Free Summer's Fury by tba Page A

does you hang onto it for dear life.”
    Summer felt tears brimming in her eyes and quickly blinked them back. “Thank you, Martha,” she said. “I will keep your words close to my heart.” With that she stood, allowing Martha to get out of her seat. She grasped Martha’s elbow to help her down the stairs and walked with her, taking small steps to accommodate the older woman’s shuffling gait into the train depot, bustling with passengers.
    “And this is where we part company, dear,” Martha said. “You’re a lovely young woman, Summer, with a good head on your shoulders. Use it. Don’t let any man run roughshod over you, and stand up for yourself. He’ll have to earn your respect and loyalty just as much as you’ll have to earn his.”
    Summer wrapped her arms around the older woman in a gentle embrace. “Thank you Martha, I will treasure your words and keep them close to my heart. No point in saying I’m not terrified, because I am, but you’ve given me a solid foundation to stand upon.”
    “I hope so,” Martha said. “Remember, it’s not going to be easy on either one of you. Patience is key. Whenever you find yourself getting upset, worried, or panicked, as I did, remember to take a deep breath, think things through, and make decisions with your brain and your heart.”
    Patience. That would be a tough one. Patience was something that Summer had always struggled with. Many times she tended to respond to situations purely on emotion, but she understood the need for rational thought, especially in this situation. What if she didn’t like him? What if he didn’t like her? Oh boy, she had certainly gotten herself into a pickle this time hadn’t she?

Scene 2
    Summer bid goodbye to Martha as a young man, and a woman she assumed was the man’s wife, rushed forward to greet the older woman, wrapping her in loving hugs. Her heart thumping forcefully in her chest and blinking back tears, Summer quickly turned away from the sight. Would she ever be loved like that?
    She plucked her fingers at the high fitting neckline of her heavy wool dress, no match for the western heat, although it was quite a bit dryer than she was used to back east. She should have worn her cotton dress today, but it was so wrinkled that she had left it in her trunk, which she supposed the train employees should be unloading just about now. She adjusted her small bonnet and swiped a hand down the length of her skirt. Lifting her chin, she sat down on a highly polished oak bench underneath the windows on the west side of the building to wait for her soon-to-be husband to pick her up from the train station.
    Would she recognize him? After all, that photograph was so old! Her back straight, her feet together, and her hands folded in her lap, Summer hoped that no one could sense her increasing panic as she continually swept her gaze over the crowd of people in the station, watching for Mister Kearny. She supposed she should call him Beauregard, but the familiarity of it left her feeling nervous again.
    Tomorrow morning she would be married by a local justice of the peace, and then she and her new husband would complete the rest of their trip by wagon to Laramie, another fifty miles to the west. She could look forward to at least several days of travel on horseback or wagon married to a man she didn’t know.
    Well, that wasn’t quite right. She and Beauregard had exchanged several letters in the past year, but since mail traveled so slowly, not many more than that. While her letters tended to be longer, his were rather short, sharing little of himself other than the fact that he was a US Marshal in Laramie, that he owned a small ranch outside of town, and that he was a widower. No children. That’s about all she knew.
    Staring idly out the window, Summer watched people coming and going, some leaving the depot with their families, others entering. She watched as a tall man approached the steps of the depot from across the wide dirt street,