Cheyenne Wife

“Of course,” Fredericks agreed.

“Could I trouble you gentlemen for a little information?” Lily asked, pushing on.

“Sure thing,” Sykes told her and leaned forward just a little.

“How soon before one might expect a wagon train to come up from Santa Fe, through the fort, bound for the East?” Lily asked.

Wagons routinely made the journey east from Santa Fe, loaded with handwoven blankets, buffalo robes, furs and other riches that would be sold in Eastern markets. The trade route worked both ways.

“Oh, we get wagons through here every week or so. Sometimes more often than that.” Sykes glanced at Fredericks for confirmation.

“Yeah, about that often, I’d say,” Fredericks agreed, stroking his chin.

“Fine,” Lily said, a sense of relief coming over her. “I’ll join the next wagon train that passes through heading east.”

She’d thought about it most of the night, tossing and turning on the little cot in her room, then pacing across the floor and staring out the window, until she’d come up with a plan.

While she had no money to pay her way east, she did own a wagon—albeit a damaged wagon—which was surely worth something and could be offered in trade. If that failed, she could provide a service of some sort to the travelers. Take care of young children, perhaps, or act as a schoolmarm on the trip. She could give art instruction, read books or poetry.

If, of course, any sort of payment was required. Surely, the people of the train would appreciate her plight and allow her to travel with them.

Fredericks nodded his understanding. “Seems like leaving is the sensible thing to do. I mean, for a woman like you, that is.”

He’d said it kindly enough, but an insult lurked there just the same. Lily felt its sting, yet couldn’t disagree.

“Would you be kind enough to let me know when the next wagon comes through, so I can be on my way?” she asked the men.

“Sure thing, Miss St. Claire. You can head on back East any time you like,” Fredericks said. His expression hardened. “As soon as you settle your debts here, of course.”

She blinked up at him. “My…debts?”

Fredericks and Sykes nodded in unison.

“Hiram’s got it all writ down, nice and neat,” Sykes said, and wagged his finger toward Fredericks and the desk. “Show her the ledger, Hiram.”

“Ledger…?” Her stomach jerked into a knot. “But I thought—”

“Thought what?” Sykes asked, and gave her a hard look. He shifted closer. “You didn’t think all this stuff here was free, did you?”

A rush of embarrassment—and panic—coursed through Lily.

Fredericks pushed aside some papers on his desk, searching until he found the ledger. He opened it and flipped through the pages.

“Here we go, Miss St. Claire,” he said, finding the spot. “I got a whole page, just for you.”

Lily gulped. “A whole page?”

“Now, first off,” he said, holding the ledger at arm’s length, “there’s meals. Three a day, every day you were here, plus the cost of bringing them to your room. And meals for your pa, of course.”

“But Papa didn’t even eat—”

“Then there’s the laundry you wanted done,” Fredericks said, running his finger along the page, “and the cost of your room. An extra charge for two people together, of course.”

“Papa was sick,” Lily implored. “I needed to be at his side—”

“Doctor’s expenses,” Fredericks went on. “Two visits a day, at your request. Medicine, bandages, that sort of thing.”

Footsteps, shuffling feet sounded behind Lily and she sensed other men coming into the room, adding to her embarrassment.

“Then there’s board and care for your horses,” Fredericks said.

“My horses were stolen!”

“That don’t mean they didn’t eat while they were here,” Sykes pointed out.

“And then there’s storage on your wagon,” Mr. Fredericks continued.

“It was ransacked!”

Fredericks paused, and he and Sykes looked at each other as if considering the point she’d just made.

“Somebody get Sam over here,” Sykes called over Lily’s head, then said to her, “Sam Becker. He’s the blacksmith that took care of your horses and wagon.”

She glanced behind her and saw one of the men lean out the door and yell.

“Let’s see now, what else?” Fredericks squinted at the page. “Oh, yeah. There’s the funeral. Making the casket, digging the grave, of course, carving your pa’s name into the cross.”

“I did the carving myself,” Sykes said to Lily and grinned proudly. “Thought it was a nice touch, if I do say so myself.”

“Well, I guess that’s about it. So there you have it. That’s everything,” Fredericks announced, closing the ledger with a snap. “As soon as you pay up, Miss St. Claire, you’re free to be on your way.”

Lily’s breath came in quick little heaves, making her heart pounded harder in her chest. She owed these men money? A lot of money? And they wouldn’t let her leave this retched place until she paid them?

“But—but I don’t have any money,” Lily said, spreading her hands.

The two men exchanged a troubled look, then both shook their heads.

“Well, now,” Sykes said. “I guess we got ourselves a problem.”

“I guess we do,” Fredericks agreed.

A little murmur went through the gathering of men situated behind Lily. They’d overheard every word spoken in the room, knew it was a private conversation, yet they’d stayed as if she and her plight were their morning entertainment. Lily’s embarrassment deepened.

Fredericks looked up suddenly and smiled broadly. “Morning, Sam. Come on in here.”

Sam Becker, the blacksmith, murmured a greeting to the men in the room, then shouldered his way past Lily to stand beside Fredericks and Sykes. She’d seen him around the fort, but had never been introduced. He was young, short, thick chested, with muscular arms and meaty hands. He was always sweating.

Fredericks opened the ledger once more, then gave Becker a rundown on Lily’s situation. Becker looked over the older man’s shoulder and nodded.