Silver Creek - G.L. Snodgrass Page 0,4

that I don’t remember a moment on the trail with you and your family. You saved me in so many ways. You and Hanna. But it was you who helped me see that life might be good someday. That I should be strong like you. For that, I will always thank you.

It seems so long ago, but I have always wondered if you made it to Oregon. Imagine my surprise when I ran into Freddy Seaver You remember Freddy, he was Jacob’s friend. He was the one to tell me where to find you.

We never made California. Aunt Abigail died of the fever just the other side of Humboldt Wells and Uncle Tom couldn’t go any further. He found a spot north of the Humboldt, not far from Silver Creek, and refused to go on. I often wondered what my life would have been like if we had gone to Oregon instead.

You once told me, if I ever needed your assistance, I need merely ask. It seems so long ago. Do you even remember me? I know how ridiculous this sounds. But you are the only person I can turn to.

My Uncle was murdered and our ranch stolen. Again, I feel ashamed for asking. But if you are ever in these parts. I could use your help in discovering the truth.

Please, if you are unable to help. I understand perfectly. It was but a few months on the prairie and we were children. But I must tell you, you are my only hope.

All my best

Rebecca Johnson

Luke’s eyebrows narrowed as he stared down at the arrowhead in his hand.

He remembered that protective feeling he had felt towards her. Just like he felt to Hanna. She had been like his little sister. That day, after burying their parents he had known it was his job to look out for her. It had stopped him from sliding into despair. Knowing there was someone hurting even more.

He read the letter again. She hadn’t mentioned a husband. That was hard to believe. She must be nineteen, well past marrying age. Knowing Becky, she’d grown up to be beautiful, smart, sweet, and strong. The perfect marrying kind. And those boys out in Eastern Nevada weren’t stupid.

Thirty minutes later he was standing at attention, in front of Colonel Forrest. His arms locked at his side and his back as straight as a ramrod.

“Yes, Lieutenant?” the Colonel said as he leaned back in his chair. Obviously wondering why his day as a regimental commander was being interrupted by a junior lieutenant.

“I need to resign my commission, Sir,” Luke said as he held his breath for the coming explosion.

Instead, the Colonel interlocked his fingers and raised one eyebrow then nodded to the chair in front of his desk.

Luke sat on the edge of the seat and kept his back straight as the Colonel continued to stare at him.

“Do you know why you received that battlefield commission?”

“I assumed I earned it, Sir,” Luke replied. He wasn’t going to be put off. The war was over and he had something that needed to be done.

The Colonel smiled just the slightest. “Yes, but we never talked about it. Neither of us is the type to reminisce about old times. I don’t know if you remember, on the trail between Fort Bridger out to Fort Dalles, I led the calvary troop guarding your wagon train.”

“Yes Sir, I remember. I remember you liked my sister Hanna’s biscuits. But I will still be resigning my commission.”

“I thought, when I needed a new Lieutenant,” the Colonel continued as if Luke hadn’t spoken, “that any boy taught by Zion Campbell wouldn’t be half an idiot.”

“Sir …”

The colonel held up his hand to stop him. “If you resigned your commission, you’ll have to finish your enlistment, so that isn’t going to get you home any earlier. Not unless you dessert, and we both know that you could never shame your family that way.”

Luke’s shoulders slumped in defeat. He had feared this. But Becky needed his help and the war was over. They weren’t doing anything but filling out papers.

Colonel Forrest sighed, “You didn’t hear this from me but we’ll be marching through Washington within the week. The big wigs want a parade. Then the regiment will be returned to Ohio, paid off, and disbanded there. Believe me, you will get back to Oregon faster that way. There won’t be a railroad seat or steamboat berth open for the next six months. A million men need to get home