And together, they walked back to their horses, nodding hello and offering a warning about the muddy bank to Pastor Collins and his sister Beatrice, who both stared in horror at the mud covering their clothes.
Giggles rose in Celia’s throat after they passed, and she and Jack laughed the rest of the way back to the horses, the mud drying stiffly on their clothing and coats.
Chapter Fifteen
Jack drove the wagon to the livery, a few bales of precious hay stacked in the bed. McFarland had given him step-by-step instructions on how to hitch the horses to the wagon, and after a painful hour attempting to execute those directions as Celia pretended not to watch from the windows, Jack had headed to town to deliver the hay and a few items for Celia.
A chill wind was whipping into Last Chance across the river from the northwest when Jack left the wagon and horses at the livery. As he headed down the main road following the directions Celia had given him, something seemed . . . different. He passed several people before he realized what it was.
Men.
Last Chance had grown a sudden population of men. It seemed all sorts had answered the advertisement the ladies had placed—well-dressed and dapper men, farmers and ranching fellows, working men, and some less than savory sorts. He wondered what women in their right minds would go for the last when there appeared to be plenty of the others around.
He ducked his head against the wind. It felt like snow, and yet he hadn’t seen a single flurry yet. To be truthful, he was anxious about snow in this place after hearing the stories of the blizzards. He’d stood staring at the sky during the light snow that had fallen the week before, wondering if it might suddenly turn into a blizzard. He’d be the poor fellow stuck outside with a wagon and two horses, left frozen to death and widowing Celia for a second time. He shuddered and wondered if it were possible to remain at the farm for the entire winter.
He made a quick left onto Third Street and at the end of the road took another left. And there stood the leaning home Celia had directed him to. He knocked on the door, and a haggard-looking woman, likely only a few years older than himself but looking decades his senior, answered the door. Two children peered around her skirts, while a baby rested in her arms and an older girl held a toddler on her hip. Jack held up a small parcel and offered it to Mrs. Zack. “I’m Jack Wendler, Celia’s husband. She sent me with this into town for you. It’s salt pork.”
Mrs. Zack stared at the parcel for a moment before a tear leaked from her eye. “Thank you, Mr. Wendler. Please give Celia my thanks too. These little ones need meat, and this is such a blessing to us. Please tell your wife that I’ll send her some tea leaves as soon as I can.”
Jack smiled, his heart lifting. It was funny how such a simple act could make someone else so happy. And despite the fact that he’d been leery of parting with some of the precious little meat they had, the truth was that this family needed it more. At least he and Celia had no children to feed.
His mind spinning at the very thought of having children, a thought he’d barely spent more than a minute on here or there his entire life, Jack strode from the little home back toward the main road and his sister-in-law’s post office. He took the longer route, down the Grand Platte Road to the Stage Coach Road. He sidestepped a couple of fellows loitering outside the boardinghouse and nodded to another gentleman he passed. After crossing Main Street, he slipped inside the post office’s door, grateful for the heat emanating from the fireplace in the front room.
“Mr. Wendler,” Faith greeted him with an impassive look. He figured that was at least a step better than the outright disdain she’d shown him before.
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Thornton,” Jack said formally. Celia’s sister made him feel as if he’d never live up to expectations. Whose expectations, he didn’t know, but Faith made him feel as if they were far, far out of his reach. “Celia wrote you. She asked me to drop the letter off while I was in town today.” He handed the folded letter to Faith, curious for the first time what was inside. Was she writing about him? He hoped it was something good. It had to be after the moment they’d shared by the river a couple of days ago, and the sly smiles she’d given him since then.
Faith took the letter and set it down as she walked around her counter. “It’s good you came by,” she said as she sorted through a stack of envelopes. “The stage yesterday brought in some mail and there’s something here addressed to you—here it is.” She held out a cream-colored envelope as if it were perfectly normal for someone to send Jack a letter.
He blinked at the letter in her hand. She shook it a little, seemingly impatient for him to take it. He obliged. It crumpled some in his hand as he gripped it.
“I’m sorry to be so abrupt, but I’m awaiting a response to a telegram.” Faith glanced at the telegraph machine.
The letter burning a hole through his hand, Jack bid her goodbye and stepped back out into the cold. A few steps from the post office, and he couldn’t take it any longer. He held up the letter. There was nothing that identified who it was from. But there was his name,
