Hope Left at Her Doorstep (Preview)

Prologue: Ruby

Buffalo Crossing, Nebraska–Mid-Summer 1868

Would anything be like it was before? Of course not. It never would. It had been four months since her father had passed away and she’d broken her ankle, and only a couple of weeks since she’d been able to forgo the crutches she’d been forced to use since the accident. Other than a few bruised ribs and scrapes, the doctor had repeatedly told her how lucky she’d been.

She didn’t feel lucky. She missed her father. Why had she survived and he hadn’t? Why would God do such a thing? A few other things had changed as well. Certainly George Calloway did. He no longer stopped by the general store to see her when he rode into town. Before the incident, as she had grown used to calling it, George had always smiled, removed his hat, and looked at her so long and hard that she wondered if he was trying to memorize every feature of her face.

Since the day of the accident, everything had changed, at least as far as she was concerned. Her father was gone. She had been able to crawl away from the overturned wagon with the broken ankle and a few bruises. She should count her blessings, but she couldn’t. She blamed herself. If she hadn’t practically begged her father to let her drive the team of borrowed horses and the loaded wagon behind it, things might have turned out differently.

Some people in the town of Buffalo Crossing looked at her differently now, even though most of them had known her their entire life. Some with doubt, some with pity. Some with even a hint of blame shining in their eyes. Was it her fault that the team of horses had been spooked by a snake? Did they think her father could have gotten those horses under control any better than she could?

Well, she blamed herself enough as it was, even if none of it had been her doing. She tried to pay them no mind even as a few whispers had made their way through town that she might have planned the accident so she could take over the general store. It was ridiculous, but people had to have something to talk about, didn’t they? And she was now the sole owner of Tyler’s General Store, named after her father, Tyler Wilson. It was the only store in town, for now at least, and now it was hers, inherited from her father upon his death. Not only was it her livelihood, but it would continue to be her home.

Thank the Good Lord she had a roof over her head. At twenty-two years of age, Ruby had known no other. She and her father–and her mother before she had passed away five years previously–lived in the upstairs quarters over the general store. The store fronted the corners of Main Street and First Street in the growing prairie town. She couldn’t imagine living in a home that didn’t have a plethora of different scents. She remembers a whiff of tobacco, perfumed soaps, leather, new woolen clothing, and apples going ever so slightly soggy.

She had been born in the upstairs room of this general store. It was only through her father’s hard work and dedication that the store was still one of the busiest in the region. The town was nestled in a small valley, hills rising beyond, some topped with scrub brush, others with hickory oaks or cottonwoods that hugged the shores of the Trapper River. The waterway flowed around the north end of town as it meandered its way south toward the Platte. Buffalo Crossing had started off as a trading post along the trails used by pioneers, pony express riders, and warring Indian tribes in years past. Only about ten miles from the northern banks of the North Platte and Fort Kearny, the store was her livelihood and provided her with a home. One without the other was unthinkable.

Ruby looked out the front window of the store at the wide dirt street beyond the boardwalk. Several cowboys rode past, as did a wagon bearing a load of freshly cut lumber from the mill at the edge of town. Yes indeed, Buffalo Crossing was growing. Her store supplied ranchers, farmers, business people and their families throughout the valley. She had to be strong. Lord, give me the strength, the courage, and the wherewithal I need to keep the store going. Help me prove to this town that I can do this on my own, that the death of my father doesn’t mean the death of the store…

The small brass bell hanging over the side door on First Street door tinkled softly and opened. She turned away from the front-facing window on Main Street, forcing a smile for the first customer of the day, but it froze when she recognized Albert Banning, the owner of the local bank.

She quickly moved behind the counter and pulled the ledger from the shelf beneath it, pretending to be busy with the columns of numbers that gave her the day-to-day rundown of inventory, sales, who had been given a little bit of credit, who owed money, and so forth. She watched out of the corner of her eye while Banning strolled through the store eyeing the shelves, a raised eyebrow here, a frown there, a murmured tsk tsk tsk once in a while.

Finally, her temper rising, she set her pencil down atop the book. He stood along the right side of the store, eyeing the selection of footwear. “May I help you find something, Mister Banning?” He glanced over his shoulder in false surprise, as if he hadn’t known she was here all along.

“Good morning, Miss Wilson.” He touched the brim of his flat-topped hat. “Actually, I was looking for a new cravat.”

She hid a frown as she pointed to a shelf closer to the left side wall. “Cravats and neckerchiefs are over there, on the second shelf.” As you very well know. She kept what she wanted to say to herself, knowing that her father would not have been happy about that. He had taught her from the time she could walk that they were to treat all their customers with courtesy and respect, no matter how they were treated in return. That rule often grated on her nerves. Sometimes customers could be so rude. She wanted to take the broom behind the counter and swat them out of the store, telling them to go some place else if they didn’t like their goods.

The bank owner took his time making his way over to the shelf of ties, carefully inspected the selections, and looked up at her with a frown. “You wouldn’t happen to have any silk cravats, would you?”

“No sir, but I can order you one from St. Louis for you if you’d like.” She gestured toward the thick, well-thumbed catalog on the end of the counter. “If you find something in there you’d like, I’ll fill out an order sheet for you. A quarter of the total price is requested as a deposit with the order.”

He lifted an eyebrow. “A quarter of the cost?”

She nodded. “When we make a special order and the customer doesn’t come and pick it up, we’re out the complete cost of the item. Remember my father instigated that rule last year? After Prudence Chandler decided she didn’t like the cast-iron stove that she had ordered, my father was stuck with the bill. It took a month for us to sell it, and at a bit of a discount as well.” He strode closer to the counter, not meeting her eye, pretending to inspect every item on the shelves as he made his way closer. 

“Well, we’ll forget about the cravat for now.” He finally looked at her. “But since I’m here, I’ll remind you that you still have a hundred-dollar loan with the bank that was carried over from three months ago. It’s overdue.”

She stared at him agog. “I apologize for the delay, Mister Banning. The surplus in our accounts was used to pay for my father’s coffin, and then I had medical bills from the doctor. If you recall, the store was closed for a month or so due to my own injury, and work is just now getting back on its feet.” She felt her cheeks flush hot as she stumbled. Why did the man make her so nervous? “I mean, I’m getting back on my feet.” She thought quickly. “I might be able to manage a partial payment soon and probably most of the rest next month?”

He grumbled a little, but finally nodded. “Fine. Bring the half payment to the bank by the end of the week, and I’ll give you thirty days and no more to pay the rest of the loan. If it isn’t paid, I may have to start foreclosure proceedings.”

“Foreclosure?” She stared, heart pounding. “Absurd! It’s been only a few months delay of a hundred-dollar loan payment!”

He frowned. “The bank isn’t in the business of giving loan customers the option of when their bills are due, Miss Wilson. Certainly you can understand that.” He made a fist and tapped his knuckles lightly on the counter. “As I said, fifty dollars by the end of the week, and the other fifty in thirty days, and that’s as far as my largess can go, in respect of your father’s loss and your… and your injuries that prevented you from re-opening the store for so long.”

The man turned and walked out, shoulders stiff and looking neither right nor left until he exited out the front door and stepped onto Main Street. Ruby stared at his back, heart pounding and mouth dry as panic surged inside her. What if she couldn’t come up with the extra fifty dollars? She couldn’t lose the store, not now, not after everything that happened! What — 

A bell tinkled again, and she glanced toward First Street once more, relieved when she saw Sally Jenkins, her best friend. Sally’s family owned the small hotel at the far end of town. The hotel also had a small restaurant and a tavern–on opposite sides, of course–at it was one of the most successful businesses in town. It had long been a favorite gathering place for not only travelers, but locals.

“Who was that?”

Ruby turned to glare out the front door. “Albert Banning.”

“Did he come to demand the loan payment?” 

Ruby nodded.

Sally slowly shook her head, frowning. “That man thinks more highly of a silver dollar than anything in the world.”

Ruby nodded in agreement. “I told him I could pay half of the loan off by the end of the week. It’s going to take every penny I’ve managed to save up since I opened the store up after…” She sighed. “So much for ordering new stock, which isn’t going to help sales at all. Then he gave me thirty days to pay the rest of the loan or he threatened foreclosure.”

“What?” Sally exclaimed. “That’s just ridiculous!” She eyed the shelves. “You’ve got to keep the shelves stocked, Ruby. I know it’s been a hard few months, but please, let me help you.”

Ruby turned to her dear friend, one she had known ever since the Jenkins family had arrived in town seven years ago. They were quite well-off, not only thanks to their hotel and side businesses, but because her father Arthur came from a rather well-to-do family back east. Arthur and Adelaide and Sally had come west just before the war had broken out between the north and south. 

“You know very well that my father has been interested in becoming a silent partner in the store, and often suggested it to your father. If you could agree, you could enlarge it and increase stock,” Sally said softly. “You know, my father and yours even talked about it only recently. I think they were coming close to making a deal before…the accident.”

Before the accident.

A lot of things had been different before the accident, but Ruby didn’t want to think about it, not now. She sighed. “I’ll think of something, Sally. I always do, don’t I?”

Sally managed a brief smile. “Of course you do. Well, I’ve got to get to the hotel and help Mother in the kitchen. She’s making blueberry pies today. I’ll save one for you, all right?”

Ruby didn’t say anything as her friend left the store. Through sheer force of will, she pushed everything out of her mind. Everything except the business of running the only mercantile within fifty miles. The problem was, stores were appearing more frequently up and down the Platte River. She had to compete to keep the doors open, but if she wasn’t able to replenish or buy new stock, she wasn’t sure that she could make it.

The day passed quickly, thank goodness. She felt worn out from blinking back tears when customers murmured their sadness that Tyler was gone, that he would be missed. She had grown weary of replying to customers who had asked if she could keep the business running without help. Who did they think worked by her father’s side since she could walk? Of course I’ll keep the business open, she’d murmured time and time again. Sometimes she felt she was trying to convince herself more than her worried customers.

Finally, it was time to lock the doors. The sun was just now sinking beneath the mountains far to the west. She used to love this time of day, when the approaching sunset turned the prairie so many different and wonderful shades of blue, gray, rosy pink, and yellowish gold. Yet as she pulled the blinds down and made sure the door was locked, she didn’t so much as glance at the sunset, worries again consuming her thoughts.

Upstairs in the living quarters, she wandered into the small kitchen and made a cold sandwich, nibbling on it as she wandered into the sitting room and then down a short hallway to her father’s room. Hers was across from it. Heartache swept upward again, threatening to take her breath away, warm tears burning at the back of her eyes.

“Why did you have to go, Papa? Why did God take you? It isn’t fair!”

She turned away from the room and closed the door, looking at the sandwich she held, her appetite gone. She headed back to the kitchen. She would wrap the bread in wax paper and save it for tomorrow. Waste not, want not. If only she could — 

A hard knock on the front door startled her. Setting the sandwich down on a side table in the hallway, she moved to the head of the stairs, peering down into the darkened space of the store below. She shouted, “We’re closed!”

Two more knocks, not quite as hard, but enough to prompt her frown. Who was it? Did Sally need her? Her heart sank to the pit of her stomach. Could it be the bank owner again? Perhaps he’d changed his mind and wanted the payment now? Or maybe Adelaide Jenkins, Sally’s mother, asking for help in the small restaurant attached to the hotel? Sometimes the restaurant got a little too busy for her to handle by herself, and Sally and Ruby were asked to come help.

She hurried back to her father’s room, whose windows looked down on Main Street. She slid a finger beside the drawn curtain and cautiously peeked outside. It wouldn’t be the first time a customer wanted something after closing. The boardwalk in front of her store was dark and empty. Across the street, a lantern inside the hardware store glowed buttery soft through the windows. 

She caught movement and frowned at a figure wearing a long cloak, a hood pulled over their head, hurrying quickly away from the store. A woman? What in the world? Curious, she rushed downstairs, thinking that maybe she could get to the door and call out before the figure disappeared. By the time she got downstairs, all was quiet once more. Even so, she strode through the store and opened the door and stepped out onto the boardwalk. The evening air felt a bit chilly. She heard a muffled noise behind her and spun around. Nothing there either. She turned toward the street, but whoever it was had disappeared. As she turned to go back inside, she glanced down and spied a large wicker basket sitting beside the front door. She bent down to see what was in it. With a gasp, she straightened, her eyes wide and her hand lifted to her throat.

Inside the basket was a sleeping baby. Maybe three or four months old. Covering the babe was a small quilt. Pinned to the top of it was a note. Hesitantly, she opened the note and read:

She’s yours. Keep her safe.

She didn’t know what to do, so did the only thing she could think of. She picked up the basket and hurried over to Sheriff Carl Hansen’s office. She spied the lantern light glowing from inside. Thank goodness! She knocked loudly on the door, her heart racing. The door swung open, and she eyed the sheriff, one suspender strap down, the other halfway there. His hair rumbled, and his cheeks covered with the couple of days’ worth of stubble.

“Doggone it all, I just got in!” he grumbled. He frowned, recognized her, and sighed. “My apologies, Ruby. I just got in from being on the trail all day. What’s wrong?”

She gestured to the basket she held. “It’s a baby!”

He glanced at it and back at her, an eyebrow lifted. “I can see that. What’s the problem?”

“It’s not mine!”

“I know that too, Ruby. Whose is it?”

“I don’t know! Someone just came to the store and knocked on the door. When I came downstairs to see what it was, nobody was there except this little baby.” She glanced down at the babe, looking up at her with pretty blue eyes. “What am I supposed to do with her?”

Both eyebrows lifted, and the sheriff took a step back. “Why are you asking me?”

“Sheriff, this baby isn’t mine. Someone left it on the doorstep of the store. Literally! What am I supposed to do?” 

He scratched at his chin, the sound loud in the sudden stillness as he gave it some thought. “Well, seems to me you got two choices.”

She waited expectantly. 

“Well, you could keep the baby or you could take it over to Kearny to an orphanage over there I s’pose—”

“They don’t have any orphanages in Kearny.”

“Hmm. Gotta have one in Lincoln. Maybe you could take the babe over to Lincoln.”

“That’s nearly two hundred miles away! I can’t be away from the store that long. I just got it opened back up, and the bank manager wants…” She stopped talking. She didn’t need the entire town knowing her business. She took a deep breath. “I don’t have the time nor the wherewithal to travel to Lincoln.”

“Well,” the sheriff drawled again, once more scratching at his whiskers. “I guess that means you keep the baby, unless you can find someone around here who wants to take her in.”

“Me? I’m busy as it is, running the store by myself since Pa died.” She tried not to whine. “I don’t know anything about babies!”

“Well,” the sheriff mumbled. “I can ask around, see if anybody’s wanting a baby, but don’t get your hopes up. Times are hard. Another mouth to feed and clothe you know.”

She didn’t like either of the choices he gave her.

She looked up at him, expecting him to say more, but he simply shrugged. With a sigh, she turned, shaking her head as she left the boardwalk. The door to his office closed softly behind her. She looked at her dark store two blocks away, the glow of lantern light from her upstairs room oozing down onto the dirt street below.

Suddenly, as if out of nowhere, she made her decision. She looked up at the night sky, a dark dusky blue to the west, blacker to the east, stars beginning to sparkle. “What do you want me to do, Lord? Why did you bring her to me?”

She glanced once more down at the babe, sleeping without a care in the world. She couldn’t help but smile. So innocent, so helpless, so needy. Just like her. She had doubts and uncertainties, more than enough to go around. She was grieving the death of her father. She was alone. She was the sole owner of a general store that was straining under financial issues. She had no beau, no prospects, and no husband. What business did she have taking in a baby?

Even so, when she looked down at that sweet face, she couldn’t deny it. “Well, until I figure out who you belong to, I’m going to call you Hope.” For some reason, the child gave her a renewed sense of faith during one of the most difficult times she had ever experienced in her life. “How do you like the sound of that, little one? I now bequeath you Hope Wilson.”

Chapter One: Jesse

St. Louis, Missouri–Late Spring 1869

At twenty-seven years of age, Jesse Alastair never expected to find himself in such dire straits. His life had tumbled down around him like a set of children’s blocks swept aside by a careless hand. He felt shattered, betrayed by his fiancée and his business partner, and the ultimate collapse of his business. A business and life that he had worked so hard for.

“Stop feeling sorry for yourself,” he muttered. He realized he had spoken aloud when several fellow passengers waiting on the train ramp glanced his way. A middle-aged woman edged away from him and he gave her a weak smile. It didn’t help.

Normally easy-going, Jesse tried to pull himself out of his black mood as he waited for the train to arrive. That train would take him west, far away from the ruins of his life. He was headed for Nebraska, admitted to the union a mere month ago. Maybe he could find work there and save up enough money to open up another store and start over from the ground up. He had done it once, and he could do it again. At least he hoped so.

Nebraska was smack dab in the middle of the country, and settlers and war-weary families suddenly wanted to move west, to start over, just like him. Most of them were headed for the gold fields of California or maybe Oregon for better weather, jobs, and rich, fertile farming and ranch land. Many of his fellow travelers on the train came from hardy pioneer stock themselves, and from families who had settled in the colonies a century before. 

The train station in St. Louis was crowded. Too crowded for his taste. He was constantly jostled by fellow passengers, those hurrying to catch a train or leaving one, people joining with other family members and sharing hugs and kisses and exclamations of joy. A whiff of strong perfume rolled over him, making his eyes water and prompting a small cough. The train he would board in just a few minutes stood ahead of him on the track, the large black behemoth of an engine waiting patiently, its deep rumble felt on the platform.

He glanced down at the ticket he clenched in his fingers. It had cost a pretty penny, severely decreasing the meager amount of money he’d managed to salvage from the disaster and collapse of his business. As it was, he had barely enough to pay for the seat. He’d have to sleep on his bench seat, and carefully dole out the rest for whatever was offered in the way of food along the way.

He moved toward the passenger cars, knowing that the moment he stepped on board that his old life would be over. All of his hard work, his devotion, his strength and energy had gone into building the supply depot on the eastern side of St. Louis. His ticket would take him through Missouri, a part of Kansas, and then westward through Nebraska until he needed to disembark somewhere along the line between Grand Island and North Platte and then make his way north to Buffalo Crossing by stage.

As the train let forth a shrill whistle, startling many of the people around him, he was pushed and propelled forward toward the train car by passengers anxious to start their own journeys. He let the passengers push him reluctantly along until he took a seat in the second train car after the locomotive and the coal car. He picked a seat, once again shaking his head over his devastating losses. All he had to show for his years of hard work was the suitcase resting on his thighs as he sank into the deep wooden bench. Waiting for other passengers to board, he opened the suitcase lid, where he eyed three envelopes tucked between his clothing and the edge of the suitcase. Hope burgeoned in his chest as he reached for them. Inside the first letter was the original ad that had been printed in the Matrimonial Times catalog, the ad he himself had placed out of desperation and heartache.

‘26-year-old man seeking new life and a wife out west. Have experience in business, finance, and commerce in goods and supplies. Am 6 feet tall, with blonde hair and blue eyes. Seeking woman between the ages of 20 and 30. If interested, reply to Jesse Alastair, Second Street Post Office, St. Louis, Missouri.’

It was only after he had submitted the ad to the mail-order bride or groom section and actually read it in newspaper print that he realized that it wasn’t much of an ad at all. It was completely sparse of details that an eligible young woman might want to read. Which is why he had been so surprised to receive a reply within two weeks after the deed had been done. He opened the first letter he had received, written in a dainty feminine hand.

Dear Mr. Alastair,

My name is Ruby Wilson. I am 22 years old, definitely not 6 feet tall, with brown hair and brown eyes. Due to recent circumstances, I find myself in need of a husband. I live in Buffalo Crossing, Nebraska, slightly northwest of Kearny, same state. 

I was pleased to read that you had experience in business, commerce, and supplies. I will admit that my own circumstances require that I gain a husband not only for a sense of protection and security, but potentially and hopefully a partnership and a meeting of the minds that will also help my business flourish in an increasingly competitive environment. If interested in learning more about me, please reply Ruby Wilson, Tyler’s General Store & Dry Goods, Buffalo Crossing, Nebraska.

At first, he hadn’t believed his luck. A young woman who was interested in starting a business? On the prairie? What if — 

“You mind if I sit here?”

Jesse turned to find a middle-aged man standing in the aisle next to his bench sheet. To his dismay, he realized that the train car had pretty much filled up already. He shifted closer to the window, the suitcase still balanced on his thighs, and nodded. “Don’t mind at all.”

“Thank you, young man. That’s very kind of you.” The older man sank down with a sigh. He wore a black broadcloth suit but no hat, his black hair thick and filled with strands of gray. He stuck out his hand. “The name’s Wilbur. Wilbur Valentine.”

Jesse nodded, turned slightly, and extended his hand. “Jesse Alastair.” He saw the man glancing at the letter he held.

“Going home to your wife?”

“Leaving home, actually,” he said. He glanced down at the letter he held. “Engaged to marry a woman in Nebraska.”

The man looked at him with a lifted eyebrow. “Been away from her long?”

Jesse felt reluctant to answer, but didn’t want to be rude. “Actually, I’ve not met her yet.”

“Oh,” Wilber said, eyebrows lifted. “One of those mail-order bride catalogs, is it?” He didn’t give Jesse a chance to reply. “You know, arranged marriages are nothing new. Why, my own marriage forty-five years ago was an arranged marriage, the deal made between my parents and hers.” He offered a brief chortle. “Lucky for me, she was the prettiest thing I ever saw and we’ve been happy. Six children and three grandchildren and another on the way.”

“Congratulations.” Jesse smiled. He tucked Ruby’s first letter back into the envelope, slid it back inside the suitcase, and latched the knobs. Would he be so fortunate? Would he and Ruby get along? He knew a relationship required much more than simply getting along. As it was, he couldn’t help but feel deceitful. After all, he was still reeling from his own devastating relationship with Amelia. Her betrayal still stung deeply. Could he ever trust a woman again? Yet wasn’t trust and honesty the foundation of any marriage?

He glanced out the window, his gaze passing over the crowd of well-wishers as well as those gathering to meet the next train. Suddenly, he saw a familiar face in the crowd. He clenched his jaw as his heart gave a little leap. At the same time, he felt as if a stone had suddenly landed in the pit of his stomach.

Richard Hargrove stood within the crowd on the platform, wearing a small smirk. Jesse’s heart sank. He had hoped to leave town unnoticed and with some dignity, but Richard stood there grinning in a way that made him feel as if he were a dog slinking away with his tail tucked between his legs. He glared at Richard, but the grin only turned into a smile, and then Richard tilted his head back to laugh. Of course, Jesse couldn’t hear the laughter, but he felt it. It rippled through him, instigating a flush of fury and, yes, even hatred. He’d never hated anyone in his life—

Suddenly, a woman appeared next to Richard, a dainty hand curling around his elbow. She wore a maroon velvet dress with black edging, her ebony hair pulled high atop her head and falling down in a riot of curls. Amelia. Her expression somber, she quietly watched the train as Richard chuckled. He couldn’t read her expression. Was she sorry for what she had done, or did she simply not care?

The train lurched forward. Jesse forced himself to turn from the window. He looked down at the suitcase balanced on his legs instead. He felt the rumble of iron wheels on the rails beneath his bench seat as the train gained some speed and then picked up a rhythm as the locomotive belched a cloud of sooty smoke and pulled him from the ruins of his life toward an uncertain future.

He wasn’t sure how it happened, but maybe an hour into the trip, Jesse found himself telling Wilbur all the sordid details of the ruin he was leaving behind. He wasn’t even sure exactly what had started the conversation. Maybe it was some comment Wilbur made, or it had merely been a look. After a while, he could’ve sworn it was the simple words the man had spoken. ‘I’ve been where you are now, son. Things will get better, they will, but only after you gain acceptance’.

Wilber and he had talked for a few minutes as he confessed his failures. Why tell all this to a perfect stranger? Perhaps he unburdened himself because he knew he would never see Wilbur Valentine again after the man disembarked in Kansas City. Whatever the reason, he found himself confessing most of everything to Wilbur as if he were a parish priest.

“… so my supply depot catered to just about everyone. Settlers, frontiersmen, ranchers, anyone heading west following the destruction and devastation of war. I made money quickly, but was also careful to only allow quality goods to be sold from the depot.”

“And what exactly did you sell?” Wilbur asked.

Jesse shrugged. “Everything from essential supplies like grain and flour to farming tools and equipment to clothing and other sundries. Many of my goods made their way westward in great wagon trains. Or to frontier army posts. Towns. Gold fields. Some of those supplies left in individual wagons, some with chuck wagons after a cattle drive, and some of my crates of supplies were shipped as far west by train.”

Wilbur nodded. “Sounds like you had a very profitable business going. So now tell me what happened to destroy it all.”

Jesse pondered. How could he put it into words? He tried. “Everything fell apart. It wasn’t my fault, other than I was blind to signs of betrayal, which, now that I think back on it, were more obvious than ever.” He glanced at Wilbur, listening with rapt attention. “You see, my business partner and close friend Richard had managed to steal my business.” A self-deprecating chuckle erupted from his throat. “Along with my fiancée, right from under my feet.”

Wilbur rumbled something from deep in his chest, but Jesse didn’t understand what he said. “It happened over a period of months, months that I should have paid more attention to my fiancée, Amelia, than I did to the business. I left most of the accounting to Richard while I focused on acquisitions and supplies. And then I had found out that Richard had been forging documents that gradually transferred ownership of the supply depot to himself.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time that happened, son. Don’t be too hard on yourself. Trust can sometimes be a two-edged sword.”

Jesse glowered. “I stupidly left the running of the business and accounting chores to Richard. It wasn’t until later that I discovered that I had been tricked into signing documents that Richard told me were needed for city business. Others were routine paperwork that we needed for an expansion of our business with the Whitmore’s.” He glanced at Wilbur to explain. “The Whitmore’s are a very wealthy St. Louis family. Anyway, I was so caught up in the thrill of my business growing and my upcoming marriage to Amelia, not to mention my own hubris and quick rise to success from the devastation of war, that I missed the most important sign of all.”

“And what was that?”

Jesse remembered it as if it were yesterday. “Amelia told me that her aunt, who lived with her on the east end of the city, was ailing and she needed to spend more time caring for her. Busy with my own work at the supply depot, I encouraged her to do so, pleased that my fiancée was so devoted to her aunt. Good character trait, as far as I’m concerned.” He shook his head and heaved a sigh. “As it turned out, Amelia wasn’t taking care of her aunt. She was sneaking around and seeing Richard.”

“Sorry to hear that, son. I truly am. But again, you’re not the first and you certainly won’t be the last.”

Jesse glanced out the window, watching the landscape pass by, if one could call it landscape. The land was flat, the only sight that of green, knee-high prairie grasses. He turned back to Wilber. “Anyway, in the end, I was forced to relinquish any claims on my business after Richard threatened me with legal action, using the very documents that I had signed through his manipulations to use against me!” Once again, his heart pounded with anger and disgust. “In spite of my efforts to get a judge to put a halt to the takeover, I was forced to admit that yes, the signature was mine, though I clearly made it plain that those signatures had been gained through deception and my own inattention.”

“And then?” Wilbur prompted. “Go ahead and finish it off, Jesse.”

“And then came the coup de grâce, the moment when Amelia coldly informed me that she was breaking our engagement. She ran off and eloped with Richard. I think Richard lied to her too, told her all sorts of lies about me, that it was he who’d saved the supply depot from complete ruin. She believed him.” His voice softened, and he frowned in disbelief. “She believed him.” He turned to Wilbur and gave the man a small shrug. “So, for the last few months I’ve been struggling with that betrayal. With what little money I had fortunately tucked away in my safe at home, I’ve left St. Louis and am headed west to a place called Buffalo Crossing, in the middle of Nebraska Territory to pledge myself in marriage to a woman I’ve never met.”

Wilbur disembarked in Kansas City. Jesse sat alone as the train took him north and then west for a while. Then he disembarked, suitcase in hand as he made his way to the stagecoach depot and the stage that would take him further into Nebraska Territory. It was a wide-open land with its sea of green grasses blowing, topped by a blue sky that never seemed to end. It was rugged and wild, and… empty. 

So, it was with a broken heart he disembarked from the stage, weary and battered, physically and emotionally. Clustered close to the structure stood a handful of people who had come to meet the stage or simply watch it roll into town, disgorge its passengers and baggage, and then roll right on out. He stepped down from the stage, glancing briefly over at an elderly couple that stepped forward to meet the young woman and child who had ridden on the stage with him from Lincoln. A middle-aged businessman wearing a business suit stepped forward, hand extended, to greet the only other passenger on the stage besides Jesse.

Then he caught his first sight of his intended bride, Ruby Wilson. Actually, she was hard to miss. She was the only young woman at the depot. She stood alone and off to the side of the depot office. He wasn’t sure what he had been expecting, but twenty-two-year-old Ruby Wilson was nothing like he had imagined. Her hands tightly clutched a small, dark blue reticule in front of her waist. Her eyes grew wide as she stared at him and he stared at her. 

He stepped closer, feeling suddenly self-conscious. He lifted a hand to brush his fingers nervously through his thick blonde and always messy hair, hoping it was at least fairly tamed at the moment. He stopped a foot away from her, the top of her head at about the level of his chin. She wore her brownish auburn hair tied back in a long braid that trailed over her right shoulder and dropped almost to her waist. Brown eyes with tiny green flecks searched his own. Slender, with a tiny waist, she wore a simple plain blue and somewhat faded skirt with matching bodice and sleeves. Her face slightly tanned by the prairie sun, he spied a trail of freckles spreading from one cheekbone, over the bridge of her nose to the other cheek. 

“You’re Miss Ruby Wilson, I trust?” She hesitated only the briefest moment and nodded. He would’ve given just about anything at that moment to know what she was thinking. She probably felt the same. He tried to smile. “I’m Jesse Alastair.” He extended his hand. “I’m so pleased to meet you.”

She looked at his hand, hesitated slightly, and then slid hers into his. Her fingers weren’t as soft nor dainty as Amelia’s, but smooth and strong as she gave his hand a quick squeeze and then retrieved it, once again fingering the cord of her reticule. She opened her mouth, closed it, and then tried again.

“How was your journey?”

“Long.” This was awkward. He quickly glanced over her shoulder to eye the town that started maybe fifty yards away. Nothing much more than a cluster of structures made of wood planks along what was probably Main Street, some faded almost gray from the prairie sunshine, others constructed of some sort of clay, and a few of brick. False friends, hitching post, and signs too far away to read beckoned. Small houses and shops were scattered around on narrower side streets.

“Do you have luggage?”

He gestured to the suitcase he held in his left hand. “This is it.”

She nodded and quickly glanced around, which prompted him to do the same thing. He saw several bystanders gazing curiously at them, then looking away as their eyes met. He felt as if he were an insect being studied under a magnifying glass and turned back to her. “Shall we?”

She nodded and turned away to begin their walk back toward town. He had come to Buffalo Crossing with few expectations and a cynical attitude. He didn’t want to be that way, but he doubted he would ever trust a woman again, nor even fall in love with one. Even so, he couldn’t deny that he felt pleasantly surprised to find himself walking beside a beautiful young lady who strode forward with a sure step and lifted chin as they reached the edge of town, like him likely pretending that she didn’t notice the stares.