Faith of the Heart Read online

  1

  CHAPTER ONE

  Train to Omaha

  Somewhere in Iowa, April 1868

  Claire glanced up from her needlework as the train jerked to a stop. Sighing deeply, she jabbed the needle into the muslin piece she was working on and returned the sampler to her small satchel. She peered through the sooty window, wondering what dismal town she was in now.

  A woman loaded down with suitcases and hatboxes, struggled down the narrow aisle, a cranky child clinging to her skirts. Claire offered assistance, but the woman just glared at her, mumbling she’d manage just fine. Shrugging, Claire glanced back to the window but dusk had fallen and she could only see her own unkempt reflection.

  Three days. Three days she’d been on this dirty, noisy, smelly, train. She shivered, pulling her wrap closer as she leaned back on the dusty blue padded seat, avoiding the spot on the floor where some unmannerly gentleman had spit in her direction earlier that afternoon. But tomorrow¼ tomorrow she’d be in Omaha, Nebraska. Tomorrow she’d be safe in her Aunt Gin’s arms and starting a new life. A life she fervently hoped would be better than the one she had just left.

  Leaning back, the young woman closed her eyes and thought over the last few days. The quiet, predictable life she’d been living had disappeared with the arrival of that momentous telegram.

  Earlier that Week

  Gettysburg, Pennsylvania

  “Miss Secord, Miss Secord! A telegram has arrived for you!”

  Claire jumped up from the paper she’d been correcting. A jolt of fear coursed through her body. A telegram only meant bad news. Thanking the elderly housekeeper, she hastily tore open the brown Western Union envelope.

  Claire. Richard dead. Heart gave out. Need you in Omaha. Come soon. Virginia Weikert.

  Stunned, Claire read and reread the telegram. Aunt Gin and Uncle Richard ran a small mercantile store in the frontier town of Omaha. Located in the raw new state of Nebraska, Omaha had a reputation as a rough and rowdy jumping off point to the west. The Union Pacific Railroad had just laid down lines through the area on its race to the west coast, meeting up with the Central Pacific Railroad.

  Gin’s store provided supplies for townspeople and the wagon trains that rumbled through every spring and summer. The business would be too much for one elderly woman to handle. She needed Claire.

  Jumping to her feet, the half-corrected grammar test forgotten, Claire ran up the back staircase to her tiny attic room. Yanking open the bureau drawers, she began tossing her clothing onto the narrow bed. Gin needs me, she needs me!

  A knock on the door startled her and she whirled around, clutching her hand to her chest.

  “Come in,” Claire called in a shaky voice, smoothing her dress.

  Mrs. Buckley, the mistress of the house, stormed in, an exasperated look on her pudgy face. She stomped a pointy-toed shoe on the worn rug and shook her finger at Claire.

  “My dear Miss Secord! Whatever is going on? Just look at this room. Have you completely lost your mind?”

  Claire pulled the telegram from her skirt pocket and handed it to her employer. “Mrs. Buckley, it’s my aunt. She’s just been widowed and she needs me. I must go to her.”

  “What, leave Gettysburg for Omaha? You’re just a girl; you can’t survive in that wild place.” She flung the telegram onto the floor without even reading it and snorted.

  “Don’t be ridiculous! Besides you have a position here. You are my children’s tutor and I insist you stay. You owe it to me. After all, who took you in when you had no place else to go? Now you want to throw this all away, run off to who knows where with cowboys and outlaws running around, just waiting to take advantage of young single girls who get the notion to travel west in their heads? I forbid you!”

  The matronly woman glared at Claire and placed her hands on her ample hips, daring Claire to defy this logic.

  Claire took a deep breath, checked her temper and spoke slowly. “Mrs. Buckley, you must know I appreciate how you took me in when my folks were killed during the war, but I have earned my keep teaching your children. I have done my best and the boys

  have accomplished a great deal. They have mastered the fundamentals and are prepared to work in your husband’s business or any other respectable trade. I am no longer a girl. I am 21 years old and perfectly able to care for myself as well as my dear aunt.”

  Mrs. Buckley took a long look at the determined young woman in front of her. For perhaps the first time, she saw her not as a plain, serious tutor, but as the lovely woman she’d become. Claire stood as tall as her 5’5” frame would allow, with shiny brown hair wrapped neatly in a coil at the back of her neck. Her dark green eyes shone with determination and her fists were clenched at her side. Even in her modest navy dress, a curvy, female form was evident.

  Mrs. Buckley glared at the girl and retorted, “You may be 21 but you’ll find that you’re still a long way from being an adult. Why, when I was your age I’d been married to Mr. Buckley for four years and given him two sons. You, you have been sheltered and protected for your entire life. These past few years I’ve provided you with this lovely room and a generous salary to boot. I should have just left you in the cold, but being the God-fearing woman I am, I took you under my wing and shared my home with you.” She raised her pug nose and sniffed righteously.

  Claire stared at her in astonishment. Lovely room and generous salary? She’s got to be kidding. If not for my mother’s quilt I’d have frozen to death in winter, and I was nearly broiled here in the summer. The mattress is lumpy, the rug is in tatters, and the room’s only comforts are the items I made myself from the scraps of my craft basket.

  “Mrs. Buckley,” Claire started firmly, “You hired me to teach your sons. I did that. I’ve helped with the housework and cooking and the vegetable garden. It’s time for me to start my own life. A life like you did with Mr. Buckley. I deserve to find my own way. Perhaps that way is in Nebraska with my dear aunt. Surely you understand the right thing to do would be to go to her side.”

  She could sense Mrs. Buckley begin to reconsider. Claire pressed on.

  “Besides, just think of the money you could save by letting me go. Not only would you no longer have to pay my salary, but there’d be one less mouth to feed. Your sons no longer require my tutelage. You have done your Christian duty.” She paused as she saw the woman’s expression soften. Mrs. Buckley let out a long sigh of resignation.

  “My dear, I’ve underestimated you. If your mind is made up, I guess I can’t stop you. When shall you be leaving us?”

  “Just as soon as I am able to purchase a train ticket and send a message to my aunt.”

  “Very well. I shall notify Mr. Buckley and arrange for your final paycheck.” With that the woman strode out of the room, shutting the door firmly behind her.

  Claire sat down on the ladder-back chair and laughed.

  The nerve of that woman, insisting I owe her. I’ve racked my brains trying to teach those unruly boys. I’ve spent hours grading their papers, trying to raise them to be considerate and intelligent young men. I’ve spent too many years in this tiny room dreaming of what my life should have been, could have been. If only that darn war hadn’t taken my Caleb away. Then I might be teaching my own boys, or… Oh Caleb what happened to you?

  Rousing herself and shaking her head to clear her thoughts, Claire began to sort through her belongings. She knew that she’d need to pack carefully because she was never coming back to Gettysburg, and who really knew what it was like in Omaha? Suddenly she didn’t feel quite so brave. It was safe here and while her life was predictable, it wasn’t so bad. But she couldn’t allow herself to think that way. Gin needed her, and truth be told, she needed Gin. It was time to start living again. Caleb wa
s only a memory. The War Between the States had claimed him and there was no changing that. After three long years of hearing nothing, she had to admit that he must be dead. Her fiancé would have come back to her if he could. Though a small part of her still held hope that he was somewhere far away, trying as hard as he could to return to her, she knew a rebel bullet must have found him. And for Claire, having a family, even just an aunt, would be better than living in someone else’s house, in someone else’s life.

  Rummaging in the back of the wardrobe, Claire extracted her old leather trunk. She then surveyed the small pile of clothing and belongings spread on the bed next to her mother’s quilt, one of her only prized possessions.

  My goodness, she thought, I never realized how little I really own.

  She lifted the lid of the old trunk and caught a wisp of lavender. The trunk had belonged to her mother and mother had always used lavender sachets to scent her home. Smiling sadly, Claire tucked her belongings into the trunk, carefully placing the large family bible on top. Not only did it contain all the doctrine she held so dear, but the family history as well. Births and deaths were recorded neatly inside the front and back covers. Her parents might have passed on, but she had record of their existence and she cherished the Secord heirloom.

  Looking about the room she remembered her pistol and bullet pouch with a start. There was no way she could forget to take that! She slipped to the door, opening it quietly and peering into the hall. Satisfied that no one was near, Claire closed the door and kneeled at the side of her bed. Lifting the edge of the blue ticking mattress, she thrust her arm underneath and retrieved her pistol, the pouch of bullets and her leather bag of savings. Standing up, she carefully slid the pistol and pouches into her pocketbook.

  She glanced at her father’s timepiece, a handsome pocket watch that she carried at all times—her other treasured belonging. The hands showed 4:00, the second hand ticking comfortably against a creamy, elegant background. Just enough time to obtain a schedule and purchase a ticket on the next train west. Claire flew down the back steps, ran out the kitchen door and headed to the tiny train station a few blocks away.

  Gettsyburg, Pennsylvania, was a small town with sturdy rock fences and brick streets. Tidy stone houses and majestic maple trees lined those streets, but Claire paid no attention as she hurried on her mission. A few minutes later she reached the station.

  “Excuse me sir, when is your next train to Omaha, Nebraska?”

  “Well, young lady, it so happens I have a train heading west tomorrow,” replied the crusty old station master. He squinted at a timetable and nodded.” Yup, tomorrow. How many tickets will you be needing? Round-trip I gather.”

  “One ticket, sir. And no, I don’t want a round trip ticket. This is to be a one way trip.” She stared at the old man and he backed up a step.

  “Uh, yes miss, a one way ticket to Nebraska for tomorrow. That’ll be thirteen dollars, miss, and you have yourself a safe trip.” Shaking his grizzled head, he reached for the coins she placed on the counter and handed her a schedule and a ticket. Claire nodded before turning sharply on her heel and striding back to the Buckley house with memories of Cal and possibilities for the future swirling in her head.

  ***

  That was three days ago. Now she was somewhere in the western half of Iowa. Once she crossed the Missouri River, the next stop would be Omaha and Aunt Gin’s loving arms. She could hardly wait.

  “Omaha! Ommaaaaha!” The conductor bellowed as he strode through the railcar. Claire opened her eyes, squinting in the early afternoon light. People were rising, stretching and gathering their belongings.

  I don’t even remember sleeping, she thought. I must have, it’s almost evening and ouch! my neck is stiff. I’m here, I’m finally here! She said a quick prayer of thanks for her safe deliverance and reached for her trunk and hatboxes.

  The weight of her pistol, hidden deeply in a skirt pocket, banged against her thigh. Claire might be young and genteel, but she was also practical. She was a crackerjack shot thanks to her father’s early instruction. No one was going to get the best of his little girl. Claire had secretly kept up with her shooting and found great pleasure in her very unladylike skill.

  She clambered down the steps to the boardwalk outside the depot and looked around.

  Where was Aunt Gin? Surely Gin would meet the arrival of her train!

  As Claire waited ten minutes passed, then twenty. The other passengers had departed and the porter was nowhere in sight. Perhaps Ginny was busy at the store.

  That must be it. No bother, I shall ask directions: it can’t be far.

  She set her chin in a determined manner and drew her belongings near. Just then a young sheriff stepped up to her.

  “Miss Secord?”

  “Why, yes?” Claire responded, startled to hear him say her name.

  “Miss Secord, I am Sheriff Thomas Maxwell and I’d like to welcome you to Omaha.” “Well, thank you, but I was expecting my aunt, Virginia Weikert.”

  “Yes, I know, that’s why I’m here,” he said nervously, looking everywhere but Claire’s face.

  He twisted his Stetson in his large, calloused hands and looked over her shoulder. He took a deep breath and tried again. This time he looked into her eyes and spoke in his most gentle voice. The voice he used to soothe his horses.

  “Miss Secord, I’m sorry to tell you this, but we buried your aunt this

  morning, about six hours ago.”

  Claire gasped, her knees buckled, and Sheriff Maxwell barely caught her as she slumped to the ground. He produced a clean handkerchief and began fanning her pale face. “Miss Secord, are you alright?”

  Darn, what do I do now? He thought. Wake up lady! Wake up!

  Slowly, Claire opened her eyes and Maxwell was struck by the pain he saw reflected there. He released his grip on her waist and she staggered a bit. When she steadied herself and looked up at him wide-eyed, he told her that two days ago Virginia Weikert had been struck down by a team of runaway horses. She died instantly. “Miss, if it’s any consolation, it was a right nice service. Pastor Stevens did a fine job and many townsfolk turned out to pay their respects. The cemetery is just a mile or so from here. And she has a lovely resting place.”

  Nodding, Claire murmured, “I’m sure it is, uh, was Sheriff, uh, Maxwell, was it? And I’m indebted to you all.” Claire suddenly stared up at him with eyes brimming with tears. Her voice was more impassioned than he had heard yet. “Please, please take me to her gravesite.” She looked like she might fall over again any second. Maxwell wasn’t quite certain how to react to the clearly distraught woman. He told her firmly, “Now Miss Secord, there’ll be time for that tomorrow.” He glanced at the sun’s position, “No doubt you’ve had a long day. It’s nearly dusk and time for me to be getting you home and settled.”

  Home, Claire thought, I don’t have a home.

  Sensing her hesitation, Maxwell spoke up quickly. “Miss Secord, I took the liberty of looking through your aunt’s papers. I found the telegram announcing your arrival today. I also found a will. She and your uncle left everything to you; their home and their business.”

  Claire began to feel faint again; steeling herself, she straightened her shoulders, took a deep breath and said, “Well Sheriff, please direct me home then.” With a look of admiration, he stowed her belongings in the back of a black buggy and helped her up. Gathering her skirts, Claire settled in and tried to look around with interest.

  I might as well get used to Omaha. Now that I have a home and a business, I’d better start paying attention. There’ll be time to cry in private. Oh, Aunt Gin!

  Sheriff Maxwell gathered the reins, clicked to his team, and expertly guided the horses away from the noisy depot, heading down a dusty street toward the far edge of town. Claire tried to pay attention so she would recognize some landmarks later, but her eyes kept filling with tears and her throat felt as if she were choking. They came to a low white-washed building with a faded but neatly p
rinted sign—Weikert’s Fine Mercantile. Maxwell swung down from the buggy and offered his arm to Claire.

  “Here we are Miss Secord, here’s your new home.” She took his hand and stepped down. Her long skirt swirled the dust at her feet. She took a step then hesitated.

  “But, sir,” Claire’s voice was barely above a whisper. She glanced around, not understanding. “There is no house here.”

  “Your aunt and uncle lived in rooms in the back of the building. You can go through the shop or walk around back. See this brick walk way, it winds around to the back door.” Claire nodded and looked back at the storefront. There were two large glass windows framing a set of double doors. A faded red overhang sheltered a wide porch that was dusty and unkempt. The porch butted up to the dirt street. A large planter held a dead plant and a stray cat was scratching in the dirt. Maxwell turned and looked at Claire trying to see things through her eyes.

  I’ll just give her a moment to take this all in, he thought. She looks as if she’s about to spill more tears and I surely don’t need that.

  He hoisted her trunk onto one broad shoulder and walked around the side of the building. He could hear her trailing behind. He pushed open the narrow back door and deposited her belongings in the tiny kitchen.

  “Miss, I’ll be on my way now. If you need anything my office is just a few doors down the way.”

  It was all Claire could do just to nod at him and close the door behind him. As soon as she heard his footsteps retreat she fell into a chair, sobbing, unable to believe that her position in life could get any more desperate, and that her only remaining family lay buried in a grave less than a mile from her new home.

  CHAPTER TWO

  The Sheriff