Valerie Hansen - Frontier Courtship

It was a reasonable enough offer, considering. And she did need a way to either get word to Charity or find her own ride to the wagon camp. “Yes, please. Ask for the Beal wagon and have my sister send Mr. Ledbetter back for me, if you please.”

With that, Faith stepped away from the railing and disappeared into her room, shutting the door firmly. She was suddenly weak, dizzy. Not that she intended to admit it to anyone but herself.

Pouring fresh water from the ewer into the shallow basin, she splashed her face and breathed as deeply as her ribs would allow until her head cleared some.

Anna had managed to rinse most of the previous day’s grime out of her green calico and had returned it to the peg beside the washstand. Though Faith would have preferred to sponge off her whole body before getting dressed, she logically decided against removing the tight bindings and chancing further injury.

Back home, she’d seen Gunther Muller die from a rib that poked into his lungs. It wasn’t a pretty sight. He’d lingered for hours while neighbors gathered to pray and offer their support. In the end, he’d died gasping for air. When he’d breathed his last, Hilda had gone out to the corral and put a bullet into the prize bull that had stomped her husband to death.

Faith shivered at the memory. Before she left Fort Laramie she’d be sure to pick up some extra muslin for bandages so Charity could replace her bindings when it became necessary.

Thoughts of the days and weeks ahead before she was fully healed made Faith’s heart lodge in her throat. So far, their trip had been fairly easy compared to some of the stories of hardship and loss she’d heard. From now on, however, it was going to be dreadful. Pure and simple.

Not sure she’d have time to eat before the Ledbetters came for her, Faith concentrated first on buying the muslin. Accepting a parcel of fresh biscuits from Anna in lieu of a morning meal, she then waited inside the store, scanning the busy street.

Will had been going in and out, loading goods for a teamster headed up the Platte toward the Black Hills and Deer Creek. He stuck his head back in the door to holler, “Wagon’s here for you, Miss Beal.”

She rose stiffly from her perch on some sacks of beans and said politely, “Thank you.” Approaching Anna, she held out her hand in parting and found herself swiftly swept into a gentle but encompassing hug.

“You take care, you hear?” the older woman warned, her eyes suspiciously moist, her wrinkled forehead creasing even more as she spoke. “Watch your back.”

“I will. The Ledbetters are good people. They’ll stand by me, I’m sure.”

“Still…”

“I know. I’ll be careful,” Faith vowed. “I promise. If you’re ever out Sacramento way…”

Anna stood back. “Doubt I will be, but thank ya.”

It was hard to make herself break away and leave the haven of Anna’s presence. “Well…”

“Have a safe trip.”

“Lord willing.”

Turning away, Faith stood tall and walked out the door into the bright morning sun, shading her eyes with her right hand. Her bonnet ribbons, reticule and the string around the small bundle of muslin were looped over her opposite wrist.

Ledbetter’s spring wagon was waiting, all right, but Ramsey Tucker was in the driver’s seat! The sardonic grin on his face set Faith’s teeth on edge.

“What are you doing here? Where’s Mr. Ledbetter?”

“He had chores in camp.”

“Chores you assigned him?”

Tucker spit tobacco juice over the off side of the wagon. “Maybe. So what? Get in.”

She started to place her hands on her hips, realized the motion made her left side hurt worse and lowered her arms. “I’d rather walk, thank you.”

“You do and you’ll be walkin’ from here to Fort Bridger, missy. I’ll see to it.”

“Don’t you dare threaten me.”

Tucker cursed. “Come on. Get in. I’m tired o’ foolin’ with ya.” He reached down and grabbed her arm, giving it a mighty tug that lifted Faith’s feet off the ground.

She stumbled and swung against the front wheel of the wagon. Searing pain shot through her. Set knives to her spine. Made her cry out.

So far, the package of unbleached muslin had padded her side. It slipped slightly off center when she banged against the wheel rim a second time. If only Tucker would let go of her she’d gladly board! Anything to get him to stop jerking on her arm.

Gathering what breath she could muster, Faith struggled to get her feet back under her. She glared up at him. “Stop! That hurts!”

He just laughed. Tucker’s meaty hand dwarfed her wrist and her fingers were already turning white from his tight grip. Surely, Charity had told him about her injuries! Therefore, he must be inflicting this horrible pain on purpose.

Suddenly, a buckskin-clad arm shot past her shoulder. A stalwart hand closed like a vise on Tucker’s thick wrist, forcing the man to his knees in the wagon bed. The captain let go. His adversary did not.

Faith, clinging to the wheel for needed support, knew instantly who had come to her rescue. The glimmer of fear in Ramsey Tucker’s eyes was a truly blessed sight to behold!

The plainsman’s voice rumbled. “Are you hurt?”

Rubbing her wrist, she backed away from the wagon. Pure truth could do irreparable damage. Like it or not, without the captain’s guidance, she and Charity would never make it all the way to California.

Faith made the necessary choice. “No,” she gasped. “I’m fine. There’s no problem here. Captain Tucker and I just had a little misunderstanding.”

The plainsman regarded Faith, his doubt evident. “You’re sure everything is all right?”

“Positive.” She labored to make her voice sound stronger, more convincing. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I was just about to get into this wagon and start back to the train. We’re pulling out soon.”

“Whatever you say.”

He released Tucker’s wrist, nodded to them both and started away without further debate. Faith could tell he didn’t believe her assertion. Not for one minute. And no wonder. The statement, though partially true, had burned on her lips it was such a blatant lie.

She squared her shoulders. With her left arm held tightly against her waist and side, she faced Tucker. She knew there was loathing in her expression. “Back off and I’ll get in.”

“You meant what you told him? Well, well.” Chuckling with satisfaction, he offered his hand.

Faith gritted her teeth, gathered her skirts, put one foot on the step and managed to boost herself aboard without his help.

“I need a ride and you’ve come to fetch me. That’s all,” she said icily, wrapping her skirts around her legs so they wouldn’t touch even a smidgen of Tucker’s person. “Nothing else has changed between us.”

He slapped his knee, guffawing rudely. “Feisty little thing, aren’t you? Aw right. If it’s a wagon ride you fancy, a wagon ride you’ll get.” Lowering his voice, he added, “Other kinds of things, you and me’ll discuss after you’ve healed up.”

Faith’s face flared in anger and embarrassment. Of all the insulting, vulgar…She held her temper, saying nothing. Tucker had the upper hand, for now. Someday, though, she’d best him.

She swore it on her mother’s grave.

Connell stomped down the street, pulling his hat lower over his eyes to shade them from the morning sun. It was going to be another scorcher. Pretty normal for this time of year hereabouts.

A green spring wagon clattered past, stirring up a cloud of dust. Ramsey Tucker rode the driver’s seat. Beside him, her back ramrod straight, her bonnet strings blowing behind her, sat Faith Beal. The bad blood between her and the captain was as thick as flies on a dead buffalo, so why had she insisted on letting him have his way?