Prologue / Chapter One
Ellis watched fall colors fade into gray as the first snows of November cast a sparkle on the Missouri pastures. Seven months had passed since the war’s end and the untimely demise of President Lincoln. Winter remained mild, as if mother nature offered an apology, balancing her compassion with the conflict’s remnants of bitterness.
Ranch work continued with routine chores of horse training, wood cutting, and fence building. Most of the hands had moved on once the wild horse gathering wound down. Mustering days grew shorter, colder, and less likely to be productive. Her friend, Libby, worked alongside the wrangler, Kip, their deft hands and subtle riding turning the war’s forgotten horses into gentle mounts once again capable of a day’s work. Libby’s husband, Abe, perfected his culinary creations.
Libby and Abe, devoted wife and husband, moved through their days like they’d lived at the ranch forever. It seemed to Ellis they had forgotten about their furtive time facilitating the underground railroad, dodging the war, and helping people to safety. And perhaps they chose to ignore a desire to move on, further north, to look for their own remaining relatives.
It seemed Kip had forgotten his mistreatment, his need and reluctance to fight in the war, the loss of a hand to its temperament. To Ellis’s Aunt Maggie and Uncle Bill, these heroic people were no less a part of the family, though their skin shone dark and they arrived by coincidence. Ellis often thought her friends fit the ranch better than she did, even though her blood family—her father’s brother and his wife—owned the place. Ellis’s grandfather, whom she’d never met, had handed down a fine Missouri horse ranch to her uncle, William Cady.
During the long frosty nights, Ellis wondered what might have been different if her father had settled at the ranch alongside his sibling. If the brothers hadn’t been in love with the same woman. If the two families could have lived side by side, would they all still be alive? Maybe her father would never have left to sell horses to the army—and not returned. Maybe her mother would be tending the garden, or reading a new book she found at the mercantile. Maybe her brothers would be wrestling in back of the barn or the oldest, Walter, might be married by now. Earl, Ellis’s twin, might be working the horses alongside Kip. Or, more likely, be on his way west offering whatever excuse he could find.
Might she and Earl be saddling up for a winter ride along the Missouri river, laughing at their breath hanging in the raw, still air? She had become better at remembering her brother as he was when alive and adventurous, not as she last saw him, wounded and pale.
Since her arrival at Cady Ranch, Ellis continued to don the clothes she held most familiar. Her Aunt Maggie had employed a tailor to alter the shirts and trousers of her deceased son, and gave them to Ellis. For Christmas, Ellis received a winter barn coat and new boots in the men’s style of a vaquero roper. She loved the boots, and her aunt for giving them to her. She couldn’t help but wonder if Maggie saw Ellis as a consolation for her son, but if that were true, Ellis didn’t mind filling the role. She knew the pain of losing a brother—a mother. But she couldn’t imagine what it might be like to lose a child.
After the new year, her publisher and friend, Lucas, sent word that the prison journals had arrived at his print shop in St. Louis. The handwriting matched the letters Ellis had provided for comparison. Her father’s letters, written to her mother, after he and Walter had left to sell a string of horses to the army. Proof her father had been there, at Andersonville, but not on the list of those countless souls who had perished behind its perilous gates. What she once thought would take a miracle, now seemed a possibility.
Another letter announced the publication of her book and a request for her to visit and see it on the store shelves.
And finally, a short, hurried note affirming a man had asked about her book, alluded to being the father of the author, but quickly, mysteriously, disappeared into the city crowds. Lucas had hoped Ellis could come to St. Louis right away. But her journey had been stalled by a freakish late-winter storm, worse than all the season’s weather before then. For a week the snow piled high and the winds kept man and beast in houses and barns, waiting out the tempest. When it cleared, she received another letter.
Dear Ellis,
I know you were excited to find the man who may be your father. But I have to tell you now, I’m not so sure. The man you described to me seems fundamentally different than the man who showed up at my office. I realize the war took its toll on the human condition, and this man had allegedly been in one of the most vile of prison camps. But after he had agreed to see you if you were to come to St. Louis, he then returned and begged me to instruct you not to search for him. He seemed shaken and distraught, not like the quiet, gentle person I first met. He feared you could be in dan- ger if you were to come here, and it had little to do with the weather. He bore the demeanor of a man being chased.
I’ve heard about men who, after returning from war, portray themselves as a lost family member in order to gain property or means. Since you and your father would have connection to your uncle’s ranch, I fear this man could be positioning himself for such action. Why he is now warning you away, I do not know. Perhaps he gained a conscience. If he is an outlaw, I hold myself responsible for leading him here. Your book contains enough information about your life as would be useful to such a scoundrel.
My dear Ellis, forgive me, I know how eagerly you awaited your father’s return. But I beg you, do not endanger yourself by traveling while the weather is uncertain, and, if you do decide to embark in the spring, please understand disappointment may greet you.
I would, of course, delight in a visit from you, but if you choose to remain at the ranch I will, as soon as I can, travel to you, as I am your editor...
and devoted friend, Lucas
Now and then, Ellis would still suffer nightmares and cry out into the darkness. She wanted to scream to her father that she was still here, still alive. Hope had turned into something more substantial and, most days, she felt certain her father had survived the prison camp.
By spring new grasses and wildflowers resurged. She understood more about life, but as new thoughts came to her, new struggles grew, as well. She fought her emotions. Those she felt when she watched Libby training a colt or laughing with Kip. A familiar delight as Libby sat next to her with their morning coffee. The same rush as she watched Kip, shirtless in the warm spring sunshine, digging post holes. She envied the way Libby and Abe looked at each other as the sun set at the end of the day. She tried to hide her blushes as she worked through the stirring of her blood.
She visited Billie in the pasture, the mare with whom she had formed a bond so close it kept them both alive. Billie had found a home here at the ranch. But hard as she tried, Ellis just couldn’t settle in. She loved this place, these people, and thought she should be more than happy and grateful for a peaceful, simple existence. But she was overcome with an eagerness for adventure she could not explain. She heard Earl’s voice encouraging her to go west.
Ellis’s restlessness took root and ripened into more than the monthly affliction her aunt tried to blame. A year ago, she had traveled from her birthplace in Tennessee, across a vast river and into a southern Missouri wilderness while a war refused to fade. When a person loses almost everything, they come to see the little that remains differently. Ellis could fit those things in the pockets of her trousers and vest, the rest into her saddlebags. Whether or not the man Lucas met was her father, she would find him and learn the truth. As soon as the weather cleared, she rode northeast toward the promising city of St. Louis.
Chapter ONE
The dust from the road into St. Louis bloomed like a storm cloud in the distance. Ellis thought she heard the whistle of a riverboat, though it was only the screech of a hawk overhead. Fog, not dust, hung over the big muddy river. She imagined people crawling like ants on busy cobblestone streets; settlers moving west now that the war paled, a year in the past. The gritty smell of winter faded into spring’s dogwood and new grass. From where she sat astride her gelding, she wondered if she felt the buzz of the city, or the changing season. Maybe both. She’d rather be on the muted trail, heading further west, but she needed to find her father first.
The messenger spotted her as she made camp by the stream. He didn’t know whom he addressed at first, but asked if he could share the fire and said he sought the Cady Ranch. She introduced herself, used her given name of Ellis Cady, though she still dressed like her twin, Earl. As far as the messenger, Emmett, knew, he shared the fire and some coffee with a young man bound for St. Louis for a reason he couldn’t care less about. He handed over the note from the publisher, Lucas Bilford, no questions asked.
Dear Ellis,
I hope this note finds you soon. I think I’ve tracked down the man who claimed to be your father. I was sharing a meal with a friend of mine, Gus Kelsey, the proprietor of a local hotel. He said a gentleman “a bit haggard and walking with a cane,” had checked in. He said the man was quiet and unwilling to look him in the eye. He’d seen it before, damage the war has done to some men. I showed Gus the picture you shared with me of a younger man, and, although stooped and gray now, he thought it could, indeed, be the same man. He signed his name John Anders in the hotel register. Gus saw that he held your book and, trying to make friendly conversation, told him the author was expected in a few days. He said the man seemed concerned but didn’t say anything, took his key, and retired to his room. I’ve had no luck finding him there, but I’ve asked Gus to send word to me if the man checks out. He said he would. I hope you’re on your way.
Affectionately, Lucas
“I thank you for delivering this to me,” said Ellis. She was startled to see how quickly the young man had gulped the hot coffee before handing back the tin cup.
“Sure. It’s what I do. Been five years since the Pony Express let us all go, so I have to look for my own work.” Emmett buckled his saddlebags and retied the leather strings. “What with the railroad losing some tracks during the war and the Sioux cutting the telegraph here and there, I’ve been makin’ enough for coffee and biscuits.” The man stroked his horse’s neck. “That’s more than me and Arrow here’s had for a while.”
“You rode for the Pony Express?” Ellis thought Emmett looked to be about her age, maybe a few years older; small and slight, though a shadow of a beard darkened his face.
“Yep. They liked us light, you know? Didn’t care much about our age.” Emmett put a hand under his horse’s cinch, tossed the stirrup over the saddle and pulled the latigo tighter. “I was just fourteen then. My brother rode, too. He was sixteen, but we both had the makin’s of scrawny, like our Pa.” He chuckled. “Scrappy, though.” Emmett yawned. “Worked for a couple a’ Wild West shows, too. They’re always lookin’ for trick riders but even in the legit outfits the pay ain’t that good.” He lowered his stirrup, turned and smiled at Ellis. “’Course if they have a good cooky, it’s still worth the sweat.”
“You’re welcome to bed down here. Maybe your horse could use the rest?” Ellis wasn’t sure she wanted company, but thought the offer might be appreciated and Emmett seemed harmless.
“Naw. Since catchin’ up to you here, me ’n Arrow can make it back and try for another delivery before morning.” Emmett took up his reins, grabbed the horse’s mane, and swung up to the saddle like a cat jumping up a tree. “Thanks for the coffee. Maybe I’ll see ya around the city.”
Before Ellis could say goodbye, the rider had raced off, a puff of nighttime dust in his wake.
She’d read Lucas’s letter three times since then. The name John Anders niggled her thoughts. Why would her father change his name? Could he have forgotten who he was, taken a common name, and attached it to that awful place? The war wounded towns like it did people. Drastic measures taken by desperate men.
Two days later, the city emerged in the distance. As much as she liked the comparative luxuries of Cady Ranch, the ample food and good water, a roof over her head and clean clothes when she needed them, she still preferred the trail. She liked what happened between a human and their horse when they had nothing to depend on but one another.
Ace became a good traveler, a steady walker, and curious without being spooky. More like a mule in his thinking, he considered before reacting to something he didn’t know. Nothing like Billie had been. But Billie had learned, and taught Ellis volumes about how to get along on the trail. The mare had earned her time at the ranch in a herd of her own.
By the shadows on the hillock, Ellis figured the sun would be down soon. A peaceful stand of sycamore and the serenade of chirping crickets offered a good excuse for one more night under the stars. She would reach Lucas’s office in the morning.
Ellis tied Ace to a railing in front of the heavy wooden two-story structure. A bell tinkled when she opened the door and again when she closed it behind her. Coming in from the sunny morning, Ellis waited a moment by the door for her eyes to adjust to the darker room. A heavy desk sat to the left and printing presses, shelves, and supplies filled the room to the right. A flight of stairs led to a partial upper level with an enclosed room. No one greeted her, but the building seemed to breathe paper, ink, wood, and oil. It smelled like Lucas, and comforted her.
A man, taller and rounder than Lucas Bilford, came from the upstairs office and marched down the steps to where Ellis stood. He studied her and finally smiled.
“Ellis Cady? I didn’t expect to see you for another day.” The man put out a hand. “Sam Gibson, Mr. Bilford’s assistant.” Ellis shook his hand, but hadn’t yet found her voice. She kept surveying the building and the machinery.
“That’s right, you haven’t been here before, have you? I feel I know you—from the book, with all the work we did—I’d forgotten.”
“Mr. Bilford was kind enough to make the journey to me every month. I did appreciate it, so I could help out at the ranch over the winter.”
“Yes, well, he only complained of frostbite once or twice.” Sam winked at her, then cleared his throat and looked away. “Well, come on up to the office. The press will be starting up soon and it gets a might noisy then.”
Ellis walked tentatively into the office. The building conveyed purpose, established and heavy with many years of stories from all over the world. As she waited, more people entered the shop, the door’s bell chiming incessantly. Boots sounded on the wooden staircase.
An oak desk, bigger than an army cot, filled the center of Lucas’s office. One wooden chair behind it looked a little off-kilter. Two more wooden chairs sat at angles in front of the desk. Though weary enough to sit down, Ellis felt trapped in the small space. She turned to leave just as a man entered the room.
“Why, Ellis, so sorry I wasn’t here when you arrived, please forgive me.” Lucas wasn’t a tall man, but taller than Ellis. He wore a friendly expression and smiled easily, without staring. He held out an ink-stained hand and Ellis took it, relaxing at the familiarity. Lucas stepped behind a wooden chair, offering Ellis a seat. He waited but she didn’t move.
“Please, have a seat. Can I get you something to drink? Tea? Water?” he asked.
“No...thank you,” said Ellis as she slowly sat down on the edge of the chair.
Lucas moved behind the desk and sat in the crooked chair. He watched Ellis, a warm smile on his face, neither speaking. Their meetings at the ranch had often started the same way.
“My word, you haven’t seen it yet.” Lucas turned to reach behind him, his chair turning with him. He picked a book off the shelf and laid it ceremoniously in front of Ellis.
Ellis stared at it, its embossed leather cover revealed her first and middle name as the title. The author’s name was printed as E.R. Cady. She rose and moved to the desk, touched the book as if it were a living thing.
“You can pick it up—it’s yours,” said Lucas.
Finally, Ellis smiled at him, picked up the book with both hands and opened it carefully. She started to read, but her vision went blurry with tears. Not wanting Lucas to see her emotion, she grabbed firmly onto the book, took a deep breath, and remembered the other, more pressing reason for her journey.
Lucas picked up a newspaper clipping. “The book was written up in the St. Louis Post. Listen...”
Ellis interrupted. “The man—the one you think might be...” Ellis’s tears welled again.
“Oh, Ellis, I’m sorry.” Lucas put down the paper and started to stand, but wasn’t sure what to do. “As far as I know he’s still at the hotel. Shall I take you over there?” He watched Ellis for a sign of what she wanted.
Ellis took off her hat and rubbed a sleeve across her face, a hand smoothing her hair. “I know I look like a cowboy off the range, but I just don’t think I can wait any longer,” she said, trying to keep her voice from cracking.
Lucas cleared a spot on his desk for something swathed in a white cloth. He unwrapped it carefully. “Would you like to see these?”
Ellis stood and held her hand out to the battered journals. As her fingers touched the cover she recoiled and sat back down. “I’d like to see him first.”
“When was the last time you...saw your father?” asked Lucas.
“He and Walter left in—’62.” She looked down. “Four years ago.” Ellis glanced at Lucas and smiled. “But then, you knew that. How old does the man look?”
Lucas paused and Ellis could see his hesitancy offering an unsavory description. “Well, I figure your father would be, what, in his forties, maybe fifty?” He paused but Ellis didn’t respond. “The man I saw is gray and stooped, walks with a cane. But there’s something about him that seems, well, hardy, not one to give up. He knows he’s not remembering right, but he’s looking for something—help, maybe.”
“I remember Pa as a mountain. He wasn’t a big man, but he had a—presence, you know?” Ellis put her hat back on. “If it’s him, I’ll know it.”
The two of them exited through the front door just as a printing press started up. The harsh noise swallowed the building behind them. Outside, the city wakened to the morning. Men in top hats and fancy suits strolled along the boardwalk to shops, some with women on their arms, colorful dresses brushing the ground. A line formed outside the bank. Children ran across the streets and alleyways, hauling their schoolbooks as if they’d rather toss them aside and unburden their day. Their mothers called after them with unheeded reprimands. Cowboys rode the dirt avenues and Ellis noticed the horses. Here and there trudged a scrawny war horse, like the ones she had helped gather from trails around the Cady ranch, but some of them were of fine blood, both horse and rider admirable.
Ellis and Lucas climbed the two steps up to the Union Hotel. Just as they reached the door, a ruckus caused them to turn around. Two horses ran like wildfire down the middle of the street. Other traffic scattered before them. The riders came off their horses in tandem and then jumped back on, hanging from one side to the other, then standing in the saddles, holding on to one another like they were handling the reins as a team. When they rode close enough, Ellis could see smiles on their faces—women’s faces. A crowd had gathered just down from the hotel, in front of the saloon. The women stopped their horses there and took a bow from up on their saddles. The horses huffed and fidgeted as the women worked the reins to calm them. The riders jumped down, took flyers out of their saddlebags and commenced handing them out among the crowd.
One of the riders stopped in front of the hotel. She smiled at Ellis and handed her and Lucas each a flyer. The fancy print announced, Levi Jack’s Wild West Exhibition. “Hey there, Mr. Bilford, remember me? I think you printed these for us.”
“Of course. Jimmie Orr, right? Nice riding!” Jimmie looked at Ellis. Lucas looked back and forth between them. “Jimmie, meet Ellis Cady.”
“Cady. Like the writer?”
Ellis wasn’t sure what to say.
“Yes, she is the author of Ellis River,” said Lucas with some pride.
Jimmie put out a hand to Ellis. “Well, I’ll be. I was hopin’ to meet you someday. Just never know when someday will come.”
Tongue-tied, Ellis thought she should say something. “Nice horses.”
“Hey, Jimmie, we gotta get back!” yelled the other rider.
Jimmie shot a crooked smile toward Ellis and tapped Lucas on the shoulder. “Nice runnin’ into you.” She turned to leave, but then turned back. “Come on out to the show Saturday. There’s some new acts.”
Lucas waved as Ellis watched the woman leap up onto the tie rail and then onto her horse’s back. She flew away on the flashy paint horse, excitement remaining as the dust cleared.
The crowd thinned and Ellis remembered why they were there. She scouted the bustling streets to see if maybe the man she looked for was at hand, but she didn’t see anyone familiar, so followed Lucas into the hotel.
When they stood at the high counter and Lucas described to the bellman the man they were looking for, Ellis looked down at herself. She took off her hat, then put it back on. She fiddled with her gunbelt, struck the dust off her dungarees.
“Yes, I think I know the man you mean. He was here, quiet, didn’t seem to need much. Nice carving on that cane he had. Checked out yesterday.”
At those words, Ellis looked up at Lucas.
Lucas addressed the bellman. “Is Gus here?”
“No, he was called out of town yesterday afternoon. He should be back tomorrow.”
Ellis leaned toward the bellman. She thought the skinny man with glasses looked skittish. He reminded her of a coyote. “The man with the cane, did he say where he might be going? Who he might be looking for?”
The bellman looked back and forth between the short dusty cowboy and the young businessman with ink on his hands. “Well, no. He did talk to himself a bit, but not much to anybody else. You might want to check around town some. I think he came in on the train, so if he was going anywhere he might’ve needed a horse. Might check over at the livery.” The man nodded toward the door.
Ellis’s face fell. She didn’t notice the sympathy on Lucas’s face. He started to speak, “Well...” but his words landed at Ellis’s back and he followed her out the door.
Ellis looked up and down the street. She saw the livery sign and hurried toward it, determination moving pedestrians and riders out of her path. Lucas had to sprint a few steps to keep up.
An overhang had been built off the front of the barn for the blacksmith. No one seemed to notice Ellis’s approach as the ring of metal on metal grew louder. Ellis thought of Kip shoeing horses, back at the ranch. The way he worked with one hand missing still intrigued her. This St. Louis smithy wasn’t the muscled giant she expected. He stood just past the shoulder of a sixteen-hand gelding. Though strong and sinewy, he worked gently. She thought she heard him humming.
Lucas cleared his throat and spoke over the hammering. “Curtis,” he called.
The farrier dropped the horse’s foot, turned around, and smiled. “Well, Lucas, what brings you here?” He glanced at Ellis but didn’t linger.
“Curtis, this here’s Ellis Cady. Ellis, Curtis has been taking care of the town’s horses since before the war ended.” Curtis pulled a rag from his heavy leather chaps, wiped his hands and held one out to Ellis. She shook it as strongly as she dared.
“Lookin’ for horses? Or shoeing?”
“We’re looking for a man,” said Lucas. “He was staying over at the Union,checked out yesterday. Thought he might’ve come here for a mount.”
“Well, we just got some good stock in. Came upriver from N’Orleans last week.” He rubbed his chin. “Micah handles sales, you know, but let’s see what we got.” The man threw down his tool and led the way into the barn. As he walked down the aisle, he called out each horse’s name. Ellis and Lucas looked at each other.
The man acknowledged their reaction and Ellis was further amused to see such a brawny man blush. “Can’t help it. I name ’em when they come in. It’s how I keep track. Micah thinks me foolish, but we haven’t misplaced one yet. Oh, he thinks you shouldn’t name a horse you might lose or have to eat. Still stuck in the hard times from the war, I guess. But me, well, when I work their feet, I get to know ’em, you know? They each have their own habits. They’re easier to work if you get to know ’em and call ’em by name.”
Ellis found herself liking Curtis, but wanted to quicken the pace and shut the guy up, though she agreed with his observations. They made it through the barn and out the back where a dozen more horses stood around in a holding pen. A couple stood neck to neck, nibbling at each others’ withers, one eased itself down to roll in the dirt.
“Well, yeah, there are three missing from yesterday. Let me take a look at the ledger.” Curtis walked back into the barn and opened a large leather-bound registry that sat on the desk next to an inkwell.
“Cameo, the palomino, and...Maritus, the tobiano, those went to the Wild West show, fancy those two, color and breeding.” Curtis drew his finger down the page, then looked back out at the corral. “Okay, Benny, big chestnut gelding. Sold yesterday with tack and all to a...John Anders. That him?”
A brief smile lit Ellis’s face. She looked hopefully at Lucas. “Did he say where he was going?”
Curtis shook his head. “I was shoein’ out front. Didn’t hear much, but I know Micah was happy to get rid of that gelding. Had half an ear on one side, like it’d been bit off. Didn’t think he was gonna be able to sell him. People might’ve thought he was deaf, or gun-shy. That horse might’ve been through some battles, but he was sturdy and sound. Good feet.”
Encouraged by the farrier’s words—Ellis’s father could always spot a good horse—still, she fought her agitation at his rambling. “Is Micah due back soon?” she asked.
“Week or so. Rode over Jeff ’ City way to look at some stock.”
Lucas asked the question before Ellis could find her voice. “You were here, shoeing, did you see which way this John Anders left?”
“Well, come to think of it, I did. I noticed because the man walked with a cane, kind of stooped over like, but when he got on ol’ Benny, well he straightened right up and you wouldn’t have known. Put that cane in the rifle scabbard on his saddle. It was the darndest thing.”
“Which way?” Ellis’s voice rose. She felt her hand on her holster, though she didn’t know why.
Curtis recoiled. “Well...”
Lucas pressed. “It’s very important we find Mr. Anders, Curtis. Do you remember which way he went?”
“Well, sure. Rode like a bat outta hell...west.”
