A Temporary Family. Sherri Shackelford
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trip to the privy?”
“Water.”
Miss Hargreaves shoved a full glass across the table.
The girl downed the liquid and sighed. “Better.”
“See there?” Miss Hargreaves’s smile brightened. “You’ll be right as rain in no time.”
Keeping a close watch on the girl, Nolan pushed back his plate. He’d been raised the only child of a dirt-scrabble farmer along the border of Virginia and Pennsylvania. As a child, he’d planned on farming like his father before him. Except his father had lost everything: his home, his land and his livelihood. Many of the farms on the losing side of the border had been confiscated during the war, and the land had never been returned. Following the war, his father had moved to Cimarron Springs, Kansas, to live near his sister, Nolan’s aunt Edith.
Nolan had lived with his father for a time, but if he didn’t follow certain patterns during the day, his sleep was marked by night terrors that sometimes turned violent. After nearly assaulting his own father during an episode, he’d retreated to the remotest location he could find. If he didn’t show some improvement by the time the railroads shut down the stagecoaches, he’d travel farther west. Maybe California or the Wyoming Territory.
Miss Hargreaves rested her elbow on the table and planted her chin in her hand. “It’s such a little thing, isn’t it? Wanting to be useful? Getting married and having a family is all well and good, but I’d go mad if all I had was the washing up to keep my mind occupied each day. Do you know how many documents must be filed with the county before the railroad claims a plot of land?”
“Nope.”
“One. But it’s quite complicated. The Douglas County clerk said I had a talent for land negotiations. A lot of good that does me. No one will hire a female for land management. I told my father I’d do all the paperwork for the cases, and he could take the credit. I don’t know what all the fuss is about.”
“Fuss?”
“My father. He doesn’t think that I know what I want. He’s right, I suppose. Except I know what I don’t want.” She grimaced. “He thinks we should all be more like my sister, Eleanor. Content with supporting her husband, even if that husband drags her all the way to Virginia City and then dies. Sounds dreadful to me. I have grander plans.”
Nolan had forgotten what it was like to view the future with hope rather than dread. Miss Hargreaves’s unflinching optimism was as flawless and blue as a spring sky. She was like a flash of light illuminating the darkness.
Poisonous grief threaded through his veins. Some things were better left in the shadows.
The youngest child held out her sticky fingers. “Boo-berry.”
The toddler rested a hand on his bent knee, smearing blackberries across his canvas trousers.
Nolan closed his eyes with a groan.
Miss Hargreaves absently grasped the tiny fingers and blotted them with her napkin. “Gracious, where are my manners? I haven’t even introduced us. Victoria is the oldest, Caroline is the middle child and you’re sitting next to Miss Elizabeth. You can call me Tilly. That’s short for Matilda.”
“I three,” Elizabeth stated, holding up the proper number of sticky fingers in confirmation.
Nolan scooted nearer the edge of the bench. “Pleasure to meet you.”
“I Isbeth,” the toddler said.
Tilly rolled her eyes. “My mother named my sister and me after her two favorite queens of England. Eleanor followed suit.” Tilly leaned over Elizabeth’s head and whispered in his ear. “That’s probably the only good thing that came of my brother-in-law Walter’s passing. Who wants a niece named Eadgifu? I’m sure she was a fine queen, but what an atrocious name.”
Her breath raised gooseflesh along the back of his neck. This close, he noted the delicate sunburn on the apples of her cheeks. Her hair was the same chestnut brown as the girls, but streaked lighter from the sun.
A suitable reply escaped him. Nolan finally settled on “I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Are you talking about Papa?” Victoria asked.
“Yes.” Tilly covered the girl’s hand. “I shouldn’t have said anything. I didn’t mean to upset you.”
Victoria, her eyes solemn, only shrugged. “I don’t miss him as much as Mama. He was never home. When is Mama meeting us at Nanny and Poppy’s in Omaha? Will we visit you at your house after Mama arrives?”
Tilly’s lips whitened and made an exaggerated point of smoothing her napkin in her lap. “Your mother is only a week or so behind us. Of course you’ll visit me before I leave for New York. Your mother would never miss the opportunity to critique my efforts and find me wanting.”
“What does critique mean?”
Nolan glanced between the two.
Miss Hargreaves blanched. “Never mind.”
A bugle call sounded.
Instantly alert, his stomach muscles knotted.
Miss Hargreaves reached for his arm. “What’s that?”
“The cavalry,” Nolan said, stepping out of her reach.
“Is that good or bad?”
The arrival of his unexpected guests had distracted Nolan from his earlier unease. Had the cavalry been scouting him earlier? Captain Ronald, the leader of the local fort, had some odd notions. Nolan forced the tension from his shoulders and turned away from the four pairs of eyes staring expectantly at him.
“Probably nothing,” he said. “Everyone stay inside until I know whether there’s trouble or not.”
This had better be a routine check, because as long as Miss Hargreaves and her nieces remained at the relay station, the girls were his responsibility.
And if there was one thing the war hadn’t stolen from him, he took his responsibilities seriously.
* * *
After ten minutes, Tilly stood and tossed her napkin on the table. If only her brother-in-law hadn’t gone and died. Walter’s timing had never been good. Eleanor had married her father’s law clerk, a handsome fellow who might have made a good husband if it weren’t for the gold rush. Though her sister had wanted to remain living near Tilly and their father, as soon as the war ended, Walter had dragged Eleanor to the wilds of Montana in search of instant riches. They’d been gone nearly two years when he was killed in a mining accident.
Last month, Eleanor had written to say she was returning home to Omaha to live with Walter’s parents. Staying with Eleanor and Tilly’s widowed father was out of the question. Their father had never been much for disruption even before their mother’s death.
Eleanor had demanded Tilly’s assistance with their travels. Though frustrated by the delay in her own plans, Tilly had dutifully made the trip. Except nothing had gone as Tilly had expected.
Claiming she couldn’t finish tying up the loose ends of Walter’s passing with the children underfoot, Eleanor had sent Tilly and the girls ahead of her. Alone.
A fierce quarrel, conducted in hushed tones in deference to the girls, had ensued. In her usual high-handed manner, Eleanor had instructed Tilly to care for the girls better than Tilly had cared for her clothing and belongings as a child. The argument was old and recycled, and Tilly invariably lost. Eleanor was five years older and had an excellent memory. She’d dredged up every item of hers that Tilly had lost or broken over the years. When they’d reached the inevitable point in the argument when Eleanor recalled a borrowed dress Tilly had ruined with spilled punch, Tilly had thrown up her hands and relented.
Though not without a few muttered annoyances.
After all, if Eleanor thought so