Lazy Days (2 page)

March 1866

With one arm around her eight-year-old son,
Hallie Wells swiped her eyes with the handkerchief clenched in her other hand,
trying to remain stoic. When men from her church began lowering her husband's
coffin into his freshly dug grave, she bit her lip until she tasted blood to
keep from sobbing, wanting to wail when the first pitch of dirt sounded on the simple
wooden box.

Timmy, who had been so brave the past two days,
turned into her side and buried his face against her bosom, his thin body shaking
with gut-wrenching sorrow. Hallie's heart broke for her child who had loved his
father dearly.

The pastor's wife placed a hand on Hallie's
shoulder as Pastor Murdock said kindly, "Hallie and Timmy, it's time to
leave."

Still clutching her son, Hallie turned slowly from
the grave, but at the last minute paused and stared at her husband's coffin. She
whispered, "I'll fulfill our dream, Thomas, I promise," and then
released the sob she had been trying so valiantly to keep inside.

The crackling fire usually so comforting on a cold
night did little to dispel Hallie's anxiety. Staring into the flames, she took
deep breaths and closed her eyes, but her mind refused any semblance of peace.

 
Tom, why did you have to be in the wrong
place at the wrong time? Why did fate send you to St. Louis on the same day as
a tornado?

In the week since Thomas’s burial, Hallie and Timmy
mourned his loss, though in different ways. Usually outgoing and rambunctious, Timmy
became reserved and quiet, while Hallie, hoping to still her fears for a while,
weeded flower beds and scrubbed and cleaned the cabin that had been her home with
her husband and childhood sweetheart for the past seven years.

Now, with Timmy in bed and her head drooping
from exhaustion—sorrow, laced with fear of the future for her son and herself—could
no longer be held at bay, and her tears coursed unhindered. That awful day when
Pastor Murdock galloped to her farm with the sad news of her husband's demise replayed
itself in her mind. The kindly pastor had tried to offer some consolation by
explaining that Thomas, shielding a little girl from debris thrown by the
tornado and saving her life, was struck himself, and according to the deputy,
most likely did not suffer since he never regained consciousness.

The thought of her sweet husband being so brave brought
a fresh wave of tears, but for a few minutes Hallie allowed herself the unreasonable
feeling of anger toward Thomas for dying and leaving her and Timmy alone. Her
anger was soon replaced with self-pity because now they had nothing, all their worldly
belongings having been sold a month earlier in anticipation of their upcoming travel.

Finally, with her anger and sorrow spent, Hallie
inhaled a shuddering breath, stared into the orange flames, and resolved to
find a solution to her dilemma. Methodically, she inventoried her predicament—she
had no home, no employment, and practically no belongings. What she did have,
however, was the reason for Thomas's trip to St. Louis. In his pocket were
three tickets for passage aboard the steamboat
Mirabella
leaving in mid
April from St. Louis to Westport Landing. She also had enough money to purchase
a wagon, oxen, and supplies necessary to continue from Westport with the train headed
west on the Oregon Trail.

You have more than that; you have the dream Thomas
inspired.

For the first time in days, Hallie smiled.

Tom, your dream of adventure and new beginnings
was infectious.

For a few minutes, she envisioned the land her
husband had diligently researched—the Willamette Valley in Oregon. Even now, his
enthusiastic voice rang in her ears. "It's the next best thing to heaven,
honey. So beautiful it steals your breath away. We'll start a new farm with
crops that fairly burst from the ground they're so happy at being sown. We'll
build a home to last through generations. We'll have the adventure of a
lifetime. Can't you hear the Cry of the West? Come on, Hallie, say you'll
consider it."

A log popped, hissed, and crumbled, the sound bringing
Hallie back to the present and crumbling her memory of that magic moment—but
not her reply, which was the same today as it had been on that glorious day—"Yes,
I'll go!"

Shoring up her resolve to continue onward to
Oregon, Hallie determined that her next step was to hire a man to drive the
wagon she'd purchase in Westport. She would have to budget carefully in order to
pay him and the expenses of their journey, as well as the beginnings of her new
life in Oregon, but it was all doable.

Finally, she dozed in her rocking chair dreaming
of beautiful Oregon, a new state full of opportunity in this vast United
States.

Cooper Jerome cursed and began walking the short
distance from Jebson's Livery to Jebson's General Store so as to pass the time
while his horse was being shod.

Dammit, Sweet Pea, why couldn't you wait until
we got home to throw a shoe?

Cooper glanced at Vernon's Saloon and felt the
pull of cheap whiskey. He wanted a drink—bad. So bad, in fact, his steps
faltered and his courage wavered.

Bolstered with determination
, he hastened his steps
across the street and down the boardwalk to the store and saw Mrs. Wells enter
with her son. He'd heard tell that her husband was killed in the tornado that
hit St. Louis. He felt sorry for her, but she was young and would most likely
find another husband—probably a widower with a few kids—and life would go on.
She wasn't outright pretty, but she was passable.

He remembered meeting the Wells shortly after being
discharged from the army and settling into the small farm he'd bought six
months previous. Mr. Wells walked with a pronounced limp and a brace on one leg
and Cooper wondered if he suffered from the ravages of infantile paralysis. As
for Mrs. Wells, he'd never forgotten the color of her eyes—as green as the
grass on Kentucky hills. One of the locals had introduced them outside of Jebson's
store, the gathering place for local gossip and news. In fact, Toliver Jebson
and a slew of brothers, sons, cousins, and other family members, owned just
about everything in the small town of Jebson, twenty miles east of St. Louis.

After that first meeting, he'd transacted a couple
of animal purchases with Mr. Wells when he bought a mule and some chickens to
get his farm going.

Returning his thoughts to the present, Cooper
knew the neighborly thing to do would be to offer his condolences. By the time
he entered the store, however, Mrs. Wells had disappeared into the back room jammed
with fabric bolts and sewing supplies. Rather than follow her into that part of
the store, he decided to buy a case of shells for his twin Smith and Wesson six-shooters
and wait for her to return.

* * *

Hallie pretended interest in a bolt of blue gingham
while she tried to steady her rapid breathing.

"Ma, can I go see if Zack and Zeke are out back?"
Timmy asked.

"Sure. Just don't get so caught up you don't
hear me when I call."

"Okay, Ma."

Hallie breathed a sigh of relief. She didn't
want Timmy overhearing her when she talked to Mr. Jerome. She'd seen the tall
cowboy crossing the street toward the general store and then heard the door
open when he entered. Her mind shouted, "Ask him!"

She'd met Mr. Jerome a couple of times before
and later observed to Tom that he looked like a haunted man. Her husband had
replied, "He's recently returned from the War of the States as a Union
soldier and bought that ramshackle old Richardson place." He had sighed
and continued, "That's what war does to a man, especially when its brother-against-brother."
After that, Tom had pointed to his bum leg caused from a childhood bout with paralysis
and said, "I guess something good did come of this. I didn't have to fight
in a war and kill my fellow Americans."

Hallie heard Timmy call a greeting to Mrs.
Jebson and then open and close the door as he went in search of his friends.
Gathering her wits, she reentered the front of the store and bumped into Mr.
Jerome when she rounded the door frame. Inadvertently, she gasped and placed a
hand over her heart.

"Sorry, ma'am, I didn't mean to frighten
you."

His voice was rich and deep and Hallie was
suddenly tongue-tied. The man was so—she searched for a word—masculine: over
six feet tall, with wavy black hair tied back with a leather strap and a face
that seemed carved from granite with its angles and planes. Blue eyes that
would make the loveliest shade for a dress stared at her above cheeks and jaws
that hadn't seen a razor for days. She couldn't decide whether his looks
favored that of an angel or a devil. Her courage almost failed, but then she
remembered Tom saying that Mr. Jerome was a just and good man.

In a breathless voice, she said, "Hello,
Mr. Jerome. You're just the man I wanted to see."

He gave her a questioning look. "Is that
right?"

"Yes, sir. Do you suppose we could walk
onto the porch? I'd like to discuss a proposition with you that is of a private
nature."

Mr. Jerome quirked an eyebrow and Hallie turned
scarlet when she realized the suggestive nature of her remark.

He stepped aside, motioning toward the door with
his hand. "After you, ma'am."

Hallie prayed her heartbeat would slow down. If
it didn't, she might faint.

Amidst curious glances from Mr. and Mrs. Jebson,
they stepped out onto the boardwalk. She walked a few paces and then turned around,
fisting her hands in her skirt.
Just ask him. All he can do is say no.

Before she could speak, he said, "Mrs.
Wells, I'd like to offer my condolences on the loss of your husband. He was a
good man."

"Thank you, Mr. Jerome. Yes, he was a very
good man. He also said that of you." She paused considering how to proceed.
Mr. Jerome's blue eyes and intent stare unnerved her and muddled her thoughts.
She grazed her teeth over her bottom lip.

"Ma'am, please say whatever it is that's
troubling you."

It's now or never.
"Um, I'm not sure
if you heard that Thomas and I sold our farm and just about everything we own,
including the animals. For years, he wanted to move west. It was a dream that
eventually became my dream as well. We purchased a reservation with a wagon
train headed out of Westport next month. The money we received from the sale of
our property was for the purchase of a wagon, oxen, supplies, and also to hire hands
to help with the building of our cabin on one hundred acres that Tom bought in
the Willamette Valley in Oregon." She'd spoken the words in a rush and
ended with, "The new homeowners are taking possession soon. They've been
accommodating since Tom's death, but they sold their own place and need to move
in."

Hallie watched Mr. Jerome furrowed his brow. After
a long silence, he asked, hesitantly, "So, what is it you need from me?"

* * *

The expression on Mrs. Wells' face wasn't giving
Cooper a good feeling. She wanted something and he definitely had the notion he
wasn't going to like what it was, especially when she couldn't meet his eyes.

Unexpectedly, her emerald gaze stared directly at
him and his gut clenched, and when the breeze blew a stray lock of her light
brown hair across her forehead, he almost moved his hand to tuck it back under
her bonnet.

"Mr. Jerome, would you be interested in
driving my wagon to Oregon? I would pay you well."

Cooper blinked, forcing himself to look away
from the pleading in her eyes. "Uh, well, ma'am…" He glanced back. She
looked like she was about to cry. "Uh, ma'am, now that would take me away
from my place through planting season and harvest, and longer." He dreaded
her expression if he flat out refused.

"I would pay you whatever you would make
during harvest and more." She blinked and brushed at a tear that kept
welling up in one eye. "Mr. Jerome, I'm desperate. I have no home. I have
no husband. I have no family to turn to. I have a young son to care for. And I
have very little time to prepare before departure. The wagon train leaves the
end of April. Believe me, if I were capable of driving the oxen myself, I would
do so. But, as you can see, I am neither large, nor strong. I fear I would kill
myself and my child. Besides, I doubt the train master would even allow me near
the team after he saw me crack a whip." She gave a pathetic smile at her
attempt at a joke.

Cooper forced his eyes away from hers and
glanced down the street at the big SALOON sign. He wanted that drink. Stalling
for time, he removed his Stetson, slapped it against his thigh, replaced it,
scratched his neck, and finally met her gaze again. "Give me some time to
think about it."

Her joyous expression transformed her face from
plain to pretty.
Dammit, Cooper. Just tell her no and walk away.

* * *

After thanking and excusing herself from Mr.
Jerome, Hallie went back inside the shop and finished making her purchases. Then
she stepped to the outside wall of the general store to call down the narrow
alley for Timmy.

"I'm comin', Ma."

While she waited for her son, she couldn't stop
the surge of hope that kept trying to break free. Since Tom's death her
emotions were in constant turmoil, worrying for the future of her son and
herself. Life without a husband was not easy, especially if one were destitute
of a home. Mr. Jerome said he'd ride out to her place in a couple of days with
his answer.

Glancing down the street she saw him exit the
livery and mount his horse. He was a big man and the thought of him driving the
oxen and protecting her and Timmy on the five-month journey filled her heart
with hope yet again.

Timmy rounded the corner of the building yelling
goodbye to Mr. Jebson's sons and holding a lizard firmly, but gently, in his
grasp. He looked up and smiled. "See what I found, Ma."

Hallie ruffled his blond hair, a shade lighter
than his father's had been, and smiled.

Timmy eyed his mother. "Ma, you okay? You
look kinda…happy, again."

"I'm feelin' better. How about you?"

Timmy sighed. "Yeah, I'm feelin' better,
too." He paused. "But I sure miss Pa."

Hallie knelt and hugged him. "We're always
going to miss him, son. But we have to go on."

Two days later, as promised, Mr. Jerome trotted
his horse to the front of her cabin. The nervousness that had been giving
Hallie stomach trouble for days now started her heart pounding furiously. What
would she do if he said no?

* * *

Cooper glanced around the tidy yard surrounding
Mrs. Wells' cabin. Beds of climbing roses twisted their vines up the posts and
lattice of the porch, promising a burst of color and fragrance any day now. His
gut twisted. He was going to tell her that he wouldn't be accompanying her on
the Oregon Trail. Hell, it had only been a short time since his return from the
nightmare of war and he'd dreamed of farming his own land for years.

Refusing to let his thoughts drift to the things
he had seen and done in that God awful war, he turned his attention to the
front door opening.

Mrs. Wells greeted him with a shy smile and his
gut twisted some more. "Good afternoon, Mr. Jerome. Please come in and
have some tea."

Cooper wanted to blurt a refusal of the tea,
decline his assistance in driving her wagon, and gallop the hell away from her green
eyes.

"Thank you, ma'am. That would be right
nice."

He followed her inside. The cozy atmosphere fairly
reeked with a woman's touch. She motioned to a large table in the center of the
room.

"Please have a seat, Mr. Jerome. I also
have oatmeal cookies just out of the oven. Do you like oatmeal cookies?"

Cooper saw her wring her hands together. She was
as nervous as he was. "I like them very much."

She smiled, waited for him to sit, and then rushed
to a sideboard, pouring a glass of tea and placing cookies on a plate. Bringing
her offering to the table, she set it in front of him and then sat down across from
him.

Cooper removed his hat and stowed it on the chair
next to him. Mrs. Wells said, "Oh, where are my manners? Let me hang your
hat on the hook by the door." She started to rise.

"Don't worry about it." He shot a hand
out to stop her and immediately wanted to curse when he saw her eyes widen at
his touch. He jerked his hand back and lifted a cookie. "Aren't you having
one, too?"

Still flustered, she said, "Oh, not now. I
always eat pinches of cookie dough while I'm baking. By the time they come out
of the oven, I'm too full to eat any more."

She bit her full bottom lip, something Cooper
decided was a habit when she was nervous, and he quickly glanced away. This was
becoming more difficult by the second. He said, "Looks like we might get
some rain this afternoon."

Mrs. Wells didn't respond and he glanced back at
her. She wore a sad expression.

"You've come to decline my offer, haven't
you, Mr. Jerome?"

Damnation! Don't look at me like that.
"Uh, y…"

The door burst open and her boy ran in. "Howdy,
Mr. Jerome. Are you takin' us to Oregon?" he asked loudly.

Cooper looked at the scrawny, tow-headed boy
with a dirt-streaked face and cowlicks sending his hair in several directions, and
his heart dropped to his feet. The boy reminded him of…

Mrs. Wells said, "Timmy, it's very rude to
interrupt grownups by bursting into a room. As for Mr. Jerome accompanying us
to Oregon, he said–"

Cooper interrupted. "I said, yes. I'll be
driving your oxen and making sure you're settled in your new place." He
glanced at Mrs. Wells' rounded eyes and wondered when he'd lost his mind.