Chapter Two
Medicine Bow Mountains, Wyoming Territory
November 1868
Katherine Fleming looked away from the sheriff carrying Miss Howard’s battered trunk toward the long, black carriage. The train lurched, rolled forward. She blinked the tears from her eyes and jiggled the crying, squirming infant in her arms. Poor baby. Two months old and all alone. Did he sense it? Was that why he was crying so hard?
“Shh...shh...don’t be afraid, little one. Everything will be all right. I’ll take care of you.” Her stomach knotted. How could she keep that promise? She knew nothing of caring for an infant, and there was no one to ask. The last of the other women passengers had left the train here at Laramie. Panic struck. How far was it to Whisper Creek? That had been the destination on Susan Howard’s ticket. Was she making a mistake? Would it be better for the baby if she turned him over to the sheriff in spite of her pledge to take him to his new father?
She looked back out the window, torn by indecision. It wasn’t a mere pledge she’d made; it was a deathbed promise. Of course, she hadn’t known at the time it would be impossible to keep. Miss Howard had begged her, muttered something incoherent about a letter with her last breath. The dying woman had been frantic about what would happen to her child, and so she’d made the promise to give her peace. But she had not found a letter among Miss Howard’s sparse possessions. How could she take the baby to a man when she knew nothing about him—not even his name?
She frowned, watched the sheriff shove the trunk into the black carriage. And she didn’t know Susan Howard; she’d never met the woman before she’d boarded the train. Surely that freed her from her promise. Oh, what did it matter? She held a helpless little piece of humanity in her arms. She couldn’t abandon him. Her stomach churned. The thought of the baby being put in an orphan home made her ill. So many young babies died. She would simply have to do her best for him.
The wheels clacked against the rails. The train picked up speed. Her breath came easier. It was too late to turn the baby over now. He stiffened and let out a wail. She lifted him to her shoulder and patted his back the way his mother had instructed her to do.
“I’m sorry I’m not better at caring for you, little one. But I’ve had no experience at this sort of thing.” She cooed the words, patted and rubbed the baby’s tiny back, feeling completely inadequate.
The infant burped, then fell asleep on her shoulder, his downy hair brushing her cheek, his breath a feathery warmth against her neck. Her heart swelled. She held Susan Howard’s son close, allowed herself to pretend for a moment that Richard hadn’t disappeared at sea—that they had married as planned and this was their child.
“Almighty God, please let Richard be alive and well. Please bring him home.” Her whispered words were automatic. Only the smallest trace of her former faith remained after having repeated the prayer hundreds of times. It had been almost five years since the devastating loss of her lifelong love. It was a long time to hold on to hope. Still, she refused to let go of her last remaining strands of trust that God, in His mercy, would bring Richard home and fill the gaping hole his disappearance had left in her heart.
The passenger car jolted, swayed. She grabbed for the wobbling empty baby bottle and tucked it back into the baby’s valise where it would be safe until she could clean it. Her fingertips touched paper. The baby’s birth papers? Hope rose that it might be so. It wouldn’t help her in her quest for his new father, but at least she would learn the baby’s name. She pulled the valise closer, grasped the exposed corner of the paper and pulled it from beneath the baby clothes and diapers. It was a letter. Perhaps the one Susan Howard had been mumbling about. Her pulse sped. She pushed the valise to the end of the seat, slid close to the window and held the letter up to the fingers of sunlight that poked through clean spots in the film of soot.
My Dear Miss Howard,
I received your letter yesterday and am setting pen to paper this evening to tell you I am willing to accept your infant boy and raise him as my own. My acceptance of your infant was the last obstacle in the way of our proposed marriage arrangement. That detail is now settled.
Time is growing short. I am enclosing the train ticket you will need for your journey here to Whisper Creek. I am also enclosing money sufficient to meet any expenses you may incur.
All things necessary to carry out our arrangement will be in place upon your arrival.
With sincere gratitude,
Mr. Trace Warren
Katherine read the letter again, annoyed by the formal tone. A marriage
