Cheyenne Wife

Someone who would tell Lily what was to become of her now.

She touched her finger to the corner of her eye, catching another tear. In the plain wooden casket lay her father. More of a stranger to her now than she’d ever imagined. She’d thought she knew what sort of man he was, but after his deathbed confession last night, she obviously did not.

Could it be true? she wondered as Fredericks’s reading of Bible verses droned on. Had Augustus really lost their entire family fortune?

Sitting at his bedside last night, hearing his confession, Lily had thought it was simply more of his nonsensical fevered ramblings. He’d been incoherent for days. He’d talked to people who weren’t there, flailed his arms against unseen foes. Surely something in his dying mind had prompted this delusion, fabricated the loss of his business empire.

But didn’t the mere fact that they were here in this forsaken wilderness give credence to his confession? Her father had lived his entire life in a large comfortable home, waited on by a number of servants, his every need catered to by others. When he’d told Lily of his dream to go West and explore new lands, she’d thought it odd. So unlike him.

Yet it made perfect sense if he’d indeed lost all his money and wanted to start over in Santa Fe.

It also explained why he’d been so reluctant to have Lily accompany him on this trip.

Other thoughts floated through Lily’s mind as the men, gathered around her father’s gravesite, sang a hymn.

Last Christmas she’d wanted to travel to Memphis to spend the holiday with her friend’s family. Augustus had told her no. When she’d asked for funds to commission several new gowns, he’d never sent the money; she thought he’d simply forgotten. Just before her graduation, he’d appeared unexpectedly at her boarding school and met privately with Madame DuBois. Now Lily wondered if there had been a problem with her tuition; that would explain why some of the other girls had whispered behind their hands as Lily passed them in the halls.

Fredericks gently touched Lily’s arm and she realized the service had ended. The men nodded toward her, putting on their hats, respectfully touching the brims, then drifted away. Jacob lingered a moment as if he wanted to say something to her, but finally he wandered away after only a respectful nod.

“Thank you,” she managed to say, her voice tight, barely more than a ragged whisper. She fought off another swell of emotion. “Thank you very much, both of you, for arranging everything.”

Oliver Sykes, standing on the other side of her, nodded. “It was a nice turnout.”

“I thought the Nelsons would be here,” Lily said, gazing around as if she might see them. “They helped us all along the journey. We’d gotten to know them quite well, I’d thought.”

“Oh, they left already,” Sykes said.

“Left?” Lily looked back and forth between the two men, an odd feeling tightening her belly. “What do you mean they left?”

“Gone on to Santa Fe,” Sykes explained. “Them and those other fellas from the wagon train who drove in with you. They all left at dawn.”

“But…” Stunned, Lily just gazed at the men. They’d gone? Left her behind? Abandoned her in this place? Without so much as a farewell wave?

“But my father paid the Nelson family to look after us,” Lily said, desperation creeping into her voice. “They’re supposed to do the cooking, drive the wagon, take care of the horses.”

The two men exchanged a troubled look that squeezed Lily’s stomach into a tight knot.

“This isn’t hardly the best time, right here at your father’s funeral, but I guess you’ve got to be told.” Sykes pulled at the back of his neck. “I mean, you’ll find out, sooner or later.”

Lily pressed her lips together, afraid to ask what he was talking about.

“Last night…” Fredericks cleared his throat. “Well, last night, your horses were stolen.”

“Stolen?”

“Yeah, and your wagon was looted.” Sykes shifted uncomfortably. “Pretty much everything you had in there is gone. The wagon was torn up, too.”

Her horses were stolen? Her belongings stolen? Lily pressed her hand to her forehead as the world suddenly pitched sideways.

She was penniless—and stranded?

“Who—who did it? Who’s responsible?” she asked.

Fredericks shrugged. “Don’t know. Sam Becker—he’s the blacksmith—he saw what had happened to your wagon this morning, then went to check on your horses and realized they were gone.”

“Shouldn’t we report this to someone?” Lily asked, spreading her hands.

“Well, Miss St. Claire, it’s not like we got a real lawman here at the fort,” Sykes said.

“Me and the boys, well, we just take care of things as they come up, best we can,” Fredericks explained. “Becker said he didn’t have any idea who might have taken your belongings.”

“I—I’d like to go lie down,” Lily gasped, feeling light-headed.

“That’s a good idea,” Fredericks said.

“Yeah, good idea,” Sykes agreed, as if he were glad to be rid of her.

“I’ll walk with you—” Fredericks began.

“No.” Lily pulled away from him. “No, thank you. I can manage.”

Though she wasn’t sure that she could, Lily somehow made it to her room and closed the door tight behind her. She fell back against it, her heart thudding in her chest, her mind whirling.

Her horses and her belongings were gone. Her wagon damaged. And she had no money.

Without cash how would she buy horses? How would she repair the wagon, let alone reprovision it?

How would she ever escape this dreadful land?

Lily pressed her fingers to her lips, holding back a sob. What would become of her?

Her gaze landed on the cot across the room, the cot on which only yesterday her father had lain, then died. She’d never felt so alone.

Bile rose in the back of her throat, closing off her breathing in this airless room.

She had to leave. She had to escape. She couldn’t abide this room—this fort—another moment.

Lily opened the door and slipped out of the fort into the prairie.

North paused outside the trade room as he glimpsed a swish of skirt disappear out the gate. Even without seeing her face he knew it was Lily St. Claire, the woman whose father they’d just buried. No other woman wore that sort of dress.

And no other woman would be foolish enough to leave the safety of the fort.

North shook his head. Why would she do this? Didn’t she know any better?

Or did she simply not care that she was a danger not only to herself, but to others who might have to go after her?

Since arriving at the fort she’d been waited on hand and foot, seemingly unable to accomplish the smallest task, or fend for herself. Was this customary behavior for white women?