Read Online My Heart Remembers by Kim Vogel Sawyer - Free Book Online
Authors: Kim Vogel Sawyer
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postmaster. Turning slowly, he glanced at the ball of crumpled paper. “It’s just an outdated posting.”
The man’s scowl deepened. “Give me that.” He snatched it from Matt’s hand and flattened it on the wood counter that separated his office from the main floor of the post office. His brows knit together as he ran his fingers over the wrinkled paper. “This is not outdated. If a position gets filled, I put the word ‘filled’ and the date right under the date of posting. Then I file it.” He glared at Matt. “I’ll thank you not to tinker with my system.”
Matt blinked rapidly, snatching his hat from his head. “I apologize, mister. I just figured with that date of October—”
“Well, don’t figure, just ask.” The man pounded his finger against the paper three times. “As far as I know, this position’s open, and it’ll stay on that board until I hear otherwise.” He charged through a narrow doorway to the right of the counter, muttering under his breath. Matt watched the man yank a tack free and impale the paper. With the stab of the tack into wood, Matt felt as though something stabbed through his heart. He needed a job. A ranching job. And right now, the only job he knew about waited in Missouri. He took a great breath and said, “Take it back down, mister.”
The man spun, giving Matt a fierce glare. “Didn’t you hear anything I said? I told you—”
“I know.” Matt twisted his hat in his hands. “But I . . . I’m wantin’ to fill the position.”
“Oh.” The man lost his crusty tone. “That’s different, then. Come over here.” He returned to the office area behind the counter and slapped the paper onto a desk in the back corner. Seating himself, he called, “That’ll be ten cents to send a telegram to this”—he looked at the paper—“Mr. Harders. Might take a day or two to get a response if he lives out away from town.”
Matt withdrew a dime from his pocket and placed it on the counter. He had nowhere to go or anyone waiting for him. “I got a day or two to spare.” Maybe another job will turn up in the meantime.
The postmaster picked up a pencil, licked its point, and aimed it at a pad of paper. “What do you want me to tell Mr. Harders?”
Matt sucked in a deep breath. “Keep it simple. The name’s Matthew Tucker, I’m reliable, and I’m . . . available.”
A few clicks on the telegraph machine sent Matt’s message winging across the country from Texas to Missouri. After the postmaster instructed him to check back the next day, he headed toward the livery where he’d boarded his roan, Russ, after Mr. Smallwood’s funeral last week. He could bed down with the beast until he received word on a job—whether it was the one in Missouri or someplace else. It didn’t bother him to sleep in a stable. Truth was, he’d slept in worse places.
The worst of all was in Missouri.
Russ greeted his master with a snort and nuzzled Matt’s shoulder with his moist nose. Matt wrapped his arms around the beast’s massive neck and pressed his face to the warm tawny hide. Eyes closed, he silently pleaded, Lord, I’m so tired of this movin’ around. I need a home — one that’ll last longer’n a year or two. I might’ve sent that telegram, but . . . Missouri, Lord? He swallowed, his hand convulsing on Russ’s neck.
A snippet from his Bible reading sifted through his mind.
He repeated the words aloud. “ ‘Thou has beset me behind and before, and laid thine hand upon me.’ ” Lifting his gaze to the rafters overhead, he said, “Does that mean you’ll go ahead of me, preparing the way . . . even back to Missouri?”
C HAPTER S EVEN
Molly
Kansas City, Kansas
January, 1903
I sabelle Standler rested her head on the brocade back of the parlor settee and stared at the plaster ceiling. The crystal teardrops dangling from the chandelier sent out dozens of dancing rainbows. Her attention flitted from one splash of color to another, a feeble attempt to
The man’s scowl deepened. “Give me that.” He snatched it from Matt’s hand and flattened it on the wood counter that separated his office from the main floor of the post office. His brows knit together as he ran his fingers over the wrinkled paper. “This is not outdated. If a position gets filled, I put the word ‘filled’ and the date right under the date of posting. Then I file it.” He glared at Matt. “I’ll thank you not to tinker with my system.”
Matt blinked rapidly, snatching his hat from his head. “I apologize, mister. I just figured with that date of October—”
“Well, don’t figure, just ask.” The man pounded his finger against the paper three times. “As far as I know, this position’s open, and it’ll stay on that board until I hear otherwise.” He charged through a narrow doorway to the right of the counter, muttering under his breath. Matt watched the man yank a tack free and impale the paper. With the stab of the tack into wood, Matt felt as though something stabbed through his heart. He needed a job. A ranching job. And right now, the only job he knew about waited in Missouri. He took a great breath and said, “Take it back down, mister.”
The man spun, giving Matt a fierce glare. “Didn’t you hear anything I said? I told you—”
“I know.” Matt twisted his hat in his hands. “But I . . . I’m wantin’ to fill the position.”
“Oh.” The man lost his crusty tone. “That’s different, then. Come over here.” He returned to the office area behind the counter and slapped the paper onto a desk in the back corner. Seating himself, he called, “That’ll be ten cents to send a telegram to this”—he looked at the paper—“Mr. Harders. Might take a day or two to get a response if he lives out away from town.”
Matt withdrew a dime from his pocket and placed it on the counter. He had nowhere to go or anyone waiting for him. “I got a day or two to spare.” Maybe another job will turn up in the meantime.
The postmaster picked up a pencil, licked its point, and aimed it at a pad of paper. “What do you want me to tell Mr. Harders?”
Matt sucked in a deep breath. “Keep it simple. The name’s Matthew Tucker, I’m reliable, and I’m . . . available.”
A few clicks on the telegraph machine sent Matt’s message winging across the country from Texas to Missouri. After the postmaster instructed him to check back the next day, he headed toward the livery where he’d boarded his roan, Russ, after Mr. Smallwood’s funeral last week. He could bed down with the beast until he received word on a job—whether it was the one in Missouri or someplace else. It didn’t bother him to sleep in a stable. Truth was, he’d slept in worse places.
The worst of all was in Missouri.
Russ greeted his master with a snort and nuzzled Matt’s shoulder with his moist nose. Matt wrapped his arms around the beast’s massive neck and pressed his face to the warm tawny hide. Eyes closed, he silently pleaded, Lord, I’m so tired of this movin’ around. I need a home — one that’ll last longer’n a year or two. I might’ve sent that telegram, but . . . Missouri, Lord? He swallowed, his hand convulsing on Russ’s neck.
A snippet from his Bible reading sifted through his mind.
He repeated the words aloud. “ ‘Thou has beset me behind and before, and laid thine hand upon me.’ ” Lifting his gaze to the rafters overhead, he said, “Does that mean you’ll go ahead of me, preparing the way . . . even back to Missouri?”
C HAPTER S EVEN
Molly
Kansas City, Kansas
January, 1903
I sabelle Standler rested her head on the brocade back of the parlor settee and stared at the plaster ceiling. The crystal teardrops dangling from the chandelier sent out dozens of dancing rainbows. Her attention flitted from one splash of color to another, a feeble attempt to
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