“Omaha! Ommaaaaha!” the conductor bellowed as he strode through the railcar. Claire opened her eyes, squinting in the early afternoon light. People rose, stretched and gathered their belongings.
I’m here; I’m finally here! After a quick prayer of thanks for her safe deliverance, she reached for her trunk and hatboxes.
The weight of her pistol, hidden deeply in a skirt pocket, banged against her thigh. I might be young like Mrs. Buckley said, but I am a crackerjack shot thanks to Daddy’s instruction. No one would get the best of his little girl. Claire had secretly kept up with her shooting and found great pleasure in her very unladylike skill.
She clambered down the steps to the boardwalk outside the depot and swiveled her head. Surely Gin would meet the arrival of her train. Ten minutes passed, then twenty. The other passengers had departed, and the porter was nowhere in sight.
Perhaps Ginny was busy at the store. That must be it. No bother, I shall ask directions. It can’t be far.
She set her chin, squared her shoulders, and drew her belongings near. Just then, a young man sporting a silver badge stepped up to her. “Miss Secord?”
“Yes?” Claire jumped hearing her name.
“Miss Secord, I am Sheriff Thomas Maxwell, and I’d like to welcome you to Omaha.” He smiled, revealing perfect teeth and deep dimples.
“Well, thank you, but I was expecting my aunt, Virginia Weikert.”
“Yes, I know, that’s why I’m here.” He looked everywhere but Claire’s face. He twisted his Stetson in his large, calloused hands and gazed over her shoulder. Taking a deep breath, he tried again. This time he gazed into her eyes and spoke in a gentle voice that Claire imagined he used to soothe his horses.
“Miss Secord, I’m sorry to tell you this, but we buried your aunt about six hours ago.”
