Grace for a Drifter

  Grace for a Drifter

  The Belles of Wyoming #15

  Marisa Masterson

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Epilogue

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  Coming Soon

  About Marisa

  Chapter 1

  “Watch your step, ma’am!” A hand came out to steady Grace Winkleman as she made her way down the steps of the only hotel in Fort Bridger.

  Smiling, she thanked the doorman. Intent on saying goodbye to her friend and fellow teacher, Amelia Grayson, the steps took Grace by surprise. Slightly lifting her cotton, navy skirt, she made her way down the remaining steps. At the bottom, she waved to her worried-looking friend to let her know she was fine. Amelia waved back and entered the hotel’s door.

  It had been a fine week. One of the things she enjoyed about teaching in Wyoming was the yearly get together required of educators. The small teacher convention allowed for the discussion of lesson plans and activities as well as for learning new theories and methods. Though it might not be a state yet, Wyoming certainly was a progressive territory.

  Grasping her carpetbag in her left hand, Grace raised her right to fan her face. The August heat seemed unusually brutal for the late morning. Crossing the street, she made her way to the dry goods store about a block from the hotel. Paps Johnson told her to meet him there if she wanted a ride back to Belle.

  Belle! The musical sound of the town’s name brought a sweet smile to her face. It became a haven for her three years ago when she needed a new start after the incident. Silly spinster that she’d been, she’d fallen hard for the fast talker. The town had advertised for a teacher at the very time that she had needed to start over far from her home state of Missouri.

  Even though the small town provided her with only a handful of pupils, she had a house to live in and a decent wage. The commitment by townsfolk to those few children and their education impressed her three years ago and continued to touch her deeply. The people of Belle made the town a truly wonderful place to live.

  Seeing Paps at his wagon, she lifted a hand in greeting. The old man nodded in her direction and came around his wagon to help her out of the street and onto the boardwalk. Without a word, he took the carpetbag from her grasp and set it gently into his wagon, amongst the other goods he would transport back to Belle.

  “Timing’s good, Miss Winkleman. I just now finished loading and was thinking as how I’d like to be on the road home.” He flashed a semi-toothless grin at her as he spoke.

  “I am gratified not to keep you waiting, Mr. Johnson, and I do appreciate the ride. It has been a wonderful week here in Fort Bridger, but I am ready to head home.” As she spoke, Grace allowed Paps to help her up into the wagon. She settled herself on the hard seat and spread her skirts about her.

  Turning away from her, Paps bellowed a deeply spoken farewell to the store owner before looking back at the schoolteacher. “Sure you don’t need to buy anything at this here store afore I start the team a moving?”

  She shook her head. “No, I had a chance yesterday to shop. The conference lasted only five days, so I had one free to explore Fort Bridger with Miss Grayson. Perhaps you’ve met her, the teacher in Glenda?”

  Paps grunted and moved his head to indicate he hadn’t. Without another word, he clicked to his team of mules and tapped the leathers softly to their backs. Her week of vacation might be over, yet Grace didn’t care. She’d be glad to be home in Belle.

  If she had looked over her shoulder at that moment, she might have been concerned. As it was, she stared straight ahead and spoke to Paps of the exciting ideas she’d learned that week. The old man might not be an educator, true. Still, he listened and nodded his head in the correct spots of the conversation.

  Behind her, the store proprietor and a black-haired man stood on the boardwalk and watched the wagon leave. The man pointed in her direction and spoke with a trembling voice. Shock marked his expression. The store owner answered his questions, supplying the schoolteacher’s name and the town where she lived. He smiled over the idea that someone would be interested in a spinster teacher.

  He didn’t understand that the other man had just seen a ghost.

  On the thirty-mile trip to Belle, Grace asked about the happenings in the town over the last week. Paps rubbed his jaw and thought. “Suppose the buzz round town is mostly Martin’s accident. Too, everyone’s excited for the cake walk and dance this weekend. Folks enjoy winning things, even if it’s only someone’s lopsided cake.”

  Paps shifted on the seat and angled his head to spit over the side of the wagon. Grace looked away and pretended not to see the man rid his mouth of the clump of tobacco. Once his mouth was free, he continued with the news from Belle.

  “Heard tell that Hoyt Cole plans to get married. Other than that, the only happening I can recall was the latest story of Spencer Brannon. Can’t believe that boy thinks he can work a herd. Falls from his horse more than he rides the range.” Then the man began to retell the story of Spencer’s latest debacle.

  Grace shook her head in response to Paps’ story. She felt sorry for the man who tried hard to live up to his cousins. She was glad for the fundraiser. The cake walk would be the perfect time to visit with parents and pupils alike. She liked to connect with each family before the start of a new term and appreciated not needing to rent a buggy to do that.

  The freighter finished his tale and looked at her, surprised when she didn’t laugh. She smiled weakly at him, realizing she’d been lost in her thoughts and hadn’t listened. Apologizing, she encouraged him to tell her more about news from the outlying ranches around Belle. He grunted deep in his throat but started another story. Grace moved the warm air around her face with her beautifully painted fan and forced her mind to concentrate. She knew the man loved an audience for his stories and would continue to talk until they reached Belle. Concentrating became forced as she looked at the fan and remembered the man who gave it to her on the night that changed her life.

  By the deep guffaws coming from Paps, she realized she’d missed his story. What a terrible companion for the man! She’d turned maudlin today, remembering that terrible time in her life. Perhaps she should get rid of the fan to forget about the man who presented it to her. A jolt of grief knifed through her at the thought of parting with this last connection to him.

  Belle Creek lay just ahead of them. Beyond that, she saw the outline of buildings and knew they were almost home. Grace swallowed a sigh of relief, not wanting the kind livery owner to hear it. Paps had been kind to bring her from Fort Bridger. Still, fatigue and sentiment made her long to be alone.

  Like a gentleman, he directed the mules to the schoolhouse and her small dwelling that connected to the back of it. The coziness of those two rooms drew her and she quickly thanked her driver and hurried into the rear of the school.

  The one long room had been divided for the teacher. She entered into her combination kitchen and sitting room. To the far end stood a wall with a door placed into it. On the other side was her bedroom. It shared a wall with the large schoolroom. Truly, it was all the space she needed to be comfortable and allowed her privacy she wouldn’t have if she’d needed to board with various families as some teachers did.

  That had been the way she’d lived in Missouri. At first, the school board had required her to move each month to stay with a different family. Since her aunt lived within the district, Grace had been able to convince them that she should simply live with her. By th
en Errol had started romancing her and she hoped to hide her romantic activities by not living with the nosy families. Months after Errol disappeared it became impossible to hide the result from anyone in the town.

  Thinking about that result brought her aunt’s last letter to mind. She’d been full of complaints. The farm didn’t bring in enough income. She didn’t have a washing machine like her neighbor, Edna Martin, did. Uncle Ralph had grown miserly and spiteful. The list of grievances continued.

  The woman’s complaints didn’t surprise her. What Grace longed for in the letters was a mention of Robby. Her aunt had wanted a baby for so long. Now that she had her son, why didn’t Aunt Milly mention him? The three-year-old must be accomplishing new things all the time and Grace was greedy for any hint about his life.

  Tears flowed down her face. Enough of this! Grace stiffened her spine and unpacked her carpetbag. Having the hotel launder her clothes before she returned to Belle had been a splurge. As she put away clean garments, she reveled in the luxury of not needing to hunch over her scrub board for another week. Tomorrow she could focus on arranging the schoolroom.

  The next morning, Grace carried a basket of staples over one arm and strolled to the school. She’d had a visit with Livvy and learned more about the dance that Saturday. From the sounds of it, she should be able to meet with every family from the area that night. Before the evening was over, she would have a reliable grasp of who to expect for school in September.

  Looking toward the livery, Grace noticed a wagon parked there. That in itself wasn’t surprising. The letter on the canvas held her attention. It was a traveling cobbler. Had she ever heard of a cobbler who went from town to town?

  Nearing the school, she watched a young girl soar on the swing hung from a tree beside the building. Giggles floated on the air as she pumped skinny legs to send her higher. The merry sound ceased as the girl saw Grace approach.

  Once her feet were back on the dirt below the swing, the little one stood with her head bowed. “Sorry, ma’am, for helping myself to your swing.”

  Grace put out her free hand and, with a finger, tipped up the girl’s face. “That swing is for anyone who wants to use it. This is the school after all, so it belongs to everyone in town.”

  A smile brightened the sweet face and the girl plopped back onto the board seat of the swing. Grace watched her pump her short legs and decided to question her. “What is your name? I’m afraid I don’t remember meeting your family.”

  As black curls blew back from her face, the girl giggled. “We came to town today. I’m Liza.”

  “Are your parents shopping at the mercantile?” Families from outlying farms and ranches came in for supplies and often sent their children over to play in the schoolyard while they shopped.

  “Daddy’s working. Shoes, shoes, shoes!” Liza sang those three words as she shot up into the air.

  At least that answered who she belonged to and when she’d arrived. Obviously, the traveling cobbler must be her father.

  “Are there other children in your family, Liza?” Perhaps the cobbler had decided to move here and start a shop. She welcomed the idea of more students.

  Evidently, Liza had grown tired of flying into the air. Now she used her legs to twist the rope of the swing. Lifting her feet, she shrieked with laughter as the rope unwound and she flew in circles. When the girl once again sat looking at Grace, she asked her question again.

  Liza shrugged. “Don’t think so. Just Daddy and me.”

  “And your mother?” Grace didn’t know why she felt driven to find out if the man was married. At that moment, the information seemed vital.

  “Nah. Mommy died. Daddy’s wife died too. He says, ‘I’m cursed’.” The girl said the last words in a deep, sad voice, obviously imitating her father.

  Grace laid a comforting hand on the child’s back. “Yes, when a mommy dies, the daddy does lose his wife.” At her words, Liza shook her head and frowned.

  She’d upset the child and Grace suddenly felt ashamed. “We won’t speak of that anymore. Do you think you’ll be coming to my school next month?”

  “We’ll be on our way.” Liza became chanting, “On our way, never stay,” saying the phrase over and over. When she stopped, she shrugged. “I never go to school.”

  Feeling sad for the girl, Grace offered what she could. “Come to see me every day and we can play school. I’ll teach you while you’re in town.”

  At the word “play” Liza’s face brightened. She nodded her head, setting her black curls to bouncing. Unable to resist, Grace laid a tender hand to those curls. She remembered another head full of black wavy hair as it bent over her to kiss her waiting lips.

  With a gasp, she realized where her wild thoughts had wandered. Liza heard the gasp and looked at her oddly. Needing an explanation, she quickly searched her mind. “You have such beautiful hair. Would you like me to wash it for you? Then I can put it into braids and ribbons.”

  The boisterous girl looked in the direction of the cobbler’s wagon and then nodded shyly. Grace held out her hand. When Liza placed her smaller one in Grace’s she led her into her home and prepared for a day spent with her new young friend. Gracious but she’d been maudlin lately. Caring for Liza and tutoring her would be exactly the tonic she needed to forget.

  Chapter 2

  How can she be alive? I saw her grave.

  Errol stood outside the dry goods shop in Fort Bridger and stared. The owner noticed his look and chuckled. “Handsome woman, but she’s a spinster schoolteacher. Not much passion to that type.”

  At the mention of her profession, Errol’s stomach turned leaden. It had to be her. She was a teacher. That beautiful shade of auburn in her hair wasn’t common. True, her figure was a bit more rounded, as if she’d matured somehow. Her expression was tight and serious, so different from his carefree Bethany.

  It had to be her. How could it be her? Dead people didn’t climb aboard wagons.

  “Teacher you say. What town does she teach for?” While he tried to sound matter-of-fact, he noticed that the shop owner looked at him quizzically.

  “Miss Winkleman? Well now, she lives in Belle. About fifteen miles from here. Little bit of a place. Probably not even a hundred people living thereabouts.” The man turned away and entered his store, dismissing Errol.

  An image of standing in front of a headstone with her name on it came to mind. He’d always wondered how the family had been able to erect the stone so quickly. Typically graves had to settle before the stone could be installed. He’d been fooled and, obviously, the grave sat empty.

  She was alive and she had a new name. Why had she run from him?

  Memories of that awful time three years ago, almost four now, flooded his mind. He’d left Sandra’s funeral and traveled back to Bethany, expecting to find comfort in her arms. Instead, her aunt had met his train. She’d patted his arm as she explained the accident that claimed his beloved Bethany’s life. The woman had taken him to Bethany’s grave and then advised him to leave town and the memories as quickly as possible. People in town, she’d confided, had learned that he’d seduced their beloved teacher. They blamed him for her death. “No, it doesn’t make any sense,” she’d allowed, “but that’s just the way things are right now.”

  Not believing the woman, he’d visited the mercantile. The owner had confirmed that Bethany was gone. “It all happened quite suddenly.” The woman looked down her nose at Errol as she icily continued. “Here one day with the town as happy as can be to have her as the teacher. Gone the next, a seduced and ruined woman.” Her fists clenched as she said those last words.

  The aunt had been right. The town did blame him. Though he wanted to ask for details about the accident, he decided not to push his welcome and left the store. The stage east stood waiting outside the hotel and he considered it an omen. Errol boarded it and pushed thoughts of Evergreen, Missouri far from his mind. Of course, thoughts of Bethany were always present in his heart.

  He’d return
ed to help run his father’s business in St. Louis. After the deaths of Sandra and Bethany, he longed for an escape. Telling his father he needed to wander awhile before settling down, Errol bought the wagon and packed a few essentials for himself and three-year-old Liza. As a part of learning to run his father’s shoe factory, Errol had been trained by a cobbler. He made use of that skill as he made his way across the country to Wyoming. He’d heard much about the territory and had a friend outside of Fort Bridger. During the three years of wandering, he always meant to make it to Wyoming. As he remembered that brief glimpse of his formerly dead love, he decided the Lord must have been pulling him to Fort Bridger at just the right moment. A favorite verse of his from Jeremiah promised that the Lord would give him a hope and a future.

  He had hope for the first time in three years. Did it mean he had a future with her?

  Even though customers gathered around his wagon with shoes needing care, he ignored them and headed to the hotel he’d seen her leave. Certainly, someone there could give him more information on his runaway wife. Regardless of what he learned, he planned to be in Belle tomorrow to solve this mystery and demand answers from her.

  The first person he’d met in Belle was the sheriff. That wasn’t too unusual. When he arrived in a small town, he typically introduced himself to the sheriff or the town’s mayor. He’d found that folks responded better if he had the approval of someone in charge.

  No, what was different this time was the sheriff’s lack of welcome. David Knight looked him up and down before a speculative gleam entered the man’s hard, brown eyes. “We don’t get peddlers in Belle. Too small and out of the way. What brings you here?” The man certainly seemed protective of his town.

  Deciding the situation called for honesty, he cleared his throat and answered the man with a partial truth. “I have a friend who lives here. Thought I’d visit her while I do some work for the people here.”

  Interest softened the man’s eyes. “That right? What’s her name?”