by Zina Abbott
Roslyn studied the trio. I suspect I’m looking at the Becker family. She decided to wait inside and let Albert Becker come to her. She did not want to act too eager by rushing out to meet them on the boardwalk. She folded her hands in front of her and patiently stood.
The older man walked through the front door and stopped once he spotted her. “You Roslyn Welsh?”
“Yes.” Roslyn started to ask if he was the man she was to meet, but the sound of the stagecoach horn, followed by trotting horses and the wheels of the stagecoach rumbling past the hotel distracted her and her gaze turned to the scene outside the window.
“I’m Albert Becker.” He paused and looked around the lobby. “Didn’t you bring anything with you?”
Roslyn jerked her head about to face him. “Yes, my carpetbag is still in my room.”
Albert Becker huffed in annoyance before he snapped out a command. “Well, leave it there, for now. Just go up and get the Bible, and then you can wait outside for me. I’ll need that for where we’re going as soon as I make sure everything is settled up with the hotel clerk.”
Roslyn bit back the scathing retort she felt like hurling his direction. What has that old witch of an aunt gotten me into? She did not know much about Albert Becker except, up to this point, she was not favorably impressed with him. She stood in place for several seconds and studied the back he turned to her before she walked outside. Once she realized the two sons eyed her with calculating curiosity, she turned to stroll to the side corner of the hotel farthest away from them.
Her arms folded, Roslyn purposely ignored the Becker sons by turning her face away from them and focusing her gaze in the direction of the livery a block away—the one in which she had taken refuge the day before. She stared at the open door while she wondered if she should continue to go along with whatever her aunt and Mr. Becker, inside, had cooked up, or if she should plan an escape.
The clomp of a heavy, uneven gait startled her into looking behind her. Her mouth started to drop open until she forced it shut. Settling his shoulder against the front wall at the other end of the hotel stood Mr. Stewart, the livery worker. Still wearing his Union Army jacket and kepi, like so many veterans of the war, he looked the same as he did the day before. The only exception was, he now wore a five-round revolver tucked into the front of his belt just left of the buckle. What is he doing here?
Albert Becker exited the hotel and, after craning his head side to side until he caught sight of her, he turned in place to face her.
Roslyn cringed as he eyes roamed from her head to her feet.
“Where is the Bible? I told you to get the family Bible.”
Roslyn cleared her throat. “Mr. Becker, I don’t have a family Bible. It went to my aunt, and she refused to allow me to bring it with me.” She stopped and opened her reticule. “She is my guardian. What I have is her written statement regarding the particulars about me that are listed in that Bible.” She unfolded the paper that made a crinkling sound in her hand and walked to within a few feet of the man. She held it out to him. “You can see what she wrote down, plus she made a statement that she gives her permission for us to marry.”
Becker snatched the paper and scanned the words before, wearing a frown, his gaze returned to her face. “This is worthless. I don’t need her permission for you to marry. If you are twenty-one, you don’t need permission to marry. What I need is proof for the Land Office you are at least twenty-one so I can file a homestead claim in your name.”
“A homestead?” Roslyn leaned away from him and blinked. She had heard about homesteads, but did not know much about them. They had not interested her because, up until a year earlier, she thought she had a livery business to rely on. “No one ever said anything about filing for a homestead in my name. From what I’ve heard, only single men or women over twenty-one can file in their own names. If they’re married, only the husband can get a homestead, and it’s in his name.”
“That’s correct. That’s why I needed you to be single with proof you are over twenty-one.” Albert Becker leaned toward her with a scowl on his face.
Roslyn fought the urge to cringe.
He straightened and rubbed his forehead with his fingers. “You said you’re widowed. Where’s your marriage certificate from your marriage, then? That should state your age. I’ll need proof of your husband’s death, too. The family Bible should have all that recorded, as long as someone kept it up to date. That’s why I told you to bring it.”
Roslyn stepped back. Her mouth dropped open. Her lips moved, but no words came out. She swallowed to find her voice. “I—I don’t have a copy of my marriage certificate. I…ah…”
The words caught in her throat and her eyes widened as she heard the sound of a baby’s cry. Emmy? No, it could not be her baby, but her body did not know the difference. She could feel the milk in her breasts let down.
Roslyn spun a quarter turn to face the street. Interlacing her fingers, she clasped her hands together as she brought them to her lips, hoping the movement hid her real purpose which was to press her forearms against her nipples to stop the flow of milk.
Roslyn turned her head to the right to look in the direction from which the sound of the baby’s cries came.
On the boardwalk the next block over, a woman dressed in black from the top of her bonnet to the bottom hem of her skirt approached with a quick walk.
Roslyn would know that silhouette anywhere. In her arms, Penelope, five months pregnant with her own child, held an infant wrapped in a familiar-looking, white knit blanket. What are they doing here? Panic surged up within her. Penelope is going to ruin everything. Without concern for what any of the men standing in front of the hotel saw or thought, Roslyn bounded off the side of the boardwalk into the cross-street as she ran toward her cousin and daughter.
While Roslyn was still in the middle of the road, Penelope called out to her.
“Roslyn, you need to take your baby. Emmy needs you.”
Roslyn felt her entire body stiffen, and a surge of anger welled up within her. She cared not a whit if people in town witnessed her face red with annoyance. As Penelope joined her and she reached for her baby, she leaned forward and hissed at her cousin. “What are you doing here? You were supposed to wait a month for me to let you know it was all right to bring her to me.”
“Ma had a conniption when she found out I was the one you asked to watch the baby.”
Roslyn gritted her teeth. “Who else was I going to ask, Penelope? After your mother poisoned the well with her judgmental gossip, none of the women in town would even greet me in passing. They surely would not have agreed to care for Emmy.”
Penelope bit her lip. “I know. That’s just Ma’s way. I had to bring her, Roslyn. Emmy isn’t eating well at all, and she cries all the time. The canned milk doesn’t agree with her.”
“What’s this? You have a baby? I made it very clear there were to be no children.”
Roslyn reared her head. What am I going to do now? She spun around and then took one step back to avoid bumping a now-squalling Emmy into the broad chest of Albert Becker. Behind her, Penelope gasped.
“Watch where you’re going, Roslyn. You almost knocked me over.”
Roslyn craned her neck to spit her words over her shoulder. “You deserve it after the trick you just pulled on me.” She cringed at the whine that entered her cousin’s voice.
“I tried to keep her, but Ma said no. She said it’s your own fault you got yourself with Emmy, and you had no business leaving your bastar…ah…”
Her blood racing through her veins and her face hot for reasons that had nothing to do with the sun, Roslyn again turned and, teeth clenched, leaned toward her cousin. “Hush your mouth, Penelope. You have already caused me nothing but trouble.”
Penelope stepped away from her cousin, and her voice dropped to a desperate whisper. “I’m sorry, Roslyn. I wasn’t thinking.” Then the corner of Penelope’s lips turned down into a pout and she grew petulant. “Besides, Ro
slyn…that is what she said, and you know she’s not feeling well. She’s never been right ever since we lost Pa and Monroe. She told me I can’t wait a month or two from now to bring Emmy to you. Stagecoach travel that late in my pregnancy might cause me to lose my own baby. She made me…”
“You are such a ninny, Penelope. When are you going to grow a spine?”
“She’s my mother, Roslyn. I have to honor…”
“Mrs. Welsh—or I’m beginning to think it’s Miss Welsh and you’re nothing but a hussy—I’m speaking to you. Is this your baby? I told you, I wanted no children coming with you.”
Behind the man who had treated her with nothing short of coldness since he arrived, Roslyn saw his two sons.
At the edge of the boardwalk in front of the hotel, Biblical-first-name Stewart stood watching the scene.
She turned her gaze to the elder Becker, who now besmirched her character without any regard for her feelings, let alone discovering the truth. Roslyn felt her self-control slip away, but she could not bring herself to care. She raised her voice loud enough to be heard above Emmy’s cries. “What’s it to you whether I’m Mrs. Welsh or Miss Welsh?”
Becker glowered at her. “So, that’s how it is. What are you, a whore who’s trying to use me to break free of the life, Miss Welsh?”
Roslyn leaned forward and made no effort to keep the sarcasm from her voice. “Isn’t that nice for you men, Mr. Becker, that you can whore around all you want with as many women as you want, with or without benefit of marriage, and no one calls you anything but mister. You aren’t forced to deal with accusations—true or false—based on whether or not you are addressed as a married or unmarried person.”
Roslyn closed her eyes upon hearing Penelope, still standing behind her, her voice full of pleading.
“Please don’t say things like that, Roslyn. It’s so unseemly.”
Her teeth clenched and her body trembling to the point she feared dropping Emmy, Roslyn spun around and glared at her cousin. “What is unseemly, Penelope, are the lies your mother told me, and you went along with, which led me into this difficult and undesirable position. Do you have any idea how much you have put Emmy at risk?” She turned back to Albert Becker. “I will tell you this much, Mr. Becker. I am not loose, and I never gave away any favors. Although my aunt, the woman who made all these arrangements with you, insisted I not tell you about Emmy at first, yes, I do have a daughter.”
“Oh, Roslyn. You need to calm down. Emmy is already unhappy, and you being upset only makes it worst. And look at you—your face looks like a spring radish.”
Roslyn squeezed her eyes shut. “Penelope, I’m disgusted with constantly being judged by people who do not know my situation and have no interest in learning the truth. All people seem to care about is outward appearances.” She scrunched her face that she suspected burned far redder than a spring radish. She glared at Albert Becker. “Move aside, Mr. Becker. I need to get this baby out of the sun.” Knocking his arm aside as she brushed past him, Roslyn focused on reaching the shade under the hotel overhang. Fortunately, the two sons stepped aside and Biblical-first-name Stewart flattened himself against the front of the hotel.
Once on the boardwalk, Roslyn ignored the crowd around her as she jiggled the baby and cooed at her in an effort to calm Emmy down. She refused to look over at Penelope, who had quietly stepped over to stand three feet away from her.
Heavy footsteps approached Roslyn from the other end of the boardwalk.
“What’s going on here?”
Roslyn looked up to see a stranger with a badge pinned to his vest. What now? She tightened her jaw as she watched Albert Becker, a smile plastered on his face, rush over to the lawman.
“Good morning, marshal. What is happening is, this woman swindled me out of a considerable sum of money by accepting my offer of marriage under false pretenses. I made it clear I wished to marry a woman who brought no children into the union, only she misrepresented herself. Not only does she have a baby, as you can plainly see, but she did not bring the proof of her age I required, and which she said she would do. I paid for her stagecoach ticket and hotel room, and I demand my money back.”
Roslyn stepped forward and raised her voice. “I did not misrepresent myself. My aunt…” She paused and pointed at Penelope, “this woman’s mother conspired with this man without my knowledge. She never said anything to me about age being a factor except, because he is old enough to have adult sons, that I could give the impression I’m older than I really am. She told he did not want children. It was her idea for me to leave my baby behind for a month and come anyway. She believed, once we grew to know each other and become fond of one another, he would not object to me sending for my daughter. Because she was forcing me out of her house, I agreed. I had to have a means of taking care of my baby.”
The lawman turned to Becker. “So, what’s the problem? It’s only one baby. If you want a wife but don’t want to have any more children, stay away from her.”
Roslyn opened her mouth to declare she had changed her mind. Before she could speak, she heard the voice of the man from the livery.
“Marshal, Mr. Becker don’t want no wife. He’s aiming to get him a woman to file for a separate homestead claim, which he figures on controlling now and getting his hands on when he marries up with her after it’s done been proved up.” Elam pushed his shoulder off the wall and, with his hand held out to shake, stepped toward the lawman. “Elam Stewart, sir. I been working on and off at Henry Williams’s livery.”
“Good to meet you, Mr. Stewart. Yes, I recall seeing you around town.”
Shocked into silence, Roslyn raised her eyebrows as she watched the two men shake hands. Elam. That’s the Biblical-sounding name I couldn’t remember. And then, Elam Stewart’s words registered, and she twisted her forehead into a frown. It suddenly became clear what Albert Becker wanted with her—not a wife, but someone who would help double the amount of land he could obtain under the new Homestead Act. Her gaze met that of the marshal’s, who now focused his attention on her.
“So, tell me, ma’am. Is that what you came here for, to file a homestead claim near those being filed by Mr. Becker?”
Roslyn shook her head. “No, sir. This whole thing was set up by Mr. Becker and my aunt who was posing as me without my knowledge. Once she got it all arranged, she said I was to come here to marry him. He demanded I bring a family Bible to prove I’m twenty-one. All I have is my aunt’s letter saying she gives permission for me to marry. She claims I was born a year earlier than I was, but I won’t be twenty-one for five more months.”
Albert Becker slapped his palm to his forehead and groaned as he spun in a half circle. “Five more months! I can’t wait that long to have her file, even if the Land Office will accept the aunt’s letter as proof of age.”
The marshal shrugged. “She could still marry you, especially if the aunt gave permission.”
Becker huffed as he shook his head. “I can’t get the extra hundred and sixty acres if I’m already legally married to her.”
Dumbfounded, Roslyn stared at Becker. He never intended to marry me before we left for his home? At that moment, she knew, whether or not he could be persuaded to accept Emmy, she refused to have anything further to do with him.
The marshal folded his arms. “Well, you can’t expect her to go with you if you don’t marry her first. I suggest you talk to Reverend Hicks in the next block over about a quick ceremony, or cut your losses and file for what land you can.”
Roslyn had opened her mouth to respond to Albert Becker. Instead, she frowned at the approach of a newcomer, a middle-aged man with a kindly expression, who carried a fabric bag and a familiar-looking canvas sack.
“Mrs. Humphry? You left your bag and the tow sack full of the baby’s things at the stagecoach office. I told the Kansas Stage Company driver I’d bring them to you.”
Roslyn guessed he worked for the stagecoach company. She looked around at the crowd gathered on the boardwal
k, plus she noticed the hotel clerk watching the scene through the front window. This place is busier than an Independence Day carnival like we used to hold back home before the war.
A gracious smile spreading across her face, Penelope turned to the newcomer. “Thank you. Yes, I found my cousin, so I am returning home on the eastbound Kansas Stage line rather than continue west with you on the Butterfield stagecoach. I appreciate you staying mindful of my belongings.” Penelope reached for the drawstring bag made from an old pillowcase, which she set against the wall of the hotel. She next grabbed the tow sack and handed it to Roslyn. “Here are Emmy’s things, Roslyn. Some of the diapers are still wet. Except for once last night, we didn’t stay anyplace long enough for me to rinse them and hang them out to dry.”
“Mrs. Welsh, this is not going to work out between us. You owe me money for your stagecoach ticket and hotel room.”
Without a word, Roslyn turned her back on Becker as she accepted the canvas sack and slipped the strap on her free shoulder. Clenching her teeth, she eased around and once again focused her attention on the man her aunt had intended for her. “No, Mr. Becker, I owe you nothing. Although you were actually writing to my aunt, not me, which I realize you did not know at the time, the arrangement was for us to marry. The one letter I was given shows that fact. What you really want to use me for is a means to get more homestead land than you are entitled to on your own.”
“I know the rules. It would be perfectly legal for you to file for your own homestead…”
“If I was already twenty-one, which I’m not.”
“… and have the land joined with mine once we marry.”
“As for marriage, Mr. Becker, exactly when did you plan to marry me? Right after we put in our application?”
The man scowled. “Of course not. That would be too soon.”
Roslyn felt her heartrate increase, and her face grow hot. She took several deep breaths. “Of course not? What did you plan, then? Did you expect me to live with you and your sons for months or years without the benefit of marriage, or did you plan to abandon me in town to fend for myself until you were ready for me?”