Prairie Fire by Catherine Palmer Read Free Book Online

prayer. The young man’s name evoked a blissful image of her handsome suitor marching up the hill to the Murphys’ thatch-roofed cottage by the sea. Aye, but Caitrin had been proud to walk the streets alongside such a dashing man. With his dark curly hair and fine mustache, he had been the grandest-looking gentleman in the county. And how Sean could dance! Never had a pair of feet moved so fast and with such perfection. When Sean O’Casey took Caitrin Murphy into his arms, a whole crowd gathered around to watch. How many years had he courted her? Four? Or was it five?
    “It’s the mail coach from Manhattan!” Rosie shouted, shattering Caitrin’s reverie. “It’s crossing the bridge, and look at this place. Erinn, grab the broom. Caitie, please help me put this fabric away. Oh, what if Mr. Dunham has brought passengers? They won’t buy a thing!”
    Caitrin leapt up and shoved the tub of water behind one of the makeshift tables. As she headed for Rosie and the swaths of calico piled on the counter, she spotted Jack Cornwall’s letter lying on the floor in a puddle of water. Realizing it must have slipped out of her pocket, she swept it up and pressed it against her skirt. Blotting the paper did little good. The ink on the envelope had run, and the letter inside would be a sheet of soggy pulp.
    “Hurry, hurry!” Rosie called. “Caitie, where did we hide the strongbox yesterday? And just look at this floor! Erinn, leave the sawdust alone and sweep up that popcorn over by the coffee mill.”
    Caitrin pushed the damp letter into her pocket and hurried to help. With only three of the fabric bolts folded and the floor still littered with remnants of the party, Mr. Dunham, the mail-coach driver, walked into the mercantile. Two fur trappers and a couple of soldiers followed him. They’d seen worse, Caitrin realized.
    Rosie welcomed them and made excuses for the state of the floor. Mr. Dunham was more interested in hearing about the exciting events of the previous night. She was deep into the tale of Seth’s chasing down her stagecoach when Chipper and his dog, Stubby, bounded into the mercantile. A moment later Seth, Jimmy, and Rolf Rustemeyer walked in. When they started telling the trappers and soldiers about the mysterious appearance of Jack Cornwall’s black horse, Caitrin spied her opportunity.
    She took out the letter, grabbed two sheets of blotting paper and a new envelope, and went to work at a back table. Cornwall’s message must get to his parents—and as soon as possible. Certainly they should be warned about the troublemaker searching for their son, who was in enough hot water himself. They deserved to know about Chipper’s decision to stay in Kansas with his father. They needed to understand that Seth Hunter had laid his memories of their daughter to rest and was planning to marry again. And they should be told of their son’s injury. If Caitrin couldn’t budge Cornwall from the storage room, perhaps a letter from his parents would.
    Working quickly, she opened the envelope and took out the sodden page. She unfolded it and laid it between the sheets of blotting paper. Then she copied the address onto the dry envelope.
    “Caitrin?” Rosie called from the front of the store. “Do we have any oysters?”
    She barely glanced up. “In the basket on the counter. I brought some tins from storage this morning.”
    Caitrin peeled off the blotting paper and began to refold the letter. As she turned up the bottom of the page, she scanned the faded blue ink. She knew it was wrong to read Cornwall’s words. Very wrong. But as surely as the blotting paper had soaked up the water, her eyes absorbed his words.
    … Keep a sharp lookout for Bill Hermann. He included my name when he testified, and he’s hoping to implicate me in the Easton lynch ing. Don’t tell him I’m holed up hurt. He’ll come after me.
    Caitrin swallowed and folded up the bottom third of the letter. Mr. Cornwall’s troubles were not her