Gabriel's Atonement (27 page)

All around him, the tension rose as each racer focused on the soldiers, waiting for the lift of the bugles and rifles that would signal the start. He'd never participated in something so exciting, and his limbs actually trembled. Tempest snorted and pawed the earth, as if he, too, sensed the importance of the day. Gabe glanced again at Lara, memorizing her dark blue dress and straw hat. He blinked. Was that a gun belt around her tiny waist? He grinned. Maybe he'd underestimated her abilities.

A tense hush fell over the crowd, with horses blowing and the jangle of harnesses the only sounds to be heard. The captain stared at his watch. He lifted a hand, and Gabe hunkered down across Tempest's neck. There were only a few horses ahead of him, so he should be able to break free fairly quickly. He held his breath.

On both sides of him for as far as he could see, anxious Boomers lined the river, resembling a massive writhing serpent, waiting to strike.

Gabe's heart pounded. A trickle of sweat ran down his temple in spite of the cool temperature.

Horses pranced and snorted, sensing the tension of their riders.

The captain's arm swiftly dropped.

The blare of bugles rang out, and the blast of rifles filled the air.

With a roar, the riders lunged forward in an east–west line that ran for miles. Gabe shot into the river, crossed it with no problem in spite of the high water, and made it up the other side. The rider next to him slipped on the muddy banks, allowing Gabe to slide over and fill his spot. The faster horses pulled away, quickly leaving the struggling horde of wagons behind. His hat flew off, and he was glad he'd taken the time to affix the cord around his neck earlier. An exhilaration he hadn't experienced since he was a young boy flooded him.

He searched for Lara. Had she made it across the river, swollen from the recent rains? Glancing back and forth between the land in front of him and the riders to his right, he continued his search. Where was she?

A group of riders fanned to the far right while others surged forward. There! She was slightly in front of him—something he hadn't expected. He spotted her buckskin horse and her straw hat. He angled Tempest to the right and realized that Lara had reined her horse to the left. She must be taking his advice and heading to the Guthrie area. The distance between them narrowed.

The wind whipped at his face as Tempest's hooves pounded the ground. Fortunately, even though they received rain almost nightly this week, the ground was still hard. The sun warmed his head, and his heart pounded with possibilities. He couldn't help grinning. What happened today might well change his whole life.

After an hour of riding, all but a handful of riders had veered off or stopped to stake a claim. When Lara slowed her horse to a trot to rest him, so did Gabe, keeping a ways behind her. At some point, he needed to catch up to her, but for now, he was content to follow and make sure she was safe.

In just a few hours, they might both be landowners. Neighbors.

J
o kicked at the buckboard's wheel, stubbing her toe. Wagon after wagon drove past, leaving behind only a smidgen of the people who had been camped there this morning and a huge cloud of dust, which coated her face and clothing. Grit settled on her teeth and in her hair. She scratched at her chest, sure that dust had made its way into nearly every part of her clothing. If only she could have ridden instead of Lara.

Maybe she should have taken Sunny last night and sneaked off. She might have if Grandpa hadn't taken sick and Lara hadn't sat up half the night with him. She'd seriously thought about it, but in the end, she didn't want to jeopardize her family getting land. If she staked a claim and someone else contested that she was too young and that she'd been there before the start of the race, they would lose everything. She sighed. She may not want to live on a farm, but she would like to know her family had a home.

Bad Billy cried out and yanked at his tether. The crazy ole goat didn't like all the ruckus made by the Boomers. She checked to make sure Michael was still playing inside the wagon and walked over to the trees where the goats had been tied. They'd eaten all the leaves off the nearby bushes. As soon as things settled down and the last of the wagons crossed the river, she needed to find something for Lara's beasts to eat.

Wagons had been fording the river for hours, and there were still many more.

“Jo.”

She patted Billy and handed him a wad of grass she'd plucked then rushed back to the wagon and stooped down. “How are you, Grandpa?”

He shivered, and Jo tugged the quilt over his chest.

“Do you need another quilt?”

He shook his head. “Need pill.”

Jo counted the hours in her head since his last pill. Lara had said to try to spread them out since she didn't know when she'd be able to purchase more of them. She hated seeing him suffer. Since their parents died, he'd been the only one who gave a hoot whether they lived or not. Even Jack, their own brother, had up and left them.

She hurried around to the dust-coated tent and crawled inside. Her hand shook as she opened the bottle. The precious pills popped out. She quickly gathered them up, making sure not to lose even one. Then she carried a single pill and a ladle of water around and helped him drink. “Do you think you could eat some lunch? Although I don't know if I can find anything that isn't covered in dust.”

“Not yet. I just need to rest.” He yawned and then coughed several times. “Did Lara get off?”

“As far as I know. She rode up to get as close to the start as she could, but I didn't follow her.”

“She's a fine horsewoman.”

Jo looked away. Just once, she wished he'd compliment her. The question hovering in the back of her mind for days spilled out. “What happens if she doesn't get a claim?”

“I believe that she will. But God will provide if she doesn't.”

Jo rolled her eyes and blew out a sigh. That was always his pat answer. Had that miserable soddy been God's provision? And if God was so good at providing stuff, why couldn't he give them a steer so they could eat some beef instead of squirrels, turtles, and pigeons? Why did her parents have to die if God cared so much?

“Aunt Jo, I gotta go. And I'm hungry.”

“Go see to the boy. I'm just gonna rest some more.”

Jo stood and dusted off her skirt, which was an effort in futility, then helped Michael out of the wagon.

She thought of the pretty house she would have one day and knew it would only happen by hard work on her part. God didn't even know she existed, much less want to provide for her. No, the best thing she could do was to get away from this wretched land—this filthy dirt—and find someplace where she could live the life she'd dreamed about.

The train chugged closer to Guthrie, making Mark's gut swirl. Each mile brought him closer to his dream of owning his own chain of stores—the first one in Guthrie. He had to get land. Failing wasn't an option, not with the two carloads of supplies he had coming in later today. People would need all manner of supplies that they hadn't been able to carry with them on the run—lumber, cookstoves, food, and building materials. Mark stood taller. He was the one with the foresight to plan ahead and realize those needs, and he'd be the one to reap the financial benefit.

The wind whipped his face and threatened to steal his hat away, while coal dust powdered everything like a layer of sooty snow. He held on to the railing surrounding the outside of the platform at the back of the third car with sweaty hands that he had to keep wiping on his pants. At first, he'd planned on getting a seat inside but then decided against it. The train was packed with men sitting on the laps of other men, the aisles were full, and there were even men riding on top of the rail cars. Getting out of the cars would be difficult, especially with the platforms full. Six men even shared his small landing. He glanced up at the top of the car behind the one he was riding, and watched the men clinging to the top.

He shook his head. Fools, all of them. He wouldn't risk his neck like that. At least he'd had the foresight to climb aboard the platform early, claim his spot and hold it, even though he'd been bumped and scowled at by others trying to get on. No matter. What was done was done.

He watched the rolling hills of Indian Territory sail by. He had no plans to ever ride on the platform of a train again, but this one time was quite exhilarating. His father, the great Wilfred Hillborne, and his father's protégé, Mark's older brother, Baron, would be appalled at his behavior. Of course, neither of them would be caught dead participating in such an uncouth event as a land rush. Both were fuddy-duddies with no sense of adventure.

Still, he had to give his father credit for funding this venture even if he didn't agree with it. Just another reason he
had
to get land and make a good profit. The sooner he paid back his father, the happier he'd be. He didn't like being beholden to him.

The train jerked, and Mark tightened his grasp. It wouldn't do to fall off before he got to the Guthrie Station. If he got a fast start at the beginning of the race, he might be fortunate to get a town plot close to the railroad station. It would make transporting wares from the depot to his store much easier.

His thoughts turned to Abigail and how she'd pleaded with him not to go to a dirty town on the prairie. She was scared to death of Indians and being so far away from a big city. He was sick of hearing her whine about that and about leaving her behind. Part of the reason he chose the Oklahoma Territory was because he knew she wouldn't follow him out there. She was beautiful, but too spoiled for his liking. Too bad he didn't find that out sooner.

“What kind of business do you intend on startin'?” the impeccably dressed man on his left asked.

“A mercantile.”

The man nodded. “I'm a tailor. Perhaps I can purchase supplies from you if 'n you get a plot.”

“I have a good supply of fabrics arriving later today actually, including some plain, striped, and diagonal worsteds, mostly in shades of navy and black. There are also some fine finished tweeds in checks and plaids. Mind you, my stock in the finer fabrics isn't large, but I can order more if you need me to.”

The man had started nodding when Mark first mentioned the fabric he had in stock and still continued. “Fine! Fine. That's far more than I would've hoped for.”

“I also have a good supply of needles in various sizes, scissors, thread, and the like. My name's Mark Hillborne.”

“Everett Daggert. Most folks call me Ev.” He held out his hand, and Mark shook it. Ev eyed Mark's sack suit in appreciation. “I'm glad to meet another man who knows how to dress well.”

Mark nodded as he checked the time on his pocket watch. He frowned. It was well past one, and the race had already started. What would he do if no land was left when he arrived? Surely the train would beat the riders to Guthrie, even with the late start. He certainly hoped so.

He sighed and studied his platform mates. While he didn't particularly care about making friends, establishing relationships with other men who owned businesses was crucial. The other trio of men on the platform, who looked enough alike to be father and sons, kept to themselves, even facing the opposite direction. They talked so low that the noise of the train drowned out anything they said. No sweat off his brow if they wanted to keep to themselves. One of the men pointed at something on the far side of the train, but Mark couldn't distinguish what it was. He started to turn and face the outside of the train when it suddenly jerked, hissed, and slowed. He spun about and spied a small wooden structure. Was that the Guthrie Station or just another water stop?

Whoops and cheers rang out from the first car, and men jumped off the top of the train. Mark lurched into motion, grabbing his satchel off the floor. He eyed his stake, making sure it was still there, and then, even though the train was still moving, he studied the ground for a flat spot and jumped. He hit hard, rolled, then found his feet and took off running. As he angled his body toward the land behind the depot, he saw a crowd already gathered there, much to his dismay. He pushed his confusion away and aimed for the land past them. His feet pounded hard, and he ran for all he was worth, as a herd of men stampeded behind him.

The train's whistle blasted, announcing its arrival. Even though this was supposed to be the first train to reach Guthrie, there had to already be several hundred men there. Sooners, no doubt. Sneaked in and claimed their spots already. Or maybe the trains from the south had beat them. He gritted his teeth but didn't slow his pace.

Signs marked the streets, so rather than head straight for the most crowed area, he aimed for the street north of the depot and hurried up the slight incline. He passed people with their shingles already hanging from two sticks in the ground, stating their name and sometimes the type of their business. Oftentimes, someone was standing at the front of the lot, waving people on. As far as he could see, men were working. Some already had supplies out and were hawking their wares.