“Whoa,” Rev. Jackdaw yelled as they finished the descent and the buggy wheels caught where clay soil met silt and sand. He kept hold of the bridle and stood staring at the shack. His cussed eye twitched. For starters, the trip from Omaha had taken several hours, not the two or three he’d expected. He pulled the letter from Deet out of his breast pocket and flung it open. Just a piece upriver from Bleaksville.
True enough, but where did he get the idea Bleaksville was only a couple of miles outside of Omaha? Not somewhere close to twenty. With that much distance and Nell’s age, each ride to Effie would be spending the miles in a horse that couldn’t spare them. Plus time away from his work in Omaha.
He glanced again at the letter. The place ain’t fit for a white woman. Reading those words
