Winds of Paradise (Paradise Valley Book 2) Read online

  I’d better finish up, since it’s getting too dark to see by now and I’m down to the last of my candle. Please keep me in your prayers, as I will for you.

  With love, your cousin,

  Jane

  ***

  April 29, 1869

  Paradise Ranch, Montana Territory

  My darling Jane,

  I was so excited to receive your letter. Thomas and I are well, thank you for asking. He takes every opportunity to show me kindness. I feel utterly spoiled.

  I am so sorry to hear of your troubles. The superintendent sounds like a right scoundrel. You should consider looking for another position. As a matter of fact, I was in Bozeman just the other day and took it upon myself to visit the Rev. Langston and his wife Laura. They’re such a lovely couple. Rev. Langston married Thomas and I here at the ranch. I told him of your predicament and he begged me to mention there is a position at the school in Bozeman. Miss Smith, as she was, has recently married and will be leaving next week at the end of the school year. They are desperate to find a replacement before the summer break ends, and the sooner the better to prepare for the new school year.

  Would you consider moving here? I would love it if you did. You’d be less than a day’s wagon ride from me, and I’d come to see you as often as I could, I promise. Please think about it. If you are interested, forward me your references and I will pass them on to the Reverend. Our church is in Paradise Valley, not far from here, and the Reverend visits one Sunday a month to preach since we have no preacher in the valley. We’ll be boarding him next month, and I always look forward to it, since he has such stories to tell from his travels.

  In other news, the hens have finally begun to lay. I was beginning to lose all hope of having fresh eggs for breakfast. Of course we don’t have enough of a brood yet to feed us all, but Thomas promises me he will grow the flock over time to ensure we can have as many fresh eggs as we can eat. Not to mention fried chicken! The first egg was a delicious treat and I savored it mightily, I can tell you.

  Yesterday Vaquero, our Mexican hand who rarely utters more than three words in a row, told us that he’s finally saved enough money to bring his wife and daughter from Mexico to join him here. I swear I saw a sparkle in his eyes before he meandered off toward the barn. He is still something of a mystery to us all – we don’t even know his real name (I believe“vaquero” just means “cowboy”, or something like it) – but we’re happy for him.

  I do hope his family comes soon. I certainly look forward to having more women around. As it is, it’s only Sarah and myself, and we spend every moment we can together. She’s become a sister to me and I to her. I don’t know what I’d do without her, honestly I don’t.

  The ranch house is finally complete. Thomas has grand plans to extend it, of course, but for now it is finished and we are settled. The view from my bedroom where I sit to write this letter is breathtaking. I can scarce describe it. There are still pockets of snow and the craggy mountains in the distance have whitened peaks reaching skyward, but the valley is turning green with the first warmth of spring. The river winds its way around the base of our hill, lined by trees and shrubbery. If only you could see it.

  Dusty, one of our other hands, stubbornly refused to allow my rose bushes to die during the winter. Thomas bought them for me on our last anniversary and he quite took to them. I can see him out there now, tending them so very lovingly. He doesn’t like anyone to know that he has such a tender heart, but he does. His rough exterior is all for show.

  Please write soon to let me know if you might consider the position in Bozeman. I almost can’t bear the anticipation of hearing your response.

  Your cousin,

  Genevieve

  ***

  May 18, 1869

  Missoula, Montana Territory

  Dear Genny,

  I was overwhelmed by your letter. The idea of moving to Bozeman fills me with such excitement I can scarce contain it. The prospect of seeing you again and finding a new position far, far away from Mr. Figway is so appealing I can barely think straight. Yes, yes, yes! I will apply for the position at the school in Bozeman. I have enclosed everything you should need for the Rev. Langston.

  Things here have not improved since I last wrote. Mr. Figway has requested the board revisit my contract and they are refusing to renew it, as expected. Even if I wanted to stay here, which I don’t, I wouldn’t have a job at the end of the term. Some of the children have gotten wind of it and are rather sad. Several told me how sorry they are for misbehaving and causing me such strife. I assured them it wasn’t their fault at all. Of course, I didn’t say that it was the ridiculous Mr. Figway who made me lose my position here.

  I still haven’t gotten up the nerve to confront Mr. Wishart about his son’s inappropriate behavior. Harris watches me now at the supper table, in the garden, when I’m knitting by the fire. I can feel his eyes on me and it sends a shiver down my spine.

  I am hoping against hope that I’ll see you again soon.

  With love,

  Jane

  ***

  July 21, 1869

  Missoula, Montana Territory

  Dear Genny,

  Well, I’m sure you know the news. Rev. Langston sent me a telegram just last week to offer me the position of schoolmistress at the Bozeman school. I’m to start there immediately, as soon as I can make my way there. I’m thrilled and scared and sick over it all at the same time.

  The coach leaves in just a few days and my bags are mostly packed. Despite not renewing my contract, Mr. Figway was fuming that I gave him notice. He said they hadn’t hired a replacement yet and I should stay until someone suitable could be found. I told him that since they hadn’t renewed my contract, he could hardly fault me for leaving to find another position.

  Rev. Langston and his wife will be meeting me in Bozeman and I can hardly wait to see the town. You’ve described it so beautifully that I can almost see it already in my mind’s eye. But most of all I look forward to seeing you, my dear friend. I never thought I’d see you again.

  Mr. and Mrs. Wishart have wished me well and Mr. Wishart even offered to drive me to meet the stagecoach. Harris, thank heavens, is nowhere to be seen and lately has left me alone.

  I will be joining you very soon.

  Yours sincerely,

  Jane

  ***

  Jane pushed down hard on the handle for the well pump, and water spurted into the bucket beneath the spout. She always enjoyed laundry day. Saturdays were her one day to get her chores done, since she worked every other day but the Sabbath. She could sit outside, scrub her clothes and linens, listened to the trill of birds ducking and weaving by the house and watch the tree branches waving overhead.

  The stagecoach for Bozeman would leave tomorrow with her on it. The sun was shining, so she was taking this final opportunity to make sure everything was clean and ready for the trip, even as her heart pounded in her throat. It was a three-day journey from Missoula to Bozeman, and the Rev. Sanderson had arranged for her to travel with a Dr. Underhill, who was also moving there. He planned to join a practice where the incumbent practitioner was retiring.

  She let the pump handle fall back into place and bent to pick up the bucket. It was heavy, and she struggled under the weight of it, carrying it sloshing and swaying to where the washboard lay propped against a tree stump.

  After sitting on the stump, she put the washboard between her knees and picked a petticoat from the top of the basket of soiled clothing beside her. She dipped it into the bucket, then ran the soap over it, back and forth, back and forth. Finally, she pressed the petticoats gently against the washboard and scrubbed them. She’d have to be more vigorous with her outerwear, but she was always careful with her clothing, since she couldn’t afford to replace it.

  She sighed as she lifted a soapy hand to carefully push a stray strand of hair from her eyes. She’d used the last of her savings to buy her fare and supplies for the trip. She sincerely hoped the
teaching position in Bozeman worked out. The Reverend had promised it to her, but if something should prevent it from coming to pass – such as them finding out about her family history – she might be a beggar on the streets of Bozeman before long, or worse.

  She grimaced and rinsed out the petticoat. Maybe she should have gone home to Aunt Priscilla after all. What was she thinking, traveling across Montana Territory on her own for only the promise of a job? Because she missed having family close by, she’d chosen to take a risk she normally wouldn’t consider.

  Her pulse raced and she closed her eyes to calm her breathing. No, it was all going to work out somehow, she just knew it would. Anyway, there was no use in borrowing trouble. She’d just take each moment and crisis as it came. She had no other choice.

  The morning sun beat down through her bonnet, and a trail of sweat dripped down the back of her bodice. She finished up her wash, wrung it out, and carried it to the line where she hung it to dry. Then, the basket beneath her arm, she strode back into the house and up to her room. Harris was out hunting with his father, so she felt more at ease moving around the place.

  She sat at her desk and reached for some paper and a quill. Dipping the nib into the inkwell, she sat with the pen poised above the paper. It was time she wrote to Aunt Priscilla to let her know of her plans. Her aunt likely wouldn’t be pleased – she hadn’t been when Jane had informed her she was moving to Montana Territory on her own to teach in the first place. But given the loss of Jane’s parents the year before, she’d understood.

  For Jane, it had been simple. She couldn’t bear to stay any longer in a city where everyone knew her by her family’s reputation, where people spat at her on the street, where she lived in constant fear of another brick shattering the parlor window. She wanted to go somewhere different – a place where she’d be able to start afresh and build her own unblemished reputation. She hadn’t found that place yet, but maybe Bozeman would be it.

  She lowered the quill and began to write.

  ***

  Dusty rode Rebel along the riverbank, a few hundred yards from the ranch house. His gaze drifted up the valley, over the craggy mountain peaks and back again. He was searching for the perfect location for his cottage. There was plenty of fine timber around the ranch and Thomas had given him permission to take what he needed to build himself a place.

  He was done with the nomadic lifestyle of the trail, at least for now, until that itch showed up again and had to be scratched. He was a ranch hand and he’d grown accustomed to staying in one place. In fact, he quite liked it. He’d come to love Paradise Ranch and had no desire to live anywhere else. Now all he needed was a place of his own on the homestead. He’d saved enough money over the years to set up house. He’d just never had the inclination before.

  He tackled the problem like he did everything else he’d faced in life – head on. So what if he weren’t married? Every second man in the area was in the same boat. He was through waiting to start his life. He didn’t need a wife for that. He could do it alone – wanted to do it alone. It was the only way he knew, and he’d gotten mighty good at it.

  A dark head on the riverbank caught his attention. Vaquero was seated beneath an oak tree, his hat drawn down to shade his eyes, his arms folded over his chest. “Vaquero,” called Dusty as he slipped from Rebel’s back.

  The hat slid back and two dark eyes emerged from beneath its brim. Vaquero nodded silently, then rose to his feet, brushing bits of grass and leaves from his chaps as he stood.

  “Takin’ a nap?” asked Dusty, as he walked over to greet the cowboy.

  Vaquero nodded again, a short sharp bounce of the head. “How about you?”

  “Tom says I can build me a cottage, so I’m lookin’ for a place to build it.”

  Vaquero grinned. “Too good for the bunkhouse now?”

  Dusty chortled, “That’s it – ya got me. I’ve had ‘bout enough of ‘em card games and Cookie’s drunken singin’. Not to mention your dang snorin’!”

  “Makes sense.”

  “Nah, I’m jokin’. I just thought it was ‘bout time I settled, ya know.”

  Vaquero frowned. “Found a chica?”

  Dusty put his hands on his hips. “Nope. But that ain’t gonna stop me.”

  Vaquero’s eyes narrowed and his eyebrows drew low. “Don’t give up.”

  “Hey, I’m doin’ pretty well on my own, ain’t I? Anyhow, there’s no women ‘round these parts to marry even if I had the inclination.” Dusty kicked at the ground.

  Vaquero shifted his feet and raised a hand to shade his eyes. “You never know. Family is the best thing in life.”

  “But ya ain’t even seen yer own family in ages.”

  Vaquero’s eyes softened and his hands fell to his sides as he sighed. “Still the best thing. Nothing else comes close. You find a spot?”

  Dusty pointed up the rise to an undulating set of hills. “I thought maybe up there. Whatcha think?”

  “Looks good. If you need help, just ask.”

  Dusty smiled. “I’ll take ya up on that offer.”

  Chapter Four

  Bozeman was a small but bustling town, and the stage with its threadbare seat covers and dull chipped paint arrived just after sunset. People were on their way home from work, and smoke wound from chimney tops all around, filling the air with a welcoming scent. A few covered wagons and open-air carts were parked along the sides of the main street, outside stores with impressively tall fronts and awnings that jutted from the brickwork. Three cowboys on high-stepping horses trotted north purposefully, and a man lit lanterns that hung in a haphazard formation along the boardwalks on either side.

  Jane sat on a cushioned bench seat beside Dr. Underhill and opposite the Franks, a couple who’d failed to make it through a full year on a homestead outside of Missoula and were on their way to try again in Wyoming Territory. Mrs. Frank, a thin, pale woman of nineteen, sat straight and unmoving across from the Doctor. She’d confided in Jane when her husband wasn’t in earshot that she’d never wanted to go west nor get married, but her parents had insisted on the marriage and her husband on the frontier life. Mr. Frank was ten years her senior and sported a bushy brown beard and a long handlebar mustache that curled high on either side of his dour mouth.

  Dr. Underhill sighed and flashed Jane a brief, shy smile. “I do believe we’re here. Finally.” He adjusted the spectacles that had once again slid down his nose from the heat of the day.

  “This is Bozeman?” asked Jane, almost unable to believe the long, jolting, exhausting journey might finally be at an end.

  “Yep,” replied Mr. Frank without a glance in her direction.

  “Stage stop is at the church,” the driver said from his perch above them.

  Jane reached up to smooth her flyaway hair back from her face. She hated to meet the Rev. Langston in such a disheveled state, but she had no choice in the matter. It was getting late and she’d need to get settled into her quarters.

  “I will help you disembark, if that is agreeable?” Dr. Underhill offered. He’d been an attentive and considerate, if somewhat nervous, chaperone on their journey and Jane was glad for his company.

  “Of course, Dr. Underhill. You mentioned earlier that you plan to find a hotel to spend the night, then meet with Dr. Willis tomorrow, is that correct?”

  He nodded. “Yes, he’s to show me around town and the office. I’m not sure where it is, and he didn’t know exactly which day I’d be arriving, so I think that arrangement is for the best.”

  The coach pulled up beside a small white timber building with a simple cross fitted to the ridge of the roof in lieu of a spire. The team of horses swished their tails and stamped their feet, seemingly anxious to make their way to the stables for their nightly hot mash. “Here we are,” cried the driver. “Bozeman Presbyterian!”

  Dr. Underhill reached for the door handle and was about to open it when a carpetbag thudded to the ground outside it, soon followed by a trunk and another bag. Jane fr
owned at the rough treatment of her things, but there was nothing to be done about it now.

  The driver climbed down after the luggage and opened the door with a curt nod. Dr. Underhill stepped out, turned and offered his hand to Jane. She took it and followed him, glad to find her feet on solid ground after the lurching journey.

  She looked around, taking in her surroundings, but couldn’t see much other than the dimly lit street and darkened buildings. She longed to see Bozeman in the daylight. The area was full of spectacular vistas, and she’d spent a good deal of the trip with her mouth hanging open and her eyes wide as they’d driven through evergreen forests, past wild craggy peaks and beside azure lakes.

  Soon the coach had left with the Franks, headed for the driver’s regular boarding house. Dr. Underhill and Jane stood there with everything they each owned in the world beneath a spectacular canopy of stars. “Well, I see the hotel,” said the doctor, gesturing to their right. “I’ll just wait to ensure the Reverend is home and then be on my way.”

  “Thank you, Dr. Underhill. I’m so glad we could travel together – I don’t honestly know what I would have done without you.” Jane held out her hand.

  Dr. Underhill shook it gently, cleared his throat and straightened his spectacles. “Um, well, of course. Glad to have been of assistance. No doubt we’ll run into each other again – you being the schoolmistress and I the doctor.”

  Jane nodded, then abruptly embraced him, dislodging his hat, before he could stop her. She stepped back with a laugh and ran quickly to the door of the church, rapping the knocker against it loudly.

  Dr. Underhill composed himself, straightened his hat and reached for his carpetbag as the church door flew open. “Goodness me, who could it be?” a woman asked.