The Revolt of Emmy Carson

MISSOURI, 1885

THANKS TO THE FULL moon, the wellworn path from the house to the road at the edge of the farm was brightly lit. Emmy peered into the darkness. She tensed when she saw nothing, then relaxed at the nearby sound of a horse’s nicker.

“Luanne?” she whispered.

“Over here,” came the hushed response.

She moved quickly toward the voice, and then saw her friend astride the Gilmore family’s big bay mare.

“Are you certain that Dinah can carry both of us?”

Lu smiled. “Easily. My father rides her almost every day, and he weighs more than the two of us combined.” She pulled her foot from the left stirrup. “Give me that carpetbag. Then hoist yourself up behind me.”

Emmy raised her skirt above her waist and clutched the material to her chest with her right arm. She put her left foot in the stirrup. Lu took her left hand and pulled her upward. She landed on the horse’s back with a thud and rearranged her skirt. They were ready to begin their clandestine journey.

At five and a half feet tall, Emmy’s slender frame and innocent demeanor gave no hint of the intense, determined woman within. Her unruly light brown hair fell loosely around her shoulders. Her dark blue eyes betrayed none of her feelings.

They rode for five hours at a deliberately slow pace. At first light, they came upon the railroad crossing in the town of Independence. After a short ride alongside the tracks, they finally reached the train depot.

Emmy waited while Lu went inside and bought a ticket. The next train to Kansas City was expected in less than two hours. Unbeknownst to the people that would soon be searching for her, Emmy Carson would be on that train.

Lu gave her the ticket. “I’m worried. So many things could go wrong.”

“If anything goes awry, I’ll simply have to think of something else.” She frowned. “No matter what happens, I refuse to marry that dreadful man.”

Lu nodded. “I have to leave you now. I have to make it home in a few hours.” She winked. “I wouldn’t want to be late for your wedding.”

Emmy laughed. “No, I’m sure you wouldn’t want to miss…whatever happens.”

“This is goodbye, then. Oh, Em, please write as soon as you can. I need to know that you’re safe.” As tears appeared, she turned, mounted her horse, and rode away.

Emmy waited at the side of the building. Only when the train approached nearly two hours later did she move to the platform. The trip was short. Although Kansas City was only ten miles from Independence, the difference between city and country was such that it might as well have been a world away. There were good jobs for young women. From repeated telling, Emmy knew the story well. In recent years, the Fred Harvey Company had established a chain of hotels and restaurants, called Harvey Houses, along the Atchison, Topeka and Santa Fe Railway. As a result, train travel in the southwest had become immensely popular. In the last few years alone, Harvey Houses had provided respectable employment to hundreds of single women aged eighteen to thirty.

In Kansas City, the Harvey Company office was adjacent to the depot. Emmy entered and pulled a slip of paper from her handbag. “I’m here regarding the notice in the Kansas City Star,” she told the stonefaced woman behind the counter. When the woman didn’t respond, she continued. “I’ve come to seek employment with the Harvey Company.”

The woman glanced at the notice, then scrutinized Emmy. “And you are?”

“My name is Emily Carson. I come from a farm a few miles east of Pleasant Hill. I am twenty-four years old, unmarried, and I have a high school education.”

Less than two hours later, employment contract in hand, she was on a westbound train to Raton, New Mexico. Soon, she would be a “Harvey Girl.”

—

WHEN LUANNE RETURNED FROM the train station in Independence, she found that her father and her older brother Burt were already dressed and ready to leave for the wedding. She changed her clothes at lightning speed, and the three of them set off in the

flatbed wagon to attend the wedding of Emmy Carson and John Ellis.

It was obvious that something had gone terribly wrong. The entire wedding party was milling around in front of the church.

Mark Gilmore, accompanied by his two adult children, approached the group. “What’s happened?”

“She’s missing. The bride. She isn’t here.”

“I thought we might begin the search with you, Luanne.” The voice belonged to John Ellis. He was seething with anger.

Lu looked him in the eye. “And why do you say that, John?”

“Because you’re her best friend, it would be easy enough for you to hide her.” He stepped closer and his eyes bored into her. “I’m warning you, if you’re the one who’s helping her escape, you’ll regret it.”

Mark stepped between them. “Since you’re a relative newcomer in these parts, I don’t know you very well, John, and I don’t know if you’re in the habit of threatening women. But you just threatened my daughter, and I won’t tolerate that. Now, I believe you owe the lady an apology.”

John clenched his fists, glared at Mark, and shouted. “Never!” He spun around and stormed away.

Mark was dumbfounded. He reached for Lu’s arm and drew her outside of earshot of the other guests. “Luanne, what do you know of this? To hear John tell it, Emmy was somehow being forced to marry him.”

Lu shook her head. “She wasn’t being forced in the physical sense. But her parents have put a great deal of pressure on her to marry John, because he promised them that the union would resolve the irrigation feud. The Carsons’ only access to irrigation water runs through land that John Ellis purchased last year. He wants Emmy as his wife, and unless he can have her, he’ll ruin the Carsons.”

“Then Emmy can’t possibly love him,” Mark said.

“No. In fact, she hates him for what he’s done to her family.”

“Hello, Emmy. I’m Ruth Singleton. How far are you going?”

“All the way to New Mexico. I’m going to be a Harvey Girl.”

“Me, too!” Ruth relaxed visibly. “Shall we stay together all the way?”

Emmy nodded. She began to feel safe for the first time in a long while. It was unlikely that those she had left behind could find her now. She leaned back and closed her eyes.

—

IN THE DAYS THAT followed, they settled into a routine. Compliments of their new employer, they enjoyed delicious meals at Harvey House restaurants all along the way, endured uncomfortable nights in the train’s cramped sleeping quarters, and marveled at the ever-changing landscape as their train continued westward.

Six days later, the conductor announced that the next stop was Raton. Emmy had arrived at last at her new home, ready to embark on her new life.

Two weeks later, accustomed to the rigorous demands of the job, Emmy was confident about her future as a Harvey Girl. It was her first day off and her first chance to venture outside since arriving in Raton. She had glimpsed the millenary, the general store, the livery stable up the street, and a few of the other stores that were housed in the nearby clapboard buildings. Emmy looked forward to exploring them firsthand.

She walked north, slowing to glance inside some of the stores. Passing the bank, she entered the post office next door.

She bought a stamp for the letter she had written to Luanne. Pleasant Hill, Missouri, was a small town, and the origin of incoming mail was sometimes grist for the gossip mill. Thus, the return address bore the name E. Jones. The clerk provided sealing wax, and affixed the stamp. Her letter would be on the morning train headed east.

With less than two dollars and her first payday still weeks away, Emmy dared not spend any money unless it was absolutely necessary. She bypassed the remaining stores and returned to Harvey House.

—

JOHN ELLIS WASTED NO time after learning from the loose lipped Postmaster that Luanne Gilmore had received a letter from E. Jones in New Mexico. The following morning in Kansas City he boarded the westbound train.

Although he didn’t know precisely where he might find Emmy in the little town, he intended to conduct a thorough and methodical search. Once he found her, she would be dealt with appropriately and then brought home to complete their nuptials as planned.

The train made regular meal stops along the way. Occasionally, John observed the young women who staffed the restaurants and wondered if Emmy might be associated with the chain that operated them. If there was a Harvey House in Raton, it would be one of the first places he would search.

—

JOHN ELLIS’S SUDDEN, UNEXPLAINED trip to New Mexico was the main topic of speculation in Pleasant Hill. When Luanne heard the news, she sent a wire immediately.

RATON NM

HARVEY HOUSE

E CARSON

PLEASANT HILL MO

L GILMORE

JE FOUND YOU LEFT ON TRAIN TODAY HEADED THERE

—

EMMY REALIZED THAT HER only hope of evading John Ellis was to get protection from Harvey House. If they couldn’t or wouldn’t help her, there were no realistic alternatives. Her hand trembled as she knocked on her supervisor’s door.

“Enter.”

“Hello, Mrs. Scott.”

“Hello, Emmy. What brings you here today?”

She took a deep breath and plunged in. “I’m in trouble and I need your help. When I came here, I wasn’t exactly running away from home.”

“No. After the age of eighteen, that would be technically incorrect. You’re beyond that, obviously.”

“However I did leave at a very… delicate time.”

Mrs. Scott raised an eyebrow. “Delicate?”

“I left my fiancé on our wedding day. I went to Kansas City, got hired as a Harvey Girl, and boarded the train coming west.” She looked down at Mrs. Scott’s desk. “A friend who was there wrote and told me what happened that day. Everyone showed up for my wedding... except me. The repercussions were disastrous—especially for my parents.”

“Did your parents understand what had happened?”

“Oh, yes. You see, Missouri is into its third year of a serious drought. Without irrigation water, my parents can’t hold out for another year. They’ll lose their farm.”

Mrs. Scott asked, “How does this relate to your wedding?”

“It hasn’t rained at all in fourteen months, and there’s no rain forecast for several more months. John Ellis, my ex-fiancé, controls the only remaining water in the area. There’s a small lake on his property. It isn’t nearly as large as it once was, but it’s enough to save the livestock and most of the crops in the region for another year. He can route that water wherever he chooses.”

“Then there shouldn’t be a problem—at least not an immediate problem,” Mrs. Scott said.

Emmy grimaced. “If John Ellis were a sane, decent, honorable man, you would be correct. Unfortunately, he isn’t any of those things.”

“Are you afraid of him?”

She placed her palms on Mrs. Scott’s desk and leaned forward. “Everyone is afraid of him. He uses that water to decide which of his neighbors will survive. He drives horrible, impossible bargains. Everyone knows he’s quite mad, but nothing can be done to stop him.”

Mrs. Scott’s face froze. She said, “Emmy, were you a part of one of those bargains? Did Mr. Ellis offer your parents his water in exchange for you?”

“Yes.”

“And did your parents agree to this?”

“Yes.”

Mrs. Scott stood, turned away, and bowed her head. Her eyes were moist when she returned her gaze to Emmy. She looked away quickly.

Emmy said, “I’ve just received a wire that he’s coming here to force me to return to Missouri with him. He got on the train in Kansas City this morning.”

Mrs. Scott said, “If he left today, he won’t arrive here until next Tuesday. So we have until then to work out a way to deal with this.”

“Then you’ll help me?” Emmy asked.

“Of course. This situation is far more common than you might imagine. Company policy is to prevent unwanted suitors from abducting our employees. If we were to turn a blind eye to the problem, we would never have a stable work force.”

—

MRS. SCOTT SOUGHT OUT Michael Murphy. As Manager of Raton Harvey House, Mike oversaw the activities of the entire staff.

“One of my girls is being pursued by an unwanted suitor,” she told him. “We’ve gotten word that he’ll arrive here from Kansas City on Tuesday’s train.”

He nodded. “Bring me the man’s name and description. I’ll notify the other supervisors, and I’ll assign a couple of men from the kitchen staff to meet the train and follow his movements.”

“Thank you, Mike.” She stood abruptly and left.

Two men were assigned to watch the platform when John’s train arrived. Mrs. Scott briefed all of the Harvey Girls on what to do if he were to approach them. They were ready.

—

AS THE ONLY MAN traveling alone who brought luggage off the train, John Ellis was an easy one to identify. Two men who had been waiting on the platform slipped behind him and followed him into the restaurant.

John dropped his suitcase just inside the front door. He glanced into the counter area, then turned left. He gave his reservation slip to the waitress, one of the older women working in the dining room, and she led him to a table.

“I hope you can help me,” he said as he took his seat.

The woman smiled. “Yes, sir.”

“I want information about a girl who works here.”

The woman frowned. “I’m sorry, sir. We don’t provide such information to customers. It’s company policy.” She looked up and nodded almost imperceptibly at the two men standing at the entrance of the room.

“I’m looking for Emmy Carson. I want to know where I can find her.” His tone had turned hostile.

“I’m sorry, sir.”

“Since you won’t give me what I want, I insist on speaking to your supervisor,” he said. “You’re rude and uncooperative.”

“Yes, sir. I’ll bring Mr. Murphy at once.”

The two men remained at the dining room entrance. John stayed seated. He tapped his forefinger absentmindedly on the white linen tablecloth. After a few moments, a man approached.

“Sir, I understand you wish to speak with me. I am Michael Murphy, manager of this establishment.”

John stood and extended his right hand. “I am John Ellis. You must tell me the whereabouts of a young girl who works here named Emmy Carson. You must tell me immediately.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Ellis. We don’t give out—”

“I said immediately,” he screamed.

His voice drew the attention of the other customers. The two men at the entrance walked quickly to his table.

Mike said, “If you’ll accompany me to my office, Mr. Ellis, I’m sure we can unravel all this confusion.”

They escorted John to the small office at the rear of the building. Mike indicated that he should sit in the guest chair opposite his desk.

He said to the men, “I’m going to speak with Mr. Ellis briefly, in private. Then I want you to escort him to the front door and help him with his luggage. After that, you may return to your regular work.”

Mike closed the office door and sat in the chair behind his desk. He looked at John for several seconds, then said, “Your motives are transparent and your methods are unacceptable.”

John pounded his fist on the desk. “My fiancée is here and I’ve come to take her home. My motives and methods are none of your damned business.”

“Mr. Ellis, it’s my responsibility to protect all of the women who work and live at Harvey House. That means no woman will leave here against her will.” He leaned forward. “So I must warn you. If you try to take any woman from here against her will, I’ll notify the Sheriff and you’ll be charged with kidnapping.”

John’s face reddened. “We’ll just see about that, Murphy. You don’t know who you’re dealing with.”

As he walked around his desk and opened the door, Mike said, “My employees will see you out, Mr. Ellis.”

They escorted John to the restaurant entrance. They assured him that there was no room for rent at Harvey House. They suggested that he try the Cachuma Hotel, one block up the street. They placed his suitcase on the sidewalk and shut the door behind him.

—

“JOHN ELLIS IS QUITE a handful,” Mike said. His elbows rested on his desk. He made a tent with his fingers and drummed his fingers together.

Vanessa Scott, still in the Harvey Girl uniform she had worn when she’d served Ellis, sat on the other side of the desk. “He comes from a poverty-stricken area where he’s relatively prosperous and powerful. He’s accustomed to having his demands met without question or interference.”

“He’s also delusional,” Mike added.

“Yes, I noticed that.”

—

WITH ONLY SIXTEEN ROOMS, the Cachuma Hotel didn’t warrant an attendant, although there was a small lobby. It was furnished with a writing table, an upright wooden chair, and an old couch with torn dark green upholstery. A faded reproduction of the classic portrait of George Washington hung on the wall over the couch.

A sign over the writing table directed guests to

register at the Brass Bucket. John dropped his suitcase and went next door to the saloon.

The bartender, a rugged middle-aged man, nodded. “Help you?”

“I want to rent a room next door.”

“Okay. I’ll help you with that.”

John signed the register and paid a week’s rent, then returned to the hotel. He unlocked the door to Room Nine. It was minimal, but it would serve his purpose. There was a badly scarred metal bed frame with a lumpy mattress and a threadbare blanket. The sheets, although heavily stained, were clean. A small table with an oil lamp sat a few feet from the bed, next to an old rocker. A battered chest of drawers stood against the wall.

There was one window. He peered out at the wall of the neighboring building and at the cluttered alley. He shook his head in disgust. It was time to press on with the mission. He stepped into the hall, locked the door, and headed back to the bar.

A lot of the regular customers thought the Brass Bucket felt more like a museum than a saloon. The walls were covered with mounted animal heads, Indian artifacts, old mining tools, and even parts of some early pioneer wagons.

There were photographs of almost everything imaginable. The favorite subject by far was the railroad. Engines, coal cars, cabooses, cattle cars, and passenger cars were represented in every possible configuration. Photographs of railroad crews and individual workers proliferated.

When the Civil War had ended twenty years earlier, hundreds of men from both sides had come west. While many of them still harbored grudges and bitter memories, in the minds of most westerners the war was simply an unpleasant episode in the country’s history. That history was amply represented by dozens of photographs of both Union and Confederate soldiers that hung on the walls of the Brass Bucket.

John Ellis took a seat at the bar and ordered a bottle of beer. He stared ahead, observing the room in the reflection of the mirror that spanned the back of the bar. There was a different bartender. Kenny, the one who had rented him his room, was seated at a table with another man. They were watching him. “HEY, THAT’S THE NEW guy in town, isn’t it?” asked Luke.

Kenny nodded.

“He looks familiar.I’m sure I know him from somewhere. Can’t quite place it, though. I’ll have to think on it.”

John slid off his barstool and walked to their table. “Mind if I join you?” he asked as he pulled out the empty chair and took a seat.

Luke said, “Actually, we’re expecting my brother shortly, and that’s his seat. But stick around anyway. Maybe he’ll know why you look so familiar to me.”

John tensed. “I’m not from around here. I just arrived today from the east.”

“What’s your line of work?” Luke asked.

“Doesn’t matter,” John huffed. “I’m here to look for someone. When I find her, we’re going home.”

Kenny said, “I’m not so sure you’d want to go home with any of the women you’ll be seeing in this place.”

“Maybe not,” John said.

“What’s her name—the woman you’re looking for?” Luke asked.

“Emmy Carson.”

“Are you serious? You’ll never see Emmy in this place. She’s a Harvey Girl.”

“Shut up, Luke,” Kenny snapped.

John leaned back in his chair and smiled. “Well now, that’s very interesting. That narrows it down for me. Maybe I’ll see you gentlemen again sometime.”

He stood suddenly and strode toward the door, colliding with a huge mountain of a man who was heading toward him. “Watch it, buster,” he growled.

The big man looked at John curiously then moved to the chair that he had just vacated. “What’s that dude’s problem?” he asked as he sat.

Luke said, “I don’t know, brother, but doesn’t he look familiar? I think we know him from somewhere.”

Tiny shook his head. “Can’t say. I didn’t get a good look at his face.”

“You’re right about one thing,” Kenny said. “That dude has a serious problem. And he is a problem, too. He’s been here for less than a day and already gotten thrown out of Harvey House. They think

he plans to kidnap Emmy Carson. He rented Room Nine at the hotel.”

“So is he dangerous, crazy, or both?” Tiny asked his brother.

Luke said, “Beats me, but he surely does remind me of somebody I used to know.” He frowned. “I just can’t recall exactly.”

—

THE STREET LAMPS HAD been lit for almost an hour when John emerged from his hotel room. He ambled up the block and stood across the street from Harvey House.

The dining room officially closed at nine o’clock. The last of the stragglers left at twelve minutes after nine. The kitchen crew was gone by nine-forty. The lamps were out by ten-fifteen.

He emerged from the shadows and walked toward the hotel. The noise from the Brass Bucket was the only sound he heard. He would get a good night’s sleep, then proceed with his new plan. He had solved the problem of how to get Emmy back. Of that, he was certain.

—

THE FOLLOWING MORNING, THE stationmaster notified Mike Murphy that John Ellis had purchased a train ticket to Albuquerque. An hour later, two railroad employees saw him board the train moments before it departed. John had paid a week’s rent in advance for Room Nine at the hotel. The housekeeper reported that his belongings were still in the room.

They watched and waited. Four days later, John stepped off the incoming train from Albuquerque and walked up the street toward the hotel. He carried a small parcel wrapped with twine in his right hand. A large manila envelope was tucked under his left arm.

—

TO THE ANNOYANCE OF the other patrons of the Brass Bucket, Luke Tyler had become a man obsessed. Mumbling interminably about where he had seen John Ellis before, he paced behind the men at the bar. With his head bowed deep in thought, be paced along the side wall past the ever-growing collection of memorabilia and old photographs.

“Can’t you relax for just a few minutes, Luke?” one of the men yelled. He stopped pacing and looked up. His eyes fell on a familiar photograph. It was his old outfit from the Civil War, taken early on, when the boys were still healthy, smiling, and optimistic that the war would soon end in their favor. The three Tyler brothers stood together—himself, Tiny, and Jimmy.

It was before the deserter in their midst had made his presence known. In their very first face-to-face encounter with the enemy, the bastard had grabbed Jimmy and used him as a human shield as he retreated backwards into the woods. Then the damned coward dropped Jimmy’s dead body and ran away. He was never caught.

They searched for him after the war, but eventually gave up. Luke looked again at the photograph. The miserable coward stood there, looking boldly at the camera, with his elegant handlebar moustache and his perfectly trimmed beard and his….

“Tiny, come over here quick!” Luke shouted.

“What’s wrong?” Tiny asked as he hurried over.

Luke pressed a trembling finger on the photograph next to the deserter’s face. “Take away the beard and moustache. Add twenty pounds and twenty-five years. Who do you see?”

Tiny’s eyes widened. “Oh, my God. I think you’re right. Oh, my God!”

“It’s him,” Luke said. “It’s John Ellis. I remember some of his mannerisms from back then. Since I started following him, I’ve noticed some—”

“You’ve been following him?”

Luke nodded. “For the last couple of nights, since he came back from Albuquerque.”

“Where did he go?” Tiny asked.

“Both times to the same place—across the street from the bedrooms at Harvey House. He went down there at around nine o’clock and hid in the shadows. I didn’t stay there much after ten-thirty, but I think he’s planning to make a move. And soon.”

Tiny frowned. “What time is it now?”

“It must be close to midnight.”

“C’mon, brother. Let’s take a walk down there and have a look.”

—

DESPITE HIS DARK CLOTHING, John’s form was easily discernable. He clung to a large vine on the wall of Harvey House, about three feet below a second floor windowsill.

Tiny’s voice boomed into the darkness. “John Elliott, you are under arrest. Come down and raise your hands above your head.”

John jerked violently. There were three loud popping sounds as the trellis that supported him snapped and he fell to the ground.

They ran to him.

He lay on his back at an awkward angle. Even from several feet away, they knew his neck was broken. They knew he was dead.

The trellis, with its vine still firmly attached, now lay in two pieces on the ground next to John’s body. A woman screamed. Tiny looked up and recognized Ruth Singleton, Emmy Carson’s roommate.

“That man tried to follow me,” she shrieked.

“It’s all right,” Tiny called back. “He can’t hurt you now.” To Luke he said, “Go for the Sheriff.”

—

EVERYONE AT HARVEY HOUSE was awake by the time Sheriff Ron Nicholson arrived. Nicholson peered down at the body.

“Who was he?” he asked Tiny.

“His name was John Elliott. He was a Civil War deserter. Nowadays he calls himself John Ellis.”

“How do you know him?” Nicholson asked.

“He was responsible for the death of my brother.”

Nicholson nodded. “So… revenge?”

“I won’t deny that I might have killed him if I’d had the opportunity.” He gestured at the broken trellis and John’s body. “But as you can plainly see, this man fell to his death while trying to break into a lady’s bedroom.”

“I can verify that,” came Mike Murphy’s voice from behind them. “John Ellis made several attempts to abduct one of the Harvey Girls. This was his latest— and his last, obviously.”

When Nicholson unbuttoned the dead man’s shirt, he found a body wallet fastened around his waist. Inside was almost four-hundred dollars in

cash and a Certificate of Marriage stating that John Ellis and Emily Carson had been joined in holy matrimony one week earlier, on the eighth day of October in the year 1885, in Albuquerque, New Mexico. Reading over the Sheriff’s shoulder, Mike Murphy raised his eyebrows.

“That certificate looks real,” Mike said.

Nicholson ran his fingers over the paper. “It’s real, all right. It’s not easy to fake this engraving and the embossed seal. This is the real thing.”

That means it belongs to Emmy Carson now,” Mike said. “I’ll be seeing her shortly. I can pass it along to her.”

Nicholson looked up. “I don’t know. It doesn’t seem exactly— ”

“C’mon. You know I’m not going anywhere, and this document really does belong to Emmy, don’t you think?”

Nicholson hesitated. He trusted Mike Murphy and owed him a lot for past favors. Reluctantly, he handed Mike the certificate. He looked around. “I see nothing to contradict what all of you have told me. I’ll have the Coroner specify accidental death on his Death Certificate. What did you say his real name was?”

“John Ellis,” Mike said. “He may have used other names at other times in other places, but here in Raton, he was John Ellis.”

Sheriff Nicholson took custody of the body. The rest of the activities associated with John’s death would wait until daybreak.

—

BY MIDMORNING, MOST OF the town had heard the story about the man who had died during the attempted break-in. The dining room at Harvey House was filled to capacity with curiosity seekers.

The housekeeper at the Cachuma Hotel cleaned out John’s room and delivered his belongings to Sheriff Nicholson. In addition to clothing and

the usual personal items, there was a box of hand weapons, mostly knives, and various lengths of rope and other restraints. It was clear that John had not expected Emmy Carson to accompany him willingly.

office. “There’s an interesting development. I’m not certain where it might lead,” he said.

“What development?”

“A Marriage Certificate was found on John Ellis’s body. It states that John and Emmy Carson were married in Albuquerque on the eighth of October. I believe it’s genuine.”

“That’s not possible.” Vanessa sat upright. “I know for certain that Emmy never left Harvey House on that day.”

Mike shook his head. “I don’t mean that the marriage took place. I’m referring to the certificate itself. There are three possibilities. First, John could have paid someone to create a forgery. But that could be exposed rather easily, and it would get him into serious trouble. Second, he could have bribed a government employee to record a false marriage and issue the Marriage Certificate. Third, he could have paid someone to impersonate Emmy and actually participated in a marriage ceremony. The last alternative would have been the safest, so I think it’s the most likely.”

“Why would he do that?” Vanessa asked.

“The housekeeper at the hotel found several ropes and knives in his room. I think he intended to take Emmy by force back to Missouri. Once he was on his home turf, where he has a great deal of influence, he would have been able to do whatever he wanted with her. But while they were on the train, he needed a way to hold her captive. If Emmy claimed that he had kidnapped her, he would simply show the authorities that Marriage Certificate.” He shrugged. “A man can’t kidnap his own wife.”

“And the Territory of New Mexico would verify that the marriage had been recorded and the license was genuine,” Vanessa said. “But now that John is dead, none of that matters.”

“If John left no will and has no heirs, then his estate would become the property of the State of Missouri,” Mike said.

“Yes, and that’s a possibility.”

“Except for the ‘interesting development’ I mentioned. The legally valid Marriage Certificate and John’s legally valid Death Certificate prove that Emmy is John’s widow. She could claim his entire estate, including his farm.”

“Oh.” Vanessa was stunned. “There could be ethical issues.”

“Yes. If John has heirs, it’s clear-cut. His estate would go to them. Otherwise, it’s complex.”

“I’ll present the facts to Emmy. She needs to work it out on her own.”

WHEN MRS. SCOTT FINISHED, Emmy was in a quandary. The discovery of the Marriage Certificate was incomprehensible. The reality that she could successfully represent herself as John’s widow and claim his estate was overwhelming. In addition to releasing John’s precious irrigation water and saving her parents’ farm, she would be able to provide much needed relief to dozens of farmers in Pleasant Hill.

She found a secluded place and deliberated for several hours before she reached a decision. If it were found that John had a rightful heir, she would not pursue the matter. Otherwise, she would move ahead with the plan.

THREE WEEKS AFTER JOHN Ellis’s death, Mike Murphy received a letter from his attorney in Albuquerque. Per his request, the Pinkerton Agency had completed its investigation. John Ellis had no heirs. In fact, John Ellis had no past at all. There were no clues as to his previous identity. Apparently he had appeared out of nowhere with a large fortune and made several lucrative investments.

As John’s widow, Emmy Carson could claim his estate. Mr. David Rhodes, Esq., of Kansas City had been thoroughly briefed on the matter and would, if requested, fulfill all legal requirements.

—

MRS. SCOTT SUMMONED EMMY to her office and maintained her usual stern demeanor for a few moments before breaking into a smile. “According to Mr. Murphy’s attorney, the Pinkerton Agency has determined that you are the sole heir to John Ellis’s estate. Congratulations, Emmy.”

“Oh…oh. I wasn’t prepared for this. Not really.”

“Have you changed your mind?”

“Oh, no. I want to go through with it. I want to save my parents’ farm.”

Mrs. Scott said, “I’ve made arrangements for you to return to Missouri. When you reach Kansas City, you can complete the legal business associated with John’s estate. Harvey Company policy requires that you be employed for at least a year before you qualify for train or meal passes. Since you haven’t been with us that long, you will be required to reimburse the company for your trip. That won’t be a problem for you, once your estate is settled.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Scott. When am I to leave?”

“Whenever you wish.”

PLEASANT HILL MO

L GILMORE

RATON NM

E CARSON

JOHN ELLIS DEAD AS HIS WIDOW WILL ARRIVE THERE ONE WEEK TO SETTLE ESTATE

—

EMMY BOARDED THE EASTBOUND train late in the afternoon. Several days later, when she stepped onto the platform in Kansas City, she saw a well dressed young man with an inquisitive expression who held a crudely lettered sign over his head that said, “Mrs. Ellis.”

The man looked at her and raised his eyebrows. When Emmy nodded, he smiled and approached her.

“Mrs. Ellis?”

“Yes.”

He relaxed. “Excellent. My name is Charles Rhodes. My father sent me to find you and take you to his office. He’s the attorney who’s been retained to handle your legal affairs.”

Charles picked up her suitcases and motioned with his head for her to follow him. A block away, an enclosed carriage waited for them at the curb. He put her luggage in the rear compartment and helped her inside, then climbed in and sat in the seat opposite her.

Emmy said, “I’m almost frightened. I’ll be happy when all of this is behind us.”

“You brought your Marriage Certificate and your husband’s Death Certificate with you, correct?” Charles asked. When she nodded he said, “That’s all we’re missing to complete the transfers. It won’t take long.”

The carriage stopped in front of an elegant brick building in the prosperous central business district. Charles helped her out, retrieved her luggage, and paid the driver.

—

DAVID RHODES, A SLENDER, handsome man in his late forties, introduced himself and proceeded to lead Emmy through the procedures necessary to implement her plans.

“First, Mrs. Ellis, please sign these documents. They give you sole title to all of your late husband’s assets.”

Emmy hesitated and seemed about to speak. Then she bent her head and signed the name Emily Ellis on each document.

“Excellent,” Mr. Rhodes said. “Next, please sign these three documents. They transfer the funds in your husband’s three financial accounts into your own personal account, which will remain in your maiden name.” He paused, then added in a gentle voice, “That’s certainly understandable, considering the circumstances.”

Emmy signed without hesitation.

“I want to release some water from the Ellis farm and route it to another property— my parents’ farm. When can I do that?” she asked.

“As Mr. Ellis’s widow, you’re entitled to do that whenever you wish,” Mr. Rhodes said,

He shuffled some more papers on his desk. “The final requirement is to pay for the cost of completing this business.”

He handed Emmy two bank drafts. The first covered his fee, which was considerable but, Emmy thought, well worth the money.

The second draft was to establish a holding account, from which Mr. Rhodes would pay future invoices that were billed to the Ellis estate. The account would also be used to reimburse Mr. Michael Murphy for his expenditures to date, including Mr. Rhodes’s initial retainer and the search by the Pinkerton Agency for John Ellis’s heirs.

It occurred to Emmy now—and it made sense when she thought about it—that substantial expenditures had already been made. She signed the drafts without hesitation.

Mr. Rhodes smiled for the first time. “Thank you for your cooperation. Our business is concluded.”

Charles Rhodes said, “If you’ll come with me, I’ll make sure you get a carriage back to the train station.”

Two hours later, Emmy was on the feeder train for the relatively short trip from Kansas City south to Independence.

SHE WAS MET BY the entire Gilmore family. Luanne’s father Mark drove a flatbed wagon. Lu and Emmy sat next to him, and Lu’s brother Burt rode in the rear. They went directly to the Ellis farm, where Mark Gilmore and his son set to work routing water to the Carson farm.

Emmy and Luanne explored the main house while Emmy told the remarkable story of how she had come to own the Ellis estate. They mounted the Marriage Certificate in a frame and, giggling like school girls, hung it in the parlor.

It was the first of hundreds of changes that Emmy intended to make to the Ellis property in the coming years.

Vicki Stevenson

Vicki Stevenson toiled for years as a software engineer, systems analyst, and eventually Manager of Office Automation for Litton Industries in Los Angeles. Finally striking out on her own, she became a consultant to Intel Corporation in Chandler, Arizona, where she worked as a designer, writer, and trainer of manufacturing automation for semiconductors.She has a BA in Economics from UCLA.

As a kid growing up in California, Vicki was fascinated by the many remnants of Old West history that are still visible today. A high school field trip to Corriganville, then a filming location for stories of the Old West, triggered a lifelong interest.

Now retired, Vicki has come home to roost in Southern California (the San Fernando Valley to be exact). She is the author of six published novels and dozens of short stories. In addition to writing fiction, Vicki’s hobbies are daydreaming, snacking, and procrastination. How sweet it is.

“The Revolt of Emmy Carson” is Vicki’s first short story to be featured in Saddlebag Dispatches.