Chapter 4
Mandie gripped Mr. Balfour’s letter tighter. The paper crinkled beneath her gloved fingers as she stepped off the steamship’s gangplank onto the rough wooden dock.
She’d made it. Finally.
The grueling two-month trip had left her exhausted. Now, relief and panic warred for control of her shaking limbs. Was she really doing this? Marrying a stranger in a strange land?
She wouldn’t turn back now. She willed herself to move forward.
Fort Benton bustled ahead—a mass of men and mud.
Workers shouted as they loaded and unloaded the three steamships lining the dock.
Wagons clattered by on the road that ran along the riverfront.
And the smells… The two she could pick out were the tangy smell of livestock and the rich scent of wood smoke, but so many other odors laced together to flood her senses.
Men streamed past her like water around one of the many islands in the middle of the Missouri River. She’d better get out of the way before she was knocked to the ground.
The first order of business had to be finding the telegraph office.
She hadn’t received a telegram in St. Louis as she’d expected, so Mr. Balfour would have left instructions in this town, most likely, since it was the final steamboat stop on the journey.
She’d already had her trunks sent on to the hotel, but she needed to take care of this matter before settling in.
She had to know what her next step should be.
Mandie wove through the throng of people, off the dock, and onto the muddy street. She gathered her skirts and stepped around the puddles and piles of horse droppings, making her way toward the rough wooden buildings that lined the opposite side of the street.
She must seem so out of place amidst the rough-hewn men in their dusty work clothes.
And the beards…nearly every one of these fellows wore full, untrimmed beards that flowed down to their chests.
The only men who didn’t were the dark-haired natives.
She’d known she would see Indians in the west, but she’d not expected them to be in town, strolling around like they had as much business to accomplish here as the white men.
No one she passed regarded the natives with concern, so she did her best not to do so either.
In truth, it was her they gawked at.
She’d heard there weren’t many women in the west, but she’d not expected to be such a novelty. Did her well-tailored traveling dress mark her as an outsider?
Perhaps she should have changed into one of her plainer gowns before disembarking from the ship.
She had brought them, anticipating the journey would be dirty and challenging.
The week on the train from Savannah to St. Louis had been so.
But stepping aboard the Lacon steamboat had been like entering a fine hotel, complete with richly furnished parlors and small but well-appointed staterooms.
Now this Fort Benton place looked like she’d fully reached the frontier. Once she found lodging, she could change into a less-conspicuous dress. But first, she had to learn what accommodations Mr. Balfour had made for the remainder of her journey. And she couldn’t let a few bold gazes delay her.
As she walked, she kept her chin lifted and her shoulders back. A bit of poise and grace could overcome any setback.
Skimming the storefronts, she scanned the hand-painted signs for any indication of a telegraph office. She almost missed the small plaque in the window of a mercantile that said “U.S. Post and Telegraph Office.”
At the doorway, she paused to gather herself and smooth down the front of her skirt. No sense charging in like a blustering, unmannerly wind.
Inside, shelves and tables filled the small building, with wares piled on every surface—except a counter in one corner. She stepped in that direction.
An older man met her there, one who looked a little more like a shopkeeper than all those she’d seen on the street. “Mail or telegram?” His tone was polite, but his raised eyebrow suggested he found her presence unusual.
She offered a confident smile. “I’m hoping there might be a message waiting for me. From a Mr. William Balfour.”
“And your name is?”
Of course he would need that. “Mrs. Beaumont.”
The man frowned as he flipped through a stack of papers on the counter. “Nothing here for a Mrs. Beaumont.” He looked up at her, his expression apologetic. “When were you expecting this message?”
Mandie’s chest tightened, but she maintained her composure. “I had hoped it would arrive before I did. Mr. Balfour was supposed to send instructions for the remainder of my journey to his ranch near Walnut Springs.”
“Well, now, that’s not unusual. Sometimes the telegraph lines are down to the smaller towns out in the territory. If he sent something, it might still be on its way.”
She nodded, trying to hide her disappointment. “I see.” What now? Should she wait until the telegram came through? “How long do repairs usually take?”
He tipped his head, his expression thoughtful. “Hard to say. Sometimes a week, sometimes months if the line goes down far from town.”
Months? She couldn’t possibly wait here that long.
Disappointment fought with determination in her chest. She’d come so far already. She could make her own travel arrangements for the last stretch. She certainly couldn’t wait here for months, facing an uncertain future.
She forced a pleasant smile. “Thank you. Can you recommend how I might arrange passage to Walnut Springs?”
The clerk tapped a finger on the counter as his gaze turned thoughtful. “I know the name, but I can’t recall exactly where that is. You might try the livery down the way. They’ll know best. Over one street and to the left.” He motioned the direction she needed to go.
She thanked the man and stepped back into the sunlit street. His directions had been vague, but they took her close enough to hear the clanging of metal on metal. A sign halfway down the block proclaimed, “Livery and Blacksmith.”
Three rowdy men outside the rough-hewn building fell silent at her approach. They scanned her up and down, whispering amongst themselves. Though her cheeks scalded, she did her best to project an air of belonging as she walked, despite the lingering stares following her progress.
The livery doors stood open, and she stepped through to escape the leering, but paused inside to let her eyes adjust from the bright sun.
The scent of hay and horses filled her nose. The hammering ceased and a burly man with wild red hair looked up from his work at the forge. He set down his tools and wiped his hands on his leather apron.
“Help ye, lass?” His Irish accent gave a lilt to his words, but not enough to make him hard to understand.
She stepped farther into the space, toward the flickering light from the forge. “I’m hoping you can, sir. I need passage to Walnut Springs. I was told you might be able to assist me.”
The man’s thick brows lifted in surprise. “Walnut Springs, ye tell me? T’at be a fair journey from here, ‘specially for a lady traveling alone. Whereabouts are ye headed, if I may ask?”
She hesitated only a moment before replying. “I’m to meet Mr. William Balfour there.”
“Ah, t’e Balfour Ranch.” He nodded, his expression thoughtful. “I know it. Up in the high country, so it is. Nestled in a pretty valley. Good grazing land, from what I hear.”
His familiarity with the location eased some of the tension in her shoulders. At least she was on the right track. “That’s the one. I had hoped Mr. Balfour would have sent word on how to complete my journey, but it seems his message has been delayed.”
“Not unusual, t’at.” His beard tugged up at the corners, and his eyes softened. “T’e telegraph lines are a mite unpredictable in these parts. But no matter. If it’s Walnut Springs ye be wanting, I could have an answer for ye.”
Mandie’s heart leapt. “I would be most grateful for any assistance.”
The man nodded toward the open doors at the back of the livery.
“I’ve a fellow out t’ere now, loading up a wagon for a journey in t’at direction.
Name’s Two Stones, and he’s traveling with his new wife.
He’s a native, but t’ere’s none more capable, and none more trustworthy either.
If he’s willing, he could see ye there safe, so he could. ”
Mandie followed his gaze to the bright yard behind the stable. A tall figure moved around a wagon, securing a cover over the contents. His raven-black hair shone in the sunlight like the natives she’d passed in the street. He wore a loose cotton shirt and trousers like many of the white men though.
How could she trust a stranger? Or rather, two strangers, with his wife along. And natives especially. The stories she’d heard on the steamboat ride…
She turned back to the livery owner, a nervous flutter in her stomach. “Is there not a stagecoach or other form of public passage?”
He offered a grim smile. “Sorry, lass. The last stage driver headed east before winter hit, an’ we’ve not had another step up since t’en.
Ye could rent a horse or wagon and team.
Else ride along with someone goin’ that direction.
” He hesitated. “I can tell you if I were choosin’ who I’d trust to drive me there, Two Stones would be top of my list.”
A wagon. And a strange man and woman. Did she dare? What choice did she have?
“How long will the trip take?”
He tipped his head. “I don’t travel it often, but I’d say a week an’ a half or so. Dependin’ on t’e weather.”
A week and a half. With strangers.
She took in a steadying breath to quell the panic rising in her chest. “You said his wife would travel with us?”
Another woman, even a native woman, would make the situation more palatable. Did either of them speak English?
The blacksmith turned and motioned for her to follow. “Let’s go get the particulars from him.”
Part of her wanted to plant her feet and object. This was happening too quickly. She needed to decide if she even wanted to ride with strangers before she met him.
But she followed the livery owner, past rows of stalls on either side. A few horses nickered greetings as they passed, and the man returned soft words to each, though he kept walking.
When they stepped into the yard, the warm, relaxing touch of sun eased her tension, at least a little.
Two Stones paused in his work and turned to regard them. The flat line of his lips made his expression unreadable.
Up close, he was even taller than she’d first thought, with broad shoulders that spoke of much physical labor. His dark eyes studied her as though he could see right through her carefully composed facade to her apprehension beneath.
The livery owner spoke first. “Two Stones, this is Mrs. Beaumont. She’s needing passage to Walnut Springs, and mayhap on to t’e Balfour Ranch. Since ye and yer missus are headed that direction, I told her ye might be able to see her there safely.”
Two Stones studied her another long moment. She met his gaze as steadily as she could, doing her best to project an air of quiet confidence despite the fluttering in her middle.
“I have two trunks, and I’m happy to pay.” She added, “For your trouble and any provisions needed for the journey.”
At last, Two Stones gave a single nod, his expression still unreadable. “We have room. You are welcome with us. The journey will be long.”
Us. She sighed at the term. “Thank you. I am prepared to do what I must.” She hesitated, then added, “Your wife...will be traveling with us as well?”
He gave another nod, and a glimmer of a smile flashed in his eyes.
Relief eased through her. “I look forward to meeting her. When do you plan to depart?”
“First light tomorrow. We can meet here.”
Tomorrow. So soon. But also, not soon enough.
“Thank you.” She took a step back and glanced at the livery owner. “Thank you both for your assistance.”
Now if she could find her way to the hotel, she could organize her thoughts and change into a dress more fitting for this next step in her new life.