All My Tomorrows Page 9

  In Colorado Springs, Colorado, on that same morning of April 6, El Paso County Sheriff Clay Bostin stood at the kitchen window finishing his final cup of coffee while his wife, Mary, was putting the breakfast dishes in the dishpan.

  Bostin looked up at the Rocky Mountains to the west of the house and marveled at God’s handiwork. The sun tipped the apex of Pike’s Peak rosy red. A deepening rose color reflected on the adjoining mountain tops and this magnificent glow crept down the shadowed slopes. The gray dawn that had been there when the Bostins sat down to breakfast had now changed to a radiant morning with a golden red hue.

  Bostin finished the last drop of coffee and placed the cup in the hot, soapy water in the dishpan. He smiled at Mary, who was wiping the table with a wet cloth, and pointed with his chin at yesterday’s newspaper, which lay on a small table next to the cupboard. “I meant to ask you last night. Did you get a chance to read the paper yesterday?”

  Mary nodded. “Yes, and like you told me, there’s a notice that there’s another orphan train coming in on Wednesday, April 12.”

  Clay met her gaze. “Do you want to try again?”

  “Yes. Very much so. Though the Lord didn’t give either one of us peace about taking an orphan from the last two trains, I really believe He has a special one picked out for us. Maybe he or she will be on next Wednesday’s train.”

  The Bostins, who were in their late twenties, had agreed that whether God had a boy or a girl picked out for them, either would be fine. It was like when a couple had a baby by birth, they must take what comes: boy or girl.

  Mary moved back to the cupboard and laid the cloth down.

  For a moment, she allowed her mind to reach back to the past, when she was sixteen years old and had to have surgery, which unexpectedly rendered her unable to bear children. She thought of how devastated she was when the doctor gave her the bad news.

  Another fragment of memory flashed into her mind: the moment when she told the young man who wanted to marry her that she could never give him children. A warm feeling went through her as she remembered Clay’s words. “Mary, darling, I love you with everything that’s in me. If we can’t have a child of our own, then we’ll adopt one, but I want you for my wife, no matter what.”

  A lump rose in Mary’s throat as she looked at her husband. “I love you, Clay. More than you will ever know.”

  He stepped to her and folded her in his arms. “That works two ways, beautiful. You’ll never know how much I love you, either.”

  As was their custom, the Bostins took time to read a chapter of Scripture together and to spend a few minutes in prayer before he went to his office.

  They had just finished praying when there was a knock at the front door of the house. As Clay left the kitchen to see who was at the door, Mary picked up her dishcloth, dipped it into the soapy water, and began washing the dishes.

  When Clay opened the door, he found Western Union operator Gerald Pearson holding a yellow envelope in his hand.

  Clay smiled. “Well, good morning, Gerald. You’re at it early, aren’t you?”

  “You might say that, Sheriff. I have a telegram for you and it’s urgent. I’ll wait to see if you want to reply.” As he spoke, he handed the envelope to the tall, broad-shouldered lawman.

  Clay opened it quickly and saw that the telegram was from Warden George Gibson at the Colorado Territorial Prison in Canon City. While reading it, he could hear Mary’s footsteps coming down the hall from the kitchen.

  When she drew up, drying her hands on a dishtowel, she nodded to Gerald Pearson, noting the grim look on her husband’s face. “What is it, honey?”

  Clay set his jaw. “Bad news. You remember Shad Gatlin was to be hanged at sunrise this morning.”

  Mary’s brow furrowed. “Yes.”

  “Well, he escaped from the prison last night without the guards knowing it until dawn. He’s on the loose.”

  The sheriff, Mary, and Gerald Pearson knew that it was Clay’s deputy, Art Flynn, who had spotted Gatlin in the nearby town of Widefield two weeks previously, got the drop on him, and put him under arrest. Gatlin, who was from New Mexico, had been convicted of murder there three years ago and escaped before they could hang him. He had murdered at least eleven people in southern Colorado since then, including two children. A week after Deputy Sheriff Art Flynn had brought Gatlin in, he went to trial, was convicted, and was sentenced to hang at sunrise the morning of April 6 at the Territorial Prison.

  Clay set concerned eyes on Mary. “Gatlin was carrying a grudge for Art. He just might come after him. I’ve got to ride like the wind and get to the Flynn house immediately. Gerald, I need to you to go my office for me. When my other two deputies show up—which they will shortly—tell them where I’ve gone and why, will you?”

  “Sure, Sheriff.”

  “Then wire Warden Gibson and tell him I’m on the alert for Gatlin. Bill my office for the wire charge, okay?”

  “Will do,” said Pearson. He excused himself to Mary, bounded off the porch, mounted up, and galloped away.

  Clay went to the small barn behind the house, saddled and bridled his bay gelding, and led him up to Mary, who was now standing by the back porch. He took her in his arms, kissed her soundly, told her he loved her, and leaped into the saddle.

  She watched until her husband was out of sight, then climbed the back porch steps, took the galvanized washtub off the wall, and carried it into the kitchen.

  Nearly two hours had passed when Mary Bostin was hanging her wash on the clothesline behind the house. She heard pounding hoofbeats and looked up to see her husband come riding in, his face pale.

  Her heart sank as Clay slid from the saddle.

  “Honey, don’t tell me—”

  “Gatlin got to the whole Flynn family, honey.”

  Mary’s hand went to her mouth. “Oh no!”

  Clay’s voice was strained as he said, “When I arrived at the house, I found Art, Ella, and little four-year-old Ronnie in pools of blood on the kitchen floor. Art and Ronnie were dead. Ella was dying. She lived long enough to tell me that they were just sitting down to breakfast when Gatlin burst into the kitchen. He shot Art first, then Ella, then Ronnie. Art and Ronnie were killed instantly. Gatlin must have thought all three were dead, because he dashed out of the house immediately and rode away. Ella got that much out, then died.”

  Tears filled Mary’s eyes. “Oh, Clay, this is terrible. Poor Ella. How awful to see her husband and little boy shot to death right before her eyes.”

  “Yes. That low-down skunk has got to pay, honey. He had to have stolen a horse somewhere near the prison. I found the hoofprints by the back porch and followed them on the road far enough to be able to tell that he is heading due east. No doubt he wants to get across the Kansas line. I’m going after him.”

  Mary felt a chill touch her backbone. She had never gotten used to her husband having to hunt down vicious outlaws. “Which deputy are you taking with you?”

  “Neither. I’m going after him alone. With Art dead, we’re short of deputies. I have to leave Brent and Randy to watch over the town and the county. They both offered to go with me, but understood how it has to be when I explained it.”

  Mary’s lips lost color. “But, darling, I’m afraid for you to go after that beast alone. He’s a crafty, heartless killer.”

  “I have no choice. I can’t leave the town and the county with just one deputy to watch over them.”

  “I—I understand. I just wish it didn’t have to be this way. I’ll pack food for your saddlebags while you feed and water your horse.”

  Clay thanked her and asked her to bring his Bible as well, and led the horse toward the small barn.

  In the kitchen, while she packed food in paper bags, Mary prayed in her heart for God’s protection on her husband as he trailed the killer.

  When Clay led his gelding up to the back porch, Mary came out the door with the paper bags in her arms and his Bible in her hand. She handed him the Bible first. He in
serted it in the saddlebag where he always carried it when traveling on horseback.

  She then gave him the packed food, and he placed it in the other saddlebag.

  He then took Mary in his arms. “Sweetheart, this is one of those times we talked about before you married this lawman. We know this is part of my job. I’m in God’s hands, and there is no more perfect place to be. You pray with me that the Lord will deliver that killer into my hands real soon.”

  “I will, darling, but if you’re not back by next Wednesday, I won’t go to the depot to look at the orphans. We need to do that together. We’ll just have to wait till the next orphan train comes through.”

  “I hope I will have caught Gatlin and brought him back by then, but if not, you should go ahead and prayerfully look the orphans over. If you feel an attraction toward a certain boy or girl, and the Lord gives you peace about him or her, go ahead and sign the papers for the child and bring him or her home. You have proven over and over on other matters how well you know the mind of the Lord, and I trust your judgment.”

  Mary smiled. “You flatter me, Clay. You’re sure you want me to take this responsibility on myself?”

  “Dead positive.”

  “All right. If you’re not back by Wednesday, I’ll look the orphans over and follow the Lord’s leading.”

  “Good. Well, I’ve got to get going.”

  Clay kissed Mary ardently, and she clung to him, reluctant to let him go.

  He sensed her fear and gently pulled away, still keeping his arms around her. He met her tear-dimmed gaze. “Like I said, sweetheart, this is part of my job.”

  “I know, love, and I send you off in God’s care. Please get your job done and hurry home.”

  “I’ll give it my best, honey. Take care of yourself too.”

  “I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about me. Just catch that beast and come back to me.”

  Clay kissed her again, then turned and quickly mounted his horse. As he settled in the saddle, he said softly, “I love you.”

  “I love you too.” Mary’s throat tightened with fear.

  She watched his beloved form until horse and rider were out of sight, then went into the small white clapboard house and hurried to their bedroom. She fell to her knees with her elbows resting on the bed and her head lowered into her hands, and prayed, asking God’s protection on Clay and to help him catch the killer quickly.

  She rose from her knees with the peace in her heart that passes all understanding, and busied herself around the house, trying to make the hours pass quickly.

  Riding out of Colorado Springs heading due east on the road where he had seen the hoofprints of Shad Gatlin’s horse, Sheriff Clay Bostin stopped in small settlements along the road, inquiring if anyone had seen a rider of Gatlin’s description. After three stops, he had found no one who had seen the fleeing killer. This did not dissuade him. Gatlin would not ride into New Mexico where he was wanted for murder. The closest territorial border was the one between Colorado and Kansas. Just because he was not noticed by the residents of the small settlements did not mean he wasn’t headed for the Kansas border.

  It was almost 10:30 when Bostin rode into the town of Ellicott, which was the first town on the road since leaving Colorado Springs. Keeping the gelding to a slow trot, he looked around at the false-fronted buildings that seemed to stare at one another with weather-faded facades across the broad, wheel-rutted swath of earth known as Main Street.

  His attention was drawn to two older men who were sitting on a bench in front of the general store. Guiding the gelding up to the boardwalk, he introduced himself and explained that he was in pursuit of a convicted murderer who had escaped the Canon City Prison. He described Shad Gatlin and was pleased to hear that they had seen him ride through town about three hours ago. He was also given a description of the horse Gatlin was riding.

  Satisfied that his instincts were right, the sheriff thanked the men for the information and galloped eastward out of town.

  As the orphan train rolled westward toward Salina, the sponsors kept the children occupied with games and songs. By noon, however, everyone noticed that dark clouds had filled the sky and were spitting snow. The wind was howling fiercely and driving snowflakes against the windows of the coaches. An early-spring storm had hit the Kansas plains.

  The snowfall grew heavier as the hours passed, and by the time night fell, passengers throughout the train noticed high drifts forming alongside the tracks. The conductor moved through the regular coaches, keeping the fires burning in the small woodstoves. In the orphan coaches, this was the job of Dale Radcliff and Royce Nelson.

  After supper in the orphan coaches, the children talked about the storm, saying they were glad to be inside the train, rather than on the streets of New York, where they had faced many a snowstorm with little or no shelter.

  As the hour grew late with the incessant wind driving snow against the already ice-caked windows, the orphans were cozy in their blankets and heads began to bob as sleep overtook them.

  It was near midnight when everyone in the train was jerked awake with the sound of shrieking brakes as the train shuddered to a stop.

  In the coach where Lorinda Radcliff, Shelley Nelson, and Mandy Hillen were riding, they stood quickly, looking at each other quizzically by the light of the few low-burning lanterns that hung over the aisle. Girls were sitting up, rubbing sleep from their eyes and looking frantically around them. Some of the younger ones began to whimper.

  Many of the girls pressed their faces to the cold glass of the windows, trying to see outside, but the strong wind continued to buffet the train and the windows were plastered with a thick coat of snow and ice. Inside, the glass was frosted over, making visibility even more difficult.

  The three women were standing at the front of the coach. Lorinda Radcliff spoke calmly above the frightened voices. “Girls, don’t be afraid. We’re safe in here. I’m sure the conductor or someone else will come as soon as they can and let us know why the train stopped.”

  The whimpering ceased and the girls talked softly among themselves, most of them training their eyes on the front door of the coach.

  The women at the front heard a thirteen-year-old girl say to those around her, “I’ll bet it’s Indians. They’re probably gonna jump on the train and scalp us all!”

  Some of the girls who heard her began to cry.

  “Lottie,” said Shelly, “stop that! It’s not Indians!”

  Lorinda called, “Girls! Girls, please! We don’t know why the train stopped, but don’t let Lottie scare you. Let’s bow our heads and pray. We’ll ask the Lord to—”

  Suddenly the front door of the coach came open, and they all gasped at the sight of the white apparition that stood in the doorway. No one could tell what this snow-covered thing was, but neither could they pry their eyes from it.

  Taking in the frightened faces staring at him—including those of his wife and Shelley and Mandy—Dale Radcliff wiped the snow from his face and said, “Hey, don’t be afraid! It’s only me!”

  The girls began to make sounds of relief as Lorinda said, “Dale Radcliff, I ought to spank you! Do you realize how scary you look? You look like a snowman come to life!”

  He removed his hat and shook the snow from it. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten anybody. I just came to tell you why we’re stopped.”

  Lottie Perkins rose from her seat. “It’s Indians, isn’t it, Mr. Radcliff? I knew it had to be! It’s Indians, isn’t it?”

  Dale laughed softly. “No, Lottie, it isn’t Indians. Nothing that dramatic. We’re about to cross the Solomon River. Snowdrifts have piled up on this end of the trestle. When the engine’s headlight first shined on the trestle, the engineer had a hard time making out what was wrong with it. This is why he stopped so suddenly. As you can see, I’ve been out there inspecting the drifts. Everything’s all right. We’ve got men removing the high drifts right now, and we’ll be starting up again in about a half hour.”

  With tha
t, Dale hurried through the coach, exited the rear door, and made his way into the boys’ coach.

  It was late morning on Friday, April 7, when the orphan train pulled into the railroad station at Salina, Kansas. There was a two-foot depth of snow on the ground, but the sky was clearing and the sun was sending its welcome beams earthward.

  In the girls’ coach, Betsy Gilder looked at the twins from her seat. “Maybe this is the town where all three of us will be chosen. I sure hope the same family will take all three of us, or at least that we will live close to each other.”

  “Honey,” said Deena, “Donna and I are hoping the same thing, but you must prepare yourself to accept it if it doesn’t work out that way.”

  Betsy nodded. “You’re right, Deena. I’ve been trying to prepare myself, just in case.”

  When the regular passengers had gotten off the train, the Radcliffs and the Nelsons led the children inside the terminal and lined them up. The couples who had been interviewed and approved by the sponsors began their slow walk along the line.

  Deena and Donna Mitchell were standing together with a boy on each side, and Betsy Gilder was on the other side of the boy on their right.

  Ahead of the Mitchell twins in the line were Johnny Smith and Teddy Hansen, as well as Jerry Varnell and Clint Albright, with girls between them.

  As the adults passed by, Teddy kept glancing past the girl between himself and Johnny. He felt his heart quicken when he saw a couple talking seriously to Johnny and asking him questions. Teddy swallowed hard, unable to keep his eyes off Johnny.

  Farther down the line, a couple stopped in front of the Mitchell twins. The man smiled. “Good morning, girls. You look like you’re about thirteen or fourteen years old.”

  “We’re thirteen, sir,” responded Donna.

  The man turned to his wife and nodded. She smiled and nodded in return. He looked back at the girls. “My name is Ralph Dexter and this is my wife, Norma. We have a farm a few miles west of Salina.”

  “Hello,” said Norma. “I can see that you are identical twins. What are your names?”

  “I’m Deena Mitchell and this is my sister, Donna.”