Chapter 7

7

T he jail was a single-story wood building, rustic by St. Louis or Richmond standards, but not unlike the structures surrounding it. Leah almost knocked on the door, but finally decided to step in. This was a place of business, after all.

She paused inside the threshold for her eyes to adjust to the dim lighting. The odor of unwashed bodies and alcohol assaulted her nose. The room held two desks tucked into either back corner, with a man sitting behind each. A door in the wall between them must lead to the jail.

"Can I help you, miss?" The voice came from the man on the right, so Leah moved his direction. His features were compact, with bushy black brows and a mustache that didn't leave much room between them for eyes and nose.

"Yes, sir. I'd like to report a robbery, please. Are you the sheriff?"

"Sheriff John Healy." This deeper voice came from the man on the opposite side of the room as he rose and came to join his partner. He was a tall man with close-cropped hair, rounded features, and a long chin whiskers.

Just then, a muffled groan came from the direction of the back door. Both men ignored it, so Leah attempted to do the same.

She shifted to address them both. "I've come to report a robbery. My reticule was stolen from my cabin on the ship when we landed. Captain La Barge feels it may have been the porter who unloaded my trunks. It seems he's been released from duty, however, and no one knows where to find him."

The sheriff stroked the hair on his chin. "Was there any money in this reticule?"

Leah swallowed, her mouth sticky. "Yes, sir. All of my funds were in that bag."

He eyed her quietly for a moment, then finally spoke. "And did the captain have any idea whether this man was planning to stay in Fort Benton or move on?"

Leah hesitated. "I…don't think he knows for sure. He said the porter was not a long-standing employee of the ship, but had been hired in St. Louis to work while he traveled to the Montana Territory. Do you have an idea where a newcomer would typically lodge in this town?"

A look passed between the two men, and Leah's insides balled tighter at the wariness in their eyes.

Finally, the sheriff spoke again. "Yes, Miss…"

"Townsend. Miss Leah Townsend."

"…Miss Townsend. We'll check both hotels in town. I'll speak with Captain La Barge for a name and description of the fellow." His weary eyes reached up to meet Leah's. "I have to say that a freighter left town about an hour ago with a couple o' newcomers in tow. If this fellow has committed a robbery, there's a good chance he's with them." He added as an afterthought, "I'll check around though."

Leah worked hard to keep her shoulders squared and her chin from drooping. "And do you know where the freighter was going?"

"Down the Mullan Road. Prob'ly toward Helena, then who knows where else."

"And can you tell me where the stage office is? Perhaps I can intercept them in Helena."

She had no idea how she'd pay for the stage ride. Would they give her credit with the promise to pay as soon as she reacquired her reticule? Or perhaps she could trade for something in her trunks.

She scanned the contents in her mind. Dresses, undergarments, a few toiletry items, and her books. Maybe a dressmaker would be interested in purchasing some of her gowns. After all, they were the latest in New York fashion, with fitted bodice, high bustle, and slight train.

"No stage in these parts, I'm afraid." This from the man with the scrunchy face still seated at the desk. He gave a humorless chuckle. "We don't quite have all the luxuries ya'll do back east."

A stage hardly seemed a luxury, but Leah kept that thought to herself.

The sheriff spoke up. "The best way to get to Helena is to ride along with a wagon already headed that way, or else buy a horse yourself."

She couldn't buy a horse with no money. Maybe it was time to go to plan B. Abel Bryant would just have to come and get her. After all, if she was willing to take a three-month boat ride to Montana, the least he could do was come and meet her at the dock.

The new plan eased some of the weight from her chest. "Then can you please tell me where the telegraph office is located? I'll need to send a wire to Butte City for my friends to come collect me."

The sheriff stroked his chin again. "I'm afraid you won't be able to do that either, ma'am. The telegraph line to Helena ‘n Butte has been down for a couple weeks now. Had a bad storm in the mountains that knocked her over. We just haven't had a chance to put it back up yet. You could send a letter if ya like with the next freighter. Usually takes about a week to get there and the same to get a response back. Assumin' they can find yer friend to deliver the letter, that is."

Leah fought back tears of frustration. Why was this happening? She had really felt God was leading her to Montana, yet from the moment the boat pulled into the dock here, nothing had gone right. Now she was stuck with no money to pay for food or lodging or transportation to Butte City.

She forced her mind to focus on what she should do next. Somehow she needed to get funds. Whether she were to sell her dresses or work for the money, a dress shop would probably be the place to start.

She straightened her shoulders and forced a polite smile. "All right, then. I do thank you both for your time and assistance. Before I go, though, could you please give me directions to the local dress shop?"

The men exchanged another glance. She'd had about enough of their secret looks. The sheriff spoke again. "Fort Benton don't exactly have a dress shop like you're probably thinkin', ma'am. What women are here usually buy their fabric and such at the mercantile. It's down this street a ways, on the left."

She took a deep breath and smiled sweetly through her gritted teeth. "Thank you. I'll make my way to the mercantile then. Good day to you both."

And with that, she spun on her heel and made her escape.

As she had come to expect in this rustic town, the mercantile was also constructed of wood. A sign above the door, painted in bold black letters, read "T. C. Power and Co. Mercantile."

The door jingled when Leah opened it, and she paused for a moment inside to get her bearings. Rows of merchandise extended to her right, flashing a wide variety of items—from sharp metal objects to barrels of food and bolts of wool. To her left, a circle of men relaxed in ladder-back chairs. In the middle of the group stood a table which held a scattering of dominos.

She focused her attention on the counter straight ahead, and made her way toward it. The man who stood behind the counter writing in a book had very little hair on top of his head and a great deal of it across his face. He wasn't that old—not as old as Papa had been, anyway—but was almost completely bald. He must have been trying to make up for that, however, by his great wooly beard. He was not tall for a man, about the same as Leah's own medium stature. When he looked up, though, his face wore a pleasant enough expression.

"Well, bonnie lass, with what can I be helpin' ya today?" His accent was unmistakable and charming, and gave a softness to his manner.

"Good day, sir." She dipped a polite curtsey. She took the opportunity while her head was lowered to fortify herself with a deep breath, then raised up to her most competent, shoulders-back expression. "I've come to inquire whether you're hiring in your store. Perhaps you have need of a sales clerk or someone to stock the shelves?"

He raised his brows. "You're the lass lookin' for work, ye say? If ya don't mind me sayin' so, ye look to be a proper upper-class lady. Not exactly the workin' kind." His words were spoken in kindness, but heat flooded her face.

"I'm afraid my reticule that contained my funds was stolen when our ship docked in your fair town." She tried not to taint the last words with bitterness. "I'll need to find work for food and lodging until I can get word to my friends in Butte that I've arrived."

He cleared his throat rather loudly. "Well, lassie. I've no need for another clerk just now. I'm all set for the summer boom. Go and check with Mill's Café and the hotel to see if they'll hire ye on. If they send ye back, well… That be God tellin' me to hire ye on for a couple o' weeks."

Heat surged all the way to the tips of her ears as she curtseyed again and thanked the man. This asking for work was not a pleasant task.

The jingle faded as Leah closed the door behind her. Her shoulders sagged and a bench beside the door beckoned. She sank onto it to gather her thoughts. There must be something she was missing here. Hadn't God brought her this far through His direction? She closed her eyes tightly in an effort to shut out this awful dream she was living.

Lord, I know You have a plan in all this. You are who You are, no matter where I am. Your Word says trusting means that I cannot lean on my own understanding. So God, I'm going to sit in this place and wait for Your direction.

The peace that wafted through her was like a gentle aroma.

Just then, the bell on the door beside her clanged and she opened her eyes to see one of the older men that had been seated around the domino table. He wore long shirt-sleeves with no jacket, showing the leather suspenders attached to his black woolen pants. His scruffy gray beard covered much of his face, but the skin around his eyes and forehead was a wrinkled leathery brown.

He didn't look her way, but removed his floppy leather hat from his oily gray hair and sat down beside her. As the smell of sweat and body odor wafted in her direction, she forced herself not to scoot away from him.

"See here, missy. My name's Ol' Mose. Leastways that's what people've been callin' me long enough I forgot what the rest of it was. Anyways, I heared what you was sayin' to old Johnny in there about how you was robbed and tryin' to git to yer friends in Butte City." He stuck a thumb through a suspender. "Well I got me a freight wagon I run back n' forth ‘tween here and there. You'd be right welcome to ride along if'n ya like."

The rush of completely unexpected information was hard to take in all at once. Was he offering her a ride to Butte? Did he really run a freight wagon? The old chap wasn't much bigger than Leah, and looked to be a few years past his prime.

He was looking at her expectantly, though, waiting for an answer. She opened her mouth to respond, but she had no idea what to say.

"You're…offering me a ride? In your wagon?" Her voice squeaked like a schoolboy's.

"Yes'm. Plannin' to leave out at first light tomorry."

He was serious about the offer. But was he trustworthy? How would she determine that?

"I…um…I have two trunks I'll need to take with me."

He reached a nubby finger to scratch through his beard. "Reckon' that'll be fine. We can tie ‘em on top."

He dropped his hand to his lap and cocked his head as if pondering something. "I don't usually carry folks with me as a rule, but God kept a'nudgin' me sayin', ‘Ol' Mose, you go on an help this girl now, ya hear?'" He threw up his hands. "So, here I sit."

When he flashed a slightly-toothless grin, she wanted to reach over and hug the man. Instead, she smiled. "Thank you, Mr. Mose. I would be honored to ride in your freight wagon."

"No, ma'am. The name's Mose or Ol' Mose. No mister about it. My pa, he was a mister, but not this young fellow." And then he flashed his toothy grin again.