Northern Lights Trilogy (70 page)

I
t was only as Tora awakened on Thanksgiving Day that she felt the depths of her despair. Her new job and the new challenges before her had buoyed her up, given her a false sense of importance, and taken her mind off her immediate circumstances. But with the day off from teaching, she had time to ponder her true condition. Winter was fast approaching, she thought dismally, shivering as the frosty air met skin. What would a long winter as a schoolmarm in a shack be like? And what was there in life to look forward to now? She had no friends and had been treated as an oddity in her new surroundings.

The children were off today on holiday, but the cantankerous schoolteacher had not received one invitation to Thanksgiving dinner, Tora mused. She was alone for the first time, left to her own devices. Suddenly, she longed for the warmth of her mother’s kitchen, and even her father’s gruff voice. She longed to return home, snuggle deep into a feather comforter with Gratia’s careful design stitched to its cover, and listen to the sounds of her Bergen home. Even seeing Elsa and Carina wouldn’t be all bad, she supposed. What was her alternative? Eating cold beef and hard rolls. That was her day.

She groaned and turned over, thinking of last Thanksgiving. She and Trent had had a nice reunion in Helena the day before, and had
hosted over twenty people for the holiday dinner. It had been a boisterous, loud event, after which Trent had claimed he wished they had spent it alone. At the time, his words had irritated her. Now, she wished she could hear them again, and relish the loving heart from which they emerged—the desire to be with her alone. How could she have jeopardized that love? Her chance for a future?

Tora flipped back over, agitated by her thoughts. Trent had been more than her future. In the beginning, that was how she saw him. But the years and the distance taught her more. She had loved him, with her whole heart. She had loved the way he moved, the way he held her like a precious, fragile doll, the way he had given her room to grow and to show the world what she could do. She had loved talking business with him, making plans, building something together. And now she had nothing of him. The tears were gone from her eyes, but the ache still built within her gut.

Frustrated, she pushed back the covers and sat up. Nothing would be accomplished by lying in bed and mooning over a man who had banished her not only from his life, but her own world as well. She threw on some more clothes, her breath clouding in the cold morning air, and hurried to the potbellied stove to get a fire going. Today she would stuff the cracks in the wall with strips from an old dress, and attempt to make her shanty a worthy shelter for winter. And her piled luggage would form a nice wall of insulation on the north end of the shanty, the direction from which most of the valley’s wind came.

But as she worked, memories of Trent kept entering her mind, memories of happy times and all she had lost. What did she have to be thankful for this year? she chided herself, attempting to take control of her self-pity. A roof over her head, a bed, a meal—sad as it was—and a means to support herself. But what about the other things in life, things like family, friends, love …? Again, an overwhelming sense of loneliness entered her heart. Working to find inspiration, she grabbed a sheet of paper and pen and sat on her bed with a book. She did not
stop to think. She merely wrote what was on her heart, deciding that she would consider later whether or not to send it.

Tora paused for a moment, wondering what to write next. Although she truly felt regret, could she actually convince herself to send such words to him? She pressed on.

The words, when she reread them, felt frightfully honest and frank. Trent would probably laugh as he read them. But something inside her drove Tora to leave them as they lay, to fold the paper, once dry, and seal it inside one of her last French envelopes. She addressed it from memory, feeling as if she were running a hand over Trent’s
cheek instead of the smooth stationery. “I miss you, Trent,” she whispered.

Her teacup, sitting on a warming tray above the stove, suddenly rattled, and Tora looked up. It became silent, so she again considered her letter. But when it began rattling again, it did not stop, and then Tora felt the rumble under her floor. What could be making such a commotion?

She peered out the window, and could not see anything out of the ordinary for a long time, but the ground trembled more and more even as her trepidation grew. When the first head of cattle came into view, Tora breathed a sigh of relief. It was merely a cattle drive. A cattleman taking his stock to the railroad, or overland himself. It made sense they would come this way, by the schoolhouse. It was on a strip of land that ran for miles without fences, whereas most of the homesteaders had erected barbed wire to keep cattlemen from razing the land on their way through.

A horseman cantered by her window and pulled the stock to a halt. Probably thirsty, Tora thought, rushing to grab her pail and her coat. She opened the door, glad to have a little company on this lonely day, when she saw the first cowboy’s face.

Instinctively, she knew he was trouble. His eyes were deep set and constantly shifting, and his posture reminded Tora of a mountain lion on the prowl. He was large, strong, menacing. She took a step backward.

He whistled and looked her over appreciatively, obviously enjoying her alarm. “Now, I had heard the schoolmarm out this way was something to see.”

Tora looked quickly at his two companions to see if they approved of him. Both looked as trustworthy as the first.

The leader dismounted and strode up to her with confidence. “Going to offer me some water, miss?”

“Certainly,” she said, pretending to feel more at ease than she felt.
As she bent to pump the water, she could feel him edge nearer to her than was proper. Sudden laughter from his cohorts made her look up with suspicion, but he smiled innocently. “Here’s your water,” she said, handing him the pail without offering a scoop. She stepped away.

“Much obliged,” he said, his eyes never leaving hers.

“I am glad to help.”

He set the bucket down and took a step closer. “Helpful women are difficult to find this far west.”

“Not if you look hard enough,” she said lightly. “My man and I plan to marry in the fall.” It was a desperate statement that she hoped would fool them. “Whose cattle are you running?”

The man’s scarred face slowly widened in a lazy smile. “You tryin’ to lose me? Tell me the truth. You don’t have no beau.” He took another step closer, merely inches from her body. “Why make up a fantasy man when I’m right here? That’s right, we haven’t even been properly introduced. Have to be introduced if we’re to get to know each other. Name’s Decker, at your service.” He took off his hat and bowed low before her, setting his cohorts to chuckling.

Tora stepped away before he could reach an arm around her. “You boys get your water and get on your way. I’m expecting my ride for Thanksgiving dinner any minute.” She hoped her voice sounded more confident than she felt. To her, it sounded like a blatant lie. She went to close the door behind her when Decker pushed it in, his friends laughing as if they were watching a circus clown.

“You can’t come in here!” Tora yelled, suddenly desperately afraid.

“On the contrary,” Decker said, peeling off his huge jacket and advancing toward her. “There ain’t no man around to protect you. And as I said, we should get to know each other better. I’m a lonely cowboy. You’re a lonely schoolmarm. I think we should take advantage of our situation.”

“Get out. Get out!”

“Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’m here. I’m here to be your man.”

When Mr. Crosby’s news of Tora’s absence reached Joseph Campbell upon his return from his Helena holiday, he immediately hurried from Spokane to the schoolhouse to search her room. Outside in the yard were the tracks of a herd of cattle. It being long after midnight, he lit a second lamp from his wagon and studied the tracks further. He could see evidence of three horses. He moved inside, tentatively opening the door with his foot while holding the lamps in his hand. “Miss Anders?” he called, his voice sounding thin and quiet in the night.

The room was a mess. There had been a scuffle, judging by the overturned chair and by the bed. Then he noticed the drops of blood. Joseph looked around grimly. She had taken none of her luggage, if he counted right. And she had disappeared a couple of days ago. Thanksgiving Day, probably. The only people who had left their homes for anywhere besides church had been some cowboys driving a hundred head of cattle through town. Was she crazy enough, desperate enough, to take up with one of them and leave everything she had behind?

Joseph shook his head. Tora Anders loved her things. It had been hard enough for her to leave her home. There was no way she would willingly leave the few things she still possessed. What had caused her to depart without her clothing and possessions?

Then he spied the letter addressed to Trent. He picked it off the floor, wiping away the dirt that smudged its surface.
Mister Trent Storm
, she had written in a clear, concise script. Joseph decided to open it—perhaps it would give some clue as to her whereabouts. It was critical to know where she had gone and if she was in trouble. And it was critical to know right away. Swiftly he read the letter.

These were not the words of a woman who was saying good-bye. They were honest words written from the heart, a heart’s apology, a heart that was missing Trent. Had she turned a corner? Some corner Trent had been waiting for? Joseph knew, deep down, that something monumental had happened to Tora before writing these words. And after.

He turned to go. He would send a messenger with the letter directly to Mr. Storm. And he would track down Tora Anders.

Decker used Tora until they reached the railroad days later. He offered her to his friends, but they declined, apparently embarrassed.
Thank heaven for small mercies
, Tora thought distantly. She no longer felt as if she inhabited her body, so tired and abused was she. She did not know when her trial would end, and when Decker hustled her aboard an empty railway car, she despaired that he was coming with her.

“I’m afraid I’m headin’ in a different direction, Tora,” he said, tipping his hat as if he were a gentleman suitor saying good-bye rather than her abductor. “I want you aboard this train so we can gain some distance. Don’t think about squawkin’ to the sheriff. I’ll be long gone, and you’ll just be a used-up prostitute as far as he’s concerned. Not that I didn’t appreciate your favors.”

Tora scrambled to the other side of the car, receding into the darkness as Decker stood in the doorway, his massive silhouette visible against the moonlight. She trembled from the cold, but more in fear that he might use her one last time. She couldn’t believe that he was leaving her, letting her escape from him!

“Don’t get off this car, Tora,” he said quietly. “It’ll leave in an hour or so. Going straight to Seattle, you are! You strike me as a city kind of girl. You’ll like it. If you get off here, I’ll kill you. And if you tell any tales about me, I’ll hunt you down and kill you later. Understand me?”

Tora nodded, her throat dry.

“Understand me?” His voice rose. “I’ll find you again.”

“Yes. I understand you,” she said, with a voice that came from the depths of desperation.