“You’ll be happy to hear you no longer need to resist. It’s not for the store. It’s for you.”
Speechless for a moment, Annie finally managed to stammer her thanks.
“You’re welcome. I’m very grateful you didn’t run off into the night after the horrendous scene that greeted you when you first rode in. Grateful you’ve stayed. Grateful for… everything.” He paused. Shrugged. “I have great difficulty these days imagining Clearwater without you, Annie.” He brushed her cheek with the back of his hand. Gently. And then he took a step back and muttered something about needing to do something and hurried off, leaving Annie just standing there feeling… happy.
After only a few days at Clearwater, Finnegan O’Day was lured away by Wade Hart’s promise—after seeing O’Day’s fine blue wool—that he could make a good profit tailoring uniforms for the officers at Fort Kearny. That he would, in fact, sell every yard of the blue wool he had on hand.
O’Day had proven to be a master storyteller, and Annie watched him go with a sense of loss mitigated only by Frank’s return and his own story of riding past Midway Station because a rider had deserted. He arrived back at Clearwater in the middle of a soaking spring rain, happy and talking about how the Almighty had pulled him through. He then launched into a lyrical few minutes of Pete this and Pete that, eating his way through a dozen scrambled eggs and nearly half a loaf of bread as he talked. When Annie poured the second glass of milk, he stopped abruptly.
“You have milk.”
Annie laughed. “Good of you to notice. Elizabeth arrived while you were gone. That’s the cow George bought.”
“He bought you a cow?”
“He bought Clearwater a cow. I should probably warn you that he’s talked about asking you to help build another shelter. And string wire to keep her safe this winter. She seems content to be picketed on the prairie to the west for the present.”
The rain had stopped by the time Frank woke later that day. When Annie led him outside to “meet Elizabeth,” he stopped just outside the storeroom door to remark about the trees.
“Lydia told me some earlier commanding officer had the trees around the parade ground at the fort transplanted from the banks of the river. I made a good case for following suit to shade the chicken coop and the cow shed. George said fine. We took a Sunday afternoon ride. They’re cottonwoods. George said they grow fast. Maybe as tall as a hundred feet in time.”
Frank pointed to the strip of freshly plowed earth west of the station. “And that?”
“The peddler had garden seeds. We’ll sell what I can’t get canned or dried. Same as with the milk and butter—which, by the way, has already begun to make George a tidy sum.” She smiled. “He’s almost enthusiastic about the garden—even if he did grumble about plowing.” Frank was quiet for so long that Annie wondered what might be wrong. “What are you thinking?”
“Nothing.” Frank nodded toward the barn. “I’ll just see if Billy needs help with anything.”
Annie put her hand on his arm. “It’s not nothing. What is it?”
“I’m just surprised, that’s all.”
“By?”
“A cow. A garden. You’re planting trees. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were settling in.”
“Don’t be silly,” Annie said quickly. “I’m just doing my part.” Whatever she had planned to say beyond that was interrupted when a lone rider galloped past, yelling at the top of his lungs about news telegraphed to Fort Kearny. In faraway South Carolina, a Union garrison had been driven out of a place called Fort Sumter.
Frank paled.
“What’s it mean?” Annie asked.
“Apart from a miracle of God, it means the United States and the Confederate States are going to war. May the Lord have mercy on us all.”
Chapter 28
Luther Mufsy’s supply train arrived within days of the attack on Fort Sumter. Along with tons of supplies to stock the shelves of the Clearwater store and Annie’s storeroom, he brought news of President Lincoln’s declaring a “state of insurrection.”
“He’s called for seventy-five thousand troops to serve in a ninety-day militia,” Luther said. “You remember Johnny Fry—the first rider out of St. Jo. last year? He’s talking about quitting the Pony and joining up as a courier. And he’s not the only one. I counted at least three riders missing from the stations between here and St. Jo. on my way out. Just up and left to sign on with the militia.” He paused. “Speaking of… shouldn’t there be a couple riders right here at Clearwater?”
“Frank’s probably resting up at Midway, ready to come back this way,” Annie said. “Luke Graber’s due in any minute now, and we can always count on Jake Finney.”
“I hope you’re right,” Luther said, shaking his head. “There’s a real fever among those youngsters to put on a uniform and ‘teach Johnny Reb a lesson.’ I’m glad you weren’t in St. Jo. to see the things I’ve seen. There’s such an uproar, they’ve had to close the schools.”
Annie asked about Ira Gould. Luther reassured her. “Business is booming for anyone handling horses and wagons. It’s manpower that’s going to be in short supply now.”
Annie could not imagine the trouble back East having much effect on the men of the Pony Express. They were a hardy, daring lot who reveled in their unique place in history. They wouldn’t just abandon their posts. At least the ones Annie knew wouldn’t. She had faith in them.
Until, that is, Luke Graber disappeared.
“It’ll be all right,” George said. “We’ll send word about Graber and there’ll be a replacement before you know it. Frank rode an extra route not long ago. Jake can do the same. Just put some food in a sack so he can eat while he rides. He’ll be fine. In fact, when all is said and done, he’ll probably love having a story as good as Frank’s. Who knows, maybe Lydia Hart will feature them both in that column of hers.”
George had gone down to the barn to keep watch over a mare expected to foal at any moment. Though it was April, the weather had turned cold again. Annie made sure there was plenty of wood by the fire for when George finally came in. She was just turning in when she heard Jake ride in. She stepped out on the back porch to ring the bell, but Billy had heard the approach and was already bringing the horse up. Annie smiled, thinking of Jake’s future boasting about the endurance run he was about to take. A hundred miles at full speed? Bah. That’s nothing. I did over two hundred once. Let me tell you about it…
As the horse approached, Annie’s heart sank. Poor Jake was already so tired he’d fallen asleep in the saddle. But Jake wasn’t asleep. When the horse came to a stop, he groaned.
“Thank God. Never thought I’d make it.” He slipped to the earth. “Sick.” He shuddered. “So… sick.” He staggered toward the station, but he didn’t make it to the door before leaning over and retching, then collapsing on the porch, his head in his hands.
“But—you have to keep going, Jake,” Annie said. “Graber’s disappeared. Frank isn’t back yet. There’s no one else.” Jake groaned and shook his head. Annie put her hand to his forehead. He was burning with fever.
The nation was at war. The Union depended on the Pony Express, now more than ever. Annie spoke to Billy. “I’m going to help Jake inside. Can you switch the mochila?”
Billy protested. “I can’t go on any Pony Express run. I can’t ride worth anything.”
“You aren’t doing it. I am.”
Billy took a step back. “You can’t.”
“There’s no one else. Think of all the men who’ve risked their lives. Who’ve died to see it through. Who knows what’s in those locked mail pouches? There could be another letter from the president.”
Billy shook his head. “George will kill me. And then Frank will kill me again when he finds out.”
“I ride better than Emmet. Frank’s said that himself.”
“You think that’s going to matter to George?”
“He’ll be angry, but he’ll realize I can do it. Especiall
y if you tell him what I just said about Emmet. When Frank gets here, he’ll tell you the same thing.” She helped Jake to his feet. “Let’s get you to bed.”
Jake fell into bed and promptly leaned over and vomited into the chamber pot. Annie rummaged about for one of Frank’s shirts. A pair of jeans. Gloves. Back in her room, she changed with lightning speed, pulling on wool socks and flannel drawers before stepping into Frank’s clothes. Thinking of all the stories she’d heard about late spring blizzards in the West, she grabbed a scarf. At the last minute, she went back into Frank’s room for the horn he’d been issued. He’d stopped carrying it in favor of the gun, but she wasn’t much good with a gun, anyway. Lord willing, she wouldn’t need it.
Billy protested again the moment she set foot outside. “I can’t let you do this.”
She slung the loop attached to the horn over the saddle horn and pulled her mittens on. Next, she tied the scarf about her neck. “You aren’t ‘letting me’ do anything. It’s my decision. If it makes you feel any better, I’ll tell George you tried to lock me in the station, but I escaped. Just—give me a boost.”
The second she was in the saddle, she kicked the chestnut mare into a lope. The trail stretched out before her, and as Clearwater receded in the distance, fear set in. The moon hung low in the sky. She was alone in the world. The next few hours would be nothing like the ride west last spring. There would be few campfires glowing on the trail—no children watching her ride by, no women waving hello. The only sound was the muffled beat of the mare’s hooves. If she fell… if anything happened…
Just keep the river on your right. That’s all you have to know. Tucking her chin into her scarf, Annie peered into the night. The Lord is my shepherd. The Lord is mine. He leadeth me in the path… for His name’s sake. I will fear no evil, for Thou art with me. Oh, Lord. Be my shepherd.
At Fort Kearny, Annie glanced across the parade ground toward the Hart’s quarters and thought of Lydia and Wade, sleeping soundly. Safe. Warm. She slowed when a sentry called out, relieved when he waved her on. A light glowed in the window over at the hospital, and she wondered about who Dr. Fields was tending tonight. The thought of military hospitals brought the reminder of war. She pushed it away. Keep your wits about you.
At the fort telegraph office, a sleepy soldier stumbled out to stuff a few bits of paper in the one unlocked mail pocket. Annie didn’t even have to dismount. At the relay station near the fort, her numb fingers fumbled when she tried to pull the horn off the saddle to switch the mochila.
“You new?” the station keeper groused. “Nobody’s carrying those horns anymore. We can hear you coming a mile away, ya know.”
Annie nodded. “Yeah. New.” She patted her horse’s neck, muttered “Good girl,” and climbed aboard the next horse with renewed energy and determination. I can do this. I can. It was a beautiful, clear night. By the light of the nearly full moon, the landscape didn’t seem quite so threatening. If she was careful, it would be all right.
The wind had picked up. Clouds were building in the sky. What was it George had said about being caught in a storm? A rider could generally trust their horse to take them home. Maybe that would apply tonight, too, alone in the dark, with just her and the horse chasing across the snow-dusted prairie. Fear not. Do not anxiously look about you. Trust the horse. Trust in the Lord. He leadeth me beside the still waters.
After she’d switched at Platte Station, the station keeper handed up a sack of food. “Give me the horn,” he said. “You don’t need it. Just take the food.”
“I’ll take both,” Annie said, as gruffly as she could. She couldn’t get at the food without taking off her gloves. It took every bit of concentration to manage that and to keep moving. She almost lost a glove. But she didn’t. Her fingers nearly froze before she’d gotten so much as a few bites of bread and cheese down. The food helped settle her stomach. But it tightened up again as she approached each relay station. What if they figure it out? What will they do?
By dawn, she was approaching Craig’s. Thankfully, the horses she’d drawn tonight weren’t the ornery beasts she’d heard riders talk about—although Emmet hadn’t really complained about his mounts. She’d just assumed that was because Emmet didn’t complain about things. Maybe it was because Jake and the others exaggerated. Either way, if things kept going this well, she’d be all right.
The Craig’s station master barely looked at her as she switched the mochila over and mounted up. At first she thought she’d drawn Outlaw, but this was just another black horse. She wondered where Outlaw was now. Wondered if he’d returned to his ornery ways without Frank to keep him in hand.
Annie was many miles beyond Craig’s when she first heard the eerie howls of a pack of wolves. They were far enough away that she didn’t think it would be a problem, but soon she realized she’d been wrong. They kept coming closer. The horse got nervous. Annie spurred it on. Moonlight revealed a flash of gray just off to the right. In desperation, she grabbed the horn and blew it for all she was worth. It seemed to work. But only for a moment.
Again, they came at her. Bolder, this time. Running with her, just at the edge of the trail. A pack of six. At least that’s how many she could see. What if there were more? What if the horse reared? What if—The Lord is my Shepherd. Lord, have mercy. What time I am afraid I will trust in Thee. Again, she blasted away on the horn. The wolves veered off the trail. Annie imagined them looking at each other, wondering at the noise. She hoped they were terrified. That they could not smell her fear. That the strange sound would be enough to keep them away.
But the beasts continued to give chase. And so it went, with the wolves gaining and Annie blowing the horn. Through an eternity of moments stretching all the way to Plum Creek. When the station came in sight, Annie nearly cried with joy. She hurt all over. Whether it was from the cold or fear or a combination of both, she didn’t know.
“W-wolves,” she stuttered, when the station master asked why she’d blown the horn so many times.
He looked past her into the night. “Why didn’t you shoot at ’em?”
“No gun.”
“You darned fool desperadoes. What d’ya mean no gun?” He didn’t wait for her to answer. “Yeah, yeah, I know. ‘The more I carry the slower I go. It’s easier on the horse.’” He snorted angrily. “How easy will it be to get brought down by a pack of wolves, huh? And they could do it, too. Don’t you think they can’t. You wait here.” He trotted away with the spent horse, muttering all the way. When he returned, he was armed with a shotgun. “Ride on,” he said. “I’ll get rid of the beasts once and for all. They won’t bother you again tonight. But you listen to reason, young man. You carry that pistol and if the Pony Express don’t like it you tell ’em where they can put their mo-chee-lah.”
Annie heard the report of the shotgun after she’d ridden a short distance away. Let it work. Keep them away. Lord, have mercy. She couldn’t stop trembling. Her feet were numb with the cold. She’d stopped being able to feel her toes a long time ago. She might have bragged to Billy about being “better than Emmet,” but adapting to a new horse every couple of hours meant adjusting to a new pace while at the same time figuring out which gait would help both the animal and her go the distance as quickly as possible but with the least risk. Most horses would give a rider what they asked—even if it literally meant a killing pace. Last November’s election announcement had traveled from St. Joseph to California in record time by killing several horses. A killing pace. Snarling wolves lent a new and terrifying meaning to the term. If anything happened to her horse—The Lord is my Shepherd.
She began to recite every phrase, every song, every tiny bit of anything she had ever memorized. By the time she was on her way to Willow Island, the last relay before she found “home,” Annie was reciting Sophia Hollenberg’s recipe for chicken and dumplings.
Willow Island brought a new kind of trouble. The sun had risen, and when Annie pulled her scarf down to take a drink, the station keeper looked
. Looked again. And protested. “Hey—you can’t—What d’ya think yer doin’, Sis?”
“What’s it look like?” she growled back. She didn’t want to ask for help, but she was simply too exhausted to leap into the saddle. She yanked the reins out of the station keeper’s hands. “You gonna give me a leg up or not?”
“Not.” The man stood back.
“What’s Superintendent Slade gonna say when he finds out you refused to help get the mail through?” Slade was the Division II superintendent, and while Annie had never met him, she’d heard stories. The man had a reputation for violence of just about every kind.
“He don’t know about this,” the man said, gesturing the length of Annie’s body. “He’d never allow it.”
“You sure of that?” She looked about for something—anything—she could use as a mounting block. Please. God. Finally, the man relented and boosted her into the saddle.
“I’m gonna talk to Slade next time I see him,” the old codger groused. “Ask him if he knows there’s a gal hiding out among the riders.”
“You do that,” she snapped. “And I’m not hiding. I’m filling in in an emergency. My name’s Ann. Ann E. Paxton. And if Mr. Slade wants to talk to me, tell him to come on over. I’ll be cooking at Clearwater as soon as I finish this run.”
“Don’t think I won’t.”
“Don’t think I care whether you do or not,” Annie retorted, and she was off.
The minute the station was out of sight, her energy drained away. Trembling, she pulled the horse to a brisk walk while she tried to collect her scattered nerve. She wished she could remember more Bible verses. It was the best of times, it was the worst of times. Boy if that wasn’t the truth about today.
She urged the horse back to a lope, grateful that the trail here was a wide, welcoming expanse of what seemed to be level earth beneath a skiff of snow where the wind had blown it off. Soon, she’d be able to rest. Soon. Just a little farther.
Finally, she caught sight of a flag flapping in the wind at the top of a flagpole in the distance. Had to be Midway. Every part of her body ached. How did Frank and Jake and the others endure this over and over again? Thanks be to God, she could see the next rider waiting alongside a flashy sorrel. She slid to the ground and stepped back. The new rider didn’t really even look at her.
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