Meadowlark
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright
4530 W. Mountain View Dr. Riverton, WY 82501 Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Author’s Note
About the Author
Meadowlark
Carolyn Lampman
Meadowlark
Copyright © 2019 – Carolyn Lampman Brubaker
Names, characters and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or the publisher.
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
Printed in the United States of America
Formatting: Wild Seas Formatting
Published by
RED CANYON PRESS
4530 W. Mountain View Dr.
Riverton, WY 82501
Dedication
To Kathy, who introduced me to Garrick and helped me understand how hard it was for him to say “Jeg elsker deg”.
A special thanks to Louie for the poem and to Jeri for the title.
A meadowlark’s song
Given freely to the wind,
Drifts easily with the breeze
Undisturbed by fence post
Or man’s clink and clank.
Unlike mine,
An easy song
Which needs not be understood
To feel its enjoyment.
And, this by pen,
A much too complicated
Thank you
For the all-out effort
Of a small yellow-bellied bird.
Louis R. Lampman
Chapter 1
South Pass City, Wyoming Territory, 1870
Becky was out of options, and she knew it. With the last of her money gone, it was only a matter of time until hunger drove her down to Beer Garden Gulch in search of a job in one of the saloons. It was stupid to wait any longer hoping for a miracle. Cameron wasn’t coming back.
She kicked a small rock into the creek and glanced down the street. There was already music and raucous laughter coming from the saloons. It wasn’t even dark out and business was booming. Obviously, the owners would be too busy to talk to her now. Morning would surely be better.
With a relieved sigh, Becky sat down on a pile of sluice box tailings. There was no guarantee anybody down there would hire her anyway. No one else in town had. Too young, they said, or not enough experience. She’d heard that some of the hurdy gurdy girls were almost as young as she was. Maybe it wouldn’t matter that she was tall and gangly with too much hair and not enough chest as her father always said.
Cameron hadn’t minded. In fact, he’d made her feel beautiful and loved right up until he’d walked out of her life. Becky’s father had said Cameron Price played her for a fool, taking what he wanted and never giving her another thought after he rode away. As the months passed and no word came, it began to look as though her father were right.
“Oh, Cameron,” she whispered into the twilight, “Would it have made any difference if you’d known about your son?”
Her hands moved over her softly rounding stomach. Within a month she wouldn’t be able to hide it anymore, and they wouldn’t even let her work in a brothel. Becky’s lips twisted at the irony: too young to work, but old enough to have a baby.
Maybe her father wasn’t far wrong when he called her a stupid little slut. His words and the hard slaps that followed were etched indelibly into her mind. Afterward, he’d gone to work his shift in the mine and had never returned.
Becky closed her eyes and tried to conjure some regret for her father’s death. There was none. It had been over a month, and she still couldn’t mourn him.
Her stomach rumbled painfully. Another night without food. She was almost used to it by now. With a deep sigh, Becky opened her eyes and watched the brilliant reds and golds of the sunset fade into cool, concealing darkness as the sun dipped below the hill.
The cold dampness of the ground beneath her began to soak through her skirt, but she ignored the discomfort as she savored the spring evening. The pungent, rich soil and the smell of wood smoke covered the other, less pleasant odors of man. Crickets chirped in the nearby grass, and an owl called to its mate over the roar of the swollen creek.
At last, some of the lights began to wink out. It was late, and people were staggering home to bed. Though the saloons and bawdy houses would keep going until dawn, there was almost total silence in the city of tents that made up a good portion of South Pass City. It was time to find a place to sleep.
Becky rose and walked to the edge of the creek. The spring run-off was at its highest. The placer miners had been watching it for days, anticipating the new gold it would wash out of the hills. She looked down at the normally insignificant stream that now roared by with awesome power. An entire tree rolled by, bobbing in the turbulent waters.
Suddenly, the ground crumbled under her feet, and she slid down into the icy stream. The water choked off her scream as it closed over her face. Then her head collided with a solid object, and her thoughts sank into blessed darkness as she surrendered to the flood.
“A bottle of Redeye, Sam,” Garrick told the bartender, then glanced around the brightly lit room. As a casino and a brothel, The Green Garter was the best South Pass had to offer, but for some reason, watching the miners gamble away their pitifully small wages irritated him this evening. He’d been one of their number often enough, but tonight it seemed a pathetic waste of time.
With a sigh, Garrick turned back to the bar, slid a few coins across its shiny surface to Sam, and picked up the bottle. As he pulled the cork out with his teeth and poured the deep amber liquid into a glass, he imagined how aghast his mother would be to see him doing such a thing. The thought of Minnesota brought the usual pang of homesickness, and he lifted the glass to his lips in irritation. He gulped down the raw whiskey and grimaced as the fiery brew burned its way to his stomach. It tasted worse than usual and did nothing to relieve his loneliness.
“Hello, Swede.” A husky feminine voice cut into his thoughts. “Aren’t you going to give my dealers a chance to win back some of that money you walked out of here with last night?”
Garrick glanced down at the brassy redhead and smiled. “Not tonight, Angel. I have a feeling the cards wouldn’t fall my way.”
Angel snorted. “That’d be a first! Never seen anybody with luck like yours.” She gave him an appraising look. “What’s eatin’ you, anyway? That scowl would curdle milk.”
“Bored I guess. Care for a
drink?”
Angel glanced at the bottle in front of him and made a face. “No thanks. Rotgut whiskey ain’t my idea of a good time. Don’t remember it being yours either.”
“Not usually, but we ran short of black powder, so I don’t have to work tomorrow.”
“You planning on getting drunk?”
“I was, but if you won’t join me...”
She laughed and patted his arm. “If it’s company you want, I may have just the ticket. A new girl came in on the stage today. Calls herself Collette, though she ain’t any more French than Sam.” Angel nodded toward a sultry dark-haired beauty at the end of the bar. “Be glad to introduce you.”
Garrick let his gaze roam over the curvaceous brunette, wondering how he’d managed to miss her before. Almost as if she felt his gaze, Collette glanced up, wet her lips, and smiled seductively.
“What do you think, Swede? Want to see if she can wipe that frown off your face?”
He shrugged. “Might as well.” Maybe Collette was what he needed.
“Hello,” he said when she sidled up to him.
“Hello yourself.” Collette ran her hand up his arm. “I just love big men.”
“I’ll let you two get to know each other,” Angel said, walking away. “Take good care of Swede, Collette, he’s one of my best customers.”
“Don’t you worry, Miss Angel. I’ll take excellent care of this one.” Collette let her fingers wander down the massive chest. “Tell me, Swede, are you big all over?”
He let a slow smile cross his face. “Only one way to find out.”
Three quarters of an hour later, Garrick buttoned his coat against the chill outside and collected his bottle of whiskey. Collette had been all he could wish for, yet, if anything, he felt worse than he had before.
He went outside and took a deep breath of the crisp mountain air. There was a tang of spring on the breeze tonight, almost like home. Garrick turned his steps toward the creek. Maybe a walk would clear his head and chase away the blue devils that plagued him.
From the corner of his eye he caught a movement far up the bank. Peering through the darkness, he saw a shadowy figure walk toward the edge of the creek, apparently contemplating the rushing water as he was. Whoever it was, he hoped their thoughts were more pleasant than his.
As he watched, Garrick was startled to see the stranger stop on the very edge of the bank.
Didn’t they realize how dangerous the creek was this time of year? Garrick was beginning to wonder if he should call out a warning when, to his utter horror, the other person went down and was swallowed up by the flood. Shock held him immobilized for a blink of an eye. Then he was shrugging out of his coat and pulling off his boots as he scanned the stream for some sign of the stranger.
At last, he spotted a flash of white up stream. Quickly judging where the current would carry its burden, he stepped into the frigid water. Garrick’s breath seemed to catch in his lungs as the icy wetness struck his legs.
It took all of his strength to withstand the force of the water as it sucked and pulled at him like a living thing. Searching frantically for another glimmer of white, Garrick wished his eyes could pierce the blackness of the water. But he could see nothing as he battled his way to the middle of the stream.
All at once, something hit him, and he went down. Some instinct made him reach out and his hands encountered the unexpected texture of cloth. As he grabbed the body inside the clothing, he let himself be taken downstream until he had a firm hold. By the time his head broke the surface the third time, he had the other person locked against his body with one arm.
Pulling great draughts of air into tortured lungs, he struck out for the edge of the stream. Though Garrick was a strong swimmer, his skills were nearly useless in the rush of water that swept them along.
Instead of fighting the current, he moved with it, working steadily closer to the bank. At last his knee struck solid ground, and he scrambled up the muddy bank where he collapsed on the shore. Panting for air, he lay there for a moment holding the stranger against his chest as he fought the blackness that threatened to overwhelm him.
Gradually, Garrick’s vision cleared, and he gently rolled his burden to the ground. As he blinked the water out of his eyes, he glanced down at the thin body and long skirt and his eyes widened in surprise. A woman!
He felt for a pulse along the delicate neck. A slight fluttering against his fingers reassured him. Garrick leaned down and put his cheek next to her nose. There was no movement against his skin, no stirring of air. She wasn’t breathing.
With a sense of urgency, he turned the woman to her stomach and straddled her hips. Alternately pushing on her upper back and pulling on her elbows, he attempted to force the water from her lungs. Push... Pull...Push...Pull. Garrick kept repeating the motions, over and over, never admitting the possibility that his efforts might be wasted. At long last, she choked as water came rushing from her mouth.
Relief rolled through him. Garrick moved to the side as she coughed and gasped, trying to catch her breath. At last, the spasms stopped, and he pulled her into his arms. “It’s all right, little one,” he murmured as a whimper escaped her lips. “You’re safe.”
A deep voice like melted honey flowed over Becky. She opened her eyes and looked up into the kind face of an angel. Never had she seen such hair, so pale it seemed to glow in the moonlight. She reached up and tried to touch it.
“Where do you belong?” he asked.
“With angels?” she whispered hopefully, then sank into sweet, dark oblivion.
Chapter 2
“Angel’s? You’re from The Green Garter?” Garrick thought he knew all of Angel’s girls pretty well, but he didn’t remember seeing this one before. What was she doing out this time of night when she should be working?
A sudden breeze reminded him of how wet they both were. Whoever the woman was, he needed to get her warmed up and soon. Garrick thought longingly of the coat he’d left on the bank of the creek. Unfortunately, it was a good three hundred yards up stream somewhere with his boots and most of a bottle of whiskey.
He climbed wearily to his feet, picked up the girl, and turned toward The Green Garter. It would be useless to go to his tent, where it wasn’t much warmer than outside.
Though slender, she was obviously quite tall and no featherweight. As he carried her slung over his shoulder, Garrick lost count of the times he had to stop and rest before they reached The Green Garter.
Loud music and laughter coming through the double swinging doors brought him to a halt. Angel wouldn’t thank him for bringing a nearly drowned girl in the front door during her busiest time. He stumbled around to the back and made his way to the storeroom where he laid his burden on the floor and looked around for something to cover her with. There was nothing. Briefly cursing Angel’s efficient housekeeping, he turned and walked down the short hallway.
At the door that led to the casino, he stopped. If he walked in soaking wet with no boots on, he was bound to stand around answering a lot of questions while the girl lay freezing on the cold floor of the storeroom. With a brief grin, he opened the door slightly then slammed it. The sound was loud enough to be heard above the din but probably wouldn’t be noticed by many.
Garrick crossed his arms and settled back against the wall to wait. Angel would be here soon, ready to do battle with whoever had the audacity to enter her private domain.
Within minutes, the door burst open, and Angel was there, her eyes snapping with fire. “Swede! What in blue blazes do you think you’re doing?” she demanded.
“I need to talk to you privately.”
“Well, this is a damn funny way to—” Her voice faltered. “For God’s sake, you’re soaking wet! What the hell is going on?”
Garrick glanced over Angel’s shoulder at the gun-toting bartender standing protectively behind her. “I’ll explain as soon as we’re alone.”
“It’s all right, Sam,” she said, lifting her hand and waving him away. “I�
��ll take care of this. You can go back to the bar.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, yes, I’m sure. I have nothing to fear from Swede. She closed the door behind Sam. “Now, what’s this all about?”
“I just pulled one of your girls out of the creek.”
“What?”
“She almost drowned. In fact, I thought I’d lost her for a while.”
“All my girls are working, Swede.”
He shrugged. “She said she lived here.”
“Where is she?”
“In your storeroom.”
With a swish of taffeta, Angel walked down the hall to the small room where the girl lay unconscious. She knelt down and brushed the wet strands of hair back from the girl’s face.
“Well I’ll be damned. It’s Fenton White’s daughter.”
Garrick looked over Angel’s shoulder. “So you do know her.
“Not really. I’ve seen her around a little. Her father had a bad habit of getting drunk and busting up whatever place he was in. She usually came and got him before he did too much damage. Nobody cried much when he died a couple of months ago.”
Garrick rubbed his chin. “I wonder why she said she belonged here.”
“Who knows? Doesn’t have any family that I know of, poor girl. Maybe she was going to ask me for a job.” Angel stood and dusted her hands briskly. “We’ve got to get her warmed up, or she’ll catch her death. I have an empty room upstairs if you want to bring her along.”
With a nod, Garrick picked up the unconscious woman again and followed Angel up the back stairs. He laid his burden on the bed in a room he’d never seen before and looked around in surprise. It was very different from the other upstairs rooms in The Green Garter.
Totally devoid of the opulence that characterized the rest of the establishment, it would have fit more easily into a genteel home than a notorious brothel. There was a large bookcase along one wall filled with many well-worn volumes. An over-stuffed chair was placed in comfortable proximity to the pot-bellied stove in which Angel was building a fire. Cheerful calico curtains at the single window went with the brightly-colored rug on the polished wood floor and with the hand-made quilt on the bed. There was a homey, welcoming feel about the tidy little room.