Page 60 of Beyond Montana's Sky
And if she doesn’t?The thought made his stomach clench.
Then I’ll need to put her out of my mind—somehow.
When he reached the train station and went inside, to his relief the place was empty. Jack Waite, the stationmaster and postmaster, was probably in the back room, where he seemed to live. This time of year found Jack burrowed under blankets next to a small stove to keep warm, for the rheumatism swelling and bending his fingers became worse in chilly weather. Nevertheless, the man maintained a cheerful attitude.
Cai pushed open the shutter covering the window to the interior where Jack spent his time and leaned to peer inside, feeling the warmth on his cold face. One whole wall held shelves with wooden boxes neatly labeled with names. He hoped Edith’s letter was tucked inside the Driscoll Ranch postal box.
Sure enough, Jack sat huddled in a low armchair reading, with several layers of tattered blankets wrapped around his hunched, diminutive form, making him look like a piskey from the Celtic legends.
The older man’s bushy white hair stood out from his head. When he saw Cai’s face poke through the opening, he cracked a wide smile. “Well, Cai Driscoll. I rarely see you here.” The man pushed off the arms of his chair and struggled to his feet. He hobbled to the counter, trailing a faded quilt. “You got anything going out? The train’s already been through today, so it’ll have to wait ’til tomorra.”
“Just picking up.”
“The Andersons have several letters from Concord, but I’m a bettin’ you might be here for….” Jack trundled over to the Driscoll Ranch box, pulled out several envelopes, and shuffled through them. “This one.” He held up the letter with a triumphant expression.
Is that really from Edith?
“Mighty familiar handwriting.” He winked. “Just like the one that came for the Livingstons.”
The confirmation sent a jolt of excitement through Cai. He schooled his face to impassivity and hid his impatience to snatch Edith’s letter from the postmaster.
Probably the nosiest man in Sweetwater Springs, and that was saying a lot for a town full of busybodies, Jack knew plenty about the doings of the inhabitants of the community. Not just from the mail that arrived and left, but also when people came to pick up or drop off their mail, he and the townsfolk usually exchanged gossip along with the envelopes, catalogues, periodicals, and newspapers.
But with sensitive matters, the man was as trustworthy as the day was long. He might tease Cai about Edith’s letter, but he’d not say a word to anyone else.
Jack stacked Edith’s envelope on top of the ones for the Andersons and handed them all over. “Ole’s grandson get that foot looked after?”
“Good as new,” Cai answered, willing to give up this harmless bit of news. “Learned to keep out from under a horse’s hooves.”
Before the man could press him for more gossip, Cai took the letters and touched them to the brim of his hat in a sort of salute. “Thanks, Jack. You stay warm.” He straightened and closed the shutter tightly. Not willing to go outside before he had to, he dropped into one of the long benches in the waiting area and stripped off his leather gloves, tucking them into his pocket. Then he carefully opened Edith’s letter, removing the single sheet of stationery.
Quickly, he read the formal salutation, the meager lines—once in disappointment and twice with growing annoyance. Oh, no you don’t, Edith. You’re not going to get away with a slim note. This is not the letter I had in mind.He would write and tell her so. Then he groaned, realizing that posting a return letter meant riding back to the ranch, writing everything out, and then returning, before heading home again.
Impossible to do within the next few days. More if the weather worsened.
With a grunt, he rose and strode outside, across the platform, down the stairs, and over to his horse. “Give me just a bit longer, boy.” He patted Rascal’s head then moved to untie the bedroll behind the saddle and draped the blanket over the horse’s back. “Then we can head back home.” He led the gelding over to a trough and let him drink before tying him to a nearby hitching rail.
Looking around as if he could conjure up pen, inkwell, and paper, Cai settled his gaze on the brick mercantile next to the hotel. He could buy what he needed, bring everything back to the train station, and write there. But that meant he’d have to deal with the unpleasant shopkeepers, who’d surely be curious about his purchases, when they knew the ranch was well supplied.
Better avoid the Cobbs and borrow what I need from the hotel, and, if necessary, pay for the cost of stamp, envelope, and paper.
Cai tucked the other letters inside his vest pocket and kept Edith’s in his hand. He strode over the large, rough-cut bricks paving the street.Laying out the same size bricks sure would make the job easier than having to cobble stones like puzzle pieces.
He entered through the double doors to see the hotel lobby was empty of pews and other wedding paraphernalia and restored to normal. On this occasion, Cai took his time looking around. After all, the place belonged to Edith’s brother. Tapestry wingchairs, blue velvet sofas, and marble-topped side tables sat in intimate groups on blue Persian rugs. The grand piano took up a far corner. Radiators on several walls kept the space plenty warm.
He caught a vague hint of beeswax and women’s perfume, which made him think of Edith’s spicy-rose scent.I could almost imagine she’d recently passed through here.
The rich setting was perfect for a woman like Edith and as different from his log home as could be.But the heart wants what it wants.Fighting a feeling of inadequacy, Cai sauntered over to the counter.
A young man in a blue uniform stood writing in a ledger. He looked up. “May I help you, sir?”
He didn’t really want to ask for a pen and stationery.How can I explain what I need?
The clerk looked past him, straightened, and beamed in the direction of the entrance.
Cai turned to see Caleb Livingston stride through the door and over to them.
“Mr. Livingston, you’re back! We didn’t expect you until tomorrow.”
