Page 4 of Valley of Dreams

“Are you making a visit or planning to make it your new home?”

He nodded.

“Which one?” she pressed.

“Guess,” he mumbled from behind his bushy beard.

Where he hailed from Eliza couldn’t be certain, but she suspected her mysterious companion didn’t have an American accent. Of course, neither did she.

“New home?” she guessed.

He nodded.

Getting information from someone who offered such brief answers required creative questions. “Have you been in this country long?”

“Haveyou?”

She smiled back at him as she bounced Lydia on her knee. “Heard my origins in my voice, did you?”

He scratched his dark beard between answers. His long, scraggly hair hung enough over his face so that she couldn’t tell where he was looking, though she suspected his gaze had wandered to the stagecoach window.

“Do you look out the window so often because you can’t resist the brown, dusty vista, or because you think it’ll get me to stop talking to you?” She waited eagerly to see how he would answer that question with only a word or two.

After a moment, he said, “Both.”

She couldn’t help the laugh that slipped from her. Lydia laughed too—she nearly always laughed when her mother did. There had been a lot more laughing and smiling since they’d left New York City. They were on their way to a new life, a better life. Though Eliza was a little nervous, she was nearly giddy with anticipation.

America had been a disappointment in a lot of ways. Finally, its promises felt within reach, and leaving England felt less like a mistake.

Did her reticent fellow traveler feel good about his decision to leave his home country? And whatwashis home country? The man didn’t say enough at any one time for his accent to be obvious.

“England?” She guessed aloud.

His head turned in her direction. “Sounds like it to me.”

Five words at once. A new record, and enough to tell that he was definitely from the British Isles. A few more words, and she would have him sorted.

“What brings you to Wyoming?”

“Stagecoach,” he muttered.

She laughed. Lydia did as well. “I think you’re being grumpy on purpose.”

He turned his head toward the window once more. “I like hearing your wee girl laugh.”

“Ireland!” There was no mistaking his accent now that she’d truly heard it.

“I-und!” Lydia made a valiant attempt.

The grumbly bear didn’t noticeably react. Eliza wasn’t certain what to make of him. Instinct told her she had nothing to fear from him. She stayed alert, of course—being cautious was never a bad idea—but during their day and a half on the stagecoach, he’d never given her reason to worry.

As the stage rumbled to a stop, her heart dropped a little. She was excited to begin this new chapter in her and Lydia’s life, but a twinge of disappointment flickered through her, knowing she would have no further opportunity to talk to the intriguing man. He’d made her laugh and kept her company, however quietly, and she was grateful for it.

“This is our stop,” she told him. “Thank you for being kind to us. Safe journey.”

He nodded, and she climbed down with Lydia on her hip. Her trunk and carpet bag had been set down beside the coach. But—she looked around—there was no town. Had the driver made a mistake?

“Over the hill behind you,” the driver said, apparently recognizing her confusion. “You can’t see the town until you crest the hill.”

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