Page 3 of Chloe's Christmas Escape
Pushing his way into the boarding house, his eyes sought the housekeeper that was usually on duty during the day. When he didn’t spot her right away, he headed for the kitchen.
As he entered, the cook looked up from the table where she was cutting vegetables. “Did you need something?”
“Would it be too much of a bother to get some hot water?” He could feel his cheeks heating. He hated inconveniencing anyone, and his mother had taught him never to invade a woman’s kitchen.
The cook shook her head and pointed toward the stove with her knife. “The kettle is hot. I figured you’d be in at some point.” She turned and continued slicing a carrot.
That kindness was something he appreciated about the Chicago Boarding House. An older couple owned the boarding house. They laid out the rules and asked all their guests to follow them. The proprietors didn’t bother anyone, Jackson only saw them at dinner time. Most of the boarders kept to themselves unless they needed something. But nothing escaped the staff’s attention. The staff had noticed his patterns after several days and been accommodating in ways he’d never imagined from strangers.
“That predictable, am I?” he teased, moving toward the stove. The older woman’s laughter made him feel lighter.
“Child, you have been here for several weeks. You don’t ask for much and you’re always polite. We like that in a guest and we’re happy to accommodate you.”
“Now if I could find a wife as sweet as you, I’d be on my way to a good life.” Jackson smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.
“Pfft.” The cook waved a hand and picked up the sliced carrots, placing them in the bowl on the table before selecting another. “You watch those women. You’re too nice and will get your heart broken if you’re not careful.”
He let himself out of the kitchen, taking the kettle up to his room with him, not sure there was a proper response to her opinion. His friends were getting married now, as if this was just something that was to be done.
The pain in his leg grew with every step he climbed to get to his room. He could feel the sweat dripping from his forehead and quickly brushed it aside with the fabric of his shirt sleeve. The fire was warm as he moved into his room and placed the kettle on the brick hearth. He needed to tend to his leg.
Quickly shucking his pants, he settled on the chair by the fire and poured some of the hot water into his washbasin, returning the kettle to the hearth to keep it warm. Dipping the towel in the steaming water, he hissed slightly as he wrung it out. The bite of the water burned his fingers as he draped the towel around his upper thigh and extended his leg towards the fire.
The heat seeped into the muscle, and Jackson could feel his molars unclenching. While it was an inconvenience to stop several times during the day to apply heat, the process worked.
His hand reached over to the table, and he pulled out the letter from his childhood friend, Silas Beausignor. Scanning the letter, his eyes fell once more on the last paragraph, which contained the information he was looking for.
We’ve settled in Sterling, Colorado. Charlie, Will, John and the others. Charlie even got married. Who’d have thought it?
John was less of a surprise. We all knew he was going to be the first to get married, but Charlie? His mama was beyond thrilled.
When you’re able to travel, come on out. There’s no lawman here yet. I think Charlie always hoped it would be you.
~S
Jackson ran his hands over the rough parchment and frayed edges of the stationery as he read the words once more. He remembered when his mama had passed, Silas was the first one to send a letter of condolence. Since Jackson left Omaha for the war, Silas was the one to keep in touch through writing. When Jackson’s spirits were at his lowest, this letter arrived like a lifeline, bringing him hope.
A home of his own sounded too good to be true.
His father had passed while he was at war, and Jackson had felt rudderless when he received the news. Since he was a marshal before the war, they reinstated his appointment after the war. He wondered how long it would take for his leg to heal completely and for the marshals not to notice his injury.
After sending a letter to his Uncle Mac asking for his thoughts, Jackson headed to Chicago to wait for an assignment. There was already a marshal that served the lower Nebraska Territory. A man named Briggs lived in Flat River, but split his time between Grand Platte, Lincoln, and Omaha.
Jackson didn’t want to move any further north.
Colorado, however, was unfamiliar territory. If he was prepared to make Sterling, Colorado his home base, it was a doable option. So, he planned.
He could leave his advertisement in the paper and have the post office forward any letters that arrived on toward Silas’ address in Colorado.
He’d leave in the next few days before winter settled in. Mentally he calculated the distance between Chicago and where Silas said the town of Sterling was on the Colorado prairie. Jackson thought it would take about a week to get home to Omaha and deal with his parents’ house. After that, it would take another week to get to Sterling.
The thought of spending that long on a crowded stagecoach wasn’t appealing, but the restlessness got the better of him. Now he had something to look forward to. He’d send a note ahead to Silas to let him know he was coming. As he folded up the letter and placed it back on the side table, he lifted the missive from his uncle.
Mac would arrive in eight days.
A mere 192 hours and an eternity of possibilities lay ahead.
Lifting the rag, he put it in the water, then traced his fingers around the puckered skin. The doctor was surprised that Jackson didn’t end up with a serious infection or lead poisoning.
