Beloved Hope (Heart of the Frontier Book #2) Read online

  Hope nodded. She’d heard that the chief had died and was no longer a concern. “Does it help?”

  Lorinda looked puzzled. “Does what help?”

  “Knowing that he’s dead. Does it end the nightmares—give your spirit back the freedom they stole?”

  The young woman looked at the floor. “No. I wish it did. I suppose what has helped is the love of my husband.”

  Hope couldn’t see how that could possibly help.

  “William has been my rock. I’ve never had the courage to tell him everything that happened.” She looked across the room toward a young man. “Although he knows the worst and suspects there are other things, he doesn’t care. He loves me, and that gives me healing.”

  “I’m glad you have him.” Hope meant it, even though she found it difficult to believe a husband would heal the wounds of what had happened at the mission.

  “I don’t know if I have the strength to testify in front of all those people,” Lorinda added. “It was hard enough to give them the sworn statement. I just don’t know if I can stand the embarrassment of speaking on the witness stand.”

  Hope didn’t know what to say. She had nothing but the utmost respect for the pretty young woman only a few years her senior. All of the women at the mission had thought it appalling that Lorinda should be taken from them. At least those at the mission remained together. They were able to encourage each other and sympathize. When Lorinda was taken to be wife to Chief Five Crows, she had no one.

  “I suppose we shall have to do our part.” Hope’s words were barely audible. “Although it seems unfair. I know the men do not mean it as such, but it feels as though we’re having to live the attack all over again.”

  Lorinda put her hand on Hope’s arm. “I know.” She drew a deep breath and let it go. “We shall simply have to endure.”

  Hope nodded. “Just as we did then.”

  Chapter

  3

  Company D of the Mounted Rifle Regiment had been in Oregon City for a little over seven months. Lieutenant Lance Kenner had served in the Mexican War and now found himself in the middle of the Indian conflicts and keeping peace in the West.

  Tall and muscled, Lance was the epitome of a well-honed soldier. His commanding officer told him he would go far if he stayed in the army. With his looks, bearing, and ability to communicate, he might very well work his way to the top. But Lance didn’t want a military career. In fact, the only reason he had joined in the first place was to get away from New Orleans and the pain of losing his father. Now he was weary of soldiering and felt it was time to go home. In New Orleans he could take charge of the plantation he’d inherited and pursue his interest in practicing law.

  “Here’s the roster, sir,” his good friend Eddie Wilson said as he entered the room. He glanced around the room as he placed the paper on Lance’s desk. “So have you settled the matter?”

  “What matter?”

  Eddie rolled his eyes. “You know very well, Lance.” With no one else in the room, he reverted to their casual friendship rather than that of officer and subordinate. “Have you settled things with the captain—for resigning your commission?”

  “I have. After this Indian matter is resolved, I’ll muster out and return to New Orleans.”

  “Wish I were going with you, but I just signed on for another hitch.” Plopping into a nearby chair, Eddie shook his head.

  “That certainly hasn’t stopped a number of our men from deserting for the goldfields. Giving their word means nothing to some people.” Lance shook his head. “I heard you were down at the jail. Were you making sure the Cayuse were still in chains?”

  “I was trying to straighten out the thinking of a couple of our soldiers. Henry and Robert think the Cayuse are being treated unfairly. They figure they’re just five men picked out of their tribes to be sacrificed on behalf of the guilty.”

  “Maybe Sergeant Crawford and Corporal Mahon should keep their opinions to themselves. They are posted to guard the prisoners, not defend or judge their case.”

  “I heard the captain say the same. I figure the only good Indian is a dead one.”

  “While I understand that’s the general consensus out here, you and I were both raised to have a little Christian charity.”

  “I have some of that, but it means very little in the face of an attack. Charity will just get us killed. Besides, those Indians aren’t exactly offering us trust in return.”

  “Well, we’ve taken their land and reworked treaties until they no longer bear the original terms. You can hardly blame them for not trusting us.”

  “Captain says power should be in the hands of the white man. We’re the ones coming up with new inventions. We’re the ones bringing proper civilization and religion to these wild lands. He thinks if the Indians are going to be kept around, we should make them slaves as we have the Negroes. It makes sense to me. After all, they’re uneducated and childlike, and they’ve proven themselves incapable of living without conflict. If they were slaves, they’d work for us and be taken care of. Seems to me it would work well for everyone.”

  Lance shook his head. They’d been friends for a long time, but Eddie’s bigotry was something he didn’t tolerate very well. “Well, as one who owns slaves, I’ve never felt comfortable with the institution. Neither did my father. He had plans to do things differently—to pay his people a small salary.”

  “And what about you?”

  “I’d just as soon set them free to make their own choices. If they want to work for me, then I’ll employ them.”

  Eddie rolled his eyes. “And how are you going to make a profit doing that?”

  “There’s more to life than money, Eddie.”

  His friend nodded with a grin. “I reckon so, but it surely helps to have it.”

  Lance decided the conversation had gone on long enough. He’d probably never change Eddie’s mind nor any of his Southern neighbors’. As his father had once told him, all that mattered was that he stay true to his convictions.

  They remained momentarily silent as Lance considered the roster. After seeing that everything was in order, he filed the papers away. This signaled Eddie to take up the conversation once more.

  “I still wish you’d stay on. As I hear it, we’re heading north in the weeks to come. Going to settle into Fort Vancouver as those Hudson’s Bay Company folk head farther north. We’re taking up residence there with the other regiments. Captain says it’ll be a regular army fort.”

  Lance had heard as much but had very little interest in it. He would be a civilian by the time the move took place. All that really interested him was a ship to take him to New Orleans.

  “It’s a well-positioned fort, to be sure. I’m sure it will make a strong post, and no doubt a city will grow up around it. It’ll probably be the final destination for many of the westward travelers.” Lance glanced at his pocket watch. “I have a meeting with the captain.” He jumped to his feet and shook his head when Eddie remained sitting. “You won’t have it as easy with your next commander.”

  “Don’t I know it,” Eddie replied glumly.

  Lance laughed, took up his cap, and headed for the door. He was going to miss Eddie in spite of his flaws. Besides, his sergeant’s feelings were hardly different from those of most of the men he knew. There was an ongoing conflict of opinions in the East regarding slavery as well as the undeclared war on the Indians. No matter where Lance turned, if the color of a man’s skin was other than white, he was on the losing side of the battle.

  The captain welcomed Lance and immediately urged him to sit and be at ease. “There’s trouble brewing, and I want to be certain that we’re on top of the matter,” he began. “The citizens of this town are up in arms about numerous issues, not the least of which is this Indian trial.”

  Lance nodded but said nothing. He shared a comfortable relationship with his captain but certainly not one as casual as he kept with his sergeant.

  “We’re tightening the guard on the prisone
rs. I thought that by positioning them on Abernathy Island at the foot of the falls there would be little to concern ourselves with, but last night there was another attempt by several local men to take the law into their own hands.

  “Now, I’m not without sympathy to their desires. Many of the women molested during the massacre ended up here and married Oregon City men. I’m sure the need for revenge is great. However, we must see that the law prevails.” He paused for a long moment then resumed his concerns.

  “I’m putting you in charge. You have proven yourself to be even-tempered, and your honor and obedience to orders is well documented.” He fixed Lance with a piercing look. “I need to make certain those Indians remain alive for trial, or there will be the devil to pay from our superiors and the locals.”

  Lance doubted the locals would worry overmuch if the Cayuse prisoners were put into the hands of a lynch mob. To hear the talk about town, the people would be only too happy to see the matter laid to rest rather than worrying about the formalities of a trial.

  The captain opened his humidor and offered Lance a cigar.

  “I don’t smoke, sir.”

  The captain frowned then nodded. “Of course, I knew that.” He chose one for himself and then returned the humidor to its place. Lance said nothing as he cut off the tip of the cigar and then lit it. The captain did his best thinking with a cigar in hand.

  “I wish you’d change your mind and reconsider staying in the army.” He took several puffs on the cigar before putting it aside. “You’re an excellent soldier. You proved that from the first. I need more men like you, Lieutenant. In fact, I’ve been in discussion with my superiors. I believe you should be promoted.”

  “I’m honored, sir, but my mind is made up. It’s time for me to settle down and take up my own work.”

  “And what will that be?”

  Lance shrugged. “My desire before joining up was to practice law, sir. My studies were in law, and I had started work in the practice of a family friend. I hope to renew that arrangement while I run my family’s plantation.”

  The captain smiled. “I can imagine you being quite accomplished as a lawyer. Better still, a judge. I’ve seen you settle many a dispute with equal satisfaction to both sides. You might even find your way into politics.”

  Lance felt a surge of pride at his captain’s compliment. “Thank you, sir.”

  The captain picked up his cigar. “Getting back to the matter at hand, you will assume command at the prison immediately and oversee the appointment of the guards and the condition of the prisoners. The trial starts tomorrow. I can’t imagine it will last long. We both know it’s more a formality than anything. Those men, whether or not they were the actual men who led the massacre, are condemned men.”

  Lance nodded. “Yes, sir.”

  “You and your men will present the prisoners to their lawyers at eight thirty. Court is set to begin precisely at nine. We don’t want them there too much ahead of time, but the lawyers insist on time to go over the proceedings and get them settled in before the trial actually starts.” He drew on the cigar and exhaled. Hazy smoke filled the air with an unpleasant odor. Lance had never cared for any kind of smoking, but cigars were his least favorite.

  “The courtroom is bound to be packed—standing-room only, as I see it. Governor Lane and other men of import will be on hand, as well as other Cayuse and Nez Perce Indians. These so-called friendlies are to be treated with respect. In fact, several are to give testimony, although I’m not sure why. You and your men will stand guard throughout the proceedings. You will affix a line across the front of the courtroom behind the bar. Your men will face the spectators and be alert for any sign of trouble.”

  The captain was smart. Any trouble at the trial was far more likely to come from angry spectators than the defendants.

  “My intention is to have every man searched before admission to the courtroom. We have already put out the word that guns will not be allowed, but this precaution will ensure it.”

  “Yes, sir.” Lance wasn’t sure that would eliminate the problem, however. “And what of the women?”

  The captain’s eyes narrowed. “What of them?”

  “We can hardly search them. It wouldn’t be proper.”

  “I seriously doubt any woman would come armed into court. It isn’t in their nature.”

  “May I speak openly?”

  “Of course.” The captain rolled the cigar between his fingers. “I give you leave.”

  “Well, since most of the witnesses are women who were held hostage and . . . harmed, they might be more of a danger than their menfolk.” If anyone came armed, Lance imagined it would be one of the abused women. And if one of them did pull a gun and attempt to shoot one of the Cayuse—what would he or his men be able to do but step in front of the bullet? They certainly couldn’t fire upon a woman.

  The captain shook his head. “I seriously doubt that. Women are frail creatures, and although they might defend themselves in the absence of their men, I have yet to see one feel the need in mixed company. The courtroom will be filled with men, soldiers, and even the marshal and his deputies. We needn’t worry about the women.”

  Chapter

  4

  Dr. McLoughlin.” Grace smiled at the white-haired gentleman as he entered the room. He had aged so much in the last year, and his complexion was pale.

  “Mrs. Armistead, how nice to see you.” He turned to where Hope stood beside Grace. “And you, Miss Flanagan. Come and sit by the fire. I find myself rather chilled today.”

  They made their way through the elegantly appointed vestibule and into the parlor, where a cheery fire had already been laid in the hearth. The McLoughlin house was one of the finest—if not the finest—residences in Oregon City. It bespoke the money and refined taste McLoughlin had, which was surprising, given he had lived most of his adult life in the middle of the wilderness.

  “I apologize that my wife cannot join us. She’s feeling under the weather.”

  “I heard that and felt I should come and see if there was anything I could do. I realize you’re a fine physician, but I wondered if perhaps her troubles might be of a female nature,” Grace replied.

  He shook his head. “It’s more to do with having overtaxed herself. Spring cleaning and that sort of thing. You understand.” He smiled. “I will give her your regards. Now, please have a seat. I’ve ordered tea, and my servant should have it here shortly.”

  Grace and Hope took seats on the settee while the doctor pulled up a large stuffed chair covered in a striped fabric that looked like silk. Once they were settled, McLoughlin’s servant arrived with tea. She served each of them tea in a fine china cup, and after seeing they had all that they needed, exited the room as quickly as she’d come.

  The delicate china captured Grace’s fancy. She hadn’t seen such finery since living back east, and even then it certainly hadn’t belonged to her family.

  “This china is quite lovely.”

  “I had it brought from England for Marguerite. She enjoys pretty things, and they come at a premium here in the West.”

  “Indeed. My mother and da never had the funds for such delicate pieces. Mrs. McLoughlin is most fortunate to have a husband who cares about such pleasures.”

  “My wife has been my mainstay. I doubt I could manage without her.” He sampled his own tea then set it down before continuing. “I suppose you’ll both be at the trial.”

  Grace nodded. “Yes. They’ve asked Hope to testify. I can’t say that I want to be there, but I do want to support my sister. I know it won’t be easy for her or any of the other women.”

  “No. I’m certain it will be an arduous task for them.”

  “Doctor, I understand you will be at the trial tomorrow.” Grace looked at Hope. It was clear she was troubled by the conversation. Her face had gone pale, and her head was bowed, as if studying her tea was of utmost importance.

  McLoughlin nodded. “I will be there. I’m to testify as well. The defe
nse has called me. They feel it’s important to note that I warned Whitman from settling in the area of his mission. Somehow, because the doctor was told of the dangers, the defense believes this should allow their clients to go free.”

  “I hope you won’t give any testimony that might help those animals,” Hope said, her head snapping up. “They attacked without provocation, blaming the measles. In truth, they hated Whitman for many reasons. They saw their life and culture being imposed upon. They needed very little encouragement or excuse to attack.”

  McLoughlin gave her a knowing nod. “Still, the defense feels it’s important to state for the record that Whitman had been forewarned of the possibility he could be killed, along with his family.”

  “It’s just legal nonsense to allow guilty men to go free. I know the dangers of a cookstove, but if I burn myself, it’s my fault and no one else’s. But if someone forces me to put my hand upon the stove, then they have imposed the danger—that is their responsibility.” Hope crossed her arms. “Rest assured, if they go free, some of us will take the matter into our own hands.”

  Grace startled at the tone in her sister’s voice. For a moment she could believe Hope capable of usurping the law and seeing the Cayuse die for their deeds.

  “I’m sadly certain you speak the truth, Miss Flanagan. Believe me, I hold no love for those men nor what they did. They deserve death. However, I won’t lie. I’ll answer their questions as best I can and pray God sees justice served.”

  Hope got to her feet. “One way or another, justice will be served.” She looked down at Grace. “If you’ll excuse me, I need some air.” She left without waiting for Grace to respond.

  Grace turned to McLoughlin. “I apologize for my sister’s rudeness.”

  “Nonsense. She was greatly wronged by those Indians. I do not blame her for her anger, nor her desire to see them dead. Were I in her shoes, I would feel no different.”

  “I must admit I want them dead as well. For her peace of mind—if nothing else.”