Page 98 of My Heart Will Find You

A darkness went across his face. “Be careful of the fire you play with. Sometimes people get burned.” He didn’t wait for her reply but jerked the reins and left.

Pat came around the wagon. “You all right?”

Her heart was beating hard. “That man is a nasty piece of work. Poor Cornelia. No wonder she tried so hard to get Max. Anything to get that monster off her back.” Etta let out her breath. “How are Cornelia and Bert getting along?”

“They’re a good match, and from what I’ve seen, the lawyer holds his own with Kecklin.”

“Good,” Etta said.

It took Pat another half hour to fill the wagon with supplies, and Etta stayed on the seat and waited. She wanted time to accustom herself to living in the past again.

How long?she thought.How long will it last this time? And what am I supposed to do while I’m here?It was days before the Cheyenne would show up. She knew that Max would help her with that. But then, he always did help her.

She twisted about on the seat and looked at the town. The first time she’d seen it, she’d thought of all that was wrong with it. Too many saloons, too much manure, not enough bathing of the inhabitants.

But now all she could see was good. The town had played a part in building a great state, and a great nation.

Pat climbed up to the seat beside her. “Ready to go home?”

“Very much so.” As he pulled out onto the muddy, smelly, beloved road, she said, “Tell me every word about everyone. I feel like I’ve been away for a lifetime. How is Rufus’s leg? Have you seen Martha Garrett? Oh! Have you seen Henry the painter? Is he—”

Etta broke off because she saw a woman leave the dressmaker’s shop, turn the corner, and disappear out of sight. “Who is she?” Etta whispered.

Pat was dealing with the horses. “Who? I didn’t see anyone new.”

Etta turned back in the seat. She knew it was no use badgering Pat, but Etta thought it was possible that she’d just seen her mother. Her dear mother who’d died so many years ago.

“Well,” Pat said. “Let’s see. Rufus is fine. Cantankerous as usual. And he seems to—”

“Like Freddy,” Etta said absently.

“How’d you know that? You haven’t even been here.”

She was staring at the corner of the building where the woman had been. “Long story.” She looked back at Pat. “What about Martha?”

Pat answered Etta’s questions all the way home.

Three days!Etta thought. Three whole days of waiting.Just like with Henry.But this time, the problem wasn’t boredom. The fourteenth of May, the day the massacre was to happen, was drawing near. With each hour Etta was becoming more anxious, and she could tell no one what her problem was. What could she say? That she’d had a premonition that people were going to be killed? She even knew the date. She’d be laughed at. Or thought to be crazy.

Max was the only person who listened to her and believed her. But he wasn’there!

In 1869, the Cheyenne had paraded through town, letting everyone know of their intentions. But now they were angry about the success of the buffalo hunt so maybe this time, they’d sneak in.

She’d done her best to keep busy. She didn’t want to give herself time to think about what could happen. She’d put Rufus and Freddy together half a dozen times. She’d started regularly buying produce from the Mexicans. She wanted to introduce something besides beef and beans to the diet of Max’s men. She’d come up with things for Pat to make so he wasn’t forced to return to town. And she showed him how to hide the portrait in a drawer in the desk when he got it. When he asked why, she mumbled, “Just in case,” but didn’t elaborate. She spent time with her father, aka Tobias, and had managed to coerce three more saloons into hiring him to do their bookkeeping.

She’d talked to Alice about opening a school in town—where teachers could be hired. The brace Pat made for her foot worked so well that she was at last going out in public.

Etta was glad to see that Sally was still singing at the church services. She cajoled her into adding a short sermon to her songs. “Whatever is needed to get them in here.”

Cornelia came by twice, both times with Bert. Other than Alice, Cornelia had never had many women friends. “Too rich, too beautiful,” Etta muttered.

Bert heard her and added, “And too much of her father in her. I want to take her away from here and from him.”

“Kansas City will welcome you.”

“Or Wichita,” he said. “We haven’t decided which city we’ll go to.”

Etta replied, “How about another margarita and let’s talk about it.” She wasn’t going to let Henry down so his house ended up being built in another city.

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