Chapter 5 - The Men Waiting at the Gate
Martha stopped breathing.
The cottonwoods rustled above the wagon, their leaves flashing silver-green in the late afternoon wind. Somewhere beyond the dry wash, two horses shifted in the brush.
Boon stood with his back to the wagon, revolver low at his side.
He did not answer.
The unseen rider called again.
“Boon, don’t make this harder than it has to be.”
Boon’s voice came calm and flat.
“Depends what you think it has to be.”
A short laugh drifted through the trees.
“You always did enjoy sounding clever.”
“I enjoy it more when it works.”
Martha slid one hand into the pocket sewn inside her skirt.
The deed was not there.
It was still in her trunk.
That suddenly felt like the greatest mistake she had ever made.
The second rider spoke.
“Mr. Vale heard Mrs. Ellison suffered a loss on the trail. He wants to help.”
Martha looked at Boon.
His jaw tightened.
“How kind,” he said.
“He’ll buy the Cottonwood parcel at a generous price. More than a widow can use alone.”
Martha’s grief flared into anger so fast she forgot fear.
Jeb had not even been dead two weeks.
Some man she had never met already knew she was alone and wanted the land they had crossed half a continent to reach.
She pushed herself toward the front of the wagon.
Boon looked over his shoulder and shook his head once.
Martha ignored him.
She leaned into the opening.
“I’m not selling anything.”
Silence.
Then the first rider’s tone changed.
“Mrs. Ellison?”
“That depends who’s asking.”
“My name’s Calvin Ross. I work for Mr. Vale.”
“Then I’m definitely not selling anything.”
Boon closed his eyes briefly, as if asking heaven for patience.
Ross laughed.
“Ma’am, I think you misunderstand. Nobody’s threatening you.”
“Men who follow a pregnant widow into the trees rarely need to explain how harmless they are.”
Boon’s mouth twitched.
The second rider muttered something she could not hear.
Ross raised his voice.
“Mr. Vale only wants to save you trouble. That land is rough. No house worth mentioning. Fences down. Creek floods in spring. You’ll need hired men, money, livestock.”
“I’ll manage.”
“Your husband thought so too.”
The words struck like an open hand.
Martha’s entire body went cold.
Boon stepped forward.
“Ride away, Ross.”
“Careful.”
“No. You be careful.”
The dry wash seemed to shrink around them.
Martha saw only Boon’s back and the low revolver in his hand.
Ross spoke more quietly.
“You don’t want Pike involved.”
“He’s already involved.”
“Then you know how this ends.”
Boon’s answer came without hesitation.
“Not the way you’re hoping.”
A branch snapped.
Martha gripped the wagon frame.
One rider emerged between the trees.
Calvin Ross was younger than she expected, perhaps thirty, clean-shaven, with a tan coat and narrow eyes. He kept both hands visible on the saddle horn.
His companion remained back in the shade.
Ross looked past Boon toward Martha.
“Ma’am, you’re close to the fort. Come with us. We’ll get you to a doctor.”
Boon did not move.
Ross tilted his head.
“You trust this man?”
Martha looked at Boon.
Five days ago she had not known his name.
Since then he had fed her, watered her mules, lifted her without making her ashamed, held her through an hour of terror beneath a storm, and never once asked for payment.
She looked back at Ross.
“Yes.”
The single word changed something.
Boon’s shoulders eased almost imperceptibly.
Ross’s face hardened.
“That’s unfortunate.”
From farther off came another sound.
Hoofbeats.
Several horses this time.
Ross turned sharply.
Boon listened.
The hoofbeats grew louder, coming from the direction of the fort.
Ross’s companion appeared from the trees.
“Army patrol,” he said.
Boon holstered his revolver.
Martha blinked.
“You knew they were coming?”
“No.”
“Then why do you look so pleased?”
“I’m trying something new.”
“Looking pleased?”
“Luck.”
Within moments, four mounted soldiers appeared along the riverbank, led by a sergeant with a red beard. Ross’s posture changed at once.
The sergeant looked from Boon to the two riders.
“Problem?”
Ross smiled too quickly.
“No problem. We were offering assistance.”
The sergeant’s gaze moved to Martha, visibly pregnant in the wagon.
“Ma’am?”
Martha understood the question.
“These men followed us off the road after I declined to sell them my property.”
Ross’s smile disappeared.
The sergeant turned toward him.
“Ride back to the post road.”
“Sergeant—”
“Now.”
Ross looked at Boon.
There was no threat in his expression anymore.
That was worse.
It was a promise.
He turned his horse.
As the two riders left, Ross called over his shoulder.
“Mrs. Ellison, Mr. Vale is a patient man. But land doesn’t wait forever.”
Martha watched him disappear through the cottonwoods.
The red-bearded sergeant frowned.
“Vale’s men?”
Boon nodded.
The sergeant swore under his breath.
“You’re Boon Mercer.”
Martha turned toward Boon.
Mercer.
So he had a last name after all.
Boon looked irritated.
“Was hoping you’d forgotten.”
“Hard face to forget.”
“You calling me ugly, Sergeant?”
“I’m calling you memorable.”
The soldier looked at Martha.
“Sergeant Elias Turner. Dr. Monroe asked us to check the south road. Storm delayed several wagon parties.”
Relief weakened Martha’s knees.
“You know Dr. Monroe?”
“Everybody knows Dr. Monroe. Most of us owe her either money or our lives.”
Boon climbed onto the wagon seat.
Turner’s eyes narrowed.
“You going into the fort?”
Boon looked toward the distant walls.
“No.”
The sergeant did not seem surprised.
“Pike’s there.”
“I saw.”
“He’s been asking about you for three days.”
Martha looked at Boon.
“Three days?”
Boon’s face darkened.
Turner continued.
“And about a widow named Ellison.”
Martha felt the baby shift beneath her hand.
“How would he know my name?”
Nobody answered immediately.
That silence frightened her more than any explanation could have.
Turner finally said, “Come with us to the civilian settlement. Dr. Monroe’s cabin is outside the walls. We can keep the wagon between the patrol and the road.”
Boon nodded.
They moved out in formation.
Two soldiers rode ahead, two behind. Martha remained inside the freight wagon, listening to the wheels and the steady clop of military horses.
She should have felt safe.
Instead, she kept thinking about Ross’s words.
Your husband thought so too.
How much had Vale known about Jeb?
How long had people been watching their land?
And why had Pike begun asking for Martha before she reached the fort?
At the civilian settlement, Dr. Clara Monroe turned out to be a sharp-eyed woman in her forties with sleeves rolled to her elbows and no patience for unnecessary conversation.
She examined Martha in a small room smelling of soap, herbs, and boiled linen.
“The child’s heartbeat is strong,” she said. “You likely had false labor brought on by exhaustion, dehydration, and stress.”
Martha laughed once.
“Stress. Imagine that.”
Dr. Monroe did not smile.
“You need rest. Real rest. At least several days.”
Martha’s eyes drifted toward the window.
Boon stood outside speaking quietly with Sergeant Turner.
“What about him?” she asked.
Dr. Monroe followed her gaze.
“That depends.”
“On what?”
“Whether he still runs when people come looking.”
Martha turned sharply.
“You know him too?”
“Everyone around here knows Boon Mercer.”
“Apparently except me.”
Dr. Monroe tied off a cloth bundle.
“He used to be easier to know.”
Martha studied her.
“What happened?”
The doctor’s expression became guarded.
“Ask him.”
“I have.”
“And?”
“He answers questions like he’s being charged by the word.”
Dr. Monroe almost smiled.
“That sounds like Boon.”
Before Martha could ask more, the front door opened.
Sergeant Turner entered.
His face had lost all humor.
“Doctor.”
Dr. Monroe straightened.
“What?”
“Pike just went to the command office.”
Boon appeared behind him.
Martha had never seen him look so cold.
Turner held a folded paper in one hand.
“He’s got a warrant now.”
Martha’s stomach dropped.
“For Boon?”
Turner looked at her.
“No, ma’am.”
He unfolded the paper.
“It’s for your trunk.”
After Pike’s warrant was mentioned, Martha asked Turner one final question before going inside. “If a paper carries a seal, does that make it lawful?”
Turner’s expression turned weary. “Sometimes it means only that somebody had access to a seal.”
That answer stayed with her. She had grown up believing law was something solid, like a courthouse foundation. Out here, it seemed more like a fence: useful if honest people maintained it, useless if the wrong men moved the posts at night.
Boon walked beside her toward the cabin. “You all right?”
“No.”
He nodded as if that were the preferable answer.
“You?” she asked.
“No.”
For once they agreed without argument.
At the doorway, Martha stopped him. “If Pike wants my trunk because of Bell, then the deed is not the only thing he fears.”
Boon studied her.
“Jeb kept papers,” she continued. “Receipts, letters, notes. He saved everything.”
“Then we look before Pike does.”
May you like
The use of we gave her a strange sense of steadiness. Five days earlier, she had been alone beside a dead wagon. Now danger had multiplied, yet so had the number of people standing between her and it. Martha was not accustomed to that kind of arithmetic.
She entered Dr. Monroe’s cabin determined that if men wanted the contents of her trunk, they would have to show her exactly why.
