The Express Bride

by Kimberley Woodhouse

  “It’s after three. In the afternoon.”

  Throwing back the covers, she jumped out of bed, which made her head swim for a minute. “Why did you let me sleep that long?”

  “Because you hit your head pretty good last night.” He shrugged. “Ithought you needed the rest. But I started to worry when the first Express came through. I grabbed your keys and did it just like you showed me, but when I brought them back, you just turned over and groaned.” He leaned up against the doorframe. “Then the fellas and me had to fix our own lunch, which was quite the mess. That’s when I went and asked Mrs. Liverpool to come check on you. She came and said that you didn’t seem to have a fever and were sleeping peacefully.”

  Taking slow steps and hoping that the room would stop spinning, Jackie moved toward the washbasin. Maybe if she splashed some water on her face, she could get rid of the cobwebs and fuzziness. She took a few moments to wash her face and straightened back up. “That’s better. My head still wants to throb, but everything is becoming clear again.” She smoothed her hair back from her face. Her braid felt like a rat’s nest. With deft fingers, she redid the plait and tied the ribbon back around the base.

  Hooves pounded the ground outside.

  Michael frowned. “That’s a good deal early for the Express.”

  She grabbed her keys and they both headed to the front of the station.

  “Jack! Jack!” Timothy’s voice yelled for her before he was even within thirty yards.

  Michael ran another horse over to her while everyone scrambled for the exchange.

  But the look on Timothy’s face scared her.

  She ran closer to meet him.

  Jerking the horse to a stop, he jumped off and ran to her.

  “What’s happened?” She gripped his shoulders.

  “The stage has been attacked. It’s not good.” His breath came in gasps. “I rode as fast as I dared.”

  “Attacked? By whom? Thieves? Indians?” Oh Lord, please help those people.

  “I don’t know. I saw two arrows sticking out of the side of the coach, but there weren’t any Indians around. The driver had been shot with a gun. Not an arrow. He’s dead. The stage was on its side, pinning the passenger.I tried … but I couldn’t do anything to help.”

  She swallowed. It was no wonder Timothy wasn’t able to help. All the Pony Express riders weighed under 125 pounds. It would take several men to lift a stagecoach. “We’ve got to get a wagon out there and help.” Turning toward the stable, she was about to give orders to everyone when Timothy’s hand on her arm stopped her.

  “Jack. There’s something you need to know.” He looked down at the ground.

  “What is it?”

  “The passenger is Elijah.”

  She shook her head. “It couldn’t be Elijah. He used one of our horses to ride into Virginia City.” But dread built inside her and tears sprang to her eyes.

  The young rider gripped both of her arms in his. “I don’t know why he was on that stage, but it’s definitely him. He knew my name when I tried to lift the coach off him. He’s pretty badly hurt.”

  The ride out to the scene of the attack felt like it took hours. But when they made it, Jackie jumped from the wagon and ran to Elijah’s prone form. Oh God, please let him still be alive!

  Mr. Liverpool and two of the boys had come with her, and she hoped they would be able to lift the stage off of him.

  She crouched by his head and touched the side of his face. He looked so peaceful with his eyes closed. “Elijah?”

  He groaned but didn’t open his eyes.

  “We’ve got to get him out from under here,” Mr. Liverpool shouted to the boys. “I need John here”—he pointed—“and Luke here. When I count to three, I need you all to lift with everything you’ve got.” He turned to Jackie. “Jack, it’s going to take all of us to lift the stage, so I need you to get your arms up under his shoulders and pull him out as soon as he’s free.”

  She nodded. “I can do it.” Hiking her skirts up, she squatted down and lifted up Elijah’s shoulders so she had leverage to pull.

  He groaned louder.

  “I’m so sorry,” she whispered into his ear. Who cared if it was properor not. She couldn’t let him suffer alone. “We’re going to get you back to the station and all patched up in no time.”

  Mr. Liverpool and the boys took their positions. He looked at her.

  She nodded back and gripped Elijah for all she was worth.

  “One … two … three!”

  It had been a little more than a week since Jackie helped to pull Elijah out from under the stage. But he still hadn’t woken up.

  As each day passed, the thought that he might not became harder to bear.

  Lord, what do we do?

  The doctor was due back today, and she’d hoped that Elijah would awaken before then. If he didn’t, what did that mean? It was amazing the man was still alive, but he’d suffered a nasty break to his right leg, and several of his ribs had been broken. Dr. Thompson had said that broken ribs could be extremely painful and that was probably why he remained unconscious.

  Sitting in a chair by Elijah’s bed, Jackie held her dad’s Bible in her hands. She’d read the entire book of Daniel out loud to him three times over the past days. No response.

  Everyone in Carson Sink had put together a schedule of sorts so that someone sat with Elijah at all times. It hadn’t been easy since they all had a lot to do on a daily basis, but they’d made it work. Meals became simpler as people ate in shifts, everyone taking a turn at helping with each other’s chores so that there was always someone to sit with their guest-turned-patient. But she refused to leave him at night. The thought of him waking in the middle of the night alone and injured was too much for her heart to bear. So one of the men always stayed with her, keeping watch over her and their patient. Two cots had been squeezed into the room for that purpose, but hers hadn’t seen a lot of use.

  His soft breathing was the only thing that gave her hope. They attempted to get a few spoonfuls of water and broth down his throat each day, but trying to get him to swallow without choking was a challenge. How long could he survive without much food and water?

  “We need you to wake up, Elijah,” she whispered and touched his arm. The first few days, she’d talked to him a lot. About anything and everything. But as exhaustion had crept in, her words had left her. What could she say to him anyway?

  He’d become her friend. And she’d enjoyed talking with him each night by the fire. But how well did she really know him? The fact remained that she’d wanted to know him better—and had hoped he felt the same. At times, she’d thought for sure that she’d seen it on his face. The difficulty of the situation made her miss Dad and his input even more. And her mother. What she wouldn’t give to be able to sit and talk with her.

  This wasn’t productive. She needed to do something. Maybe she could write some more correspondence. But she’d caught up on everything she could think of while she’d sat by his side the past week. Even the box from her dad had gone untouched all this time, because she just couldn’t take the emotional weight of it all. Shaking her head, she forced herself to focus on Elijah. It was selfish to think of herself at this time.

  Fiddling with her handkerchief, she looked back at Elijah’s serene face. The bruising had faded, and it simply appeared that he slept peacefully. She reached out and touched his cheek. “Please wake up.”

  Several moments passed and she looked out the window. Perhaps it was time to send a note to his employer. Certainly the man whom Elijah had praised and respected so much deserved to know what had happened.

  Encouraged by the job she could do and hoping that it would do some sort of good, she rose from the chair and went to the small desk in the room. He’d received two Express packets from the same address—a Mr. Vines in Kansas City—in the past few days. One was quite thick for an Express letter. It would have cost Mr. Vines a good deal to send it and must be of great import. It impressed upon her
even more that she was doing the right thing by sending Vines a return Express herself.

  Picking up the smaller envelope that showed a lot of wear from its journey, she studied the address. It was a little smudged, but she was still able to read it. She laid it on the edge of the bed as she brought her writing supplies over to the chair.

  After dipping her pen into the ink, she began her letter:

  October 31, 1860

  Dear Mr. Vines,

  My name is Jacqueline Rivers, and I am the station manager at Carson Sink Pony Express Station and Stage Stop. We’ve had the lovely privilege of having your employee, a Mr. Elijah Johnson, stay with us this month.

  I’m writing to inform you that a terrible tragedy has befallen Mr. Johnson. Returning from Virginia City, his stage was attacked, and he was injured. He has a broken leg and several broken ribs.

  As her pen went dry of ink, she tapped her chin with it. In all the craziness of the rescue aftermath, she hadn’t thought again about the fact that he shouldn’t have been on that stage. What had made him choose to return that way? And where was her horse? It didn’t make sense. She’d have to discuss it with Mr. Liverpool tonight and send a couple of riders to retrieve their mount. If they could find him. Taking a deep breath, she dipped her pen again and went back to the letter, hoping she could get it out today.

  While we are doing our best to care for him, he has not woken up yet. The doctor is hopeful that his body is healing and needs rest.

  I wasn’t certain if there was anyone else I should contact on his behalf, but please know that we will continue to see to Mr. Johnson’s health and needs while he recovers here.

  Please pray for him, and we will continue to as well.

  He is welcome to stay in our care until his wounds heal.

  Sincerely,

  Jacqueline Rivers

  Michael came in to relieve her as she was fanning the paper to help it dry. “The Express should be here soon.”

  With a nod, she blew on the letter. “Would you mind handing me that envelope I laid on the bed? I need the address for Elijah’s employer.”

  “Sure.” He went to pick up the packet, but in his hurry around the bed, he knocked it onto the floor.

  “Be careful. It looked pretty worn already.”

  “Sorry, Jack. Didn’t mean to drop it, but it’s open.”

  With a wince, she prayed that nothing had fallen out of it during its travels. Hopefully nothing of import. That wouldn’t look good for the Pony Express.

  As Michael moved to retrieve it, she noticed the seams of the envelope were open and it looked like a little basket as it lay on the floor.

  He leaned down to pick it up and let out his breath in a whoosh. “Well, will ya look at that.”

  “What is it?”

  Michael squatted down next to the open envelope and stared at it.

  “Michael, I just need the address. I don’t have all day—”

  “Jack. Look”—he pointed—“it’s you.”

  Virginia City

  Carl paced in front of the fireplace. “I’ll take whatever you can have done in a week.”

  The fat man puffed on his cigar. “What’s the rush?”

  “My urgency doesn’t concern you.” He pulled his pocket watch out of his waistcoat and checked the time. “You just focus on getting as many done as you can.”

  “I’ll work around the clock if I have to.” Smoke filled the air. “So didyou hear about Sanders?”

  “What about him?”

  “He got hisself shot the other day.”

  Carl stopped his pacing and looked at the man. He couldn’t wait until he was done working with this imbecile. The man had no fear and no manners. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “Dangerous times, you know. Just thought I’d let you know so you could watch yourself.”

  “Thank you.” Sarcasm dripped from the words. Like he needed advice from a two-bit forger. No. He had much more important things on his mind. “Shouldn’t you be getting back to work?”

  “Sure. I’ll get right to it.” Another ring of smoke polluted his air as the plump man turned with a smile and left.

  Slapping his hat against his thigh, Carl narrowed his eyes. Their forging friend knew too much. But ridding themselves of him would have to wait until after the job was done. Then it would be a difficult cover-up. Maybe he should just take his chances and let it all play out. So what if the plan had changed. Their timeline had moved. They were still on target to get away with one of the biggest thefts—from the government, no less—in history.

  He could handle a few thorns in his side along the way. Just like he had before.

  As long as he got what he wanted.

  Carson Sink Station

  Staring at the face that gazed back at her from the floor, Jackie couldn’t believe her eyes.

  Michael reached to pick up the small packet.

  “No. Don’t touch it.”

  “Why? It’s not like we’ve broken anything, and we didn’t break the law by opening mail that wasn’t ours. The seal popped open. Right? We can’t exactly leave it on the floor. You needed the address, remember?” He picked it up and held it out in his hands. “What do you want me to do with it?”

  All she could do was stare. “It does look like me, doesn’t it?”

  “Yep. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think it was you. Not that you ever fixed your hair fancy like that or sat for your portrait to be painted.” He elbowed her. Just like a little brother, he always knew how to bring her back down to reality.

  Blinking the weird coincidence aside, she picked up her pen and the envelope she’d made for her letter. “Quick, turn it over so I can copy the address. I don’t want to miss the Express.”

  He did as she asked and she transferred the address.

  “I’ll just put this back on the desk.” Michael carried the packet over and set it down. “Maybe we should seal it back up so he doesn’t think we were snooping while he was laid up.”

  “That’s a good idea. I will simply explain things to Elijah once he’s well enough to read his correspondence.”

  “Then maybe you can ask him who the lady is.”

  He had a point. But it sparked a different idea in Jackie’s mind. A brave and daring one. She prayed she had enough time before the rider came. Dipping her pen back in the ink, she added a postscript to her letter to Mr. Vines before she changed her mind.

  P.S. In an effort to obtain your address to send this missive, I had to look at one of your packets to Mr. Johnson. It had been quite worn on the long journey here and the seal popped open. Rest assured, I read nothing of your correspondence and resealed the packet so that Mr. Johnson will have it when he awakens, but I did see the painting. I must inquire about it. The portrait looks like me. Why did you send it, if I may ask? It was quite shocking to see. Are we acquainted, sir?

  Once she’d ensured the ink was dry, she folded the letter, inserted it into the envelope, sealed it, and stamped it with the Pony Express stamp.

  Michael sat down beside Elijah. “So did you ask him, then?”

  “Ask who what?”

  “Don’t act all innocent with me, Jack. I know you. Did you ask the man who sent that packet about the portrait?”

  “I did.” Heat flooded her face. “I don’t know if it was the right thing to do—it definitely doesn’t follow the rules of etiquette—but I did.” She put a hand to her stomach to quell the nervousness she felt. How extraordinarily odd it felt to see a painting of herself. Who could have done it?

  Who was the woman? Was she related to her mother? Or Dad? That would explain the uncanny resemblance. But it still unnerved her.

  “Good. I’m glad you did. It was strange.” He patted Elijah’s bed. “Maybe if we could get this gentleman to wake up, we could get some answers.”

  A stabbing pain in his foot jarred Elijah’s senses. What was that? Why wouldn’t it stop? He tried moving his foot away, but the sharp weapon followed it.


  The stabbing and burning continued until finally he could stand it no longer. He forced his eyes open and let out a yell. “Ahhh-owww!”

  Figures came into focus above him. Jackie, Michael, and Timothy were holding him down, while another man he didn’t recognize must be the one behind the torture and pain.

  “Good, you’re finally awake.” The man lifted a small, shiny knife with the telltale red of blood into the air.

  No wonder he felt like he’d been stabbed. Because he had been.

  “Sorry to have to use such force. I’ll get your foot bandaged up, and we’ll get some nourishment in you. You gave us quite a scare, Mr. Johnson.”

  “Who are you?” And how did the man know who he was?

  “I’m Dr. Thompson. These good people here rescued you after your stage was attacked about nine days ago I believe. They’ve been taking care of you ever since.” He wrapped something white around his foot.

  Now that the piercing pain in his foot was gone, Elijah began to feel pain in other areas of his body. His chest hurt. Especially if he took too deep a breath. And what was wrong with his leg? It felt like every muscle cramped at the same time. Pushing up with his arms, he tried to move.

  Jackie leaned closer into his field of vision. “Don’t try to sit up just yet. You have broken ribs. How are you feeling?”

  “Weak. And hungry.”

  “The hunger is a good sign.” The doctor wiped his hands on a rag. “But sadly, you won’t be able to eat much for a while. Your stomach won’t know what to do with solid food after the famine you’ve put it through. I’ve given instruction to Miss Rivers here to give you lots of broths, soups, and then custards for the next couple of days. Then perhaps you can have some bread and after that some meat. Your body has been through quite a trauma. I’m afraid this is going to take a lot of recuperation and exercises for you to be able to walk normally again.”

  “What do you mean, to walk normally again?”

  “It was quite a bad break, and, well … it took awhile to get you out from under the stagecoach and then back here. Thankfully, they’d already sent for me, but your leg had swollen a good deal before I was able to set it. And, of course, there’s still the risk of developing a fever.”