Promenade With Penelope

by P. Creeden

  Penelope decided to venture out anyway. After dressing in a high collar and long sleeves and wearing gloves and a veil and then keeping a parasol in her hand. And it had worked. The sun didn’t beat on her skin directly as she took a stroll around the property.

  But the moment her heart lifted in joy, she took one look down the road to the house and saw dust being kicked up by a horse and felt a twinge of worry. As the horse drew closer, and the banker, Mr. Lemon, came into view, her heart sank. He pulled up and smiled down at her before dismounting his horse and hitching him to the post outside the house. Tipping his hat, he offered, “Good day, Miss. Lovely outside, isn’t it.”

  It was. She almost said, but managed to keep her lips together and swallow the words back down. Instead, she managed a curt nod. “What can I help you with, Mr. Lemon?”

  He cleared his throat. “It seems your lawyer has said that you intend to move from the estate before the end of the month. I’m going to need you to move up your timeline.”

  Her breath hitched. “Pardon me?”

  After letting out a sigh, Mr. Lemon shook his head. “We have a buyer who is ready to purchase the estate, but he would like to move in next week. Since we are foreclosing on the property anyway, it is in our best interest to take the man’s offer. Therefore we will need you to vacate the premises before Sunday.”

  Now her heart stuttered. “Sunday? But it’s already Thursday.”

  “Yes, I understand that this puts you in a difficult position. But since the end of the month was little more than a week away, I suspect you’ve already been packing your things and getting your affairs in order.” Mr. Lemon was already looking off in the distance as though avoiding her gaze.

  Penelope swallowed hard. No. She hadn’t been preparing to leave. She’d been avoiding the possibility in her mind, in her heart, in every possible way. Somehow, she’d been hoping that the day would never come. That perhaps something would happen that would keep it from ever coming. She knew it was a childish, selfish hope, but honestly, she’d clung to it. Now the truth of it all was crashing in on her. A stitch in her side caused pain when she took a deep breath, and she found the need to take several shallow ones. Could she get enough air? What had happened to her that she suddenly needed more. Panic overcame her.

  “Well... There’s not really much more I need to say. I’ve already informed your lawyer, and he said he would make arrangement for your travels. Godspeed, Miss Warner.” With a nod, Mr. Lemon mounted his horse once more and tipped his hat before starting back down the dirt road away from the house.

  Weakness overcame Penelope as she allowed her parasol to dip away from her body and slip from her hands. It gently tapped the ground while the handle rested against her knees. The sun shone brightly overhead, and for the first time, she wished that it would just go ahead and kill her. She ripped the gloves from her hands and the veil from her face and turned toward the sun, letting its bright rays shine down upon her face and hands unimpeded, and closed her eyes.

  And then she waited.

  Could she be struck into a pillar of salt, like Lot’s wife? Would she be melted like a horseshoe in a farrier’s forge? Maybe it would just strike her dead, like a ray of lightning. Her heart raced as she waited for whatever was going to happen to happen. The heat of the sun’s rays warmed her skin, but there was no itching. No burning. Slowly, she cracked open an eyelid and peered at the blue, cloudless sky, blinded a bit by the bright yellow ball that sat a little west of zenith, suddenly feeling betrayed.

  Was everything that she’d ever known a lie?

  Where was the pain? Where was the discomfort of the allergy she remembered from childhood? Nothing seemed to be happening, even though she sat in the full, blunt rays of the sun. Had she been fooling herself all this time? Maybe she was crazy.

  Her hands fell limp at her sides as a weight rested upon her shoulders. Tears stung her eyes, unbidden. How was she going to do this? A sob bubbled up. How was she supposed to leave everything that was familiar to her and pack up all that she owned and move away to a new town in a new state and make a new life, alone?

  Mrs. Honeycutt and her husband had a life here in Arizona. Even though she hadn’t said anything, Penelope was certain that they were not coming with her. Did that mean that she would be traveling by train for the first time, alone? How could she possibly do that? More sobs came as the tears blurred her vision. She crumpled to the ground in her dress. Dry, red clay stuck to the hem and threatened to make the whole dress appear as though it were dipped in an orange dye. Dirt she hadn’t experienced in over a decade surrounded her. She could feel the grit between her teeth as she cried. The taste of the clay formed on her tongue.

  Everything outside was dirty and unfamiliar. And yet she’d been thrown out of her house to make it out here on her own. Where would she find the strength?

  Deep inside her heart, a memory sparked.

  The LORD is my strength and my shield; my heart trusted in him, and I am helped: therefore my heart greatly rejoiceth; and with my song will I praise him.

  She swallowed down the next sob. That verse had a peculiar memory attached to it. She was sitting in a covered wagon with her mother reading to her from the Psalms. It was Psalm 28:7. Her mother’s voice had a light lilt to it as she said the words and then she told Penelope to commit the words to memory. That she needed to remember that the Lord is her strength. That she didn’t need to do everything on her own, even when it felt like she had to. That God was her helper and there was no reason for her heart to be downtrodden. Her mother had even created a little song for Penelope to sing to herself. She couldn’t have been more than seven or eight. It was when they were making the move out to Arizona territory before she lost her mother. Before her grandfather had fallen completely ill. Before she had contracted the sensitivity to sun... or had she? Perhaps she’d developed a tolerance? Perhaps she’d been cured.

  Either way, the sun didn’t seem to affect her the way she remembered any longer. And somehow, that made her sad instead of lightening her heart as she would have expected.

  Her mother’s song played through her head. She sang the words herself, using the same rhythm her mother had. And it did make her feel better. The tears had stopped falling the moment she’d remembered the song. She sang the line a few more times, until she felt the strength to stand. The dried streaks of her tears felt tight on the skin of her cheeks. She swiped at them, but it didn’t seem to help. After allowing herself to take a deep breath, she picked up her parasol and gloves. The veil had blown away in the summer breeze and was nowhere to be seen. A sigh escaped her lips. It didn’t matter. She no longer had need of it.

  Continuing to sing to herself, she started marching back toward the house, determined that if she could lean upon the Lord for strength, then she was never truly alone.

  Chapter 7

  “Washington!” a deep voice called to Jeremiah the moment he entered the train station. The cacophony of voices in the station rose to as a train began pulling in, as though they all needed to get what they had to say out before the train could even pull to a stop.

  Jeremiah turned toward the voice and found Marshal Keeley along with the other two deputies behind him. “Marshal?”

  The marshal nodded to him. “I’m so happy that I ran into you. I was going to be heading back to Colorado today as well, but then I ran into some pressing business and another prisoner transfer, this time from California. So I’ll be heading the other direction.”

  Jeremiah furrowed his brow as he nodded, wondering why the marshal was sharing all this information with him.

  “Anyway,” the marshal said, his lips growing thin as he came closer. “Since I was heading back toward Colorado, I took a job from one of my bounty hunter contacts. There is a young lady who will be traveling alone from here to Creede, actually. She needs an escort. I was planning on doing it myself, but now I’m heading the other direction. Is there any chance you’d take the job?”

  A frown tugg
ed at Jeremiah’s lip. “A job as an escort?”

  The marshal nodded. “That’s right. She’s a young lady of means who is moving from Yuma to Creede. I believe her name is Priscilla Warner. She’ll be arriving here for the eleven o’clock train. You’re taking the same one, right?”

  Jeremiah’s frown deepened. A young lady of means. Usually that meant someone spoiled, who’d never worked a hard moment in her life. Someone who would never even take a second glance at darkly tanned Jeremiah in his dusty boots and denim trousers. He swallowed hard. “I am. But are you sure I’m the right man for the job? I don’t really have any experience acting as an escort to a lady.”

  With a huffed laugh, the marshal clapped him on the shoulder. “There’s not much to it. Just be nearby and keep Miss Warner protected. Don’t let her order you around like a servant, and you’ll be fine. Your job is only to make sure that she makes it safely to Creede. I know that you can do that much without trouble.”

  A slow breath escaped Jeremiah as his shoulders stiffened. “I’m not sure if...”

  “Come on, good man. You’ll be doing me a favor.” With wide eyes, the marshal pleaded.

  Finally, Jeremiah found himself nodding. “All right. How will I know this Miss Warner when she comes?”

  The marshal clapped him on the shoulder again and then put something in his hand. “Good man! She is slight of build and pale of skin. Gold ringlets for hair, I’m told. And she’ll be alone with only her housemaid here to see her off. She’ll be looking for a man from the marshal’s office, so it will be a good reason to wear the star again.”

  Jeremiah opened his hand and found both the deputy marshal star that he’d turned in to Marshal Keeley at the end of the journey and a twenty dollar bill. He frowned. “Twenty dollars? Isn’t that a bit much for this job?”

  With a shrug, the marshal said, “If the ride proves uneventful, then you’ll be making off with more money than you likely deserve, but if some incident does occur, then you might consider it underpayment.”

  “What should I do with the star once I get to Colorado?”

  “Keep it. I know that I’ll call on you again, and honestly, you do hold the office after being sworn in.”

  Slowly, Jeremiah nodded again as he put the money in his pocket and pinned the star once more to his chest.

  “Excellent,” the marshal said as he took a step back. “We’re making arrangement for a prison car from California this time. Hopefully we won’t run into the kind of trouble we had with Cody.”

  Sunny laughed. “At least we shouldn’t since it’s not someone like Earl Cody we’re escorting this time.”

  “Right,” Marshal Keeley waved and then started away. “Have a safe trip, Deputy Marshal Washington.”

  Jeremiah didn’t know if he’d ever get used to the moniker, but he nodded and waved back as the three lawman strode away from him. He stood a little straighter and peered around the train station. This was the train that he was to take, but it wouldn’t be leaving for a little more than a half hour. Would his new charge already be awaiting him in the station? Did he need to buy his ticket now or should he wait to find out what kind of seat he’d need to have to purchase the ticket with Miss Warner?

  Suddenly feeling defeated, he rubbed his hands over his face. How had he let himself get pulled into this mess? Then he peered around the station. Pale, small, with gold ringlets for hair? It sounded like the description of a small child. Was that what he was going to be escorting? A child? The feeling of defeat weighed more heavily on his shoulders as he searched for the child that might be his charge. He didn’t find a girl that met with description given him.

  Letting out a breath, he decided it was better to go ahead and book his passage. The last thing he needed was to find that the train would be full and he’d be unable to take this mode of transportation today. Once he’d purchased the ticket, he turned about and looked for the child who might be Miss Priscilla Warner. He peered around for the young girl but didn’t find her. With a frown on his face, he stood with his arms crossed over his chest, making sure that the star on his lapel was still easily seen.

  “Excuse me,” a small voice to the right of his elbow said. “Are you Marshal Keeley?”

  He turned toward the voice, expecting the lone servant woman who would be accompanying the child to the station. But instead, he met eyes with a pale young woman with blonde hair in ringlets, just as the marshal had described. Her blue eyes fixed on his in a strong, determined way. His heart skipped a beat when he saw the hint of sadness there. For a moment, he couldn’t speak. He could hardly remember how to breathe. Then he blinked and nodded. “Yes... I mean, no. I’m not Marshal Keeley, but he sent me here to escort one Priscilla Warner. Would that be you?”

  Her brow furrowed as a frown marred her porcelain face. “Actually, my name is Penelope.”

  “Penelope,” the man said in his deep voice. He wasn’t what she had expected. Not at all. He was tall, strong, and darkly tanned as though he’d spent every waking moment in the sun. He wasn’t the least bit like her. He was quite the opposite.

  He cut an imposing figure, but somehow, it angered her that he would get her name wrong just from the start, and when he used her Christian name in such a familiar tone, it vexed her. Her frown deepened. “You may call me Miss Warner. And how should I refer to you, marshal?”

  “It’s Deputy Marshal Jeremiah Washington. Most people just call me Jeremiah.”

  She blinked, shaking her head. As if she’d be so inclined with a stranger? Certainly not! Swallowing down the indignation she felt, she glared at the man once more. “Deputy Marshal Washington will be just fine.”

  He shrugged. “Whatever suits you.”

  She sharpened her glare at him and turned slowly around, feeling suddenly flustered. How could a man who she didn’t even know evoke such strong feelings in her? She didn’t like him. Not one bit. Was she really going to spend three full days on a train with the man? How would she survive it?

  Mrs. Honeycutt met her eyes as she started walking toward her, and then the servant woman peered up at the man who shuffled his feet behind her and lifted a brow. Afterward she returned her gaze to Penelope. “Is this the marshal?”

  “Deputy Marshall Jeremiah Washington, at your service,” the man said, stepping up beside Penelope when she hesitated. “You may call me Jeremiah.”

  Mrs. Honeycutt’s hand fluttered to her chest and then she laughed, a bit of color tinging her cheeks as she offered the man a hand. “Oh, how charming. You may call me Gloria.”

  Gloria? Penelope blinked in surprise. All this time, she had no idea what Mrs. Honeycutt’s Christian name was. Mr. Honeycutt had always called her “dear,” and she and her grandfather had only referred to her by her surname. This was an interesting development. A sob crowded Penelope’s throat as she realized she was only learning this just as she was getting ready to leave and never see the woman again. A melancholy settled on Penelope’s shoulders. Then she realized what the woman had said. She was willing to share her Christian name with a stranger, just like that? Penelope darted her glance between the two of them as the deputy marshal took Mrs. Honeycutt’s hand and kissed the back of it. The act made Penelope’s skin crawl. In that moment, she was thankful she hadn’t offered the man her own hand. The thought of the man touching his lips to her hand made her think of washing it profusely.

  A whistle in the station alerted everyone that the train would now accept people aboard. She stepped toward her steamer trunk, ready to take the handle when the deputy marshal stepped forward and darted a hand in front of hers. He took both sides of the trunk and lifted it with ease. “I’ll get this to the porter. We should board the train as soon as possible to make sure we get a good seat.”

  Penelope furrowed her brow at the man. He’d lifted the trunk as though it weighed little, but when she and Mrs. Honeycutt had toted into the station, it was all that Penelope could do not to take several breaks on the way in. Mrs. Honeycutt took hold of bot
h her shoulders. “Well, Miss Warner. This is it. We’ve come a long way, and I’m happy to have been of service to you and your grandfather. You both were good to me and Mr. Honeycutt. I pray that you will have safe travels and that things will go well for you in your new home.”

  “Thank you,” Penelope said, barely able to push the words past the tightness in her throat. “I’ll miss you both.”

  Mrs. Honeycutt smiled, patted Penelope’s shoulders and stepped back as she looked past her. Penelope turned toward the train and the direction the servant woman had been gazing. After the deputy marshal checked her baggage with the porter, he returned to her side and offered an elbow.

  For a moment, Penelope just stared at it, trying to decide if she truly wanted to touch the man who smelled of horses, musk, and leather. She swallowed against the bile that rose in her throat and then was thankful that she wore gloves as she set a hand in the man’s arm, barely letting the kid leather of her gloves graze against the rawhide leather of his duster. He patted her hand with his, forcing her fingers to hold harder on his arm. Then he stepped forward and she had no recourse but to follow.

  He moved her hand from his elbow to his palm as he helped her up the steps of the train car. She swallowed hard, her heart fluttering a bit. She’d never been so close to a stranger before, and she wasn’t sure if she liked this one. But when she took a step forward, her shoes slipped on the metal of the step and caused her to start falling backward. She cried out, her eyes closing against the inevitable drop.

  Perhaps this was it. Perhaps this was when she’d finally die. Unfortunately it was a bit later than she’d hoped a few days ago, but it wasn’t altogether unwelcome, either.

  But she didn’t fall for long. Arms caught her and pulled her to a man’s chest as her feet fell lightly to the ground. She opened her eyes and stared up into Jeremiah Washington’s worried brown ones. The smell of leather and horses surrounded her and assaulted her senses, but this time it wasn’t entirely unpleasant.