Edward brought the horses to a stop and glanced her way. “It’s of no matter right now. You’ve just lost your pa, and it’s not right to focus on anything but that. Look, I’ll be by tomorrow to bring you some more wood. Do you have plenty for tonight?”
Marybeth nodded and jumped down from the wagon. “I do. I’m gonna go stir up the stove and get a fire going in the fireplace before I head over to pick up Carrie. Thanks again for standing by me at the funeral. I know Pa would have been grateful for your support and all that you’re doing for me and Carrie.”
He smiled for the first time that day. “I’m honored to help. You and your pa got me through the worst of it when Janey and the boy died.” He always referred to his son as “the boy,” since he and Janey hadn’t picked out a name for him. Edward had buried them together, with the boy safely tucked in Janey’s arms. The gravestone simply readJane Vogel and Son.
“That’s why God gave us to each other,” Marybeth said, letting the finality of the moment settle on her. Papa was really and truly gone. She glanced at the house and trembled.
“Best get in out of the cold. I’ll see you in the morning.” Edward slapped the reins and headed on down the street.
Marybeth had never felt so alone.
Edward made sure the horses had adequate feed, then went into the house. He and Janey had rented this place at the edge of town when they’d married. That was shortly after he’d come home from the war. Of course, he’d needed time to finish recovering from a wound he’d taken at the Siege of Savannah. A ball cored a hole through his side and out the back in the blink of an eye. Loss of blood had nearly killed him, but thankfully nothing vital had been hit. Little by little, Edward had recovered enough to be sent home just after the first of the year in 1865.
Inga had been his nurse since their mother had mourned herself to death over the loss of his two brothers. She had died that September after news that Jacob had been killed in August at the Battle of Atlanta. Their brother Gunther had taken a minié ball two years prior to that at Shiloh. Mother had been convinced that she would lose all three when the brothers had enlisted to join Evansville’s Twenty-Fifth Regiment of the Indiana Infantry. And she’d nearly been right. Edward might have died but for the fact that after being wounded, he’d mistakenly been transferred with some special patients—sons of congressmen and senators—to a hospital in Washington. There, he’d received quality care that wouldn’t have been available on the battlefield. Most likely it had saved his life. Inga called it God’s provision. Edward sometimes wondered, however, if he had cheated death and that was why Janey and the boy had to die.
Once inside the cold house, Edward made a fire in thehearth and sat down to enjoy the warmth before heading out for his night shift. They’d been outside for far too long in the growing cold. He probably should have talked Marybeth into canceling the graveside services, but it hadn’t occurred to him at the time. Thankfully the wind hadn’t been blowing.
Catching sight of the letter he’d left unopened on the table, Edward got up and grabbed it before settling back down in front of the fire. It was from his former commanding officer, Major Henderson. The man had written only once before. That letter had come to congratulate Edward on his marriage and to offer hope that Edward was fully recovered.
Edward looked at the letter for a moment. Major Henderson had always had plans to go out west after the war. Like Edward, he was a law enforcement officer with a strong desire to keep the law and order of a frontier town. Edward had always figured to get enough experience in Evansville that one day he could go west and take up a position standing guard over an entire community. He and Henderson had discussed it quite thoroughly once.
He opened the letter and read the contents. Henderson was a man of few words, always getting straight to the point. This letter was no exception.
I’m sure this letter takes you by surprise, but I have an offer to make.
2
After getting home from work the next morning, Edward decided to eat breakfast before going to see Marybeth. All through the night, the wind had picked up until it was howling like a banshee and blowing around anything that wasn’t tied down. The only good thing was it kept folks off the streets and made Edward’s night fairly quiet. The wind finally calmed just before dawn, and by the time his work was done, it seemed back to normal.
He built up the fire in the stove and set the cast-iron skillet atop the burner. He cut a hunk of side pork and dropped it in the pan. It crackled and sizzled immediately, sending a pleasant aroma into the air. Next, he ground some coffee and filled the pot with water. He’d done for himself most of his adult life and found it a comfortable routine. He’d joined the army at eighteen after just a few months of working for the Evansville Police Department. His superiors had noted that Edward had a talent for getting in and out of places unnoticed, so Major Henderson recruited him for reconnoitering. Sometimes that meant several days out on his own—doing for himself.
Of course, marriage to Janey had provided him with a loving companion who saw to his every need. Janey was one of those women who took pride in seeing him well cared for. It wasn’t until she was bedridden trying to bear their son that Edward realized just how much she did. When she died, Edward was back to doing for himself, and he did his best not to think about what was missing in his life.
His brothers ... his mother ... Janey and the boy. What good did it do to think about them and how much he missed them? It served no good purpose and just left him all the more melancholy. A man could lose his mind that way.
He flipped the pork and went to slice himself a couple pieces of bread. Only then did he allow himself to think of the letter he’d received. Major Henderson wanted him to come west to an end-of-the-rails town called Cheyenne. The great transcontinental railroad was being built from coast to coast, a marvel to be sure, given all that they were up against: weather, natives, rugged mountains, and desert. It seemed that the crew working from east to west planned to stop for the winter in Cheyenne—so named after the local Indians.
Edward finished with the bread and went to the table, where he’d left the letter. He picked it up again and scanned the few lines.
Because of your being a family man, married and surely by now you have children, I want to invite you to join us in the growing town of Cheyenne. We need family men to settle this town. I can offer you a job on the town’s police force, and with that comes a fine salary and a town lot on which to build your own house.
But Edward wasn’t a family man. Janey had died and taken his chances at a family with her. The offer sounded like everything Edward had ever wanted, however. He was tired of Evansville and death. A new start in a new place sounded like heaven.
He’d even prayed about it long and hard before heading to work. Then that evening walking his beat, he still thought and prayed, despite the annoying weather. Marybeth and Carrie kept coming to mind, and with their predicament, a plan had started to form. He could marry Marybeth. Platonically, of course. He wasn’t about to marry another woman and risk her life by being intimate and getting her with child. Marybeth was a good woman, and her nature was the kind Edward appreciated. He could explain the situation, and he was almost certain she would see the sense in it. Then he would have his family-man status, and she would have a husband and provider. No one would worry about taking her baby sister then.
The pork was starting to burn, so he hurried to the stove and took it up. He poured most of the grease into a can, then plopped the two pieces of bread he’d cut into the frying pan. They browned up fast and easy. The coffee wasn’t yet done, but that didn’t stop Edward from throwing the side meat between the two pieces of toast. He bowed his head and blessed the food, then added a prayer that Marybeth would be receptive to his proposition.
Marybeth had just finished helping Carrie with her oatmeal when a knock sounded on the front door. She wiped her sister’s mouth but left her in the feeding chair with a small piece of toast and jam before heading to the door. Who would be calling at this hour?
She opened the door to find Pastor Orton standing there. The man beside him wasn’t someone she recognized.
“Marybeth, I apologize for the earliness of the hour, but I wanted to see how you and Carrie are doing. I’ve also brought a friend, Judge Perkins.” The pastor nodded toward his companion. “Might we come in?”
She gave a sigh. “Of course. I was just feeding Carrie.” She left them at the door to fend for themselves and made her way back to the kitchen.
The pastor and judge followed. Marybeth didn’t miss the way each man seemed to inspect every inch and corner of the house.
“You keep an orderly house, Marybeth,” the pastor had to concede.
