A
s Loreli Winters stood listening to the farmer bending her ear, she wondered how much longer she would have to endure before she could politely excuse herself and slip away. The farmer's name was Henry Judson and he was a handsome brute: all brown eyes and muscles, but she, unlike the other women gathered in the grove behind the small church, had not come here to find a husband. Loreli had traveled to this small Black Kansas colony as a member of a wagon train transporting mail-order brides, but she'd signed on strictly for the adventure, not to be the wife of a Kansas homesteader. Her plans were to stay in town long enough to make sure everything worked out for the friends she'd made on the trip, then strike out WestâCalifornia maybe. In the meantime, she had this gathering to get through.

In preparation for this Friday afternoon event, Loreli had gotten all gussied up, put on her powders and paints, and hoped her flashy blue dress would keep the farmers away. Here, for the first time in a long time, the golden quadroon beauty she'd inherited from her mixed ancestry would not be an advantage. In the billiard dens and smoking cars where she plied her gambling trade, Loreli's looks had won her more hands than she could count, especially when the pigeon spent more time ogling her bosom than his cards. In the past, she'd never hesitated using her face or figure to its best advantage, but not tonight; tonight there'd be no flirting. Loreli's future lay elsewhere. She just hoped the farmers would understand.

Judson, still talking, had three little girls. Although Loreli found the daughters pleasant enough, she had no intentions of taking over the job of raising them. She sensed from their father's conversation that all he was looking for was a replacement for his recently deceased wife.

When Judson began expressing hopes that his new bride would be able to can vegetables as well as his late wife did, Loreli interrupted him with a winning smile. “Mr. Judson, I see someone over there I need to speak with. It's been nice meeting you and your girls.”

He opened his mouth to protest, but Loreli had already walked away.

Loreli made her way through the gathering of sixty or so men and women and saw that everywhere she looked folks were mingling and smiling. The celebratory sounds of fiddling and happy voices drifted on the late afternoon air. The brides had picked out their prospective mates before making the trip by using the photographs and portraits provided by the men to the wagon train's organizer,
Grace Atwood. The couples were meeting each other for the first time, and many were already lined up outside the small church waiting to be married.

Loreli threaded her way through the trestle tables set around the church grounds and nodded greetings in response to the familiar smiles beamed her way. The many trials and tribulations that had beset the women on the trek from Chicago seemed to have been forgotten. All the ladies had taken special pains to look their best; their hair was done, their dresses starched and pressed. The men were also decked out, in everything from fancy suspenders and fresh-pressed trousers to shiny new suits.

As Loreli shared congratulatory hugs and small-talk with the women, she asked after Belle, the young woman who shared her wagon, but Belle had already journeyed on with the man she would be marrying. That saddened Loreli because she'd dearly wanted to tell Belle good-bye. Loreli had taken the young woman under her wing during the journey from Chicago, and they'd become very close.

Loreli moved on to congratulate a few of her other friends and noted the interested eyes of some of the men standing nearby. She knew she was hard to miss in the low-cut blue satin dress that left the crowns of her shoulders bare, but because these men were here to marry women who'd become her friends, she didn't give any of the farmers more than a friendly nod in return. Loreli didn't want any misunderstandings.

In reality, though, she secretly wished to be one of the brides. She'd be thirty-five years of age come November, and on her own in life since the age of fourteen. She was tired. Tired of gambling dens, traveling, and having a life that discouraged roots, family, and peace of mind. Deep
down inside, parts of herself yearned for the security of a farmhouse, a steady man, and a few kids, but her past life made fulfillment of that yearning impossible. What man wanted a wife whose occupation was gambling? None she'd ever met. Men wanted their women docile and of good character, and in society's eyes, she was neither. She decided she should just go back to her boardinghouse room, lest she be overwhelmed by her mood.

Loreli paused for a few moments to say farewell to Grace Atwood, the woman who'd organized the wagon train, then she headed back to claim the rented buggy she'd driven over in.

Beneath the tree by her buggy stood two little brown-skinned girls. They looked to be seven or eight years of age. Both copper faces were framed by long black plaits that shot out from their heads at a cockeyed angle, as if the person who'd braided them hadn't much experience with the task of doing hair. There were red ribbons tied on the ends, however, and Loreli wondered if the little ones had done the braids themselves. She also noticed that unlike all the other little girls she'd seen at the gathering this evening, these two were not gussied up in starched pinafores and Sunday slippers; they were attired like boys in denim trousers, flannel shirts, and sturdy boots.

At her approach, one of the girls asked politely, “May we speak with you?”

The diction was so adultlike, Loreli was taken aback. Her second jolt came when she realized the two girls were twins, identical, but for an old scar visible on the left side of the nose of the silent one.

“Certainly,” Loreli responded, peering down. “What about?”

“Whose mama are you going to be?”

Loreli's perfectly arched brows knitted in puzzlement. “What do you mean?”

“Some of our friends are getting new mamas from the wagon train. Whose mama did you come to be?”

Loreli looked back at the ongoing celebration. She understood now. “I didn't come to be anybody's mama.”

The girls passed a happy look between them. The twin who'd been doing all the speaking declared proudly, “Then you can be ours.”

Loreli's golden eyes widened. “Excuse me?”

“We need a mama, and since Uncle Jake didn't want to come and pick one out, we decided we'd do it ourselves.”

Loreli looked around the glade for this Uncle Jake, or anyone else who might belong to these beautiful but strange youngsters, but she saw only the folks gathered around the church. “Is your Uncle here?”

“No, he's in Lawrence at a convention. He's a Black Republican.”

“I see,” Loreli said. A voting man. “So, your uncle Jake doesn't know you're here?”

The girl shook her head. “No, Rebecca's watching us. Uncle's supposed to be back today.” Then she added, “He's probably going to be real mad when he finds out we snuck off from Rebecca, but we need a mama.”

“And he won't pick us out one,” the other little girl said.

Loreli hid her smile. Any mama they managed to wrangle would be in trouble indeed. “How far away is home?”

“Not far.”

“Then how about I ride back with you? You shouldn't be out in the countryside alone.”

The talker twin asked earnestly, “Can my sister ride in
the buggy with you? We came over together on Phoebe, but Dede doesn't like horses very much.”

“Of course,” she replied, looking down at the shy Dede. Dede was the twin with the small scar on her nose, and now Loreli could tell them apart. “You've told me your sister's name. Now, what's yours?”

“I'm Bebe, it's short for Beatrice,” she confessed. “Dede's real name is Deirdre.”

“Well, I'm Loreli Winters. Pleased to meet you both.”

Both girls offered smiles, and then Dede said, “We're pleased to meet you too.”

Loreli looked at the big sorrel they'd ridden over on. Having been raised in Kentucky, Loreli knew good, sound horseflesh when she saw it, and the mare fit that description. Phoebe was a picture of health. Loreli could tell by the shiny coat that the animal received lots of care and love. “You rode that big ol' mare all by yourself?”

Bebe nodded. “Yep.”

“I'm very impressed.”

“Do you like horses?” Bebe asked.

“Love them.”

Bebe smiled. “Then you'll make a perfect mama.”

Loreli laughed. “Dede and I will get my buggy. You and Phoebe lead the way.”

Loreli drove the black-covered buggy over the flat but rutted road; Bebe and Phoebe galloped alongside. After the long wagon-train ride from Chicago to Kansas, Loreli had grown accustomed to the silence of the land. Unlike the flat barren plains farther west, this portion of the state was green with trees and small rolling hills. She saw a few homesteads way off in the distance, but for the most part
the land was open and unfenced as if Mother Nature was throwing wide her arms and offering endless possibilities.

“Is it much farther?” Loreli asked her passenger.

“No, the old riverbed is where we turn off.”

Loreli nodded and kept her eyes on her team and the mounted Bebe. The girl's confidence in the saddle reminded Loreli of herself at that age. She too had ridden with her head high, hands sure, and back straight. Her father had called her a female centaur. Loreli thought Bebe could wear that title as well.

As they crested a hill, the panoramic expanse of the plains spread out before the eye like a green and gold blanket.

“Uh-oh,” Dede said, peering out into the distance. She leaned out of the buggy and yelled to her sister. “Uncle's coming.”

Bebe called back, “I see him.”

Dede tugged gently on Loreli's arm. “We'd better stop, Loreli.”

Loreli complied, but Dede's worried tone concerned her enough to ask, “He's not going to beat you, is he?”

“No, he'll just fuss. Why
won't
he get us a mama?”

Loreli couldn't answer. She felt better knowing the girls wouldn't come to any physical harm as a result of their escapade, but she questioned why the uncle had left them alone in the first place. Not that Loreli knew anything about raising children. When she was their age, she and her gambler father had been living on the road going from gambling den to whorehouse, looking for the next card game, however, even Loreli knew the twins weren't old enough to care for themselves.

Loreli pulled her small spyglass from her handbag and put it to her eye. Uncle Jake was riding fast, the stallion beneath him moving powerfully. Horse and rider were nearly identical in coloring: a rich mahogany. The horse was from good stock and so was he. Both were handsomely built. Loreli put the glass away and waited to see how this little drama would play out.

When the uncle roared up, he slid from his horse. He snatched Bebe from the saddle and hugged her as if he'd found gold. Loreli could see the relief and love in his eyes. But when he finally turned the little one loose so she could breathe, he leaned back, looked into her eyes, and said, “You two scared me to death.”

Still holding Bebe, he hastened over and grabbed up the smiling Dede. She too was squeezed tightly, then she threw her arms around his neck and hugged him back.

“I should tan both your hides,” he threatened.

Loreli knew he wouldn't; it was obvious he loved them too much.

“We went to pick out a mama,” Bebe explained spunkily.

Her uncle replied, quietly, “I thought we already discussed this?”

Both girls looked to Loreli. The uncle turned and seemed to notice Loreli for the first time. For a few silent moments, the two adults observed each other.

He nodded distantly. “Hello. Thanks for keeping the girls safe.”

“You're welcome.”

“I'm Jake Reed.”

“Loreli Winters.”

“Never seen you before.”

“I came in with the wagon train.”

“The train with the mail-order women?”

Loreli detected the sarcasm in his tone. “Yes.”

His eyes brushed her body in the low-cut blue dress. “Who're you marrying?

Before Loreli could reply, Bebe declared happily, “Nobody.”

Dede added, “We want her to be our mama. Isn't she beautiful?”

Loreli, hand on her hip, waited for his reply.

He took a moment to assess her, then finally admitted, “Yes, she is,” but then as if the discussion were over, he swung his gaze back to the girls in his arms. “Let's get you two home.”

“But you haven't asked her yet!” Bebe protested.

“Asked whom, what?”

“Asked Loreli if she'll be our mama!”

He appeared at a loss. “Girls, Iâ¦”

Loreli tried to help him off the hook. “Girls, your uncle and I don't even know each otherâ”

“Aggie's new mama didn't know Aggie's papa when they got married.”

Loreli gentled her voice, “But I'm not here to marry up. I'm on my way to California.”

Twin sets of eyes saddened. “Oh.”

The dejected tones just about broke Loreli's heart.

“See, she can't be your mama,” the uncle pointed out gently.

Bebe asked him earnestly, “But when are we going to get one?”

Loreli could see tears of frustration in the child's eyes.

“Bebeâ”

“Let me down, Uncle, please.”

He obliged. With her back stiff as a pine, Bebe ran and mounted her horse. Before either adult could stop her, she took up Phoebe's reins and kicked the mare into a full gallop.

The uncle yelled, “Bebe! Get back here! Wait for your sister.”

But she was gone like the wind.

Loreli could see the tears staining Dede's copper cheeks too.

The uncle looked grim. “Thank you,” he told Loreli, as if she were somehow responsible.

Loreli wasn't having it. “Don't you dare blame this on me. You're the one who won't get them a mama.”

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