Excerpt from PRAIRIE RIVER: A JOURNEY OF FAITH
by Kristiana Gregory
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A chill breeze rattled the branches overhead. Nessa stepped out of the shade into the sun to get warm. Still looking across the street she asked, "Where's the next stage going?"
"West, into Kansas," said Albert, "to Fort Larned. The army's there to protect the trail. This coach'll be delivering mail and some military wives, I hear."
Nessa turned to face him. "What else is out there?" she asked.
"Nothin'… just prairie and Indians. And the town there."
"What town?" She raised her eyebrows with interest.
Albert sighed. "Nessa, I got a bad feelin' you're gonna get into trouble again. You wouldn't like it out there. The town is little - so little it's barely a dot on the map."
Last year she had run away when one of the younger girls was adopted. Nessa had convinced herself that the family would want her, too, so she followed their carriage to the harbor. She was caught boarding a riverboat, heading south. That evening, Mr. Carey had whipped her in front of the other orphans as a lesson. Albert had begged her never to run away again.
Now to discourage her, he began repeating every dreadful, horrible thing he'd heard about this town called Prairie Rier. It was part of Fort Larned on the Santa Fe Trail and would take days to get there. Kiowa and Cheyenne war parties often ambushed travelers. Outlaws ran free because there were no lawmen, and the soldiers were too busy with the Indians, trying to keep the peace. Besides, there were rattlesnakes and bobcats. Wolves. Tornados.
And with President Lincoln dead, who knew what might happen to the country?
But the more he told her, the more Nessa's face lit up.
"Albert, d'you reckon the town might have families with mothers and fathers and children?"
At this, he threw his hands in the air.
"You can't go there, Nessa, you just can't. It's millions of miles from nowhere, it's dangerous, it's …" His words trailed off. He looked into her blue eyes and gently shook his head.
An unfamiliar silence fell between the two friends as they stood in the sunshine watching the crowd. Two ladies strolled by wearing black shawls for mourning. Their dresses rustled with their steps.
"…and Mrs. Lincoln's gown was covered with blood…" one of them was saying. "She and the President were holding hands like sweethearts the moment he was shot…"
This reminded Nessa that she was probably the only person not thinking about the nation's tragedy today. She wished she could pay attention to the news, but tomorrow she must be the bride of an older man she hardly knew, a man who did not want to have a family.
She felt cold and sick inside.
"Albert?" Nessa asked, looking down at her boots. "Do you think God truly said I'm supposed to marry Reverend McDuff?"
A sudden tapping at the window revealed the editor's angry face. Albert gave Nessa a good-bye glance and hurried into the building.
Just before she turned away, she saw her friend through the glass door, looking out at her. Albert was shaking his head and mouthing the words, "Don't … marry … him!"
Nessa felt a lump in her throat when he pressed his hand to the glass. She hurried forward and did the same, their palms and fingers perfectly matched. If the glass hadn't separated them, she was sure she would have clung to him.
From Prairie River: A Journey of Faith, copyright © by Kristiana Gregory.
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