This is a continuing story, if you would like to read the from the beginning, the letter A : Aces and Eights But... each letter/story stands alone as well. Enjoy:)
The small but growing town of Dixon
was just ahead. Ben grinned as he slowed his horse to a walk. Just a few more
miles and he would be home. First, he had to stop at Macintyre General Store.
He stopped on the boardwalk and brushed off some of the road
dust. He heard a voice filled with surprise. “Benjamin Mason. As I live and
breathe.”
Ben looked up into the face of Frank Macintyre. He walked
into the shop and held out his hand. “Frank, it is good to see you. Do you still carry ready-made dresses? Or
maybe just a new bonnet.”
“Ben…. “ Frank didn’t know what to say, how to say. It was
obvious Ben hadn’t gotten the letter.
Ben continued as he looked around the shop. “The ladies in Washington
had these fancy woven bonnets, I could see Ellen in one with her hair all
tucked back…” He paused and grinned. “Sorry, I’m goin on and on, I’m glad
to finally be home.”
Frank nodded slightly, his own expression not so joyous. “Ben,
did you get Pastor Grove’s letter?”
Something was wrong, why would Pastor Grove have sent him a
letter? “No, I’m afraid the army mail system wasn’t very reliable at times.
It’s been eight months since I’ve heard from Ellen.” Ben looked at the shopkeep.
“Frank, what is in the letter from Pastor Grove?
Before another word could be said, Frank called back to his
wife. “Luella, I’ll be back in a little while.”
She walked out and put a hand over her heart when she looked
at Ben. “Take your time, dear. Mr. Mason…. I’m so sorry.”
Ben’s gaze went between the two, he was deeply concerned, and
what would she be sorry for? Before he could reply, Macintyre lead him out of
the shop and down the thoroughfare. “Much has changed since you went to fight.
The first year or so things were calm. Ellen was quite proud of you, so was
your uncle. Old Pete would brag a storm about his nephew the lieutenant.”
He glanced at Ben. “The railroad folk started comin through,
buying up every property they could get their hands on. The ones that didn’t succumb
to the bags of money they were offerin, well were pushed off.”
Ben stopped walking and looked at him. “Pushed off? Pushed
off how, didn’t any one stop them?”
Frank nodded but he could tell Ben was already taking this
hard. “Yes, several fought them. Formed coalitions and wrote to the
congressional offices and solicitors. Every thing legal. The railroad folk didn’t
play by the same rules. They turned this town inside out to get their way.
“They burned barns, houses, poisoned livestock, harassed wives
and children when they new their husbands and fathers weren’t there to stop it.”
He nodded when he saw the question and horror etched on Ben’s face. “Yes, Ellen
was among them. She fought them back as hard as she could. Pete stood with her.”
He motioned with his head toward the direction of the train
depot. “The last rails went down six months ago. Two moths after it happened.”
Ben’s breath was short with anxiety, where was his family? “When
what happened, Frank?”
Frank walked with him a few yards more to the cemetery.
There were several graves not more than a few months old. Ben’s eyes fixed on
one name. His hands shook as he knelt down and wiped the dust from the wooden
cross to see it clearly. Here lies Ellen
Mason. Wife and Mother 1864. Next to her a smaller cross.
Ben’s hands gripped the mounded grave dirt as a cry of grief
tore from his chest. For five long years,
he fought to come back to them and now, there is nothing left to fight for. He
sat for hours knelt between them until his grief had rung out and something
else took its place.
Something dark and thirsty, vengeance. There was something
to fight for, he would make sure those that did this would know as painful an
end. Benjamin Mason would bring hell to the rails.
Stoping in from the A to Z Challenge to say hello! Good luck with the story. Benjamin Mason sounds like one bad dude!
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