Page 3 of The Pursuit of Elena Bradford

3

The mother jerked the girl back into her seat. Dust rolled up around the coach in a cloud as the second coach thundered up even with theirs.

The older man beside Kirby jerked down the shade to cover the other opening. Whether to hide the view of the trees racing by or to block out the dust, Kirby wasn’t sure. If it was the last, it was of little use as dust puffed from under the window’s curtain as though the coach was smoking a dirt cigar.

The wooden wheels creaked. Hooves pounded the ground. The coach rattled as though about to come apart at the seams. The drivers shouted.

Inside the coach, all was silent except for a few coughs. The man named Harper held a handkerchief over his nose. The ladies seemed afraid to breathe. He had been in two other stagecoaches where the jehus cracked their whips above the horses and pushed them to run without consideration for their passengers or the horses. In one, all had been well, with the horses pulling Kirby’s coach past the other team of horses to win the day.

The other had ended with a wheel flying off. The frenzied horses kept going, dragging the coach down the road. Baggage scattered behind them. The coach door flew open and Kirby along with two others tumbled out of the coach. The jehu managed to somehow find his balance on the slanted seat and stop the team before the coach broke apart.

One man’s leg ended up bent in a sickening way. A lady was stunned but surprisingly unhurt. Perhaps her multiple petticoats gave her a soft landing. Kirby’s wrist was sprained, but fortunately not his painting hand. When he’d gotten back to his quarters, he had sketched the two coaches side by side with the whips whirling in the air above the horses. That picture made the whole adventure, even with a few weeks of soreness, well worth it when it sold to a New York newspaper.

But there was no assurance this one would turn out as well. Kirby pushed the canvas away from him, toward the older woman. He ignored her huffed breath and stood to edge between the young girl and Harper. The man’s breath was raspy, but Kirby thought not from fear. More likely the dust.

“Good sakes, man, sit down!” the man named Taylor ordered.

Kirby ignored him as he smiled slightly at the pretty young girl. Her face showed a mixture of fear and excitement as she scooted her knees to the side to give him more room. Then, in spite of her mother’s grip on her arm, she leaned back toward the opening, seeming to have the same desire to see as he did.

“The other coach is passing us.” She sounded upset.

“Good,” Taylor said. “We can hope our man will let it go instead of putting our very lives in danger.”

The mother gasped.

The driver kept shouting, not at the other coachman now, but at his horses. The stagecoach didn’t slow. It barreled along faster.

Kirby cracked open the door to look out.

“You are apt to fall out.” Harper took the handkerchief away from his nose to grab at Kirby’s coat.

“Serve him right,” Taylor muttered.

Kirby paid no notice to either of them as he grasped the wood over the door and leaned out to see what was happening. Ahead, the road turned sharply to the left. The other coach bounced off the road there and made a wide swing around the bend to disappear from sight. But that coach was smaller and less top-heavy with no baggage secured on its top. Their jehu had surely lacked sense to even think of keeping pace with it.

Kirby pulled his head back inside the coach and tried to shut the door, but it jerked free and swung wide when they hit a dip in the road.

With a glance over his shoulder at the others, Kirby said, “Hang on to whatever you can. We won’t make the bend up ahead.”

The words were barely out his mouth when the coach swerved and tilted so precariously, the wheels on one side left the road. Kirby fell back on top of his canvas. He groaned. Not from any injury to himself but from how the canvas buckled under his weight.

His head landed in the older daughter’s lap. While the mother tried to shove him away, the young woman stared down at his face with surprise mixed with what could only be amusement. Her eyes were a remarkable combination of green and blue, swirled the way he might mix paint on his art palette. While she lacked the sweet prettiness of her sister, those eyes seemed to promise something more than outward beauty.

For a moment, he thought she was going to speak or perhaps laugh, but the jehu shouted out a new oath that sounded of desperation. The woman turned her gaze from him to lift the window covering and peer out.

“The driver, jehu, or whatever has fallen. Poor man.” She sounded as though she were safe in a sheltered spot watching a storm crash down instead of right in the midst of the thundering danger.

Taylor leaned to look out too. “We’re doomed.”

The coach had bounced back on all four wheels as the horses raced on, now completely free of any restraint to their panic.

“Oh, my dears.” The mother’s voice trembled. The younger girl leaned against her mother’s shoulder and began to weep.

“Should we jump from the coach?” the one with the amazing eyes asked as she continued to hold up the shade to peer out.

“Not unless there’s a cliff ahead.” Kirby supposed he should have picked better words when the mother gasped and the young sister’s sobs grew louder.

“Is there?” The woman looked back down at him.

“I have no idea.” Kirby raised his head to look at the other men.

“I think not,” Taylor said without much certainty. “But there are trees. And ditches. A proper ditch will overturn us.”

“Don’t panic.” Harper sounded choked but calm as he reached out a hand to Kirby to pull him off the canvas and away from the ladies. “The horses will tire and stop of their own accord.”

“But soon enough?” Taylor asked.

No one answered. Who could know that? The mother began to whisper a prayer. The younger girl joined in, even as tears streamed down her cheeks. Harper’s lips moved in what could have been a prayer as well.

The older daughter, tear-free, reached across her mother’s lap to squeeze the other girl’s hand. “Shh, Ivy. We’re still upright.”

Kirby had little faith the Lord would note their prayers. He had long ago stopped expecting the Lord to rescue him from trouble. Not since he was ten and prayed with his whole being for his little sister, Rosie. With no effect. Rosie died. His fault. Kirby didn’t deny that, but a loving God would have let her live and if he required a life, taken Kirby’s.

Even at that age, Kirby was doing plenty of things to defy death. Riding horses that were more wild than tame. Skating across ponds on thin ice. Climbing the tallest trees to dare the tops to sway under his weight and pitch him back to the ground. All little Rosie had done was follow him out into the rain and catch a chill. A simple chill. A deadly chill.

Kirby shook away thoughts of Rosie. Time for action, not regrets. He had no desire to look death in the face this day or see these ladies broken and bruised. The stage door had swung closed, but he flung it open again. Then with an apologetic look at Harper, he stepped up on his thighs. Might have been better to use Taylor as a boost up.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Taylor demanded.

Kirby had no answer to give him. He wasn’t sure what he was doing, but sometimes it was better to simply act. If a man thought about it, he likely would sit down with the ladies and mutter the same useless prayers they were.

Harper didn’t protest. He merely grabbed Kirby’s legs to steady him as he leaned out the door and grasped the railing along the top of the stagecoach to pull himself up and away from Harper. The man cupped one of Kirby’s feet in his hands to lift him more. Lather from the horses spattered Kirby’s face.

Then he was boosted even higher. Taylor must have decided to help Harper, or perhaps the daughter with the blue-green eyes. He smiled. Not a bad image to bring to mind. Might make him more determined to live another day to see those eyes again. He twisted around to scramble onto the top of the coach, then crawled to the driver’s seat.

The rein ends were caught on the harness of one of the rear horses, but completely out of reach. Kirby kept any sound of panic out of his voice and yelled, “Whoa.”

The horses paid the command no notice even though they had to be tiring, as Harper suggested they would. Instead, they galloped on toward disaster either in the bend of the road ahead or off the road into unseen dangers. If he had hold of the reins, he might be able to regain control of the team. The ends flapped tantalizingly on the horse to his right, but far from his reach.

He pulled back on the brake and shouted again. The wheels creaked and scooted along the rocky road as the coach bucked like a wild stallion and shuddered under Kirby’s feet. The lever jerked away from him, and the horses bounded forward with fresh panic.

Gathering in the reins was the only hope of stopping them. Before he could think about how foolish it had to be, he leaped from the stage to sprawl on the back of the horse where the reins were caught.

He didn’t know which of them was the most surprised, the horse or him. The horse shied sideways, but the harness held him. Kirby grabbed the horse’s mane and pulled up to a sitting position. Maybe he was wasting his time painting portraits. He could join the Regiment of Dragoons and be an Indian scout.

He shook away the foolish thought and reached for the reins. “Easy, fellow.”

Before he could gather them in, the horses bounded over the ditch beside the road, straight toward a stand of trees. Screams and shouts came from inside the coach as it bumped along the rough ground. At any minute the coach could lose a wheel and crash.

Kirby grasped the reins and pulled back on them. At last, the horses slowed and a moment later came to a complete stop a few feet from the trees. The horses heaved but none of them fell in their traces. One of the front horses reached down to nibble the grass.

When the horse he was on trembled and shifted uneasily, Kirby slid to the ground to stare back the way they’d come. Various bits of baggage showed their trail, but nothing moved. He couldn’t see the jehu.

He smoothed away the froth on the necks of the lead horses. The poor beasts needed a rest. A drink as well, but they’d have to wait for the next stage stop for that. He hoped that was close at hand.

“Mr. Frazier, are you all right?” The young woman named Elena yanked up her skirts to climb out of the stage without assistance. She hurried toward him.

“Fine. All in one piece, at any rate. How are those in the coach?”

“Battered a bit, but thanks to you, nothing worse than that.”

Taylor climbed down to the ground behind her. “Such recklessness is criminal. We could have all been killed. The stage line will certainly hear from me.”

They both ignored him as Elena went on. “Mr. Harper is coughing. The dust, he says. Mother is fanning herself furiously to forestall an episode of the vapors. Ivy can’t seem to decide whether to sob or giggle. And as you can hear, Mr. Taylor is little changed by the experience.”

“And what of you, Miss Bradford?” He stepped closer to her and wished to be even closer to peer into her eyes again, but he stopped an appropriate distance away.

“Alive and unbroken, thanks to the grace of God and your bravery, sir.”

“More foolhardy than brave, but I too am alive to tell the tale. If God had anything to do with it, I hope he chooses someone else to deliver his grace next time.”

She frowned slightly, obviously unsure of how to respond to his words. He relieved her uncertainty with a smile. “But then, I suppose the Lord has to call upon whoever is available to save devout followers such as your mother and sister.” He stepped closer. Her eyes were more green than blue now. The green of a still pond at sunset. “And you.”

“Yes, well, Mother was praying with much desperation.”

“And you were not?” He peered at her. “The fear of impending death is an excellent prayer goad.”

“It seemed a time for prayer. And for heroes.” A smile replaced her puzzled frown, but she still had a look of uncertainty, as if she wondered if she should have stayed inside the coach. The smile disappeared as she went on. “However, I do fear your canvas took more dreadful bounces after your fall upon it. I tried to hold it steady, but we were thrown first this way and then that before the coach stopped.”

“Who cares about that parcel?” Taylor wasn’t to be ignored forever. “Shouldn’t we be on our way?”

The woman frowned at him. “We have to go back for the driver.”

“No need for that. Mr. Frazier seems acquainted with handling horses. He can take us on to the next stop. Someone will come along to assist the jehu. If he must wait, that serves him right. He should have let that other coach pass and not given in to the challenge to race. I have a schedule to keep.”

“Surely, Mr. Taylor, you can’t be so hard-hearted. The driver might be in need of care.”

“Are you a nurse, Miss Bradford?” Taylor asked.

“Well, no. But we can take him to a town if he has need of a doctor.” The woman glanced back at Kirby. “Can’t we?”

“Seems a reasonable thought,” Kirby said.

“I suppose you expect me to give him my seat.” Taylor snorted. “I paid good money for that.”

“That wouldn’t be necessary,” the lady said. “If he has need of a place in the coach, he can have mine, and I will ride on top. I’d like seeing the countryside from there.” She looked around at the coach.

“Perhaps you should reclaim your seat now, Taylor.” Kirby went to the front of the team. “I’ll walk the horses back. That will let us see if any were injured in their headlong flight.”

Taylor swore under his breath and climbed back onto the coach.

“May I walk with you?” The young woman gave the door of the coach a despairing glance. “I have to admit to some dread in getting back inside.”

“I don’t think you need worry about more runaways. Not from these horses. I just hope they have enough left to get us to the next stop.” He led them in a wide circle back to the road going the opposite direction. None appeared to be lame. More of those prayers answered, he supposed.

“How far do you think that will be?”

“I’ve not been on this route before. So, the same as I didn’t know what cliffs might have spelled disaster for us all, I don’t know the distance to the next way station. Wherever it is, we can’t move it closer by wishing it so.”

She walked beside him showing no difficulty keeping pace with him. Nor did she exhibit any concern that the horses behind her were close enough to nibble on the ribbons trailing from her slightly askew hat.

“Elena.” The mother stuck her head out the coach’s window. “Get back inside here.”

“Yes, Mother.” She glanced over her shoulder at her mother but kept walking.

“I can stop the horses.” Kirby slowed.

“No need. I’ll give Mr. Taylor the favor of more knee room for a bit longer.”

Kirby resumed his faster pace again. He didn’t say anything, but she seemed to hear his unspoken question about her answer to her mother.

Her mouth twisted to one side as though to hide a smile when she looked over at him. “I’ve always found being agreeable works best with my mother.”

“But you’re not doing as she asked.”

“Agreeable and obedient aren’t exactly the same.” She did smile then.

“Does that make you something of a rebel?” Kirby said.

“Only in small things.” The smile melted away. She suddenly looked almost sad.