Isabella_Bride of Ohio

by Debra Parmley

  Oh what have I done? To be married to such a man. A man who screams at me and throws plates. An entire bowl full of soup. What kind of man does that? He cannot control his temper. He is a man who will lay hands on me in anger. It is not safe to be near him when he is angry like that.

  She rubbed her arms, still tender from where he’d grabbed her and shook her the last time he’d lost his temper. She still had a bump on the back of her head from where he had banged her head into the wall. And then there were the other places. Too many small places on her body were tender from his demanding touch. He was a man who took what he wanted and never so much as apologized for hurting her.

  He does not care what I want or how I feel. He does not care if he hurts me. From the moment he put the ring on my finger, he started to change. But no one would ever believe me, because no one sees how he really is. And who would I tell? Even if I wanted to tell someone, who would I tell? Lilly had said I could come to her if I got into trouble, all of us talked about it, but I have not heard from a single one of them. Perhaps they do not care either. They have moved on. They have new lives and have forgotten all about me. There is no one I can tell and nowhere I can go.

  The rain poured down around her, dripping through the trees leaves and open spaces in between, drenching everything. So caught up in her thoughts she moved on uncaring that her unbrushed hair, tumbling down around her shoulders was now wet. The rain, washing the soup away from her face and hair left her chilled and she started to shiver.

  Moving through the trees along the path she followed the trail which was now familiar to her. The path beneath her was slick with rain, but she paid little attention to it as water trickled from her head down her face and the first tears began to fall.

  Marrying Donald Jenks had been the worst mistake of her life. It was done now and she had to live with the consequences. The reality of life as Mrs. Jenks was so far from her childhood dreams as to be almost unrecognizable. The only match being the house and the beautiful garden which likely were not even hers. His presence in the house rendered even those unrecognizable so that she could not even take joy in them now. Whatever benefit of the doubt she had given to him, he chipped away at nightly, along with whatever hopes she had been holding out that he could change.

  He would not change. If anything he grew worse, not kinder. Nothing I do is right, in his eyes, from the way I dress to the way I cook. Even the way I eat.

  He had claimed just the other night that he had no desire to dine with her in the evenings because he could not stand the way she chewed. Slow as a cow, he had said.

  She could not help that she had trouble eating when he was around and swallowing her food with him watching her was now difficult. The only meals she had come to enjoy were the ones she ate alone at the dining table before he finished his work. It was so difficult to smile and pretend that everything was fine when Mrs. Blevins was there and he was watching her in silence from across the dinner table.

  Tears flowing more freely, her movements now slow, she walked deeper into the woods and closer to the Gorge. There she would stop and rest. She would find her resting spot and stay there for as long as it took to feel right again. If ever such a thing could be. The rain which cleansed so much of the natural world was this night doing little to clear away the things she most needed cleared away.

  She paused by a tree, placing her hand on it and prayed.

  Please, God, I don’t know what to ask but please take all the bad things away.

  For several moments she stayed silent, motionless. Then she opened her eyes and continued moving along the path. Nothing would happen, nothing would change. She felt God was no longer listening. She moved on, chilled from the rain and nearly numb from feelings, not seeing what she passed or paying attention to her surroundings.

  When she reached the Gorge overlook she stopped as was her habit, hardly remembering how she had gotten there. She stood listening to the rain and the river below. The water was high and rushing from the rain they had been having this season.

  Cold and tired, she felt no comfort in her normally relaxing spot, and her despair deepened. There was no anger. There was never anger. Long ago, she had learned that ranting and raving on her own behalf changed nothing, and only made her look and feel foolish, like a child throwing a tantrum.

  Despondent, she turned away, then froze. A man was there. The horrible, gut-wrenching fear that it was Donald brought her heart into her throat, but it wasn’t him. This man was shorter, hairier, and didn’t dress nearly as well. Isabella relaxed, but only just. She did not know this man, and he was walking toward her.

  “May I help you?” she asked. Chillingly, the man did not answer, but continued to walk forward. Isabella took a step back, knowing the Gorge was only a few yards behind her, but the man continued forward. Fear rose up again.

  The man was within fifteen feet of her when, from one side, another man slammed into him, knocking him away. The first man stumbled for a few feet while the second man looked at Isabella, asking “Are you all right?”

  Before she could reply, the first man turned back with a growl, a knife in his hand. The second man made to reach under his own coat, but the first man was too fast, stepping close, slashing the air. The second man dodged for a second or two, then landed a jaw-cracking punch across the man’s face. The man held onto his knife, but stumbled to his knees. The second man went to kick him, but his leg was caught and they fell together.

  Now they were wrestling, the one man trying desperately to keep the knife away from him while the other kept rolling, fighting to get on top and control.

  Isabella screamed, “Stop! You’ll fall!”

  Hearing her, the man without the knife gave a sudden, terrific heave, and the other man was thrown off again. Too close, his hand went over the edge and his weight followed it.

  And it was over. They heard a short scream before he hit the bottom. The other man frantically scrambled away from the edge, his eyes wide, his breath coming in big gulps. Isabella stared at him, her hands on her face.

  Finally, he looked at her and stood. She stepped back, primed to run for her life, but he held out his hands. “Isabella, it’s me. It’s Tom.”

  For a moment, she said nothing. He sounded like Tom, but this man had a moustache and beard, and Tom was clean shaven. He wore a bowler hat, but it had lifted, and did not shade his eyes as they had when he had asked if she was all right. The she saw one corner of the moustache had lifted away. Was it fake? She looked closer. Those were Tom’s eyes. Their eyes met and she knew it was him.

  “Tom? Tom, what are you doing here?” She rushed to him now, trusting him instantly, desperate to feel something. Instinctively, he held her at arm’s length, wanting to embrace her, but having to explain things.

  “Isabella, you need to come with me right now.”

  “What? Where are we going? We should go to the police. That poor man–”

  “Was sent to kill you.”

  Isabella gasped.

  Chapter Twelve

  “But why?” Confusion and fear filled Isabella’s wide blue eyes. Tom was stripping off the rest of his disguise and tossing it on the mantelpiece. Isabella watched him as he stood in front of the fire. The first things to go had been the ridiculous bowler hat and the torn, dirty overcoat. After that, he had removed his tie and opened his shirt before pulling off the fake beard and moustache.

  She watched him, somewhat relieved to see the real Tom emerging from beneath the disguise. This was the Tom she knew.

  They had run or walked through the woods until coming to a street in the darkness. Many times they had stopped, Tom making sudden turns to look behind them or listen for any sounds, but the rain made that difficult.

  Isabella, not understanding why anyone would try to kill her, had put her trust in Tom and run, following his instructions, though she wanted answers. She trusted him with her life. But now, here, it was safe and the questions would not wait. Tom had brought her to a room on th
e second floor of a hotel. They had used a staircase behind the building to get to the room, which Tom unlocked, then locked again, once they were inside.

  “Why would anyone try to kill me?” Isabella asked.

  Tom sighed, then went over to a cabinet in a corner and pulled out a bottle with two glasses. Pouring the drinks, he put the bottle back, then turned and offered one of the glasses to her. “Here. Sit down.”

  She accepted the drink and sat.

  Tom sat also, across from her, in a wooden chair next to the fire. Taking a drink, he breathed deeply.

  “Isabella, it’s…” Tom sighed. “Maybe I should start where I began researching.”

  “Wait,” Isabella said. “There’s something else I have to know first.”

  Surprised, Tom asked, “What is it?”

  Isabella took a breath, then looked him in the eye. “Who are you? What do you do for a living? You said you were something like a constable. What does that mean?”

  Tom looked at her for a moment, then took another drink and put his glass down on the floor beside him. Running his fingers through his hair, he said, “Okay. I’m not really supposed to talk about this, but you’ve been through a lot and deserve to know.”

  Isabella sipped at her drink, waiting for him.

  Finally, Tom said, “I work for a company called Pinkerton’s. We’re licensed as private investigators, but lately, many police forces and even Washington have been using us to gather information. We research, we infiltrate, we report, and if there’s imminent danger, we intervene. Sometimes it’s a matter of double-crossing an organization so that they can be stopped. Other times, like tonight, we have to be quick.”

  Her eyes brightened as thoughts came to her making connections. “So when we met at the train station you were there on a case. And that’s why you couldn’t tell me.”

  Tom nodded. “Yes. That’s exactly right. The police kept getting reports of women vanishing. We were the ones who realized they all used the same train lines, so I and many others were put in place to watch and react if we saw something suspicious.”

  “I am so glad you were there that day. Oh!” Her eyebrows raised as she made another connection. “And that’s how you got the money back and then you came here to return it.”

  Tom grinned at her, pleased that she followed so quickly. “Very good.”

  “But I still don’t understand,” Isabella said. “What does this have to do with someone wanting to kill me? How did you find out about it?”

  “Okay,” Tom said. “Remember the last time we saw each other?”

  “Yes,” she nodded.

  “That day in the bookstore, Mrs. Gearly said Donald was renting the house and you said he had told you he owned it, right?”

  Again, Isabella nodded, so Tom continued. “Usually, that’s not enough for me to get suspicious. As Mrs. Gearly said, people make mistakes, but I was thinking about the kind of man he was, and he didn’t seem like the kind to make a mistake like that, even if it was just telling you the wrong thing. The only other possibility was that he had lied to you.”

  “He is…changeable.” She spoke the word slowly, giving only that little bit away.

  Tom closed his eyes and swallowed. Then he looked at her again. “That afternoon, I went to the county office to look at the housing documents. Then later that night, I broke into his offices and looked at what financial records I could find.”

  Her hand closed around her glass as if to brace herself.

  “The first thing I found was that Mrs. Gearly was right. The house is rented. That night, I found out that Donald is in a lot of trouble. I think he made a mistake and saved his job by saying he could pay back the money he lost. That was when I got a really bad feeling about him and started following him around town.”

  Isabella rolled her eyes. “He always has to have the best of everything. The amount he spent on our wedding was far beyond anything I have seen. If he was having financial trouble why do that? And marrying me? I came with no dowry, just myself.”

  Tom leaned back in his chair and wiped his face with his hands. “Well, that’s not all I know. Isabella, Donald’s money comes from a very strange, very rare type of inheritance. His grandfather died a little over a month ago.”

  Right away, those words stuck in Isabella’s mind, but she didn’t know why. Where had she heard that before?

  Words spoken echoed in her head. “Mr. Jenks has been planning this wedding for over a month.”

  More connections stretched toward each other in her mind as she followed Tom’s words intently. “Over a month ago,” she spoke the words aloud and then frowned taking a sip of her drink and swallowing hard as if that would help her accept and swallow this news down better.

  Leaning forward, Tom spoke slowly. “His grandfather’s will specified that his grandson, Donald Jenks, would only inherit upon his marriage. He had to accomplish that within six months while the money was held in trust. It is quite a sizable amount of money. One hundred eighty thousand dollars.”

  Isabella gasped. All the connections now made, the totality of it all horrified her and she was speechless. She sat taking the brunt truth of everything in and then she rose and began to pace. “He married me so he could inherit. He never cared for me at all. Not even a little bit.” Tears filled her eyes. “It was all an act. And foolishly I fell for it.”

  Her eyes widened and she stopped pacing to stand right in front of Tom. “But to have me killed?” She held her arms out palms open toward him and said, “I don’t understand. He could have just married and kept the money. I would have made him a good wife.” She gave a near sob. “I tried so hard. I would have been a good wife.”

  Tom nodded. “Yes. You would have. But he is not a good man.”

  “No, he is not.” She shook her head and her voice dropped. “He is not a good man.” Remembering their wedding night, she closed her eyes, squinting them tight as if to push away all the bad things. When she opened them again she looked into Tom’s eyes and let him see into hers, where dwelt all the memories of the bad things she had been through.

  Staring at her, Tom finished. “I was there when Donald hired men to kill you. That was when I abandoned him and followed them, to be certain they would try the idea they had talked about, of pushing you into the Gorge to make it look like an accident. Then I followed the hit man and watched him as he watched your house. When you left, he followed you and I followed him, and…Well, you know the rest.”

  For a long moment her eyes searched Tom’s. He sat silent, still, and strong. Waiting as her gaze searched his and then he spoke. “You can’t go home again.”

  “I have nowhere to go,” she whispered.

  Rising, Tom held out his arms to her. It was an invitation, not a request.

  Her eyes welling with tears, she stepped into his arms and closed her eyes as she leaned into him, felt them close around her, strong, warm and safe.

  Tom was a good man. He did not make her stomach jumpy when he was around. Instead she felt calm when he was near. Safe. Like everything was right in the world. Like this was home.

  “I should never have married him. I almost didn’t. For one moment in the church, I…I almost turned and walked out the door. But all the people were watching and I had promised him and so instead I walked toward him. But for that one moment...”

  “Something told you to run,” he said. Isabella felt the words vibrate in his chest, soft and soothing.

  “Yes,” she breathed the word out, relaxing as he held her. “But I didn’t know what was making me feel that. I thought it was just wedding nerves.”

  “Next time you should listen to that instinct. It could save your life.”

  “Yes,” she gave a small nod against his chest. “I understand that now. So often when I was around him my nerves were on edge. Next time I will.”

  “Good.”

  Hesitantly, she said “When I am with you I relax and feel safe.”

  His arms tightened around her. �
��Good,” he said again.

  She gave a sigh as she relaxed completely, closing her eyes and breathing in, her breath changing to match his. They stood like that for a while, her breathing in and him simply holding her and allowing her to feel safe within his arms. The terrors of the night were banished by his strength and she drew from that strength now.

  No, she would not go home again. She would stay here with Tom and he would keep her safe. He would know what to do about her husband. She looked up into his eyes and that spark which had existed between them even when she had pushed it away, lit with a fullness that nearly swept her away. This was the man she loved. From the moment they had met he had never been far from her thoughts, just hovering on the edge of whatever called loudest for her attention.

  It remained unspoken between them, but they both knew and without a word he leaned in and kissed her. Soft at first, then as that spark flared, her hands flew up around his neck as his fingers threaded through her hair, holding each other, pulling each other closer as if neither could get enough of the other. When they emerged from the kiss, out of breath and lovingly gazing at each other, there was no doubt this was meant to be.

  “I wish you had kissed me like this at the train station,” she said. “I’d never have gotten back on that train.”

  “I wish I had too,” he said. “I wanted to.”

  She laughed. “Why didn’t you?”

  He tucked a stray strand of wet hair behind her ear and, giving her a soft look, quietly said, “You were spoken for.”

  Coming back to reality, she took a sharp breath. “Yes, I was.”

  “Technically, you still are,” Tom replied. Isabella noted he made no move to step back or release her.

  Her forehead wrinkled as it all came crashing back at her. “Yes, I am. To a man who is trying to kill me. And I took vows.” The wrinkle deepened. “Before God. I’m supposed to obey.” She looked at him suddenly, wildly. “But I can’t. I can’t do what I vowed to do. What I’m supposed to do. I can’t. If I go back ...”