Wild Horses, Wild Hearts 3, page 4
CHEYENNE, WYOMING TERRITORY, October 1885
The ride into Cheyenne was uneventful for John and Longbow, few souls being out on the road that early in the day. As for Cheyenne, the town was largely quiet in the wake of the festivities the night before, many of the residents sleeping off the fun they’d had. Evidence of the celebration was still in place and a few pieces of trash rolled haphazardly through the streets at the complete mercy of the wind’s whims.
The telegraph office was located right next to the railroad station and was usually kept open all day and night for communicating railroad traffic and messages. As John dismounted from Longbow and hitched his faithful mount to a nearby post, he strode purposefully toward the office where all of the telegraph wires congregated.
As he opened the door and stepped in, he was relieved to spy that the telegraph operator sitting at the key was Silas Jones. Silas had a reputation in Cheyenne for being the only telegraph operator who wasn’t an incurable gossip. The man rigidly kept the information contained in the messages he sent and received between himself and the necessary parties. He steadfastly refused to be coaxed or bribed into telling anybody anyone else’s business.
Just the man I was hoping to see, John thought delightedly as he closed the door behind him.
Silas’s finger rapidly tapped the telegraph key, the rhythmic tapping almost hypnotic in a way. John waited patiently while Silas tapped out whatever message he was furiously sending out, watching the skill and movement of his fingers.
After a few moments, Silas finished his message and turned to regard his visitor. “Ah, Mister Baldwin, good morning to you,” he greeted politely, offering a thin-lipped smile. “What can I do for you?”
John returned the smile easily before digging his hand into the interior of his coat to find Abigail’s message.
“Morning to you, Silas,” he replied as he extracted the note from his coat and extended it out toward the operator. “I’ve a message that needs to be sent to Miss Leyla McNeal, care of the Professor Monro Traveling Wild West Show further west.”
“Ah, yes, I’d forgotten the younger McNeal sister was travelling,” Silas replied good naturedly as he gripped the message and read its contents.
John was half-expecting some kind of reaction from Silas once he’d read the message, but the man simply smiled before looking back at John. “Congratulations to you, Mister Baldwin,” he said simply. “And please pass my well wishes along to your wife. I’ll make sure this gets sent off straight away, but you’d better take that note with you. I don’t want any of my nosier colleagues stumbling onto it and spreading your wife’s private matters.” Silas punctuated his statement by immediately tapping out the message on the telegraph key.
Again, John breathed a sigh of relief at the telegraph operator’s penchant for minding his own business and that of others. He placed a generous payment onto Silas’s desk, more than enough to pay for the telegram being sent out and was turning to leave when Silas called out.
“Oh, wait a second, Mister Baldwin! Sorry, I almost forgot, but a telegram came in for you just yesterday.” Silas stood from his chair and moved toward the pigeonholes full of arrived telegrams for the populace of Cheyenne.
A telegram for me? John puzzled, wondering who could possibly know where he was. Nobody back east would really have a mind for sending me a message, unless it’s from... John’s eyes widened and his heart began racing as a small ember of hope sparked inside of his being at the telegram’s possible sender.
Silas turned to face the Kentuckian again, holding the telegram out toward John. John, his hands suddenly trembling, reached out and took the scrap of paper in his hand before his eyes roamed over it.
JOHN BALDWIN STOP TRIBE PLANS MOVING FURTHER WEST STOP PASS THROUGH CHEYENNE IN WINTER STOP HOPE TO SEE YOU AGAIN STOP MAY THE GREAT SPIRIT CONTINUE TO GUIDE YOU STOP GUARDING WOLF
John stood stock still as he reread the simple lines over and over again. For the second day in a row, he could feel his heart swelling with absolute joy at having been given an unexpected piece of news.
He was going to see his family again. Some of the Natives who he had grown up with and learned so much from were going to be passing through Cheyenne in winter.
I’ll be damned if I’m gonna let them continue through the winter snows and winds, he thought determinedly. My folks’d turn over in their graves if I did such a thing.
Despite feeling further tears of joy gathering in the corners of his eyes, John quickly thanked Silas for his help and beat a path toward the door, intent on returning home and sharing the news with his wife and mother-in-law.
Longbow seemed to sense that his rider was in far better spirits than when they’d first arrived, his large eyes holding a querying quality.
John easily swung himself up into the black steed’s saddle and gave him a reassuring rub along his mane. “Got more good news, partner,” he sang, feeling as though he could fly. “Guarding Wolf and his tribe are coming our way, and I plan on making them feel plenty welcome at the ranch.”
His mount blew an excited blast of air from his flared nostrils, appearing to take the news as excitedly as John was.
“You got that right, Longbow,” John cheered. “Looks like we’ve got family new and old coming straight for us. Speaking of which, we’d better head on back to the ranch. Maggie’s likely up by now, and I believe I promised you a bag of feed as soon as we returned, didn’t I?”
Longbow bridled at the mention of food, and before John could even direct him to, the horse turned around to the direction the ranch was in.
With a chuckle at his mount’s desire to be fed, John spurred him forward, and the two took off at a gallop, leaving a rising cloud of dust in their wake as they beat a path toward home.
Chapter III: ...or a Burden?
McNeal Ranch, Near Cheyenne, Wyoming Territory, October 1885
Something’s not right here, Margaret thought sleepily, her mind and body already able to discern that something was off, even through the fog of lethargy that still clouded her mind.
Though she kept her eyes closed, she could at least tell that she was still beneath the bearskin blanket on hers and John’s bed given how warm she felt. However, she didn’t feel as warm as she normally did when she woke up and that was what gave her pause for concern.
She idly wondered if her husband was feeling the same lack of warmth as she was. Reaching her arm back, she encountered nothing but empty sheets. Turning around, she realized that she was alone in the bed for once rather than the other way around.
Now where could that man be? she questioned. It can’t be that late in the day already, can it?
Slightly worried that she had slept in, Maggie cast a glance at the curtains covering the window. Seeing that the sun’s rays of light were coming in horizontally rather than an angle, she breathed a sigh of relief.
It’s still early, she thought as she lay back in the bed, pulling the thick blanket tighter over herself. John couldn’t have left too long ago, but I wonder what could have gotten him up this early to begin with. Couldn’t be something with the ranch because he knows better than to try and keep anything like that from me.
As her mind puzzled over the whereabouts of her husband, her hands, acting of their own volition, once again found their way to her soft belly and slowly began to massage it. All too quickly the memories of what she’d learned the previous night came flooding back to her and with them all of the confused emotions that were whirling within her being.
I guess I shouldn’t be that surprised, she thought with a wry chuckle. John and I haven’t exactly been lacking in our conjugal duties. Still, so soon?
A tremor of worry run through Maggie as she worried over how she could effectively run the ranch that her father had left to her when she’d suddenly have a baby to take care of.
It shouldn’t be too bad, right? She attempted to rationalize, even as her hands pressed against her middle, which she swore felt like it had grown since she’d felt it the night before. I won’t give birth until around May, so I can leave the winter tending of the cattle to John and the boys. And I can probably keep riding until January if I take things easy on Apollo. And as for show riding, I can—
Maggie’s thoughts stopped dead in their tracks and her heart felt like it had turned into a leaden weight in her chest.
My show riding, she thought, implications echoing throughout her mind and feelings of dread creeping in with them. How will I be able to keep up with my show riding with a little one to take care of?
The short answer she was already dreading having to admit would be that she would have to choose one or the other and that riding her horse for the joy and applause of the crowds had no chance of beating out a new life.
Maggie McNeal was never one to back down from a challenge, and she knew that she would tackle being a mother with the same bravado and grit that she’d handled everything in her life.
The difference is, she reflected, was that all those other times I could control the variables around me and come out on top. This...this is a whole different herd of cattle.
Thinking about the future that was certain to come, and the child inside her, spun Maggie in a spiral of anxieties and worries. Even as she managed to answer one set of problems, three more arose to take their place. Before long, it felt as though the room itself was spinning, and that proved far too much for her. Moving faster than she’d thought possible, she swiftly maneuvered to the side of the bed, thrust her arms down beneath it, and latched onto the chamber pot stored underneath just as she felt her stomach heave what contents were left in it up and past her lips.
Thankfully, it wasn’t much and it hadn’t lasted long, but the vomiting left Maggie feeling drained. She returned the barely filled ceramic pot to the floor, not even bothering to move it back under the bed (especially if she needed it again), and allowed herself to fall onto her back again, her brunette curls strewn messily across the pillow.
Further proof that the Good Lord is a man, she thought ruefully as her hands returned to their protective position atop her stomach, trying to quell her digestive system and soothe the life inside. I’ve known a few vindictive gals in my time, but I can’t imagine any of them would wish this kinda torture on another woman.
Knowing that the vomiting and other ailments were assuredly going to continue only made her feel worse. Luckily, her stomach apparently had nothing left to give, but the feeling of nausea persisted.
Maggie sighed, having no choice but to accept her circumstances for the time being. There was nothing she could do it about it, so much like a bucking bronco, she’d just have to ride it out.
Still, I guess it’s not that bad, she mused, a glimmer of optimism sparking to life in her mind. After all, I don’t think I could have asked for a better man to give me children than John Baldwin.
The thought that her child would be a product of her and John’s love continued to bring light into the angst riddled corners of her mind. Her hands began circling her belly in gentle motions as she thought about it. Possibilities that she had overlooked before started to spring forth in her mind like precious gems that had been hidden under ordinary stones.
Leyla and I were already ready to ride by the time we both could walk, she recalled, remembering back to her childhood when she and her younger sister would listen to their father tell stories of horses and riding as well as demonstrating his abilities. A child born of John and me would be a natural rider.
Visions of a pretty little blond-haired girl or a brown-haired boy, or vice versa, expertly riding atop a horse began flickering through Maggie’s mind in rapid succession. With each passing possibility of what their child would be capable of, Maggie could feel her heart swelling with love and hope.
A show rider without equal, she thought dreamily. The best rancher in the whole west, maybe even the whole country!
A sudden rumbling pulled Maggie from her dreams and brought her firmly back to the present reality of the fact that her stomach was empty. Her body and her child were demanding that she feed them both.
At any other time in her life, Maggie might have felt annoyed at her body for acting in such a way. But now, knowing that she was responsible for the life growing inside of her, she giggled at the bodily reaction.
Not even born yet and already so needy, she thought happily, giving her stomach another loving rub. We’ll have to do a lot of work to teach you how to make it out here on the plains, little one. And I’ll be there to help you every step of the way.
Feeling slightly relieved about her impending motherhood, Maggie reluctantly slid from under the covers and proceeded to put on one of her thicker wool nightgowns before leaving the bedroom and making her way downstairs, where she prayed that her mother had something, anything, ready for breakfast.
ABIGAIL MCNEAL HAD just prepared a plate of ham and eggs when her older daughter appeared in the doorway to the kitchen, her hair wild and her eyes still showing traces of sleep. The elder redhead smiled as she placed the plate down on the table, at which Maggie swiftly sat down and began digging into the meal.
Healthy appetite, Abigail thought amusedly, watching as her daughter tore into the food like a wolf. That’s good. She’ll keep that child well fed and strong with each passing day.
“Good morning to you, Maggie,” she greeted cheerfully, her happiness still strong in the wake of the joyous news.
“Mwornwing Mwamwa,” Maggie said through a mouthful of egg, her hunger seeming to have the edge over the manners that Abigail knew full well she had instilled in both of her daughters. Still, Abigail let the slight breach of common etiquette slide as she also knew all too well just how hungry a pregnant woman could be.
As Maggie continued to eat, Abigail set about cooking more. She knew that John would be back before long and would likely be just as hungry from having to ride all the way to Cheyenne and back so early in the morning.
However, as soon as Abigail had finished the next skillet full of ham and eggs, her daughter was immediately up and standing next to her with an empty plate and an expectant look on her beautiful face.
The normally unflappable Abigail was caught off guard by the action, years of expecting her daughter to eschew seconds at breakfast working against her. But she simply smiled and transferred the contents of the skillet to her daughter’s plate without a fuss.
Maggie nodded her thanks to her mother and returned to her seat at the kitchen table. This time, however, she ate at a slower pace than before.
Abigail couldn’t help but continue smiling, memories of when she had been pregnant with Maggie and Leyla running through her mind.
“Mama?” Maggie spoke, this time with an empty mouth. “Do you know where John is this morning? It’s rare that he’s out of bed before I am, and I couldn’t think of any reason he’d be up so early other than something on the ranch needing his attention.”
The older woman turned her head to regard her daughter as her hands continued tending to the contents of the skillet atop the stove. “Oh, I’m sorry about that, Maggie,” Abigail said apologetically, “but I sent John off to Cheyenne so he could send a telegram off to Leyla and let her know that she’s going to be an aunt. He should be back before much longer.”
“That’s right...Leyla,” Maggie voiced in a dazed tone, as though the fact that she had a sister was just dawning on her. “She and Chase are right around California now, right?”
“That’s what their last telegram said,” Abigail replied with a smile. “And that’s farther west than anyone in our family has traveled so far. Though Lord knows that your father had dreams of moving further to California as well.”
“Papa wanted to go to California?” Maggie queried, a puzzled look etching itself across her face. “Why’d he want to do that?”
“You know your father, Maggie,” Abigail chuckled as she recalled her husband. “He figured that raising cattle and horses in California would have been perfect. That is, until I told him that all the good land out that way was already taken and the only spots left were along or in the mountains and that cattle aren’t much for those hills.”
“How’d you know all that?” Maggie asked, her eyes full of uncharacteristic wonder at having never been told this before.
Abigail smiled knowingly at her daughter. “Because, my little Maggie, while your father was usually reading fantastic tales to you and Leyla, I was the one reading the newspaper and keeping up with all the comings and goings of the land here and further west. The ranch may have been your father’s, but we ran it together.”
The pride with which Abigail spoke the final part of the story seemed to resonate with Maggie, a contemplative look settling on her face as she continued to eat.
A comfortable silence settled on the kitchen afterward, Abigail continuing to cook breakfast for the rest of the homestead while Maggie ate her fill of the simple but delicious food. It was only when Abigail attempted to offer her daughter a cup of coffee that the silence was broken. Maggie held up her hand as her face went pale with the onset of nausea.
Abigail quickly pulled the steaming cup of coffee away from Maggie and looked at it in mild confusion for a moment before a memory of her own past rose up, giving her a nostalgic chuckle.
“I see you’re just like me, then,” Abigail grinned, setting the cup off to the side. “Back when I was carrying you and Leyla I could hardly stand the sight of coffee for the first few months, let alone the smell.”
The two women chuckled at their newfound connection, sharing a small but tender moment between mother and daughter that so many often missed.
Abigail was just beginning to tell her daughter a story about her own experiences during her first pregnancy when the door to the kitchen swung open to admit none other than John Baldwin. Despite the earliness of the day, the Kentucky-born ranch boss wore a grin that threatened to outshine the sun outside.
