by Trinity Ford
"Oh, I'll take it," Della said. She quickly secured her bonnet and picked up the pouch of money—marching straight to the door without acknowledging Hank at all.
"Why Miss Owens," Hank said. "I'm beginning to think you don't wish to get to know me."
"That's not it at all, Mr. Hensley...or is it Sam today?" Della asked impatiently as she turned and opened the door. "I'm simply far too busy to engage in frivolous discussions."
"Well if that's all it is, I'll be happy to accompany you to the bank so we can talk on the way," Hank teased. “I like to get to know as much about my employees as possible. Helps me work with them and know what makes them tick.”
“I’ll be out of your hair in less than six weeks’ time, Mr. Hensley, so there’s absolutely no need for you to get to know me better—and even less reason to know what makes me tick,” she said. Despite the rebuke, Hank followed Della out the door and quickened his pace until he sidled up next to her, ignoring the look of complete disgust on her face as she hastened her step.
"So you’re going through with the marriage to the venerable Mr. Tidwell,” Hank stated the obvious. "I must say, I was expecting someone different to be in this situation," Hank said.
"And what situation would that be, Mr. Hensley?" she said, nose high in the air and chin jutting out.
"One where a woman is sent for like a parcel," Hank said as Della stopped dead in her tracks and shot him a look of anger. "In the words of your beloved Mr. Tidwell, of course," Hank went on to explain. “That’s how he summed up your move to town to marry him—like a piece of furniture he ordered from the Sears & Roebuck catalog.”
Visibly shocked by Hank’s words—and the words of her future husband, Hank observed Della struggling to maintain her composure. "And just what kind of person would you expect?" she asked, her voice shaky and filled with emotion.
"Well...someone more like…Beatrice Reynolds," Hank laughed at his own wit.
Della had met Beatrice at church and in the store. She was a stout woman, considered homely by most, who didn't act friendly toward newcomers. Her status in the community was cemented in the fact that her family owned almost as many businesses as Hank Hensley himself.
"I can assure you I'm perfectly content with my situation," Della said. As they walked down the street toward the bank, the women they passed whispered and smiled—most likely gossiping about his supposed lascivious ways or his latest conquests. The men moved aside to let him pass, each one taking time to offer a gesture of respect—something as simple as a nod or tip of the hat.
“Mr. Hensley—I realize you own the General Store and that technically, I’m an employee, but that gives you no right to question me or Mr. Tidwell about our plans for the future, nor to offer your opinion on why or how I’m here.” Della’s eyes were bright with anger and she was breathing in short bursts of air.
“Sorry if I offended you, Miss Owens,” Hank offered. “I simply like to question what I have a problem understanding. And this situation is one for the books.”
“Mr. Hensley, I….” Della began.
"Looks like we're here," Hank was sure he interrupted her just as he was about to get an earful of what she thought of him. He opened the door to the bank and allowed her to pass in front of him. "The teller's right this way."
"Thank you, but I'll take my transaction directly to Mr. Tidwell," Della said, obviously trying to escape Hank's presence.
"Suit yourself," Hank shrugged.
He watched as Della made her way to Milton's office and peeked her head around the corner while he stood there listening to what she would say and watching Milton’s reaction through the glass of his office. “Surprise!" she said. "I asked Roy if I could bring today's deposit so that I could visit you a spell."
Milton’s face showed annoyance with the interruption, but he dutifully rose from his chair to greet her. “You have a deposit?” he asked, jutting his hand out to take the pouch of money from her
“Oh,” Della said, handing over the money. “Just deposit this to the General Store account.”
Milton looked up and noticed Hank standing in line for the teller again. He turned around and handed the pouch back to Della. “The teller is right this way,” he motioned, leaving Della to trail behind him.
Milton approached the line for the teller and walked straight up to Hank, who turned with a raised eyebrow as he observed Della’s incredulous look from the rude rebuff by Milton. “Need to cut in line?” Hank offered, smiling at her kindly and trying not to rub it in too bad that she’d been forced to be stuck with him after all.
“Oh, no sir,” Milton answered for her. “Let me handle your transaction for you. We hate for our very best customers to be saddled with this inconvenience.” He attempted to snatch the money bag from Hank, but Hank pulled the bag from his reach.
“Actually, Milton, I would much rather you take care of Miss Owens first. We’re very busy at the General Store and I need her back there right away,” Hank said.
“I’m perfectly fine standing in line,” Della stated, her chin jutting upwards as she tried hard to keep a stoic face.
“Why…of course, Mr. Hensley,” Milton said, his face suddenly turning red and puffy. He turned to Della, snatched the bag out of her hands and rushed around to the teller’s window.
Della gave Hank a scathing look. “Mr. Tidwell is perfectly right in wanting to please one of his best customers rather than catering to me.” I really wish you’d stop inserting your opinions into our business.
“Still,” Hank said quietly, “you have to wonder about a man who forces a woman as beautiful as you to wait in line, while giving preference to a rascal like me. Maybe in a few years, you’ll earn very best customer status, too.”
Milton returned and handed Della the deposit receipt. “Here you are,” he said. “Now run along back to Mr. Hensley’s General Store and resume your duties.”
“Milton, you have an amazing woman here,” Hank offered—ignoring Della’s demand to stay out of their business. He was staring at Della and she finally returned his gaze—eyes blazing with a look that Hank hadn’t seen before. He couldn’t put his finger on exactly what the look was, but he mused that it might be gratitude.
“Why thank you, Mr. Hensley,” Milton replied pompously as if taking credit for the person Della had become over the years.
“Tell you what,” Hank suggested. “I’d be happy to host your nuptials out at the Double H ranch as my gift to you two.” It was a sprawling ranch home with all of the amenities that could be found at the time—much too big for one man who lived by himself, which might be the reason Hank spent more time in Hell’s Half Acre than he did inside his own walls.
Although Hank didn’t need the home, it was a show place for those business associates who passed through Fort Worth and for those who doubted his success. It was unlike any other home in the town, with two extensive wings flanking Greek columns in front. Hank had imported marble, mirrors and the best accessories money could buy and the townsfolk were always agape when lucky enough to be invited over for an event.
“That’s very kind of you, but…” Della quickly interjected.
“But,” Milton interrupted. “We’d be delighted! That’s very generous of you,” Milton said excitedly, plainly considering the monetary savings and status of the event over his soon-to-be bride’s feelings.
“Yes,” Della sighed, acquiescing to Milton’s desire. “That would be wonderful.” She bowed her head in defeat and when she looked up, Hank noticed tears brimming in her eyes. He knew Della didn’t have any money, so she probably felt obligated to go along with whatever Milton said.
“Would you excuse me? I have a pressing bank matter I must return to,” Milton said as he glanced around to see what other prominent Fort Worth citizen he might impress. “Please do let me know if you need anything else.” The two nodded as Milton made his way back to his office.
“Good day, Mr. Hensley,” Della said.
“Good day, Miss Owe
ns,” Hank said. “I reckon I’ll be in touch so we can plan the wedding—not ours, of course—yours and Tidwell’s.”
“I know exactly what you mean, Mr. Hensley,” Della said. The defeat in her eyes that she showed before was quickly replaced with acute anger.
Hank smiled, tipped his hat and exited the bank. He felt angry for her, being in this impossible, loveless situation with Milton. Hank knew what it felt like to have to rely on others—and to try hard to love someone who wasn’t worth loving, only to get no acknowledgment from them at all. It’s all he’d ever known as a child. Della deserved more than that—and Hank was starting to wonder if it was his mission to make sure she got it.
Chapter 7
Not ours, Della thought as she repeated the words of Hank Hensley from the previous day. Imagine being married to Hank Hensley of all people! While she tried feigning disgust at the thought, she couldn’t help but notice that thoughts of marrying Milton registered no emotion whatsoever. She wasn’t sure which was worse—anger or apathy.
But now wasn’t the time to get bogged down in those thoughts. There was a party starting shortly, and Della was excited about attending her first event in Fort Worth, Texas. She’d heard about previous celebrations, but in her short time there, all she’d been able to get a feel for was daily life, which she enjoyed.
A nice routine was developing for Della—and she liked waking up each morning, knowing what to expect. Breakfast was served early—at a table where Roy, Mary and Della enjoyed their discussion filled with laughter as Helen sat sour-faced and silent. A tutor would arrive, courtesy of Hank Hensley, just as Roy and Della were leaving, to spend the day working with Mary on her lessons. Della would always eat lunch in the store, while Roy went home at midday to eat with his daughter and check in on her. He would return and close up the store with Della, and she would help Helen with supper later that evening. It was a life filled with good friendships, honest work and prayer—the kind of life she’d always imagined for herself.
In less than an hour, Della would be fetched by Milton, according to the formal invitation he’d sent, along with a small sum to purchase a dress for the occasion. She’d already taken a peek at the Threads and Top Hats store, where Beatrice Reynolds housed all the latest fashions—but with the amount Milton had sent, she’d never be able to afford one of those. Instead, she’d opted for a simple chartreuse and cream, high neck gown with lace and a bow in the back. It didn’t have many adornments, but it was a step above what she wore on a daily basis.
“How do I look?” she asked Mary, immediately realizing she’d done it again—forgotten the girl was blind.
“Beautiful,” Mary said, laughing.
“Oh, Mary, I’m so sorry,” Della apologized.
“It’s okay,” Mary said. “I kind of like that you forget I’m sightless. It means you look at me like I’m normal. Other people treat me like I’ve lost my mind, not my vision—talking louder, whispering in front of me as if my hearing went the way of my sight. Besides, I know you mean well.”
Della put her arm around Mary and gave her a hug. “You’re better than normal,” she said. “You’re an amazing young woman and if I could be half the person you are, I’d say a prayer of thanks to the good Lord above!”
Mary took her hands and gently placed them on Della’s face, guiding them softly to her hair. She brushed her fingertips along Della’s collar, feeling the lace and material, and brought them down slowly along the puffy sleeves and down the back of the dress to the bow. “It…it is beautiful,” Mary said. “What’s it like?”
“Like the soft underbelly of a lovebird,” Della said, trying to describe the color. “Mixed with the color of creamy, warm grits.”
Mary smiled and nodded, as if envisioning it in her head. “You promise to tell me all about it the second you get home?” she begged.
“I promise,” Della said. There was a knock on the front door. “He’s here. Wish me luck.”
“Luck!” Mary said as Della hurried out of the room and into the parlor where Roy had let Milton in to wait.
“Much improved,” were Milton’s first words as he looked her up and down when she entered the room. Della’s heart sank. Not exactly the kind of compliment she wanted to hear. “Shall we?” Milton stood and motioned for her to leave before him, nodding to Roy and Mary as he and Della went outside to the wagon.
“I’ll be introducing you to some very important people this evening,” Milton bragged. “It’s vital that you make a good impression. They’ll be attending our wedding, and God willing, using my services at the bank for some rather large transactions.”
Della folded her hands in her lap and looked away from Milton, toward the hilly countryside. Think about the positives, she reminded herself. He’s trying to procure a stable future for us. “I’m looking forward to meeting your friends,” she said with a smile.
The rest of the ride was silent, but they only had a short distance to go before arriving at the Stockyards. The area had been turned into a festive event, and music could be heard coming from the banquet inside the auction hall. As Della stepped down from the wagon, she still smelled the strong odor of cattle, but it was to be expected here—and she was oddly starting to get used to it—something everyone told her would happen when she first moved to Texas.
The Fort Worth Union Stockyards was located about two and a half miles north of the Tarrant County Courthouse and saw an amazing four million head of cattle pass through from 1866 until this day in 1890. There were rumors of plans for a new Livestock Exchange Building—just another star in the crown of success for Fort Worth.
But today, cattle were in the background and the big event was about to begin. Couples strode into the hall in pairs. Milton offered his arm, which Della took, happy for the first sign of courtesy he’d given her, even though she suspected it was all for show. Della had never seen the inside of the auction barn and she was amazed at its size. The hay on the auction floor had been cleaned away and the pine boards beneath were polished to a high shine.
A small group of musicians were playing at one end of the hall and couples were already twirling to square dance tunes and other festive–-and distinctly Texan—music of the day. Around the perimeter of the hall, tables were set up to display a wide array of food and drink. The older citizens of Cowtown were relaxing and fanning themselves on chairs set up between the tables of food and drink and many of the younger couples and singles were laughing and talking in groups. It was fun to see the ladies dressed up in their finery and the men clean and dressed up from the usual fare of grungy Western work clothes. Della was happy to recognize so many faces. It was hard not to get to know everyone, when they relied on the store you worked in for their daily needs.
“Della!” a voice squealed from behind. “So glad you could make it!” it was Annabelle Collins—whom she’d gotten to know in the early morning hours, whenever the town’s teacher stopped by to pick up some supplies or treats for her class.
“You know Mrs. Collins?” Milton whispered.
“Yes, she comes in the store regularly,” Della answered.
“Introduce me,” Milton ordered rather than asked.
“This is my husband, Lee,” Annabelle said. Lee Collins was a big rancher in the area. He’d started out with a fledgling cattle company and become one of the most influential cattle barons in all of Texas.
“Lee, nice to meet you,” Della replied. “This is my fiancé, Milton Tidwell. He’s the manager at Fort Worth Bank over on Main Street.” It felt funny introducing Milton as her fiancé, when the reality was, he’d never formally proposed to her. All he’d done is discuss the wedding date with her. I reckon not every man is a romantic, she reasoned with herself.
Lee shook Milton’s hand. “I haven’t met you yet, Mr. Collins,” Milton remarked. “Perhaps you’d like to discuss your banking needs and what we can do for you?”
“I’m not here to conduct business, Mr. Tidwell,” Lee said. “I already do my banking over
at the Texas Sun branch. Now if you’ll excuse us.” They walked away, with Annabelle giving Della a look of pity.
“I thought you said she was your friend,” Milton barked, taking his frustration out on Della. “I don’t like to be made a fool of.”
“No, I said I knew her as a customer,” Della said sharply, already fed up with the way Milton treated her due to his own shortcomings.
Milton sighed and excused himself, leaving Della to stand there alone in a room full of acquaintances. A light and popular tune began to play from the musicians’ area. “Care to dance?” a voice said from behind.
Della turned around and came face to face with Hank Hensley, who stood there wearing a gentlemen’s three-piece suit—a sack coat with a high collar shirt, a fashionable, floppy bow tie and black trousers. A pocket watch hanging at the front of his vest completed the polished look, which Della was sure had been custom created for his form.
“I’m afraid I already have a dancing partner, Mr. Hensley,” she said.
“And it looks like he’s nowhere to be found—certainly not dancing with you,” Hank said. “If you were my girl, there’s no way I would have left you standing here alone—not with men like me lurking all around.”
Della noticed several of the woman standing nearby began whispering to each other and pointing at them, giggling. “There are plenty of women here for men like you, Mr. Hensley,” Della said, referring to the groups of gossipers.
“And I’m as interested in them as you are in Milton Tidwell,” Hank laughed.
Della turned to Hank, looking shocked. She was blushing, but only because he actually guessed the truth about her. “I can assure you I’m quite interested in Mr. Tidwell,” Della lied. “As a matter of fact, he’s over there right now forming important relationships with people who matter—people whose business at the bank will help our future.”
Hank glanced over at Milton, who stood on the outer circle, being ignored by the same group of businessmen Della had previously seen begging Hank to partner with on a project. “Hmm, yes. I can see he’s very good at forming relationships,” Hank mocked. “He’s doing just as well there as he’s done with you.”