Kitabı oku: «A Temporary Family»

Chapter One

Stagecoach relay station

Pyrite, Nebraska, 1869

Nolan West couldn’t shake the feeling he was being watched.

He flipped open the cover of his timepiece and checked the hour. Twenty minutes before the next stagecoach arrived.

For the past year, he’d been manning the Pioneer Stagecoach relay station out of the abandoned town of Pyrite. Three years before his arrival, an overly optimistic prospector had discovered gold in the nearby Niobrara River. A town had sprung up practically overnight. Within a year, the claim had dried up, and the town was abandoned. Only the relay station remained occupied.

Prairie grass nudged through the slats in the derelict boardwalk, and a wet spring had fed the wild brush reclaiming the spaces between the empty buildings. A cacophony of crickets, frogs and birds called from the shelter of the lush buttress.

Nolan’s sense of unease lingered, raising the fine hairs on the nape of his neck. He searched the shadows, catching only the rustle of the cottonwood leaves. He was alone. Yet the sensation lingered.

A bugle call sounded, startling him from his reverie, and Nolan replied in kind. He replaced his instrument on the peg just inside the livery door, ensuring the bell tube was directly vertical and the mouthpiece rigidly horizontal.

He slapped the reins against the rumps of the hitched horses. There was no time to waste. Because he worked the station alone, when he finished here, he’d have to hightail it back to the kitchen and serve the passengers dinner.

The rumble of hoofbeats sounded, and the distinctive orange Concord, with its gold trim, rumbled down Main Street. Harnesses jingled, echoing off the block-long stretch of deserted and dilapidated buildings. The driver swayed in time beside an outrider who cradled a shotgun in his arms. Reflections of the passing stagecoach appeared in the few windows that hadn’t yet been broken or boarded over.

As the driver slowed the Concord parallel to where Nolan’s hitched team waited before the town livery, the wheels kicked up dust. His horses surged forward.

The outrider stowed his gun and leaped from his seat. Bill Golden was a perpetually rumpled, stocky man in his midforties with a grizzled face and a mop of graying hair beneath his tattered hat. Considering he was usually drunk by this point in the journey, he appeared remarkably steady on his feet.

Bill lifted his hand in greeting. “Top of the day to you, West.”

“You’re early.”

“We’re traveling light.”

The stocky outrider pulled down the collapsible stairs and swung open the door.

A little girl, no more than three years old, appeared in the opening. A passenger inside the traveling carriage held the child suspended with her legs dangling. Bill grasped the child around the waist and set her on the ground. Two more girls appeared—chestnut-haired, brown-eyed, identical replicas of each other, probably around five or six years of age respectively.

Nolan tilted his head. This route served Virginia City, Montana, and catered almost exclusively to prospectors seeking their fortune.

Bill extended his hand, and a woman grasped his fingers. Her bonnet concealed her face and hair, and Nolan allowed himself only one brief, admiring glimpse of her figure, which was encased in a lively green calico dress. Though he’d come to appreciate his solitude, he couldn’t help but notice her. The last woman he’d seen had been the sixty-year-old wife of the traveling doctor.

“Thank you, Mr. Golden,” she said, her voice at once crisp and soothing. “How are you feeling?”

Bill doffed his hat. “I feel all right, I guess, ma’am. I mean, Miss Hargreaves. Thank you for asking.”

She fixed her gaze on the outrider as though she was peering into his very heart. The intensity of the moment raised Nolan’s guard, but there was nowhere to hide while he held the horses. Shifting on his feet, he glanced away and back again.

“I know the change hasn’t been easy.” Her attention didn’t flicker toward her new surroundings. She kept her interest directed solely on the outrider. “But you’re doing well. I’m proud of you. Whenever you find yourself straying from the path, remember what we talked about.”

“Yes, ma’am.” A flush spread across the outrider’s face. “I will, ma’am. I surely do appreciate your kind words and all. I’ll try and do my best.”

She patted his arm. “That’s all any of us can do.”

Her words were gentle and sincere, and a pulse throbbed in Nolan’s throat. He made a mental note to avoid the woman at all costs. Since returning from the war, he kept to himself. He didn’t want anyone looking at him the way she was studying Bill. He didn’t want anyone peering close enough to see the troubling battles he fought each day.

“I’d best see to the horses, Miss Hargreaves.” The mottled blush on Bill’s face deepened. “This here is the dinner stop. You can stretch your legs and enjoy some solid ground. If you need anything, let me know.”

“You’re too kind,” she said. “Solid ground sounds marvelous. When I agreed to assist my sister, this was not at all what I imagined.”

While Nolan pondered the odd change in the normally taciturn outrider, the second-oldest girl clutched her stomach and pitched forward.

“I don’t feel so good, Aunt Tilly.” The girl groaned.

“Are you certain, Caroline?” Miss Hargreaves was by the child’s side in an instant. “Do you not feel good a little or a lot?”

“I’m certain,” the girl replied with a gulp. “I don’t feel good a lot.”

“Oh, dear.”

The woman glanced around and Nolan caught his first glimpse of her face. His curiosity deepened. She was younger than he’d expected. On first impression, her looks hovered somewhere between plain and pretty. On second glance he placed her nearer to pretty. She had eyes the color of a Virginia bluebell, a complexion bronzed by the sun and a pert nose. Though none of those features was particularly remarkable on its own, taken together they were uniquely pleasing.

She caught his interested gaze. “What should I do?”

Nolan placed a hand against his chest. “Are you asking me?”

Miss Hargreaves nodded.

Passengers rarely paid him any mind. Nolan frowned. He preferred it that way.

“Well, uh,” he stuttered. “There’s a privy out back.”

“Excellent suggestion, thank you.” She draped an arm around the girl’s shoulders. “Mr. Golden, will you kindly look after Victoria and Elizabeth for a few minutes?”

“Absolutely,” Bill said. “Take as much time as you need.”

Nolan’s frown deepened. The outrider rarely showed even the barest consideration to any of the passengers. Bill also loathed delays of any kind; he was scrupulous about the schedule.

Once she’d rounded the corner and disappeared, the driver leaped from his seat and set about unhitching the horses. With Bill’s help, the three men had the horses switched out in record time. Throughout the well-honed operation, the two remaining girls assembled daisy chains with dandelions they’d plucked from the overgrowth between the unused buildings.

Nolan backtracked to the relay station and set the table for supper. When the passengers failed to appear, he returned to the corral and propped one foot on the lowest slat.

Bill sidled nearer. “Maybe you oughta go out back and see what’s taking Miss Hargreaves so long.”

“She’s your passenger.” Nolan hoisted an eyebrow. “What’s gotten in to you today, anyway?”

“She has a way of talking to a fellow.” The outrider slid his hand beneath his coat, as though reaching for the flask he usually kept in his breast pocket, then stilled. “I told her things I ain’t never told anybody. I even quit drinking.”

“You were sober when you told her those things?” Nolan’s curiosity swelled. “Why would you do that?”

“She asked.”

“You’ve killed six highwaymen in the past ten years. You’ve fought Indians. You once outran a prairie wildfire. And you’re telling me you’re intimidated by that slip of a woman?”

“It’s not like that.” Bill swallowed, and his Adam’s apple worked. “She never asked me to quit. Instead, she asked me why I drank as much as I did.”

“What did you say?”

“I said I didn’t know. Then she started asking me about my family, and about my experiences. The next thing I know, I was blabbering my whole life story.”

Nolan’s stomach dipped. He’d rather be sitting behind enemy lines again than prattling to a stranger about his life. After spending two years as a Confederate prisoner of war at Rock Island, he’d become intolerant toward people. While living in the prisoner camp, he’d acquired certain quirks that set him apart from regular folks. He’d become obsessively neat and austere about his possessions. Each evening he spent an hour checking the placement of each item and ensuring the buildings he occupied had been secured. If he didn’t, he had nightmares that sometimes turned violent.

He’d survived the War for Southern Independence only to return home and discover his family farm had been confiscated. He’d gone adrift after that, moving from job to job and state to state. Over time his eccentricities had become increasingly difficult to disguise. He’d gradually accepted that the war had changed him in ways that ran too deep to fathom. In order to camouflage his dilemma, he’d settled in this remote, abandoned town. He fully expected that after a few years away from the company of other folks, he’d be healed. Having strangers underfoot exacerbated his troubles. The sooner this bunch ate dinner and moved on, the better.

The woman finally appeared, her arm still resting protectively around the girl’s shoulders. Nolan heaved a sigh of relief. They’d be gone soon.

Except Caroline looked worse than when she’d left. Her face was pale with an almost greenish tinge, her forehead was screwed up and both hands protectively covered her stomach.

Bill cleared his throat and elbowed him in the side.

Nolan flashed the outrider a questioning gaze.

“Tell her about dinner,” Bill mumbled beneath his breath.

“There’s dinner at the relay station,” Nolan declared. “Boiled beans, bacon and bread.”

The woman’s nose wrinkled ever-so-slightly. “That sounds edifying. Let’s have some bread, shall we, Caroline? Bread is good for an upset stomach, isn’t it, Mr.—?” She raised her voice in question.

“Mr. West.”

He hesitated in revealing something as simple as his name. He needed some distance between them. He’d considered Bill as tough as hardtack, and she’d somehow wheedled her way into the man’s confidence.

Bill hitched his pants. “Me and Digger ate at the last stop. We’re gonna catch some winks in the livery.”

“You’re going to sleep?” Nolan couldn’t mask his incredulity. “Now?”

“I think that’s a fine idea,” the woman said with a smile. “Rest is often the best medicine.”

“But...” Nolan’s voice trailed off.

“But what?” The outrider bared his teeth in defiance. “I never argue with a lady.”

There wasn’t much Nolan could say to that, which left him alone with the woman and the three girls. With no other choice, he pivoted on his heel and trudged toward the sprawling relay station. The building had originally housed overnight guests, but since he’d taken over the post, there hadn’t been any need. Another reason he kept this job. Except for twice a week when the stagecoach came through town, he was alone.

Ten minutes later they were all seated around the rectangular table. Despite his carful maneuvering, he’d gotten sandwiched between the woman and the youngest girl.

He held out the bowl of beans. “Mrs. Hargreaves.”

“Not Missus,” she amended. “It’s just Miss. I’m not married. These delightful pixies are my nieces.”

Keeping her head bent, Caroline broke off a small crust of bread and nibbled on the edge.

“After Aunt Tilly takes us to Omaha,” Victoria said, reaching for the blackberries, “she’s traveling to New York City.”

Miss Hargreaves absently poured her niece a cup of water. “My father’s cousin serves on the board of The New York Widows and Orphans Society. Since the war, they’ve been positively overwhelmed. I can’t imagine a greater good than helping those displaced by the Southern rebellion, can you?”

Nolan flinched at the reference. “I guess not.”

The war went by different names depending on which side of the Mason-Dixon Line a fellow called home.

Victoria nodded eagerly. “Aunt Tilly promised to post us a letter every week and tell us all about her experiences.”

Caroline’s cheeks puffed out and she pressed two fingers over her mouth. Nolan’s breath hitched, and he frantically searched for the slop bucket. The girl appeared worse with each passing minute.

“I should have plenty of fascinating things to write about,” Miss Hargreaves said. “There are so many different people to meet. According to my father’s cousin, the sidewalks are packed day and night in some places. You can’t walk down the street without brushing into someone.”

“You don’t say.” Nolan’s gaze darted toward the sick child once more, but she appeared to be holding steady. “Aren’t there any interesting people where you live now?”

“I’ve exhausted the supply in Omaha.”

Following the war, he hadn’t been able to tolerate anyone touching him. Pushing through crowded streets sounded like a nightmare.

“I’m dreadfully bored these days.” Miss Hargreaves ladled a generous heaping of beans over her bread. “During the war, I helped my father with his law practice after his law clerk was conscripted. Since the war, there’s been few opportunities for me. My sister, Eleanor, thinks I’ll quit within the week, and I’m determined to prove her wrong. She thinks I’m flighty and lack direction. Have you ever felt as though people only see the worst in you?”

“Not particularly.”

He’d felt exactly that, but he sure wasn’t confiding in Miss Hargreaves. At least he had some sympathy for Bill. Her willingness to share her vulnerabilities naturally invited others to do the same.

“What about excitement?” She clasped her hands. “Don’t you get dreadfully bored out here all by your lonesome?”

“The quiet suits me.”

“The solitude would drive me mad. There are more opportunities for women in larger cities. I’m not exactly certain what I want in life, but I know what I don’t want. I don’t want to feel useless. Women were perfectly useful during the war, I don’t know why men believe we’ve suddenly become inept simply because peace was declar—” She glanced at her niece. “Oh, dear, Caroline. Do you need another trip to the privy?”

“Water.”

Miss Hargreaves shoved a full glass across the table.

The girl downed the liquid and sighed. “Better.”

“See there?” Miss Hargreaves’s smile brightened. “You’ll be right as rain in no time.”

Keeping a close watch on the girl, Nolan pushed back his plate. He’d been raised the only child of a dirt-scrabble farmer along the border of Virginia and Pennsylvania. As a child, he’d planned on farming like his father before him. Except his father had lost everything: his home, his land and his livelihood. Many of the farms on the losing side of the border had been confiscated during the war, and the land had never been returned. Following the war, his father had moved to Cimarron Springs, Kansas, to live near his sister, Nolan’s aunt Edith.

Nolan had lived with his father for a time, but if he didn’t follow certain patterns during the day, his sleep was marked by night terrors that sometimes turned violent. After nearly assaulting his own father during an episode, he’d retreated to the remotest location he could find. If he didn’t show some improvement by the time the railroads shut down the stagecoaches, he’d travel farther west. Maybe California or the Wyoming Territory.

Miss Hargreaves rested her elbow on the table and planted her chin in her hand. “It’s such a little thing, isn’t it? Wanting to be useful? Getting married and having a family is all well and good, but I’d go mad if all I had was the washing up to keep my mind occupied each day. Do you know how many documents must be filed with the county before the railroad claims a plot of land?”

“Nope.”

“One. But it’s quite complicated. The Douglas County clerk said I had a talent for land negotiations. A lot of good that does me. No one will hire a female for land management. I told my father I’d do all the paperwork for the cases, and he could take the credit. I don’t know what all the fuss is about.”

“Fuss?”

“My father. He doesn’t think that I know what I want. He’s right, I suppose. Except I know what I don’t want.” She grimaced. “He thinks we should all be more like my sister, Eleanor. Content with supporting her husband, even if that husband drags her all the way to Virginia City and then dies. Sounds dreadful to me. I have grander plans.”

Nolan had forgotten what it was like to view the future with hope rather than dread. Miss Hargreaves’s unflinching optimism was as flawless and blue as a spring sky. She was like a flash of light illuminating the darkness.

Poisonous grief threaded through his veins. Some things were better left in the shadows.

The youngest child held out her sticky fingers. “Boo-berry.”

The toddler rested a hand on his bent knee, smearing blackberries across his canvas trousers.

Nolan closed his eyes with a groan.

Miss Hargreaves absently grasped the tiny fingers and blotted them with her napkin. “Gracious, where are my manners? I haven’t even introduced us. Victoria is the oldest, Caroline is the middle child and you’re sitting next to Miss Elizabeth. You can call me Tilly. That’s short for Matilda.”

“I three,” Elizabeth stated, holding up the proper number of sticky fingers in confirmation.

Nolan scooted nearer the edge of the bench. “Pleasure to meet you.”

“I Isbeth,” the toddler said.

Tilly rolled her eyes. “My mother named my sister and me after her two favorite queens of England. Eleanor followed suit.” Tilly leaned over Elizabeth’s head and whispered in his ear. “That’s probably the only good thing that came of my brother-in-law Walter’s passing. Who wants a niece named Eadgifu? I’m sure she was a fine queen, but what an atrocious name.”

Her breath raised gooseflesh along the back of his neck. This close, he noted the delicate sunburn on the apples of her cheeks. Her hair was the same chestnut brown as the girls, but streaked lighter from the sun.

A suitable reply escaped him. Nolan finally settled on “I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Are you talking about Papa?” Victoria asked.

“Yes.” Tilly covered the girl’s hand. “I shouldn’t have said anything. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

Victoria, her eyes solemn, only shrugged. “I don’t miss him as much as Mama. He was never home. When is Mama meeting us at Nanny and Poppy’s in Omaha? Will we visit you at your house after Mama arrives?”

Tilly’s lips whitened and made an exaggerated point of smoothing her napkin in her lap. “Your mother is only a week or so behind us. Of course you’ll visit me before I leave for New York. Your mother would never miss the opportunity to critique my efforts and find me wanting.”

“What does critique mean?”

Nolan glanced between the two.

Miss Hargreaves blanched. “Never mind.”

A bugle call sounded.

Instantly alert, his stomach muscles knotted.

Miss Hargreaves reached for his arm. “What’s that?”

“The cavalry,” Nolan said, stepping out of her reach.

“Is that good or bad?”

The arrival of his unexpected guests had distracted Nolan from his earlier unease. Had the cavalry been scouting him earlier? Captain Ronald, the leader of the local fort, had some odd notions. Nolan forced the tension from his shoulders and turned away from the four pairs of eyes staring expectantly at him.

“Probably nothing,” he said. “Everyone stay inside until I know whether there’s trouble or not.”

This had better be a routine check, because as long as Miss Hargreaves and her nieces remained at the relay station, the girls were his responsibility.

And if there was one thing the war hadn’t stolen from him, he took his responsibilities seriously.

* * *

After ten minutes, Tilly stood and tossed her napkin on the table. If only her brother-in-law hadn’t gone and died. Walter’s timing had never been good. Eleanor had married her father’s law clerk, a handsome fellow who might have made a good husband if it weren’t for the gold rush. Though her sister had wanted to remain living near Tilly and their father, as soon as the war ended, Walter had dragged Eleanor to the wilds of Montana in search of instant riches. They’d been gone nearly two years when he was killed in a mining accident.

Last month, Eleanor had written to say she was returning home to Omaha to live with Walter’s parents. Staying with Eleanor and Tilly’s widowed father was out of the question. Their father had never been much for disruption even before their mother’s death.

Eleanor had demanded Tilly’s assistance with their travels. Though frustrated by the delay in her own plans, Tilly had dutifully made the trip. Except nothing had gone as Tilly had expected.

Claiming she couldn’t finish tying up the loose ends of Walter’s passing with the children underfoot, Eleanor had sent Tilly and the girls ahead of her. Alone.

A fierce quarrel, conducted in hushed tones in deference to the girls, had ensued. In her usual high-handed manner, Eleanor had instructed Tilly to care for the girls better than Tilly had cared for her clothing and belongings as a child. The argument was old and recycled, and Tilly invariably lost. Eleanor was five years older and had an excellent memory. She’d dredged up every item of hers that Tilly had lost or broken over the years. When they’d reached the inevitable point in the argument when Eleanor recalled a borrowed dress Tilly had ruined with spilled punch, Tilly had thrown up her hands and relented.

Though not without a few muttered annoyances.

After all, if Eleanor thought so little of Tilly’s abilities, why entrust her with the girls? Eleanor had responded by pointing out that Tilly merely had to board the stagecoach in Virginia City, and disembark in Omaha.

The unspoken words had been cutting and obvious—even Tilly couldn’t botch such a simple task.

“I’m going to check on Mr. West,” Tilly said. “You three stay here.”

Elizabeth grinned. “I three.”

The child was inordinately pleased with her recent birthday.

“You should be very proud. It’s a very advanced age.”

Tilly stepped outside and glanced at the sky. A flotilla of angry clouds had formed along the horizon. Perfect. More rain. For the past week, there’d been nothing but rain, rain and more rain. The stagecoach had nearly gotten stuck more than once, and floating across the Niobrara River had been precarious against the swift tide.

Tilly paused midstride. A half a dozen cavalry officers on horseback had mustered in the clearing between the relay station and Main Street. Their uniforms might have been crisp and blue at one point, but the men were covered in a fine coat of trail dust. The gold braiding on their hats was frayed, and their brass buttons tarnished from wear.

“You didn’t tell us you had guests,” a voice drawled. “Be careful, West, or you’ll lose your reputation as a recluse.”

The man speaking was clearly the leader of the bunch. He leaned slightly forward, letting the reins of his horse droop. The officer was handsome, with a straight nose and a strong jaw highlighted by his bushy muttonchops.

“Didn’t have a choice,” Nolan said.

The officer smoothed one hand down the front of his coat. “Introduce me.”

Her gaze slid toward Mr. West. He stood with his feet braced apart and his arms crossed over his chest. Of the two men, she much preferred the clean-shaven stagecoach employee. He was too rugged to be strictly handsome. His jaw was too strong, his nose too aquiline and his mouth too hard for what passed for true masculine beauty. His hair might have been blond as a child, but had darkened to a tawny brown with age. Yet there was something compelling about him, a mystery in the depths of those hazel eyes. If she had more time here, she’d relish the challenge of solving the puzzle of his clipped answers and taciturn silence.

Except she wasn’t sticking around any longer than absolutely necessary, especially now that Eleanor was returning. Being under Eleanor’s thumb these past few days had only reinforced Tilly’s decision. She was heartily sick of always being judged and found lacking.

Following the end of the war, when her father’s law clerks had returned, the work she’d done in their absence had been gradually removed from her oversight. She was bored and restless.