Love Finds You in Lonesome Prairie, Montana (9 page)

Horace pushed his lips in and out, as if he was trying to find the right words. His eyelids lowered, his nostrils flared, and he swallowed hard. For a moment Julia thought he was going to cry.

There was something sad about the grungy man; he reminded her of the abandoned puppy Ardy had brought to the orphanage. She’d had to turn that poor little creature away, too. Julia dared to touch the man’s filthy arm, telling herself she could wash later. “I’m sorry.”

“C’mon, my friend.” Isaac gazed at him. “Let’s go talk. I’ll buy you a sarsaparilla.”

But Horace didn’t stand aside. Instead, he held up the papers. “Says right here on this letter from a Mrs. Hamlin that yer my wife. Look.” He shoved the papers, flapping in the blustery breeze, toward Julia.

At the sound of Mrs. Hamlin’s name Julia felt short of breath, as if an invisible force had cinched a corset tight around her waist.
I have a surprise for you, dear,
the headmistress had said. Could this…could
he
be the surprise?

Julia’s knees quivered, and she hoped she didn’t faint like the ladies in the dime novels. Even if Isaac caught her, the embarrassment wouldn’t be worth it. Reluctantly she set her valise at her feet and took the letter. It was dated months ago.

March 13, 1889

Dear Mr. Whitbaum,

What luck! I just so happen to have a young woman under my care who is in desperate need of a husband. There’s a good chance she’s coming to your area soon. If you send the required funds, I’ll make sure she’s on the train.

Sincerely,

Mrs. Edith Hamlin

Julia blanched.
Oh, Mrs. Gaffin, you didn’t. I’m a grown woman, and you
—
a hopeless romantic with no common sense!

A sick dread grabbed her stomach. The man was serious. He really thought he had a right to her. And clearly Mrs. Gaffin knew about the orphan train long ago. How long had she been planning this? Julia’s foot tapped the ground, stirring up the wisping dirt. She looked at the next paper. It was a promissory note.

I, Edith Hamlin, promise to use the money you wire to send Julia Cavanaugh on the train leaving May 15, 1889, to be your wife.

A notary stamp and Mrs. Hamlin’s signature were on the bottom of the page.

“Oh dear,” Julia whispered.

“I done good, didn’t I?” Horace said, grinning at the parson. “Gotta make sure them big-city folk don’t swindle ya.” He pulled a crumpled envelope from his pocket. “Almost fergot. This one’s fer ya. I sware I didn’t open it.”

He held out a letter addressed to her. With limp fingers, Julia opened the envelope.

Dearest Julia,

Julia slowly looked up, avoiding Horace and sending a silent, pleading cry for help to Isaac. “It says she promised me to him.”

“Don’t worry.” His dark eyes displayed compassion. “It can’t be valid.”

Horace cleared his throat and growled at Isaac.

Hesitantly, Julia turned her focus toward the wide, gap-toothed smile that shone from Horace’s face.

“I done got you this.” Before anyone could stop him, Horace knelt down and held up a silver ring. “’Tain’t much, but it’s fer you.” He grabbed her hand. “Will you marry me, Miss, uh, hold up.” He glanced at the paper. “Oh yeah, Miss Cavaunaw-guh?”

Julia shook her head. “Mr. Whitbaum, please stand up,” she begged.

Horace frowned as he creaked to a stand.

The train whistled, and the engine’s rumble vibrated the ground. Julia clutched her valise. Every muscle in her body wanted to fly to that depot and let the train take her far away.

Horace’s eyes peered at her. “Well? Will ya?”

“No!” Julia said. “I don’t care what papers you have. I’m not going to marry you.”

Horace’s eyes squinted, and his forehead scrunched. Then he clamped onto her arm and yanked, making her fall into him. “But you got to.” His voice sounded desperate.

Isaac grasped Julia away from Horace. He settled her, making sure she was steady on her feet before pulling Horace aside, their backs to the depot.

Julia saw her chance. She grabbed up the valise and darted to the train with quickened steps. One hand held up her skirt, the other swung with the motion of her valise. She knew ladies should not run, but she didn’t have a choice.

“Parson Ike,” Julia heard Horace’s loud voice say as she scampered away. “It’s real lonesome out here bein’ by myself. None of the fine ladies out here’ll have me, I don’t think. Plus, I done paid good money.”

Any pity she might have felt for the poor man was overcome by her desperation to reach the depot in time.

Yet after a few strides, she knew the train was no use. The long chain of railway cars began to slowly chug away from the station, and as it gained speed, its black smoke streaked across the cloud-dappled sky. Julia slowed her pace. Her steps stilled. And as the wind whipped her hair again, she watched her future fade into the dust.

Isaac spied Julia’s shoulders slump when the steam engine departed, and compassion for the woman filled his chest. He couldn’t imagine the pain she’d endured earlier in the day, and now, to be left here. Isaac knew the prairie he loved seemed desolate and uncivilized to city folk—even foreboding, frightening. It had for him when he first arrived from St. Louis. And she’d come from the biggest city of all.

He glanced at her still form as she watched the train disappear and knew he should comfort her. Of course, the first way to help was to handle Horace.

Isaac returned his attention to his distressed companion. “I’m sorry, my friend. You just can’t force someone to marry you—or love you, for that matter.”

Horace shook his head like an unbroken horse. “That’s where you’re wrong. I told you. I done paid fer her.”

“Why, you’re about as stubborn as I am,” Isaac said, realizing the simple-minded settler might not be easily moved. And, looking at Julia, he couldn’t really blame the man. Were he the type to marry—which he wasn’t—he’d hope to find a wife like Miss Julia Cavanaugh. Beautiful, definitely. Brave. Kind and loving. And a hard worker—she must be—taking care of all those children. Gracious to forgive him. And when he’d touched her back… Isaac shook his head, brushing off his straying thoughts.

But what to do about Horace? He glanced at the Bear’s Paw Mountains outside of town, where the man lived. “Why don’t you take my sister’s wagon back to her and then head home? On your way, do some talkin’ with God. Miss Cavanaugh just missed her train, so there’s no rush.”

The slouching man suddenly perked up. “That’s right. I can be a real gentleman suitor.” He wiggled his fingers together in excitement and then hopped on the wagon. “I’ll be back fer ya!” he called to Julia, whose back still faced them. “You’ll see. I’ll make you love me yet.”

Julia rotated toward Isaac from her spot. The evening sun created a candle-like glow on her pretty features, and the wind sent her hair and skirt dancing softly about her. He removed his parson’s hat and palmed his hair, then stepped toward her.

She shook her head. A slight, sad smile arched her lips. She looked disappointed, but there seemed to be something else in her gaze, too. Gratitude?

Julia stepped forward and met him halfway. “Guess I’m stuck here for a bit.”

Isaac nodded, trying to exude as much compassion as he felt. “Yes, miss, you are.”

A grasshopper landed on Julia’s leather traveling boot as she inched her way toward the parson. She possessed no mental energy to plan. No tears to cry. Not enough strength to fear. The only emotion that rolled through her was a bizarre urge to laugh at the absurdity of her situation. When she awoke this morning in the sleeper car, she knew this day would be one of the most difficult of her life. Yet she’d never imagined quite this much turmoil.

She glanced at the parson. “The next train is…when?”

The parson’s brown hair caught in the wind as he tilted his head toward her. “Well, it’s supposed to come once a week, but,” he raised his eyebrows apologetically, “it’s hardly ever on time.”

Julia took in a breath. “Maybe I can send a telegram to Mrs. Gaffin to wire some money.”

Isaac shook his head. “Let me take you back to the hotel.” His lips formed a compassionate frown. “I think you should talk to my sister Miriam. She’ll come up with a plan.” Isaac picked up his horse’s reins from the dust, clutched her valise, and guided Julia beside him.

Julia trudged along in silence.

After a few moments, the parson turned to her, a hint of a smile on his lips “So,” he said, surveying the landscape, “not much different from New York, eh?”

Julia eyed him, not sure if he was serious. “Excuse me?”

His playful grin broadened. A twinkle lit his eyes. “I mean, I’ve never been there, only read about it in books, but it’s pretty much like our Big Sandy, right?”

Like Big Sandy?
“Oh!” she blurted, catching his joke. How did he know she needed a distraction? She could play this. “Well, there are many similarities, but I suppose it’s a
little
different.”

“That’s what I thought.” Isaac grinned, spurred on by her comment. “See over there?” He pointed to the rickety wooden water tower. Loose planks stuck out and the wood appeared old and worn. Julia wondered how it managed to stay standing with all the wind. “It’s almost as tall as the Statue of Liberty. Don’t you think?”

“Definitely,” Julia said. “Maybe taller. And so regal, just like the Lady.”

A rustling sound emerged from the tall grass, and three antelope hopped across their path.

“It’s the New York Easter parade. I feel like I’m at home.”

Isaac chuckled softly then placed his finger over his lips and stopped walking. “Look.” He pointed toward the small mountain range to the east, where Julia’s loving new fiancé, Horace, apparently lived.

She eyed a beat-up shack tucked into the hillside. “Where do you want me to look? At my future home with my husband-to-be?”

Isaac angled his head. “Don’t worry about Horace. I’ll talk to him. He’s actually a good man, but once he gets his mind stuck on something—”

“Such as marrying a mail-order bride who didn’t know she was even up for ordering?”

“Really, you shouldn’t worry. Now look.” More antelope galloped through the field, shifting and turning as one body. Their shadows danced across the yellow grass at odd angles. “They were headed back to their herd, probably searching for water up yonder at Gold Creek.”

“Beautiful. Like a ballet.”

Isaac bent and picked a sprig of sage from a skinny bush. “Smell,” he said, holding it to her nose.

“Sage. I like it.”

“See? Old, primitive Montana’s not as bad as you thought, is it?”

The horse whinnied, and Julia reached up and rubbed behind its ears. She glanced at the never-ending prairie grass and the tiny group of shacks that made up the town. She shook her head. “No, it’s not.” She peeked up at him with a smile. “It’s worse. Much, much worse.”

“What?” Isaac gasped, a teasing glint in his eye. “How could you say that?” He nodded to her, and they continued walking.

“I never thought it’d be so empty. It’s not like this in books. Authors make it seem like the West buzzes with folks living in real towns, with sheriffs, banks, and storekeepers. Dancing girls. Like an adventure.”

“Well, it’s like that in states like Nebraska and, where I came from, Missouri. They call it the Eastern West. Those communities have had a lot more years to establish themselves. You’ve got second-generation settlers there. But the railroad just got to these parts two years ago. Not many folks have ventured this far west.”