“She returned his gaze, struck by the sense of her own transformation,
and overwhelmed by the beauty which a lifetime habit had taught her to ignore.” Ian McEwan
Texas Panhandle, 1884
She was breathtaking.
Even as she stood there with her flaming red hair escaping wildly from her askewed bun,wearing a shapeless, threadbare dress over a too thin body, and carrying a decapitated chicken in one hand, she simply took his breath away. Her beauty shown through the careworn, alabaster, lightly freckled skin like the beam of a lighthouse on a moonless night, but could not dim the panic that filled her brilliant green eyes. His pounding pulse gave way to an instant protectiveness, bringing his focus on what could be frightening her so badly.
“Ma'am,” Joshua tipped the brim of his hat as he nodded respectfully, “My name is Ranger Joshua Brogan. Is your husband around?”
If anything, her already pale face went white and for a long moment he didn't think she was going to reply. Then her lips trembled as she licked them nervously and Joshua felt an unwelcome quickening in his nether regions.
“He,” she began, her voice little more than a croak before she cleared her throat and tried again, “He's -He's gone into town. For-For supplies.”
Josh nodded thoughtfully, though his icy blue eyes stayed riveted on hers.
“Do you know when he'll be back?”
She shook her head, frantically it seemed to him.
“N-No. Maybe tonight or-or tomorrow sometime.”
“It's important that I speak with him as soon as possible.”
His roan horse, Orion, shifted restlessly beneath him but he easily controlled it with a light tug of the reins.
“Would it be alright if I bed down nearby until he gets back?”
Again she licked her lips and there was no mistaking the violent trembling wracking her body.
“I-I suppose i-it would be alright.” She cleared her throat. “You-you can sleep in the barn, if you like.”
“Thank you, ma'am.”
There was a long pause and he was about to say good-bye when she seemed to gather her courage. Straightening her thin shoulders, she tried a weak smile.
“Would you l-like to stay for dinner, R-Ranger Brogan?” She indicated the dead chicken in her hand. “I'm frying chicken.”
He started to refuse but something in her gaze softened the refusal into a small smile that lifted one corner of his mouth.
“Thank you, ma'am. That's mighty kind of you.”
Again she smiled, a little warmer and less frightened than before.
“It'll b-be about an hour so-so just make your-yourself comfortable on the porch. There's an empty stall in the barn for your horse, and he-help yourself to some hay if you-you'd like.”
Josh nodded and again tipped his hat, his smile widening warmly.
“I appreciate that.”
Turning Orion, he rode slowly toward the barn several yards away, intensely aware of her emerald gaze following behind him.
Amelia Kilpatrick watched the ranger as he rode away, her panic ebbing somewhat before she continued walking toward the cabin. A short distance from the porch, she dropped the chicken carcass into an iron kettle that held boiling water over a fire burning inside a ring of stones. After a short period of time, she used large tongs to remove the carcass and set it into a large pan, which she then set on a nearby rough-hewn table. Quickly and efficiently, she began plucking feathers from the chicken until the still air seemed filled with feathers and down, causing her to sneeze repeatedly. In less than thirty minutes, with her head spinning a little with exhaustion and hunger, Amelia had the bird plucked and cut up, and was inside the cabin, preparing to fry it for dinner. She paused to look toward the barn, once again wondering what her husband had done to elicit a visit by a Texas Ranger. Contrary to what she had told him, she had no idea where her husband was or when he'd be back, nor was she in any hurry to know. When he found out that she had asked the Ranger to dinner, there'd be hell to pay, and she had only just recovered from the last beating.
Soon, the aroma of frying chicken filled the cabin and floated out its spare windows. In the barn, Joshua was nearly finished settling his horse in one of the two stalls fit for occupancy when he caught a delicious hint of dinner being prepared and his stomach rumbled in response. Orion lifted his head from the pail that held a measure of grain that he'd been munching, ears perking curiously, and Joshua chuckled.
“Yeah, I know. I'm empty.”
Taking a separate pail, he retraced his steps to the pump behind the cabin and filled it half full of water. A few minutes later, Orion had been watered, fed, and rubbed down, and Joshua made his way wearily back to the cabin. Had he been blind he could have easily followed his nose to the promise of the first real meal he'd had in days.
Stopping at the pump, he rinsed his hands in an attempt to give them at least a clean appearance before making his way onto the porch. Looking through the screened door, he saw Amelia flipping potato cakes in an iron skillet.
“Ma'am?”
She jumped at the sound of his voice and nearly dropped her spatula before she caught herself.
“Y-yes, Ranger Brogan?”
“I'm sorry to have startled you. I just wanted to let you know I was out here.”
“Thank you. I'll have you a plate ready shortly.”
In short order, she carried a plate laden with three pieces of chicken, several potato cakes, and a generous wedge of cornbread out onto the porch and handed it, as well as a fork and glass of water, to him. Joshua accepted them with a smile of gratitude, once again thinking to himself that she was by far the prettiest woman he'd seen in a long time.
“Thank you, Ma'am.”
“Amelia.”
“Ma'am?”
She cleared her throat nervously.
“Amelia. My name is Amelia.”
His smiled gentled.
“I'm pleased to meet you, Miss Amelia.”
“Just Amelia, please, Ranger Brogan.”
“Very well, Amelia, and please call me Joshua.”
She smiled uncertainly.
“Enjoy your dinner, Ra-, I mean Joshua.”
After fixing her own meager plate, and being careful to leave enough for her husband should he come home tonight, Amelia took a seat in the rocking chair that sat before the empty fireplace. There wasn't much wood left and since she didn't know when to expect her husband back, she used it sparingly and only in the cast iron stove she cooked on. As the weather hadn't yet begun to grow cold, the stove produced plenty enough warmth on cool nights to suit her.
Her mind turned to the man having his dinner on the back porch. He was as handsome as her husband was ugly, which said a lot, and she felt the blush rise in her cheeks. Once upon a time she had held girlish dreams of regal princes and knights in shining armor. Those dreams had brutally ended when she'd been banished from the orphanage where she'd lived for most of her first eighteen years and had taken the only half way respectable job she could find, working in the kitchen of a high-end brothel in New Orleans. Forced by circumstance to live in a tiny room beside the kitchen, she saved her meager earnings and looked ahead to what she had hoped was a brighter future. But as time passed, her employer noted her burgeoning beauty and the way the men she worked with responded to her gentle way and began pressing her to work elsewhere in the brothel, doing less than respectable things. She had politely and steadfastly refused but the man refused to accept her answer. Finally came the day when he gave her an ultimatum: move upstairs or get out. She got out.
She managed to find a room in a plain run boarding house owned by an aged spinster who took kindly to her situation, but who nonetheless let her know she wouldn't be allowed to stay rent free. The prospect of being homeless drove Amelia over the coming days as she searched for work. Surely, she thought, somewhere in New Orleans there was respectable work for someone like her? She inquired at restaurants, hotels, even a church, but always the answer was the same. Sorry, but no.
Her money was quickly running out. If it weren't for the two meals a day provided by the spinster to her boarders, she wouldn't have eaten at all so meticulously did she count her diminishing savings. Over the meals, she had become acquainted with the others. There were two other women, widows who always dressed somberly, but most were men who worked jobs around town. For the most part they were respectful toward the ladies but Amelia wasn't blind to the lust filled expressions when some of them looked at her, so she kept to herself as much as possible.
Then came the morning when she emerged from her room to find herself alone with one of those men in the predawn hallway.
“Good morning, Mr. Stanley,” she'd greeted him warily.
“And a good mornin' to ya, Miss.”
Amelia made to walk by him but he stepped in front of her, blocking her way.
“Excuse me, please,” she had responded politely but he only moved closer.
“Now, I know ya's hard up on money,” he had whispered, “And I figure ya'll soon find yaself on the street 'cause the kindly lady here runs a hard ship.” He stepped even closer, forcing her to back up against the door to her room. “I can make things easier on ya. A lot easier.”
“N-No thank you, Mr. Stanley. I shall d-do fine on my o-own.”
“Is that so? How'd ya think most of the whores in town got started?” He brushed against her as leaned forward, his arms caging her in. “'Cause they thought they was doin' fine on their own. That's reality, darlin'. It's a man's world, as they say, and unless their daddy left them a pile of money ya women ain't got many choices. Now, why don't we just go inside and...”
“Leave her alone, Stanley. Just back up and leave her alone.”
Startled, Amelia's head whipped around and she found Lars Kilpatrick standing there, one hand on the gun holstered at his hip.
“Now, Lars,” Stanley began with a slick smile, “We was just negotiatin'.”
“I know what ya was negotiatin' and it ain't gonna work. Now move away from Miss Amelia before I'm forced to learn ya how to treat a lady.”
Stanley smirked as he stepped away.
“She ain't gonna be a lady much longer. Unless, of course, someone was to marry her to keep her respectable-like.”
Kilpatrick glanced at Amelia then back at Stanley.
“I'm sure Miss Amelia ain't gonna be alone much longer. Now, git, Stanley. Go eat breakfast or somethin' and leave the lady alone.”
With a last smirk at Amelia, Stanley had sauntered off, whistling Camptown Races, and she collapsed back against her door.
“Th-thank you, Mr. Kilpatrick. It was most providential that you arrived when you did.”
“Ya're mighty welcome, Ma'am. Are ya alright?” She nodded with a shaky smile and he paused before gallantly offering his arm, a gesture that seemed at odds with his rough, homely persona. “Might I escort ya downstairs to breakfast?”
Hesitantly she had accepted his offer and lightly rested her hand on his arm as they descended the creaking stairs and crossed the hallway to the dining room.
In the days following, Lars Kilpatrick made no secret of his attraction to her but always in such a manner that it didn't alarm Amelia. He was kind and respectful and she came to like his gruffness, as she looked forward to breakfast and dinner with him there instead of dreading them. She became comfortable with him and even took a couple of twilight strolls with him around the quiet neighborhood.
Then came the day when she had to admit to the spinster that she had no more money to give her. The old lady had smiled regretfully and shook her head.
“I'm very sorry to hear that, Amelia, but you know the rules.”
Amelia considered begging her to allow her to stay but there was a certain hardness to the spinster's gaze that warned her not to try.
“I'll give you tonight and breakfast in the morning, but then you must be on your way.”
The young woman had nodded then turned away to walk slowly to her room, fighting back tears of fear and despondency. It had been two and a half weeks of constant hunting but she hadn't received a single show of interest in her applications for work. Stanley's words kept echoing through her mind.
“How'd ya think most of the whores in town got started?”
That night, she was quiet and withdrawn over dinner, forcing herself to eat, so she missed Kilpatrick's speculative glances. Afterward she started to make her way back to her room when he stopped her with a smile.
“Miss Amelia, would ya like to accompany me on a stroll through the neighborhood?”
She smiled sadly, “I don't think so, Mr. Kilpatrick. I'm not feeling very well and...”
“Then some fresh air might do ya some good.”
She started again to refuse but then sighed. Perhaps it would do her some good to allow herself to be distracted for a small while.
“Very well. Just let me get my wrap.”
Shortly thereafter, they were walking slowly alongside the street, her hand once more on his arm. They were silent for a while before Kilpatrick cleared his throat.
“Ya know, Miss Amelia, I been thinkin' 'bout things and the way they are for us. We're both alone in this world with no family to speak of. Well, as it goes, I need a wife and it seems ya could use a husband. I think we should consider marrying.”
She stopped dead in her tracks and looked up at him in the gloaming light.
“Mr. Kilpatrick, I...”
“Look, Miss Amelia, I know. We all know ya are bein' turned out tomorrow. Where will ya go? What will ya do?” Reaching up, he took her hand gently in his own. “You're a good woman. A fine woman. You're too good for this town and what's bound to happen to ya if'n ya stay. Hell, ya're too good for me, too!” He sandwiched her hands between his own. “But I can promise ya that, despite being so much older than ya, I'd be a good husband to ya and a good father to whatever kids the good lord pleases to give us. I'm a hard worker. A good provider. I already have a home for us. It's in Texas. A farmstead my brother left me when he passed on to glory. I ain't been there in nearly four years but it's good land. Me and ya could really make it a growing concern.” He went down on one knee, keeping her hand between his. “Please, Miss Amelia. Will ya marry me?”
Tears filled Amelia's eyes as she stared down into his strong, homely face. There was no doubting the sincerity that shown from his dark eyes and she had no doubts that he would keep the promises he'd just made to her. Looking away from him for a moment, she considered his words and accepted that he was right. What did the future hold for her if she were to stay in New Orleans? With no money and no one to turn to, she would most likely end up in a brothel or, like the unfortunate women she had seen prowling the town at night, looking for what money they could get for any demeaning act demanded of them by their “customers.” No! A thousand times, no!
Turning her gaze back to him, she felt shattered by the gratitude that filled her. Surely, in time, they would learn to love each other. Taking a deep breath, she smiled tremulously.
“Yes, Mr. Kilpatrick. I'll marry you.”
They were married the next day by a justice of the peace and a few days later, after Lars Kilpatrick had bought the provisions necessary for their trip, they started off for Texas.
With the money he had saved as well as that his brother had left him, it took them a year of hard work to get the farmstead repaired and running. Along with some horses for working the ranch, Lars bought a few head of longhorn cattle to start his own herd and proved himself adept at farming as well by planting acres of barley. They lived simply and happily in a plain framed farm house on a hundred acres, and their joy knew no bounds when Amelia became pregnant.
Then came spring.
The weather that day had been unsettled, as if it couldn't decide whether to rain or shine. A constant wind had blown across the prairie, sometimes warm and other times almost cold, pulling Amelia's hair loose from its tight knot and causing the laundry to flap wildly as she struggled to take it in. She had been nervous all day, something that was alien to her nature. Alien at least when she was without an obvious reason to be. But there was a sense that something bad was going to happen, though she had no idea what.
Lars was out in the barn with a neighbor seeing to an injured plow horse when the sky suddenly went an eerie greenish yellow and Amelia's heart began to race. She knew what that meant. Hurrying toward the house as fast as her five months of pregnancy would allow, she yelled Lars' name about the time she saw the long dark, finger begin to descend from a cloud not far away. She yelled his name again but it was carried away on the wind. Fear and worry combined and edged toward panic. There was shelter in the cellar beneath the kitchen floor. With a last glance backward, she saw him emerge from the barn with the neighbor. When he saw her, he frantically motioned her inside and she could see his mouth moving but couldn't hear him over the wind. Her ears were beginning to pop as she rushed to the kitchen and tore open a door to began descending the stairs to the dark cellar below. The baby was moving frantically within her, responding as much to her anxiety as to the adrenaline coursing through their bodies. Just as she reached the bottom of the stairs, she heard debris begin to hit the house and her heart sank. Lars! Where was Lars?
In the dim light from up the stairs, she made her way to the side that extended beyond the floor of the house and huddled down against the earthen wall. The noise was indescribably loud, as if a locomotive was rushing toward her and her ears were popping painfully when she heard the house begin to come apart.
She didn't know how long she was trapped in darkness by the remnants of her home before she heard voices calling her name. Frantically she had responded and listened as her rescuers began working their way through the debris to get to her with frequent words of encouragement accompanying their progress. After some time, light filtered through the mess and a man was lowered into the space they had created. After tying the rope below her ribs, they were hauled up and out of the pile of wood and possessions the storm had destroyed in its fury. Immediately she looked about, absently noting that, somehow, the barn still stood though the rails of the corral were missing.
“Lars? Has anyone seen my husband? Has anyone seen Lars? He was coming out of the barn...”
She was suddenly seized by an unbearable pain and bent with a cry as she protectively covered her bulging belly with her arms.
The baby was born four months premature and died soon after. Amelia named her Perdita, a Latin name meaning “lost,” and buried her under a cottonwood tree that had been a special place for her and Lars. He was found late that afternoon sixty yards from where the house once stood, badly injured but somehow clinging to life. Doc Spencer patched up his external wounds but told Amelia there wasn't anything he could do about his head injury. He might recover or he might not. It was in God's hands, now.
Weeks passed with little change in her husband's condition. Doc Spencer allowed them to remain there in one room of his three room makeshift hospital ward, and Amelia paid for the privilege by keeping the clinic and the Doc's rooms behind it clean and orderly. Occasionally she would help with treating patients, which gave her the opportunity to learn a new vocation: nursing. An occupation she was thankfully adept at.
Midway through the seventh week, she entered the room she shared with Lars to ready him for the night and stopped short, her mouth first falling open in shock then swiftly curling upwards in a tearful smile. Her husband's eyes were open and aware, though expressionless. But she paid little mind to that as she clasped her hands to her breast.
“Lars! Oh my...Lars! You're awake!”
She turned back to the door, which she hadn't yet closed, and excitedly called the doctor's name. Moments later he hurried in and, much as she had, stopped short in surprise.
“He's come back to me,” she whispered, tears running down her face, “My husband has come back.”
Stepping forward, she reached out a hand to touch his arm only to stop when he jerked away from her.
“Lars?”
“Who are ya?”
His voice was rusty from disuse but there was no mistaking the hostile suspicion in his expression. Amelia felt shock reverberate icily through her.
“I-I'm your wife. Amelia.”
“I have no wife!”
His words were like a blow from a man's fist and she paled from the pain.
“But I am! Don't you remember? We met and married in New Orleans year before last.”
His homely face turned ugly with a sneer.
“So ya say.” He glanced up at Doc. “Git her out of here and keep her out!”
“But, Lars...”
“I said git out!”
Doc took her by the shoulders and gently turned her toward the door.
“You go wait in the infirmary, Amelia. I'll be along directly.”
When she turned back, the door was shut quietly yet firmly in her face.
She waited for over an hour, pacing the infirmary worriedly and trying to understand what had just happened, before Doc came to see her. His worried, wizened face and compassionate eyes tightened the knot in her stomach.
“What is it, Doc?” she asked, “What's wrong with Lars?”
He stared at her for a moment before taking a breath and leading her with a gentle touch of her arm to a chair near the window.
“Have a seat, Amelia.”
She did as directed and waited anxiously, her hands grasping the folds of her skirt.
“What's wrong?” she asked again, fearful of his answer but needing to know.
Doc took another breath then sat in the chair next to hers.
“As you know, Lars sustained a significant head injury.”
“Yes,”
“For reasons we don't fully understand, sometimes those who survive such trauma are left with certain lingering effects. Sometimes they're obvious such as paralysis or a difference in speech. But sometimes they're not so obvious. Lars seems to have recovered fine physically, but he's forgotten large parts of his life over the past few years.”
“Meaning me? Our marriage?”
“Yes.”
“Will his memory return?”
“I don't know. I can't say.” He paused as he tried to find words for the rest of what he had to tell her. “But there's something else you need to know. Something very important.”
Amelia swallowed and clutched the fabric of her skirt.
“What?”
“Sometimes head traumas evoke a fundamental change in the disposition of the victim. They return
with a changed personality. Almost like they're a completely different person.”
“A-And you think this is what has happened to Lars?”
“Yes.”
“Do,” her voice broke, “do you think it's permanent?”
“Most likely. I've known memories to return but I've never heard of a personality change reversing itself.”
Tears welled up in her eyes and she covered her mouth to stop a sob from erupting.
“What are we going to do, Doc?” she asked brokenly, “What am I going to do?”
Sadly, he shook his head and laid a gentle hand on hers that continued to worry with her skirt.
“I don't know, my dear. But I'm a firm believer that sometimes all one can do is trust time to solve a problem. In the meanwhile, you do what must be done. Hopefully Lars will grow more amenable as he gets used to you and his new situation.”
“And if he doesn't?”
“We'll just have to cross that bridge when we come to it.”
And so began a sad, new chapter in Amelia's life. Lars did, with time, grudgingly accept her presence but he made no pretense of his animosity toward her. While he was recuperating with Doc, members of the town held a house-raising and built a new cabin for them to move into on the same spot where the old house had been. It was rustic and had only two rooms, but it was clean and otherwise comfortable. She quickly became conditioned to his frequent outbursts of temper and learned to anticipate backhanded blows. He insisted she sleep with him, declaring that since they really were married then she had duties to perform. Many nights she silently cried herself to sleep after suffering his brutal possession. She could find no part of her gentle, loving husband as she had known him in this stranger with whom she was now married.
One year became two. Lars began spending more and more time away, often coming home drunk, broke, and belligerent. Amelia was forced to learn how to manage the farmstead to the best of her physical ability, but it was exhausting and further eroded spirit. She understood her only real security was the land and what it produced, so she tended the animals and, with the help of an accommodating neighbor, planted and harvested barley with the understanding that they would then halve the proceeds. At night she would fall exhausted into bed, grateful that she was sleeping alone.
Strangers began showing up looking for Lars. They were rough and threatening men with crude personalities. She learned to keep her shotgun near at hand at all times. Once a US Marshall arrived asking to speak to him about a matter down in Fort Worth. When she explained that he wasn't there and she didn't know when he would be back, the Marshall had eyed her suspiciously before advising her to have Lars contact him as soon as he returned.
With little money coming in, Lars' savings soon dried up and a new worry fell on Amelia's shoulders. He had once mortgaged the farmstead for a new piece of equipment. It hadn't been a real concern at first because he had been such a fine manager. But, now, it fell on her to make sure the payments were made. In order to do that, she cut more corners, depriving herself in favor of taking care of the property, and the effort began to take a marked toll on her.
Rumors began to circulate that Lars had been seen riding with a notorious gang of thieves and was wanted in several counties out west. She prayed they were just rumors, but in her heart she believed them.
Lars had been gone for some three weeks when Joshua Brogan arrived. She had been expecting her husband home any day, as three weeks was the longest he'd ever been gone, so she hadn't exactly lied about his being home soon. Despite the fact that Joshua was a Texas Ranger, she was hesitant to let him know just how alone she really was. She had learned her lessons well.
Finishing with her single piece of chicken and potato cake, she again rose from the rocking chair and carried her plate to the dry sink for washing. Through the door she could see Joshua where he sat sideways on the edge of the porch, leaning against a post as he ate. She saw his empty glass beside him.
“Would you like some more water, Ra-, I mean, Joshua?”
He looked up with a smile.
“That would be nice, thank you, Amelia.”
He raised the glass toward her as she emerged with a crockery pitcher in her hand.
“You're a fine cook,” he complimented her, “This is some of the best chicken I've ever had.”
She smiled shyly, “Thank you.”
Hoof beats and the whinny of a horse caught their attention, followed quickly by a stranger's voice from the front of the cabin.
“Hello the house!”
Hurrying indoors, Amelia set the pitcher on the table, grabbed the shotgun, and hurried to the front door. On the other side of the screen a man who could only be described as big, mean-looking, and dirty sat negligently aboard a spare boned bay horse.
“May I help you?” she asked politely but firmly. Show no fear.
“You must be Amelia.” His voice conveyed satisfaction. “I knew your husband.”
“What do you want?”
“Well, Missy. It would seem you are trespassing.”
Amelia's mouth fell open but before she could say anything, Joshua appeared behind her.
“I thought it was you Redman.”
The stranger's eyes narrowed and he sat up straight in his saddle.
“Brogan. I'm surprised to see you here.”
“I'm sure you are. What's this about?”
“I won Kilpatrick's place in a card game. I've come to collect.”
Amelia had gone white in shock.
“He couldn't have!”
“Oh, but he did.”
“Where is he? I want to hear this from him.”
“Sorry,” Redman shook his head without any sign of remorse. “He's dead.”
Joshua's strong hands caught her shoulders before she could stagger backward.
“You lie!”
“No, Missy. Shot 'im m'self.” He shook his head again. “Damn cheat tried to renege.”
Violent shudders began running the length of her body and she sagged back against Joshua.
“No! I can't believe it.” She straightened away from his sturdy strength. “I want to see proof.”
Redman shrugged and started to reach behind his vest, when Joshua suddenly shoved Amelia behind him and drew his weapon in one smooth motion. Redman immediately stopped and held out his hands.
“Just reachin' into m'pocket, Ranger.”
“Real slow, then.”
Redman carefully reached into the shirt pocket hidden by his vest and withdrew an aged looking, folded sheet of paper and held it out with an insolent smirk. Never taking his eyes from Redman, Joshua took the paper from him and handed it to Amelia, who unfolded it with shaking fingers. After a moment she began to giggle then laugh as tears rolled down her cheeks.
“What's so funny?” Redman demanded.
Amelia looked at him through watery eyes, a strangely silly grin on her face.
“Can you read, Mr. Redman?”
He drew himself up and eyed her suspiciously.
“Why'd ya ask? What business is it of yorn?”
By now she was laughing helplessly.
“Be-because, well, thi-this is a deed. To a mine La-Lars once owned out in Arizona territ-tory.” She handed the paper back to Joshua. “But I'm afraid it played out years ago.”
Joshua grinned when he glanced down at the paper.
“She's right, Redman. Seems you're the proud owner of one Bluebonnet's Pride silver mine somewhere near Tombstone.” His grin disappeared as he dropped the paper and held the gun higher. “Get down off your horse. Really easy like.”
Redman's face turned dark read as he began to sputter. His horse shifted nervously beneath him.
“Why the hell should I?”
“You admitted to murdering a man. Now get down off that horse!”
Instead, Redman wheeled his mount around and took off but he didn't get far before the sickly horse stumbled and went down, rolling over its rider and lying still for a moment before struggling to its feet, sides heaving with his head hanging. By the time Amelia and Joshua reached Redman, it was all over. After a quick, cursory look Joshua stood back up.
“He's dead. Neck's broken.”
Amelia stared down at the dead man and felt as if everything was crashing in on her. First the threat to her home then the news of Lars' death, and now, this. The tears that had never fully stopped once again began to flow as sobs erupted from deep within her. Without a word, Joshua reached out and drew her close.
“I-I don't know why you came looking for La-Lars, Joshua, b-but this m-man was-wasn't the kind of ma-man my hus-husband once was. He-He was k-k-kind and-and gentle. H-Honorable.” She buried her face against his chest. “I c-can't believe he's dead!”
He held her as she cried then gently led her away, back to the cabin. Once inside, he sat her down in the rocker before the fireplace, wrapped her in the shaw she kept hooked beside the door, and knelt beside her. Taking her hands in his, he gave them a gentle squeeze.
“I need to take the body into town to the sheriff's office. Will you be alright here for a while?”
She nodded and managed a weak smile.
“Yes. “
He smiled in return, gave her hands another squeeze, then stood.
“I'll be back as soon as I can.”
It was nearly midnight before Joshua rode up. Amelia hurried up from the rocking chair to open the door before he could knock.
“Hi,” she murmured as she stood back to let him enter.
“Are you okay?”
She nodded.
“Yes. Still a little shaken but okay.” Motioning him in, she closed the door behind him and stood watching as he approached the fireplace, in which she had started a fire to chase away the chill she'd felt since that afternoon. “Would you like some coffee or something? It won't take me long to brew some.”
He shook his head.
“No, thank you. I just wanted to let you know that there was a bounty on Redman. For murder, among other things.”
Amelia shivered.
“I'm glad you were here.”
“I am, too. I also wanted to tell you that I asked the sheriff to look into Redman's claim that your husband is dead. Since we don't know where it supposedly happened, it may take some time.”
She nodded.
“Yes, thank you, Joshua. I appreciate that.”
They gazed at one another for a long moment.
“Um, when will you be leaving?” she finally asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
“In the morning. I'm needed in Fort Worth.”
She nodded.
“Would you like some breakfast before you go?” she grimaced. “Something tells me I'm not going to be sleeping much tonight anyway.”
“No, that's okay.” After a moment he took a couple of steps to stand before her. As he had thought when he first saw her, she was breathtaking, even dressed in a worn robe with her bun askew, and lines of exhaustion on her face. “I don't want to leave.”
She shook her head sadly.
“No, and I don't want you to leave, either, but I understand.”
He took another step closer.
“I'd like to write you from time to time, maybe stop in when I'm nearby, just to see how you're doing.”
Amelia smiled, her eyes softly moist in the lamplight.
“I'd like that.”
They gazed at one another a little while longer before he reached out and gently trailed a finger down her cheek.
“I guess I better go.”
She nodded then stood back as he passed around her and opened the door. With a last look, he walked out, pulling the door closed behind him.
It was two weeks before the sheriff brought confirmation that Lars had, indeed, died in a shoot out in Galveston not long before Redman had shown up at the cabin. Amelia cried for hours, once again mourning the loss of the man she had married and any hope of his ever being restored to her. She then picked herself up and set her sights on the here and now. She had a dream for the homestead and it would take time and effort to turn it into a reality.
Over the following six months, she often heard from Joshua. His letters were filled with amusing anecdotes of some of his adventures as well as his thoughts on one issue or another. Twice he managed to stop for a few hours on his way through to some place and their abbreviated time together was warmly spent, their friendship growing as they got to know each other. Quietly, Amelia's heart began to heal and she found herself dreaming of a life with him. But she didn't know if he felt the same way.
It was a warm day in early April when Joshua rode in, dusty and dirty after three days on the trail. There were several young children of around five-years-old playing marbles in the dust who all looked up as he approached.
“Hello!” one of the little boys called. “You're the Ranger, I bet.”
Joshua grinned as he swung down from the horse.
“That I am. How did you guess?”
“Miz Amelia said you would sometimes come to visit and that we wasn't to be afeared of you.”
“Well, I'm glad you're not.” He approached the young boy and held out his hand. “I am Ranger Joshua Brogan. What's your name?”
The boy gave the man a firm handshake despite the difference in the hand sizes.
“I'm Thomas.” Then he turned to the other children. “That's Seth and that's Carlton and that over there is Eli.”
“And what's the little girl's name?”
Thomas grimaced.
“That's Callie. She likes to hang around but we don't want her to.”
“I see.” Joshua stepped forward and knelt before the little girl, who gazed shyly up at him with big blue eyes. “Hello, Callie. I'm Joshua.”
She nodded and smiled bashfully.
“I know.”
He grinned then rose back his feet.
“Well, I'm glad to meet you all. Now, can you show me the way to Miss Amelia?”
“Right behind you, Ranger.”
He turned and found Amelia approaching with a toddler on one arm. She'd gained weight and a glow of health since he'd seen her last. He hadn't thought she could ever look more beautiful but he realized now how wrong he'd been.
“Amelia...”
She stepped close enough to kiss his cheek then drew away and shifted the toddler on her arm. The little girl grinned up at him, unabashedly glad to make a new friend.
“And who is this little cherub?” he asked.
“This is Delia. Can you say hello, Delia?”
The child grinned again then hid her face against Amelia's shoulder without saying anything. The two adults smiled at one another, their eyes saying things they couldn't say out loud.
“It's good to see you,” she murmured.
“It's better to see you,” he replied, just as softly.
“Would you like to come inside for a cup of coffee? The stove's still warm. It won't take long to heat it up.”
“That would be nice, thanks.”
When she had first approached the town council about opening an orphanage on her farmstead, volunteers from the town's two churches had come forward to donate their time and materials to enlarging the cabin and making improvements on the property. Since then, the churches and other organizations in the community had helped with the expenses and overall success of the venture. At the present time, she had ten orphans in her care, the six he had met upon his arrival and four older children who worked as apprentices for businesses in town when they weren't in school. Even the girls were being trained for trades as seamstresses and hotel housekeeping, as well as cooks in the town restaurants. One fifteen-year-old boy, the oldest of the orphans, had aspirations to go to medical school and Doc Spencer was promising to do everything he could to make the boy's dream a reality.
As Amelia and Joshua talked over cups of coffee, the toddler played with a rag doll and drew on a slate with chalk until she abruptly fell asleep on the blanket spread out for her on the floor. Not long after, a plump older woman hurried in with a smile that broadened when she saw Joshua stand to greet her.
“Oh, no need to tell me who you are!” she exclaimed. “You're Ranger Joshua. I've heard so much about you! I'm Wilhemina Cokesley, but you can call me Willie.”
“It's nice to meet you, Miss Willie.”
“Just Willie, please.” Her smiled softened as she looked down at the sleeping child. “Such an angel. I saw the other rapscallions playing in the dirt outside.”
“They were finished with their chores early so I gave them the afternoon off.” Amelia turned her attention back to Joshua. “Willie is my right hand and second in command. There's nothing she can't handle.”
“Comes from raising seven of my own, I tell you what! Now, I assume there's laundry still to be done so I'll get right to it. Glad to know you, Ranger.”
“Joshua, please.”
Willie grinned and proceeded out onto the back porch.
A comfortable silence fell after the older woman had left and Joshua and Amelia sipped coffee for a few minutes before she asked the question she always asked up front.
“So how long are you here for?”
He paused as he met her eyes over the top of his cup.
“How long do you want?”
She blinked in surprise.
“How long...? What do you mean?”
His smile was small yet warm.
“I'm no longer a ranger, Amelia. I want to stay and help you run the orphanage.”
“Stay and...? Oh, Joshua! I-I don't know what to say!”
“Say yes.” He paused again as he set the cup aside. “I also just want to be with you. Amelia, I've thought of nothing but you since I met you.”
He stood and drew her up before him.
“I've fallen in love with you and I want to marry you.” He chuckled dryly. “I suppose this isn't the most romantic place to...”
“Yes.”
“to...what did you say?”
She grinned even as her eyes moistened with happiness.
“I said yes, I'll marry you.” She schooled her face into a facsimile of a prim schoolteacher's. “So, when can you start? Helping with the orphanage, I mean. We won't tolerate any loitering or laziness around here, you know.”
Joshua grinned as he pulled her close.
“I can start as soon as I change out of my trail clothes.”
“Good.”
They smiled at one another, their eyes eloquent with things unsaid, before their lips met in a soft, solemn, joyful promise.
It was a beautiful story. The ultimate Western romance where handsome Texas Ranger meets beautiful, vulnerable woman and they end up living happily ever after.
I'm too much a skeptic to believe that women in the West had it as easy as Amelia. Every time something very bad happened, a solution appeared through your creative mind. How she escaped serious pain just doesn't seem realistic. The premature loss of a child seems to be the only lasting pain that she really had. But like Eva and Elizabeth, most women would find the story enchanting.
Texas Panhandle, 1884
