A Journey of the Heart Collection (28 page)

A
s Emmie sat in the overstuffed chair in the law office of Taylor and Eddingfield, she felt as though she couldn't handle any more shocks. Catherine had left her documents with James Eddingfield, Monroe's employer, to check.

At his desk, Mr. Eddingfield looked through his wire-rimmed glasses and pursed his thin lips as he studied the documents. “These seem to all be in order. If I could discount her claims, I would. I sent a telegraph to Mr. Courtney yesterday, as well as to his banker for
verification of her identity. I received an answer this morning. The woman is Monroe's real wife.”

“Do I have any rights at all?” Emmie asked.

“I'm afraid not. Only what you brought into the so-called marriage. Your personal belongings and any dowry.”

“I didn't have a dowry yet. The house Ben promised us as my dowry is still tied up until his debts are paid. I don't have any money until then.” Ben had fled town after a scandal involving Sarah Montgomery and Rand Campbell. When the townspeople found out about his deceit, all his debts had been called in. Rather than face what he'd done, he had taken off out West.

James laid down the documents. “Unfortunately, the law is all on Mrs. Courtney's side. And she does have Monroe's child to consider.” He rose from behind his gleaming desk and came around to stand in front of her. “I'm sorry, Miss Croftner.”

Miss Croftner.
With those words, the impact hit her and she shuddered.

Mr. Eddingfield reached down and took her hand. “Is there no one who would take you in? Your brothers, perhaps?”

She didn't like the feel of his moist hand or the way
he was looking at her, and she tried to discreetly pull her hand away. “No one. I don't even know where Ben and Labe are.”

James squeezed her hand tighter, then lifted it to his lips. “I've always admired you, my dear Emmie. And, uh, tendered a certain regard for you. I would consider it an honor if you'd let me take care of you. There's a lovely little house on Sherman Street I own. Secluded and private. I could visit you there and see to all your needs.”

The meaning of his words eluded Emmie for a few moments, but the greedy look in his eyes didn't. She gasped when she realized at last what he meant. She yanked her hand out of his grasp and rose shakily. “Mr. Eddingfield, please! I thought you were Monroe's friend—and mine!”

“What I offer is the best you can hope for once everyone knows you lived with Monroe without benefit of marriage.”

Was there something about her looks that made men think she was a loose woman? She'd always wondered if she was truly a Croftner. Her raven-black hair and violet eyes were so very different from her brothers' fair hair and pale blue eyes.

Her face burned, and she wanted nothing more than to take a bath. “I did nothing wrong, Mr. Eddingfield. The fault does not lie with me.”

His eyes narrowed to slits. “Perhaps. Who can say for sure what you really believed? At least that's what people will say. My heart goes out to you, my dear. I want only to help. I offer you a respite. If you can find it in your heart to receive my goodwill, I think we'll both be the happier for it.”

She gathered up her belongings, bile rising in her throat, and stumbled toward the door. She had to get out of here. “Recently I've learned that the heart is a poor discerner of a prudent path. I must reject your offer, Mr. Eddingfield. Please, let's no longer speak of something so shameful.”

“You'll come crawling back when you see no one in polite society will accept you,” he shouted as she closed the door behind her.

A half hour later, drained and disheartened, she let herself inside the cool, dark house she'd called home for three months. Mrs. Hatters must have been here while she was gone—she could smell the faint scent of lemon and wax, and the house shone as it always did after her housekeeper's ministrations. It would
probably be the last time Mrs. Hatters deigned to work for her once the town knew about her shame. Not that she could afford her now, of course.

Her steps echoed on the oak floor as she took off her bonnet and walked wearily to the parlor. The house seemed so empty and desolate. Was it just a week ago that it rang with voices and laughter at the elegant dinner party they'd had?

She looked around at her home. She'd brought so few personal belongings. According to Mr. Eddingfield, she wouldn't even be allowed to take enough to set up housekeeping elsewhere. Just her mother's cedar chest packed with a few linens, her own clothing, and a chipped Chippendale tea set that had belonged to her grandmother.

What was she to do? Where could she go? Could she find employment here in Wabash somewhere? But she had no skills, no special training. And what if Eddingfield was right and she was shunned by polite society, by the very people she'd thought were her friends? She buried her face in her hands and gave in to the tears she'd managed to keep at bay for the past two days. She'd tried to be strong, stronger than she felt. But fate seemed determined to keep her down in
the mire. She was just the daughter of the town drunk, after all.

After a few minutes she raised her head and wiped her cheeks. There had to be an answer to her dilemma somewhere out there, but where? She bolted upright as a sudden thought took hold. What about Sarah Montgomery? She'd run into Sarah's mother-in-law, Margaret, at Beitman and Wolf's dry goods counter last week. Margaret had said Sarah was pining for some female companionship, and Margaret wished she knew of some young woman to send out to keep Sarah company.

Would Sarah welcome the sister of her ex-fiancé? She had always treated Emmie like an older sister and acted as though she genuinely cared about her. She'd even sent a congratulatory letter when she'd heard of her marriage to Monroe.

Emmie rose and went to fetch her bonnet. At least there was hope.

THREE

S
EPTEMBER
1866, N
EAR
F
ORT
L
ARAMIE
, W
YOMING

T
he stagecoach lurched and rolled its way across the arid landscape with sage and cactus poking through the sandy soil. The air inside the stage was thick with the odor of sweat and hair tonic. Emmie clutched the seat to keep from falling across the lap of the soldier sitting next to her. She still could hardly believe she was out here in the Great American Desert.

A grizzled soldier in the seat across from her leaned
forward and smiled a gap-toothed grin. His angular face was rough and reddened from the sun, and his uniform was none too clean. But he'd been friendly without being too familiar during the entire trip from Fort Leavenworth. “We'll get there today, miss.”

Finally her new life was about to begin. “I'm ready to be off this stagecoach.”

Catherine Courtney had given her a month to find other living arrangements, and surprisingly, the woman had been kind every time they met. After a flurry of telegrams and last-minute plans, Emmie had embarked on a train journey to a far-off place she'd only vaguely heard of. Now, ten days later, her journey was about to end. She bit her lip and tried to still the nervous pounding of her heart.

She peered out the open window. Dry buffalo grass, sage, and weeds undulated as far as she could see in every direction. She already missed the soft greens of Indiana. No towns or settlements, just endless plains of wilderness without much promise.

But there was no other option except the one offered by Mr. Eddingfield, and almost anything was better than that.

“Ever been West before, miss?” the soldier asked.

“Never.” Emmie fanned her face and tried to keep her stomach from roiling at the stench of his breath mixed with the smell of rank, unwashed bodies and dusty leather in the tightly packed stagecoach.

“You ain't seen nothing until you seen them mountains out here. Lots of wide-open spaces.”

The stage lurched again, and one of the soldiers up on top shouted, “Laramie up ahead!”

Emmie craned her head in a decidedly unladylike way out the window and tried to see, but the laboring horses threw up too much dust. She drew her head back in as the driver cursed at the flagging horses and urged them toward their destination. They stopped briefly at a swiftly running river, then the driver cracked the whip again and urged the team onto a waiting ferry. Her heart pounded as the fort grew nearer.

She pulled a handkerchief out of her reticule and wiped her face with it. She must look terrible. Her face and neck felt gritty with cinders from the train and her scalp itched. Large patches of dust and mud clung to her skirts and shoes. She tied her blue bonnet firmly under her chin as the driver pulled the team to a halt beside a crude adobe building. Soldiers milled around outside, and just across a wide parade ground, Emmie
saw a neat row of whitewashed adobe buildings. This was the famous Fort Laramie? This assortment of rough buildings and barren wasteland? Her heart sank at the thought of living in this primitive place.

As she stepped off the stage, she gasped and almost fell when she caught sight of a throng of Indians outside the entrance to the building. Their buckskin clothing was in sharp contrast to the colorful blankets they had pulled around their shoulders. She tightened her grip on her cloak as a shield. She'd heard of all the Indian atrocities just a few months ago. The papers had called 1865 “the Bloody Year.”

Her garrulous soldier friend chuckled at her small sound of dismay. “They won't hurt you none. Those Injuns are Laramie Loafers. They're too dependent on gov'ment rations to cause a peep of trouble.”

She hesitantly followed the soldiers into the building. Inside even more Indians milled around. A counter made of rough wooden planks and piled with all kinds of necessities lined the back of the store, much like a general store back home. Barrels of sugar, flour, and tea sat off to one side, and wide shelves behind the counter held a wide assortment of items from coffee grinders and Arbuckle coffee to ribbons and beads and boots. The
smell of coffee, dust, and sweat was almost overpowering. A single kerosene lamp swung from the ceiling, and its sickly glow cast a yellowish pall over everything.

Suddenly aware that the overwhelming babble had ceased and every eye was staring at her, Emmie flushed and forced herself to approach the sutler standing behind the counter. “Excuse me, sir, but could you tell me where I might find Lieutenant Rand Campbell?”

“That lucky lieutenant always has purty wimmenfolk lookin' for him.” A scrawny soldier with bright red hair stepped up beside her before the sutler could answer. “I can take you to his wife, Miss Sarah.” He thrust out a brown hand. “I'm Private Jackson Wheeler, but you can call me Rooster.”

Emmie hesitated, then shook his hand gingerly. “I-I'm Emmie Croftner.” She'd debated about what name to use and had decided on her legal one. She wanted to try to forget all about Monroe, if she could.

“Let's get out of this here crowd of buzzards. The lieutenant's little place is over yonder on the other side of the parade ground.” Rooster opened the door for her and grabbed her satchel from her unresisting hand. “They'll be tickled pink to see you. You here to help with the wee one?”

“Yes.” Emmie let the soldier ramble on. She was too tired to think or respond. She spared a glance around at her surroundings as she followed Rooster around the parade ground.

Soldiers stood in neat lines at attention as the trumpet blew a vaguely familiar tune. Two more soldiers lowered the flag from the flagpole in the middle of the field. Emmie felt a twinge of excitement and admiration at the rows of blue uniforms. There was something so masculine and attractive about a man in a uniform. Not that she was interested, of course. Between her shiftless brothers and her lying “husband,” she'd had enough of men to last a lifetime. She just wanted a place to heal and a friend to talk to.

She couldn't help gawking as she followed Rooster's spry steps. A surprising amount of activity went on all around the fort. She could see a forest of tepees on the north side of the grounds, with Indian women stooping over campfires and half-naked children shouting and running between the tepees. Horses pranced around the stable on the far side of the field, and beyond that, the barren, sage-dotted landscape stretched right up to the edge of the purple mountains in the distance.

Rooster stopped outside a neat white bungalow with a wide front porch. He bounded up the steps and pounded on the first of two doors.

Sarah opened it with a squeal of delight and flung her arms around her. “Emmie! Oh, I'm so glad to see you. The stage must have been early—I intended to be there to meet you. Come in, come in.” She motioned her in and waved her thanks at Rooster before she shut the door.

Emmie hadn't seen Sarah for nearly a year. Not since she had broken her engagement to Ben and followed Rand out here to this desolate place. Her bright golden hair still gleamed and her green eyes still sparkled with joy and excitement. She'd gained a little weight with her pregnancy, but the soft roundness suited Sarah's petite femininity.