The Reluctant Bridegroom (15 page)

“How long will your group be here, Mr. Winslow?”

“No more than two or three days. Tomorrow I’d like to get together with them. Any place we could meet—about thirty-five or forty of us?”

“The church on Elm Street would be your best bet, Mr. Winslow. Rev. Whitlow’s the minister—a real accommodating sort.”

“Fine,” Sky replied, then turned to Edith. “Miss Dickenson, I’m going to be pretty busy—would you see that the ladies get anything they need for the ride out? There won’t be many stores along the way, so any women things you’ll have to get here.”

“Women things, Mr. Winslow?” A humorous light glinted in Edith Dickenson’s eyes. “What sort of women things do you mean?” she asked innocently.

Winslow saw the grins of the others and knew Edith was poking fun at him. He grinned back. “How should I know, Edith? First time I’ve ever had to be keeper to a bunch of women.”

“You may find it educational,” she observed solemnly. “But I’ll see to it this time. We’ll be ready in no time.”

Leaving the hotel, Winslow thought that his first impression had been right: Edith Dickenson would be a fine wife for Sam. It occurred to him that Edith might want more romance than the plain storekeeper could furnish.
But that’ll be up to them,
he shrugged, and turned his attention to the more pressing problems of the trip.

He found Dave Lloyd at the stockyards on the edge of town looking at oxen. “Mr. Winslow—you made good time!” He gave Sky a hearty handshake in greeting. “Hope you’re ready to go, ’cause I think we’re about set.”

“Figured you’d handle things, Dave.” The two of them
spent the day going over the stock and supplies for the trip west, as well as the other goods he had ordered for the investors. These were all stored in a small warehouse a few blocks from the hotel. “I let the men have the day off, Mr. Winslow,” Dave said as they made their way toward the hotel at dusk. “They’re a pretty hard bunch. You might want to cull a few.”

“Won’t fire a man because he’s tough, Dave—only if he gets out of line. You get a preacher?”

Dave raised an eyebrow. “Well, I got one who says he
used
to be a preacher—but he shore don’t look much like one now! Come on and you can decide. I got him watching the wagons.”

Sky reserved comment. He had confidence in Lloyd, and knew that whoever he had dredged up was probably the best to be found. Lloyd led him to a large vacant area where the wagons were drawn up in order. “Brother Penny,” he called to a man who got up from the wagon tongue where he had been seated. “This is Mr. Winslow. Sky Winslow, this is Lot Penny.”

Penny was a muscular man of forty or so, with a balding head and a pair of wire-rimmed spectacles perched on the end of his nose. His hand was like a vise as he shook with Sky. “Pleased to know you,” he responded in a high tenor voice.

“I understand you’re a minister, Brother Penny,” Sky said.

“Well, seems there’s some argument about that,” Penny answered, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “I got converted under the preaching of Brother Peter Cartwright, and became licensed as a Methodist minister.”

“My pa knows him well,” Sky remarked. “Thinks highly of him—and my father is a Methodist missionary.”

“That so?” Penny studied Winslow carefully, then shook his head. “Reckon I can’t help you none, Mr. Winslow. Dave here told me you need a chaplain for all these brides—but don’t see as I’m the man for you.”

“Why not?” Sky asked.

“I got dismissed. Got no papers with the Methodists anymore.”

“How’d that happen, Brother Penny?”

Penny lifted his head, and his thick shoulders squared. “Said I was a fanatic.”

The idea tickled Sky, for he knew that the Methodists as a whole were branded fanatics by other denominations. If
they
labeled Lot Penny a fanatic, he wondered what it meant. “Well—are you?” he asked with a smile.

“Reckon so, accordin’ to their views—and yours, too, maybe. When I hear from God, Mr. Winslow, I shout it from the housetops! No bishop can keep me quiet when the Almighty gives me a message.”

“Don’t see anything wrong with that,” Sky shrugged. “It’s pretty much the same way my pa preaches.”

“Well, it wasn’t just
that,
” Lot Penny admitted. “Scripture says that God gives gifts to men. Well now, some people think all the miracles ended with the apostles in the book of Acts—but I don’t! We ain’t seen the last of His mighty miracles. Everything from healings in the body to the raisin’ of the dead!”

“You’ve seen the dead raised, Lot?” Dave Lloyd asked.

“Don’t matter if I have or not. It’s in the Book, so it’s so!” Winslow studied the stubborn set of Penny’s jaw and said, “I’d like you to come along, Brother Penny. We need a man who can lay it out plain, and I think you’re capable of doing that.”

Lot nodded. “ ‘Pears you’re a-goin’ to have trouble with some of the men no matter
how
plain I lay it out, Mr. Winslow. Some of ’em already been talking about what they’re going to do when the women get here. If them men ain’t converted, there’s gonna be trouble for sure—but I’ll go and preach for you.”

“Good enough,” Sky nodded. “They’ll keep their hands off those women one way or another—either you convert ’em, Brother Penny, or I’ll shoot ’em.”

Lot Penny thought about that, then nodded. “Just like the Bible, Brother—either law or grace. Turn or burn—that’s God’s way!”

“He’s a good blacksmith, too, Sky,” Dave said as they walked away from the wagons. “ ’Course, his preachin’ is pretty rough—got the bark still on it.”

“You couldn’t have done better,” Sky complimented him. “It’s going to be a rough trip, Dave. I reckon Brother Penny is just the preacher we need. Hope you did as well picking the rest.”

“Like I said, they’re tough, but I let one or two of ’em go that wouldn’t do. Reckon we can find most of the rest in one saloon or another if you want to run ’em down.”

“No, tomorrow’s fine.” By now it was about six, so he and Dave walked back to the hotel and ate supper at a small restaurant nearby. After they finished, the two rose and walked along the main street, past the steepled brick courthouse to the white frame church. They found the Rev. Ira Whitlow in the small parsonage behind the church building. He was a thin man with a hatchet face and kind eyes. “Certainly you may use the building for a meeting, Mr. Winslow,” he responded to Sky’s request. “Miss Dickenson came earlier, and I was most impressed with her.” He shook his head, adding, “The whole town’s talking about your venture. It’s very—unusual.”

“That’s not as bad as I said when I first heard of it, Reverend,” Sky grinned. “I said only an idiot would try such a crazy scheme—but here I am. A man never knows what he’ll do.” Then he added, “You may not agree with this—but I’ve asked Brother Lot Penny to be our chaplain on the trail.”

“Ah, well, he’s a strange man, Mr. Winslow. We’ve had some interesting theological debates—but despite our differences, I think he’s a godly man. You could do worse—much worse.” The men thanked him for his help and prepared to leave. “Glad to oblige, gentlemen. Come to services Sunday,” Rev. Whitlow urged.

“We will if we don’t leave earlier,” Sky replied. “But I hope to leave on Friday at the latest.”

As they made their way back through town, Lloyd spotted
one of his favorite watering holes—a saloon called
The Wagonwheel
—and suggested, “Let’s have a drink.”

“Not for me, but I’ll go along.”

They went inside and took their places at the long bar. A burly bartender came to serve them. “Hello, Dave. The usual?”

“Sure, Tony.” He took his drink and the two talked while he drank it, then ordered another. “There’s Tom Lake, one of the drivers, Sky,” he said, waving his glass at a man who was standing alone at the end of the bar. “You better meet him. Might be you won’t want him along.”

“What’s the matter with him?”

“A drunk.” Lloyd shrugged and added, “But he can drive a wagon, and he was the best I could do.”

Sky followed him down the bar to where the man was bent over, looking into his glass. “Hey, Lake, this is the boss, Sky Winslow.”

“Hello, Lake,” Sky said and put out his hand. Lake looked at him through a pair of bloodshot eyes and took the hand with a limp grasp. Sky noticed that the man’s hand, while not soft, was not calloused like most men’s. Lake was a slight man of average height, with dark hair and eyes that contrasted strangely to his pallid complexion.

“Glad to meet you,” Lake said. “Have a drink?”

“Not for me.” Sky watched as the man waggled a finger at the barkeeper and downed the drink in one thirsty gulp, shuddering as the raw whiskey went down. Setting his shot glass down, Lake turned to face the two men. “Guess we’ll be pulling out soon?”

Sky didn’t answer right away. The man bothered him; while the thin, intelligent face was not the countenance of an evil man, Tom Lake could prove to be a liability. Better to replace him with a tougher man than have him play out on the way.

“Lake, I don’t want you on this trip,” Sky said bluntly. “You’re in bad shape, and this is gonna be a rough trip.”

“I can pull my weight!”

“I doubt it,” Sky replied. “There aren’t any saloons along the way—and even if there were, I don’t need any man who can’t handle his whiskey.”

“I can leave it alone, Mr. Winslow,” Lake protested, pulling himself to a more upright position. He wiped his sweating brow with a nervous hand. “I don’t have to drink.”

“You’ve been drunk every night, Tom—and most of the time while you were on the job,” Lloyd interjected quietly. “I told you Mr. Winslow would have the final say about a job, and he says no. Sorry.”

Lake’s mouth twitched nervously; at Lloyd’s words he dropped his head for a moment and studied the floor. There was some dignity about the man, Winslow noted, though his clothes were the poorest quality and his face was ravaged. He had taken a rebuff that would have angered most men, but now he faced them with pale lips and said, “That’s right, Dave. I
have
been drinking a lot. But it stops the minute we pull out of Independence! If you see me take another drink, leave me at the first trading post.”

“Can’t trust you, Tom,” Dave shrugged. “You better try to get a job here in town.”

Lake’s eyes did not waver. “I’m asking for a chance, Mr. Winslow. No more whiskey for me—and I’m the best man with sick stock you could get.” He stopped then, his eyes begging.

Sky regarded him steadily, weighing the odds. He knew that the desert would try Lake’s thirst in a way the smaller man could not imagine. He finally said, “You really know stock?” The other man nodded eagerly, saying, “Want me to name every bone and muscle in a cow?”

“That won’t be necessary—but your staying off liquor
will
be.” Sky nodded as he turned to go. “See you in the morning.”

When they were on their way down the street, Dave said, “Didn’t figure you’d take him, Sky.”

“Probably shouldn’t have—but then, I probably shouldn’t be here myself, Dave. Every man deserves a chance to prove
himself.” Winslow’s tone made Lloyd turn to catch a glimpse of Sky’s face, but he couldn’t read anything in its expression. “We’ll try to get everything pulled together tomorrow, Dave. We’ll bring all the drivers in with the women for one meeting tomorrow night, then pull out at dawn the next day.”

“Be quite a meeting,” Dave remarked as they walked into the hotel.

“No. Short and sweet,” Sky returned, then amended that. “Well, short—but maybe not so sweet.”

The next morning at breakfast he took Edith aside. “We’ll pull out tomorrow, Edith. Have all the ladies at the church tonight at seven.”

“All right.” Edith considered him for a moment. “Are you worried, Sky?”

“Yes.” The flat monosyllable spoke volumes, but he went on. “Everybody should be worried. It’s a dangerous trip.”

As Sky disappeared through the door, Rita cornered Edith. “Are we leaving today?”

“No, tomorrow—those who decide to go.”

Rita gave the woman a quick glance. “That was for my benefit, wasn’t it, Edith?”

“I think you ought to stay here. The rest of us are going because we have to—but you can get a man here.”

Rita looked at her with a startled expression. “Why—that’s just what Sky told me!” She lowered her voice. “Why is everyone trying to stop me? I’m not
that
much worse than the other girls!”

Edith put her hand on Rita’s arm and said in a kind voice, “I’m not judging you, dear, but this trip is going to be difficult, even for those who are accustomed to a hard life. You’re used to easy things and soft living.”

“So are you, Edith!”

“Ah, you see that? But there’s a difference between us.”

“What difference?”

“You can get a man—and I can’t.”

The woman’s blunt honesty struck Rita, and she stared at
Edith, saying, “I don’t believe that—about you, I mean. You’re smart. Look how Sky picked you to be over the rest of us.”

“He sees I’m efficient—but most men don’t like that in a wife. I’d rather he’d look at me like he does at you.”

“At me? Why, he hasn’t spoken to me ten times on the entire trip!”

“You’re attractive to men, and he’s a man.” Edith was tiring of the conversation. “We’ll leave early, I think. Get what you need from the stores.” She wheeled and walked away.

Sky was so busy that day he didn’t take time to eat until Dave reminded him, “Boss, it’s almost seven. Women will be at the church soon.”

“All right. I guess we’re ready for sunup, Dave.” He raised his voice and called to the other men. “All right—time for the meeting.”

He walked with Dave down the street to the church, nervous and tense. The dangers of the trail ahead did not bother him half as much as the speech he was about to make.

The church was brightly lit with lamps along the wall, and the women were all seated up close to the front as Winslow walked in, followed by the drivers. At a word from Lloyd, they sat down in the rear as Sky stepped up on the platform.

He saw May Stockton on the first row next to Karen Sanderson, who was as cool as ice as usual. Rita sat on the second row to his left, next to Rebekah, who was holding Timmy. A few of the others he knew, but most of them were just vague memories of a brief interview weeks ago.
I’ll know them all pretty soon,
he thought grimly, then spoke up.