Chapter One Tylerville, Washington Territory
April 10, 1878
The rinka-tink-tink of a tinny piano flowed out onto the street from the Blue Chicken Saloon, and greasy gray cigar smoke rolled out the open doors of the hotel dining room. Lily Chalmers consulted the cheap timepiece pinned to the bodice of her blue calico dress and nodded to herself, satisfied that she wouldn't be late for work.
Lifting her skirts with one dainty hand, Lily picked her way carefully through the mud and horse dung that littered the street. A little smile curved her lips when she reached the other side and stepped onto the wooden sidewalk. The land office was open for business.
The clerk, a young man with spectacles and pockmarked skin, stood behind the counter. He touched the brim of his visor when Lily entered. His gaze moved from her pale blond hair, done up in a chignon at the back of her neck, to her wide brown eyes and small, slender figure. "Mornin'," he said, with what Lily suspected was unusual enthusiasm.
Although she had never liked being assessed in that particular way, she'd long since gotten used to it. Besides, nothing could take the glow off this perfect blue-and-gold day -- not even the fact that she had to be at the Harrison Hotel in half an hour to serve another meal to a lot of noisy soldiers.
"I'd like to stake a claim on a piece of land, please," Lily said proudly. She took a folded map from her ancient beaded bag and held it out.
The clerk's eyes shifted to a place just beyond Lily's left shoulder, then back to her face. "Your husband isn't with you?" he asked. He looked disappointed now, rather than fervent.
Lily sighed and straightened her shoulders. "I don't have a husband," she said clearly.
There was a twitch in the clerk's left cheek, and his small eyes widened -- behind their spectacles. "You don't have a husband?" he echoed. "But you can't -- you don't just -- "
Lily had prepared for his argument, incoherently presented though it was. "Under the law, any able-bodied person of legal age may stake a claim to one-half section of land," she said, praying no one would demand proof that she had reached her majority. In truth, she was not quite nineteen. "One has only to prove up on their three hundred and twenty acres within five years, by building a house and planting crops."
The clerk was now thrumming the fingers of both hands on the countertop. He was clearly agitated. He started to speak, but his words came out in such a garble that they were unintelligible. Lily reached out to pat one of his hands.
"Be calm, now," she said in a gentle but firm voice. "Just tell me your name, and we'll work this all out amicably."
"Monroe," he replied. "My name is Monroe Samuels."
She nodded, pleased, and extended one gloved hand. "And I'm Miss Lily Chalmers," she responded sweetly. "Now, if we could just get down to business -- I have another appointment very shortly."
Monroe took up the map Lily had laid on the countertop and unfolded it. His Adam's apple jogged up his throat, then down again as he scanned the rough drawing of the land Lily had selected. He looked at her helplessly for a moment, then went to a shelf and took down an enormous book, which he opened with a flourish.
Lily stood on tiptoe, trying to make out the words marching neatly across the pages in a slanted black scrawl, but she was too far away.
"There is a five-dollar filing fee," Monroe said after clearing his throat. He seemed to expect Lily to be daunted by this announcement.
Again she opened her drawstring-bag, this time taking out a five-dollar note. "I have it right here," she answered.
Monroe came and snatched up the map again, carrying it back to compare it with whatever was written in the book. "It might already be taken, you know."
Lily held her breath. Her land couldn't be taken -- it just couldn't. Right from the very beginning she'd known God meant it to be hers and hers alone. She closed her eyes for a moment, summoning up images of the silvery creek shining in the sun, of the deep green grass and gently flowing bottomland where she meant to plant her crops. She could almost smell the stand of pine and fir trees that lined the southern border of her claim.
Monroe cleared his throat again, glanced at Lily's money as if to make sure it hadn't vanished, and dipped a pen to make a grudging notation in the book. "You need a husband to homestead," he fussed. "You're going to be dealing with Indians, and rattlesnakes, and outlaws -- "
"We had all those things in Nebraska," Lily, broke in politely, consulting her watch again. "And I survived. Now, if you'd just hurry..."
Scowling, Monroe wrote up a receipt and a temporary deed. "The half-section next to yours is already claimed," he warned, "Just make sure you've got your property line straight."
Lily scowled back. "I paced it off myself," she said.
Monroe did not look reassured. He snatched up the five dollars and shoved the deed and receipt at Lily. "Good luck, Miss Chalmers. You'll need it."
If the ink had been dry, Lily would have pressed the temporary deed to her bosom in triumph. She smiled at the petulant clerk to let him know he hadn't managed to discourage her, and she hurried out.
A stiff breeze made the certificate crackle between her fingers as she stood on the sidewalk inspecting it. For the first time in her life Lily owned something solid and real. Once she'd built her house and put in her crops she would be completely independent; never again would she be the interloper, the unwelcome burden.
She pursed her lips and blew on the deed like a child bending over a birthday cake and, when she was sure the ink was dry, rolled it neatly and tied it with a piece of string from her purse.
Her step was brisk as she hurried toward the hotel, where a long day's work awaited her.
She entered through the back way, recoiling as a blast of heat from the kitchen stove struck her. Carefully, she put her handbag and the precious deed away on a pantry shelf.
"There's a lot of 'em today," barked Charlie Mayfield, the cook, as he shouldered his way through the swinging door that led to the dining room, "and they're fractious."
Lily reached for her checkered apron, tied the strings at the back of her neck and at her waist, and nodded. "They're always troublesome," she said with resignation. "They're soldiers."
For Lily, those last two words said it all. She had no use whatsoever for men in uniform. They were invariably obnoxious, with no consideration for other people's rights.
Lily smoothed her hair once and set to work.
Later, as she passed between the crowded tables, gripping an overloaded tray in both hands, one of the soldiers reached out and wrenched hard at her apron strings. Pulled off balance, she stumbled, and the tray clattered to the floor.
Infuriated, the joy of her temporary deed forgotten for the moment, Lily whirled on her tormenter, a young infantryman with a broad grin, picked up the mug of foaming beer in front of him, and flung the contents into his face. The other troopers whooped and cheered with delight.
A surge of heat moved up Lily's neck to throb in her cheeks and along the rims of her ears. Soldiers never seemed to care what trouble they caused, just as long as they had their good times.
She knelt and began gathering up the dirty cups, plates, and silverware she'd dropped with the tray.
The movements of her hands were quick and jerky, but she went still when she saw a pair of scuffed black boots come to a stop directly in front of her, and her temper swelled anew. These rascals had been harassing her with their exuberant mischief all morning, and she was through turning the other cheek.
She rose slowly to her feet and sighed as she felt the pins in her once-tidy hair give way, sending the silver-gold tresses tumbling down over her shoulders. Crows of amusement rose all around her as she set her hands on her hips and raised her chin.
The eyes that gazed down at her were just the color of maple sugar and shadowed by the brim of a dusty blue field hat banded in gold braid. A gloved hand reached up to remove the hat, revealing a thatch of golden-brown hair.
"On behalf of the United States Army, ma'am" a deep voice said with barely contained amusement, "I'd like to apologize for these men."
Lily reminded herself that the soldiers from nearby Fort Deveraux kept the hotel dining room in business, and that without them she wouldn't have a job. Nevertheless, she was near the end of her patience. "They would seem to be boys," she answered pointedly, "rather than men."
The barb brought a chorus of howls, whistles, and cries of mock despair.
The man looking down at Lily -- a major, judging by his insignia -- grinned rather insolently, showing teeth as white as the keys on a new piano. "They've been on patrol for two weeks, ma'am," he explained with elaborate cordiality, apparently choosing to ignore her comment on their collective bad manners.
Something about the curve of his lips made Lily feel as though the room had done a half spin. She reached out to steady herself by gripping the back of a chair. "I fail to see how that gives them the right to behave like circus gorillas."
The major's grin intensified, half blinding Lily. "Of course, you're right," he said. Every word that came out of his mouth was congenial. So why did she feel that he was making fun of her?
Lily found herself looking at the button-down panel on the front of his shirt and wondering about the chest beneath it. Was it as broad and muscled as it appeared, covered in a downy mass of maple hair?
With a toss of her head she shook off the unwelcome thought and knelt to finish gathering the crockery. She was surprised when the major squatted down to help, but she wouldn't meet his eyes.
"What's your name?" he asked.
Lily flung the last of the silverware onto the tray with a clatter. "It'll be mud if I don't get back to the kitchen and pick up my orders," she snapped.
The major took the heavy tray and stood...
--This text refers to an alternate
Mass Market Paperback
edition.
