by Mercy Levy
“I will not be responsible for this house and land. If you choose to desert your duty toward my brother and manage his land and home, then that is your fault and not my own. I will sell the house and land.”
“And make a profit of course,” Melanie snapped. “I wouldn't even sell to you...you...snake...but my husband made me promise to never sell to anyone but you. I have no other choice.”
Jack rolled his eyes as the wind snatched at Melanie's long brown hair and yellow dress. Melanie was a beautiful woman, that was for certain. In fact, the woman was one of the most beautiful creatures he had ever laid eyes on. But it was her hot temper and stubborn attitude that caused conflict between them. Jack expected a woman to be weak and obedient—like his own wife—not stubborn, temperamental and willing to slug someone at the drop of a hat. “I will offer you a fair price. I'm sure my own profit margin will be very little.”
Melanie examined the house and land with sad eyes. “When the war starts..the land and people will change. When the war ends...nothing will be the same. My husband was adamantly opposed to any idea of allowing our land to be destroyed by war. He organized meetings and--”
“And it was because of those meetings your husband is dead,” Jack snapped. “My brother, the hero...” he huffed. “My brother was shot dead by a union sympathizer while calling for a peace that we all know is going to soon be filled with the sounds of war.” And with that, he turned and walked toward a brown horse buggy parked on a narrow dirt lane standing in front of the house.
“At least my husband had guts,” Melanie yelled. “He wasn't a coward.”
“Meet me at the bank first thing tomorrow morning,” Jack called back over his shoulder. “The sooner I'm rid of you, the better.”
Melanie felt like chasing after Jack and clubbing him over the head with a tree limb. But all she could do was watch her brother-in-law drive away in horse buggy as a heavy sprinkle began to drop from the gray sky. “Soon it will be Thanksgiving,” she nearly wept finally allowing her anger to dissolve into complete misery.
With no other choice but to go back inside into a large, empty, house, Melanie turned and walked toward the front porch as tears began falling from her eyes. Later on, as darkness fell and fierce storm settled in, Melanie sat in a candle-lit kitchen eating soup and reading her Bible. “Dear Lord,” she prayed after finishing her meal, “please show me where to go and what to do. I'm still young and my husband and I were only married for two years. I can't stay here...but I don't know where to go. Please guide my heart. In Jesus Sweet Name, Amen.”
*
Peering through the heavy falling snow, Melanie wondered if the stage coach was going to be able to push through to Virginia City or not. Her destination was Sacramento, but certainly, she thought, leaning back in her seat, she would not arrive in Sacramento on time; due to the weather. A rough looking man wearing a dark gray suit eyed Melanie with curiosity. “Forget about making Virginia City. The stage will probably be forced to stop in Greenville.”
Melanie wasn't in the mood for the stranger. The man had already played a sour hand with her, pretending to be a wealthy businessman when, in fact, it turned out that he was a crooked card player. “The Lord is in control of the weather. It's up to Him where we stop, sir,” she answered in a strong voice. Straightening out the yellow coat she was wearing over a white and pink dress, Melanie hoped that her attitude would prevent any further conversation with the stranger.
The man took out a pack of cards from his jacket pocket. “You may need that faith of yours,” he replied and focused on shuffling the cards.
“What does that mean?” Melanie demanded.
The man grinned. “In this part of the country, lady, you need more the luck to survive. From the way you talk, I can tell you're from the south. And lady, this isn't the south.”
The stage coach took a sharp curve and then settled back on a straight road. All Melanie's eyes could see was snow drenched hills stuffed with dangerous rocks. “I can take care of myself, mind you. My destination is--” Before Melanie could finish her sentence the stage coach drivers began yelling at the horse. “What's going on?”
The man put his cards away as the stage coach began to slow down. “This is my stop,” he said and, in a dash, yanked open the stage door, jumped out into the snow, and vanished.
Minutes later, a man holding a rifle and wearing a Sheriff's badge poked his head into the stage and looked at Melanie. “Where is the man who was riding in here with you?” he asked in a gruff voice.
“How should I know?” Melanie fussed. Gripping the white carry purse in her hands, she stared hard at the rough man with the wiry black beard and black hat. “That awful man jumped out when the drivers started to pull the horses to a stop.”
The Sheriff slammed the stage coach door shut and began yelling at a few other men sitting ahead on horseback. Melanie waited a long time, and eventually, the drivers got the horses moving again. Half an hour later the stage coach roared into a small and cozy town called Greenville. “This is our stop for tonight,” an old man told Melanie. “Storm is too much for the horses to run in. I reckon we might be sitting on our hands for a few days.”
Melanie bowed her head and sighed. “Lord,” she whispered, “why are you making this passage so difficult for me?” she asked. With no other choice but to go to the hotel, Melanie crawled out of the stage coach, raised her hands to her eyes, looked through the snow, and spotted the hotel. “Where are we?” she asked.
The old man reached up and took a brown suitcase from the second driver who was standing on top of the stagecoach. “This is Greenville, mam. We're about a day's ride from Virginia City. Not much here, mostly ranchers. But,” the old man smiled handing Melanie her brown suitcase, “it's a nice enough place. Sheriff Wheeler keeps the lawbreakers out. The fact is, Greenville is probably the safest town in the territory.”
“Was the safest town,' the second driver called down from the roof of the stage coach. “Bank was robbed three months ago, remember?”
The old man scratched the back of his neck. “Mighty cold, mam. Best to get into the hotel and settle yourself into a hot meal and warm bed.”
The second driver yelled down at the old man: “Sheriff Wheeler hit the target with Edward Mayes. Told you he was guilty, Mac. Why else would he have jumped from the stage when we stopped for the Sheriff?”
“Why would the man be coming back to Greenville if he was guilty?” the old man snapped back. “Besides, Sheriff ain't got nothing concrete on Edward Mayes...just all suspicion. It was that Paiute if you ask me.”
Melanie wasn't in the mood to stand around in the snow, freezing, while two men argue over who robbed a silly bank while the winds struggled to yank off the pink bonnet she was wearing. Hurrying away to the hotel, she gratefully pushed her way through a green door leading into a well-lit lobby being kept warm by a strong fire burning in a tall, stone, fireplace. Walking up to the front counter, she was greeted by an old man with gray hair. “Help you, mam?” the old man asked.
Melanie sat her suitcase down and calmly straightened the bonnet on her head. She didn't feel very ladylike. Even though she appeared beautiful and delicate. “Yes, I would like a room, please. I don't know how long for? The stage coach driver said due to the weather we might be lodging in your town for a few days,” she answered the old man, struggling to sound pleasant and polite.
“Mighty strong storm brewing across the land,” the old man agreed. “And right before Thanksgiving, too.” The old man straightened the brown tie he was wearing, rearranged the reading glasses on his face, dusted some lint off the gray jacket covering his pot belly, and smiled. “Now that I'm decent to the eyes,” he smiled, “let's get you a room. And forgive me for saying, but you look like a good, hot, meal could is just the thing.”
“I am hungry,” Melanie admitted signing the guest registry book.
“I thought so,” the old man smiled. Turning away from Melanie, he focused on a wooden board nailed to
the back while behind the front counter. The board had ten keys hanging from it. Studying the board, the old man settled on a certain key. “Ah, this will do. Room number five.”
“As long as the room has a warm bed, it will do,” Melanie forced a tired smile to her frozen lips.
“Room five has been freshly repainted along with a new bed,” the old man smiled back at Melanie. “You'll like the room, I promise. Now, go get settled in. Supper starts in about...oh...twenty minutes. Mrs. Mayes is making her best roast beef tonight.”
“Mayes?” Melanie asked. “I...a man with that last name was riding on the stagecoach with me. But he escaped when the drivers stopped for the Sheriff of this town.”
The old man's face went pale. “Oh dear...” he said nervously. Without saying another word, he rushed away toward the dining room. Melanie followed. The dining room, to her relief, was lined with tables covered with clean, brown, tables cloths. The floor was hardwood, but well polished. Paintings hung on the four walls—nothing fancy or tacky; simple and cozy. But what caught Melanie's attention the most was a man sitting at a back table alone, reading the Bible. The man, Melanie saw, was Native American. “John,” the old man said to the man in a sacred voice. “Edward Mayes...he...”
“What about Edward Mayes?” the man asked in a strong voice. Putting down his bible, he glanced away from the old man toward Melanie. Dressed in a cheap brown work shirt and gray trousers, he felt humble. His black hair was cut short, like the white man's hair. The warrior he once was seemed far, far, away, replaced by a beaten down man who worked for table scraps.
“This lady,” the old man pointed at Melanie, “she said Edward Mayes was on the coach with her.”
Melanie cautiously approached the table John was sitting at. “My name is Melanie Greenstone. I was riding on the coach with a man whose last name was Mayes. When the Sheriff of this town stopped the drivers, the man jumped out of the stage coach and vanished. That is all I know. I didn't mean to upset anyone.”
“This is John,” the old man told Melanie. “He's half Paiute and half white. Mrs. Mayes, my wife, found him deserted when he was just a baby.”
“Mrs. Mayes is your wife? That must mean--”
“Edward Hayes is our son,” the old man confessed to Melanie. “Edward and John grew up together. They were closer than brothers once.”
“A very long time ago,” John said and stood up. Staring into Melanie's beautiful eyes, he felt his heart stir. Something in the woman's bright eyes spoke to him. “You did not upset anyone. It is good that you have told us. If Edward has returned, he has returned for a good reason. In time, he will show himself.”
“And be hanged,” the old man said terrified. “Oh dear...”
Melanie watched the old man rush away toward the back kitchen.
“I really didn't mean to upset that poor man,” she told John as guilt overcame her. And then she remembered what the second driver had yelled at the old man. “A bank robbery...that's what he said,” she whispered.
“Yes,” John said picking up his Bible. “The bank was robbed three months ago. A man was killed.”
Melanie stared at John. The man was tall, strong and handsome—yet, he was beaten down, sad, and hurt. Bypassing what she had heard the old man claim, Melanie simply nodded her head. “I'm very sorry.”
John sighed. “Some people think I robbed the bank. I tell you this because I am certain you will hear the accusations for yourself before you leave.”
“You don't seem like a lawbreaker to me,” Melanie said and offered John a friendly smile. “Please, may I sit down? I'm tired from my journey.”
“Would you like some coffee?” John asked politely.
“Yes, please. Coffee sounds wonderful.”
John put his Bible down onto the table and hurried away. Looking at the Bible with warm, caring, eyes, Melanie decided to open it. She began reading from Matthew Ch 5. Becoming lost in the passages, she didn't notice John return to the dining room holding a brown saucer and white coffee cup. “Your coffee.”
“Oh….thank you,” Melanie said carefully closing the Bible and putting it back down on the table. “I hope you don't mind me reading your Bible.”
John sat down the saucer and coffee cup down in front of Melanie. “Why would I mind. Is not the Lord's Holy Word meant to be read and shared by everyone?” he asked.
“Yes,” Melanie beamed. “Only if all men felt that way, though,” she then sighed. “Please, sit down.”
“My job is to wash dishes and clean the tables,” John informed Melanie. “Mr. and Mrs. Mayes are very kind people and have taken care of me. But I am still half Paiute and it is their wishes that I do not speak with the white women.”
“What if a white woman wishes to speak with you?” Melanie asked John in return. “Did not God make all of humankind in His image? Why, I have Irish, German and English in me. Does that mean I am less of a woman? Surely not.”
John was amazed at Melanie's response. For a mere second, she made him feel human—and, like a man. “You are not less of a woman because you have different types of blood in you.”
“And you are no less of a man. Now, please, sit down,” Melanie told John.
Reluctantly, John sat down. “Maybe for a minute, before dinner begins.”
Melanie studied the dining room. “Doesn't seem to any customers.”
“The weather will cause Mrs. Mayes to serve leftovers tomorrow,” John agreed. Looking down at his Bible, and then back up into Melanie's eyes, he began to wonder why such a beautiful woman wanted to have a conversation with him?
“I'm on my way to Sacramento. I'm originally from Atlanta, Georgia,” Melanie began the conversation. Picking up the white coffee cup, she carefully took a sip of coffee. “Delicious.”
“You are not a married woman?” John asked confused. “Forgive me, but you are very beautiful.”
Melanie felt sadness walk into her eyes. “My husband died. We were only married for two years. After his death, I prayed and felt the Lord urge me to leave Atlanta. I chose Sacramento because...the city seemed far enough away from my memories.”
“I am very sorry,” John told Melanie. “I did not mean to cause your pain.”
Melanie grew silent for several seconds. “My husband died last year. He was murdered by a horrible man. Before his death he traveled around quite a bit, from town to town, speaking with different people about...the war. I rarely saw my husband and at times felt as if I didn't even know him. I loved my husband, you must understand, but his heart grew far away from me before his death.”
“I hear rumors that a war will soon begin between the states in the east,” John told Melanie.
Melanie took a sip of her coffee. “That's why I left Atlanta. My husband left me his wealth...I sold his home and land because I couldn’t stand to see the war destroy something he loved so dearly. I have the resources I need to begin a comfortable life in Sacramento, thanks to my husband's wonderful kindness toward me."
“I have often wanted to begin a new life in Sacramento,” John confessed and quickly threw his eyes toward the room leading into the back kitchen.
“Why don't you?” Melanie asked confused. “You're a grown man.”
“In time,” John replied in a voice that ended the subject. “Dinner is ready. Tonight Mrs. Mayes had cooked roast beef, potatoes, green beans, corn bread with bread pudding.”
“Sounds delicious,” Melanie told John.
“I will go get your dinner,” John said and stood up. Looking down at Melanie he decided to speak from his heart. “Edward Mayes did not rob the bank. The man who robbed the bank is the same man who keeps me here.”
Melanie watched John walk away, leaving her confused and worried. Outside, the storm grew worse and night settled in over the small town of Greenville.
Chapter2
Reason for Love
Melanie decided to put her white coat over the blue dress she was wearing. Even though the hotel was nice and warm, holding
the screaming storm outside at bay, she somehow felt cold. Placing her bonnet on and taking her carry purse, she left room 5 and walked downstairs to the main lobby. Sheriff Wheeler was standing in the lobby speaking with John. “I have not seen Edward,” John told Sheriff Wheeler.
Carrying his rifle, Sheriff Wheeler appeared like a man ready to shoot first and ask questions later. Looking at Melanie walking down the front stairs, he nodded his head. “Little lady, have you seen our missing passenger?” he asked expecting no positive reply.
Melanie paused at the bottom of the stairs. Sheriff Wheeler stood wearing a heavy brown coat and a brown hat. She could barely see the man's face due to his beard. He reminded her of a man who worked in the shadows of evil in order to keep the innocent safe. “Sheriff,” Melanie spoke in a calm tone, “the man who was on the stage coach with me tried to romance me by pretending to be a wealthy businessman. When it was clear to him I understood who he was, Mr. Mayes showed his true identity. And has sour as the true face of that man was, I did not see a thief or a killer in him.”
“Little lady, men like--” Sheriff Wheeler begin to speak.
Melanie held up a polite hand. “If Mr. Mayes robbed the local bank and killed a man in the process, why would he return knowing that a hanging rope would be the only thing to welcome him home? Unless he was innocent, of course.”
“I've been asking myself that same very question?” Sheriff Wheeler confessed. “I have no evidence...I couldn't arrest the man even if I caught him. I just want to ask him some confounded questions, for crying out loud. Up until yesterday, I figured Edward Mayes did rob the bank and kill Harry Cunningham. But when I got a telegraph from the stage drivers telling me they were hauling Edward Mayes back toward Greenville as a paid passenger...” Melanie watched Sheriff Wheeler rub the back of his neck. “I need to talk to the man, that's all. This town is split right down the middle and there ain't nothing I can do until I catch the killer.”
