Mail Order Colette

by P. Creeden

  The horse stopped, its eyes still wide and nostrils flaring.

  “Easy now,” Maxwell said again in that low, soothing tone as he approached the horse and patted its neck once more. Slowly the horse responded to his words and body language and let his head and neck back down. Then Maxwell asked the horse to move with him toward the gate again. “Looks like we’ll need to do more work on sacking you out.”

  “Sacking out?” Thomas asked. “What does that mean?”

  “It’s when you take a feed sack and rub it all over the horse’s body. That way the horse gets used to the strange crinkling sounds and the unusual feeling against his skin as well as the unwanted large object coming toward them and away from them constantly.” Maxwell took the horse back to the hitching post and wrapped the lead around the post several times.

  “That’s a strange way of doing things, isn’t it?”

  Letting out a breath, Maxwell shook his head. “If I’d judged everything that I learned as strange just because I didn’t understand it, I’d have a hard time learning anything.”

  Thomas frowned, but it seemed that what Maxwell had said got through the boy’s thick head. He stayed silent while Maxwell untacked the horse and rubbed him down until most of the sweat had disappeared and dried from the horse’s coat. Then Maxwell turned the horse out in the larger paddock with the rest of the horses. He was on three acres with four other horses who were kept from the main herd and turn out-area on forty acres because the five were in training to accept riders and come when called. The other horses would likely be sold once they were thoroughly broke. Maxwell wasn’t sure yet what he was planning on doing with his own colt.

  For a long, quiet moment, Thomas stood next to Maxwell in silence as they watched the colt kick up his heels with a few of the others before settling down to munch on grass. Finally, Thomas leaned in and asked, “Ma wants to know if you’ll come over for dinner tonight.”

  Half-shrugging, Maxwell also shook his head. “It’s Friday night, and the sheriff will want us all on patrol. I’ll just grab something to eat in town.”

  “Will you come on Sunday, then?”

  Most days, Maxwell just ate in town and slept at the sheriff’s office. Rarely did he make it home. He turned and faced his brother, seeing the hopefulness in Thomas’s eyes. Maxwell nodded and clapped the younger man on the shoulder. “Right after church. We’ll spend the afternoon together and then I’ll stay for dinner. Do you think that will work for you both?”

  “It will make her happy, yes.”

  “All right, then. For now, I think we should--”

  “Clayton!” a man shouted from behind them, interrupting Maxwell’s train of thought. “Clayton! I need you to come with me, it’s an emergency.”

  Both Thomas and Maxwell turned toward the yelling and found another of the sheriff’s deputies running his direction. Profuse sweat dripped down his face and made his hair stick to his forehead. His pale pallor and wide eyes made him almost look ghost-like. Maxwell frowned. “Deputy Miller. What’s going on?”

  Miller shook his head as he stopped in front of them, his hands on his knees, hunching over and trying to catch his breath. Finally, after a few seconds, the man straightened up and said, “The stagecoach has been robbed. It was supposed to deliver the payroll for the miners today. There was a big uproar in town, and the sheriff’s been shot!”

  The world suddenly seemed to buck under Maxwell’s feet as his vision tilted. His stomach turned cold. “The sheriff? Is he okay?”

  Deputy Miller shook his head, still looking pale and shellshocked. “I think he’s dead.”

  Chapter 3

  Colette barely survived the funeral. Like Jason had said, they’d waited only two days for any relatives to arrive for the services, and then put John into the ground. Colette was glad for the black veil that covered her face. Her eyes and cheeks had remained puffy and red from the constant crying long after the tears had dried up. Even as she stood before her husband’s grave and the others dispersed, sobs racked her body. They shook her shoulders and made her breathing difficult. And yet no tears fell from her eyes. Her throat ached from the constant crying and the dryness. The world spun, and she leaned against the pastor’s wife, who’d been holding her hand.

  “It’s all right, Mrs. Tolliver. Things seem hard now, but the Lord will work this out for good. You’ll see that someday,” the older woman said quietly.

  Could that even be true? Could the Lord work out for her good the loss of her husband on the very day she was going to tell him that they were with child? How could this possibly be for anyone’s good? Her body shook with fresh sobs at the thought. She felt betrayed by God—forgotten. John had been a good, Christian man. A loyal, gentlemanly husband. He’d never done anything wrong; he’d even died in the act of saving a child. How could this be God’s will? Colette wanted to ask Mrs. Grant, the pastor’s wife, all of those questions, but knew that no words would every make it past her desert throat.

  Then she felt hands on the other side of her and looked through the black shroud at a gentleman’s arm and chest. She couldn’t lift her head to see his face, but once she heard his voice, it wasn’t necessary. “Thank you, Mrs. Grant. It was more than kind of you to take care of my sister-in-law, even though most everyone else is gone. I’ll take it from here.”

  Fear shot through Colette like a jolt. She squeezed Mrs. Grant’s hand, willing the woman to stay even though the words couldn’t come.

  Mrs. Grant squeezed her hand back and then released her and patted her arm. “There, there, child. Don’t worry. I’ll be at the church any time you need someone to talk to or pray for you. Think of it as your solace. Come when you have a need. All right?”

  A small croak escaped Colette’s throat as she tried to say something to the woman, but Mrs. Grant didn’t seem to understand Colette’s urgency. She patted her shoulder and then walked away. When Colette attempted to follow, the fingers on her arm tightened and pulled her back into Jason’s chest. “Where do you think you’re going?” he ground out in a harsh whisper.

  She couldn’t answer and barely managed to shake her head as she came back toward him. She’d hoped that her limpness and cooperation might loosen his grip on her arm, but it didn’t. Instead, Jason lifted her arm upward and started forward as if he were half-carrying her. Then he said loudly as if there was someone else around who might hear him speak, “Oh, you do look tired, love. Let’s get you home and taken care of. You can lean upon me or I can carry you. Let me know if you feel like you can’t walk a step further.”

  Carry her? The thought of Jason touching her and bringing her even closer to his body horrified her and turned her stomach. She thought she might be sick at the thought. She straightened her spine and quickened her step to keep up with his pace. When she stumbled, Jason grunted and tightened his grip on her arm more. Each one of his fingers dug in and caused a deep ache that told her she’d have bruises later. Though her eyes stung, no tears would come. She cried out in pain, but it barely came out as a groan and did nothing to make him loosen his grip. Instead he lifted her up by the arm again and continued dragging her, seeming to quicken his pace.

  Finally, they made it out to the main road, and he released her arm to help her into the carriage. She didn’t want to go with him. The last thing she wanted was to be stuck with whatever whim he might have. Where would he even take her? Her head began to throb as an ache blossomed at the back of her neck. And Jason wasn’t taking no for an answer. He gripped her by the waist and lifted her up, forcing her to mount the carriage or stumble into it. Then he pushed his way onto the seat with her. When had Jason become such a ruffian? Before she and John were courting, Jason had been sweet to her. He didn’t do much more than open doors for her or greet her warmly, but it had been enough for her to smile at him and give him her thanks. When she and John were courting, things took a turn. Jason had become distant, and seemed angry with John, but still nice to her when they interacted. It was then that she not
iced that he was prone to cruel jokes as he used his twisted sense of humor to tease and torment John when he could. After courting for four months, she and John were wed and had been married for three years. During that time, she’d rarely seen Jason except at a distance, though there had been once when they were alone that he’d stood uncomfortably close to her and she’d have sworn that he’d leaned in and sniffed her hair, but he’d never laid a hand on her until that day when she’d gotten the news about John.

  What had she done to make him like this?

  The horses started forward and the carriage jostled, making her take a firm grip on the seat to avoid sliding back toward him. She wanted to keep as much distance as she could from him. The last thing she wanted was to encourage his behavior. Her mind reeled, trying to come up with some way to overcome the situation. How could she get him to stop what he was doing?

  Colette pushed back her veil, tired of not being able to see where they were going. With relief, she recognized the path they were taking. At least Jason seemed to be taking her home. A small measure of relief relaxed through her shoulders, but her stomach still twisted.

  Next to her, Jason huffed. “When we get home, go ahead and change out of that shroud and stuff. I don’t like seeing you in black. You want to look like you’re mourning for the rest of everybody else, but you don’t need to pretend with me.”

  Pretend? She swallowed against her dry throat. She was far from pretending. When had she given Jason the impression that her mourning wasn’t genuine? Her arms covered her midsection. And did he just refer to her home as his? Maybe she was just imagining it. This was all too much for her to comprehend.

  They reached the front of her house, and he jumped down from the carriage, looking up at her with a softened expression and offering her a hand to help her down. She didn’t want to take it but was afraid that her rejection of it would only anger him again. His expression softened further as he looked down at her and kissed her forehead. It took everything she had not to flinch and pull backward. Then he pulled off her hat and shroud, pulling out the pins that kept it in place, and handed the hat to her, running a hand gently over her hair. “Much better. Go ahead and get changed while I put the horse away. You’ll make us some lunch, right? I’ll be staying here for the rest of the day as we begin courting.”

  She stood there, staring at him, her eyes widening as fear quickened her heart. “Courting?” she croaked out, the first word that had passed her lips all day.

  A bit of color tinged his cheeks as he nodded and rubbed the back of his neck, finally looking again like the boy she remembered from so many years ago. “I want to do things proper, but I don’t know if I can wait. I want to make you mine as soon as possible. I know some people might frown upon it, but in a few years, they’ll all forget and it will all be in the past. Now get on inside and make us something to eat.”

  He shoved her lightly toward the front porch, which got her frozen joints moving when she was afraid she’d not be able to. She didn’t look back as she started for the door to her house. Married. To Jason. To the boy with a cruel sense of humor who’d proven over the past couple of days to be just as cruel in his behavior. She’d walk on eggshells for the rest of her life. Not to mention that the thought of him touching her and showing her attention as a woman turned her stomach. Once she got inside, she started up the stairs to her bedroom. She’d change, like he’d said, but her pace quickened as a plan came to mind.

  She wouldn’t start lunch. Instead she’d get together all of her valuables, all the money that she had and pack just enough stuff to fit in her carpet bag. If she stayed, Jason would make her life miserable, and it seemed that everyone in town would believe that this was what she wanted. Even though she wasn’t sure where she was going to go, she knew one thing for sure. She needed to leave.

  Chapter 4

  Maxwell and the other deputies had done what they could to round up a posse, but it was the first time they’d ever needed to do so. Romeo, Colorado was still a fairly small town even though they had a railroad station there. It was a quiet town with the exception of the feud they’d had a few years back with Manassa to the southeast, who believed that the railroad should have run through their town instead of Romeo. But that was all water under the bridge. They had chased the bandits who’d robbed the bank to the west and lost the trail when the bandits had found an area of land that had been overrun by a buffalo herd. They had no way of knowing which directions the culprits had gone—at least, not with the resources they had. When Maxwell returned to town, it was well into the evening, and the miners had been running up the town but good.

  A frown tugged at Maxwell’s lip as he turned toward Deputy Miller. “Gather up the other two deputies and let the rest of the posse go. I’ll meet you in town in front of the Longhorn Saloon.”

  Miller nodded and then rode off to the north while Maxwell continued to the east and stopped at the saloon to tie his horse up. He loosened the gelding’s cinch and reached into the saddlebag to withdraw the oats and feedbag and pulled off the horse’s bridle to attach the feed. Gunner, the gelding, ate its oats with relish while Maxwell drew a rope around its neck and tied it to the hitching post. It wasn’t the most comfortable place for the horse to be, but in the case of an emergency, it was easier to bridle his horse and tighten the cinch than run down to the livery and tack up in a hurry. After he’d seen to Gunner’s needs, Maxwell let out a deep sigh and then walked the boardwalk between the three saloons in town to make his presence known. Some of the miners who’d been drinking and trying to get air saw him coming and hightailed it back inside. Romeo had an ordinance against loitering in town. And the sheriff—God rest his soul—had been big on enforcing it on the miners who took their carousing out into the streets.

  In his chest, Maxwell’s heart squeezed. The sheriff had been like an uncle to him and had always kept a close eye on Maxwell and the other deputies. Now he was gone. All because some bandits decided that they needed to steal the miners’ payroll. He frowned. Wait. How were the miners still drinking like it was any other Friday night?

  A hand fell on his shoulder and Maxwell tensed, reaching for his sidearm as he turned about. As soon as he saw it was Miller and the other two deputies, the tension in his core relaxed. He nodded toward them. “No change from any other Friday night. Miller, you and Grant head over to the south side of Main and Juarez and I will stay on the north. Keep your eyes peeled and make your presence known. Also, figure out how it is that everyone is still able to drink when they got no pay today. If anyone seems to be flashing a bit more cash than usual, let me know.”

  “Right, sheriff—I mean Clayton,” Miller said, shaking his head and frowning. “Although we might as well start calling you sheriff now.”

  Maxwell shook his head. “Sheriff is an elected position. It doesn’t just go to the next person in line automatically.”

  “Well then, I vote that you’re acting sheriff for now,” Miller said, raising his hand. “All in favor?”

  Blood rushed to Maxwell’s cheeks as the other two deputies raised their hands and nodded. Maxwell frowned. “That’s not quite what I meant...”

  “It’s just as good,” Miller said. “I know the mayor will make an official call, but I can’t believe that he’d choose someone else.”

  “It’s possible,” Maxwell said.

  “But not probable,” Miller added.

  After letting out a sigh, Maxwell shook his head again. “All right. Just you and Grant get to your side of the street and make your presence known. There are already people loitering about. I’m sure some have heard that the sheriff’s dead and want to take advantage. Don’t let them. You hear me?”

  “Yes, sir!” Grant said as he hooked his arm in Millers and the two headed across Main Street.

  Maxwell shook his head as he watched them go and then started his trek up the boardwalk. Juarez fell in step beside him. “You know they are right. The mayor will likely make you acting sheriff at least until t
he next election.”

  Biting hard on his back teeth to keep from cursing, Maxwell just tightened his jaw as he continued beating his heels against the boardwalk. After taking a few steps and cooling off a bit he finally said, “That’s fine, but let’s not count our chickens before they’re hatched. I’m not in a hurry to replace the sheriff. He’s not even in the ground yet. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. All right?”

  Juarez shrugged and then nodded toward the Silver Star Saloon where a man just fell out of the paneled batwing doors and out onto the boardwalk. After falling against the railing there, he attempted the straighten up and slurred epithets toward the doors he just fell from. Another man pushed open the doors and stepped out, fists clenched and up looking ready for a fight. With a groan, Maxwell quickened his pace and set a hand on the handle of his pistol. His gaze brushed across Juarez’s. “Here we go.”

  Not knowing where else to go, Colette headed for the lights of the boardwalk. The electricity there acted as a beacon for her as she trudged in the dark, avoiding the road for fear that Jason would find her. It was too late in the evening to catch a train, but she could do so in the morning. Her heart sunk as she reached the boardwalk, and she decided it was best to slip under it than to walk the boards. She pulled off her plain leather shoes and let her toes sink into the sand. The wind off the waves comforted her and also sent a chill. She passed by lovers in the midst of a tryst and did her best to keep her eyes averted as she made her way on, her arms pulling on her shawl and wrapping it tighter around herself. When she’d made it about halfway down, the lights overhead went out, like they always did at nine p.m. All the businesses were closed for the evening and any respectable person would already be in bed, or at least heading there. As she plopped down in the sand next to a pylon, Colette stayed to the side that would block the most wind.