Amethyst (10 page)

“I will tear them up if you give me the word.”

“General, I know you are an honorable man, and I trust you would not do such a heinous thing.” McHenry sipped the whiskey he’d poured. He’d most likely never have such quality again, but then, he used hard liquor only medicinally anyway. He was sure Jake Maunders or Williams still had access to rotgut if he ever wanted to burn his innards out. Staring over the rim of the glass and into the flame of the lamp, he saw a campfire with Rand Harrison on the other side. Some of the other cowboys lying around, telling stories late at night, swapping lies as they joked. The fire threw dancing shadows up on walls of red ochre and pale cream sandstone with dark gray capstone. Though after Ruby Torvald arrived in Little Missouri, he and Rand had not been so friendly, more like bull elks in rut. Of course, courting the same woman can do that to a friendship. But that was long gone. Rand had married the spitfire, and McHenry wished them every blessing, periodically even corresponding with them.

“The only place I’ve seen to rival a Dakotah sunset is right here in Arizona Territory. Someday this country will be covered with ranches too. But give me the grasslands of the prairie over the cactus anytime. You ever need a place to put your thoughts back in perspective, come to Medora and see me. I’ll take you hunting.”

The next day when the train stopped at Bowie, McHenry loaded his horse, some feed for the animal and food for himself, a water barrel, a trunk that contained all he owned, and himself onto a railroad car bound east to Kansas City. There he would board a northbound train for Chicago, then west to Dakotah. Rather a long way around, but he’d see a lot of country.

In spite of the cold he sat in the doorway, Indian fashion, a heavy woolen Navajo blanket over his shoulders, and watched the miles slide by. Mountains, deserts, plains covered with snow, the sun so bright on it, he had to tip his hat near to his nose to shield his one good eye. Rivers frozen, rivers flowing sky blue beside white-covered banks threaded with red willow, spirals of smoke marking the houses, barns snug against the season. He saw cattle drifting before the wind and deer eating the tender tips of branches. When the light was right, he read his Bible, starting with Genesis and on through the Old Testament. He figured he’d get through the New Testament before spring. When the conductor asked him why he didn’t come to the passenger cars to get warmed up, he shook his head.

“Horse has to put up with the cold, so guess I can too.” But he accepted the hot coffee and the visit. From Chicago west, it was one holdup after another. The wind whistled through the cracks between the exterior boards, but the load of hay he bought in Chicago insulated him and Kentucky from the worst of the cold. That and their heavy blankets. The pot of coals burning in an old washtub provided enough heat to keep them from freezing. Every time he tripped on something, he reminded himself that his vision would adjust eventually.

He and Kentucky had moved into a local livery for two days to wait out the blizzard that struck Fargo. By the time the train headed west, he could hear the buttes and spires calling his name. But when the conductor called out, “Dickinson,” Jeremiah opened the door in spite of the cold wind and rode in the doorway the remaining miles, watching for landmarks to tell him where they were and how far he had yet to get home. The letter he’d written to tell Rand Harrison he was on the way still lay in the trunk. He figured he’d get there about the same time as the letter would have anyway.

The journey had washed the twenty-five years of army life and all the fighting clean out of him, so when he led Kentucky off the train on December 24, 1886, he felt reborn. A new man with a new life, or at least he hoped so until he tripped over the ramp, saved from falling only by his grip on Kentucky’s halter rope.

“Well, Captain McHenry, fancy seeing you walk off that car.” The Medora stationmaster stared in wonder.

“The name’s plain Jeremiah McHenry, and by the looks of the weather”—he inclined his head towards his horse—“we better get us a place here in town for a night or two.”

“Very wise. Another hour or so and it won’t be fit for man nor beast.”

“Paddock still own the livery?”

Owens nodded. “He’ll be right glad to see you. They moved over here across the river after de Mores got going good.” He looked off to the buttes behind the town. “Welcome home, Ca— McHenry. We’re glad to have you back.”

“I’ll pick up my trunk later. You want me to haul it inside?”

“No, I’ll take care of that. What you going to do with that hay?”

“Pitch it out when I find a sledge to haul it. Railroad said no hurry.”

“Where you going to live?”

“Gotta go looking for a place to build me a house, but for now thought maybe the cantonment.”

“Cattle company took that over. You might try out to Heglands’. That big house over there.” He pointed across the railroad tracks.

“Thanks. Maybe Harrison will have some work for me till I find a place.”
At least I hope so. Spending the winter over at the barracks still might work if there’s room. Only God knows the next step, and He’s not telling
.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Amethyst’s teeth chattered so loud she could hardly hear what the woman said.

“Th-thank y-you.” She forced the words between stiff lips. With her feet in a tub of lukewarm water, someone rubbing her arms and shoulders through a heated blanket, and the stove bathing her in warmth, she knew she was still alive. Returning to life from so close to death hurt more than one would think. Some demon was stabbing her feet with the sharpest of needles, and her throat burned in spite of the warm drink they’d forced on her. The woman said it was from breathing such cold air. Her jaw ached from clenching it to try to keep her teeth from falling out.

“Thank our good Lord for our dog, Brownie. He insisted he had to go out and went tearing across the snow like he was chased by a wolf. When he found you, he set to barking, and we knew something or someone was in trouble. Although last time it was a small cat he brought home. Carried that little cat in his mouth as gentle as its mother would.”

Amethyst glanced down at the dog now sound asleep in front of the stove. He’d saved her life. God was looking out for her. No doubt about it. She coughed and flinched at the same time.

“Have some more of this tea. The honey in it should help soothe your throat. Are you feeling any warmer?”

Amethyst nodded. This time she could hold the cup to her mouth herself. Before, her hands shook so much, the warm liquid splashed out. She wasn’t sure if she was warming from the outside in or the inside out, but the two seemed to have met in the middle.

“I am Pearl Hegland. Were you coming to stay at my boardinghouse?”

Amethyst nodded. “The stationmaster sent me here.”

“He should have found someone to drive you, with the storm coming on like that.”

“I would have made it just fine, but I got sick on the train and spent several days at a doctor’s house in Fargo. Guess I haven’t gotten my full strength back.”
Please, heavenly Father, protect me from sickness again. I’m already so far behind schedule that Pa must be worrying himself sick
.

“And your name?”

Amethyst shook her head slightly, feeling the rasp of the blanket against her hair that now hung around her shoulders. “I’m sorry. I am Amethyst Colleen O’Shaunasy from Pennsylvania. My father refused to call me Amethyst, said it was a foolish name, but when I left home I decided to no longer use Colleen and took up Amethyst as my name. Sometimes I forget to answer when someone calls me that, however.”
Amethyst—Colleen—use whichever you want, but you are babbling like your pa when he’s had too much to drink.

“Well, Miss O’Shaunasy, I’m sure you are exhausted after your ordeal. What a strange welcome you’ve had to Medora. I have a room upstairs that is vacant. Would that suit you? I can help you up the stairs, since near freezing like that makes one terribly weak.” Pearl knelt down and tenderly lifted one of Amethyst’s feet from the water, inspecting it carefully. “I don’t see any white spots. You are very fortunate. The white indicates frostbite. Let me see your hands.”

Amethyst felt herself slumping more and more into the chair, melting from the glorious heat. While she tried to pay attention, she felt as if she were looking at her hostess from the wrong end of a spyglass. Her voice came and went as if a door opened and closed on the sound.

After carefully inspecting each finger, Pearl rubbed Amethyst’s hands gently between her own. “There’s a white spot on your little finger, but it’s not very big. God was indeed watching out for you.”

“Indeed.” Amethyst turned at the sound of a child crying.

“That’s the baby waking from a nap. Let’s get you tucked in upstairs so I can go take care of him.”

Amethyst wanted to say, “Take care of the baby first,” but the words wouldn’t move past the fog insidiously taking over her mind. She knew Mrs. Hegland helped her to stand and waited a moment for her to regain her equilibrium. She recognized they were climbing stairs, but the moment she collapsed on the bed, she knew only warmth and softness as she floated away.