An Agent for Lorelle: Pinkerton Matchmakers, #60

By Michele Pollock Dalton

As a child, she'd chased him all over the backwoods of Wisconsin before he'd left home, seeking broader horizons. And Emmett "Black Feather" Whistler certainly never expected to find the wisp of a girl in the uncharted wilderness of the Black Hills. However, he was even more surprised when the persistent young woman tracked him down nearly a year later, claiming to be his wife.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Barr26 Publishing, LLC
• Release date: Mar 23, 2024
• ISBN: 9798223915324

Book preview

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April 1874

Pinkerton Headquarters, Denver, Colorado

Emmett Black Feather Whistler scanned the telegram and clicked his tongue against the back of his front teeth. It was a nervous habit, but at the moment, Black Feather was rattled.

The missing girl that his father wanted him to find was none other than little Lorelle Knudsen. The child had been his constant shadow during the time he’d lived in Widow’s Ridge, Wisconsin, and Black Feather couldn’t quite fathom how the girl had disappeared from her family’s homestead.

When did this arrive? he asked his boss, Archie Gordon.

About two weeks ago, the Scot answered. But we’ve got a letter here that’s been waiting for you since January.

Black Feather let out a low whistle, then leaned forward to collect the envelope. Mind if I give it a quick read through?

No, you go ahead. I’ll see if I can round up some coffee, the senior agent advised.

Alone in the office, Black Feather scanned the letter once and then went back and started at the beginning.

Anything useful? Archie asked as he returned with two coffee cups.

My Father wrote right after the girl disappeared. Her parents woke up one morning and found her gone.

Do they suspect foul play?

Mr. and Mrs. Knudsen are at a loss, Black Feather replied. They have no idea where the girl might have gone, and they have no reason to think she was taken.

Black Feather blew out a breath. I knew her as a child, but I suppose she must be, hmmm, maybe fourteen or fifteen, he guessed, trying to recall if Lorelle was the same age as his sister, Katya. Huh, that’s not right, is it? the agent mumbled to himself. Katya turned eighteen a few months ago. So, Lorelle is . . .

According to the file we opened, the missing girl is . . . sixteen, Archie announced. She turned sixteen shortly before her disappearance.

Alright. She’s older than I thought then. Anyone ask if she had a beau?

Archie shook his head. Our information is sketchy, at best. But I can see where you’re headed on this. You think she ran off with a suitor?

Shrugging, Black Feather considered that angle for a moment. This happened, what? More than three months ago, right?

About that.

Guess that don’t make much sense, then. A girl might run away and get married, but she’d surely show up or be in contact by now. Don’t you think?

Hard to tell. Maybe . . . if she were already in the family way . . . this Miss Knudsen would want to lay low for a while? Archie offered.

Black Feather nodded sagely. She’s got eight older brothers.

That made his boss chuckle. A mite intimidating for any young buck.

Especially for one that might have taken liberties.

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Fort Abraham Lincoln, Dakota Territory

Brat says he knows you, Knudsen.

Harold caught the scrappy child that the stable master tossed his way and subdued the miscreant with a swat to the head. Settle down, boy, and tell me what you want.

Pushing away the hands that tried to dislodge his cap, the stranger resorted to stomping on Harold’s big foot to halt the battle of wills. Stop it, Harry, or Pa’s gonna fire up the seat of your pants!

The blonde giant froze before mumbling in disbelief, Hugh?!

The scrawny adolescent tugged the black fur hat down over his brow and tucked his worn shirt into trousers that were several sizes too large. But once the fellow had his heavy red and black Mackinaw jacket re-sinched around his waist, the interloper was ready to deal with his older brother. Keep it down, would ya? the youngster grumbled before admitting in a gruff whisper, I’m not Hugh.

Befuddled, Harold Knudsen waved his brothers over before pointing to the rag-a-muffin caught between him and the stable master. Lookee who followed us, boys.

Unhappy to be called away from his dinner, Hezekiah Knudsen flipped the bearskin cap off the child’s head and then issued a long, low whistle. Shadow?

Stunned disbelief flittered across the brothers’ faces. Then Harold grabbed his sibling’s arm. S’cuse us, he mumbled as he hurriedly plopped the hat back on the runaway’s head.

Hey! What about our stew? the other brother, Harlan, grumbled, tagging along behind the motley crew as they left the building. You know there ain’t gonna be nothin’ left when we get back.

Perturbed by the younger man’s nonchalance, Harold smacked him in the back of the head. Our baby sister show’s up in boy’s clothes, more’en five hundred miles from home, and all you can worry about is your stomach?!

Sister!? I thought you said it was Hugh!

Harold lifted the cap once more and splayed his hands. That look like Hugh to you, ya clod? he questioned, pointing to the shock of strawberry blonde hair.

Mouth dropping open, Harlan snatched the scarf from around his neck and wrapped it around the girl’s wind-chapped cheeks. Cover ‘er back up ‘fore someone sees her! he urgently whispered to his brothers.

Huffing out a disgruntled sigh, Harold plopped the old bearskin cap back on the girl’s head. Then he propped his meaty paws on his hips and stared down at his imp of a sister. Gonna tell us what you’re doin’ here?

An’ how ya got here? Harlan added.

Lorelle Knudsen’s blue eyes glittered with challenge when her brothers’ demands for an explanation became more adamant. Will y’all hush before everyone in camp knows my secret!

Girl! The secret ain’t what you’re hidin’ under Pa’s old cap. It’s how you plan on findin’ your way home without getting one of us court-martialed or shot for deserting our post, Hezekiah corrected before pushing his spectacles back up the bridge of his nose.

I’m not going back to Widow’s Ridge, the girl protested. I made it all the way out here – on my own – so I could . . .

What? So you could fight the Indians? Harold snapped. This prairie ain’t no place for a little girl with big dreams.

And it isn’t a creek bank adventure to check traps, hunt rabbits, and find old arrowheads, Shadow, the middle boy, Hezekiah, added. The only arrowheads you’ll find out here will be the ones you dig out of a wounded soldier’s ribcage.

A shiver slid down Lorelle's spine as Hezekiah’s explanation painted a picture in her mind. Still, the young woman wouldn’t be deterred. That’s why I am here, she sighed. I heard Ma and Pa talkin’ one night, and Ma was so afraid that she’d never see you boys again. Just like when our older brother, Henry, went off to fight for the Union.

Tugging his siblings toward the stables, Harold hustled his family into the tack room. Thankful for the small measure of privacy, he paced around the perimeter of the cramped space.

Stop, Lorelle softly scolded. You’re starting to look like a rabid badger, she teased before stretching up to pat her brother’s hair back into some semblance of order.

Threading his fingers through his heavy blonde mane once more, the Nordic giant scowled. You can’t stay here. This ain’t no place for any woman, much less a girl just outta the schoolroom.

I finished my schooling two years ago, and I’ve been learning Ma’s ways since I was knee-high to a juniper berry. Ire rising, Lorelle stomped her foot. "And you know full well that you, of all people, don’t belong here."

With a hang-dog face, Harold dropped his head, his brothers following suit.

We don’t get no say in where the Calvary sends us, Hezekiah offered, discomfort showing in his features. We’re just here to keep the peace.

Lorelle shuddered. She knew that peace between white men and Native Americans was difficult at the best of times. But when settlers started to infringe on treaty lands? And what will you do when peace can only be enforced with your musket?

Harold’s blue eyes darkened. He and his siblings had been raised to respect the tribal ties in their community of Widow’s Ridge, Wisconsin. The trading post there, established by a French trapper named Whistler before the state even became an official territory, still stood near the banks of the Eau Claire River. And the descendants of that man and his Ojibwe bride were the founders of the settlement that had sprung up thirty years earlier.

More importantly, Harold’s parents were friends of the Whistler clan, having worked alongside them to establish Widow’s Ridge in the 1840s.

Releasing a sigh, he held out a hand to the slip of a girl before him. There are no easy answers, he slowly offered. And it’s all the more reason for you to be snugged up safe at home.

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July 1874

Black Hills Expedition

Lorelle brushed a palm over her freshly shorn hair, the short curls tight and frizzy in the summer heat.

Ya look like the Ludlow’s dog, Harlan laughed as he packed up his bedroll.

And you look like the backside of old Gert, Lorelle retorted before sticking her tongue out.

Rolling his eyes, the oldest of the Knudsen siblings dropped a tattered slouch hat on his sister’s head. Then Harold wagged a finger at the girl. Stay close and stay quiet. The Lieutenant Colonel in charge of this expedition ain’t gonna be happy if he finds out we got a little girl doggin’ our steps.

As it was, Lieutenant Colonel Custer had only been deterred from enlisting the boy because of his age – purported to be 12. However, that did not keep the man from putting Shadow Knudsen to work, especially once the boy displayed his proficiency with medical tinctures and herbal remedies.

The call to move out shortchanged any further conversation as the 7th Calvary continued the long journey from Fort Abraham Lincoln into the Black Hills of the Dakota Territory.

The expedition was a massive entourage