The Express Bride

by Kimberley Woodhouse

  Charles sat in his chair and looked out the window. The doctor had been checking on him this morning and so far hadn’t said a word. “Well?”

  Dr. Nathaniel Newberry had been his friend for a long time now. He swiped a hand down his face and sat down across from Charles. “Your symptoms haven’t worsened. In fact, it seems you are improving—”

  “Wonderful.” Charles clapped his hands together.

  Newberry held up his hand and halted any further words from Charles. “Wait just a minute. I’m not finished, Charles. Yes, you’re improving, but if you don’t continue to follow my recommendations and fully heal, you can easily go back to where you were.”

  “I’ve followed your instructions for months now, and I’ve been feeling so much better.”

  “I understand that. And I couldn’t be happier for you, but if you want to continue to improve and have a life to actually live, then you need to listen to me. Otherwise, I’m afraid you will decline rapidly and you’ll be facing the end.” Nathaniel raised his eyebrows. “I know that’s not what you want to hear, but I’ve got to be honest with you. It’s imperative that you rest. Just because you’re feeling better doesn’t mean you can go back to your busy schedule from before.” He stood up. “My orders remain. And I will make sure that Colson knows. What about your other man … Elijah? Do I need to inform him as well to keep you from doing anything foolish?”

  Colson chose that moment to enter the room. “I’ll be happy to enforce your orders, Dr. Newberry.” The smirk on his face made Charles squirm.

  “I’m not an invalid.”

  “Yes, you are. At least for now you are.” The doctor shook his head and had the gall to laugh. “You are one of the most stubborn men I’ve ever met. But you’ve met your match now. Sickness and death are much more stubborn than you, and it’s high time you realized it.” He picked up his bag. “I’ll be back in a week to check on you. That is, unless I get a bad report from Colson. Then I might just have to come see you every day again. And we don’t want that, now, do we?”

  Charles glared at his friend. “No, we most certainly do not. Especially if you make me drink any more of that nasty castor oil.”

  “Then it’s agreed. You do as you’re told, and I won’t come and give you castor oil every day.”

  “Fine. But how long will I have to endure this?”

  “Weeks. Months. I’m not sure. But if you refuse to listen, it will take longer. Understood?”

  Charles rolled his eyes at his friend. “You speak like I’m a child.”

  “Well, don’t act like one.”

  “It’s a good thing I’ve known you as long as I have, or I might have Colson throw you out.”

  “I don’t think Colson is on your side on this one, Charles.” The doctor chuckled and headed to the door. “Behave yourself. We all would like to see you back to full strength. I’ll see myself out.”

  As he turned back to the window, Charles heard his friend’s footsteps echo down the hallway. “Colson?”

  “Yes, sir?”

  “How many more of the attic trunks do we have to go through?”

  “There are at least twenty more, sir.”

  Resigned to his life of resting and recuperating, Charles nodded. “Good. At least that’s something to keep us occupied for a while longer.” Especially now that he felt so much better. He needed to be doing something.

  “Very good, sir. Would you like luncheon now?”

  Weariness washed over him in a sudden wave. Even though he’d been feeling much better, as much as he hated to admit it, the doctor was right.It would be a good while before he was full strength again. If ever. “Yes, that would be nice. Then perhaps after a nap, you can bring down another trunk for us to rummage through.”

  Colson smiled at him. “I would be happy to, sir.”

  Charles gazed out the window again and watched the branches with their colorful fall leaves dance in the wind. So much time had passed already. But if he could just hear from Elijah—perhaps with even a hint of good news—then he could endure whatever the doctor ordered.

  Pounding on the front door made him turn.

  “I’ll see who that is, sir.” Colson bowed and left.

  He listened to the retreating footsteps and heard the door creak. Muffled words followed. Straining to hear whatever he could, Charles realized he was leaning toward the sound. Whatever had come over him? Never in his life had he been so interested in a simple knock on the door. He shook his head at the thought. He had entirely too much time on his hands. The doctor’s words slid through his mind again. Perhaps he’d better pay a bit more heed to his wise friend. Charles longed to live his life—which meant he’d better rest so that he could get well and actually live.

  Colson’s quick footsteps approached. “Sir, this just arrived via Express.”

  “Thank you.” He recognized the script as Elijah’s.

  “Do you need anything else, sir?”

  “Not at the moment. Thank you.” He studied the postal markings on the envelope.

  As he opened the letter, he realized how much he had missed Elijah Johnson’s presence in his life. Charles had relied greatly on the younger man, the son he never had. When he sent him away on a far-off journey with an almost impossible task, had he been fair? He quickly scanned the words:

  October 12, 1860

  Mr. Vines,

  I regret to inform you that I still haven’t found any clues as to the whereabouts of your daughter. But I feel the good Lord prompting me to stay here for a while and continue toinvestigate. Please respond as soon as you are able with any other clues you might have thought of to help me in my search. I look forward to hearing from you.

  I’m staying at the Express station in Carson Sink—in the Utah Territory—until I hear from you.

  I pray you are doing well and listening to the doctor’s orders. I fully expect you to be back to your normal self upon my return.

  Sincerely,

  Elijah Johnson

  “Colson!”

  The man appeared at the door in mere seconds. “Yes, sir?”

  “I need that miniature painting and some paper. I used the last of it in my correspondence this morning.” Since he’d been ordered to rest, he’d taken the time to write more letters than he ever had before. A task he’d normally pawned off to Elijah or Colson. He moved slowly to the desk in his room, even though his heart raced with excitement. He no longer felt like a weak little pup every time he tried to move around. Maybe he’d just needed something to look forward to. Could the good doctor be wrong? “Do we have time for you to get this to the Express heading west this afternoon?”

  Colson checked the clock. “Yes, sir. I believe we do. I will hurry.”

  Writing as fast as he could, Charles explained the portrait and told Elijah of the project they had undertaken. Removing the painting from the small frame, he tucked it in with the letter and closed the four flaps of the envelope. He poured melted wax over the intersection of the flaps and pressed his seal into it. Now more than ever, he hoped that perhaps another clue presided in the attic above. Maybe, just maybe, he’d be able to meet his daughter before he died.

  Carson Sink Express Station

  Jackie sat next to Michael on the wagon seat as they left the Express yardand headed to the Sand Hill station. Mr. Crowell had given her specific instructions about the questions she should ask, and she spent time studying the two treasury notes in the confines of her rooms at night.

  What plagued her the most was the thought that this note forging and stealing from the government was happening in such a remote area where the small stations and towns were like family. The notion made her mind spin with questions. But then again, she guessed it made sense. Yes, gold and silver coin was often hard to come by out here. The treasury notes were used more for payment in remote areas like hers, but still the idea of foul play plagued her.

  Who was behind all this? Could one of the owners of her beloved COC&PP be involved, or was it ju
st a coincidence? If there were as many forgeries being made as Mr. Crowell suggested, someone was stealing thousands upon thousands of dollars from the government. That amount of theft could bankrupt any number of businesses or even small banks that cashed the notes for the thieves.

  Another thought made her pulse race. What if the culprits were dangerous? And why wouldn’t they be? If a lot of money was at stake, she assumed they would do just about anything to protect themselves. The thought was not pleasant. Maybe she shouldn’t have agreed to help. What if she put any of her boys at risk? They were all so young. And not one of them weighed more than 125 pounds per the regulations of the Pony Express. Could they put up much of a fight if they got caught in the middle of something? Yes, they were always armed, but they were also usually flying at breakneck speed on the back of a horse.

  A million different scenarios rushed through her mind. She hadn’t heard of any suspicious deaths lately, and none of the stages had been attacked since the last Paiute uprising in June.

  Granted, the Paiute wars had shut down the entire Express and all the stagecoach runs for almost two months, and tensions still ran high in their area of the Utah Territory, but the stage and Express had resumed and hadn’t had any other issues for months.

  Even so, the stage drivers traveled with rifles and pistols tucked under the seat for good measure. Could the men behind these unlawful practicesbe using the scare of attack by Indians to keep people afraid? That new thought intrigued her even more. Had Mr. Crowell and his men thought of such a scheme?

  With a sigh, she clutched her reticule tighter. She hadn’t wanted to risk bringing anything with her, so she’d memorized the code and the documents. It had taken her a couple of days to find the subtle differences between the real and forged treasury notes—enough so that she hoped to be able to recognize a forged note again if she saw one. She’d brought a small paper in her reticule with her own thoughts about what to look for. But it wasn’t like she had become an expert at forgeries overnight.

  Michael nudged her from his seat beside her. “Why exactly are we going to Sand Hill Station?”

  “I need to speak with the station master.” She stiffened her shoulders and used a take-charge voice, hoping he would take her word for it. Sworn to secrecy, she didn’t want to betray her promise to Mr. Crowell, but she also needed to protect Michael. He hadn’t signed up for any of this.

  “Why are you so secretive about this? It’s not like you.” While she had no desire to deceive him, it really was for his own good.

  “I’m not being secretive.” She shrugged. “I’m just tired. That’s all.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “Sure. If you say so. But we’re family, Jack. If you’re in some kind of trouble, you need to let me know. Maybe I can help.”

  She relaxed her posture after hearing the concern in his voice. Smiling at him, she softened her tone. “I’m sorry. I’m not in any trouble, and I appreciate you being concerned.” She looked out at the scrub brush and barren terrain. With a sigh she turned back to him. “I’ve volunteered to help Mr. Crowell with something. That’s all. No need to worry.”

  Michael glanced at her like he was trying to figure out if she was telling the truth. “But you’ll let me know if you need my help, right?”

  “Of course I will.” She wrapped an arm around his shoulders. “Like you said, we’re family. And we always will be.” Tucking her hands back in her lap, she took a deep breath and smiled. “Now why don’t you tell me about all these dreams you keep talking about with the other men in the evenings?”

  For the next thirty minutes, Michael went on about how he’d love to explore their country. He wanted to travel as far west as he could go and then head all the way east. Since he’d never been any farther than Virginia City, she understood his desire to see the rest of the world. Especially when travelers often came through who talked about the Rocky Mountains or the great cities of the East.

  “I thought you wanted to be an Express rider.” She tilted her head.

  He shrugged. “Yeah, well, who knows how long it will last? I mean, once they get the telegraph all the way across, there won’t be much need for the Express anymore. Don’t ya think?”

  Glancing back at the road in front of them, she realized he was correct. Something she hadn’t put much thought into. It was a good thing she had a business with the stage stop as well. Otherwise, what would happen when the Express shut down? “It’s not that close to being done, is it?”

  “You don’t read all the news that comes through here, do ya? They’ve already granted more money for it to be completed.”

  “How long do you think it will be?”

  “A year or two at the most. Times are changin’, Jack. Before you know it, we’ll have the railroad crossing the whole country too. Then there won’t be anything standing in my way of heading out on an adventure.”

  “You’d really want to leave? What if I need you? Won’t you miss us?” She knew her voice sounded whiny and uncertain, but the thought of Michael leaving tore her heart in two. First Dad … now him. What would she do?

  “Aw, fiddlesticks, Jack. I’m not leaving anytime soon. So don’t get your dander up. Besides, you could always come with me.”

  “You know very well that I’m supposed to keep an eye out for you, young man. So don’t start ordering me around. My home is here.” Her big-sister-station-master voice was back in place. “There’s plenty of time for us to discuss this later. You know I’ll support you in whatever you want to do. As long as it is God honoring and upstanding, that is.”

  He laughed. “You should know me better than that, Jack. You and Marshall raised me better than that.” He shook his head as he slowed thewagon and they approached the station. “It wouldn’t surprise me if Marshall reached up from the grave to give me what-for if I were to choose anything other than God honoring and upstanding.”

  “You’re right. Then you’d have to deal with both of us.” Once they stopped, she climbed down from the wagon. “I’ll only be a few minutes. Why don’t you get the horses some water before we head back?”

  “Always so bossy.” He jumped down like the young kid he was.

  “Don’t you forget it either.” Turning to the station, she left him at the wagon and hoped he’d stay there. It wasn’t like there was much of anything to do out here. Sand Hill was smaller than Carson Sink. It was a Pony Express station and nothing more. The thrown-together, lopsided building looked like it could blow away with a stiff wind. The barn was in better shape, and that was saying a lot because the barn only had three walls.

  Tom—the station manager—greeted her over the top of his paper when she walked in the door. “Whatcha up to today, Jack?” He looked back at the newsprint. Out here it was months before they received any papers from back east, but it was always good to catch up with the news when they got it.

  She approached and spoke in the calmest voice she could muster. “I’m actually wondering if you’ve had anyone come in with treasury notes.”

  Looking up at her, he spit tobacco juice out the side of his mouth to the spittoon on the floor. “Treasury notes? What fer?”

  “Have you seen any? Anyone trying to pay with them or needing to cash them in?”

  The gruff man scratched his stubbly chin. “Nah, not for a while. I don’t see much of that. They’ll go to a bigger station most times.”

  “But you have seen some?”

  “Not some. But one, yeah.”

  “When was it?”

  “About a month or so back. I took it into Virginia City and cashed it in.”

  “Oh.” She felt a bit deflated. How was she supposed to get a look at it if it wasn’t even here?

  “Marty out at Sand Springs Station brought in several at the same time I did. Thought it was rather odd that he’d have so many, but you know how it is out here. People pay with whatever they can get their hands on.” He snapped the paper closed. “Why you askin’ about it anyway?” Tom raised his eyebrows at her
.

  “It’s not any big deal. I’ve had several come through my station lately. I’m just curious.” She felt the heat rise up her neck. Why hadn’t she prepared a better answer? Of course he was going to ask why she wanted to know. So much for her being a good spy for Mr. Crowell. Grief, she should stop thinking of herself as such.

  “You women. Always nosing around.” Tom turned back to his paper. “Best to keep to yerself if you ask me.”

  “Thank you for your advice.” She attempted to keep the sarcasm from her voice, but she didn’t care what Tom thought. They’d known each other for too many years, and Tom was stuck in his ways and didn’t care much for other people. Turning on her heel, she left him to his paper. “Good afternoon.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  Well, that proved completely unfruitful. At least it felt that way. She stopped in her tracks and looked down the trail. She wasn’t a spy. She was being nosy. Just like Tom said. Mr. Crowell needed information, but he hadn’t asked her to take this any further than that. Maybe she should stick to that.

  But why would someone pay with a treasury note out here at Sand Hill Station? Yes, the Express was expensive, but no one lived out here. Most people paid for their Pony Express mail at a station that had a town around it.

  Even farther east was Sand Springs. Several had been cashed in from there? This was definitely news she needed to share with Mr. Crowell. While Sand Springs was bigger than this station, she couldn’t imagine people having access to treasury notes. Or was this a new trend? People always paid her in gold or silver. She knew that in large cities the banks had issued their own bank notes, but that wasn’t national. The treasury notes were from the government.

  Mr. Crowell’s suspicions had to be correct. There was a forgery ring out here. And while she had seen a few of the notes come through in the mail, she hadn’t looked at any of them. That kind of thing came through all the time. But after Mr. Crowell asked her to keep her eyes open, she’d become suspicious.