Life should have been settled and peaceful. It would have been, too, if Violet didn’t often have the feeling that someone watched her. Twice now, she’d come home and been sure that items in the house had been moved. No matter how tenderly Bode reassured her that the feelings would fade as soon as she got over the trauma of what almost happened to him, she couldn’t get past the belief that they were in danger.
Grimacing as she thought about it, Violet pushed the thoughts from her mind. Lately, she realized she’d replaced her habit of daydreaming with a worst one—worrying. As she tried to do each time she caught worry overtaking her mind, she repeated the fourth chapter of Philippians, especially verses six and seven. Those two verses had a great deal to teach a person about controlling worry.
Tonight, Bode planned to bring a guest for supper and she worked hard to put the finishing touches on the meal. The man had saved Bode’s life once and had recently checked into the hotel. Seeing him again, Bode had asked the man to dine with them and he had agreed happily.
Calling a greeting as he opened the back door, Bode stepped into the kitchen followed by a bearded Cyrus Bingham. Misinterpreting her shocked features, her husband explained awkwardly, “Remember I told you Joe Smith would be coming home with me tonight.”
Behind him, Cyrus locked the backdoor and pulled a gun from his inside jacket pocket. “This derringer might not seem large, but it was enough to kill the man who tried to stab you in the bar. Don’t make any false moves, Parker.”
At her husband’s confused look, Violet blurted out an explanation. “He’s not Joe Smith. His name is Cyrus Bingham. Even with the beard and old clothes, I’d know him.”
“Yes, Mrs. Parker, you owe me a wedding kiss, don’t you? I’ll get to that later.” At the man’s lewd threat, Bode threw his body toward the man. Seeing the movement, Cyrus fired, striking Bode in the thigh.
Grabbing a towel, Violet knelt by her husband and pressed the cloth against his bleeding wound. Near her, Cyrus quickly reloaded the derringer as he muttered, “You shouldn’t have made me do that. It’ll be your fault if someone hears and comes to investigate.”
Neither Violet nor Bode answered him. The accusation showed that they weren’t dealing with a sane man. Violet stopped her hands just as they moved to her hair in that familiar childhood gesture. She was a wife and mother, not a little girl, and she needed to save her family from this maniac.
Leaving her husband to staunch the blood of his thigh, she rose to face the intruder. “What do you want, Cyrus? You’ve come a long way to merely claim a wedding kiss?” Making her no-nonsense tone as similar to Aunt Tessie’s as possible, she arched an eyebrow at the lawyer.
Cyrus waved his gun around the room. For a brief moment, she imagined overpowering the hulking man to wrestle it away. A smile must have crossed her face at the thought. He bellowed at her and gripped her wrist painfully. “Don’t laugh at me. That old biddy Gladys burned my copy of the will to keep you from inheriting. I need your copy.”
Hiding her surprise at talk of inheriting, she mimed a thoughtful expression as she tapped a finger to her lips. “How does it help Bode and me if I give you the will? Maybe I’ll save it for a time when I need it.” That made no sense to Violet. It didn’t need to. She wanted to see Cyrus’ reaction, to probe for his motive.
“Nothing will help your husband now that there can be no doubt of your marriage. I even chose you for him and gave him a month to enjoy you before I came to kill you both. After all, didn’t I save his life when that big oaf tried to stab him? I forced you to have a real wedding so no one doubted the legitimacy of your marriage.” His flat tone as he said those words demonstrated either a mind with no conscience or the depth of his insanity.
“Why do we need to die? I have plans yet for our future.” Pushing him to explain might delay further violence. Someone certainly heard the shot and would come to investigate or, hopefully, fetch the sheriff.
“You signed a paper making me your heir. I need money badly so I have to find the will before Gladys has a chance to get ahold of the inheritance. The old will is almost through probate.” The hand aiming the gun shook and he ran unsteady fingers through his thinning strands as he released a gusty sigh. “I’ve looked, but I can’t find it in any of your lamps. Gladys swore you didn’t take a lamp out of the Pittsburgh house, I know, but I refuse to listen to the old cow.”
Her impassive look slipped as he mentioned lamps and curiosity took over. She met his eyes with consternation as something her aunt told her came to mind. “Why are you searching the lamps?”
“Mrs. Mannerly told me you would find the will behind the light. Said you understood.” He fixed a measuring look in her direction and watched a dawning understanding fill her face. “I see that you do know. Let’s go.” He nudged her with the short barrel of the revolver.
Casting a glance at her husband, she saw him nod for her to lead the man to his prize. His calm and confident expression let her believe that he perhaps had a plan.
When Cyrus caught the direction of her gaze he growled and ground the gun into her temple. “Don’t move from that spot or she dies.” Violet didn’t bother reminding him that he already said both of them were going to die. The man’s thoughts seemed erratic.
With an elaborate sigh and show of reluctance, Violet led her captor into the front room. Moving to the wall opposite the fireplace, she pointed at the needlepoint she carried with her from Pennsylvania. “This has to be the light that hides the will. You’ll have to look inside it. I can’t bear to rip it apart.”
Like a thirsty animal finally presented with water, the lawyer lurched toward the picture. Forgetting the gun, his hands dropped it to the floor as he reached to pull the framed tapestry off of the wall. Violet made use of her freedom and inched across the room to the fireplace. As she took small steps backward, she kept her eyes on Cyrus. He showed no interest in her as he worked to pull the maple frame apart and remove the wooden backing.
Poker in hand, she walked up to the fixated man. Inwardly she cringed at what she meant to do. Keeping Bode and Barry at the forefront of her mind, she climbed first onto the red velvet sofa before placing her feet on the small table beside it. Oh, how she hoped the flimsy pie table would hold her weight. The man’s height compared to hers made this necessary.
Swinging, she brought the iron down on his head with a sickening crunch. He dropped like a cannonball released from a great height as Violet watched with a mixture of horror and relief.
“Lord, don’t let him be dead. Don’t let him be dead.” Racing to her bedroom for a belt, she repeated the prayer. After all, she didn’t dare risk his overpowering her if he lay there, simply stunned. Once she had the man’s hands tied, she checked for a pulse. She found it, weak but present, and thanked God for that.
Racing back to the kitchen, Violet found it empty and the back door standing open. Lifting her skirts, she ran out the door and screamed for help. Oblivious to any movement around her, she stood at her back gate and shrieked until familiar arms wrapped around her. From a distance, she recognized the cry of her baby and wondered if he had been hurt or was frightened at being alone. Maybe her screaming had scared him.
Bode’s lips caressed her temple. “We’re okay. Best go up to Barry. He needs his mama.” For a moment, she melted against her husband and enjoyed the life and energy she felt in his body. Safe! Finally, the daily challenges of life would be all they’d face. The dangers, she prayed, were past.
Pulling away from her spouse, she moved into the house. Sheriff Reynolds and his deputy helped a bleeding Cyrus Bingham to his feet. As the man rose, he sobbed pitifully, further proving his insanity. “But I just found the light.”
If only that were true and the man discovered the true light of Christ. Perhaps in jail, he would be ready to listen about the love of God. Reverend Brown certainly would be willing to go with her and Bode to speak with Cyrus in the future.
Ignoring the pungent smell of beef burning in the ove
n as well as the voices of the men in her parlor, she wearily climbed the stairs. In her son’s room, she lifted the soggy infant from his bed and sat in the rocker. Not even noticing the wet seeping through her dress and undergarments, she rocked and crooned the lullaby All Through the Night. Not to put him back to sleep but rather to calm both of them.
As the rhythm of the chair and the soft melody soothed Barry, his cries diminished to occasional hiccups that resembled little sobs. She watched him and his small hand came up to pat her cheek. “Yes, Mama’s here. You haven’t been abandoned again, sweet boy.” With a movement born of instinct, he nuzzled her chest and reminded her that it was time for his bottle. “Mama needs to feed you. Let’s see if the bad man is out of our house.”
Changing the baby, she carried him down to the kitchen. Passing the front room, she idly looked over the mess she would need to clean there. The aftermath of this evening involved more than simply removing some blood from the floor. She guessed they would have a lot of forgiving to do in connection with this man. Had Aunt Tessie’s death been caused by him? What about Bode’s inheritance? Two weeks ago, they’d had to ask Lawyer Lewis to begin a legal fight to claim it. Did this disloyal trustee still have those funds?
Noticing the destroyed frame and ripped tapestry, she almost went to pick it up. What did the needlepoint hide, if anything? Probably she should be anxious to finish Cyrus’s search and find the will. None of it mattered more at that moment than feeding her son and checking on her husband. If love and contentment were wealth, she already felt rich.
Epilogue
Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania
March 1872
Violet stood in the parlor where she’d spent many hours of her life daydreaming. Smiling as pleasant memories flooded through her, she enjoyed the moment. The house had been sold and now she needed to decide what would be shipped to her home in Nebraska. The bedrooms had already been packed and the crates stood ready in each room to be hauled away tomorrow. Thankfully, Aunt Tessie had left her more than enough money to be able to afford the shipping cost.
Thinking about Aunt Tessie leaving her an inheritance brought to mind that terrible day last October when Cyrus Bingham held her at gunpoint. The trauma of the event had caused her to shy away from wanting to find the will. In the end, Sheriff Reynolds came back that same evening and finished taking apart the framed needlepoint. Sure enough, a legal document lay folded inside.
One line in the will brought tears to Violet’s eyes. To my niece and ward, Violet Eugenia Barrigar, I leave my entire estate in order for her to be provided for in the future should she choose not to marry. Probably if she had read the will shortly after Tessie’s passing, she would have hidden away in this house and lived on daydreams and novels. What a life she would have missed!
After questioning her to better understand the happenings that led to her proxy marriage, Reynolds sent a telegram to Judge Morgan and asked that he intervene to stop the probate of her aunt’s estate. That kindly man lived up to his promise of aid should she ever need it. A series of telegrams went between Pittsburgh and Nebraska City and, in the end, the judge issued a warrant for Gladys’ arrest as an accessory to Aunt Tessie’s murder after Cyrus’ described her involvement.
As she had suspected, Cyrus Bingham had emptied Bode’s trust fund. The man refused to say how he’d spent the money. That didn’t matter though. What did matter was that Bode, along with other clients, had lost inheritances which their family members had trusted Cyrus to guard.
In the days following his arrest, the fervor that caused his maniacal behavior faded and Cyrus once again became a coldly calculating attorney. He refused to listen to either Reverend Brown or Bode when they pleaded with him to consider where he would spend eternity.
The only person he wanted to see was herself. She visited him once. The man had held her hand and even kissed the back of her wrist before she could pull away from him. Shuddering, Violet remembered the incident. Still, she regretted that the man refused to see his need for Christ before being hanged the previous month.
Barry’s babbling brought her back to the present. Next week, he would turn one. Bode and she had visited the orphanage in Omaha listed on the papers Rex had received. The matron there filled them in on Barry’s history. His mother, they discovered was a seventeen-year-old who begged the matron to take the baby so she could return home to marry her sweetheart. While he would have accepted the baby, she couldn’t stand to look at Barry since his conception had been forced.
Nightly, Violet prayed for her by name, asking for healing in the woman’s heart. She had even written to let her know how much her child was loved and what his name had been changed to after the adoption. The woman, however, never wrote back. Still, if one day she wanted to find her son, his birth mother would have the information she needed.
At a gentle kick in her stomach, she smoothed a hand over the bulge hidden yet by her full skirt. Baby Parker would arrive late August or early September. Once again, she spoke to her unborn child. “Please be a girl.”
She loved her boy. There was no doubt of that. But standing in this room that brought warm memories to mind she longed for a little girl named Tessie. Not to fill the space left by her aunt’s death. No, she wanted the little girl to be a living reminder that the wonderful woman had lived and loved and taught Violet to do the same.
Sighing with fatigue and some sadness, she picked up Barry and sat in the blue velvet armchair. He grabbed at a loose tendril of hair as he jabbered at her. She ran loving fingers over the soft brown curls that covered a head that had been so bald when she first saw him.
Kissing those curls tenderly, she breathed in his scent. Behind her, a nose burrowed in her hair and breathed in deeply. “Umm. Roses. My favorite scent.” Bode kissed her ear. “Direct me about what to pack in here.”
While she loved her husband and her new life, everything in this room remained precious to her. “Absolutely everything.” At his raised eyebrows, she met his eyes and smiled. “It will look wonderful in our front room. I want to create the same loving home for our children that I had here.”
Her husband gently kissed the lips that willingly met his. More than this furniture, wherever this man lived was home. How glad she was that Gladys forced her to be Bode’s bride.
Author’s Note
Some who read this book may realize that Western Union did not begin wiring money until a year later than the events I have written. I did manipulate history just a bit there to make it fit my story. I wanted the plot to take place in the same year that the railroad came to Nebraska City, though. Because of this, I tweaked the history just a bit. In the book, I also hinted that the Lizzy Campbell ferried the train cars across the Missouri River. Actually, the Lizzie Campbell wasn’t able to support their weight. She ferried passengers only and a new barge was brought in a couple of years later to ferry the cars across the river.
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About Marisa
Marisa Masterson and her husband of thirty years reside in Saginaw, Michigan. They have two grown children, one son-in-law, a granddaughter on the way, and one old dog.
She is a retired high school English teacher and oversaw a high school writing center in partnership with the local university. In addition, she is a National Writing Project fellow.
Focusing on her home state of Wisconsin, she writes sweet historical romance. Growing up, she loved hearing stories about her family pioneering in that state. Those stories, in part, are what inspired her to begin writing.
Find her in the Chat Sip and Read Community, on her Facebook page, or at her website--marisamasterson.com. Marisa is a regular contributor to the Sweet Ameri
cana Sweethearts and Sweethearts of the West blogs.
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Acknowledgements
I want to thank Sandy Sorola, Cindy Edwards, and Becky Bell Bowen for their ever-present support. A big shout-out goes to Virginia McKevitt for the beautiful cover, to Amy Petrowich for her proofreading, and to Christine Sterling Bortner for her support and formatting talents.
A Bride for Bode
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are all products of the author's imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblances to persons, organizations, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
The book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. All rights are reserved with the exceptions of quotes used in reviews. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage system without express written permission from the author.
Scriptures quoted from the King James Holy Bible.
A Bride for Bode ©2019 Marisa Masterson
Cover Design by Virginia McKevitt
http://www.virginiamckevitt.com
Editing by Amy Petrowich
A Bride For Bode (The Proxy Brides Book 21) Page 8