The Express Bride

by Kimberley Woodhouse

  She felt almost giddy. But where was the opening?

  Dad was a master at carpentry. There was hardly a groove between the planks, so how was she supposed to lift it up?

  “Jack, what are you doing?”

  She jerked at Michael’s question. “Michael, you scared me. You should know better than to sneak up on someone like that.”

  He held up his hands. “Didn’t mean to scare you, but you’ve been gone awhile, and I was getting worried. The Express could come through at any minute.”

  She stood up and put her hands on her hips. “I know. I’m just frustrated.”

  “Do you need my help? If you frown any harder, that wrinkle in your forehead might decide to stay permanently.”

  Swatting at him, she gave him a forced smile. “Oh, hush. Now getover in the corner and help me figure out how to open it.”

  Doing as he was told, Michael got down on his hands and knees but gave her a look. “Open what exactly?”

  “The floor, silly.” She huffed.

  The ground began to rumble beneath them.

  Michael jumped up. “Oh boy. Let me get the horse to exchange and we’ll come back to this after the Express.”

  “Sounds good to me.” Jackie raced out of the barn and to the front of the station house. The others were already out there getting things ready for the exchange. Paul had the water bucket and dipper, John had the saddle ready for the next horse, and Mr. Liverpool stood there with his blacksmith apron on, the pockets full of tools in case he needed to do any quick fixes on the horse or saddle.

  The pounding of the hooves increased as a dust cloud followed from the west. Mark came out the front door of the station, his hat pulled down low and his leather coat almost covering the two pistols strapped to his thighs.

  As a new rider pulled his horse to a stop in front of the station and hopped off, Jackie helped to move the mochila, checked the way pocket, and recorded the times. Mark mounted the fresh horse and gave her a nod. “I should be back tomorrow.”

  “Be safe.” She waved and he took off toward the east.

  The new rider stepped up to her side. “Could you tell me who the station manager is? You had the keys, so I’m assuming it’s you?”

  She held up a finger. “Hold on a moment.” Watching Mark race off toward the horizon, she wasn’t about to break her habit now. The new kid would just have to wait.

  Once Mark’s image had vanished from view, she turned to the young man beside her and raised her brows. He didn’t look like he could be much more than twelve. “How old are you?”

  “Fourteen, ma’am.”

  While she knew there were young riders on the Express, she didn’t have any out here that young. “When did you start?”

  “I took my oath this morning.”

  She smiled thinking of the oath. Each rider was given a small leather Bible after reciting it. Dad had made her memorize it and swear the oath too. The words still rang in her ears.

  “I, Jack Rivers, do hereby swear, before the Great and Living God, that during my engagement, and while I am an employee of Russell, Majors, and Waddell, I will under no circumstances use profane language, that I will drink no intoxicating liquors, that I will not quarrel or fight with any other employee of the firm, and that in every respect I will conduct myself honestly, be faithful to my duties, and so direct all my acts as to win the confidence of my employers, so help me God.”

  The memory evaporated as she looked at the young man. “What’s your name?”

  “Edward. Most people just call me Eddie.”

  “It’s nice to meet you, Eddie. I’m Jackie. Why don’t you follow me.” She headed toward the station house.

  He did as he was told. When he entered the room, he looked up and removed his hat. “Sorry.”

  “That’s quite all right. This is the station house. You will have all your meals here with the rest of us and you are welcome to sit with us in the parlor in the evenings. Every Sunday we have Bible study, which I hope you will attend whenever you are here. We often get interrupted by the Express, but we just come right back to it when we’re done.” She nodded at John. “Would you help him get situated in the bunkhouse?”

  “Sure, Jack.”

  The young rider blinked. “Did he just call you Jack?”

  A chuckle left her lips. “You’ll get used to it. My father always called me that, so all the riders followed suit. It’s short for Jacqueline.” Taking a long look at the kid, she began to worry about him. But her job wasn’t to baby the riders; it was to help them do their jobs to the best of their abilities. “You all right? I’m sorry to rush, but there’s something I must attend to. I’ll fill you in on the rest later.”

  “Yes, ma’am. I mean … I think so. I can’t believe I’m an actual Pony rider.” He twisted his hat in his hands.

  “Well, from what I can tell, you had a great first day because youarrived early.” She patted his shoulder. “Good job.”

  “Thanks. I rode over seventy-five miles today. That’s the farthest I’ve ever been from home.” He rubbed his backside.

  Covering her smile with her hand, she nodded. “You’ll get used to it. Most of the time you’ll just go back and forth from one day to the next, so I presume that you will be here every other day. Make yourself at home. Dinner will be in about an hour.”

  “Thanks. They told me that Carson Sink would be my other home station. I’m glad to be here.”

  “We’re glad to have you.” She smiled.

  John took the new kid out the back.

  Once the back door closed, Michael gave her a grin, and they both raced out the door to the barn.

  Romeo greeted her with a nicker when she entered.

  “Sorry, fella, for leaving you there so long. Hopefully we’ll be done soon.”

  Michael was already back in the corner on the floor. “Hey, Jack, hand me that hoe over there, will ya?”

  She passed him the gardening tool that she’d lovingly dubbed the snake-killer since she used it more to chop off the heads of snakes than to do any actual hoeing in the garden.

  “The blade just might fit into this crack….” He paused as he placed it where he wanted it. “Nah. It’s too big. I wonder if my knife will fit. Somehow I need to gain some leverage.”

  He pulled out his small pocketknife and wiggled the blade down into the crack. In less than a minute, he had the trap door open. Jackie clapped her hands and moved closer.

  Michael grabbed the lantern. “You want me to go down the dark and scary hole first?”

  “Yes, please.”

  He sighed. “The things I do for you.”

  “Hey, at least I feed you. Which reminds me, if you don’t hurry up, we won’t be having any dinner tonight.”

  “Bossy, bossy.” His head disappeared beneath the floor.

  “What do you see?” She leaned over the hole.

  “Not much. It looks like Marshall probably stored different things under here over the years. It’s actually quite large.”

  How had she never known about it? She watched the glow of the lantern move around the dark space.

  “Look, it even goes beyond the wall of the barn.” His voice sounded more distant. “But this is a much smaller space. I’m going to have to crawl.”

  “All right. But be careful.”

  “When am I ever not careful?” A thud followed his words. “Ow. Spoke too soon. The ceiling gets a little lower in here.”

  Suppressing a giggle, she couldn’t help but bounce on her toes as she waited for Michael to explore. As much as she wanted to be the one to find whatever Dad had hidden, she had a staunch dislike for dark and dingy places. Especially if spiders were involved. But her excitement grew with every moment that passed.

  “Found it!” Michael’s voice rang out. She watched as the light grew closer. His head appeared out of the hole.

  Lifting up a wooden box, he handed it to her. “It was wrapped in an old slicker, but I left the slicker down there because it was
in pretty bad shape.”

  “That’s fine.” Holding the box in her arms, she was surprised by the weight of it. Sitting on the floor of the stall, she didn’t even care about her skirts anymore. She laid the box in her lap and ran a hand over the top of the lid. Dad had made this. She could tell by the craftsmanship.

  “Come on, Jack. You’re going to have an angry mob of hungry young men if you don’t hurry up and get dinner on the table.” He held out a hand and helped her to her feet.

  “Thanks for your help. Would you mind closing the door and putting Romeo’s blanket back over it? Then he’ll need some fresh straw and a bucket of oats before you put him back in.”

  He shook his head. “You owe me an extra piece of pie.”

  “Deal.” She kissed his cheek and ran to the house with the box in her arms. After placing it under the bed in her room, she washed up as best asshe could, scurried to the kitchen, and put on a clean apron. The evening couldn’t pass fast enough for her so she could open the box from Dad.

  Elijah’s face flashed through her mind. She’d miss seeing him tonight, but she hoped his errands in Virginia City were going well.

  Besides, she had a mystery awaiting her.

  After spending hours with the sheriff, Elijah was weary. The lawman didn’t have any idea who would have wanted to kill Sanders. “Why don’t you head on home and get some rest, son. If I have any other questions, I know where to find you.”

  “Thank you, sir.” Turning toward the door, he realized he didn’t have his horse. He spun back around. “I left my horse at Sanders’s place.”

  The lawman swiped a hand over his mustache. “I don’t remember seeing one when I rode up, but then again, there was quite a panic. Hopefully it’s still there. Ya need me to go back with you and look?”

  “No. Don’t worry about it—you’ve got enough on your hands. Besides, it’s only a short walk from here.” While it would have been nice to have the protection of the sheriff, Elijah hated to bring further work to the man.

  As he left the building, he hoped that whoever had shot Sanders didn’t know he was a witness. The short walk in the cool night air helped to refresh him and clear his mind, but the horrible fact remained that he’d seen a man murdered today. Elijah doubted that Crowell knew anything about the danger that now awaited him. Was there any way he could send word? It was imperative to get this information to the man as soon as possible, but how?

  With a sigh, he realized it would be a very long ride back to Jackie’s station. And it wasn’t a trip he wanted to take at night. It was bad enough when the thought of encountering Indians was very real. And he’d figured out quickly a horse could get sucked into the sand if the rider wasn’t careful to keep him on the path. But now, a much more threatening—andevil—presence was among them. The thought made Elijah’s skin crawl.

  He’d talked to the sheriff about everything that happened at Sanders’s. But he hadn’t mentioned his visit to Williamson, or the fact that he was for all intents and purposes doing the job of a spy for the secretary of the Treasury Department. His first day and there’d been a murder. That didn’t bode well at all.

  Shaking his head as he walked, he tried to put the pieces of the puzzle together. Something didn’t add up. And it all pointed back to Williamson. But Crowell had said that the man was a trusted contact. Had been for years.

  So why had his gut told him that the man was lying?

  He was new at this. Maybe he was just letting his imagination run away with him. Spying wasn’t his normal business.

  But then there was that awful stain on the floor—that definitely looked like it could have been blood—and Williamson’s flippant excuse for it and blaming of his wife. Then Sanders said that Williamson didn’t have a wife. Why would the man lie about it?

  Maybe it would be best to wait until morning to ride back. That way he could have another chance to speak with the sheriff. He might be a novice at this, but it was better to be safe than sorry.

  The thought of not making it back to Carson Sink wasn’t pleasant. Especially since he’d looked forward to seeing Jackie again all day. But he realized that he’d better be smart and she wasn’t expecting him anyway. He’d hoped to surprise her.

  He should have asked the sheriff about a good place to stay for the night. Oh well, he could ride back over in a minute.

  As he reached Sanders’s address, his gaze darted around.

  His horse was nowhere to be found.

  Kansas City

  October 23, 1860

  “Sir?” Colson stopped digging in the trunk and pulled out a bundle. Handing it to his employer, he wore an expression of remorse. “My apologies. Iforgot that these even existed.”

  Charles examined the stack of three letters. The handstamps traced a trail all the way to the Utah Territory. He couldn’t believe his eyes. They’d never been unsealed. “Why weren’t these opened? Did I not read them? Why would you keep them from me?” The questions flew out, and he instantly regretted them.

  Colson cleared his throat. “At the time, sir, you told me to burn them. You told me to burn all the mail. Every day. You were quite adamant about it. I tried to save anything of import and paid all the outstanding bills while you were … incapacitated.”

  The depth of his depravity overwhelmed Charles at moments like this. Had he really been that drunk? That angry and hateful? Not caring for anyone or anything? “I’m sorry I put you through all of this while you were in my employ, Colson. It’s a miracle you’ve stayed.” He shook his head. “Might I ask why you chose to put these away?” He set the letters down on the table in front of him and simply stared. It wasn’t Anna’s handwriting. But had she tried to contact him? The thought made his stomach turn. How could he have been so blind?

  “Forgive me if it was overstepping, sir, but I thought it might have something to do with your wife. And I thought that one day you might get better and want to see them. But it was a difficult time here and over the course of the weeks and months, I must have forgotten about the missives.”

  “It’s not your fault, Colson. In fact, I need to thank you for saving them. Whatever they hold, I’m glad to have them.” As he picked up the stack, Charles’s hands shook. All this time, could there have been answers waiting for him? Right here? In his very home? Once he’d found the Lord, he’d searched for Anna and sent investigators out. Then the letter had come saying she was dead. If he’d come to his senses earlier, could he have seen his wife? Apologized to her? Tears sprang to his eyes as sobs shook his shoulders.

  No matter how much time passed, the guilt he carried from his former life could still overwhelm him. He knew he was forgiven by God—even though that still amazed him as well—but some days it washard to even think of forgiving himself. How many lives had he ruined? How many people had he hurt? None worse than his wife and child, no doubt.

  After his emotion was spent, he lifted the top envelope and examined it. Five handstamps from the postal service covered the back of the envelope. It was yellowed and worn from time and its journey. Charles tore it open. Pulling out the single sheet of paper, he swiped at his eyes so he could focus on the words:

  January 19, 1835

  Mr. Vines,

  This is a most difficult letter for me to write. I will be completely honest with you: as despicable of a human being as I think you are right now, I know that I am just as much of a sinner. For scripture is clear that all have sinned and fallen short.

  I don’t want to write this letter, but I feel that God is prompting me. Perhaps He has done a mighty work in you and you have changed your ways. If that is so, then you need to know that your wife and daughter are safe. You deserve to know at least that much.

  I will not tell you where they are.

  I will protect them at all costs.

  But they are well and happy.

  For you, sir, I will pray.

  Charles took a deep breath and read the letter again. He turned the paper over. No signature. No clue whatsoe
ver to the person who sent the note. But he knew that the words were honest. He’d needed them even as much as they stabbed him in the heart. It was a good thing he didn’t read this back then. It wouldn’t have done any good, and it would have been burned. Colson had been wise to put these letters away, even though they’d been forgotten, because now they just might help him. Whether simply to bring healing or to help find his daughter, he wasn’t sure.

  Replacing the paper in its handmade envelope, he took a deep breath before opening the next letter. As much as it would hurt to read the words and be reminded of all that he’d thrown away, he needed to do it.

  New determination filled him as he read, then wept. No matter how much it cost, he wanted to send all of this correspondence to Elijah. Perhaps something in the letters or on the envelopes could help him locate his daughter.

  Now, more than ever, Charles longed to make things right. To find his daughter, confess to her where he failed, and ask for her forgiveness. Then perhaps one day he’d be able to forgive himself.

  Carson Sink Station

  October 23, 1860

  “Jack. Jack! Are you all right?” Michael’s voice penetrated the painful fog that had overtaken her mind. He sounded so far away. Where was he?

  The events from last night came rushing back. In her rush to finish washing the dishes so she could look in Dad’s box, she’d slipped on soapy water on the floor and hit her head on the table. A massive headache quickly followed and she couldn’t see straight, so she’d gone to bed. At least that was what she remembered.

  Putting a hand to her forehead, she sat up in bed. The ache had dulled at least. As long as she didn’t move too fast. How long had she slept?

  Thud, thud, thud!

  Michael was outside the door. Knocking—or rather banging. It sounded as if he was trying to break the thing down. “Jack! I’m coming in.”

  The door flew open and Michael’s eyes were wide as he put a hand to his chest. “I was getting worried. You’ve been asleep forever.”

  “What time is it?” If she were to lie back down, she could probably go right back to sleep.