A dusty black bag in the corner caught her eye. It was worn. The leather had been patched on one side. It had been in the corner for years.
She remembered the day she’d turned twelve and her father said she had to work. He’d almost dragged her into the back of the saloon. He’d showed her around the place and told her she’d have no more birthdays. She couldn’t remember how long after that she’d found the forgotten little room. It became her one secret place where she could think and dream.
Now, feeling much like a thief, she loosened the straps on the old bag. Maybe she’d find a shawl or coat she could wear home. Em promised herself she’d return it tomorrow.
One by one she pulled the things from the bag. A black dress, undergarments, a shawl someone had crocheted with great care, and a pair of ladies’ boots with heels too high to be practical.
It seemed to be everything she needed. She’d dress like a lady in the fancy clothes if only for a day. She’d walk through town with her head up. She’d be a woman and no longer pretend to be a girl.
In the bottom of the bag she noticed a thin black ribbon. When she tugged, a false bottom pulled open. Below lay three black boxes. They were made the same size as the bag, so unless someone looked closely, no one would see them.
Em pulled them out as if finding a treasure. The first was a small sewing box, packed full. The second was loaded with creams, a little brush, and a comb set to keep her hair in place. The third box held a Bible with money hidden one bill at a time between the pages. It wasn’t much, but it might be enough to buy a ticket on the paddleboat or passage on the stage to the next town.
A gold ring lay in the corner of the third box.
Em slipped on the ring. It was a perfect fit. It was small, thin, the cheapest kind sold at the mercantile, but she’d never worn a ring before, so she felt beautiful wearing it.
Carefully, she began to put on the underthings. They smelled of dust, but they were clean. To her surprise, each fit. She’d seen camisoles in the stores, but she’d never felt one lightly touch her skin. The bodice pushed up her breasts and slimmed her waist.
With each piece she felt like she was shedding her old skin and putting on another. The shoes were a bit too big. The jacket a little too small.
When she stood and looked in the cracked mirror, Em didn’t recognize herself. She pulled her damp, clean hair back with the combs and a woman stood before her. A lady in black with a widow’s pin over her heart.
A plan shot through her thoughts. This was her chance. If she didn’t take it, she’d wish every day for the rest of her life that she had.
Em rolled up the damp wool dress along with the towel and put them inside the leather bag. Then she circled the shawl over her shoulders, held her head high, and walked through the silent saloon. She quickly crossed to the kitchen and got the rusty tin that held her coins and rushed to the saloon’s front door.
As a man entered, he held the door for her and said a polite, “Mornin’, ma’am.” He didn’t realize his daughter was stepping out of his life.
“Goodbye, Father,” she whispered when the door closed.
With shaking bravery she walked toward the dock where people were already gathering to welcome the paddleboat’s arrival.
Chapter 3
Trapper spent the morning preparing for his new job as if it was an assignment during the war. He studied maps, learned a bit about his employer, the girls’ father, Colonel Gunter Chapman. He’d been an officer in the Mexican–American War back in the 1840s. He was ruthless and came home with injuries. But that hadn’t stopped him from moving farther west from the protection of even the forts and starting a huge ranch.
Trapper had seen that kind of man many times in the war. A king on his land.
Trapper bought clothes for winter, a new hat and a warm coat from his winnings last night. He’d worn most of his clothes too long for them to be presentable. Now, when he got to Dallas, he’d be dressed more like a cowboy, a Westerner. And, if the raiders killed him along the way, he’d have a fine funeral outfit.
Walking toward the dock, he planned. He’d meet the little ladies, tell them the rules for the trip, and get underway. He decided he needed only three rules. One: Be ready to travel at sunup. Two: Stop at midday for thirty minutes to rest, take care of private needs, and drink water. Three: At sundown make camp. He’d cook a meal of whatever he shot along the way or use the supplies.
When Trapper had checked the wagon, he noticed the teamster hadn’t packed but two blankets, so he bought the girls each one. After all, they were little girls, and they’d need comfort.
He also added apples and canned peaches to his load.
Trapper was feeling hopeful about the journey. He’d bought two extra rifles and several boxes of bullets. He’d get these girls home safe and collect his five hundred dollars. Then he’d drive away in his new wagon with Midnight tied to the back.
A man who has a wagon, a horse, and enough money in his pocket to buy land was rich indeed. For the first time since the war he allowed himself to dream. He thought about something besides surviving one more day.
As he waited, he saw a small widow lady sitting on a bench near the dock. Trapper remembered the teamster had told him to hire a woman to travel with him, but surely he could handle five little girls.
There were so many women in black right after the war, it seemed like every woman dressed the same. Strange, he thought; the men wore blue and gray, but all the widows wore black. Mourning had no side, no color.
The paddleboat pulled up to yells and waves from the waiting crowd. As cargo began to roll off the side, passengers walked off the front in a thin line. It wasn’t long before he saw a tall woman in a light blue cape marching with five little girls behind her. She had to be the nurse traveling with his cargo. They all wore a uniform of sunny blue and white. They reminded him of a mother goose and her goslings. He guessed he was about to become the father goose.
Trapper had no doubt these were his charges. The first girl was tall, only a head shorter than the nurse. Her blond hair was tied back, as if she was trying to look older. The next two were shorter, with auburn hair. The younger and thinner of the pair wore an old wool cap and seemed to be crying. The fourth girl was probably about five and was round as a goose egg. The last one, and the smallest, seemed to be having trouble staying in line. She weaved back and forth as she kept jumping up and down as if she could see everything if she was two inches higher.