Messenger by Moonlight Part 19

"Where are you going?"

"After Frank."

Finally. Wrapped in the stinking blanket he'd almost rejected, Frank saw it. The faintest glimmer of light. The relay station. It had started to snow a little while ago. No more than an occasional flake. Still, he'd made a giant triangle of the blanket and draped it over his head, grateful for a way to keep the wind off his neck. When a blast of cold air pierced the blanket, he stopped long enough to adjust his bandanna, pulling it up over his mouth-just as he had when he was still a Pony Express rider. It helped some, but he was quickly losing feeling in his feet. That light in the distance was a good thing.

A good thing. The phrase sent a pang of regret through him. Aside from the fact that he wasn't going to freeze to death-a.s.suming a blizzard didn't come up in the next few minutes-there wasn't much good in the world. Except, of course, Annie. She was good. So was Emmet. Goodness had skipped right over Frank. He'd spent a lot of time at Dobytown proving it.

Unbidden, Charlie Pender's voice sounded in his head. Not a sermon, for Frank hadn't paid all that much attention to those. What Frank "heard" was the song Charlie seemed to think everyone should know. "Amazing Grace." He remembered taking issue with the words and the idea of a holy G.o.d letting "just anyone" ask for grace.

Charlie had just laughed. "That's good, son. Frank Paxton telling the Almighty G.o.d how to arrange His universe. Just be forewarned that if He listens, He'll want you to rewrite the Bible for Him, too. If it isn't a 'gift of G.o.d' there's a pa.s.sage in Ephesians that will have to go." Charlie had paused. "Romans will be problematic, too. And you'll need to rework a lot of what Jesus taught. He was big on the word whosoever."

"That's not what I mean," Frank said. "'G.o.d so loved the world' you said the other day. All right. He loves the world. But shouldn't folks have to make up for all the bad they've done before G.o.d hands out ten thousand years in heaven?"

"A fair exchange, you mean?"

"Something like that."

"All right. Let's say that's the way it works. Who decides what's fair? How does a person know when he's made up for what he did?"

Frank frowned. "What d'ya mean?"

"Let's say I stole something. I walk into the mercantile and I see something I like and I take it. Is it enough to take it back and say I'm sorry?"

Frank nodded. "That'd probably do it. Maybe offer to pay for it."

"What if I broke it?"

"Then you'd have to pay for it."

"All right. Say I killed somebody. How do I pay for that?"

"You can't."

"So I can earn grace-and heaven with it-if I only sin a little, but if I sin big, I'm outta luck. I've sinned bigger than G.o.d can forgive. Is that what you're saying?"

Frank huffed frustration. "I'm saying it shouldn't be free."

"Well we agree on that, son, because it wasn't free. It cost more than any of us will ever be able to appreciate. It took the sinless, guiltless Son of G.o.d's life-poured out after He was declared guilty in a Roman court, nailed to a cross outside the city, and left to die." Charlie's voice wavered. "That's what it took to make G.o.d's amazing grace free to the likes of Charlie Pender and Frank Paxton."

Frank stumbled. It was snowing harder. His fingers were numb. He drew the blanket tighter and walked on. Amazing grace. How sweet the sound. That saved a wretch like me. At least he had the wretch part right. I once was lost but now am found. He was lost, too. In just about every way a man could be. He peered into the night, relieved to see the light still s.h.i.+ning in the distance. Not that far away now. Good thing.

He stared at the expanse of white separating him from the light and went back to thinking about the song as he walked. Through many dangers, toils and snares I have already come, 'tis grace that brought me safe thus far, and grace will lead me home. A blast of frigid air picked up the snow and swirled it around him. Frank stumbled again, but avoided falling and trudged on. It wasn't far now. He imagined the light s.h.i.+ning through a window from a room where he could thaw out. It would feel good to be warm again.

When swirling snow erased the light from view, he was tempted to panic. I once was lost but now am found. Was it possible for someone like him to find the kind of hope that had sounded in Charlie's voice when he sang those words? Ten thousand years in heaven sounded good, but what about the rest of life here on earth? Would Annie ever forgive him for what he'd done? Would G.o.d? I'm lost. I need help.

Pulling the bandanna away from his mouth, Frank yelled into the storm. "h.e.l.lo! Can anybody hear me? h.e.l.lo at the station!"

He trudged on. Now that he couldn't see the light, he wasn't certain he was headed the right way. If he didn't get there soon, he was going to find out if Charlie Pender was right about a lot of things. The notion terrified him. He called out again. "h.e.l.lo! Can anybody hear me? h.e.l.lo at the station!" I'm lost. I need help. If Charlie's right... if grace is free... I need some.

As if in answer to the unspoken prayer, the storm picked up. Frank grimaced. So this was it. Frank Paxton, the "famous" Pony Express rider, was about to die in the middle of a Nebraska storm. He opened his mouth to holler for help, but the words were knocked back when he slammed into something solid and floundered in a drift deep enough to get him out of the wind. Hunh. It felt warmer down here, wherever he was. Hadn't Billy said something about the Indians digging into deep snow to survive a storm? He sure hoped that was right, because he couldn't feel his feet anymore and he had no idea which way to walk. He was exhausted. He'd just close his eyes for a minute. Just a minute. I'm lost. Help.

With a start, Frank opened his eyes. It was still snowing, but there must have been a break in the clouds, because moonlight was s.h.i.+ning off the snow and... the creature that had bounded across his lap had awakened him. Or maybe he hadn't really fallen asleep. Except it had to be a dream. Rabbits did not emerge from snowdrifts and hop across human laps. Unless-Frank blinked a few times and peered at the animal sitting a few feet away, poised to make a quick getaway.

He felt behind him. Dried earth, laid up like bricks. He'd slammed into a sod wall.

Clutching at the blanket, Frank staggered to his feet. The rabbit bounded away, but not before Frank got a good look. He inched along the sod wall until it ended. He peered around the corner. At a corral. And the relay station, a short distance away to his right. He gazed up at the sliver of moon s.h.i.+ning through a break in the clouds. Was that You? He didn't hear a voice, but Frank knew the answer, just as surely as he knew that everything Charlie Pender had ever said about amazing grace was true.

Annie sat bolt upright in bed and peered into the dark, listening as the wind rattled her bedroom window. Unbarring the shutter with a trembling hand, she stared into the night, hoping against hope for moonlight to illuminate the landscape. Sitting back, she closed her eyes. Please. George is out there looking for Frank. It can't storm. Not tonight. The wind whistled as if to reply, It can. It is.

There was no point in huddling here in bed. She wasn't going to sleep. She dressed in the dark, unbarred her bedroom door, and went into the kitchen, lighting the lamp on her worktable and then moving on into the main room. The quiet in the station had never frightened her... until now. A creak overhead made her jump. She set the lamp on a table near the one window looking out on the back lot. Unbarring the back door, she opened it just enough to peer out into the dark. Billy was down there in the soddy, but all Annie could see was swirling snow. It was as if the soddy and the barn, the corrals and the creatures huddled together inside them did not exist.

Closing the door, Annie left the lamp on the table near the window and grabbed another to carry back into the kitchen. She hoped Billy would see it. Hoped he'd bring rea.s.surance that George was not out in the gathering storm. That he had undoubtedly reached Fort Kearny before the storm hit.

She set water on to boil, and wished for dawn so she could tend the chickens. So she could see the horizon and Please, G.o.d, blue sky. Retrieving her knitting basket from where she'd left it on the store counter the night before, she set it on the worktable in the kitchen while she made coffee. Because of the cold, the bread she'd set to rise before retiring was still little more than a lump of dough. Still, she formed loaves and put it in the oven, moving through her morning routine, all the while listening. Mindful of the wind. Watching for dawn through the north-facing window. Reciting the Isaiah verse about fear, which by now had become almost as dear as the Shepherd's Psalm.

At last, the back door opened and Billy stepped inside. "Coffee's on," she called.

"Smells good," Billy said as he crossed to the kitchen. "You're up early."

"The wind," Annie said and waited for rea.s.surance that did not come.

"Do you want me to help bring the chickens in?"

She glanced toward the window. "You think it's going to be that bad a storm?"

"Impossible to know."

"I'll do it," Annie said. "With George gone, you have so much more to handle."

"Doesn't mean I can't help you."

Annie shook her head. "No, I-I need to keep busy. I was just waiting for dawn." Her voice wavered. "Hoping for blue sky on the horizon."

"That's a good hope," Billy said. "Hold on to it." He headed back outside, but then turned back around. "He'll know what to do."

Annie cleared her throat. "I know. I just-I wish there was a way to notify Lieutenant Hart at Fort Kearny. To send out a search party."

Billy gave a low, barking laugh. "George doesn't need help from any blue coats. He's forgotten more about living out here than they'll ever know."

The stagecoach had just left the Pony Express relay station near Fort Kearny when it lurched dangerously. Frank barely managed to stay in the seat next to Whiskey John. The driver swore cheerfully and hauled on the reins. "Got off the trail a bit there. Happens from time to time." He glanced over at Frank. "Sure you don't want to ride inside?"

Frank shook his head. "Thanks, but I like it up here." He did, too. He marveled at the skill demonstrated as Whiskey John managed six sets of reins as deftly as Frank had ever handled a single horse. Besides that, now that the sun was s.h.i.+ning, the view from atop the Concord coach was something he didn't want to miss. He looked back toward the relay station, little more than a dot on the prairie. It was a pure miracle that he'd ever found it in that storm. And the rabbit? He didn't know if he'd ever tell anyone about that. Who'd ever believe it-well, besides Charlie Pender.

When the coach pulled up to the telegraph office at Fort Kearny, Frank stayed put. From his perch, he scanned the grounds, smiling at the memory of dancing with Lydia Hart and wondering how she was faring through her first long, hard winter in the West. When he caught a glimpse of a soldier who might be Wade Hart, he ducked his head and pulled the bandanna up. He'd have to face the lieutenant sooner or later and probably even thank him for trying to drag him out of Dobytown. But he wasn't ready.

When Whiskey John climbed back up beside Frank, he brought all kinds of news. William Russell of the freighting company that had founded the Pony Express had been in all kinds of trouble since the first of the year. Congress had agreed to spend $800,000 to keep the Pony Express going. They'd also decreed that the Union would not pay any company on a mail contract that would take the route through a state that had seceded from the Union.

Whiskey John looked over at Frank with a smile and a wink. "You know what that means? Means those of us chasing across Nebraska Territory are more important than ever." He shouted at the team before relating how Pony Bob Haslam out in Nevada had been attacked by Indians and wounded while carrying President Lincoln's inaugural address westward. "Still finished the hundred and twenty miles, though," the driver said. "Set a record, too. Eight hours and twenty minutes." And then he added a profanity-laced, albeit kind word to Frank. "Don't you worry, son. You'll be back in the saddle before long."

Frank smiled and nodded. He believed Whiskey John was right. He was feeling better than he had in weeks. But then the driver reported news that struck a somber note and sent Frank's thoughts spinning eastward and off into the unknown.

"You won't believe what them Southern boys gone and done. They're calling themselves the Confederate States of America-acting like they're their own gol-durned country." He leaned over and spat tobacco before adding, "Things is about to get a might more testy. The boys back at Fort Kearny talked like they's expecting to mount up and ride east any day."

Frank's heartbeat ratcheted up when Clearwater came into view. He knew what he was going to say, but he had no idea what would happen after that. And so, as the stagecoach lurched to a stop down at the barn and he climbed down, Frank hesitated. Whiskey John whistled to catch his attention and tossed his saddlebags down to him, just about the time Billy trotted up to switch teams. When he saw Frank, he stopped in his tracks.

"Where's my team?" Whiskey John sputtered. "It's hard enough making up the time lost because of that last storm."

"I'm running a little late," Billy said. "George isn't here."

"Well where in tarnation is he?"

"Looking for Frank," Billy said, and glanced Frank's way as he added, "He rode out a couple of days ago."

Whiskey John swore through a sentence that essentially meant that George should know better than to do something like that.

"It wasn't snowing when he left," Billy said, and began to work the harness. "The storm came up after." He looked past Frank toward the station. "Your sister's seen you."

Frank turned around, just in time to see Annie step off the back porch and come running. Breathless, she threw herself at him, laughing and hugging him close. "Thank G.o.d! You have no idea how I've worried!" She let him go then and looked about. "But-where's George?"

Frank cleared his throat. Shook his head. "I haven't seen him."

"But-he came for you. First to the doctor. And then-Dobytown?" She said it as a question.

"I was there. For nearly a week. I was walking to the relay station north of Fort Kearny when that last storm hit."

Annie's hand went to her heart. "You were walking? But-why?"

Frank swallowed. "Because I lost-no, wait. I didn't lose the horse. I gambled it away. And the bridle. And the saddle. And the blanket. I gambled it all away, except for my saddlebags." He waited, fully expecting to see the smile fade. Which it did. Fully expecting to see anger or spite or something like that take its place. It did not. What replaced the smile was a trembling hand over her mouth as Annie looked over at Billy.

"But George came to find you," she croaked. "Badger came to us and we took care of him and then as soon as Badger left, George went after you. He was going to trace your steps. He was going to bring you home." Tears spilled down her cheeks.

And in that moment, Frank wished that all he had to face was Annie's anger.

"I put a pot of beans on this morning," Annie said to Whiskey John. "I'll make coffee and there's fresh bread. Be sure you come up and eat before you leave." Frank said that he would stay down at the barn to help with the horses, and so Annie was left alone to retrace her steps back to the station and to set places at the table for the men. But not for George. Don't think about that right now. Do the next thing. Make coffee.

She strode past the counter and toward the kitchen. When she caught sight of George's books, she looked away. Taking an ap.r.o.n off a hook in the storeroom, she measured out coffee beans and began to roast them. All the while she worked, she prayed for more movement out on the trail. Listened for m.u.f.fled hoofbeats. And swallowed back the tears that would do no one any good at all.

There was work to be done. She would do it. She would serve up the beans she'd flavored with roasted buffalo hump and set the last jar of chokecherry jelly out and pour coffee and she would smile if it killed her. And that's what she did, although none of them had anything much to say as they ate.

Frank thanked Whiskey John for the ride and promised to repay the favor, and then the stage rattled on its way. Billy excused himself to feed the livestock, and Frank went to help him. Annie cleared the table and washed the dishes. She went out to scatter feed for the chicks and checked the traps in the storeroom, relieved when there were no dead rats to deal with. She made another pie and had just slid it into the oven when the storeroom door opened. Her heart lurched and she wheeled about.

"It's just me," Frank said. He closed the door behind him and took his mittens off. "I am so sorry, Annie."

"It's not your fault."

"Of course it is. Will you let me tell you what happened?"

"I know what happened." She let the disappointment sound in her voice. "You broke your promise."

"Yes. I did. Again." He took a deep breath. Let it out. "Can you ever forgive me?"

"I want to. But I don't-I just don't know. I can't think about it right now. Not with George-not until he's back. We can talk then."

"All right. That's fair, I suppose." Frank pulled his mittens back on.

"Should you be doing that?"

"Doing what?"

"Working so hard. Dr. Fields said-"

Frank interrupted her. "I'm better. The headaches are almost gone. I should be able to ride again soon. I'll tell you all about it when the time's right." He paused. "I tried to talk Billy into coming with me to look for George."

"I wanted to ask Lieutenant Hart to send out a search party." Annie shrugged. "Billy said George has forgotten more than the 'blue coats' will ever know about living out here." Her voice trembled. "Do you think that's right?"

"Billy knows him better than either of us."

Annie was quiet. She wanted to be glad that Frank was feeling better. She supposed she did feel glad, but it felt wrong to talk about good things right now. She motioned toward the stove. "I should see to supper."

Frank nodded. "I understand."

Once he'd closed the storeroom door, Annie sat down, abruptly, on the upturned crate. The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down... She closed her eyes. Nothing's changed. I still want. I hope You're my shepherd, but right now, more than that, I want George to come home. I'm sorry. I don't know how any of this works, but-I just really need You to bring George back.

Annie was amazed the next day, when G.o.d did exactly what she'd asked.

Chapter 26.

Frank had just forked a mountain of hay out of the loft when Billy charged into the barn and shouted, "George is back!" He raced back outside.

Intending to run tell Annie, Frank hurried down the ladder, but Billy had already gone up to the station with the news, and so Frank waited at the barn, smiling a welcome-until George got closer. The look in the man's eyes made his mouth go dry.

George dismounted slowly. He led his horse into the barn and put it in a stall. Next, he pulled his mittens off and stuffed them inside his hat. With his free hand, he raked through his wild hair. Finally, he said, "I've been following your trail. From here to Fort Kearny. Then to every single saloon in Dobytown."

"I'm sorry," Frank stammered. "I-"

George's hand went up. He said no more for a time.

When the station keeper finally spoke, his voice was so quiet, Frank had to strain to hear the words. Something about that was worse than if George had yelled. "I just don't understand why you'd cause so much grief for one of the best women that ever walked this earth. Why can't you at least try to be the man Annie sees when she looks at you?"

"I am going to try."