Heartbreak and Heaven: The Mountains of Eternal Snow, #2

By David M. Delo

The Mountains of Eternal Snow (Revised). Book 2: Heartbreak and Heaven, 85,300 words.

Edith leaves home to teach in Wyoming. She meets UPRR supervisor John Casement, and travels with him to Carter Station. He is enamored.  The Carter family and her teaching is fine; the location is desolate. However, after she sees a handsome wagon driver who reminds her vaguely of  other person, she dreams of him and his calico cat.

A riot destroys Bear River City where Martin is employed and the town dies. Martin decides to get a job with the sutler at Ft Bridger. His thoughts include a woman in a yellow bonnet which he suddenly realizes must be Edith. He becomes manager for Carter's warehouse at Carter Station and is reunited with Edith. He loves her but needs to be established before he can ask her to marry him.

On a stagecoach to South Pass City, Edith obtains a promise from the governor to sign Women's Suffrage if legislation is passed. The coach is attacked by Sioux and saved by Washakie's Shoshone. In South Pass City, Edith rallies women for Women's suffrage at election time. It passes and Wyoming is the first territory to permit women to vote.

Edith has three admirers: a lieutenant she met during the Indian attack, John Casement, and Martin. The Lieutenant is killed and Casement won't marry her because of his unpredictable lifestyle. Martin leaves for the Wind River Valley to become the new trader and Sutler for Fort Washakie. He returns, and he and Edith marry.

At Ft. Washakie, Edith holds a dinner for post principals: Captain Torrey, the Indian Agent, the post doctor Maghee, and the agricultural agent. Between them she becomes acquainted with the post and reservation in which it is located. She learns Shoshone and that she is pregnant.

In 1874, General Sheridan, who doesn't like Captain Torrey, arrives. Then the post prepares for battle when Indian hostiles who have been killing local citizens, are located. Doctor Maghee passes out in Martin's saloon and Martin is forced to drive the doctor's wagon (and Maghee) to the forthcoming Battle of Bates. The battle is a draw.

The government fails to provide the Shoshone what they need. They start to rebel. Martin and Edith hide the chiefs until the governor arrives to resolve problems.  An Indian Bureau investigator examines then dismisses charges against Martin, but the Indian Bureau revokes duel trading licenses so Martin loses his Indian Trader license.

Disease plagues the valley with Diphtheria, measles, and Scarlet Fever. Then a weary Edith loses her new baby and falls into depression the same winter a hundred-year storm hits. Many people and thousands of cattle are frozen to death.

In 1875, President Chester Arthur visits the valley. After Martin reveals his problems, the president promises to take care of him ,but nothing happens. Two years later, a conscientious senator enables Martin to get his license back. When he walks to his house, Edith is smiling because she is pregnant again. She wonders whether he will kiss her before or after he tells her his news.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kingfisher Creations
• Release date: Apr 26, 2021
• ISBN: 9781393162605

David M. Delo

Bio of author David M. Delo I’ve never been great at anything, but I have been around and have had as many failures as I have successes. After college, I was a C.I. agent for NATO (US Army) in Europe. Back in the USA, I became an educational administrator for the American Geological Institute, in Washington, D.C.; a systems analyst and V. P. at Levi Strauss & Co. in San Francisco; owner of a guest ranch in Wyoming; a P. R. writer for a university library in Illinois and grants writer for a not-for-profit organization in Montana; owner of a publishing company (Kingfisher Creations) through which I authored 10 books; and a semi-professional photographer for half a century. I have also been an artist since 1993 and I have been bipolar II since the mid-1960s. I guess you could say I have had a colorful life. Since the turn of the century, I have resided within the world of creativity. My books (and paintings) are my children and my heritage. My action-mysteries are based on my years in Europe. My historical novels are all based on places to which I have ventured, and I still love my protagonists with whom I identify–a geologist, an artist, a photographer, and an intrepid explorer of the west.

Book preview

Prologue: Review of Book 1

IN THE SPRING OF 1864, Martin McLaughlin, age 21, headed West. He was not interested in going, but he had incipient tuberculosis so he had little choice. He encouraged three male friends to accompany him. Together, the quartet took the train to end of tracks–St. Joseph, Missouri.

At about the same time, a young Quaker girl, Edith Teague, left their cabin and farm, and with her family moved temporarily to St. Jo. The Civil War was causing problems for all Missouri settlers since half the state was for the North and half was for the South. 

Martin and Edith met by happenstance on the banks of the Missouri River. It was love at first sight for both. He was leaving for Idaho with his friends but she agreed to write him in Virginia City. When the quartet couldn’t find transportation via the river, they ended up as bullwhackers, honchoing yoked oxen that pulled two-ton supply wagons, walking seven hundred miles across the plains at 15 miles per day.

First they encountered a heat wave, then Shoshone warriors looking for a fight with Sioux. When the Shoshone camped nearby, the four lads visited the teepee village. Martin got talked into a Shoshone cure for his incipient tubercular cough and almost died. His friends left him behind but believed he would catch up later.

In St. Jo, Edith was befriended by her spirited aunt who was planning to teach negroes in a church school. Edith wanted to help. Her mother’s emotional fabric was not geared to change or stress, and was dismayed that Edith was falling under her aunt’s influence. Then, her mother suffered more anxiety when her Quaker husband joined the Missouri Militia.

When Edith began to teach that summer, masked men rabidly against teaching blacks, burned the schoolhouse. Unfortunately, Edith’s aunt was inside. Edith was devastated but continued to read about heroic women who were helping to teach and bring civilization to the West.

Martin’s friends remained in Virginia City where the uncle of one (Buck) had a gold mine. Martin got a job with the Holladay Stage Line. While he played shotgun, the stage was robbed. Everyone was killed, save Martin who was badly wounded.

Edith created a bond with one of her aunt’s associates in St. Louis, a suffragette. She got approval from her parents to spend time with her friend and join the suffragette vote in Lawrence, Kansas. They lost. By then, Martin had still not written. When Edith finally enquired, she discovered he had been killed during the hold-up.

His death and the suffragette loss formed the impetus she needed to leave home and teach. She answered an ad for a position with a family in Carter Station, Wyoming Territory. When she discovered her mother was hiding Martin’s post-robbery letters, she received approval from her father to leave.

By the time Martin had healed, Holladay had sold out to Wells Fargo. Martin took a job with them in Salt Lake City, but didn’t’ like it, so decided to return to freighting. He had an offer from an entrepreneur who told Martin he should take a load of freight for him to the sutler in Fort Bridger after which be would be his partner in a new store in a new town called Bear River City. Martin was delighted. Everything was coming together except he didn’t know why Edith hadn’t written.

Chapter 1. The Union Pacific Railroad

EDITH BOARDED A CAR on the Union Pacific the third week of September. She was quite surprised when she saw how few seats remained unoccupied.  The man who occupied the seat opposite her joined the train at a nearly deserted stop named Julesburg, four hundred miles west of Omaha.

The stop was a little more than a collection of huts, a stage station, and piles of railroad material. But there the train had crossed the South Platte River. Edith had thought it marvelous to look out upon the sand bars, islands, and twisting water channels through the steady parade of bridge braces. The view was certainly an improvement over the Platte River Valley. For the full last day and night, it represented one long, treeless stretch of boredom. Aside from a few scattered settlements and Fort Kearny, the land had been formless. Until Julesburg, the railroad tracks paralleled but had never crossed the Platte.

The new passenger smiled and gave his name as Daniel Smith, Danny, for short. That was rather forward she thought. Nevertheless, he was cute and as he talked casually he appeared acquainted with a number of interesting places and persons in the West. Edith would only admit that his animated presence was a nice distraction from what were now dreary views and her reading.

Mr. Smith continued to chat breezily and asked seemingly harmless questions, but Edith had a hesitancy in her responses, aware that through all the banter the man might be testing the depths of her receptivity. She answered questions politely but sparingly.

Something about Mr. Smith was not right. He reminded her of Mr. Grandin the substitute teacher in Fulton who always managed to hover. He would smile and be instructive but his manner made Edith uncomfortable. At the end of his first week of teaching Grandin touched her on two separate occasions—harmless, accountable touches but with an undercurrent that made her skin turn cold.

Edith looked up from the letter she was writing and shook her head in answer another question. Earlier she had politely inquired as to Mr. Smith’s profession. He said he was a Professional Frontiersman, then quickly changed the subject. His eyes, which matched his expensive, somewhat bold-looking attire, had a nasty habit of scanning her in a way that would make most women choose another seat in the car. Relocating, however, did not appear to be an option. The cars on the Union Pacific train had nearly filled to capacity in Omaha. The number of people Edith saw waiting for the westbound train had been a big surprise. From partial conversations around her she discovered the majority were going only as far as the Rocky Mountains as tourists so they could say they had seen the West.

Two days earlier, Hiram had driven her to the train station at Fulton. He mother had stayed home after having provided a good-bye speech that was both contrite and unforgiving, one in which she voiced her conviction that Edith would fall off the face of the earth, alone, and with a short shriek if she went beyond the outskirts of Omaha. However, if her daughter did somehow manage to arrive at her destination in one piece, she would quickly be manhandled if not molested by social outcasts or tortured and killed by savages. Sarah firmly reminded Edith she would be without parental protection; now it was up to God—a power who her daughter had obviously ignored or forgotten as her best source of humility and guidance.

Edith had tried hard to repress her harsh feelings toward her mother. She never dared hope she would find Martin again, but she made her father promise that if a letter from him materialized, he would forward it to her at Carter Station—unopened. Edith had written to Martin’s last-mentioned address but had heard nothing. She knew he had left Virginia City permanently for Salt Lake City, so she had written to Wells Fargo’s S. L. C. stagecoach station. She had not known that he had recently quit and moved on.

The letter Edith was writing was not for her father but for her mother. Now that she was on her way, she decided she would make one last attempt to narrow their rift by writing a pleasant missive about her journey to date. She would break the news that the West was huge, and for the most part empty, but that its cities were peopled by civilized human beings who wore modern clothes including suits, top hats, and canes. She was four hundred miles west of Omaha, yet had still not seen an Indian. No one had accosted her, and the crowded train included a large number of well-dressed women.

Mr. Smith had informed her that the train was only a few hours from its next stop, Cheyenne. He would be happy to post her letter for her. As Cheyenne appeared on the horizon, the morning sun lighted the sky with pale grays and blues. Edith thought those colors an appropriate match for the pastel tans and gray-greens that coated the surface of the dust-rich land. The only scene that held any appeal so far had been the strong pattern of light and shadows created yesterday by the sun as it shined through a column of cumulus clouds. She wondered if it was too early to forecast the ambiance that awaited her in Carter Station from what she was seeing.

Have you ever heard of Carter Station, Mr. Smith?

The man cleared his throat. Carter Station. Oh, yes, of course.

Please tell me that it doesn’t look like this. She gestured out the window.

He smiled. Good heavens no, my dear lady. Quite the contrary. Lots of green hills and lakes if I call correctly. And distant mountains. Lovely.

Oh! said Edith with a surprised expression, how very odd. Mrs. Carter didn’t mention lakes or mountains.

Ah! Well they are small lakes and, um, not immediate to the property of Mrs. Carter. It has been four or five years since I was there last.

With a feeling that the man had never seen Carter Station, Edith simply smiled. Mrs. Carter gave me the firm impression that Carter Station was new this year. It’s located on the route of the Union Pacific line, but I do not believe the tracks have gotten quite that far. When he blinked but said nothing, she added, The conductor said the last station on the line for the public was Rawlins. Would you know how much further it is to Carter Station?

Instead of answering directly, the man smiled again. I believe my luck is changing; We shall need a stagecoach, and I shall be your fellow passenger once more. If you will allow me to assist you I will consider myself fortunate.

Just then Edith saw the conductor walking down the aisle toward them. I will be fine, thank you, Mr. Smith, she said quickly. Are you on your way to Salt Lake City?

Ah, no. I have business in a smaller but equally active village by the name of Bear Town—often referred to as Bear River City.

Excuse me? said Edith to the passing conductor. Please, is there a post office in Cheyenne?

Yes, ma’am. He hesitated. If you have a letter to post I shall be happy to oblige. Edith thanked him and excused herself from further conversation with Mr. Smith. She needed to finish her letter.

More than half the passengers disembarked at Cheyenne. From the window Edith received the impression of a raw, bustling town. All she could see really was one main street and the same stacks of railroad material and rough buildings she had seen at nearly every other stop.

Workmen went about their business moving materials, erecting new buildings, and driving freight wagons. Beyond the railroad station, women were noticeably absent. Edith decided to forego stretching her legs, and instead accepted the conductor’s offer to post her letter. Cheyenne did not appear to be the kind of town she would find interesting or comfortable.

As if to validate her decision, a clot of rough-looking men boarded the train. They stomped their boots and created dust clouds by slapping their pants with their hats as they walked down the aisle looking for seats. One of the quieter men, a large-boned man with strong, dark eyes and a coal-black beard took the seat across the aisle from her. When Edith handed the conductor her letter and smiled her thanks the bearded man glanced at the exchange.

Edith thought the man might be a foreigner. He radiated power with his heavy coat, Cossack-styled hat, and knee-length boots made of some kind of animal hide with raw fringes. He also carried a coiled bullwhip. As he removed and folded his coat Edith noticed it had fur around the collar and cuffs, and that his hat was of fine beaver. His plain, dark suit was clean, as was his white shirt. His demeanor and appearance intrigued Edith. Outwardly the man was a rough, yet it was evident he was not a hired hand. She thought perhaps he was what a western businessman looked like.

Mr. Smith took the occasion to share his knowledge of Cheyenne with Edith. He was saying, "Last year at this time, Miss Teague, there was no Cheyenne. Like many towns along the tracks it was created by the railroad for the railroad.

In the window’s reflection, Edith noticed that the dark man across the aisle lifted his head and was now glancing at both her and Mr. Smith. His expression was impossible to read because his beard hid most of his face. His eyes were small and cloistered.

I’m not certain I understand, said Edith still looking out the window. Why should the railroad create a town for itself?

Well, you see, it takes a lot of people to build a railroad. Towns offer settlers a way west. Those people need food, shelter, and services. And any time you have a lot of people in one place it takes others to complete the pattern. It’s like a big barn-raising.

Edith looked at the narrator. I can understand putting up buildings and services, she said. You mean the railroad helps start the towns and then the settlers move in?

Not quite that simple nor as democratic. The people who run the railroad also own most of the land. One of the ways they get so rich is to sell property to speculators. They start new places, then promote them to make money on the sale. They even try to sell land that isn’t theirs.

The black-bearded man across the aisle coughed. Edith glanced at the man’s reflection in the window. As Mr. Smith talked, she stole a quick look across the aisle and saw that the man was also writing a letter.

If the railroad is doing something illegal, Mr. Smith, why doesn’t someone stop them?

Oh, there’s a congressional investigation going on almost all of the time, but it’s difficult to prove anything when half of Washington’s politicians are involved in western land deals. It’s all one big happy family of crooked people and crooked deals.

The train started up again and Mr. Smith now proceeded to fill Edith’s ears with tales of his adventures in the wilder west—mostly fights with Indians in Julesburg and as a passenger during a stagecoach ride. He also began to refer to some of the more insidious deeds Indians performed on the bodies of their captives. By the time the train pulled into Laramie for a meal stop several hours later, Edith wasn’t sure she could eat anything, nor whether it was safe to venture from the train.

After telling her a month ago, after an extensive gunfight, the Vigilante Committee in Laramie hung six murderers, Mr. Smith assured her that she would safe in his company. He added, "I have by necessity become familiar with the less civilized element of the West. Allow me the honor of being my guest for lunch, Miss Teague.

Edith was not at all certain that having lunch with Mr. Smith was a good idea, but he seemed to know a lot about the West and his demeanor appeared acceptable. She hesitatingly accepted his invitation because she was hungry and needed to conserve her funds. Mr. Smith rose and excused himself, saying he would confirm luncheon arrangements.

He had just departed when Edith heard an educated voice say, Pardon me, Miss. I don’t normally interfere in the affairs of others, but you look as though this might be your first time in the West, so you would be well advised to take what your Mr. Smith says with a grain or two of salt.

The speaker was the man with the black beard. He stood—that is, he towered—above her in the aisle. He held his bullwhip in one hand and his coat in the other, about to leave. Edith could feel power flowing from him and not only from his eyes. When she did not immediately speak, he tipped his hat and turned away.

Whatever to you mean, sir? Edith suddenly cried out. The strength of her reaction surprised her. She began to redden and that made her angry. What had given him the right to make such a comment, and then walk away?

The man paused, then turned back to her. I meant no offense, he offered calmly without inflection, but that man either enjoys fabricating tall tales from half-truths, or. . .perhaps he believes you might become more dependent on his company if you were afraid.

His comment shocked Edith. And who, sir, are you to suggest that?

He responded as though she had asked the time of day. My name is unimportant, but I have worked with the Union Pacific since their tracks left Omaha. Hence, I beg to differ with the gentleman’s opinions of railroad investors, the way in which Cheyenne originated, and, he added with a suggestion of a smile, how safe or not safe it may be out here for a lady.

Edith did not miss the other’s slight deprecation when he said gentleman. Do you know Mr. Smith? she asked.

No ma’am I do not, but I have known many like him. Again, he turned to leave. Now Edith’s irritation surpassed her intrigue. That is most convenient and rather tasteless is it not, sir, to label someone you don’t know as possibly scurrilous and then walk away? I would appreciate it if you would either make yourself clearer or retract your insinuations. Left as it is, you’re only labeled yourself as a rude person. Who was this man, and why didn't she keep her mouth shut?

The man sighed, took a step backwards, turned to Edith and bowed slightly. Then he smiled and leaned lightly on the top of the seat in front of her. As he did, he appraised her openly. You’re quite right. I should curb my tendencies. I apologize.

He frowned as though undecided how much information he should offer her. My name if John Casement. I’m the principal contractor for track-laying operations for the Union Pacific between Omaha and wherever we end up when we meet the eastward-bound tracks of the Central Pacific. Your Mr. Smith. . .

He is not my Mr. Smith, Mr. Casement. You assume sir. Why was she so mad? Was it his demeanor or did she feel a bit guilty about her behavior?

Yes, ma’am. I see I need to be more precise. Your acquaintance? Your fellow passenger? He dresses, speaks, and acts like a lot of professional gamblers I have known. Card players. I call them tricksters or card sharks, and I have no love of them because they live off of the money that my men earn while they break their backs creating this railroad. His eyes became darker and more intense, like two steel ball bearings in the reflected light. The Mr. Smiths in this region have been in my hair like lice for two years.

But since you do not know this man, you cannot say for sure, can you?

He acknowledged her statement with a small twitch of one side of his mouth. No. That is true. I cannot, and therefore stand corrected.

Feeling somewhat redeemed, Edith had nothing more to say, so she simply broke eye contact. Casement cleared his throat, turned, and left the car. Outside, Mr. Smith rapped on her window, then beckoned. She smiled diffidently as she joined him on the platform. Inside the stationhouse restaurant they were seated at a clean table with linen and silverware.

With a little extra drama, Edith relayed her indignation at what Mr. Casement had implied about Mr. Smith’s character and motives. She thought she was being properly forthright and a bit proud that she had bested the dark-eyed superintendent.

Mr. Smith did not react at all as Edith anticipated. The changes in his facial expression and demeanor were not observable from a distance but like a threatened animal his face flushed, his voice became fricative, and his eyes radiated anger. Slowly, with repressed emotional control, he leaned a few inches toward Edith and in a hushed, sibilant voice, said, West of the Missouri, Miss Teague, you must consider the effect of your words before you speak. What you have just told me is sufficient cause for most men to immediately get up from the table, seek out the man in question, and kill him outright.

Edith's expression was paralyzed. Her eyes bugged out and her lower jaw dropped one. Kill? Fear and panic overtook her. Her hand flew to her throat. What had she done? It was all she could do to repeat his words. Get up and kill. . .? she whispered. His reaction, his anger, his words. . .impossible! Mr. Smith was obviously serious.

A terrified Edith grabbed for his hand. Please! You must not think of doing such a thing. Killing is against God’s. . .I never meant to alarm. . . She dropped both hands into her lap, made an anguished expression, and said in a tiny voice, Why in the world would you want to do something as reprehensible as that?

Smith pushed his chair backwards and took a deep breath as though to calm himself. Then he spoke didactically. The West is still in its infancy, Miss Teague. Institutions as you know them back east, particularly bodies of law, do not exist here. That includes control over law and order. In its absence—perhaps I might call you Edith?—a man’s word is his stake. Depending on his vocation and surroundings, he may live or die on its apparent value to others. If his reputation has been sullied, he may as well leave the West.

Still badly shaken but now feeling properly chastised, Edith raised her chin. Well, I cannot retract what I said. It’s true; that is, he said what I told you. I may have a lot to learn about the West Mr. Smith—and you may not call me Edith—but I cannot be held accountable for the intemperate remarks of another. Then she added with a touch of dignity, He also suggested that you were a gambler. Are you?

Mr. Smith dropped his napkin and made a twisting motion with his lips. Let’s just say that I wouldn’t challenge a man who called me a professional card player. I prefer that to gambler.

Edith couldn’t believe what she was saying, but she had and there was no turning back. She no longer trusted Mr. Smith or his company. He had mean eyes and a dismissive tone of voice. The handsome Mr. Casement—yes, she could admit that he was handsome—was beginning to rise in her opinion.

Like any occupation, Miss Teague, continued Mr. Smith, it requires skill. I’m not ashamed of it.

Edith dropped her eyes to her napkin as his voice acquired an edge. Nor does my profession automatically make me a liar or a rogue. Watching Edith’s slow, emotional withdrawal, he added, Or does it? Have I offended you in any way?

Would you accompany me back to the car, please, Mr. Smith?

Certainly, but you’re acting more like a child than the woman I first met.

That, sir, is not for you to judge, she said in a highly contrite manner.

She was rapidly becoming displeased by men she had met who claimed themselves as westerners.

AS EDITH AND HER ESCORT approached the train, she saw John Casement. He was standing on the platform with his back to the breeze, lighting a cigar. She turned to her escort. Thank you, Mr. Smith. I believe I shall remain outside the train for a few minutes. Good-day. Without waiting for a response, she stepped away and approached Mr. Casement. When he saw her, he tipped his hat.

Thank you, Mr. Casement, she said quietly. I’m afraid you were correct.

Out of the corner of his eye Casement saw Mr. Smith stop and watch them. The man was too far away to hear the conversation, but he looked as though he suspected what she was saying. Casement decided Edith had most likely repeated his earlier remarks to the man known as Smith. He was about to ask her that question when the man in question walked toward them. His mouth was tight and his eyes glinted. Edith spun when she heard his voice.

I don’t know who you are, sir, but I do not forget faces, so you probably do not know me, said Smith acrimoniously. Therefore, I will take an apology, and accept one from the lady as well.

Casement drew on his cigar as he appraised the man. For what reason?

For calling me a liar and discrediting me with your prejudices in front of Miss Teague. We were getting along very nicely until you shot off your libelous mouth. You had no cause for your remarks—unless you were expecting to gain favor from the lady after I left.

Oh! Mr. Smith. Really! Edith was already upset. Now she was embarrassed to boot. Everything she said or did made the situation worse. She certainly had not anticipated a confrontation or colored commentary. Did every man in the west wear his emotions on his sleeve? she wondered.

Please, she pleaded. I’m the one who needs to apologize. I had no idea that. . . Careful, she thought; you’re going to do it again. "Mr. Smith, would please escort me back. . .

That’s too bad, sir, interrupted Casement, totally ignoring Edith, her remarks, and growing protestations. He removed his cigar from his mouth and added, Perhaps in your profession you don’t have much use for or appreciate the truth, but I felt that the young lady deserved it. She’s not familiar with our western ways. That makes her vulnerable.

He had used his left hand to remove his cigar, and now had dropped it