A Love Forbidden (3 page)

He nudged his pony down the rock-strewn incline, pulling the packhorse loaded with the remaining mule deer carcass with which he intended on gifting Chief Douglas. Just a few days in the oppressive atmosphere of the White River Agency, he promised himself. Then he’d be free, once more, to come and go as he pleased. Or rather, come and go until the white man no longer pleased.

“You’ll like Josie Meeker. Everyone does.”

Two weeks later, and for the umpteenth time, Shiloh swatted a maddeningly persistent fly from the vicinity of her nose, adjusted the broad brim of her straw hat to minimize the sun on her face, and glanced over at the man who sat beside her on the big freight wagon bench, driving the team of four mules before him. Joe Collum, hired to bring in some farm equipment from Rawlins, Wyoming, to the White River Agency, seemed a decent enough sort, if a bit loquacious. She’d been fortunate to hear about his pending Agency trip when her train had arrived in Rawlins, and she’d soon run into him loading supplies. If not for him, Shiloh would’ve been compelled to hire someone to take her the rest of the way.

Though she’d have far preferred just admiring the scenery on the way south back into Colorado to the Agency, Shiloh did her best to keep up some semblance of a conversation with the man. He was likely a bit hungry for womanly conversation, she supposed, if the scant amount of females in these mountain towns was any indication. And, though she was no Jordan Wainwright, Shiloh knew she had finally grown into a passably attractive young lady. Well, that was what several suitors for her hand in those months teaching in Denver had said, anyway. But then, the severe shortage of women in these parts probably helped to make even the plainest female seem pretty attractive.

No matter. She wasn’t looking for or even wanting a husband. She had more important—more worthwhile—plans than tying herself down to a man and a passel of squalling babies. Not that she had anything against babies or a husband . . . someday. But not now. And not anytime soon.

“So, you’ve met Josie Meeker, have you?” she asked, now that Joe had finally introduced a topic that piqued her interest.

The big freight driver nodded. “Yep. To be honest, she’s not quite the looker you are, ma’am, but she’s tall, slender, with dark blonde hair and a straight, no-nonsense air about her that sets well with most men. And, if there’s a need, there’s nothing that gal won’t take on.” He chuckled. “Word is she was quite the tomboy in her youth.”

In her youth . . . Shiloh smiled to herself. Josephine Meeker—the only one of three surviving Meeker children to come with Nathan Meeker and his wife, Arvilla, to live at the White River Agency—was barely a year older. Shiloh hoped the closeness of their ages and the fact they were both college-educated, independent women would lead to a fast friendship.

“Yep,” Joe continued on, apparently oblivious to the fact that the conversation was again rapidly becoming one-sided. “I even heard tell that Miss Josie used to challenge the boys to horse races in the streets, when she lived in Greeley with her family.”

“Well, then we’ll have a lot to talk about,” Shiloh replied, giving a firm nod. “I grew up on a cattle ranch and know my way around horses. It’ll be fun to have someone to go riding with.”

“Well, beggin’ yore pardon, ma’am, but that might not be all that safe, what with the problems of late with the Utes, and—”

Just then, they topped yet another hill. The mule team paused. Below them spread a small, verdant valley, pierced on its southern end by a river. It was the tidy layout of buildings, corrals, and a scattering of tepees, however, that took Shiloh’s breath away. She turned to the freight driver.

“It’s the Agency, isn’t it?”

He nodded, then slapped the reins over the backs of the mules, urging them forward. “Yep, sure is. Another ten minutes or so, and you’ll finally be home.”

Home . . . The word had an unexpectedly foreign ring to it. Shiloh swallowed hard, suddenly overcome with a wave of homesickness overlaid with an acute edge of trepidation. This was it. She was here, and now reality must substitute for all her dearly held dreams. But what if . . . what if things didn’t turn out as she hoped? What if she wasn’t sufficient to the task at hand?

With a resolute shake of her head, Shiloh banished the doubts and fears. Nothing was served allowing such thoughts to undermine her confidence. She would do the best she could, changing the things within her power and finding peace and acceptance with what couldn’t be changed. That was all anyone could do. The rest was in the Lord’s hands.

As they headed down the hill, someone apparently gave word of their approach. A small crowd formed outside what must be the Agency office, if the American flag flying there was any indication. A distinguished-looking older man—gray-haired and who appeared to be in his early sixties—with an older woman of similar years at his side, stood directly beneath the flagpole. A younger woman with two small children walked up to halt nearby. And then, a slender, dark-blonde-haired woman, drying her hands with a dish towel, strode from the building just down from the Agency office.

“That’s Miss Josie,” Joe offered. “The tall one in the white blouse and blue skirt.”

“And the older man and woman?” Shiloh leaned toward him, as they were almost within earshot. “I assume they’re Nathan and Arvilla?”

“Yep.”

She shot the big freighter a quick glance. The clipped way he had replied was out of character, and she wondered why. It almost seemed as if . . . as if he wasn’t overly fond of the senior Meekers. If so, was it both or just one?

Shiloh was tempted to ask him, but it was too late. Joe Collum, even then, was leaning back, pulling the mules to a halt.

All eyes turned in the direction of Nathan Meeker. With a squaring of his shoulders, he stepped forward and offered his hand to Shiloh. She took it and climbed down from the wagon.

“Welcome, Miss Wainwright,” Nathan said, his voice cultured and mellifluous. “We’ve been awaiting your arrival with the greatest anticipation. Haven’t we, my dear?” he asked, half-turning to the older woman standing behind him.

She walked up and nodded. “Yes, indeed we have.”

“May I introduce myself?” he next said. “I am Nathan Cook Meeker, the agent for the White River Indian Agency. And this is my beloved wife, Arvilla Delight Meeker.”

Shiloh accepted the woman’s proffered hand. “It’s so wonderful to finally make both your acquaintances. I’ve been looking forward to working with you.”

“Well, no more than
I’ve
been looking forward to working with
you
,” the dark blonde young woman said, pushing her way past the others standing about. “Though I dearly love trying to recruit and teach the Ute children, with all the other tasks Father’s assigned me, I must confess I’m in dire need of assistance.”

She thrust out her hand to Shiloh, her blue eyes sparkling. “I’m Josephine Meeker. Everyone, though, calls me Josie, so you should too. And you did know, didn’t you, that you’ll be helping with the meals at the boardinghouse, and with the weekly laundry, and maybe even with some doctoring if you’ve got the skills?”

“Josie, why don’t you show Miss Wainwright to her room and help her get settled in?” her father brusquely interjected just then. “Time enough later to drown her with an excess of information.”

His daughter laughed. “As you wish, Papa.” She looked to Shiloh. “Did you bring a trunk or something with all your things?”

Shiloh nodded. “Yes, a trunk and a carpetbag.” She turned to the freight driver. “Could you hand me my traveling bag? And see that someone brings my trunk to wherever my new lodgings will be?”

“Sure thing, ma’am.” Joe tipped the brim of his big, floppy hat at her. “It was a pleasure traveling with you, ma’am.”

“I enjoyed your company as well, Mr. Collum.”

“Well, now that
that’s
settled,” Josie said, grabbing hold of Shiloh’s arm, “let’s get you to your new room. Supper’s in an hour, so you’ll have just enough time to unpack a bit and freshen up. But only if we hurry.”

Shiloh had to quickly lengthen her stride to keep up with the long-legged Josie. So much for proper introductions and getting to meet everyone right off, she thought. But maybe it was for the best. She really was travel weary, and it’d be nice to settle in a bit before supper.

Then, if all went well, she might be able to make an early day of it. Right about now, a nice bed in a quiet room sounded the closest thing to heaven she’d find on this earth. The stopover last night in that tiny town hadn’t yielded the most comfortable of sleeping quarters. Not upstairs of the town’s only saloon, which didn’t close down until at least three or four in the morning. Indeed, even the prior nights of sleeping under the stars had provided better rest.

“You mustn’t take offense when Papa gets a little short,” Josie said just then, wrenching Shiloh’s thoughts back to the present. “He’s just under such duress at times, trying his mightiest to please the Utes and the Indian Bureau. And believe me, most times what the Utes want is in direct opposition to what the Indian Bureau wants.”

“And what would those opposite desires be?” Shiloh asked as they passed two buildings across from each other and then headed for the one in the southeasternmost corner of the little complex.

“The Utes want to live as they’ve always lived, free to hunt and roam as the seasons dictate. And the Indian Bureau wants them to give up their ancient ways, settle down on reservations, and become farmers.”

“That does sort of put your father smack in the middle, doesn’t it?”

Josie nodded. “Yes, it does. Unfortunately for the Utes, my papa pretty much agrees with the Indian Bureau. And when he sets his mind on a task . . .” She shook her head. “Suffice it to say, I feel sorry for the Utes.”

She paused at the door to a two-story building that appeared to be newly built. “Well, enough of the politics. Come on in and let me show you your room.”

That was a very interesting bit of information, Shiloh thought as she followed Josie into a small foyer with a set of stairs at the back that led to the second floor. A colorful hooked rug graced the hardwood paneled floor, and a tiny carved wooden table stood just to the left of the door, set with a crystal vase adorned with a handful of pine bough greenery. It was all very charming and rather unexpected in such a high mountain valley so far from civilization.

As she followed her hostess up the stairs, however, she couldn’t keep from harking back to Josie’s most recent words. They were very interesting indeed, but best not delved into too deeply just now. She had plenty of time to get the lay of the land, figure out where everyone stood on things. And tomorrow was definitely soon enough to begin.

The next morning after a hearty breakfast of oatmeal, biscuits, ham, and eggs, Shiloh helped Josie and her mother clear the table in the boardinghouse dining room, scrape plates in the kitchen, then wash and dry the dishes. It was Shiloh’s first opportunity to actually meet sixteen-year-old Flora Ellen Price, wife of Shadrach Price, an Agency employee who worked as a farmer, and little May and baby Johnnie, their two children. Though Flora had been in the group to welcome her yesterday, Josie had hurried Shiloh away before she could greet everyone. And then Flora hadn’t felt well that evening and so had missed the supper meal at the boardinghouse, where she and her family lived with most of the other employees.

Shiloh immediately liked the shy young woman and was heartened by the fact she’d have two potential friends in Flora and Josie. Hopefully, their companionship would help ease her transition into Agency life, which, at present, still felt rather foreign and awkward. So foreign and awkward that she hadn’t slept well last night, even after unpacking all her things and attempting to make her bedroom as homey as she could.

But that was to be expected, she hastened to reassure herself. Her first job at the girls’ school in Denver had been a challenging transition from her two years spent at teacher’s training at Peru State Normal School in Nebraska. And, Shiloh sheepishly reminded herself, she’d nearly given up from severe homesickness and gone home while there.