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.