Badlands Bride

Three men glanced up from their seats around a black stove in the center of the room. “Look, Reavis, it’s one o’ them brides. A purdy one, too!”

An unshaven man got up with stiff-jointed unease and took his post behind a laden counter. Obviously baffled with her presence, he scratched his head with bony fingers. Hallie stepped closer, so her words wouldn’t be heard by the others. “Are you the proprietor?” she asked.

He chewed something that made a lump in his cheek and his whiskered upper lip puckered. His gray beard held a brown stain at the corner of his lip. He scratched his angled shoulder. “I’m Reavis. This here’s my place.”

Hallie glanced at the two men by the stove. They appeared eager to listen to the conversation without a qualm about rudeness. She leaned a little closer to Reavis and spoke softly. “Mr. Reavis, I seem to have run into unfortunate circumstances. Until funds are delivered to me or I’m able to secure wages on my own, I’m in need of lodging.”

He worked over whatever was inside his cheek. “Huh?”

Hallie glanced from Reavis to the listening men and back again. “I need work and a place to stay.”

“Why didn’t ya say so? Somebody oughta told ya they ain’t no place to stay and they ain’t no work for womenfolk.”

“No one has a room?”

“Everbody got a room,” he said, and scratched between the buttons of his faded shirt. “Jest not one without a body in it already.”

Hallie glanced around, thinking quickly. “Where does the justice stay when he’s here?”

He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “Throws down a roll in my back room.”

“Could I do that?” she asked, hoping the justice wasn’t staying long.

“Sure can.” He exchanged a knowing look with the others and one of them snickered. “If’n ya don’t mind my snorin’.”

Warmth crept up Hallie’s collar and heated her cheeks. “Oh.” She mustered her dignity and peered around hopefully. “Why don’t I clean the shop for you?”

He sized up the room defensively. “What fer? It’d jest get dirty agin.”

Hallie’s back ached and she’d never been so tired. She confronted the men eavesdropping. “And you, gentlemen? Would either of you have a job for me? I need to earn money to get home to Boston.”

“Ain’t no whores at the saloon,” one of the others replied. His unpleasant smile revealed a missing front tooth. “You be fixin’ to take that spot?”

She didn’t care for the leering way he ran his eyes over her body. Refusing to show her mortification, Hallie turned away without giving his crude suggestion a reply.

They snickered again.

“Coffee there,” Reavis said. “Or somethin’ stronger if you hanker. You could sit a spell.”

“Thank you,” she replied, anxious to get away. “But I’ve just eaten.” She ignored the men in the chairs and made a beeline out the door.

Just as well, she thought. From the appearance of the sales area and the vigor with which the man had scratched, she could only imagine what the back room and beds must be like. Hallie shuddered again.

Between the trading post and the next building, the wind covered her with as much dirt as she’d washed away at DeWitt’s. Curiously she studied a large square tent with a sagging canvas roof as she passed. It appeared to have been there for some time, because weeds grew up around the bottom and a dirt path had been worn beneath the flap-covered opening.

In the open doorway of the next wooden structure the bare-chested liveryman stood, watching her approach. Embarrassed, Hallie kept her eyes carefully focused on his soot-besmeared face. He stared at her as if she was an apparition the wind had blown in.

“How do you do?” she said.

A heavy-looking hammer fit like a child’s toy in his massive hand. He bobbed his head in a nervous acknowledgment.

“I need a job and a place to stay,” she said simply.

“Ain’t no jobs, ma’am,” he said. “Unless you build your own place, there ain’t no work. Same for a house.”

“I hadn’t thought of building my own house,” she said. “I’ll keep that in mind.” With little hope left, she asked, “Are you married?”

His eyes widened and the whites stood out in stark contrast to his dirty face. His attention dropped to the contours of her green traveling suit and the bag in her hand. “You askin’?”

Uneasily, she realized her mistake. “No. I—I’d hoped perhaps there’d be a woman.... Sorry to have bothered you.”

She kept her shoulders straight and her head up, and hurried away. With his eyes boring into her back, Hallie was torn between turning around to look and running full steam.

Farther along the road and to the right, the land sloped downward and several trees grew along the bank of a river. Hesitantly she glanced back. The liveryman was still watching her from in front of his building. Hallie turned away quickly. The shade appealed to her, so she walked down the slope, dropped her valise and sat beneath one of the trees.

“Hellfire!” she said aloud. What had she gotten herself into? She could just hear Charles and Turner now, berating her for being ten kinds of a fool. Providing she made it back home so that they could yell at her. If wild animals or hostile Indians killed her out here, they’d lament forever about what a foolish, headstrong girl she’d been.

She’d sent a telegram from Buffalo, telling them her plan, and another from a place on the shores of Lake Michigan. It was purely conceivable that the letter she’d written today would never reach them. She could die out here and they’d never know if she’d arrived or what had happened to her.

Hallie snorted in self-derision. It would be the first time she’d made headlines. Foolhardy Daughter Of Newspaper Owner Perishes In Wilderness! Evan would probably write the damned piece.

The wind tore through the branches overhead, but down here near the bank, the air was calmer. Hallie laid her head on her leather valise and watched the leaves whip against the bright blue sky. When ticking off the pathetically few businesses, DeWitt had listed the freight company, the trading post, the livery and the saloon.

She hadn’t seen the saloon, thank goodness. After that crude man’s comment, she knew there were no respectable jobs or places to sleep alone.

She turned on her side and closed her eyes. This dilemma was too much to deal with right now. Perhaps she’d have a clearer head after a few minutes’ rest.

Hallie opened her eyes to pitch-blackness. Her back hurt intolerably. Behind her, the gentle sound of lapping water blended with the exultant chirr of crickets and other, more unfamiliar night sounds. Occasionally, a loud croaking sound echoed across the river’s surface. Something stung her chin and she slapped it.

Disoriented, she sat up. Her predicament came back to her, and fear trembled in her aching limbs. She was alone and unprotected in the untamed badlands of the Dakotas. Her very existence was at the mercy of Indians, wild animals and uncouth frontier men. What in the blazing Sam Hill had she been thinking of?

Hallie reached up for her hat and realized she’d left it at DeWitt’s. She opened her valise. Once her eyes adjusted to the night, the moon provided enough light to see the contents and the nearby area. No wild animals lurked within eyesight. She withdrew her brush, unpinned her hair and brushed it out, securing the new braid with one of the ties from her reticule.

Gingerly, she picked her way down the bank and knelt near the water, scooping several handfuls and drinking deeply. A cool breeze blew across the water and she shivered. Her warmer jacket was in her trunk — in DeWitt’s barn.

Nearer the water, mosquitoes feasted on her tender skin. Tall weeds nearby provided a place to relieve herself, though she worried more about having her backside chewed alive than someone seeing her. Quickly she finished and hurried up the bank to her spot beneath the trees, where she sat scratching her neck and wrist.

What should she do? Wait the night out here? Walk up near the buildings where it might be safer from animals? Perhaps she could find a spot in DeWitt’s barn to hide for the rest of the night. Or did that Jack fellow sleep there?

Wings flapped overhead, and Hallie stifled a startled cry. She glanced around, searching the unfamiliar darkness. Just an owl. Or a bat.

An eerie hoot came from somewhere nearby.

Or Indians? Gooseflesh broke out on her arms. She’d devoured too many dime novels not to know that Indians signaled one another with animal sounds, and that an unsuspecting white wouldn’t know the difference. They moved with stealth and silence and often took white women as slaves.

Maybe she would be safer nearer DeWitt’s place. She stood again, picked up her case and hurried up the slope to the road. Men’s voices came from the tent structure she’d seen earlier. Light glowed from inside. A revival tent?

Hallie hurried closer and listened to the voices through the canvas wall.