Isabella_Bride of Ohio

by Debra Parmley

  “You can’t go back,” he said firmly.

  “I don’t want to go back.” She shook her head. “Ever.” The wrinkles cleared and her eyes brightened as she spoke the words of her heart. “I want to stay with you.”

  Tom smiled. “I’d say you have pretty solid grounds for a divorce.”

  Her eyes widened. “I don’t know anyone who has ever been divorced. I don’t know how it is done.”

  Tom put a hand on her face, cradling her cheek. “Don’t worry. We’ll think about that later.”

  Relief filled her entire body. So very much had happened and she was overwhelmed by it all, but Tom would know what to do. His very presence calmed her and his touch was the kindest she had ever known. “Yes, we can think about it later,” she agreed. “There has just been so much tonight, so much since I married him…”

  He touched a dried spot on her face. “What is this? On your face and in your hair?”

  “Pea soup.” She was covered in pea soup. She started to giggle at the ridiculous thought and the stress gave way to giggles. When she caught her breath, she spoke seriously. “He threw a whole tureen at me. He was very angry because I had fixed him pea soup for dinner.”

  “So…he threw it at you?” Tom raised an eyebrow. Then he sniffed. “I shouldn’t be surprised, given conspiracy for murder.”

  “Yes, he threw it at me. I am just glad he did not grab me this time. I was so afraid he would that I ran. I had to get out of that house.”

  ****

  Tom closed his eyes and pressed his lips, trying to control the quick flash of anger he felt toward the man who was not here. Giving a tight sigh, he opened his eyes again and smiled. He could not help himself. Isabella was that beautiful. Shining blue eyes stared up at him in perfect trust. Her cheeks, warm and soft under his hands, ached to be stroked and touched. Full red lips asked sweetly to be kissed.

  Tom wanted to protect her. She deserved to be treasured and provided for. “God’s love, Isabella,” he breathed. “If you weren’t married already I’d ask for you myself.”

  “Oh Tom,” her eyes welled with happy tears, “I wish it were so and you could.” She closed her eyes and the teardrops slipped down her cheeks.

  Hurriedly, his hands went to her face, wiping the tears away with his thumbs. “Don’t cry, sweetheart. I promise you, just give me a few days and this will all be over.”

  Her lips parted as she breathed in beneath his gentle touch. Tom was pulled helplessly down in her eyes and he kissed her again. Longer, this kiss held a quiet, powerful strength of unspoken promises and desire. Tom held her face against his, not wanting to stop breathing her in.

  When they finally parted, he swallowed, his eyes closed.

  Control. She’s married. You have a job to do. Always do the job.

  Opening his eyes, he smiled brightly at her. “I imagine you’d like to wash away that soup,” he said.

  Her hand reached up to touch her hair. “Oh, yes, the soup.” She spoke as if she had forgotten the soup was everywhere, dried and sticky. “Yes,” she smiled. “I would.”

  He nodded behind her. “There’s a bathroom for you.”

  “Thank you,” she said. Then she glanced down at her dress, splattered with soup and wet from the bottom hem up several inches. “I don’t have anything to change into.”

  Tom’s face fell for a moment. “Oh! Um… Well, I have a robe you can borrow, and…” He blushed. “It’s late. You take the bed. I can sleep here.” He nodded toward the chair by the fire.

  “Thank you, Tom,” she blushed.

  ****

  Isabella’s face heated at the thought of being naked beneath his robe and the fact they would be sleeping in the same room. Oddly though, shy as she was, the thought did not make her nervous as it would have with any other man. She was safe with Tom. More so than she was with her own husband.

  Nodding, Tom reluctantly released her. Giving him a last blushing look, Isabella turned away as he sat down, still staring at her.

  She moved toward the bathroom and paused to look over her shoulder, seeing him still watching her with an intense look in his eyes. At the doorway she stood, blushing, with her hand on the doorknob. “You mentioned a robe?”

  He rose and collected the robe and then handed it to her.

  As she took it from him, she thought of how he likely wore the robe with nothing on beneath it and soon she would be doing the same. The thought made her blush deeper. “Thank you,” she whispered.

  Isabella stepped inside the bathroom and closed the door, then hung the robe on a hook, and started the water running in the bath. She moved over to stand in front of the mirror and looked into it. Her hair was a wavy, wet, tangled mess with soup making it sticky. Dried splotches covered her face and neck.

  How could he ever think me remotely pretty looking like this?

  But she had seen it in his eyes. Even like this, he did.

  Moving away from the mirror, she removed her boots and then her dress. Eyeing it, she thought it might be salvaged if she soaked it to remove the soup stains. Fortunately, the dress was not white or cream colored, but a soft shade of blue. She laid it across the chair and then removed her underthings.

  Stepping into the warm bath, she felt the heat keenly against her cold toes. Easing her body down into the tub she leaned back, closing her eyes. It was safe here to completely relax. Something she never fully did at home in the evenings. How it felt to completely relax now suddenly made her realize how she had not fully relaxed like this since she set foot off the train. Since meeting Mr. Jenks.

  How she hated the name now. Mrs. Donald Jenks. She could not wait to be rid of it. But she must not think of that now, or of him. She must not think of all the bad things. She did not want to think at all. Closing her eyes she simply rested and breathed.

  ****

  Tom was fully aware that he would probably not be sleeping that night. The thought of Isabella alone was enough to keep him awake. The fact that she was actually here meant he would never calm down enough to relax for sleep. That thought in mind, Tom went to his overcoat and put his hand in one of the pockets, pulling out his Colt Peacemaker.

  Everything seemed to have stayed dry despite the rain. Tom laid the pistol on one of the chairs and, restless now, drew his Bowie knife from the sheath on his belt just behind his hip. There was a whetstone on the mantelpiece which he now took down and ran over the blade, thinking about his earlier encounter as he sat in front of the fire, his elbows on his knees.

  Tom had almost died again. It had happened many times in the course of his career and he was getting tired of it, even though he was only twenty five. At first, the rush had been addicting, combined with the knowledge that he was very good at doing bad things to bad people for a good cause. Up until now, Tom had never questioned what he wanted to do with his life. He felt made for this.

  And then Isabella had come along. Ever since the train, when he had seen her, had pleasant conversation with her, and then rescued her, Tom had felt drawn to her. Now that he knew she felt the same way, it was enough to make him think about giving up life as a Pinkerton.

  Tom had no illusions. This lifestyle was no place for a happy, carefree young marriage. If he was ever going to marry, he would have to give up his calling. If it was anyone except Isabella, he would never have even considered it. But for her, he would.

  The thought shocked him, his hands stopped, the whetstone ceasing its harsh, sharpening scrape.

  Is this…Am I…in love?

  He stood up, put the whetstone back, sheathed his knife, sat down again. After a moment of looking into the fire and thinking of Isabella’s face, laughter, kiss, and sweet heart, he shrugged.

  Yep. I’m sold.

  ****

  Finally, Isabella emerged from the bathroom, wearing his robe which she had wrapped tightly around her small frame. Sleeves rolled, she was toweling her long blonde hair. She smiled brightly. “All clean.”

  He could not help but smile back
at her.

  She moved near the fire and sat, so it could dry her hair. “I feel so much better now, thank you,” she said. “I was a bit chilled from the rain.”

  “From more than the rain, I imagine,” he said.

  “Yes.” She nodded. “I had to rinse my dress and it is hanging up in there. I hope it is not in the way. It may not be dry by morning.”

  “Not in the way, but it would dry faster by the fire.” He looked about but there were only two chairs in the room. “I’ll move it in here when you go to bed. Was there somewhere you had to be in the morning?”

  “Oh, I could move it.” She stood to go get it.

  “Sit down. It’s no problem.”

  She sat back down. “There’s nowhere I need to be. No one will expect to see me except Donald and he’ll think I’m...” she didn’t want to say it.

  “With any luck, yes,” Tom replied. “My hope is that the men he hired won’t be knocking on his door asking where their man is. That means I have to work against them first.” He looked at her. “Donald’s going to have a good few days of not knowing you’re still alive.”

  “Oh,” her eyes widened at his explanation. Nefarious men were so far beyond her understanding that her mind did not think of the things they might do or how they might think.

  How smart Tom must have to be to outwit men such as them.

  Beyond her attraction to him and the way her heart felt toward him, was a respect that went very deep and had since the first time he had saved her. He was no ordinary man in her eyes. She hoped to be worthy of him.

  “So you will want me to stay out of sight then?” She tried to think of what he might want her to do.

  Tom smiled at how quick she was to catch onto things. “It would be best you stay out of sight for now. I can bring food in.”

  “Just please do not bring in pea soup,” she said. “I think I have had my fill of that.”

  Tom threw back his head and laughed aloud. “I imagine you have!”

  She gave him a little smile and giggled. It felt good to laugh with him after the events of the evening. To be alive and to laugh and most of all, to be with Tom. Why, he could hide her away here as long as he wanted and she would enjoy every minute of it.

  When he had stopped laughing, he looked at the clock. “We’d better get some sleep.”

  “Oh yes, of course.” She stood. “Well, good night.”

  He stood and smiled at her. “Good night, Isabella. Sleep well.”

  She moved over to the bed and slipped beneath the covers as he sat by the fire, his pistol close by. Trying to sleep, she tossed and turned. Though she had thought she could sleep, it soon became apparent that she could not. When she closed her eyes and tried to drift off, images and words came to her and she did not know how to banish them. All the hateful things Donald had said and the ways he had hurt her haunted. The worst of all being the men he had hired to kill her. It was nearly impossible to sleep knowing he and those men were still about somewhere.

  “Trouble sleeping?” Came Tom’s voice from by the fireplace.

  “Yes. I can’t sleep knowing those men are still out there and Donald wants me dead,” she replied softly.

  “Don’t worry, honey,” he replied. “For all he knows, you’re nothing to worry about anymore.”

  “But what if those men come after me again?”

  “They don’t know where you are. And besides, that’s why you keep me around.”

  “I know I am safe with you here,” she sighed, “but still, I am having trouble sleeping. I keep remembering the bad things.” She heard him stand, then saw him as he moved closer, bringing his chair with him. He set it near her head, then sat down, holding out his hand.

  Smiling up at him in gratitude she reached her hand out to his, and as his hand clasped hers, strong and warm, she felt secure again. “Thank you,” she whispered, tears filling her eyes.

  He brought her hand up and kissed it, saying, “You’re welcome.”

  His lips upon her hand made her close her eyes briefly as happy tears began to come.

  Once, before she had reached out her hand in her need, asking to be held and had been turned away. Tom was not like him. So different. This time she had not reached out, but Tom, knowing, had reached for her hand. Tears continued to come and she blinked them away smiling at him, unable to share what she was thinking and feeling, but hoping he might nonetheless understand what this meant to her.

  Tom sighed. He couldn’t stand to see her cry. “Isabella…I know you’re married to someone else, but…if I promised to stay clothed and on top of the sheets…may I hold you?”

  This was beyond what she could have hoped or dreamed of in this moment and her heart filled to overflowing that he would do this. That he cared that much.

  “Yes, please.” Was all she could get out between her tears and her heart being so full.

  Slipping off his boots, Tom laid his knife and pistol on the nightstand by the bed and went around so that he could lie down next to her. “Make yourself comfortable, sweetheart.”

  She shifted slightly. Feeling his arms come around her, pulling her close, she gave a soft sigh of contentment. Everything would be all right now. She would sleep, while Tom kept away any bad men or bad dreams. Safe in his arms she slept.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Two days after he had thrown that horrible soup at Isabella, Donald leaned back luxuriating in his cigar, a full glass of brandy in his other hand. He had his feet up, relaxed, reveling in the thought that no news was good news.

  Of course, he had contacted the police and they had scoured the neighborhood looking for her. The thought had crossed his mind to lead them straight to the Gorge, but that might seem a little too convenient. The only worry he had was that the men he had hired had not shown up to collect the other half of their pay.

  Donald looked at the package on his desk holding the money.

  Had the police caught them somehow? But no, if they had, they would have given me up as the man who hired them. Had they not done the thing yet? No, Isabella had been gone two days.

  It was a mystery, but Donald shrugged, leaving it to wiser minds. The only thing he wanted to think about was his inheritance.

  One hundred eighty thousand dollars. Oh, the things I could do with such a fortune! A nice large chunk of land, my own home, custom designed, of course, and all the finest things, from clothes, to cigars, to alcohol, to horses, and women.

  Oh yes, the women. Donald’s mind danced at the thought. So many women, just begging to be used and paid to be on their way.

  I’ll be able to see Katherine again. Kat likes it rough.

  Remembering the last time he had seen her, he smiled, thinking of what he would do to her next.

  Then there was a knock on his door. He almost didn’t hear it, immersed as he was in thoughts of what he would do to Kat. “Who is it?”

  “Mr. Jenks,” came an authoritative reply, “this is the police.”

  Donald thumped his boots down and set his cigar and brandy aside. “One moment.”

  Ah, they must have found her body.

  He ran a hand through his hair and loosened his tie askew to appear haggard and unkempt. “Coming.”

  With a deep breath, he opened the door. Predictably, there stood the policemen and Donald’s knees buckled in mock horror. He put a hand to his face. “Have you found my wife?”

  The constable, his hat in hand, asked, “May we come in, sir?”

  Donald stepped aside, allowing them to enter, then closed the door behind them. The constable continued, “Perhaps you should sit down.”

  “Yes. Yes of course. May I offer you men a drink? No, you’re on duty, how silly of me.” Donald sat, congratulating himself on appearing so disheveled.

  The constable sat across from him. “I’ll get right down to it, Mr. Jenks. To answer your question, yes. We have found her.”

  Donald sat up, playing the desperate husband to the hilt. “Oh God! Is she alive? Where is
she now?”

  The constable stared into Donald’s eyes. “Yes. She is alive.”

  Donald sat stunned for an instant, his eyes wide before remembering to collapse in mock happiness. “Oh, thank goodness! I’m so sorry, I didn’t dare hope…”

  “No, Mr. Jenks,” the constable continued. “I imagine you didn’t.”

  Donald stood, shambling toward the brandy he had set down earlier. Bracing himself on the desk, he tilted the glass back, downing what was left inside. “Where is she now?”

  Strangely, the constable turned to one of his officers, who went back to the front door and opened it. In horror, Donald watched Isabella walk past him, followed by Thomas Allenby, who was dragging someone along with him. There was a hood covering his face, and his hands were somehow secured behind his back.

  Panicking, Donald said, “Isabella! I’m so glad you’re safe! Where have you bee–”

  “Shut up, Jenks,” Thomas said. “He gave you up.”

  Before Donald could ask what he meant, Thomas snatched the hood off the man he was holding. There stood the older man whom Donald had given two thousand dollars.

  He took one look at Donald and said, “That’s him. He hired me and my boys to kill his wife.”

  “For how much?” The constable asked.

  “Four thousand dollars. He gave us half up front and was supposed to give us the other half after she was dead.”

  Donald balled his fists, his teeth gritted tight. “That’s absurd! Who are you? How dare you make such accusations against–”

  “Sir,” said one of the policemen. He came back into the parlor from Donald’s study, holding the package of money. “I think this is the other half.”

  Donald was desperate now and everyone could see it. His eyes whipped from the money to Thomas, to Isabella, to the constable. “He’s lying! I never hired anyone–”

  Smack!

  Donald staggered back from Isabella, who had stepped up to him and slapped him hard, open palm, across the face.