Savage storm

This book made available by the Internet Archive.

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While in his younger days many of the early residents of the Oregon frontier had regarded Jason Royal as a hellion who'd meet an early and violent death, he had scoffed at their dire predictions and had lived to prove them wrong. He'd not deny that he'd killed a man or two, but in honest fights over questions of honor, never wantonly or as a hired gun to satisfy another man's thirst for vengeance. Now at twenty-eight, he was a respected citizen of the Willamette Valley, an accomplished scout who'd become a wagon master of considerable skill, responsible for the lives of dozens of others as well as his own. Tall and well built with glossy black curls and gray eyes which were more often than not filled with amusement, his height and obvious strength made most men hesitate to cross him, and those few fools who did soon regretted it. A natural leader, he had a calm, easy manner which inspired confidence, but his patience had its limit.

"Let's call it a day, Clayton. I've lost count of how many young women we've interviewed, but each seemed less attractive and considerably less intelligent than the previous one.

Clayton Home chuckled to himself as he straightened up the desk, collecting the applications and placing them in neat stacks. "Don't be so critical, Jason, you know the men who are

paying for their passage to Oregon City are just average in appearance and intelligence. They want wives so badly, Vm certain the young women I've selected will seem like great beauties to them regardless of your opinion. The men will be grateful, and you saw for yourself how eager the women are to go. We're providing a service which is desperately needed, and I'd say appreciated by both the men and women involved."

Jason shook his head, unconvinced still. '*How I ever let you talk me into allowing you to escort twenty prospective brides along the Oregon Trail I'll never know, but since you've selected the women you need, let's not stay cooped up in this hotel room. Let's go on down to the bar." Glancing in the mirror above the dresser, Jason stopped to straighten his tie. He felt uncomfortable in the new gray suit Clayton had insisted he wear, but he had to admit a more formal appearance had the desired effect upon the ladies he'd met in Kansas City—and he was not thinking of those who'd agreed to marry men waiting for them at the end of the Oregon Trail. His reflection took on a rakish grin as he thought how little trouble he had impressing women even dressed in his most worn buckskins. Clayton envied his luck with romance, calling it a talent, but whether or not he'd been born with it, didn't concern Jason as long as it continued to bring him the beautiful women he wanted—when he wanted them.

''Well, what do you say?" he asked.

Clayton pulled the gold watch from his vest pocket and flipped open the engraved cover to observe the time. "No. You go on downstairs but I'll wait, if only to tell any others who might come that the interviews are over."

He exhaled slowly, as tired as Jason by the carefully planned routine they'd followed all day. He was a tactful man, and although he'd sent away most of the young women who'd come to apply, none had left in tears. He wanted to be certain none did.

''Oh, what the hell."

Jason sank down into the overstuffed chair near the

windows and slung his right leg over the arm to get more comfortable as he again loosened his tie.He resigned himself to waiting the full time they'd stated in the advertisement they'd placed in every major newspaper in Missouri. Knowing how desperately men in the Oregon country wanted wives, Clayton had seen arranging for the transportation of suitable females as his civic duty and as a fine opportunity to make a considerable profit as well. As the United States had grown, men had frequently been forced to advertise in newspapers in major cities to attract women to new settlements on the frontier. This enterprise was merely a group effort, rather than an individual one. Jason had laughed when the older man had first suggested that they transport a small number of mail-order brides, adding that if the scheme worked as well as he thought it would, each wagon train Jason led would bring more women until every man willing to pay their price had found himself a wife. From the outset Jason had thought the scheme ill-advised because following the Oregon Trail was a long and arduous journey, and certainly not one he'd recommend to young women, but the eagerness with which Clayton's plan had been received by the bachelors they'd approached had finally convinced him to give it at least a fair trial. *Toor bastards." He had muttered softly to himself, for he could not imagine loneliness being so profound as to inspire either a man or woman to marry a stranger.

A hesitant knock at the door startled both men from their thoughts. Clayton, being the one seated nearest the door, rose to answer the summons. As he had expected, another young woman stood before him. Having already decided not to question any more candidates, he began his speech as soon as he opened the door.

"Good afternoon, my dear. I am Clayton Home and I want to thank you for coming for the interview. However, all twenty places have already been filled. Perhaps you'd care to apply again next spring."

Despite Jason's pessimism, Clayton was certain they would

soon be deluged with requests for brides and this trip would be the first of countless others.

''I have your advertisement in my hand, sir, and it clearly states interviews will be conducted from ten until six today. It is not yet six."

Jason looked up, intrigued by the young woman's slightly husky voice as well as by her insistent manner. Clayton's stocky form blocked his view so he could see nothing but the top of her bonnet and the hem of her skirt, both of which were black, a black as deep as midnight on the plains. Admiring her spunk, he was too curious not to enter the conversation and spoke as he rose to his feet, remembering to adjust his tie as he went to the door.

"Your watch must be incorrectly set, Clayton. By mine it is only five-forty-five and we've plenty of time to speak with Miss? . . ."

"Miss MacLaren, Gabrielle MacLaren," the young woman responded with a bright smile, relieved she'd not been turned away after all.

Jason tried not to stare, but although he knew his glance was far too intense, he could not seem to manage a more discreet gaze. Gabrielle MacLaren was simply the most beautiful young woman he'd ever seen. She was quite tall, yet slender of build, her superb figure scarcely disguised by the confining lines of the somber black suit she wore. She was very fair, with translucent skin so flawless it could only be compared to fine porcelain. Her long hair, which she'd worn loose beneath her velvet bonnet, reached clear past her waist. It was a lustrous, deep red— auburn was the word that suddenly came to his mind—but rather than having brown eyes as he would have expected, her long thick eyelashes framed eyes of a bright clear blue—the same vivid sapphire hue that inspired poets to write lyric verse and composers to burst into song. Her delicate features were exquisite. Her pink-tinged lips had a gentle Cupid's-bow shape, her nose had only the slightest upturn, and her chin had a soft point giving her face the shape of a heart.

Her features, therefore, provided the perfect complement to her incredible eyes, and he could not seem to find his voice to speak his own name so entranced was he by her beauty.

Amused by his young partner's captivated stare, Clayton inhered their visitor inside. "May I present my associate, Jason Royal. While I am charged with the responsibility of selecting the young women to become our clients' brides, he will be in command of the journey over the Oregon Trail."

Gabrielle extended her small gloved hand but the tall, dark-haired man was staring so boldly that she was really terribly embarrassed. He was very tan, handsome, and appeared quite fit as if he enjoyed the rigors of the outdoor life, but it was the rapt expression that made her blush.

"How do you do, Mr. Royal." In the late afternoon sunlight which filtered through the lace curtains at the window she could not discern whether his eyes were gray or green, but they held such an admiring glow that she forgave him his apparent lack of manners. When he helped her to her seat an unruly lock of hair fell across his forehead. He combed it back quickly with his fingers as if he were a small boy trying to look his best for an important guest. It was a charming gesture and so, wanting to put him at ease, she attempted to begin a conversation.

"I hope you will overlook the fact that I am dressed in black. I am not a widow, although your advertisement asks for 'marriageable young ladies' and a widow is certainly free to marry."

Clayton gasped in shock, "Good lord, you have an excellent point there. I did not even think that we might attract widowed ladies to our enterprise. Perhaps we should rephrase our advertisement to make that point more clear."

Gabrielle read the neatly folded advertisement carefully, as if she hadn't memorized it during the many times she'd read it and debated with herself whether or not to apply.

"I think you should leave this exactly as it is. There must be men who would be happy to meet a pleasant young woman

whether or not she is a widow."

Fascinated by the softness of her voice as well as by her logic, Jason agreed quickly. "You are undoubtedly correct. Miss MacLaren." Bringing another straight-backed chair up close to the desk so he might sit beside her, he continued in an encouraging tone. "You must forgive me if this question appears impertinent, but why has a young woman of your intelligence and charm been attracted to this form of proposal? I am thinking only of ways to improve our advertisements, you understand,'' he added hastily, knowing he sounded daft and not understanding why.

"That is far too long and complicated a tale to relate in the few minutes we have remaining before six o'clock, Mr. Royal. Let me explain only that I wish to go to the Oregon country because I'm sure the future will be far brighter for me there than in Liberty where I was born."

"Yes, of course," Jason replied impatiently. "The lure of adventure is a compelling one, I understand that well. But in addition to free passage you must agree to taking one of the men who has paid for the journey as your husband when you arrive." Glancing up at his friend, Jason gestured toward the folder which contained small sketches of the twenty men who were anxiously awaiting the arrival of their brides. "Show her the drawings, Clayton."

That was a prearranged signal between the two men; as they'd interviewed each young woman only the final candidates had been given the privilege of viewing the drawings. Some of the women had scarcely looked at the faces. Knowing that the men existed was all that mattered to them. Others, however, had wanted to know more about the men, their interest being in the financial success of their prospective spouses, not in their appearance. But Gabrielle studied each of the twenty pencil drawings with great care before she looked up.

"These sketches are superb, so lifelike. I'm certain I would be able to recognize each and every one of these men the

moment they entered the room. Who was the artist?"

Jason could not heUeve she was praising work he considered barely adequate, but he admitted to having done it himself. "I drew them. I thought women would want to see what their choices were so they would not be disappointed after they'd made such a long trip. I have little talent, but—"

"Surely you do not believe that, Mr. Royal, for these are marvelous sketches. You've captured the very essence of each man's character." Laying the drawings out one at a time she proceeded to show him what she meant. "Look at this first one; you see how bashful his smile is? I'll bet he's quiet, rather shy, but an industrious worker who would make a very dear husband. Am I right?"

Clayton looked at Jason's flabbergasted expression and laughed out loud. "That is Johnny to be sure. Miss MacLaren. What about the others?"

"Well now, let me see." Gabrielle laid the pictures in groups. "A man's expression tells a lot about him. These two seem too stern, either they are rather grim in their outlook on life, or they wanted to appear that way to attract a more serious-minded woman." In a few minutes' time she described all twenty men, placing them in several categories, but all her comments were kind. If a man was not in the least bit good-looking, she would say he appeared to be a hard worker or that he would have a way with animals, or that she could tell he'd love to have a large family. She came up with any number of observations which would have pleased the men pictured; then she sat back and waited for her two companions to respond.

"You are right about them all, every last one. Miss MacLaren, although I'd not have thought it possible you could tell so much from my sketches. We refused to take money from any man we knew to be a heavy drinker or careless with his money. So there are none among the group with faults too great for an understanding wife to forgive."

'That's right. Miss MacLaren." Clayton joined in amicably, "We accepted only men we'd like our sisters to marry, if we

had them. We've attempted to do the same with the women, to provide brides these men can be proud of."

Glancing down at the array of drawings, Gabrielle asked shyly, "Am I supposed to choose one of these men now? Is that your plan?"

"No," Jason replied, feeling the relief he saw mirrored in her eyes as well. "No, not at all. We want to provide ample opportunity for the men and the women to be satisfied with their choice. We plan to host a series of parties when we return home, but I doubt the men will want to wait more than a week or two before they propose to their favorite. With luck, it will all work out so everyone will be happy." At least he prayed that it would, despite his many misgivings.

"Unfortunately, Miss MacLaren, as I told you at the beginning of this interview, all twenty places have been filled. We cannot take you this time." Clayton got to his feet, indicating that the interview was over, but Jason reached out to touch Gabrielle's arm, hoping she would stay a moment longer.

"Miss MacLaren, quite frankly, this is the first time we've attempted such a venture and we're by no means certain all the young ladies we've selected will, in fact, return tomorrow to begin the preparations for the trip. If you will tell me where you're staying tonight, I will make every effort to contact you in the morning should we have an opening."