Fic: Jericho - Manifest Destiny - Teen - Part 1 of 4

[tanaquiljall]

Title: Manifest Destiny
Fandom: Jericho
Rating: Teen
Contains: some period-appropriate attitudes and language; canonical character death
Words: 29,200 words
Summary: Written for history_bigbang. Kansas, 1855. At a time of turmoil in the Kansas Territory, with pro-slavery and free-state settlers clashing violently, Jake Green unexpectedly arrives back at the home of his estranged family in the frontier town of Jericho. On the run from trouble further West, he is planning to pay only a brief visit to claim the inheritance left to him by his grandfather, but finds himself drawn in to staying to defend the town from the escalating violence. Amid the fighting, and as the danger increases, he finds himself growing closer to one of the new settlers, a schoolteacher called Heather Lisinski. Meanwhile, he crosses paths with Robert Hawkins, who claims to be a trading agent for an Ohio factory owner, but who seems to have an agenda of his own….
Disclaimer: This story is based on the Junction Entertainment/Fixed Mark Productions/CBS Paramount Television series Jericho. It was written for entertainment only; the author does not profit from it nor was any infringement of copyright intended.
Author's Note: Author's Notes: This story only covers events in Season 1 and greatly simplifies the multiple storylines found in canon, as well as makes changes necessary for the technology of the time period. I have also needed to take some liberties with the real history of the Kansas Territory and the struggle for statehood, but hope these have not been excessive. More details about the historical setting and my research sources can be found in the notes at the end of the story. A huge thank you to: my usual cheerleader and beta, scribblesinink, for all her help; sgafan for the 'horse-beta'; and queenmidalah for volunteering to create some lovely art to accompany the story.



Part One

Jake Green had been riding along quietly minding his own business—or rather, dwelling on the various misfortunes that had been heaped upon him in the past few hours—when someone did him the great discourtesy of trying to kill him.

His attackers’ first shot was poorly aimed and Jake felt no more than the whizz and zip as it flew by—but the report of the rifle was close enough to make his horse startle under him. As Jake fought to calm Duke, a second shot struck home and Duke buckled to his knees.

Pulling his feet from the stirrups and trying to jump clear before Duke completed his fall, Jake had time to note that he had, it seemed, been sadly mistaken when deciding only minutes earlier that his situation could not become more desperate than it already was.

Yet things had looked sufficiently grim as they were when, with the afternoon sun hot on his back, he’d ridden slowly away from Jericho. It wasn’t so much that he was reluctant to leave the place, more that he no longer knew where he should aim for or what he would do when he got there. And to think he’d ridden in with such high hopes only that morning: he’d get Grandpa’s money and then head northeast to make a fresh start, far from all that unpleasantness in Utah. Instead….

The first shock had been seeing how the place had grown in the five years he’d been away. Where Main Street had once been little more than the cluster of Jim Bailey’s saloon, Cooper’s blacksmith shop and livery, and his own parents’ general store, he now marked, among a dozen other new buildings, an hotel, a bank, a church and a fine edifice that proclaimed itself the Town Hall.

Green’s General Store wasn’t exempt from the change: it was also three times the size he remembered. The old part now housed the feed and farm equipment and suchlike that had once been the mainstay of the business. The center was devoted to dry goods and other provisions. The left-hand end was a haberdashers and drapers with—Jake blinked—a bonnet displayed in the window that he suspected would not be out of place in the fashionable shops he’d seen in the East while at his studies in upstate New York.

Quite a crowd was going in and out of the shop as he hitched his horse at the rail out front and stood looking up at the place. At last, breathing deeply, he made his way inside, peering around as he stepped across the threshold. Several women were gathered around the bolts of cloth and notions, chattering and comparing patterns. Weatherbeaten men were nodding their heads sagely over ironmongery at the other end of the store. Beyond the bins and barrels that crowded the center portion, a young woman standing behind the provisions counter smiled at him. Jake stepped toward her.

“Excuse me, Miss. Do you know where I might find—?” was all he got out before he heard a cry of “Jake?”

Turning, he almost had the breath knocked out of him as his mother, who must have been somewhere among the linens, flung her arms around him. “Jake!” She hugged him tighter. “Oh, honey, you’re back.”

“Hey, Ma,” he managed to choke out, before he gently pulled her hands from around his neck and held her away from him. He smiled down at her, thinking she looked much as he remembered, her hair still bright under its cap and her face unlined. “You look well.”

She smiled back up at him. “All the better for seeing you.” She took his face in her hands for a moment, before seizing his hand and leading him toward the back of the shop. “Wait until your father and brother know you’re here. Your father’s out back, I think, and your brother’s at the farm, of course, but we’ll send a boy to bring him and April back for dinner. Oh, but—.”

“Ma,” he interrupted softly, resisting the tug on his hand, “I’m not staying. I just came to visit my grandfather and speak with Father about….” He broke off, aware that they were now the subject of interest of everyone in the store. The would-be fashionable ladies were whispering behind their hands, and the men on his other side were giving him hard-eyed looks. He looked back down at his mother and saw her expression had dimmed.

After a moment, she shook herself and patted his arm. “Well, we’ll talk about that later. Now, let me take you to see your father. He’ll be so pleased you’re here.”

Jake let her draw him on, very much doubting that would be the case. He wasn’t much looking forward to the encounter himself.

It turned out worse than he’d feared. The two of them had managed to remain civil for the first few minutes, but once Jake had raised the subject of the inheritance his grandfather had left him, his father had started in on him. All the old accusations were dragged up and when Jake had declined to argue or defend himself, his father had fixed him with a stern glare. Then, letting out a derisive sniff, he’d declared, “Your grandfather left that money in my trust until such time as you showed yourself a responsible citizen. I see no sign that’s so. Show me proof that you’ve lived clean and earned an honest wage, even if not with that fancy piece of paper we paid so much for you to gain, and we’ll talk. Till then….” He shook his head and, without another word, stumped back into the stockroom at the rear of the store.

Jake, watching him go, let out a harsh laugh. He suspected there would never be proof enough for his father, even if he settled down just like Farmer Eric. To be truthful, he didn’t know why he’d tried, except he’d been passing nearby and he scarcely had the money to buy his next meal, let alone journey all the way to one or other of the big cities in the East. Though the ache of his empty belly had been less, perhaps, at that moment, than the ache in his heart.

As if his mother could read his thoughts, she put her hand on his arm. “Come. Come eat. You look half-starved. And maybe your father will be better minded to help you this evening.”

He shook her head at her sadly. “No, Ma. I told you. I have to be away.”

Again his mother’s smile dimmed; how he hated himself for being the cause of that, more times than he could count. But no: he had to leave and best to do so soon. Maybe he’d left his troubles—or those particular troubles—behind in Utah, but he didn’t want to risk bringing them here if he hadn’t.

His mother squeezed his arm. “Then wait a moment and I’ll put up something for your journey and walk you as far as the cemetery.”

“Thanks, Ma.” He slid his arm around her and gave her a quick hug, dropping a kiss on her cap. When he stepped away, she lifted a hand to brush back the tears that glistened in her eyes. He turned, not wanting to see, and jerked his head toward the front of the store. “I’ll see to my horse while….”

A few minutes later, glancing up from watering Duke at the trough by the pump on Main Street, he felt his father’s condemnation—and the rightness of some of what he’d spoken—strike home afresh: he caught sight of a slim, fair-haired figure coming out of Jericho’s new bank, raising a parasol against the sun that stood high overhead. The woman saw him at the same moment, her gloved hand flying to her mouth as her gaze met Jake’s. Then, visibly steeling herself, she stepped carefully down into the dirt of the street and crossed toward him.

“Jake.” She halted a few paces away and inclined her head in greeting.

“Emily.” He took in the smart gown, with its wide skirts and fine lace at cuffs and collar, and the way her hair was dressed in careful ringlets under the small hat perched artfully on her head. She seemed very grown up compared with the sunburned girl with whom he’d once fished barefoot in the creek, or who’d come behind him binding sheaves as he’d swung a sickle during harvest, or who’d lain with him in the long grass under the stars, kissing and more than kissing…. “You look well,” he managed to get out at last.

“Thank you.” She didn’t comment on his own appearance, which was perhaps a good thing. He no doubt looked dusty and travel-stained—and weary not just with travel but with life. The silence stretched out again, until smiling up at him from under her lashes in a way that reminded him all too painfully of past days, she added in a rush, “I teach at the school now. The town has grown so large that we have two teachers and a new schoolhouse. Just imagine! But I shall be giving all that up soon. I… I am to be married in a month.”

For a moment, it was as if his ears had refused to hear what she had said. Then he swallowed. “Congratulations,” he managed. “Who’s the lucky man?”

“His name’s Roger. Roger Hammond.” She turned and gestured toward the building she’d come out of. “He’s a banker. He’s in Lawrence at the moment.”

“I hope you’ll be very happy together.” The words sounded all right, though his mouth didn’t seem to be working properly or feel like it belonged to him any more. But Heaven knows, he meant it: it was right she should find happiness after the way he’d treated her, playing fast and loose with her affections and her reputation, and then abandoning her. This Hammond fellow must surely be a better man than he was, and he could have hardly expected her to hold true to a childhood sweetheart she hadn’t seen or heard from in five years.

“Are you staying?” She sounded anxious. He supposed she didn’t want him complicating her life any further, or bringing the wildness of her youth back into the public consciousness.

“No, no, just passing through,” he hurried to reassure her. “Just seeing my family and my grandfather, and then I’ll be heading east.”

“Well,” she gave him a tight smile and bobbed her head, “it was nice meeting you again, Jake. I wish you good health and a safe journey.”

The rote politeness stung, but Jake knew he deserved no better. He watched her walk away, until a touch on his arm made him start. Turning, he found his mother next to him, her arms laden with packages.

“Was that Emily Sullivan you were speaking to?” she asked, as she held out the provisions.

“Uh-huh.”

He began taking the parcels and stowing them in his saddlebags. He didn’t say more, but a sideways glance at his mother showed him he didn’t need to. The anxious expression on her face was evidence she’d caught his own mood and understood well enough that the hopes he’d carried all the years since he’d fled Jericho had finally crumbled to dust. But all she said was, “l’ll walk with you to see your grandfather.”

oOo

Now, a scant two hours later, Jake did his best to judge which way Duke would fall as the fatal bullet took its toll, before leaping clear. Hitting the hard dirt, the air rushing from his lungs, he rolled, but too slowly: Duke heaved on to his side and pinned Jake’s foot. Jake gritted his teeth against the sudden pain, but had scarcely begun to think how to extricate himself or examine his other injuries when another bullet whistled over his head, making him curse and duck.

Ignoring the pain from his ankle, he dragged his foot from under Duke and twisted to shelter behind the horse’s bulk. The poor beast’s flanks were still heaving, but a quick glance as Jake hauled his rifle from his back and readied himself to return fire showed Duke’s jaws were coated with blood-flecked spittle. The horse was done for; all Jake could do was save himself and hope to put Duke out of his misery quickly if he lasted longer.

Cautiously raising his head to peer over Duke’s belly, Jake raked his rifle along the nearby sparse woodland from where the shots had come. A moment later, he saw two men rising slowly from the underbrush that straggled between the tree trunks. They must have thought him dead or incapacitated, for they took no effort to hide themselves as they peered in his direction. Smiling grimly, Jake aimed and squeezed the trigger. He heard a cry and an oath, and one of the men clamped a hand to his arm. Even as Jake thumbed another cartridge into his rifle, he saw the men turn and flee into the wood.

He kept his rifle aimed at the woodland for a long minute, until the sound of his attackers retreating had faded and he could be almost certain no other assailants lurked among the trees. Then he rolled onto his back, resting his head against the saddle and drawing in a deep breath and then another. Beneath him, Duke was quiet, and he realized the horse’s struggles had ceased while Jake had repelled their attackers. At least his suffering had been brief, Jake supposed.

But, he could still hear something, close enough and yet far enough that his ears only caught it once his own ragged breathing had steadied: a creaking and clattering and stamping and rattling of chains—and, mixed in with it, the sound of a woman’s voice. It took him a moment longer to place the sound: somewhere over the ridge that sloped up from the track opposite the woods, but a little to his right, further on in the direction he’d been heading when his journey had been so rudely interrupted.

Gritting his teeth against the pain from his bruised ankle, he levered himself to his feet, shouldered his rifle and limped toward the noise as fast as he could manage. As he climbed the slope, he began to make out words: the woman was telling something—an animal, he guessed—to “Woah!” and “Steady!”, but with an edge of panic in her voice that he suspected was not in the least calming for whatever distressed creature she was trying to aid. He did his best to quicken his pace.

oOo

Cresting the ridge, he took in the sight of a cart on the track below, tilted half on its side and with the horse still trapped between the shafts. The cart rocked with each swing of the horse’s rump and kick of its legs as it tried to break free, yet the wooden frame seemed firmly wedged in place and the horse’s efforts to escape had apparently only tangled it further.

On the near side of the cart, the woman whose voice he’d heard appeared to be attempting to unbuckle the harness while trying not to get too close to the flailing animal. She was also still trying to soothe the horse, but Jake could hear her exhaustion and fear in the way her voice cracked. As he slithered down the slope toward her, his knife already out and in his hand, he saw she had, to her credit, already managed to free the traces on the other side.

Reaching past her, ignoring her slight gasp as she became aware of his presence, he caught the horse’s bridle with one hand and brought the knife up in the other to cut the trace that still held the horse captive. The leather bucked and swung as the struggling horse pulled it this way and that, making it hard to saw—until suddenly the strip tightened and he realized the woman had caught it and pulled it taut.

He turned his head to catch her gaze and acknowledge her help, and had a moment to take in blue eyes filled with anxiety and think them pretty, before the strap parted and the horse shot forward, dragging him away from her.

He let the horse pull him with it, ignoring the renewed pain in his ankle as he was jolted sideways. The animal shot forward, clear of the cart, kicking out a few more times before realizing it was finally free and then, to Jake’s relief, slithering to a stop. He would have hated to let it go and have the trouble of catching it again—assuming it didn’t just tear off into the distance. It was still trembling, though, ears twitching and eyes wide and rolled back toward him. Sheathing his knife, he slowly reached up his free hand and cautiously stroked its shoulder. “Hey there,” he murmured softly, as he went on smoothing his hand over the coarse hair, while the animal shifted its feet and tossed its head, mouthing restlessly at its bit.

Sliding his other hand down the bridle until it rested under the horse’s chin, Jake lightly tugged downward. After a moment, the horse lowered its head a little. He let the pressure ease for a few a seconds, while he went on quietly running his other hand down the animal’s shoulder. Then he gently tugged again, still murmuring soothing nonsense. Slowly the horse lowered its head, its fear and tension ebbing away.

At last, after a few minutes, Jake felt secure enough to turn his head and glance over his shoulder at the woman. She was leaning against the cart shaft, watching him. Her right hand cradled her left wrist and, though she gave him a tremulous smile when she saw he was looking at her, her face had an unhealthy pallor. He realized that not only had she been as terrified as the horse but was perhaps more badly injured.

Still moving carefully and talking quietly to the horse, he gathered up the dangling trace on the far side and, turning the animal, led it back toward the cart. Glancing back, he saw the horse looked to be moving freely, but he made a note to check its legs before subjecting it to more work.

Loosely hitching the horse to the wagon, making sure he could free the knot with a single tug if it spooked again, he turned back to the woman, “You’re hurt?”

She nodded. “I think there were some gunshots. Belle startled. And then when the cart went over….” She gave a soft, rueful chuckle and lifted her arm slightly to indicate her wrist.

“May I look?” Even as Jake asked the question, he twisted his head, scanning the land around them. Her words had reminded him sharply that they were both in this predicament because someone had attacked him. This side of the ridge, the fields stretched out flat and featureless and seemingly empty. Besides, if someone did try to take a potshot at them, there wasn’t much they could do. Turning back, he saw she was nodding at him and holding out her arm to him. “Why don’t we sit you down,” he suggested, gesturing toward the slope.

She nodded again, but when she pushed away from the cart and tried to take a step, she let out a sharp gasp and froze.

He caught her under the elbow. “You’ve hurt your leg, too?”

She nodded mutely, biting her lip. Unshed tears of pain glistened in her eyes.

“Come on. I’ll help you.” He slid his arm around her waist and supported her as she hopped a few paces until she could settle on the ground. He knelt in front of her, slipping his rifle off his shoulder so it wouldn’t get in his way, but laying it down close at hand. “Your arm first.”

She held her arm out to him again and he carefully unbuttoned her cuff and pushed up the sleeve. A bruise was already blooming on her white skin, but he could detect no break as he ran his fingers up over her wrist. “I think it’s just sprained,” he offered, smiling up at her.

Glancing around, he caught sight of a paisley shawl caught on the seat of the cart. He supposed she’d been wearing it when the accident had happened. “Don’t move.” Getting to his feet, he fetched the shawl, noticing he had thankfully worked off his own sprain somewhat.

By the time he returned to her, she had already rolled down her sleeve again and was offering her arm to him so he could fashion a sling with the shawl. Leaning close to tie the ends around her neck, he breathed in the tang of soap and, underneath it, her own scent that made him want to move closer still. Resisting the unexpected urge, he sat back on his heels—and promptly noticed that she had intelligent eyes set in a pleasant face and was, without being a beauty like Emily Sullivan, altogether pretty enough that he couldn’t help but smile at her. And feel remarkably pleased when she smiled back at him.

He held her gaze for a moment longer and then, recollecting himself, cleared his throat. “Now, your leg?”

“It’s just my ankle,” she reassured him, a blush spreading over her cheeks. But, without further protestations, she hitched up her skirt enough to reveal button boots, an inch of stocking and the lace edging of her pantalettes.

The ankle looked sound enough. Jake contemplated removing the boot, but decided it might be too difficult to get it back on. And the thought of touching her again, running his hands over her limbs, even through the soft cotton of her stocking, made heat spread through him, so that he knew his own color must have risen. Perhaps there was no need—. “You were able to stand on it? Before?” Not daring to meet her eyes now, he gestured toward the cart.

“Yes. It hurt, but I could manage. I don’t suppose it’s broken.” Her voice trembled slightly.

“No, I would think not.” Sliding his hand under the heel of her boot, Jake carefully turned her foot a little, one way and then the other. He heard her catch her breath, but she didn’t cry out, and there was no sound of bone scraping over bone. “It seems whole enough. I think it best we should get you home as soon as we can and put you into the hands of someone more competent.”

She chuckled quietly. “I find your hands seem to be quite competent, Mr, uh—.”

Jake laughed, glad to break the tension, though her words had only made him grow hotter and more aware in every fiber of his being of her warm presence in front of him. Carefully setting down her foot, he cleared his throat. “I dare say we really should introduce ourselves properly before it becomes altogether too late?” Looking up her—and noticing she had a pretty smile, too, her cheeks dimpling as her mouth curved in amusement—he held out his hand. “Mr Jake Green.”

She took her hand, her ungloved fingers warm and soft in his. His skin tingled where they touched. “Miss Heather Lisinski.”

“Pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Lisinski.” His voice sounded hoarse in his own ears.

“And yours, Mr Green.” She withdrew her hand, the gesture a little awkward, and he wondered if he had held on to it too long. Because he wanted to go on holding it. “And thank you.” She dipped her head in the direction of the cart. “I don’t know what I would have done if—.”

Jake remembered that she had already unhitched one half of the traces before he arrived on the scene of the catastrophe, despite her wrist and ankle. “I think you would have managed very well, Miss Lisinski. Now,—” Giving himself a little shake, he climbed to his feet. “—to get you back home.”

oOo

Half an hour later, Jake had the horse re-harnessed, having managed a temporary repair to the traces which he trusted would hold at least until they reached town. The animal seemed a little skittish still—hardly to be wondered at—but a careful examination of her legs revealed no sign of lasting damage. The cart also appeared to have come through remarkably unscathed; with sweat beading on his brow, he had pulled it back upright and maneuvered it away from the bank against which it had run itself. The chief casualty looked to have been Miss Lisinski.

She waited patiently, still seated, while he worked, accepting with a rueful smile his refusal of her offer of one-handed help. He left her in charge of his rifle and ammunition pouch, after confirming that she knew how to fire the weapon. When he glanced at her from time to time as he worked, he saw she was scanning the horizon, her good hand resting on the rifle’s stock, ready to snatch it up.

Finally, with everything restored to some semblance of order, he helped her climb onto the cart’s passenger seat, breathing in her sweet scent again as he stepped close to provide a steadying arm. Then he got up himself, gathered up the reins and, checking the rifle was safely stowed close at hand, set them slowly in motion along the track that led back toward the main trail.

“Where do you live?” He threw a brief look in her direction.

“I have a place in Mrs Leigh’s rooming house on Adams Street, for the present.” Our of the corner of his eye, he saw her lift a hand and tuck an errant lock of hair that had escaped her rather severe bun back behind her ear. A blush colored her cheek as she caught him watching her. Bending her head, she added hurriedly, “They are to build a house for the schoolmistresses to share, but I fear it will be next spring before it is made ready.”

“Oh, you’re the other schoolmistress?” Jake remembered what Emily had told him earlier.

“You know Miss Sullivan?” She looked back up at him, a surprised expression on her face.

“I do.” They had reached the main trail. Drawing the cart to a halt, Jake squinted past her to where Duke still lay sprawled in the dirt. He supposed he should rescue his possessions before someone else took advantage of his absence. Perhaps he could find a buyer for the saddle and bridle in Jericho and use the funds to feed himself on the slow trudge eastward on foot that was now surely his fate—because, God knows, he lacked the wherewithal to replace poor Duke. He added, absently, still answering Miss Lisinski, “We grew up together.”

“Oh.” She sounded surprised at the news. Then, following his gaze, she said, “Oh!” again in a quite different tone.

Jake waved a hand in Duke’s direction. “I need to—. If you have no objection?”

“No, of course not.” There was compassion in her face as she turned back to look at him.

Clicking his tongue, he encouraged Miss Lisinski’s horse—Belle, she’d called it, hadn’t she?—forward until, still some fifty yards short of Duke’s body, he ran the cart in a semicircle, facing them back toward town, and drew them to a halt. Hopping down, grimacing again as his bruised ankle reminded him it had recently been trapped under a thousand pounds of horseflesh, he reached for the rifle and offered it back to his companion. “If you could…? They were in the woods before.” He gestured toward the trees that straggled along on one side of the road, now looking perfectly innocuous.

She murmured her assent, her gaze already searching the brushwood as he limped off down the road. Ten minutes of hard struggle later—it was no easy task to strip a dead horse—he was stowing the saddle and his bags in the back of the cart. He’d kept his mind firmly on the job as he’d worked, but it had been a hard thing to leave Duke at the last. He and the old fellow had been through a lot together, these past five years, and it wasn’t the end Duke had deserved.

Miss Lisinski gave him a look filled with pity as he climbed back into the cart and as she handed the rifle back to him. “It was you they were shooting at? When….”

“Uh-huh.” Jake, not much inclined to talk about it, gave the reins a shake and clicked his tongue, setting the cart in motion again.

“I’m sorry.” She’d shifted a little, twisting in her seat, so she could better observe him as they spoke.

“You’ve nothing to be sorry about.” He knew he sounded brusquer than she deserved, but the lump in his throat was making it hard to get the words out. “It wasn’t your fault. There’s lawlessness throughout the Territory, though I’d not thought to meet it so boldly till I was nearer Lawrence.”

“I’m still sorry for your troubles.” To his surprise, she put her hand on his arm for a moment, before she withdrew it quickly, as if embarrassed. He wished that she’d left it there, liking the feel of it. Liking the feel of her sitting next to him. Despite her evident discomfort at the forwardness of the gesture, she added, softly but with a tone that suggested she was determined to speak what was on her mind, “You’re a good man, Mr Green, to help someone you didn’t know when you had misfortunes enough of your own.”

Jake turned his head away, feeling he scarcely deserved her praise. He’d only done what any man would have done, hadn’t he? “I thank you for the compliment, Miss Lisinski, but I think you don’t know me well enough to say such things.”

“Maybe not.” Another quick glance showed her cheeks were pink again, but she went on with the same resolute air, “But I saw how you handled poor Belle when she was afeared. And I know now that you grew up in Jericho. Though I’ve not lived there above a few a months myself, I’ve seen they’re good people there. The folks who were there before, I mean.”

Jake gave a wry laugh. “I think my father would sooner tell you I’m the town black sheep.”

“Your father’s Mr Green who owns the General Store?” It was only half a question.

Jake nodded glumly, suddenly aware that his father would likely be less than glad to see him back again so soon. Reluctant to continue the conversation further, he cast around for a change of subject. “So you are newly come to Jericho? With the settlers? Were you in Lawrence or Lecompton before?”

She nodded. “Lawrence. But only for a month or so while we discovered where we might find a place that would suit. Before that, we were in Massachusetts.”

Jake had already guessed as much from her accent; it reminded him of the time he’d spent in the East and the friends he’d made there. Friends who might be able to help him if he ever managed to return to them. “You must find all this very different from your former home.” He gestured at the grasslands around them and the cluster of sturdy but unpolished wooden buildings that had appeared not far off as they crested a small rise. “A little less civilized?”

“A little.” He felt her shrug slightly. “But here, at least, the only troubles I face are what come with the weather and the soil.” She sounded a little bitter, and Jake wondered at her words, but had no chance to pursue them before she turned the conversation back on him again. “But you speak as if you know Massachusetts, Mr Green.”

Still pondering her previous remark, he conceded to himself that it would have been rather impolite to ask her to explain herself on so short an acquaintance. Yet he was sorry to discover she apparently hid secret griefs behind the cheerful countenance she’d shown him even during the trials of the past hour.

Laying aside the matter for a another time—for he found himself very much hoping he would have the chance to know her well enough to ask—he applied himself to answering the unspoken question in her last words. “I studied two years in New York State,” he explained. “One of my classmates hailed from Concord, and he and his family were kind enough on occasion to give hospitality to an unfortunate companion from the West who could not return home when we were not at our studies.”

“Oh, Concord!” Her face had lit up. “I, too, have spent a little time there. It is a handsome place, is it not? Perhaps we have acquaintances in….” Her voice trailed away as they reached the end of Main Street and saw a crowd had gathered in front of the General Store. “Oh, my!”

An uneasy feeling settled in Jake’s stomach as he drove them slowly toward the throng. He could see his father on the steps of the store, his mother a pace behind. A tall man, of about his father’s age and dressed smartly, if showing signs of a good many excellent dinners in his girth, was haranguing his father from the front of the crowd below. Over the chink of harness and rumble of wheels, Jake caught the occasional raised word. “Danger” was one, and something about his father not doing enough to protect the place.

His father began to make his reply. As Jake drew the cart to a halt at the rear of the crowd, he heard him saying, “…don’t know what these reports mean, Gray. And until we do, I see no sense in running around half-cocked. That’s—.” He broke off, apparently having caught sight of Jake over the heads of the men below. Ignoring the crowd, and the men who here and there were calling out, he stepped down from the stoop and pushed his way through the group until he reached the cart. “What in Tarnation’s name happened to you?” he demanded. “I thought you’d left.” There was a hint of accusation in his tone and expression as he raked his gaze up and down Jake, who became abruptly conscious that he was a sorry sight, coated as he was in dust and sweat. Then, seemingly noticing the cart’s other occupant, his father added hastily, “Begging your pardon for the language, Mizz Lisinski.”

Trying to keep his temper in check, because he really didn’t need to get into another pointless argument with his father after all that had happened, Jake carefully looped the reins over the rail. “I was set on, about five miles outside town. Couple of desperadoes shooting from the woods out toward the Tacoma River. They ran off when I returned fire. In all the commotion, Miss Lisinski’s cart got turned over.” He swung himself down from the seat, discovering he’d stiffened up during the drive back to town, and began to limp around toward the other side of the cart so he could help his passenger down.

“See, Johnston. I told you. They’re marching on the Wakarusa and now they’re coming here.” The man who’d been arguing with his father earlier had followed him through the crowd.

“We don’t know that, Gray.” His father turned and glared at the other man. “Coulda been some local yahoos. Some of Prowse’s men, stirring up trouble.”

“Are we under attack?” That was a younger man, around Jake’s age, with dark hair and an anxious face, who also seemed to be one of the settlers who’d arrived recently—or, at least, Jake didn’t remember his face. “We’re under attack from Border Ruffians, aren’t we?”

Reaching the other side of the cart, Jake caught the frustrated expression on his father’s face. “Now, Bill, there’s no reason….”

The rest of his father’s attempts to soothe the crowd were drowned out by his mother arriving at his side. “Oh, honey, you’re hurt.” She reached up to smooth his bangs back from his forehead.

“I’m fine, Ma.” He pulled her into a swift one-armed hug, before he pushed her gently away. “But Miss Lisinski has hurt her arm and her ankle.”

Turning back to the cart, he held out his hands to help the younger woman down. She took his left hand with her good right one— and then exchanged a look with him as they both understood at the same moment that she was in need of more assistance. Letting go of her hand, Jake caught her around the waist and lifted her down bodily, setting her on her feet. “Can you make it to the store?”

“I—.” She looked like she wanted to say yes, but her hesitation told him she knew it would be a lie.

His hands still on her waist, he glanced over his shoulder at his mother. “Will you take care of her, Ma?”

“Of course. Of course. Bring her in.” His mother bobbed her head and hurried back across the street, no doubt to seek out her medicine chest.

Ignoring Miss Lisinski’s quiet protestation that she could manage very well by herself, Jake picked her up and carried her through the still-arguing crowd to the relative peace inside the store.

oOo

A few minutes later, having seen Miss Lisinski safely bestowed in his parents’ private quarters at the back of the store, with his mother clucking around her, Jake had ducked back outside.

It had been only right to leave them alone, so that his mother could examine Miss Lisinski properly. Still, Jake had knelt by her chair perhaps a moment longer than necessary after placing her in it, his hand resting on her arm while he sought confirmation that she was comfortable. Her cheeks had been flushed as she’d silently nodded her reply and he’d wondered if he had discomfited her with his forwardness in carrying her inside: she had tensed for a moment as he’d picked her up, before apparently deciding to make the best of it, letting herself settle against his chest and placing her hand on his shoulder to help steady herself. Yet, as he’d gotten to his feet, sure he’d overstayed his welcome, she’d caught his hand to stay him, thanking him again with a smile that dimpled her cheeks most becomingly. Making a slightly awkward half-bow, Jake had fled.

Outside, he’d drawn in a deep breath, trying to calm his racing heart, and surveyed the scene. The crowd had mostly dispersed, though his father was still talking to Jimmy Taylor. From the badge on Jimmy’s lapel, Jake gathered he’d been made Sheriff in the years Jake had been away.

With a wave of the hand, Jimmy headed off across the street, leaving his father to turn toward Jake. “You look like you could do with cleaning yourself up a bit, son. And like you could use a drink.” His expression softened a little as he spoke the last words. Jerking his head for Jake to follow, he led him round the side of the building to the well in the back yard. He drew up a pail of water, while Jake stripped off his jacket and neckerchief and rolled up his shirtsleeves.

By the time Jake had splashed water on his face and scrubbed off the worst of the dirt, his father was back with two tankards of ale. Setting them down on the chopping block near to the well, he pulled a flask from his pocket, unscrewed the cap and offered the contents to Jake.

Jake’s throat burned as he swallowed a gulp of the rough whiskey, but the strong liquor made him feel better. He handed the flask back to his father.

“You’re sure you’re not hurt?” His father gave him an appraising look as he took a swig himself, before capping the flask.

Jake shook his head. He began rolling his sleeves back down. “They got my horse, but I guess I got lucky.”

“How many?” His father picked up Jake’s jacket and started beating the dust from it. Something about the gesture told Jake he was more agitated than his expression alone would have suggested.

“Two.” Jake finished with his sleeves and reached for his ale.

“Local men?” His father was turning the jacket this way and that as he dealt with the dust.

“Maybe.” Jake shrugged and took a drink. “I didn’t recognize them, but there’s so many new folks….”

His father grunted in agreement. His attention seemingly still focused on the jacket, he added, “William Garrity was over in Lawrence on business. Rode back this afternoon and told as how there’s men from Missouri been riding through the Territory, stirring up trouble in Lecompton and Atchison and other places. Heading west, maybe.”

Jake remembered the conversation out on the street earlier that he and Miss Lisinski had interrupted. “You think they’re coming here?”

His father shrugged. “We had some folks from Missouri settle a place the other side of the river a few months back. New Bern, they call it. Brought some slaves with them to work their farms.”

“Ah.” That would be a cause of trouble, sure enough. Especially as Jake had detected more Massachusetts accents out on the street, so it didn’t take much thinking to figure that many of Jericho’s newer residents were of the Free State party. Not that he would have expected his father to welcome any other kind into Jericho. Folks is folks, no matter where they come from, and a man has no right to own anything but his soul and what his own hands can build him, Jake remembered him saying. There’d been something else about no right to expect others to keep him in idleness and drink, either, though Jake had tried to forget that part. Not that idleness and drunkenness had been the worst of Jake’s sins in his father’s eyes by the time he’d ridden out of Jericho in a hurry a few weeks later.

“Times like these, we could do with some good men around here. Steady types. Those Easterners are apt to get excitable pretty darn quick. We could do with some cooler heads.” His father gave Jake a brief, uncertain look as he held his jacket out to him.

Finishing the rest of his ale, Jake set down his tankard and took the jacket. Shrugging it back on, he weighed his options. Getting stuck in Jericho hadn’t been in his plans, but now he had no way out except shanks’s mare. On top of that, heading east didn’t sound any better for his health than heading back west: it appeared Fate was in every way conspiring to hold him here. Besides, Jericho was home, even if it was a home that didn’t want him much, and he couldn’t turn his back on his family and friends if they were in danger. “Reckon I might stay a few days,” he muttered. “If you and Ma—.”

“I’m sure your mother’ll pleased to have you around a while longer.” His father’s voice was gruff but, glancing up, Jake caught a relieved look on the old man’s face. “You can tell her yourself.” He jerked his head toward the store and Jake saw his mother had appeared at the back door. He supposed she must have finished treating Miss Lisinski and had come to report on the fact—or to check the menfolk in her life hadn’t fallen to blows already.

Making his way toward her, Jake realized that staying would also allow him to further his acquaintance with Miss Lisinski. Suddenly, the prospect of being stranded in Jericho didn’t seem so terrible after all.

oOo

Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | End Notes