Chapter 01

March 16, 1866

It was dusty, smelly ride on the Overland stage. I hadn't expected it to be overly smooth, but the ride was far rougher than I imagined it would be. Still, as the door opened and I was able to step out, I found myself exactly where I wanted to be.

Waller, Texas. Stepping point to the American frontier and the wild west.

Once I had my feet safely on the ground, I began to dust myself off and study my surroundings. Waller wasn't more than a dozen buildings, arranged along a single street with more houses I could logically assume were where the residents lived. I began to scan the street for a hotel sign, but didn't find one before a local with a golden star on his coat approached me, taking his off as he came to a halt.

"Howdy ma'am," he said with a smile on his face. His accent was heavy in what I believed was a generic southern style, but understandable. "I'm Winston Travers, town marshal. Is there anything I can do to help you?"

"Yes, marshal," I said, giving him a pleasant smile of my own. "I'm Elsa Dame. Is there a hotel in town?"

His smile faltered a bit, telling me there wasn't one, but he gathered his resolve quickly. "Sorry, ma'am. There's room to rent over the saloon, but no hotel and the boarding house is full up."

"That will be sufficient," I told him with a smile. What information I had told me what I was looking for would be found in the saloon, which would be easier accessed given my status if I had a room there.

The marshal offered his elbow which I took, and he led me down the boardwalk almost to its end before turning into a building whose doors seemed more decoration than security as a person tall enough could peer through without problem and lacked any sort of latch. The marshal led me through the doors and into the saloon where several men sat around large circular tables playing card games and drinking spirits. They all stared at me, some with mouth's agape as I was led to a counter.

"Jeffry," the marshal said to snap the man out of his reverie. "Miss Dame here needs a room."

"Sure, sure," the man said, pulling a pencil from behind his ear and began to write in his ledger. "Got three rooms left. Best one is fifty cents a night, it has the feather bed, and the other two have straw-ticks."

"Straw-tick?" I asked him, never having heard the term before.

"It's a mattress filled with straw," Travers informed me. "Depending on when the straw was last changed and its last occupants, it's usually not that buggy. Beats the ground, that's for sure."

"Buggy?" I said aghast. That was a term I'd only ever heard concerning infestations. "You mean it's infested?"

"Can be," the marshal told me with a pained grimace as if didn't want to admit that to a high society woman.

"I'll take the feather bed," I told the clerk. It, at least, was something I was used to sleeping on and was comfortable.

"Alright," he said, making a few more scratch marks in his book before turning it around. "If you'll sign it, miss."

I took the proffered pencil, writing my slightly fictitious name inside with no regrets. While my first name was Elsa, given to me by my parents, I had come up with the Dame on my own. Traditionally, my family didn't have a last name. Instead, we had and used titles, titles I had abandoned along with whom I was and no longer wished to be.

"Elsa Dame," Jeffry said, reading my name. "It surely do fit you like a glove, Miss Dame, or is it missus?"

"Miss," I told him truthfully. "I have never been, nor do I ever intend to be, married."

"Crying shame, if you ask me," he said under his breath where he thought I couldn't hear. I let it slide, not wanting to lose out on the last rooms in this small western town, and soon had the key to my room in hand.

"Top of the stairs and turn right, furthest room on the left," he told me. "Sheets are fresh."

"I'll escort you up, Miss Dame," Travers said, again offering his elbow. I took his elbow and he led me to the stairs near the middle of the room. The stairs were wide enough for three, and raising the hem of my skirt, ascended with Travers to the second floor. Here we turned right down the hallway, going past another hallway filled with doors.

At the door, I used my key to unlock the door and go inside. The room was small, but well apportioned with a double bed beside the door and a dresser further down where the washbasin sat. There was also plenty of room for my trunks when they were brought up, and a window at the far end to let in the light.

"I'll go help bring in your bags," Travers said, leaving me alone in the room.

Alone again, I removed my coat and laid it on the end of the bed and poured myself some water into the washbasin. I scrubbed the dirt off my face and hands and made myself otherwise presentable in the mirror mounted above the dresser. I looked the part of a lady, again, and swallowed my fears before Travers re-entered my room.

"Your first trunk," he said, bringing in the large, metal-reinforced chest carried between him and the stagecoach driver.

"Set it by the dresser," I told them, moving out of their way. The men lowered it carefully to the floor by the dresser, then trundled out to bring in my other, much larger, trunk.

While the men were gone, I pulled the key chain over my head bringing the heavy key out and opened it up to check inside for my valuables. The six boxes containing the last of my family's heirlooms were where I left them, on the bottom of the trunk protected by layers of paintings of my family going back generations. As much as I wanted to open the boxes and check their contents further, I quickly covered them back up and locked the trunk, replacing the key down the front of my blouse with its chain around my neck. To anyone else, it merely looked like a necklace again, and for that I was thankful.

It took a few minutes longer for the men to return, this time with the shotgun guard helping to lift the heavy wooden thing. Though technically called a trunk, it was actually a portable wardrobe. In it were my dresses, toiletries and jewelry, though I preferred to dress plainly rather than the gaudy style of Eastern American women. This trunk they sat at the foot of the bed, against the wall, then the stagecoach driver and shotgun guard left.

"If you'd like, ma'am, I'd like to escort you to dinner," Travers asked of me. I nodded my assent, donned my coat and took his proffered elbow as he led me back down the hallway.

I had a brief glance of a woman coming out of one of the upstair rooms whose door overlooked the main part of the saloon. She was dressed in what appeared to be her undergarments which revealed her bare leg as she walked. Travers noticed her and quickened his pace which pulled me along and not allowing me to take a better look, soon having me out the door.

He did slow down once we were outside, leading me down the boardwalk. This was the first time I was able to really look at the town. Next to the saloon was a barbershop, and a leather working shop past that. On the other side of the street, directly across the street was the livery, some horses and cows in its paddock. Next to the livery was a blacksmith shop, then the general store next to it with some wares on display out front.

Then there was a cross street, prompting Travers and I to descend some steps and cross the dusty street and up the other side where an apothecary shop was set up. Next to it on our side was the marshal's office and past it the cafe. On the other side of the street was a bank, and next to it a doctor's office. A laundry service was next to that ending that side of the street.

It seemed we were heading to the cafe as we soon stepped past the marshal's office. With no other building to go to, it seemed a logical assumption. That assumption became reality as Travers turned through the propped open doors and led me inside to an empty table. Travers pulled out a chair for me to sit in, and I sat down to bare wood table. Travers sat himself across from me, his back to a wall in what I assumed was a bid to keep an eye on the clientele.

"This place has great grub," Travers told me as we waited.

"Grub?" I repeated. I figured he had to mean food, but the colloquialisms he was using were slightly confusing.

"Yeah, food," he said, laughing at my confusion. "You Easterners sure do talk funny at times. Highly complicated."

"We converse in means that are acceptable to all persons," I informed him. "I do guess it can get a bit convoluted at times."

"That's a three dollar word, right there," Travers jested with me. "Con-vee-luted. Don't even know what it means."

"It means it gets complicated," I said, laughing with him. "What do you recommend for dinner?"

"I prefer the blue plate special, myself," he said right as our waitress appeared. "Hey, Lucinda. You can go ahead and write that down for you pa to cook and bring me coffee to drink.."

"Si, senor," she said in a Spanish accent. "Para ti, senorita?"

"Yo tendre lo mismo que Marshal Travers," I told her in Spanish. She blushed a bit at that, and wrote it down. "Además, ¿puedes traerme la crema y el azúcar para mi café?"

"Si," she said, then disappeared into the back.

"You seem to talk their language fairly well," Travers commented.

"It helps that I had a Spanish tutor from Spain," I told him.

"That would most definitely help," he affirmed. "I couldn't tell you a thing about their language. I'm from Michigan, so I'd know more about the French fur trappers than these wetbacks."

"Oh, alors vous parlez Français?" I asked him and he chuckled.

"A bit," he confessed. "Know enough to understand it, but I somehow garble it when I speak it. I find it best to just stick to English."

"That might be for the best," I said as Lucinda came back with a tray. She placed one in front of me and another him before pouring coffee in both from a metal pot from her tray. When the steaming hot contents were poured, she left the pots of cream and sugar with me before heading back into the kitchen.

"Cream and sugar?" I asked him as I put some into my own cup.

"No, thanks," he said, drinking his brew straight from his cup as it was poured. "I like mine black and strong."

"Too bitter for me," I told him, sipping my own. Lucinda then appeared with two plates containing a large slab of steak and slices potatoes and onions. Once Lucinda set the plates down, and as Travers and I picked up our utensils, a man came bursting through the door.

"Marshal!" he yelled, searching wildly for his target. "Marshal!"

"What is it, Tom?" Travers said, getting to his feet and brushing his coat back to reveal then large holstered pistol he carried.

"There's going to be a killin' in the saloon!" he yelled.

"Excuse me, ma'am," Travers said tipping his hat briefly before hurriedly following the man out the door. His boots were heavy on the boardwalk as he ran to intercept the trouble before it began, but the unmistakable boom of a firing weapon soon filled the cafe.

I ate in silence, having figured that the shot was fired too soon for it to have been caused or aimed at Travers. It took a minute or two more for the marshal to return, and he sat back to his spot to eat.

"I'd heard western justice was swift," I told the marshal after swallowing my second bite of steak, "but either the man has escaped and you've elected not to go after him or..."

"He's locked up tight in my jail," Travers told me as he cut his own steak. "Cowboy had a disagreement over cards so he shot the other fella. I know a few of the people who'll be witnesses at his trial, and where to find them, so there's nothin' left for me to do."

"What punishment is he likely to face?" I asked him, wondering what the end result of western justice was going to be.

"Oh, if I know Judge Peters, he'll hang," Travers said as he took a bite of the steak. He chewed it fast, then swallowed as he cut a second bite.

"Following the law is important," I said to fill the emptiness in the air between us. Travers seemed more interested in his food than conversation, so I let it go while we ate. It wasn't until Travers had finished his meal that he even said another word.

"Fine meal," he said finally once he had finished he plate. "Out here in the west, eating is a serious business so we usually don't speak while we eat."

"I guess it's to protect your food from other predators?" I asked and he shrugged.

"I always heard it said that you can talk anytime, but eatin', that's something you don't do but three times a day if you're lucky," he informed me then grimaced again. "Less sometimes."

"I appreciate the information," I told him as I finished the last of my potatoes and onions.

"So, what brings a high class woman like yourself to the edge of the frontier?"

"I'm here to start a business venture," I told him. It was the truth, at least.

"I hate to pry, ma'am," he said, and his immediately nervous demeanor told me he didn't want to ask what he was about to but he had to as part of his job, "But what type of business are you planning to start here in town."

"A cattle operation," I told him and he relaxed at that. "I take it you approve?"

"It beats some ideas I was a worryin' over, that's for sure," he said with a chuckle. "Town fathers had me run out a few other 'ladies' a few months ago and my standin' orders are to keep it that way. Saloons bein' what they are, there's little I can do."

"Ladies?" I queried, and he blushed a deep red. "Why would the town fathers run women out of town?"

"Not quite the high bred lady you are," he hedged. "I'm talkin' the sort of women that make their livin' in less..." he got out before he seemed to run out of words and a pained expression crossed his face.

"Scrupulous ways?" I completed, and he gave me a large, thankful nod.

"I do my best to keep it clean in town," he explained, "And the only such ladies like that are in the saloon."

"Such as the one 'lady' in her bloomers as we were leaving?"

"Yeah," he said, getting uncertain again. "I don't like the idea of you spending the night in the saloon, but since the boarding house is full, it's the best I can offer. Unless you want to spend the night in jail. I can guarantee your safety there, but that's it."

"I can handle my own safety," I told him, knowing I could handle myself if someone got too forward.

"Never said you couldn't," he said defensively, "But I can't babysit you either. As for the time it's gettin' to be, the best thing for you to do would be to return to your room for the evening."

"No evening entertainment?" I asked him and he shook his head.

"Nothing fittin' for a good lady," he told me.

"Well then," I told him, standing from my chair. "If you will escort me back to my room, I'd like to get some rest. It's been a long trip from Houston."

"Certainly," he said, standing to offer me his arm. I took it and we stepped out of the cafe together, this time for a more leisurely stroll towards the saloon. The walk was silent though, for which I was thankful, and soon we were entering the saloon.

It was more crowded now, with most of the tables occupied with men and card games. A few ladies went around between the tables, some carrying trays of drinks and others were pouring themselves over some, apparently lucky, man hoping to be taken advantage of this night. Travers walked me quickly to the stairs and up out of sight, and soon had me back at my room.

"Now, mind what I said about staying in your room," he told me as he guarded the door. "The wolves are already downstairs, and they might mistake your intentions if you go down now."

"I understand, marshal," I told him. "I intend to lock the door once it is closed."

"Good deal," he said, taking a step back. "See ya tomorrow then."

"Tomorrow," I confirmed then closed the door and locked it.

It was only then that I heard his boots as he left and my shoulders slumped as I could finally relax. It might not seem like I had much to hide, but if he knew the truth I would likely be run out of town as well. It wasn't that I wasn't whom I seemed, but was actually so much more.

To the marshal, I was an Eastern lady, probably wealthy but most definitely well educated and young. I was here ostensibly to start a business, and though he hadn't pried into exactly what business I was going to start, he probably figured it was likely it was going to be a nearby ranch.

In truth, I was from the continent of Europe, a small kingdom that had been given its freedom and was practicing democracy under a Storting. I had left because I was once its ruler, specifically its queen, having turned over control to the Storting I created before fleeing. I was a much beloved queen, ruling with fairness and compassion and saw my people through two years of the Spanish Flu outbreak that killed so many.

My sister, Princess Anna, had started a hospital with my blessing where the sick were quarantined and access to doctors was paid for by royal coffers. The actual number of dead was predicted to be higher, but thanks to the efforts of my sister in recognizing the initial problem and being ready with a solution, we kept the numbers out of the hundreds, but the greatest catastrophe was one of a personal nature.

Anna became sick.

I had her moved into a private room where she could get the best treatment possible, but after two weeks she had only slipped further away. Finally, on the twenty-third of September in the year eighteen forty eight, Anna breathed her last while I sopped her forehead with a cool cloth.

I took the loss hard, but Anna's husband, Kristoff took the loss hard as well. All that really kept him in civilization was Anna whom found him while searching for me in the summer of thirty nine. Married in the winter of forty-two, they had one child together whom Kristoff took with when he returned to the mountains, never to be heard from again.

I myself found it hard to stay in the palace alone, so in winter of forty nine, almost a full year after Anna's death, I planned to leave. Most of the royal items I sent to my cousin Oscar the First, the King of Norway along with a letter explaining my intentions. Having done what I had with the expediency I planned, I never received a letter back, but that was also my intent.

I left Arendelle in December of that year, carrying mostly private family items with me. As I knelt next to my heavily reinforced trunk, and took the key from its hiding place, I checked again on its contents. On the top were the paintings of the generations of my family tree which I removed and set aside. In the bottom were six boxes, varying in size from a two foot cubed to a six inch square-ended box that was three feet long.

They contained the four crowns of Arendelle, one each for the king and queen, and one each to be worn by the heir assumptive prince or princess. I also had the orb and scepter I once held at my coronation, not wanting to part with them.

Slowly, I put everything back in the trunk, being careful to not damage any of the paintings. Once I had it locked safely back like it was before, I decided to get ready for bed. I did still tire, even if I didn't age, though I didn't tire like any other forty-seven year old person. I was still as young and fit as ever.

And I hated myself for it.

As I removed my traveling clothes, I could only wonder what tomorrow would bring. I needed to talk to a cowboy, preferably one with experience in handling cattle. It was my intention, based on information from a wealthy new socialite I met in Boston, to take several thousand head of cattle north into the Dakota Territory with as many men as I could afford. My intention was to sell the cattle as beef to the railroad being made through the Dakota Territory on its way to the Pacific coast, setting up a ranch to keep producing beef for Eastern markets.

Those were my intentions, anyway.