Greta lunged for Astrid, but the girl dodged away and skipped toward the robber.
His gun wavered, as though he was considering turning the weapon on Astrid.
“Astrid!” Horror rose in Greta’s throat, threatening to strangle her. “Don’t you dare go a step closer.”
Astrid halted and held out her hand. “Here’s some money, Mister. It’s mine, but you can have it since you need it more than me.”
The man’s lazy eye shifted to Astrid again. “Drop it on the ground.”
Astrid released a crumpled wad and a few coins. They bounced in the grass near the robber’s feet. “My sister has more—”
“No!” Greta couldn’t let these bandits discover her secret stash since she’d taken pains to sew the cash into the lining of her coat after the passengers had been warned not to carry valuables.
It was her jam money. Her earnings from picking and preserving the wild berries that grew on the farm. The accumulation of two years of working every spare minute.
Astrid turned her pretty eyes upon Greta. “They have to wear flour sacks instead of hats. Guess that means they need the money more than we do. Right, Mister?”
“Right, kid.” This time the robber’s voice hinted at amusement.
The thieves made quick work of emptying the locked box next to the driver and then divested each of the passengers of anything of value. Within a few minutes they ran off into the woods with their loot.
Greta stood with the others, surveying their belongings strewn over the grass surrounding the stagecoach. Astrid had lost interest in the robbers and was intent on picking a bouquet of wildflowers.
“We got lucky.” The driver broke the silence, his voice shaky as he closed the now-empty box next to him. “Last time the Crooked-Eye Gang struck, they killed three men—”
Mr. Steele cut off the driver with a glare and a curt nod toward Astrid.
The driver clamped his mouth closed, and everyone set to work repacking their bags and trunks.
Greta fingered the frayed coat hem. Although Phineas Hallock, her intended, had informed her he had plenty of money since he was part owner of a gold mine, she couldn’t keep dismay from weighing upon her.
She’d corresponded with Phineas by letter on several occasions last year, and she sensed in him genuine kindness, especially since he’d so readily agreed to take care of Astrid. He also made all the arrangements for the trip, including paying for their fare.
Though the small daguerreotype he’d sent in his last letter the previous autumn had shown him to be a plain-looking and somewhat older man, his face held a look of integrity as well as honesty. Maybe he wasn’t handsome or young, but that didn’t matter. What she needed was a husband who was reliable, dependable, and able to provide for her and Astrid.
Besides, after making up her mind, Greta had wanted to move as quickly as possible to get Astrid to the healing air of the Rockies. Why waste time corresponding with other men when Phineas had been so eager and ready to help her?
Maybe she’d acted rashly. But what was done, was done. She was on her way to marry Phineas. She would, in fact, wed him by the day’s end.
Still, she blinked back tears. All of her savings was gone. If only Astrid knew how to obey better. If only the little girl had a real mother and father to raise her. Instead, she was stuck with a mere half sister who clearly didn’t know how to keep her in line.
Greta sat back on her heels and watched the young girl with a mixture of frustration and helplessness.
“Don’t be too hard on her.” Mr. Steele bent next to Greta and retrieved a shiny leather shoe.
“She’s a handful.”
“She saved us from meeting our Maker today.”
“She did?”
The gentleman removed his bowler and smoothed back his dark hair, which had hints of gray at his temples and streaking his long sideburns and mustache. “The gang leader liked her and showed mercy on us as a result.”
Mercy? Each of the passengers had lost everything of value. But she supposed that was better than losing their lives.
“I have a son about Astrid’s age.” Mr. Steele replaced his hat, watching Astrid wistfully.
“You must be looking forward to seeing him when we arrive in Fairplay.”
He focused on the child a moment longer, his expression filled with sadness. “Unfortunately, I won’t be seeing him anytime soon. He lives in New York with his mother.”
“I’m sorry.” Greta didn’t know what else to say.
Mr. Steele shook his head, as if by doing so he could shake away his morose thoughts. “Tell me again why you’re moving to Fairplay.”
Greta hadn’t told him anything yet, since he hadn’t asked. But she wouldn’t be so impolite as to say so. Instead, she gave him the rehearsed line she’d spouted to everyone else who’d wanted to know. “My fiancé lives in Fairplay, and I’m traveling there to marry him.”
“Your fiancé? Is that so?” Mr. Steele’s eyes lit with interest. “May I ask who the lucky fellow is? I’m mayor and have gotten to know many men in the area.”
All the misgivings she’d had since agreeing to marry Phineas soared. What if she’d made a mistake in coming west and agreeing to marry a stranger? What if he wasn’t who he had claimed to be? What if he mistreated Astrid?
Just as quickly as the doubts assailed her, she tossed them aside. If Phineas wasn’t the man he’d portrayed in his letters, then she’d have no obligation to stay with him. In fact, perhaps Mr. Steele would be able to advise her regarding the true nature of Phineas’s character. Then if her fiancé had any glaring faults, she’d be well aware of them before arriving in Fairplay.
She cast a sideways glance at the other passengers, who were in the finishing stages of stowing their belongings and were thankfully heedless of the conversation. “I haven’t actually met my intended.”
Mr. Steele, in the process of picking up another shoe, paused.
“We’ve written to each other.”
He straightened and gave her his full attention. “You wouldn’t happen to be Phineas Hallock’s mail-order bride, would you?”
Something in his tone made the skin at the back of her neck prickle with unease. “Yes, Mr. Hallock is my fiancé. Do you know him?”
The gentleman shook his head, his features creasing. “I knew him well. He was a good man.”
Her heart began to patter fast and hard. “Knew?”
“I’m sorry, Miss Nilsson. Phineas Hallock is dead.”
“The mine owner Phineas Hallock, originally from Connecticut?”
“Yes, he left for California last October. Said he was traveling there to purchase supplies for his new bride and that he planned to be back by late spring. When the thawing came and he didn’t return, we all thought he was delayed. Until a body was discovered on Hoosier Pass.”
“His body?”
“As far as we can tell, after so many months of being exposed to the elements . . .”
She stared at Mr. Steele, but somehow he faded from her vision. All she could see was the black-and-white photograph of Phineas.
In his last letter, he’d mentioned his trip to California and his excitement over picking out additional furniture and items for their home. He expressed his desire to have the newly built house well-stocked and ready for her arrival. She hadn’t heard from him since and assumed he hadn’t had the opportunity to send further correspondence. Even if he had, mail delivery via the Pony Express and stagecoach wasn’t reliable. Letters were sometimes lost or stolen.