The Five Dollar Mail Book 3: The Road Home

5: The Rain is Full of Ghosts

Cover painting by Angela Taratuta. Chapter artwork of Dev made by me of found images. 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.

Francis Devereaux leaned back in the scoured, creaking chair that barely seemed to support his weight. Sighing heavily, he carefully folded the neatly written letter back the way it was when he'd received it. He was suddenly aware of how thick and dirty his fingers were as he eased the paper back inside its envelope and re-sealed it with wax. He felt old.

You're in it now, Little Firebrand.

He stared at the graceful hand looping his name out on the envelope. It wasn't the sort of letter he'd expected to have to dig into his memory for Canadian French, Michif, Shoshone and Absaroka in order to read.

This isn't going to go well for you, girl. Or for Peltier.

I wonder if Lynch knows. If he had to bet on it, he'd wager that his employer was unaware that his beautiful niece was sending love letters to his Crow scout.

He fished in the pocket of the dirty, unbuttoned flannel shirt hanging open across the front of his stained union suit, his fingers falling on the quirly Santana had rolled last time he was here. It was squashed, and losing bits of tobacco from either end. He pulled it out absently and pressed it against his upper lip, inhaling the sweet, charred scent of tobacco and paper. He found the old memories it evoked to be bitter and at the same comforting, and he had taken to keeping the battered smoke tucked away in his pocket. It took him back in his mind to far better days than these, days when he was young and happy and blissfully stupid. When there was love and passion and comfort, and people lived forever.

The world will grind you up. You and him and your hearts and this letter. Don't do this. Fall in love with someone safe.

He inhaled again, closing his eyes and letting the heady scent stir whispers through his mind, remembering. You know better, you ruined old bastard. You've been there. It's done and there's no going back. She's going to do this. She has to do this. You know she does.

"So," he muttered to himself, his voice creaky and hoarse from disuse. "I bring Peltier this letter...all hell's gonna break loose."

How long can they hide something like this? He slipped the battered quirly carefully back into his pocket and ran his fingers through the tangled brambles of his beard. We managed it. Nobody ever knew, not where it mattered. Not for sure, anyways. Well...nobody except probably Miss Fiona. I think she always suspected. Never spoke of it, though. She's got more savvy than she lets on.

He got up, sliding the envelope gently into his pocket and kicking his boots from his feet. But don't lie to yourself, Dev. We got away with it because it's not something people think right off and because we were out in the middle of damned nowhere and it was easy to forget about us. There's no way a scandal like Lynch's niece with a half breed is going to stay unnoticed. Not in Green River. Not under Lynch's nose. He shuffled across the packed earthen floor of the shack towards his bunk.

Still... He blew out the dented tin oil lamp with the missing chimney that sat on the crate beside his bunk and lay down, staring into the shadows of the overhead rafters. His bed felt particularly cold tonight, the feel of the chilly blankets sending an acute pang of longing through him. The silence inside the shack sucked the warmth away, made it all the darker. He imagined the sounds of sleep-heavy breath beside him and the feel of warm, gentle stirrings against his shoulder. Closing his eyes, he sighed and braced himself against the crushing weight of the emptiness. They deserve a chance. She sent me this because she knew I'd understand. She knew I'd get it into Peltier's hands.

He thought about what it must have taken for her to write this letter, and that the way she'd written and sent it told him volumes about how well she understood the seriousness of falling in love with the wrong person. If I were Peltier...I'd want to know what was in this letter. It would be worth everything. Worth dying for. Little Firebrand trusts me with this. I have to trust that she's a grown woman now and should be able to make her own choices. I have to see this through.

He was glad the military courier that had delivered it had turned around and gone back to Fort Bridger without lingering. His solitude would allow him to try to get some semblance of sleep and then ride out at first light for the Green.

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