Page 61 of West Wind

Two more weeks.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

The nights were cool, the stars bright in a cloudless sky as they followed the Humboldt River across Nevada. They did much of their traveling at night, preferring cool moonlight to the blistering sun.

Shelley filled her head with stories of the wonders of Virginia City, that rollicking town that waited for them before the Sierra Nevada Mountains. His tales were primarily of saloon brawls and dancing girls, but Annabelle didn’t mind. She loved the sound of his voice, his soothing timbre, the easy drawl that made everything he said a balm to her spirit.

The nights were pleasant, but the days were brutal. A blistering sun beat down on them unmercifully, with no relief in the form of shade or rain. Even the wind was painful, pelting their faces with sand and alkali dust. They rested during the hottest part of the day, Shelley constructing a crude shelter from two sturdy poles he’d purchased as they left Salt Lake City, and a blanket, much as she had that day by the creek. Even then, the heat was unlike anything she could’ve imagined. When the wind was too harsh, he enveloped her in his arms, her face to his chest, his arms around her head.

They slept in the shelter in spite of the heat, exhaustion ruling their bodies. If she’d attempted to cross the desert alone she never would’ve made it. Shelley’s strength was her strength. When it seemed that the barren land was endless, he sensed her desolation and began another tale of Virginia City, reminding her of what waited for them at the end of the trail. He promised her a scented bath, a hot meal, and a clean bed in the finest hotel in town.

The trail was marked with reminders of its harshness. Crudely marked graves lined the route. The bleached bones of animals littered the dust and sand. Wagon wheels, dried and cracked, broken beyond repair, had been abandoned. Annabelle wondered how the Castletons and the rest of the wagon train would fare during this part of their journey.

Near the end of the fifth day, Shelley pulled up his horse and pointed west. Dust had settled over him in a fine coat. “Do you see it?”

She halted her mare beside him. “I don’t see anything but more dust and barren godforsaken land.”

The long days, the heat, the alkali dust had all worn her to the bone. Annabelle was wearier than she’d ever been. She tried to be perturbed that Shelley wasn’t as affected by the conditions as she was. With his dark blond hair and hazel eyes, his browned skin and his tan britches, he looked as if he might’ve been part of the landscape, part of the desert itself.

“You’ll see it soon enough.” He grinned at her, and that only irritated her more.

“What?” she asked sharply. “If there’s anything out there that’s not identical to the dusty land I’ve looked at for the past five days, I’d like to know about it.”

They hadn’t been traveling long. They’d slept through the hottest part of the afternoon, but several hours of daylight remained. Sometimes Shelley pushed her too hard, but she understood that his objective was to cross the desert safely, and as quickly as possible.

“Green.” He prodded his horse forward. “Wonderful, marvelous, water-fed green.”

Annabelle was skeptical. She saw nothing different in the distance. It was all the same as the harsh land they’d traveled across for the most eternally long five days of her life. Almost half an hour later she noticed a hint of what Shelley had seen.

Remarkably, a neat-looking farmhouse sat in the middle of nowhere. In the distance, still far away and misty blue, were the Sierra Nevada Mountains. The green they’d seen was a huge garden to one side of the farmhouse. On the other side sat a large barn and a smokehouse. They stared at the site as if it were a mirage.

Before long a man appeared on the porch. He waved to them grandly, as if he’d been expecting visitors and was waving them in. Shelley approached slowly, Annabelle shyly behind him.

“Afternoon,” the smiling man greeted them heartily. “Traveling to California?”

“Yep. You wouldn’t have any water to spare, would you? The horses have been drinking out of the Humboldt for five days, and our canteens are low,” Shelley said.

“More than enough.” The man introduced himself as Jacob Filmore, and explained, as they led the horses around back, where he came by his abundance of water.

The railroad had tapped into the mountains and piped out water to their work crews and later to the stations. For a fee, and after much wangling, Filmore had convinced them to let him tap into their source, just enough for his animals, his family, and his garden.

It became clear after a short time that the man, though friendly, was as suspicious of them as they’d been of the intruders who’d ridden into their camp—Manfred Winston and his gang. Annabelle couldn’t blame him, not after what she’d seen that night.

It didn’t take long for the two men to hit it off. Shelley’s open grin was almost as effective on men as it was on women. He was easy to trust, and to like. After a short while Jacob fetched his wife and children from the barn where they’d been hiding.

Three boys, not one of them over eight years old, gathered around the skirts of a woman who smiled widely at her husband.

“I told you they looked all right, Jacob.” She shook Shelley’s hand and turned to Annabelle with her hands folded primly in front of her. “Good heavens. It’s been so long since I conversed with a woman I feel like I’m looking at a long-lost sister. Do you mind if I give you a hug?”

Annabelle wasn’t certain exactly how she should respond to such a request from a stranger, but the woman seemed so sincere, so warm, that she opened her arms. “Why not?” The woman gave her a warm but gentle embrace before she introduced herself.

Mary Beth Filmore set Annabelle away from her. “Jacob, they must stay for supper, and for the night. This poor girl is exhausted. I remember that awful trek across Nevada. What a nightmare! We don’t get many folks this way anymore. Most everybody takes the rail, unless they’re hauling wagons and such.”

Without waiting for a reply from her husband, Mary Beth placed an arm around Annabelle’s shoulder and led her to the house. “You look like you could use a nice, warm bath. I’ve got some clothes you can borrow while we wash out your things. Jacob!” she yelled over her shoulder. “Put those younguns of ours to work and stay out of the house for a spell. Oh, have Matthew fill the tub first,” she said as she reached the back door that opened into the kitchen. “I’ll do up some chicken fixin’s, and we’ll have a grand old time.”

Mary Beth took over. A delighted Annabelle cast one last look over her shoulder as she was led into the house. Shelley grinned and shrugged in surrender.

After Matthew, the oldest boy, had filled the tub with water, Mary Beth heated some of it on the stove to warm the bath. Annabelle bathed in the kitchen while Mary Beth began preparing dinner, chattering constantly, obviously starved for female companionship.