Excerpt of Expressly Yours, Samantha by Becky Lower

Missouri, March 1860

If Samantha spent one more night in the tiny cabin belonging to her uncle, she would not be a virgin by morning. Even while she sat beside her aunt the previous evening, leaning over to hear her aunt’s halted words as she dictated a final letter to her mother, Samantha’s panic rose. Her hands shook as she wrote the words her aunt spoke, putting them down on paper to send to Hilda’s mother and Samantha’s own grandmother, who was close to death herself back in Massachusetts. Aunt Hilda had shielded her from Uncle Jack the best she could for the past two years, but her aunt would be of no help now. Before she’d exhaled her last breath, she had reached for Samantha.

“Where is Jack?”

“He’s in the barn, Aunt Hilda. Do you want me to get him?” Samantha sensed her aunt’s death was near. She dipped a cloth in cool water and swabbed Hilda’s brow in a futile attempt to give her peace.

“No, child. Don’t bring him in here. I have nothing to say to him. But reach under the mattress, and be quick about it.”

Samantha did as she was bid and pulled out a small bag of coins. Hilda placed it in Samantha’s hands.

“Take this, my child, and leave here as soon as you can. I’m sorry I ever brought you into this house, but I didn’t know what else to do.”

“It’s not your fault, Aunt Hilda, and I appreciate all you’ve done for me. If not for you, I would have died along with my folks.”

“Put a bit of that money out where Jack can find it. He’ll spend it on drink or a whore after I’m laid to rest. That should give you time.”

“Please rest, now, Aunt Hilda. I’ll be all right.”

Samantha stayed with Hilda until she died, and then prepared the body for burial. She informed her uncle of Hilda’s passing, thinking he might want some time alone with his deceased wife. Instead, he left the house briefly, to inform the cemetery workers that a new body would be coming, and then returned to the barn to complete the casket. The long night faded into dawn, and Samantha still had no idea what to do.

The hasty funeral would take place this morning in the town cemetery.

Samantha needed a plan, but her thoughts were jumping all over the place. As she prepared herself for the ride to the cemetery, she tried to calm herself and think of the most immediate things to do.

She had to get away, and get away fast. And for that to happen, Jack needed to be kept occupied. Although he hadn’t said a word to her as she got his breakfast ready before they loaded her aunt’s body into the wagon his sidelong glances at her made the hair on the back of her neck stand up. The first part of her plan came together as she cleared the table, leaving the pouch of coins for him to find. She had kept out enough to pay her way as she ran, and left the rest to keep Jack entertained this afternoon.

The ceremony at the cemetery was hardly long enough to be called a service. The minister quoted a bible passage and said some nice things about her aunt, but her casket was lowered into the ground within a matter of minutes. Samantha hesitated at the gravesite, tossing a handful of earth on the crude casket as the graveyard worker pierced the mound of dirt beside the site with his shovel, and began filling the hole he had created the previous evening The scraping of a shovel in the dirt and the scent of freshly turned earth would forever remind her of Aunt Hilda.

Jack wasted no time at the gravesite and hurried to the tavern with his pouch of coins. Samantha took the letter containing Aunt Hilda’s dying words to the post office. She would accomplish this final act for her aunt, however futile it may be, since she fully expected her aunt and her grandmother to meet at heaven’s door at the same time. And then she’d be off, leaving this small town, and Uncle Jack, behind. But she still didn’t have a clue where she might head, with little money and no means of transportation.

A sign at the post office caught Samantha’s eye. She feigned disinterest as she snuck sidelong glances at the poster about the new Pony Express, reading one line at a time.

Wanted: Young, skinny, wiry fellows.

She tore her glance from the sign and studied the customers queued up in front of her. Another quick look.

Not over eighteen.

She posted her letter and turned away from the window, catching the last of the poster’s message.

Must be expert riders. Willing to face death daily. Orphans preferred.

She was all of what they wanted, except for one basic and glaring fact. She might be young, skinny, and wiry, but she was no fellow.