Mud Creek (5 page)

“I certainly am,” Albert agreed. “Unfortunately, she’s brought too many things, and we don’t have space for it in my wagon.”

“Is it that stack out on the platform?”

“It is.” Albert glanced over his shoulder to the door. He was suffering a burst of conscience and anxious to ensure Helen hadn’t sneaked in behind him. “How much would you give me for the whole pile? Everything but the chord organ. I’m taking that.”

The man tendered a paltry amount and much less than the items were probably worth, but Albert was broke and desperate. He grabbed the cash, stuffed it in his pocket, and left to find Helen so they could leave for home.

*    *    *    *

James Blaylock was approaching the hardware store when, from around the corner of the building, he heard a furious female proclaim, “I hate it here! I can’t believe I let you talk me into coming.”

“We didn’t have any choice,” a second female answered. “How many times must I explain it to you?”

With a bit of deduction, he figured it was Albert’s fiancée and her sister. James knew he should continue on into the store, that it was horrid to eavesdrop, but he couldn’t resist.

“You lied to me!” the first girl charged.

“How? How did I lie?”

“You made it sound so grand, as if we were off to live in a golden palace. Look at this place! Look at it!”

“It’s not so bad.”

“Are you blind? And we’re not even out to his farm yet. If this is what passes for a town, what on earth will we stumble on when we arrive?”

A very important question,
James mused, and one they definitely should have pondered a tad more thoroughly before they’d climbed onto the train in New York.

“It will be fine, Violet. Have a little faith.”

“In Albert? Are you kidding me? He was always a buffoon. You used to realize that fact. Has your memory been erased? Or have the last three years turned you into a dunce?”

“That’s not fair.”

“Isn’t it? One of us has to begin thinking clearly, and it doesn’t appear that it will be you.”

James heard a long-suffering sigh.

“What would you have me do, Violet?”

“I want to go back to New York.”

“Go back to what? With what money?”

“We could have devised a better solution.”

“Really? I don’t remember you pitching in with any brilliant ideas.”

“I was under the weather, in case you don’t recall.”

“I recall very well. You need some stability, Violet. We discussed it. We agreed this path was best for us.”

“
You
agreed. I didn’t.”

“Arthur will be good for you. You’ll marry him”—James gasped—“and you’ll have more direction in your life. Your health will improve; I just know it.”

James frowned with consternation. Arthur had been dead for two months. He’d been kicked in the head by a horse he wasn’t competent to ride. He’d lain out in a dry creek bed for a week before his body had been located. Once it was determined that he’d vanished, folks had frantically searched, but James was the one to make the gruesome discovery.

The funeral had been the saddest ever—and he’d seen plenty in his thirty years. Mrs. Jones, Florence, had been particularly devastated by the death, and she still hadn’t recovered.

Why hadn’t Albert said anything? Why had he let them travel—especially the sister who assumed she was about to be a bride—on such a false pretense? Why keep the accident a secret?

James couldn’t imagine Albert’s reasoning, but then, Albert Jones was a mystery James would never unravel.

“If Albert can be courteously described as a buffoon,” the sister continued to complain, “I don’t have a word to describe Arthur. He’s dreadful; he always was.”

“Don’t you want to marry him? Have you changed your mind?”

“Of course, I’ve changed my mind! Aren’t you listening? I’ve had a few weeks to reconsider. I’d rather cut off my arm than wed him and live out on his paltry farm. I’ll die of boredom.”

“Can’t you try to be happy? Give Arthur a chance. Don’t be so difficult.”

“I want to leave! I want to go home!”

“It’s too late now, Violet.”

“You’re bloody right about that,” Violet crudely retorted.

She stomped away and rounded the corner so quickly that James could barely jump out of the way to avoid a collision.

When she saw him, she stopped in her tracks, her expression burning with feminine speculation. It wasn’t vanity to say he was handsome. With his dark hair, blue eyes, and tall, lanky body honed by years of toil, he was accustomed to garnering female attention. She definitely noticed him.

She was pretty, herself, blond and blue-eyed and curved in the appropriate spots. But she had a sassy mouth and a fiery air that spelled trouble. He’d known wild women like her before. In brothels. On the edge of army camps. In unsavory saloons.

This
was the girl Albert had intended for Arthur? Was he mad?

“Hello mister,” she boldly said.

“Miss.” He tipped his hat to her.

“You should watch where you’re going.” She flashed a wicked smile that had no doubt charmed too many boys back in New York. “There’s no telling who you might bump into.”

“My apologies.”

“What’s your name?” she improperly asked.

“James Blaylock.”

“I’m Violet Pendleton. Don’t you forget it.”

“How could I?” he gallantly replied.

She pranced into the store, and James dawdled on the stoop. He wasn’t keen to enter after her where he’d have to converse further, and he was overly intrigued by the other sister. He was worried about her, too.

What would become of the pair? By allying themselves with the Jones family, they were at the beginning of a lengthy downhill race toward every conceivable problem.

He dithered and fumed, aware that he should stay out of it, but he’d never been able to do that.

He walked around the corner, and she was leaned against the wall of the store, staring out across the prairie. She was a tiny spit of a thing—just like her sister—but with none of the brashness.

She reminded him of his wife who’d died a decade earlier, birthing their child.

As cousin to a fellow soldier, she’d journeyed from Massachusetts to wed James, without her ever having met him. She’d been sweet and pretty, but she hadn’t had the stamina it took to survive in his world.

Albert’s fiancée was just such a woman, and James would have liked to escort her to the next train that rattled by. He’d say,
Get on it. Run away and don’t come back.

“Miss,” he softly called to her, “are you all right?”

“Oh…yes. Yes, I’m fine.”

He’d startled her, and she turned away, swiping at the tears on her cheeks. Her obvious despair stoked his chivalrous tendencies.

He was butting in where he wasn’t wanted, but he’d never had any manners. He’d been born in a frontier fort, with his mother dead of smallpox when he was two. His father had raised him around the other soldiers of his regiment. With such a rugged history, it was difficult to exhibit any polish.

“I’m James Blaylock.”

“Hello, Mr. Blaylock.”

“I heard from Albert that you’re his fiancée.”

“Well…yes, I am.”

He could sense she was afraid of him, and he explained, “I’m Albert’s nearest neighbor. I’m situated just down the road from his place.”

“Oh,” she said again, brightening.

“I reckon we’ll be seeing quite a bit of one another.”

“How lovely to meet you, Mr. Blaylock. I’m Helen Pendleton.”

“I’m delighted to make your acquaintance, Miss Pendleton.”

She extended her hand, and he hesitated, unnerved about touching her, which was silly. He clasped hold, but she was wearing gloves, so he couldn’t feel her skin. But he imagined it would be soft and creamy white and unmarked by the rough calluses from cold wind and hard work that would soon crush her.

Though it was crazy, he was loathe to release her, and he held on a moment longer than he should have. Then he gave her fingers a comforting squeeze and stepped away.

“It can be overwhelming”—he gestured to the horizon—“when you first arrive.”

“It certainly can be,” she agreed.

“Have you ever lived in the country?”

“Goodness no. I’m a city girl through and through.”

He nodded, shielding his wave of trepidation. “This will be a big change for you.”

“I imagine so.” She gazed out to the horizon, too. Her cheeks flushed as if she was embarrassed. “I’m confused by what I’ve seen so far. From Albert’s letters, I was thinking that things would be…ah…” She stopped and breathed out a heavy breath. “I suppose it doesn’t matter what I thought.”

“It’ll be difficult in the beginning.” He wanted to warn, but not frighten her. “Don’t be a dreamer. Go into it with your eyes wide open.”

“Believe me: My eyes are absolutely wide open.”

“Lower your expectations.”

“I already have.”

He chuckled, then sobered. “I’ve known Albert for awhile now. He’s a tad prone to exaggeration.”

“You’re very polite.” She stared up at him. “Is there even a house for me? Has he really built it as he claimed?”

“Yes, he’s built a house.”

“Is it…habitable?”

“Yes.” It was two tiny rooms, with a sloped ceiling and rickety walls. It would be drafty and miserable in foul weather, but she had several months to tighten up the seams before winter set in.

Her blush deepened. “Gad, listen to me. I can’t understand why I’m even talking to you. You’re a stranger, and I’m babbling like an idiot.”

“I’m a man who inspires many confidences.”

“Yes, you do.”

“You’ll be fine,” he said. “You simply have to adjust. Take it one day at a time.”

“That’s good advice.”

“You should fret more about your sister than yourself. I met her as she was entering the store. She’ll have more trouble than you.”

“Why, Mr. Blaylock, you’ve pegged my entire life’s story without me even telling you what it is.”

He chuckled again. “You’ll figure out how to be content, but I’m not sure about her.”

“I realized that as soon as the train pulled away from the station in New York.”

How would that wild, brazen girl expend all her bottled up energy?
James wondered. It was worrisome to consider.

He was at the spot where he should have revealed the truth about Arthur, that he was dead and her sister had no husband waiting, but he didn’t. For whatever reason, Albert had kept it a secret, and James would let Albert divulge the news.

“Do you think,” she asked, “that I made the right choice by coming here?”

“I
think
you forge ahead, and it will become the right choice.”

“Good advice again, Mr. Blaylock. You’re very wise.”

“Or a fool who’s clueless. I guess we’ll find out which it is before too long.”

She laughed, the musical quality of it tickling his innards.

“Helen!” they heard Albert call.

“It’s Albert, looking for me,” she said. “I’d better get going. He’s in a hurry to leave.”

But she didn’t walk off. She peered up at him, studying his face as if memorizing its shape.

“I believe I’ve already made a friend,” she murmured.

“I believe you have, too.”

“Helen!” Albert called a second time.

James leaned in and urgently whispered, “If you ever need anything, Miss Pendleton, you come to me straight away.”

“It’s kind of you to offer.”

“I’m serious. You come to me immediately. I’ll help you.”

As the import of his words sunk in, a frown marred her brow. Then she nodded and went to greet Albert. James remained out of sight, furtively watching as Albert escorted her away.

Albert had insisted that James not follow him home, but James would anyway. He had to be certain they arrived safe and sound, and that the sister, Violet, didn’t murder Albert along the way.

“There’s something I need to tell you.”

“What is it?”

“You’ll have to explain the situation to Violet.”

“I’ll help however I can.”

Helen smiled at Albert across the campfire, but she had to struggle to maintain her composure.

She was sitting on the hard ground, a shawl over her shoulders. Although she’d worn a bonnet every second, her face was sunburned, and her joints ached from the constant jolting over the rough, rutted trail. Her lips were chapped, her skin dry.

Even though the sun had set, the wind was still blowing. It had died down a bit, but hadn’t ceased completely. It whipped at her hair and brought a nipping chill to the air that had her fighting off a shiver.

She’d never been more miserable.

She yearned to open her trunk, to pull out a sweater, but she was too weary to rise. Plus, she doubted Albert would want her rummaging in the high pile, stacked so carefully in the bed of the wagon.

She was so exhausted she could barely keep her eyes open. He’d laid out a bedroll for her, and she was anxious to crawl over to it and fall asleep. Yet he was determined to chat, and she’d hate to seem rude.

Throughout the day, he’d been inordinately kind, indicating the important landmarks on their route, sharing details about the animals they’d seen. It was all so overwhelming. No people. No roads. No buildings. No anything. Just an ocean of grass that went on forever. It was stark and daunting.

From his letters, she’d thought the area would be dotted with cozy farmhouses, herds of grazing cattle, orchards, and gardens as were common back east. The terrain was so different from the picture he’d painted, and she’d like to shake him.

Why did you lie?
she’d furiously ask.
Why did you hide what it was really like?

But she knew the answer. If he’d been frank, she might not have come.

She sighed. There was no use complaining. Violet was protesting enough for both of them, and it was pointless to criticize.

Albert’s proposal had been accepted, the tickets paid for, the trip made. She had to follow Mr. Blaylock’s wise advice and lower her expectations.

Albert was peering off into the darkness. Violet had wandered away, after Albert had specifically warned her not to, but whether she was twenty feet out or a thousand, Helen had no idea.