Hell's Belle

by Shannah Biondine

  "You mean he called her 'Hell's Bell'? Yeah, just about the whole town's taken to calling her that."

  Del swore under his breath and the barkeep cocked his head as he polished another glass. "You got a personal stake? Betsy said there was somethin' between you and the girl. Workin' faster than usual, ain't you?"

  "Naw! Heck, I only just made her acquaintance that day. Don't know how Betsy would read romance or matrimony in a man tipping his hat to a gal, but—"

  "Matrimony, eh? Still got that stuck in your mind." The bartender turned back to his shelves and replaced the clean glassware.

  Sometimes a man ended up worse off by denying allegations. Del opted to let that one pass. Marriage was the last thing in his plans. After Betty Lee's defection, he'd decided the new fireplace and rug were nice presents for a man to give himself, the hell with having a woman to share them with. But if the local menfolk wanted to believe Del was itching to find another bride, let them indulge in their wishful thinking. Didn't change the color of Del's socks.

  But someone in town definitely needed to change the color of his, or get his belly lanced of a big dose of choler. Maybe if Del settled his debt to Bell, the man would ease up chastising his family's black sheep. What she'd ever done to deserve the slur, Del couldn't imagine.

  He let his mind conjure her face and features again. Saw the wide amber eyes and noted the amazing open clarity of them. She'd been shocked at the arrival of a bucking bronco coming through her front window, yet she hadn't hollered or swooned or done anything typical gals would do to set up a fuss. She'd calmly stood there, letting the offending animal chew on her apron, more concerned about her cousin than whether she'd been cut by flying glass. And now that he studied the frozen tableau from his memory, she had been.

  Del could see a little trickle of blood near her temple, another small cut on the back of one wrist.

  "Goddammit!" He stomped out of the saloon.

  There was no justice in a sweet gal being called the curse of her family, having folks look at her askance, or whisper that black cats followed her around or she danced naked with the Goat under the light of a full moon.

  Del would have told the uncle that, but the Emporium was boarded over and locked up. No one answered when Del thumped his fist on the door and shouted for a good ten minutes. Finally, Del had to get a leash on his anger and tell himself he'd simply have to ride back into town tomorrow. And maybe that was better, because Del had some hard thinking to do.

  He didn't like bigots. He didn't like malicious gossip. He didn't like weak men who needed to mistreat others to feel big and important. Whatever figure Bell quoted as damages, Mitchell was prepared to go higher…as long as the man understood he had to treat his niece better in the bargain.

  Del knew he'd be sticking his nose into something that many would say was not his funeral, but somehow it felt as though it was. If an animal belonging to Del Mitchell had never broken into the store, the townsfolk wouldn't be talking of a broomstick or bewitchment. It was purely unfortunate happenstance that the girl had been sweeping the floor at that moment. It had been just a freak accident…yet Del felt responsible. Irrational and ludicrous as it was, he did.

  He glanced back at Minerva's and snorted with disgust. A freak accident at the new emporium in town, and he was responsible. Just when he'd been able to go back for his regular weekly poker games, he doubted he could afford them.

  CHAPTER 5

  "My uncle won't be pleased that you had me ignore a customer," Twila warned.

  She hadn't quite understood how it was that the local preacher had turned up at her door while Uncle Fletcher and Lucius had gone to Reno. Reverend Phillips had offered a convoluted explanation that she was helpless to untangle. She'd invited him for tea upstairs, to let him further explain about this unexpected visit, and his "troubling concerns." She just wasn't at all certain what the nature of these concern were, or why it brought him to the closed mercantile.

  Which hadn't been closed, until he'd insisted that she couldn't fairly give her attention to store customers and discuss eternal salvation at the same time. Now she heard banging and male shouting downstairs, and prayed Reverend Phillips also heard it and realized she needed to tend to the family business.

  Not listen to more of this confusingly vague sermonizing. He'd been sitting at their kitchen table for twenty minutes, and she still didn't have a solid grasp of why. He'd quoted verses from various books of the Bible and watched her the way a snake focuses on a rat. She'd been wary about replying to his occasional questions with more than a noncommital shrug or discreet cough.

  Now she spoke up more directly, since clearly he was purposely ignoring her polite hint. "I should at least go down and see who it is. Maybe it's just a simple item. I wouldn't be but a moment."

  "My dear, I'm afraid for your safety and welfare. It's for your own sake that I caution against serving the public in the absence of your male relatives."

  The pounding ceased. Twila gathered there would be little point in defending the unknown male customer now, so she rose and went to the sideboard. She'd baked a loaf of squash bread that morning and cut her visitor a slice to go with his tea. Tea, she noted, he hadn't even touched.

  Phillips addressed her in a somber tone. "I realize this may be difficult, but you must bare yourself to me, so that I may know you. Truly. The Lord asks that all of us make ourselves as naked unto Him, that we might know Him."

  Oh, dear. A minute ago, Twila was wondering if perhaps she'd imagined the lurid undertone in the preacher's words. But he'd actually used the word "naked" and it was hard to misinterpret what that meant. This whole situation was growing more awkward by the second.

  "I…uh, I'm not familiar with the exact section of the Scripture that contains such a reference, but—"

  "Hearken, child." Phillips cracked open his Bible again. Twila noticed he'd placed a ribbon bookmark at a particular passage, which he now read aloud. While there was nothing in the least bit untoward or erotic in the words themselves, Twila became increasingly uneasy. The preacher had warned her against being alone with strange men…yet here she was alone in the apartment with him. And he was, for all intents and purposes, just as much a stranger as anyone else who came by the store. In point of fact, he sounded a lot crazier than most of the other shoppers.

  "Sir, I appreciate you stopping by today, but we attend services."

  "Yes, the entire populace is aware of that, my dear. But Miss Bell, it cannot have escaped your notice that more than a few honorable souls are discomfited by your presence there."

  Twila gasped out loud. How dare he say such a thing to her? She knew what he meant. When they'd gone to church, a whole family had moved to a different pew after the Bells took their seats. Twila had heard the whispers, knew others had unaccountably adopted her uncle's negative outlook. She would have protested, if she thought doing so would do any good. It never had with any of his accusations. And if the patriarch of her own family called her "Hell's Bell," how could she expect strangers to think any better of her?

  However, it had also dawned in her mind late one night that as long as people were uncomfortable around her, they'd be less likely to discover she kept a priceless necklace hidden in her room. So she decided to play along just a bit. Be clumsy and oafish, if that's what everyone thought of her, anyway.

  Yet she was offended by this man, who passed himself off as some pillar of the community and a man of God. If he truly was such, he should be the epitome of tolerance and charity. Instead it seemed he resorted to the same cold treatment as several others. "I think you should leave," she said, getting to her own feet. "If our family's not welcome at your church, we can observe the Sabbath in our own way here."

  "I've spoken to your guardian about regular visits here. To observe prayer and request His forgiveness with you folks privately…to spare you further shame."

  Twila felt her face burn. She crossed to the head of the stairwell. "In future, such visits must include my unc
le and cousin. They've gone for supplies in Reno, but will return tomorrow. Perhaps you could call again later in the week."

  "I wanted a chance to speak to you alone first. Twila…" he said softly, reaching for her chin and tipping her face up. His eyes blazed as he stared at her. "Do you know the story of Jonah? The man swallowed by a whale?"

  She nodded, wondering how she was able to move her neck muscles when every sinew in her body felt frozen.

  "Do you know why misfortune and calamity befell Jonah? Because he would not do God's bidding, Twila. He had refused his Lord. He'd been given a task by our Master, and he refused to perform it. Thus, he opened his heart for Satan to seize hold, and sure as sun follows rain, he began to experience evil and misery."

  "I see." The sick feeling in her stomach crept up into the back of her throat.

  "Do you, Twila Bell? Because you are a Jonah. Several people in town say so, and in speaking with your cousin and uncle, I've learned that yours is a dolorous personal history. In what way did you fail our God? What did He ask of you that you were unwilling to give? How deeply selfish have you been? Tell me about your sin. Tell me and be cleansed." He released her chin and waited, pinning her with his intense gaze.

  In that horrifying moment that stretched into a silence raw and painful, Twila didn't know what to do. Regardless of her reaction, they would never later be able to pretend he hadn't come here, that this entire distasteful conversation hadn't taken place. She was to the point that she'd say almost anything, if it would get him to leave.

  "I…I took something that didn't belong to me. The other girl…she never knew. Still doesn't know. That was wrong, and I tried to apologize and return it. But I didn't try hard enough. It seems I may have lost my chance."

  He smiled. An awful, reptilian smile that told her there was good reason indeed for her senses to be screaming at her to avoid him at all costs.

  "No, Miss Bell. God has given you another chance to redeem yourself. Remember, the whale vomited Jonah back out. We've made a start. I will call again, and we will pray together. Your uncle will be pleased."

  He made his way down the stairs without looking back.

  Twila felt stark naked, exposed, mortified. She waited to hear the click of the lock being released and the door opening and reclosing behind him before she too went down the staircase.

  She was shaking with mingled rage and relief by the time she relocked the door. What an odious, disgusting man! And she had absolutely no way to prove it…or even get anyone in this horrible scab on the landscape of a town to listen to her. About their beloved preacher? They'd never believe it. He was revered; she was reviled.

  She began to pace. There was no point in speculation about what might have happened today, or what he might do or say the next time he came visiting for "prayer." She wasn't going to tolerate a next time. Not even with Uncle Fletcher or Lucius present…Oh no, that would be even worse! She could just envision Uncle Fletcher spewing his pointless accusations while Reverend Phillips skewered her with his unwholesome leer. Lucius snickering…

  She flew to her room and jerked open a bureau drawer, thinking to pack and leave before the men came back. Then she laughed aloud and sank onto her mattress.

  Pack what? They'd each purchased a handful of garments to replace what had been stolen in their steamer trunk. Twila was even now sewing a new day dress for herself. But none of the Bells had been allowed by to replace the lost luggage itself. She didn't have a bag to pack.

  Or money for the train, a way to get to Reno to catch the train…the least idea of where else to go. And beyond those problems, she still had the costly necklace and hadn't located the Vogels. But that reminded her that she did have one thing in her favor—a friend in town. Mr. Dobbs would help her, somehow. She just had to get a message to him.

  An hour later, she found herself trudging along the bank of the Truckee heading out of town. The ridiculous people she'd approached hadn't been willing to lift a finger for her. Not the telegraph operator. The barber gaped at her. Leave his shop in the middle of the afternoon? Slim Johnston informed her he never closed up early. Needing to send a note to Henry Dobbs about his order for a bunion pad? He couldn't help her. Didn't know anyone else who could. Nobody had time to ride out to the ranch to pass on her message.

  Well, perhaps she could have thought up something more critical than a bunion pad, but Twila suspected it wouldn't have mattered what she said. The barber, his customers…they all looked at her as though she might sprout hissing serpents out of her skull any second, or cause the barbershop roof to collapse just by being under it.

  Jonah, indeed!

  She knew her uncle was the root of that particular evil, but she'd just bet Lucius had played a part in the entire town whispering about her. Somehow the tale of the broken window and the horse had altered so that Twila had caused the mess with some kind of evil spell.

  She just hoped the stupid rumors hadn't turned Henry Dobbs against her, too.

  * * *

  "Holy mackerel, will you look at that?"

  The other men cleaning out stalls paused at the sound of Jordan's surprised voice. He stood in the open doorway, gazing toward the river. "Wonder what brings her out our way?"

  Jordan had no sooner asked the question when a rake handle clipped his left ear and Henry Dobbs shot past him at a trot. Jordan cussed, picked up the rake, and squinted into the afternoon sun. Dobbs was headed right toward the woman. Jordan scratched his head and glanced at his companions in confusion. They were all staring after Dobbs, too.

  "Christ, ever seen him act like that before?" Jordan asked.

  "Nope," one of the men answered slowly. "Mebbe she cast one of them love spells on him."

  "Yeah, why else would he rush over to her like some long-lost kin? That can't be good."

  "Somebody better get the boss."

  Jordan sighed and headed for the house. Delivering unwelcome news to Delancy Mitchell generally fell to him. The duty was even less appealing than usual today, because Jordan knew Del was going over his books, calculating profits and expenses. Trying to figure out how he was going to pay for the damages to the woman's storefront in town.

  "Del, that Miss Bell from the emporium is headed here. Dobbs went out to greet her. Seemed to be acting a little funny, but maybe it's—"

  Del's head jerked up. "What do you mean?"

  "Well, he ran out of the stable like his pants were on fire, right to where she's walking along the riverbank."

  "She's alone? Why would she come all the way out here? I agreed to settle up with her uncle. Planned to stop by there tomorrow. Tried going by earlier today, but nobody was around. The place was locked up."

  "Well, maybe she was busy. You know, out gathering eye of newt, or something."

  Del glowered. "I told you all that was a load of manure. Where is she?" Del followed Jordy out of his office to the stretch of gravel that led down near the water a short distance from the ranch house.

  "Afternoon, Miss Bell," Del said in a level tone, touching his hat brim. He didn't want to act overly friendly, but wanted to make it clear in front of his men that there was nothing to fear from a harmless gal. "Your kin didn't come along for this powwow?"

  "My uncle and cousin have gone to Reno for supplies. Some of our stock was…had to be replaced after the accident last week. And Uncle Fletcher said he'd be ordering more glass. This was the first chance he had to take care of the window."

  Realizing nothing particularly of interest was being discussed, most of the men had drifted back to their chores. All except Henry Dobbs, who loitered next to the girl. Del gave him a look of dismissal, but the boy stood firm. Del cocked his head. "You need something?"

  Dobbs looked from Del over to Jordan Zoyer and swallowed. "I, uh…I reckon I need to talk to you. But…" He swallowed again and looked at the girl. With a peculiar expression that bordered on horrified or abashed.

  Del got an immediate and awkward sinking feeling in his belly. Dobbs was indeed
acting strange, like Zoyer warned. Maybe he was going to ask for some time off. He was standing mighty close to the Bell girl.

  "I don't think this is the right time," Del stated firmly. "We got a whole herd of mustangs need gentling, plenty of work to be done. This young lady and I have business to discuss. I'll talk to you later, Dobbs. Ma'am?" He waved a hand toward the house.

  She quickly blurted, "Oh no! I mean, that's very gracious of you, but if…Henry's just wondering if he could have a few minutes to…" Twila paused, noticing Henry was now beet red with a pleading look in his eyes. He was silently beseeching her not to give away his secret and admit he'd been secretly helping her for weeks.

  Considering the standoffish way the other men had regarded her, she realized he felt even more compelled to keep their association mum. He didn't want to find himself treated like a pariah too, just because he'd been kind to the local Jonah. She didn't want to get him in trouble with his boss, either. She never meant to disturb ranch operations or find herself confronting Del Mitchell. Her problems weren't worth poor Henry jeopardizing his position.

  She took an apologetic tone. "I spent the afternoon down by the river. I'm afraid I didn't realize it had grown so late or how far I'd walked. Henry was hoping you'd let him give me a ride back to town."

  "Uh, yessir, that's it. That's what I was gonna ask. If I could take her back to the store."

  "But if that's a problem," Twila interjected, "I—"

  "No problem," the boss man cut in, staring hard at Henry, who squirmed under the intense scrutiny of those blazing blue eyes.

  "I'd like to use the buggy, Mr. Mitchell. Won't be gone but an hour."

  His boss ignored the request and glanced back at Twila. "Stopped by awhile ago. Nobody was around. Your uncle know you weren't minding the store while he went after supplies? Planned to see him maybe tomorrow or the next day. Won't mention I was by today, or that you're standing on my land right now, if that would cause a difficulty for you."