A Bride for Harper

by P. Creeden

  He kept pushing until an older gentleman appeared, snow sticking to his salt and pepper beard and hair. His eyes were closed, and for a moment, Harper feared he was dead until a groan came from the man’s lips. Then Harper whistled and called for Jack to hop down from the sled. He grabbed the man under the arms and began to lift and pull him toward the sled. The man’s hot cheeked pressed against Harper’s. Fever. Another groan came out of the man as Harper set him on the sled. Sweat dripped into Harper’s eyes as he pulled off three of his own furs to lay over the man’s body. The stranger needed to get warm and quickly. How long had he been out in the snow like that? Long enough to be buried under two feet of it. Harper frowned as he grabbed the rope on the sled and began to pull it up the path to his house. Then he remembered the rider-less horse that had rushed past him when he’d first left Laramie. Was it possible that this man had been riding the horse?

  That was nearly an hour ago. Though the three miles would have taken the galloping horse minutes to traverse, chances were the man had been on the ground, buried in the snow for more than an hour. Had it been the cause of the fever as well? Jack barked and bounded up onto the front porch of the cabin. The snow continued to fall around them, and the wind blew it almost sideways. Sweat still dripped from Harper’s brow. He’d need to get inside if he didn’t want to catch his death out there. He pulled the sled up onto his covered porch just to get the stranger out of the snowfall and wind. Then Harper hurried inside to get a fire started in his wood stove. As much as he wished he’d been able to keep a fire going in the stove while he’d traveled to town, his father had taught him to do so was a dangerous endeavor of its own, and that many houses would not have caught fire if people were willing to realize that fire was too dangerous to be left unattended.

  So now, Harper put in the kindling he needed and used a friction match to light it. The smell of phosphorous was soon overcome with the burning wood smell that came from the fire growing within the stove. He shoved in a larger log and then stood. He pulled off the last of the furs he had over his shoulders and hung it on the hook over the stove to dry. Then he found more of his furs and began to make it on a pallet on the floor a few feet from the stove. Once finished, he steeled himself and pulled open the door to the cabin to face the stranger on the porch. Jack sat over the man and whined as Harper stepped out. Harper nodded to the dog. “I know. I know. I need to get the man inside if I’m going to save him.”

  After he grabbed the man by the underarms and pulled him into the house, he lay him on the pallet he’d made. Harper wiped the sweat from his brow as he assessed the situation. To save the man, he’d need to get him as warm as possible as fast as possible. To do that, he needed to start by removing the man’s wet clothing. As he got to work, he apologized profusely, but the man never woke or said a word in response. Occasionally, though, the stranger would cough. After drying the man off as much as he could, the house had finally gotten reasonably warm. He pulled furs up to the man’s chin and then felt the stranger’s forehead and cheeks. The fever may have gotten worse. With a frown, Harper headed into the other room where he had several herbs stored and grabbed some yarrow. Then he started water boiling on his stove top. He made a tea and added a bit of honey to help it go down a bit easier, and his mother had said that honey was good for feeding to people who were sick.

  The stranger appeared to be resting peacefully but sweat dotted his brow. Harper approached with the cooled tea, bent down, and worked to rouse the man, but the stranger barely cracked open an eyelid. Slowly, Harper poured the smallest amount into the man’s mouth, and the man swallowed it. Like this, Harper continued to work the full cup of yarrow tea into the man. It was the only way to get his fever down. By the time he’d finished, Harper was exhausted. The day was catching up with him. He groaned as he stood and cracked his neck. He had some buffalo meat pemmican that he could boil up with some dried beans and make a nice meaty stew. At least he had a chance of getting some of it down the sick stranger’s throat. When the pemmican boiled, it grew softer and the shredded meat tended to fall apart. It would be perfect for the job.

  With a sigh, he began cooking. As tired as he was, he’d probably just have eaten the pemmican uncooked and gone on to bed, but for now, he’d need to give up a few comforts in order to take care of the stranger. He knew that the man would need yarrow tea at least two more times before the morning in order to battle the fever. Harper hoped that it would break by sunrise. As he cooked the meal, he stepped over to the window to peer out. The snow hadn’t stopped yet. A frown tugged at his lip. If things continued this way, they were in for a blizzard that could keep the stranger in his home for several days before he could take the man to town. Not that he’d ask the man to move off until he was well in the first place. In some ways, the older man reminded Harper of his father, although this man was a bit younger. He just hoped that the stranger had the constitution to survive this sickness and not give in the way Harper’s father had.

  He shook his head. Thinking that way wouldn’t help matters. Harper needed to concentrate on helping the man get through the night. One day at a time, they’d get the man through this. Besides, half of Harper’s father’s issue was he was a drunkard and wanted whiskey more than he’d wanted the herbal teas that Harper’s mother had taught him to make. His father foolishly believed the whiskey would help him more. The old man had been wrong, but Harper couldn’t change his mind. He let out a breath. At least this man had no choice. Harper kept no whiskey in his house after his father died, and with the snow outside, there was no way to get anything else. The man would need to drink and eat what Harper gave him. And then he would get well. He had to.

  Chapter 3

  Mabel had had no choice but to sit in her room at the inn and watch as the snow continued to fall all night and pile up higher than she’d ever seen before. There had to be well over three feet of snow outside. Tears filled her eyes again, making her vision blurry before she blinked them away. She swiped at her cheeks. Crying would do her no good, but for some reason she couldn’t stop. Just like she couldn’t stop the constant feeling that she’d never see her father again. Until the chestnut mare had come running into the livery barn while she’d been standing there, she’d had some hope that maybe her father was weathering the storm at the farm where he’d visited. But the moment the horse had returned, and she saw the look in the livery owner’s face, she knew her father had to be injured and out in the cold, possibly even worse.

  Luckily, the livery owner, Mr. Collins, had the wherewithal to take her to the fort commander’s office, but by the time she left his office, there was already over a foot of snow on the ground. And the commander could only assure her that they would do the best they could to search for him, after the storm was over. It wasn’t enough for her. She’d tried to get Mr. Collins to rent her a horse to go searching for her father herself, but he refused to allow it. So, instead of searching for her father, she’d spent the whole night worrying and crying.

  Now that morning had come, the light of day shone down on Fort Laramie, but the snow had still not stopped. Mabel went downstairs to the front desk to talk to the innkeeper, Mr. Randall. “Forgive me for asking, Mr. Randall, but will the commander be forming a search party for my father today? Will they still go out in this weather? Do you think that there’s any possible way that he would allow me to take part in it?”

  Mr. Randall’s sympathetic eyes fixed on her while he slowly shook his head. “I’m sorry, Miss Brown. I know that you’re rightly worried, but I’m not sure what the commander is going to do. However, I’m almost certain that he won’t be allowing you to participate in the search—it will only be the soldiers in the party.”

  Mabel chewed her bottom lip, trying to keep it from quivering—trying to keep the tears from falling again. She stood at the front windows of the inn and watched the main street. Not one horse or person passed by in the deep snow. It would likely reach well past any horse’s knees if they attempted to shuffle throu
gh. Honestly, the rational side of Mabel understood that she wouldn’t want people to get injured, sick, or lost in the treacherous conditions, but her emotional side demanded that the commander of the fort and his soldiers do something about her missing father.

  But all that Mabel could do was sit and wait and hope and pray.

  Harper cared for the sick stranger through the night, and by morning, his fever hadn’t broken. With a frown, Harper continued to give the man alternating tea and stew every couple hours, trying to keep the man’s energy up and pray that he’d survive the ordeal. That morning, Harper had gotten a wooden bowl and filled it with snow from outside so that he could dip a cloth in the melting liquid and press it against the man’s forehead. He needed to help the man get his fever under control, but nothing Harper seemed to be doing was working. The stranger was going to die if the fever didn’t break soon.

  Exhaustion still had its grip on Harper, and he did his best to doze between moments when he needed to take care of the stranger. His sleep suffered, but if the man survived, it would all be worth it. The day had been long but by evening, Harper prepared to get another bowl of snow and minister to the man when he realized that the man’s skin no longer burned to the touch. The fever had broken, and the stranger survived. Elation overwhelmed Harper, and he gave a whoop and hopped in the air. This made Jack very excited, and the setter hopped around and barked as well.

  “Mabel, will you please quiet that thing down? What is it doing in the house?” the man on the pallet of fur mumbled.

  Harper bent down to him and asked, “Sir, are you awake? Sir?”

  But the man didn’t speak again, remaining asleep, even though Harper shook him a bit to try to rouse him. It would’ve been helpful if he could at least learn the man’s name, but there was no luck in getting it yet. With a deep breath, Harper checked that the man was warm under the furs, but not too warm, and then stoked the fire. It might be a couple days before the man was well enough to sit up and speak, eat, and take care of himself, but Harper didn’t have much else to do, so he pulled out his bible and began reading aloud to the stranger.

  Two days had passed, and the snow had hardly melted from the ground. At least lassitude kept Mabel from crying much anymore. Instead she just went from upstairs to downstairs in the inn aimlessly. She hardly ate. She hardly slept. And all that kept running through her mind was the question: What was she going to do if her father didn’t come back?

  Her mother and sisters at Fort Kearny had no idea what was going on. They’d expected a stagecoach to bring them home tomorrow, but there was no way they’d be able to leave in this weather, and no way that Mabel could leave without her father.

  “Miss Brown,” a gentleman called to her when she’d been sitting at a table alone in the dining area, her eyes fixed out the window as she wool gathered. When she blinked up, she found a soldier standing there.

  Quickly she stood. “Is there news about my father? Is that why you’re here, sir?”

  The man rubbed the back of his neck as his lips drew thin. “I’m sorry to say I don’t come with news about your father. He is still missing at this time. We haven’t yet found a single clue, but we did make it out to Old Man Jenkin’s farm, and he said that your father had left that afternoon just before the flurries started.”

  Mabel’s heart sunk in her chest. This news was expected, wasn’t it? Didn’t she know that would be the case?

  “However,” the man said. “We searched the trails from the farm and back again thoroughly and did not find your father or any clue where he might have gone. Some of the other soldiers are currently checking in at the houses off the main trail to ask if anyone has seen him or if perhaps, he’s taken shelter at one of them.”

  Relief flooded her. “That’s... That’s excellent news. I hadn’t thought about how he might take shelter at one of the houses along the way. Then hope is not yet lost.”

  “No, Miss, this is not the time to lose hope.” A small smile played on the soldier’s lips, and Mabel suddenly realized he was an attractive young blond man, no more than four years her senior. She blushed at the sudden realization as this was no time to be thinking such thoughts.

  “Thank you, Mister...”

  “It’s Renault, Sergeant Henry Renault.”

  “Thank you, Sergeant.” She let out a relieved breath, feeling like she had the right to smile for the first time in two days. “Please let me know if there is any more news.”

  “I will.” He nodded and bowed his head slightly before taking his leave.

  All Mabel could do now was put faith in God that her father had taken refuge in someone’s home along the way. And have faith in the soldiers who were out looking for him. Soon her father would be returned to her. She needed to cling to that belief. The alternative was much too devastating. Now it was just a matter of waiting.

  On the third morning, the stranger opened his eyes and sat up. The man was thoroughly disoriented, and he blinked at the room and Harper. “What? Where am I? What’s happened?”

  Harper put a marker in his bible and then pushed Jack from his lap as he stood and came closer to the stranger on the floor. Fear filled the stranger’s eyes as he got a closer look at Harper. Harper knew his dark skin and blue eyes were a striking combination. Then, additionally he’d been blessed... or cursed... with a rather large, tall frame, making him an imposing figure, even to most men. When he reached the man on the pallet, Harper knelt down and spoke in soft tones, to soothe the man. “My name is Harper Jones. I’m a trapper near Fort Laramie. There’s been a bad snowstorm, and it appears you fell from your horse in it. When I found you on the trail, you were flush with fever.”

  The man blinked, and his brow furrowed. “I don’t remember any of that.”

  “The horse you were riding was a red chestnut, right?”

  Slowly the stranger nodded.

  “And it was snowing at the time.”

  His eyes went wide as recognition registered in them. “I remember the snow. I wasn’t feeling well.”

  “I found you about an hour after you fell from your horse. You’ve been here in my cabin with me for three days.”

  “Three days!” he shouted; his face filled with horror. “Mabel must be worried to death about me.”

  He pulled the furs from his legs and attempted to stand, but his legs wobbled beneath him. Harper caught him and then helped him to the chair. “Easy now. You don’t have the strength to get excited yet. You’re not well.”

  The stranger coughed and sat in the chair, shaking his head. “I must get back to Laramie. How far are we from the Fort?”

  “About three miles,” Harper answered. “It wouldn’t be a bad trek, normally, but we’ve had several feet of snow. I’ve gone out a few times the last two days, but I don’t think you can make it to town in your condition.”

  The man hmphed. “I really hope my daughter isn’t worrying herself to death over me.”

  “Your daughter?” For some reason, the green-eyed, amber-haired young woman came to his mind. He frowned and shook his head at it. She didn’t look very much like this man, nor was it likely that the one woman who he’d fancied was the daughter of this stranger who’d been stranded on the road.

  The stranger looked up at him. Then he frowned and offered Harper a hand. “I’m so sorry. Where are my manners? My name is Gerald Brown, and I’m a lawyer visiting Laramie with one of my three daughters.”

  Harper took his offered hand and shook it. “I’m Harper Jones, sir. It’s good to have a name for you now.”

  “Three days, you said?” Mr. Brown said, and then began a coughing fit once more. “I guess I’ll have to get well as fast as I can then, so we can make our way back to the fort.

  Chapter 4

  Harper sat before Mr. Brown at the table in the kitchen. Now that the man was up and able to feed himself, Harper had been able to give him meals that were better for him and to give him more energy, rather than just beans and pemmican stewed together. Unfortunately
, it meant that he was going through his stores a bit faster for the month than he’d planned, since he’d not been expecting company. Made no difference, though. He’d make do.

  “I’m sorry to be imposing on your kindness for so long,” Mr. Brown said as they ate. “I guess this means that I owe you my life.”

  Harper shook his head. “You don’t need to think that way, Mr. Brown. I don’t want you feeling like you owe me anything.”

  “But I do. I owe you a great deal, and I’d like to make up for it in some way. There must be something that you have need of?” Mr. Brown asked as he looked around the cabin. “I could give you money, but no matter how much it is, it would feel like too little. After all, what kind of price do you put on your own life?”

  “Thank you for the offer,” Harper said with a frown, “But I do not want your money.”

  “Then maybe a horse? Could I buy you a horse or a cow and send it up this way. Or both,” the man said in a half-joking manner.

  Even though the man jested, it was apparent that he wanted to pay back Harper in some small way and if Harper was willing to accept the cow or horse... or both, he would send it all. Harper smiled at the man. “I’m not a farmer used to attending to livestock. I’m a simple mountain man. I trap to eat and make a living. I honestly have need of nothing that you can give me. So please, don’t trouble yourself, Mr. Brown.

  But for the next half a day, as Mr. Brown’s cough seemed to be subsiding, paying Harper back was all that he would talk about. Harper prepared to go about his daily chores and asked if he could leave a fire in the wood stove burning since Mr. Brown was able to tend to the fire if necessary, now. The older man gave a tired nod.

  The snow finally seemed to be melting and as Harper went out to check his traps. Then he heard men’s voices in the woods. Harper waded out of the stream where the beaver trap had been and saw a flash of color and made out the forms of three soldiers. Jack stood upon the shoreline and growled in that direction. Once he got there, Harper set a hand upon the dog’s head. He coughed to get the soldiers’ attentions. The last thing he needed was for them to set their rifles on him, thinking him an animal instead of a man because of the furs he wore.