“He’s not going to mail me a letter.”

“Sure. But folks leave messages for one another at the post office. Maybe he left a note, saying where he went.”

My heart leaps. Why didn’t I think of that? Of course there would be a place where folks could leave messages. I turn Peony toward the bluff, then pause in my saddle to look back. “Thank you, Mr. Jones!”

“Leave him a message too, in case he comes looking for you.”

“I will.”

“Then come back and ride west with me!” he shouts. “I’ll be leaving tomorrow or the day after. Good luck!”

I almost ask if he’s willing to hire two hands. Maybe I can find Jefferson and bring him back here. For the first time in weeks, I feel a spark of hope.

I wait in line for the postmaster, who has all the hurry of a cow chewing cud. His pocket watch gives the back of my throat a slight tingle. I bet he thinks it’s a fine piece, and I’m irritated enough from waiting, waiting, waiting that I’ve half a mind to tell him it’s less than forty percent pure.

When it’s finally my turn, I lean on the counter and say, “Did Jefferson McCauley leave anything for me?”

“I don’t know. Who would the letters be addressed to?”

“Lee Westfall. Or maybe Leah Westfall.”

He peers at me.

“My sister,” I add quickly.

“Let me check.” He steps away from the counter and flips through a box of letters. Every time he lifts one up to get a better look, my heart pounds a little harder. His hands are empty when he returns to the counter. “No, sir, Mr. Westfall, I’m sorry, but there’s nothing for you or your sister.”

“Oh.” I was so sure this was the bit of luck I’d been waiting for. “How can I leave a message, in case . . . our friend shows up?”

“You write a letter, pay the postage, and I hold it for him.”

“All right,” I say, fishing in my pocket for pennies. “Do you have pen and paper?”

He’s already reaching for them. “It costs extra.”

Of course it does, but I gladly pay.

It’s been months since I’ve had reason to write anything, more than a year since I’ve used stationery, and my penmanship is a disgrace. Best to keep things simple.

April 20

Dear Jeff,

Hope you are safe well. I am here in Independence waiting for you. I can be found in that clump Grove of Hickory stumps about a mile north of Town. If you don’t come soon I will wait as long as I can. Please leave a Message with the Post Man. Where can we meet? Address to Lee McCauley. I’ll explain later. Sincerely, Yours, Lee