The Five Dollar Mail Book 3: The Road Home

91: Shattered

Cover painting by Angela Taratuta. Chapter artwork of Wash constructed of found images by me. 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.

Rosie was glad that Miss Lily was letting her help put the supplies away. Helping out in the kitchen made her feel useful, like she belonged there. She still felt a bit like a guest here at the station, and figured helping out with the chores would help her adjust to the idea that this was, for the time being, her home. And Miss Lily was kind and gentle and welcoming, and Rosie had liked her immediately.

The ride home from town after school had been awkward and tense. She knew that Wash was not himself. She knew from his near-silence most of the way home and how short and humorless he'd been unloading the supplies into the kitchen. And worse, he had failed to indulge in his usual habit of loitering in the kitchen while Miss Lily went about preparing for supper. Instead, he had muttered something about target practice and disappeared She figured he had to be down by the river now, judging from the faint, muffled popping of uniformly-spaced gunshots echoing in the surrounding hills.

She hefted the sack of flour she was holding into the flour bin and watched Miss Lily haul a kettle of water over to one of the stoves. "Is it safe to go down there?" she asked, pointing in the direction of the river. "I'm not going to get myself shot, am I?"

Miss Lily looked up, her kind, gray eyes worried. "You can go down there, honey. They shoot against a steep slope, aiming away from the station." She gave Rosie a knowing look. "I can tell something's bothering Wash. It's not like him to be so quiet like that."

"Yes'm," Rosie nodded. "I want to see if he's alright."

The woman gave Rosie a faint, gentle smile. "I think maybe you should."

Rosie dusted her hands off and headed out into the yard, into the warmth of the late afternoon. She strode across the dusty yard, to where the worn footpath threaded through the tall yellow grass and cottonwoods and led to the river.

She could smell the tang of saltpeter, and hear the gurgle of water tumbling through rocks. A magpie chattered somewhere in the trees. "Wash?"

"Aye, lass?" He'd paused in the act of aiming his pistol at a row of tin cans and bottles lined up on a fallen tree, and quickly lowered the gun, uncocking it. The afternoon sun shafted through the blue haze of gunpowder smoke, and broken glass glittered on the ground beneath the tree. From the look of it, this was where the crew came to shoot at targets.

"Go ahead," she said, nodding at the gun in his hand. "I...don't think I've ever seen you shoot. They say you're fast."

She had hoped to lighten his mood, but the heavy look on his face stayed put. Why is he so sad? Fear fluttered through her. Is he having second thoughts about me being here? Has he decided that he's made a mistake?

He swept a messy copper forelock out of his eyes and turned back to the fallen tree, and before she even realized he was moving, a barrage of gunshots made her jump as the cans and bottles exploded. Her mouth dropped open. She didn't realize it was even possible to fire a pistol that quickly.

Wash looked grim as he reholstered his pistol. "Aye, lass," he muttered unhappily. "I'm fast, so I am." The tone in his voice was not one of pride. He sounded almost ashamed or embarrassed. "Is everything alright?"

"I don't know," she said. "I came out here to ask you the same thing." She stepped towards him timidly. "Wash..." she blurted, terrified of what he might say. "I can tell you're upset about something. Are you thinking maybe I should go? Are you reconsidering having me stay here? You're not yourself today, ever since you and Mister Hungerford came to get us in the wagon. And I...well, I was worried about you. I don't want..."

"No." Wash's shoulders slumped and he shook his head adamantly. "No, Rosie, lass, it's not that that. Jaysus." He stalked over to the tree, gingerly brushed off the jagged remains of a whiskey bottle, and sat down. "I'm sorry I worried you," he murmured, giving her a sheepish look. "Of course I don't want you to go. It's you that's making it bearable around here, so it is."

Rosie wondered if he could see her deflating with relief. "Oh," she said in a small voice. If he sent me away...I think I might die of heartbreak. "Then why do you seem so sad?"

He shook his head, roaching his hair back, and giving her a bitter attempt at a smile. "I made this mess me own stupid self, me bonny girl. Miss Sullivan's afraid to be around me."

"What?" The idea was ludicrous. Afraid? Of Wash? "Why? How did you..."

"All but accused me of lying, so she did."

Rosie's mouth dropped open again. She snapped it shut, feeling indignation and the urge to leap to his defense welling inside her. "Why would she..."

"Oh, because I am lying to her, sure. I haven't been honest with the woman since I met her." He slid off the tree and started pacing as he talked. "I haven't figured out exactly how to tell her I'm a criminal from a slum."

It took her a few moments to process all this. A criminal? It had occurred to her that he might be a man who'd lived outside the law, but hearing him admit it wasn't at all how she imagined it might be. This was Wash...gentle, freckle-faced Wash...who was trying to take care of her and who cared deeply for his friends. Wash who had saved her. She walked over and carefully blew the sparkling shards of glass away and sat down on the log. "You're not a criminal," she said quietly. "Wash, I don't know what you did before now...but I don't care. Who you are now is all that matters."

His face was flushed, and he looked distraught and agonized, and she realized it was almost physically painful to see him so unhappy. "Wash..." she said. "Everyone here thinks so highly of you. Why do you care what she thinks?"

He glanced at her, meeting her gaze, before staring into the dust at his feet. "Because...well, because I do."

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