The Five Dollar Mail (Book 1: The Green & Book 2: Lynch's Boys)

69: Party of Nine

Cover painting by Angela Taratuta. Chapter artwork of Rosie by Melissa Zayas. All graphics by me.

Rosie Burgess wondered at her luck. She knew beyond a shadow of doubt that she would be the envy of the girls in school tomorrow, and could not help wonder what she had done that the universe would reward her in this fashion. And tomorrow, when her schoolmates would be hanging on her every word in the morning, she intended to have plenty to tell them.

Of all the nights her father could have decided to take supper in town with her, the idea that he might have done so on the exact same night that the Pony Express mail crew from the nearby station house was doing the same was nigh unbelievable.

Unbelievable as it may have been, there they were, jostling around the dining room of Abigail's, shoving tables together and throwing their coats and hats onto the backs of the chairs. She didn't know all their names, but she knew most of their faces. Most everyone did. She'd seen them around town, and a few of them had even nodded and doffed their hats to her as they passed, making her heart flutter and bringing a warm blush to her face. She would not be able to sleep tonight. She just knew it. Already she wanted it to be first thing tomorrow at school.

And there was Jesse Hansen, who was much older than she was, tall and golden and so handsome that she had to force herself not to stare. I wonder how long his ears burn from him being talked about when he's spotted in town by the girls. He had smiled and tipped his hat once on the street and she'd been unable to think of anything else the whole rest of the day. And half her schoolmates didn't even believe her when she had told them about it later.

And Tommy Page, younger and closer to her age, who had actually spoken to her in the mercantile once about a book. The redhaired Irish coach driver was there with his arm in a sling, as well as the dark, handsome driver she saw frequently in town. Barry, or some such thing was his name. They said he was Eye-talian. Both of them had been locked up in Sheriff Holt's jail a few times for brawling.

What if a fight breaks out? Her mouth dropped open slightly with the thought. It could happen, Lynch's boys are rounders and troublemakers, so everyone says.

It suddenly felt more than slightly dangerous in the room. Her heart had started to pound.

She glanced at her father, eating a second bowl of stew and fussing distracted over a ledger, and wondered if he knew she was going to burst at any moment. She stared at her own bowl, suddenly unable to eat, her eyes sneaking back over to the tables Lynch's crew had gathered around. Miss Lewis-Smythe, the stationkeeper's daughter or niece or whatever she was, looked as beautiful as she always did, despite the weary slump of her shoulders and the bruise on her face. In fact, they all looked pretty unhappy, and Jesse Hansen looked positively exhausted. Rosie wondered if it was the impending trial that had them all looking so grim. Everyone in town knew that one of Lynch's crew, the Indian fellow, was going to trial for attempted murder. And that one of the Yarls was also going to trial for assaulting Miss Lewis-Smythe. Is that mark on her face where he hit her?

She had no problem believing the Yarl boy was guilty. Everyone knew about how much those boys like to fight. They were bullies. There had been big news at school that they'd killed one of the riders, but that had turned out to have been a false rumor. And as for Mr. Lynch's half-breed rider...well...Rosie really did not want to believe he was guilty of anything like attempted murder. So she opted not to.

She wondered who the lady with the spectacles was, and she didn't recognize the man with the frizzy brown hair. They say there's a foreigner minding the horses at the mail station. That's probably him. The Mexican boy she was pretty sure she had seen around, although he'd never spoken to her.

She saw Tommy quickly jab his elbow into the boy's side. The boy's eyes snapped up, startled, and his gaze connected with hers. Heat flooded her face, and she quickly cut her eyes back to her stew. She knew her ears were probably turning red as well. He'd caught her looking, there was no denying it. And there was no doubt that Tommy had seen her eyeing them even before that. She peripherally saw Tommy's lips move, saw the Hispanic boy cut his eyes quickly back to the table at whatever Tommy had said to him. His lips curled in a faint smile and he stole another clumsy glance.

They're talking about me. I can't stand it. Her heart was thudding out of her chest. How her father didn't hear it's wild beating was anyone's guess. How they can't hear it is anyone's guess.

Her father finally glanced up at the flurry of activity, hearing chairs scraping and voices, and scowled at the crew seating themselves at the other table. He gave her what she supposed he thought was a commiserating glance, shook his head in annoyance, and went back to his ledger.

"What?" she said, pushing her stew around in her bowl, feigning ignorance. She knew 'what'.

"I can do without the noise," he said, without looking up. "Abigail Klaus is lucky the only other place to get supper in town is the saloon. She lets anyone in here."

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