I am calling upon you for help, believing that the aforementioned virtues, as well as any residual feeling you might have for one who shared with you those terrible days in the orphanage, will lead you to respond favorably.
Should you decide in the affirmative, Mr. Gilmore will provide you with rail passage to Medbury, the nearest railhead to Coventry. From there, it is but a short ride to my home.
Sincerely,
Your Friend, Katherine
Matt smiled as he finished the letter. “I do remember her,” he said.
“Oh, thank Heavens,” Gilmore said. “If you had not remembered her, I fear it would have been impossible to talk you into coming to her aid. Though I am prepared to tell you what a wonderful woman she is, and how…”
“I’ll do it,” Matt said, interrupting Gilmore in midsentence.
“Oh, my, this is a little unusual,” Gilmore said. “Is there to be no negotiation? Don’t you want to know how much Mrs. Wellington is willing to pay for your services?”
“Not particularly.”
Gilmore smiled. “Mrs. Wellington said this would be your reaction. I didn’t believe her—I thought you, well, that is, I thought any man would want to know what was in this for them before they made a commitment.”
“When do we leave?” Matt asked.
“We will leave on the morning train,” Gilmore replied.
“My horse?”
“I have rooms for us at the hotel. The hotel also provides a stable. You can put your horse there for tonight, and I will secure passage for him on the train tomorrow.”
“Mr. Gilmore, you are a very efficient lawyer,” Matt said.
“Thank you, sir. I try to be,” Gilmore replied.
That night, Matt dreamed. It had been a long time since he had actually thought of the orphanage, and even longer since he had dreamed about it. But the contact with Katherine had brought back the memories that caused the dream. And in the dream the years rolled away so that it was a real as if he were reliving the first day he became a resident of the Soda Creek Home for Wayward Boys and Girls.
“I thought this was the orphanage,” Matt said. “Maybe I’m in the wrong place. I’m sorry.” He turned and started to leave.
“Did you come with Landers?” the man asked.
“Yes, sir.”
“Then I already paid for you. You are in the right place.”
“You paid for me?”
“Twelve and a half good dollars,” the man said. “You’ll be workin’ that off.”
“But he took my rifle.”
“Who took your rifle?”
“Brother Landers. He said he paid you so I could stay here, and he took my rifle to pay him back.”
The man chuckled. “Let that be a lesson to you,” he said. “Don’t trust somebody, just because they tell you they are a preacher.”
“Isn’t he a preacher?”
“He is sometimes, I reckon. What’s your name?”
“Matthew Cava…”
The man held up his hand. “Your ma and pa alive?”
“No, sir.”
“Then you don’t have a last name.”
“But my last name is…”
“You don’t have a last name,” the man said again. “Do you understand that?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Yes, Captain Mumford.”
“What?”
“When you talk to me, you will always address me as Captain Mumford.”
“Yes, Captain Mumford,” Matt said.
“You’re awfully small for twelve years old.”
“I’m not twelve,” Matt said.
Mumford slapped Matt in the face, not hard enough to knock him down, or even bring blood, but hard enough that it stung.
