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BARGAIN ON THE PRAIRIE

By Rhonda R Eichman

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~ One ~
A Whispered Prayer


Kansas Territory 1859

Annette DeSelvaine stood stiff against the blue and gray skies of the prairie. The early fall wind howled across the newly dug grave while she struggled with the full-length cape threatening to lift her into flight. Gripping the plush black velvet, she pulled the cape close around her small frame. The warmth gave no consolation.
Georgia Smith donated a blanket to wrap around the body of the thin, handsome Frenchman, before depositing him in the new territory’s sod. Annette, numb to any burial preparations, stood mute through Georgia’s orders, thankful the older woman took charge. A small group of farmers retreated to the side of the barn for a low-toned conversation, while Annette watched the bare earth at her feet in solitude.
Tony, how could you leave me like this, amid a bunch of ignorant dirt farmers? Annette turned to look at the ominous north sky that quickly began to swirl into a mass of gray clouds. She held her rage in check on a ragged breath. They don’t even have trees enough out here for a decent coffin!
The air turned bitter and came about full force, hitting her in the face. Annette braced but the wind set her slight frame, seat first, on the sod. Bewildered for a moment, tears streamed down her face too fast for the wind to dry them away. Oh, Tony, I’m sorry. This is not your fault.
Tony’s uncle, Vicente Dubois, promised them a working share in his cattle ranch and real estate holdings when he learned of his only heir’s wedding plans. Vicente begged them to wait until they reached his home in Southern California to wed and promised Annette a large wedding with all the trappings for a wedding gift. Her shoulders sagged against the weight of disappointment.
Annette contemplated the view, and decided dry dirt looked as hopeless as her future. Her mother’s words rang in her ears. “Annette DeSelvaine, don’t you dare leave this house with a penniless gambler. Your future is here, running my Palace, not out there in the west gallivanting around with that Frenchman.”
The argument her father was a Frenchman only served to heighten the madam’s growing rage with her daughter. “If you leave my house with him,” Mrs. DeSelvaine paused to give the ultimatum significance, “you’ll not be welcome here ever again.”
Annette did not say a word. She hung her head in disappointment, sulked to her room and changed into one of the servant’s gray work dresses to escape the house, taking only a dark, velvet cloak to ward off the night chill. She ran to Tony’s rented room, and by dawn, they were on the road to a new life. Annette knew she could not go back, and now her only hope of escape was buried six feet underground.
What good is a wagon full of flour and beans and four spirited horses? Annette wiped the thought from her mind with a violent shake of her head. She knew she would rather die than go back and fulfill someone else’s dream of what life should be. She did not want the life her mother did. Annette sat on the ground rocking back and forth. “My God, what am I to do?” Her voice became a mere whisper with the wind careening across the flat plains of buffalo grass.
~ * ~
Cole Waldren leaned against the tightly stacked sod that made up Tom Smith’s shabby excuse for a barn. Cole’s crop of blonde hair resembled the haystack he lost to a twister last summer. His oversized hands tried to smooth the mess of straw into something presentable, while his stare never left the young woman by the grave. Why doesn’t she stand up or does she intend to sit there all day? Cole watched her rock back and forth and knew she cried for the man she lost.
A prickle ran down the back of his neck and he felt Ellie Wilks staring at him again. Her sharp brown eyes could burn a hole right through a man. He self-consciously squared his stance toward Annette and stuffed his hands into his pockets.
Cole turned and peered at Ellie distastefully, trying to repress a visible shudder as he thought of the only eligible woman in this part of the territory. Her waist-length blonde hair fully made up for her lack of delicate features, and she displayed ample curves. Cole could hear his father’s voice.
“Marry Ellie and set up housekeeping. The meadow north of here is open for homesteading, and it would be a fine place to start.” He took only part of his father’s advice and staked a homestead claim on the acreage to the north, which included the meadow. In self-defense, Cole directed his concentration back to the gathering.
~ * ~
“Don’t appear she’s used to fending for herself out here in them fancy slippers and velvet cape,” Ellie said jealously. Her hands unconsciously pressed the rumpled calico skirt over the generous curve of her hips. “I say we send her on in her expensive wagon with those worthless racing horses.” Her eyes lingered on the delicate features of the pale face at the graveside. “What fool would hitch a team of racing horses for hauling?” She turned up her nose at the dead man’s folly.
“Ellie.” Reverend Schmidt looked sternly at the young woman. “There will be no turning out any of God’s creatures to certain death when I be about. Winter will be here in a few weeks and she would be dead first snowfall. We have to offer her shelter until the next wagon train comes through, or until we take the herds to the pens near Mud Creek come spring.”
“Who’s gonna put her up? We barely got food enough to see ourselves through the winter,” John Wilks said. Ellie’s father stared bleakly at the beauty seated on the sod and wondered how his own daughter would take this newly arrived competition. He knew his daughter acted like her mother, bullheaded and sharp-tongued. John rarely thought of his dead wife, and he could see the same woman in front of him in the person of his only daughter.
~ * ~
Cole attempted to walk in the direction of the grave. His shoulders strained forward but his long legs refused to move. The girl remained seated on the ground, and although she stared in his direction, the blank look on her face told him she saw nothing. Ellie cast a smile in Cole’s direction and the frozen legs instantly unlocked. Cole made long strides across the prairie toward Annette and stood before her. Annette looked up—way up.
Annette calculated the young man stood well over six feet and had beautiful blue eyes. His face and hands were deeply tanned, and his shoulders and legs heavily muscled. The winds blew his loose shirt in around him, and she could see his stomach all but caved in. His hands were calloused, and he needed a haircut but stood confidently in front of her, seeming completely at ease.
“I’d like a word with ya, ma’am.” Cole began with a slight hesitation and extended his hand. She accepted the offer and Cole pulled her to her feet, but she kept distance between them.
Annette busied herself brushing away small broken stems of buffalo grass from her cape, avoiding his intense gaze.
“I think you’re in kind of a fix out here in the middle of nowhere with losing your man and all.” Cole cleared his throat and stumbled onward. “What I’m saying is, you can’t get back East or wherever until spring, and there ain’t nobody else here could put you up for the winter. You sure can’t live in a wagon with weather like we get in the winter.”
He paused for a breath. “I be needing a woman around the house for cooking, chores and housekeeping. I’m the only one with cabin space and supplies enough to board you through the winter, but I won’t move you in unless we’re married.” He spoke plainly and glanced around to avoid looking directly at her. “I figure we could make a right good bargain, both being in need and all. So, we might as well get married up before the preacher leaves. He won’t be back till spring neither, so you see, your only chance for shelter is now or never.”
Annette stopped dusting herself mid stroke. She looked at Cole and tried desperately to close her gaping mouth. When it finally snapped shut, she bit her lip to keep it closed. The nerve of these miserable dirt farmers. Annette looked again at the wagon and horses, angry they brought her here, then at Cole in disbelief.
Cole saw her studying the rig and horses and jumped to his own conclusions. “You give me the rig and horses for a dowry and we have a bargain.” Cole gazed out across the grassland, looking anywhere but at the girl, wondering if she would ever speak.
“How close is the nearest town?”
Cole frowned. “That would be the abandoned site of old Fort Atkinson, about hundred or so miles through Indian country. The trip would be a week or so ride for a good rider and rifle shot like the preacher.” Cole pointed at Reverend Schmidt. “Unless Satanta and his braves show up.”
“Can I get a coach back East from there?”
“No. There’s nothing back east until spring and the last wagon train came through during the summer months. I already told you.” He sounded annoyed at having to repeat his words.
“I’ll go with Reverend Schmidt to the fort. I’ll get a room and wait there until spring.” Annette felt new confidence surge through her while she devised her plan and ignored Cole’s outrageous offer.
“There are no rooms to rent at Fort Atkinson. The army abandoned the fort several years ago, and soldiers use the place occasionally to rest between excursions to the western edge of the territory. Only cavalry soldiers stop by the place.” He paused. “Men who haven’t seen a woman in months.” She stared, eyes blank, and he could not decide what she might be thinking. “There’s no women there but I can’t say as you wouldn’t be welcomed.” Cole’s eyes roved openly over the petite curves even a full cape could not hide. He detected the start in her eyes, so he added, “with open arms.”
“You mean I’m stranded?” Annette choked.
“Yep, woman. Ain’t you got ears?”
Annette hung her head in disappointment, contemplating her predicament. A fort full of men with no female companionship? The fort would not be much different from her mother’s brothel.
~ * ~
The Palace sat at the end of a street lined with Spanish moss-covered trees creating a canopied private lane in a wealthy downtown area of New Orleans. The rock structure, surrounded by a black iron fence, served as a combination gambling hall on the main floor and a brothel on the second level. The third level luxury flat served as living quarter for Annette and her mother.
Annette became an expert at dodging her mother’s customers, and the slaves always helped. She remembered Magnolia’s strong black hands tenderly stuffing her into a large laundry basket and piling sheets on top of her.
“What you be needin’ in here, Misser Simmons?” Magnolia asked the man who pursued Annette into the kitchen. Magnolia continued to chop innocently at a leg of lamb with a large meat cleaver, then stepped back and held the cleaver in mid-air, waiting for an answer. “They’s ain’t nothing in here you want. What you want is out there.” She pointed to a stairway leading up to a large sitting room on the second level.
“I, uh, I lost my way…” Mr. Simmons stuttered, and backed out of Magnolia’s kitchen.
~ * ~
There would be no Magnolia at Fort Atkinson. Annette’s only other choice for survival stood in front of her. This tall, rugged man appeared to be in the habit of telling others what to do. Her anger rose in tears and dropped silently on her black slippers making shiny dots on the dusty toes.

Cole, growing impatient, dropped to one knee to try and get an answer. When he knelt, he could look her in the eye, since now they were the same height. Cole cupped his hand under her chin and raised the small face for a better look. The large, dark eyes were wet and miserable as a sick colt, and he could not remember ever touching anything as soft as her skin. Cole at once hated himself for his lack of compassion for her grief. He thought how frightened and alone she must feel, and he remembered the feeling in his heart when he buried his folks.
“I’m no good at words, especially soothing hurt feelings. I know what grief feels like when somebody you love dies. Everything inside kinda curls up and don’t wanna uncurl. After a while the pain won’t be as bad. I’m not saying the hurt ever goes away, but things get better after some time passes. I’m really sorry you lost your husband, but—”
“Tony was not my husband, and I would appreciate if you would address me by my name, which is Annette, not woman.”
Cole’s jaw dropped. He tried to snap his mouth shut. “You mean you’re a tainted wom—” Annette’s raised hand warned him to stop or wear a red mark across his face for the rest of the day.
She set the line of her jaw straight and looked directly into Cole’s eyes. They were handsome eyes set in a strong face. Not a handsome face, but a rugged one with strength. Eyes tell all and Annette thought she should not have blurted out the confession, yet, she did not want to lie. “I’ll accept your offer, if you’re a man of your word and don’t go back on bargains,” she said firmly.
Cole caught his breath and his insides quivered. He wondered at the emotions welling up inside of him, anger mixed with joy. Even when she needed help, this woman would not accept orders and did not hesitate to call him on his words. She’s got guts. “I made my offer, and I’ll hold to every word.” Cole’s face flushed red-hot and he struggled to get his knee straight. He extended his hand and Annette took the offer. Together, they walked toward Tom’s barn and a new life in the new territory.

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