was one of the decisions they had made.

  The slender, middle-aged woman disembarked from the train, her sober face brightening when she saw her welcoming committee. She had been chosen from among several applicants who had answered ads Faith had placed in newspapers in Denver and Omaha, and Faith suspected that most had voted for her because they had decided a thirty-year-old woman who had never been married was most likely highly moral and would set a good example for the children. And without her own family, she would be able to commit all her time and attention to her students. A little log schoolhouse had already been built about a half mile north of town, close enough for the children of the townspeople, yet far enough out for outlying settlers to be able to bring their children in. Miss Bellings was from Omaha, and in her letter she had expressed her desire to see the beautiful West, her appreciation for the fact that women had more freedom here, and her wish to offer the children of Sommers Station the opportunity of an education.

  As Faith approached the woman with a bouquet of flowers, she suspected Miss Sandra Bellings had an ulterior motive for coming there. Men far outnumbered women in the town, and many single women came west for the very purpose of finding a husband. She smiled inwardly at her suspicion. It was fine with her if the woman had come there to find a man, as long as she was a good teacher. It was already the fall of 1871, and Johnny was six years old. It was time for him to go to school. Alex was two and a half now, an active, wild little boy, with long black hair and his father’s green eyes. Every time Faith looked at him she saw Gabe, and having him around kept the wound of her aching love for Gabe constantly open.

  She handed the flowers to Miss Bellings. “Welcome to Sommers Station, Miss Bellings. I am Faith Sommers Beaumont.”

  “Oh! You’re the woman who runs this town, so I understand.”

  Faith felt a little embarrassed. “I don’t know about that. I sort of started this whole thing, but most decisions are voted on by everyone, including the women. I just oversee things, I guess, but I don’t really run things.”

  “Well, I am honored to meet you, Mrs. Beaumont.” The woman took the flowers, and others surrounded her, leading her toward a wagon that would take her to the little schoolhouse, where cake and coffee would be served as a welcoming party. A two-room frame house had been built next to the school as living quarters for the new teacher.

  Faith felt proud and satisfied that Sommers Station was turning out to be everything she’d hoped it could be. They now had a church and a school. Bret and Ben had built their tavern, and they ran it quite professionally, with Bret’s singing so lovely that sometimes even some of the women stood outside and listened. Ben was careful not to allow any one man so many drinks that he became drunk and violent, and the only gambling allowed was poker.

  Some people thought Sommers Station should have a sheriff, but so far there hadn’t been the kind of trouble that would warrant one. Still, Faith supposed that could happen, and perhaps they should be ready. It was just another thing that would have to be voted on, maybe next spring. She turned to go to Bret, who was watching Johnny and Alex. They would board their own buggy and head for the school. She walked toward them, but a man stepped down from one of the train platforms and put out his hand to stop her.

  “Well, hello, Mrs. Beaumont.”

  Faith felt a flood of emotions move through her at the sight of him. It was Tod Harding. She had not seen him since their encounter in Cheyenne in sixty-eight. He had sent men to Sommers Station to build a grocery store and a feed-supply store, but he had never come himself. Faith had always wondered if it was because of a guilty conscience. Maybe she had been wrong all along about the man, and her suspicions were unfair. She would probably never know now.

  “Hello, Mr. Harding. I am surprised to see you here.” He still dressed in his dapper manner, wearing a short wool chesterfield overcoat, under which she could see a white-collared shirt and a silk tie. He removed a silk top hat and bowed to her.

  “Well, I am not surprised to find you here. I must say you are more beautiful than I remembered. The years only seem to make you more lovely.” He stepped back and looked her over. She wore a deep-blue velvet dress with a lighter-blue apron overskirt trimmed with a satin ruffle and satin bows. Her cloak was plush velvet, also dark blue, trimmed with gimp cord. It was fitted at her still-slender waist and had shawl sleeves. Her blue velvet empire bonnet covered her red hair, which was wound into a chignon, held in place by white beaded netting. “My, my, we are even dressed in the latest fashion. It is obvious you are doing very well here, Mrs. Beaumont. Look at you! What a far cry from the plain, work-worn woman I met when there was nothing here but a little stage depot!” He looked up the street. “Just look at this place! It’s all you dreamed of, isn’t it?”

  “We’re doing quite well, Mr. Harding. What on earth brings you here after all this time?”

  “Oh, I have some wonderful plans, and I came to tell you about them myself. And I am doing some investigating for the railroad, seeing how things are coming along at the various depots along the way.” He looked around again. “I can see I’ll be able to report that Sommers Station is doing very well.”

  Bret approached them, holding Alex’s and Johnny’s hands. “Well, who is this, Faith?”

  Faith realized she was staring, and she hoped Harding didn’t misinterpret her intentions. She stared because she was trying to read his eyes, trying to gauge the man’s honesty. She would never get over the feeling he’d had something to do with Gabe’s disappearance. She finally tore her eyes from him to address Bret. “This is Tod Harding, Bret, the man I told you about, the one who built the grocery store and feed store and who originally told me about claiming railroad land.”

  “I see! So you’re Tod Harding.” Bret looked him over as though he were a piece of candy. “Pretty fancy.”

  Harding brightened, a worldly man who did not take long to realize the kind of woman Bret was. She dressed more demurely now, out of respect for Faith and Sommers Station, but women like Bret had a flair about them that could not be hidden. “Pretty fancy yourself, ma’am. And who might you be?”

  Bret folded her arms, glad finally to meet this man Faith had always suspected had something to do with her husband’s disappearance. “I’m Bret Flowers—came here with a friend to open a tavern.” She turned and pointed. “Right up the street there—‘Flowers and Wine.’ Come see us sometime.”

  Tod looked her over appreciatively. “I’ll do that.” He glanced at Faith. “I take it you don’t allow anything more than drinking and a little card playing in your fair little town.”

  “No, I don’t, Mr. Hardin
g.”

  He waved her off. “Oh, stop with the ‘Mr. Harding’ thing. Surely you can bring yourself to call me Tod. After all, I am partly responsible for helping you build this place, am I not?”

  Faith didn’t like the suggestion that she couldn’t have built the town without him. She liked even less the hint that perhaps she owed him something. “I had plans long before you came along, Mr. Harding.” She could tell by his eyes he was miffed that she insisted on not using his first name.

  “And if not for me, you might not have known about the railroad land, don’t forget.”

  Faith could see that his smile was forced. She sensed the crueler man behind the fancy clothes and charming smile. “I have to go, Mr. Harding. We are having a reception for our new schoolteacher. You are welcome to come with us.”

  He brightened a little again. “I would like that. After all, I want to get to know the others in this town. I intend to stay awhile. I never told you my personal reason for coming here. I am going to build a hotel—a very fine one, I might add. And if you would like to rent part of the lower level, you may open a restaurant there. Just a suggestion. You must be quite busy, what with two children and being the mayor of your own little town.” He frowned. “I must ask, though, if you have ever heard from your husband. I was told by Sheriff Keller in Cheyenne that you had been searching for him a couple of years ago. He, uh, ran off on you, I believe?”

  Faith picked up Alex and faced him squarely. “Believe what you want. Gabe did not run off on me. Something happened to him. I don’t know what, and I may never know, but I will never believe he left me deliberately.” She turned and exchanged a knowing look with Bret, and both women walked away, Bret leading Johnny beside her.

  “I’ll be damned,” Harding mumbled to himself. “The woman still doesn’t believe he deserted her.” He’d had high hopes she believed exactly that, and that she would be so disgusted with Gabe Beaumont by now that she would be ready to throw herself at any other man just for spite and to go on with her life. The man had been gone three years! That meant she likely hadn’t been bedded in all that time. Surely she was getting hungry to be a woman again. Between the loss of her husband, needing a father for her children…and his own plans for making her completely dependent on him…it shouldn’t take terribly long to get her into his own bed. He’d never had a woman turn him down the way Faith had, certainly not one in her position, one who could benefit so greatly from his wealth and connections. Give it up, Faith Beaumont. Your husband was hanged in Indian Territory. He’s been dead for three years. How he wished he could tell her without giving himself away.