Annie brought Kitty a heavy, sealed envelope and with it the small, sharp knife that Kitty remembered from her desk there at the Long Branch. She'd had the knife a long time. She's used it for opening mail in recent years. Once she'd used it to kill a man. Perhaps she'd find a nice letter opener for Annie and keep this knife. She looked where it fit solidly in her hand. Or maybe she'd buy herself a pretty, decorated mail knife and leave the memories behind. She sliced open the top of the envelope, but then turned it over, staring at it, without removing the letter.

It was from Lucy Critt all right – Lucy Martin she was now. It was more than the simple address in the top corner – Mrs. Lucy Martin, Rue d'Enfant, New Orleans – it was the writing. Kitty thought she would recognize that ornate copperplate hand anywhere. She'd written like that herself once, although it had never come as easily to her as to Lucy. The board floor and rough tables around her disappeared and she was sitting at the kitchen table in her mother's home. The spicy smell of cooking came from a pot bubbling on the stove, and Hattie was there, peeling potatoes, her nappy hair tied up in a bright red tignon that stood out as sharply from the dull grey-brown dress she wore as did the shining whiteness of her apron. There was cocoa on the table, in two blue willow cups, and a plate of gingerbread. "You could do it if you tried, Kitty. I know you could. You just have to practice," that was Lucy, sitting beside her at the table as the girls copied out their lesson from a shared book on carefully angled pieces of paper. "My baby girl, she can do anything if she try," that was Hattie. Kitty knew then that she had to make the effort. It hurt Hattie too much when she came home with raised red welts across the palms of her hands inflicted by Sister Celine as punishment for her sloppy penmanship. She picked up the pen, dipped it, wiped the extra ink away on the edge of the bottle, and began a precise capital T.

The sound of hearty laughter from across the room returned her to the deal table at the saloon. She looked thoughtfully at the blue willow coffee flask and cups. She'd always loved that set. But it wasn't until this moment that she'd remembered the blue willow cups in Hattie's kitchen where she and Lucy had sat nearly every afternoon to do their schoolwork. She spread her hands in front of her, palms up, and was almost surprised not to see the marks left by stinging blows. She wondered if she could still write a fine copperplate line. Time and tide wait for no man. That was the practice line she'd studied to perfection. But she'd changed her writing to a plainer, more rounded style – and been pleased with it – soon after she left Lucy's home and Saint Agnes Seminary for girls. Her eyes devoured the smooth, spikey letters on the envelope – Miss Kitty Russell, Dodge City, Kansas. Lucy had never changed from the handwriting taught her by the nuns. To this day she lived in a copperplate world. Kitty sighed and drew out the letter. Several pages written on thick, creamy linen paper. She didn't have a good feeling about this.

Tuesday, 16 October 1888

My dearest Kitty,

I begin by assuring you that the family and I are well and in good health. I do this because I know that you will be surprised to hear from me at this time of year. Despite time and distance, I do think of you often, my friend, and wonder what your life is really like behind those kind and interesting letters you so carefully send to me every Christmas. You know my life so well. It is the life you should have led. Except for the war, it is much the same life as our mothers lived, and probably our grandmothers. And we have come to terms with the war, and the release of our slaves, more calmly here in New Orleans, I think, than in most of the south. Unlike many places, trade and shipping were never really hampered here. There have always been free blacks in this city, and now there are many more, but our lives go on. I have been thinking much on this topic since Brother Bill asked me, last evening, to write to you.

As you know, Brother Bill has for some years been working in father's bank. This last spring he took over the management of that establishment when father's health began to decline. I can just see you, Kitty, trying to imagine little Billy Critt as a banker instead of the tagalong baby brother who plagued us both all those years ago. I know that you saw him some dozen years ago on that trip that he made to the west, but although he spoke of you with great kindness and respect, he could never be persuaded to tell much about his actual visit. He says that you own a business, and the fact that he will not name or describe it leads me to believe that in may be something less genteel than a dressmaker's shop or a boarding house. He also says that you have good friends there in Kansas and that one of them is a policeman. I tell you this because it may be important to the help that we are going to ask from you.

I must begin my story, but it is a little difficult to put in writing a topic that I would not speak of even with my closest friends here at home. Still, I must start somewhere, so I will tell you that our Nell stayed with the family through all the bad times. We paid her wages, once that became the way of things, but while so many others left their homes and families behind, Nell has always been faithful. So it was not unusual for her to speak to me from time to time of your Hattie whom I remembered from our childhood years. It is about Hattie and her family that I write this out of season letter.

Hattie uses the name of Potter now, and that is quite appropriate as she runs a small restaurant called the Pot au Feu that I am told is quite successful. I have never been there as Brother Bill says it is in a quarter of the city where I would not feel myself welcome. Nonetheless, I hear tales of it on occasion and remember the wonderful food that she made for us as children. Her son Cairo works with her there, but her boy Caleb works as a coachman and groom for Bill.

Some mishap has occurred that has put young Cairo in fear of his life. Bill brought Hattie and the whole family here to my home last Sunday and asked me to keep them under wraps in the old quarters in the cellar until he could arrange a place for them. I believe that he spoke to your grandfather Beaufort, but that the old man would not succor them. He plans to take them all to our country house where Father is now in residence. It seems odd, Kitty, that I, who know least about the situation, should be the one to write to you, but my brother has insisted. He says that the whole Potter family is in danger here in the city, and that even out at our place on the lake they will not be safe.

I spoke with Hattie at length, but while perfectly polite she refused to explain a word about what happened. I believe that she talked more with Nell, but, uncharacteristically, Nell will not share the story. Nonetheless, whatever has happened, Hattie needs your help. It is Brother Bill's intention to take them all by train to your home in Kansas where he tells me he feels sure that you can find them work. He awaits a telegram in which you acquiesce to this arrangement.

I also send you greetings from Hattie and a message which may be simply the wistful remembrance of an old retainer, but which she asked me to pass on word for word. I wrote it down just as she said it, painful grammar and all. "I done pray for you every day of my life, little girl, and I know you be safe. Now I ask you to pray so that me and mine be safe too. God willing I see you soon."

I look forward to a speedy response from you, my dear Kitty, and I am hopeful that someday soon, when all is resolved, that you will let yourself believe that I am grown and experienced enough to hear the truth of this affair, woman to woman, without the reticence with which Brother Bill continues to protect me.

Your loving friend,

Lucy

Postscript

I reopen this letter to tell you the horrid news from the afternoon paper. Hattie's little restaurant was pillaged, searched, and burned last night even as Bill and I sat here in the parlor making plans. Before I was troubled. Now I am frightened. Please, Kitty, send us word as soon as may be. Lucy

Kitty turned the envelope over in her hand. It was postmarked 17 October in New Orleans. There was a two cent stamp in the corner, and under it a blue ten cent Special Delivery stamp and the single word "Urgent" printed in manuscript and underlined. Three pages of paper. All those hundreds of words. The complicated sentences and neat, round little commas with their flowing tails. Ten days it had taken the letter to get to her, and all it had really needed was one ten-word telegram that would have been in her hands within hours.

Shaking her head she looked up then, to see both Doc and Newly sitting quietly across from her. She hadn't heard or seen them arrive.

"Bad news, Kitty?" Doc asked.

"No." Then she said it more firmly, "No. Likely just the opposite." She stopped for a moment and then looked directly in the old man's eyes, "You believe in prayer, Doc? You believe that prayers can be answered?"

"You know I do, Kitty. Though usually it's our hands that do His work."

Kitty smiled at that, because it was just the way she felt herself. And her hands were itching to get started. "One of you gents got a pencil?" Doc started to unfasten his bag, but Newly pulled out a stub from his pocket and handed it to her. She thought for just a moment. She only had ten words. Then she flipped the envelope over and printed her message boldly on the back.

AWAITING ARRIVAL HATTIE AND FAMILY. START SOON AS POSSIBLE. KITTY

"Will you go over to the telegraph office for me, Newly? And send this message to the lady who sent the letter? It's pretty important." She took a silver dollar out of her reticule and handed him the coin and the envelope.

"You know I will, Kitty. I'll be back in a few minutes. But you just sit here and wait because it's me taking you to dinner tonight, not Doc."

Kitty laughed at that, feeling suddenly lighter than she had for days.