Frontier Courtship

Faith. Connell turned that name over in his mind. He’d have guessed she might be called after a flower or some famous woman from the Bible, like Sarah or Esther. Hearing that she was, instead, Faith, gave him pause. Yet it fit. A strong trait, a gift necessary for survival especially when crossing the plains, Faith was appropriate. How was it the scripture went? Something about…“if you have faith as a grain of mustard seed, you can say to a mountain, move, and the mountain will move.” This tiny woman was going to need that kind of unwavering faith if she was to survive the many rigors that would face her on the trail.

The upstairs room Anna led him to was small but clean. An absence of personal items led Connell to believe Mrs. Morse probably rented it out whenever she could. Careful not to jostle his limp burden, he lowered Faith gently onto the bed.

As he straightened and slipped his arm from beneath her shoulders, he reached up to gently smooth the damp wisps of hair from her forehead. The act was totally instinctive. Until the older woman cautioned him, he didn’t think about how improper his actions must look.

“That’ll do, mister. We’re beholden to you for totin’ her here.” Anna wedged between him and the prone figure, which was beginning to stir. “I’ll take good care of her.”

Connell nodded and touched the brim of his hat. “Yes, ma’am. It doesn’t appear the sister’ll be much help, that’s a fact.” Keeping his voice low, he added, “This one got herself knocked down by a bunch of drunken horse soldiers.”

“Figures. I swan, this old world has got to be nearin’ judgment day.”

“Don’t know about that, ma’am, but there’s four boys in blue who will be when I get ahold of them.”

“You ain’t plannin’ on startin’ trouble, are you?”

“No, ma’am.” Connell took a few backward steps toward the open bedroom door. “Finishing it.”

Anna made a noise of disgust. “Bah! All men are fools. Every bloomin’ one of ’em.”

At that, the plainsman managed a half smile. “You’re probably right.” Peering past her, he tried to get another glimpse of Faith. “You think she’ll be all right? I reckon her ribs are broke.”

“Soon as she comes to, I’ll be able to tell for sure.”

Turning toward the door, Connell paused. “I’ll be back to pay you for whatever the girl needs.”

The older woman shook her head. “You ain’t her kin. You done enough.”

He scowled, his helpful attitude hardening into determination. “I told you why I was here. Whatever I do for Miss Faith, it’ll be like I’m doing it for my Irene, too. Understand?”

Anna nodded solemnly. She wiped her hands on her apron. “That, I do. Long as you remember your money buys you no rights to the Beal sisters.”

The growing smile lifted Connell’s mustache. “Oh, it won’t be my money,” he said. “I aim to collect damages due from the sons o’—’scuse me, I mean the soldiers who did the hurting.”

That seemed to satisfy Anna’s sense of decency. “Good for you. Think they’ll pay up?”

For Connell, the question was already answered. His decision was firm. It wouldn’t take but a few minutes of his time to enforce justice on Faith Beal’s behalf. To see to it that she was recompensed. He was certain that was what Irene would want him to do.

“Yes, ma’am, I do,” he said flatly. “Those four boys’ll be real tickled to help out. You’ll see.”

Anna shook her head. “I don’t want to see any of it. You do what your conscience tells you to do, son, but leave me out of it. You hear?”

Tipping his hat, Connell nodded in affirmation and left her. By the time he’d reached the bottom of the staircase, his anger in respect to Faith’s plight was white-hot. How dare those drunken fools abuse a refined, gentle soul like her and then ignore what they’d done without so much as a backward glance or a word of apology?

He left the trading post, jumped down to the street and started off toward the saloon. Very little time had passed since the incident. He had no doubt he’d easily be able to locate the perpetrators.

The door to Maguire’s Saloon swung back with a bang as he straight-armed it and headed for the bar. The place wasn’t fancy red velvet and sparkling chandeliers like the plush parlors of San Francisco. Nor was it any cleaner than the rest of the fort. At each end of the bar stood gaboons, wooden boxes filled with sawdust, that served as poor men’s spittoons. By the look of the floor, no one there took very good aim.

Connell scanned the crowd. Nearly a dozen men were dressed in the blue of the cavalry but only a few were as filthy and bruised as the guilty parties he was looking for had to be. Bellying up to the bar, the largest of the four was lifting a glass and laughing as another member of the disgusting quartet gave his impression of Faith’s shocked facial expression after her fall.

Silent, Connell approached, his jaw set, his fists clenched. The loudmouth had reddish hair and a swollen eye as purple as a ripe plum. When Connell tapped him on the shoulder, he turned, still chuckling, with a sarcastic what-do-you-want? look on his face.

Connell reached up and whipped off the man’s hat, turning it over to serve as a collection basket.

“Hey! What the…?”

“For the lady you boys hurt,” Connell said. The low, menacing timbre of his voice was as threatening as his words. “Ante up.”

The man cursed. “Now wait a…”

Connell had grasped the redhead by the shirtfront and hoisted him high in the air before anyone could interfere. As formidable as the soldier was, he was no match for such ferocious rage and brute strength. The others began to edge away.

“All of you,” Connell shouted. “Freeze where you are and fill the kitty.” His head cocked toward the hat, which had landed on the bar when he’d grabbed the loudmouth. “Now.”

He waited till three soldiers had complied before releasing the fourth. “Your turn.”

“I ain’t got no money to waste on no stupid settler.”

Connell’s fist connected hard with the man’s jaw, sending his body sliding along the front of the bar where it finally came to rest in a heap near the gaboon. He gestured to the man’s friends. “Pick him up.”

The smallest of the three shook his head violently and backed away, his hands in the air. Thin and much shorter than the others, he’d obviously gotten the worst of the brawl. “No way. He wakes up, he’ll kill me.”

“Judging from what’s left of your sorry face, it looks like he nearly did, already.” Connell glanced at the remaining two. “You think your friend would be interested in making his fair share of the contribution?” He held out the hat. The few coins it contained chinked together.

“Sure, sure. Ol’ Bob, he’s a regular fella. He just gets nasty when he’s keepin’ company with John Barleycorn, is all.” The closest one reached into his companion’s pockets and came up with a fistful of coins. “This do ya?”

When the soldier dropped the money into the hat, Connell gathered it in his hand, briefly calculated how much there was, then threw the empty hat across the face of its unconscious owner. “He wakes up, you tell him for me that the lady is much obliged.”

“Yes, sir. Sure will.”

Turning away, Connell stalked out. He was certain neither Miss Faith Beal nor Mrs. Morse would approve of his methods, yet they’d have had to admit they were effective. There was no need to go into detail when he delivered the “donations” to the women. It was enough to know that he’d righted a wrong. An innocent young woman wouldn’t have to suffer more hardship because of the yahoos who’d harmed her.

Thinking about Faith’s vulnerability, he took a deep breath and exhaled noisily as he reentered the trading post. Near the door, the pale girl with corn-silk hair still sat atop the filled sacks. White flour dusted the back and shoulders of her blue dress, a clear reminder of her fainting spell. An older man and several women were fussing over her. Unsure of whether or not to approach, Connell paused to listen to what they were saying.

“No! I can’t stay here. I just can’t,” the girl whimpered. “Please, take me back to camp with you.”

“Now, Miss Charity,” the man was cajoling, “you’ll be perfectly safe with Mrs. Morse. Your sister might need you.”

“No! No, no, no.” She stamped her small foot. “It wasn’t my idea to come here in the first place and I’ll not stay. I demand you deliver me back to Captain Tucker.”

One of the matrons patted Charity’s hand. “There, there, dear. Of course we’ll see that you get to the captain. I’m sure your sister is in good hands.”

Shaking his head in disgust, Connell watched them leave before he started for the staircase.

Anna Morse met him halfway up and solidly blocked his path. “Well?”

“The sister left,” he said, scowling.

“Figures. What about the fellas what done the hurting? Did you clean their plows for ’em?”