CHAPTER TEN
The landlady woke Jack with her usual door-banging and screeching. The
tirade typically began at an unforgiving six a.m., and didn't cease until
late in the evening when the landlady, whose name was Polly, began drinking
and curiously enough grew quiet. Jack had now become used to this routine,
and Polly, who was not unfriendly, was rather fond of the small young 'boy'
who had come to stay in her boarding house/saloon. She especially liked
Jack's accent, and teased her about it, asking Jack to say certain things
like "oh, bother", "fancy that", and Jack's favorite mild curse, "Blimey
O'Reilly", which sent her into fits of laughter. New York was a frightening yet wholly interesting place. It wasn't as big
as London, but it was certainly getting to that point, and it had none of
the familiarity that London had. She had frequented London nearly every week
of her young life, but the short time she had spent in America, in the
small, dusty towns she had traveled for the Express, had made her edgy in
the city, nervous, unsure of herself. It had taken her nearly six weeks for her cuts and bruises to heal, and
Bart's fists hadn't been kind to her still-fragile ribs, either. Doc
Cranston had helped her as much as he could, but he was frightened of Bart,
and uneasy about allowing Jack to shelter herself in his home. Bart had been
made a fool of, at least in his own eyes, and his temper was one to be
reckoned with. Jack had stayed with Doc for a few days and then left,
heading east, not exactly sure where she was intending to go. She thought of Rock Creek and her friends at least a hundred times a day.
She remembered everyone telling her to come back, Rachel telling her on
several occasions that she would always be welcome, no matter what. She
longed for them all, for the comfort and support she knew they would give,
and contemplated turning her horse around and going back to Rock Creek
nearly every day as she traveled east, but she never did. Bart's words still
rang in her ears, "Did Teaspoon Hunter and those Rock Creek boys know about
this? I swear to God, Townsend, if I ever catch wind that you're anywhere
near a Pony Express station again, I'll have you hauled into jail, and
Teaspoon Hunter with you! I don't care if he is the marshal in that town!
One word to the firm and I can have him arrested faster'n you can blink!" What had ever possessed Jack to tell Jimmy that Bart was a good man? He
wasn't a good man, he was the worst kind. And so she had continued on with
no clear idea of where she might end up, until suddenly, tired of camping on
roadsides, she had decided on New York City. Just now she needed the
anonymity of a big city. Polly's boarding house was right in Manhattan. It wasn't an entirely
disagreeable place: it was clean and respectable, all the boarders were
urbane businessmen and wandering gentlemen cowboys, and the saloon girls
were polite to Jack and thankfully kept their distance. Polly sensed
something different about Jack, but her nearsightedness and disregard for
any circumstances other than her own left her unsure as to what exactly it
was that set Jack apart from her other lodgers. She chalked it up to Jack
being a foreigner and left it at that. Jack had forgotten how much she liked New York. There was a bustling
excitement to it that appealed to her greatly. But she felt guilty that she
hadn't written Lou to let her know she was all right; Lou, with her keen
instincts about those she loved, would surely have sensed something was
wrong by now. There were so many explanations Jack knew she owed to those
wonderful people who had taken her in, when they could just as easily have
sent her packing as Bart had done. But she couldn't go back and endanger
them or their lives in any way. There was so little she could do for them to
repay their many kindnesses, the least she could do was stay away. But she
really did owe Lou a letter. One Sunday, when the boarding house was quiet -- Polly insisted that she
and her saloon girls attend church regularly, and always closed business on
the Sabbath -- Jack sat down to begin her letter. 'Dear Lou,' she wrote, 'Forgive me for neglecting you for so long. I have
thought this letter out many times in my head, and I have certainly intended
to write it, but what with one thing and another, I have put it off. I guess
the Robert Burns poem applies to me: 'The best-laid schemes of mice and men go oft astray And leave us nothing but grief and pain for promised joy. 'It's something my mum used to recite to me when I was a little girl, as a
reminder that no matter how much you planned, no matter how hard you tried,
sometimes things didn't work out the way you wanted them to. And Lou, it's
amazing how right she was. This life I've led since taking that boat from
England has been nothing like the life I'd planned on having. When I was a
little girl all I wanted was to marry a lovely man who liked to read as much
as I did, to move to London with him, and open our own bookstore. I wanted
simple things, quiet things; I've never had the love of adventure and daring
that you have. It's part of the reason I admire you so much, because you've
got the guts to do things I've never even dreamed of doing. I'm content to
sit back and read about them, whilst you are out there doing them. Mark my
words, your name will go down in history, Lou McCloud. 'Which brings me to the actual point of this letter, which I fear may be a
long one. I want to tell you what it is that brought me to America, why I
became a Pony Express rider despite my fears, and why I have never wanted to
discuss it before now. Rachel may have told you the bits of background that
I gave her -- about growing up in a quiet seaside village, about traveling
with my mother and father -- but I didn't give her that much. It's been too
painful even to think about, but I owe you a great deal of explanation, Lou.
It began when a school friend pointed out that I didn't look the least bit
like my mother. I had my father's hair and ears and crooked teeth, but my
eyes and my complexion, my mouth, my hands, everything else about me
belonged to no one. I didn't pay her much attention at first, but she was
right, and as children will do, I became curious. 'How I found out what I found out would take sheets and sheets of paper to
explain, so I'll simply tell you what came of all my curiosity: I discovered
that my mother was not actually my mother, nor was my father my father, that
I was in fact the child of my father's younger brother Geoffrey, and an
American woman named Jillian, whom I was named for. Jillian was a stage
actress, which my family considered disgraceful. Does this sound
sensational, Lou? Like one of those dime store novels Cody likes to read? I
assure you it's very real, but up until that point in my life I had only
read about this sort of thing in books, lovely stories by the Bronte sisters
and by Charles Dickens, and I had always enjoyed them, whilst feeling very
sorry for the characters who found themselves in such situations. Suddenly
it was my life. 'Not such a bad life, I grant you. There is no doubt that my father and
mother loved me very much, and they absolutely adored one another. You've
told me about your life, Lou, and I would never want to go through the pain
and anguish you went through, or to have had the youth that Noah or Buck or
Ike was forced to live through, but please understand that because of what I
found out, my life crumbled to bits. Everything I'd ever known was a lie.
Every abandoned child in the world has the same thought -- WHY DIDN'T THEY
WANT ME? Never mind that I loved my parents, never mind that I had a
wonderful life. Suddenly the only thing that mattered to me was to find out
why Geoffrey and Jillian, my real parents as I thought of them, had not
wanted me. Geoffrey was dead, which left Jillian. So I made my decision, and
I came to America. With nothing. I left my mother and father a note, and
took the first boat from Southampton. 'I found Jillian almost straight away. I couldn't believe how easy it was.
In fact, by the time I got to New York, where she was, and started asking
after her, people who knew her from her plays or knew her personally would
always tell me I was the exact image of her, except my hair was dark and
hers was blond. But Jillian wasn't as amused when I showed up on her
doorstep. She didn't even let me in, Lou. She stood in the doorway and
talked to me as if I were a beggar. She wasn't exactly unkind, just
disinterested. She said she had a show and she had to get ready for it. She
said she could barely understand a word I was saying because of my accent,
and that was part of the reason it hadn't worked out with Geoffrey, because
of his accent. She laughed when she said that. Not cruelly, just a laugh.
And then she said, I'm sorry, little girl, but the fact is I never wanted
kids. I never will want kids. I'm famous here and I like my life. I'll never
get married and I'll never have kids. Go back to Emma and Kenneth, I know
they're good to you. I'm sorry, but I just never wanted you. 'So I left New York, but I knew I couldn't go home to Searyshire. I was too
ashamed, to scared. I knew I'd hurt my parents. They'd take me in and loved
me and taken care of me, and I'd thrown it back in their faces. Sometimes I
still wake up in the middle of the night crying for them, for my mum's smile
and her smell, my dad's laughter and hugs. But how can I ever go back, Lou?
Why would they want me back after what I've done to them? 'I just began to travel, all alone, until I quickly realized that America
is no place for a young girl to travel alone. I really didn't care about
anything anymore, so I cut my hair and bought boy's clothes, and went on
like that. Then a bartender I befriended in Missouri told me about the
Express, and I decided to try, and they stationed me at Apple Ridge. It was
the best thing that could have happened to me, because I met you and Jimmy
and Rachel and Ike, and everyone else. No matter what happens, I can never
regret that decision. 'Bart found out I was a girl and he fired me, Lou. I've been on the road
ever since. It feels like life has done another turnaround on me. My only
consolation is that I haven't had to involve any of you in all of this. I'm
sorry if you've worried, but I've been fine. You have all been so good to
me, maybe for a change I can do some good for someone in return. I'm sorry
this letter has gone on so long. I'll write more when I can. Don't worry
about me.' Jack Jack sealed up the letter and the next morning she took it to the post
office where she mailed it. It traveled by train to St Joe, and three weeks
later was sitting in the Rock Creek general store, while Lou and the others
settled into their new station in Sweetwater. |
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