“You know, I’d really like to name him after Paps. Kind of cement the family bond we’ve created with him.” He looked down at her, studying her reaction.
A silvery tinkle of laughter came from the head bent over the nursing baby. “Paps Anders. Are you sure?”
Contentment rippled through him. She could laugh after laboring only an hour before. This wife would be alright, not like Deborah.
“You know I saw his name on the paper we signed.” His tone teased her also. Then he grew serious as he made the pronouncement. “Patrick Johnson Anders. What do you think?”
Delia smiled up at him, happiness radiating from her. “I think we’ve got a good start on our future, don’t we?”
With a lump in his throat, Rol could only nod. He knew this was a blessing he didn’t deserve. Slowly, though, Delia’s love was helping him to forgive himself for not being there to save Deborah. Looking at his son, he realized the Lord was blessing them so he needed to completely let that guilt go.
Putting a hand to the back of his wife’s head, he kissed her gently. A kiss of love but not passion. One that reaffirmed the bond and commitment he had with this woman.
“Yes, we have a good future ahead, Lord willing.” Smiling at Delia, he traced a finger across her lips. “You’re the star in my sky. Keep burning bright for me.”
She leaned in, kissing him lightly. “Forever.”
Author’s Note
Believe it or not, our heroine could have been a marshal. Many times, a U. S. marshal would recruit temporary deputy marshals from among the local residents in an area where he was working. The U. S. marshal had the authority to swear them in for a brief time.
A great example of a temporary marshal was Wyatt Earp, actually. At the famous battle of the O.K. Corral, he had been made assistant to his brother, a deputy U. S. marshal. So many people remember him as the central lawman when nothing could be further from the truth.
As an additional note, I want to mention my inspiration for Delia Perkins. Recently, my husband and I toured Monticello, Thomas Jefferson’s home. I was flabbergasted at what I learned about the ancestry of Sally Hemings. She, like Maisey in my novel, was a sister to Jefferson’s wife. Jefferson and Hemings had two daughters who disappeared from history after the young women chose to take on new identities and live in the white community. From them, the idea of Delia passing as a white woman and hiding her heritage grew in my imagination.
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Grace for a Drifter
The Belles of Wyoming #15
Chapter 1
“Watch your step, ma’am!” A hand came out to steady Grace Winkleman as she made her way down the steps of the only hotel in Fort Bridger.
Smiling, she thanked the doorman. Intent on saying goodbye to her friend and fellow teacher, Amelia Grayson, the steps took Grace by surprise. Slightly lifting her cotton, navy skirt, she made her way down the remaining steps. At the bottom, she waved to her worried-looking friend to let her know she was fine. Amelia waved back and entered the hotel’s door.
It had been a fine week. One of the things she enjoyed about teaching in Wyoming was the yearly get together required of educators. The small teacher convention allowed for the discussion of lesson plans and activities as well as for learning new theories and methods. Though it might not be a state yet, Wyoming certainly was a progressive territory.
Grasping her carpetbag in her left hand, Grace raised her right to fan her face. The August heat seemed unusually brutal for the late morning. Crossing the street, she made her way to the dry goods store about a block from the hotel. Paps Johnson told her to meet him there if she wanted a ride back to Belle.
Belle! The musical sound of the town’s name brought a sweet smile to her face. It became a haven for her three years ago when she needed a new start after the incident. Silly spinster that she’d been, she’d fallen hard for the fast talker. The town had advertised for a teacher at the very time that she had needed to start over far from her home state of Missouri.
Even though the small town provided her with only a handful of pupils, she had a house to live in and a decent wage. The commitment by townsfolk to those few children and their education impressed her three years ago and continued to touch her deeply. The people of Belle made the town a truly wonderful place to live.
Seeing Paps at his wagon, she lifted a hand in greeting. The old man nodded in her direction and came around his wagon to help her out of the street and onto the boardwalk. Without a word, he took the carpetbag from her grasp and set it gently into his wagon, amongst the other goods he would transport back to Belle.
“Timing’s good, Miss Winkleman. I just now finished loading and was thinking as how I’d like to be on the road home.” He flashed a semi-toothless grin at her as he spoke.
“I am gratified not to keep you waiting, Mr. Johnson, and I do appreciate the ride. It has been a wonderful
