Mail Order Bride: Holly

by Vivi Holt

  He sighed deeply and left the house, donning his hat with a frown. He’d come inside early to spend time with her, but if she’d rather not be around him, he’d just as soon get the chores finished now. Badger fell into step behind him, his ears flopping as he ran.

  Between Tripp’s attitude and Holly’s distaste for his company, Kurt wondered if he should ask whether she preferred to go back to New York. He wasn’t sure how it could be done, but there must be a way for them to annul the marriage and move on with their separate lives. If that’s what she wanted, he wasn’t going to stand in her way.

  June 1860

  Morgantown, Virginia

  Holly ducked behind a large barrel and watched the boy searching for her. He wouldn’t find her – she was well-practiced in the art of disappearing. She’d had to be. He looked between the barrels stacked against the outside of the store, but didn’t spot her.

  The store owner came outside, his hands on his wide hips, his red-rimmed eyes narrowed. He was looking for her too, though he couldn’t maneuver between the new stock that had just arrived. Nor would he venture into the mud that caked the street after the winter deluge that’d flooded the town earlier that day. Finally he shook his fist, looking around through the spectacles perched on the tip of his nose. “You stay away, you little urchin, and don’t come back! You hear me?” The stock boy went back into the shop, scampering through the narrow door as the man clipped him behind the ear.

  As soon as they were gone, Holly stood, shuddered, then smiled and shoved the apple she’d nabbed into her mouth. She checked first one skirt pocket, then the other. They were both crammed with food, and her stomach growled at the thought of a real meal for once. She could still hear the drips of rain from sodden roofs and leaking eaves as she turned and wove her way through the narrow streets of Morgantown.

  She reached the Monongahela River and stopped to watch a coal barge drift toward the shore, its hull empty but blackened with the remnant of a load long since sold by its owner. Now the coal was likely heating the parlor of a wealthy family in New York or Philadelphia, powering a train as it shuttled across the country, or sending bilious smoke skyward from the chimney of a factory in Boston. She loved to watch the barges come, be piled high with coal from the mines, then set off again into the world.

  She took another bite of apple, filling her cheeks to capacity. It wasn’t often her mouth was full, and she enjoyed the sensation.

  Pa worked at the mine, though not as often as he should. She frowned and sighed, so soft that even she didn’t hear it. She knew he hadn’t risen in time for his shift this morning. She knew his schedule better than he seemed to, though it didn’t do her or anyone else any good. He showed up to work when he liked, and she’d heard his boss threaten more than once that his place would be filled should he miss another shift.

  She headed for home, still eating the apple. He couldn’t afford to lose his job. There weren’t many around Morgantown that didn’t involve the mines or a farm, and if he upset the coal bosses, he might as well give up working entirely, since they’d make certain no one else hired him.

  The alley behind the blacksmith’s was smoky and dirty. Refuse spilled from doorways set up above the muck, and her boots were swallowed by thick sucking sludge. She tugged one foot free, only to lose the other in the dark muck. With a grunt, she broke free and made her way along the edge of the alley. She hated when it stormed, since the streets became difficult to navigate and the rodents and insects emerged in force.

  Finishing her apple, she tucked the core in a pocket to stuff with cloves later. She’d seen her teacher Mrs. Sullivan do that once and filed the idea in the back of her mind to do the first chance she got. Mrs. Sullivan was the most glamorous, beautiful, talented woman she’d ever laid eyes on. She’d taken Holly under her wing from her first day at school and spent hours, even after school was done for the day, teaching her how to read and write. Holly had soaked it up, even borrowing readers and other books and magazines from the kindly teacher.

  Mrs. Sullivan had awakened the desire to know more, to know everything she could, about the wide world that existed beyond the muddy streets of the mean little town. She’d spent hours imagining that one day she might be just like Mrs. Sullivan and have her pick of beaus in some distant and exotic city. She’d travel the world, and men would vie for her affection.

  She smiled at the thought and skipped through a doorway at the foot of a two-story raw timber building. She smoothed her hair into place and drew a deep breath. If Pa was awake and had found enough money for whiskey, she’d have to be careful how she approached him.

  Holly pushed the second doorway open a touch and poked her head in. The stench of the disheveled room always made her step back whenever the door had been shut for any length of time, and she’d left it that way when she went out earlier that morning. Usually by now, Ma would have stirred and opened it, and would be smoking on the step or visiting one of the neighbors.

  She crept through the doorway, listening for any sound. It was quiet – perhaps they’d both gone out. But where was Eve? Her sister rarely went with either parents, and that morning she’d had too bad a cough to leave her bed, so Holly had left her behind. She crept through the living room on tiptoe and peered into the bedroom. A form was lying on the bed and frowned. It looked like Pa. He must have drunk through his supply of whiskey already and it wasn’t even dinner time.

  The room was dark, dank, and the shabby drapes that hung over the single high window hadn’t been opened. She stepped closer and peered at his face, then noticed a damp patch on his brown nightshirt. He hadn’t even dressed yet, so how had he gone out drinking? She poked him in the side, but he didn’t move. She leaned closer still. Usually she could smell the liquor on his breath from this distance, but not this time. Finally she pulled aside the drapes, letting a brilliant ray of sunshine in … and her heart dropped into her gut.

  Pa’s face was pale. Too pale. She covered her mouth, reached out with her other hand and shoved him. He barely shifted beneath her touch, and didn’t awaken. She gingerly touched the damp spot on his nightshirt – and her fingers came away red with blood!

  With a shriek, Holly stumbled back, wiping her fingertips against her skirts furiously. She tripped over something and landed on her rear, smacking the back of her head against the wall with a loud thud. When she reached up to rub her head, she felt blood there as well. Her stomach roiled and she closed her eyes tight. Then she shifted her skirts aside to see what she’d fallen over.

  That’s when she screamed, but the noise was dampened by a fog that covered her mind and made her vision shrink to pinholes. Ma!

  She scrambled to her feet and stared down at her mother with round eyes. Her throat had been slit. Her skirts were pulled up around her waist, her pale legs sticking out like two bare sticks. Her fist was clenched around something. Holly bent down and forced Ma’s fingers open. A gold coin fell from the stiffened claw and rolled in a circle on the dirt floor, before landing on its side with a dull clink. She scooped it up and stuck it in her pocket, still staring at Ma’s cold, stiff body.

  Blinking rapidly, she backed away, then turned and ran into the other bedroom, where she barreled right into Eve. Eve had her thumb in her mouth, and her eyes looked glazed. Holly caught her with both hands before she could fall to the ground from the impact, and looked her in the eye. “Eve! Eve, what happened? What’s going on?” Her voice was calm, but to her it sounded a long way away.

  Eve just stared blankly, sucking her thumb.

  “Eve, wake up, girl! What happened to Pa and Ma?”

  Eve blinked once, then her gaze met Holly’s. “Three men came.” That was all she’d say, though Holly drilled her for more. It was no use. Eve was only nine, after all. A nine-year-old couldn’t be brave like Holly could at thirteen. Everyone knew that.

  After a few minutes passed, the fog began to lift from Holly’s mind, the panic subsided and her thoughts slowed until she was able to catch them.
They couldn’t stay there – what if the men came back? They’d discover that gold coin was missing and they’d return for it, wouldn’t they? She couldn’t be sure, but she wasn’t about to wait around to find out. Eve was her responsibility now, and she knew she had to take her sister and get as far away from there as they could.

  She scurried back to the bedroom, keeping her eyes averted from her mother’s body. A small chifferobe leaned against the far wall, and inside she found a ragged carpetbag. She grabbed as many of her and Eve’s things as she could find and the few valuables she knew her parents kept hidden, and shoved them into the bag. She carried it to the kitchen and added some bread in a cloth, a couple of cans of beans and some cheese.

  Eve just stood there with her thumb in her mouth, not moving or making a sound. Holly frowned. When did Eve start sucking her thumb again? She was far too old for that. Ma never let her do it. She’d had her hide tanned more than once by Pa when he caught her at it, and she had to wear one of Pa’s old socks on her hand to sleep. But Holly didn’t have the heart to punish her now. “Let’s go,” she said, grabbing Eve by the sleeve of her soiled dress.

  The thumb shifted from Eve’s mouth and her eyebrows arched. “Go where?”

  “I don’t know yet. But we have to get …”

  A man came through the door quietly and stood with his hands on his hips, regarding them with black eyes that shone in his broad face. His nose was crooked and his forehead flat, making his features resemble a tin plate. He tipped his hat back and grinned, revealing gaps where teeth should’ve been. “Wot have we here?”

  Eve’s lower lip quivered, but otherwise she froze. Holly’s mind raced. He’d come back for something, but what? The gold coin? Something else? “What do you want?” she said coldly, even as her heart hammered against her ribs.

  He stepped closer. “Yer Pa took sumpin’ from me, ‘n I wannit back. Didja see a box? ‘Bout yea high …” He held his hands ten inches apart.

  She shook her head. “No. I ain’t seen it.”

  He snarled. “I bet ye ‘ave.” He lunged for her, but she leaped adeptly to one side, pulling Eve with her. They sidestepped the brute, his long arms closing on air, and ran down the alley. Holly, the carpetbag bouncing on her shoulder where she’d slung it, was grateful Eve had responded quickly. She turned her head to check on Eve running beside her …

  The man scooped them up – first Eve, then Holly, one in each muscular arm, his eyes flashing in triumph. Holly’s heart lurched at the look of utter fear in her sister’s eyes. Then Eve screamed, a blood-curdling scream that sent a chill down Holly’s spine …

  8

  Holly woke and sat bolt upright on the straw tick, her heart thundering in her chest. Sweat ran down her face and she turned her head from side to side in the darkness, looking for the man with the tin-plate face. He wasn’t there. Of course he wasn’t there – it was just a dream, one she’d had many times when she was feeling unsettled or fearful about something.

  She exhaled and rubbed her forehead, then stood slowly, smoothed her nightgown over her legs and crept from the room. There was no point in trying to sleep now – she never could once she’d had that dream. She wished she could see Eve, have her sister hold her and tell her that their nightmares were all in the past, that the man with the crooked nose would never find them again.

  At the kitchen table, she lit the lamp and searched Kurt’s things for a piece of paper and a quill. He’d said she could use anything she wished, and she knew she wouldn’t be able to still her pounding heart until she’d written down her thoughts. She tucked her nightgown around her legs, sat down and began to write, the shadow of the pen falling across the paper, away from her hand in the flickering lamplight:

  Dearest Eve,

  I hope my letter finds you, Rodney and James well. We all miss you very much. We’ve arrived at the home of Kurt Sawyer and he and I are married. He is technically a landowner – he has a ranch just outside Wichita. The oversight in the description, it seems, is because his brother, who owns a flour mill in town, wrote the ad. Kurt says he didn’t know what his brother had written. I have decided to see it as a small indiscretion, one that can be overlooked. Especially considering my failure to tell him just how many children I was bringing with me until after he sent me a ticket.

  I know, you’ll shake your head at me when you read this. You told me to be completely honest with him and I should have told him that from the first. But he has come to terms with my failure, as I have with his. We both find ourselves in a situation different from what we expected. But it doesn’t follow that we should be unhappy.

  So far, we are getting along well. He is young but a hard worker, and I believe he will be able to provide for us. He seems good and kind, and he has a way with the children that warms my heart. He has a very pleasing look about him as well.

  My concern is that Tripp is so unhappy here. He feels I have betrayed his father’s memory by taking a husband, and that we could have made it on our own without Mr. Sawyer. He is blinded by his rage and refuses to even try to accept the change. Have I made a mistake, dear sister? Perhaps we should have attempted to make it on our own, but I was unable see how – not after the way Ma and Pa raised us. I couldn’t do that to my children, couldn’t force them to live in that kind of squalor and neglect.

  Part of me thinks of coming home to you, that perhaps we should simply get on the next train and return to New York. I’m homesick and anxious about the children, and I don’t know what is right or wise any longer. My head is churning with thoughts, hopes, decisions and doubts. And none stand out to me. Tell me what I should do.

  I had the bad dream just now, the dream where the man with the tin-plate face is coming after us again back in Morgantown. I wished you were here to remind me it was just a dream.

  I look forward to hearing from you soon.

  Your sister,

  Holly Sawyer

  The blade fell against the log, splitting it in two, and Kurt let the head of the axe rest against the ground while he caught his breath. He had all the wood he needed to build the smoker. Once it was completed, he’d head out and shoot a deer. The smoker would be big enough to cure a good portion of the beast, providing them with a supply of meat for the winter months.

  He ran the back of his hand across his damp forehead and squinted into the afternoon sunlight. Summer was over, but the heat still lingered. It wouldn’t be long before the days were cool and the nights frigid. He’d noticed Holly using the supplies he’d purchased in town at her request. She’d been crocheting blankets and stitching quilts every spare moment in preparation for the change of weather. There was a new set of curtains on the bedroom window, and a cozy brown-and-blue-patterned wool blanket at the foot of the bed.

  Once he had enough food stocked or in process, he intended to build bunks for the children. He scratched his head beneath his Stetson. When would Holly share his bed instead of theirs? He’d known it would take time, but it had been weeks since her arrival and still she kept her distance. She was polite enough, even kind in her attentions toward him, but there was a space between them he couldn’t breach, no matter how he tried.

  He noticed movement out of the corner of his eye and turned to see Tripp disappearing over a rise in the distance. The boy was alone, striding with purpose through the tall grasses toward the bull pen where Kurt kept Sheridan, the ornery bull he’d purchased from William Drake in June. The animal wasn’t well behaved enough to be with the rest of the cattle, though he made forays into their pasture without Kurt’s approval by simply leaping over the fence whenever he fancied.

  Kurt rubbed his beard with a frown. Surely the boy wouldn’t bother Sheridan. If he did, the bull might not take kindly to the intrusion. He’d warned all the children about the animal, but it was an open question whether Tripp would heed it. He set the axe against the stack of split wood and hurried after Tripp.

  That boy really was a frustration to him – he moped around the place and gave h
im lip his own father would never have stood for. He knew Tripp needed some time to come to terms with the changes in his life, but he wasn’t sure how much longer he could put up with being disrespected in his own home. Still, his heart ached for all the children whenever he saw a lonesome or melancholy look on one of their little faces – and he’d grown to care for them more than he’d imagined he could in such a short time.

  The long grass brushed his trouser legs and the setting sun seemed to cover everything in a white haze, burning his retinas. He blinked hard, hoping to spot the boy. If he could see him, perhaps he could call him back before he got much further. Then he might still have time to build the smoker before darkness fell.

  He reached the barbed-wire fence he’d erected to keep the bull separate from the rest of the herd. It was a temporary measure – he’d hoped the animal would fit in with the group, but he’d caught it goring one of the young steers and chasing others soon after it arrived. So far, the separation hadn’t seemed to temper his behavior.

  He glanced around the enclosure to where the bull stood facing the far corner. He couldn’t see what was there, but he could guess. “Hey!” he shouted, waving his arms over his head.

  The bull turned and studied him, its eyes rolling back into its head. Sure enough, Tripp was cowering in the corner. He thought he could hear the child whimpering. Why didn’t he just climb back through the fence? “Tripp! Climb through the fence!” he yelled.

  Tripp straightened slowly, as though he didn’t wish to provoke the beast. But it didn’t work – the bull charged him, head down.

  “Tripp!” cried Kurt, sprinting toward where Tripp was climbing back through the fence. But it was too late – Sheridan caught him anyway, sending him flying through the fence and the air. He landed at the base of a tall willow tree and lay slumped in a tangle of arms and legs. Sheridan snorted, then, his territory successfully defended, turned and trotted back across the enclosure.