SEPTEMBER 1866, NEAR FORT LARAMIE, WYOMING
The 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.
“I’m chattering like a magpie, and you must be exhausted,” Sarah said. “Would you like to freshen up while I fix us a cup of tea?”
“That would be lovely. I’m grimy from the trip.” Emmie took off her bonnet and smiled at Sarah.
Sarah shuddered at the mention of the trip. “How well I remember the journey out here. Horrible food, no bathing facilities, no place to sleep. Why don’t I heat some water for a bath? Rand won’t be home until suppertime. You can have a lovely soak.”
“Sounds heavenly. But I’ll get it ready if you show me where everything is. Shouldn’t you be resting?”
“Now you sound like Rand.” Sarah laughed. “I feel wonderful. I have a ways to go—almost four months. It will be a long wait. I’m so anxious already.”
Emmie followed her through the tiny quarters. The small entry led to a parlor about ten feet square. It was a homey room with an army cot, obviously used as a sofa, that was covered with a colorful Ohio Star quilt in burgundy-and-blue calico and matching pillows. Warm burgundy calico curtains and matching table covers topped with lace doilies added more color. A crude table and two chairs stood under the front window and held a Bible, a copy of Shakespeare’s plays, David Copperfield, and Wuthering Heights. A mantel over the fireplace held a delicate rose tea set and several small china figurines.
Just off the parlor was a small kitchen. The rough table and chairs were painted the same warm burgundy as the curtains in the parlor. Pots hung from pegs along one wall, and a small cookstove occupied the middle of the room. A dry sink with a plank counter sat in one corner.
The door in the left wall of the kitchen opened into a tiny bedroom with only room for a bed and small chest. Sarah started to lift the hip bath from its peg on the wall, but Emmie quickly stepped forward and took it down herself. “I don’t want to be a bother. I’m here to help you.”
Sarah laughed as she pointed out a room in the corner for the bath. “I’ll heat some water.”
An hour later Emmie felt like a new woman. Her dark hair shone, and the lavender dress soothed her raw skin. They drank their tea and ate warm bread with thick butter and jam as they chatted. The months since they last talked seemed to fall away.
“Are you sure Rand is all right with my coming? Ben wouldn’t be his favorite person.”
A shadow passed through Sarah’s eyes, but she smiled. “You aren’t responsible for your brother’s actions. Rand doesn’t hold it against you. And he knew I needed some help. There are few women out here, and he is grateful you were willing to come.”
Emmie’s throat thickened. “You have no idea how I needed a place to settle. I’ll take good care of you, Sarah.”
Sarah set down her teacup. “I was sorry to hear about your husband’s death. You were married such a short time.”
Emmie carefully chewed the last bit of her jam and bread before answering. She knew she needed to tell Sarah the truth, but she didn’t think she could face it yet. She’d told her she wanted to take back her maiden name since she’d been married such a short time. But a secret of such magnitude never stayed hidden. Already a few people looked at her oddly in the last few days before she left Wabash.
Sarah patted her arm, her emerald eyes luminous with tears as she saw her friend’s agitation. “We don’t have to talk about it yet. Someday when the grief isn’t so fresh and you want to tell me how wonderful Monroe was, I’ll be ready to listen. It’s still very difficult to talk about Papa. I still miss him so, and it’s been almost a year.” She dabbed at her eyes with a lace-trimmed handkerchief and quickly changed the subject.
Lieutenant Isaac Liddle brushed the crumbs left from lunch from his lap and grabbed his rifle. Chickadees fluttered from the trees to snatch up the bread crumbs. The thunk of axes on trees wafted through the forest. He and Rand were guarding the rest of the detail, but he felt relaxed. Things had been peaceful at Fort Laramie for weeks.
He eyed Rand’s back. Things had been tense between them since Rand married Sarah, and Isaac had been waiting for the right time to talk to his friend. No time like the present. They were seldom alone, and there was always so much to do.
He cleared his throat. “Rand, I’d like to talk to you.”
Rand Campbell, a broad-shouldered man in his midtwenties, turned from his perusal of the wild landscape. His dark brown eyes were cautious as they met Isaac’s gaze. “Sure.”
“It’s time we cleared the air between us.” Isaac took a step nearer and put his hand on Rand’s shoulder. “I value your friendship, and I’d hate for a misunderstanding to come between us.”
“You mean Sarah.”
Isaac nodded and let go of Rand’s shoulder. “Your wife is a lovely girl. I was lonely and thought she might be too. But I was never in love with her. Not the way the two of you are. We might have made a decent match of it, but it never would have been what the two of you have. My heart isn’t broken or anything even close to it.”
Rand’s gaze searched his, and he finally nodded. “I see that’s true now. I thought maybe it was hard for you to be around us.”
“What’s hard is when you both avoid me at mess hall. Or look the other way at a dance. We were best friends. I still feel like you’re my brother.”
Rand held out his hand. “I’m glad you spoke up. I’ve missed you.”
Isaac pumped Rand’s hand. “Same here, friend.”
“Sarah has a companion coming. Maybe the two of you will get along well.”
Isaac released his grip and held up his hand. “Whoa there, buddy. Just because you’re happily hitched doesn’t mean the rest of us want to follow in your footsteps.”
Rand waggled his brows. “She’s a pretty one.”
Isaac grinned. “No thanks.”
His step was lighter as he led his horse to the river to drink. At least things were square between his buddy and him.
Emmie sat at the table peeling potatoes for supper. The delicious aroma of venison stew filled the kitchen. Being with Sarah had healed a bit of the pain she carried.
“I’m starving, wife,” Rand called as he strode into the kitchen followed by Sarah’s younger brother.
Emmie wiped her hands on her apron and stood. “Joel, you’ve grown a foot.”
He grinned. “I can shoot now too.” His glance at Rand held adoration.
The nine-year-old boy had a confidence that sharpened his expression and squared his shoulders. Rand’s influence had been good for Joel, who had seen little approval from Wade, their older brother.
Rand exuded a quiet strength and compassion. The dimples in his cheeks made her want to smile with him. How would he treat the sister of his archrival?
But her fears were groundless. Rand was the perfect host and asked her for news of home as Sarah put the venison stew on the table.
“Usually we go to officers’ mess,” Sarah said. “But I didn’t want to share you with the men your first night here. They’ll be around soon enough when they hear there’s a young, beautiful widow in their midst.”
Rand grinned. “They already know. I had at least ten men ask me about her. I had to tell them I hadn’t seen her for over six months and she might be an ugly hag by now. I can see I was mistaken.”
Emmie flushed. “I’m not interested in finding another husband. Not ever.” Any mention of her looks always made her uncomfortable. She knew she was very ordinary. Only Monroe had ever called her beautiful, and it was obvious now that he’d lied. Her real attraction for him had been the dowry that never materialized.
Rand raised his eyebrows but said nothing. After supper Emmie and Sarah cleared the table and washed the dishes, then followed him into the tiny parlor. He took down two harmonicas, handed one to Joel, and they began to play “Nearer, My God to Thee,” as Sarah sang the words in a clear, sweet soprano. Emmie knew the song a bit. It was one her father bellowed when he was drunk. So after a slight hesitation, she joined in with an alto harmony.
Sarah clapped her hands. “That was wonderful. We like to have devotions together at night. We sing and Rand reads a passage of Scripture. Would you like to join us, or are you too tired tonight?”
“I’d love to join you.” Something about their simple, heartfelt faith pulled her. She’d always felt that God was too busy to pay any attention to someone like her. But Sarah and Rand acted as if he were right there with them.
Rand picked up the worn Bible on the table by the window and flipped through the pages. “We’re up to Psalms,” he said, settling his broad-shouldered frame into the chair. He began to read Psalm 61 in his deep voice. “ ‘Hear my cry, O God; attend unto my prayer. From the end of the earth will I cry unto thee, when my heart is overwhelmed: lead me to the rock that is higher than I. For thou hast been a shelter for me, and a strong tower from the enemy.’ ” His voice faltered and fell silent as the tears slid noiselessly down Emmie’s cheeks.
“No, no, go on,” she choked. “It’s what I need to hear.”
As he finished the psalm, she felt a curious peace. This place was certainly the ends of the earth like the Scripture mentioned, so maybe she would find answers here.