April 1894:
Leah awoke with a start and sat up straight in the cramped train seat. The conductor was ambling down the aisle announcing in his bored, flat voice that they had at long last reached the town with the peculiar name of Horse Flats. She cupped her hands to the rain-spattered window and peered into the murkiness of the early spring evening. All that could be seen was a small, clapboard depot and the blurred movement of a boarding passenger fleeing from the rain.
Leah bent to tug her heavy valise from beneath the seat dislodging her stiff-brimmed hat. Mumbling an unladylike word she had learned while staying with the kindly, but pugnacious Mrs. Cramfy in Ohio, she jerked the ugly black hat into place and stepped into the aisle.
The fat drummer with the greasy smile who had plagued her since he had boarded the train in Omaha leaned back in his seat with a smirk. "Goodbye, dearie. Been nice chattin' with ya."
Leah ignored him as she had for three-fourths the length of Nebraska. The tired young mother from across the aisle nodded, smiling a farewell over the head of the infant sleeping against her shoulder.
Outside, Leah paused on the partially sheltered train steps, a small blond girl in black. Her home-dyed mourning apparel and the hat did not hide the fact she was pretty ... unusually pretty. Leah straightened her slim shoulders and breathed deeply of the clean, damp air. Thank heaven the long train ride from Ohio was over. Her whole body felt stiff and cramped. As she stood there, her eyes searching the shadowed platform, she noted a man standing on the lee side of a stack of freight watching her. Just as their eyes met, he moved forward.
He was tall with broad shoulders, perhaps thirty years old, wearing a rain-shined slicker that slapped at the tops of his boots with each stride. Water dripped from the wide brim of his hat that was pulled low to shield his face from the rain.
At the foot of the steps he halted. Sharp blue eyes glinted up at her from a face with a certain lean, craggy handsomeness despite its stern expression. He spoke curtly, "You're Simon Clayborn's niece?"
"Yes. I'm Leah Clayborn. Did my uncle send you?"
"Yes, and no. He's stove up some. Horse fell with him. I was coming in to town so he asked if I'd pick you up."
"Is he badly injured?" Leah gasped.
"Nope. Just cracked a couple of ribs and twisted his knee some. This all you have to load?" He indicated the valise as Leah nodded. A callused hand reached out for the handle and indicated Leah was to follow him. Leah scrambled down the steps to dash after the retreating back.
A team and wagon waited behind the depot. The man was shoving the valise beneath a tarpaulin in the back of the wagon when Leah caught up. From its depth he pulled a slicker similar to the one he wore. "Here, put this on."
Gratefully, Leah wrapped in the bulky raincoat pulling it up over her hat. Without warning the man suddenly reached out, placed a big hand on either side of her waist and lifted her into the wagon. He motioned to the board seat before going to untie the team. "Make sure you keep that slicker between you and the seat or you'll get a wet bottom."
Wet bottom, indeed! Gentlemen didn't say such things to ladies. Not in Havendale, anyway! However, Leah gingerly arranged herself as advised.
In a moment, the man was back and sitting beside her. With quick, sure movements, he swung the team about, and they were headed down what appeared to be the main street of the little town. Shadowed buildings stood huddled, their windows black and glassy like a row of dead eyes. The trace chains jingled accompanying the clump of the horses' hooves on the damp earth.
The horses stepped out with anticipation of going home, chuffing and snorting at the trickle of rain in their nostrils. Midway down the street, a bright patch of light poked out into the dark like a stubby finger, an open door releasing the tinkle of piano music and boisterous voices. A crude sign above the door could be made out, its large letters spelling "SALOON". A man wearing leather chaps and high-heeled boots wobbled out. Why, it's just like in those dime western novels Mama had forbidden her to read, Leah marveled as the unsteady cowboy saw the wagon and called out.
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