Trail of Promise

Author's Notes:

'Trail of Promise' is my contribution to the Literotica Writers Go West event.

All characters engaging in sexual relationships or activities are 18 years old or older.

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Trail of Promise

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Chapter 1

For weary travelers, Jennerville must have seemed like an oasis of ease and relief. It was just west of the continental divide on the final stage of the cross country journey of the Oregon Trail. It wasn't a large town but it was a permanent settlement with the basic yet essential comforts that drew smiles from new arrivals.

It had a church to take a moment in, to say a prayer to thank God for the safe passage.

It had a butcher shop, a bakery, and a general store to replenish supplies, like candles, after the long trek.

A blacksmith shop was on the eastern edge of town for repairs, with stables next door to rest weary horses, or to replace one if the journey proved to be too much for the beast.

The town had a doctor if it wasn't the beasts who'd taken ill.

There was an inn with real beds and a decent kitchen if you were tired of sleeping on a wagon or the ground and had had enough of cooking over a fire.

It even had a bank, with a sheriff and his deputies set up right next door to ensure the bank wasn't too tempting a target.

There were a few other small businesses that had sprung up along the main street. These also catered to the locals and travelers just passing through.

Of course, it also had a saloon to quench your thirst and pretty ladies to quench other appetites.

The Oregon Trail brought the hopeful, the dreamers, and the adventurous to find their destiny on the western edge of the new country. Some never completed the journey. Some weren't ready for the challenge of building a new life in the raw landscape and headed back to the established cities of the east coast. But some, like the folk who lived in the town, settled in and put down roots.

For one of the town's residents, Jennerville offered a second chance to start a new life. Wulf Gunnarsson was the town's blacksmith and was well respected in the business community, for someone with a 'funny accent', and generally liked amongst the people of the town. Standing 6', he was taller than most of his neighbors. He had long blonde hair and a full beard, blue eyes, and a lean body with strong muscles from hard labor. A quiet man, he kept to himself when he could.

Originally from Sweden, he'd left home with his new bride to seek a new life in America. They were both so young but filled with excitement for their big adventure. There was free land to be had just waiting to be farmed. While he'd trained as a blacksmith with his father, he wanted something new. His young bride Leena felt the same.

They'd quickly discovered how difficult that dream was going to be. The new country wasn't as friendly to new arrivals as they'd been led to believe and while their white faces opened doors, their distinct accents often caused them to close once more. They'd stayed with his cousin and his wife in New York City, taking whatever work they could get while they made the arrangements for the next stage in their bold plan.

Their perseverance finally paid off and they found themselves out on the prairies on their own piece of land, struggling to make a go of it.

Once more, they'd found more hardship than they'd expected and the weather hadn't cooperated. At times, it felt like the very country itself didn't want them there.

When Leena became pregnant their hope renewed and they worked harder to establish themselves and prepare for the new arrival.

But life showed its cruelty once more. Wulf returned from the field one day to find Leena's lifeless body on the floor of their home. A miscarriage had taken her life as well as the baby's.

Leena's death destroyed Wulf and he came close to joining his wife in death a few times over the next few days.

A passing wagon train found him sitting outside the cinders of the home he'd built with Leena. He'd given her as good a send off as he could. When the families in the wagon train found out he had blacksmith skills they asked him to join them on their trek to Oregon.

Wanting to distance himself from the pain of Leena's death, he'd packed up his meager belongings and went with them.

When he reached Jennerville, he learned the town's blacksmith needed an apprentice so he took the job. Six months later, the blacksmith was killed in a poker game dispute in the saloon. The townsfolk asked him to take over the business as he was more skilled at the job than the original owner, was easier to deal with, didn't drink or gamble, and had proven to be honest as well.

He also took over the man's meager living quarters which had been built onto the back of the shop.

Eight years later he was still supporting the town's smithing needs.

He'd never remarried though a few women in town had shown interest.

He worked hard, put his money in the bank, and lived modestly. He'd expanded the shop once to support the capacity requirements of the growing town and had taken an apprentice, a young but strong lad who was the third son of the banker.

Wulf tried to keep in touch with his family back in New York City but he worried they thought he was dead. He sent letters occasionally but he'd never received a reply. This didn't stop him from trying though. One was bound to get through!

This fine morning he'd gotten the forge started and prepared for the day's work. His apprentice was keeping watch over the shop as he made his way in town with his most recent letter. He nodded and smiled to the people he passed along the way and entered the town's post office.

"Good morning, Mr. Gunnarsson!" a short, plump man behind the counter said to him with a cheerful smile.

"Good morning, Mr. Dale, Mrs. Dale," he added with a nod to the brunette woman who stepped past her husband behind the counter.

"Good morning," she said as her eyes quickly scanned down his body. She always made him feel uncomfortable.

"Another letter for your cousin?" Mr. Dale asked kindly. He liked the old postmaster and wondered how he'd ended up married to the much younger woman. She was pretty he supposed though her features were sharp and she often wore an expression like she smelled something bad. They'd been married for as long as Wulf had been in Jennerville but they had no children.

"Yes, has there been any letters in response yet?" he asked hopefully.

The old man smiled and raised a finger. "I'll check for you." He moved to the table behind him and his wife slid into his spot at the counter.

"How are you today?" she asked with a smile.

He nodded politely to her. "I'm well, and you?"

She spread her hands to indicate the small shop around them. "I cannot complain."

He couldn't help but think she was.

"The mercantile got a new shipment of that soap you like," she offered and he blinked at her.

"The soap... I like?" Then it came to him. Her younger sister worked next door in the mercantile shop. The woman obviously kept track of which items he preferred.

"Yes, Lisanne was just telling me that you are their best customer for that soap," the woman said, her eyes beginning to wander lazily over his body once more.

"I- it removes the smell of the forge from my skin," he muttered and a shiver went down his spine as her smile widened.

"Excuse me, dear," Mr. Dale said with a sweet smile for his wife. She nodded to him and smiled at Wulf once more before slipping back to allow her husband to move into the spot.

The older man gave him a sad smile. "I'm sorry to say there are no letters for you in the incoming mail. Could your cousin have moved?"

Wulf fought back the disappointment and nodded. "It's possible but I think it unlikely. Their home was large for the rent they paid and well suited to the large family they were working on. No matter, I will try again," he said firmly.

Mr. Dale smiled at him and accepted the new letter. He weighed it and announced the cost. Wulf paid him for the postage and the letter was ready for the mail bag. "Best of luck this time, yes?"

He nodded to the postmaster and gave his wife a small smile before heading out. He had a full day of hot work ahead of him. It was time to get started.

Chapter 2

Marlena Buchholz watched her father nervously from her seat in the back of the wagon. She could see his profile as he sat on the bench driving the weary horses which pulled the wagon. Three days ago, as they stopped for the night, they were robbed by three bandits on horseback. They'd endured so much to get across the country. To be so close to the end of their journey only to have what little wealth they had stolen from them, it was an unbearable cruelty!

Her mother had told her father that they were lucky to be alive. If it hadn't been for the noisy approach of the Clarkson family who were following them, the bandits might have decided on adding rape and murder to their offenses. Instead they rode off with the family's money and jewellery. They were laughing as they disappeared into the evening, one cackling madly like a mentally deficient child.

Since that night however, her father's expression grew grimmer with each passing mile. There was an anger in his eyes, a directionless hate building there. She knew her mother saw it too and she'd tried to talk with him but he wanted nothing to do with her soft words. He would not be calmed this time. The one time he muttered his thoughts aloud, he'd spoken of justice.

Marlena worried about how her father was going to get that but she kept her counsel to herself.

She heard the distant ring of hammer on iron. She knew the sound of a blacksmith's shop from the years they'd spent living on the outskirts of New York City. Her father worked at a number of accounting jobs while they'd been there, each ending with harsh words from her father at his treatment by his seniors in the firms he worked in. Eventually word got around and he couldn't find anyone willing to hire him.

Her father struck upon the rash idea of going to the west coast. Marlena and her mother had seamstress jobs but had to give them up to follow her father on this journey to 'something better'. And here they were in Oregon.

Marlena could have remained behind as she was twenty years old but she had no one but her family and couldn't leave them. Most of her friends had already gotten married and moved on but finding a mate had eluded her. She'd discovered her 5' 10" height and slim build weren't as appealing to men as her more diminutive and curvy friends. Her auburn hair was thick and long. Her friends told her she had pretty brown eyes and nice lips but she should use cosmetics to deemphasize her nose. She had very small breasts and refused to pad her underthings to give the illusion of greater volume as that lie would only lead to disappointment. The last advice her friends gave her was to start lying to men or face life as a spinster. She thought that was very bad advice.

The hammering noise grew louder as they began to see signs of a town.

The shop came into sight and she saw a rough sign painted above the wide doorway. 'BLACKSMITH'. Next to the door, nailed to the wall, was a larger sign in a lovely metalwork frame.

In the center of this frame was painted a name, 'Wulf Gunnarsson'. She guessed at the nationality the owner of that name might claim. She wondered how many generations were required to shake the 'immigrant' status in this country. She'd travelled to America on a ship with her parents and spent years growing up in the large east coast city. At twenty years old now, she barely remembered the country she was born to and had fully adopted the new country as her home but still, she was an immigrant.

They moved past the smith and the large stable built next door with its smell of hay and animals and continued on.

Soon they entered the main street and there were many more people moving about. They stopped in front of the last building in the row, a dress shop, and Marlena's eyes lit up as she took in the lovely color of the fabric in the window.

Her father climbed down then helped her mother step down as well. "Marlena, come with me. Mother, watch the wagon."

"Walter, be calm and be careful," his wife cautioned. He gave her a terse nod and helped his daughter down.

Marlena shared a look with her mother and followed her father down the street. She wondered what he was looking for as he examined the store fronts.

They walked in front of the mercantile shop and her father made a quiet grunt noise and walked up the steps and inside. Marlena followed.

He glanced to her. "Stay here. I must speak with the shop owner," he said.

She nodded to her father and looked around. There was a good variety of items for sale. She glanced over at her father who was in deep conversation with an older man across the counter. The front door opened and a woman with sharp features entered. She gave Marlena a sour look then walked past her to go to the back of the store where a female sales clerk stood.

Marlena wandered, looking at what was being offered but having no money to purchase anything. She stopped by a pile of soap and lifted one to her nose. She'd been expecting a heavy perfume or some medicinal smell but this one smelled very mild and rather nice.

"Another letter?!?" a voice blurted from the back of the store followed by hushing hisses.

Marlena took a quick glance towards the back and saw the sharp featured woman was standing next to a plump, younger version of herself. The older one had an envelope in her hand and she was looking back at Marlena suspiciously. She tucked the envelope into a pocket and walked up to stand before Marlena with hands on hips.

"Listening in on other people's conversations is most rude!" she snapped.

Wide eyed, Marlena shook her head as if she didn't understand. "Sprichst du Deutsch?" she asked innocently.

The woman's sour look returned and she turned her nose up as she walked back to the shop girl who had to be her sister.

"Barbaric!" the sharp one growled to the plump one.

"Ignore her! Read the letter! I can't believe he continues to send them if he never gets one in return," the other exclaimed.

"The man has more hope than sense."

Marlena pretended to look at the items on the counter as she listened in. Normally she would have moved away but she was caught as a witness to a terrible crime. The older sister had obviously stolen someone's mail and seemed to be in the habit of it. She heard the ripping of the envelope and the rustle of sheets of paper unfolding.

"Dear Lucas,

I hope this letter finds you, your wife and your children well. Has your family grown since I last saw you? Have you heard from any of our family in Sweden?

I'm well though I miss you terribly. I'm now living in a town in Oregon called Jennerville which is small, quite lovely in its way, peaceful, and gives my heart a place to recover.

It has been close to nine years since the death of my dearest wife, Leena. There isn't a day that I don't think of her-"

"When is that man going to stop mourning and get on with his life?" the shop worker gasped in frustration.

"When will you finally work up the nerve to tell him you want him?" the older sister hissed in return.

"Sometimes I think you only want me to marry him so you can have him!" the younger sister hissed back.

The two cast their eyes nervously around the store but Marlena had moved a little further away and turned her face from them as their voices carried very well.

"As if you don't want him desperately! Besides, you know very well that the old man I married isn't able to give me a child! You wouldn't refuse my request would you?" the letter thief asked plaintively.

"You know I couldn't! However, sharing that lovely man will be the most difficult thing I do, make no mistake!" the younger woman said with a giggle, causing her sister to titter as well.

"I think Wulf could make a meal of us both!" the older sister finally managed and new giggles erupted.

Marlena had to walk away as the callousness of these women of loose virtues made her stomach ache.

"Marlena we're going!" her father suddenly called out.

"Yes father, I'll be right with you!" she called back clearly and turned her face to watch the two women freeze in shock.

"Barbarians," Marlena said to them then walked away, head held high as she heard them squeak and sputter.

When she joined her father she gave him a worried look. His anger was worse. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing! I must speak with the blacksmith," the man said tersely.

Marlena suddenly wondered if this was the Wulf the women were talking about. Her experience with the dirty and smelly blacksmiths back in New York City certainly didn't lead her to expect this one would be a 'lovely man', as the two women described.

She rushed after her father and cast him a worried glance. His ire was up and she'd never seen him this angry before.

She showed her concern to her mother as they climbed back into the wagon.

"Walter, where are we off to now?" the mother asked.

"Blacksmith. Potentially, the only honest, decent man in town," the father grumbled.

They rode in silence the short distance back to the shop on the edge of town. The wide doors were open and Marlena could see the silhouette of a man swinging a hammer, pounding the glowing hot metal he was working. He certainly looked tall but as to lovely she couldn't say without a better look. She hopped down and made to follow her father again.

"Stay with your mother."

She stopped and watched her father's back as he walked into the shop. She moved to her mother's side. "I'm worried about father. He is not acting like himself," she said softly and her mother followed her eyes inside the shop.

"We should never have made this journey. Your father is not a farmer."

Marlena was surprised at her mother's candor as she'd never spoken out against father before.

They could see the shapes of the two men speaking then they were moving towards them.

Suddenly, Marlena found herself quite in a nervous state. Here was a man who was the unknowing victim of having his mail stolen. Who had two women conspiring to have him, one in marriage and one- one to have intimate relations for the sole purpose of having a child! Her head spun with the lurid scandal of it. Swaying, she took a firmer grip on the wagon.

Her father stepped outside once more but the blacksmith had paused just inside to pull a shirt over his bare arms and shoulders. When he came out Marlena saw that under the stained shirt he was wearing a heavy leather apron. As he approached he just seemed to get bigger and bigger to Marlena. He was blond and the long locks fell down past his shoulders but it was his beard that caught the eye. She wondered if it had ever been given a trim. It was sorely in need of it. He was soot stained, sweaty, and his skin was flushed from the heat.

When her eyes landed on his she knew instantly this was the Wulf the two women were sighing over. Blue eyes, the color of the morning sky, with a sad, kindness in them. He nodded to her and her mother as he approached. She thought there might have been a smile under that beard. She realized he must be just letting it grow. She wondered if he'd stopped grooming after his wife died. For all his wild hair, unkempt beard, sweat, and soot, he didn't seem that old.

"My wife Johanna and my daughter Marlena. This is Mr. Gunnarsson."

"Hello," was all he said but his voice was deep and soft.

"Here are the tools I wanted you to look at," her father said leading the blacksmith to the back of the wagon where he pulled back the canvas tarp.

"Walter?" her mother said curiously.

"There is no chance of us setting up a farm now that those thieves have stolen our money. The only option we have is to continue on to the city of Portland to see if I can get a job as a book keeper or accountant. To do that I need some money to pay for supplies to get us there and cover us for a brief period until I get work. Mr. Gunnarsson is going to see what he can give us for these tools.