Anna gently rocked the cradle next to her chair. Bright sunshine filled the day and illuminated Ernest and Emma, Anna’s first born. Emma was almost four, and she was chasing Ernest who dodged repeatedly until he pretended to be trapped. She tagged him, and he scooped her up. 

Ernest had taken to fatherhood like a duck to water. He loved playing with the children—all the children. He read stories to May and Elsie and gave advice to Owen, Moses, and Ruth. Anna wasn’t sure how Ernest managed. Yet, he had the wherewithal to build a house large enough for all of them. The biggest house in the small village was a tribute to Ernest’s work ethic. He didn’t mind long, hot days in the summer, cold in the winter. 

New Thornton, as the village was named, wasn’t far from Redstone Crossing and the railhead. There were thirty families in the village, thirty homes. That was the beginning of something bigger. Not all were farmers or ranchers. A tiny town boardwalk suited a blacksmith, a dry goods store, and the office of Dr. Burke. A church complete with cemetery suited Preacher Hogan. Ernest didn’t doubt that soon there would be a saloon.

Not just any saloon.

He would make sure the saloon met village ethics.

At the moment, Anna was not only the town teacher but the town banker. Homeowners could borrow from Anna–provided they had the income to pay back the loan. She longed for the day when a proper bank would open. Luckily, she had another teacher to share the education duties.

Ernest carried Emma to the porch where he deposited her in a chair. 

“I tagged him,” Emma said.

“I saw that. You’re very fast.”

“I am.”

Ernest kissed Anna and stood to one side. Over a rise came a rider…Owen. He dismounted by the house. 

“Get your horse cared for then wash up.:

“I know,” Owen answered. “Thornton day.”

“Don’t call it that,” Ernest said. “It’s nothing I did.”

Owen grinned. “Everyone calls it that, as this is New Thornton.”

“It’s not New Thornton. It’s Keenesville.”

Owen led away his sweaty horse. 

“Let it be,” Anna said. “Everyone calls it New Thornton.”

“I never wanted it named for me or my family.”

“Like you didn’t want to lead us to Redstone Crossing. Like you didn’t want to ride herd. Like you didn’t want to fight against the outlaws.”

“I only did what I had to. Everyone did.”

“Not everyone could lead, Ernest. Although I think you should be glad they don’t call it Ernesttown.”

She laughed, and he laughed with her.

“You’re right, wife. That would have been a disaster. Let’s forget names for a while. What are we bringing to the supper?”

The weekly communal dinner had been Anna’s idea, and she pressed all the other mothers and ladies to participate. Almost all did. Husbands too. The men looked to Ernest for guidance and advice. That Ernest endorsed the weekly supper was enough for anyone.

“This is my week for dessert, so I have three cakes which should be enough. Oh, I have some berries too. Children love cake. Adults love the berries.”

“Sounds better and better.”

Anna heard the buckboard wagon before it appeared from around a rise. 

“Visitors, Ernest.”

“I see it.” He stood and moved to the edge of the porch.

Two men were seated in the buckboard, which rattled as there was no weight on the rear wheels. Anna noted that the man with the reins was an employee of the livery next to the railhead. The passenger was lean and wearing a suit that looked fresh off the shelf and a bowler hat that proved he was no cowboy. Young, a satchel sat on his legs. He could have been some sort of lawyer.

The wagon stopped, and the young man stood. “Are you Ernest Vance?”

“I am. Why do you ask?”

“My name is Dugan O’Reily. I’m a reporter for the Kansas City Star. Your name was given to me by an inmate who’s about to be hanged.”

“Who might that be?”

“Wade Cutter. Know him?”

“I’m familiar.”

“He killed another inmate, so they’re going to hang him. My editor thought there was story in that, so I went to see him. To tell the truth, he scared the hell out of me. Mind if I get down so we can talk proper?”

“About what?”

“Vance Fields and the cattle drive.”

Anna stood. “Come on in. Both of you. A sip of whiskey seems I order.”

The men sat around the table, glasses of whiskey in front of them. 

“I truly thank you for the hospitality. Sometimes, the people I talk to won’t have anything to do with me.”

“We won’t keep you long. We have a supper to go to.”

“Then, I’ll get down to business.” Dugan opened his satchel and pulled out a stack of paper and a pencil. “I have to tell you that Wade Cutter had nothing but admiration for everyone in that wagon train. Said you outfoxed him at every turn.”

“That’s not true, Mr. O’Reily. We lost as many head of cattle as we ate. We were more than a bit fortunate in that regard.”

“That’s a good fact, Mr. Vance.”

“Call me Ernest.”

“Yes, sir. I suppose the best place to start would be the flood. Mind describing that for me?” He licked the tip of his pencil.

“That’s not something I like to relive.”

“Oh, oh, I’m sorry. I thought…”

“It’s alright,” Anna said. “Remembering the past is sometimes beneficial. I’ll start, as I was there that night. It was a bad beginning. The water came after the dam broke, and it rushed through Vance Fields with all the vengeance of the angel of death.”

For the next hour, Anna and Ernest took turns relating the story of the death of Vance Fields and the trek to Redstone Crossing. Anna noted that they both sawed off the rough edges, making the travail easier and simpler than it was. Even with that, the trip contained plenty of adventure and death. Dugan took notes the entire time.

“So, Mr. Vance, it was you that captured Wade Cutter, correct?”

“I managed to get the drop on him, but not before he and his men killed off Sheriff Keene and had a shootout with Anna and the wagon folks.”

“Don’t let him shrug off what he did,” Anna said. “My husband took out the guard that would have alerted the gang. And he helped drive off their horses. His courage made all the difference.”

“Wives are always touting their husband’s good points,” Ernest said. “Both of them.”

Everyone laughed.

Dugan gathered up his pages and stuffed them into his satchel. “I have to say that you have given me enough for four articles. Our readers are going to love this story.”

“If you don’t have to go right away,” Anna said, “please join us for the community supper. You’ll find a good many people who are willing to share their history about the wagon train.”

“That’s right neighborly. And I will take you up on that. My train doesn’t leave till tomorrow noon. And I love a good cookout.” He turned to the man who drove the buckboard. “You got time for supper?”

The man grinned. “I thought she’d never ask.”

They laughed again.

Anna poured more whiskey and chased the Dugan and his driver out to the porch. 

“I have to ready myself, Ernest.”

“You do that. I’ll see to the children.”

Anna kissed his cheek.

Ernest picked up Emma, sat, and put her on his lap.

“Have I ever told you the story of Emma and the wizard?”

Emma shook her head. “What’s a wizard?”

“That,” Anna said, “is what your father is. The wizard of New Thornton.”

Ernest laughed afresh.

THE END