On Fortune's Trail
Rated G
Summary: Attacked by stagecoach robbers and left stranded, Adam makes his way to an isolated farmhouse, where he finds an attractive young widow who helps him and changes his life. The story is based on Boccaccio's Rinaldo d'Asti tale.
The business trip to Placerville had taken longer than he'd expected. Adam sat in the hotel breakfast room waiting for Royal Caulfield, who was late, very late. Adam's coffee was now stone cold. The stage would leave within the hour. Adam drummed his fingers impatiently. The contract had been very lucrative but the aggravation he suffered working with Caulfield had been wearing on him.
Caulfield was a big and boisterous man who called attention to himself and enjoyed the fuss. He came sweeping into the crowded room shouting, “Adam Cartwright!” He was waving a piece of paper in the air. “Don't ya worry, Adam! I've got your bank draft right here.”
Adam cringed at the spectacle. A private man, he was embarrassed by the public announcement. It made him anxious that everyone now knew his business. He stood as Caulfield neared the table. Through gritted teeth he growled, “Sit down, Royal. And lower your voice, please.”
At a nearby table, three men watched with interest. The Cartwright name was familiar and it meant money to them. This was an unexpected opportunity. Thanks to Caulfield’s blunt announcement, the odds were tipped in their favor. It would be a pleasure to take a Cartwright down a peg or two and relieve him of the “burden” of that money. They quickly hatched a plan.
When Adam climbed in the stagecoach there were two other passengers, a salesman and a man in a clerical collar, making their way to Nevada. They introduced themselves as Ed Burton and Rev. Noble Peterson. He nodded, grunted, "Adam Cartwright," and tipped his hat. He settled himself on the bench opposite them. His mood was sour and he intended to ignore these men. He'd taken the time to hide the bank draft in his boot but still felt vulnerable.
As the stage made its way into the Sierras the temperature dropped. Adam sat with his arms crossed and stared out the window trying to pay no heed to the disagreement the two men were having. They were discussing religion, a topic, in Adam's opinion, hotly debated and never won.
“You sir, Mr. Cartwright. You look to be an honest and good man,” Rev. Peterson began. “Certainly you pray, don't you?”
“I was taught my prayers, but like most, I'm not as church-going as I could be.”
“But you are a God-fearing man. Did you pray this morning?”
“I’m sorry?”
“For a safe journey. Did you pray?”
“I will now.” Adam lowered his hat and slouched, intending to end the conversation.
**********
The road into the mountains narrowed into a steep, single lane path. It was a necessary but dangerous route filled with switch backs and blind spots for desperate thieves. In the last several months stagecoach robberies had been on the rise. The driver, Andy Brandt, knocked on the roof of the coach and warned his passengers to keep their guns at the ready if there was trouble.
Adam dozed as the stagecoach wended its way through the heavily forested mountains. The tall trees shaded the route and pine needles eerily deadened the sound of the wheels. All at once the horses stopped. The sudden lurch woke Adam. A bandit was standing in the path with his rifle aimed at Brandt. Adam placed his right hand over his holster and looked up to see two revolvers pointed at him.
“Put your hands up, Cartwright, and sit still,” Burton ordered, brandishing his gun. He took Adam's Colt revolver. The thief admired it and placed his gun back in its own holster.
“Reverend” Peterson opened the door and instructed Adam to step out of the coach. As he stepped down the bandit kicked him, causing him to fall to the ground on his knees. “You're gonna need those prayers now, Cartwright,” he snarled. He tugged at the clerical collar and tossed it on the ground.
“We know you got paid this morning and we mean to ease you of your burden. You can make this easy or hard. Which one?” he asked as he kicked Adam in the small of his back sending him face first on the ground.
Adam struggled to get up. He stood silently and glared at the two men.
“C'mon, Cartwright, hand it over.”
The third bandit moved closer and held Andy Brandt at bay. He demanded that the driver toss down the stagecoach locked express box. Brandt hurled the box at the bandit and grabbed the reins. The driver's whip cracked and the horses bolted leaving Adam stranded.
Furious with the escaping driver, the men lost their patience with Adam. They knocked him senseless with the grip of a revolver. Then they robbed his wallet and the bank draft and took his coat and boots. The “reverend” shot open the express box. Burton grabbed the money while the third bandit went into the woods to retrieve their horses. They fled leaving Adam alone on the path as night neared.
A short time later, Adam woke shivering. The temperature had plummeted and he needed to find shelter. He tried to stand and the world swam before him for a few moments. Blinking, he got his bearings and took inventory. “No gun. No coat. No boots. No matches.” He continued, “No wallet. No bank draft. Getting colder.” It was looking bleak. However, there was a clear sky and a full moon was rising. He could see the way ahead. From the landmarks he could remember before the robbery, he estimated that he was about three miles from the next way station. Three miles as the crow flies, that is, not as the road meandered.
He was shivering as he started out. He trudged forward toward the way station. Slowly he struggled, slipping and sliding and climbing, up and down the path until he finally reached a meadow at the foot of the mountain. Bruised and battered he rested a short time near a creek. He washed the blood from his head. His feet were blistered and walking was painful. He remembered a prayer his father had often recited in their journey West.
“Be with all, O Lord, who travel by land or by water; deliver them from all dangers, bring them home in safety….”
A short distance away he saw a faint light and proceeded toward it. Finding the gates open, he continued. There he spied a farmhouse and barn. He limped to the door and began to knock and shout for help.
A slender woman stepped out from the shadow of the barn carrying a rifle. She crept quietly aiming at the stranger at her door. She poked the barrel between his shoulders and demanded, “What are you doing here mister?”
He swayed and fell against the door. She lowered the gun and put her arm around his waist. “What in the world has happened to you?” she muttered under her breath. She opened the door and guided him to a chair near the fireplace.
His whole body shook with the cold. Teeth chattering, he could not speak, let alone explain his predicament. Gathering up a quilt, she wrapped it around his shoulders and told him to sit still.
She placed the kettle on the stove to heat some water. Then she poured a cup of strong coffee, lacing it with brandy. She placed the cup in his shaking hands and helped him sip from it. “Drink it slowly. We’ve got to get you warmed.”
She looked at him carefully trying to determine his character. Even under the dirt and stubble, and obvious pained expression, he did not look dangerous. His features were handsome. His chin and nose strong. His eyes sparkled with tears from the shivering. They looked kind. His now torn and muddied clothes had been of good quality. His feet were bloodied. He winced as he rubbed his head and his hand came away bloody.
When he gained some control, he told her that he was Adam Cartwright and that he had been robbed and left stranded. He asked only that she let him spend the night in a warm place. His manner was gentle and she knew not to fear him. She smiled and silenced him by putting her fingers to his lips.
She went to the kitchen and gathered up a towel, low basin, filling it with water, and some iodine. Gently, she dabbed at his head wound. “There will be time to tell the whole story. For now, you need to sit still while I look at your head.” He backed away from the sting of the iodine. She distracted him by saying, “I know the Cartwright name. Your family owns the Ponderosa.”
“That’s right, ma’am.”
She wrapped a long strip of cloth around the wound and turned her attention to his feet. He gasped as she pulled at the bloodied socks. Then she placed his feet in the warm water in the basin.
“Jenny Wilson. My name is Jenny Wilson,” she said. “That looks painful. I’ll get some salve for your feet.” She cleaned the scrapes and punctures and bandaged them.
“That’s better. Now let’s see what we can do about your clothes. Can you stand? I need to see how tall you are.”
He rose stiffly and stood before her. She stepped back and scrutinized Adam with his broad shoulders and muscular chest. "Yes. My husband's clothes should fit you just fine."
Painfully aware of her gaze, he looked at her sheepishly. He could not deny his disappointment at the mention of a husband. There was no evidence of another occupant in the cozy house.
“Let me help you into the bedroom.” He leaned on her as she led him to the neat room toward the back of the house. She asked him to sit on the bed while she lit a lamp. She opened the trunk at the foot of the bed and pulled out a soft gray wool shirt, black trousers and warm socks. She held them up and nodded. “They'll do.”
“Won’t your husband….”
She shook her head. “He died a year ago.” She paused a moment and then continued, “It's silly really. I should have gotten rid of these long ago. I just couldn't bear to part with everything.” Sighing, she handed Adam the clothing. “Here. Try them on.” She smiled and closed the door as she left the room.
A few minutes later, he limped out of the bedroom carrying his dirty and tattered clothes. She was stirring a pot of stew on the stovetop and looked up. The tall, dark, handsome stranger smiled warmly. “Thank you, Mrs. Wilson. I feel much better. Do I pass inspection?”
She thought that he looked like a long cool drink of water. It surprised her. She hadn't felt that way since Pete's death. She swallowed hard. “It's Jenny, Mr. Cartwright. Yes, you look much better. When your feet are a little better, you can try the boots.” She wiped her hands on her apron. “Just drop the clothes. I’ll wash and mend them later.”
“Thank you, Jenny,” he replied softly. “Please call me Adam.” He was self conscious under her close attention. “That stew smells awfully good,” he said trying to take focus away from him.
“It’ll be ready in a few minutes.”
Adam sat quietly near the fireplace as Jenny continued to make dinner. He stared into the flames, lost in thought. His shoulders were hunched and he looked profoundly tired when she approached. “I thought we would eat here instead of the table. It's warmer.”
He smiled as he took the bowl of stew and the spoon that was offered.
“A penny for your thoughts….”
“What?”
“You looked so forlorn. I thought maybe you'd tell me what happened today.”
Adam gave her a faithful account of Royal Caulfield's gaffe, the subsequent robbery and his struggle to find shelter. He even told her about the curious admonishments about prayers. He began to express his gratitude when she interrupted, “You're safe and warm now. It was just your pride that was hurt and money that you lost. No permanent damage.”
He gazed deeply into her eyes. He thought he could get lost in eyes like hers. He nodded. “You're right.” He poked at the head bandage and asked her to tell her story.
“It's everyone's story, I guess, and mine alone. I met Pete when we were students at Oberlin College. We fell in love and married after graduation. We were, at once, heartbroken with the horror of the War and starry-eyed about the promise of the West. We dreamt we would be
like Candide and live simply and cultivate a new garden. We were headed to California but stopped here when we saw a golden sunset. How naive we were!
We worked well as a team. We staked our claim and, with the help of our neighbors, we built our house and barn. We thought with our love and our hard work, everything would work out. We didn't count on the harsh winters and….” Her eyes were brimming with tears. She swallowed
hard and continued, “Pete was helping the neighbors plant and the boy was sick with influenza. The boy got better and Pete was gone in a week's time.”
Adam reached out and squeezed her hand. He whispered, “I'm sorry.”
“Well, I should have left then and there but I couldn't. Not then.”
“And now?”
“I don't know. I make do. The neighbors help.” She wiped the tears from her eyes. "You must be exhausted, Adam.”
He yawned and shook his head to stave off sleep. It was a losing battle. “If I can have a blanket, I'll sleep here by the fire.”
“I don't think that is wise.”
He wrinkled his brow and looked at her askance.
“You're too tall to sleep on the settee and you're likely to stiffen up if you sleep on the cold floor. I can't lift you.”
“What are you suggesting?”
“You'll sleep in my bed. I insist. I'll sleep out here.” She held out hand and helped him up. Then she gently pushed him toward the bedroom. “Good night, Adam Cartwright.” She chuckled. “And thank God and all the saints for your sparing your life today.”
**********
The sun was shining brightly when he woke. Adam took a moment to clear his head. He was in an unfamiliar bedroom and every inch of him was sore. He smelled hot coffee so he rose, dressed with some difficulty, and made his way from the bedroom toward the welcome aroma. He poured himself a cup and sat at the table savoring it.
He didn’t know how long he had sat there when the door opened and a cold sobering breeze blew in. Jenny walked in carrying an egg basket and a pail of milk. “Oh, you're up. I didn’t want to wake you. You were sleeping so soundly. How do you feel this morning?”
He looked up to meet her gaze. “Better, thanks. Did I snore?”
“Like a freight train,” she teased him.
Ill at ease, he pulled at his ear. “Sorry. I should be on my way, I’ve bothered you enough.” He seemed eager to leave but grimaced as he shifted in the chair. His knee bothered him and he couldn’t find a way to sit comfortably.
“Why don’t you sit over by the fire and I’ll fix you some breakfast.” She watched him hobble to the settee and plop down hard. He caught her watching him.
“And how are you planning on leaving, Mr. Cartwright? Walking doesn’t seem to be much of an option this morning. You should wait until the swelling goes down and you can wear my husband's boots.”
He sighed in frustration and put his feet up. She was right, of course, but she didn't have to be so pleased with herself.
After breakfast, she had farm chores to do. She left him to his own devices. He picked up the books on the table and began to browse through them.
Richard Allen’s The American Farm Book was familiar. His father had a well-worn copy in his collection. On the flyleaf, in a man’s handwriting, he read the following, “To my dear wife, Jenny, as we start our adventure. May we, like Candide, be contented with sending thither the produce of our garden, which we cultivate with our own hands. June 1862.” A slender ribbon marked the chapter about grains and the planting of winter wheat.
Next he picked up Walden and it opened to a passage about solitude. Underlined was the sentence, “The farmer can work alone in the field or the woods all day, hoeing or chopping, and not feel lonesome, because he is employed; but when he comes home at night he cannot sit down in a room alone, at the mercy of his thoughts….” In the margin, in faint pencil, she had written. “Silly goose.” He laughed at her condemnation. He agreed with her. Thoreau could indulge in his solitude. Out here where distances were greater and people scarce, it was often a hard, sad way of life.
He sat back and closed his eyes. This small slender bold woman was an enigma to him. Her fresh frank face was not classically beautiful, still it pleased him. It showed a determination in her character. Her warmth was conveyed in the dark eyes. He was jolted from his thoughts when he heard her calling, “C’mon, Cleo. Let’s go in the house and get warm.”
The door opened and she stepped in. A calico cat was following her and meowing loudly. Her entrance was anything but elegant. Her face was flushed with the cold. She was wrapped in her late husband’s farm coat and his wool hat was pulled down over her ears. Her heavy boots clanked as she led the way to the fireplace.
“Toss me the throw please.”
Amused by her manner and the comical scene, he reached behind him and retrieved the small blanket. He handed it to her. She knelt and placed it on the hearth. Then she reached in the large pockets and pulled out four newborn kittens. Cleo settled on the blanket and the mewing kittens quickly found her and began nursing.
“It’s so cold out there that she burrowed into the hay to have them. I can’t let her hide them. I can’t have them feral. I promised the neighbors kittens.”
She pulled off the hat and let down the coils of her dark hair. Thick strands fell forward as she petted the cat. He smiled at the scene, so natural and comfortable and everyday. Who was this woman? A friend to man and beast in need of help, independent and vulnerable, alone on this farm. An mystery he’d need to explore.
He held out his hand to help her stand and gasped, “They’re like ice.” He sat her in the chair near the fire and took her hands in his to warm them. He unbuttoned her cuffs and pushed the sleeves to her elbows. Grabbing the jar from the table, he said, “This salve will prevent the chapping.”
She looked puzzled as he began to rub her hands.
“A bit of your own medicine, Jenny.”
“Oh yes, I ….” Her voice dropped. This tall dark stranger continued to mystify her. She thought, he was a Cartwright, a man of considerable wealth. His strong shoulders and muscular build meant he was familiar with hard work. His touch was soft denoting a caring nature. And his mannerly demeanor bespoke a certain gentility. His warm eyes danced in the firelight. She blushed when she realized he was watching her and drew her arms back. “Thank you. I’m fine now.”
That evening they sat on the settee and she mended his shirt. Cleo sat between them, a purring chaperone.
“You were reading Thoreau earlier,” she said, opening the conversation.
“Yes, I hope you don’t mind. He is a favorite of mine.”
She shook her head. “Of course not. He’s a bit of a dreamer, isn’t he?”
He turned toward her and asked, “In which way?”
“Well, when I read him in college I thought that his retreat to Walden was a bold move.”
“And now?”
“His isolation was by choice and easily reversed if need be. I don’t doubt his good intentions and his devotion to nature but Walden was not so secluded was it?”
Adam smiled. “You’re right. He could be seen often at Harvard when I was there.”
“Harvard?”
“Yes. I was born in Boston and went back east for college. But tell me more about Thoreau.”
“For poetry and politics I still find him an inspiration, but for advice, I rely on Mr. Allen’s farming book.”
Adam laughed out loud. “I concede your point.”
She held the shirt out in front of her. “There, it’s done. It’s wearable but only for work.”
“Thank you, Jenny.”
The kittens mewed and Cleo sat up and yawned. She stretched and jumped down to nurse them.
“I think she’s telling us something.” He looked over and saw Jenny yawning as well.
“I think maybe she is.” She stood and looked toward the bedroom. “I’ll be back shortly.”
She lit a candle in the bedroom and undressed. She slipped on her nightgown and robe and hung her dress on the peg. Then she washed her face. Finally she brushed her hair and braided it in a thick plait. She grabbed a pillow and quilt and stepped out into the large room.
“I’ll be saying ‘goodnight’ then, Adam.”
He stood and thought her braided hair made her look so young. She’d had a hard time of it of late, but it had not spoiled her looks. Nor, judging by their conversations, had it hardened her heart. He walked to the bedroom and turned to her. “Good night, Jenny. Sleep well.” Then he closed the door.
She left the candle in the bedroom. Adam wasn’t as tired as she and he looked around the dimly lit room. There was a green cloth bound book on the table near the bed. He opened it to find her journal. Sheepishly, he gave in to the temptation to read and found the entry describing the sunset she said had ended their search for a claim:
“It was late afternoon when we came over the hill and were dumbstruck as we watched the sun set over the valley. In the distance the snow capped mountains caught the last rays of sun. Bands of yellow morphed to orange to pink to violet and finally to black. We held each other and knew we would go no further. We would spend our days in this valley. We had found our new home.
We made camp and the next morning Pete traveled to Carson City to file our claim. I was left with the mules and cow and the wagon. I had the rifle for protection but all was peaceful. Late in the day, Pete came riding in leading a stout saddle pony for me. I read the claim document, the promise of our farm and a new life here in Nevada.”
His heart ached for their optimism, so much like his when he first saw the land that would become the Ponderosa.
A few weeks later, she wrote:
“We can not afford help so we work from sunrise to sunset and have plowed two acres for vegetables and small fruit. Mother would be scandalized to see my honey-brown skin and sun-streaked locks.”
And the end of summer she recorded their triumph:
“We ate bread from our own wheat, butter from our cows, and strawberries!”
He smiled and remembered Hop Sing’s first garden and how wonderful everything tasted. He leafed through until he found the entry about Pete’s death. In a short entry, she merely wrote:
“Pete has died. I cannot bear his loss.”
After that the entries became more and more prosaic. Finally they became a mere recording of plantings and crop yield. The latest entry recorded a small profit and a deposit in the bank. “Fifty dollars more and the homestead will be mine. Frank Mueller has made a fair offer for the farm.”
Adam closed the book. He put out the candle and lay back on the pillows. He fell asleep thinking of Inger and Marie, those brave women who had made the same leap as Jenny.
**********
She rose before sunrise and tiptoed into the bedroom carrying the pillow and quilt. In the dim light from the fireplace, she walked to the bed. Adam was sleeping on his back and snoring softly. She watched the steady rise and fall of his chest. She sat on the edge of the bed and rested her hand on his chest to feel the regular heartbeat. In the year since Pete's death, she'd missed this quiet strength, even in repose, most. He stirred in his sleep and reached out to pull her close to him. He turned on his side and wrapped his arm around her waist, pinning her to the bed. He sighed and fell into a deep sleep.
She felt his breath on her neck. His warmth warmed her heart. “Dear God in Heaven, what am I doing?” she thought.
**********
In the morning he found the razor near the basin and rubbed the rough stubble of several days’ beard on his chin. He shaved and wiped the lather from his face. He looked into the mirror and saw that the bruising was fading. “I look almost human again,” he thought. Then he buttoned his black shirt and stepped out into the cabin’s large room.
“That coffee smells good.”
“Oh Adam, you startled me,” Jenny said as she wiped her hands on her apron. “I see you found the razor. You look much better this morning.”
“I feel better,” he answered as he accepted the cup of coffee she offered. “Thank you.”
“Eggs?” she asked as he sat down at the table.
“Sure. I think I should leave today, Jenny. It’s been three days. If I know my family, they’re out looking for me. Besides, I’ve taken up enough of your time.” He sat uncharacteristically awkward, gripping the coffee cup in both hands.
Her back was to him as she prepared his breakfast. She could hide her disappointment while she gained her composure. She swallowed and said, “The boots are in the trunk at the foot of the bed.”
“What?”
“Pete’s boots. You can’t leave here without boots.”
Their banal conversation focused on the horse and the best route to Carson City. Neither could meet the other’s glance. Each found it hard to swallow as they ate. Both were on edge and thinking of what had happened a few hours before.
Finally Adam broke the ice. “Jenny, I had a dream,” he began. “At least I think it was a dream. I…you were beside me and…” He took a deep breath. “It was a dream. I'm sorry.” He stared into his coffee cup.
“It wasn't a dream.”
“What?” he was taken aback. “I am so sorry, Jenny. I…”
“I'm not.”
He looked in to her sparkling eyes. “You're not…”
She finished his sentence, “sorry about this morning. I'm sorry that you were beaten and robbed. I'm sorry that you struggled to get here. But I am not sorry that you found this house or walked through the door.” She paused a moment. “I'm not sorry that you… held me.” She blushed. Tears streamed down her cheeks. “You made me feel alive for the first time since Pete died.”
He stood and gathered her into his arms. Cupping her face in his hands, he leaned down and kissed her. His tongue parted her lips and he kissed her again deeply. A shiver went down her spine.
**********
Adam rode out later that morning on Pete’s dark bay, Milton. He promised to send the horse back when he got to Carson City and to send word when he reached home. She stood watching until he was long out of sight. Her heart ached and she wiped the tears on her cheeks.
The leave-taking was not without regrets for Adam either. Even now he felt her soft kisses on his lips and smelled her lingering scent of lavender on his shirt. In his mind’s ear he heard the music of her laughter. She had worked her way into his heart in a matter of a few days. He felt the loss of her company immediately and had a compensating hope that he would return to her one day.
He rode into Carson City and dismounted in front of the Sheriff’s Office. He wrapped the reins around the hitching rail and stepped on to the boardwalk.
“Adam Cartwright! We had you for dead!” Deputy Graser shouted.
Adam smiled and shook the deputy’s hand. “I’m happy to say I am alive and well, Kermit, though considerably lighter in cash. I was bushwhacked a couple of days ago.”
“Don’t we know it. Andy Brandt came barrelin’ in to town and said he escaped with his life. The stage was robbed and you was dead.”
“My family thinks that?”
“Yeah. We wired them. They’ve been out lookin’ for you. Came back yesterday all broken hearted not finding you. And here you stand, livin’ and breathin’. Ain’t that somethin’?”
“Are they still here?”
“No, left this morning after the trial.”
“Trial?”
“Yeah. Those fellers who killed….er…robbed you killed Anna Mae Wertz. We caught ‘em right away. They’re in the jail. Judge sentenced them to hang.”
Adam shook his head in disbelief.
“Your pa took the stuff they stole from you. They had your gun and the bank draft. One of ‘em was wearing your coat and boots. You wanna see them varmits?”
“Sure.” He squared his shoulders and walked into the Sheriff’s Office. He walked back to the cells and glared at the prisoners.
It was the “Reverend” Peterson who spoke first. “Well, look here fellas….it’s Adam Cartwright back from the dead! I guess your prayers were mighty powerful.”
“And yours won’t save you from the gallows,” he said under his breath. Adam turned on his heel and left.
**********
Adam stabled Milton at the livery and arranged for the horse’s care. Then he walked into the Land Office to settle some business there. Finally he made his way to the saloon. He needed a strong drink to erase the memory of the thieves. He needed another to nurse the emptiness he felt away from Jenny.
He hired a horse the next morning and rode straight through to the Ponderosa arriving at dusk. It was Hoss, who was just coming in from the barn, who spotted him first. He sent up a whoop and a holler that shattered the mournful silence in the house.
“Adam! Ain’t ya the most beautiful sight I ever seen!” Adam dismounted and Hoss bear hugged him. “Oh Lordy, Adam, we thought you were dead!”
Ben and Joe came running from the house, not believing what they’d just heard. Adam alive?
“Be careful, Hoss. You don’t want to squeeze him to death just when we got him back,” Joe teased.
Ben wiped tears from his eyes and grabbed Adam in his grateful arms.
**********
Epilogue
The bay horse was returned when Frank Mueller went to Carson City for supplies a week or so later. Mueller tied Milton to his wagon and brought him back to Jenny. Over a glass of cold cider he told her the news from town. There was a story about Adam Cartwright and some thieves and their hanging. He reckoned Adam Cartwright was the one who had borrowed the horse. She nodded but did not add to the story.
Then Mueller made his customary offer for the farm and the livestock. It was a fair offer. He would pay the government what was owed on the homestead and give her $800. He advised her she was too young and too pretty to live on the farm all alone. She could start over again somewhere without so many memories. She told him what she always said, she would think on it.
He gave her the mail he’d collected in Carson City and left. There were letters from home with familiar handwriting and a cream envelope with a postmark from Virginia City. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and exhaled slowly. Anxious, she said a silent prayer and opened the letter from Adam.
My dearest Jenny,
I have made it safely home and yet I am not at ease. The memory of those few sweet days we spent together has stayed with me. I have come to see that my troubles on my journey were really my fortunes, indeed, because they led me to you.
I am sending you the final receipt on your claim in thanks for your kindness to me. I was perhaps presumptuous in my action but I want you to have, like Thoreau, a choice about your isolation. In truth, I long for you to quit the farm to be nearer to me. You assert a power over me. I wake with the remembrance of your soft kisses. You are in my dreams. I hope that you have no doubt of the nature of this letter. You are in my heart, you are my heart.
My dearest Jenny, I am yours if you will have me,
Adam
One morning a few weeks later, she was weeding the garden when heard a horse whinny in the distance. She stood and looked to see two men approaching in a wagon. She smiled and waved as she recognized Adam. She wiped her hands on her apron and tucked the stray strand of hair back into her bun.
“That’s her then,” Hoss said.
Adam nodded but kept his eyes on Jenny. He was taking in everything about her, everything he’d missed since he’d been there a month ago.
“She’s real pretty, Adam.”
Adam drove into the yard and reined the horses. He jumped down to greet Jenny with open arms as she ran to him. He lifted her and twirled her around. Her laughter rang out and he joined in. He put her down and held her close. Then he bent down to whisper in her ear how much he loved her. She leaned back from his embrace and grinned widely. She tilted her head and he kissed her.