In His Thoughts Page 4

  Trace looked at him as if studying him. “I know it won’t be easy for you, but you have to stop being a soldier now and start being a rancher. Let the army bring in the poachers.”

  Ben nodded again to end further discussion on the matter. Even before his recovery had been complete, he’d known his career in the army was over. He’d been given an honorable discharge. Trace was right, though. He had to start over, but it wouldn’t be easy to forget the life he’d led for so long.

  Over the weeks, between bouts of feeling sorry for himself and being consumed by anger over what had happened to him, and remaining determined to find the poachers responsible, he’d formulated a new course in life. Settling in the Deer Lodge Valley and raising a few horses had always been his plan after his retirement from the army. Unfortunately, it had come sooner than he’d anticipated.

  “Excuse me, Sir, but are you Lieutenant Ferguson?”

  Ben glanced around to see who had addressed him by his former title. Sam and Trace both mumbled something under their breaths about needing to see what their wives were doing, and excused themselves.

  One of the women who had smiled at him from across the room stood before him, still smiling and batting her lashes. Ben frowned, but quickly turned it into a smile of his own. There was no need to be rude, even though he didn’t need the intrusion.

  “Yes, Miss –”

  “Frances Halverston,” she said eagerly, holding out her hand. Her smile widened even more.

  “Pleasure to meet you, Miss Halverston.” Ben shook the woman’s hand while his eyes scanned the wedding guests to see if anyone might come to his aid. He shifted weight, leaning on his cane.

  “Please, call me Frances.” The young woman took a step closer. “I’ve heard so much about you, I just had to come over and meet you for myself. It’s so nice to meet a real soldier.”

  “I don’t know what you heard, Miss . . . Frances, but I’m sure it’s nothing special. As for being a solider, I no longer wear a uniform.” Ben glanced at the cane. “An injury forced me out of the army.”

  Frances turned her smile into a sympathetic frown. “I’m so sorry to hear that. I’m sure you must have been very brave to sustain such an injury.”

  She stepped even closer and hooked her hand around his arm. What was the proper reaction to that?

  Ben sighed. He wasn’t going to relive that nightmarish day for this young woman. He looked up to where Sam and Trace stood with their wives and several other couples. Sam glanced his way and smiled. Ben narrowed his eyes, but it was doubtful whether Sam could see the glare directed at him for deserting him to fend off this woman on his own.

  Ben dropped his gaze to Frances Halverston. Her round eyes were filled with expectation. She was nice to look at, but definitely not a woman for his taste. What was his taste? He mentally shook his head. He’d never thought about it before. There had been balls at West Point, and ladies that hung from his arm who enjoyed being in the company of a man in uniform, but he was no longer that man.

  “I heard you bought the Jameson’s farm a couple miles from town,” Frances went on. “Does that mean you’ll have settled here, then? It’s close enough to town that you could come for regular visits, I’d imagine.”

  The young woman continued to bat her eyes at him. Ben looked away. He leaned heavily on his cane, and a woman who also walked with a cane caught his eye. Grace Colter, wife of Levi Colter, the carpenter who had built most of the furniture in this fine house. They’d been introduced earlier. Maybe he’d have to talk to Levi about making some furniture for his new home. His wife had sustained an injury as a child that had left her with one leg shorter than the other, and a life-long limp because her leg hadn’t been set properly.

  Ben extracted his arm from Frances’s grip. “Excuse me. I just remembered I have to talk to Levi Colter about something. It was a pleasure meeting you, Frances.” He flashed her a quick smile, then headed for his brother and Levi.

  “I’m heading home,” he told Sam. “If I don’t leave, the other one is liable to want to talk to me, too.” Ben nudged his chin toward the woman who had sat with Frances earlier. She’d moved from her seat and rushed up to her friend, tossing quick glances his way every few seconds.

  “I take it you’re not interested.”

  Ben scoffed. “I’m trying to figure out what to do with my life right now. I have no time to think about socializing.”

  “I’m sure when you’re ready to start courting, you will find the right one.” Emma, Sam’s wife, glanced at him with a smile.

  Ben smiled uneasily. Courting? That word had never been part of his vocabulary. It sure wasn’t going to be part of it now. He glanced in the direction of Frances and her friend. Those two were desperate to snatch a husband, even if it was someone with a cane and a scarred leg.

  He’d known their type in Kentucky. Few things mattered more to these women than money, and a military title was icing on the cake. Little did they know that he didn’t come from a wealthy family. His army salary hadn’t amounted to a lot, but he’d saved his earnings rather than spending it on gambling and booze like so many of his comrades. His little nest egg had been just enough to purchase his farm and to add some horses soon.

  After saying his congratulations and goodbyes to Lance and Ellie Taggart, Ben left the wedding. Mounting his horse from the right side so he wouldn’t have to pull himself into the saddle using his left leg, he headed toward his new home. A peddler wagon passed him on the way. He nodded to the older man driving a team of mules. A younger man sat beside him.

  Two horses were tethered to the back of the rig. The older man touched the tip of his hat in greeting, but the younger one glared at him, his eyes widening in surprise for a fraction of a second.

  Both men stared at him as they passed each other. Ben shifted weight in the saddle and glanced over his shoulder. A glimpse of golden hair, and the face of a woman appeared out the back of the wagon, and a sudden feeling of déjà vu hit him.

  Chapter 5

  Clara’s heart pounded in her chest, threatening to burst free of her ribcage. It always did this when they arrived in a town and Uncle Eli was about to give his sales pitch to the folks who were willing to listen. The corset she wore made breathing even more difficult than it already was. The dress her mother had worn during these performances was a bit too snug for Clara, and the low-cut neckline seemed even lower on her. No matter how much she tried to pull the bodice up, it wouldn’t stay.

  Forcing air past her constricting throat, Clara glanced at herself in the small mirror in the wagon. She wore a dark, curly wig to cover her much lighter hair, which usually hung in straight strands down her back. There was no sense even trying to make it look presentable, so she usually wore it in a plain braid to keep it out of her face. For these performances, the wig transformed her into a stranger, and it was another reminder of her brave mother, who’d had beautiful, dark hair.

  Uncle Eli had bought the wig after calling her ugly and useless on several occasions when she’d been unsuccessful at making herself look the way he preferred for the audience. When she’d begged him for a new dress, one that didn’t show so much of her bare shoulders and cleavage, he’d adamantly declined.

  “Just hold up the bottles of my elixir close to your chest, right where the men can see them. It’ll be sure to draw more sales.”

  Clara’s throat went dry. People began to gather outside the wagon, drawn in by Max’s knife-throwing and sword-swallowing act. Everyone was talking in eager tones, anticipating what Uncle Eli would tell them. Besides his cure-all elixir, which consisted of cheap liquor watered down with geyser water from Yellowstone, and a few herbs and spices, he sold a hodgepodge of items he’d traded for his worthless elixir during their wanderings. Of course, he charged double what the items were worth when he could get away with it.

  “Get out there, Clara. Father’s about to start.”

  Clara spun around at Max’s voice. Her eyes widened when he sneered at her. His
leering gaze traveled to her bare shoulders and fixed on where the dress ended low on her chest. Self-conscious, she pulled the garment up.

  Max rubbed at his chin. His eyes still lingered on her bosom. “Never really noticed how much you’ve grown up in recent years, Clara.”

  “Get out,” she spat. “I’m still getting ready.”

  Renewed apprehension slammed her at the predatory gleam in his eyes. He looked like a wolf with his tongue hanging out, salivating in anticipation of fresh meat.

  Max laughed, stared for another second or two, but thankfully retreated. Clara stared after him. She ran a trembling hand across her forehead, pushing the wig back in place. Lowering herself onto a wooden crate to catch her breath, Clara inhaled deeply. She shook her head as her heart began to pound again and the familiar tightening spread through her chest.

  No. Not now. People musn’t see.

  She couldn’t face anyone if her affliction took hold of her now. Suffering alone was bad enough, but in front of people was inconceivable. They would call her a freak and demand she be locked up. It was Uncle Eli’s favorite threat, as if that would help make it go away.

  Scamp whined next to her, as if he knew she needed his calming influence. The dog came up beside her. She hugged her arms around his neck and closed her eyes.

  “Breathe,” she whispered, and drew in slow breaths the way she’d seen Mama do it many times. It didn’t always help, but this time the combination of hugging her dog and breathing deeply seemed to work. Perhaps it was the thought of being seen in public, dozens of eyes staring at her, people laughing and calling her names, that held the affliction at bay, at least enough that she could conceal it.

  “Get out here, Clara.” Max’s demanding voice called to her. Clara released her hold on Scamp.

  “Good boy. Thank you, for being there when I need you,” she whispered, and stood. She cleared her throat and lifted her chin.

  Uncle Eli’s sales pitch would be over in a few minutes, then she could come back to the safety of the wagon. It was the same each time. She’d go out to face the crowd, stand next to her uncle, and smile while holding up a bottle of his fake magical elixir. She never made eye contact with anyone, and ignored the faces of the crowd, forcing her mind to be elsewhere.

  It made her different from her mother, which also made Uncle Eli angry. Mama had always worked the crowd with her beautiful smile and her eyes that could draw people to her like magic.

  Clara stepped from the wagon. She nearly tripped when the hem of her dress caught on a sliver of wood on the tailgate. Max stood there, holding out a bottle of elixir to her, but made no effort to help if she fell. Not that she expected him to. Clara grabbed hold of the wagon and straightened. She gritted her teeth and closed her eyes at the sound of Max’s laughter behind her.

  Snatching the bottle from his hand, she marched to the front of the wagon, where Uncle Eli was entertaining the crowd with his sales pitch.

  “Ah, there comes my lovely niece now, eager to make sure you all get your own bottle of Eli’s Elixir, the cure-all to everything that ails you. Why, she herself takes a spoonful of it every day for beauty and vitality.”

  Clara held up the bottle, but away from her chest. Her heart continued to pound, and her lips trembled while she forced her smile. Hot and cold at the same time, she stiffened her muscles to keep from shivering.

  “Does she come with the bottle?” a man yelled, and the crowd broke out in laughter. “I’ll take ten if I can have the gal, too.” The laughter grew even louder.

  Clara’s face heated. She broke her own rule for a fraction of a second and looked into the crowd. The man who had called out wasn’t immediately obvious, but her gaze fell to another man, someone who looked vaguely familiar. Her eyes widened.

  It was him! The soldier. Two days ago, her uncle and cousin had argued whether the man they’d passed on the road to Elk Lodge had truly been the soldier they’d left for dead in the Yellowstone Park.

  “I’m tellin’ ya, Pa, it was him.”

  “Nonsense.” Uncle Eli had waved him away. “That man looked fit as a fiddle. The soldier we left nearly three months ago wouldn’t have been able to walk, much less ride a horse. That is, if he survived.”

  Clara had stared at the rider, made eye contact with him, as he’d ridden past the wagon. He’d turned his head and had looked directly at her. There was no doubt it had been the same man she’d tried to help that horrible day.

  He’d survived. There had been no recognition in his eyes. There wouldn’t have been. He’d been unconscious when she’d tended to his wounds. She’d smiled, glad he was alive and apparently healthy. Even with those pleasant thoughts, her mind had also gone in a different direction.

  What if he had recognized her, or her uncle, or Max? Would he come after them? Would she go to jail for crimes she hadn’t committed? Those thoughts had left her no peace the last couple of nights. When it was time to go to sleep, her mind wouldn’t shut off, and every terrible scenario played over and over in her head.

  Clara blinked. She looked away from the man and forced her gaze over the crowd, so she wouldn’t have to look at anyone else. Her eyes seemed to have other ideas, however. They drifted once more to the man standing there, dressed in civilian clothes, not the blue army uniform he’d worn the day he’d nearly lost his life. He looked healthy and handsome. His hair was neatly trimmed, and his face was tanned and vibrant, no longer looking sallow and pale.

  He was staring back at her. Did he recognize her this time? He’d seen her looking out the back of the wagon the other day along the road, but that encounter had been quick. This time, his gaze lingered on her.

  Clara nearly lost her balance from standing so rigid, but if she relaxed her muscles, she would run. She cast a quick glance at Uncle Eli. Was he done with his sales pitch? She had to get back to the safety of the wagon.

  The crowd cheered and clapped, and a couple of men made more crude remarks directed at her. Clara rushed behind the wagon, letting out a relieved breath. This had been the worst day ever. Not only because of the rude men’s comments, but also because the soldier had looked right at her as if he’d been trying to remember her, too.

  She shook her head. Impossible. He couldn’t have recognized her. Besides, with the dark wig on, she looked nothing like the plain girl that had helped him that day.

  Clara scrambled back inside the wagon, catching her breath. Anticipating that her chest would tighten any moment made her hands shake. She forced deep breaths into her lungs. It wasn’t good to anticipate. That usually made things worse if her affliction did manifest itself.

  She glanced around the small space of the wagon, looking at anything and everything to take her mind off the last ten minutes of her life. She pulled the wig from her head and shook out her hair, which tumbled around her shoulders, tickling her bare skin.

  “Clara, where are you?”

  Uncle Eli shouted from somewhere outside. Max would be collecting money from people who were eager to try Eli’s Elixir.

  “I’m in the wagon getting changed,” she called.

  In the next instant, light shone into the rig as Uncle Eli pulled apart the canvas opening. Clara’s head snapped up and she stared at him.

  “You’re worthless, Clara. I don’t know why I keep you around,” Uncle Eli spat. “Why’d you run off like that? If you stay and talk to the folks, more of the men would buy my elixir. From now on, you don’t leave until I say so, is that clear?”

  Clara shook her head. “I can’t,” she whispered.

  “You can, and you will, do you hear me, girl? You need to pull your weight around here, just like me and Max. If I don’t sell my elixir, we don’t eat, you just remember that.”

  He stood there for a moment, simply looking at her. A frown passed over his face as she sat in the wagon, looking back at him. “You’re getting to be about as worthless as your mother was toward the end. If you don’t snap out of it, the same demons that took her are coming after you.
If you can’t be of use to me selling elixir, I ain’t got no use for you at all.” He waved a hand at her. “Now get yourself dressed. If you can’t be useful with the customers, I can at least send you on an errand. We need a few supplies from the mercantile.”

  With that, he stormed off, letting the canvas flutter closed again.

  Clara sank onto the floor and stared into the darkness. Uncle Eli’s cruel words about her mother brought a shudder through her. She squeezed her eyes shut to keep the horrible memories away of the day she’d found her mother dead. Scamp whined as Clara sobbed. This time, there was nothing the dog could do to console her.

  Much later, Clara left the wagon, dressed in her simple homespun dress, and her hair tied back in a braid. She’d splashed some water onto her face, and with Scamp at her side, walked away from the wagon and across the street toward the mercantile. Uncle Eli had parked the wagon in the center of town to draw the largest crowd. He wouldn’t be allowed to stay there much longer. She needed to hurry to purchase the supplies that had run low.

  The doorbell jingled overhead as she entered the store. She glanced at her dog.

  “Stay.”

  Scamp obediently sat and watched her enter the establishment. Clara swallowed and raised her chin. Her affliction was invisible. No one could see what was in her head. Then why did it seem as if everyone was always staring at her, and whispering and laughing behind her back?

  Ignoring everyone else in the store, Clara walked up to the counter and presented a slip of paper to the proprietor. The balding man glanced at her, then at the paper.

  “You with that peddler out there?” the man asked.

  Clara nodded. “I’m not here to sell anything. I only need to get some supplies.”

  Many of the merchants in the towns they’d passed hadn’t been very friendly toward Uncle Eli. That was probably the reason he had her run this errand. He’d much rather steal the man’s customers and sell his wares out on the street than get into a confrontation with the established town merchants.