Mallory

by Hebby Roman

  The commander held up his hand. “All right, I won’t force you to have us inside, Mr. Murphy. But I do need one minute.”

  “Take all the time ya need, just don’t be staying after sundown. My housekeeper left, sudden-like, a couple of weeks ago.” He hitched his thumb over his shoulder. “Inside’s no place fer a lady.”

  “I see,” the commander repeated. And then he turned his roan around and rode beside her, leaning in close. He cleared his throat. “Miss Reynolds, do you have the… uh, the financial means to return to your former home? I believe you said you hail from Georgia?”

  Then it struck her. She covered her mouth with her hand. She was as poor as a church mouse, having given most of what remained from her inheritance to Nancy for Macon’s upkeep. The journey had been long and expensive, and she hadn’t brought much pocket money. She doubted she had enough to buy a stagecoach ticket to San Antonio, if that far.

  Now, she was ashamed and humiliated. Impoverished and unwanted, ever since the war, she’d fought an uphill battle, clinging to her previous status and making “do” with her father’s straitened circumstances.

  She shut her eyes, remembering all the sacrifices she’d made, the pandering to her rich aunt in Charleston, only to lose her head and ruin herself. Her aunt had turned her out, and polite society had shunned her. Then her father died, leaving mounds of debt that gobbled up her inheritance.

  Mr. E.P. Murphy, the man who laid dead beneath that tree, had been kind enough to send her the funds for the journey. Everything else, except a little pocket money, she’d left with Nancy.

  Tears trolled down her cheeks, remembering her past struggles, and believing they were over. But here she was again, penniless and without options, and far from home.

  She shook her head, and her words were barely a whisper. “No, Commander, I haven’t the means to return to Georgia.” She fingered the intricately-carved, ivory cameo she wore at her throat. It had been her mother’s, and it was the last remaining piece of jewelry she hadn’t pawned. “I have this cameo. If there’s a pawnbroker in Fort Davis, I might be able to sell—”

  “You’ll not be selling your cameo, Miss. Let me handle this.”

  She nodded.

  Gregor turned his roan around and faced Ben again. He’d surmised she might be without funds. A proper lady, handsome, too, wouldn’t have come this far, facing such a long and dangerous journey if she had the means to stay safely at home.

  He clenched his jaw, determined to do right by her. “Mr. Murphy, the lady will need funds to return home. I know you have the money. You must assume the responsibility to see Miss Reynolds home.”

  “Now why would I want to do that? She ain’t nothing to me. It was ole Ed’s idea. Wanting young’uns, and he didn’t make no provision for her, neither. He didn’t even bother changing his will, saying he wanted to see if’n she’d give him a son first.” He beat his scrawny chest. “He had me as his rightful heir, didn’t need to be getting no ‘lady’ from back East to breed on.”

  Gregor stared at him, his eyes narrowed. He couldn’t believe the meanness of the man. But he shouldn’t be surprised. If ever two brothers were unalike, it was E.P. and Ben. There was a large gap in their ages, and if local rumors had it right, they were only half brothers, having different mothers.

  And there was the strange coincidence in timing of E.P.’s unfortunate accident. When he’d first been stationed at Fort Davis, E.P. had shown him around, familiarizing him with a huge swath of the territory. The older rancher knew all five thousand of his acres like the back of his hand, and he was an excellent rider. This was a dangerous, rough terrain, but somehow, he didn’t believe E.P. had let his mount fall into a ravine.

  He decided to try a different tack. “Miss Reynolds was officially betrothed to your brother. She has numerous letters, stating his intent. The circuit judge will be back in a week or two. If you won’t give her the money to return, I can ask for his legal opinion as to what claim she might—”

  “Ya can ask,” Ben sneered, “until the cows come home. Won’t do ya no good. I ain’t gonna give her one red cent.” He put his hand on the butt-end of his holstered Colt. “We’re done here, Colonel. I’d be mighty happy to see ya off our land.” He jerked his head toward a bunch of men, standing beneath the porch overhang. “If’n you can’t see yer way clear, my men will show ya the way out.”

  Again, he wasn’t surprised by Ben’s animosity and hint of violence. Presidio County was too poor to have a Sheriff, and as the commander of the fort, he was responsible for keeping the local peace. Every time Ben came to town, there was a violent episode, ranging from tearing up a saloon, to beating up one of the “soiled doves” in Chihuahua, along with brutal fistfights. He’d had to intervene several times and throw Ben and his men in the fort’s guardhouse until they sobered up and paid fines.

  Once there had been a gunfight, and Ben had survived. The miner, who was a rough fellow, but no killer, had been shot dead. Everyone in town, especially Ben’s men, had sworn the fight had been fair and Ben had acted in self-defense. But Doc Winslow had thought differently, based on the trajectory of the bullets in the miner’s belly, though there had been no way to prove it.

  He’d worried about Ben when Miss Reynolds had declared she was betrothed to E.P, but he’d pushed his doubts aside, certain E.P. would keep his younger brother in line, especially at home.

  Now, he wouldn’t put anything past the man—up to and including murdering his own brother, so he wouldn’t have to share the ranch if E.P. had children.

  He sat up straighter in the saddle and stared at Ben. “My men and I represent the United States Army. You cannot order us off your land.”

  Ben descended the two porch steps and stood in front of his horse. His beady, black eyes were fixed on him. “Oh, I can’t, can I? This here is private property, and if’n you and yer men ain’t pursuing no hostiles, ya have no right to be here.” He swung his head from side to side, exaggerating the movement. “I don’t see no hostiles anywhere near here. How about you, men?”

  A low murmur erupted from the ranch hands, and then shouts of: “No, Boss, no Injuns here.”

  Ben nodded and touched his Colt again.

  The staccato sound of pistols being cocked and carbine bolts rammed home lent an added layer of menace to their stand-off.

  Ben angled his head. “You’re outnumbered, Colonel, at least five to one. Why don’t ya call it a day and git on back to yer fort? Where ya belong.”

  “Are you threatening me, Murphy?”

  “Maybe, maybe not, Colonel, but see’n as how there’s a whole lot more of us than there is of yer’n, wouldn’t be no witnesses left to say—”

  “And how would you explain our deaths.” He glanced at Miss Reynolds. “Not to mention there’s a lady here.”

  Ben guffawed. “I don’t see no lady here. If’n she had to travel this far to find a husband, she must be soiled goods. I told E.P. so meself, ‘course, he wouldn’t listen.”

  Gregor heard her gasp again and start to sob. But he couldn’t turn away from Ben; he had to stand him down. “How would you explain our deaths, Mr. Murphy?”

  The skinny rancher hitched his thumbs in his gun belt. “There are ways to make it look like the Injuns got ya.”

  “You mean you allow the Apache to camp on your ranch? You give shelter to our country’s enemies?”

  Ben unhitched one thumb and wagged his finger. “Don’t be putting no words into mah mouth, Colonel.”

  He felt a tug on his sleeve. He turned his head to find himself gazing into the smoky-green depths of Miss Reynolds’ eyes. “Please, Commander, let’s go. I don’t want his money.”

  “Now that’s one right-smart lady,” Ben said. “Why don’t ya run along home like the ‘skirt’ wants ya to, Colonel?”

  Slowly but surely, his anger had been building. Ben Murphy wasn’t good enough to lick Miss Reynolds’ high-top boots, and he itched to prove it, too. He’
d never had a head for killing, had only distinguished himself in the Civil War because he’d wanted to survive.

  Now, suddenly, he understood what other soldiers meant when they said they’d seen red and the urge to destroy had overtaken them, blotting out their common sense and humanity, turning them into ravaging animals.

  He slid off his horse and got into Ben’s face. More pistols cocked in the background, but he didn’t care. He poked Ben’s scrawny chest with his index finger, warning, “This isn’t the end of it, Murphy. No one gets away with threatening me, especially you. I’m sending a dispatch to the Regional Commander in San Antonio, and I’ll be talking with the judge, too.” He towered over the red-head. “And I don’t want to see your filthy hide in Fort Davis, neither. Every time you come to town, you break the law. I have proof of that, too.”

  He turned around, purposely exposing his back. He faced his men and raised his voice, “Attention! Wheel!” His six men turned their mounts around, facing back the way they’d come. Miss Reynolds followed suit, too. “Forward.” His men spurred their mounts, and they trotted down the track.

  He put his foot in the stirrup, glaring at Murphy across his roan’s neck. “And I don’t believe your brother’s death was an accident. If enough reward is offered for the details of his death, you might be surprised how loyal some of your men are… or aren’t.”

  Chapter Four

  Mallory held the battered book close to the kerosene lamp, reading out loud, “The Prince came and took Cinderella to his castle, and they were married that very day.” She glanced at Peggy and saw that the girl’s eyelids had closed. Leaning over, she kissed Peggy’s forehead and tucked the covers around her.

  Then she closed the volume of “Household Stories” by the Brothers Grimm and put the book on the bedside table. Folding her hands, she watched as Peggy slept, thinking of her son and wondering if Nancy was reading to him and tucking him in.

  She stayed seated, going over what had happened at the Murphy ranch. She was back to where she’d started—not knowing how to go forward, or how to take care of her son with the limited funds she’d inherited. Only now, she’d made things worse, putting over sixteen hundred miles between them and with no way to return home. She’d left enough funds with Nancy to send for her child, but there would be precious little money remaining. How would they live, if she had no husband?

  She’d been such an innocent, not even considering what could happen, traveling countless miles to marry a stranger. She should have asked Mr. Murphy for sufficient funds to make the round trip. But it hadn’t occurred to her, and Mr. Murphy might have viewed her request with suspicion, thinking she’d go back on their arrangement and return if they didn’t suit.

  By not planning ahead, the worst possible thing had happened. Her intended had died and now she was stuck in this frontier outpost with few prospects.

  Nancy had wanted her to move to northern Georgia, where the details of her shame weren’t common knowledge, and apply for the position of a school teacher. She had the necessary education, and Nancy’s husband would have given her a reference.

  But moving away with her son and posing as a war widow had seemed daunting. And even if she’d found a position, she worried the school board would want a reference from Miss Prentiss. She shuddered, imagining what Miss Prentiss would say about her in a letter.

  The commander was worried his daughter, without a local school, was falling behind in her lessons. And he’d mentioned there wasn’t a school at the fort. She wondered about the town, but Peggy hadn’t mentioned a school when she’d shown her around. Perhaps she could start a school here, and then send for her son.

  She bit the inside of her cheek, realizing she had no idea what starting a school would entail. She’d need a building of some sort, desks or tables, a chalkboard, books, and…

  Her thoughts tumbled, ranging over the details and the cost. The children’s parents might be willing to help with the initial expenses, but she couldn’t know for certain. On top of starting a school, could they afford to pay her? What was a fair salary? What would she need to live on?

  She was in over her head, and she knew it. There was only one person she could count on and having moved from fort to fort, he should be able to advise her.

  As if her thoughts had conjured him, the commander pushed the door open and stuck his head inside. He glanced at his sleeping daughter and whispered, “Is she asleep?”

  Mallory nodded.

  He inclined his head. “I’ve made us tea. Would you care to come to the kitchen where we can talk?”

  Rising, she nodded again. She’d been expecting this conversation, as soon as Peggy was asleep. She was dependent on his charity. When she thought about how he’d championed her at the Murphy Ranch, a warm feeling enveloped her, and she got teary-eyed.

  Dashing the sentimental tears away, she knew they had to come up with a plan. The commander couldn’t keep sleeping behind his office, and they couldn’t live together openly, notwithstanding his declaration about frontier morals being less rigid than back East. If it was the last thing she did, she’d observe the proprieties.

  She’d ruined herself once and that was more than enough.

  The commander stood at the table, holding out a chair for her. He was such a gentleman.

  She smiled and took her seat. “Thank you.”

  He placed the creamer and sugar bowl in front of her and took his seat across from her.

  She busied herself with pouring cream and dropping two lumps of sugar into her teacup, dreading the conversation to come. Her circumstances were more than humiliating, and she had no ready answers.

  He cleared his throat. “First off, I’d like to say what I told Ben Murphy today, weren’t idle threats. I will try and raise reward money to see if we can obtain more details about your intended’s death. And if you’d be kind enough to give me a few of your letters, where you and E.P. discussed arrangements, I’ll present them to the circuit judge, Judge Beadle. I’d like to see if we can obtain a judgment for your return fare.”

  She opened her mouth to contradict him, not wanting anything to do with Ben Murphy again. The man frightened her out of her wits. But upon further consideration, she decided to let the commander handle the legal aspects of her situation.

  Nodding again, she stirred her tea and took a sip.

  He lifted his teacup. She noticed he had slender, elegant fingers.

  He tipped the cup and swallowed. “In the meantime—”

  “I will need somewhere to live…”

  They had spoken on top of each other. She stopped and deferred to him.

  He smiled, a smile of reassurance. “I think we were headed in the same direction. Investigating E.P.’s murder and getting funds from Ben might take a while. In the meantime, you’ll need a place to live and an income.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “As I mentioned before, I need help with Peggy’s lessons—”

  “I know you worry about Peggy and her lessons, and I was thinking of starting a school here in Fort Davis.”

  “A school?” He took another taste of his tea. “I hadn’t gotten that far yet. I was going to offer you a job as my child’s governess.” He dropped his head and cleared his throat again. “I don’t suppose you’d want to be a housekeeper, too.” He pursed his lips. “We’d have to come up with some kind of alternate living arrangements.”

  “Commander, I’m ashamed to say it, but I’ve not been trained in the domestic arts. I know very little about cooking and probably even less about keeping a house in order.” She fiddled with her teacup, feeling the spurt of shame heating her neck, her ears, and then her face. “Being raised on a plantation with household slaves, er, servants, I never learned.”

  She raised her head and stiffened her back. “Nancy, my good friend, was trying to teach me some rudimentary skills while I was corresponding with Mr. Murphy; though, Mr. Murphy assured me he had plenty of help on the ranch, a cook and housekeeper.” She
drained her teacup and folded her hands. “So, you see, I couldn’t give you good service as a housekeeper.”

  “I understand.”

  “Though, I’m willing to learn.”

  She surprised herself with her declaration. She’d thought to marry a wealthy man, similar to what she’d been bred to wed, but now that dream was shattered. She needed to fend for herself.

  He nodded and said, “That’s admirable, your willingness. But I don’t believe it solves your present situation.”

  “No, of course, you’re right.” She turned her teacup in the saucer.

  “Would you care for another cup of tea?”

  “Yes, I would. Thank you.” Not that she was thirsty but having the teacup to fiddle with gave her something to do.

  He poured her another cup from the teapot. She noticed the china was quality tableware, a pristine white enamel, adorned with curling pink roses. The tea set must have belonged to his late wife.

  “I think, if I can be so bold as to venture, you’ll find your boarding expenses to be the major rub,” he said. “That is, given what I could pay you as a governess.”

  “What can you pay me?” As she said the words, she cringed. Never had she thought to be haggling for her upkeep.

  “I paid Crissy, my former housekeeper and Peggy’s governess, five dollars a week. Right now, I’m paying Martina three dollars a week for cooking and keeping house.”

  “That leaves only two dollars, Commander.” She shook her head. “I don’t know how much a boardinghouse costs but—”

  “I’ve had a promotion since then, Miss Reynolds. I could afford to give you three dollars a week and your meals. You might get a discount at Mrs. Johnson’s if you don’t eat there. Peggy and I would enjoy having you here for mealtime.”

  “That’s a kind offer, but still…”

  “I know. I know.” He shook his head. “We could ask at Mrs. Johnson’s, but it would still be tight.” He frowned. and his forehead furrowed. “I have another thought. Captain Rodgers and his wife live two houses over, and they have the next largest cabin on the fort with an extra bedroom. They lost their only child, a son, last summer. I believe they’d welcome you.”