Mail Order Roslyn

by Zina Abbott

  Becker shook his head. “No. I planned to take you back with us so you can make yourself useful. I told you, we would have had a marriage in name only. It would have been the same whether we’re married or not. I figured I’d marry you about the time I’m ready to prove up. Have to, in order to get the land in my name, but I don’t come to town that often.”

  Roslyn glared at the man. The same, except for everyone else around us who would judge me as being the hussy you just accused me of being because I would be living with you outside of wedlock. “But you don’t plan to marry me today before you leave to return to the land you are filing on.”

  “No. without proof you are twenty-one years of age, you don’t qualify for the land unless you have proof of your marriage and husband’s death. Do you have any of that?”

  Roslyn shook her head. “No. I only have my aunt’s letter.”

  “You have a baby, but no documents about anything. Then you can’t get the land anyway, so it makes no never mind.”

  “I qualify to get married, which is why you told my aunt you sent for me. I don’t owe you, Mr. Becker. You brought me here under false pretenses.”

  The marshal stepped over until he stood at Becker’s side. “She’s got a point, Mr. Becker.”

  Roslyn studied the lawman who spoke up in her support. She decided to push for more because, without any money or a ticket she could cash in, she was trapped in Junction City. She also approached Albert Becker. “Mr. Becker, it is you who owes me a ticket back to where I came from.”

  “No, Roslyn, you can’t come back home. Ma…she’s dying. There won’t be a place for either of us once that happens.”

  Still jiggling Emmy, who continued to fuss and squirm, Roslyn spun toward her cousin. “Hush up, Penelope! I need a ticket to somewhere.” She stared at her cousin before she closed her eyes and heaved a sigh. What do I do now?

  Roslyn turned to the lawman. “Are there any paying jobs for women in this city? I mean decent women, marshal. I know we’re close to a fort, but I’m not interested in anything that involves entertaining soldiers.” She watched as the man slowly shook his head.

  “Not really, ma’am. None that I know of for a single woman with a baby. You could ask around, I suppose. Maybe Reverend Hicks could help.”

  Roslyn walked to the edge of the boardwalk and stared at the buildings across the street without really seeing anything. She had not had good experiences with church men the past few years. Her pastor back home, blinded by his prejudice against her because she dressed in Ross’s old clothes while she worked in the livery, had been unsympathetic when she went to him for advice. He told her she brought the problems on herself, and she should sell the livery so she could conduct herself like a decent woman. Her aunt’s pastor in Lawrence believed Almena’s lies and barely spoke to her when she attended church. His wife was more vocal and expressive in her assumptions and false judgment. She would not try Reverend Hicks. He might be sympathetic and helpful, but I’m not up to being disappointed again. I must look for something on my own so I can take care of Emmy.

  “Well, you better find a way to earn a living. I want my money back, woman!”

  As exhausted as she felt after all the uproar, upon hearing Becker’s demand, Roslyn felt her temper flare once more. She refused to pay one penny to that swindler who sweet-talked her aunt into sending her out into this situation. She opened her mouth, prepared to tell him exactly what she thought of him. Instead, the marshal beat her to it.

  “Mr. Becker, I suggest you and your sons remove yourselves over to my office. I think we need to discuss this entire matter in more detail there.”

  The sharpness of his request, which she could tell was really a demand, surprised her.

  “You can either come willingly, or I’ll arrest you and hold you officially until we get this all worked out.”

  As she watched a grumbling Albert Becker motion to his sons to move his family’s wagon and horses as he followed the marshal down the street, Roslyn felt her heartbeat gradually slow. Thank you, Lord. She closed her eyes and pressed her back against the outside wall of the hotel. I need to disappear until he leaves town.

  A man cleared his throat. She turned to face the stagecoach driver whose gaze focused on her.

  “Ma’am, I’m Isaac Peterson. If you have no other plans, until you figure things out, my wife could use some help for a few weeks. I manage a station for the B.O.D. and—”

  “B.O.D.?”

  “The stagecoach company, ma’am. Butterfield Overland Despatch. My wife, Caroline, she does all the cooking and such in the station. Unfortunately, she twisted her knee and has been feeling a mite poorly lately. Don’t know that I can pay you much, but she could use the help, not to mention, some female company. You’d have room and board, such as it is, plus she’d be right pleased having the little one around.”

  Someplace to live other than Lawrence or Junction City? “I accept.”

  “Thank you, ma’am. I got me a new driver coming—someday. I’m covering until then. I’ll put you on my coach, which will be leaving shortly.” Isaac heaved a sigh. “As much as I’ll appreciate your helping the wife, what I really need is a couple more stock tenders. The station’s short on them right now. You hear of anyone interested, tell them to find me.”

  Roslyn raised her eyebrows. Stock tender? As in, horses and mules? “Is that a paying job, Mr. Peterson?”

  “Yes, ma’am. I’m looking for strong, young men for that job. It’s not fitting work for a woman.”

  We’ll see about that. “My brother, Ross, might be interested. He’s good with horses and mules.” Roslyn bit the inside of her lip. Why did I give him a name? That Elam Stewart is still here, and yesterday, at the livery, I introduced myself as Ross.

  “No, Roslyn, not Ross, please. This business with Ross is how you got in trouble to begin with.”

  Roslyn ignored the panic in her cousin’s voice. She clamped her back teeth together and whispered as she stepped to her cousin and stared her down. “Hush up, Penelope. You’ve already caused enough trouble for one day. Besides, that’s not true.” Roslyn felt a smidgen of gratification that Penelope pressed her lips together and dropped her gaze to the boardwalk.

  The stagecoach driver cleared his throat. “Your brother around? I’d surely like to talk to him.”

  Roslyn focused once again on Isaac Peterson. “Not right now, sir, but I’ll contact him. Tell me what station you’re taking me to, and I’ll send him your way.”

  “Ellsworth Station, ma’am.”

  Roslyn heard the thud of something heavy striking the boardwalk. She turned to see that Elam Stewart had taken a step forward.

  “Ellsworth! Ain’t that to the west by the fort where they had a passel of Indian trouble back a spell?”

  Roslyn stiffened her back. She glared at Elam, who had asked the question. Why do you care?

  “Well, sir, the fort had a run-in with them about a year ago. The Cheyenne are mostly making their attacks farther west now. They haven’t bothered my station since it’s been there. If I thought there might be trouble, I wouldn’t have brought the wife out.”

  Elam turned and stared at Roslyn. “Mrs. Welsh, if them Cheyenne do show up, you figure Ross is up to taking them on?”

  Roslyn stretched her neck as she studied Elam Stewart’s gaze that appeared to bore into hers. Why is he interfering with my affairs? She sensed a million insects crawling all over her as the realization struck her. He knows. Under no circumstances did she wish to let on that she knew that he knew. Except for the tightness around her eyes, she kept the rest of her face expressionless. “Yes. Not that it is any of your concern, but Ross can manage the job just fine.” Don’t you dare spoil this for me, Elam Stewart.

  Elam, his face also expressionless, said nothing as he continued to study her.

  Roslyn faced the stagecoach driver once more. “How long do I have before you’re leaving, Mr. Peterson? I need to take care of my baby and collect my things.”
/>
  “About twenty to twenty-five minutes, ma’am. Got me a schedule to keep.”

  .

  .

  .

  .

  Chapter 5

  ~o0o~

  M uch to Roslyn’s annoyance, she heard Penelope’s footsteps follow her as she entered the hotel and walked toward the staircase. Without turning around, she called out to her cousin. “Why are you following me, Penelope?”

  “Please let me come up to your room, Roslyn. We only have a few more minutes together.”

  Roslyn harrumphed. We’ve already had far too many minutes together. She looked down at Emmy’s face as her baby turned toward her chest and rooted for a meal. But she did bring my precious baby to me.

  “Ah, Mrs. Welsh, you’ll need to pay for another night if you plan on staying longer.”

  Roslyn spun to face the clerk. “I’ll be out in twenty minutes. I merely need enough time to take care of my baby and gather my things.” She jerked her head in Penelope’s direction. “She’s with me, and we’ll leave together.” As she began to climb the stairs, she ignored both the clerk and Penelope, grateful that neither spoke again.

  Once in the room, Roslyn flopped on the wooden chair and jammed the left front of the Zouave jacket under her arm. Starting at the bottom, she unbuttoned the shirtwaist far enough to release her breast from the corset. She sighed with relief as Emmy latched on and the milk began to flow—not only filling her daughter, but relieving the tightness that still plagued her breasts. She held her forearm against the other breast to keep it from also flowing, willing it to wait until she could switch Emmy to the other side.

  “Please tell me you have a chamber pot in here, Roslyn. I really don’t want to use the necessary out back if I don’t have to.”

  Roslyn turned to the woman who had taken her black bonnet off and set it in the middle of the bed. “Behind the screen. I used it this morning, and I’m sure they haven’t emptied it yet. I’ll have to use it again before we leave.”

  While Penelope took care of her business, Roslyn slouched in the chair as she held her baby and succumbed to a wave of fatigue. What a horrible morning, but I lived through it. She listened a few more seconds to the snuffling sounds Emmy made as she nursed. Knowing she only had a short time before she must meet the stagecoach, she pressed her finger against the nipple to break the suction and pulled a protesting Emmy off her left breast long enough to offer her the right one. As she watched her cousin reappear from behind the privacy screen, she braced herself for the whiney criticism she knew she was about to hear. Penelope surprised her.

  Penelope sat on the edge of the bed facing Roslyn and folded her hands in her lap. “Please, Roslyn, I know you’re angry, but I need you to forgive me. You know how Ma is. Once she realized you left Emmy with me, not someone else in town, she gave me no peace until I left to come after you.”

  “I don’t know, Penelope. I’m sure I will forgive you but probably not today. I was so angry with you for bringing the baby and ruining things…” Roslyn’s words caught in her throat, and she sighed as she looked down at a now-content Emmy. She softened her words. “I guess it is just as well. I had no idea, from what your mother told me, what Albert Becker was really up to when he sent for me. I’ll have to admit that, although it was not your intent, you showing up with Emmy saved me from him wanting me to go along with his scheme.” Or having no other good options offered.

  “Oh, no, Roslyn, you should not have felt obligated to that man without him marrying you first. That would have been so improper. I’m relieved you didn’t go with him.”

  “I know, and I wanted no part of that. I’ve already dealt with enough criticism and snobbery for being caught in a situation where people felt I was the one who behaved unseemly.”

  “But, you did, Roslyn. If you had not dressed like Ross and done a man’s work, they never would have come after you the way they did.”

  “Stop it, Penelope! That is your witch of a mother talking.” As she watched her cousin shrivel in response, Roslyn refused to feel repentant.

  Penelope dropped her gaze to her lap. “Please don’t call my mother a witch. I know she’s difficult, and she’s getting worse all the time.”

  “She’s always been difficult. She’s always disagreed with my father for allowing me to work in the livery with him and Ross after my ma died. As quick as she was to accept the money from Pa’s estate to take care of me because, technically, I was underage and she was my only living adult relative, she sure didn’t want me there.”

  “She’s dying, Roslyn. She admitted to me before I left the doctor told her she has a cancer and not long to live—months, maybe only weeks. She’s trying to hang on long enough to see my baby born. Besides, she really does believe your choices caused your problems. You were wearing Ross’s clothes when those men cornered you, weren’t you?”

  Roslyn’s pressed her lips together as she blinked back tears. She trembled as a vision of that night streamed through her consciousness. When she had pulled out her knife—the one she now called “traitor”—and assumed a defensive stance. After she verbally warned off the two men in front of her, they had hesitated and stopped coming toward her. At the time, she felt confident she would escape them until the third man came up behind her, tossed a burlap sack over her head, and wrestled the knife out of her hand. Then the beating began, and the... Roslyn blinked and shook her head. I can’t do this! If I allow myself to dwell again on what happened, it will upset Emmy. She filled her lungs with a huge gulp of air and forced the thought away.

  Roslyn sighed as she turned her gaze to her cousin. “Penelope, I know you don’t like me criticizing your mother, but she is so thick-headed and so determined to think the worst of me, I was never able to convince her of the truth. But, for your own benefit, listen to what I have to say in case, in the future, you end up facing the same thing. It would not have mattered what I was wearing or how I conducted myself. I would have been threatened and attacked until I gave in and agreed to what certain parties in town wanted. After both Pa and Ross were gone, I was the only one left to inherit the livery. Only, I was female and underage. There were those who wanted that livery, and they pressed me to sell it.”

  “But, since you were underage, didn’t the court assign you a guardian?”

  Roslyn nodded. “Pa wrote out a will naming James Anderson as my guardian. He was willing to hold the livery for me until I was of age or married so it could go to my husband. Only, the banker in town, Wayland Morris, wanted it. I can’t prove it, but I’d put money on him hiring those hooligans who attacked me.”

  “You shouldn’t wager, Roslyn—not even talk about it.”

  “Stop trying to ignore the truth by nit-picking about something irrelevant to what I’m warning you about, Penelope. If it had been Ross, they would have settled with beating him near to death. Because I’m female, they added the other. Because I had something a man with money and power wanted, he did whatever it took to get it from me. When I didn’t agree right away, I paid the price.”

  Penelope focused on her folded hands in her lap. “Oh. I didn’t realize all that, Roslyn.”

  “I know. Your mother filled your head with lies. That’s one reason I refused to go along with Albert Becker’s demands today. Once I realized the scheme he had in mind, I saw the possibility of finding myself in the same kind of situation as I did with the banker.”

  “Yes, I can see that.” Her eyes wide, Penelope looked side to side and sighed. “Well, I already know Mr. Emerson has the right to take over the place once I get Ma buried. I won’t try to hang onto it.”

  “I thought the farm went to you and your ma now your pa and Monroe are dead. I knew old man Emerson was farming the acreage, but I figured your ma was leasing it to him.”

  Penelope shook her head. “After Pa and Monroe were killed by Quantrill’s Raiders, Ma had to sell the farm to have money to live on. Once she dies, Mr. Emerson will take it back and tear the cabin down to use the land for
more pasture. I’ll be forced to pack up and leave, just like Ma made you leave.”

  “You know yet where you will go?”

  Penelope, her gaze still focused on her lap, again shook her head. “Ma has me writing to men, too. Only, I’m putting them off, insisting on finishing my year of mourning before I remarry. That will give me time to birth this baby and…and to get Ma buried.”

  “Then, listen to me, Penelope. No matter what your ma says, you start selling everything of value you have in that house and hide the money. Don’t trust the bank. It doesn’t matter if you or your parents bought it separate from the house, the owner will claim it goes with the house and he’s entitled to it. I went through that myself, so I know. And, whatever you do, if any of the men you’re writing to are named Becker or demand the family Bible, toss those letters in the fire and stop writing.”

  Penelope laughed. “I saw enough today to know to avoid that.”

  Roslyn knew she needed to leave the hotel room, but first, she needed to change Emmy’s diaper. She found the largest dry spot on the wool blanket her daughter had been wrapped in and placed it on the bed next to Penelope. As she stripped the damp gown off her now-sleeping daughter, she accepted the dry gown Penelope pulled from the tow sack and handed to her.

  Before putting it on Emmy, Roslyn removed and shook out Emmy’s soggy diaper. She tossed it in the bowl with the gown, intent on at least rinsing and wringing out the urine-soaked clothing before she stuffed them, still damp, back in the tow sack. Somehow, she must find a way to get Emmy’s used clothes washed once they reached the next stagecoach station. Even rinsed with water and hung out in the sun to dry would be acceptable—if the station had a good well and an extra bucket she could use.

  What she really needed was soap to scrub them clean. Roslyn picked up the sliver of harsh lye soap she brought. While staring at it, she sighed. “Oh, Penelope. If only I had time to stop at the mercantile and buy a bar of Pear’s Soap—something that would be gentle and not cause a rash to form on Emmy’s little bottom. But, I don’t. I need to leave—now.”