“Mace Thorne.”
The other man paused in picking his teeth and then started up again. “Why are you looking for Mace Thorne? You got business with him or something?” Luther asked the question in a nonchalant way but Tobias saw sudden tension stiffen the man’s body.
“Or something,” Tobias evaded, not sure if he should trust the newcomer with his real reason. “You heard of him?”
“Everyone’s heard of Mace Thorne. Every time folks hear his name they pull up stakes.” Luther sat up and tossed the straw onto the plate. “But I figure a man like you would know about that. Mace do something to you? Stole your land or cattle?”
Why was he asking questions? Did he know more than the famous gunslinger’s name?
“He killed my best friend and his new bride.” The images of their dead bodies flashed before his eyes. “That answer your question?”
Luther stiffened as if hot coals had been shoved down his back. “You’re out for vengeance.” It wasn’t a question. “Can’t say I blame you. How far you and your friend go back?”
How far did they go? Tobias dragged shaky fingers through his hair. Their fathers had fought for the North during the war. When they returned home by the grace of God, their women had been waiting for them. A week later both of the men married their mothers on the same day. Two years apart, Toby considered Henry far closer to brother than friend.
“Long time,” he answered finally once he caught the speculative gleam in Luther’s eyes.
“Figures.” A strange look passed quickly on Luther Garrison’s face but Tobias couldn’t determine what it meant. “Real sorry about them.”
A cynical laugh gurgled up from Tobias’s throat. “Sorry’s not going to bring them back.”
“Sorry’s not gonna do a lot of things.” Luther agreed and then cleared his throat. “Well, I don’t know where Mace is but I know where he’s going to be in a little over a month from now.”
Tobias’s ears perked up. “Where is that?”
Luther flicked his eyes away from him. “He’s going be spending some time with his wife.”
Tobias froze like a statute. “A wife?”
Luther grabbed the coffee pitcher and upended the last of its contents into his cup. “Yep. A genuine, come-home-to-flapjacks-and-bacon wife.”
Dumbfounded, Tobias shook his head. “What kind of woman marries a man like Thorne?”
“Don’t know. Obviously, something’s not right about her.”
Disgust crawled through his veins. How could a woman like that cook Thorne’s meals, look into his face, and warm his bed knowing her husband could go out the next day and kill someone else’s wife?
Maybe she wasn’t right in the head either, like Luther had said. Maybe she liked hurting people, too.
A sour taste coated the back of his tongue. Women. He’d had enough of them to last a lifetime. Except for Cora, God rest her soul, and his aunt Patricia, Tobias had little use for women. They used their weakness and frailty to manipulate. Delicate conditions, swooning spells, and the propensity of tears to control whoever was fool enough to fall for their shenanigans.
He’d sworn to himself he’d never get trapped in any institution which saddled him to a woman. He’d rather be alone for the rest of his life than be held in any way to the fairer sex whose only goal was to gain the material comforts of life.
Tobias stared at his wavering reflection in the cup. Just thinking of the woman who was the wife of a piece of filth like Mace Thorne made him sick to his stomach. A woman like that had to be lower than a streetwalker. Even streetwalkers had decency. Tobias frowned as a thought came to the forefront of his mind.
“If he got a wife,” Tobias spoke slowly, “then they have a homestead.” He glanced up at Luther to see if he confirmed his thought.
Luther shrugged. “From what I hear, since he’s away so much causing a ruckus, she stays in a small town.”
Tobias leaned forward eagerly. “Where?”
Luther’s eyes slid away from his. “Don’t know,” he answered. “I can find out for you.”
Tobias’s fist clenched. The image of Cora’s frozen features streaked like lightning before his eyes. He remembered when Henry had courted her for two years, working hard to get her father’s approval for their marriage. Cora had remained true to Henry during all that time.
How could Thorne’s wife give herself to a man like him? A man like Thorne didn’t give the impression he’d wait for a woman’s father’s approval. He’d probably just shoot her daddy and then forcibly take her.
But if Thorne indeed had a wife, then that meant he had a weakness. And women was, were, and would always be the source of a man’s flaw. He’d use Mace’s woman to his advantage.
Tobias stood and put on his hat. “You find out and let me know. I’m thinking about paying a visit to Mrs. Mace Thorne.”
The contract quivered in her unsteady fingers. Elena re-read the words for the hundredth time over the past twenty months. These bold, cursive lines still had the ability to siphon the heat out of her body.
“Be it hereby witnesseth that in the event of non-payment of aforementioned debt of two thousand dollars owed to Mace Thorne within the period of two years, Bo Somersville, offers the hand of one, Elena Somersville, a maiden of seventeen years…”
She’d never approved of the institution of slavery. Seeing this contract again raised the fire of her indignation and humiliation. No wonder the former slaves of this land had joined in the rebellion against the establishment which held them captive for so long. Bartered and sold to pay off her brother’s gambling debt.
Her lips twisted in irony. She couldn’t be too upset about it, could she? After all, underneath her brother’s lazy scrawl rested her own signature. A signature she’d willingly given to provide this piece of paper legitimacy. Next to her brother’s name, a smear of blood, darkened now to brown due to its age, accompanied the signature.
Her brother’s blood.
Exhaling sharply, Elena laid the contract on the desk and stood. She wandered over to the window and gazed out at the desolate scene. Their house on Thornockle Street along with a few of the other residences had escaped most of the damage from the quakes. Except for some broken glassware and tilted pictures, her house remained intact.
North of her location, the business district lay in ruins.
How unfortunate her life hadn’t escaped emotional destruction!
Her eyes caught a tree in the far distance bowing under the onslaught of a harsh wind. A branch snapped off and fell to the ground. Following its descent, she didn’t see the broken tree limb.
She saw her brother’s bruised body as it was almost two years ago.
Like moving pictures, the scenes emerged from the back of her mind. The frantic race to the then Silverpines Silver Dime saloon in one of the seedier parts of the town. The crinkling of the Silver Dime stationery in her fist with two words written in her brother’s hand.
“Come now.”
Was there any worse sight than that night? She’d skidded to a stop at the front of the saloon, heart thudding in her chest. In all of her then seventeen years, she’d avoided this side of Silverpines. Mostly due to her father’s horrible habits which had caused many nights for she and her brother Bo, to go hungry.
Her aversion had reached new heights as she stood uncertainly in the middle of licentious living. Boisterous cowboys, loggers, and miners paraded up and down the main street with garishly dressed women at their sides. Those without companions leered at her. It was obvious they wondered if she’d ‘wares’ to offer.
“You Bo Somersville’s sister?”
Elena suppressed a scream and whirled around to see a tall, oily-like man ogle her with a wayward eye.
“Aww, don’t get yer petticoats all in a bunch. Vern ain’t gonna hurt cha.”
“Where is my brother?” she asked with as much force as she could muster.
The oily man grinned, revealing he had three teeth missing. “Why
dontcha follow me and find out?”
Without another word, he strode away. She had no choice but to follow. Raucous sounds of revelry from the saloon grated on her ears. It faded away once she rounded the bend. Meager firelight from the lanterns at the back of the establishment illuminated her brother’s prostrate body.
Bo’s bruised, beaten face ran with dark rivulets from his unnaturally bulbous nose and mouth.
“Bo!” She fell to her knees beside his prone figure.
“Lena.” Bo croaked out of swollen lips.
“Miss Somersville, I see you did receive your brother’s message.”
An impotent snarl of rage erupted from her as she turned to meet the owner of that slow drawl. “How dare you!”
A tall man sauntered over. Lantern light flicked over his features. Blond hair, a neat, thin mustache and ocean blue eyes. He took a cheroot from the inside of his suit coat and tapped it in the palm of his hand. “So glad you could join us on such short notice.”
The ringing of the doorbell tore her from the grip of the past. She drew in a shuddering breath. Nearly two years and the events unfolded in her mind as if they had occurred moments ago.
At the second ring of the doorbell, Elena exited her brother’s study. Floorboards creaked as she made her way down the narrow hall. Once upon a time, when her parents were alive, the Somersvilles had enjoyed a comfortable living, if not a happy one. Servants to take care of menial duties while she and her mother enjoyed a relative life of ease.
When her mother and then father died, Bo inherited the burden of their welfare. Bo hadn’t taken kindly to the mantle of responsibility their parents’ death had thrust on his shoulders. Elena wrapped the shawl tighter around her arms. Bo hadn’t been the best brother but she did miss him.
She peered through the panes of glass to see familiar silhouettes. Elena groaned. She had no wish to see the spinsters now.
Pasting on a smile, she knotted the material of her shawl in her right hand and opened the door.
“Oh, Elena dear!” Edith Howard lunged forward and gathered Elena close. “We’ve been so worried about you!”
“Miss Edie.” What had happened? “Thank you for your concern—”
“Edie, you didn’t give her the opportunity to say hello.” Ethel Howard, Edith’s identical twin sister rebuked in a practical tone. “And for goodness’ sake, let go of the child. She looks as if she’s having a hard time breathing.”
Edith drew back and Elena gulped in air. “Oh, I’m sorry, dear.” The spinster’s eyes glowed with compassion. “Ever since Bo passed, we’ve been wondering how you have been holding up.”
“As best as I can, Miss Edie,” Elena said quietly.
“What are you going to do about the smithy?”
She met the frank, interested stare of Ethel. The blacksmith’s shop was Bo’s only source of earning an honest living since their parents passed away. Though the quakes had destroyed a number of businesses in town, the forge still remained, unfired and cold but it was there.
“I’m not quite certain what I am going to do, Ethel.”
“You’ll have to decide soon,” Edith foretold. “Things are getting desperate for us in Silverpines.”
Elena bit her lip. Things were getting desperate for her!
“Desperation is not impetuosity, Edie. We will survive.”
“You’re so cold, Ethel,” Edith chided. “How can you calmly—”
Knowing a squabble between the two spinsters could go on for a while, Elena cleared her throat. “Was that all you came to speak with me about? I apologize but I’m not up for a call right now.”
“We wanted to bring you some of the cupcakes some of the girls made today.” Edith pushed a covered platter of said cupcakes to her. The spinsters ran a home for orphan girls in town. “Also, Widow Wallace wanted us to inform you that a package came for you. She’s holding it at the post office for you to collect.”
Elena stiffened. A package? Why did she feel so ill at ease at the thought of a package?
“Do you know when it arrived?” she asked carefully.
“Knowing Widow Wallace, it would have arrived a few days ago but she probably kept it trying to see if she could determine its contents without actually opening it up!” Ethel snorted in derision.
That sounded like the mean-spirited post mistress. The widow meddled in the townspeople’s personal affairs all the time.
“Thank you. I’ll go and retrieve it.”
“Don’t forget to try the cupcakes, dear.”
Elena forced her lips into a smile. “I will. Thank you again.”
She closed the door and leaned against its frame. Her heart pounded wildly. It couldn’t be what she thought it was, could it?
Elena went to the kitchen and placed the platter of cupcakes on the table. She stared at the drippy icing topping the misshapen objects but didn’t see them.
If the package Widow Wallace held for her at the post office was what she thought it was…
Elena’s legs weakened and she slid into the chair. “Oh dear God, please don’t let it be what I think it is.”
Before she knew it, she had covered herself with a shawl and was heading out the door and down the streets to the center of town.
Once she got past the residential neighborhood, she came to the main road. Buildings lay in ruins while the scent of dust, wet mud, and hopelessness permeated the town. She nodded her head at a few people, folks she knew, but she didn’t stop to say hello. She had to see the package Widow Wallace held for her.
The ‘Silverpines Post Office’ banner was crooked but other than that, the building remained largely intact. Elena lifted her skirts as she stepped up on the rickety wooden stairs and went inside.
Cubbyholes filled with envelopes greeted her. Underneath that was a long table and a chair with stacks of bound mail scattered on its surface. A couple of wanted posters decorated the right wall while bleak sunlight flushed through the single window on the left.
“I’m glad the spinsters were able to pass on my message about the package that came for you,” Widow Angela Wallace said as she came out of the doorway which led to a small storage room for larger packages.
The old busybody hadn’t even bothered to say ‘hello’ or at the very least, offer condolences.
“Yes, they passed along your message.” If the widow was going to dispense with social pleasantries, she would, too.
“It must be a very important one. It made it here even though the railroads are still down.” The widow rested her arms on the front counter.
“Please, Widow Wallace, can you just give it to me?” Elena’s rising trepidation made the words come out more forcefully than she intended.
“No need to be snippy, young lady,” the post mistress snapped back. “I have it in the back. Give me a few moments.”
Each second that passed seemed like an eternity. Elena’s fingers twisted together and she bit her lip to keep it from trembling. “Please God, please don’t let it be what I think it is.”
“Hello, Miss Somersville.”
The boyish voice made her head turn around. A genuine smile lifted her mouth. “Hello Jackson. How are you today?”
Jackson Hershell gave her a nod. “I’m fine. Just helping Widow Wallace today.”
Orphaned, the boy did whatever he could around town to help out. Her respect for him reached new heights. Though down on his luck and with no one to take care of him, this young man did whatever he had to do to survive.
Why couldn’t her father and her brother ever do something as simple as an honest day’s work?
“Is she treating you well?”
A shadow fell over Jackson’s face. “Doesn’t matter if she does or doesn’t, you understand, Miss Somersville? Who am I going to tell?”
“Jackson Hershell, don’t bother the customers. The few that we have, anyway. Get in the back and straighten out the stock.” The waspish tone signaled the return of Widow Wallace.
“Yes, Widow
Wallace. “The boy ducked his head and dashed out of sight.
“Hmph, lazy boy,” the woman muttered under her breath. Elena felt her ire rise but then tampered it down. No need to get the widow upset or she’ll take it out on Jackson in some way.
And despite how her heart went out to him, Elena’s immediate concern was the small, brown paper wrapped box in the older woman’s hand. She handed it over. “I wonder what that could be.”
Elena chose to keep silent. The woman was fishing for anything she could use to spread gossip. Ignoring her and everything around her, Elena spent little time in cutting the twine from the box with the scissors conveniently on hand and ripping the wrapping away.
A white box.
Elena’s fingers trembled as she removed the lid and peered inside.
The biggest diamond she’d ever seen lay nestled in a satiny cushion.
All the heat drained out of her body. It happened so quickly Elena felt a peculiar numbness seize her legs. She clutched the edge of the counter in order to remain upright.
“What’s wrong, Miss Somersville?”
A wedding ring. Mace Thorne’s ring. And it could only mean one thing.
Once again, her brother had failed to protect her. In less than two months’ time, if she couldn’t figure out a way to get out of it, she’d be the wife of Mace Thorne.
CHAPTER THREE
“That is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard,” Victoria Davenport exclaimed, her brown eyes wide in incredulity. “Women sending for husbands?”
Elena hoped her dear friend would be a source of comfort to her for the decision she just made this night but it seemed as if that was a futile thing. She and several other women had just come from the home of Betsy Sewell, wife of Marshal Alexzander Sewell. “What else can I do?”
“Anything other than belittle yourself to a desperate woman,” Victoria admonished, her back straight against the sturdy, ornate chair of the sitting room where they had tea in the Mayor’s mansion.
“I am desperate, Victoria. You of all people know this.”
The affront stiffening her friend’s back drained away, and her brown eyes warmed with compassion. “Of course I know. My apologies for my lack of regard.” She reached over and patted Elena on the hand. “We both know each other’s secrets, don’t we?”
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