by Zina Abbott
A dejected Theo said nothing for several seconds. “So, you’re never coming home?”
“Yes, Theo, I’m coming home. I’m studying the aspects of medicine I don’t already know so I can take care of all kinds of medical conditions, not just wounds and surgeries. I’ve written to Dr. Sterling, and he has agreed to allow me to work for him once I return. However, Theo, you must understand. That cannot happen until my obligation to the Army has ended. I promise you, son. As long as I’m still alive, I will make every effort to return to Springfield in time to celebrate Independence Day in 1870.”
After his father’s assurances that night, Theo’s attitude toward Penelope softened. He treated her more politely and often thanked her sincerely rather than grudgingly. He even welcomed the birth of his half-sister, Sarah. He also often commented how he found it strange knowing he was closer in age to his stepmother than he was to his new sister.
Penelope knew the trip to take Theo back to the rail station in Fort Hays that early December had been nerve-wracking for Marcus. Just before he and Theo left, he learned of the attack on a large Cheyenne camp that became known as the Battle of the Washita. Black Kettle, a Cheyenne chief who had been cooperative with the representatives of the United States government, including the Army, and many others of his tribe were killed. The village was torn apart, and most of the food stores the Cheyenne depended on to get them through the winter were destroyed. The thinking of Gen. Sherman, the mastermind of the new policy of winter campaigns against the hostile Plains tribes, was to break their resistance so they would accept peace treaties that would force them onto reservations. Marcus knew, as word of the winter attacks on the tribal camps spread, the Native warriors would retaliate. It was with great relief that he put Theo on the train and arrived back at the fort safely.
Penelope recalled how grateful she felt when Marcus returned to her and the little ones unharmed. The two of them waited weeks to receive the joyous news that Theo returned to his aunt’s home without incident.
Now, the whole family was in Springfield. As Marcus promised Theo, they arrived before Independence Day and would celebrate it with Millie and her family. The day following the holiday, a Tuesday, he would begin working with Dr. Sterling, who already told Marcus of his intentions to retire at the end of the year. It was Dr. Sterling’s hope that Marcus would buy him out and take over his practice. Marcus had been overjoyed at the offer.
“Is that Sarah? Look how much she’s grown.”
Penelope returned her attention to the present.
A giggling Sarah had wrapped her tiny fingers around Theo’s index finger.
As he gently shook his hand, Theo focused his gaze on Sarah.
Penelope smiled as she watched the scene between brother and sister. “She has grown. I can hardly wait for you to become reacquainted with her.”
“What about me, Theo? I’ve grown, too. See? I wear breeches now.” Jeremy broke free of Penelope’s arm and gripped the back of the front bench as he jumped in place on the surrey’s floor, causing the conveyance to rock.
“You sure did grow, Jerry. Let me help you down to the ground so I can see just how big you are now.” Placing his hands beneath Jeremy’s armpits, Theo picked Jeremy up and held him suspended in the air. “You ready to share a bedroom with me for a few weeks like we did at Fort Larned?”
“Yeah! Can I see it now?”
“In a few minutes, Jerry.” Theo lowered Jeremy to the ground and took his hand. “We’ll wait for Pa to help Ma Penny and Sarah out so we can all enter the house together. Aunt Millie will want to meet you first.”
As Penelope put her hand in her husband’s outstretched palm, she smiled at the use of Theo’s special name for her.
At Fort Larned, he refused to call her Ma. Penelope never did care for the nickname ‘Penny.’ To come up with a compromise, in her husband’s hearing she told Theo that he—and only he—was allowed to call her Penny or Ma Penny. A few minutes after she settled the name issue with Theo, Marcus responded by whispering in her ear after he pulled her tight against him. “That’s fine if you will allow only Theo to address you as Penny. I have other endearments I can call you that no one but me is allowed to use.”
Once Marcus helped both her and Sarah to the ground, she looked up into her stepson’s face and smiled. “I’m so happy to see you again, Theo. It is you who has grown since you left Fort Larned.”
Theo grinned as he wrapped his free arm around her and gave her a shoulder hug. “I’m happy to see you, too, Ma Penny. As you can see, I’m taller than you are now.”
Penelope smiled. “So you are, Theo. Soon, you’ll be taller than your father.”
Marcus put an arm around Theo’s shoulders and pulled him a few feet ahead of Penelope. They walked in the direction of the back door. Marcus lowered his voice as he leaned toward his son and spoke softly in his ear. “I am quite a bit older than she is, Theo. Other than a cousin, we’re all the family she has. I hope you understand, if something should happen to me after you get established, I trust you to take care of her and the little ones until Jeremy is old enough to help take care of his mother.”
His forehead creased and his expression serious, Theo jerked his head toward his father. “Of course, Pa. But you aren’t that old. We don’t plan on you leaving us anytime soon.”
“I don’t plan on it either, son. I just want to make sure, in case something unexpected happens, there is an understanding.”
Penelope kissed Sarah’s head as she followed the three men in her life—her husband with his arm around Theo, and Jeremy, who clung to the hand of the big brother he still worshipped.
Penelope wished Marcus did not worry about their difference in age. Marcus probably had not intended for her to hear what he said to Theo, but she did. Barring an unforeseen accident, she anticipated them enjoying many years with their family—long enough to see both Theo’s children and the children of Jeremy and Sarah grown. She did find comfort that hers and Theo’s relationship had strengthened to the point that, if she needed it, she could count on him for help.
Penelope mused at the direction her life had taken in the past three years. She was no longer in the West—the place where her prayers led her years before. Instead, she was now in the North—the Midwest, technically, but north of Kansas. She was with Marcus and their family. She was home.
~o0o0o~
.
.
.
.
Author’s Notes
~o0o~
F ort Hays in Ellis County, Kansas was commissioned on October 11, 1866 approximate one-fourth mile north of the former Fort Fletcher which was closed in May of 1866. After flooding along the Smoky Hill River in early June, 1867, the fort was moved to about fifteen miles west so that it was away from the river and next to the planned route of the Union Pacific Railway, Eastern Division tracks which it planned to use for a large military supply depot once the tracks reached its location, which they did October 14, 1867.
About a month after the flood, a cholera epidemic broke out among the forts along the Smoky Hill Trail. I found mention of this epidemic affecting Forts Leavenworth, Riley, Harker, and Wallace as well as Fort Hays. Because the men of the 38th Infantry had been stationed near St. Louis, Missouri, where an outbreak of cholera occurred, it is believed they carried the disease to Fort Hays after being transferred there. The first case of cholera at Fort Hays appeared July 11, 1867. Because the fort had recently moved, the post hospital had not yet been built. Soldiers and civilian patients were housed in tents. The epidemic lasted two months, killing Thirty-six soldiers and approximately one hundred fifty civilians. Much of the information available about this epidemic came from post surgeons’ reports.
Both the 10th Cavalry and the 38th Infantry were among newly-formed Army regiments of African-Americans who served on the Kansas Frontier. Both were stationed at Fort Hays during the time period my story takes place. I did not feature the famed 10th Cavalry in this book. However, becaus
e companies of the 38th Infantry were stationed at both Fort Hays and Fort Monument, I did include them in my story. For some of these characters, I wrote a mild dialect which I hoped was reminiscent of the South from which many of these soldiers came.
I was unable to locate the name of the Fort Hays post surgeon serving in 1867. However, among those who died of cholera at Fort Hays was Elizabeth Decker Polly. Elizabeth married Ephraim Elmer Polly on May 29, 1864. In July 1867, he was the assigned hospital steward—a non-commissioned officer with the military rank equivalent to a sergeant major—for the Fort Hays hospital. Elizabeth worked with him as a hospital matron. While helping patients during the cholera epidemic, she contracted cholera. The disease claimed her life.
The sources I was able to locate regarding the stagecoach stations and minor military installations along the Smoky Hill Trail were short on details. I based my depiction of Antelope Station / Monument Station / Fort Monument / Fort Pyramid on a drawing by a member of the 5th Infantry (companies of which were stationed at Fort Wallace during this time period) and a few short written descriptions. The structures, except where a few mounds showing the locations of the dugouts, are gone. The later town of Monument was not the old Monument Station. Monument, Kansas, is located approximately 35 miles north-northwest of the old stagecoach station and fort.
Unlike my first two books I wrote for the Widows, Brides and Secret Babies series, this book, set a year later, includes details about the Union Pacific Railway-Eastern Division tracks that were laid across northern Kansas fairly parallel to the Smoky Hill Trail. As the “End of Track” moved west, so did the eastern end of the Santa Fe Trail. Fort Hays became End of Track on October 14, 1867, which was why this fort was planned as a major supply depot for the Army to supply the forts to the west and the south.
The eastern terminus of the stagecoach line moved west with the railroad. By late 1867, after several sales and mergers, the stagecoach company was the U.S. Express Company operated by Wells Fargo and Company.
Also, for the purposes of my story, and based on my research, I fictionalized the personalities and details of scenes including Gen. Winfield Scot Hancock, Gen. William Tecumseh Sherman, Lt. Col. George Armstrong Custer, Elizabeth “Libby” Custer, Capt. Armes, Capt. John Butler Conyngham, Lt. David E. Ezekiel, and Black Kettle. However, they were actual historical figures who lived the roles mentioned in my story at the times and localities my story took place.
.
.
.
.
Thank you for reading
Mail Order Penelope!
Each book in the
Widows, Brides & Secret Babies
series is a clean, sweet historical romance, many with a touch of inspiration. You may find all the books in this series as they are published by searching for
“Widows, Brides and Secret Babies” on Amazon.com
If you enjoyed this book, please help other readers find it by leaving a review on
Amazon Review
and
Goodreads.
Reviews help authors gain new readership, and they are the best way for a reader to say, “Thank you.”
If you enjoyed reading Mail Order Penelope, you might also enjoy Mail Order Roslyn, Book 9 and Mail Order Lorena, Book 17
My other two books in the Widows, Brides & Secret Babies series
They both are also set on the Kansas frontier following the American Civil War.
Here is an excerpt from Mail Order Roslyn:
.
.
.
.
Chapter 1
~o0o~
Junction City, Kansas
April 30, 1866
A s soon as Roslyn Welsh closed the hotel room door behind her, she turned and flopped against it, using the hard surface to support her back. She pressed both forearms against her nipples to stop the flow of milk. She squeezed her eyes shut and bent over, willing the let-down sensation to stop. How long before my milk finally dries up? It’s already been two days. After several seconds, she stood up and brushed aside the once royal blue Zouave jacket her aunt had dyed black. She inspected the front of her shirtwaist and heaved a sigh of relief. No wet spots. The folded muslin pads she had stuffed into the front of her corset were holding. She poked the side of one breast with her forefinger. Rock hard.
Doing her best to ignore the discomfort of her engorged breasts, Roslyn stepped toward the single bed that dominated the room. She untied the now-bedraggled black ribbons holding the straw hat on her head and tossed it on the bed. She stared at the head covering that was as out-of-date at the rest of her clothing but focused her thoughts elsewhere. Emmy, your ma loves you. Truly, I do. Tears filled Roslyn’s eyes. I miss you so much.
Anger welled up inside Roslyn. She yanked the jacket off her arms and shoulders before tossing it across the room. I always hated this outfit on Penelope, and I like it even less on me.
Roslyn stared at the garment for several seconds before she relented and picked it back up. I’ll admit, when it was still blue and the black trim stood out in contrast, on Penelope, with her dark brown hair. It did not look bad. It is the way Aunt Mena fusses over Penelope while she finds reason to fault me that I resent. On me, this sad attempt to make it appear I’m a widow in half-mourning looks ghastly. She smoothed out the back and front panels of the jacket and draped it over the footrail of the iron bedstead. Hopefully, the creases pressed into it as a result of her stagecoach ride from Lawrence would ease out of the wool fabric by morning. She owned nothing else suitable to travel in, which was why Aunt Mena insisted Penelope give it to her. And, I really cannot blame Penelope for the nasty trick played on me. It was her mother’s doing. Dear old Aunt Almena—the despicable witch.
Roslyn lifted her head and focused her gaze on the muslin-draped sash window across the room from her. Why did you go along with her demands? What are you, a spineless worm? Roslyn knew why. In spite of her screamed threats and initial vigorous rejection of her Aunt Mena’s expectations, she knew why, in the end, she capitulated and went along with it. Emmy. I have to do what is best for Emmy.
She looked down at the dark gray skirt that went with the jacket. Because she stood several inches taller than her cousin, where the skirt, now too full to be fashionable, had been the right length for Penelope when worn over a crinoline, on Roslyn, who refused to wear more than two cotton petticoats beneath her skirts, it hung just how she liked it—above her boot tops. I better take this off and let it air out, too.
She next inspected the underarms of her white shirtwaist. At least, Aunt Mena did not insist on dying that black. Fortunately, she saw no hint of yellow stain in spite of the daytime warmth of the two days of travel. She could feel the dampness of the underarm guards. I need to wash the shirtwaist and pads, too, so they will be dry by morning.
Assuring that she had locked the door to her room, Roslyn stripped down to her drawers and chemise. She draped the skirt over the privacy screen and hung her shirtwaist over the back of the ladderback chair. Perhaps I should wash up and put all clean clothing on from the inside out. Her fingers reached for the hem of the chemise, but a sense of restlessness held her back. She turned her head and stared at the window again. Behind the muslin shielding the glass, the sun still shone brightly. She had just finished the dinner meal that came as part of her hotel lodging that day—lodging that had been prepaid by the man who had sent for her. After being cooped up in the stagecoach for the past day and a half, she refused to end the day stuck in her room. I’ll wash clothes later.
Roslyn opened her carpetbag and began pulling out the clothing she had tucked beneath the wool cape which showed wear and her knit shawl. The hairbrush and used bar of lye soap she placed on the dresser. Her clothes—what little she owned—she spread out on her bed. One clean set of unmentionables she set folded on the side of the dresser and the other she placed back into the bag. She stared at the faded, front-opening gown, the seams of which she had finally taken in
just before leaving her aunt’s house. In spite of pressing, she could still see the difference in the fabric color from where it had lightened more before she had let the seams completely out to accommodate her pregnancy, and where she had not been able to take it all the way back in due to the extra weight she still carried after giving birth to Emmy. She fingered the faint needle holes from the original seams. When will I be able to alter this back to how it was before?
Roslyn grimaced and turned away from the gown. She did not feel like wearing a skirt—any skirt. She needed to move. She needed to exercise what few muscles remained to her.
Roslyn reached for the other set of clothes, the ones that had belonged to Ross. As she ran her fingers over the thick weave of the dulled white shirt, she fought sorrow from overwhelming her. She next studied the trousers—the same ones she sewed for him years before he made his way to Fort Leavenworth a month before their eighteenth birthday.
Roslyn recalled how he had left them behind for her, telling her with a laugh, that it was a backdoor birthday gift so she did not have to sneak them out of his chest any longer. Since he would not be there to help their father in the livery, she could alter them to fit her better in order to work by their father’s side in Ross’s place.
She harrumphed. In Ross’s place? Roslyn had been helping all along, especially once she completed her schooling. However, she often complained how the longer skirts she wore once she turned sixteen got in her way when she helped clean the stalls or pitched hay. More than once, her skirt fabric had tangled with a hoof she was in the process of trimming and filing, leading her to nearly being trampled if the horse was uncooperative.