by Al Lacy
“I’m glad to hear this. Jack, would you mind telling me the story from your side?”
“It’s quite simple,” said Jack, adjusting his eye patch. “I was in the same boat you’re in a couple of years ago. Some of the other ‘mail order bride’ couples urged me to seek a mail order bride. At first, the idea of getting a bride through the mail didn’t set well with me, but as I prayed about it, God gave me peace in the matter. So I went to Carl Axton at the Mogollon Dispatch and had him wire my ad to several eastern newspapers.”
Dan smiled. “Well, that’s encouraging.”
“Let me hasten to say, Dan, that in order to make sure I got a genuine Christian bride, I put right in the ad that I was only interested in a born-again bride. I asked that any interested young lady include a testimony of her salvation when she answered the ad.”
Dan smiled at Lorna as he said to Jack, “Well, it sure worked for you, didn’t it?”
“It sure did. It has worked out wonderfully.”
“Yes,” said Lorna. “Jack and I are so happy together. The Lord certainly chose us for each other, there’s no question about that. He can do the same for you and that young lady somewhere back East that He has all picked out for you.”
Fully encouraged by his talk with Jack and Lorna, Dan rode toward the ranch, eager to put his ad in the newspapers back East.
The next morning, with Suzanne’s blessing, Dan rode back into town and entered the office of the Mogollon Dispatch. He sat down with Carl Axton and dictated the ad to be sent to two dozen newspapers back East.
On Tuesday, July 11, a Wells Fargo stagecoach pulled into Holbrook, Arizona.
On board the stage was Edgar Toomey, who stepped out of the coach to stretch his legs, along with the other two male passengers. A woman who had ridden with them since Albuquerque was met by family members and walked away with them.
The three men noticed the driver hurry down the street and turn into a blacksmith shop while the shotgunner was inside the Fargo office.
Some five minutes later, the driver approached the three men. “Gentlemen, I’m sorry, but there’ll be about an hour’s delay before we can head for Mogollon. One of the horses threw a shoe just before we came into town. The blacksmith is going to forge a new shoe and put it on the horse. My shotgunner and I will take the horse down there right now. If you decide to walk around town some, be sure to be back by eleven-thirty.”
The three men nodded, and the driver hurried into the office.
One of the men said to the other, “Well, since you and I have seen all there is to see of Holbrook, let’s just go inside and sit down.”
“I’m for that,” said the other man. He looked at Toomey. “You want to stay with us, or would you like to take a look at the town?”
Toomey glanced down the street. “Guess I’ll just take a walk.”
As Toomey started down the street, the driver and shotgunner came out of the office, meeting up with the two passengers. They told the driver that Toomey was going to take a walk.
“Mr. Toomey!” the driver called. “Don’t forget! Be back by eleven-thirty!”
Edgar waved back and nodded.
Strolling along Main Street, he chuckled to himself. He was now just thirty miles from Mogollon, where he would find Dan Tyler and send him into eternity. Toomey was glad he remembered that Clay Holden was from Birmingham, Alabama. He thought about how he had gone to Birmingham and found Holden’s family, feigning friendship with Clay. He told them he needed to find Clay’s friend, Dan Tyler, and wondered if they knew where Tyler might be. He was happy to learn that Clay was in Mogollon, Arizona, with his army friends, Joel Stevens and Dan Tyler.
Feeling elation because he would soon be able to put a bullet through the heart of Dan Tyler, Toomey heard a shout across the street from inside the Holbrook Bank. Suddenly, three masked robbers burst through the door, guns and money in hand, heading for their horses, which were held by a fourth man in front of the bank.
At the same instant, three men came out the door of the bank, guns blazing. The robbers started shooting back. Bullets were flying.
Women and men on the boardwalk on that side of the street were running for cover.
Holbrook’s town marshal burst out of a nearby store, his own gun spitting fire. While people all along the street were trying to get out of danger, Edgar Toomey headed for a water trough. But before he reached it, a stray bullet plowed into his chest, and he fell in the dust of the street.
When the gun battle was over, the marshal was standing over the dead bodies of the four robbers when his deputy came up. “Marshal, we’ve got two dead men who took stray bullets during the gun battle. One of them is Dale Brooks, but the other one is a stranger, over there by that water trough. He’s not carrying any identification, so I have no idea who he is. None of the other spectators know him. No way to tell which horse at the hitch rails belongs to him. Too many of them.”
“Well, since we can’t identify him, take his body to the undertaker. The town will just have to foot the bill for his burial.”
At 11:45, it was past time for the stagecoach to leave. The two male passengers boarded, talking about the bank robbery that had just taken place. The shotgunner was already up on the seat in the box. The driver turned to the Fargo agent. “I can’t wait for Mr. Toomey to show up. I told him to be back here by eleven-thirty.”
The agent grinned. “He probably got interested in the bank robbery and can’t pull himself away from the excitement. When he comes back, I’ll tell him he can go to Mogollon on tomorrow’s stage.”
“Okay. Do that. See you later.”
The agent watched the stage roll down the street, then turned and went back into the office.
21
ON THE HOT, STICKY THURSDAY EVENING of August 3, 1865, Jenny Linden entered her yard with the day’s edition of the Harrisburg Journal in hand. The day had been a busy one at Henderson’s General Store, and she was feeling a bit weary. The sun was more than an hour from setting and it put off plenty of heat.
As she stepped up on the porch, her eyes went to the empty rocking chair in the parlor. She paused and a lump rose in her throat.
When she moved into the house, its cooped-up heat hit her. She quickly went from room to room, opening windows, hoping to allow what little breeze was in the air to circulate.
In the sun-filled kitchen, she paused and took stock of her cupboards. She sighed. “It’s almost too hot to eat, and eating all by myself has no pleasure. But Jenny Linden, you’ve got to keep up your strength.”
She pumped water into the basin, splashed it on her warm face, and dried it with a towel. “Guess I’ll just have a ham and cheese sandwich and a glass of water. It’s too hot to fire up the stove.”
Jenny set about preparing her small supper. She put it on a tray, along with the day’s newspaper, and headed toward the front of the house. When she reached the parlor door, she stepped in and laid the newspaper on the small table beside her favorite overstuffed chair. With tray in hand, she moved out onto the front porch, which was in the shade of the house. She placed the tray on the small round table in the corner of the porch and sat in one of the chairs that were pulled up to it.
While she was eating, the flowers in her mother’s garden gave off a fragrant scent when stirred by a quickening breeze. She was thankful for the coolness of the breeze and for the pleasantness of the flowers. Coldness washed over her as she thought of her mother.
By the time Jenny had finished her supper and cleaned up the kitchen, the sun was going down and the breeze that circulated through the house made it more tolerable.
She went to the parlor, sat down in her chair, and picked up the newspaper. She read the front page, which had news about President Andrew Johnson’s untiring effort to bring the entire nation back to unity, though many of the Southerners were making it clear they had not surrendered to the Union in their hearts.
On the second page, she read an interesting article about the orphan train
s, sponsored by the Children’s Aid Society in New York City, that were carrying children off the streets of the city to homes in the Midwest and the far west, all the way to California, Oregon, and Washington Territory.
When she turned her attention to page three, she found a large article about Harrisburg men who had fought in the Civil War and now carried wounds of one kind or another. Many had lost limbs, while others had lost their sight or their hearing. Jenny thought of her father, wishing he had merely sustained a wound in the War, instead of being murdered by the beastly guard at the Andersonville Prison Camp.
The name Dan Tyler came off her lips, causing her to almost taste the bitterness it brought. She hissed, “Tyler, I wish I knew where you were. I’d see that justice was done.”
Jenny kept turning pages, reading those articles that interested her, until finally, she was at the classified section. She read ads about fall clothing that would be available in Harrisburg’s department stores in late August.
Letting her eyes run quickly over these ads, she started to close the paper and lay it aside when her attention was drawn to the mail order bride section. Having read the ads in this section a few times, she chuckled. “What fools those young women are who go out west and marry some man they have never met!”
Suddenly her eyes froze on a mail order bride ad that had been placed in the Journal by a man in Arizona named Daniel Tyler. She frowned and focused on it closely. In the ad, this Daniel Tyler said he worked on a cattle ranch called the Box B near Mogollon, Arizona.
Jenny’s heart quickened and her mouth went dry. Daniel Tyler. Dan Tyler, for short. Could this be him?
As she read the rest of the ad, she was surprised to see that this Daniel Tyler wanted to marry a born-again woman and asked for the testimony of her salvation in her reply to the ad.
Jenny shook her head. “No, this can’t be Sergeant Dan Tyler, who murdered my father. Even though I’m quite uncomfortable around these born-again types, I know they would never murder anyone.”
She folded the paper, tossed it in the wastebasket that sat by the small table and picked up a novel she had been reading.
Going to the spot about halfway through the book where she had left a bookmark, she opened it, laid aside the bookmark, and began to read. From time to time she shook her head, flipped back a page, and reread part of it. She closed the book, holding the place with her finger, and sighed.
With her father’s killer having been brought freshly to mind, her thoughts kept going to the mass grave where the body of Captain William Linden had been buried with hundreds of his Union comrades.
Fresh hatred for Sergeant Dan Tyler was burning inside her.
Jenny opened the book and tried to read but simply could not concentrate. Shaking her head, she put the bookmark in place and closed the book. “It’s no use,” she said. “I can’t get that dirty murderer out of my mind.”
Even while preparing for bed, Jenny was wishing she could get that killer in her gun sights. It would be a pleasure to put a bullet in him and send him into eternity. She smiled to herself. And if I could later stand over his grave, I would laugh and spit on it!
She doused the lantern, slipped between the covers, and tried to go to sleep. But sleep eluded her. She thought again of the mail order bride ad placed in the Harrisburg Journal by ranch hand Daniel Tyler. Once more, she told herself this cowhand out West couldn’t be the man who murdered her father. Born-again people didn’t go around murdering people. They just wouldn’t do that.
Suddenly Jenny sat up in bed, the silver light of the moon shining on her face. “That is, unless they are hypocrites, and really don’t believe what they profess. I’ve seen some of that kind. Maybe that’s what this cowboy Daniel Tyler is—a hypocrite. I have to find out!”
She threw back the covers, lit the lantern, and made her way into the parlor. There, she took the newspaper out of the wastebasket, sat down, and read the article again.
“Mmm. Mr. Daniel Tyler, you just might be the man I’ve been looking for. Mm-hmm. Looking for so I can put a bullet in your vile, wicked heart, that is!
“I’m going to do it! I’m going to send a reply. It’ll come from Jenny Blair. I’ll ask for more information about him, his past, where he was born and raised. If he answers back that he was a sergeant in the Confederate army and served at Andersonville Prison Camp, I’ll do my dead-level best to convince him that Jenny Blair is the woman he should marry. Hah! If he falls for it, Jenny Blair will go to Mogollon, Arizona, and give him the justice he deserves. What better opportunity to put a bullet in his wicked heart if I’m his trusted wife?”
With this settled in her mind, Jenny Linden returned to her bed and slept well the rest of the night.
The next morning, while eating breakfast, she thought about her plan. In order to fool Daniel Tyler into thinking she was one of the born-again types, she must come across with the right words.
When Jenny had finished doing the dishes and cleaning up the kitchen, she hurried to her bedroom and went to the chest of drawers where she had put the Bible Laura Denton had given her. She took the Bible out of the drawer and wiped the dust off of it. Opening another drawer she took out a photograph of herself that was taken for her high school graduation, and carried the Bible and the photograph to the desk in her father’s den.
She sat down and read every passage Laura had underlined, and went over in her mind several times exactly what Laura had said she would have to do to be saved—to be born again. She rushed to the parlor, picked up the newspaper, and hurried back to the den.
At the desk once again, she took out pen and paper, dipped the pen in the inkwell, and began her letter:
August 4, 1865
Dear Mr. Tyler,
My name is Jenny Blair, and I am nineteen years of age. I am five feet four inches tall and weigh a hundred and ten pounds. The enclosed photograph was taken for my high school graduation a little more than a year ago. You can see that I’m blond. My eyes are blue.
Yesterday, I read your ad in the Harrisburg newspaper, and because of so many disappointments in my later teen years in trying to find the right man to marry, I feel that possibly you are the man that God has chosen for me. I know He does things like this for His born-again children.
You sound like a very nice man, and though you are a few years older than me, I believe we just might be meant for each other. I am intrigued with your occupation. Since I was a little girl, I have had a deep admiration for horses and cattle, and I have long been interested in the West. My parents are both dead, and I work as a clerk in the general store not far from my house. I’m sure I could fit into ranch-style living.
You asked for my testimony. Just a couple of years ago, I started attending a church that preaches the Bible as the holy Word of God with a friend of mine from school. After hearing that I was a lost sinner on my way to hell, I talked to my friend, and she showed me many Bible verses on salvation—verses that the pastor preached from many times in the pulpit.
I saw the light that God gives through the gospel. I realized that Jesus had died for me on the cross, shed His precious blood for my sins, and rose from the grave three days later so He could save me if I would open my heart to Him. I repented of my sin and took Jesus into my heart as my Saviour.
I hope this makes it clear to you that I am born again. If you are interested, please write back as soon as possible. Tell me where you were born and raised. Have you always worked as a ranch hand? I will be waiting with great anticipation for your reply, and I will be praying that God will lead us together if it is what He wants for our lives.
Sincerely yours,
Jenny Blair
Box 23
Harrisburg, Pennsylvania
Jenny read the letter over to make sure it was exactly what she wanted to say. “There you are, Daniel Tyler. If you tell me you were a sergeant in the Confederate army, and served as a guard at Andersonville Prison Camp, and you want me to come and be your mail order bride, you have onl
y a short time to live.”
She left the house a bit early to go to work, so she could stop by the post office and mail the letter. Somehow, the more she thought about it, the more she was convinced that she had the right man. Her heart jumped inside her. If Daniel Tyler of the Box B Ranch near Mogollon, Arizona, indeed was her father’s killer, she would have the sweet taste of revenge.
She greeted one of the general store’s faithful customers who was coming out of the post office, then moved inside and drew up to the counter. Postmaster Bill Marvel smiled at her. “Good morning, Jenny.”
“Good morning, Mr. Marvel. I need to tell you that some mail may be coming to me as Jenny Blair. It’s a long story, and I won’t bore you with it. ‘Blair’ was my mother’s maiden name, and I’m using it for a very special reason.”
“Whatever you say, Jenny. I’ll see that you get the mail when it comes.”
She handed him the envelope addressed to Daniel Tyler with Jenny Blair in the upper left-hand corner, along with her post office box address. “And here’s a letter to be mailed.”
Marvel didn’t look at it but simply dropped it in the box of outgoing mail. “Anything else, Miss Jenny?”
“That’s all for now, thank you.” She turned and went out the door.
A feverish excitement made her tingle all over as she thought about the letter being on its way to Daniel Tyler. “Papa,” she said in a whisper as she walked briskly down the street toward the general store, “if this Daniel Tyler is the man who took your life, I will avenge you. And I have a strong feeling it is him!”
Thinking of Tyler, Jenny wondered if her father’s killer knew where in Pennsylvania he was from. Then she shrugged it off, telling herself that even if Tyler knew Captain William Linden was from Harrisburg, he could make no connection.
She entered the general store and smiled at Zack and Emma Henderson, who were both behind the counter getting ready for the day’s business.
Emma elbowed her husband. “Zack, do you see what I see?”