Trail of Promise

The man lifted and examined each of the implements. He immediately identified some as subpar and not worth the materials they were made from. Marlena watched the two men haggling over the value of the remaining tools and she caught something almost resembling a smile on her father's face when they finally settled and shook hands. The man wrapped an arm around the bundle of tools then grabbed one handle while her father took the other handle of the tool chest. They carried everything into the building. Her father came back out and walked to the wagon.

"Mr. Gunnarsson and I will be going to the bank in town to get the money. Wait for me here."

"Aren't we going to get our supplies here?" his wife asked.

"No, we have enough to carry us to the next town which Mr. Gunnarsson has informed me is larger and has better prices. I will make arrangements to get us into the hotel tonight and we will leave first thing tomorrow. Mr. Gunnarsson will store our wagon and the horses in the stable overnight."

"Father, why is he doing this?" Marlena asked quietly.

The man finally smiled. "Because there is good in the world after all."

She smiled and hugged her father then helped her mother down from the wagon so she could hug him as well.

The blacksmith came out of the building calling out instructions to his young apprentice inside. Marlena saw he'd removed his apron and put on the stained shirt once more.

"We need to go before the bank closes," the man said to her father.

"Yes, let's go." With a wave, they headed off.

Marlena and her mother moved to the bench in the shade next to the building to wait.

They dozed lightly for a time until they heard the sound of someone walking back towards the shop. Marlena woke first and saw it was the blacksmith. She saw no sign of her father.

She stood and saw her mother was still resting so she made her way over to the wagon to wait for the blacksmith.

Before she could say anything she heard the crack of gunfire and screams in the distance.

-=-

Walter Buchholz left the bank feeling like he'd been given a second chance. The blacksmith was exactly how the mercantile shop keeper described. Quiet, fair, and best of all, honest. He'd given Walter a decent price for the tools. The man would only make a minimal profit from that transaction while Walter now had the means to get his family established in Portland, for a short time at least.

Before he did, he had one item to purchase from the mercantile shop. He walked over and went inside.

The shop keeper took one look at his face and nodded. "So, he came through for you."

"As you suggested. Thank you," Walter acknowledged.

He looked at the display case. "There is one item I need to purchase before moving on. When we were robbed I had no way to defend my family. I need a gun, bullets, and a holster. That one." He pointed to a revolver with a long barrel. It looked like the one his father had taught him to use in Germany.

They haggled over the price and settled on just a little more than he hoped to spend but the shop keeper added an extra box of bullets so he could practice.

Walter strapped on the belt, loaded the gun and put it in the holster. He already felt more powerful.

"It suits you!" the man across the counter said with a smile.

Walter smiled and nodded to him as he turned to leave the store, tucking the extra bullets into his pocket. He smiled at the plump young woman then stepped out onto the sidewalk. He stood on the boardwalk, overly aware of the weight of the gun on his right hip. For the first time since he'd begun this trip out to the wild western edge of the country, he felt prepared. Like a cowboy. His smile was slowly returning.

The hotel was up a ways next to the saloon. He stepped down the stairs to the dusty road and walked along feeling for once like he had the world at his feet.

Then he heard it.

Laughter. Mad cackling. Up ahead.

Walter increased his pace as his anger came flooding back. He saw the laughing one. Scrawny, with bad teeth and a large nose. He was wearing Johanne's broach! His partners were standing next to him, one on each side of the laughing one.

"THIEVES! BANDITS! PREYING ON THE INNOCENT! BASTARDS!" Walter bellowed as he got close. He hadn't even realized he'd drawn his gun and was pointing it at the three men making their way to their horses. Townspeople stopped to see what the yelling was about though mothers rushed their children to safety. Walter's rage was building.

"You have to give me back everything you stole. My money! My wife's jewellery! That broach belongs to my wife! COWARDLY BASTARDS!" Walter raged. He saw the one on the left slip his hand towards his gun so he swung his gun to point at him. "Don't even try!" he growled.

"What's going on here?" a voice asked from Walter's right. He glanced and saw it was a deputy.

"These men robbed me-"

The first shot came from the gun of the left most bandit and punched through Walter's chest.

Walter's gun went off with a deafening boom as his reactive squeeze sent a bullet through the laughing bandit's eye, blowing a large hole out the back of his skull. The thief immediately dropped lifeless to the ground.

Two more shots fired off in rapid succession.

The deputy caught a bullet in the throat as he reached for his gun.

Walter's gun boomed once more as he managed to squeeze off another shot before he dropped to his knees. He saw the bandit on the right's left knee explode in a spray of red and white.

A final gunshot echoed between the buildings as a bullet ripped through Walter's heart. He had no time for second thoughts as he fell forward onto his face.

He was dead before he reached his final destination.

-=-

Wulf heard the distinct sound of a gunshot coming from the main street. He saw the fear in the young woman's eyes as she stood next to the wagon and saw the mother quickly rise and rush towards the road to try to see what was happening. He knew the curve blocked sight of the street as it blocked the sounds of his shop from reaching the stores.

The first shot was followed by a louder shot then several more in quick succession.

"Father!" the daughter gasped.

The sound of hooves rapidly approaching made Wulf rush forward to the wagon. A man on horseback came racing around the corner. Wulf pushed the young woman behind cover and they both looked across the wagon bed to see the mother standing out in the street. The rider slowed as he stared with a look of rage and shock on his face.

"YOU!" the man yelled and Wulf began circling around the back of the wagon to get to the woman.

The bandit lifted his gun and a shot ripped through the air.

Wulf froze in shock as the older woman went completely limp and dropped as the bullet went through her forehead.

The daughter screamed and the gunman on the horse swung his arm back and fired again.

This time Wulf was moving. The shot hit the wagon and missed the young woman as Wulf had tackled her to the ground putting himself between the shooter and the woman.

A higher pitched shot pierced the air as another man on a horse raced around the corner from town. The murderer jerked in his saddle then surged his horse forward again. Wulf saw the second rider was the sheriff and he had his rifle out.

They were both quickly out of sight as the sound of thundering hooves moved away.

Another shot echoed back through the trees.

The daughter was crying and reaching for her mother but Wulf kept her down until he knew it was safe. A minute later he saw the legs of the sheriff's horse as the man returned. Wulf stood and helped the young woman to her feet but she immediately pulled away to run to her mother. She dropped and wailed over the lifeless body.

Wulf shared a look with the sheriff as he approached the man. "What happened?" he asked quietly.

The lawman glanced at him again then leaned closer. "An older man, likely her father, stopped three men outside the saloon. He was yelling about them being thieves. He held them at gunpoint and one of my deputies went to investigate. The three men opened fire and killed my deputy and the old man but not before he killed one of them and crippled another."

"He told me about being robbed on the road here," Wulf said, then looked towards the road out of town. "Did the last one get away?"

The sheriff looked grim as he shook his head. He rubbed his face then stared Wulf in the eye. "I need to take the young woman to identify her father. I'll send the undertaker to collect her mother. You can store their wagon, their belongings, and animals until we get this sorted out?"

Wulf nodded.

"Good," the sheriff nodded and walked over to the young woman. He whispered to her and she stood after closing her mother's eyes. He led her away, holding the reins of his horse in his other hand.

Wulf began to shake as he tried to relax after the shooting. He glanced over at the dead woman briefly then got to work. He guided the horses to pull the cart into the barn then unhooked the animals and got them situated with water and feed. Hopefully he wouldn't have to take care of them for long as this was an expense he hadn't anticipated.

When he walked back outside he nodded to the undertaker who was having his assistants load the woman's body into the back of his wagon. Another cart rode by driven by a deputy. The bandit's horse was tied up to the cart and followed.

Wulf shook his head in disbelief. This kind of thing didn't happen in Jennerville. Individual shootings occasionally, like the former blacksmith, but shootouts with bandits on the main street? Never.

He went into his shop and sent his apprentice home. He was done for the day.

The father held the three bandits at gunpoint? When did Mr. Buchholz get a gun?

Wulf shook his head as he shut down his shop for the night. He hoped the young woman would be all right. He recalled the bleak look in her lovely dark eyes when she was under him looking at her mother's lifeless body. He could sympathize with her grief.

He knew how it felt to lose your whole world.

Chapter 3

Marlena moved without conscious will. Hands pulled her along and sat her in chairs but all she felt was numb.

Her parents were dead. After everything they'd been through to get here, for it to end so suddenly, so senselessly, it shook her to her core. Nothing made sense.

Someone placed a small glass in her hand and helped her lift it to her lips.

"Drink this dear, it will ease the pain." A woman's voice.

The word sunk in and she tossed back the liqueur and swallowed. It was sweet but it burned as it slowly made its way down her throat to her stomach.

A second one was placed in her hand and she swallowed that one as well. Voices filtered in and she listened to the words without registering their significance.

"Eugene, I'll leave her in you and your wife's care tonight and I'll be by in the morning to speak with her."

She recognized that as the sheriff. He was nice. Gentle and sad.

Her own grief swelled up and she gasped before forcing it down again.

Another glass was put in her hand and she drank it automatically.

"You might want to go easy on the brandy," the sheriff cautioned someone.

"I think I know how to deal with someone going through traumatic grief," the woman's voice said crisply.

There was a pause. "I'll be back in the morning. Good night."

"God be with you, Grant." That was another man.

There was quiet for a while as people moved around. She felt her body relaxing from the brandy.

"You poor dear. Such a thing to happen after you make such a long journey."

Marlena's eyes focused on the woman sitting in the chair next to hers. Greying black hair swept up and pinned in place atop her head. A sombre face with thin lips. A thick body in a black dress, her large bosom hidden behind lace that partially climbed her neck. The rest of her body was thick as well. She was looking at Marlena with a sad expression.

"My name is Gloria. Gloria Pritchard. My husband Eugene is the town's preacher. You'll stay with us until we can get you settled. Where did you begin from?"

"New York City," Marlena mumbled.

"How old are you, dear?" the woman asked.

"20."

"And no husband?"

Marlena shook her head. Her mind began to jumble the day's events as the brandy loosened her grip on the now.

"There are plenty of fine, god fearing men in Jennerville who would make a decent husband. Someone to start a family of your own. Children."

Marlena's mind shied away from speaking of her own, now dead, family. Instead, it took her to Wulf's letter she'd heard read. "Lucas... big family."

Eyes widened. "Who is Lucas?"

"Mr... Mr... Wulf's cousin. New York... Big family," Marlena mumbled.

The woman's eyes were widening. "You met Mr. Gunnarsson's cousin Lucas in New York?

Marlena couldn't follow the woman's words. She suddenly needed to tell her about the wicked women trying to trick kind hearted Wulf. What they wanted to do with him. "Letter... letters to Lucas." She sighed. It was so hard to keep her thoughts on track. Right, the two wicked women. "Plan to marry... baby."

"Oh my goodness!" the woman gasped in shock and Marlena sighed happily. She understood! She'd protect the blacksmith. "Wulf..." she sighed then drifted off to sleep.

-=-

Gloria dabbed her eyes with a dainty handkerchief as she watched the young woman fall asleep. What a tragic story! To come all this way for an arranged marriage only to have your parent's murdered as they meet your fiancé for the first time! It's no wonder the woman was so distraught!

Mr. Gunnarsson had mentioned to her one Sunday after service that he was Swedish. She wasn't sure how arranged marriages worked in Sweden but his letters to his cousin must have included a request for a bride. She frowned as she knew of at least two women in town who would have gladly married the tall man. She gave herself a shake. That no longer mattered. Here was his bride before her. She felt an almost righteous desire to ensure that her parent's journey was not for naught.

She saw her husband poke his head in the doorway. He paused when he saw his wife's tears.

"Are you all right, dear?" he asked quietly.

Gloria nodded with a smile and rose to leave the room to speak with him in the hallway. "I just discovered this young woman and her parents traveled across the country to bring her to meet her fiancé, Mr. Gunnarsson. He arranged the marriage through his cousin in New York City."

His face showed his shock and dismay. "Oh my word! To have this awful tragedy after such an ordeal. You were very wise to ease her pain with the brandy!"

Gloria preened under his praise. "Yes, I've found it helps the grieving to open up and share their true feelings." He smiled at her again and she basked in his admiration.

His face became concerned once more. "What will we do next? How can this proceed?"

"You leave that to me. This marriage is going to happen and we will do everything in our power to ensure her parent's efforts weren't in vain. God expects nothing less of us!" Gloria said firmly and received another smile from her husband.

She was doing God's work!

Chapter 4

Wulf had an odd visit in the morning. The preacher's wife came by the shop to pick up the luggage from the family's wagon. Apparently the young woman was staying with them. The woman couldn't stop smiling at him and it really got under his skin so he was relieved when she rode away in her buggy with the bags loaded in the rear.

He had so much work to do with the orders he'd received and the interrupted work the day before. He and his apprentice put their heads down and powered their way through the backlog.

They'd just begun again after eating lunch when he heard his name called out from the doorway. With a frustrated growl he handed the tongs he was using to the apprentice and made his way to the front of his shop. He spotted the preacher and the undertaker waiting for him.

"Good afternoon," he said, looking at them curiously.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Gunnarsson," the preacher began. "Mr. Emery and I have come to speak with you about a delicate matter." One of Wulf's eyebrows just rose slightly as he waited for the man to get to the point.

"Right, well, it's about the funeral for Miss Buchholz's parents... and the costs involved."

Wulf's eyebrows dropped immediately as he scowled at the two men. "And how would this be something that involves me?"

The men glanced at each other. Mr. Emery, the undertaker, took up the conversation. "The sheriff informed me you are caring for the young woman's inheritance, the goods in the wagon, the animals, and the wagon itself of course."

"At his request-" Wulf asserted.

"Yes, well, the parents need to be buried and this means coffins and paying my diggers." Mr. Emery stated, staring Wulf in the eye.

"We cannot expect the poor woman to deal with these trivialities during her grieving period!" the preacher insisted.

Wulf stared at the preacher. "What about taking a collection at your next service to cover these costs?"

The man closed his eyes and shook his head. "The charity of the church community, as generous as it is, barely pays for the upkeep of the church, the sacred duties I must perform, and the humble living I make for my wife and me. Asking them to open their pockets to pay for the burial of every poor traveler who perished on their way west would not be reasonable." Then he looked about the large shop as if suggesting there was more wealth to be found here. Wulf scowled at him.

"How much?" he asked cautiously.

Mr. Emery itemized the costs until Wulf had had enough.

"I'll pay for the coffins and for the service but I'll dig the hole myself. A single hole for the two coffins to go in, side by side," he insisted. The preacher looked scandalized but Wulf just waited as the two men considered his offer then nodded. "When does this have to happen?" he asked.

"The digging needs to begin this afternoon as the service will be tomorrow," the undertaker stated and Wulf sighed. "Bring your own tools."

Walking back to his apprentice he instructed him to shut down the shop for the day, to take care of the animals in the barn today and tomorrow, and return first thing two days from now to try to catch up on their work.

He then shed his heavy leather apron, pulled on his work shirt and gathered the tools he'd need. He picked up the shovel and pick he'd purchased from the deceased as they were of excellent quality and new.

He climbed into the back of the wagon with his tools and the preacher drove them to the church on the other side of town. He followed them into the cemetery and over to the beginning of the field by the low stone fence. He frowned at the proximity to the roadway. That wasn't going to give the young woman much privacy when speaking with her parents on visits. There were no other plots in use nearby as well. It was almost like they were being shunned in death as well. He scowled.

"Why so close to the wall? Why so far from the others? There is plenty of room further back," Wulf asked. The undertaker shared a look with the preacher who had an uncomfortable expression on his face.

"Those plots are reserved for people who lived here," the preacher explained.

"So when I perish, I'll get buried up here or back there?" Wulf pushed.

The preacher's mouth opened and closed a few time before he found his voice. "Well, back there, of course."

"Where?" Wulf asked and strode purposefully back through the empty field until he reached the left edge under the shade of a large tree. He was just before the first row of tombstones. "Here?" he asked pointing down.

The preacher and the undertaker joined him and looked down. The preacher nodded.

"Good. I'm giving them my spot. Bury me up by the road. No one will be coming to visit my grave while the young woman should have privacy to speak to her parents." He looked at the undertaker. "Where exactly do I dig? I don't want to disturb an existing grave."