as it rumbled down the street. Shelby and Bea’s heads tipped back as if looking ahead to their new lives awaiting them. Dear Lord, gather them in Your arms. Guide their footsteps. Teach them Your ways.
“Go on!” Elizabeth hollered back at him.
Isaac leaned forward, but just before he thrust his horse into a gallop, he saw Horace sashay out of the Log Cabin Saloon all gussied up in a black coat and bolo tie. He even wore a new hat. In his left hand, he grasped papers. Horace in a suit? Something wasn’t right.
“Hey, Horace,” Isaac called. “What’re you doing?”
“I done gone bought me a wife. And I’m headin’ to cash in.” He stamped toward his wagon. Not the nicer wagon he’d borrowed from Miriam to pick up the ladies from the train, but his smaller unit that looked ready to fall apart, pulled by one tired mule. “Ho there, looks like she already hightailed it back to the train. Sorry, Parson Ike, I gotta go fetch that Miss Julia Cavanaw-guh.”
Isaac urged his horse next to Horace’s wagon. “What? You paid for Miss Cavanaugh to marry you?”
“Yup.” Horace held up the papers. “Got the receipts right here. But that Mrs. Hamlin, or Gaffin, or whatever it was, she said she wanted ta surprise the little lady.” He snapped his fingers in an arc in front of him. “Now’s the time.”
Isaac, baffled at the prospector’s logic, raced his horse next to him. “But you can’t buy a wife.”
Horace shook his head, surprised. “Why, o’ course you can. Haven’t you never heard of them mail-order brides? I could never get my nerve up with the ladies ’round these parts, so I done ordered one.” Horace reached the wagon and jumped onto the buckboard, grabbing the reins. “And if you wanna know a secret, I’m not gonna tell her until she gets on my wagon thinkin’ she’s headin’ back to the train.” His belly jiggled as he hooted. “Can’t wait to see the look on her face.”
The prospector whipped his mule, and the wagon jolted ahead.
Chapter Eight
The wind blew in hot and dusty, drying Julia’s tears. She tried to swallow, but her throat felt raw, parched. She focused her eyes on the railroad depot, just a lonely rail car, and the train parked at the water tower. She knew it wouldn’t be there long.
Soon she’d be climbing its metal steps and sliding into her spot next to the window. She’d make the connections until she boarded an eastbound engine in Helena. Then she’d finish The Prairie Knight without interruption. She’d be given a quiet she hadn’t known—ever. Yet rather than cherish the prospect, she felt grief like a dark storm grip her heart despite the bright Montana sunshine.
Her feet plodded forward, and she shielded her eyes as she stared into the vast sky, alive with endless white, rolling clouds. “Are You taking care of me like my mama said?” The wind carried away her whispered words along with the dust.
Up ahead the train rumbled and chugged a half mile from the water tower to the depot. As she quickened her steps, the sound of hoofbeats rumbled behind her. In a blink, a horse sprinted across her path and stopped. The parson tugged off his hat.
His dark eyes unsettling her, Julia sucked in a breath.
The parson fixed his eyes on her and seemed to shift uncomfortably in his saddle. “Miss Cavanaugh, uh, I need to tell you”—the man sucked in a slow breath—“I’m sorry…”
Perceiving his purpose, she nodded quickly and looked around him toward the train. “There’s no need to apologize. Thank you, but,” she pointed ahead, “the train will be leaving. I have just a few minutes.” She walked around the horse, moving forward again. So he wanted to make things right. Maybe he wasn’t so rude after all.
Isaac jumped down and hurried toward her, leading his horse.
Julia curved stray strands of her hair behind her ear. “It’s really all right, Parson,” she called over her shoulder. “My behavior also left much to be desired.”
He
“Go on!” Elizabeth hollered back at him.
Isaac leaned forward, but just before he thrust his horse into a gallop, he saw Horace sashay out of the Log Cabin Saloon all gussied up in a black coat and bolo tie. He even wore a new hat. In his left hand, he grasped papers. Horace in a suit? Something wasn’t right.
“Hey, Horace,” Isaac called. “What’re you doing?”
“I done gone bought me a wife. And I’m headin’ to cash in.” He stamped toward his wagon. Not the nicer wagon he’d borrowed from Miriam to pick up the ladies from the train, but his smaller unit that looked ready to fall apart, pulled by one tired mule. “Ho there, looks like she already hightailed it back to the train. Sorry, Parson Ike, I gotta go fetch that Miss Julia Cavanaw-guh.”
Isaac urged his horse next to Horace’s wagon. “What? You paid for Miss Cavanaugh to marry you?”
“Yup.” Horace held up the papers. “Got the receipts right here. But that Mrs. Hamlin, or Gaffin, or whatever it was, she said she wanted ta surprise the little lady.” He snapped his fingers in an arc in front of him. “Now’s the time.”
Isaac, baffled at the prospector’s logic, raced his horse next to him. “But you can’t buy a wife.”
Horace shook his head, surprised. “Why, o’ course you can. Haven’t you never heard of them mail-order brides? I could never get my nerve up with the ladies ’round these parts, so I done ordered one.” Horace reached the wagon and jumped onto the buckboard, grabbing the reins. “And if you wanna know a secret, I’m not gonna tell her until she gets on my wagon thinkin’ she’s headin’ back to the train.” His belly jiggled as he hooted. “Can’t wait to see the look on her face.”
The prospector whipped his mule, and the wagon jolted ahead.
Chapter Eight
The wind blew in hot and dusty, drying Julia’s tears. She tried to swallow, but her throat felt raw, parched. She focused her eyes on the railroad depot, just a lonely rail car, and the train parked at the water tower. She knew it wouldn’t be there long.
Soon she’d be climbing its metal steps and sliding into her spot next to the window. She’d make the connections until she boarded an eastbound engine in Helena. Then she’d finish The Prairie Knight without interruption. She’d be given a quiet she hadn’t known—ever. Yet rather than cherish the prospect, she felt grief like a dark storm grip her heart despite the bright Montana sunshine.
Her feet plodded forward, and she shielded her eyes as she stared into the vast sky, alive with endless white, rolling clouds. “Are You taking care of me like my mama said?” The wind carried away her whispered words along with the dust.
Up ahead the train rumbled and chugged a half mile from the water tower to the depot. As she quickened her steps, the sound of hoofbeats rumbled behind her. In a blink, a horse sprinted across her path and stopped. The parson tugged off his hat.
His dark eyes unsettling her, Julia sucked in a breath.
The parson fixed his eyes on her and seemed to shift uncomfortably in his saddle. “Miss Cavanaugh, uh, I need to tell you”—the man sucked in a slow breath—“I’m sorry…”
Perceiving his purpose, she nodded quickly and looked around him toward the train. “There’s no need to apologize. Thank you, but,” she pointed ahead, “the train will be leaving. I have just a few minutes.” She walked around the horse, moving forward again. So he wanted to make things right. Maybe he wasn’t so rude after all.
Isaac jumped down and hurried toward her, leading his horse.
Julia curved stray strands of her hair behind her ear. “It’s really all right, Parson,” she called over her shoulder. “My behavior also left much to be desired.”
He
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