Grooms with Honor Series, Books 7-9 Page 29

  There are no names written on the back of these photographs, and I don’t recognize them as any of my relatives.

  These couples don’t look like our modern-day cover models (men with rippling muscles and women with flawless makeup), but they show real couples starting their new life together as husband and wife during the same period as the couples in my Grooms with Honor series.

  While you’re reading Elof’s Mission, you can pretend this portrait is of Elof Lundahl and Linnea Meyer. Hopefully, I’ve given them a good start in their married life.

  Chapter 1

  June 1886

  Silver Crossing, Montana Territory

  “Clancy’s letter says Holly’s father, Mr. Brandt, is buried in the southwest corner of the cemetery.”

  Elof Lundahl scanned the mounds of graves in the small Silver Crossing cemetery. Unfortunately, there was more than one grave in this area. Sergeant Brandt was buried just a little over a year ago so the soil should have settled down on the grave.

  “I believe it’s this one here,” Lee Dalberg the wagon driver pointed to a particular grave. Elof had hired the young man to haul the three-foot iron cross, not counting the two-foot base to be buried in the ground, from Miller Springs, which was a two-days drive from Silver Crossing. The hand-forged metal piece was too heavy to carry by horseback, and being a grave cross, Elof hated to drag it behind a horse. Packing it on a mule would have been an option, but Lee Dalberg regularly made the trip between the two towns, so it was easier to load the cross into Dalberg’ wagon with other things he was carrying back to Silver Crossing.

  “Worked out well that Nolan Clancy shipped the marker to Miller Springs so you could escort and place the cross on the man’s grave.”

  Clancy, Brandt, and Elof had been stationed at Fort Ellis together. Brandt left Fort Ellis about a year after Clancy came in ‘78, trying his hand at mining here in Silver Crossing. Last year the widowed man died, leaving behind a daughter, Holly, who moved to Miller Springs.

  When Nolan left the army last December, he was snowed in at Miller Springs and helped Holly, who worked in the town’s café, feed the waylaid travelers. Nolan grew up in his grandparent’s café and was on his way home to Kansas to run it. Long story short, Holly traveled to Kansas with Nolan, and they ended up marrying and running the café together.

  Now Elof was leaving the army, and the Clancys had asked that this marker be put on Brandt’s grave before he left the area. Holly’s mother and sisters died in Kansas before she and her father moved west in the early 70s. Nolan commissioned a blacksmith to make markers for both the graves in the Fort Harker and Silver Crossing cemeteries. The Clancys had set the markers in the Kansas graves, and Elof was honored to place this marker today.

  “Sergeant Brandt was a good scout and interpreter. I hated to see him leave the Fort. Did you know him, by chance, since you work in these parts?” Brandt’s wife had been a Cheyenne, and he’d learned the language from her. There was more than one time that Elof was glad Brandt was with their troops when a band of Indians met up with the soldiers.

  “Oh, just in passing since I spent my time going and coming. I remember when Brandt died. His girl was mighty sad to leave Silver Crossing and her papa’s grave, but it’s kind of a rough town with all the miners. Miller Springs was a better place for her to live.”

  The cemetery was laid out on a ridge above town. The scattering of aspens and pines encircling three sides protected the cemetery. The warming May weather had changed the graveyard to a wave of fresh grass, covering older graves and surrounding the brown soil of newer graves.

  “I’m going to miss this country. Nothing like the mountains rolling into the prairie,” Elof commented as he lowered the end gate of the wagon so he could pull the cross out of the wagon bed.

  “Then why leave?” Dalberg countered back.

  “Two reasons I didn’t re-enlist. I was ready to do something else. I was my troop’s farrier and veterinarian, and Clancy said there’s plenty of work for my trade in his area. And…I’m in the mood to marry and Clancy says there’s a Swedish community nearby so I can have my pick of a countrywoman.”

  Dalberg laughed. “I knew you were Swedish by the way you said certain words, but I guess you’ve been in the states a while since you talk English so easily.”

  “Left Sweden in ‘70 so been here for sixteen years, most of that time with the cavalry.”

  “Why’d you go into the army?”

  “Free food and shelter while paid wages. It fits the bill when you can’t find a job, and you’re half starved. And it was a way to see different parts of America.” Elof shrugged his shoulders. His father had been a career soldier in Sweden, so he knew the role of protector.

  Dalberg reached for the shovel he had in the back of the wagon. Elof needed to dig a hole over two feet deep to bury the base of the marker into the ground. At least the ground should be thawed by now so it shouldn’t take too long to dig the hole and set the cross.

  “Look yonder,” Dalberg nodded his head toward the trail leading up to the cemetery. “Looks like someone else is about to be buried up here.”

  Elof paused to watch the team of horses pulling a box wagon up the hill. A woman was driving, with a small boy perched sitting sideways on the bench seat beside her. A dark bay horse pranced beside the wagon, fighting the bit and the middle-aged male rider on his back. Elof hated to see horses in distress like that, because it was usually the rider’s fault, now or in the past.

  The woman pulled the reins, halting the team of horses before turning to say something to the man on horseback. The man pointed to the area where Elof and Dalberg were standing watching the scene unfold.

  The woman slapped the reins to signal the horses to pull again, and the wagon rumbled toward them.

  “Right over there, pull the wagon close by so we can unload the body,” the man on horseback commanded as he motioned at the same time. Elof could tell it was hard for the woman to get the horses positioned where the man wanted the wagon to end up.

  “I think we better offer our assistance, Dalberg.” Elof motioned toward the wagon and Dalberg nodded in return.

  “Grab the second shovel out of the wagon so we can help dig the hole,” he replied.

  Elof was glad Dalberg didn’t hesitate to help because the man looked agitated and the woman and boy were obviously upset.

  The woman’s shoulders relaxed as soon as Elof and Dalberg started walking toward them. Whom did the family lose? The body was wrapped in a quilt instead of being in a wooden coffin. Maybe one of the couple’s parents?

  Elof studied the people as they walked closer.

  The man on horseback, probably in his fifties, looked mad without a hint of remorse. The woman had a black scarf covering her head, but Elof could see wisps of white blonde hair framing her face. Elof guessed she was in her mid-thirties, even though it was hard to tell with her red-rimmed eyes. She was biting her lower lip, trying not to cry.

  The brown-haired boy with a bowl-shaped haircut was between five to seven in age. He hugged the far side of the seat instead of clinging to his mother, as Elof would have expected.

  “Sorry for your loss,” Elof said as they approached the wagon.

  “Stupid accident caused by that boy,” the man rudely accused the boy with his words and pointed finger.

  The woman’s back was stiff, and her head turned away from the man. Who were they to each other? Hopefully, he wasn’t her husband by the way he was acting.

  “Will the preacher and others be arriving shortly?” Dalberg asked, probably because he knew the locals.

  “Nope. Just need to get him in the ground and get them off the farm,” the man replied gruffly, still seated on his horse.

  “I’m Elof Lundahl, and this is Lee Dalberg.

  “Jim Rhoades,” the man tipped his hat but didn’t offer any more information. A rather rude man considering the circumstances.

  If you’d like, we’ll help you dig the grave.”

&
nbsp; “I’d be obliged. The woman and boy won’t be much help.”

  “Who we burying?” Dalberg asked the same question that was on the tip of Elof’s tongue since Rhoades wasn’t saying.

  “My new renter, George Meyer. His stupid son dropped a lantern in the barn this morning causing a hay pile to ignite in a pen. Meyer managed to catch himself on fire trying to beat out the flames. Burned the door of my barn. That’ll have to be repaired.”

  Elof walked up to the wagon, took his hat off, and placed it against his chest. “I’m so sorry, ma’am. I assume this was your husband?”

  “Don’t expect to understand her because her English is terrible. She’s a Swedish immigrant George married less than two weeks ago.”

  Elof ignored the man and slowly said to the woman. “I offer my sincerest sympathies, Mrs. Meyer.”

  “Thank you, sir.” Mrs. Meyer stumbled over the words. Her face burned bright red after trying to say the words correctly in English.

  Elof quietly spoke in Swedish to her. “I’m from Sweden so you can talk to me. Does Rhoades know the language?”

  She sat up straight, stared at Elof a second before glancing at Rhoades. Mrs. Meyer gave a single shake of her head meaning the man wouldn’t understand him.

  “Let me help you down, and we talk a bit.”

  “You speak her language, Lundahl?” Rhoades looked surprised at the fact.

  “Yes, I’m originally from Sweden. Why?”

  “Then you tell her she needs to be off the place by the end of the day,” the man growled while rudely pointing his index finger at her.

  “She just lost her husband, Rhoades! You can’t kick her out of her home. She needs time to figure out what to do next.”

  “Nope. Not since they about burned down my barn. I expect payment for the repairs too. Surely Meyer had some money stashed in the mattress or somewhere.”

  Elof looked at Mrs. Meyer and knew she understood what the landlord said, or at least the tone of it.

  “Where is she supposed to go?” Elof clinched his right fist at his side, trying to hold his temper down.

  I know Dalberg travels between Silver Crossing and Miller Springs. He can take them to the depot and drop them off.”

  “Them?” Elof wondered what would happen to the boy.

  “She needs to take the boy with her. She married Meyer, so his son is her responsibility.”

  “No!” The boy screamed before climbing down from the seat and taking off for the trees around the cemetery.

  “Jamie!” The woman stood up in the wagon calling after the boy before starting to climb out of the wagon.

  Elof automatically reached for her waist to lift her down. Her clothes reeked of smoke. Singed spots dotted her light blue dress material. A large gaping hole in her blouse sleeve showed red, blistered skin underneath.

  “You were hurt fighting the fire,” Elof said, before noticing the reddened skin on the side of her face she’d kept turned away from him.

  “Where else were you hurt?” Elof asked as he gingerly set her on her feet.

  “My hand.” She had gloves on, but her hands were shaking. And she was driving a team of horses in her condition?

  “Was Jamie hurt in the fire too?”

  “I don’t think so. He ran into the house to get me when George...”

  Elof squeezed his eyes shut, thinking about what the poor boy must be going through. Seeing his father die in a fire? Not knowing his new mother well enough to seek comfort from her?

  “You gonna help dig this grave? I got other things to do besides burying a body that caused trouble,” Rhoades called over his shoulder.

  “Let the boy be for now. I don’t think he’ll go far.” Elof grabbed the shovel he’d leaned against the wagon but turned back to Mrs. Meyer. “If you’d like, Dalberg and I will take you home to gather your things and take you to Miller Springs.”

  She tried to take a deep breath, but coughed instead, maybe due to the smoke she’d recently inhaled.

  “Thank you, Mr. Lundahl.”

  Elof nodded and then joined the two men digging the grave. He never imagined he’d be digging a grave today besides marking another.

  Chapter 2

  Linnea worried her skin would peel off when she pulled off her glove. Her right hand was on fire, as was her forearm and face. Now she’d be scarred for life to add to her other woes.

  She didn’t get a chance to tend to her burns when their property owner arrived. Linnea had yelled at Jamie to get help as she pushed then pulled George from the burning straw and the boy understood enough to take off. Jamie rode his own pony bareback to the Rhoades ranch for help.

  Their landlord was more upset about his barn than her husband’s death. Linnea was quickly learning George wasn’t the best farmer, husband, or father—but still—the man had died! Couldn’t the landlord have gone to Silver Crossing for help? A coffin? No, Rhoades had stormed into the house, pulled the quilt off their bed, took it outside and wrapped George in it like he was wrapping a package of... She leaned over the edge of the wagon and threw up over the side.

  “Whoa!” Mr. Lundahl called to the team while switching to hold the reins with one hand while grabbing her shoulder with his other.

  Linnea continued to retch even though she had nothing else in her stomach to lose. The stench of burning flesh was now etched in her senses forever. She involuntarily shivered as Mr. Lundahl pulled her back against his chest.

  He was driving their wagon back to their farm, while Mr. Dalberg, with Jamie at his side, followed in his wagon.

  Mr. Lundahl was in his early thirties, tall, with a clean-shaven face and trim light brown hair. He wore a blue cavalry suit, so he must be a soldier from a nearby fort.

  Mr. Dalberg was around thirty, blonde, and handled his mule team well even though he was slight in stature.

  Jamie slunk back to the gravesite as the men were throwing the last of the dirt over the body. Mr. Rhoades left before Mr. Lundahl finished saying a prayer over the fresh grave. Jamie’s face was dirty and streaked with fallen tears. He didn’t say a word of goodbye to his father. Even at age six, there had been a strain between father and son, which Linnea hadn’t had time to figure out yet.

  Only eight days. She’d only been married eight days before becoming a widow. She didn’t know George’s next of kin to notify. She didn’t know if George had money in a bank, but she bet he owed merchants in town. Questions raced through her mind overlapping each other.

  “Mrs. Meyer, do you need to get down and walk around for a little bit?”

  Linnea realized he had his arm around her shoulders and was asking her a question. He continued to converse in Swedish for her benefit unless talking to Mr. Dalberg.

  She held up her hand trying to convey her pain. “No, I need to go home to take care of my burns...but I have no home.”

  It felt so good to have the strong arm comfort her. Why hadn’t her husband done the same when she’d been so overwhelmed last week. She arrived in Miller Springs, looking forward to meeting her husband. Within fifteen minutes of arriving, she was standing in the local parsonage of a Reverend Nelson, saying wedding vows. Her new husband hadn’t bothered asking if she was hungry, needed any supplies in town, or anything before telling her to get in the wagon because they were going home.

  “I’m guessing that is your place up ahead so we’ll be there soon. Hang on a little longer.”

  He gently squeezed her shoulders but didn’t let go.

  She was shocked to see the little house this time, as she was the first time when George had pulled into the yard. Tiny, unpainted, underfurnished. The small shoddily built home had two rooms. One used for the living and kitchen area, the other the bedroom. One table, two chairs, one bed, one trunk. Her trunk added the sixth item.

  She spent her first days washing filthy bedding and clothing by hand, in their round tin bathtub, after hauling water by bucket loads from the nearby stream. The place didn’t have a well for a water source. Neither
George nor his son leant a hand then, or much since. Linnea had cleaned the house, mended their clothing, and cooked their meals. The pantry was almost bare of necessities, so the meals consisted of eggs, milk, and whatever game George managed to shoot and bring home.

  Linnea had a long list of items she needed for food preparation that she was going to insist George fill the next time they went to town, but that was the least of her worries now.

  “How old is your son?” Elof’s question pulled Linnea from her jumble of thoughts.

  “I’m not sure of his birthdate, but I know he’s six. I suppose I should look for a family Bible. It might be in the trunk in the bedroom.”

  His confused look made Linnea realize he didn’t know the facts of her marriage.

  “I married George last week, because of an arranged marriage, and um….we really hadn’t talked much yet.” Because George had ignored her.

  Mr. Lundahl caught his breath and released it slowly as he realized what this meant to her situation. “I’m so sorry for your loss, but at least you weren’t close to the man, yet, I assume?”

  Her only physical contact with her husband had been the hasty touch of their lips at the end of their wedding ceremony. So far, Jamie had continued to sleep with his father, and she’d slept on blankets by the kitchen stove.

  Linnea shook her head no and continued to stare at the house. At least she wouldn’t have to live in this shack come wintertime. How much snow would pile around the house and how much would drift in through the many cracks in the walls?

  “How long did Meyer and his son live here?”

  “Moved here in March, so this would have been his first growing season.”

  “Where’d he live before and what did he do?”

  “I’m not sure as he didn’t talk about it.”

  “How did you end up his bride then?”

  “I signed a contract to become a companion for an elderly Swedish immigrant woman in Chicago. She paid for my passage from Sweden, and I took care of her until she died, just four months after I arrived.”