The Express Bride

by Kimberley Woodhouse

  As she allowed her tears to wash the anguish from her heart, she prayed for wisdom. Every time she thought the pain was too much to bear, she was reminded to cast all her burdens on the Lord. That still, small voice kept telling her that she wasn’t alone. She latched onto that truth because everything within her told her she was so very alone.

  Jackie curled into a ball and sobbed until no more tears remained. Her head ached, her nose was stuffed, and every part of her body felt completely void of strength.

  Wiping the last tears from her cheeks, she took several breaths to calm herself. As much as she wanted to read her mother’s journal tonight, it wasn’t wise. She needed rest to face tomorrow’s duties. They wouldn’t stop just because she wanted to stay in bed and cry.

  Emotionally she was spent. She had nothing left to give. Yet she had a station full of people relying on her. They had a patient to attend to as well. And thoughts of Elijah brought in a fresh new wagonload of emotions.

  Did he know who she was? Was that why he was here? She’d thought of him as a friend. And at times had hoped for more. Her heart had begun to open up to the possibility of love.

  Could she trust Elijah? Or was he simply playing a part this whole time?

  Mr. Vines, there’s an Express for you.” Colson’s voice from across the garden grabbed Charles’s attention. “The delivery boy apologized. It had been misdirected to Omaha and sat there for a few days before they discovered the problem.”

  Charles walked toward his man and met him in the middle near the pruned rosebushes. Colson handed him the missive. He raised his eyebrows. From Elijah. That was good—perhaps there was more information.

  “Would you like to come inside and sit by the fire, sir?”

  “No. I’m actually feeling quite invigorated by the crisp air today. I’m feeling like myself again.” He opened the envelope and pulled out the paper.

  “Wonderful news, sir. But please remember the doctor’s orders that you continue to rest.”

  Charles let out a huff. “Good grief, Colson, I’ve been resting for months, and I’ve had quite enough of it. There shouldn’t be any problem with me walking about, getting exercise and fresh air.” Waving the letter in the air, he accentuated his exasperation.

  “My apologies, sir. It’s only because I don’t wish to see you ill again.”

  “I understand that, Colson. I do. And I appreciate it.” He sat on one of the stone benches in the garden. “You’ve been good to me all these years. I’m just tired of being an invalid.”

  “Understood, sir. Is there anything I can do for you?”

  Charles took a deep breath. “No. I think I’ll just read the letter and then come back inside.”

  “Good, sir.” Colson walked back over to the door of the house that led out to the garden, but instead of going in, he turned, put his hands behind his back, and waited.

  Charles chuckled. Stubborn man. Of course, he had a stubborn boss to deal with, so that was probably to be expected.

  Pulling his spectacles out of his pocket, he put them on and opened the letter.

  October 15, 1860

  Dear Sir,

  After all these months, you’ve probably become a bit discouraged by all the correspondence I’ve sent saying that I haven’t made any progress. Well, this may be premature, but I believe that I may have news.

  As we went through ledgers at the stagecoach stop where I’m staying, I found out that a woman—Hanna Morris—and her infant stayed here for three years. Then nothing else is said of her.

  I don’t wish to jump to conclusions, but the woman who now runs the stop and Express station was raised by the man who owned it all those years ago. Sadly, he passed away recently, but the woman has blond hair and green eyes. She also told me that her mother died when she was quite young.

  She’s also twenty-six years old.

  Now, all of these might be coincidences, but with the witness I found in a nearby town, I believe this might be your daughter. I’m hesitant to even write that so soon, but I’m hoping to find some other proof. She doesn’t have the slightest idea of any of this because she believes the man who raised her was her father, and I’ve been reluctant to bring her any more grief. He sounds like he was a very good man.

  I pray that your health has improved and that this note will give you a bit of encouragement as well. I’m praying for you every day.

  If you have anything that could help me discern the truth, please send it to me here.

  Before I sign off, might I inquire if you know a James Crowell? He works for the secretary of the treasury and he’s asked me to assist him in a matter or two.

  All my best to everyone there. I look forward to hearing from you again.

  Sincerely,

  Elijah

  Charles blinked rapidly after reading the note and then read it again. Could it be true? After all this time? The thought thrilled him more than he imagined possible. Looking across at Colson, he smiled. “I need you to send for Dr. Newberry. Tell him I need to see him as soon as possible.” Getting to his feet, he had a spring in his step as he headed to the door. “Then I need you to bring a trunk down for me, and you’ll need to pack for yourself as well.”

  “Are we going somewhere, sir?” One of Colson’s eyebrows quirked up.

  “Yes, indeed. We’re going out West.”

  “Whatever for, sir?”

  “To see my daughter.”

  Four hours later, Charles was itching to leave.

  Dr. Nathaniel Newberry was listening to his heart with his long wooden stethoscope tube. That made Charles all the more impatient.

  Newberry pulled back and gave him a glare. “You’re not being a very cooperative patient today, Charles. What has gotten into you?”

  “Nathaniel, we’ve known each other for ages. Quit stalling. I’m better, aren’t I?”

  The doctor’s head tilted back and forth as he put the instrument away. “You are better. I will admit that, but I’m still concerned that if you go back to your work-crazy lifestyle, this brief respite of good health won’t last long.”

  Charles buttoned his waistcoat and lifted his chin. “Well, it’s a good thing I’m not planning to return to my work anytime soon … if ever.”

  Nathaniel narrowed his eyes and put his hands on his hips. “Exactly what are you planning to do, Charles?”

  “Nothing much, just going on a little trip.”

  “A business trip or a trip for leisure?”

  “Leisure, of course, my friend.”

  The doctor gave him a smile. “Good. But as much as I would like to think you don’t have anything else up your sleeve, I know better. I’ve known you too long.”

  “I won’t be doing any business, if that’s what you are thinking.”

  “I’m not sure what to think, Charles. But I’ll be praying for you. Don’t overdo it. Send for me when you return.” He grabbed his black bag and walked out.

  Colson stepped forward, a smirk on his face. “I’m guessing you’re not planning to tell him the truth about where we’re going.”

  “Not at all.” He went over and checked the trunk. “I can always send him a letter.”

  Colson chuckled. “Of course, sir.”

  “Have you made the arrangements?”

  His man looked down at a list he held and used a pencil to point to each item. “Yes, sir. I’ve hired two men to accompany us and spoke with the Butterfield stage manager when I purchased the tickets. I paid double the price for each of us, just like instructed, so that the stage is all ours. It normally takes twenty-one days and nights to travel from St. Louis to San Francisco. That’s in good weather. So it could take up to five or six weeks. The main driver has been all the way to California and back many times, so he knows the way quite well. He’s been driving since the line was started in 1858. I told them we would help purchase more horses along the way if need be, but they change the horses every three hours or so. He was grateful for your offer of assistance and said the drivers w
ill be informed.”

  Charles clapped his hands together. “That sounds rather well prepared to me. Especially on such short notice. Thank you, Colson.” Hemoved to pick up his hat. “This is going to be quite the adventure. We are headed to the great American West.” Placing his hat on his head, Charles realized he hadn’t thought about one important aspect of travel. Sustenance. “But what about food?”

  “I’ve purchased plenty of supplies in case of emergencies, but there will be food available for purchase at the way stations we visit. Cook has prepared a couple of baskets of your favorite treats for our trip.”

  “I’m sure this will be an extraordinary adventure. I’ve gotten so used to the train that I haven’t been on a stage for a long-distance trip in quite a while. Are there accommodations for sleeping along the way?”

  “No, sir. The stage travels all day and all night. We’ll have to sleep in the coach while it travels. Unless, of course, you want to stop.”

  “And the men you hired. They are trustworthy? Prepared to protect us in case of any outlaw attacks?”

  “Yes, sir.” Colson closed up the two trunks they would be taking. “The manager told me that the driver has said so far the trail is dry, but snow could fly at any time. So we will keep to a tight schedule until the weather won’t allow us that anymore. Up to sixty to seventy miles a day when we can, but that will diminish to twenty or thirty miles a day if the snow comes.”

  “What of the weather in the mountains?”

  “That is the only thing the men are worried about, sir. But the stage continues to run throughout the year. Any snow or ice will just slow us down. Especially if it gets too treacherous around the mountains.”

  “Then let us pray that the good Lord keeps the snow from flying anytime soon.”

  “It is already November, sir.”

  “I know that, Colson. But I’m not going to wait all winter before I try to see my daughter. Besides, Elijah probably needs my help.”

  November 6, 1860

  The pounding sound of a horse’s hooves woke Elijah. Blinking in thebright sunlight that streamed through the window, he forced himself to stay awake rather than fade back into the cocoon of sleep.

  Ever since the doctor had given him such a rude awakening by stabbing him in the foot, Elijah had been sleeping most of the time. He’d awoken a few more times in the middle of the night and one of the boys had helped him get broth down his throat, but other than that, he didn’t remember much of anything else.

  For the first time in a long while, he felt alert. And quite parched. Turning his head, he noticed Michael asleep in the chair next to him. “Michael, Michael! Wake up.”

  “Huh?” The young man sat up straight and wiped at his eyes. “I’m sorry. Did you need something?”

  “Could you help prop me up so I could drink? I’m so tired of lying on my back.”

  “Sure. Jackie brought a few extra pillows in here the other day. Let me grab them.” The young man kept talking as he walked to the other side of the room. “You know, she was hoping that once you woke up, you’d be awake a lot more. But Doc said it might take awhile. Here they are.” Michael fluffed up each one. “How do you want to do this? Should I lift you up by the shoulders?”

  “Yes, that might be the best. I’ll push up from the bed with my arms, and you lift from there. Maybe you can shove a few pillows behind me then.”

  “All right, I’ll lift on three. One, two, three.”

  It took both of their efforts to move him a mere foot, and his ribs screamed in pain, but he was at least a bit more upright. “Thanks, Michael.”

  The lad then brought over a glass of water. “I just filled the bucket from the stream, so it should still be cool.”

  “Thank you.” With a shaky hand, he took the glass, and once he’d drained it, he was amazed at how much better he felt. The events that had happened in Virginia City came back in fuzzy pictures. Mr. Sanders had been murdered. Elijah’s horse stolen. And then the stage attacked. His heart beat faster as his breathing became short. “What happened to the driver? Was he killed?”

  Michael put a hand on his shoulder. “Doc said you’re not supposed to be getting yourself all worked up. Now why don’t you just take a couple deep breaths and calm down.”

  “He’s dead, isn’t he?” All the pictures began to sharpen as memories rushed into his mind. What had happened with the stage? He wasn’t sure. But he remembered watching a man with a bandanna over his face shoot the driver. The horses had taken off with no one to guide them. The stage crashed.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Johnson. It had to have been an awful thing.”

  He swiped a hand down his face and tried to calm his breathing. The room swirled and spots danced in front of his eyes. “Mr. Johnson?”

  He closed his eyes. “I’m all right. Just give me a minute.”

  “Jack is gonna kill me. You’re supposed to be calm and resting.”

  “I’m fine, Michael. Don’t fret.” He tried to convince himself his words were true and took deep, long breaths, keeping his eyes closed. As much as he wanted to help Mr. Crowell, the stress of the situation was obviously sending his body into a panic. He couldn’t allow that to happen. The only way he’d be able to help was by healing, getting better, and telling the authorities everything he knew.

  Once his heart slowed down, he opened his eyes and saw Michael hovering over him. “See? I’m all right.” But every time he thought about the accident, the pictures of men being shot flashed in his mind and made him nauseous. They had to find the criminals. And soon. Before more people were killed.

  “You don’t look all right. You’ve got that look in your eyes again.”

  “What kind of a look?”

  “Like you’ve just seen a ghost.”

  Elijah forced himself to take a few more calming breaths. How could he let Crowell know? Or the sheriff? The sooner this was taken care of, the better. Especially since he was a witness now. Twice. “Has the sheriff been out here?”

  “Yeah. While you were unconscious. I’m sure he’ll come back out here when he finds out you’re awake.”

  “Good.” He nodded and looked around the room. He needed something to get his mind off of the horrible memories. He spied the letters on the desk. Hadn’t they said something about him receiving some Express letters while he was injured? “Michael? Would you mind handing me those letters?”

  “Not at all. Let me get them for you. But there’s something I need to tell you.”

  “Oh?”

  “The top packet fell and the seal was broken, but rest assured, we did not read your mail. But we resealed it. That’s why there’s a fresh one on there.”

  “Of course. I understand. Thank you for being honest with me.”

  “Sure. Hey, do you mind if I go to the privy? I don’t want to leave you alone, but since you’re awake, is that all right?” He deposited the letters in Elijah’s lap.

  “Go right ahead. It’s not like I’m going anywhere.”

  “Thanks. I’ll be right back.” Michael dashed out of the room.

  Elijah lifted the first envelope up so he could see it better. It was definitely worn from the long journey from Kansas City to here. He wasn’t surprised that the seal had been broken. Especially since there seemed to be something more than just a note inside. The packet had a good deal of weight to it for an Express.

  Splitting the new seal, he opened it up and pulled out a letter. A miniature canvas fell out of the envelope, bounced off of his lap, and landed on the floor. He looked down at it. Oh well, he’d have to ask Michael to retrieve it when he returned. He turned his attention back to the letter.

  October 18, 1860

  Dear Elijah,

  It was indeed wonderful to get your letter from the twelfth of this month. It is beyond my wildest imagination to think of the distance between us. You in the Utah Territory. Me back here in Kansas City. But now thanks to the Pony Express, I receivedyour letter in a week! Amazing!

  My boy
, I hope you are doing well. As anxious as I am for you to find my daughter and for you to return, I know this has not been an easy task. I’m glad you have had some time to rest and gather your thoughts while awaiting my response. To be honest, I’m very thankful you chose to stay there so that I could send this on to you.

  Right after you left, I had Colson come and gather some things out of the attic for me. Just in case my time was growing short. (Don’t worry, I’ve been following the doctor’s orders and am glad to say that I’m doing remarkably better.) But over the last months, Colson and I have gone through many old trunks filled with memories of years gone by. We found this miniature painting yesterday amongst the items.

  All these years, I’ve been under the impression that I had nothing to remember her by. You see, Anna had thrown all the portrait paintings into the fireplace the night before she left. I can’t say that I blame her, but this sweet picture appeared as we were digging through an old trunk.

  It was from our courtship. I paid handsomely to have it done so that I could have her with me at all times. I’d kept it on my desk in my office in those early years. Somehow, after she left, it was stashed away with old clothing and documents. I’m passing on this treasure to you because for some reason, I have a feeling and hope that our daughter might look like her mother. As much as it pains me to part with it so soon, I’m holding out hope that it will aid you in your search.

  I’m looking forward to hearing more from you.

  As always, I’m praying for you.

  Sincerely,

  Charles Vines

  Michael came back into the room at that moment, and Elijah couldn’t have been more grateful.

  “Would you mind picking something up for me? I dropped it out of this letter.”

  “Sure.” When the young man made it around the bed, an odd look spread over his face as he looked down at the canvas. He picked it up slowly and handed it to Elijah.

  Elijah studied the portrait, which made his heart pick up its pace. He raised his eyebrows. “You saw?”

  “Uh, yeah.” Michael’s brow furrowed. “Who is that?”