by Carol Cox
Tears scalded Ellie’s eyes, and she swiped them away before they could roll down her cheeks. Would she want to go back even if they did? Nothing waited for her but bitter cold and likely starvation in Chicago . . . or anywhere.
Her steps dragged as she moved to cross the street and make her way back toward Union Depot. With every step, her pace grew slower, and her eyes blurred. An angry shout brought her to her senses, and she realized she had stopped in the middle of Pershing Road, right in the path of a smart-looking carriage. Appalled at her lack of attention, Ellie hastened to the other side of the street and heaved herself up onto the boardwalk in front of the telegraph office.
The sight of the Western Union sign reminded her of her promise to wire the home office with news of Norma’s sudden marriage. She might be on the brink of ruin, but she took pride in being a woman of her word. Lifting her chin and trying to stifle her tears, she marched into the brick building.
“I want to send a wire to Chicago.”
The bored-looking clerk pushed a form and a pencil across the counter to her.
Ellie rolled the pencil between her fingers, trying to decide how to word the message that would mean the end of her short-lived career. Was there a way she could phrase it that would make the Pinkertons more likely to keep her on? After all, they still needed to send someone to take up the investigation in Arizona, and she had already been briefed on the situation.
As she pondered the possibilities, a daring idea entered her mind. What if she went ahead as Lavinia Stewart? Gates and Fleming had given her the basic details of the case. How hard could it be for a well-to-do widow to pose a few questions here and there without raising suspicion? Maybe Jessie wasn’t as necessary as they thought.
Before she could change her mind, she gripped the pencil and scribbled a brief message to the code name and address Gates and Fleming had given her:
Henry Jeffers
112 Elm Street
Chicago, Illinois
Met Jessie. Leaving for Arizona as planned.
Lavinia
Ellie reviewed the words quickly. Maybe they didn’t spell out the whole truth, but they weren’t an out-and-out lie, either. She had met Norma, and she was leaving as planned. In a day or two, Norma would surely send them a wire of her own, but by then she hoped it would be too late to summon Ellie back.
She read the words once more and slid the paper back across the counter to the telegraph clerk.
6
Pickford. All out!” The hoarse cry jarred Ellie out of her light doze, and she pushed the canvas window covering aside to verify that the stagecoach had, indeed, reached journey’s end. Outside, the sun shone warm from a deliciously clear blue sky, throwing the dusty streets and buildings of Pickford, Arizona Territory, into sharp relief.
The driver swung open the door and moved a wooden block into place, then held out a hand to his gray-haired passenger. “Here you are, ma’am, safe and sound. You watch your step now.”
Ellie found his caution more than an empty courtesy the moment she started to get to her feet and discovered that her limbs refused to move. She felt the heat rise in her cheeks as she scooted forward on the seat and tried once again to force her travel-stiffened legs to hold her upright.
The driver offered a look of sympathy. “Just take your time, ma’am. All that jostling along the way can take its toll on anybody. Give yourself a minute or two to loosen up.”
Jostling was far too mild a term to describe the unending jarring she had suffered in the six hours since leaving the train in Benson and boarding this infernal contraption. It was a wonder every bit of Lavinia’s padding hadn’t shaken loose and fallen onto the stagecoach floor. Trying not to let her mortification show, Ellie nodded and mentally counted to three, then reached for the driver with one hand and shoved herself off the seat with the other. The driver tightened his hold and stepped back, using Ellie’s momentum to pull her to her feet.
Ellie stood doubled over in the tight confines of the coach’s interior and commanded her legs to bear her weight, wishing the other passengers had disembarked first so as not to witness her awkward exit. After a few moments, strength returned to her lower limbs, and she eased herself down to the block and then to the street.
With the driver keeping a protective hold on her elbow, Ellie took a few tentative steps and breathed a sigh of relief when she found she was able to remain upright of her own accord.
Nodding her thanks to the driver, she tottered several paces away and pulled the dusty veil from her face, trying to get her bearings. Having read her share of Ned Buntline novels, she’d expected a rustic setting, but rustic didn’t begin to describe Pickford. She scanned the roughhewn structures along the main street in vain to find any edifice rising higher than two stories.
Only a few blocks away, the line of buildings ended abruptly, and the road opened onto . . . nothing. Ellie caught her breath as her gaze traveled on and on, taking in what seemed like miles of tawny, brush-covered desert. Behind that lay a backdrop of craggy, brown mountains. She had seen drawings of sand dunes in books, but these resembled them only in their basic shape. The deep folds and jutting peaks didn’t have the softness of sand. Instead, they appeared harsh, unforgiving.
Ellie shivered in spite of the midday warmth and tried to ignore the panic that welled up within her. She’d known better than to expect the comforts of city life in the far-flung reaches of the West. She had wanted adventure, hadn’t she? Well, there it was, right in front of her. If only it wasn’t quite so intimidating.
Visiting new places wasn’t such an adventure in itself. She’d done plenty of traveling with Magdalena, after all. But this was the Wild West, not an eastern city. And always before, her duties had been laid out for her. This was the first time she had found herself completely on her own.
Moreover, the sense of openness, the vast expanse of sky—the immensity of it all—made Ellie feel like a tiny, insignificant speck. And she didn’t like the feeling one bit.
She pivoted slowly, taking in the street lined with clapboard buildings and the emptiness beyond. A solitary mule tied to a rail outside a building bearing the sign Johnson’s Mercantile pawed at the ground, sending puffs of yellow dust into the air.
Ellie dragged in a quivering breath. It all seemed so barren, so raw. Would the people in this wild place match their surroundings? A tendril of fear trailed up her spine. Chicago had its share of rough-and-tumble politicians, shoulder-strikers, and the like, but there still existed some underlying vestige of law and order. What was she doing, thinking she could represent civilized behavior in this untamed place? Before she could help herself, her throat tightened, and a tear started to make its way down her cheek.
Ellie dashed the offending drop away with the back of her gloved hand. She had no time to indulge in self-pity. She had sought this position—wangled her way into it, in fact. And she had made the lengthy journey little the worse for wear, save for her stiff joints and sore body. They hadn’t been held up by bandits or attacked by Indians. Lifting her chin, she strode back toward the stagecoach.
After two steps, she came to an abrupt halt. What was she thinking, marching along like a young woman when she was supposed to be a widow of mature years?
She glanced around to see if anyone had taken notice of her nimble movements. When she found no one paying her the slightest attention, she ducked her head slightly and moved forward again, this time at Lavinia’s more halting pace.
Better. Much better. Ellie congratulated herself as she approached a man she took to be the station agent, who was taking the luggage handed to him by the driver and stacking it on the boardwalk.
He straightened and touched his hat as Ellie drew near. “Afternoon, ma’am. Which of this lot is yours?”
Ellie pointed out her trunk and the costume hamper, and the man separated them from the rest. “Want me to send it over to the hotel?”
Ellie spoke decisively, in her best Lavinia voice. “Not the hotel. I’m
staying on in Pickford. I’ve made arrangements for a house here.”
The agent’s wiry eyebrows soared toward his hairline. He glanced around, taking in the other passengers. “Did your husband travel with you?”
“No, I came alone.” Ellie allowed her head to droop. “I’m a widow, you see.”
The station agent tugged at the brim of his hat. “Sorry to hear that, ma’am. Where’s your house? I’ll have your things taken there right away.”
“It’s on the corner of Charles and Second.” Ellie recited the location from memory, thankful that Fleming and Gates had assumed responsibility for arranging that detail and hadn’t left her to scout out lodging on her own.
The man brightened. “The Cooper place. I know it well. I’ll have the boys take your things right over and show you where it is.” He whistled, and two teenage boys appeared from the adjacent building.
A snippet of her briefing jogged Ellie’s memory. “I need to send a telegram first.”
“That’s no problem. They’ll deliver your luggage while you’re sending your wire.”
“But . . . I don’t have the key with me,” Ellie stammered. “I’m supposed to get it from the banker.”
“Don’t give it a second thought. I’ll send one of the boys to get it.” His rugged face softened at Ellie’s surprise. “I guess we do things a little different out here than you’re used to back east. Don’t worry, we’ll take good care of you.”
Such a casual way of doing things. Further confirmation, as if she had needed it, that she had left the East behind. Ellie swallowed back her astonishment and forced a smile. “Thank you, sir. That’s very kind of you.”
The interior of the telegraph office the agent pointed out to her appeared to be a duplicate of the one in Kansas City—small, dark, and manned by a clerk who looked as though he were half asleep. Ellie stepped up to the counter and cleared her throat. “I’d like to send a wire, please.”
The clerk yawned and scratched at his receding hairline before sliding a form and pencil over to her. “Here you are.” His mouth gaped in midyawn when he looked up.
Ellie nodded her thanks and gripped the pencil between her fingers. The Pinkertons had instructed her to have Norma wire the home office upon arrival so they would know their team of operatives was in place.
She had spent the three-day trip from Kansas City mulling over the wording of her message. The Pinkertons had surely heard about Norma’s hasty marriage by now, and she could only imagine the uproar when they learned their newest recruit had ventured off on a solo mission.
This message, therefore, would be crucial to her future. She needed to send a communication that would inspire confidence in the home office and assure them she was capable of handling the job on her own. Rather than launching into a lengthy explanation and pleas for forgiveness, she decided to opt for something brief and optimistic.
Using the coded phrases she’d worked out with Fleming and Gates prior to her departure, she began to write:
Arrived safely this afternoon. Will begin looking at investment possibilities straightaway.
Lavinia
She looked over what she had written and crossed out this afternoon. Chewing on her lower lip, she reviewed the message again. Yes, that ought to do it.
She smiled at the clerk, who was now staring at her with ill-concealed curiosity. Ellie could hardly blame him for his display of poor manners. Sitting in a backwater town with nothing to do but listen to the clacking of the telegraph key must make any departure from the norm a welcome distraction.
The telegrapher’s pale blue eyes lit up when Ellie met his gaze, and his lips parted to reveal several gaps in his teeth. “Just passing through, Miss . . . Miz . . . ?”
“It’s Mrs. Stewart. No, I’ll be staying here for a while. I need to let my cousin back in Chicago know I got here safe and sound.”
The gap-toothed grin widened. “Amos Crawford, at your service. Always happy to see a new face.” He leaned forward over the counter. “Especially when it’s one as pretty as yours.”
Ellie’s jaw sagged. Had he just complimented her looks? Of all the times she had yearned to hear flattery from some man’s lips, it finally came from someone old enough to be her father . . . or her grandfather. While she was made up as a woman of advancing years, no less.
Before she could formulate a suitable reply, he turned to pull a slip of yellow paper from one of the pigeonholes over his desk. “Stewart, did you say? This must be for you.”
Ellie glanced at the telegram he placed in her hand. Sure enough, it was addressed to Lavinia Stewart and/or Jessie Monroe. She unfolded the paper and read the brief message with a growing sense of dismay.
AWAITING NEWS OF SAFE ARRIVAL STOP WIRED FUNDS TO LOCAL BANK STOP ACCOUNT OPENED IN BOTH YOUR NAMES STOP
COUSIN HENRY
Both names? Ellie’s fingers lost their grip, and the paper fluttered to the floor. Apparently Norma hadn’t contacted the home office yet, and they weren’t aware of the change in her status.
The telegrapher scuttled around to scoop up the message and return it to her. “Sounds like your cousin’s worried about you two ladies traveling out here by yourselves.”
Ellie nodded, her mind racing. Of course, he had taken down the message. He knew two women were expected. Now what?
She crumpled the form she had just filled out and tucked the wad of paper inside her reticule. “Could I have another, please? I’m afraid I’ve made a mess of this one.”
Taking the new paper, she tried to collect her whirling thoughts sufficiently to compose a message that would give enough information without causing undue alarm.
Arrived safely. Jessie delayed. Will begin investigating opportunities straightaway.
Lavinia
It wasn’t perfect, but it was the best she could improvise at a moment’s notice.
She paid the fee and watched while the telegrapher tapped out the words. After the final click, she bade him good day and turned toward the exit. Just before she reached the door, she realized she had no idea where to go next.
Ellie turned back and pushed her spectacles higher on her nose. “Could you direct me to the Cooper place?”
“That where you’re staying?” The clerk nodded as if making a mental note. “Sure. When you leave here, turn left and follow Grant Street until you get to Second. Then turn right. After you cross Douglas, the next street you come to will be Charles. You can’t miss it, but if you’ll give me a second to put things to rights, I’d be glad to escort you.”
Ellie stifled a gasp. “No, thank you. I’m sure I’ll be able to find it on my own.”
As she turned to leave, he called out, “It’s kinda chilly out there. Are you going to be warm enough in just that light shawl?”
“I’ll be fine, thank you.” Ellie ended the conversation by stepping out into the brilliant blue afternoon. Chilly? She shook her head. People in Arizona had no idea what cold was.
She followed the telegrapher’s directions, strolling west along Grant. After three days on the train and half a day spent jouncing along in the stagecoach, it felt marvelous to stretch her limbs, as much as Lavinia’s leg wrappings would allow.
For once, she appreciated the need to shorten her stride and take her time. The slower pace of an older woman gave ample opportunity to observe close at hand the terrain she had been viewing through the stagecoach windows. Everything, from the rough-cut lumber that made up buildings and boardwalks to the gray-green cactus studding the surrounding hills, seemed to warn her to keep her distance. And over everything lay a coating of dust.
With her mind distracted by the scene in front of her, Ellie’s heel caught on the uneven boardwalk, and she scrambled to get her footing. Disaster averted, she continued toward her house, reminding herself to quit gawking and keep a closer watch on where she was walking.
When she turned right off of Grant Street onto Second, her heart sank at the sight of a row of dwellings that looked as though they’d been s
lapped together from cast-off lumber and sheets of canvas. Lavinia and Jessie were supposed to be ladies of some substance. Surely the Pinkertons wouldn’t have chosen to house them in a hovel.
The next block featured somewhat larger shacks that appeared to be made of mud bricks.
Ellie shuddered. She had slept in some odd places during her travels with Magdalena but never in anything that resembled these decrepit dwellings. She stopped on the edge of the street, wondering if one of these was to be her new home. Unbidden tears pooled in her eyes, blurring her vision.
“Mrs. Stewart? Over here.”
Ellie blinked the tears away and looked ahead to see one of the delivery boys waving from the end of the street. Behind him stood a small white clapboard house with a neat shake roof. With as much haste as the leg wrappings would allow, Ellie closed the distance between them, arriving just as the second young man jumped off the front porch.
“This is the Cooper place? I mean, my new home?”
Both youths tipped their hats. “Yes, ma’am,” the taller one said. “I think you’ll be comfortable. I’m sure glad they found someone to live here. It’s too nice a house to have it just sit empty and—”
A scowl darkened his face. “Shoo!” he bellowed in the direction of a small lilac shrub under the front window. “Get out of there!”
Ellie clutched at her throat. What sort of creature was lurking there in the bushes?
The lilac swayed, and a skinny towheaded boy about ten years of age emerged. “What’s the matter? I wasn’t doin’ nothin’.”
“Nothing except peekin’ in the windows.” The delivery boy pointed toward a little wooden house across the road. “Get on home. And don’t be bothering Mrs. Stewart. She’s a lady, and she doesn’t need any pestering from you.”
The youngster puffed out his chest but decided to abandon his show of bravado when the delivery boy started after him. He scurried to the house across the street, where he took a wide stance and glared at them all.
Ellie’s protector shook his head. “Sorry about that, ma’am. That Taylor kid is always up to some kind of mischief. You’d better keep an eye out for him.”