Messenger by Moonlight (20 page)

Thankfully, in the wake of that news, Emmet forgot all about the matter of who was squiring who—or not—to a cotillion at Fort Kearny. With a “hallelujah,” he handed Shadow over and hurried inside. Annie led the mare away, pained to see how thin she’d become. How she moved, head down, shuffling wearily along. She led the mare toward the barn with a heavy heart.

George Morgan came in while she was brushing Shadow down. “Reminds me of that flashy paint you rode into Clearwater.”

“This is her,” Annie said. “Only—it’s not.” Her voice wavered.

Morgan reached over the stall door and stroked the white strip running down the mare’s face. “Poor little gal.” Moments later, he was handing a feed bag over the stall door. “Mixed up a little treat.”

Just as Annie strapped the feed bag in place, Emmet
stumbled into the barn, letter in hand. He held it up and croaked, “Luvina.”

Oh, no.
Had her suspicions been right all along? Had Luvina broken it off? Annie put her hand on his arm. “Tell me.”

“Remember that bull I warned her father about?”

A chill washed over her. “You always said he was dangerous.”

“I must have warned him a hundred times about that da—darned beast.”

“You did. You
swore
about that creature.” As he almost had just now. And Emmet just did not swear.

“It tore through a fence. Gored the old man and—he’s dead. Earl Aiken is dead.”

“Oh, no!” Annie’s hand went to her heart.

“Luvina was out in the garden. After goring Earl, the bull—”Another deep breath. He pointed at the letter. “It says she’ll mend, but she’s hurt bad.”

Morgan spoke up. “You’ll want to go to her. You can take my horse.”

Emmet blinked. “Banner? You can’t mean that.” The flashy chestnut was the best horse on the place.

Morgan nodded. “I do mean it. He’ll take you through without any trouble. Just remember it’s a loan, not a gift.”

Emmet looked over at Annie. “Maybe you should come with me.”

“And lose my wages? Not on your life.” She stepped out of Shadow’s stall and tugged on Emmet’s sleeve. “Come on. I’ll get you something to eat while you pack.”

“And I’ll saddle Banner,” Morgan said.

Back at the station, Annie assembled a hodgepodge of a meal from leftover ham, half a loaf of bread, and some dried
fruit. Shoving it into an empty flour sack, she hurried into the store. Retrieving a treasured wheel of cheese, she cut off a wedge and added it to the sack. If they tied it to the saddle horn, Emmet would be able to eat without stopping. She and Emmet trotted back to the barn, where George Morgan waited, the tall gelding with the four white socks at his side.

Emmet took the reins, but he didn’t mount up. “You’re sure about this?”

“I’m sure,” Morgan said.

Tying the sack of food to the saddle horn, Emmet scrambled aboard. “You’ll get him back. I’ll see to it.”

“Just take good care of him.” Morgan reached up to shake Emmet’s hand.

“I’m trusting you to take care of my sister.”

“I will. You have my word.”

Feeling desperate to say something—anything that would comfort Emmet, Annie promised to pray for Luvina.

He nodded. “Remember: ‘What time I am afraid, I will trust in thee.’”

Annie wondered if he was saying the words for her or himself. “I’ll remember.”

Emmet thanked George, then spoke to Annie. “I love you, Ann E.” He spurred Banner to action. Annie stared after him.
The Lord is your Shepherd, Emmet. Don’t forget.

“He said your name different.”

Annie started and looked up at Morgan. “What? Oh—that. Mama named me Ann Elizabeth. Hence, Ann-initial-E. Ann E. Annie.”

Morgan began to douse the lanterns hanging in the barn, but when Annie moved to leave, he called after her. “That hen you lost last month. Not the one that died in the heat. The other one. The one that just disappeared.”

He wants to talk about chickens—now?
She turned back. “What about her?”

He snuffed the last of the lanterns and walked up beside her. “Don’t know that it would have saved her, but you’ll have a proper chicken yard around the coop before much longer. Luther’s delivering a roll of wire with his last load of supplies.”

Last load.
A reminder that winter would soon be upon them. Unlike the freighters contracted by the government to supply the military, Luther didn’t haul supplies in winter. When he departed after this next delivery, Annie would not see him again until spring.

“Emmet will be all right,” Morgan said quietly. “Banner’s a good horse.”

“I know. And Banner will be all right, too. Emmet won’t abuse him.”

“I’m glad you said
no
to leaving just now. And I don’t mind the chickens.”

The man could not keep a singular stream of conversation going. “The last time you said anything about my Reds, it was to grumble about how much trouble they’ve been.” She looked up at the vast night sky, folding her arms across her body and hugging herself to stave off a shiver.

“I don’t remember grumbling.”

“The morning you found that first egg, your exact words were that you hoped they’d start to earn their keep, ‘after all the trouble they’ve been.’”

“That was—teasing.”

“Were you teasing when I asked how you like your eggs and you groused about it being too early to have that conversation?”

“I don’t remember—did I really say that?”

“Yes. Right before you said you had to plow a firebreak, so we wouldn’t all die.”

She felt rather than saw him looking down at her. “I said
that
? About dying?”

“Not exactly. But it was implied.”

After a long silence, Morgan apologized. “Never meant to frighten you.” His voice gentled. “Scrambled. I like my eggs scrambled.”

Annie nodded. “I’ll remember.”

“Is it true Sophia gave you her recipe for chicken and dumplings?”

“She did. I’m hoping to make use of it for Christmas dinner.”

“She didn’t happen to share one for peach cobbler?”

“No. Why?”

“Best I ever ate. Except for my sister’s.”

Annie looked up at him, wishing she could see his expression better. But the moon wasn’t bright this evening. “You have a sister?”

“
Had
. Rose passed on right before I left home.”

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Morgan.”

He was quiet again. Finally, he said, “About that
Mr. Morgan.
It makes me feel old. Think you could see your way to just
George
?” He made a leap to a new subject before Annie could reply. “You got thrown into the deep part of the pond here. A pond you never wanted to wade in, let alone swim. At least according to your brothers.”

“I suppose that’s a good way to put it.”
And I can’t swim
. “But I’m not as miserable as I expected to be.”

“Still, you are… miserable?”

Was that disappointment in his voice? Or hurt? Annie looked out over the corrals and toward the station, thinking about the years of hard work Morgan had poured into the place. “I don’t mean to take anything away from what you’ve
accomplished here. But it is true that I’m here because Frank and Emmet forced my hand.” She paused. “And things didn’t exactly get off to a successful start.”

“Like I said,” he rumbled, “deep part of the pond.”

“At least I’m fairly reliable when it comes to making grits instead of glue now. And it only took six months.”

“More like two weeks,” Morgan said. “For the grits, anyway.” He paused. “Billy and I have been here at Clearwater for five years. Haven’t had a cook stay the winter yet.”

Annie understood why a woman wouldn’t want to spend a winter here. But with Emmet gone, her pay was even more important for the future. Besides that, she had nowhere to go. The Aikens would take her in because of Emmet, but that prospect made living at Clearwater almost attractive. At least here she was in charge of her own kitchen. She had a clear purpose, and she got paid to fulfill it. She cleared her throat. “Well,
I’m
staying.”

After another brief silence, Morgan said, “That wire’ll help keep the hawks away and discourage bigger varmints. Best turn in now. I’ll see you safe inside.”

“You don’t have to do that. It’s not that dark. I can find my way.”

“Emmet’s a man of his word. So am I. He said he’d take care of Banner. I said I’d take care of you.” He led the way past the corrals and to the station. When they reached the storeroom door, he said quietly, “This life isn’t easy for a woman. I didn’t think you could do it.”

Annie snorted. “That was obvious.”

“It was? How? I mean—why?” He huffed. A frustrated sound. “What made it obvious?”

“For one thing, you hardly said two words to me for what felt like weeks. It probably wasn’t really that long, but it felt like it.”

“But that—that’s just—that’s me.”

“I know that now. You’re a ‘man of few words.’ And the few words you do speak are sometimes—abrupt. But that was hard to get used to—especially when I was making such a mess of everything.”

“You learned. Quick.”

“It didn’t feel quick. You said I got dropped into the deep part of a pond? I felt like I was drowning. But then Badger gave me that ridiculous name. I didn’t let on, but it made me feel good. To have impressed him.”

Morgan was quiet for a moment. When he finally spoke up, Annie listened in amazement. “W-when I w-was a b-b-boy I t-talked l-l-l-like thi-this. R-rose helped me with it. Fewer words. Fewer stumbles.”

He stuttered?
“I wish I’d known that. It would have made things easier.”

“What things?”

She was about to tell him. To list the ways he’d made her feel awkward or stupid. But what he’d just said put all of that in a different light. And so Annie just shook her head and said, “It doesn’t matter. I’m just glad to know that your—
blunt
ways aren’t because you don’t like me.”

He sighed. Shook his head. “Never. I—you’re—good. For Clearwater. I—” He broke off. Again. “We got off to a bad start. That first day. Those men—the fight. I was embarrassed. And then you were so… young. So… miserable. I didn’t know what I should do. What I could do.”

“This,” Annie said, motioning from herself to him and back again. “You can do this. Just—talk to me.”

He nodded. “I’ll try.”

Frank sucked in a deep breath. Opened his eyes.
Dark. No moon.
He shivered. Where was he? What had happened? It felt like his head was in a vise. He reached up. His left hand encountered something sticky.
Ouch.
He moved to get up, but when he lifted his head, the pounding nearly made him retch.

He lay still for a moment, thinking. Trying to remember. One minute he was tucked into the saddle, making good time on his way back to Clearwater. The next he was—here.
Where’s here?
He looked about, willing his eyes to make sense of the darkness, wondering what had happened to his horse. The worst horse yet. A spotted mare born and bred from Hades. So many bad habits he’d have a hard time naming them all. Especially now, when it hurt to think.

Slowly, he managed to sit up. The world spun. He rested his head in his hands. He’d been so busy fighting the mare to keep her moving ahead—she must have stepped in a hole. How long ago, he didn’t know, except that he’d mounted the mare just before sunset back at the relay station, and now it was dark. He was off the trail. The mare had been constantly shying away from things like wagon covers and odd sounds. She’d gone crazy over a boy banging a drum as he walked along with a little girl. Frank had nearly been thrown then, distracted by the oddity of a family group traveling west this
late in the year. He sure hoped they had plans to lay up somewhere before getting too much farther west. At any rate, he’d decided to ride off the trail for a bit and see if he couldn’t settle the mare.
Bad idea
.

Wincing, he reached up to feel his head again. Most of the blood was dried, but it had trickled down from his hairline to his jaw. Even dribbled down his neck some. Slowly, he untied the kerchief knotted about his neck and used it to bandage his head. He felt about him for his hat. Nothing but rocks and dirt at first, but finally, a stroke of luck. His hat had landed within arm’s reach. He pulled it on over the bandage, wincing when the band connected with the cut and the egg-sized lump beneath it. One good thing about the lump, he supposed, was that it made the hat tight enough to stop any more bleeding.

Standing up made him sick to his stomach. But at least he
could
stand up. Nothing seemed broken. Except his head. He concentrated on staying upright. Resting his hand on the grip of his pistol, he listened carefully for any sound, hoping for the clink of a bit or the swishing of a hoof through grass as the mare grazed. The only thing he heard was a far-off howl.
Far-off
,
thank goodness
.

He took a few steps, each one more difficult, and finally sat back down, breathing heavily, wondering why he felt so all-fired sick. A knock to the head shouldn’t do that—should it? He peered off to the north. You’d think he’d at least see a campfire, but there was nothing. Just darkness.

He tilted his head. Struggled to stand up again and took a few steps. His foot struck a shape he first took for a mound of sand. We swore softly as he reached down and swept his palm across the mare’s side. A fine crust adhered to her flanks. She was breathing, but barely. His heart sank. He murmured
comfort as he felt his way along, trying to understand what was wrong. Suspecting the worst, he found it. A broken leg. She would have struggled mightily to get up, but the fight was gone out of her now. There was nothing he could do for her but to end her suffering.

Frank sat back. She’d been an ornery cuss, but he still hated thinking of the pain she must have endured.
You need to end it
, he thought, remembering that distant howl. Taking a deep breath, he pulled the gun out of its holster. Muttering “I’m sorry, girl,” he pulled the trigger. He felt his way to the saddle. Carefully, he pulled the mochila off. It took some doing to free the side tucked beneath the mare. He fumbled to loosen the girth and get the saddle, too, but had to give up. Every time he bent down his head pounded and his stomach roiled. At least he could get the bridle.

He had to rest again before he could face walking. Had to rest every little while, in fact. Dawn would be here soon—he hoped. He didn’t really know what time it was. Daylight would help him find water. The Platte was over there somewhere, but he didn’t really know how far. He couldn’t think straight. For a moment, he thought maybe he should turn around and go back to Plum Creek. Maybe that was closer?
No. Keep the mail moving. Just. Keep. Walking.

The morning after Emmet left for Missouri, Annie awoke refreshed and looking forward to the day. She’d had only a few hours’ sleep, but she wasn’t nearly as tired as she’d expected to be. In fact, the first thing she felt as she faced the new day was a surge of hope. Just about everything she’d assumed about George Morgan—about
George
—had been wrong. His few words weren’t because of anything she’d done—or
undone. His few words had been a way to overcome a stutter, and the habit stuck. Who could blame him for that? Living at a place like Clearwater didn’t exactly inspire orations. Even the parson had kept his sermons short and to the point.

Thinking about Charlie Pender reminded Annie of something he’d said the day he left Clearwater. “In a world full of sadness and travail, kindness is not to be underestimated. You have a chance to do a great deal of good, my dear, just by showing kindness to those the trail brings your way. Whatever you do, do your work heartily, not as unto men but as unto God. He will take notice and He will be pleased.”

After feeding her chickens and finding two more eggs, Annie retreated inside, leaving the storeroom door open and enjoying the cool promise of fall. While she cooked, she thought of Emmet and poor Luvina. Even though Emmet would take care not to push Banner beyond the breaking point, he might reach St. Joseph in as little as a week. He would undoubtedly report in to Mr. Lewis at the Pony Express office so a replacement rider could be assigned to Clearwater. Riding from St. Joseph to the Aikens’ would take the better part of a day. All told, it would be at least a couple of weeks before Annie knew anything about how Luvina was faring.
Poor Luvina.
Bereft of her father as the result of a tragic accident.

She felt a tinge of guilt at the way she’d judged Luvina Aiken, just because the girl didn’t show her emotions. Maybe she simply was not good with words—like George. Emmet loved her. That was what mattered. Luvina’s quiet ways were well suited to a man like Emmet. They would probably be very happy together, in their own sweet, dispassionate way.

Passion.
The very word made Annie blush. Of course it didn’t always refer to romance. A person could be passionate
about life, too. Frank was that way. In his case, passion sometimes got him into trouble. On the other hand, it would help him succeed as a Pony Express rider. It might even make him famous. Annie smiled, thinking of the white gauntlets with the red stars.

She’d just stepped outside to ring the breakfast bell when she heard an approaching rider. A lone rider. Coming fast. She hadn’t been expecting the mail for at least another day. Still, she clanged the bell furiously before hurrying to the front of the station to tell the rider to be patient. A fresh horse would be here directly. But it wasn’t a Pony rider at all. It was Lieutenant Hart. When he caught sight of Annie, he brought his horse to a skidding stop and leaped out of the saddle.

“You’re not to worry,” he said, “but Frank’s in the post hospital. The stage found him stumbling along the trail.” Her palm to her mouth, Annie staggered back. The lieutenant caught her, just as Billy trotted up with a fresh horse. “It’s not the mail,” Hart said. “Frank Paxton’s been hurt. He’ll be all right, but I knew Annie would want to know.”

“I’ll get George,” Billy said, leading both the Pony Express horse and the lieutenant’s away with him.

“Let’s get you inside,” Hart said. “I’ll get you a drink of water. Then I’ll tell you everything.”

Moments later, Annie was seated at a table in the main room, with George on one side and Lieutenant Hart on the other, listening as the soldier repeated what little was known about Frank’s accident. “He’s had a bad blow to the head.” Hart drew an imaginary line across his forehead and down one side of his face. “Twelve stitches. A lot of swelling.”

“How’d it happen?”

“No one knows exactly. He passed out after the stage picked him up and still hasn’t regained consciousness.”

George stood up. “You’ll want to go,” he said to Annie. “I’ll get a horse saddled.”

Annie didn’t move. “But—I—you—what about the cooking? The chickens?”
And now I’m the one babbling about chickens in the midst of a crisis.

“Stay until you know Frank’s going to be all right,” George said. “In fact, stay until you can bring him back with you.” He looked over at Lieutenant Hart. “If she needs anything, you get word to me and I’ll see that she gets it the same day.”

In a fog of worry, Annie hurried to pack. When she grabbed her comb off the dresser, she caught sight of Emmet’s Pony Express Bible.
Fear thou not. The Lord is my Shepherd.
She still hadn’t settled the issue of that word
my,
but absent Emmet or the parson’s advice, something about having the book with her seemed like a good idea. She wrapped the Bible inside her only other outfit and stuffed everything into her saddlebags.

By the time Annie stepped outside, George and Billy were waiting, Billy with the lieutenant’s horse in hand and George with the buckskin gelding he’d been riding since lending Banner to Emmet. When Annie was ready to mount up, George simply picked her up and set her in the saddle. He briefly covered one of her hands with his and gave it a little squeeze. “Hart says Frank’s all right. You remember that. Buck here’s pretty reliable, but he’s still a horse—and he’s not used to you. He’ll—”

“I know,” Annie said, tucking her skirts about her legs and settling in for a long ride. “He’ll test me. And I’ll win.”

“I don’t doubt it for a minute,” George said and stepped back.

Over the first mile or so, Annie had to fight the horse through several bouts of crow-hopping and mild bucking until, finally, Buck gave up and settled into a steady if choppy
lope. The lieutenant seemed to sense that Annie was in no mood to talk, and so they covered the miles in silence. After what felt like an eternity, he pointed into the distance and said, “It won’t be long now.”

Annie peered ahead. Was that a flag? The indistinct shapes on the horizon melded into a collection of buildings gathered around an open space.

“The parade ground,” the lieutenant said, when Annie asked about it.

“No walls?” Who’d ever heard of a fort without defensive walls?

“Many of the Western forts are built this way,” Hart explained. “Fort Kearny sprawls atop a low table that affords a good view of the area. We don’t have walls, but that doesn’t mean we’re without defenses. We’ve a couple of mountain howitzers and plenty of other pieces at the ready.” He broke off, adding quickly, “And no expectation they’ll be needed. Things are peaceful in this part of Nebraska Territory.” He led the way to the north of the grounds, past a corral and the post stables, past adobe buildings and, finally, to the post hospital in the southeast quadrant of the fort. Annie slid to the earth just as Lydia stepped through the hospital door.

“He’s awake,” she called, “and he’ll be glad to see you.”

Relief washed over Annie as she handed Buck to Lieutenant Hart and hurried up the wood stairs. “You waited with him?”

“Of course.” Taking Annie’s hand, Lydia led her inside, past a desk where a soldier was looking through a mountain of paper and then into a long room with cots arranged in two rows on either side of a wide aisle. She pointed toward the far right. “Just past that last curtain.”

Frank’s head was swathed in bandages, one eye swollen
shut, the visible part of his face a riot of purples and blues. He was lying on his back, his eyes closed, both hands visible above the sheet. His lip was split. Beneath the bruising, he was frighteningly pale. Sinking to her knees beside the cot, Annie reached for his hand. “Frank? Frank, it’s me. Annie.”

It seemed to take forever for him to open his eyes. When he did, he looked at her for a long while before saying anything. Finally, he managed a weak smile. “What you doin’ here?”