Faith of the Heart (3 page)

It was all Claire could do just to nod at him and close the door behind him. As soon as she heard his footsteps retreat she fell i
nto a chair, sobbing, unable to
believe that her position in life could get any more desperate, and that her only remaining family
lay buried in a grave less than a mile from her new home.  

CHAPTER TWO

                                                          The Sheriff

             
             
   
Omaha, Nebraska, April 1868

             
After escorting Omaha’s newest resident to
her new
house
, Tom Maxwell headed back to his office. He helped himself to a cup of strong black coffee and settled into his hard-backed chair. He flung his long lanky legs onto the beat-up desk and gathered up the pile of wanted posters. His mind kept drifting back to Claire.

What
a shock she’s had today. First she finds her aunt is dead
,
and now she’s got sole responsibility for that store too. Oh well. She’s an easterner. She’ll probably get on the first train home. Too
bad. She’s a
real
looker
.

At 26, Tom Maxwell was a looker himself. Standing
six foot four
in his stocking feet,
lean yet muscular,
with curly black hair and mustache, Tom had his share of female admirers.
Trouble was
,
he didn’t go for the simpering, prissy girls around town.
He was looking for someone with smarts,
b
ackbone,
and spirit. Wouldn’t hurt if that gal had some curves and a nice smile. Green eyes might be nice
,
too.

             
His own eyes drifted shut.

             
             
             
             
Six Years Earlier
             
             

             
Zing!
A sniper’s bullet whizzed by Tom Maxwell’s head as he stooped to aid a fallen soldier. Picking up the youngster he gently hoisted him on to his shoulder and zig-zagged a route back to the field hospital
as bullets zipped around him.

             
“Dr.
Douglas
”
,
he gasped
,
“I’ve got a man hit here! Doc, can you help him? It’s Private Sully, he’s…he’s from my hometown of Springfield, Missouri. I promised his ma I’d take care of him. Doc?” Tom
gently
laid the unconscious
youngster on the bloody operating table. He averted his eyes from the sight of Sully’s shattered arm.

             
The exhausted doctor nodded and picked up a
scalpel.
“Now get out of my way, you’re blocking my light.”

    
             
Captain Maxwell started backing out of the tent, concern deeply etched in his face. “Let me know Doc…”

  
             
“Yeah, right
,
” he barked. Seeing the captain’s stricken face he softened. “Alright Captain, come back in a few hours. We’ll see if your friend pulls through.”

             
“
Thanks, Doc I really appreciate…” but the doctor had already turned and
bent over the boy.

             
Tom wiped a tear from his face and turned back to the battlefield. Fighting had ceased and weary men were headed back to camp assisting the wounded and checking their weapons. It had been a long
hard fight
,
but the town of Vicksburg had finally surrendered.

             
Tom was assigned to General Ulysses S.
Grant’s staff. For three days his troops had been situated on a bluff high above Vicksburg,
Mississippi
. It was vital to the Union Army that they take control of the town and the Mississippi River it sat next to. Whoever controlled the river controlled Texas, Louisiana and Arkansas. Now they did and that meant hardship for the Confederacy. It could be a turning point of the war.

             
Tom wandered back to his tent and found his canteen. He took a long, swallow of the tepid water and collapsed on his cot. He slung his arm over his face and thought back to the day he and Sully joined up to fight the rebels. Two long years had passed since he and a g
r
oup of fellows had marched briskly
out of Springfield, Missouri while a brass band played and pretty girls blew kisses. Now, most of those boys were dead.
Only by the grace of God had he been spared.
His thoughts turned to Sully and he prayed fervently that God might spare him, too.

***

             
Slam!
Tom was
brought back to the present
as his
eager young
deputy rushed
in.
             
“Sheriff we got us a brawl at the High Times Saloon. Some cow
boys are
bustin’ up the place!”
The deputy seemed hardly able to contain his excitement.

             
Tom leapt up and grabbed his revolver. “Alright Percy, let’s go.”

             
Percy Simons
on
,
a stocky
blond
23 year-old made
of muscle and courage, doubled-stepped to keep up with his long-legged boss. The deputy had no problem holding his own and had been an invaluable sidekick to the sheriff for the past three years. He was a mi
te
high strung, but he could be counted on. Together the two lawmen made a good team.

             
Slipping into the saloon
,
they quickly assessed the situation. Three filthy cow
boys
were banging on the poker table with their pistols, threatening to shoot the local card shark. Maxwell quietly cocked his pistol.

             
“Gentlemen,” he spoke clearly, “I’ve had about all I’m gonna take. This is my town and you won’t be staying.”

             
The tallest and dirtiest of the trio slowly turned and snarled at the sheriff. “Lawman, what you plan to do about it? The way I count
yore
outnumbered
.
” His cohorts began to snicker. Maxwell calmly
fired
the cards right out of his hands, the shot ringing in the now-silent
room
. Tom silently stared at the startled
men
, pistol still raised
, smoking
and point
ed
in their direction. Without another word, the cowboy slowly stood up and backed out of the saloon. His friends followed quickly behind, much to the amusement of the bar patrons. A loud clatter of hoo
ve
s announced their rapid departure from town. Maxwell shrugged and addressed the crowd, “Alright folks, the show is over. That is unless some other fool wants to try his luck
.
” Shaking their heads, the drinkers turned back to their beer. Sniggers ran around the barroom and soon the quiet had dissolved again into the raucous laughter and
tinny piano music
that
w
as
the norm.

             
Percy flashed a quick grin at his boss, “Dang, it sure is a hoot working with you.” Maxwell smiled back, a stern look in his eyes as he addressed his friend and cohort.

“
T
hat may be
,
deputy. It sure is a shame though that those ranchers got their hands so full they can’t keep track of their men. These cowboys get to havin’ too much time on their hands with not enough to do, then I gotta spend my time makin’ sure they
find
somethin
’ useful to do and don’t get somebody hurt in the process. Got enough to do myself as it is.
 
S
imonson
,
just remember that if you take out the guy in charge the rest of the gang will usually crumble. These bums aren’t part of a pack because they’re bright, ya know.” Percy chuckled
at the familiar lecture and nodded in agreement.
             
“I’ll be sure to remember that boss.”  

             
The sheriff and deputy strolled out of the High Times and headed in opposite directions to do their
nightly
rounds.
Omaha was a bustling town so the two
lawmen
always had their hands full. Businesses were springing up along the newly surveyed Dodge and Farnam Streets. Houses were being constructed in the beautiful
H
appy Hollow area just west of downtown. Proud homeowners boasted of two-story homes with as many as four or five rooms. Churches and schools were evidence of families settling down. Omaha was growing and Tom was proud to be a part of its success.    

*
**

             
Feeling
a bit
better after a good, long cry, Claire
stood
up and looked around.

Spying the washstand and pitcher, she poured water into the flowered basin and dabbed at her face and hands with a nearby linen towel. The compact kitchen held a table and two chairs, a stove, a few cupboards and shelves, and a wooden food box.

             
Bright red geraniums flourished on the windowsill and cheery red plaid curtains matched a cloth on the table. With a sigh of pleasure
,
Claire noticed a china teapot on a shelf.

T
hat’s what will perk me up. A nice cup of tea
. She suddenly realized that she was very hungry. She’d not had breakfast and the clock on the wall showed she
had
missed lunch as well.

             
First things first. She had to find the necessary. Stepping out into the backyard she spied the small building discreetly hidden behind a tall elm. As she walked back to the kitchen door she noticed the tiny shoots of a newly planted garden. Lettuce, mint, and onions had just begun to sprout. She remembered with a catch in her throat that her uncle had loved to garden. She vowed to
make
his garden
thrive
and add new plants as the season progressed. Besides, she no longer lived in the
Buckley
household, where the comfort of having her meals provided was part of her board. She was going to have to learn to cook, otherwise she’d quickly tire of the few things she could prepare.

             
Claire filled the kettle from the well and set it on the stove. A few minutes’ search produced matches. In no time the fire was burning merrily and the kettle began humming. A canister above the stove was nearly full of tea leaves and soon Claire held a fragrant cup of her favorite brew in her hands. The stove warmed up the room nicely and Claire began to relax a bit. The rumble of her stomach reminded her she still needed to eat something, so she began prying through the cupboards and came up with a half loaf of bread and a jar of strawberry preserves.

Well, I won’t go hungry anyway.
Then she laughed at the absurdity of her thought.
You fool, you own a store. It’ll have plenty of foodstuffs.

             
Claire enjoyed
her simple meal and decided to take a look at the rest of her living quarters and her new store. Dusk was beginning to fall, so
she
lit a whale oil lamp and moved through a doorway int
o the adjoining room.
The parlor held a horsehair sofa and chairs. Two large ferns sat in decorative pots and kindling was neatly s
tacked
in the fireplace. Claire lit the fire and noticed a sturdy door on the far wall. Testing it, she found it to be locked and decided it must be the passageway to the store.

I’ll go into the mercantile later. First I want to find the bedroom and put my belongings away
, she thought.

             
The small bedroom was much plainer than the other rooms. It held an iron bedstead with an old worn spread, and a tall, badly scratched bureau. Aunt Ginny’s few dresses hung on wooden pegs mounted on the wall. Claire lifted a gray calico from its peg and sank onto the bed. She gathered up the worn dress and held it to her breast. She breathed deeply and caught Ginny’s scent of lemon balm and a hint of dried perspiration.