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“I’m afraid that’s so,” she said.
“Well, let’s go in, and the couples gettin’ hitched should line up,” he ordered.
Hallie joined the gathering inside the station. The rough log walls looked like the inside of every other stopover she’d been in since crossing the Missouri, but at least she was out of the wind and sun for a few blissful moments. The three couples took their places and the justice quickly performed the ceremony. Hallie’s pencil scratched across the paper as she tried to take note of every last detail.
“You’re the witnesses,” the justice said, indicating Hallie and DeWitt. She signed three papers and handed the quill to DeWitt. He accepted it, carefully avoiding contact with her fingers, and turned his broad back to her.
Hallie stared at it only briefly before turning to George Gaston. “Would you be so kind as to give me a ride into town?”
He gave her a puzzled glance. “There ain’t no town.”
“To the trading post, then,” she clarified.
“I only have the one horse, miss. Don’t seem it would be proper.” He glanced behind her. “Coop’s the one with the rig.”
Her body ached from the ride, and she was so tired she could have curled up right here and gone to sleep. She sighed in frustration.
“I’ll give you a ride,” DeWitt offered from beside her.
She slanted a glance up in surprise.
“Come.”
“I need to post a letter to my father first.” She scribbled on a piece of paper. “Do you have an envelope?” she asked the station manager.
“Nope.”
Hallie looked at her letter in consternation.
“Just fold it and write the name and address on the back,” he told her.
She followed his direction and handed the letter over.
“That’s three bits, miss,” Mr. Hallstrom informed her.
Distressed, she glanced over her shoulder.
DeWitt drew the change from a leather pouch and laid it on the wooden counter.
“I’ll pay you back,” she promised.
Hallie congratulated the women, promising to see them soon, and followed DeWitt outdoors.
“I’ll pull the team over,” he suggested. “You show me which bag is yours.”
Though newly married, Angus jumped to the boot and performed his job, unbuckling the trunks and cases. DeWitt raised a brow at the sight of her trunk, but lifted it to the back of the wagon effortlessly, situating her valise beside it. She accepted his assistance and climbed up onto the seat.
Back aching, eyelids drooping, she rode beside him, desperately wanting to be able to eat and fall asleep. The man next to her made her feel even more helpless than her brothers did. If he believed her to be Tess, then he thought her a liar. If he took her word for who she was, he thought her a fool. Both assumptions got under her skin. “I’m a good reporter,” she said at last.
From beneath the brim of his hat he cast her a sideways glance. She read neither skepticism nor belief.
“There have been plenty of women writers, you know,” she said. “Mary Wollstonecraft wrote before the turn of the century. And there was Fanny Wright.”
His expression didn’t change.
“Anne Royall, too, but then she’s not a very good example, with all that Washington gossip. And of course there’s Lydia Maria Child’s antislavery book. So you see it’s not all that unheard of.”
Hallie reached into her satchel and pulled out her clippings about the brides. “Here’s one of my articles.”
She unfolded a column and held it up for him to look at.
His attention flicked over the scrap of newspaper dismissively.
The wind caught it and tugged it from her fingers. Her only copy disappeared into the vast countryside. Quickly, Hallie tucked the others safely back into her bag. “Those articles prove who I am, don’t they?”
“Anyone could have cut them from a paper.”
“You should have asked one of the other women who came. They could have backed up my story.” She frowned thoughtfully. “I could have shown you my silver bracelet with my initials engraved on it, but by now some thief has probably given it to his... Do thieves have wives?”
He only glanced at her in silence.
“Well, he’s melted it down for bullets, then,” she said.
He turned his face away and watched the horses’ rumps and the rutted dirt road.
Finally a few buildings came into sight, and the animals picked up their pace, heading for a long log structure with grass blowing atop the slanted roof. Hallie had never seen anything so strange.
“Is that your house?” she asked.
“The freight building. You can’t see the house yet.”
“You’ve planted grass on top!”
He cast her a cunous look. “It’s a sod roof.”
An enormous barn sat beside it. Sectioned corrals holding horses and mules bordered the east side and the back.
He led the team through an opening wide enough to accommodate the horses and wagon, and stopped. Inside were rows of wagons, a wall of tools and the permeating smell of dung and hay. DeWitt unhitched his horses and whacked each on the rump. Placidly, they made their way through a doorway, where a short man wearing suspenders over his shirt met them.
“Hey, Coop! That the bride?”
Cooper hung tack on the wall. “No, Jack. She didn’t come. This is Miss Wainwright. A reporter from Boston.”
“Oh? Looks like this ’un would do.” He tottered off behind the horses.
Hallie lowered her eyes and stretched her legs. Cooper had called her by her name and identified her as a reporter. Did he believe her now? Her stomach growled, loud in the open room. “Why didn’t you introduce me properly?”
His brows lowered. “Don’t expect parlor manners out here, lady.” He beckoned with an arm that sent fringe swaying.
Hallie followed. He led her across an open space near the big log building to a smaller one a short distance away. The logs were freshly stripped of bark. Behind it, two windowless sod houses stood, smoke curling from the chimney of one.
He opened a new door and ushered her inside, hanging his hat on a mounted set of antlers. The scents of wood and wax met her nostrils. The room they stood in had a glass window at each end. One side was for cooking, with a stove and table and chairs, the other a sitting area, which included a wide fireplace and a stone hearth. Overhead, a loft could be reached by a sturdy ladder made of saplings.
The stripped logs couldn’t be seen from the inside. The walls had been plastered and whitewashed. Everywhere was evidence of recent construction and meticulous care. With new eyes Hallie took stock of the simple room and regarded the man who poked sticks into the stove and started a fire.
He’d built a home for Tess Cordell.
Did he feel cheated that she hadn’t come? Resentful? An ache like that he must know sapped even more of her energy. Sight unseen, he’d provided the best his stark country had to offer. His preparations revealed there was more to the man than met the eye. He wanted a wife to share this home with. Hallie couldn’t identify the lonely and disturbing feeling the thought wove into her empty stomach.
He’d only needed help, he’d said. He hadn’t expected a woman to fall at his feet.
But he’d done all this in anticipation.
Somehow, perhaps unfairly, Hallie thought it was only right that Tess hadn’t come. She hadn’t cared if Cooper DeWitt was old or young, hadn’t thought of anything but herself and the fact that he obviously had a little money. She wouldn’t have been happy here.
Would she?
He clanged a heavy black skillet on the stove and cut chunks of ham into it, his movements deft and sure. He looked different without the hat, less intimidating, more... approachable. His blond hair hung down the center of his back in a thick tail. He had a narrow waist and muscular buttocks and thighs.
Perhaps Tess had made a big mistake.
He glanced up and caught her looking.
Hallie met his eyes and willed herself not to think him handsome.
He dropped a heavy lid on the skillet. “I’ll get you some water and you can wash before we eat. There’s a privy out back.”
“A what?”
He stood motionless, staring at the table. “A place to relieve yourself.”
Embarrassment buzzed up Hallie’s neck to her ears. “Oh—uh, a necessary,” she said.
He brought water from outdoors and heated it on the stove. Carrying the metal pan through the doorway, he showed her into one of the two separate rooms. After placing the pan on a low stand, he left her alone.
Hallie surveyed the room. It held a wide rope bed covered with a rough blanket, a chest of drawers and an armoire, all new. There was no covering at the window, but wood pegs had been placed in an even row along the wall. All were empty. Waiting for a woman’s clothing.
She loosened her hair, ran her fingers through it and repinned it as best she could, leaving her hat on the end of the mattress.
The water was a blessing. Even though it was warm, she scooped a palmful and drank it before she removed her jacket and unbuttoned her blouse, washing her face, neck, arms and hands. The rough toweling he’d provided exhilarated her skin, and, once finished, she felt refreshed, although she would’ve given anything for a bath.
Hallie replaced her clothing and carried the pan out, tossing the water on the ground.
“Next time water the vegetables with it,” he said. Her nose nearly bumped his chest.
Next time? He took the pan and pointed to the table. Hallie sat obediently. Beside the plate lay a smooth white spoon and two-pronged fork. “These are lovely What are they made of?”
“Bone.”
She stared at the object in her fingers. “What kind of bone?”
“Buffalo.”
“Oh.”
He sat across from her and ate. She followed his example. The ham was a trifle salty, but the bread and eggs were filling. Hallie cleaned her plate, and didn’t object when he gave her more from the skillet on the stove.
“I didn’t see a chicken coop,” she commented.
“Turkeys.”
“Turkeys?”
“Wild turkeys. They lay eggs in the brush. I have some chickens coming this afternoon.”
She swallowed her last bite. “Well, thank you for your hospitality. I’d best be on my way.”
She stood.
He picked up the plates.
A thought occurred to her. “About my trunk...”
He looked up.
“May I leave it with you until I know where I’ll be staying?”
He nodded and moved away from the table.
“Very well, then. Thank you again.”
He turned back. “You know where to find me.”
She nodded, picked up her valise and let herself out his door. Immediately the wind snatched at her skirts and blew dust in her face. Hallie drew her gloves from her reticule and pulled them on. The bag’s weight brought an ache to her shoulder, but she made her way through the foot-deep dried ruts that formed a street of sorts, praying for success in finding somewhere to stay. Even an adventuress needed a rest now and then.
Chapter Three
The nearest building was a healthy walk, and exhaustion set in to Hallie’s body and mind. She crossed the distance, thinking of her letter to her father sitting at the station for another two weeks until a stage came through to take it east.
She could probably walk faster.
Well, not unless she got a night’s rest. And if she found her way. And if she could carry food and water to last weeks. And if she didn’t run into those godaw-ful robbers or others like them.
A shudder ran through her frame. She really was vulnerable. She’d never experienced the reality of it before. All of her father’s and brothers’ monotonous warnings came to mind. They’d known. But she’d led such a pampered, protected life, she hadn’t thought any harm could actually befall her.
What an eye-opening day this had been.
The trading post was like nothing Hallie had ever seen. The building itself had been constructed of blocks of sod, and the cracks were chinked with mud. The thatched ceiling was suspended by a rough frame, weeds and cobwebs dangling over furs and tools and foodstuffs, everything covered with thick layers of dust. Besides dirt, the overpowering stench of tobacco and gunpowder and unwashed bodies hung in the cramped space.
