A Bride for James

by P. Creeden

  “Of course,” he said, suddenly reaching for her. He wanted to carry her to the bedroom just to hold her body against him again, but she seemed too strong and too able to walk on her own. Though he was glad to see that she was getting healthier and feeling better, he couldn’t help the nag of his disappointment. He let out a slow breath as he watched her head back toward the bedroom at the back of the small cabin. This woman already had a great effect on him when she’d been lying still in the bed. The more she moved about and spoke, the greater her effect. He didn’t know if his heart was going to be able to take it.

  Abby sat across the table from James at dinner that evening. They seemed to have plenty of meat and eggs in the house and a bit of oats, but none of the staples she needed to feel like home. She’d made the best dinner she could with what they had, and she didn’t want to complain, but she thought it best if she were honest with her new husband. “If we had some flour and oil, I’d be willing to make us some biscuits. Momma June taught me her secret recipe.”

  “Sounds delicious,” he said with a smile. His brown eyes sparkled in the light of the setting sun out the window.

  Her heart fluttered at the sight of it. Earlier, when he had held her against his chest, his manly scent nearly made her swoon. When her knees buckled at that time on the porch, it wasn’t entirely an act. His strong arms tensed under her fingertips and when they wrapped around her, she couldn’t help but fall limp and lean harder against his chest. At the memory, she had difficulty swallowing the bite she’d just taken and grabbed hold of her cup of water, trying to wash it down.

  “I’ll take you shopping in town for goods as soon as you feel strong enough. It’s a little more than three miles to walk, as I don’t have a horse or cart yet.”

  She nodded. Back in Suffolk county, she walked everywhere, too. She wasn’t too comfortable in a saddle, and she’d never driven herself in a cart—wouldn’t know the first thing about hitching a horse up to one, either. “Let’s see how I feel in the morning. I’m feeling pretty good right now, but that’s a little more than an hour’s walk to and from town. I’m not sure if I’m quite ready yet.”

  “Another option is you can tell me what you’d like, and I’ll go myself. I just haven’t wanted to leave you alone whilst you were ill,” he said around a mouthful of food while he moved things about on his plate.

  She smiled up at him. He could say the sweetest things without even realizing he was doing so. He didn’t look up at her for a reaction, just went about his business while her heart fluttered alone. Slowly she took a breath in, trying to get a hold of herself. “Can we do that? I’ll write a list.”

  A frown suddenly marred his face and he peered up at her with sad eyes. He shook his head slowly. “Don’t do that. I... I won’t be able to...”

  Her heart sank in her chest. He couldn’t read. “Oh!” she cried out, dropping her fork. “My hand’s cramping.”

  His eyes went wide as he stared at her hand.

  She started massaging her palm and fingers. “The fever set all my muscles prone to cramping, especially the ones in my hands. I don’t think I’ll be able to write a list this time. Could I just tell you what I need? I’ll make the list small so it’s easy to remember.”

  His brow smoothed as he nodded. “Yes, I can do that.” And then his gaze fell back toward her hand. “Can I do something for your hand? Are you going to be all right?”

  She nodded, swallowing the lump that had formed in her throat. “It’s not too bad, really. I just need to avoid doing small, refined tasks for a couple days, like writing and sewing.”

  He nodded as she picked back up the fork and slowly went back to eating her supper. She smiled up at him. It was okay. He didn’t need to embarrass himself by telling her about his weaknesses right now. They were just getting to know each other, and he was a strong, proud, kind man. She was already developing a great affection for him.

  Chapter Nine

  The next morning, James set off on his hike toward town to get the goods that Abby had asked for. The sun shined overhead in a cloudless sky, so that the day looked deceptively warm. He pulled his jacket around himself as the wind rustled through the trees nearby, reminding everyone that it was fully autumn. He still had a bit of stiffness in his back from sleeping on the pallet he’d made in the parlor floor. He knew he was a snorer, due to the damage his nose had taken in his many bouts and hoped that he didn’t keep Abby awake with his noise since she needed rest to get better.

  He needed to find a way to make a living for himself and soon. The society had given him a small severance package for him to live on for a while as he tried to find a way to make himself useful in society. They’d offered him a job as a fight manager, but he wanted to steer as far from the pugilistic arts as he could. He didn’t want to see more people getting hurt or possibly dying for the sake of sport. Ten years with the society had been more than enough for him.

  When he entered town, he headed straight for the general store, but just as he was about to enter the building, a man pushed through the door and knocked into him with an armload of goods.

  “Hey! Wait. Stop him!” the merchant yelled from inside.

  James met eyes with the store owner, who looked stricken. It took him less than a moment to figure out what was going on before he leapt into action. In three strides, he had the thief by the collar. The sour tang of whiskey and body odor reeked from the man.

  “Lemme go!” the man hollered and then struggled to spin from James’s grip, launching a fist in his direction to bludgeon him. James jumped back and out of the way, releasing the collar for a moment before rushing forward and running into the man with his shoulder and tackling him to the ground in the middle of the street. A horse shied away from the pair, and a wagon stopped and blocked the rest of the traffic.

  “What’s going on here?” a deep baritone asked from above the two of them. James shaded his eyes so he could see the sheriff standing over them, a star shining on his lapel.

  “This thief just stole a bolt of silk I got from a Chinese worker on the railroad. It’s the most expensive thing in the store!” the general store owner said, wringing his hands, his face still pale. “Fortunately, this gentleman was there to stop him.”

  Slowly, James drew himself to his feet as the sheriff took his place on the man’s back. The merchant took hold of his merchandise and dusted it off, muttering about how the first yard or two of fabric might have been ruined. After dusting off his trousers, James peered up. With a brow raised, the sheriff stood with a hand on the drunk thief’s collar. He looked James up and down. “What’s your name, young man?’

  “James Fisher, sir.” James blinked and swallowed. When he was younger, he’d not had good run-ins with the law. Even to this day, he still got sweaty palms just looking a lawman in the eye as he was doing now.

  The sheriff nodded. “Why don’t you give me a hand here with this miscreant, Mr. Fisher? I’d like to have a word or two with you if you could spare a moment?”

  Now, James’s heart began to beat wildly and sweat beaded on his nose, but still he managed to say, “Yes, sir.”

  As they walked along the boardwalk to the jailhouse, James kept racking his brain. What did the sheriff want with him? Had he broken a law? Was it possible that he’d be arrested for being so violent with the thief? He trailed behind the sheriff several steps and swiped his sweaty hands on the thighs of his trousers. Part of him wished he’d never gotten involved. He should have stood back and let the thief run off with the general store’s merchandise. It wasn’t any of his business, and he should have kept his nose out of it. The regrets kept piling up on top of him. When they reached the sheriff’s office, the sheriff put the man behind bars and then gestured for James to have a seat in front of the wide desk where the sheriff himself was getting ready to sit. The sheriff pulled the hat from his head and set it on the table and then took a seat.

  James sat, but on the edge of the seat. He still felt the need to run away. He
swallowed and waited for the sheriff to speak.

  “Mr. Fisher. I believe I’ve seen you around. You were the former Kansas City Pugilist Champion, were you not?” The sheriff leaned forward and rested his elbows on the desk.

  “Yes, sir. I was.”

  “But I heard that you retired. After that champion before you, Hank... something... died soon after the fight, you had a losing streak and such, right?”

  “Yes, sir.” James squirmed a little in his seat. He wasn’t sure he liked where this questioning was going.

  “Have you found a new job yet?”

  James blinked and shook his head slowly. “No, sir. I have not.”

  The sheriff huffed a laugh and scratched his chin. “Would you consider working for me as deputy? I need a good man who’s fast and strong. You might need to throw a few punches, but they would be for the good of society and not for sport. Also, you need to be able to ride a horse and shoot a pistol. Can you do those things?”

  James couldn’t stop blinking for a moment. Deputy? Him? The thought of punching a man in the ring for sport had become abhorrent to him. But could he do it in the name of the law? Somehow, he thought he might just could. “Yes, sir. I rode and shot quite a bit as a boy, but I’m out of practice in both counts.”

  A grin split the sheriff’s face. “That’s not a problem. You can get the practice. There’ll be a horse waiting for you at the livery. Buster is a good, solid animal. A buckskin, about fifteen hands. He’ll take good care of you and will be patient with you until you get the hang of it.” The sheriff opened a drawer and pulled out a revolver and a small wooden box of gunpowder and balls. “If you think you might be interested in the position, I’ll show you how to clean the gun and load your paper cartridges. Then you can take this box home and practice your aim. What do you think?”

  If there had been anything that had come to James’s mind when he’d thought about why the sheriff would ask him into his office, this was not one of the possibilities. As an honest man, James couldn’t take on the position without coming clean. “Sheriff, as much as I’d love to say yes, and become your deputy, I must tell you that I had a few run-ins with the law before I joined the pugilist society.”

  The sheriff lifted a brow. “And how old were you when you joined the society?”

  “Twelve, sir.”

  “And have you had any run-ins with the law since? Have you been living an upright life since that time?”

  “Yes, sir. The society has strict rules about keeping the law as well as rules against drinking and gambling.”

  After huffing a laugh, the sheriff nodded. “That’s what I thought. It’s one of the reasons I am offering you the position, knowing you were part of the society. It doesn’t matter what you did as a kid, Mr. Fisher. You’ve lived a clean life since. And if you could keep those same rules the society gave you as you go about your life from here on out, then I’d love to take you on as deputy.”

  Relief flooded over James as though a bucket of cold water had been poured over his head. “Then I will take the position, sir, with my thanks.”

  The sheriff stood and reached over the desk with his hand for James to shake. Excitement pooled in James’s stomach as he took the sheriff’s offered hand. He’d have a lot to learn about how to be a good deputy, but if the sheriff was willing to teach him, he was certainly willing to give it a all he had. He couldn’t wait to get home and tell Abby.

  Chapter Ten

  Abby spent the morning cleaning the house a bit and exploring the outbuildings. They had a rooster and six laying hens. The hens produced quite a few eggs each day. And out in the barn, they had two stalls, one of which housed a dairy cow and its calf. They’d only need to do a little bit of hunting and shopping at the general store in order to get by. Beside the house was a great pile of wood. She remembered hearing the steady rhythm of his chopping that morning, and even every morning while she’d been in her sick bed. The walk outside in the fresh air made her feel more alive and stronger than she had in days. Sometimes, just getting outside, away from the stale air in a house, made all the difference.

  Her mind wandered back to her husband. When she’d heard him snoring the night before, she snuck out into the parlor just to study his face while he slept. His nose was slightly crooked to the left. The bruising under his eye was all but gone and the place where his lip had split was already healing well. In a few weeks, people would barely be able to tell he’d been a pugilist.

  Not that she minded what people thought. They thought she was ugly and mean just because of the color of her hair and the freckles on her face. People would always have their opinions of things. The only opinion that had ever really mattered to her was that of her father, and he was long gone since the war took him. Abby didn’t even know where he and her brother been buried. She shivered at the thought, the hollow sadness settling on her shoulders.

  She was supposed to take care of the house until they returned. But they never did. And she wasn’t able to keep it. Everything had fallen apart around her. Maybe if she’d been stronger, smarter, better at managing money and household. It didn’t really matter that it had been a lot to ask of a fifteen-year-old to do on her own.

  Tears slipped down her cheeks and blurred her vision. It felt like the only thing she’d done right was not marrying Jud Howard. She huffed a laugh at that thought, and the chuckle turned into full blown laughter. She swiped the tears from her face. Was she becoming a crazy woman? Falling into a fit of laughter while standing beside a chicken coop?

  Then she heard the clip-clop of hooves heading her direction. She frowned and started toward the front of the house. If that was the man from the pugilist society coming to check up on James and her again, she’d have to give him a piece of her mind, and this time, she didn’t think she could sweeten it with Southern charm.

  But when she reached the front porch, the horse and rider came into view. A handsome buckskin horse shook his head and nickered—and in the saddle sat James. She widened her eyes and walked out several steps to meet him. “You bought a horse?”

  He offered a half smile while he dismounted the horse, saying, “Well, not exactly.”

  She frowned. “What do you mean?”

  After he hitched the horse to the post, he took a deep breath and scooped her into his arms and swung her in a circle, giving a whoop. Her stomach lurched as she spun, and a squeal escaped her lips. He set her down just as quickly as he’d lifted her. She couldn’t help but laugh at his enthusiasm.

  His smiling eyes met hers. “I’ve been offered a job.”

  “A job!” She blinked at him in surprise. “How on earth did you go down to the general store and come back with a—did they offer you a job at the mercantile?”

  He shook his head, and then he told her about the thief and how the sheriff had called him down to his office. “And when I went back to the general store, the owner gave me half price on everything I bought as a thank you for catching the thief, too.”

  “Wow,” she said, shaking her head. “That is amazing. So, you’re a deputy now?”

  Her heart fluttered. Was being a lawman as dangerous as being a soldier? She pushed the negative thoughts out of her mind when she saw how happy he was. Her husband was a hero. She could feel proud of him for that. And she did.

  He smiled wide. “The sheriff said he just wanted me to keep the same lifestyle I had as a pugilist. No drinking or gambling. Apparently, the last deputy he had drank himself blind. He’s having eyesight problems now, and the Doc said it was from the drinking.”

  Honestly, she didn’t mind if James had those rules in his life. Her father had always been a temperate man as well. She stepped up to the buckskin gelding. “And this horse?”

  “His name’s Buster, and he’s ours to use as we please as long as I stay in office. I’m to practice riding him so that I can get stronger and better balanced in the saddle, too. I see it as just another kind of working out. I’ll do some riding each morning in addition to my
regular routine.”

  She eyed him. His muscles bulged under his buttoned-up shirt while he unloaded the saddlebags to the sides of the horse and carried the things she’d wanted for the larder inside. His excitement was contagious, and the longer he talked, the more she convinced herself that her momentary worry about his safety was improperly placed. James could take care of himself. He’d been fine doing it thus far. And the sheriff wouldn’t have offered him the position so readily if he didn’t feel that James was capable.

  That evening, she cooked him a fine meal with biscuits using Momma June’s secret recipe; it tasted even better with the fresh milk from the cow. She’d noticed the butter churner in the corner and decided she’d need to make her own butter, just like Momma June used to do for Abby’s whole family when they were young.

  When they sat at dinner, Abby had been surprised at how much James talked. Now that he’d found a job and was feeling good about the future, he was willing to open up as much about his past as Abby was willing to pry and share of her own. And she was willing to share, too. “So, Momma died in childbirth for her third child when I was only eleven years old. Both she and my baby sister passed on. Then Papa and Hezekiah went off to war together. I was left at the house with Cecilia and her family taking care of me.”

  “Sounds as if they did an excellent job at that, considering they even took you in when things went wrong with the bank.”

  She nodded. “They did. Even though they were slaves, they still treated me like family. After the war, when they were free, they still took care of me and loved me like family.”

  He nodded. “I’d say that Fredrick is like brother to me, as well. It doesn’t matter the color of our skin.”

  “That’s precisely what I mean.”

  He huffed a laugh. “I don’t know what I would have done without him. We knew each other since before the pugilist society took us in. We were both living on the street back then. I didn’t let him steal because I didn’t want anyone to hurt him if he did. Somehow, I could get away with it a little easier than he could. He was clumsy when it came to pickpocketing—not that that’s a good thing to be doing, anyway.”