Messenger by Moonlight (12 page)

Emmet was quiet for a moment. Finally, he said, “Morgan’s not what any of us expected, I’ll give you that. He’s a man of few words, but he’s not profane and he doesn’t drink. He’s obviously hardworking or he’d never have built this place up the way he has. Billy’s been here since the beginning. I talked to him a little while ago. Morgan started with nothing but that one sod room at the far end of the building. When he decided to dig a well, the clear water convinced him he’d chosen a good spot. He decided the effort to drag logs in was worth it. He and Billy built the main room and put up one corral. Next came the barn and the blacksmith’s soddy. More corrals. A kitchen instead of a lean-to. Finally, Morgan added the rooms we’re using and raised the roof to add the loft. You’ve got to admire what he’s done.”

With Billy’s help.
“Billy’s been here the whole time?”

Emmet nodded. “He was living with his people, the Pawnee, when he met George Morgan. He didn’t really say why he left with Morgan and came here to Clearwater, but I hear respect and admiration in the boy’s voice when he talks about George. I’d say there’s a lot more to Morgan than meets the eye.”

Billy was nice. He’d been around George Morgan for a long time. If both he and Luther trusted George Morgan, that meant something.

Emmet cleared his throat. “You know that neither Frank nor I would ever leave you in a place where we didn’t think you were safe. Right?”

Annie did know, but it was nice to hear the words. She nodded.

Emmet held up the Bible. “How about I mark some verses and leave this one with you? Then, if you ever want to read them for yourself, you’ll be able to find them.”

“Thank you.” Whether she read the book or not, it would be a comfort to have something with her that meant a lot to Emmet.

Bible in hand, Emmet got up to leave. He put out the light and then, for the second time since they’d arrived at Clearwater, he kissed Annie on the cheek.

After he left, Annie lay awake, thinking how lucky she was to have two brothers who cared about her.

When he turned in on the night of April 3, a mixture of nerves and excitement kept Frank on the edge of sleep. If things had gone as planned, the train bringing mail from the East had arrived in St. Jo. about the time he and Emmet were trying to think of something good to say about the singed ham and the dried-out biscuits Annie had served for supper. That meant Jake Finney would likely ride in around noon the next day—maybe early afternoon. There was no reason not to sleep. None at all. Lying on the narrow cot in the room he shared with Emmet, Frank closed his eyes. Listened to Emmet’s even breathing. And could not sleep. It was still dark when he finally rose and, boots in hand, padded through the kitchen and the main room and out onto the front porch—which wasn’t really a typical porch, but rather a shaded spot created by the roof’s extending about three feet beyond the station’s log wall and out over the dirt.

Mindful of the glow of campfires near the trail, Frank stared off toward the horizon. Finally, he dropped into the rocking chair sitting just outside the front door and pulled on his boots. As the sky began to change from pale blue to gold, he rose and stepped out from beneath the overhang. Hands on hips, he studied the horizon.

Emmet appeared in the doorway. “You know it’ll be at least noon,” he said. “Likely later than that, given that it’s
everybody’s first time at handling the exchange. And that assumes everything went according to plan in St. Jo.—and that no one will have trouble with a horse throwing a shoe—or a rider.”

Frank shrugged.

“Come on in. Annie’s about got breakfast ready.” He chuckled softly. “And I don’t think anything’s scorched this morning.”

“Don’t think I can eat,” Frank said. “Too many knots in my gut.”

“You need to try,” Emmet reasoned.

With one last look eastward, Frank followed Emmet back inside. He was grateful for the coffee, but one spoonful of grits and he realized he didn’t dare try to eat. Excusing himself, he marched down to the barn.

A repeat of grits and molasses had to suffice for breakfast on Annie’s second full day at Clearwater. They were all preoccupied with thoughts of the first mail exchange, and Frank was too keyed up to eat much, but Annie counted it a small victory that she managed not to burn anything—except herself. A slight scorch on the index finger of her left hand, and it didn’t even need wrapping. Thank goodness it didn’t blister. Thank goodness no one noticed.

After breakfast, she put the ham bone in a pot with beans and set them on the stove to cook. Needing to keep an eye on the stove, she decided to stay close. She’d take the day to learn what was in all the crocks and boxes in the kitchen and storeroom. And she’d clean as she sorted and rearranged, using the empty crate to step up on the table. Donning the apron hanging on a nail just outside the storeroom door, she
began by climbing from crate to tabletop so she could reach the shelf above the window. She had the first crock in hand and had bent to set it on the tabletop when George Morgan walked in, two rat traps in hand.

“Get down,” he said brusquely. “I’ll reach those for you.”

Annie obeyed, albeit rather awkwardly, since Morgan didn’t offer his hand. Once she was back on solid ground, she reached for the traps, all the while doing her best to camouflage her revulsion. “Thank you.”

He didn’t hand them over. “Your brothers say you hate rats.”

“Doesn’t everyone? What do you use for bait?”

“I’ll see to it.” Setting the traps down, he moved past her and pulled everything off the top shelf, plunking it all on the table. He pulled an amber bottle out of his pocket. The word
poison
dominated the red and white label.

“By the way,” Annie said, “it was just a mouse up on that storeroom shelf yesterday. I saw it again just now.”
And I neither screeched nor fell.

He grunted. “I’ve got mouse traps in the store.” He put the poison back in his pocket, set the rat traps down, then hesitated. “Did I explain the store?”

You haven’t explained much of anything.
Annie shook her head.

“Goods can move from the store I sell out of,” he pointed toward the main room, “to your storeroom here off the kitchen. Never the other way. When something’s gone from out there, we’re out of it, plain and simple. That way the cook doesn’t make plans only to find out I sold something she was counting on.”

“That’s thoughtful.”

“Not really. The last cook taught me to respect her
kingdom. She needed cornmeal for something, and I’d invaded her storeroom and sold it the day before. She launched a plate at my head.”

Annie didn’t know whether to smile or frown. She couldn’t exactly tell if Morgan was telling an amusing anecdote or not. “I’m not prone to throwing fits like that.”

“Good,” Morgan said. He pointed into the storage area off the kitchen and repeated the word. “
Storeroom
. Follow me and we’ll talk about the
store
.” In the main room he produced a ledger book from beneath the counter. “You can take anything out of the store you need. Just make sure you write down what you take.” He paused. “You can write?”

“Of course.” It came out a bit more snappish than she intended, but really, he thought she couldn’t read and write?

He frowned. “No offense intended. Some folks passing through Clearwater never had a chance to learn.”

Feeling a bit less defensive, Annie said, “I had to quit school to keep house when our ma died, but I’d made it through the third reader.”

Morgan opened the ledger and turned it about so Annie could read the headings. “Find the right page and write what you take or sell.”

He pointed to a line on the page marked
FLOUR 200# AT 20¢
.

Surprised by the fineness of the handwriting, Annie studied the line. “Where do I write how much folks paid?”

“They don’t always pay cash.” Morgan retreated around the corner into the storeroom, returning with a black metal box not all that different from the one Emmet had given her to keep their money in. He opened it. This one had a tray in the top for loose change. “This stays on the shelf just the other side of the doorway. The ledger keeps track of what goes out
so I know when to put in an order. That’s the most important thing, since it takes nearly a month to get something delivered. As to cash money, most folks barter.” He reached below and brought up a small balance scale. “Once in a while, a miner headed east wants to pay in gold dust. Doesn’t happen as often as it used to, but if it comes up, just ring the bell by the back door. I’ll take care of that.”

“When you’ve a mind to,” Morgan continued, “take a look-see in the store so you know what’s what. Might be the ladies would appreciate a lady behind the counter. If you’re willing. Then again, you’ve probably got enough to think about, just keeping up with the cooking. I’ll get those traps.” He left abruptly, retrieved the rat traps, and went to work in the storeroom setting traps.

Goodness, but the man’s mind did work in curious ways. He’d wandered from an apology to an explanation of how he ran his store to a suggestion about her working the counter to withdrawing the idea and then back to setting mouse traps. And somewhere in there was the hint that he had his doubts about Annie’s ability to keep up with the cooking.

Annie closed the ledger and returned to the kitchen. She began unloading the rest of the shelves to ready them for scrubbing. When Morgan was finished setting traps, he called for her to come and see where they were.

“Wouldn’t want you to get any more surprises and fall off that box again. Next time Luther comes through, I’ll order a ladder—if we haven’t traded for one by then. Best get myself down to the barn and see to things.” He tugged on the brim of his hat and left by way of the storeroom door. He initially pulled it closed behind him, but then opened it again. “That shelf over the window. Leave it be. I’ll get it moved down one of these days.” Again, he closed the door. Again he opened it.
“You want this open or closed? If you raise the window, you’ll get a nice breeze through. Have a better chance of hearing the Pony Express arrive, too. But maybe it’s too cool.” He looked behind him. “Gets a bit dusty if the cattle get to milling around. Last year’s cook said she liked the fresh air. Suit yourself.”

He departed, heading toward the barn, before Annie had a chance to say a word. The door was open and she left it that way, enjoying the sounds of the lowing cattle and the occasional sound of voices as the men worked. Morgan had them hauling everything out of the soddy today and doing a general clean-up. Apparently he was expecting a blacksmith to arrive soon. Another big appetite. Which reminded her to check the stove.

The fire had gone out.

Frank spent the morning in the barn helping Billy muck out stalls. That work done, he retrieved a curry comb and headed for Outlaw’s stall. George meandered in, pausing to peer over a stall door at Annie’s chicks.

When Frank walked by, Morgan said, “Too early to be saddling up.”

“I know,” Frank said. “Thought I’d give him a good brushing.” He stepped into the black horse’s stall.

“This is a hard place to keep chickens,” Morgan said. “Don’t believe I know anyone who’s tried it with much success.”

“Luther said the same thing.” While he brushed Outlaw, Frank told Morgan about Mrs. Hollenberg’s saying the work was just too hard for “one tiny girl.” “That made Annie mad.” He looked over at Morgan. “She was already headed someplace she didn’t want to be and then Mrs. Hollenberg
was telling her it was going to be too hard. Anyway, the next thing I knew, Mrs. Hollenberg’s niece was fetching me so the old lady could arrange a little surprise. Maybe she felt bad about what she’d said. Annie didn’t even know we had the chickens until we were back on the trail. The old lady sent some kind of plant, too. Some special ingredient for chicken and dumplings.”

“Rosemary,” Morgan said and smiled. “Sophia does make a good pot of chicken and dumplings.”

“You know about that?”

“Did some freighting before I landed here at Clearwater. Always looked forward to Sophia’s cooking.” He paused. “It’s too early to set out a plant. You should tell your sister.”

“I think she knows. She set it on the trunk in her room. Said it would get good light there.”

Morgan returned to the subject of chickens. “They either die of the heat or freeze to death come winter. Or get carried off by a hawk or eaten by some other varmint.”

“Like I said, Luther warned her about all of that.” Frank looked toward the stall where the chicks scrabbled about and muttered, “She’s only here because Emmet and I signed her up. We didn’t ask her. We just did it. Told her it was a faster way to get what she wanted.”

“What’s that?”

“A little house in town. White, with blue trim and window boxes. There’s more to it than that, but you get the idea.”

“Luther says she was young when her ma died.”

Frank nodded. “We were both nine. Emmet was fourteen.”

Morgan gazed toward the station. “Billy was nine when his ma died.” He glanced over at Frank. “That’s when he hitched a ride with me.” He shrugged. “It’s not the same with a girl and her ma, though. That’d be harder, I guess.”