Messenger by Moonlight (6 page)

Frank and Emmet returned to the livery to retrieve the three trunks stowed there, leaving Annie to sign them all in at the hotel desk. As if there was nothing to it. As if she was used to sashaying into a fancy hotel and signing the register as a matter of course. When an elegantly clad woman followed an equally well-dressed gentleman into the hotel and headed for the registration desk, Annie skittered toward a seating area in a far corner of the lobby, watching as the couple spoke with the clerk behind the desk.

Perhaps it was the way the clerk fussed with his silver-framed spectacles, but something about him reminded Annie of Mr. Hillsdale, who always seemed to look down his nose at the rest of the world. The clerk wore a crisp white shirt and a black cravat held in place by what appeared to be a diamond stickpin. Of course it probably wasn’t a real diamond. Still, Annie was painfully aware of both her faded blue calico and her worn-out boots.

“Is there some difficulty, Miss Paxton?”

Mr. Lewis, the man who had hired them, stepped up. Careful to pull her feet back—darn her worn boots, anyway—Annie stuttered a reply. “Oh, no. N-not at all. I just—Frank and Emmet went after our things. They left me to sign the ledger. But then those other guests arrived and I thought I’d wait a moment. There’s no rush.”

Mr. Lewis’s brows knit together for a fleeting second. He looked from Annie to the couple retreating up the sweeping staircase just beyond the front desk. After a brief hesitation, he looked back down at her, his frown replaced by a kind smile. He offered his arm. “Allow me to introduce you to Pierce. You’ll find that behind that imposing exterior there’s a softhearted grandfather.”

When Mr. Lewis introduced Annie, Mr. Pierce smiled and tapped the ledger book. “It’s an honor to serve the Pony Express,” he said. “We’re making history together.”

“I assured Miss Paxton that you’d take good care of her,” Mr. Lewis said. “She’ll need two rooms. One for herself and one for her brothers.” Wishing Annie a good evening, Mr. Lewis returned to the Pony Express office.

Mr. Pierce reached behind him and withdrew a key from a niche. He pointed out the dining room. “Dinner is served beginning at six o’clock p.m., although I believe most of the
riders take it a little later.” He winked. “They like to make a grand entrance.”

Annie signed the ledger with a trembling hand, painfully aware of the fine script on the line just above hers. When Mr. Pierce asked if she’d like someone to escort her to her room, she said no thank you. “If that’s all right.” She didn’t want an escort. She wanted to gawk at every detail of the splendid building. Then again, maybe they didn’t allow just anyone to wander the halls.

Mr. Pierce said that of course it was all right and gave her a few directions. The stairs leading away from the lobby only accessed the first floor. “Once up there, you’ll turn right. Midway down that hall, there’s a winding staircase that will take you on up. Another right at the top of those stairs and you’ll find Room 210. I’ll send a chambermaid to check in with you before too long. If you need anything—anything at all—you let Molly know. She’ll see to it.”

Annie nodded, even though she could not imagine ordering a maid around. She paused at the top of the first flight of stairs and looked back down at the carpeted lobby, which gleamed from the light of two massive chandeliers. It was the finest, most beautiful room she’d ever seen. Behind her, the first floor hall opened onto a wide balcony looking down on an inner courtyard. At the center of the courtyard, flowers encircled a marble fountain with a rainbow of color. To the left and the right, two wings of rooms opened directly onto the balcony.

Behind Annie, a hallway running the length of the building and parallel to the street led to more rooms, but at the far end, large double doors inset with rows of small square windows beckoned. Curious, Annie went to those doors and peered in.
The ballroom.
Polished wood floors and more
crystal chandeliers made Annie wish she had a gown worthy of Mama’s lace mitts. She’d kept Mama’s green silk gown, but parts of it were so delicate she feared it might fall apart if she so much as lifted the gown from the depths of the trunk. Had Ma and Pa once waltzed in a ballroom like this?

Laughter sounded from the courtyard below. Annie hurried away from the ballroom doors, toward the opposite side of the building, and up the winding stairs to the second floor. Once there, she passed a maid dressed all in black save for a starched white apron and cap. The girl didn’t make eye contact. Instead, she turned aside to let Annie pass, offering a little curtsy and a
Good day, Miss
as Annie walked by.

Annie held up her key. “Would you mind pointing me to 210?”

“At the other end of the hall, Miss. I’ll be happy to guide you.”

When they reached the door, the girl held out her hand for the key. Annie handed it over, and the girl slipped it in the lock, opened the door just a fraction, and then stepped back as she returned the key. “Will there be anything else, Miss?”

“No, I—thank you.” Another little curtsy, and the girl headed off up the hall.

Annie watched her go, wondering if someone gave the maids in a fancy hotel lessons in how to float. She’d never seen anyone move with such grace. Slowly, she pushed the door open and peered into the room. Gasping with surprise, she stepped inside, closed the door behind her, and leaned against it.

The headboard on the massive bed positioned in the center of the wall to the left looked to be at least seven feet high. A matching marble-topped dresser and washstand graced another wall. The drapes at the two soaring windows matched the upholstery on two side chairs in the far corner. Those chairs flanked an oval table atop which sat a spectacular lamp with a painted shade. A room-size carpet covered all but the edges of the polished floor.

Annie crossed to the bed and ran her hand over the satin spread. When she pulled it back, the faint aroma of lemon wafted into the air from pristine white sheets and pillow covers. Picking up one of the pillows, she hugged it to herself as she perched on the edge of the bed. She thought about all the other people occupying other fine rooms like this one. People accustomed to luxury. It made her feel uncertain about dining here at the hotel dressed in faded blue calico. As for attending a ball… no. She wouldn’t dare.

She started when someone knocked on the door in the corner—the door separating her room from her neighbor’s. Relief coursed through her when Frank called out, “Delivery for Miss Paxton. Miss Ann E. Paxton.” Annie hurried to open the door, and Frank and Emmet shuffled her trunk into the room and set it down.

Frank threw his arm across Emmet’s shoulders and pointed
to their identical red plaid shirts and denim pants. “Outfits provided by the Pony Express. What d’ya think?”

Annie smiled her approval. “Very handsome.”

“I’d say so.” Frank grinned. “We’re all invited to the dance in the ballroom.” He pointed to her trunk. “You should put on that green silk thing that was Ma’s. Bet it fits just about right.”

He couldn’t be serious. “It’s forty years out of style and so brittle in places it’d probably shatter in my hands.” She knew what they were thinking. If it couldn’t be worn, why was she keeping it? She didn’t know why. Except that it was Ma’s. Thankfully, they didn’t ask. She forced a smile. “You both look dashing. I’ll be content to lounge right here in the seat of luxury.”

Frank looked her up and down and then tugged on a curl at the nape of her neck. “What you’ve got on isn’t too bad. Maybe reconstitute your hair, though. Isn’t that the word you used yesterday over at the livery?” He reached up and extracted a piece of hay. “Nothing a good brushing won’t fix.”

Horrified, Annie snatched it out of his hand. “I can’t believe you two let me sashay through the lobby of the Patee House looking like I’d just come in from a barn.”

Frank shrugged. “We
did
just come in from a barn. But we work for the Pony Express now, and we’re the envy of just about everyone in St. Jo.”

“You can decide about the ball later,” Emmet said. “Right now, we’re supposed to meet Jake Finney and the others in the lobby. Apparently the riders all parade into the dining room together.”

She might not go to the ball, Annie decided, but she couldn’t miss supper. She was too hungry. “Just give me a minute to ‘reconstitute,’” she said and shoved them both toward the door, closing it behind them.

Slipping out of her blue calico, she washed up, all the while wishing she had an ensemble worthy of the hotel. She lifted her only other outfit out of the trunk. It, too, was calico, with small bouquets of bright pink and blue flowers scattered across a deep plum background. Not quite as faded as the blue, which had been her favorite for a long time.

She wove a bit of blue ribbon through her hair and then stared at herself in the mirror for a moment. A lace collar and cuffs would be a great improvement. Ah, well. Finally, she removed her boots, peeled off her red stockings, and pulled on the nicer ivory pair. Next, she retrieved Ma’s old slippers from atop the silk gown. She didn’t know if she’d have the courage to so much as step into the ballroom, but if she did, she wasn’t about to clomp about with her feet clad in worn-out boots.

In spite of his reluctance to leave the dream world, Frank awoke. Opening his eyes, he lifted his head and peered into the darkness until finally, moonlight confirmed it. He and Emmet really were here at the Patee House. He closed his eyes, smiling at the memory of men cheering. Remembering how happy Annie had been as he waltzed her around and around a vast ballroom. The future really did look promising. With a low grunt of satisfaction, he stretched and yawned.

“What time is it?” Emmet muttered.

“Time for chores.” He gave a low laugh. “Oh… wait. We don’t have any today.” With one hand, he reached over and gave Emmet a friendly nudge. “Time for bacon and eggs and ham and grits. All we can eat, courtesy of the Pony Express. Just the thought makes me hungry.”

Emmet didn’t move. “How can you possibly be hungry? We both ate as much last night as we usually get in a week.”

“And I’m going to eat as much again today.” Frank threw back the covers. “No ‘making do,’ no doing without. Ever again.” He pulled his jeans on. “I’m going down to the livery to spend some time with Outlaw before breakfast. I’ll catch up with you and Annie later.”

“Outlaw? Why?”

Frank answered while pulling on his boots. “He lost his job because of you and me. But he’s still not really broke, which makes him worth exactly nothing. No livery owner is going to keep a horse that can’t be ridden. If I can gentle Outlaw so he’s worth something, Ira might be grateful enough to agree to turn Bill and Bart out to pasture instead of—well, what we both know will probably happen to them.”

“You going soft in your old age?”

Frank could hear the smile in his brother’s voice. “Always have been soft when it comes to Annie, and she cares about those mules.”

Emmet grunted. “Not that you aren’t good with horses, but we aren’t going to be in town long enough for you to turn Outlaw into a Sunday-go-to-meeting horse.”

Frank shrugged into his shirt. “Then maybe I can turn him into a hell-bent-for-leather trail horse.”

Emmet opened his eyes. “The truth comes out. You’re hoping to ride the outlaw west.” He lit the lamp on the table next to the bed and reached for the Bible he’d left out the previous night. “More power to ya. Think I’ll read a bit. Maybe write Luvina. Then I’ll rouse Annie and we’ll walk down together. It’s time to decide once and for all about the rig—and the mules. Maybe you could talk to Ira about your idea?”

“I will. See you later.” Frank left the hotel alone. The streets were quiet, and instead of going straight to the livery, he decided this would be a good time to meander a bit. He spent most of his time on a street lined with shops selling everything from imported porcelain to top hats, finally locating what he wanted in a corner shop not far from Ira’s livery.

Finally, Frank walked to the barn and put a halter on Outlaw. He led him out to the smaller corral in Ira’s back lot, talking in low tones while he slid his hands down the horse’s muscled neck, across his back, and down his haunches, and so on.

Sunlight had just begun to spill into the town when Emmet arrived—alone.

“No Annie?”

“I knocked on her door, but she didn’t want to get up yet. Said she’d meet us in the lobby in a little while. We can have breakfast together.”

“Good,” Frank said, “because I haven’t talked to Ira yet.” He patted Outlaw’s neck. “I wanted to see how things would go first.”

Emmet nodded at the horse. “That hardly looks like the same animal. What happened to the hellfire and brimstone?”

Frank tugged on the horse’s long black mane. “I reckon it’ll show up the minute I try to ride him.”

“You haven’t tried yet?”

Frank shook his head. “Thought I’d try to convince him to trust me first. If I can do that, riding him will be easy.”

“Easy.”
Emmet shook his head. “You and your ideas.”

“Speaking of ideas, I’ve got one that involves Annie.” Frank grinned. “You’ll like it.”

Annie and her brothers lived in unimaginable luxury at the Patee House for nearly two weeks. They attended half a dozen balls, where Frank reveled in the attention afforded the Pony Express riders and Annie. Although she never quite felt like she fit in, she enjoyed being squired about the dance floor by a succession of gentlemen, both young and old.

Jake Finney—who claimed to be eighteen but who Annie suspected was probably three years younger—seemed to enjoy spending time with her, and together they often walked the city.

As the western terminus for many railroads, St. Jo. was a stopping place for thousands of immigrants headed west. The streets nearest the river were especially crowded, the levee lined with covered wagons and freighting outfits waiting to take steam-powered ferries across the river. Annie loved staring into shop windows, and she loved watching people. It seemed to her that half the world must be going west. As she and Jake talked, she learned that he’d walked to St. Jo. from somewhere in Kansas, spending his last few coins on the ferry across the Missouri. His willingness to speak of his past ended there.

Finally, one morning, the word that they would be departing came just as they were finishing breakfast. A courier came to the table with a message for “Mr. Emmet or Mr. Frank Paxton.” Emmet read it quickly and summarized the contents. “The last of the freight’s here. Luther wants us to take our trunks down to the livery this morning. We leave tomorrow.”

“Yee-hah,” Jake said quietly, his face beaming with joy.

Feeling like a stone had plummeted to the pit of her stomach, Annie folded her napkin and laid it beside her plate of
half-eaten flapjacks. She wouldn’t be able to swallow another bite. Excusing herself to pack, she left the men at the table and went up to her room. For a moment she stood by the window looking down on the street, trying to pray.
I don’t want to go. I have to go. Help.
Taking a deep breath, she pressed against her midsection, willing the horrible tightness away.
Don’t think. Just do the next thing. Make your bedroll.

Opening her trunk, she took a last look at the treasures within: Ma’s looking glass. The fragile silk gown. The remnants of the dancing slippers she’d worn out in the Patee House ballroom. The summer-weight unmentionables. The next time she’d open the trunk, she would be at Clearwater.
In the wilderness.
The knot in her stomach worsened.

She pulled the thin quilt she would use for a bedroll out of the trunk. Holding it against herself for a moment, she swept her palm over the surface, smiling at the haphazard arrangement of fabrics in dozens of colors and patterns. The variety reminded her of flowers blooming in a field, each one distinct and yet, when seen from a distance, blending into a beautiful whole.

A memory surfaced. Ma sitting in a rocking chair, stitching. When it threatened to fade, Annie held onto it. The blurred edges filled in a bit. A rocking chair
by the fireplace
. Ma humming. A different bit of patchwork, this one far more organized than the one in Annie’s hands. Vibrant colors—orange and red and green against dark blue. What had happened to it?

Annie raised the quilt to her cheek and closed her eyes. A few deep breaths, and the knot in her stomach relaxed a bit. Perhaps breakfast would stay down after all. When she spread the faded quilt atop the elegant bed, she kept the patchwork
side facing up. Only the blue striped backing fabric showed once she’d finished folding, rolling, and securing the resulting bedroll with rope.