“I will not share a room with the spawn of the devil,” Aunt Edna had shouted. “I am a God-fearing woman, but this is too much to bear.”
Even after all these years Hannah remembered the harsh words, although she had only been five years old. The words were somehow embedded in her brain. Impossible to remove.
“You will be called Millicent from now on. I will not allow the likes of you to sully the Prophet Hannah’s name. She was also the daughter of Samuel.”
Hannah picked up the carpet bag crammed with her worldly possessions and made sure her blue bonnet was on straight. Her brown hair hung loose, reaching to just below the shoulders. She had cut several inches off it the moment Aunt Edna had died, and on pain of death, would never wear it up again and expose her shame.
Her aunt used to plait her hair so tightly it pulled at her scalp. Worse still she had to wear it pinned to the top of her head so the ugly wine-colored birthmark, extending from the back of her ear to her shoulder, was visible. It was the Devil’s stain, punishment for her mother birthing a bastard child, her aunt had ranted.
Hannah shivered even though it wasn’t cold. How could a child be held responsible for what her mother did?
She pushed a fist against her mouth to stop the cries of anguish escaping. Was she jumping out of the frying pan and into the fire by becoming a Mail Order Bride to a man she had never met? A man, who at fifty, was thirty years older than her?
She had accepted his proposal against the advice of the lady at Hudson’s Matrimonial Bureau in Deadwood. “He’s much too old for you, dear. There are several young men who sound more suitable.”
“I think he is the most suitable for my circumstances.” Hannah hoped she sounded emphatic.
“Why would that be?”
Because he admitted to having poor vision, which was rapidly deteriorating, so he probably wouldn’t notice my birthmark and be repulsed by it, she could have said but didn’t. “I don’t want a young man, I’m looking for a father figure,” she lied, rather than tell the truth about not wanting him to see how ugly she was.
Arnold French was the man she’d chosen. He owned a ranch outside of Liston and didn’t socialize much. At least he sounded honest and she respected him for it. Secrets and deceit had plagued her for years.
This won’t do Hannah. Keep dithering like this and you’ll miss the coach. Then where would she be? Stuck here in Deadwood, a place she detested. It wasn’t as if she had any friends here, no-one to care whether she lived or died.
A fresh start was what she needed. If she stayed here much longer she would become an embittered old spinster like Aunt Edna.
She opened the door and with her bag in one hand, reticule in the other, stepped outside. Without glancing back she walked with purpose toward the stage depot to start the first leg of her journey to Liston, which was the nearest town to where Arnold lived.
Excitement, tempered with fear of the unknown, rose in her breast as she purchased her ticket to freedom. It was over a hundred miles to her new life. Far enough away to put the memories of her miserable childhood behind her. After paying for her ticket and the accommodation for the overnight stop she had only a couple of dollars left.
She knew little about men, even less about marriage, but had always been a quick learner despite Aunt Edna saying she was an idiot child, tainted by the devil.
Two other women and a middle-age man boarded the coach. A youth from the coach company dealt with their luggage. The driver leapt up into his seat, cracked his whip and with a grinding sound, followed by a swaying motion, the coach moved off, and within minutes, left Deadwood behind.
I’m glad to be leaving she thought, closing her eyes to block out the pain of years of rejection and ridicule. She would call herself Hannah from now on.
She had arrived in Deadwood to live with her aunt, a cruel, bitter old maid who had taken her in under sufferance and never let her forget it. She was fed, clothed and sent to school, but that was all.
“Your mother was a harlot who let herself be ruined by a man, and I’m left to carry the burden of her bastard offspring,” she had continually said. Hannah hadn’t known what the words meant until she started school and several of the older children delighted in telling her.
“You don’t have a father,” said one girl. “Your mother was a harlot,” yelled another. “You’re so ugly with that mark on your neck. You live with old Ducky, makes you an ugly duckling. Silly Milly, ugly duckling,” others chanted. And the names stuck.
If only Aunt Edna hadn’t pulled her hair into tight plaints and pinned it up at the back of her head, the birth mark would have barely been visible. Out of all the pupils in the school only one boy, Luke Grant, was ever nice to her.
“Ugly ducklings grow into beautiful swans,” he had said this one particular day when he found her sobbing as she walked home. From that day on she loved him, from afar.
Luke’s father worked at the livery stable just up the road from the diner. Sometimes he and his father would go to the diner for supper. Beef steaks with vegetables they always ordered.
She was never allowed to serve the customers. “You’re too ugly,” her aunt used to say. “You’ll scare them away.” Not that she didn’t work. Laziness was a sin according to Edna Duckworth. She used to have to wash the dishes, even if it meant standing on a box so she could reach the two large tubs of water. Her hands were often dry and reddened, which subjected her to even more teasing.
Why hadn’t her mother married her father? Who was he? She vaguely remembered her mother as being warm and pretty, with lots of men friends who visited her at night. It wasn’t until she was older that she realized what her mother had done to keep a roof over their heads and food in their bellies. Nothing she had to endure with Arnold would be as bad as that. He had sounded nice in his letter.
She would be a dutiful wife and hopefully he would treat her with kindness. It was all she could hope for. With her hair covering her birthmark, she felt more confident. If his eyesight was poor and her hair did get swept back in the wind, he wouldn’t see the purple stain flawing her skin. Flawing her life.
Her fellow passengers didn’t talk much which suited her. She only ever spoke when she had to. She clasped her hands against the blue cotton gown she was wearing. It was plain and simple, made by herself from a gown she had bought cheaply because a section of the skirt had been ripped.
She was a good needlewoman. Aunt Edna had seen to that only because it saved her paying for store bought clothes, table linen and curtains. The diner didn’t make much money. Her aunt was a disagreeable woman, who never changed her menu, always insisting God-fearing people only ate simple wholesome meals. She never attended church, yet continually quoted the bible. Old hypocrite.
The only time Hannah had asked why they didn’t attend church Aunt Edna had blamed her. “How can I take the likes of you with the devil’s stain on your skin into God’s house?”
“You traveling far, Miss?” the man suddenly asked.
“Um, to Liston.”
“You’ll have to change coaches then.”
“Yes, I know.” There would be a few stopping places to change the horses, too. She didn’t ask him where he was going, didn’t want to know. Giving what she hoped was a sweet smile she stared out the window.
They stopped to change the horses at one of the stage depots. The man left the coach here, leaving the women to travel on. Her companions went inside to eat, Hannah sat on the step and munched on a stale biscuit from her pocket. She needed to save her money to buy a meal at the place where she would spend the night.
Chapter 2
Arnold French nervously waited at the stage depot for his Mail Order Bride, Hannah Duckworth, to arrive. He had been a widower for many years and quite happy with his bachelor existence until his failing eyesight had become increasingly troublesome. Grant, his partner in the ranch and friend, had called him a dang fool, saying he would always look after him.
He recalled their last c
onversation on the matter. “You should get a local woman if you must get hitched,” Grant had said.
“Yeah, what local, unattached woman is there?” he had shot back. There wasn’t any local woman unless he wanted some gal from the local cathouse, which he didn’t. Ignoring Grant, he had written away stating his needs and this Hannah Duckworth had replied. She was much younger than what he wanted, but sounded sensible.
I’ll be honest with you Mr. French. I want to leave Deadwood now my only relative has passed away. I am a God-fearing women and have not, and never have been married. I am an excellent cook and housekeeper so I feel sure you would find me suitable for your needs.
She sounded sincere enough. If she wasn’t what she claimed to be, he could give her money for her fare back to Deadwood.
He pulled out his pocket watch for the second time and squinted at it. The coach was late. He had left his buckboard under a tree near the depot and placed a nosebag on the horse, but was getting impatient.
They would go straight back to the ranch after they had wed. Grant and their three cowhands were away delivering horses to the army. Grant had sent a telegraph telling him they would make a detour on the way home because he had learnt of a ranch that was having a clearing sale of well-bred cattle, and he wanted to see whether there were any suitable for them.
He wasn’t a rich man, although comfortably set up. His ranch wasn’t big, but he owned it, thanks to the Homesteaders Act of 1862. He had paid a heavy price for it. His wife had been killed when Indian’s attacked their wagon train on the journey out here.
Where was the coach? He stomped up and down outside the depot. If it didn’t arrive soon he would have to leave and head for home. He didn’t want to drive in the dark as his night vision was poor. “Damn eyes,” he muttered.
He squinted into the afternoon sun and saw a cloud of dust. His stomach muscles clenched. He couldn’t believe how nervous he felt. He ran his sweaty hands down the side of his best pants. The collar of his new shirt nearly choked him, and his black waistcoat seemed a little tighter than when he last wore it a couple of years ago.
The coach pulled up. His anticipation grew. A woman was helped down by the driver and a boy followed her. There had been nothing mentioned about a child. Now what should he do?
Another passenger alighted from the coach. A young woman in a blue dress with a high collar. Her brown shoulder length hair was wavy, her blue eyes wary. Surely this pretty slip of a gal wasn’t Hannah Duckworth?
She glanced around as she stood gnawing her lower lip. He stepped up to her. “Are you”, he swallowed a couple of times, “Hannah Duckworth?”
“Yes.”
“You’re much younger than I thought you would be.”
She gave a tentative smiled. “You’re Arnold French?”
“Yeah.”
She gave a relieved smile. “You look older than I thought you would.”
They both laughed.
“Where’s your luggage? I’ll take it to my buckboard. I thought we’d get hitched, then stay the night at the hotel.” He had planned to go straight to the ranch after the preacher married them, but with Hannah being such a pretty gal, even his vision wasn’t so bad he couldn’t see that, he wanted to show her off.
What would Grant think now? He would have her well and truly wedded and bedded before his friend returned to the ranch. He was surprised at the long forgotten emotions she stirred in him.
“I’m sorry if you’re disappointed in me, Arnold,” she said.
“Call me Arnie. Disappointed? My dear, you come as a pleasant surprise, but why would a pretty gal like you want to marry an old cowpoke like me?”
“I’m not pretty.” She didn’t want to admit out loud that she was ugly, surely his eyesight wasn’t that bad? He was probably trying to be gentlemanly.
When he had swept off his Stetson, his hair was grey, but he had plenty of it. Shock at her appearance had registered in his brown eyes, although the expression on his tanned face had been kindly. Considering his age he was quite a presentable man. He was tanned, of medium height with a slim build. Here was a man who had spent a lot of time working outside and it showed.
He carried her bag to a buckboard with a grey horse harnessed to it. The buckboard and horse looked to be well cared for. Arnie French seemed a nice man and she was lucky to get him. After helping her up into the seat he took the nosebag off the horse and climbed up beside her.
“I’ve got the preacher all lined up to wed us. Oh, we better stop at Isaac’s Mercantile so I can buy you a ring. I didn’t do it before because I didn’t know what size your hand would be.”
They pulled up outside Isaac’s Mercantile and he helped her down before slipping his arm through hers. A couple of middle-age ladies browsing around the well-stocked store smiled in a friendly fashion and Hannah smiled back.
So far so good. She was feeling confident she had done the right thing in coming here.
“Howdy, Arnie,” the storekeeper said. “Who’s the pretty gal?”
Arnie grinned. “Howdy, Mack, she’s Hannah, who will be my wife as soon as we get to the preacher.
“What!” Mack couldn’t hide his shock, his expression was almost comical.
One of the women gasped. Hannah felt hot all over. Would Arnie tell them she was a Mail Order Bride? That they had only met a few minutes ago? She inwardly cringed.
“We were introduced by a mutual friend. Let’s leave it at that. Do you have any wedding bands?”
“A few.”
The women went about their business once they realized there was no juicy gossip to be had.
“Pick anything you like, my dear.”
The storekeeper pulled out a tray of gold rings.
“Don’t you have anything a bit fancier?”
“Sorry, this is all I’ve got. I can send away for more.”
“One of these will do for now,” Arnie said. “I’ll get something better for you later.”
“That won’t be necessary. This one looks small enough to fit me.” She pointed to a narrow gold band. Arnie picked it up, stared at it for a moment before slipping it on her ring finger.
“It’s a perfect fit,” she said.
“Good, I’ll buy you something real pretty later on. I think you have to have a ring to be wed, so this will do.”
“It’s nice, simple, but I like it.”
“Is there anything else you need?” he asked.
She shook her head.
“What about a new bonnet? That blue one with the flowers around the brim looks pretty.”
“It is, but I can’t let you spend….”
“We’ll take it. Put everything on my account, I’ll fix you up next time I come in. I don’t want to bother going to the bank today.”
“Okay. Nice to meet you, Hannah.”
“Thank you. Nice to meet you too.”
From the store they walked over to the neat little white wooden church. The preacher greeted them with a benign smile. “Do you have any witnesses, Arnold?”
“No, do I need them?”
“Yes, two. My wife can be one. Oh, Mabel Forsyth is arranging the flowers. She’ll do for the second one.”
They stepped inside the church. Hannah nervously glanced around. This was a big step she was taking. What if Arnie wasn’t as nice as he appeared? If he wasn’t mean and abusive, and he didn’t act that way, how could she be worse off than when she lived in Deadwood? Thanks to Aunt Edna, she had no friends, many people thought of her as Silly Milly. More importantly, she had no money and no place to live.
Aunt Edna had died leaving practically nothing. She didn’t even own the shop There was barely enough money to cover the funeral expenses. Her situation was dire now.
As if realizing her nervousness, Arnie squeezed her fingers reassuringly and whispered. “It will be all right, my dear. I’ll look after you and make sure you never want for anything.”
“Sorry.”
“Don’t keep apologizing. You’ve
been treated badly in the past I can tell.”
Was it that obvious? She slipped the ring off her finger and handed it to Arnie. Within about ten minutes the ring was back on her finger and she was Mrs. Arnold French in the eyes of God.
“I wish you every happiness, and I hope to see you at Sunday service sometime soon.”
“Thank you, Preacher. You might just see us.” Arnie grinned.
The main street was quite busy even this late in the afternoon, and they received plenty of interested stares as they drove to a double-storied hotel with fancy lace work on the wrap around porch. On either side of the wooden front door were panels of etched glass.
“You might like to refresh yourself before supper,” he said as he helped her down from the buckboard. “I’ll take the horse to Jonesy’s livery while you do that.”
He pushed the door open and let her precede him inside. The floor was polished boards and the scent of lavender and beeswax polish greeted them.
“The bedrooms are all upstairs,” he said. “I’ve stayed here before. It’s a family run place and quite respectable.”
“Howdy, Arnie, who is this young lady?” A buxom woman wearing a green gown bustled up to them.
“This is Hannah. My dear, meet Dolly Rayner, the best cook around these parts. I’d like your best room for the night. We just got married.”
“Oh!” Shock raised her voice. “Congratulations, I’m pleased to meet you, Hannah. You can have the bridal suite.” She smiled at Hannah. “I call it that so I can charge more.”
Hannah warmed to this friendly, welcoming woman.
“I’m off to the livery,” Arnie said. “Can you take Mrs. French.” He grinned. “To our room? She’s had a long coach journey and would like to freshen up before supper.”
“She isn’t Mrs. French as yet.” Dolly shook her finger at him.
“She will be before the night is through.”
Arnie’s comment made Hannah feel hot all over. Her cheeks were probably fiery red.
Promise Forever: Fairy Tales with a Modern Twist Page 28