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  “Yes, sir. If you prefer, I can even ride them bareback.”

  Henry shook his head. “I’d rather you not take a tumble in my corral while riding bareback. Here, let me show you the horses.”

  Elam returned to finish the stall he was working on, and he barely started the next one when Ross walked back to find him.

  “Excuse me, Mr…. I’m sorry. If Mr. Williams told me your last name, I afraid I’ve forgotten it.”

  “I don’t think he did. It’s Stewart—Elam Stewart. Just call me Elam.” Elam watched Ross respond with a smile that left him unsettled.

  “Stewart. A good name—sounds Scottish.”

  “It is. Highland Scots.”

  “Oh. From what my pa told us, we’re Scots-Irish. Most of our people originally came from the Scottish lowlands. That was before they crossed to Ireland and then came to America last century.” Ross appeared to flush as he cleared his throat. “That’s neither here nor there, I suppose. Mr. Stewart, I have Sadie tied up by the side door. Do you have time to show me the tack room, and if there is any particular saddle Mr. Williams wants me to use on her?”

  “Right on up here.” Elam passed Ross as he started toward the front of the barn. He noticed Ross turned and walked next to him about two feet away. He detected the faint scent of body odor, wool, and dirt. As they passed the open door, he saw Sadie tied barely outside, just as Ross had told him.

  When he turned to get a good look at the young man in the light shining through the door, he began to feel centipedes crawl up his skin. Ross had a faint layer of dirt on his face, as if using it to mimic the beginnings of facial hair. That caused the dirt smell he detected. Then Ross turned to face him. Elam took in the scraggly fringe of light reddish hair, the greenish-gray eyes barely peeking from beneath the brim of the battered slouch hat, and the fine bones of a face that had not thickened and broadened with maturity.

  Elam’s step halted, which threw him off-balance and threatened to send him tumbling to the ground. The realization hit him like a cannonball, the likes of which had killed many of his comrades during the war. What was off about Ross, was, he was not a young man. Elam was looking at a woman dressed like a young man.

  His heart pounding in his chest, Elam turned to face forward. During his time in the Army, he had heard of cases where women passed themselves off as men to fight in the war. Some followed their husbands into battle rather than endure separation. Others did so out of patriotic duty. Many were not discovered until after they died and were prepared for burial, or unless they became ill or injured and their gender was discovered while in a hospital. What he could not understand was, why did this woman try to pass herself off as male?

  The answer came to him immediately. There were many things men could do that were not considered proper for women to do. She wanted to be around the horses. She wanted to ride astride. She offered to curry the horses and muck stalls—all things women might do on family property but not in a public place such as a town livery.

  They reached the tack room. Elam pointed to a rich brown saddle. “That there would be right fine for Sadie. That there darker one fits Flintlock best. With his dark gray coat and all, it makes him look right smart.”

  Ross laughed in response—a laugh Elam now recognized as being feminine.

  “I see what you mean.” She reached for a bridle. “Will this do for Sadie?”

  “Yes, ma…” Elam cleared his throat. Get ahold of yourself, Elam. You almost said “ma’am.” Don’t know her reason for passing herself off as male, but it ain’t up to you to go calling her on it. “Reckon that will be fine, Mr. Welsh. You wanting me to saddle this here horse for you?” Why did I offer? Because I know she’s a woman? She already done said she could saddle and tack her own horse.

  “No, thank you, Mr. Stewart. I appreciate the offer, but I told Mr. Williams I would do it myself rather than take you from what he hired you to do. Especially since he’s letting me be with the horses without charge, I don’t want to take advantage of his courtesy.”

  Elam wanted to remind her again that calling him by his first name was fine. However, since he now realized Ross was a she, it was just as well he not encourage too much familiarity between them. He already was so aware of her femininity, he felt he might burst out of his skin. Once more, after realizing the truth about her, he recognized that beneath the dirt, the scraggly hair, and the unflattering clothes, she was a very attractive woman. Always done favored a redheaded woman. How he could keep his mind on the rest of his workday, he had no idea.

  Elam finished the stall he started while Ross saddled Sadie. Unable to resist, on the pretext of getting a drink, he walked to the water barrel outside. His real reason was to watch Ross for a few minutes. When she saw him, she waved to him but immediately turned her attention back to putting Sadie through a routine. She seats a horse right fine. Reluctantly, Elam returned to his work on the next stall.

  Later, he heard her bring Sadie back in the barn and unsaddle her. After allowing some time to pass, he walked over to check on the horse and rider. He stopped with a start at the sight of Sadie’s front leg bent and the hoof between Ross’s legs. “What you aim to do now?”

  Ross glanced up barely long enough for Elam to catch a quick glimpse of her eyes. She returned her attention to her task. “I’m cleaning Sadie’s frogs. Her hooves need a little work. Do you have a file somewhere?”

  “We do, but I don’t reckon Henry will want you doing all that with his horses seeing as how we don’t know how much you know.”

  “My father owned a livery before he got drafted. I used to work for him, especially after my brother…” Ross abruptly stopped speaking and hunched his—her—shoulders as she focused on her task.

  Elam wondered what she had been about to say, but he decided against asking. The topic might be a sore point with her. He wondered if her brother, like so many young men, had been killed in the war. And, where was her father now? “Reckon I can get you the file.”

  Between his tasks, Elam continued to check on Ross. What is her real name? Is there a feminine version of the name Ross? He noted she worked without ceasing, and she seemed to enjoy every moment of it.

  As the sun moved toward the western horizon, Elam realized his stump was beginning to hurt him just like it did most evenings after a full day of work using his wooden leg. Some days were worse than others, but he’d die before he admitted it to anyone. Pushing his personal misery aside, he joined Ross as she worked on Flintlock’s hooves. Done found a knife on her own. He had never seen the old gelding take to a rider the way he did to Ross.

  Elam turned as Henry joined him. They stood together in silence as they watched Ross finish up. Once she stood, he reached forward and took the rope strung through the halter. “I’ll take him on back to his stall, Mr. Welsh. You done give these horses a right fine treat today.” When she smiled in response, Elam glanced at Henry. Don’t you see it, Henry, smiling like that, how much she looks like a woman?

  After Elam returned to rejoin Henry and Ross, he found them still in conversation.

  Ross turned to him. “Thank you for your help today, Mr. Stewart. I enjoyed my afternoon.”

  “Sadie and Flintlock were much obliged, too. You staying nearby? If so, reckon I could walk you back, if you’d like.” Upon seeing the hint of a frown on Ross’s face, Elam knew he had made a mistake. Of course, it was proper for him to see a lady safely home. However, Ross was trying to pass himself off as a young man—one who needed no escort.

  “I’m just staying over there at the hotel. Junction City struck me as being a fairly safe town. I’ll be fine. Good evening, gentlemen, and thank you again.”

  Elam nodded his farewell and watched Ross leave the livery. Once she traveled several feet down the road, he walked over and leaned against the frame of the wide doorway to see if she continued on to the hotel a block away—and to make sure she arrived without incident. He inwardly sighed with relief as he watched her cross the street and make a
beeline for the hotel.

  He wrinkled his forehead as she started for the back of the building instead of entering through the front door. Perhaps she needed to visit the necessary before she went to her room. Or…Elam smiled as the truth dawned on him. She had entered and registered as a woman. She left out the back way dressed as a man, and she would return the same way.

  Elam inhaled as he stared at the now-darkening sky. Ain’t no call for me to care.

  The sound of Henry sliding the large door to the livery caught his attention. Elam stepped back to help him by grabbing the other door. Once the two were closed, he turned to his boss. “You got work for me tomorrow, Henry?”

  The man shook his head. “Not tomorrow. Not for a while, I think. You’re still welcome to sleep here while you look for work elsewhere. As for tonight, I have a pot of beans on I’m willing to share if you’ve a mind to join me.”

  “I’ll take you up on the beans, Henry. After you pay me, I’ll go on over to the bakery and see if they still got some bread or rolls left, then be right back to join you.”

  “If they’re sold out, we’ll make do.” Henry sighed. “I wish I could afford to hire you on permanent, Elam, but I can’t. Way things are looking, I’ll need to pay you for what you’ve done so far, and let you know when I can afford to have you back.”

  Elam swallowed but refused to reveal his disappointment. He also worried about the man before him. Although Henry never said anything, he could tell the older man was feeling poorly. It was a strain on him to get through the basic chores of keeping the livery running. As part of showing his appreciation for a place to bed down and store his few belongings, he would continue to do a few chores he knew Henry found difficult.

  Elam knew chances of finding permanent work with anyone else were extremely slim. Yet, there was no going home. Although his older brother back home in Kentucky handled the old farm just fine, he barely eked out a living for their mother, younger siblings, and his own wife from the worn-out piece of land he inherited. At the time he left to join the Army, Elam determined he would not return to add to the burden. Unfortunately, he barely made enough in Junction City working odd jobs to get by—not enough to afford the cheapest of boardinghouse rooms or to even to buy a ticket to a bigger town with more businesses which might have more jobs available.

  Then again, not many business owners were willing to hire a man with only one good leg.

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  Chapter 3

  ~o0o~

  May 1, 1866

  R oslyn clutched her reticule with one hand as her other sought the reassuring lump of the two biscuits from breakfast she had discreetly slid into her pocket. She would have liked to wrap them in the cloth napkin to keep them from crumbling, but she knew it would be missed. Plus, she had no intention of returning to this town soon, and she was not a thief. Truth was, she would have liked to have eaten them both with the rest of her breakfast. However, since she did not know when she would eat again that day, she saved them against future hunger.

  Now, with her stomach tied in knots—not from hunger, but from apprehension—she stood in the lobby waiting for the man she had traveled to Junction City to meet.

  While doing her best to control her trembling fingers, Roslyn opened the reticule drawstrings and pulled out the letter from Albert Becker, the man for whom she now waited—the man her aunt expected her to marry. Although her aunt wrote all the letters in Roslyn’s name, Roslyn had not known this exchange was taking place until a week and a half ago. The letter in her hand was the only one her aunt gave to her, insisting she had burned all the earlier ones. Roslyn had sensed a lie even as Mena spoke the words. No doubt, the woman hid the letters with the intent of dragging them out on occasion to reread and gloat over the manner in which she got rid of her niece.

  Roslyn blinked in an effort to push aside her annoyance and anger. She forced herself to go over the words carefully to make sure she had not misread or misunderstood anything.

  Dear Mrs. Welsh,

  I appreciate you being forthright about advising me you are a widow.

  Roslyn softly harrumphed and shook her head. Considering she had Emmy, she should be so lucky as to be a widow. Then again, one thing she had agreed about with her aunt was, once she left Lawrence, it would be best for both her and the baby that she did pass herself off as a widow. She focused back on the letter.

  As I said in my earlier letters, what is important to me is that you have no children. I already have two grown sons. I am of an age I have no need to seek more heirs. Ours will be a marriage of convenience.

  The marriage of convenience part had not bothered Roslyn. She preferred it. However, Roslyn had torn into her aunt after the first time she read the part of she was to have no children. Under no circumstances did she intend to give up Emmy in order to marry a stranger who sounded like he might be old enough to be her father. Mena had assured her the best course of action was to find someone with whom to leave the baby for a short time. After she was married and became friendly with her new husband, she could then tell him about the baby and ask him to allow her to send for Emmy.

  Roslyn doubted Mena’s expectation that the situation would work out well. Although she knew many women who practiced deceit and manipulation to get their way in the male-dominated society—dear cousin Penelope being a prime example—she, herself, rejected that kind of behavior. The reason she finally relented and agreed to go along was because of Mena’s declaration that she had written to several men about Roslyn. They all rejected her because she would be bringing a child into the marriage. Yet, I’m supposed to accept these two grown sons?

  Roslyn shook her head and continued reading.

  I have arranged for your ticket to be waiting for you at the Kansas Stage Company office in Lawrence. You are to board the stagecoach there on April 28th. You will arrive in Junction City two days later. I will reserve a room at the hotel by the stagecoach depot plus cover three meals, they being dinner, supper, and breakfast. The morning after you arrive, my sons and I will join you. We will take care of some business in town and then start for what will be your new home. I assume you are familiar with the typical farm chores handled by women, for you will be expected to pull your weight.

  As she reread this section, Roslyn grimaced. She had no problem with working to pull her weight, as Albert Becker put it. She told her aunt she did not like that he had not clarified when they would marry.

  Mena assured her the wedding was included in that “business in town” he wrote about. “That’s just how men think and talk.” Roslyn recalled word-perfect that statement by her aunt. She thought at the time, and still felt the same today, if that was really how men think and talk, it was all the more reason not to have much to do with them on a personal level.

  Roslyn had also expressed her disappointment that he said nothing about what her new home would be like. Her aunt assured her that, in an earlier letter, he said it was a ranch. Isolated, but on good land, and he was sure towns would build up in the region. That had not reassured Roslyn. However, it was the last sentence of his letter she read again that really stumped her.

  Be sure to bring your family Bible with the information we need. I will see you on the May 1st.

  When she asked her aunt about that, because she knew of no family Bible, Mena grew defensive. “You are not taking the family Bible. I have it, and it will go to Penelope when I pass, not you. You just tell Mr. Becker you are an honest, Christian woman, and whatever they need the Bible for, they can just take your word for it. Also, considering his age, I told him you were born a year earlier than what you were, just so he would be assured you are a mature woman. Tell him that, and you’ll be all right.”

  Roslyn recalled how she had gotten into quite an argument over that. Expect a man to believe her when aunt was insisting she lie to him about several of his expectations? She knew of few men who seriously considered what a woman told them. Seldom, if
ever, would they admit that a woman was right and they were wrong. And, she was supposed to accept anything he said as gospel truth?

  In this case, Albert Becker would be right. She was not that “year older” so he would be assured she was a mature woman. She was mature due to her experiences in life, not her age. Mena finally settled on writing out a letter declaring, as Roslyn’s next of kin, that Roslyn was born a year earlier than when she actually had been (a lie), and that she had Mena’s permission to marry.

  Roslyn folded Albert Becker’s letter before she shoved it back in her pocket, separate from Aunt Mena’s letter in her reticule. She paced the floor several times before she walked over to the window. No one stood on the boardwalk outside of the hotel. She scanned the street and saw one man leaning against a post on the opposite of the hotel. He looked familiar. She leaned forward and squinted. Just as she thought, it was that livery worker, Mr. First-name-sounds-like-something-Biblical Stewart. Why isn’t he at work? Roslyn shrugged and turned away as she sought a chair in the lobby. Not my concern.

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  Chapter 4

  ~o0o~

  A t the sound of several horses and a wagon pulling up in front of the hotel, Roslyn, once again tugging the Zouave jacket to smooth it over the blouse and the too-full-for-the-current-style skirt, rose to her feet. She took several steps until she was about four feet from the front window—close enough to see out, but not close enough for those on the outside to see in. A middle-aged man dismounted his horse. With him were two younger men about Roslyn’s age. The one on horseback also dismounted before he took the older man’s reins. The other, driving a buckboard, set the brake and climbed down off the wagon.