Crimson Palace by Maralee Lowder Read Free Book Online Page B

among the mass of people, she kept her eyes and ears open, intent on learning everything she could. She learned which trains would be heading out within the next few days, who would be leading which trains, which wagon masters were the best thought of.
    Late in the afternoon of her second week in St. Joe, Shinonn overhead a conversation which made her heart skip a beat. Several men had gathered in front of an outfitter’s tent. Just as she passed the group, she heard one of the men mention that he desperately needed to find a reliable teamster to drive his wagon. His wife had recently given birth and was too weak to drive the wagon as they had originally planned.
    When they had left their home in the east, he had presumed he would drive the wagon, but they had learned soon enough that he would have to lead the oxen for most of the trip and that another pair of hands would be needed to handle the reins. If he couldn’t find someone to help soon, they would be forced to turn around and head back to where they had come from.
    Shinonn waited until the men had finished their conversation and began to head back to their camps for supper.
    "Mister?" she called to the man as he began to walk away. "Please, sir, can I talk to you?" she called again as she ran after him.
    "What can I do for you, son?" He turned toward her, an expression of curiosity in his eyes.
    "I can help you, sir. That is, what I mean to say is, I can drive your oxen for you."
    "Not meanin’ to hurt your feelings, sonny, but you don’t seem big enough to be away from your mamma’s apron strings. It don’t seem likely you could drive a wagon team half way across a continent."
    "I may be a mite small, mister, but I’ll wager I can handle any animal you’ve got. I’ve spent most of my life working with horses and I’m lots stronger than I look. I even know a bit about blacksmithing, if the need came up."
    "Blacksmithing, you say?" The man looked at Shinonn with new interest.
    "Yes, sir. My da was a smithy and I helped him a lot. I ran the stable all by myself, too. You’ll not be sorry you hired me, sir. I can guarantee you won’t be."
    "Well, I’ll tell you what. I’m not saying yea or nay just yet. I still think you’re a mite small for the job. But what say you come along with me and meet the missis? We’ll see if she can’t find an extra plate for dinner. That sound all right to you?"
    "Yes, sir! A woman’s cooking sure does sound good!"
    "Horace Carter," the man stated as he held out his hand. "And what did you say your name was, boy?"
    "Um, Tim, sir, Tim O’Brien," she answered as she shook the outstretched hand, using the firmest grip she could muster. Thanks to the long days on the trail and the years of hard labor at the corral, her hands were callused and firm. They bore little resemblance to the soft, delicate hands of a woman.
    "Irish, eh? I thought you might be." Horace Carter tipped his head to one side, appraising the boy carefully. "Not a drinker, are you? The wife and I don’t abide drinking."
    "No, sir. I hate the stuff with a passion"
    "I should certainly hope so. But your people do have a reputation for drunkenness. Well, I don’t suppose it would be Christian to blame you for your ancestors excesses. Come along."
    The pompous goat, Shinonn thought angrily as she trailed along behind him. Still, if she could hold her tongue, she might just talk him into hiring her. She wanted the job, no matter if she liked her employer or not.
    Etta Carter turned out to be a pleasant surprise. Years younger than her husband, she seemed genuinely pleased to have "Tim" as a dinner guest. Shinonn suspected from her soft Southern accent and gracious manners that the young woman felt out of place in the rough environment of the wagon camp.
    During the course of the meal Shinonn allowed the couple to draw out the story of her life, being careful to stick to the tale she had created that night on the trail. She saw the look of compassion in Etta’s