“It wouldn’t need to be a real marriage. It can just be a piece of paper between us. All I need is someone for the baby.”

Jake made his words even clearer. “You’ll be able to get it annulled in the spring if you want.”

He’d do whatever she wanted in that regard.

Elizabeth stood there looking sad. “I just buried my husband. I don’t need another one.”

“I can make you a marker for that grave if you agree to help me. We can get a good-sized piece of granite sent down from Fort Benton. It’ll last forever.”

Elizabeth was looking at him now.

“I could carve your daughter’s name on it for you.”

Elizabeth just stood there, blinking. “Don’t cry,” Jake said.

“I never cry,” Elizabeth whispered and then took a deep breath. “You have yourself a deal.”

Now it was Jake’s turn to be surprised into silence. Being married, even temporarily, to a woman with eyes like that couldn’t be all bad. He’d just have to think of ways to keep her happy until she decided to leave.

MILLS & BOON

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JANET TRONSTAD

grew up on a small farm in central Montana. One of her favorite things to do was to visit her grandfather’s bookshelves, where he had a large collection of Zane Grey novels. She’s always loved a good story. Today Janet lives in Pasadena, California, where she is a full-time writer.

Calico Christmas at Dry Creek
Janet Tronstad

www.millsandboon.co.uk

In the beginning of time, it was said that

“…God created man in his own image,

in the image of God created he him…”

This was written in the Holy Bible,

the book of Genesis,

the second chapter, and the twenty-seventh verse.

And then, many generations later,

it was also said that

“God made me an Indian.”

This was spoken by

Chief Sitting Bull

Lakota Medicine Man

1831–1890

This book is dedicated with love to my grandfather,

Harold Norris, who loved nothing better than

a good western novel. I wish he were alive to read

this book.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Epilogue

Chapter One

Fort Keogh, Montana Territory, 1879

Elizabeth O’Brian heard voices outside her tent and thought it must be Mr. Miller coming to see if she was dead yet. It was a cold November day and she’d been sitting in her tent for eleven days now in this desolate land. It had only taken her husband, Matthew, and their baby, a few days to die from the fever so Elizabeth couldn’t fault the blacksmith for being impatient.

“Mrs. O’Brian,” a man’s voice called in the distance.

Elizabeth ignored the voice. Mr. Miller knew she was still waiting for the fever to come upon her. He would just have to be patient a little longer. It wasn’t as easy to die as it looked.

She supposed he was nervous because she was so close to the fort. No one had thought her tent would be here for this long. She had used the canvas from her wagon to make a tent in this slight ravine that stood a good fifty feet east of the mud-chinked logs that made up most of the buildings at Fort Keogh.

The canvas stretched from the back of her wagon to the only tree here, a squat cottonwood that had looked tired even before she’d tied her rope to it. She had made sure the tree put her far enough away from the fort to prevent the influenza from striking anyone there while at the same time still being close enough that Mr. Miller wouldn’t have to walk far when he came to bury her.

The fort was a noisy, smelly place and Elizabeth wanted to die the way she had lived, quietly and alone.

“Mrs. O’Brian,” the same man’s voice called out. He was closer now.

She frowned. It didn’t sound like Mr. Miller calling her.

She’d given the blacksmith her team of oxen in exchange for his promise to dig a proper burying hole for her next to the one that held Matthew and their baby, Rose. Once Mr. Miller had pledged himself, she believed he would do what was necessary when the time came. Still, she wanted her tent to be in sight of the man when it was time for him to do his job. She didn’t want to give him any excuse to forget about the deal when she was no longer able to remind him of it. Men, she’d realized in her twenty-eight years on this earth, weren’t always reliable.

Elizabeth got to her knees and crawled to the opening in the tent. She hadn’t been out of the tent since dawn when she had gotten water from the barrel that was attached to the side of her wagon. She had added another piece of wood to the smoldering fire just outside her tent and boiled water for tea. Someone had left her a plate of hardtack biscuits yesterday. A morning frost had already covered the biscuits before she saw them, making them so brittle she had to dip each one in her tea before it was soft enough to chew. She’d had no appetite, but she’d forced herself to eat two of them for breakfast anyway.

After she ate, she had checked to see that the handkerchief was still securely tied around the back of the wagon seat. When she had refused to stay inside the fort, the doctor had insisted she have a signal for when the fever came upon her. She was to exchange the white handkerchief for a small piece of blue fabric at the first sign of heat. She’d ripped the cloth from the back of one of Matthew’s shirts and had it, folded and ready for use, lying beside the old blankets on which she slept.

“Who is it?” Elizabeth peered through the canvas flap that was the closest thing to a door that she had. She saw two men standing a proper distance away. The canvas was stiff in her hands and still half-frozen from the night’s cold. She could see her breath when she spoke.

Even with the white handkerchief up, the people who left food and firewood didn’t try to speak to her. She had started leaving jars of her preserves on the wagon seat to repay them. She was always glad to see the jars were gone when she walked the few feet back to the wagon. She didn’t want to be beholden to anyone when she died.

She wondered who wanted to talk with her now.

“Sergeant Rawlings, ma’am.”

Elizabeth nodded. She had seen the man at the blacksmith shop. “I’m sorry, but tell Mr. Miller that it’s not time yet.”

She moved the canvas in her hand slightly and felt the brush of a freezing wind. She tightened her blanket around her. She’d thought she’d never feel this kind of bitter cold again. Suddenly, she wondered if the blacksmith wanted more payment now that the temperatures were dropping, making it harder to dig in this gray dirt. She hoped not. A deal was a deal.

“We’re not here about that. Could you come out here so we can talk?”

Elizabeth hadn’t talked to anyone in days and she wasn’t in a hurry to do so now. Besides, she wanted to study the men a little before she went out to meet them.

“Give me a minute.”

She could see Sergeant Rawlings plainly, but the other man had his back to her. Initially, she thought he was one of the soldiers from the fort, too. But when she looked at him more closely, she realized he couldn’t be a soldier. He wore a buckskin jacket and he had a black fur of some kind wrapped around his shoulders in a sling.

She shivered, and this time it was not from the cold. He must be an Indian. She’d seen Indian scouts coming and going from the fort, but this man looked like one of those wild Indians, the ones who killed people. She’d heard they did unspeakable things. Things she shouldn’t even think about—like taking a lone woman’s virtue and then, most likely, her scalp.

Elizabeth reached up to touch her hair. She suddenly wondered if Mr. Miller was planning to use the Indian to scare her into giving him more payment to dig her grave. Maybe Mr. Miller could threaten to have the Indian do the digging if she didn’t cooperate. Her breath caught at the thought of a heathen preparing her grave.

Elizabeth kept count of the days, using a stick to mark their passage on the ground outside her tent. She should be in her grave by now, but she wasn’t. She didn’t know what was wrong. She supposed God was giving her more time on this earth in hopes she would repent of the anger she felt toward Him, but, if that was what He was doing, He might as well move things along. She knew who had taken her baby away from her and more time wouldn’t change that.

She couldn’t afford to lie in a grave dug by a heathen, though. What if God used that as an excuse to shut her out for all of eternity? She had been careful not to say a single word of complaint against God during this whole time—not to Matthew as he lay dying, not to the doctor, not to anyone—but an unholy grave might turn God from her anyway. She couldn’t risk that; the only consolation she had left was the promise that she would see her baby again in Heaven.

She closed her eyes and tried to remember her exact words to the blacksmith, but she couldn’t. Matthew had always said she didn’t know how to drive a good bargain, and he was right. She should have made it clear to Mr. Miller that he was to handle the shovel himself. Over the past few days, she’d started to feel the cold seeping into the ground beneath her, but she hadn’t realized what it might mean. She hoped God would let her die quickly before everything froze deep enough to trouble the blacksmith.

A horse neighed somewhere and Elizabeth opened her eyes again to look at the two men. Something was wrong. Maybe it wasn’t Mr. Miller who wanted what was left of her possessions. Maybe it was the two men in front of her who were going to try and steal everything. They were certainly talking about something more serious than shovels as they waited for her. She swallowed. She would be no match for them if that’s what they decided.

Elizabeth reached behind her for the old rifle she had, but then stopped. She couldn’t shoot someone, not even if they were intent on stealing every last thing she owned.

She moved her hand and leaned forward to look more closely at the men. She did not see any sign of greed on the sergeant’s face as he kept talking to the Indian. Neither one of them looked as if they were thinking of robbing her.

“It must be the preserves,” Elizabeth suddenly muttered to herself in relief.

Of course, that was it. She’d forgotten they were in the wagon. The army man probably wanted the Indian to help him carry the rest of the preserves to the fort before the jars got so cold they cracked. Matthew had loaded the bottom of their wagon with things for the new store he planned to open, but Elizabeth had known she wouldn’t be able to rely on Matthew to feed her and the baby, so she had canned everything she could before they left Kansas.

She’d even poured a mixture of beeswax and beef tallow on top of her jellies and apple butters so the ones they didn’t eat on their journey would keep through the winter. Now, the last of the preserves were lying cradled on top of the woolens at the back of the wagon.

Well, she told herself after a moment, the sergeant had the right of it. Preserves were scarce out here. These soldiers lived on their rations of salt pork, dried beans and green coffee. She’d seen the men coming and going from the fort and none of them looked well-fed. She should have hauled all of those preserves up to the wagon seat before now, anyway. Even her pickled things, like her red beets and sour cabbage, shouldn’t go to waste just because she was dying.

It wasn’t until the man in the buckskin moved that Elizabeth saw the Indian girl sitting on the pinto pony near the fort. She must be about nine or ten years old and she had a blanket wrapped around her. Edges of a faded calico dress showed through where the blanket didn’t cover and animal pelts were tied around her legs. Elizabeth couldn’t imagine why the girl was watching them so intently.

“Could you just come out here, please?” Sergeant Rawlings called out again.

Really—men, Elizabeth thought to herself. She supposed it never occurred to any of them to let her die in peace and worry about the preserves later. That was men for you. Always thinking about their stomachs. Matthew had been like that, too. He had always expected her to have a meal ready even when he didn’t provide her with a scrap of meat or a handful of flour to use in the making of it.

But, oh, how she missed him and Rose. Matthew hadn’t been much of a provider, but he had treated her well enough. She had been learning to please him, too, and, if they’d been given a little more time together, she was sure she would have succeeded in making him happy with their marriage. He was the first family that was really her own. And he’d given her Rose. Her baby only had to be herself to melt everyone’s heart.

Elizabeth wrapped a blanket around her like a shawl and stepped out of the tent. The ground outside was slippery from frost and she felt the cold deeply as she walked toward the sergeant and the Indian. She had taken several steps when the man in the buckskin turned around and she saw him fully for the first time.

“Oh, dear, I’m sorry.” She stopped and stared. Why, he wasn’t an Indian at all. His eyes were blue and the skin around his eyes, the part that was wrinkled from squinting, was undeniably white. His nose wasn’t flat like some of the Indians she’d seen and his cheekbones were high. Even with that knowledge, though, she wasn’t quite sure about him. Up close, he seemed larger than she had expected. And more fierce than a white man should be. He looked like a warrior no matter what color he was.

“There’s no need to apologize,” Sergeant Rawlings said stiffly. “We’re sorry to trouble you.”

Elizabeth nodded and tried to think of something to say to cover the erratic beating of her heart. “It’s no bother. It just took me a while because—because I wasn’t prepared for company.”

She was still staring at the other man. She’d never had this kind of breathless reaction to the sight of anyone. Of course, it probably wasn’t really the sight of him that was causing her heart to continue racing. It was only that she had thought he was a savage capable of doing anything.

Even now that Elizabeth knew the man she was looking at was a white man, she was still uneasy around him. He was nothing at all like Matthew. Nothing like any man she’d ever seen before.

Oh, dear—whatever he was, he was looking straight at her and frowning.

Then he spoke. “There must be some mistake. She doesn’t look like a widow—just look at her.”

Elizabeth had expected his voice to be harsh, but it wasn’t. It sounded kind and, if she was hearing right, a little discouraged. Although why the man would be feeling that way was beyond her. If he was worried about the way anyone around here looked, he should be worrying about himself instead of her. The soldiers here dressed better than he did. And that wasn’t saying much.

She’d noticed right off that the dye in the men’s uniforms was poor and some patches of wool were a darker blue than others. The buttonholes were fraying, too. That’s what came of using indigo for dye; everyone knew it ate away at the cloth. She would have used dyer’s woad if she’d been charged with making the garments, although the leaves of the plant did take longer to prepare.

Even with all of that, though, none of the soldiers wore buckskin the way this man did. One army man she’d talked to said he’d gladly wear a buffalo coat in winter if he had one, but he’d rather wear the blanket from his bed than dress like an Indian.

Elizabeth looked at the man in buckskin. The furs the man wore over his shoulder formed a pack of some sort that he kept close to his chest.

Elizabeth let the blanket she wore as a shawl slip away from her. The air chilled her skin, but she didn’t want to feel she was hiding anything. In her childhood, she had learned that a soft answer would smooth away most unpleasantness and that she was the one always expected to give it.

“Please, don’t let my appearance concern you. I normally do better,” she said.

The wind blew a strand of brown hair across her cheek and Elizabeth knew what the men saw. The mosquito bites on her face had faded, but the freckles she’d gotten from neglecting to wear her sunbonnet on the dreadful journey here were still plain. By now, the icy wind would have drawn all of the other color from her face, as well, so the freckles would stand out like tiny pebbles scattered on a bank of fresh snow.

And she still wasn’t wearing a hat; the only one she owned was that worn-out yellow sunbonnet and she refused to wear it ever again. She might even burn it in the fire one night before she died. Everything about it reminded her of the journey here and she wanted no part of those memories.

Elizabeth lifted her head high. She’d grown weary of trying to please others. She’d been orphaned young and spent her childhood being passed from household to household whenever extra help was needed. She’d never been asked to sit at the family table in any of these places where she worked, but she’d earned a measure of respect with her cooking and with her clever ways of dyeing cloth.

She was wearing her best dress, even if there was dirt on her skirt after crawling to the opening in her tent. Her hands brushed at the folds of the gray silk garment that she’d been given by the last family she had worked for. It had been damaged when they had given it to her, of course, but it was still the only silk dress she was likely to ever own. And it was twilled silk. Elizabeth had put the dress on last week when she realized she could hardly expect Mr. Miller to change her clothes for her burial.

“I never said there was anything wrong with the way you look.” The man’s eyes softened. “I just expected someone older. And not so pretty.”

Elizabeth watched in horror as the man reached out and touched her chin as through she was a child to be consoled.

“I’m hardly pretty,” Elizabeth said, a little more sharply than she intended. She moved her face slightly to discourage him, although his touch on her chin had been gentle and, surprisingly, pleasant.

She’d heard enough warnings in her life to know handsome men couldn’t always be trusted, especially not when they were talking to females who had no protectors. And this man was certainly trying to turn her up sweet for some purpose of his own. Matthew once said she looked nice, but that wasn’t the same as saying she was pretty. No one ever called her pretty and Elizabeth was sensible enough to know not to expect it. It wasn’t true.

She wondered for a moment if the man was delusional and then she remembered the fever. She always did look better when her cheeks had some color in them. Maybe the fever was already on her and she just hadn’t noticed it. She put her hand to her forehead.

“Well, I can’t expect you to help me.” The buckskin man finally said before turning to the sergeant as though he hadn’t just been smiling at her. “There’s got to be someone else.”

Elizabeth was ready to leave when the sergeant spoke urgently. “There’s nobody else. You’ve got to ask her—for the baby’s sake.”

“What—” Elizabeth looked around. Her hand dropped away from her forehead. There was no fever heat unless, of course, she was the one who was delusional. “What baby?”

There were no babies at the fort. She had asked. Mr. Miller thought she wanted to save herself the pain of seeing a living baby, but that wasn’t it. Babies were so innocent. If there was a baby around she would have asked to look at it, from a distance, of course, so as not to risk giving the fever to the little one.

She saw the buckskin man’s hand go to the bundle he wore across his chest.

“This baby,” the man said.

“Ohhh. Can I see it?”

The man started to turn the bundle toward her.

“I’ll keep back so you won’t have to worry about it getting sick.”

The man stopped his turning and looked up at the soldier. “I thought you said she didn’t have the fever.”

“That’s right,” Sergeant Rawlings said and then looked at Elizabeth. “The doctor said you’d be dead by now if you were going to get it. I was just coming over to tell you that when I ran into Jake here.”

“We can’t always time our deaths perfectly,” Elizabeth said. It wasn’t up to the doctor when she died. “I’m sure I’ll die soon enough.”

“But you don’t have the fever now?” the buckskin man asked.

“No, not yet, Mr…. ah…Mr….”

“It’s just Jake,” the man said.

Elizabeth frowned. After he had touched her chin, she should have known he had no manners. If she could be courteous when she was dying, the man could at least be polite when he stood there in vigorous health. He might dress like a heathen, but he didn’t need to act like one. A full name was not too much of an introduction to ask.

“How long do you plan to wait for this fever?” Jake asked.

Elizabeth lifted her chin. If he wasn’t going to show her the baby, he could just say so. And he could keep his hands to himself. “I’m sure I don’t know Mr….”

She didn’t know why she bothered with the man’s manners. She just wanted him to relent and show her the baby. She’d love to see a baby.

Jake was looking at her impatiently. “If you need the full name to feel better, it’s Jake Hargrove.”

“Well, Mr. Hargrove.” Elizabeth nodded her head in acknowledgment. There. That had made her feel better. “I’m Elizabeth O’Brian and I plan to be here as long as it takes to die. Did you need this land for something?”

It wasn’t only the preserves that might interest the men, Elizabeth had realized. They could also want the very ground under her feet. God might not even leave her with that.

Except for the lone cottonwood tree, the piece of ground where she had her tent didn’t have anything on it, not after she’d pulled up the few scraggly thistles that had managed to survive the scorching heat of this past summer. There were more cottonwood trees farther up the ravine, but she doubted even a jackrabbit wanted the barren piece of land that was now her camp. Although she did know there were men who would lay claim to something just because someone else had their tent pitched on it already. Maybe this buckskin man was one of them.

“No, no, it’s not that,” Jake said and then he hesitated. “It’s you. Women are scarce out here and it’s hard for a man to find one when he needs her.”

Elizabeth blinked. “I beg your pardon.”

Sergeant Rawlings spoke up. “It’s not what you think, ma’am. It’s on account of the baby being hungry is all.”

“Oh.” Elizabeth breathed out in wonder. She knew in that moment she was going to see the baby.

Jake hesitated and then finished unwinding the furs from his shoulders.

The baby was so tiny and its eyes were shut. Elizabeth thought it must be sleeping until the baby opened its mouth and yawned. Her Rose used to yawn like that.

“There’s no one to feed her,” Jake said. “I asked all around Miles City before I came out to the fort.”

“Miller thought he might be able to milk one of your oxen,” Sergeant Rawlings said. “But it didn’t seem like it would work.”

“I should think not,” Elizabeth said as she stepped closer to the baby. She left enough room so that she wouldn’t pass on any sickness just in case. “It’s a little girl then, is it? If I could, I would feed her.”

The baby started to give a weak wail.

Elizabeth felt her breasts grow heavy with milk. “Where’s her mother?”

“Dead,” Jake said flatly and then repeated what the soldier had said, “The doctor says you’re not going to get the fever.” He looked square at her. “You’re her last hope. She’ll die without something to eat.”

“But still…” Elizabeth knew she would not have let anyone who might come down with the fever touch her Rose. This baby here was frail and reminded her of how Rose had been when she was dying. If Elizabeth closed her eyes, she could still see the image of Rose lying so still after she took her last breath.

Suddenly, the baby stopped its wail.

“I can’t…” Elizabeth started to say, but her arms were already reaching out.

God would have to forgive her if that doctor was wrong, because she couldn’t let this baby die without trying to help it.

Jake held out the baby. Elizabeth wrapped a corner of her blanket around it and bent down to go back inside her tent. She supposed the two men would just stand outside and wait, but she didn’t care. She had a baby to hold again.

Once they got started, Elizabeth was surprised at how easily the baby fell into the rhythm of nursing. Even when the baby had finished eating, Elizabeth just sat there for a while with the baby at her breast. The little one’s hair was black and soft. She was an Indian baby, of course, but she looked like Rose all the same.

The baby didn’t seem as heathen as a warrior would, though.

She had heard that some of the white men who came to the territories took Indian wives. She wondered briefly if Jake Hargrove had married the baby’s mother in a church ceremony.

For a moment, Elizabeth was glad Matthew wasn’t here to see her nursing the infant. From the day he had proposed to her, Elizabeth had tried to be the wife Matthew had wanted. He had married beneath himself; there was no question of that. A lady would never nurse another’s baby and Elizabeth felt sure Matthew would refuse to let her do so if he were here, especially because the baby was not white. And probably irregular in its birth, as well.

The sun was almost setting when Elizabeth opened the tent flap again. Sergeant Rawlings had gone, but the other man was still there sitting on the ground near her wagon. The Indian girl had come closer to the wagon, as well, even though she still sat on top of her pony.

When she opened the tent flap, Jake stood up and walked over to her.

“What’s the baby’s name?” Elizabeth asked as she knelt at the door of her tent and lifted the baby up to the man.

“She doesn’t have a name yet.” Jake took the baby and began to wrap it back into the furs he wore over his shoulder.

“Oh, surely she has a name,” Elizabeth said as she stood up and hugged her blanket around her. Hoping for a girl, she and Matthew had picked out the name Rose before their baby was even born. Rose had been the name of Matthew’s mother, but Elizabeth had liked the name for its own sake, too. “She’ll sleep for now.”

“The Lakota wait to name their babies,” Jake said as he adjusted the baby inside his makeshift sling. “She hadn’t earned her name yet when she was brought to me.”

“My sister will be called the Crying One,” the girl on the pony said. “For the tears of her people.”

Elizabeth was surprised to hear the girl speaking English. Her words were not easily formed, but Elizabeth could understand what she was saying.

“Your sister doesn’t belong to the Lakota anymore,” Jake said. “She belongs to the people of her grandfather.”

The girl didn’t say anything. She just sat, facing east. She didn’t even seem to look at the man. Her face was smooth, devoid of expression.

Elizabeth had heard arguments like this before.

“Your dress is beautiful.” Elizabeth smiled up just in case the girl looked over at her. The faded yellow tones of the calico looked almost white in the rays of the setting sun. A good boiling with some of the dried marigold petals Elizabeth had in her wagon would bring the color back, though. “Your sister is fortunate to have a big sister like you to take care of her.”

“I cannot take care of her.” The girl turned and looked at Elizabeth for the first time. “She needs you.”

“Oh.”

Elizabeth saw the girl’s face crumble. Resentment and pleading both shone in the young girl’s eyes. How she must hate asking for help. And how desperately she wanted it.

Elizabeth nodded. “Of course, I—I will do what I can until some other way is found.”

“What other way is there?” Jake asked. His voice was strained, too. “The baby sickens on cow’s milk. I tried to buy some of that canned milk in Miles City—the kind they gave our men in the war—but none of the stores sell it. Most of them hadn’t even heard of it. You are our only hope.”

If things had been different, she and Matthew might have eventually owned a store like the ones that the man mentioned. That had been Matthew’s dream. They probably wouldn’t have canned milk, either, at least not in the beginning. But, in time, who knew?

Matthew always said he would tend the store while Elizabeth tended Rose. He had all those things in the wagon to sell. A fierce sadness rose up in Elizabeth just thinking about it. Those dreams and hopes were all dead. It didn’t seem fair that the peace of her passing should be disturbed with memories of things that would never come true. Matthew had died so fast, he hadn’t even had time to mourn his lost dreams.

Death had been taking its time with her, though. Without her Rose, she wanted to die. She had no family and she would not go back to being an outsider in other people’s homes. She was ready to die. She did not need two pairs of eyes watching her and demanding that she stay alive. She wished she could just close her eyes and keep them closed until she was done with this life.

But, Elizabeth admitted, the doctor in the fort had been a cautious man when he treated Matthew and Rose. A professional man like that wasn’t likely to make a mistake about the fever. She wondered if the doctor had seen the Indian baby. Elizabeth knew most people wouldn’t think it was a tragedy if one more heathen baby died, but she found she did. She had nursed this one. This baby reminded her of Rose. She wanted it to live.

“Of course, I will do what I can,” Elizabeth finally said. She looked over at the baby, snug in the man’s arms. “But if the doctor is wrong and the fever comes, you must leave. If you stay, the baby will die anyway.”

Elizabeth knew she could not bear to watch another baby die. Surely there were limits to what God could ask of any person, even of her.

Chapter Two

It was night when Jake Hargrove returned from the fort and laid himself down on his buffalo robe. He was bone tired. He’d stood off Indian raids and packs of starving wolves, but he’d never been more worried than he was now. He had no idea how to keep the baby alive if this Mrs. O’Brian wouldn’t stay with him through the winter. The men he’d talked to inside hadn’t been encouraging; they’d said she was one powerfully stubborn woman and she was set on dying.

Still, for now, she was doing what she could for his niece, Jake told himself. And a woman needed to be stubborn to survive in this land so he didn’t begrudge her that. He just needed to turn her mind around to match his. That was all.

He could see her tent clearly in the moonlight from where he lay. He’d put his bed a few yards from it. The baby was sleeping inside the tent with the woman and Spotted Fawn was lying next to the wagon, close enough so she would hear if her sister cried. The two girls hadn’t slept that far apart since Red Tail, his half brother, had brought them to him, begging him to raise his daughters in the white man’s world so they would live.

Jake had accepted the girls, knowing there was no other way for them. Sitting Bull and the rest of the Lakota Sioux were starving in Canada. Once Red Tail had said goodbye to his daughters, he had gone back to do what he could for the rest of his tribe. He told Jake not to expect to see him again in this life.

Jake put his rifle next to him on the ground. He’d checked earlier and seen that the woman had a rifle in her tent, as well. It had to be the one the blacksmith said he’d given her when she refused to stay inside the fort, claiming the noise and dirt were troublesome to her.

When Jake first heard about the woman, he was surprised no one had made her go into Miles City and take a room at the new hotel there. The bare land around here was no place for a woman from the East. The town was on the other side of the Tongue River, but it was only a few miles away from here.

Of course, now he knew the men at the fort had tried to reason with her. When Jake had talked to the blacksmith, Mr. Miller had said it was all he could do to get the woman to promise that she would run to the fort if she heard a warning shot being fired. The blacksmith didn’t look Jake in the eye when he told him that. They both knew a raiding party could be so quiet there would be no warning shot, at least not one that would do the woman any good.

Not all of the Sioux had fled to Canada after their battle with General Custer. Some of the younger braves were still in the territories, their hearts set on vengeance and thievery. As determined as they were to kill all of the white people they could find, these renegades were also looking for extra horses. That was one reason why Jake kept his rifle close. The easiest place to find horses was to rob an army corral, which meant they would need to come to the fort. Once the raiding party got to the fort, the loaded wagon standing outside would be a temptation. As would the woman inside the tent.

Jake shook his head just thinking about that woman. She should be sitting in a parlor back East somewhere. He didn’t know what her husband had been thinking to bring her out here; she didn’t belong in a land like this. But, as surely as Jake knew she didn’t belong, he wasn’t going to suggest she go back. Now that she was here, he was going to ask her to stay with him for the winter.

She likely hadn’t faced up to it yet, but she had a problem as big as his. She couldn’t winter where she was. The winds from the north had been damp lately and that meant winter would come early and it would bring enough snow to bury that makeshift tent of hers. At least, she would be warm and dry if she was with him and the girls.

Unfortunately, for the woman to stay with them, Jake would need to marry her. He’d known that before he met her. Miles City was an unforgiving place these days and he had the girls to consider. They were already viewed with suspicion because of the color of their skin. They would be true outcasts if people found out he was not married to the woman living with them. And, there would be no way to keep the woman a secret. He’d be a fool to even try.

Of course, when he’d first heard of the widow, he’d assumed she would be older and practical enough to make an arrangement with him. Jake looked up at the sky searching for stars. He hadn’t counted on Mrs. O’Brian being young or having eyes that made him want to protect her from things he didn’t even see.

The truth was he couldn’t even protect her from the things he could see coming. He and the girls were going to have a battle finding acceptance in Miles City and any woman he married would be in the battle with them. There was no limit to the mean-spiritedness of human beings and Jake figured his little family was going to see their share of it this winter.

It made him weary just thinking of it. If he had a fire going, he would read some from the Bible his mother had given him as a boy. It never failed to comfort him. His mother had been a fine lady. Of course, she’d been totally unsuited to the roughness of life out here. He relaxed just thinking of his old home, hidden on the side of a mountain northwest of here by the pines growing thick and tall all around. His father had brought them there, not believing the reports he’d heard that the trapping days were almost over. He thought it was all just rumors spread by the Hudson’s Bay Company. He pictured getting rich on furs once the other trappers gave up, but he barely managed to feed his family.

Jake had grieved when his mother died a couple of years after they came West. The crude cabin where they lived seemed to shrink and grow empty without her. He and his father never talked about his mother after her death. They had both felt too guilty for failing her. His father hadn’t even put a marker on her burial place. The last thing Jake had done, before he left to go out on his own, was to find a smooth slab of rock and place it in front of his mother’s grave with her name scratched on it.

By that time, his father had married again, this time to a Lakota squaw. Red Tail was their son.

If he didn’t have the girls, Jake would not consider marriage—especially not to a woman like Elizabeth O’Brian. She reminded him too much of his mother. This land had changed in the almost forty years he’d lived here, but it still wasn’t a place for pretty, young white women. He didn’t want to watch another one of them grow bitter and fade away here. He didn’t have much choice, though. Not if he wanted to keep the baby alive.

Elizabeth wasn’t sure if it was the pebble under her back or the smell of frying salt pork that woke her the next morning. She could see out the flap in her tent well enough to know there were heavy gray clouds hanging low in the sky. There was also a biting cold to the morning air. Winter was coming. The low bluffs in the distance might even have snow on top of them by now.

Elizabeth hadn’t slept well and it was later than she’d planned to waken. It had taken her hours last night to coax the older girl close enough to the tent so that Elizabeth wouldn’t worry about her. Finally, Spotted Fawn had agreed to sleep beside her tent when Elizabeth said she might need help with the baby.

Fortunately, the baby only stirred twice during the night. Elizabeth had fed her both times and the little one was doing better. Maybe this man, Jake, would be content to spend a few more days near the fort so Elizabeth could nurse the baby. That should give him enough time to find someone else to take care of the infant.

In the cold light of morning, Elizabeth accepted the fact that she was going to live. She looked down at the sleeping infant. Maybe God was keeping her alive to save this Indian baby. That was the only thing that made sense, even though she couldn’t help but wonder why He saw fit to worry about this little one when He had not hesitated to take her Rose away.

Elizabeth knew no one was supposed to question the ways of God, but she couldn’t help her thoughts. It would be a wondrous, as well as a bitter thing, if God used her to save this heathen child’s life when she had not been able to do anything but watch her own baby die.

Unfortunately, no matter what her thoughts, she could not spend her day hiding inside her tent. Whether or not she wanted to see him again, Jake Hargrove was out there and he’d naturally want to know about the baby.

Elizabeth pulled the blankets closer to the sleeping infant before she tried to smooth back her hair. Maybe she could slip around to the wagon without being seen and get her mirror. She didn’t want anyone accusing her of being untidy again. Maybe if she rubbed her cheeks with a damp cloth, the color on her face would even out, as well.

When Elizabeth opened the flaps to her tent, she could see that Jake wasn’t the one frying the pork. There was a layer of frost on the ground and someone had hollowed out a place in the dirt to build a cooking fire, even though the blackened ashes from her own fire were only a few feet away.

Elizabeth didn’t recognize the man who crouched by the fire’s coals, although he was wearing the usual army uniform so he clearly belonged to the fort. She took a quick look at the ground around him and didn’t see any signs of his belongings. She did see that the man had a coffeepot settled at the edge of the fire and was heating a rock that looked as if it had some biscuits warming on it.

She took a deep breath. The coffee didn’t have the faintly bitter smell of green coffee, either. That’s what she usually smelled around the fort. No, this was the kind of coffee a man would buy special in the mercantile. That soldier had probably been hoarding that bit of coffee for months. And now he was celebrating something.

Elizabeth frowned. The only thing around here to celebrate was his new camp. Why—she drew in her breath as she finally understood. That man wanted her place. Elizabeth’s needs had been pushed aside by others all of her life, and she’d accepted it. But now that she’d been cheated out of death too, something rose up inside of her. She refused to be pushed any longer. She didn’t care what her hair looked like.

“This spot’s taken,” Elizabeth said as she stepped out of her tent. The canvas had kept the frost away from the ground inside, but the icy cold outside made her gasp when her foot touched the ground. She had worn a hole in her left shoe from all of the walking she’d done on the way here and the cold went right through her stocking. She saw her breath come out in white puffs again today.

But she ignored all of that. As cold as she was on the outside, she felt a growing heat inside. For all this man knew, she was still dying. People needed to wait for the dead to be finished with their business before they took everything from them. She liked the spot where she was camped; she intended to keep it.

“If you’re planning to set up a camp, you might try a little farther down the ravine. There are more cottonwoods and dry thistle down there anyway so it will be easier for fires and all.” Elizabeth forced herself to smile. If she stood in one place, the ground under her shoes grew a little warmer.

“I’m not setting up camp.” The man stood up indignantly. His nose was red from the chill of the morning and his hair was slicked back with some kind of grease. He looked vaguely familiar. “I’m cooking you breakfast.”

“Me?” Elizabeth was astonished. She forgot all about her manners and her cold feet. “Whatever for?”

What would possess the man to do something like that? No one had ever cooked breakfast for her, not even the morning after she’d given birth to Rose. Maybe the doctor had decided she was going to die after all and this soldier had been sent to prepare her last meal. Really, that was no way to break the news to a person.

“Who told you to cook me breakfast? That doctor?”

“Nobody told me to do it. I just know women like to have breakfast cooked for them once in a while.”

The man smiled, even though he didn’t look too happy.

Elizabeth took a closer look at him. The man had shaved this morning. It wasn’t Sunday. Outside of God’s day, the men at the fort only shaved for special occasions like Christmas, the occasional dance and, of course—funerals.

She swore she’d never listen to a doctor again. The man couldn’t even keep a proper log of days. He had probably lost track of time and, when he recalculated, discovered his error.

“I’m still dying, aren’t I? Just tell me the truth. I won’t make a fuss.”

Elizabeth braced herself even though it was what she had suspected all along.

“No one’s dying. The doctor told me you were as healthy today as you’ve ever been in your life.”

Elizabeth wasn’t really listening to the man anymore. She was looking around. The man cooking breakfast wasn’t the only soldier here. There were actually several soldiers standing to the left of her. They’d been hidden from her view when she was in the tent. They were certainly standing quietly. And they all seemed to be carrying big, tall bunches of dried weeds.

“Is something wrong?” Elizabeth asked. Surely, the men would be worrying about their rifles and not those weeds if something was really wrong.

The first man in the line stepped forward. The gold penny buttons on his uniform were all in place and his posture was straight. He’d recently shaved, as well. She could tell that by the whiteness of his skin where his beard had once been.

Surely the doctor wouldn’t lie about whether she was expected to live.

“I was hoping you’d like these flowers,” the man said as he handed her what looked like dried cottontails. Then he took a deep breath and recited something he’d obviously memorized. “They should be roses to match the roses in your cheeks.”

The man gave an abrupt bow and turned to the side.

“But Rose is—” Elizabeth swallowed. She hadn’t even said the name aloud since Rose died. She’d scratched it in the dirt several times when her longing had overcome her, but she’d never spoken it again until now. “That’s my daughter’s name.”

The men weren’t listening.

“Roses aren’t fair enough to compare to your loveliness,” the second man said as he thrust another bunch of weeds in her direction. At least, he’d had the foresight to tuck in a little sage so it smelled better. “I’m saving to buy some land when I finish up here at the fort. I’ve got prospects. This is going to be cattle country soon. You’ll see.”

The third man stepped forward.

Elizabeth finally realized what was happening. “You can’t be here courting me.”

She wouldn’t have been more surprised if they had shown up to tar and feather her. She supposed it was flattering, but—“I’m afraid there’s been some misunderstanding. I’m not—that is, my husband and my baby, Rose—they’re, well…”

Elizabeth gave up and pointed. Surely they could see the mound of fresh dirt near the edge of the ravine. She had carried over the biggest rock she could find to mark the place so the grave wouldn’t be lost in the vast expanse of land here. But now that she looked again, it didn’t seem as if it would be enough. The weather here would wear the rock down or someone would move it not knowing what it was.

The third man took off his hat. “It’s sorry I am for your loss, but I was hoping you’d be willing to be my wife.”

“Your wife! But I don’t even know you.”

Never, in all of the years that Elizabeth had longed for a family, had she imagined that a man she didn’t even know would want to marry her. It didn’t seem quite decent, somehow. Matthew had taken her to church for months before he proposed. That was the way civilized men courted their wives.

Elizabeth hadn’t seen Jake coming toward her until he was suddenly there. The sight of him, standing so solid before her was reassuring. He might have surprised her yesterday, but today he felt like safety itself. At least he could explain that she was not looking for a husband.

“Tell them,” Elizabeth said to Jake. She could hardly think of what to say so she just gestured to the men.

“You’re going about it all wrong,” Jake said to the men. “She sets a great deal of importance to names. You might want to introduce yourself before you propose.”

“Well, it takes more than a name to—” Elizabeth stopped as she looked up at Jake for the first time. “Surely no one expects me to get married now.”

Elizabeth didn’t know what to do. Maybe Jake didn’t understand the problem completely. She was going to explain it, but she noticed he had changed out of his buckskins and stood before her in a blue shirt and black wool pants. It didn’t seem right that the blue dye of the shirt should match his eyes so exactly. And, the color was evenly spread so she knew someone had used dyer’s woad to get the blue. It had probably been one of those big factories that dyed the cloth, but it was the same process and it looked good. Not that the man probably knew anything about how his shirt was made. Men never did.

Elizabeth noticed her breathing was betraying her again as she looked at him. She realized she was actually gawking at the man.

“I could still be dying,” she finally muttered and then turned to face the soldiers. It wasn’t all she’d meant to say, but that piece of information alone should put the men off the idea of marriage. “The doctor could be wrong. It’s a bad death—influenza. I’d probably pass it along to any man I…ah…married.”

There. Elizabeth crossed her arms. She’d said enough. She’d be left in peace.

Jake should have realized what would happen. He’d gone to beg some hot water off the blacksmith so he could shave again without needing to build a fire and, when he had gotten back, he’d seen the men. He wouldn’t have taken so long, but he had a new razor strap and he felt a wedding proposal deserved a careful shave. While he was gone, the men had gathered.

He knew right away what that meant. It hadn’t taken long for word to get around that the woman was going to live. There weren’t many women at the fort and it wasn’t often an opportunity to marry presented itself to these soldiers. If the men hadn’t been so scared of the fever, they would have been lined up to court Elizabeth before now.

Jake couldn’t blame them for taking any chance they could. He knew how tired a man got of his own company. He just wished they were not lining up for this particular woman. Jake could see the men looking at each other and wondering if the doctor really had miscalculated how long it would take for someone to come down with the fever.

“I can’t marry one of them,” Elizabeth said as she turned to Jake. Her eyes were wide. “I’ve never even seen most of them until this morning. They’re absolute strangers.”

Jake wished he could ease the panic he saw in Elizabeth’s eyes, but he knew he wasn’t going to. “Given that you’ve known me a bit longer, maybe you should marry me instead.”

She just stared at him as if she hadn’t heard him right. Jake figured he better add some more persuasion. “You’re going to have to do something before winter comes anyway.”

Jake could hear Elizabeth’s breathing as she considered his words. He’d heard the same shallow breaths from wild horses that had been corralled for the first time. He would have put his hand on her arm to soothe her, but he thought it would have done the opposite.

“But what if she does get sick?” one of the soldiers called out. “You’d likely die, too, if you married her.”

“I’m not worried. She looks healthy enough to me. And pretty, too.”

Ah, good, he thought. She wasn’t looking so scared now that she was a bit angry again. He found it hard to believe Elizabeth was a widow when she blushed up pink the way she was doing.

“They’re right. If the doctor’s wrong, I could be dying any day now,” Elizabeth said. Jake thought she sounded downright hopeful. “You need someone else for your daughters.”

“They’re my nieces, not my daughters.”

“Oh.”

“The doctor’s not wrong,” he said. She looked so troubled that he decided to reach out to touch her arm anyway; he only pulled back when he saw her move away. “If you’re waiting to see if you get the fever, you could wait just as easy if you are a married woman.”

“I am a married woman. At least, I—I was.”

Jake nodded. He’d expected that. She was still in love with her husband. Well, it was probably better that way. All he really needed was someone for the girls. “I’m not asking for myself. It’s for the baby.”

“I don’t need to marry you to help with the baby. Of course I’ll help with the baby.”

Jake nodded. That was something. “I can’t keep the girls here at the fort all winter, though. We have to go back to my place and folks won’t understand us living under the same roof and not being married.”

Jake didn’t add that the girls wouldn’t be welcome at the fort. The only Indians at the fort were the Crow scouts and the Sioux who were here against their will. The girls would be treated like captives and he couldn’t do that to them. They would have a hard time gaining acceptance with civilians; but they would have no hope of finding it among the soldiers and their families. The girls’ tribe had fought General Custer and his men. No army man would forget that defeat soon.

“I could take my tent with me,” Elizabeth said.

“You would need to be with the baby at night. The baby can’t sleep in your tent when it gets colder.” He wondered if the woman had any idea what winters were like here.

Elizabeth nodded. “Still, we don’t need to get married.”

“The people of Miles City will see it differently.”

“I don’t care about gossip.”

“Neither do I, but Spotted Fawn needs to go to school.”

“Ah.” Elizabeth nodded.

She still didn’t look convinced. And she was looking at him as though there was something lacking in him.

Jake had known a woman from back East would have a hard time with the land out here. But he’d never quite considered that she might have an even harder time with him. He’d changed out of his buckskins, but he knew he didn’t look like what an Eastern woman would expect in a husband. Well, he decided, it was best she know the truth about him.

Jake wasn’t the man his mother had hoped he would grow up to be. He didn’t much care for big cities. Or small ones, either. He was wearing wool now, but he preferred buckskin. Still, he was a fair-minded man and he didn’t expect more in a bargain than someone should have to give. “It can just be a piece of paper between us. All I need is someone for the baby.”

She was silent.

“My girls, they’re good girls.”

“Oh, I’m sure they are.”

Jake could see he wasn’t making progress. Her eyes still seemed drawn to that grave, as if she was afraid the ones who were dead and under the ground could hear what she was saying and would rise up to accuse her of disloyalty.

“It wouldn’t need to be a real marriage,” Jake made his words even clearer. “You’ll be able to get it annulled in the spring if you want.”

He’d do whatever she wanted in that regard.

Elizabeth just stood there looking sad. “I just buried my husband. I don’t need another one.”

As a boy, Jake had watched his father trading pelts. Everyone, no matter their tribe, had something they wanted. A good trader just watched until he figured out what that was. It didn’t take long to figure out what Elizabeth really wanted.

“I can make you a marker for that grave if you agree to help me. We can get a good-sized piece of granite sent down from Fort Benton. It’ll last forever.”

Elizabeth was looking at him now.

“I’m a pretty good carver. I’ll set their names on it and anything else you want to say. There won’t be a fancier headstone in the whole territory.” It was the best he could do.

“Oh.” Elizabeth breathed out. “Matthew would like that, but—”

“And an angel. I could carve an angel on the corner of it for your daughter.”

Jake hadn’t carved anything but letters on his mother’s stone. But he whittled some in the evenings and he’d carved shapes of most of the animals around here. He could do an angel.

Elizabeth just stood there, blinking.

“Don’t cry,” Jake said.

“I never cry,” Elizabeth whispered and then took a deep breath. “You have yourself a deal.”

Now it was Jake’s turn to be surprised into silence.

“You can’t marry him,” one of the soldiers in line protested. “I haven’t had a chance to read you my poetry. I wrote a poem for you and everything.”

Elizabeth turned to the soldiers in line and squared her shoulders. “I’m sorry. I haven’t thanked any of you properly. You’ve paid me a great compliment. I’m honored, of course. Could I give you each a jar of sweet pickles? I canned them myself.”

“Well, that’d be nice of you,” the soldier who had removed his hat said. “I haven’t had anything like that since I was back home.”

Jake helped Elizabeth hand out four jars of pickles.

After the soldiers left the campsite, Elizabeth turned to Jake. “This marriage—it’s only for the baby?”

“I’ll bunk down in the lean-to and give the rest of the place to you and the girls.”

Elizabeth nodded. “I gave Mr. Miller my oxen in exchange for his promise to bury me when the time comes so—well—I expect him to do what he said. Even if he has to come to your place and get me.”

“You don’t need Mr. Miller now. You have me.”

“Oh.” Elizabeth looked at him skeptically. “Are you a God-fearing man, Mr. Hargrove?”

Jake was a little taken back. “Yes.”

She still looked suspicious. “The God of the Bible?”

Jake smiled. “Yes.”

“Well, then…” She paused as though weighing his words. “Do you promise to dig the burying hole yourself?”

“If that’s what you want.”

“I don’t want any easy promises here. I know I can’t come back and make sure you’ve done that particular job properly so I’d be relying on your word. I want you to dig the hole yourself and do it with prayer in your heart.”

“You’ve got my word.” Jake had seen peace pipes passed with less resolve than Elizabeth showed. “I’ll take care of you in good times and bad times. Dead or alive.”

“When I go, I’ll want to be buried beside my baby.”

“I’ll see to it. I’ll even leave room on the headstone for all three of you.”

Elizabeth nodded. “Then I think we should ask for the oxen back.”

Jake knew a battle could be lost if a man didn’t act quickly to secure his victory. “I’ll get the oxen and then we’ll head out. I know the minister in Miles City. The Reverend Olson. He’ll say the words for us.”

“Matthew and I never did get as far as Miles City. But I heard they had a fine preacher there. Mr. Miller promised to ask the man to come and say a few words over my grave when I—you know—” Elizabeth nodded to the grave “—when I died—which I guess isn’t going to be as soon as I thought.”

Elizabeth pressed her lips together firmly.

Jake hoped that meant she was accepting her new life. “The reverend’s a good man.”

“If we’re going to see him about getting married, I’d like to have some time alone with him before I take my vows.”

Jake figured that meant she wasn’t accepting her new life at all. She was probably going to ask the minister about her funeral. He didn’t know what the Reverend Olson would think when Jake rode into town with a bride who was more intent on her funeral than she was on getting married to him.

Of course, she probably wouldn’t be content with just talking to the reverend about her worries. She might mention it to anyone who would listen until finally even the old trappers would hear about it. They’d have a fine time telling about the woman who’d rather go to her own funeral than marry up with Jake Hargrove.

Oh, well, Jake told himself with a wry grin; he never was one to begrudge others a good laugh around their evening fires. He just hoped they got a few things straight. Like the fact that his bride’s eyes were some of the most beautiful eyes a man was likely to see this side of the Missouri. He hadn’t expected that. They reminded him of the moss that grew on the side of those ponderosa pines high in the mountains where he’d lived as a boy.

Being married, even temporarily, to a woman with eyes like that couldn’t be all bad. He’d just have to think of ways to keep her happy until she decided to leave. Even his mother had taken a few months to judge this land before she decided that she hated it. His mother might have gone longer before making her decision if she’d had something to distract her. Women always liked new clothes. Maybe he should buy the woman a new dress to match those eyes of hers.

And a pretty brooch. His mother had set great store by her few jewels. Jake stopped himself. He wondered if he should offer to pay the woman outright. Eastern women were touchy about money, but even he wasn’t so sure about paying a woman to marry him. Of course, he’d see that she had plenty of money for her trouble; he’d panned a modest amount of gold in the Black Hills southeast of here this past spring so he had enough. But it just didn’t seem right somehow to bring up money quite yet.

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