His gelding, Leif, had already worked hard that day, so he saddled Will’s mare. She needed exercise.
As he swung up into the seat and turned his mount toward the upper pasture, he could almost believe he was riding away from the expectations, the suffocating weight of duty.
But even as the ranch house receded behind him, the telegram burned in his mind, an inescapable reminder of the choice that had been made for him.
Anotherchoice. One he would have to find a way to bear, no matter the cost to his mind and heart.
CHAPTER 4
Mandie gripped Mr. Balfour’s letter tighter. The paper crinkled beneath her gloved fingers as she stepped off the steamship’s gangplank onto the rough wooden dock.
She’d made it. Finally.
The grueling two-month trip had left her exhausted. Now, relief and panic warred for control of her shaking limbs. Was she really doing this? Marrying a stranger in a strange land?
She wouldn’t turn back now. She willed herself to move forward.
Fort Benton bustled ahead—a mass of men and mud. Workers shouted as they loaded and unloaded the three steamships lining the dock. Wagons clattered by on the road that ran along the riverfront. And the smells… The two she could pick out were the tangy smell of livestock and the rich scent of wood smoke, but so many other odors laced together to flood her senses.
Men streamed past her like water around one of the many islands in the middle of the Missouri River. She’d better get out of the way before she was knocked to the ground.
The first order of business had to be finding the telegraph office. She hadn’t received a telegram in St. Louis as she’d expected, so Mr. Balfour would have left instructions in this town, most likely, since it was the final steamboat stop on the journey. She’d already had her trunks sent on to the hotel, but she needed to take care of this matter before settling in. She had to know what her next step should be.
Mandie wove through the throng of people, off the dock, and onto the muddy street. She gathered her skirts and stepped around the puddles and piles of horse droppings, making her way toward the rough wooden buildings that lined the opposite side of the street.
She must seem so out of place amidst the rough-hewn men in their dusty work clothes. And the beards…nearly every one of these fellows wore full, untrimmed beards that flowed down to their chests. The only men who didn’t were the dark-haired natives. She’d known she would see Indians in the west, but she’d not expected them to be in town, strolling around like they had as much business to accomplish here as the white men.
No one she passed regarded the natives with concern, so she did her best not to do so either.
In truth, it washerthey gawked at.
She’d heard there weren’t many women in the west, but she’d not expected to be such a novelty. Did her well-tailored traveling dress mark her as an outsider?
Perhaps she should have changed into one of her plainer gowns before disembarking from the ship. She had brought them, anticipating the journey would be dirty and challenging. The week on the train from Savannah to St. Louishadbeen so. But stepping aboard theLaconsteamboat had been like entering a fine hotel, complete with richly furnished parlors and small but well-appointed staterooms.
Now this Fort Benton place looked like she’d fully reached the frontier. Once she found lodging, she could change into a less-conspicuous dress. But first, she had to learn what accommodations Mr. Balfour had made for the remainder of her journey. And she couldn’t let a few bold gazes delay her.
As she walked, she kept her chin lifted and her shoulders back. A bit of poise and grace could overcome any setback.
Skimming the storefronts, she scanned the hand-painted signs for any indication of a telegraph office. She almost missed the small plaque in the window of a mercantile that said “U.S. Post and Telegraph Office.”
At the doorway, she paused to gather herself and smooth down the front of her skirt. No sense charging in like a blustering, unmannerly wind.
Inside, shelves and tables filled the small building, with wares piled on every surface—except a counter in one corner. She stepped in that direction.
An older man met her there, one who looked a little more like a shopkeeper than all those she’d seen on the street. “Mail or telegram?” His tone was polite, but his raised eyebrow suggested he found her presence unusual.
She offered a confident smile. “I’m hoping there might be a message waiting for me. From a Mr. William Balfour.”
“And your name is?”
Of course he would need that. “Mrs. Beaumont.”
The man frowned as he flipped through a stack of papers on the counter. “Nothing here for a Mrs. Beaumont.” He looked up at her, his expression apologetic. “When were you expecting this message?”
Mandie’s chest tightened, but she maintained her composure. “I had hoped it would arrive before I did. Mr. Balfour was supposed to send instructions for the remainder of my journey to his ranch near Walnut Springs.”
“Well, now, that’s not unusual. Sometimes the telegraph lines are down to the smaller towns out in the territory. If he sent something, it might still be on its way.”
