The Express Bride

by Kimberley Woodhouse

  If she was as smart as Charles said, Elijah wouldn’t be surprised in the least to find out that Anna Vines had ordered wigs. It would have been an easy way for her to change her appearance.

  Arriving at the first address, Elijah switched to the next task at hand.

  He tied his horse at the post and knocked on the door.

  “Good day.” A neatly dressed gentleman greeted him at the door. While the office behind him was a bit of a ramshackle room, the man looked like he belonged back in Kansas City. Not in the dust of Virginia City. The contrast was a bit … odd.

  “I’m here to see Mr. Williamson,” Elijah offered.

  “Please come in.” The man opened the door and held out his arm in welcome.

  “Thank you.”

  The man closed the door and sat behind a desk. “What can I do for you?”

  “I presume you are Mr. Williamson?”

  “Yes, my apologies. Now, how may I assist you?”

  “I’m here on behalf of Mr. Crowell.”

  “Yes, yes. He is the one who made the appointment.” Williamson drummed his fingers on the desk in an impatient manner.

  Elijah cleared his throat. He had specific questions to ask. “Have you had any forgeries come through your office?”

  “Forgeries of what?”

  “Treasury notes?”

  “Not recently. But I hear there’s quite a ruckus brewing about the owners of the Pony Express taking Indian bonds. Illegally.”

  Elijah didn’t know what to do with that information. Crowell hadn’t said anything about Indian bonds. It wasn’t the question he was supposed to ask. “I see.”

  “Is that all you needed?”

  “Yes.” He stood. His second question was only to be asked if the man had seen any forgeries. Was this all he was supposed to do? It didn’t seem like he’d been of much help. Maybe the next meeting would go better.

  He shook Williamson’s outstretched hand and turned toward thedoor. A large stain on the floor caught his eye.

  Williamson followed his gaze and stepped in front of him. “Sorry about that—my dog died over there a few days ago. It was quite a mess. She’d gotten caught in a trap. My wife must’ve moved the rug when she was cleaning.” He tugged the small carpet back over the spot. “Thanks for coming today.” He patted Elijah’s shoulder. “Do you think they are close to apprehending the criminals?” Williamson appeared genuinely concerned, his impatient and curt manner gone.

  Elijah leaned a bit closer. “I believe they are. And the sooner the better.”

  The man nodded. “We don’t want anything like this going on in our town. And to think that someone is stealing from the government, well, that is simply unspeakable.”

  “Yes, it is.” He walked out the door with an uneasy feeling in his gut.

  “I’m sure I’ll be seeing you soon. If I catch wind of anything, I’ll let you know.” Williamson waved and closed the door.

  Staring at the door for a moment, Elijah wasn’t quite sure what had just happened. For one, he’d gotten absolutely no information out of the man. And two, nothing seemed to fit. The man. The office. The stain on the floor. It all came down to the fact that he didn’t think Mr. Williamson had been telling the truth.

  Carson Sink Station

  “Jack … Ja-ack.” Mark’s voice penetrated through her thoughts as she looked down at her hands in the soapy wash pan.

  “Hmm? I’m sorry. Did you need something?”

  The young rider laughed. “Nah, I’ve just been trying to get your attention for almost a minute now.” He shook his head. “Just needed to tell you I’ll be headin’ out on Timothy’s run tonight. He’s not feelin’ too well.”

  “Oh. Thank you for letting me know. I’d better go check on him.”

  Finishing up with the soapy water, she looked down at the pup asleep at her feet. “Look at how much help you are. I didn’t even realize he’d beenstanding there.” She took the tub of water out the back door and poured it at the base of the two apple trees she’d begged her dad to plant a couple of years ago. He’d given in to her even though he told her that apple trees probably wouldn’t produce fruit. She’d been faithful to water them in the dusty, sandy soil, and they’d grown, scrawny as they were. But no apple blossoms yet. Maybe next year.

  She hung the tub on the side of the house and wiped her hands on her apron. Heading to the bunkhouse, she prayed that Timothy’s illness wasn’t anything serious. The last thing they needed was a sickness to spread among the riders.

  “Timothy?”

  The bunkhouse was quiet. All the guys were out either doing chores or on one of the runs.

  “I’m here.” He moaned as he rolled over on his bunk.

  “What’s ailing you?” She moved closer and stood at the edge of his bed.

  Red crept up into his face. “I guess you might as well know. All the boys already do.”

  She squinted down at him. “What did they do to you?” Placing her hands on her hips, she figured a stern talking-to was in order for whatever prank they’d pulled this time.

  “They didn’t do nothin’.” He sighed. “Except dare me to eat an entire block of Mrs. Liverpool’s cheese.”

  Jackie tried to cover her mirth. “An entire block?” Everyone knew of Timothy’s love of cheese. The boys had just taken their jesting a bit too far. Of course probably none of them expected that Timothy could actually do it.

  “Yeah. I ate the whole thing. Now I don’t feel very good.”

  “It’s no wonder.”

  “You’re not going to make me drink castor oil, are ya?”

  The pathetic look on his face made her feel sorry for his discomfort. “No. I won’t do that to you. Unless, of course, you don’t get any better.”

  “I’ll be better by tomorrow … I hope.” Another moan escaped.

  “I hope so too. For now, you’d better stay there and pray it doesn’t make you sicker.”

  He nodded.

  With a chuckle, she headed toward the door. As she opened it, she turned back to face him. “Was that the cheese she brought me this morning?”

  “Yeah. I’m sorry.”

  No wonder she couldn’t find the cheese she thought she’d put in the cellar. Here she’d been so worried that the puppy had gotten into it.

  When she entered the door back into the station house, the little ball of fur greeted her with yips and jumped as high as he could. Crouching down to pet him, she rubbed his ears and he licked her hands. “You really do need a name. We can’t keep calling you ‘the puppy.’”

  He wagged his tail and followed her over to the fireplace, where she picked up the volume of Shakespeare. So far, she hadn’t found the quote her father had written in the letter. But she’d keep reading until she did.

  Michael came in the front door and dove to the floor to play with his dog.

  “Have you thought of a name yet?” Jackie peered over the book at him.

  “Nah. You know I’m not any good at that. Why don’t you name him?” He tousled the puppy’s fur. “No, wait. You’ll probably give him some dumb Shakespearean name like your horse. Why don’t we just call him Spot?”

  “You can’t call him Spot—there’s not a spot on him … wait, what did you just say?” His words hit her. “Romeo! Michael, you’re brilliant.” She jumped to her feet.

  “We’re not calling the dog Romeo. We already have one of those.”

  Shaking her head at him, she gripped his shoulders. “No, we’re not going to call the dog Romeo. Let’s call him Brownie or something like that.” She flipped through the large tome. “Romeo and Juliet, wherefore art thou, oh quote of my father….”

  “Huh? Sometimes I think you are really strange, Jack.” Michael picked up the puppy and fluffed his ears. “You do look like a Brownie. I guess that’s what we’ll call you.”

  Jackie laughed as she watched Michael smile at their little dog. She should have thought of getting a pet a long time ago. Finding the rightplay, she went back to
her search while she heard Michael trying to teach the dog how to bark on command.

  As she scrolled down the page with her finger, she found it. Act two, scene two. “A thousand times the worse to want thy light.”

  She laid down the book and headed for the desk in her room where she’d stashed Dad’s letter. Once she pulled it out, she scanned the page until she found his clues:

  With help for your future and keys to your past. To find it, you’ll have to remember: “A thousand times the worse to want thy light.” He who speaks shelters the treasure that I hope to share with you one day—prayerfully in my old, old age. But until then, I’ll keep it hidden. Just in case. It’s my back-up plan in the event I do not garner the courage to tell you in person.

  Dad was so ingenious to play to her sense of adventure. She smiled thinking of how much time he must have put into this treasure hunt for her. But it bothered her to know that something in that box would tell her some truth Dad had kept hidden.

  It couldn’t be all that bad. Could it?

  Shoving the letter back into hiding, she took a deep breath. Time to go find what he’d left her.

  She marched through the living room, driven by the desire to put an end to the mystery.

  “Where are you going?” Michael called out.

  She looked over her shoulder and saw the confusion written all over his face.

  “Keep an eye on Brownie for a little bit. There’s something I need to find.”

  Mr. Sanders?” Elijah stood at the threshold of another door, awaiting yet another of Crowell’s contacts.

  The door opened a crack. “Who’s asking?”

  What an odd greeting. “My name is Johnson. I’m here on behalf of Mr. Crowell.”

  The door opened wider, and the man tugged Elijah in and promptly closed the door. “I feel like I’ve been watched all day. I don’t know what it is, but it’s driving me crazy. Sorry for the lack of hospitality. Where are you staying?” This man was a stark contrast to the smooth, well-dressed man he’d met earlier. Short, stocky, and a bit of a rumpled mess, Sanders ran a hand through his thinning hair.

  “At the Station House in Carson Sink.”

  “Good. It’s best you’re not in town after we meet. So you know Rivers? I haven’t seen him in months.”

  “I know of him, sir. Marshall Rivers is dead. His daughter is running the station now.”

  “Marshall’s dead?” His face turned gray. “Do you know how?”

  Elijah shook his head. “I’m sorry, no. It’s been several weeks.”

  Sanders nodded and sat down hard in the chair. “He was a good man.”

  “I need to ask you a question, Mr. Sanders.”

  The other man took a deep breath and looked him in the eye. “Of course.”

  “Have you seen any treasury note forgeries come through here?”

  “More than you would believe.”

  “Really? How many?”

  “At last count, more than thirty. And they weren’t for small amounts either. I tried to get a message out to the Treasury Department and Crowell, but it was too little too late.”

  “Were they all from the same source?”

  “No. That’s the interesting thing. I couldn’t find any patterns whatsoever. My orders were to cash them through and document everything, and that’s what I did.” Sanders reached into his desk and pulled out a packet. “This is what you need to give Crowell.”

  Elijah wasn’t sure what rules governed this little game he’d been asked to play, but he decided to follow his instincts. “The last person I met with said something about Indian bonds.”

  “Indian bonds? What about ‘em?”

  “That there was some kind of ruckus about government officials illegally obtaining them?”

  “I don’t know what you’ve been hearing, but that has nothing to do with our job at hand.”

  “Of course. But it was Williamson who told me that.”

  “Odd that Williamson would tell you that. Sounds like a bunch of gossip to me. I don’t know anything about it.”

  The odd feeling he’d had earlier was back. “Do you know if I could talk to Williamson’s wife?”

  “Wife? What makes you think he has a wife?” Sanders eyed him suspiciously for a moment.

  “He told me he did.” The sinking feeling grew.

  Sanders’s eyes widened. “Williamson isn’t married. When will you see Crowell?” He rushed around the room stuffing things into a leather bag.

  “When he returns from Carson City.” Elijah turned and watched him. “What do you mean, Williamson isn’t married?”

  Sanders shoved him toward the door. “It’s time for you to go. I hope Crowell makes it in one piece. Things have been feeling iffy—” A grunt left his lips and he tumbled back over his desk.

  Time slowed down as all of Elijah’s senses went on high alert. The window had shattered a split second before Mr. Sanders fell, and thereport of a rifle hung in the air.

  Elijah spun around and looked at the room. Ducking behind the chair that was the largest piece of furniture in the room besides the desk, he felt his heart race.

  What had just happened? One moment he was talking to Sanders; the next the man had been shot. Screams echoed outside of the building. People must have heard the report. Were there women and children out there? Had more than one person been shot? It had all happened so fast, he wasn’t sure.

  After several deep breaths, he crawled over to the desk to check on Sanders. If the man was still alive, maybe he could get him to the doctor. But as he looked at his contact’s head, the bullet wound told an undeniable story.

  Elijah thought he might be sick. He’d never seen anything more gruesome in his life. Blood appeared to be everywhere. What was going on?

  Whatever it was, the danger seemed very real. Elijah crawled back over to the chair and noticed that he’d dropped the packet. Counting to one hundred, he waited to see if any more shots would be fired. Would they aim at him next? Was he safe here, or should he slip outside into the crowd of people? At the thought of possibly putting others at risk, he decided to stay put. But after several minutes, he knew he couldn’t do anything from here. He looked down at the packet in his shaking hand. Whatever it held, he’d need to get this to Mr. Crowell as soon as he could. Tucking it deep into his boot, he went in search of the sheriff.

  Carson Sink Station

  “It has to be here somewhere.” Jackie scratched her forehead as she looked around Romeo’s stall. Dad’s letter said, “He who speaks shelters the treasure.” The quote was a line from Romeo and Juliet, spoken by Romeo. Her horse’s name was Romeo. So it made sense to look for the box here in his stall, right?

  But after looking throughout the stall, she realized there wasn’t muchof a place to hide anything in here. At least not a place where it wouldn’t get ruined. What was she missing?

  Walking out of the stall, she looked into Romeo’s eyes. “All right, big fella. Any clue where Dad hid it? You’re supposedly the one who’s sheltering it.”

  Her horse just stood there where she’d loosely tied him to a post in the barn, a patient look on his face as if he knew he’d get his room and bed back later.

  “Well, you’re no help.”

  He shook his mane at her and stomped his front right leg on the wooden plank floor.

  It gave her an idea. Kissing Romeo on the nose, she giggled and headed back to his stall. With pitchfork in hand, she moved all the straw off the floor. How many hundreds of times had she mucked out this stall? A memory washed over her of a question she’d asked Dad.

  “Daddy, why do you have a wooden floor in the barn?”

  “What makes you ask that, little one?”

  “Mrs. Liverpool said it was a waste of money to build a floor for the horses. She said some people don’t even have wood floors in their houses.”

  Dad’s chuckle reverberated throughout the whole room. He picked her up and placed her on his lap. “That’s true, Jack. But I find that i
t’s nice to have a wood floor for when we need to give the horses’ stalls a nice good cleaning. If we need to wash the floor, we simply muck out the stall, throw a bucket of water and some soap in there, and clean it up. That wouldn’t work very well if it was dirt, now, would it?” He tickled her under the chin.

  “No.” She giggled. “It would just make mud.”

  “So, yes, Mrs. Liverpool is correct that it costs more money to put down a wood floor in the barn, but I find I’m able to keep it cleaner that way. And I think that’s good for the animals.”

  She sat straighter on his lap and nodded. “I agree.”

  He tapped her nose with his finger. “I had a feeling you would.”

  As the memory faded in her mind, she realized just how smart Marshall Rivers was. Oh, she’d always known it growing up, but she appreciated it much more now.

  Once she had all the straw out, the only thing that was left was the blanket that Romeo slept on. She stomped on the floor with her boots. It echoed beneath her rather than sounding solid. Why had she never noticed that before? Probably because there wasn’t a lot of room to be stomping around, and with straw always covering the floor, the noise would have been muffled.

  So how did she get under the floor to whatever was hidden beneath it?

  Crouching down, she started looking in the corners. There had to be a clue somewhere. Dad never did anything halfway.

  Pulling Romeo’s blanket out of the back left corner, she squatted down to look. It was the darkest corner in the stall. The perfect place to hide something—what, she didn’t know. She stood back up. Light from the two barn windows couldn’t reach over here. They were designed to let in enough light so that during the day they could grab the horses fast, without having to grab a light, whenever an Express came through. But maybe that was just what she needed. More light. As she went back to the front of the barn, she grabbed a lantern and lit it. She hurried back into Romeo’s stall and looked in the dark corner.

  Sure enough, there was a hinge. That meant a door was attached to that hinge.