Younger & Wylder, page 2
“We have another two nights of sleeping rough before we get to Scotts Bluff,” Race said, interrupting her thoughts.
“Will we get one room or two when we get there? Everyone there knows we’re married.”
Race’s jaw was doing the ticking thing more often the closer they got to Scotts Bluff. “Two. I don’t much care what people know or what Otis thinks.”
“Well, I do! Everyone will think I’m a bad wife and you put me out.” She honestly didn’t care what anyone thought either. She could explain things to Bethy. But this seemed like the time to start her campaign for being a real wife. Too bad Race was having none of it.
“Sorry, Millie. I know we usually talk things through, but I’m firm on this.”
“You just don’t want to sleep with me,” she accused, folding her arms in a huff.
More ticking and a sigh from Race. “We’ll talk about it later.”
Millie snorted. As if they didn’t have all the time in the world for the next two days to talk.
****
1848
What the hell was he going to do with the girl? Otis expected him to marry Millie this morning. When Race explained that by winning the game, he didn’t have to pay the bride price, his host was irate. Monroe stepped in and offered to pay for the privilege, but Race shoved a pile of money in Otis’s direction, ending the discussion.
Without the benefit of marriage, Millie was still Otis’s property. Race couldn’t take her with him or protect her if he left. He wouldn’t leave her to Monroe or an even worse fate. He picked up the images of his wife and child, wrapped them, and stowed them away. He donned his cleanest set of clothes and laced up his boots. He never planned to have another wedding day. The horror of his impending nuptials caused bile to churn in his gut. Breakfast was out of the question.
He checked in on his horse, Del, at the livery and inquired about purchasing a small wagon and second horse. The stable master could handle both requests, so Race asked him to have everything hooked up and ready for him at noon.
He stopped in at the mercantile, his original purpose for visiting Scotts Bluff, gave a half-hearted spiel on the virtues of E. Howe clocks, then picked out all the things he hadn’t needed when traveling alone.
“I don’t have a need to carry clocks regular, but if I can keep this catalog, I can show it to folks who ask,” the shop owner said.
“That’s fine. It’s what it’s for. There’s information on the back on how to place an order.” He set the last items he picked out on the counter. “I’m ready, this’ll be all.”
“Hear you’re marrying the Spooner girl. Might young, Millie is.” The man’s voice was laced with censure.
“I am, and she is.” He hated small towns with nosey people. He warred with the need to defend himself, to tell the man that Otis essentially sold her. In the end, he simply stated, “I’m better than the alternative.”
“Mmm. I imagine that’s probably so.” The man totaled up Race’s purchases. “Come by on your way out of town this afternoon. I’ll have the missus pack you something for the trip.”
Race didn’t know how the man knew when he was leaving town since he’d only just made the arrangements, but he welcomed free food in any form. At least he seemed to understand the situation enough not to judge him too harshly. He nodded. “Much obliged.”
“She’s a nice girl. Don’t deserve her lot.”
Race nodded. He couldn’t agree more.
****
Millie was going to be the death of him. If the calvary ever needed a suggestion on how to torture a man, Race would put up Millie’s curvy little body. For the past two years, looking at her like a sister had become a challenge, and every day it got worse.
She’d never been too young for him by the world’s standards, only his own. The age gap still existed, but now, even by his standards, she was old enough to be married. But not to him. She deserved better than a broken-down widower who couldn’t get over losing his first family. Though, lately, Race began to wonder if he was clinging to Rosemary’s memory because he truly missed her, or out of habit, to avoid his growing awareness of his wife.
He loved her. He cared for her all this time as a brother and friend. The possibility of changing status made him uncomfortable. On a day-to-day basis, it was easy to see her as Millie, his friend and sister. The problem arose when she caught him unawares. For instance, in the morning when they met in the kitchen and her hair hung all wavy down her back. Once, she made herself a new dress. Race caught himself admiring the shape of a woman shopping in the mercantile. It wasn’t till she turned he realized it was Millie. When she fell asleep in her chair by the fire, she didn’t look childlike anymore. Relaxed and seductive, it wasn’t difficult to picture her that way in his bed.
He’d taken to walking out his frustration, usually winding up at either the Episcopalian or Catholic churches in town. Neither faith fit right anymore and rightly so. His conversion to Catholicism was superficial at best and blasphemous at worst. As a result, he didn’t feel welcome in either the faith of his calling nor the faith of his wife and daughter. He’d given up a candidacy in the former after meeting the love of his life. He resented the latter for not providing him with what he needed to heal in his time of greatest need. Upon reflection, he was at fault for not committing fully to the faith.
Yet, he still sought solace in both pews. He sought direction from the protestant faith and went to the Catholics to confess his growing confusion about his legal wife. He never actually entered a confessional. How would he ask forgiveness for having carnal thoughts about his own wife? The priest would kick him out and send him forth to multiply. No, his confessions were between him and the Lord, but there were no answers there either.
The miles of prairie dragged on. His skin tingled whenever Millie studied him. His body would start itching like he had hives. The early May sun, though kind in the mornings, made him sticky and even more uncomfortable in the afternoons. Millie wore her bonnet so he couldn’t see her face, but the tingles always gave her away.
“I see it!” She stood and clamped a hand onto his shoulder to steady herself in the bumpy wagon. “I see the bluffs! We’ll be there before dinner. Lord, I need a real bath.” She laughed and plopped herself in the seat, her thigh pressed into his.
Race shifted away and studied the bluffs as they came into view. Anything to take away the image of Millie bathing.
“Are you ready to talk about sharing a room?” She met his gaze with intent.
“Nothing to talk about. We’re leaving early tomorrow, and I need my rest. I’ll either rent a second room for you or you can stay in your old room in Otis’s apartment. You can tell folks it’s so you don’t wake me when you come to bed after visiting if you like.” That sounded plausible to his mind.
“We’ve been married six years. Folks’ll wonder why we don’t have young’uns.”
“Tell ‘em you’re barren,” Race snapped.
Millie sucked in her breath. “Race! I will not.”
Bad form. “I’m sorry, Mills, I shouldn’t have said that. I’m tired. Tell ‘em I’m barren.”
Millie burst into laughter. His jest covered his insensitive words and distracted her from the previous line of questioning.
****
“Yer back. Six years of nothin’ and now you expect me to put ya up?” Otis had put on some girth since Millie’d been gone. Surprising, as he’d have been seeing to his own meals.
Bethesda smacked him on the arm. “Stop it, Otis. I’ve told you all about how the girl’s been every time I got a letter.” She pulled Millie into a welcoming hug. “Darlin, I’m so glad you’re home.”
“It’s just a quick stop,” Race cut in. “We’re leaving tomorrow for Wylder. You don’t need to put anyone up, Otis. I’ll pay for rooms.”
Millie hooked her arm with Bethesda’s before anyone could comment on the rooms, plural. “Bethy, I would give my left leg for a hot bath. Can I use your room so we can visit while I bathe?” She led the woman toward the stairs that led to her rooms, leaving Race to answer uncomfortable questions.
“How many rooms you want?” Otis asked. He spit chewing tobacco on the ground near his feet.
“Two.”
“She high-falutin like her momma? I ain’t takin her back. Used goods an too, set in ‘er ways by now.”
Race resisted the urge to punch the despicable man. “You can’t have her back. Do you have two rooms available or not? I don’t have any problem continuing on tonight after the horses have rested.”
“Nah, yer money’s as good as anyone else’s. Probably better.” He cackled and tobacco juice dribbled down his chin; it must be a new habit. “Still playin’ poker in the parlor. You in?”
Race was tempted to clean the man out. On the rare occasion he took in a game, he still found himself to be uncommonly lucky. Card playing led to drinking and that often led to bad decisions. With Millie close at hand and hell bent on driving him crazy, he’d best keep his wits about him. “Last time I played with you, I took your daughter. You better ask yourself what else you think you can stand to lose before you invite me to play again. Why don’t you just show me what rooms we can use and decide whether or not you’re going to treat your daughter like family or a commodity. Then you can stay the hell out of my way.” Race picked up Millie’s bag and started up the stairs, leaving Otis sputtering behind him.
****
1848
Bethesda helped Millie into her nicest dress. “I got a look at him. If there’s one thing I can do, it’s read men. This is not an ideal situation, darlin’, but between the two fellas out there, you got the better deal.”
Millie pulled at the hair wisping around her temples and Bethesda slapped her hand away. “Why’s he in such a hurry? We ain’t even been properly introduced an he’s ready to quit town.”
The older woman unwrapped the twine from Millie’s hair and started untwisting the braids. “Hear me out. Race Lowery is a broken-down man. You got a fifty-fifty chance he’ll turn that brokenness on you. That happens, you lay low when you sense a mood coming on. But I don’t get that feel about him.” She began brushing Millie’s hair out from crown to tip. “Now the other fella, Tipton Monroe, he can’t hide a thing from me with that poker face of his. With him you’d have a hundred percent chance of being mistreated. His kind are cruel and like it rough.” She finished by twisting the hair up into a bun and securing it with four pins.
Millie turned and hugged the woman who’d mothered her for the past ten years. “I’m glad you’re here. I wish you were my momma.”
Bethesda sat back and looked Millie in the eyes. “I’ve explained why your momma couldn’t stay. Otis may be a useless daddy, but he was a far worse husband. He was jealous and spiteful and broke your momma’s spirit. I won’t get into the details; they ain’t important for you to know. But when the chance came, I encouraged her to go and promised to look after you.” She cocked her ear toward the door. “I hear your daddy bellowing. It’s time to go.”
Chapter 2
After six more days on the road, Millie was more than ready for the journey to be over. They slept rough, only getting to enjoy a bed in Bear Springs and Cheyenne City. Race said they’d be in Wylder before dark. After a month of grassy plains, it excited her to see hills in the distance.
Millie touched Race’s arm. ‘More touching’ was the first step in her plan to gain his notice. She didn’t have any other steps thought out yet. “Race, what’s that ahead of us?” They watched the road dust billow and churn until the shape of a coach could be discerned.
“Stage. They travel fast. I usually try to avoid stage lines for that reason. Find something to cover your face before it gets here.” He pulled a bandana out of his pocket and handed Millie the reins while he tied it in place.
When the coach drew closer, Race pulled as far to the right as he could without getting stuck. The driver didn’t even look their way as he barreled past. When the dust settled, they got their first glimpse of their new home, Wylder.
Millie’s excitement built as the town grew larger before them. Her real married life would start here. She’d get Race to realize she wasn’t a little girl anymore and they’d start a family. She pulled a small daguerreotype out of her pocket and rubbed her thumb over the image. She didn’t even look like the girl in the picture anymore, let alone act like her. She’d worked hard to fit into Race’s world. Her speech was better, more like Race’s polished, east-coast accent. She’d gotten better at taming her unruly curls and her clothes rivaled those of a banker’s wife.
Yes, Wylder was her chance at a new beginning.
****
1848
She tried to focus on Preacher Dan’s words. Her thoughts swirled in her head and kept distracting her. “What? Yer name’s Horace?” She stifled a snort.
Race’s jaw ticked. “My Christian name is Horace Charles, but I go by Race for obvious reasons.”
“Horace and Mildred. We sound old, like people in their fifties.” She smiled, then froze. “Oh! You’re not in your fifties are you? I didn’t mean no offense.”
Race’s jaw ticked again. “I’m thirty-three. Race and Millie will suit for now. Can we continue, please?”
“Oh. Sorry. Yes, please continue.”
The rest of the short service concluded quickly. Millie relaxed slightly until she heard the pastor say, “You may kiss the bride.” Her breath caught in her throat, and she couldn’t move. She envisioned Race’s bristled face closing in on her.
“Come on, Millie. Time to go.” Race tugged at her hand, pulling her with him up the aisle.
She didn’t know whether to be relieved of disappointed that he didn’t kiss her. They stepped outside and she saw a wagon parked next to her father’s. A small table with a black box on it sat in the middle of the churchyard.
“Miss Millie.” A tall thin man approached wringing his hat in his hands. “Miss Bethesda hired me to make your wedding daguerreotype.”
“Oh.” Millie pulled at Race’s hand. “Race, can we? Bethy went to the trouble to get Leonard here.”
Race stood next to her in front of the church while Leonard fiddled with the black box. Race reminded her of a coyote tensed to nab a jackrabbit. He barely stilled for the few moments it took to make the image. As soon as Leonard said he’d finished, Race released her hand and went to transfer her small trunk out of her father’s wagon.
Her father, Mr. Monroe, and Bethesda came out of the church. Bethesda drew her into a tight hug and whispered in her ear. “You write and tell how you’re gettin' on, all right?” Millie nodded. “I put a packet of letters from your momma in the bottom of your trunk. You read ‘em. They’ll help you understand. Love you, darlin.”
Bethy stepped away and her father stepped in and hugged her briefly. “You’ll be fine.”
Millie sniffed and wiped away tears. “Love you, Papa.”
****
Race approached Wylder with the same trepidation he did when they moved to other new towns. Being responsible for another besides himself weighed on him. When he used to travel alone, he never worried about sleeping rough or scanty meals. Back then he would have welcomed bandits to kill him and put him out of his misery.
He had to commend Millie, though. She never complained, and she did all she could to lessen his physical load, if not his mental. He tried to hide his worries from her.
His friend and boss, Gunther Stephens, at E. Howe Clock Co. had written him of a bank in Wylder that needed help installing the clock they’d ordered. Race exchanged letters with Alfred Mountroy, the owner, who assured him Wylder was an up-and-coming town, soon to rival Cheyenne. From what Race could see so far, Mountroy was either disillusioned or optimistic.
Millie gripped Race’s arm. “Race, Indians!”
How she could tell the two people leading a horse were Indians from such a distance, he had no idea. “Your eyes must be better than mine. How can you tell?”
“Their clothing and hair. Aren’t you concerned?”
“They hardly look like they’re on the warpath.” As they drew nearer, Race could see the men were Indians and their horse, loaded down with skins, wasn’t racing off to fight anytime soon. They were heading toward town but staying off the main road. For good reason, many would shoot first and ask questions later. “They look like they’re coming to town to trade. Not all tribes are violent.”
Millie relaxed and loosened her grip on his arm but didn’t release him. “Do you think Wylder has any trouble with Indians?”
“From what Mr. Mountroy said in his letter, Wylder is on its way to becoming an advanced little metropolis. I have my doubts, but if they have a bank with a clock, they can’t be too uncivilized,” Race reasoned.
“And there’ll be a place for your clock shop?” Millie moved her hand to his thigh.
He nodded “Your dress shop, too. Mr. Mountroy says there are a couple locations that would work.” He tried to ignore the tingling her hands set off in his leg. Sister, sister, sister he chanted to himself.
“I don’t know, Race. I’ve only ever sewn clothes for us. I don’t know if I’m good enough to hang out a shingle.”
“Mountroy said the town doesn’t have any, how’d he put it, feminine-type shops as of yet. If you simply call yourself a seamstress, you’ll probably get plenty of business mending garments for miners and cowboys.”
Millie wrinkled her nose. “I don’t want to spend all day mending dirty mining clothes. Are there even any women living there? Why are they so hard-up for women’s stores?”
Race shifted in his seat, hoping to escape Millie’s hand. “I’m sure there are. Can’t have a town full of men with no women.”
She snorted and moved her hand to her lap. “I meant respectable women. I’m sure there are the other kind who make their money off towns full of men.”
Race blushed. “I’m sure there are lots of wives, too.”
