Always, Clay

by Nan O'Berry

  “Yes, ma’am,” she whispered. “We-we only spoke about Stephen,” she added.

  “Of course.”

  The stern tone stung, just as if she had an open wound. Blinking the moisture from her eyes, she moved to her dress and picked up the needle. “This will not take long.”

  Clay concentrated on balancing the stack of dishes into the kitchen. Tonight, his job was to help the Hawkins clean up the table after their meal. Turning his back to the doorway, he pushed the door open with his backsides and spoke, “Mrs. Hawkins, where do you wish me to put the dishes?”

  Olivia Hawkins glanced up from the suds in the dishpan and gave a nod toward the kitchen table. “Over there, Clay, and thank you.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”He moved to the small oak table where Mrs. Hawkins prepared their meals and bent down to place the dishes on the flat surface. A plate slipped as he slid them from his arms. A swift hand steadied the clattering china. “Seems to me, a bunch of tin plates might have been better, ma’am.”

  Clay caught the stern look Mrs. Hawkins leveled in his direction. It was the same look his mother used just before a justified scolding. “It is just that cowboys seem to be a clumsy lot.” He gave a shrug of his shoulders.

  Her lips twitched and for a moment like she might laugh. Instead, she shook the soap from her hands and pulled at the edges of her apron to dry the water. “All the more reason to use china, so young men may learn manners.”

  “Oh, he has manners,” Anna piped up to Clay’s chagrin.

  Olivia’s brow arched as she gave her daughter a questioning look.

  Anna’s mischievous grin widened. “Clay can charm an eight year old and his sister.”

  If the floor could open up, he would have gladly slid into the unknown.

  Mrs. Hawkins gaze shifted from imp grin of her daughter to his chagrined expression. “And when did this happen?”

  “A few days ago, at O’Neal’s,” Anna remarked and rocked on her heels.

  To Clay, she seemed to be enjoying his discomfort way too much.

  “And do you know this young lady?” Mrs. Hawkins asked.

  He did his best to avoid her penetrating look. “No—”

  “We saw her as she was leaving,” Anna interrupted. “She was in a wagon with the markings from the Rocking R.”

  “Ah, the Rawlings’s.” Mrs. Hawkins nodded. “Nice family. They have come to meeting several times.”

  “Oh, Clay thought they were nice too.”

  As if sensing his annoyance, Mrs. Hawkins turned toward her daughter. “Why, Anna, you are certainly a fountain of information this evening. It is a shame you do not focus more on your lessons.”

  The table turned with her mother’s stern tone and the color drained from her face. “I-I wasn’t being nosey, Momma, honest.” Anna’s glance moved to Clay.

  For a moment, he felt a bit of pity toward her.

  “I was just waiting for Mr. O’Neal to get out supplies when I saw Clay talking.”

  Before Mrs. Hawkins could reply, the door pushed open and they all turned to watch Levi walk in. “Ah, Clayton, I thought I might find you in here.”

  “I am on dish duty tonight, sir.”

  “Hmm, yes.” He gave a nod. “Might I have a minute of your time?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Levi walked over to his wife. “Dear, would you mind fixing another pot of coffee?”

  “Long night?”

  “Afraid so.”

  Levi leaned forward and placed a gentle kiss on his wife’s cheek.

  A soft pink blush filled her cheeks. “I will, but promise me not to stay up to late.”

  Clay felt the need to look away from their tender moment.

  “I shan’t.” Turning, Levi glanced toward Clay. “Come along, there is much to discuss before morning.”

  Clay glanced over at Anna who seemed totally miserable under her mother’s sharp glance. She was the little sister he’d never known and despite her teasing, he heard himself reply, “Be good, little one.”

  Anna lifted her sorrow filled eyes and blinked.

  He took it as acknowledgement enough that she was sorry. Following Levi out the door, he lengthened his step to catch up to his employer as he led him down the hall toward the small Spartan room he kept as the swing station office.

  “Do come in and close the door, please,” Levi urged as he moved to the desk.

  Clay entered and waited until he struck a match and lighted the wick in the oil lamp before closing the wooden door behind him. “You need to speak to me, sir?” He ran his hands down the sides of his trousers to brush away the nervous moisture that gathered there.

  “I do.” Levi nodded to one of the straight back chairs that faced the modest desk in the center of the room. “Please, sit.”

  Clay swallowed and moved toward the designated chairs. Choosing the one on the left, he sat down gingerly and waited. His eyes moved across the map mounted on the wall behind him. A red dot marked the Three River’s Station and a bright blue line connected the other stations all the way to Sacramento.

  “We have a big undertaking underway.”

  “Yes, we do,” Clay agreed. “It didn’t seem so large until you spread out the map and see the distance we cover.”

  Levi turned in his chair and stared at the map Clay gazed upon.

  “It is vast,” Clay added.

  “It is, for one man,” Levi agreed. “That’s where the beauty of the relay comes in. By making each rider responsible for a short ride, the mail should move smoothly.”

  “I take it the key is each rider,” Clay murmured and brought his glance back to Levi.

  The man behind the desk took a deep breath and nodded. He turned his chair to face Clay. “Clayton, I need your thoughts.”

  “Mine?” Clay was truly surprised.

  Levi nodded. “I dare not tell Mrs. Hawkins about this.” He rubbed his hand over his jaw.

  Clay became concerned. “What is it, sir? How can I help?”

  Levi moved close to the desk and leaned his elbows against the polished wood. “I am hearing some talk,” he began. “Patty O’Neal tells me some people have been talking about the express.”

  Clay’s forehead knotted. “People talk, sir.”

  Levi raised his brow. “That they do. However, there are many that wish the express to fail and fail badly.”

  “Have threats been made?”

  Levi shrugged. “Veiled at best, yet I cannot ignore the potential for disaster.”

  Clay swallowed. “Are there suspects?”

  “The usual.” He drew his hands back and folded them in his lap. “The stage company could take a powerful hit if we succeed. I know tension between our riders and their drivers are at an all time high.” He leveled his glance at Clay. “I fear money may lure many of our riders away.”

  “Not me, sir.”

  Levi’s face relaxed. “No, I find my faith lies in you and a few others. However, the talk also concerns my family. Their safety is of the upmost importance.”

  “Of course,” Clay agreed.

  “I wish for you to keep your ear to the ground. Should you hear anything that sounds out of the ordinary, you will come to me immediately, is that understood?”

  Clay nodded. “Sir, have you talked to the Captain?”

  Levi sighed. “I have had a conversation or two with Captain Merrick before he left town. Without proof, I have nothing substantial to back up my argument.”

  “And it is a sin to bare a false witness,” Clay murmured.

  Levi’s eyes rounded. “So, you know scripture.”

  Clay paused and examined the pattern on the carpet before he looked up to continue, “My mother made sure we attended service each Sunday. There, I learned many things.” His features hardened. “Like how easy it is to speak scripture while doing the opposite.” He rose. “I promise you, here and now, that I will keep my ear to the ground and keep your family safe.”

  “Thank you, Clayton.” Levi rose and ext
ended his hand.

  They shook.

  “You are welcome.”

  Chapter 3

  A few days later, Clay stood in the open yard and waited. His gaze searched the horizon, at the end of the main street of Three Rivers, for the sign of dust.

  Beside him, Spirit pawed the ground as if to tell him he was ready to go. His breath caught as a puff of smoke seemed to rise in the distance.

  “It will not be long now,” he whispered to his steed.

  A hand fell on his shoulder.

  Clay glanced to the right to see Levi’s eyes trained toward the horizon and in his hand a stopwatch.

  Both glanced at the time. Eight forty-five, the rider was a tad bit early.

  If that struck Levi as being odd, he didn’t speak of it. As he slipped the watch into the pocket of his dark vest, he quietly inquired, “Are you ready?”

  “I am,” Clay responded and glanced back noting the growing cloud. “I’ve asked Wyeth and Stone to keep an eye on Anna and Mrs. Hawkins.”

  “Thank you.” Levi gave a nod of his head.

  The pounding of hooves made the ground shiver as the rider approached.

  Spirit pulled on the reins, knowing his chance to run had come.

  “Easy.” Clay reached out to steady his horse by placing a calming hand upon the animal’s neck.

  Together, he and Levi watched the small, nimble rider, Denver pull his mount to a sliding halt. Dismounting, he hauled the leather mochila off the saddle in one fluid motion and cried out, “Here ya’ go!”

  With a toss of his hand, the leather pouch flew in the air to Clay who caught it and flung it over the lightweight saddle making sure the openings fit over the pommel and cantle. His left foot in the stirrup, Clay had only seconds to fling his leg over before his dun colored, Appaloosa lunged forward. Riding low over his pony’s neck, he negotiated the first sharp turn outside of town.

  Spirit’s ears pricked forward and he was relieved to see the trail clear of other riders or wagons that would impede his movements.

  The wind whipped the horse’s mane into his face and tugged at the hat held tight to his throat by the lattigo and wooden toggle. Tearing over the next rise, there was just enough lift that his hat flew back and bounced along his back. As they raced along the route, dust rose and covered both man and beast. Clay shifted the reins in his hands and brought his kerchief up to at least cover his nose and mouth to save his lungs from filling with the fine particles. He squinted into the sun and noticed the dark dot moving ahead of them. The closer they came, it became easier to make out the bright red paint of the Pierson Stage Line.

  Not wanting any confrontation, he steered Spirit to the side and the pony leapt over the brush slowing in speed. As he drew abreast, shouts from the passengers encouraging both him and his pony filled the air. Clay pulled the kerchief from his face and waved his thank you, noting the scowl on the faces of the driver and shotgun rider as he thundered past.

  The words Levi had spoken the night before echoed in his ears. New enterprises can often be seen as a threat. He could see how this would occur. The employees of Pierson’s would never be friends with the express. Clay laid the reins along Spirit’s neck and moved him back onto the wider trail as he left the stage in his dust.

  Before noon, he rode into the swing station that Ransom now ran with Delia’s father.

  In the open yard, Delia stood with the Morgan saddled and ready for him.

  Spirit raced in. Although his pony was winded, he still had to circle her in order to bring his gelding to a halt. Rising in his stirrups, he pulled the saddlebags loose and stepped down onto the hard ground. “The other rider?”

  Delia shook her head. “Didn’t show this morning. Father and Ransom went looking for him. You will have to ride on.”

  His lips pressed together as he swung the locked bags onto the sorrel mare. She handed him the reins and as the pony danced, he swung aboard and drew the reins tight. “Walk him till he’s cool, Delia.”

  “I will. Take care, Clay. I don’t know what’s going on further up the route.”

  With a nod, he sank his heels into the sorrel’s sides and the horse leapt forward. Clay felt the powerful muscles beneath him pump as the horse’s hooves thundered down the road. His thoughts rested on the stressed look on her face and he wondered what happened to the rider.

  Emma carried the second load of clothes in from the line her father strung between the house and the post about ten feet away. She set the basket down and plopped into a kitchen chair. Pushing a few damp tendrils of hair away from her face, she felt glad this chore was coming to an end. She and her mother had been up since dawn, heating water, boiling the clothes and rubbing their fingers raw as they scrubbed the clothes against the washboard to loosen the dirt from the fibers.

  Bending, she groaned and lifted one of the clean towels from the basket and brought it to her face. She closed her eyes and breathed deep the scent of warm sunshine and the roses that were blooming along the picket fence near the chicken coop. “Nothing better than clothes hung on the line,” she whispered.

  “I second that,” her mother replied as she followed in behind her.

  Emma glanced over her shoulder.

  Her mother’s face was just as red as her own. “My gracious,” Rosalynn sighed. “I’m glad that’s done.”

  Emma turned her attention back to folding the towel. “When will Poppa and Drew be home?”

  Her mother’s expression softened. “Tomorrow, they needed to check the herd in the western pasture. You miss him?”

  Emma nodded.

  “I do too,” Rosalynn admitted. “But let’s keep that our little secret.”

  The pounding of small boots echoed along the ceiling.

  Both looked up.

  “I guess Stephen has finished cleaning his room.”

  “Let’s hope.” Rosalynn sighed.

  They listened as his steps grew louder and seemed to shake the entire house as he bounded down the staircase.

  “Oh, to be eight again,” her mother remarked with a shake of her head.

  The door to the kitchen flew open and the youngest Rawlings burst into the room. Spying his mother, he slid to a stop and took a deep gulp of air. “Hey.”

  “Hey yourself,” Emma fussed. “You know the rules. No running in the house.”

  Emma’s little brother ignored her warning and focused instead on their mother. “But I am going to be late!”

  Rosalynn gave her baby a quizzical look. “Late for what?”

  Stephen looked down at the wide yellow pine board floor. “To see the express.”

  “To see whom?” Emma asked.

  Stephen gave her a furious look. “To see the express riders go by.”

  “The express! Land sakes that is all you have talked about.” Rosalynn gave a shake of her head.

  “Ma, please,” he whined.

  Emma waited while her mother studied the young boy squirming under her gaze.

  Finally, when the tortured child could stand no more, she put him out of his misery. “Against my better judgment….” She began.

  Stephen gave whoop that would have made any Brave on the prairie envious. “You are the best, Ma!” Rushing toward her, he flung his arms around her waist and hugged her dearly.

  “There, there. Settle this noise.” Reaching down, she cupped her son’s chin and tilted his face toward hers. “You may go, but Emma will ride with you.”

  “But, Ma,” both children cried in unison.

  Rosalynn held up her hand and silenced them both. “It is either you both go, or no one does.”

  Stephen turned and looked at his sister resigned to his fate. “Will you go with me, Emma?”

  “I suppose I have no choice.” Emma sighed.

  Stephen grinned. “Good.”

  “Stephen,” their mother silenced him. “Emma, go change and don’t take long.”

  Emma sighed, her tone resigned to the ultimatum. “Yes, ma’am.”

 
Emma hurried to change into a split skirt and boots.

  Still, Stephen was already at the barn and his pony saddled by the time she made her way to the corral. The crunch of her boots on the sand made him look up. “Finally.” He lunged to his feet.

  “Mind yourself,” Emma cautioned her brother with a stern reproach.

  Stephen pressed his lips together, but said nothing.

  Emma walked into the barn and grabbed a bridle. She made her way over to the stall where a dapple grey head hung looking expectantly toward her. “Shall we go out for a ride, Princess?”

  The horse snorted and shook her head.

  Emma laughed and slid the bit into her mouth. Leading her mare out of the stall, she quickly finished tacking up. Dropping the stirrup down, she led the horse out into the yard where her brother was waiting. “Ready to go?”

  “I thought you would never get through,” Stephen grumbled and slid his foot into the stirrup.

  Emma said nothing as she moved to place her hand on his backside and pushed him into the saddle.

  “I can do it myself.”

  Emma flipped the reins over her mare’s head and mounted. “I’m sure you can. I was just trying to hurry up.”

  Stephen turned his sure-footed chestnut toward the southern end of the ranch.

  Together, the two jogged out of the farmyard and across the field of scrub grass. The horses moved easily, knowing the trail by heart. Ahead of them, a wise old jackrabbit startled by the hoof beats, sprinted across their path toward a clump of brush to Emma’s left.

  “Have you been coming out here on your own?”

  Stephen gave a worried glance in her direction. “Yes, but I know the way. So does Cinnamon. No one bothers me.”

  Emma listened to his bravado knowing that should their parents find out, his adventure would come to a quick end. “You cannot come here by yourself, you know that, right?”

  Her brother bit his lip. “But, Emma.”

  With a touch of her heels, she moved her mount beside her brother’s and reached out to touch his arm. “Stephen, promise me.”

  Their horses came to a stop.

  “Promise me, Stephen that you will only come out here with me or Drew.”

  He swallowed heavily. “I promise.”