One Last Letter

by Pema Donyo

  “Then what’s wrong with the ones you’ve rejected?”

  What was wrong, indeed? A sinking feeling settled in her stomach. “Or I could pursue a career of my own.”

  “I doubt Jesse would ever stop you from doing something you wanted.”

  Jesse this, Jesse that. When would she stop hearing his name everywhere she went in Hamilton?

  Annie rolled her eyes and spun around, fixing Evelyn a critical eye. “Why are you so insistent on being married now, anyway?”

  “The ranch can use all the financial support it can get.” She shifted her weight on the bed, realizing the contradiction between her words and behavior. Then why couldn’t she just tie herself to one of the rich fellows who expressed interest?

  “Have a word with your father. I’m sure he’d listen if you just asked him for more time.”

  Maybe Annie did have a point. Jesse could be out of the question, but maybe her father would postpone her marriage and her list of suitors for a few years. There was no time like the present to find out. Evelyn opened the door and walked down the hallway, toward the study. Annie called out her name, but Evelyn ignored her.

  She stepped inside her father’s room. On one side of the study, the wall was lined with several rows of bookshelves containing dusty tomes ranging in topics from finance to law to agriculture. The sturdy spinning globe she loved so much as a child still rested on a small table in the center of the room. And behind the large oak desk, where papers determining the future of her family’s ranch were strewn, sat her father.

  Thomas Lancaster set down the papers in his hand when he saw her enter the room. Rarely worn glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. His forehead was creased with worry, yet he smiled when he saw his eldest. “Evelyn, what is it?”

  “Father, the list of suitors . . .” She mustered up enough courage to step forward. Her father’s large oak desk seemed imposing, but infinitely more intimidating was her father’s expectant expression. “I think we need to talk about who I want to marry.”

  “Well, of course, go ahead.” He gestured his hand outward.

  She paused. “I have been giving some consideration to my marriage and I—”

  Before she could finish, Mr. Lancaster held his palm up to Evelyn to quiet her for a moment. His gaze shifted to a point behind her. “Come right in, Greenwood.”

  She stood perfectly still as heavy footsteps approached her father’s desk. She had to remind herself to breathe as she sneaked a look out of the corner of her eye at the tall man standing next to her.

  Jesse Greenwood’s expression was firm, the hard lines of his face even more stern than she’d ever seen them. He smelled of fresh morning air, dust from the trails, and a familiar musky scent that was uniquely his. Her body longed to turn her head toward him and bury her face in his shirt and wrap her arms around him—

  No, that was in the past now.

  He nodded to her father. “Just wanted to say goodbye, sir, before I hit the road.”

  Her father smiled at Jesse. Or rather, she knew, he smiled at the lack of interaction he saw between Jesse and Evelyn. “I wish you the best of luck in California, boy. Whenever you want to return to Texas, my ranch is always willing to hire a hand with your skills.”

  Her eyes widened, but she didn’t dare look at Jesse. Surely there was some mistake. He couldn’t really leave. Her stomach plummeted.

  He just couldn’t.

  “Loretta’s staying, though. She’s happy here. I’ll send money to her soon as I get settled out West.” He placed his hat on his head and adjusted the rucksack over his shoulder. “Much thanks for the horse you provided me, sir.”

  “It’s the least I can do for your years of service, Greenwood. Best of luck on your journey.”

  She scowled. More like the least he could do to show his appreciation that Jesse was leaving his ranch.

  Jesse nodded again, and then turned to leave. He didn’t even glance in her direction. It was as if she was invisible to him now.

  She heard his footsteps leave the room, felt the air shift as his familiar scent faded, and wanted nothing more than to run after him as fast as she could.

  Instead, she stayed still.

  CHAPTER TWO

  1876

  “I’m never going to find love again!” The redhead wailed into Evelyn’s shoulder, great sobs wracking her chest and fat tears staining her dress. The tear stains had practically formed a new print on one of the cotton shirtsleeves of Evelyn’s dress.

  She patted Annie’s head and frowned. This was the third time her friend cried over Edward this week. “You must be positive, Annie. Just because he did not want to settle down does not mean every other man is the same.”

  “There are no other men in Hamilton I want! I only want him! He’s the only one for me!” Another fresh wail caused Evelyn to sigh. Annie’s behavior was ridiculous, even for her. Edward Beaumont was the town flirt. Everyone gossiped about how he flirted with dozens of girls at a time. How he’d managed to make Annie fall for him, Evelyn would never know.

  “You will be fine. Be rational.”

  Annie shook her head. “You don’t understand. He kept telling me he would ask my father to court me. He promised!”

  “I do not doubt it. But Hamilton is not the entire world.” Evelyn lifted her friend’s head from Evelyn’s shoulder and wiped away one of Annie’s tears. “Dallas is nearby. You have an aunt in the city, right? Live there for a few months. Meet other men.”

  “But you know I cannot go on my own.” Annie shuddered. “Just think of the city filth I would have to deal with. And whose pragmatism will save me from other Edwards? Only you!”

  “You are right on that account.”

  “Exactly! You must come with me.”

  Evelyn nearly snorted. As if she could protect Annie from falling for every man who showed her a smile. She stood up from her friend’s bed and walked toward the doorway.

  Annie rushed forward. She put both of her arms on either side of the door frame, blocking Evelyn’s exit from the room. “Why will you not come with me? We can find husbands together.”

  Husband-hunting? She shook her head. Not even if doing so came with ten free horses. “You know my place is at the ranch. I need to help my father every day. I cannot simply leave for a few weeks.”

  “What are the other cowboys for?” Annie rolled her eyes. Her tears dried at the sudden change of topic, and despair morphed into dismissal. “If we are ever to find husbands, we cannot waste our lives away at a ranch.”

  “Breighton is my family’s ranch, not yours. You do not need to worry yourself about it.” Evelyn ducked underneath Annie’s arm and headed toward the front door. She heard Annie’s footsteps trail after her, but not before Evelyn had already managed to step outside into the fresh Texas air.

  The mid-morning bustle of the burg distracted her from meddling musings of marriage. The large general store across from Annie’s home buzzed with activity as nomadic traders and roaming cowboys came by to pick up supplies. Tattle-tale town residents delighted in discussions of local gossip outside the doors of the post office, sharing secrets over letters that had traveled farther than they ever would. It was too early in the day for the saloon to be active, but still a few locals brushed in and out of the establishment’s doors with a whiskey-influenced walk.

  “Breighton is practically my home, too, you know—I spend so much time there.” Annie glanced toward the seamstress shop next to her house. “Mother knows I’ll eventually take over her dress shop, which doesn’t exactly thrill me. I’ll grow into a spinster before then!”

  Evelyn started toward her horse, her boots clipping against the small pebbles outside of the Inglewoods’ home and shop. “Twenty-two is hardly a spinster. You are even younger than I, Annie. You have time to be married still.”

  She hitched herself onto her horse. “Besides,” she said over her shoulder. “There are more important matters for me to worry about than marriage.”

  Ann
ie sounded incredulous. “What could possibly be more important than marriage?”

  Evelyn shook her head as she rode away, beyond the outskirts of the town of Hamilton and toward the ranch of Breighton. The farther she traveled along the long dirt road, the more the fences fell away from the sides of the path and the more open the land became. Of course, nearly all the green pasture belonged to someone. Only the grassy abandoned acres gave the appearance of being still wild and unclaimed.

  Eventually she recognized the land as her own. She could see the ranch hands watching over the cattle in the distant pastures. The tall red barn grew more visible as she drew farther up the trail. The sun began to set, that beautiful Texas sunset whose fading red rays hit the plains of her father’s ranch as far as the eye could see.

  This. This was more important than marriage.

  She couldn’t sell Breighton. Her eventual husband’s money would pay off the ranch’s expenses. But where was the husband? Maybe she was too picky.

  She bit her lower lip. No use wondering about “maybes.” She couldn’t afford to waste time thinking about marriage.

  She spurred the horse forward as she raced toward home. The wind whipped through her hair as she leaned toward the horse, closing the distance between them to increase her speed. When they passed the first corral post, Evelyn pulled on the reins, drawing her horse into a trot. The road widened as the narrow trail gave way to a large clearing in front of the stables.

  Blue Star trotted to a halt as she approached the clearing. Evelyn grabbed the saddle horn and jumped off, still holding the reins as she guided Blue Star toward one of the waiting ranch hands outside the stables.

  “Thanks, Denny. Do you know where my father is?”

  “Last I saw, Mr. Lancaster was repairing the fences with the others, ma’am.” Denny pointed to the corral where Preston and the other ranch hands were hauling logs near the far end of the fence. She frowned when she noticed her father working with them. What was he doing there? He was in no shape to be doing ranch work.

  She walked over to join them. The doctor had already told her father to take it easy until he felt well again. She pulled up the long sleeves of her dress as she approached the men. “I can help, Father. Just let me handle this for you.”

  “Get back into the house, Evelyn.” Her father set the hammer down and cleared his throat before standing. Drawing up to his full height, he stood a good half a foot taller than her. “This is no woman’s work. This is—”

  Another set of wracking coughs gripped her father. He clenched his fist and held it toward his ribs, beating against his chest as he gasped for breath through the wheezing. She brought herself underneath her father’s arm to support his weight as he leaned against her. What was he thinking?

  “The doctor told you to rest! You are in no condition to work right now. And we already talked about this.” Evelyn pursed her lips together. She wished her father would stop insisting she didn’t belong working on the ranch. “This ranch is mine as well. I want to help.”

  “No, no, no . . .” Her father finally stopped coughing. He brought her arm down and clucked his tongue. “Someday, you’ll be married and the ranch will be his to take care of.”

  The other ranch hands from behind them stopped working to hear the conversation. Her father turned around and scowled. “What? She’s never going to marry any of you. Get back to work, boys!” Her father waved at the ranch hands to continue fixing the fences. He walked away from the fence, bringing one hand behind Evelyn to guide her away from the repairs. “I know you worry for my health, but I’m as fit as ever.”

  As if on cue, her father’s coughs began anew. This time, however, they didn’t stop. He sounded like he was gasping for breath as they increased in frequency. Evelyn watched him clap his hands to his knees, unable to stand upright.

  “Preston!” Evelyn called out, supporting her father’s weight once again. “Help me get him back to the house.”

  Preston rushed over from the fence and took her father’s other side. His coughs continued, wracking his chest with more intensity with each passing second as they practically pulled him toward the house. When they reached the porch, a maid rushed out to take him indoors.

  Evelyn opened the door for the maid as she brought him inside. Evelyn’s heart hammered in her chest. Her father’s illness was even worse than she imagined. “Set him down on his bed and watch over him. Make sure he stays in bed for a while.”

  Preston folded his arms and leaned against one of the porch columns. “He’s in mighty bad shape. Doctor needs to see him.”

  “I know.” She sat down into the nearest wooden chair to rub her temples with the pads of her fingers, hoping the desperate practice would alleviate the building headache. “I plan to go down to Hamilton now and fetch for Dr. Elton myself.”

  Fetch for Dr. Elton, pay the ranch hands, review the orders for the new inventory—just another task she needed to complete.

  And another added expense. She cringed. Not that there was a shortage of those these days. Her father had to fire two of the ranch hands recently for trying to steal from the big house. She had debated whether or not to re-hire after the incident, but pickings were slim. There was a shortage of cowboys in Hamilton. Everyone had heard of a wealthier ranch up north, and most of the cowboys decided to try their luck for higher wages.

  There was no way her father could afford to compete with those wages. She sighed. Too bad cowboys didn’t work for free.

  Breighton had already been operating at a loss for the past few months. The loans her father planned to pay back months ago were still only partially paid. The loan re-payments had to be met, but Evelyn had no idea where the money was supposed to come from. She swallowed hard. Should she start selling the items in the house?

  She turned her palms up in her lap. Even the insides of her hands were chapped. Rough calluses framed palms that had once been as smooth as polished stone. Fingers that had only turned book pages now repaired fences and grew coarse from gripping the horse reins. The white buckskin gloves hadn’t helped much; blisters still formed daily.

  She looked up from her hands and removed thoughts of hardship from her mind. Moping in misery held no place in her life. There was no time to feel sorry for herself, really. With a shortage of ranch hands and the ranch operating at a loss and her father ill—she furrowed her brow. She would have just to work harder.

  Nothing she couldn’t handle. There was work to be done.

  • • •

  Jesse wiped the towel across the side of his face, removing the remnants of trimmed hair from the side of his beard. He raised an eyebrow at the reflection he saw in the mirror. Was that him? He rubbed his hand along the length of his trimmed beard.

  After reaching into his wallet, he set the cash down on the counter for the barber and lifted himself from the chair to leave. The floorboards creaked underneath his weight as he pushed open the doors and stepped out into the sunlight.

  A low whistle caught his attention, and he turned to the source.

  A busty young woman with liquor on her breath leaned forward. He held out his arms to steady her, and then set her against the wall. Sheila Danforth. He sighed. Still frequenting the bar and off on another bender, as always. “Too early in the day for liquor, ma’am.”

  She giggled while she pressed her back against the wooden slats of the barbershop to get a better look at him. In her drunken haze, she kept sliding off the wall and straightening herself up again. Satisfied with her inspection, she started to wobble toward him. “All the better for seein’ you, doll. Who are you?”

  Jesse stepped back. He’d known her since they were kids. “Don’t you recognize me?”

  “Don’t reckon so. I’d remember that sweet face and body anywhere, baby.” Sheila winked, but stopped stumbling toward him. She placed a hand on her hip and rested her weight on one leg, jutting the other straight out in front of her. “You’re new around here, aren’t you?”

  He turned away
, shaking his head. She didn’t recognize him at all.

  As he walked down the row of stores, he grew suddenly aware of the fine fabric of his coat and the sturdiness of his black boots. There was no reason for Sheila to recognize him as the same Jesse Greenwood who left town. His hand brushed against the trimmed beard around his mouth, and he adjusted his new hat. Jesse the cowboy could have never afforded such fine fixings; these clothes belonged to the new Mr. Greenwood.

  A small smile crossed his features. He may have changed, but Hamilton sure hadn’t.

  All the sights and sounds and smells were the same as he remembered. No new inventions had touched Hamilton as far as he could see. The town stayed frozen in time while the world changed around it. He heard the sound of the blacksmith around the corner, the clang of the hammer hitting the hot metal echoing around the bend. In front of him was the general store.

  The store looked the same as always, and the apothecary right by it still had the same dusty sign that hung by only one hinge. A red sign reading Doctor perched over the building next to the apothecary. He crossed the trail and headed in that direction, wondering if even the door would look the same as he remembered.

  Yep, still that same faded mustard color. The kind that reminded him of sunrises witnessed on horseback and dirt roads. His throat tightened. Working on a ranch nearly felt like another lifetime ago. He hadn’t forgotten all the skills he’d learned: herding cattle, mending corral posts. Yet his time at Breighton seemed more like a story someone told him rather than a reality he actually remembered living.

  “Is that . . . no, it couldn’t be!” A short, skinny man in his mid-50s approached him. Dr. Elton shook his finger at Jesse, slapped his hands together, and laughed suddenly—out of joy or disbelief, Jesse couldn’t say. “Greenwood, is that you?”

  He brushed out the sleeves of his coat, suddenly self-conscious. No one in Hamilton had ever seen him in clothes this expensive before. The new fabrics felt like a fancy cloak he hid behind. “Yes, sir, it is. How are you, doctor?”