Chapter 3

3

B y the time the train pulled into the station in Washington, D.C., Leah had to try hard to remain amiable. She was tired, her spine and bottom ached from the unforgiving seat, her legs were cramped, and she wanted nothing more than to walk straight to a hotel with a warm bath and soft bed.

But as Emily had instructed, she disembarked the train and made her way into the depot.

"I need passage on your next train to St. Louis, please."

The thin man behind the spectacles was clean-shaven and balding, and he perused her with an air of condescension. "That would be the next Baltimore and Ohio, scheduled to arrive in about"—he peered at the watch hooked to his vest—"thirty minutes. You'll need to be ready to leave within ten minutes of its arrival."

Forty minutes. That would barely allow time for a quick meal, not a bath or a nap. "Is there another train leaving tomorrow?"

His scowl made her almost wish she hadn't asked. But it would be heaven to crawl under warm covers and sleep. Leah pulled her shawl tighter around her shoulders. The sun was beginning to set, bringing on another cold March evening. She wished she had her wool coat, but at least it was packed in one of the trunks.

The man's whiny voice brought Leah back to the present. "The next train traveling to the western states arrives on Tuesday."

Tuesday? That was five days from now. Leah mentally groaned. "I'll need a ticket for today's train, then. Are there sleeping chambers available?"

The man's chest puffed out as if he'd designed the train himself. "Yes, indeed. This train has one of the famous Pullman cars, with both upper and lower berths."

Leah sent up a silent prayer of thanks for little blessings.

By the end of six more very long days, the Pullman car proved to be much more than a little blessing. It was the only thing that made this trip endurable. When the car attendant announced the St. Louis Depot, Leah almost jumped to her feet to hug him. Her craving for solid land was palpable, tightening her muscles into knots. She would never again take for granted a warm bath with scented soaps, silk sheets, and a soft feather bed that didn't sway through the night. And clean clothes. Her clothes, that didn't itch or stink.

She peered out the window, but couldn't see much through the small square of dingy glass. She stuffed her book into her carpet bag and rose as the train quivered to a stop. As she filed behind the other passengers, she shifted from foot to foot as they inched forward. Even in her exhausted state, she was too giddy to stand still. She'd arrived in St. Louis, and her new life was about to begin. Would this city be as large and cultured as Richmond?

Stepping from the train, Leah glanced around to take in the sights, but what she saw brought her up short.

Water.

She stood in front of a vast lake. Not as large as the bay in Charleston had been, but close. On the other bank, far in the distance, a city rose from the murky depths like an Irish Sea monster.

"That's a lot of water." A deep voice sounded just behind her, and Leah whirled to find herself staring up into the emerald eyes of a man unlike any she'd ever seen. A full beard covered his face, making it hard to distinguish most of his features. Except those piercing green eyes. He looked to be a few years older than her, but probably not over thirty. His blue work shirt was clean and pressed, and accentuated the breadth of his shoulders.

The man didn't meet her gaze, but stared out over the water as if he were seeing far beyond. Then his comment registered in Leah's awareness.

"Yes, I suppose it is. Do you know what it's called? I thought we were far away from an ocean or any of the Great Lakes."

"The Missouri River." His rich voice sounded again, but he still didn't look at her.

Leah arched a brow, then turned back to study the water before her. "It's a river? I've not seen one so wide. Is that St. Louis on the far shore?"

"Yep. The ferry's loading up now." He took a step, then motioned for her to precede him. The other passengers were moving forward, too, pressing toward the flat boat at the edge of the water.

"This way to the Wiggins Ferry," called a man with an official-sounding voice. "Only five cents to ride the ferry across to St. Louey."

The strong presence of the tall, green-eyed man stayed close as the crowd swept them onto a wooden pier and forward, toward a mustached man collecting fares at the entrance to the boat.

Just then, she remembered her trunks, which she hadn't seen in several days. "Excuse me, sir," she said to the attendant. "Will my luggage be brought across on the ferry?"

"Yes'm. You can pick 'em up at the yonder dock."

"Thank you." She dipped a slight curtsey and was pushed forward by the crowd boarding the boat. The rocking of the craft in the water was like being on the train again. Leah turned back to mention it to the man with the emerald eyes, but he wasn't behind her. Why did that make her feel even more alone?

She took up a crowded spot by the rail where she could see both banks, but her eyes drifted over the other passengers. There he was, standing in a quiet corner away from the swarm of passengers pushing toward the boat's edge. The crowd pushed in on her, too, so Leah gathered her nerve and moved toward the empty space next to the man. It was a bold move on her part, approaching a stranger she'd only just met and didn't even know the name of. But something about him intrigued her. Maybe he'd think she was just moving to a less congested part of the boat's deck.

Leah stepped up to the rail in the empty space between the man and an elderly couple. He turned his green eyes toward her in a nod, then gazed back over the water. He certainly was quiet.

"Are you from St. Louis then?" She infused a casual air into her tone.

"No, ma'am. Montana Territory."

That might explain the wild aura that surrounded him. She'd love another good look at him, but couldn't risk being caught staring. "How interesting. And were you visiting the East for pleasure, sir, or for business?"

"Settling my wife's affairs."

Leah's heart plunged at the words, but she forced herself not to examine the reason. "Is your wife traveling with you?" She turned a casual eye to his face as she spoke.

His focus stared straight ahead. "She died." The richness was gone from his voice, leaving behind flat steel.

Leah swallowed, her chest tightening with the effort. "I…I'm sorry."

She swallowed again. All other words fled her mind, leaving behind the desire to reach out and touch him. Offer some kind of comfort or support. She knew what it was like to lose a parent. But to lose a spouse, the pain must be unbearable.

Before she could think of something else to say, some way to ease the somber mood that had sunk over him, the official-sounding voice called over the crowd. "Make a line, folks. Make a line an' we'll have ya off the ferry in no time."

The man with emerald eyes turned from the rail and touched a hand to his hat. "Good day, ma'am." He never once looked at her as he strode toward the line gathering at the edge of the boat.

By the time Leah found her own place in the string of people, he was twenty feet or so ahead. As she stepped onto firm land, she watched his hat disappear into the crowd. Something inside Leah wanted to run after him.

But she didn't move. Just stood, watching the spot where he'd vanished.

She couldn't have said how long she stood there, but finally awareness sank back in. People surged around her, and she made her way toward the edge of the sidewalk to get her bearings.

She scanned the swarm of dock workers and passengers. What now? She was on the verge of asking someone—anyone—how she could find a decent hotel, when she spotted a row of wagons with uniformed drivers along the street. Most of them had hand-painted signs that read, "FOR HIRE." She approached the nearest.

"Sir, might I hire you to transport me and my trunks to the closest reputable hotel?"

He took a long drag on his cigar, his eyes roaming up and down her person. Not in an indecent manner, but calculating. They surely took in her sooty face and hands, gray homespun dress with not a frill in sight, and wispy hair missing a few hairpins.

Finally, he removed the cigar and drawled, "I reckon The Southern is probably the closest, if'n they have any rooms left. How many trunks ya got?"

"Two."

He nodded. "It'll cost ya ten cents."

Leah would have paid ten dollars at that moment if she could just get to the hotel. "Let's go then."

He held out a grubby hand. "Ya need to pay in advance."

She tried not to let her annoyance show, but it took every bit of her training to hold her poise and not throw the dime in his face.

Oh, Leah, what's wrong with you? Show him grace. The prick of her conscience made her feel more ashamed than her pauper's clothing.

Gideon Bryant trudged toward Fourth Street, exhaustion weighing his bones like chains. He'd purchased a ticket on the Far West steamship that left at daylight the next day, so he only needed a place to lay his head. He'd have bedded down at the docks if there weren't so many people swarming. His soul craved the quiet majesty of the Montana mountains.

But he was almost there. The Far West was one of the fastest boats on the upper Missouri, so he'd be back home in less than two months.

It'd taken him two years after his wife's death before he finally worked up the nerve to go East and resolve her final arrangements. But it was done now. And he was going home. Back to where his brother and sister were holding down their ranch.

Gideon crossed over the streetcar tracks at the corner of Fourth and Walnut streets, then stepped into the double doors of the Southern Hotel. As he took in the lush interior and people milling about the lobby, the staircase pulled his attention. Or rather the person climbing the staircase.

The woman from the ferry.

She mounted the steps like a queen, poised and elegant, with her strong chin jutting at just the right angle for him to see her profile. She was stunning. Even in her homespun gray dress, every eye couldn't help but be drawn to her. A few rich brown tendrils escaped from under her hat, gracing her slender neck.

Gideon watched until she disappeared around the corner on the second floor, but he didn't want to turn away quite yet. Was he hoping she would reappear? He was off his rocker. The last thing he needed was to get involved with another city woman.

He forced his attention back toward the clerk's desk and strode that direction. But something had pulled in his chest when he saw this woman. Something that started a longing.

He should fight it, shouldn't he?