Cheyenne Wife. Judith Stacy
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but further proof that she should leave immediately for her aunt’s home in Richmond.
She’d be glad to go. She’d miss nothing about this hard, unforgiving land. The land that had taken her father and the last chance she’d ever have to know what it was like for the two of them to be a family.
North floated through her mind. Tall, wide shoulders. So strong. He’d lifted her into the saddle with no effort. And he was handsome, surprisingly handsome. When Oliver Sykes had stopped by her room to check on her a short while ago, she’d casually—she hoped—asked about North. An English father and a Cheyenne mother, Sykes had said. His mixed heritage had blended to give him a unique handsomeness, to Lily’s mind.
Her stomach warmed at the memory of the two of them beneath the cottonwood tree. He belonged here in this land. He was strong and brave and rugged. Everything this place demanded.
And she wasn’t. A thread of sadness filled Lily’s heart at the thought. Then alarm took its place.
North had seemed decent enough under the cottonwood. But he was, after all, half-Indian. Half-savage. What if his Cheyenne side had presented itself at that particular moment? Would he have ravished her? Scalped her? Left her for dead?
A chill ran up Lily’s spine. She had to leave this place. Tomorrow she’d make the arrangements.
She’d get to her aunt’s home in Virginia—no matter what it took.
Chapter Four
Gray clouds hung over the fort, stretching to the horizon, heavy with the threat of rain. The morning breeze tugged at the loose strands of Lily’s hair as she crossed the plaza.
She stepped inside the trade room, the economic heart of Bent’s Fort, the primary reason for its existence in this vast wilderness. Here, merchandise, goods and services were traded or sold to Indians and trappers, travelers and explorers.
As she hoped, Lily found Hiram Fredericks and Oliver Sykes busy at work among the dry goods, hardware, tools, guns and knives.
The two of them had done so much to help her these past few days, they deserved her thanks and so very much more. That was, however, all that she could offer these two fine gentlemen, in light of her newly discovered financial straits.
“Good morning,” she greeted, and managed a small smile as she cross the room.
Both men looked up from the desk they were huddled around, and smiled in return, looking a little surprised but pleased to see her.
“How’re you doing, Miss St. Claire?” Sykes inquired, giving her an earnest look, setting aside the stack of papers in his hand.
“Well enough,” she said, trying to push her chin up a little and sound brave, “considering the circumstances, of course.”
“Of course,” Fredericks agreed.
“Could I trouble you gentlemen for a little information?” Lily asked, pushing on.
“Sure thing,” Sykes told her and leaned forward just a little.
“How soon before one might expect a wagon train to come up from Santa Fe, through the fort, bound for the East?” Lily asked.
Wagons routinely made the journey east from Santa Fe, loaded with handwoven blankets, buffalo robes, furs and other riches that would be sold in Eastern markets. The trade route worked both ways.
“Oh, we get wagons through here every week or so. Sometimes more often than that.” Sykes glanced at Fredericks for confirmation.
“Yeah, about that often, I’d say,” Fredericks agreed, stroking his chin.
“Fine,” Lily said, a sense of relief coming over her. “I’ll join the next wagon train that passes through heading east.”
She’d thought about it most of the night, tossing and turning on the little cot in her room, then pacing across the floor and staring out the window, until she’d come up with a plan.
While she had no money to pay her way east, she did own a wagon—albeit a damaged wagon—which was surely worth something and could be offered in trade. If that failed, she could provide a service of some sort to the travelers. Take care of young children, perhaps, or act as a schoolmarm on the trip. She could give art instruction, read books or poetry.
If, of course, any sort of payment was required. Surely, the people of the train would appreciate her plight and allow her to travel with them.
Fredericks nodded his understanding. “Seems like leaving is the sensible thing to do. I mean, for a woman like you, that is.”
He’d said it kindly enough, but an insult lurked there just the same. Lily felt its sting, yet couldn’t disagree.
“Would you be kind enough to let me know when the next wagon comes through, so I can be on my way?” she asked the men.
“Sure thing, Miss St. Claire. You can head on back East any time you like,” Fredericks said. His expression hardened. “As soon as you settle your debts here, of course.”
She blinked up at him. “My…debts?”
Fredericks and Sykes nodded in unison.
“Hiram’s got it all writ down, nice and neat,” Sykes said, and wagged his finger toward Fredericks and the desk. “Show her the ledger, Hiram.”
“Ledger…?” Her stomach jerked into a knot. “But I thought—”
“Thought what?” Sykes asked, and gave her a hard look. He shifted closer. “You didn’t think all this stuff here was free, did you?”
A rush of embarrassment—and panic—coursed through Lily.
Fredericks pushed aside some papers on his desk, searching until he found the ledger. He opened it and flipped through the pages.
“Here we go, Miss St. Claire,” he said, finding the spot. “I got a whole page, just for you.”
Lily gulped. “A whole page?”
“Now, first off,” he said, holding the ledger at arm’s length, “there’s meals. Three a day, every day you were here, plus the cost of bringing them to your room. And meals for your pa, of course.”
“But Papa didn’t even eat—”
“Then there’s the laundry you wanted done,” Fredericks said, running his finger along the page, “and the cost of your room. An extra charge for two people together, of course.”
“Papa was sick,” Lily implored. “I needed to be at his side—”
“Doctor’s expenses,” Fredericks went on. “Two visits a day, at your request. Medicine, bandages, that sort of thing.”
Footsteps, shuffling feet sounded behind Lily and she sensed other men coming into the room, adding to her embarrassment.
“Then there’s board and care for your horses,” Fredericks said.
“My horses were stolen!”
“That don’t mean they didn’t eat while they were here,” Sykes pointed out.
“And then there’s storage on your wagon,” Mr. Fredericks continued.
“It was ransacked!”
Fredericks paused, and he and Sykes looked at each other as if considering the point she’d just made.
“Somebody get Sam over here,” Sykes called over Lily’s head, then said to her, “Sam Becker. He’s the blacksmith that took care of your horses and wagon.”
She glanced behind her and saw one of the men lean out the door and yell.
“Let’s see now, what else?” Fredericks squinted at the page. “Oh, yeah. There’s the funeral. Making the casket, digging the grave, of course, carving