A Pony Express Christmas. Rhonda Gibson
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The first rider handed a flat leather saddle bag to a man astride a mustang. As soon as the second rider had the bag, he laid low over his horse’s neck and was gone almost as fast as the first young man had ridden in.
Leah stared after the rider until he could no longer be seen. She shivered as a blast of icy wind hit her uncovered face. Where was he going in such a hurry? Her gaze moved back to the barn and stable. The two other men had disappeared, presumably inside.
Molly buried her face in Leah’s neck and shivered. She tried to burrow her slight body closer. One small gloved hand tangled in the opening of Leah’s coat, allowing more cold air in, while the other clung to her worn rag doll.
Taking a deep breath, Leah walked back to their luggage, which still sat in the middle of the yard. Her tired brain tried to register what had just happened. Why had those riders been in such a hurry? What was in that bag that was so important? She’d never seen anything like it, but then, she hadn’t seen much of life outside of an orphanage. Even the stagecoach ride had been exciting to a girl who’d been so completely sheltered. It dawned on her that perhaps the stage stop was also a pony express stop as well.
Her body trembled from cold as well as fright as she set Molly down and reached for the closest bag. The child’s feet went in different directions on the slick, packed snow and Leah grabbed for her, helping her to stand upright again.
“You’re okay,” she comforted, but to her dismay, her voice wavered. Leah swallowed hard then leaned forward, determined to get her luggage and move them inside, out of the cold and out of danger’s way. As she reached for the handle, her weight shifted and she did a little dance trying to regain her balance, but she couldn’t stop the movement of her feet or the slickness of the ice underneath them. Leah’s boots slipped out from under her and she fell, face forward, into her suitcases.
She groaned. This day had just gone from bad to worse. Tiredness lay on her shoulders like a mountain of snow on a small hilltop.
A man extended a hand to help her up. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine.” Leah pretended not to see his outstretched hand and used the nearest bag to push herself up from the ground. The toe of her boot caught in the hem of her dress. She groaned as she heard the tearing of fabric. Working to untangle her foot with as much dignity as she could muster, Leah pushed herself upright once more and dusted the snow from the front of her dark green traveling dress. “I believe so.” She felt Molly’s hand bunch up in her skirts.
The sharp voice softened as he offered, “Here, let me help you carry these inside the station.”
For the first time, Leah looked at the owner of the deep voice. He scooped up two of the larger bags and stood tall before her. She estimated him to be about six feet, maybe an inch taller. He wore what looked like a buckskin coat and a brown, floppy hat. Dark brown boots covered his feet. She couldn’t help but notice he also wore some sort of gun on his narrow hip.
Her breath caught in her throat when she glanced up to find a pair of soft, coffee-colored eyes watching her. Eyes that earlier had been wide with concern now seemed full of unhidden laughter. Even so, she liked his eyes and the deepness of his voice.
Embarrassed, Leah looked away; she pulled her short, threadbare coat around her. “Thank you for your help, Mr.—?”
“Just Jake, ma’am.”
“Jake.” The cold November wind pulled at her straight, mousy-brown hair, reminding her that she was no beauty and that she was soon to be a married woman. She raised her head. “I’m ready.” He nodded and then strolled to the front porch.
A tiny hand tugged at her skirts once more. Leah reached down and picked up the little girl. Molly tucked a gloved thumb between her plump lips and laid her head on Leah’s shoulder. She knew Molly was tired from their trip. Warmth for the little girl filled her heart as Leah patted her back.
Jake returned and picked up the other two bags. His gaze searched hers, a quizzical look in their depths. “You really should get inside, ma’am.” Once more he turned to walk to the porch.
Leah nodded but didn’t move forward. She focused her attention down the snow-covered road toward the town laid out before her. South Platte, Colorado, a small town that was about ten miles from Julesburg, Colorado. From what she could see through the falling snow, South Platte had a general store, a restaurant, a blacksmith shop, a livery, a church, and from the sound of the piano coming through an open door, a saloon.
Leah frowned. Did she really want to be here? She sighed. What other choice did she have? She had promised to deliver Molly to her uncle, Jake Bridges, and to marry Mr. Thomas Harris.
Her gaze jerked to the wide shoulders and back of the man carrying her luggage. Could that Jake be Molly’s uncle, Jake Bridges?
For the first time she focused on the house that served as the stagecoach stop and also functioned as a pony express home station. A large log house stretched out before her. Sheds, various outbuildings and the barn surrounded the log house. Even though it was early, a full month before Christmas, the house had red and green fabric twisted into a form of garland on the second-story railing. A Christmas wreath hung on the door.
To one side of the house, a small grove of trees was the only vegetation in sight. The sound of running water had her looking over her shoulder at a river that was mostly frozen over. It wasn’t close to the house, so she felt sure Molly would be safe.
The little girl shivered in her arms. Leah pulled Molly closer, realizing that every day she spent with her would make it harder for both of them when the time came to part. Leah would soon move out to the Harris ranch, and Molly would move into her uncle Jake’s home, wherever that might be.
“Are you coming?” The man named Jake opened the door to the ranch-style building. His gaze ran over her and the little girl before he turned and stepped inside.
His deep voice pulled her from the stupor she’d been in and Leah nodded. If he truly was Jake Bridges, then Leah knew she’d have to get word to Thomas Harris of her arrival. Or perhaps she could hire Jake to take her out to the Harris ranch.
Thomas Harris’s name whispered through her tired mind as she sat the child back down and scooped up the last remaining bag, Molly’s bag. She really didn’t know Mr. Harris, other than what she had read in the two letters he’d sent. They’d never met or exchanged pictures. The thought of marrying a complete stranger both scared her and offered a strange sense of comfort. Being Thomas Harris’s wife would give her a permanent home. Something Leah had wanted all her young life.
Molly’s little hand tangled into her skirt once more, reminding her that she had to take care of the child before she even contemplated her own life. Molly had been Leah’s constant companion for over three months.
Knowing cholera was sweeping Sweetwater, Texas, at a rapid pace, Molly’s father had brought her to the orphanage for safekeeping. The children and people who worked there very seldom came into contact with the town folks and he’d felt sure that Molly would be safe from the sickness that was sweeping the area. Then, when it became clear that both Molly’s parents had taken ill, Mrs. Wilkins, the headmistress of the orphanage, had placed the little girl in Leah’s care.
Molly’s story was a sad one, for sure. Her mother had been the first to become sick. The poor woman died after several long days and then Molly’s father had taken ill. He’d struggled against death, knowing he’d be leaving the little girl behind. It was only after he’d written a letter to his brother and then extracted the promise from Leah that she’d take Molly to his brother in Julesburg, Colorado, that he’d finally given up his battle. Fortunately, Molly would grow up knowing her parents had loved her, unlike Leah, whose parents had abandoned her on the orphanage doorstep when she was less than a year old.
Leah craved a home, and Molly’s arrival in her life had made her realize how much. Shortly after John Bridges’s death, Leah had answered Thomas Harris’s ad for a mail-order bride. She’d learned from the ad that the Harris ranch was located in the same