Montana Sky: Isaac (Kindle Worlds) (Letters of Fate Book 2) Read online

  Text copyright ©2016 by the Author.

  This work was made possible by a special license through the Kindle Worlds publishing program and has not necessarily been reviewed by Debra Holland. All characters, scenes, events, plots and related elements appearing in the original Montana Sky remain the exclusive copyrighted and/or trademarked property of Debra Holland, or their affiliates or licensors.

  For more information on Kindle Worlds: http://www.amazon.com/kindleworlds

  Isaac

  Letters of Fate

  Set in Debra Holland’s Montana Sky World

  by

  Paty Jager

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-one

  Chapter Thirty-two

  Chapter Thirty-three

  Chapter Thirty-four

  Chapter Thirty-five

  Chapter Thirty-six

  Chapter Thirty-seven

  Chapter Thirty-eight

  Chapter Thirty-nine

  About the Author

  Welcome to Montana Sky Series Kindle World, where authors write books set in my 1880s “world” of Sweetwater Springs and Morgan’s Crossing, Montana. Aside from providing the backdrop of setting and townsfolk, I haven't contributed to the stories in any way. The authors bring their own unique vision and imagination to the KW books, sometimes tying them into their own series.

  Isaac is written by Paty Jager. I met Paty online through a RWA (Romance Writers of America) group. Both of us were writing Western historical romances at a time when there were few being published. Early on, we swapped chapters—putting each other’s in the back of one of our books. Paty also is a participating author in Sweetwater Springs Christmas: A Montana Sky Short Story Anthology. Paty lives on a 280 acre ranch in Oregon, and I love reading her Facebook posts about her life.

  I hope you enjoy reading Isaac.

  Debra Holland

  Morgan’s Crossing 1887

  Chapter One

  Isaac Corum stood with his Winchester cradled in his crossed arms, watching Milton, another mine guard, lumber up the road from Morgan’s Crossing. Milton’s gait was in perfect unison with the thud of the stamp mill sitting fifty feet behind Isaac. As a guard at the Morgan Mine, Isaac kept a regular route of moving between the mine, the stamp mill, and the assay office during his twelve-hour shift. Six hours into the shift, he was waiting for Smitty to relieve him for his noon meal. Walking constantly for six hours worked up an appetite.

  Milton stopped in front of him, holding a white envelope. “You got a letter.”

  Isaac stared at the white piece of paper. He never received mail. There wasn’t any family to write to him. Thinking it was a prank, he plucked the missive from Milton’s grasp cautiously.

  “This a joke you and the others are playing on me?” he asked, turning the envelope over in his hands. It was quality paper. Heavy, thick and rough in his hand. Not the flimsy paper Alan Wagner had used to send letters home so he only had to pay a penny.

  Isaac Corum, Morgan’s Crossing, Montana stared back at him in sharp cursive letters. The back had the initials A.A.W. Franklin County, Kansas. Why would Alan Wagner’s family send him a letter? He told them about Alan’s passing, how he’d caught consumption, and sent along Alan’s wages. He hadn’t seen any belongings that were worth sending back.

  “You goin’ to open it?” Milton asked. He’d received few letters from home. The last one had told him his ma had passed. “That could be bad news.”

  “I’ll wait until after I eat. No sense ruinin’ my appetite.” Isaac shoved the letter into his shirt pocket and headed back toward the stamp mill. His mind wasn’t on watching for interlopers or workers leaving the mine with Morgan’s gold in their pockets. “Could just be a thank you,” he said to himself, knowing the growing noise of the two-ton stamp battery would keep anyone from hearing his conversation with himself. It was something he’d started doing while on duty. Talking to himself made the time go by faster. “But why send a thank you? I’ll never meet them and point my finger sayin’, I took care of your father after his accident and sent you his pay and never got so much as a thank you in return.” He shook his head. “No, I’d never do that.”

  He continued beyond the mill and on to the entrance of the mine. The yawning hole in the side of the mountain was a reminder that man would go to great lengths to find riches.

  “Corum! Corum, sorry I’m late.” Smitty trotted over to Isaac. “I was given that new cook a razzing. She sure can turn red.”

  From the glee shining in Smitty’s eyes, Isaac felt sorry for Miss Bucholtz. The man liked to rib and cajole. If the victim became flustered and embarrassed, he liked it even better.

  “You should be nice to her. She seems like a nice lady. And she could put something in your food.” Isaac hadn’t given much thought to the new cook, other than the food was a whole lot tastier and the dining room was cleaner and smelled better when a person sat down to eat.

  “She’d never do that. She’s too nice.” Smitty grinned and slapped Isaac on the back. “Go grab some grub.” Smitty took a stand by the mine entrance.

  The shifts were arranged to allow the guards to start their duties an hour before the changing of the mine shifts. The group of miners not working, slept. Isaac would be with only a handful of miners eating the noon day meal. When he finished, the steam whistle from the stamp mill would shriek and half the crew from the mine would be walking to the boarding house for lunch. After they returned to the mine, the other half would eat.

  He set the barrel of his rifle over his shoulder, stopping long enough at the shack he shared with Milton, Smitty, and the new guy, Tulley, to drop off his Winchester. Miss Bucholtz had made it clear, no guns in the dining room.

  With his hands empty on the walk to the boarding house, Isaac couldn’t shut down his curiosity. He pulled the letter out of his pocket and started reading.

  Dear Mr. Corum,

  My sisters, brother, and I would like to thank you for taking care of our father when he became sick. It is unfortunate he didn’t have you contact us to help with his recovery. There may have been a different outcome.

  I’m writing to inform you that I will be arriving by train in Sweetwater Springs on Monday, the 24th day of June. If it is not an inconvenience, would you be so kind as to meet the train and escort me to Morgan’s Crossing? Since you did not return any of my father’s belongings, I will be coming to collect them.

  Sincerely,

  Alamayda Wagner

  “Why the nerve of that battle axe saying I killed her father.” Isaac read the letter again. “And she’s coming to get his belongings?” Isaac scratched at the seven days of whiskers on his face. He
only shaved on Saturday night when he took a bath. “Hell, all he had was a bedroll, an old coat, and one extra set of clothing.” But she’s coming to collect it. Good thing I didn’t give it away.

  Alan Wagner’s belongings had been handed to him when he’d offered to keep the man at the guard shack and tend to him. After the man’s death, Isaac had tucked them into a wooden box under his bed.

  “What kind of name is Alamayda?” He shoved the letter into his pocket and entered the boarding house trying to make up his mind if he’d meet her or let her find her way to Morgan’s Crossing. Alamayda Wagner had the push and shove of a man. With a name like that he didn’t wonder she’d be some large-boned, horse-faced woman. She not only insulted him once, but twice, in the letter. He had a notion to let the bossy woman find her own way to Morgan’s Crossing.

  ***

  Alamayda Wagner stood at the train station in Sweetwater Springs, Montana. She’d spent the last week traveling by stage and train to get to here. On the train she’d learned it was another two days by wagon to Morgan’s Crossing. With the train coming in late like it did, she hoped she wouldn’t have to sleep outside two nights before they arrived at Morgan’s Crossing. She tapped a foot and peered at the people mulling around the train platform.

  Where was Mr. Corum? She’d made sure her letter would arrive before she set out to travel. He had to have received the letter in time to retrieve her.

  She picked up her valise and walked over to the ticket window. “Excuse me. Would you happen to know who Mr. Corum is?” she asked.

  The man shook his head.

  “He works at the mine at Morgan’s Crossing,” she added, hoping it would jog the man’s memory.

  “Sorry ma’am, I don’t. You might ask over at the mercantile. Many of the Morgan’s Crossing folks come here to do business.”

  She didn’t plan to look for the man all over town. I wonder if he’s a drinker? The thought sent shivers of abhorrence up her spine. She had been thankful every day that Kansas was a dry state, having passed a prohibition law in 1881.

  “Would you have a piece of paper I could leave a note for Mr. Corum if he comes looking for me?” She pulled the pencil from under her bonnet that she’d poked in her bun when the train had begun slowing for the station. She never went anywhere without her pencil and sketch pad. The small sketch pad was tucked in her reticule.

  The man provided a piece of paper.

  “What is the most reasonable hotel in this town?” she asked.

  “There ain’t none.” He shrugged.

  “A boarding house?” she asked. Alamayda knew down to the cent how much money she had to rely on until she gathered the clues her father’d left about his mine. While in Denver waiting for the train to Sweetwater Springs, she’d purchased two books on mining. Once she found the mine their father had claimed in the names of his children, she planned to reap as much from it as she could. Not only for the sake of her two sisters and brother, but to set her up to be able to draw and write poetry the rest of her life.

  “Nope.”

  She frowned at his poor language and the fact she needed a place to stay. “Is there anywhere in this town where a traveler can spend a night?” she asked.

  “There’s rooms over the saloon.” The man’s eyes glistened and his smile crooked into a sneer.

  “Other than the saloon.” There was no way she’d spend a night over a saloon. She’d rather sleep in someone’s barn.

  “You could try Reverend and Mrs. Norton over at the church.” He pointed toward a steepled building.

  She should have thought of that herself. If they couldn’t put her up for a night, they’d know who could. And she’d leave a note for Mr. Corum to find her at the church. If she ended up elsewhere, the Reverend and his wife could tell him where she’d be. And if Mr. Corum didn’t show by nine in the morning, she’d find a way to Morgan’s Crossing on her own.

  With that decided, she wrote a note for Mr. Corum.

  Mr. Corum,

  It appears you missed the arrival of the train. You will find me at the residence of Reverend and Mrs. Norton. If you do not arrive by 9:00 A.M. I will be on my way to Morgan’s Crossing another way.

  Alamayda Wagner

  She folded the note and wrote Mr. Isaac Corum on the outside. “If a man happens to be looking for Miss Wagner, hand him this note.” Alamayda picked up her valise and headed down the street to the church. Perhaps the reverend would be able to point her in the direction of a means of transportation to Morgan’s Crossing.

  Chapter Two

  Isaac pulled the wagon, he’d borrowed from the mine, up to the hitching post by the train station in Sweetwater Springs. He hadn’t known when the train would arrive and had decided to just come late in the day. It was a nice June day so there wasn’t any worry the woman would be cold or sitting in the rain.

  There wasn’t a woman sitting on the bench outside the small office at the station. His teeth were already grating, and he hadn’t even meet the woman. Her pushy letter insinuating he’d killed her father, and then having to lose four days of pay to come get her, had his usually easy-mannered self, strung so tight he’d snap if one more thing rankled.

  He walked up to the office and nodded to the man behind the window. “Evening. You wouldn’t know if a woman was waiting around here for a ride to Morgan’s Crossing, would you?”

  The man smiled and handed him a paper. Isaac Corum was scrawled across it in the same sharp lettering as his summons to the station.

  He read the note and shook his head.

  I could hand over the box of Alan’s things and tell her to have a nice trip back to Kansas tonight and get this burr that’s stuck in my craw taken care of.

  “Thank you,” he said to the man and strode back to the wagon.

  Yep. He’d drop this box off and be done with the uppity woman.

  He headed the horses down the street to the church. As late as it was, he’d be smart to get a bed over the saloon. He shook his head. He was already losing money missing the four days of work, no sense spending some on a bed. He’d sleep in the back of a wagon in the livery. He needed all the money he made to eventually get a spread and raise cattle. The years he spent driving cattle to the train stations in Abilene and Dodge, had taught him to respect the cattle and how they could make a man a good living. But, back then, he’d been young and foolish, squandering his money. Now, he had a good paying job at the mine, and living off the company, he’d saved a considerable amount of money. Five more years and he could afford his own ranch and the cattle to keep money coming in.

  He stopped the horses at the hitching post in front of the church. After climbing down, he grabbed the box of Alan’s belongings and marched up to the little house next to the church. For a brief moment, he had the notion to just leave the box with a note. But his conscience wouldn’t let him do that. He’d been the last person to speak with her father before his death. It seemed sociable he should talk to her.

  He knocked on the door.

  A pleasant-looking man, not much older than Isaac answered the door. “Good evening. May I help you?”

  “I’d like to see Miss Wagner,” he said.

  The man raised an eyebrow. “Are you Mr. Corum?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  “We just sat down for the evening meal. Would you care to join us?” The reverend asked.

  Isaac didn’t want to sit through dinner with the woman. “I’d prefer if you asked her to come out here. It won’t take long.” He’d noted the chairs on the porch. “We can sit there,” he said, walking over to one of the chairs and placing the box on the porch beside a chair.

  “I’ll get Miss Wagner.” The reverend disappeared into the house.

  A minute later, a tall, thin woman with dark brown hair pulled back in a severe bun, stepped out and scanned the porch.

  Isaac stood, pulling his hat off his head as the woman walked toward him. He’d been wrong about her being big-boned and horse-faced. She was tall, b
ut thin. The dark blue dress she wore hung straight from her shoulders to her feet with no curves in between. Not even a bump where her bosoms should be. Her long, thin face had a pointed chin and small, pointed nose. Her large, wide eyes were brown. She held out a thin, long hand.

  “Mr. Corum?” she asked.

  He gripped her hand gently for fear of breaking the thin bones. “Miss Wagner.”

  She pulled her hand back and stared down at the box on the floor. “What’s this?” she asked.

  “I brought your pa’s things to you. This way you can rest a day or so and head back home.” He said it with the enthusiasm he had for getting her back to Kansas and out of his way.

  Alamayda stared at the box, then up at Mr. Corum. She usually looked down on most men. Mr. Corum, she had to tip her head just a bit to see into his gray eyes. He had several days of whisker growth on his face. His eyes were wide set with wrinkles at the corners. His nose long but not wide. A full bottom lip made his upper lip appear thinner. His square chin gave the appearance of a man who didn’t back down. His shoulders were wider than his narrow hips hidden beneath a long canvas duster. His hand when he’d clutched hers was wide with long fingers.

  She had expected him to be closer to her father’s age and not her own. “Thank you for bringing me his things.” She sat in the chair closest to the box.

  Mr. Corum remained standing. “Ma’am, I just wanted to let you know there was nothing that could be done for your father. The doc made sure he was as comfortable as could be until the end.” He bowed his head and closed his eyes for a moment.

  Alamayda was about to say something when he opened his eyes and peered at her.

  “It was nice meeting you. I can’t afford to miss too much work. I’ll be headed back to Morgan’s Crossing now.”

  “Wait.” Her heart raced. He couldn’t head back. She hadn’t had time to see if the clues to the mine were in her father’s belongings.

  He stared down at her.