Messenger by Moonlight by Stephanie Grace Whitson

ballroom like this?
    Laughter sounded from the courtyard below. Annie hurried away from the ballroom doors, toward the opposite side of the building, and up the winding stairs to the second floor. Once there, she passed a maid dressed all in black save for a starched white apron and cap. The girl didn’t make eye contact. Instead, she turned aside to let Annie pass, offering a little curtsy and a
Good day, Miss
as Annie walked by.
    Annie held up her key. “Would you mind pointing me to 210?”
    “At the other end of the hall, Miss. I’ll be happy to guide you.”
    When they reached the door, the girl held out her hand for the key. Annie handed it over, and the girl slipped it in the lock, opened the door just a fraction, and then stepped back as she returned the key. “Will there be anything else, Miss?”
    “No, I—thank you.” Another little curtsy, and the girl headed off up the hall.
    Annie watched her go, wondering if someone gave the maids in a fancy hotel lessons in how to float. She’d never seen anyone move with such grace. Slowly, she pushed the door open and peered into the room. Gasping with surprise, she stepped inside, closed the door behind her, and leaned against it.

Chapter 5

    The headboard on the massive bed positioned in the center of the wall to the left looked to be at least seven feet high. A matching marble-topped dresser and washstand graced another wall. The drapes at the two soaring windows matched the upholstery on two side chairs in the far corner. Those chairs flanked an oval table atop which sat a spectacular lamp with a painted shade. A room-size carpet covered all but the edges of the polished floor.
    Annie crossed to the bed and ran her hand over the satin spread. When she pulled it back, the faint aroma of lemon wafted into the air from pristine white sheets and pillow covers. Picking up one of the pillows, she hugged it to herself as she perched on the edge of the bed. She thought about all the other people occupying other fine rooms like this one. People accustomed to luxury. It made her feel uncertain about dining here at the hotel dressed in faded blue calico. As for attending a ball… no. She wouldn’t dare.
    She started when someone knocked on the door in the corner—the door separating her room from her neighbor’s. Relief coursed through her when Frank called out, “Delivery for Miss Paxton. Miss Ann E. Paxton.” Annie hurried to open the door, and Frank and Emmet shuffled her trunk into the room and set it down.
    Frank threw his arm across Emmet’s shoulders and pointedto their identical red plaid shirts and denim pants. “Outfits provided by the Pony Express. What d’ya think?”
    Annie smiled her approval. “Very handsome.”
    “I’d say so.” Frank grinned. “We’re all invited to the dance in the ballroom.” He pointed to her trunk. “You should put on that green silk thing that was Ma’s. Bet it fits just about right.”
    He couldn’t be serious. “It’s forty years out of style and so brittle in places it’d probably shatter in my hands.” She knew what they were thinking. If it couldn’t be worn, why was she keeping it? She didn’t know why. Except that it was Ma’s. Thankfully, they didn’t ask. She forced a smile. “You both look dashing. I’ll be content to lounge right here in the seat of luxury.”
    Frank looked her up and down and then tugged on a curl at the nape of her neck. “What you’ve got on isn’t too bad. Maybe reconstitute your hair, though. Isn’t that the word you used yesterday over at the livery?” He reached up and extracted a piece of hay. “Nothing a good brushing won’t fix.”
    Horrified, Annie snatched it out of his hand. “I can’t believe you two let me sashay through the lobby of the Patee House looking like I’d just come in from a barn.”
    Frank shrugged. “We
did
just come in from a barn. But we work for the Pony Express now, and we’re the envy of just about everyone in St. Jo.”
    “You can