Morgan Meets Abigail

And, everything will change

The Tales From Wyoming are a collection of interconnected short stories of the Pioneers and the Old West. Each story combines some fiction with some legend with a liberal dose of real history. The stories are standalone adventures.

This story picks up where A Good Man left off. Check out the entire collection here:

Fulfilling the man’s dying wish, Morgan visited Ezra Thorne’s widow, Abigail.

After finding the dying Ezra Thorne in the Wind River Mountains, Morgan Sandburg was determined to retrieve the body and return Ezra to his widow.

In the morning, Morgan joined his fellow boarders in the dining room for breakfast. He did not join in the usual morning discussion of politics and weather. Wyoming Territory was striving to achieve statehood, but there were two roadblocks. The population was too small to justify creating a separate state, and Wyoming had granted women the right to vote fourteen years earlier. It had been William Bright, a saloon keeper in South Pass City, who had initiated the legislation. A year later, Ester Morris became the nation’s first woman elected to public office when she became the Justice of the Peace for South Pass City. The current problem facing the territorial citizens was that the United States Congress would not allow Wyoming to join the Union until this right was revoked.

Morgan didn’t much care one way of the other. Events surrounding the issue changed little from month to month; nonetheless it remained the subject of most every breakfast conversation in the boarding house.

The other subject of conversation, the weather, was equally pointless. In the summer, the local skies were always clear blue with no hint of rain. The weather wouldn’t change until September.

Morgan was grateful no one bothered him. The only subject on his mind was Ezra and how to tell his widow about the accident and death of her husband. He certainly did not want to discuss the subject over breakfast.

Finishing his meal, Morgan collected his saddle bags and walked to the office of Mr. Emil Granier.

“Good morning, sir.” Morgan addressed the foreman, Carl Porter, as he entered the office. He had met Granier several times, but he did not routinely work directly for him. “Here are the survey drawings from Christina Lake.” Morgan retrieved a hard-sided tube from his bag which contained the rolled up papers the surveyor had given him the previous morning and passed it to Porter. Morgan was working as the surveyor’s apprentice.

Morgan patiently waited while Porter unrolled the papers. The two men selected random items from the desk to hold down the curling corners, and then Porter studied the drawing and calculations.

“Very good, Morgan, thank you,” he said, dismissively.

“Mr. Porter, there is a matter I need to deal with today. I’d like some time off.” Morgan gave his boss the short version of what had transpired the previous day.

Porter watched Morgan closely though the telling of Ezra’s story.

Morgan finished saying, “I must take the horse and other belongings to South Pass, and tell his wife.”

“Yes, of course, by all means see to the widow. It’s a darn shame. Go ahead and draw the day’s pay. Get some of the boys and go get the body. Take the poor man home.”

“Yes, sir.” Morgan clamped his hat on and opened the office door.

“Morgan.”

He turned back and waited for Porter to finish his thought. “Here, for expenses.” Porter withdrew his wallet and pulled out several bills. He handed them to Morgan. “Give what’s left to the widow with Mr. Granier’s sympathy.”

“Yes, sir.”

Morgan passed the orders on to two experienced miners and together they collected ropes, tackle, and timbers from the mine supply shed. The three men and a pack horse returned to the mountain top where Morgan had found Ezra’s horse. They assembled the timbers into an ‘A’ frame and suspended the block’n’tackle from the apex. This held the rope, and the man who would ride down to the body, safely away from the jagged rocks.

One of the men wrapped a rope around his thighs, waist, and chest to create a harness.

“Watch out for snakes. Mr. Thorne said there were rattlers down there,” Morgan cautioned the man as they lowered him.

In response, the man reached down and checked the security of his pistol. A few minutes later, there were two gunshots.

“You all right?” Morgan asked.

“Yeah, got me two snakes. The others are scattering.”

A half an hour later, they pulled up Ezra’s mangled body, and then the miner. Morgan searched the dead man’s pockets. He found a small leather bag suspended around his neck. Looking inside, Morgan found several gold nuggets. Ezra had found some prospecting success. The three men wrapped the body tightly in a canvas sheet. After securing their gear and the body to the pack horse, they solemnly returned to Atlantic City.

Back in town, Morgan saddled Ezra’s horse and transferred the body to the mare.

“Easy, girl,” Morgan said, soothing the skittish horse. She had sensed something was amiss. Morgan wished he knew her name. It was late in the afternoon, but Morgan didn’t want to wait another day. The body would need to be buried soon.

Leading the extra horse, Morgan took the road southeast to South Pass City. It took little more than an hour to traverse the four miles. In its heyday, South Pass City had been larger than Atlantic City, but the local mine, the Carissa Gold Mine, had gone bust more quickly than the mines near Atlantic City. In 1884, there were less than two hundred people still living there.

Morgan drew the attention of many of these people as he led the horse bearing the dead man through the streets. He easily found the Potter’s Emporium, the general store, in the center of town.

“What’cha got there, mister?”

Morgan recognized the sheriff’s badge on the man walking up behind him.

“This here is Mr. Ezra Thorne. I hear tell his wife, Abigail, works here. Do you know her?”

“Sure do.”

The commotion had attracted the attention of the store’s proprietor and he came out to the street.

“Sam,” the sheriff said, “is Mrs. Thorne here?”

“I’m here.” A woman appeared from behind the proprietor, Sam. Then she saw the canvas wrapped body draped over Ezra’s horse. She collapsed before anyone could catch her.

Sam and Morgan picked her up while the sheriff shooed the onlookers away. “I’ll take care of Mr. Thorne’s body,” he said.

“Here.” Morgan withdrew one of the bills Carl Porter had given him. “Use this to see to it he gets a proper send-off.”

After carrying her into the store, Sam revived Abigail with a cup of tea. Morgan studied her cherub face. She was much younger than he had expected; she was his own age give or take a year. She must have been a mere teenager when she married Ezra.

Morgan told her the story of what had happened to her husband, and how he had found Ezra. Sam brought the toddler, Ben, from the backroom. Abigail held Ben and cried.

Morgan gently touched her shoulder. “Let me take you home.” He wanted to give her the remainder of the money in private. As sorry as he was for Ezra’s family, he wanted to get away from the sadness and back to Atlantic City. There was nothing more he could do for Ezra.

“Yes,” Sam said. “Why don’t you go home and rest?” Sam turned to Morgan. “Mr. Sandburg, I’ll see that your horse gets to the stable.”

Morgan didn’t object; however, he was not expecting to stay in town more than a few more minutes.

Abigail picked up Ben. Morgan guided her through the backroom and out the door to the alley. She led the way to her small house two streets over and they entered the one room cabin. In one corner were a small stove and shelves which were nearly barren. In the center of the room was a table with four chairs. Along the wall adjacent to the stove was a small bed; a second larger bed was along the wall opposite from the stove.

Abigail took her son to the small bed and sat. Holding him, she silently cried. The bewildered boy made no attempt to free himself from her arms; he looked at Morgan with wide blue eyes.

Morgan saw his plan to give her the money and rapidly escape evaporate.

“I’ll cook you some dinner,” he said.

He tossed a few sticks into the stove and lit them. Searching the shelves, he found nothing of substance to eat. His culinary skills did not extend to making bread from flour. He could prepare a pot of beans, but this required hours of preparation.

“Wait here,” he said, as though there was anywhere she might go. “I’ll get some food.”

Morgan returned to the General Store and purchased a parcel of supplies. He crossed the street to the butcher shop and bought two steaks. Returning to the cabin, he prepared the meal he knew best: steak with fried potatoes and onions. It was fast and easy. As the preparation of the meal was completed, Abigail released Ben to play with a collection of toys on the floor. She set the table for three.

Morgan put a steak on each of the two plates at opposite ends of the table. He put a bowl containing the potatoes and onions in the center. She filled three tin cups with water and placed them on the table. Abigail seated Ben on the chair in the middle, and then sat beside him. Morgan eased into the third chair.

Abigail said the blessing, and then spoke for the first time, “Thank you very much for all you have done, Mr. Sandburg. Words cannot express my gratitude for what you did in Ezra’s time of need, and mine.”

“It has been my pleasure to be of service.”

She cut a portion of her food into tiny fragments and placed them on Ben’s plate. He ate, and began to chatter. Morgan could not understand a word of what the boy said, but it was clear his mother understood most of it. Otherwise, they ate in silence.

The sun was setting by the time they finished. Morgan wanted to get on the road back to Atlantic City, but he still needed to find a delicate way to give Abigail the money. Not making this task easier, she busied herself cleaning the dishes. Ben, now comfortable around Morgan, brought his toys to him. One was a horse carefully carved from a single block of wood. It had a removable miniature leather saddle, but no rider. Another toy was a wooden wagon with a halter which could be fitted to the wooden horse. The wagon had four people which were simple blocks of wood painted to look like a man, woman, and two children. Morgan sat on the floor and played with the boy. Morgan imagined this was how Ezra had spent his evenings.

“There’s some whiskey in the cabinet,” Abigail said. “I’ll put Ben to bed while you pour us some.”

Morgan was becoming concerned with the quantity of time he had spent alone with the recently widowed woman. He wondered how much the townsfolk would gossip. However, she was in no hurry to part-company with him. He found the whiskey bottle and poured small measures into two cups. She tucked the boy into bed and drew a thick curtain separating the sleeping space.

She joined Morgan at the table and picked up her cup. “To Ezra,” she said, and they touched their cups together. They sipped.

“Here,” Morgan produced the money and set it on the table. “My employer, Mr. Emil Granier, wishes to extend his condolences and hopes this will help you with the hard days ahead.”

“Thank you, Mr. Sandburg, and please express my gratitude to Mr. Granier. I really do need the money.” She didn’t touch it. She sipped more whiskey, draining her cup. She went to the cupboard and brought the bottle to the table. She refilled their cups. “Poor Ezra, he tried so hard, but he was never much of a provider. He lost his job with the railroad, and that is why we came here. He hoped to find enough gold to finance our trip back East.”

Morgan inwardly chuckled with the revelation that she had known Ezra’s secret all along.

“That reminds me,” he said. He picked up Ezra’s saddlebags from where he had left them by the door. In it were his pistol and other belongings; they had never found his rifle. Morgan retrieved the small leather bag. “I found this around his neck. It seems he did find some gold. It’s not much, but I’m sure Sam will give you a fair price for it.”

She opened the bag. She cradled the nuggets in her palm and placed them atop the bills.

Morgan took another sip from his cup, and said, “I should be heading back now.” He rose to leave.

“No, please, I don’t want to be alone.” She drew a breath. “Besides, Ezra would want you to be at the funeral. I expect we’ll bury him in the morning. Can you please stay?”

Morgan thought for a moment; he could find no convincing excuse. Mr. Porter was not likely to pay him for another day of the boondoggle, but this seemed to be a poor excuse to use with Abigail. “Sure, but I still need to be on my way to see if there is a room at the hotel.” He was not certain the hotel was still in business; he expected he would be sleeping with Butch. It would not be the first time.

“The town isn’t what it was. The hotel is no longer in business,” she said. “But, you are welcome to stay here.”

Morgan’s eyes involuntarily darted to the remaining bed. Regretting the action, he quickly returned his gaze to her eyes.

“I don’t see how that’s possible.” Morgan had never slept in the same room with a woman before. He knew it was completely unacceptable for a gentleman.

“I won’t be staying here long. I don’t care what people say. You can have the bed and I will curl up with Ben.” She extended a hand and touched his, which still held the cup. “Please, I don’t want to be alone,” she repeated.

Her hand was warm and soft. Morgan froze in position. He craved her touch; if he didn’t move, she might leave it there.

“Sure, I guess I can stay.” While she might be leaving town, he was going to stay in the area. He would probably not be welcome back in South Pass City for a while.

She walked over to the bed and drew back the covers. Leaving him there, she pulled another curtain to close off the end of the cabin. Using the light leaking around the curtain’s edges, Morgan pulled off his boots. Wearing his clothes, he lay atop the bed.

“Good night, Mr. Sandburg,” she said, and then extinguished the lantern.

“Good night, Mrs. Thorne.”

Morgan lay in the silence of the cabin. It had been a long, stressful day and he was tired. He was not aware of when he fell asleep, but he was aware of when he was awoken. Someone entered the sleeping space and lay beside him on the bed. He instantly recognized the fresh floral scent used by most women. He had not been aware of Abigail’s scent during the evening, but he was certain she was in the bed with him.

She didn’t say anything. She nuzzled beside him. She took his hand and pulled it to her body.

Morgan’s fingertips touched soft, warm skin. She had pulled her nightgown above her waist.

He could not understand why she would come into bed with him; however, his youthful urges compelled him to cooperate with her desire. Morgan was not a virgin, but hitherto his only experiences had been with the women in the bordellos of Atlantic City. These women were efficient, if not mechanical, and he had begun to wonder what all the hoopla was about. Abigail’s relaxed, tender approach was wonderful.

Again, he was not aware of the moment he fell back to sleep, but when he awoke shafts of sunlight were streaming past the drapes. He got up and found his shirt on the floor. Tucking it in to his waistband, he fastened the buttons of his trousers. He pulled on his boots and opened the curtain.

“Ah, good morning, Mr. Sandburg,” Abigail said. “Breakfast is ready.

Ben was seated at the table attacking a pancake. Abigail put a plate on the table. It contained a pancake topped with a fried egg and two strips of bacon.

“Enjoy,” she said.

“Thank you, Mrs. Thorne.” Morgan sat and ate. He was surprisingly hungry. He didn’t understand why she had done what she had done during the night, but he was glad there was no discussion about it. He finished the meal, and said, “I should go and check on the arrangements for Ezra.” He excused himself and returned to the main street via an indirect path, hoping no one would know where he had spent the night. He did want to ensure that the sheriff had not pocketed the money and provided only a pauper’s funeral for Ezra.

In a shed behind the sheriff’s office, he found the man serving as the town’s undertaker. Ezra lay in a well fashioned pine coffin. He was still dressed in the same clothes, but a white sheet was wrapped around him. This covered the blood and dirt stains. From the pale, mottled look of his face, Morgan knew Abigail would have to come soon if she wanted to see him as he had been in life.

“Does this meet with your satisfaction?” the undertaker asked. “The grave has been dug as well.”

“Indeed, you did a fine job. I’ll get Mrs. Thorne.”

When Morgan returned to the cabin, Sam’s wife and another woman were fitting a black dress around Abigail. The dress had clearly been made to fit a much larger woman and required several pins to gather the excess material.

“Marge, have you met Mr. Sandburg?” Abigail said, by way of an introduction to the third woman.

Morgan tipped his hat, and then removed it completely.

With the dress fitted, Marge carried Ben, and Morgan steadied Abigail’s elbow as they walked to the sheriff’s office. Arriving at the shed, they found the coffin loaded onto a small flat wagon. Abigail looked at Ezra for the final time, and the undertaker nailed the lid shut. A horse was hitched to the wagon and they began the procession to the cemetery. Abigail walked alone, keeping one hand on the coffin.

As they made their way through town, many other people joined them. Marge walked behind Abigail, carrying Ben. Morgan and Sam followed, with everyone else behind them.

“I didn’t know him all that well,” Sam said. “They arrived in town a couple of months ago and I figured he was just another tenderfoot. I was happy to take his money for anything he wanted to buy,” he said, apologetically. “I directed them to that cabin. The previous owner had left town months earlier and there was no one to pay.”

Morgan understood why Ezra chose to live in South Pass City instead of Atlantic City; it was cheap.

Sam continued, “A few weeks back, the arthritis got my wife. She can hardly walk. That’s when I hired Abigail to work in the store.”

Morgan noticed that Sam’s wife was not among the mourners.

Morgan watched Abigail and thought about their time together in the bed. She was widowed; while sleeping with her was socially unacceptable, there was no sin or crime in what they had done. He thought about seeing her again after a respectable time. But then he remembered her statement about leaving South Pass City.

Ezra had implied he had met her in Cheyenne. If that was where her family lived, and if that was where she would go, then he could find her. However, if she was from someplace like Omaha, or another place eastward, he would not likely ever see her again.

The preacher recited the service and they lowered Ezra into the ground.

Everyone slowly made their way back to town. Morgan did not return to the cabin. Instead, he went directly to the livery stable to retrieve Butch.

The horse was with several others in the corral. Morgan watched the horse as the gelding gazed towards the mountains, seemingly anxious to get on the road. He led Butch into the street and began to fit him with the bridle and saddle. The horse snorted and turned his head to look behind Morgan. Spinning around, Morgan saw Abigail holding Ben’s hand.

“Mr. Sandburg, you weren’t leaving without saying goodbye, were you?” she scolded.

“No, ma’am.” But, this had been his plan.

“Good. Thank you again for everything.”

Morgan wondered if there was more meaning in those words than she could express overtly.

“My pleasure.” He instantly regretted the words as a blush clearly bloomed across her face. He lowered his voice to a whisper; he was unsure who might be within earshot. “I was wondering…” He swallowed, unable to find the words.

“Yes, Morgan, what were you wondering?” she whispered back.

“Uh, Abigail, why did you do, uh, do what you did?” He hoped more graphic words would not be required to convey his meaning.

She smiled. She extended her hand to touch his. He inwardly cursed the black gloves she wore as he craved to once again have her bare skin touching his. She withdrew her hand.

“It wasn’t about the money, if that is what concerns you.”

He had considered the sex had been an exchange for the money.

She continued, “Ezra is gone to heaven, and he no longer has an interest in Earthly affairs. Thus, there was no sin in what we did.”

She stepped closer and looked up into his eyes. He could see the streaks left by her tears. Her eyes still glistened.

She sighed. “You are a good man, Morgan. I did what I did because I wanted to, and for no other reason.” She stepped back.

Morgan wanted to kiss her as he had done during the night, but they were standing in the middle of the street and she was still wearing the black dress. He stooped and hugged Ben; this was as close as he could get to her. Ben grinned and said something Morgan could not understand.

Morgan raised his voice for the benefit of any eavesdroppers which might be around. “Mrs. Thorne, I’ll be back soon to check on how you are getting along.”

“Thank you, Mr. Sandburg, I do appreciate that.”

Morgan mounted Butch and nudged him twice with his heels. Understanding they were in a hurry, Butch quick-stepped into a trot. Morgan did not look back. He wanted to get out of sight as quickly as possible.

THE END, but the story continues with A Good Woman

Copyright ©2023 by S. M. Revolinski All Rights Reserved

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