“Sixteen years.” When he wasn’t there on her sixth birthday, she expected him by Christmas. After that disappointment, the years rolled by like a tidal wave.
“God willing, you’ll see him before next Christmas. God didn’t bring you all this way for nothing. Let’s get you a washcloth for your face.”
The cold water shocked Caroline’s skin but calmed her shattered emotions. “My present for Martin is only a trinket from the Pony Express. Papa won’t want it, since he left his position here. But Martin started as a rider. He must be proud.” What did she know about the man? Very little, except that he loved the Christmas story.
Martin spoke through the door. “Is it safe for me to return?”
Caroline bit back a retort. Mama had said teachers and men didn’t abide tears, so she composed herself and opened the door. “As long as you promise to open your present.”
He looked afraid of a fresh fountain of tears, but she kept her smile plastered on her face. After he took his seat in front of the tree, he unwrapped the paper carefully, the newspaper catching on the sharp edges of the toy. When he saw the painted tin figure of a cowboy on horseback, hooves in the air, the saddlebags called mochilas dangling from both sides, he grinned. “They’re selling things like this in North Carolina?”
“Oh, yes. Every boy wants to be a Pony Express rider, and every girl wants to have a beau she’s writing letters to. It’s very romantic.”
“I don’t know about that.”
“Americans don’t have knights in shining armor. But the Pony Express sparks the desire for our own fairy tales. I thought it might get past the awkwardness with my father, but…” She sighed. “I hope you will enjoy it.”
Martin and Sally exchanged gifts next: a book with handwritten recipes for Martin from Sally, and a pie pan for her, which she promised to return full of pie as soon as possible.
At the end, Sally dug out a present for Caroline. “This gift comes with a request.”
Caroline felt the package, wondering what it could contain and what Sally could want from her. It was soft, some kind of material—perhaps a few yards of cotton, a sweater, or even a ready-made garment. The opened paper revealed a dress in a dark green-and-blue check.
“Of course I didn’t know your size, but this style adapts to most ladies. I expect we’ll have to nip and tuck here and there,” Sally said. “Go on. Take a look at it.”
Caroline shook the dress out. It was blousy in the front to allow for the differences in ladies’ figures, a waist that would sit a little wide on her hips but not look silly. Across the right shoulder of the dress, embroidered in white thread, it read “Gibbs Store and Restaurant.” If Caroline was understanding this right…she had a job.
That was so like Sally Gibbs, to offer a job to someone she had barely met—someone who intended to leave as soon as she had any clue as to where her father had gone.
Martin settled back, resting his elbow on the table, ready to see how this drama would play out. For a moment Caroline looked like she was ready to cry again, but then he recognized them as tears of joy.
“Sally, are you giving me a dress or offering me a job?” Caroline asked.
That was to the point.
“Both, truth be told. Of course, now you’ve told your story, I know you’ll be chasing your father once you can find his trail. But it’s the middle of a Kansas winter, you’re needing a place to stay for now, and I’m in need of a helper.” She spread her hands while making her case. “But if you have something else to be doing, well, I figure a new dress is always welcome.”
Caroline glanced from Sally to Martin and back to Sally. “I was going to ask if you knew where I might look for a job, since I used up most of my funds to get here.”
If Martin were to guess, most meant all but pennies. She had the look of desperation about her.
“Well, God brought you here at just the right time.” The ladies embraced.
After that, the women sent Martin to the far end of the cabin, where his few books resided. The Last of the Mohicans couldn’t keep his mind off the eastern beauty sitting a few feet away. Another book might engage his attention: George Adams’s journal.
He approached the ladies, who were working on Christmas dinner. The aromas promised a feast. “Do I have your permission to read through the last few months of your father’s journal? Since I already know the area, I might recognize any references more quickly than you would.”
Pain crossed Caroline’s face as she saw him touching the beloved book, but she nodded in agreement.
“I promise I’ll take good care of it.” Martin laid the journal flat on the table. With the sharp edge of his knife, he turned over the back page. Cramped script filled the space, and the date—August 25, 1860—jumped out at him. That was about the time Adams had disappeared.
Martin had read the first few pages, and the handwriting had changed drastically, almost as though a different man were recording his thoughts. The words crowded together as he attempted to use all the available space. Several mistakes and blots marred the page. Sixteen years of a man’s life? Martin wished he had read the journal while he had the opportunity, especially when he realized the last page was addressed to him, or to someone like him.
To whomever finds this journal. Please burn it. I had hoped never to reach the last page, that God in His mercy would have either brought me home or called me to my eternal home before the book of my life reached its end. I have no desire that any who desires to learn of me should discover the person these pages reveal. Tell them only that I have made peace with my Maker, if not with man, and that is the best I could hope for. As far as the Pony Express—thank you for taking a chance on me when no one else would. I am sorry to have repaid your confidence so poorly.
G. Adams.
Martin’s hands trembled as he closed the book. The brief page burdened his heart with the demand for its destruction. In his hurry to offer Caroline some connection with her father, he had done the one thing Mr. Adams never wanted to happen. He couldn’t burn it, not now.
Martin opened the book again. If George was that determined to burn the book, or for it not to fall in the wrong hands, he should have burned it himself. Instead he had left it behind. He had wanted someone to read it. Could Martin find a way to read it first, to prepare Caroline for what lay ahead?
A shadow fell over his shoulders—Caroline. “Don’t worry. You can tell me about it over dinner. Right now I need to set the table. Do you mind moving?”
“No.” He picked up the front and back covers of the journal, and half the pages fell out.
Caroline cried out, the tablecloth falling as she stumbled. “The journal.”
An idea took shape in Martin’s mind. God had provided a way for them both to read the same book.
Chapter Five
Almost three days passed before Caroline and Sally could leave the station. She spent the time devouring her father’s journal. How strange that he had kept a record of his life after he abandoned his family.
The first pages were the most difficult to read, since they confirmed rumors she had heard all her life. Her father’s parents believed Caroline’s mother had forced their son into marriage. The arrival of a baby barely nine months later only added fuel to the fire. If she had been a boy, or if her mother had given birth to a son later, that might have helped. But Caroline had remained an only child.
Her father had loved his wife, but his family’s disapproval began a downhill journey. Unable to find suitable work and unwilling to accept the jobs he could find, he hung around the edges of the set to which he was born. In the end, even the loving arms of his wife and daughter couldn’t hold him.
Martin seemed as caught up in the journal as Caroline was. When it fell apart, he asked if he could keep the back pages until she finished the first half. She had no reason to refuse, but she still wanted to beg him for the pages when they left for town.
But he had put up with two women in his masculine quarters
for almost a week. Working around them when riders came through, watching them work the wonder that made the Pony Express possible. He allowed Caroline to ask each rider if they had known George Adams and if they had heard anything of him since he had left Chelan Station. Her father had made a clean break with the Pony Express, although no one seemed to know why. Perhaps the answer lay in the pages Martin had.
He placed the final box on Sally’s wagon, then popped up next to them. “Caroline, I look forward to continuing our discussions about your father’s journal after church on Sundays.”
Sally could barely contain her laughter until they had left the yard. “Your father’s journal, my two left feet. Martin Green is going to miss you every hour between now and Sunday.” She relaxed the reins and then glanced at her passenger. “As lovely a lass as yourself must have had—what did they call them when I grew up? Gentlemen callers?”
“Sally.” Caroline’s face flared red. “I had a couple of good friends, and one who seemed interested in more than friendship. But I didn’t care for him that way.” Although Papa’s family seemed determined they should marry and end the niggling problem of George’s offspring for them.
“So you ran cross-country as fast as you could to find a father you don’t know? Honey, not many gals would be either foolish enough or brave enough to do that.”
“It seemed like the best thing to do at the time.” She wouldn’t mention the possible forced marriage. “And now there’s rumors, rumors, rumors, all the time, of the southern states seceding from the Union when Abraham Lincoln becomes president.” She looked all around, straight ahead, to the right, to the left. “I like the look of a place like this, where maybe a person has a better chance of getting ahead in spite of their history or skin color.”
Sally nodded. “Did you own slaves, Caroline?”
A slight smile came to Caroline’s face. “We had one slave, a maid-of-all-housework, who was gifted to Mama when she married. But Mama made sure she gave Cissie her freedom when she died. She told me that she didn’t want me to worry whether it was right or wrong to own a slave.”
Caroline hadn’t been sure what Cissie would think of her mother setting her free upon her death, but she had married and moved to Maryland.
“You’re real handy around the house,” Sally said. “You’re haven’t had everything done for you all your life.”
Caroline tilted her head. “I’ve never thought of it that way. I’ve always had a roof over my head and food and clothes. Jesus took care of me like the birds, like He promised.”
When the outlines of the town appeared, the horses picked up speed. What was Caroline’s new home like? First she noticed a church, and wondered what denomination it belonged to. As long as they believed in the Lord Jesus, it didn’t much matter, she decided. A barber shop, a haberdashery, a livery, a boarding house…a saloon. That brought a frown to her face, but its presence didn’t surprise her.
Sally carried on a running monologue about the town and soon they reached the end of the street where they pulled up in front of Gibbs Store and Restaurant. The street in front was shoveled, and the sign on the door said OPEN. “Oh, good, Miss Barton kept it open until I could get back.”
A stout lady who needed every inch of the dress that was too big for Caroline dashed out the door. “Sally Gibbs, as I live and breathe, I almost wondered if you had taken off on the Pony Express yourself. And you must be the lady Mr. Cox left at the station. The whole town’s abuzz about your arrival.”
“Don’t worry,” Sally whispered in Caroline’s ear. “Anybody new is exciting around here, but they are kindly folk.”
A crowd had formed around the wagon. Would they allow her to disembark before they swallowed her whole? She giggled at her foolishness.
Sally settled the matter. “Now, leave her be. Give her a day or so to get settled, and then you’ll all get to meet Miss Adams as the newest employee of Gibbs Store and Restaurant. Speaking for myself, I can tell you she’s a fine cook.”
The crowds parted, and Caroline walked beside Sally into the store. She caught glimmers of beard and smiling faces, crying babies, cowboy hats, and waving hands before the door shut behind her.
Martin poked around his kitchen and the horses’ feed. He hoped his guests might make a dent in his supplies, but Sally had brought as much as she had used and even left some behind.
He should pay her for the supplies the next time he saw her. That gave him a reason to go into town. This week, maybe?
Of course, he’d head into town the day after tomorrow for Sunday services. Next week, he would spend a quiet night welcoming 1861 and praying about what the inauguration of Abraham Lincoln would mean to the nation.
Until he had an opportunity to see Caroline again, Martin would study George Adams’s journal. The section he had retained began in 1855. He made his way slowly, carefully separating each page. The entry dated July 15, 1857, read, My little girl is eighteen today, and I am not there.
After that, Adams’s penmanship went downhill quickly. Martin decided to copy what he could read onto fresh paper. The entries appeared less and less often. In January 1860, George wrote of his reasons for coming to Kansas. In the smallest script yet, he wrote: The year of our Lord 1860, the year in which I hope to end this record and to be restored to my family. By the mercy of God, make a new man of me.
What happened between January and August to ruin Adams’s vow? Martin could guess, but he wouldn’t share his suspicions until he finished the journal. Caroline would pester him when he saw her at church.
By the time he arrived on Sunday morning, every unmarried male as well as most women from the town of Horse Flicker crowded around the newcomer. She smiled and nodded as though this morning were the highlight of her life.
Something made Caroline look up, and she searched the sanctuary until she spotted Martin. She broke away from her admirers and ran to Martin. “I was hoping to see you today.”
“And I, you.” He bent closer. “May I claim the spot next to you, or has that already been taken?”
She giggled. “Mrs. Saunders suggested I sit with them, and Sally promptly agreed so that I wouldn’t have to disappoint anyone.”
“Pastor Saunders will settle the congregation soon enough.”
As if on cue, the pianist played a prelude, and Sally motioned for her to join them. “Please don’t leave before we have a chance to talk.”
He nodded. There was no chance of that. He wouldn’t leave without spending more time with her, not in a million years.
Chapter Six
Caroline heard a strong baritone singing behind her and decided it must be Martin. He could sing and act out the Christmas story and get everyone caught up in the excitement. He’d make a good father someday, dependable, honorable, but fun.
She tipped her head to the ceiling with a brief Forgive me. She had no business thinking about Martin that way, and certainly not here in the house of the Lord.
Pastor Saunders chose one of Caroline’s least favorite passages to preach about that day. “He that loveth father or mother more than me is not worthy of me: and he that loveth son or daughter more than me is not worthy of me.” In her opinion, any man who abandoned his family for the sake of God wasn’t doing God’s will at all.
Not that her father hinted that he left because God told him to. Instead, he felt he had failed them.
Caroline’s attention wandered. She forced herself to look forward instead of swiveling in search of Martin. Instead, she opened her Bible to Matthew 10 and took out her journal and pencil. The first letter on the page started with m so she went down the page, looking for other m words, a game she played to keep her mind occupied. Man’s, mother, more, me, my.
Every few words Martin’s name came into mind, and she shook her head. Word games allowed her to listen to the sermon, but daydreaming about Martin drowned out the pastor’s voice. Of all the men she had met on her journey, why did the stationmaster who replaced her father keep intruding on her
thoughts?
At length the service reached the closing prayer and hymn. Caroline squirmed as people surged in her direction. She looked pleadingly at Martin. Nodding, he lounged against the back pew, waiting his turn.
At first Caroline attempted to match names to faces, a skill Mama had sought to instill in her. Soon the numbers overwhelmed her, however. She had never met so many new people all at once. Every now and then she caught sight of Martin, but by the time she bid her final good-bye, Martin had disappeared. Caroline bit her lower lip in frustration.
Mrs. Saunders sought her out. “How very overwhelmed you must feel. They mean well, but a fresh face draws our members like bees to honey. Mrs. Gibbs has promised you will join us for Sunday dinner.”
Caroline’s protest went ignored, and her final hope to catch Martin disappeared with it. She trailed behind the other women while Sally entertained the pastor’s wife with stories of their Christmas at the station. Once they walked in the front door, four children lined up to meet them—with Pastor Saunders and Martin standing behind.
Caroline felt a smile blossoming on her face. He hadn’t deserted her.
“Miss Adams, welcome to our home.” The pastor introduced them to their children. “You’ve already met Mr. Green.”
Rich aromas of roasting meat and vegetables reminded Caroline of the hours that had passed since she had eaten breakfast. The sight of Martin came close to filling her up.
“Good morning, Caroline. You’re looking fine this morning.” His voice caressed her name like sweet honey.
“You’re looking fine yourself.” She bit her lip. A lady didn’t say such things to a gentleman.
The pastor rubbed his hands together. “It’s good to see that you are friends. Miss Adams, since you are new to town, you don’t know that Martin has kept himself almost as much of a stranger as the day he arrived.”
No one responded to that comment. A few seconds passed before Martin darted a glance at Caroline. “Has Caroline told you that her father is George Adams, the station manager at Chelan before me?”
The Pony Express Romance Collection Page 16
