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To Claim Her Heart

By Jodie Wolfe

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Chapter One
Competition should be relegated to the male species. Proper young ladies should avoid a situation which permits rivalry, particularly involving the male species. If unavoidable, allow the gentleman to win. Be above reproach in this manner.
Mrs. Wigglesworth’s Essential Guide to Proper Etiquette and Manners of Refined Society

September 15, 1893, Kiowa, Kansas—Border of the Cherokee Strip
“Elmer Smith?”
For once in all of her days, Elsie welcomed the name Pa had insisted on when her life began and Ma’s had ended.
“Is that you, son?”
“Ain’t your son.” Ain’t no one’s son. Elsie shifted her Stetson lower to ward off the man’s scrutiny.
“There’s no need to get your prickles up. Do you testify you’re at least twenty-one years of age and head of your household?”
Elsie nodded and bit back a retort.
“Then sign here.” The man shoved a paper across the makeshift desk. Beads of moisture dotted his upper lip.
She scrawled her name on the line. The page crinkled when she folded and shoved it into her shirt pocket, along with the copy of The Homestead Laws and Pa’s hand-drawn map.
“Get out of the way, kid.” A scraggly looking fellow jabbed into her shoulder.
Elsie stepped out of line, glaring at him. He ignored her and turned his attention to the clerk.
She elbowed through a crowd of men. How had her small town swelled to so many folks? Thankfully there were few she recognized, or, more so, who could recognize her. The less who knew her gender, the better. She certainly didn’t need no man to help her get the land she and Pa had dreamed about.
Elsie scooted her hat up and swiped at the sweat on her forehead before dropping it back into place, scrunching the thick braid she’d pinned up three days prior. Hefting her saddlebags to her opposite shoulder, she hiked the short distance to the livery and retrieved Buster. A short ride would clear her head and prepare her for what lay ahead.
Dust swirled and nearly choked Elsie as she rode in the opposite direction of the throngs, to see the old farm one last time.
Acrid smoke filled her lungs. Nearby fires, to deter Sooners from entering the strip before the race began, burned in the west, but not out of control.
Elsie urged Buster, careful not to tire him. Everything hinged on finding the land tomorrow.
Everything.
###
September 15, 1893, Hennessey, Oklahoma Territory—Border of the Cherokee Strip
Benjamin David pocketed the certificate and patted it as if the paper provided some sort of assurance of his quest. His heart weighed like a stone in his chest. He’d thought about this day ever since President Cleveland proclaimed the strip opened for settlement. Some said it would be the last great race for land. By the folks lining the streets, Benjamin believed it.
All manner of transportation could be seen. Wagons fully loaded with goods, buggies, even a few bicycles. A train whistled in the distance. A cacophony of sounds assaulted him.
He reached into his pocket and withdrew the compass Pa had given him. Benjamin studied the inscription before dropping it back into place. Lord willing, by this time tomorrow a hundred and sixty acres would be his. He’d studied the maps of the strip enough to know Enid would be the closest place to file his claim if he didn’t head too far west, otherwise he’d have to travel to Woodward.
He bent his head to ward off the gleaming sunlight. Lord, I’m here because of Your leading. Direct me like You did Moses to the Promised Land. Help me to recognize the parcel when I see it.
“You’re a preacher, right?” A disheveled man blocked his path. Dusty clothes hung on his lean frame. The man’s dull brown eyes pleaded with Benjamin.
“Yes.”
“Somebody said they thought they saw you reading the Good Book, so I figured you might be a man of the cloth.”
He shook the man’s calloused hand. “Benjamin.”
The man grasped his shoulder and tugged him forward. “This way. I need your services. You see, my friend just passed. Must be these confounded temperatures.”
Benjamin allowed himself to be guided through the throng of unwashed bodies, the stench choking him. They elbowed their way to a man lying on the ground. The scent of death wafted upward. Benjamin froze as if a block of ice encased him. Not again.
The disheveled man whipped his hat off, and his bald head shimmered in the sunlight. His knuckles shone white against the black hat clamped in his fingers. “C-could you say a few words over him?”
Benjamin swallowed. A few men standing nearby bowed their heads and removed their hats. “Dear Lord, we pray for our brother. May he rest in the safety of Your arms.” His throat tightened, and he couldn’t go on. It brought back too many reminders.
“Amen.” The men slapped their hats back in place and carried the dead man away.
Benjamin stared after them until they disappeared, then worked his way to the makeshift diner. The tent flap blew in the breeze. A swirl of dust blew grit into his eyes and nose.
He hacked as he collapsed onto a wooden bench. Maybe eating would keep his mind off the dead man.
Benjamin flicked a nickel to the waiter, and a glass of water appeared. His folks would never believe the outlandish prices businesses were getting away with on the strip. Benjamin guzzled the tepid liquid and debated eating an early supper. Yesterday he’d waited till dinner time, then stood in line for hours only to have the food sold out by the time he’d gotten to the front.
He plunked down the price for a plate of food, and the same waiter brought a meal that couldn’t be recognized. Benjamin bent his head for a brief prayer before digging in.
“Mind if I sit with you?” A black-haired man with an expensive suit stood by Benjamin’s side balancing silverware, a glass of water, and a platter of steaming grub.
“Help yourself. I’m Benjamin David.” He shifted so the gentleman would have more room on the narrow seat.
“Pleased to meet you. I’m Herbert.” The fellow scraped the food back and forth across his plate and frowned at it. “What do you plan to do if you get land tomorrow?”
“We, I plan to set up a small farm, as well as start a church.”
“I take it you’re planning on a regular plot instead of a town plot?”
Benjamin nodded. “I figured the competition for a town plot might be a bit fierce.” Besides, the Lord would provide in time. “What about you?”
The stranger didn’t respond right away. In fact, Benjamin managed to finish his meal and the man still hadn’t answered. Benjamin swung a leg over the bench and inched back a bit so he could see the man better.
“A regular one.”
Something about the way he said it made Benjamin uncomfortable. The cut of the man’s clothes suggested he was from a large city, but the stranger’s actions didn’t coincide with his appearance. Benjamin cleared his throat. “Where you from?”
“Originally from Boston. I’ve done some traveling through Kansas and Oklahoma Territory. In fact, I snuck into the strip a few days ago during nightfall so I could scout out the land and know where the best plot is.”
Benjamin shifted on his seat. It was illegal to slink in ahead of time.
“There’s money to be had out here. I’ll find a way to sell it to the highest bidder.” Herbert scooped another spoonful into his mouth before shoving the plate away. “A quarter section isn’t much, but I have plans. Big plans. And I won’t let anybody get in my way.”
Alarm shot through Benjamin and he dropped eye contact, unsure how to respond. The stranger reminded him of folks he’d met that just couldn’t keep their business to themselves. Did the man assume they’d never see each other again? The chances were slim, since it was reported that close to eleven thousand folks lined the streets of Hennessey. He lifted his head and studied the man again.
Herbert’s eyes darkened. “You make sure you don’t follow me, you hear?” The man shifted the edge of his suit coat to reveal the glimmering handle of a six-shooter.
###
Kiowa, Kansas
As Elsie threaded her way through the rabble filling the streets, her spirit hadn’t calmed any after seeing the farm. Tomorrow would be better, when there’d be open spaces and not so many folks wandering around. She was hard pressed to make a single move without running into someone.
Steam from a train engine whistled as she rode past. Elsie struggled to calm Buster. All manner of conveyances and folks rambled over the prairie like ants scurrying to and fro.
Elsie nudged Buster to the starting line. She swung down from her horse, settled on the dusty ground, and rummaged through her pack. It looked like a few strips of jerky and two stale rolls would constitute her supper. She shifted on the ground and tried to get comfortable. The sun's rays blazed on their descent. It would be dark in a matter of minutes. She lowered her hat to cover her face, not remembering when she’d last slept. It had been at least three days or more.
Elsie awoke to something knocking against the side of a tin bowl. She yawned and stretched. Her stomach growled. The sun shone high overhead. Hadn’t the sun been setting when she sat down? She jumped up. How long had she slept? It wasn’t like her to doze so long, especially with all the noise. Three days of standing in line to register for the race must have had taken its toll. Around her, folks packed up their final belongings. Mothers called out to their children.
Elsie rummaged through her pack, found the jerky and popped it into her mouth. She patted her pocket. Pa’s hand-drawn map, the certificate, and the homestead rules were there where she’d left them. She didn’t have to pull out the map to remember his description. The slight hill with the stream and a sprinkling of trees with their limbs arching over it, and the rich soil. He’d included the exact mileage and landmarks to look for along the way. If she headed south and slightly east, she wouldn’t have any trouble finding it.
Confident that nothing was missing, she blew out a breath. Her horse stepped closer and snorted against her cheek.
“Sorry, fella, I don’t know what happened. You’ll have to do with water from my canteen for now. I’m not going to risk losing my spot.” She poured half of the container into her hat and offered it to the horse. He slurped the water, then she slapped her Stetson back in place. She’d save the stale crust of bread in her pack for later.
Folks shuffled forward, kicking up dust in the process. They stood restlessly at the line, waiting for the shot to ring out at noon to start the race. Some were on foot while others sat on horseback or atop wagons. People pressed on either side as well as behind Elsie. She glanced over her shoulder.
“Heard tell there’s fifteen thousand folks here,” the fella beside her said. He whistled. “Never saw so many in my life.”
Ten yards away, soldiers stood near the starting line making sure nobody entered the Cherokee Strip before the time. A tremor ran through Elsie. It boggled her mind to think that, at nine different starting places along the territory, others were lined up to race as well.
One of the soldiers glanced at his pocket watch. “Fifteen minutes!”
A hush fell over the crowd.
Elsie mounted. The leather saddle creaked. Her fingers gripped the reins.
The soldiers paced back and forth, holding the line.
Minutes dragged by.
A horse stamped his foot beside her. Buster answered with a thump of his own.
Wagon harnesses jangled in the stillness.
The soldiers pointed their rifles in the air. One checked his time piece.
A tremor ran through Elsie’s body. Help me get it, help me get it, help me get it. Every fiber of her being tensed in anticipation. Her heart beat against her ribs.
A shot rang out.
Buster bolted, and ran in the opposite direction of the strip.
###
September 16, 1893, Cherokee Strip
Adrenaline surged through Benjamin’s body. Milly responded in kind. His little mare shot ahead of the other horses and various types of conveyances. The steady drumming of hooves pounded the ground, but he didn’t dare waste time peeking backward to survey their closeness. The future lay ahead. Perhaps he could trust God to have great things in store for him after all.
Terrain whizzed past as he ran Milly hard. Lord show me the place You have for me. A calm settled on Benjamin’s heart.
Holding tight to the reins with one hand, he slipped the compass from his pocket to check his direction of travel. He slowed his horse to get a good read before tugging the traces slightly to the left to correct his course.
He threw a glance over his shoulder. A trio of riders crested the rise he’d just crossed over. “Good girl, Milly.” He patted her sweat-soaked neck and urged her forward.
Half an hour later, Milly slowed to a trot. Benjamin continued to pray and study the land around him. Up ahead lay a small grove of trees. As Milly wandered closer, he spotted a stream trickling a path through the trees. A hill swelled on the right side.
“This is it, isn’t it Lord?” A quietness confirmed what he already knew. “Whoa, Milly.”
Benjamin slipped to the ground and searched through the saddlebag. Finding the stake and a small hammer, he drove the piece of wood into the ground, claiming the land the Lord had given him.
“We’re home.” His heart warmed.
He picked up the reins and walked Milly to the corners of the lot, making sure there were no other stakes in sight. Benjamin jotted down the coordinates on his map. “We’ll rest for a few minutes, girl, but then I’m afraid you have a few more miles ahead of you. We need to get to Enid as soon as possible.” Milly snorted.
###
September 16, 1893, Cherokee Strip

Elsie bit her lip to keep from grumbling aloud. Not that it mattered. She’d calmed Buster enough to turn him back in the direction of the race. As they got closer to the starting line, a quick look around confirmed her suspicions—the racers were way ahead of her.
When they re-crossed the line someone called out, “Yer a little late there, fella. Saw you headin’ the wrong direction a while ago.” A cackle followed.
She ignored the man and spurred Buster to a faster pace. “Giddy up. We need to get to Pa’s land before someone else finds it.”
Hours later Elsie reached her destination—at least she hoped so. It wasn’t like she could calculate the exact mileage while riding. The plot appeared to be the right one. There were trees and a stream. Dropping from the saddle, she glanced at the stone marker on the ground.
Yep, the rock bore the same coordinates Pa had scrawled across the bottom of his map. This is for you, Pa. She hammered her stake into the soil. A quarter of a square mile. Not a huge parcel by any means, but it was all hers. Well, it would be as soon as she got to Woodward and registered her claim.
###
The trip to Enid had been uneventful. Long, but uneventful. With nine different starting places for the race and only four land claim offices established throughout the territory, it had taken Benjamin a while to file his paperwork. The deed now rested in his shirt pocket. He couldn’t believe he owned one hundred and sixty acres.
He stepped out of the claim office. Tent after tent fluttered in the late afternoon breeze. Hammering filled the air and folks milled everywhere. The newly formed town of Enid was well on its way. Benjamin stopped by the tent marked ‘store,’ picked up a bunch of supplies, and purchased a wagon.
With the sun at his back, he turned Milly and the wagon toward his new home. He swallowed past the lump in his throat. It would have felt more like home if he had a wife to share it with him.
###
Elsie rolled her aching shoulders. It had taken much longer in Woodward than she’d planned on. The line to the claim office stretched and snaked beside the tents that fluttered like handkerchiefs on a clothesline. Finally, it was her turn.
Her breath hitched as she held the claim certificate in her hands a few minutes later. She smiled. Home. She liked the sound of it. It’d been a while since she had one.
She swooped onto Buster and traveled the distance to her new claim. The red soil spread out for miles. Dusk had descended by the time she finally reached her destination. She squinted as the pale light of the moon glimmered off a large shape on the hill.
That shouldn’t be there. As she got closer, she could see something flickering—like firelight.
Withdrawing her rifle, she cocked it and took aim. “Come out from behind the wagon.”
She swung her leg over Buster and dropped to the ground. A stranger eased out of the shadows. “I don’t know who you are, mister, but you have sixty seconds to get off my land.”

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