Previous Challenge Entry (Level 4 – Masters)
Topic: MAIL (02/18/16)
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TITLE: Orphans Preferred | Previous Challenge Entry
By Sarah Elisabeth
02/24/16 -
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I jerk my head up from where I have ol' Jesse's hoof in my hand. A stringy brown haired girl stands in front of me, hands folded proper with a solemn look on her face. I've seen her around town, thought she might be kinda pretty. Until now.
“What kind of fool question is that? I'm only seventeen.”
I return to picking Jesse's hoof. The girl squats eye level with me. “You're a Pony Express rider. They die all the time.”
“Still a fool question from a fool girl.” I lower Jesse's hoof and check the cinch again.
“It's not a fool question and I'm not a fool girl. My pa is a traveling preacher. He asks folks that all the time. He says it gets them thinking about where they'll spend eternity.”
I want to get rid of this girl. I lie. “I reckon a Christian burial. That's what my ma would want.”
I never knew my ma or pa. That was one of the things that drew me to the advertisement for Pony Express riders:
Young, skinny, wiry fellows not over eighteen.
Must be expert riders, willing to risk death daily.
Orphans preferred
It paid good.
The stringy brown haired girl rises on her toes, trying to be as tall as me. It makes her look more scrawny. “Are you a Christian, then?”
I shrug. “I'm not sure.”
“Oh, you'd know for sure if you were. You'd better talk to my pa before you leave.”
“Don't have time.” I yank the looped reins from the hitching post, freeing them and freeing me from this yammering girl. I lead Jesse down the busy road to the Pony Express station. The girl follows.
“I'm Sadie and my pa's Preaching Bill. We're camped on the east side of town.”
“Shame. I'm riding out west.”
“We're having a meeting next Sunday. When will you be back?”
“Monday, if ever.”
I'm not sure if I meant to make her sad, but she strains to look at me as she trots to keep up with my long strides. Her brown eyes fill with tears. “I hope you don't get killed.”
“Would you grieve at my graveside?”
“I would.”
I halt in front of the Express office. “At least there'd be one.”
“What about your ma?”
I feel bad about the lie. I may not have another chance to explain. “She passed a long time ago.”
“My ma died when I was ten. Pa says it's a hard country, that's why he asks folks what kind of burying they want. They may not get another chance to think about it.”
Sadie echoed my thoughts. And she doesn't have a ma. I really look at her now, and want to say something right.
But Mr. Henderson steps out of the office and slings the bulging mochila at me. I catch the mail bags and swing them over my saddle. I hope the action looks easy. The bags are heavy.
Sadie doesn't seem to notice. “We'll have preaching all day and all night. You should ride hard and make it back before Sunday.”
“I always ride hard.” I nod to Mr. Henderson who goes back inside without a word. He trusts me to get the job done. “That's why it's called the Pony Express.”
She's not being flirtatious. In fact, the way she speaks so quiet makes that impossible. “I'm sure you're one of the best. But think about it while you're riding. What kind of burying you'd want. We'll all die sometime.”
I grip Jesse's mane. “Thanks for the encouragement. Your pa sending you around to talk to everyone in town like this?”
The stringy brown haired girl slowly shakes her head. “No. I've never talked to no one like this before. But God told me I should talk to you. I was scared to death, but I figured it was the right thing. Maybe I heard wrong.”
“Maybe so.” I stick a boot in the stirrup and swing myself up on Jesse. “Maybe not.”
I try not to smile down at Sadie. She does look scared, now that I pay attention to her. “I'll be back by Sunday, if I come back at all.”
Sadie nods, solemn again. “I'll pray for you.”
Her prayers must get heard. I walk Jesse a few feet, then spur him to a full gallop. I know I'll see little Sadie again.
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