Ellie turned back around to her friend. “I promise I’ll write as soon as I get to Flat River.” She felt like she needed to say so much more, but there wasn’t time.
“Last call! All aboard!”
“I better go,” Ellie said, giving Polly one last hug. She picked up her bag and took the basket that Polly offered.
“I don’t know how many stops the train will make, so Mother packed you a few sandwiches, some apples, and a plate of cookies. There is a jar of lemonade. I’m sure you can refill it along the way.” Polly wiped away a tear and turned Ellie towards the train. “Go. You don’t want to miss your train. And don’t forget that I’m always available to visit!”
Ellie ran to the door and climbed onboard. The train let out a shrill whistle. The air filled with the sound of the wheels turning against the metal as the train jerked forward. She gave one final wave to Polly and then disappeared into the train.
Ellie followed the corridor until she found a compartment with the same number as on her ticket. Frank sent enough money so she wouldn’t have to sit on the hard benches in the third class.
She felt guilty spending sixty-five dollars on a train ticket, but he insisted that she use it. Why that was more money than she had ever seen at one time. He must have saved up for a long time to have that much money.
“Hello,” she said, as she moved into the semi-private compartment. There was already a couple with a young child inside.
The mother picked up the child and moved to the other bench. “You can sit here,” she said as she vacated the seat. “Where are you headed?”
Ellie put her bags on the seat and removed her hat. “Nebraska,” she murmured. There was an area above the seat where she could place her travel bags.
Taking off her coat, she folded it and placed it on the rack. She reached inside her carpetbag and removed a stack of letters with a blue ribbon around them, and then added the bag to the rack above her head. The basket, she decided, would stay on the seat unless there were other folks that joined them.
“We are headed to San Francisco. I’m Susan Henshaw. This is my husband, Richard. And this little guy,” she said picking her son from the floor, “is Richie.”
“He’s adorable. How old is he?”
“He just turned two and he is into everything. Do you have any children?”
“No. Not yet, but I hope in time.” She placed a hand against her belly. Frank wanted children, so she was sure that she would eventually have a big family.
“Name, Momma,” the boy said, pointing to Ellie.
“You can call me Ellie,” she said, taking the toy the boy offered.
“Don’t let him bother you. It was too expensive for a private car, but we didn’t want to have to worry about him getting restless in coach.”
“He’s fine. I’m just going to rest.”
“Are you going to visit family?”
“Susan, leave the poor woman alone. She doesn’t want to be grilled the entire journey.”
Susan gave an awkward laugh. “Forgive me. I’m afraid I am rather nosy.”
Ellie laughed, trying to alleviate the tension in the car. “It is alright, really. I’m going to Nebraska to get married.”
“How wonderful!” Susan picked her son back up, who had wiggled to the floor. “You haven’t met him, have you?”
“Is it that obvious?” Ellie laughed. “I answered an advertisement in the Matrimonial Times.”
“It isn’t unheard of.” Susan tilted her head towards her husband. “That is how we met.”
“You did?”
Susan nodded. “After the war, there weren’t many available men. Richard was living in San Francisco and I was living in Atlanta. We wrote for several months and then I went out to marry him. It was that or end up a spinster.”
Ellie grimaced. That hit a little too close to home; at twenty-two nearing the end of marriageable age. “How long have you been married?”
“Five years.” Susan looked at her husband with a soft smile. “I can’t imagine not having him in my life.”
Richard lifted Susan’s hand and pressed a kiss against her fingers. “I wholeheartedly agree, my love.” He turned to Ellie. “The man who finds a woman to move west and love him is a lucky man indeed.”
Ellie tried not to sigh. Just thinking about Frank brought a warm feeling to her heart. She was the lucky one. Marrying into such a close-knit and respectable family.
Ellie took the opportunity to look out the window at the scenery passing by. It wasn’t long before they were out of Atlanta and into the countryside. If the rest of the trip were like this, Ellie would love to travel all over the country.
At lunchtime, she dug into the basket that Polly provided her. Inside were several sandwiches, thick with baked ham and cheese. She could see some apples, several cookies, and the jar of lemonade. There were even several dime novels.
She shared her cookies with Richie, who proved to be a delightful two-year-old. He chatted non-stop, sang hymns, and even sat on Ellie’s lap so he could look out the window.
When Richie finally fell asleep, Ellie pulled out the thin booklets from her basket. She read the cover. Beadle’s Dime Novels: Books for the Masses.
She had never seen anything like the small books before but wasn’t surprised that Polly had included them in her care package. Polly was a voracious reader and thought everyone should be reading as well.
She looked at the first book, her fingers tracing the words emblazoned on the cover as she read them out loud. Malaeska, the Indian Wife of the White Hunter, written by Mrs. Ann S. Stephens. A woman author was unheard of. How exciting! She couldn’t wait to dive into the book. The second book was called Seth Jones. It had a man on the cover who was wearing a hat made from some type of fur and a fringed jacket. He looked wild and primitive
She opened the first book and started to read. Ellie found herself instantly transported to the western frontier. A world filled with Indians, hunters, lawmen, and romance. She looked forward to the romance part and prayed she wouldn’t run into any Indians on her journey.
She was so caught up in reading she didn’t notice that the day had turned into night. The steward stopped by to offer coffee and food from a limited menu. Ellie looked at the prices on the menu he offered and quickly handed it back to him. “Coffee will be fine,” she said, handing him a nickel.
As the train rolled through the night, the sound of people moving around the train melted into silence. Little Richie laid under a blanket with his head resting on his mother’s lap.
It was a perfect day, Ellie thought as she drifted off to sleep. She couldn’t wait to see what the rest of the trip afforded her.
“I think there is some good stock in those horses we got last week. Pass me the milk.” Owen pointed to the jug at the end of the table. Alice passed it to Caleb, and he filled his glass before passing the jug to Owen.
Marmee insisted that the family have meals together. She realized that as soon as roundup began it would be weeks before anyone had a break to come to the house for a midday meal.
“Are you boys going to be tied up with those horses? Or are you going to be able to help with the roundup? We should have at least two hundred calves this spring. I’d like to get them to market before Hartman does.”
“I’ll be helping you, Pa.”
“I know you will, Caleb. How about you?” He stabbed the air with his fork, pointing at Oliver.
Oliver wiped his mouth and placed his napkin on the table. “I’d like to help Owen break the horses, Pa.”
“You’re the best wrangler, Ollie,” their father said, spearing a piece of potato and popping it in his mouth. “I don’t think I can lose you. Everett can help Owen.”
“You alright with that, Owen?” Everett asked. He was the youngest of the brothers and the peacemaker. He would do whatever it took to keep harmony in the family.
“Pa, I really need Oliver’s help. He’s experienced with horses.” Owen shot a glance at Ever
ett. “It’s not that I don’t want to have you there; there just isn’t a lot of time to train someone new.”
“Everett will pick it up quickly. I need Oliver.” Their father pushed his plate towards the center of the table. “No more discussing it. Just for this season. Might do you two good to be away from each other for a bit.”
“What does that mean?” Oliver asked.
“You two have been together for your entire lives. Might do you some good to be apart. You even fought together in the war. Maybe you can even think about settling down and getting a place of your own. Why when I was your age, Marmee and I already had three boys.”
Owen felt a piece of potato lodge in his throat. Why did his father have to bring up marriage? His entire family knew how he felt after Sarah left him standing at the altar.
It was his wedding day, and instead of the bride he expected, all he received was a hand-delivered letter from Sarah’s father. He could barely stand the humiliation of reading the letter in front of his friends and family that came to celebrate.
No wonder Owen went to fight as soon as the war broke out. He was hoping that he would be killed, but Oliver was there to make sure that didn’t happen.
Owen pounded his chest and swallowed, trying to get the potato to move. “That’s not going to happen.”
“But Owen…,” his mother started, placing her hand on his arm.
“Marmee. It is not going to happen.” His tone invited no argument.
“Don’t talk to your mother that way.”
Owen took a deep breath. “Sorry, Marmee.” He was a grown man and it was incredible that his parents could make him feel five years old. Maybe it was time to build his own house. But he still wasn’t going to get married.
His father nodded. “It is settled. I’ll use Oliver for the spring roundup and Everett can help you with the horses.”
A knock sounded at the door.
“I’ll get it,” Alice said, standing.
“You’ll do no such thing, young lady. You sit there.” Weston pushed back the chair and went to the door.
Owen could hear his father talking low to whoever was at door. Probably one of the ranch hands. He heard the door shut and his father came in with a solemn look on his face.
“Boys, saddle up your horses and meet Jimmy by the south lot.” Weston glanced over to his wife.
“What’s going on, Pa?” Everett asked.
“The boys were fixing the fence and found Frank Hartman.”
“I have half a mind to pummel Frank into the ground for being on our land,” Oliver said. “Especially with his brothers coming around all the time.”
“You’ll do no such thing,” Weston replied, sitting back down. “His brothers stopped by?”
Owen nodded. “Said that they were looking for Frank.” Owen took a bite of his steak. “Said he was headed up to Mustang Hill.”
“For the black?” Penny asked.
Everett pointed his fork at Penelope. “Ain’t no one gunna get the black, but us Chapmans. Don’t even know why those Hartmans are tryin’.”
“Well I think it is terrible,” Alice said, picking up a bowl and scooping some spring peas on her plate. Owen watched them scatter around, much like his thoughts now.
“Why’s that, Pint Jar?” Owen asked his sister softly.
“Because he doesn’t deserve to be caught and put in a corral, and then broken. He has spirit.” Caleb let out a short laugh. Alice glared at him. “No one or thing deserves to have their spirit broken.” She put the bowl back on the table and looked at her plate.
Owen thought he heard a light sniff come from beneath the deep blonde curls that were hanging in her face. Caleb moved the food around on his plate and Owen could see his brother’s jaw set.
He was about to say something to fill the awkward silence, but Marmee rescued him from saying something that might make Alice more upset.
“Do they have Frank?” Marmee asked. “What was he doing? Are they just going to keep him there?” Marmee asked.
“Don’t worry. He’s not going anywhere.” Weston glanced over to Alice, as if debating on saying anything else.
“Don’t let anyone hurt him, Weston.”
“I won’t, beloved.” He pushed back from the table and leaned over to kiss his wife’s head.
“Pa, I want to go with you,” Alice said.
“I want you to stay here. Do you understand me?”
“I can go with her,” Penelope offered. Weston shook his head once more.
“I want all of you to stay here. The boys and I can handle this.”
Owen followed his father and brothers out to the big barn. When they arrived at the stables and started saddling their horses, Owen asked the question that was on many of their minds. “Pa? What’s really going on?”
Weston lifted himself into the saddle on top of a red mare called Stockings due to the white marks on her legs. He waited until all his sons had gathered around. “They found Frank in the river where it turns to feed into the creek. He was caught up in some branches.”
Caleb let out a low whistle. “Must have been really stuck if he couldn’t get out of those overgrown trees.”
“He was.” Weston’s eyes grew hard. “Frank Hartman was dead.”
Before anyone could respond, Weston whistled to Stockings and they galloped out of the barn.
Chapter Five
If he didn’t know Frank Hartman, Owen wouldn’t have recognized him as the man on the bank. His body was waterlogged and swollen. He must have been identified by his gun belt, as nothing else was recognizable.
“Don’t make sense,” Smokes, one of the ranch hands said. Smokes got his name because he spent most of his pay on cigarettes. Smokes pulled a match from his pocket and scraped it on the heel of his boot. The match hissed and sulfur filled the air, followed by the scent of burning tobacco.
“What doesn’t?” Goodie asked.
Smokes pointed with his lit match before extinguishing the flame. “He ain’t got his boots on. And his gun ain’t missing.”
Owen looked at Frank’s holster. The six-shooter was still secure under the leather strap. And until Smokes mentioned it, he hadn’t noticed that Frank's boots were missing. His feet were encased in woolen socks that were now waterlogged.
Smokes flicked the ash of his cigarette in the water. “He musta been jumped by Indians.”
Everyone started talking rapidly and looked around as if they were going to be attacked. Weston held up his hands. “I need everyone to calm down. If it were an Indian attack, they would have taken his gun, his horse, and his scalp. The horse returned to the Hartman place nearly a week ago.” Weston ran his hand down his face. “Someone should go get Briggs and the undertaker.”
“I’ll go, Pa,” Owen offered. He needed some fresh air and the ride to town would allow him to get the images of Frank from his mind.
Weston nodded. “We’ll make sure that nothing gets moved until Briggs can get here.”
Owen mounted Winchester and made the short ride into Flat River. The town was quite small, but it did have the typical merchants for a small western town. A few houses were built rather close together on the outskirts of town. Then came the business buildings. There was a mercantile, the doctor’s office, a blacksmith, a schoolhouse, and a small church. A fortified building served as the bank. The larger structure next to it contained the Marshal’s office, the jail, and a stop for the defunct Pony Express.
The only thing that was missing was a hotel and a café. There wasn’t any reason for a hotel in town and if men wanted to get a bite to eat, they could do it in one of the saloons. No one ever came to visit Flat River. If someone needed a place to stay, there were about three rooms that could be rented at Miss Marcy’s.
Owen could see the deadline up ahead. It was an invisible line separating the north and south sections of town. The north side of town was residential, and guns were not allowed. All firearms were to be relinquished at the marshal’s office.
In addition to the saloons there were several houses of ill repute, with Miss Marcy’s being the largest. It proclaimed the name of the prettiest girls around, in large yellow letters. Almost as if it were a light calling to those lost and wandering souls.
Marmee made it perfectly clear that they would be in for the punishment of their lives if they ever ventured into such an establishment.
Owen could hear the thunder of hooves as the stage approached the town. He gave Winchester a little nudge with his heels and guided the horse in front of the marshal’s office.
When he entered the office there was no one there, but Max Butler, who was a deputy of sorts. He wasn’t appointed by the state the way Marshal Briggs was, and Owen couldn’t recall the town ever having an election.
Max was leaning back in the chair with his feet on the desk reading a paper. Owen knocked Max’s boots down and sat on the edge of the desk.
“Briggs know you ain’t working?”
Max laughed and folded the newspaper. “This is work.” He tilted his head towards the back of the building. “I’m watching our guest in the back.”
“What’s he in for?”
“As far as we can tell, cattle rustling. But that is for the judge to decide.”
Owen took in the information. There was an issue with cattle rustlers just around the time… Owen didn’t want to think about that. “Should we be worried?”
“Nah. He’ll be out of here by Saturday on the next stage to Giant Platte.”
Owen nodded and stood. “Where’s Briggs?”
“He went over to the doc. Appears he’s got a bad tooth and was hoping Doc might have something for it.”
“Thanks, Max,” Owen called over the sound of the stage rumbling through town.
“Everything alright?”
Owen nodded. “Will be as soon as I get the Marshal. Thanks!” Owen didn’t want the news about Frank getting around until after the Hartmans were notified. Owen didn’t want to borrow trouble. He had a reasonable idea of how the Hartman’s would react when they found out Frank was found on the Chapman land.
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