Mail Order Penelope

by Zina Abbott

  Elam nodded. “You done the right thing. Ain’t no use taking chances.”

  Wishing to change the topic away from sickness and the realization of how little she still knew about Harvey Layton in spite of the letters they exchanged, Penelope smiled as she brushed her fingers over the aqua floral calico sleeve of Roslyn’s dress. “I see you have a new gown. That’s so pretty on you.”

  Roslyn laughed as she turned her head and caught Elam’s eye. “Thank you. I made it over the winter. I was going to wear my work clothes to pick you up, but Elam convinced me to change.”

  Penelope’s jaw dropped, and she shook her head. “Oh, Roslyn. You aren’t still wearing your brother’s old clothes, are you? It really isn’t proper.”

  Roslyn burst into a full-throated laugh. “You haven’t changed, Penelope. I still have them, but I don’t wear them anymore unless I’m doing a really dirty job, which Elam doesn’t like me to help with, if at all possible. However, you remember that gray wool skirt of yours that your ma gave me when I first traveled to meet a husband?”

  Penelope sighed at the memory. “Yes. I loved that skirt, especially when I wore it with the Zouave jacket—while the jacket was still blue. Once Ma dyed it black and gave it to you so you’d appear to be a widow, I lost my preference for it.”

  “Well, the lady who ran the Ellsworth Station while we were there helped me fashion a pair of loose trousers out of it. It looks like a skirt when I’m standing or sitting, but I don’t have to hike it up while I work on the hooves of the stock. In fact, since that skirt had enough yards in it to wrap around a horse twenty times, I have since made a second work skirt.”

  Penelope wrinkled her forehead. “I can hardly imagine what you’re describing. Are you sure it’s proper?” At the sight of her cousin’s wide grin and eyes crinkled with laughter, she pursed her lips.

  “Ain’t nothing wrong with it. It’s safer around the animals, and all. Done told her, though, I favor a gown when she’s in the house or going to town.”

  Penelope blinked. If Roslyn’s husband saw nothing wrong with his wife wearing a pair of trousers that looked like a skirt, who was she to criticize?

  Roslyn gestured toward Penelope’s clothes. “That’s a beautiful silk gown you have, Penelope. I know, with you first losing Jeremy and then your ma, you’ve been in mourning a long time. At least, you look beautiful in purple.”

  Penelope sighed and looked away for several seconds before she again met her cousin’s gaze. “I’m ashamed to admit that the reason I’m still wearing this is because it’s the best gown I own. I wouldn’t even have it except Delia Sue—you remember her, don’t you? She asked if she could pay for one load of laundry with this gown. Her mourning time was over, and I think she made the offer so I wouldn’t feel like she was giving me charity.”

  “Umm.” Roslyn pressed her lips together and scrunched her face. “I certainly understand the struggle to make do so people don’t think you need handouts. Do you still plan to wear it when you meet your new husband? He might not understand that you are still grieving for another man.”

  “I have only two other outfits: one a skirt with a detachable matching bodice, and the other, that old, light, blue gown I had when you were still living with us. It’s been washed and mended so many times, it’s barely holding together. I figured for traveling, this was my best choice.” Penelope sighed. “I’m ashamed to say, I’m not bringing much into the marriage. I-I do hope, after we’re wed, Mr. Layton won’t object to buying me enough fabric for at least one new gown.”

  No one spoke for several seconds.

  Roslyn offered a weak smile. “I’m sure he won’t. I don’t have that skirt that was yours to return to you, but I could return the jacket.”

  Penelope shook her head. “Thank you, but no, not with it being black, I’m so sick of wearing black. I keep wondering if I’m committing a sin for wanting to eventually own a bright red wool cloak or coat. I suppose a maroon, deep green, or dark blue would be more practical.”

  Roslyn laughed. “I’ll take the green. You hold onto your dream of the red.” She sobered. “I know Mr. Layton will not be Jeremy, but I do hope your new marriage is a happy one, Penelope.”

  Penelope sighed as she stared at her lap. I lost the real Jeremy I knew and loved before he returned home and married me. The war stole him from me. “I do, too. It will not be a love match, but I pray we are amiable. I need a husband, a man who will be a good father to my son.” She looked up and forced a smile. “Since Mr. Layton’s letters did not sound encouraging about there being a church in Pond Creek that meets regularly, I would love to attend one while I’m here.”

  “Certainly! Unless it’s a real slow time of year, Elam often stays to take care of the business. However, I attend one just a few blocks away. I think you’ll like Reverend Hicks. What’s more, when I take Emmy, there are a couple of young girls who are always willing to watch her in the back so she doesn’t disrupt the service. They’ll be thrilled to have Jerry to play with, too.”

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  Chapter 2

  ~o0o~

  End of Track, Buffalo Creek Station, Kansas

  October 1, 1867

  A s she stepped out of the train coach onto the makeshift wood platform, Penelope’s eyes widened, and she pulled Jeremy tight against her. Back in Lawrence, there were open, wild spaces and sections of town she knew it was not safe to enter. However, none of this prepared her for what met her gaze at Buffalo Springs, now the end of track for the Union Pacific Railway, Eastern Division train. A tent town surrounded the area. She did not know how many structures might be living spaces, but several were businesses that she suspected appealed to the baser nature of men. Several advertised themselves as saloons and a few promised entertainments. A group of men stopped what they were doing and turned to stare at her. Growing increasingly uncomfortable, she refused to meet their gaze. Clutching her carpetbag with a death grip, she turned to the conductor. “Sir, I understand there is a stagecoach station nearby. Since I am to catch the coach to continue west, are you able to direct me to its location?”

  The conductor scrunched his forehead as he studied her, his gaze glancing several times in the direction of her son. “Ma’am, are you sure you wish to continue west? I’m afraid there’s not much civilization until you reach Denver. Perhaps you should return to Ellsworth. It’s new, only started building up after the flooding forced the fort to move, and it isn’t much of a town yet. However, there are a few good families there that could help you.”

  Penelope swallowed and licked her lips. “Sir, I’m on my way to meet my prospective husband in a place called Pond Creek. I know it’s a little unsettled here, but I was assured Pond Creek has more established residents. I’ll collect my valise, but then I need to find the station to continue my journey.”

  The man raised an eyebrow as he cocked his head. “If you’re sure, ma’am. I’m a railroad man, so I don’t know much of what exists beyond End of Track. I’ll be happy to go with you to collect your luggage. However, these railroad workers can be a little rough and might mistake your purpose for being here. After that, I’ll escort you to the stagecoach station which, if I’m not mistaken, is a few hundred yards back on this side of the track.”

  As she turned and walked at the side of the conductor, Penelope looked ahead at the countryside beyond the end of the train. “Yes, I believe I see it. I was sitting on the opposite side of the coach, so I imagine that is why I didn’t notice it.”

  “It’s not much, ma’am. From what I understand, it’s a relay station. I hope you have food for you and the little one, for I don’t think you’ll find a station with meals for sale until the next station several miles down the road. After that, I think food is available at Big Creek Station which is just before Fort Hays.”

  Penelope turned to him and smiled. “Thank you. I do have some food for my son, plus I have a canteen my cousin’s husband loaned me that is s
till half full of water. I’m sure we’ll be fine.” As long as I don’t have to deal with any rude men, hostile Indians, or grasshoppers.

  While on the train, Penelope had overheard talk of the scourge of grasshoppers that had struck this region within the past month. She shuddered at the thought. They had insects to deal with in Lawrence, where she used to live, but nothing like the horde she understood had descended on the western part of the state.

  The only plague Lawrence had been forced to endure was the raid by Quantrill and his bushwhackers. She pressed her eyes shut. No, I cannot think about that now. As she tripped on the uneven ground, her eyes flew open, and she nearly dropped her carpetbag.

  The conductor reached for her elbow to steady her. “Are you all right, ma’am?”

  Penelope turned her head and offered a weak smile. “Yes, thank you. I must be more fatigued than I thought.”

  “Well, ma’am, it looks like your coach is waiting for you.” He nodded toward the stagecoach with a team of four mules hitched to it that stood in front of a building.

  Penelope also noticed several soldiers—some mounted, some not—lounging near the coach. She focused back on the conductor.

  “From the looks of the two men walking ahead of us appears you’ll have company. I hear-tell the coaches keep a couple rifles and pistols inside so the passengers can fight off trouble if they need to. At least, you’ll have a few men along with the military escort to help protect you and the child.”

  “That-that is reassuring. Thank you for all your help.” Only, the conductor’s words were not reassuring. I’m traveling where people need to use weapons for protection? Harvey Layton, what have you gotten me into?

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  Chapter 3

  ~o0o~

  Fort Hays, Kansas

  October 2, 1867

  P ost surgeon, Captain Marcus Garrett, looked up as the hospital steward, Ephraim Polly, approached. “Afternoon, Steward Polly. I’m about finished with these reports to turn over to your post surgeon so I may return to my hospital.”

  Steward Polly saluted. “Thank you, Captain. It has been a pleasure to work with you, even though conditions were not ideal.”

  Marcus returned the salute. Then, unsure what to say, Marcus swallowed as he stared at the man who had recently lost his wife to the cholera epidemic that swept through the forts along the Smoky Hill Trail. As often happened in the military, if the hospital steward was married, his wife usually was hired to assist him as a hospital matron, particularly with any female patients. She dedicated herself to providing personal care to many of the thirty-six soldiers who died of the disease, as well as over 150 civilians the medical staff treated. Fortunately, because of the care provided by the Pollys, there were those who survived. It had been a sad day for all on the medical staff when they learned of her passing due to contracting cholera, but none were as affected as her twenty-five-year-old husband. He blamed himself for putting her in the position where she was exposed to the disease day after day for the three weeks new cases showed up at the hospital.

  From the start of the war between the Union and Confederacy, Marcus served as a surgeon for the Illinois regiment formed near his home in Springfield. Because he had received his training through apprenticeship and had not completed his medical degree, he started as an assistant surgeon. Before the war ended, he became a surgeon and rose to the rank of captain. Once the war ended, he felt incapable of returning to civilian life and carrying on as if he had not experienced four years of carnage and amputated more limbs than he could count. With his wife dead since before the war began, and his now thirteen-year-old son living with his sister in Springfield, in a weak moment—one he now regretted—he had reenlisted for a five-year term to serve on the frontier.

  The epidemic was what brought Marcus to the hospital. Word reached him at Fort Larned, where he was assigned as the post surgeon, that several of the forts north of him were in desperate need of help. The Department of the Missouri was convinced that the Comanches and Kiowas, the two primary tribes in the vicinity of Fort Larned, were peaceful now there was a treaty in effect. They felt his assistant post surgeon and hospital steward could handle the medical issues that arose for a month or so until the epidemic ran its course and Fort Hays no longer needed the extra medical help.

  Actually, it was his assistant surgeon who had been assigned temporary duty at Fort Hays. Lieutenant Gentry was young, fresh out of medical college the December before the war ended, and had only seen a few months of battlefield service. If he chose to stay in the Army, he had a bright medical future ahead of him. He also could look forward to using the experience he gained in the military in a private practice. Mostly, Marcus knew the young man wrote regularly to a fiancée back in Pennsylvania. He already applied for six weeks of leave in November and December to travel home long enough to marry his sweetheart and return with her to Fort Larned. Even realizing that allowing Lt. Gentry a chance to gain experience dealing with the epidemic for a couple of months might end up with his young assistant one day becoming his superior officer, Marcus had stepped in and decided to go in his stead. He refused to allow his junior officer exposed to a disease that could take his life and destroy the happiness of the young woman in Pennsylvania now planning her wedding.

  As he sought how he should respond to Steward Polly, Marcus cleared his throat. “As I’ve said before, Steward Polly, you have my condolences on the loss of your wife. I don’t wish to take away from your grief, but I also know what it is like to lose a wife early in marriage. I was fortunate to have our son, who needed my attention in spite of my personal sorrow. I was also blessed to have family close by, my sister, especially, who helped me with Theodore and kept me going.” She still does.

  “Thank you, sir. I’m grateful my duties with the hospital keep me busy. It’s the nights that are difficult.”

  Marcus huffed out a breath. “Yes, I understand all too well. The nights were particularly difficult for me, too.” They still are, but for more reasons than the passing of Charlotte. The war still has its hold on me. “I do want you to know it has been a pleasure to work with you, too. Until I enlisted, I had no idea the vital role a hospital steward played in the care of the soldiers. You do an admirable job of administering this hospital and keeping everything organized.”

  “Thank you, sir. Your son, is he with you at Fort Larned? If so, I regret that our situation here has kept you from him so long.”

  Marcus shook his head. “No. Being a widower still, I did not feel it right or fair to him to drag him to the wilderness, especially when he would be left on his own for long periods of time. He is living with my sister in Springfield, Illinois.” Marcus grinned. “I might have to come up with something different, though. He celebrated his thirteenth birthday last May. My sister assures me it is an age when young men start to think for themselves and can be difficult. I might need to inquire into boarding schools to provide her some relief.”

  Ephraim Polly worked the muscles in his cheeks and jaw. “Well, sir, it’s not my place to say. However, the boy might feel like everyone in his life has deserted him. I know how easy it is for children to lose their parents to disease or accidents—it happened with my folks. However, if you send him farther away from family, it might make things even harder for him.”

  As he considered the advice, Marcus pressed his lips together and nodded. He knew he needed to do something about Teddy—no, his sister informed him Theodore now preferred to go by Theo. He was Theo’s father. It was up to him to set aside his difficulties and take care of his son. “I appreciate your suggestion, Steward. Sometimes, learning what someone not so close to a situation thinks helps. Once I get settled back at Fort Larned, I’ll have to make some decisions before the end of the year. Right now, I need to talk to someone about when the next escort destined for Fort Zarah plans to leave so I can ride along.”

  “Good luck with that, sir. With the way the Cheyenne ha
ve been keeping things busy along the Smoky Hill River, and considering everything is in an uproar over Lieutenant Colonel Custer abandoning his post to find his wife, who knows when the commander plans to send a patrol south?”

  “That’s what I’m afraid of.” Marcus waved in farewell as he turned toward the door that would take him out of the tent that served as hospital administration headquarters. With Fort Hays having relocated a mere month before the cases of cholera began to appear, there had been no time to build a permanent structure for the hospital. He knew the long-term plan was to construct a stone block building, such as the one being worked on at Fort Larned, to replace the buildings made of adobe bricks. However, with winter coming, the wood plank structure planned for the interim would be an improvement over the canvas tents being currently used.

  Outside the tent, Marcus placed his hands on his hips and sucked in a deep breath of air. Autumn on the almost flat, grassy plains with only a few trees growing along the waterways was nothing like Illinois. Here, the seasonal change brought dry grass instead of a colorful display of leaves. Still, it beat the heat of summer. He would enjoy it before the freezing cold and drifting snow of winter set in.

  Marcus turned to walk toward the fort commander’s tent only to almost run into the Fort Hays’s post surgeon. Since they were of the same rank, he smiled and nodded a greeting. “I’ve finished my reports, and they’re stacked on your desk. I’m on my way to make arrangements for returning to Fort Larned.”

  “Glad I caught you, then. I hate to disappoint you, Marcus, but the fort’s brass have other plans for you.”

  Marcus narrowed his eyes and clenched his jaw. The fort’s brass? He was a captain, and theoretically, he was part of the “brass.” However, in reality, medical officers were not looked upon as “real” officers the way combat officers were. Although they had their military rank for pay and administrative rank purposes, they were still considered only medical professionals, not true soldiers. He had discharged his medical duties to Fort Hays in order to help see them through the cholera epidemic. He was ready to return to his own posting and take charge of the medical care in his own hospital—adobe sod walls and all. So, what did the “fort’s brass” have in mind for him now?