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

195: Not If You Ever Want To Go Home

Cover painting by Angela Taratuta. Chapter artwork of Fiona by Diego Candia. All graphics by me.

Book 1: The Green, Book 2: Lynch's Boys, Book 3: The Road Home, and the Riders & Kickers Anthology are available on Amazon under the name Regina Shelley. So if you hate waiting for chapter posts and/or want a more polished read, the finished product is available now.

The sun climbed into the rosy sky, breathing the promise of warmth into the chilly air. Soldiers and civilians briskly went about their affairs in the stockaded yard of the fort, hurrying back and forth past the shaded porch of the guest quarters. She was overwhelmed with relief that today she'd be returning to the Green, to Storm, away from the monotony of blue coats and brown dust and the staring eyes and overheard comments from strangers. She rolled the rocking chair back across the uneven stone of the guest cabin's porch, wondering if it was the same chair she'd been sitting in when she had first met Storm.

She knew it had only been a few days since she'd seen him, but it had felt like months. He was air and sweet water and life to her, and outside of his presence, she felt herself drying and curling like the leaves on a cut branch.

Gazing across the barren yard, she remembered him riding towards her and how her heart had seemed to recognize him even then, how it had seemed to fly to him like a pet bird and had never returned to her since. She sighed heavily, Aunt Gennie's voice echoing in her mind again. 'Don't ever fall in love with an American man,' she had said. 'Not if you ever want to go home.'

A flurry of color and movement caught her eye, and she gasped, startled out of her thoughts. A pair of native scouts were making their way across the yard from the officer's quarters. Her breath caught in her throat before she focused on them and realized that she wasn't seeing Storm. One of them was much older, with long, silver-gray braids hanging down his back from beneath his battered, black bowler. He wore a white, color-striped Hudson Bay coat nearly identical to the one Storm wore. The other looked middle-aged, his face broad and dark and creased with wind and sun. He wore a battered blue military coat with his leather breeches, the eclectic mix of garments giving him a rakish look. Relief and disappointment swirled together inside her as she got up, and waved an arm broadly at them.

They stopped, staring at her with uncertainty. The middle-aged man cocked his head at her, questions all over his stern and craggy face.

She nodded, gesturing them to approach.

They ambled over, the older man pulling his hat off and nodding at her, and stood expectantly looking at her from the edge of the porch.

"Pardon my boldness, please," she started, nervous. "I wonder if I might ask you something?"

"Of course, miss." The old man's eyes were curious in his weathered face, gentle and open.

"Could you perhaps..." She took in a deep breath, glancing around the yard to see who might be watching. "I would very much like to know what's going on outside...with...the Paiutes."