McKenzie

by Penny Zeller

  The next day, McKenzie spent the afternoon Christmas shopping with Helen. “I will carry in your parcels, Miss McKenzie,” Lawrence announced as he helped McKenzie down from the carriage when they returned to the Worthington residence after driving Helen home.

  “Thank you, Lawrence. You may bring them up to my room, please.” McKenzie reached for Lawrence’s hand and stepped carefully out of the carriage. Holding up the corner of her dress, she made her way up the porch steps and opened the front door.

  Her mother came out of the sitting room. “Finally, you’re home,” she said, her voice flat with apparent frustration.

  “Hello, Mother. I was just shopping with Helen. Is something wrong?”

  “What is the meaning of this letter?” her mother asked, rushing toward McKenzie and waving an envelope in her hand.

  “What—what do you mean, Mother?” McKenzie held her breath. She recognized the blue envelope and wondered how her mother could have acquired possession of it.

  “I mean this letter here,” her mother said, her voice rising in pitch.

  “Oh, how nice! I received some mail?” McKenzie smiled with feigned surprise. She reached out and attempted to retrieve the letter with all the ladylike assertiveness she could muster.

  “Oh, no, you don’t,” her mother warned her. “You’re not getting this letter until you tell me what this is all about. Why would you be receiving a letter from someone in the Montana Territory, of all places?”

  “The Montana Territory?” McKenzie asked. She racked her brain to come up with a reasonable explanation for the letter. If she told the truth, her mother would forbid her to continue corresponding with Zach, which would ruin McKenzie’s plans to meet him—and to rescue Kaydie. The only thing left to do was lie. Quick, McKenzie, think of something. McKenzie willed her mind to think of a convincing excuse that would quell her mother’s concerns. She reached up to twirl a tendril of hair between her thumb and forefinger. Thankfully, Zach hadn’t written his name in the return address but had written only, “Pine Haven, Montana Territory.” That left McKenzie with more room for creativity.

  “You sound as though you’re surprised to be receiving a letter from a place that’s far enough away to be on the other side of the earth,” her mother fumed.

  “Mother, may I look at the envelope?” McKenzie asked, making her voice sound syrupy sweet.

  Her mother paused for a moment, then relented and handed McKenzie the letter. McKenzie stared down at the envelope, eager to remove herself from this uncomfortable confrontation with her mother and even more eager to read Zach’s latest letter. “Was this letter just delivered?” McKenzie asked, confused as to why Biddie hadn’t kept it for her to read in secret.

  “About twenty minutes ago,” said her mother. “I nearly opened it myself because it seemed as though you would never return.”

  McKenzie nearly let a gasp escape her lips. What if her mother had opened the envelope? McKenzie didn’t allow herself to imagine the consequences that would have come, had her mother been any more impatient.

  “Where’s Biddie?” McKenzie asked. She should have known better than to have trusted Biddie with something so important. While she liked the maid, McKenzie also knew that Biddie could be scatterbrained at times.

  “Biddie?” her mother asked. “What does Biddie have to do with the letter?”

  “I just remembered that I hadn’t seen her today,” said McKenzie.

  “You haven’t seen her because she’s not here.”

  “She’s not here?”

  “No, she is ill today. At least, that’s what she says. You know hired help. Completely unreliable in times of need,” her mother said, rolling her eyes.

  “She’s ill?” asked McKenzie. Of all days for Biddie to be ill, this had to be the day.

  “Yes, McKenzie, she’s ill. She stayed home today. Now, let’s stop speaking of something so insignificant and return to the matter at hand. Who is the letter from?”

  “Oh, yes, the letter,” said McKenzie. “I’d almost forgotten.” She turned the envelope over in her hand. Quick, McKenzie, think of something, anything! “Poor, poor woman,” McKenzie said after a moment, shaking her head and closing her eyes.

  “What poor woman?” her mother asked, sounding curious.

  “The one who wrote me this letter.”

  “A poor woman wrote you that letter?” her mother asked. “I will say one thing for the poor woman—she has nice penmanship. But, never mind that. Tell me the details.”

  “May we sit in the parlor, Mother?” McKenzie asked. “My feet are tired from shopping all day.”

  “Of course,” she said, following her daughter to the parlor.

  McKenzie sighed. Please, Mother, don’t ask me to read you the letter, she thought to herself. She clutched Zach’s letter and sat down on the sofa next to her mother.

  “Now, do tell,” her mother demanded.

  “The story is so very sad, Mother. You may need your handkerchief,” said McKenzie, covering her mouth with her hand.

  “Go on,” said her mother.

  “You see, there is a young woman in the Montana Territory whom I learned of through some of my charity work. Her name is…Isadora Jones.”

  “Isadora? What a dreadful name,” said Florence. “You’re right, I will need a handkerchief.”

  “Anyway, Mother, as I was saying, I learned of Isadora through my charity work. She is a young woman with eight children—”

  “Eight children? Goodness gracious! How old is she?”

  “My age.”

  “And she has eight children? You’re right—she is a poor woman!”

  “Mother, times have been difficult for Isadora,” sniffled McKenzie. “So difficult, indeed. You see, two of her children are twins.”

  “Twins?” her mother exclaimed. “That would make life difficult. I was always thankful I didn’t have twins.”

  McKenzie nodded, reaching into the depths of her imagination to add to the story, being sure to make it tragic yet credible. “The twins are very ill. They have had difficulties since birth. As a matter of fact, one of them cannot even walk.”

  “How old are they?”

  “I believe Isadora told me in her letters that they are four years old. Not only that, but Isadora’s husband was injured when he fell off a horse last year. He hasn’t been able to work.”

  “He shouldn’t have been riding a horse,” her mother declared.

  “Because he hasn’t been able to work, the family has no food and no clothing. Their only shelter is a meager cabin with but two rooms. It’s dreadful, Mother….” McKenzie pretended to cry then, burying her face in a handkerchief.

  “I had no idea,” said her mother. She dabbed at the corners of her eyes with her own handkerchief. “What can we do to help?”

  McKenzie lifted her head and faced her mother. “The church has been supporting her, and I have been acting as a liaison between the two parties. I knew you wouldn’t mind my corresponding with her, because of your kind and generous nature. Please don’t be angry with me. I was only doing what we privileged are called to do, and that is to provide charity and encouragement to those in need.”

  “Now, don’t cry, McKenzie; it’s not becoming of a proper lady. I’m not angry.”

  “Oh, thank you, Mother. It is my guess that this is an update on the status of her and her family’s condition.” McKenzie fanned herself with Zach’s letter. “I would let you read it, Mother, but I promised her—oh, how I promised—that I would keep her matters secret. I have already told you more than I should. It’s quite humbling, you know, when one cannot afford to buy a bag of flour.”

  “No, no, that’s fine. I don’t need to read the letter. I’m just relieved. At first, I thought it might be from Kaydie. We haven’t heard from her in so long.”

  “No, Mother, it’s not from Kaydie,” McKenzie said, gazing wistfully at the missive in her hands. “I surely wish it was.”

  “I suppose you’re right.”<
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  “Now, if you’ll excuse me, Mother, I must go upstairs and read this letter in the privacy of my room. It’s the only way I will be able to see what else I can do for the Jones family.”

  “Yes, by all means, please do so,” her mother agreed.

  “Thank you, Mother.” McKenzie stood to her feet, dragging them slowly, as if still overcome with anguish over Isadora’s plight. “I’ll be down for dinner,” she said.

  “Very well.”

  McKenzie found it difficult not to take the stairs quickly, or even two at a time, in her excitement to open Zach’s letter. That was a close one, McKenzie, she told herself. She felt her heart racing and knew that it had only been a miracle that her mother believed her far-fetched story. Rushing into her room and closing the door, McKenzie sat down on her bed. Carefully opening the envelope, she retrieved Zach’s letter….

  December 28, 1881

  Dear McKenzie,

  Thank you for your sympathy. Although it has been difficult at times, God has carried me through and will continue to do so. I always thank Him for that and feel very blessed.

  When I’m not working, I enjoy spending time with my ranch family, riding horses in the nearby mountains, fishing, and reading the Bible. Do you read the Bible often?

  I received seven responses to my advertisement from several places in the East. I chose yours because it was the most genuine, and, after much prayer, I decided you were the one with whom I would choose to correspond. I, too, am matrimony-minded and look forward to meeting you in person someday.

  Because Pine Haven is small, there aren’t many social events, but it is a very close-knit community. Church potlucks, barn dances, and picnics are among some of the activities. There is also a quilting circle, in which many of the women in town participate.

  No, I don’t travel to Canfield Falls very often. It is smaller than Pine Haven and has a reputation for being rough and wild, due to the success of mining in the area. However, if you would like to visit, I would be happy to take you there.

  I hope that you and your family had a blessed Christmas.

  Sincerely,

  Zach

  More letters traveled over hundreds of miles and continued with frequency throughout the winter months. Both McKenzie and Zach shared details about their lives and showed interest in each other’s lives. It was at the beginning of April that Zach worked up the courage to ask McKenzie to come to Pine Haven and be his bride. He received this response:

  April 14, 1882

  Dear Zach,

  Spring has finally decided to come to Boston. I am always thankful when the new leaves and the flowers begin to poke their heads from their winter hiding places and look to the forthcoming summer sunshine. I admit that spring is my favorite time of year. Are the winters long in Pine Haven?

  Yes, I accept your proposal for marriage. June seems like an acceptable time to travel to Montana. I will make arrangements to arrive there on June 16.

  I’ve never been on a train for such a long journey, so I will be sure to bring plenty of reading and sewing. I admit I also like to daydream a bit and am sure my mind’s fanciful wanderings will keep me company throughout the journey. I have also never been on a stagecoach, so that will be a new experience for me. Of course, the whole idea of traveling west will be new—an experience I never in my wildest dreams imagined I would consider.

  I look forward with anticipation to meeting you, Zach.

  Most sincerely,

  McKenzie

  As McKenzie affixed a stamp to her letter to Zach, she felt somewhat guilty for having expressed excitement to meet him, for she knew that he would take her words differently than she intended him to. Although she did think of this as an adventure and looked forward to meeting him, what she was really awaiting was seeing her sister again after so many years. That, and the thought of bringing Kaydie back to Boston, where she’d be greeted with open arms by her family. No more would she have to be married to Darius and suffer the mistreatment she’d experienced at his hands.

  McKenzie dismissed the tinge in her conscience that she was being devious or misleading—after all, the desperation of the situation demanded she take desperate action. McKenzie knew that if it were she instead of Kaydie in this predicament, she’d want someone to rescue her, and that someone would likely be Kaydie. Besides, if she was on good terms with Zach, then he would be more willing to assist her in finding Kaydie—and, hopefully, less angry with her when she revealed her plan.

  Just then, a disturbing thought entered her mind: How would she tell Zach the truth when it came time to do so? How would she tell him that she could no longer remain married to him and must return with Kaydie to Boston? Not that McKenzie was going to tell him the second she stepped off the stagecoach about why she was really in Pine Haven. No, that would wait until she’d at least had the opportunity to locate her sister. If she was unsuccessful, then and only then would she ask for Zach’s assistance. With any luck, she’d be married for less than a year to the man with whom she enjoyed corresponding clandestinely.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  June 5, 1882

  With the blow of a whistle, the train began to move. Clutching her carpetbag tightly, McKenzie slid down lower in her seat and closed her eyes, as if to hide herself from anyone who might be watching the train from the platform in search of a passenger who was running away to the Montana Territory without her parents’ knowledge or blessing. If I am even half successful with this scheme, it will be a miracle, she thought to herself. All that matters is finding Kaydie and bringing her back to Boston. She felt the thump-thump of her heart and wondered if the rest of the passengers could hear it, as well.

  A few moments later, McKenzie opened her eyes. She scanned the train car, checking every seat for any familiar faces. Seeing no one she knew, she pushed aside the red curtain and stared out the window at the passing scenery, watching as Boston slowly disappeared. She then looked about the train car again, just to be sure of her safety. If her father somehow were to have found out about her plan, McKenzie wouldn’t have put it past him to have hired someone to go after her. He surely had the means and even more likely had the concern and tenacity to do so. Seeing no one suspicious, McKenzie heaved a sigh of relief and settled in for the long ride, knowing it would be at least a week and a half before she reached her destination.

  Several minutes later, McKenzie opened her carpetbag and located a piece of yellowed paper—her most recent letter from Kaydie. Unfolding it, she smoothed the creases and read the letter for what was probably the hundredth time.

  When she had finished, McKenzie refolded the letter and placed it safely back in her purse. “Hold on, my dear sister, I will be there as quickly as I can,” McKenzie whispered. I just hope I’m not too late, she thought to herself. Fears filled her mind. Darius was a dangerous man—one whom McKenzie had never liked, even when he had begun courting Kaydie. Yet, there was something in Darius Kraemer that had drawn Kaydie to him. For the life of her, McKenzie couldn’t figure out what that had been. He was a con artist and a bank robber, always on the run from the law. He had dragged Kaydie across the United States to the primitive and unsettled West, where she’d discovered too late who he really was. He’d taken her dowry, lied to her, mistreated her, and now was holding her as his hostage. McKenzie covered her mouth with a gloved hand. It was up to her to rescue her sister. If only she could know for sure that she would be successful in that feat. All she knew was that the desperate situation in which Kaydie found herself called for McKenzie to take desperate measures.

  By now, McKenzie’s parents would likely have received the letter she’d left for them on the kitchen table. She drew a deep breath and hoped that they wouldn’t take any rash actions based on what she had decided to do. The last thing she needed was for her parents to follow her. Still, McKenzie reassured herself that the possibility of that happening was unlikely. Her mother would never want to travel west, and her father had a heart condition. Yes, they could hire
someone to follow McKenzie, but, hopefully, before they decided to act on that plan, she would have completed the task she had set out to do.

  McKenzie thought again about the letter she had left for her parents. She’d spent a good deal of time composing it last night. She’d wanted to make her intentions known without giving away too much information. The words she’d written now flowed through her mind:

  Dearest Father and Mother,

  By the time you read this letter, I will be well on my way to the Montana Territory to rescue Kaydie and bring her back to Boston. Please, I beg of you, do not come after me or send anyone else to retrieve me. It is necessary that I go, and that I do this on my own. After all, Father, it is you who constantly tells me that if I had been your son rather than your daughter, I could have become a partner in your law firm due to my tenacity, strong will, and forthrightness. Clearly, I have what it takes to tackle this problem on my own. Please, do this for me—and for Kaydie.

  I will write to you once I reach my destination, and you may also stay in contact with me by writing me in care of the Sawyer Ranch, Pine Haven, Montana Territory. Such an address is that of a friend of Isadora Jones, the poor woman with all the children and the injured husband, whose plight I related to you recently, Mother.

  Please do not fear for my safety, as I am more than capable of taking care of myself. Instead, take joy in the knowledge that, before winter arrives in Boston, your two daughters will have returned to spend Christmas with the family.

  Yours truly,

  McKenzie

  McKenzie tried to imagine how her parents would react when they read the letter. Her mother would likely weep quietly about the betrayal she felt regarding her daughter’s plan to do something without her knowledge. She would then send for McKenzie’s older sister, Peyton, with whom she would share all of the grievous details.

  McKenzie’s father, with his thinning, wavy, red-gray hair, and his mustache, which curled on the ends that he twirled when he was nervous, would likely pace the floor, pondering his plan of action. Or, perhaps, he would be at his law office until ten o’clock that night, as he was on many nights. After all, he devoted most of his time to the law practice started by his father, Peyton Worthington, after whom McKenzie’s older sister had been named.