Silver Creek - G.L. Snodgrass Page 0,3

hand. “Give them here, I’ll return them with the letter of condolences I just finished.”

The tall Sergeant nodded as he handed over the letters then smiled, “Got one for a Sergeant Luke Parker with Company B. They sent it over. It’s been six months. You didn’t tell your family about your commission, Sir?”

Luke smiled as he thought about receiving another letter from Hanna. “They’re in Oregon territory. It takes a bit. The news probably crossed somewhere around Chimney Rock.”

The Sergeant nodded as he passed the thick envelope then saluted before doing an about-face and leaving the tent.

Luke stared down at the letter from Hanna. It was thicker than normal. Was everything all right? He had received one only the month before. Two letters this close together, it couldn’t be good. Jacob? The boy couldn’t keep out of trouble if his life depended on it. Or, Hanna and her husband Zion? What about their six children? A sick sinking feeling filled him. He was so far away and unable to help.

Glancing over at the report he had been working on he sighed heavily and pushed it aside as he carefully opened the letter from his sister. He was surprised to find another envelope inside.

Frowning, he quickly read the short note from Hanna.

“Luke, Everyone is fine. I wanted to get this off to you immediately. I will write more later.

Love Hanna.

He could well imagine her receiving the letter at the general store and dashing off a note to get it back into the mail system to catch the next stage. It was either then or it would be months before anyone from the ranch came to town.

Taking out the second letter his frown grew even deeper. All it said in a fine feminine hand was,

Luke Parker

Tyge Oregon

His brow narrowed as he used his knife to slit the second letter across the top. A hint of roses tickled the back of his nose. Pulling the letter from the envelope, something fell out onto the desktop, with a sharp tink sound. His heart jumped as he looked down at a small stone arrowhead. Ancient, perfectly formed, the point sharper than honed steel.

It had been eleven years since the last time he had seen that very arrowhead. It was the same one. There was no doubt in his mind.

Swallowing hard, he turned the letter over to confirm it by the signature at the end. Rebecca Johnson.

His stomach fluttered with surprise. Rebecca, not Becky, he realized immediately as his mind fought to focus. It was her, after all these years. A thousand memories flashed into his mind. The day they had both lost their parents. The hurt eight-year-old girl, lost, alone fighting to be brave.

Blond pigtails and eyes bluer than a Nebraska summer sky.

The two of them walking next to the oxen. The thirteen-year-old boy trying to be strong and caring when an anger burned inside of him at his father’s death. The eight-year-old girl. Scared, hurt, and so alone. The long days on the Oregon Trail. The hot sun. The outlaws attacking their wagon. Threatening Hanna and young Becky.

Sharp bile rose in his throat at the memory of helplessness he had felt and the gut-wrenching fear of what would happen to his sister and new friend. Only Zion arriving had saved them.

That hateful sick feeling filled him as he remembered saying goodbye at Fort Bridger. Her uncle and aunt were carving off to California while he and his were to continue on to Oregon. That sense of loss still filled him. What had hurt the most was the fact that he wouldn’t be there to protect her. By that time, he had learned just how hard life could be. It had terrified him to think of her having to face it all alone.

He forced himself to take a calming breath as he picked up the arrowhead between his thumb and forefinger. Twirling it slowly, he thought back to that day. They’d both spotted it at the same time down by some unnamed creek and reached for it together. She had insisted that he keep it. Saying it was more a boy thing.

A shared moment on the trail. One of many. Three days later as their families separated down different trails, he had put it in her hand and told her that if she ever needed him to let him know and he would come. A silly child’s promise.

Swallowing hard, he began to read.

Dear Luke

I pray this finds you doing well. Not a day goes by