The Major's Daughter Read online

  Books by Regina Jennings

  THE FORT RENO SERIES

  Holding the Fort

  The Lieutenant’s Bargain

  The Major’s Daughter

  OZARK MOUNTAIN ROMANCE SERIES

  A Most Inconvenient Marriage

  At Love’s Bidding

  For the Record

  LADIES OF CALDWELL COUNTY

  Sixty Acres and a Bride

  Love in the Balance

  Caught in the Middle

  An Unforeseen Match

  featured in the novella collection A Match Made in Texas

  Her Dearly Unintended

  featured in the novella collection With This Ring?

  Bound and Determined

  featured in the novella collection Hearts Entwined

  Intrigue a la Mode

  featured in the novella collection Serving Up Love

  © 2019 by Regina Jennings

  Published by Bethany House Publishers

  11400 Hampshire Avenue South

  Bloomington, Minnesota 55438

  www.bethanyhouse.com

  Bethany House Publishers is a division of

  Baker Publishing Group, Grand Rapids, Michigan

  www.bakerpublishinggroup.com

  Ebook edition created 2019

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—for example, electronic, photocopy, recording—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file at the Library of Congress, Washington, DC.

  ISBN 978-1-4934-2028-5

  Scripture quotations are from the King James Version of the Bible.

  This is a work of historical reconstruction; the appearances of certain historical figures are therefore inevitable. All other characters, however, are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Cover design by Dan Thornberg, Design Source Creative Services

  Contents

  Cover

  Books by Regina Jennings

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Prologue

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  19

  20

  21

  22

  23

  24

  25

  26

  27

  28

  29

  A Note from the Author

  About the Author

  Back Ads

  Back Cover

  Prologue

  MARCH 23, 1889

  WASHINGTON, D.C.

  From the growing ruckus outside the door, President Harrison could tell the time was approaching. Men who’d arrived early had tried to keep their voices down, but their excitement couldn’t be contained.

  One scrawled signature, and the news would go flying across the country. Congressmen would rush to their offices, newspapermen would run to their wires, and the message would race from coast to coast.

  Rush. Run. Race. That was the chaos his pen would unleash. The greatest race in history, with a starting line over three hundred miles long and the finish line wherever one found it. In less than a month, tens of thousands of people would line up on foot, on horse, in wagons, buggies, trains, and even on bicycles to race for the greatest prize ever—their share of a nearly two-million-acre bonanza, almost three thousand square miles of prairie.

  President Harrison took one last sip from his cup of Darjeeling tea and set aside the tariff proposals he was studying. He motioned for his secretary to clear his desk before the impatient guests entered and the ceremony commenced.

  This proclamation represented hope to so many—immigrant farmers crowded on the East Coast with no room to plant, black sharecroppers from the South who’d never found the freedom the war had promised, young men and women ready to strike out on their own and leave behind the dusty duty of their fathers’ trades. With all the Indian tribes settled, the Unassigned Lands sat fertile and empty while the nation waited, breathless, for his decision.

  Congress had already amended the bill. All it lacked was his signature.

  They entered with a burst of energy. Handshakes all around, with whispers from the Kansas delegation about the hordes already amassing on their border. Most of the representatives crowded around his desk, but some lingered by the door, jockeying to be the first out to make the announcement. The country held its breath. Across the plains, cannons were primed for celebratory firing, and punch bowls were set out for more genteel festivities.

  There were no guarantees. Many would suffer disappointment, but he was giving them a chance. That was all they wanted.

  President Harrison dipped his pen into the inkwell. Let them run. It was in the air and in their blood.

  With the stroke of his pen, the matter was settled, and the core of the nation was forever changed.

  Chapter one

  APRIL 16, 1889

  PURCELL, CHICKASAW NATION

  We’re getting a town lot, and it’s purt near guaranteed. You see, we ran into this man selling town lots in Fort Worth, so we’ve already put our money down for a corner spot, but we’re going to run anyway. I figure, why not? Make a claim on a 160-acre homestead, and then we can decide whether we cotton to the farm or the town. There’ll be plenty of losers out there to sell to when we decide which one we want. Easy money. That’s what I’m saying.”

  In Caroline Adams’s opinion, the train from Garber, Texas, didn’t need steam power. It could have been propelled solely on the hot air provided by its passengers. She turned her face toward the window to squelch the impulse to challenge the braggadocian man seated behind her. Did he not understand the nature of the race? Why did he think someone in Texas could sell town lots in the Unassigned Lands when no one was permitted inside yet? And what town? Besides some depot workers, no one lived in the region. There were no roads, no houses, no neighbors. The whole idea was ludicrous.

  Having grown up on the fort that protected the lands, Caroline had insight that no one else on the train possessed, but they wouldn’t credit it to her. They’d think her too fine a lady to know about the untamed lands they were headed toward—just as the society people in Galveston thought she was too uncouth to know her way around a drawing room.

  There was a sharp jab on her leg, and Caroline turned to see her friend Ambrosia Herald wielding her parasol.

  “You have that look on your face.” Amber’s blue eyes twinkled. “Scowls can cause irreversible damage to your skin, and once a wrinkle appears on the surface, it will never completely disappear. It lurks there, waiting for fatigue or age to summon it and mar your complexion.”

  “You and your faux facts,” Caroline retorted. “You’re as full of malarkey as every other speculator on this train.” But while Amber was jesting, the passengers on the overcrowded train believed the tall tales they were spouting.

  “Do you think you’ll see him?” Amber asked. “Do you think the infamous Frisco Smith will make the run?”

  Caroline rubbed her nose. It had been two years since she’d seen the man in question, and his name still left her disconcerted.

  Frisco Smith—roguish frontiersman and boomer—had spent more time in the guardhouse at her father’s post than at the illegal
homesteads he tried to establish. She shouldn’t feel foolish about her youthful infatuation with him. He was, after all, uncommonly handsome and debonair. But when she’d left the isolated fort to move into society, she learned what her father had known all along. Men like Mr. Smith had nothing to offer a lady. She had to think about her future, which was exactly why she’d returned to Oklahoma Territory.

  “Oh, I’m sure Mr. Smith will be about. He won’t pass up a spectacle like this,” Caroline said. “But you’d better prepare to see Bradley. He’ll be on tenterhooks, waiting for you to get to the fort.”

  Bradley Willis was the younger brother of Caroline’s stepmother. Four years earlier, he and Amber met when she and her father were riding a herd of camels across Indian Territory. Of course Bradley would fall in love with a spunky camel-herder. And as both girls were daughters of cavalry officers, Amber and Caroline had much in common. They’d been fast friends ever since, often spending the hot summers together at Caroline’s grandmother’s house in Galveston.

  Amber dug the tip of her parasol into the wooden floor of the train car. “I hope Bradley is eager. He claims that he’s determined to let his enlistment expire in a few weeks. If that’s the case, then there’s no reason the wedding won’t go on as planned, as long as he hasn’t changed his mind.”

  Caroline snorted. “He fell in love with you in August. In Oklahoma Territory, any two people who can tolerate each other in August are in love. Otherwise the heat would make them too cranky to bear. He hasn’t changed his mind.”

  “Purcell Station ahead,” the attendant called. “Last stop on the southern border of the Unassigned Lands. Thirty-minute stop, and then we’re pulling toward Oklahoma Station. If you are continuing on, don’t be late.”

  Amber stood and shook out her white-and-green tartan dress. “Come on, Caroline. Let’s see the town—or at least, let’s let the town see us.”

  Taking her reticule, Caroline stood in the aisle amid the boisterous passengers collecting their belongings. When she’d heard that the railroad had increased the number of trains to Purcell, she should have expected the town to be crowded, but nothing prepared her for what they encountered when they stepped foot on the platform.

  It was like being caught in a cornfield that pushed back. No matter which way she turned, Caroline couldn’t see past the wall of humanity that milled around her. The air was stale with nervous sweat. Someone stepped on her toes. Amber was jostled against her with nothing more than a grunted apology to cover the offense. It was as if the denizens of every bank, tenement, and saloon had congregated in this small town in the Chickasaw Nation. And there was nowhere for them to go. Not enough hotels or public rooms. Which accounted for the odor.

  “Have you ever seen the like?” Amber asked. “If you’re looking for a beau, there’s plenty to choose from.”

  “Among these men?” Caroline responded. “Needle in a stinky haystack.” Still, the thought of who she might meet was exciting.

  “If we want to get off this platform, we’re going to have to push through.” Amber linked her arm with Caroline’s. “Ready?”

  Caroline set her hat and nodded with a grin. This was better than sipping lemonade in the sweltering humidity of Galveston.

  The ladies wove their way forward. Occasionally they were knocked off track by someone swimming upstream against the passengers departing the depot, but they finally found a path through the crowd and into the street.

  “Watch out!” Caroline twirled Amber around just in time to keep her from being hit by a team of horses barreling through. Standing still clearly wasn’t advisable. “Why don’t we see what the mercantile has to offer?” Caroline said.

  “I wouldn’t be surprised if it was sold out,” Amber said. “These people are like a horde of locusts.”

  There was nothing Caroline needed to buy. Unless something had changed, the shops here didn’t supply the scented soaps and creams she’d grown fond of. Besides those, her stepmother would provide everything she required. But Caroline wanted to be a part of the enterprising crowd. She wanted to share in their excitement and judge if there was any place for her among them.

  Amber pushed the door to the mercantile open halfway, then had to wait for a hardscrabble woman to shift her basket over before they could squeeze inside. Amber spotted a basket of dried fruit and went to the counter to fill a sack.

  The familiar scents of the store brought back years of memories. The smell of leather reminded Caroline of shopping for shoes with her father. The sharp nutmeg pulled up scenes of cooking at Christmas with Louisa and Daisy. All homecoming smells, but the woman staring at Caroline was a stranger. With a chapped hand, she wiped her mouth and took in every detail of Caroline’s garments.

  Caroline had already noticed that the farther into Indian Territory they traveled, the hungrier the women’s gazes when they spotted her and Amber’s new gowns. When she’d moved to Galveston, it had taken her half the season not to despise the constraining layers of the latest fashions. By the time she’d learned to appreciate their beauty, she’d found the carousel of societal expectations even more exhausting.

  A girl about Caroline’s age joined the staring woman. Decked in the same threadbare fabric and with similar hobnailed boots, she stood by her mother and gaped. “You don’t think she’s running for a homestead, do ya?” she whispered. She arched her back and stuck out her derriere to imitate Caroline’s bustle.

  Caroline turned to the side, pretending not to hear them, and instead perused the nearly empty shelves.

  “Probably.” The mother wiped a drop from her nose with the back of her hand. “Rich girls think they can do anything, but don’t you worry none. That contraption on her backside will bounce her plumb out of the saddle.”

  Caroline fumed. That people would speak about her thus in Oklahoma Territory was unfathomable. They must be strangers come to town—that was the only excuse. Otherwise, they would know of her. And how presumptuous of them to assume she couldn’t ride a horse! Nothing could be further from the truth. Perhaps most ladies wearing a pleated accordion skirt couldn’t jump astride a bareback horse and outrun a cavalry unit, but Caroline wasn’t most ladies.

  Although she was usually quick to speak her mind, Caroline was unsure in this moment. It was possible that these women had encountered ladies dressed like her before and had reason for their scorn. How could she explain that she was different? Before she decided, the mercantile door was pushed open, and this time it was she who was bumped out of the way.

  A tightly coiled cowboy stepped inside, took one look at her, and whistled. “Wooo, doggies, ain’t you far from home.”

  Caroline found her tongue. “No, actually. I lived here. Ever since—”

  “You ain’t going to run, are ya?” the cowboy asked. “What would you do with a homestead, anyway? Ain’t likely that you’re going to break ground and put in a crop.”

  Of all the impertinent upstarts. Where was Amber? They’d spent enough time in this place.

  Emboldened, the woman stepped forward. “Don’t intend no disrespect, but he’s right. This contest ain’t for the likes of you. Your kind won’t last long out here.”

  Her kind? Caroline’s eyes tightened. “I’m sorry to contradict you,” she said, “but you’ve misjudged me. I am a capable lady who knows more about Oklahoma Territory than any of you. If I chose to homestead, there’d be no challenge that I—”

  “You won’t believe what I found!” Amber appeared at Caroline’s side. With a flourish, she produced a paperback booklet titled The City Girl’s Guide to Homesteading for Novices. “I bought the last copy,” she said.

  Caroline cringed as laughter erupted in the room.

  “They going to homestead by a book?” The woman braced herself against her daughter’s shoulder as she laughed.

  “I hope they got a plow and draft horses hidden in those pages,” the cowboy guffawed.

  This wasn’t the awed reaction Caroline had expected on her arrival. Taking
Amber by the arm, she pushed out of the store, leaving the mocking homesteaders behind.

  “What was that about?” Amber asked. “Are we offended?”

  “We don’t have time to be offended,” Caroline said. “We can’t miss the train.”

  “We do have time for ices. See that sign? That’d help wash down some of the dust I’ve swallowed.”

  An ice did sound good, but one look at the line and Caroline shook her head. “I’d rather do some exploring. You go ahead. I’ll meet you on the platform.”

  Amber dug through her green-fringed reticule as Caroline moved along the crowded boardwalk. The streets were awash with men. For the most part, the women wore their faded, Sunday-best dresses and stayed against the buildings, protected by the shade and out of the press of people. Many eyes watched Caroline as she made her way down the sidewalk. She tried to smile at the ladies in return, but they often looked away as if embarrassed to be caught staring. Why were they acting like that? What was wrong? But then she took another look at her dressy cotton sateen gown and realized that she stood out like a piglet in a hatchery.

  Surely some wealthier people had come to invest in the new land. They couldn’t all be poor. Then again, if a man had funds to secure one of the few hotel rooms in the city, his wife wouldn’t be standing outside, trying to find shade.

  A group of people gathered around a freshly painted board advertising maps of the Unassigned Lands for ten cents. Caroline took the top one off the stack and was immediately addressed.

  “That’ll be ten cents, ma’am. No free looks allowed.” The compact salesman had his sleeves rolled up to his elbows and dollar bills sticking out of his arm garter.

  “That’s ridiculous,” Caroline said. “How do I know it’s a good map if I can’t open it?”

  Three young men approached. They tipped their hats at her while one of them dropped a dime in the palm of the salesman, then took a map.

  “Are you going to buy one or aren’t you?” the map man asked her.

  Another man, this one of a rougher sort, handed the salesman a dime, but when he took his map, he managed to pick up two.