Mail Order Bride- Fall

by Sierra Rose

  “Tish, no. Not that. Listen to me, just a minute.”

  That insistent breeze was ruffling his hair again, tempting. It made her long to brush it back, twirl the recalcitrant locks between her fingers, curve her palm over that nasty scar as if to heal the wounded flesh.

  “I’m listening.”

  He couldn’t help hearing the tears in her voice. With a sigh, he caught up both her hands again and brought them to his breast, to hold tight against his beating heart.

  “I liked what I saw, the second I laid eyes on you, from across the street.” Reese told her gently but with resolve. “It didn’t take long, gettin’ to know you, to find out how much you’ve come to mean to me. I love you, Letitia Burton, I love you with all my power and all my strength. And I’m hopin’ you feel the same about me.”

  This time she did reach up, away from his clasp, feeling that his declaration had given her permission to toy with that reckless wayward curl. Overwhelmed by the utmost tenderness, she murmured, “Yes, Reese, I do. I do love you so—so much...”

  A sudden burst of light centered upon his face, as if radiance and glory had come careening down from above. “Do you, darlin’? Do you, really?”

  Oh, blast this annoying tendency to blush at the slightest provocation!

  “Forever and ever,” she admitted shyly but solemnly. “Do you suppose you could let go my left hand, now, Reese? I’ve lost all feeling in my fingers.”

  Had the sky ever been colored such a stunning October blue? Had the branches overhead ever displayed their leaves so clearly, with pattern and green hue of every range mixing together? Had angels on high ever sung so sweetly and insistently, however only in her own fancy?

  For a few ecstatic minutes, they billed and cooed like every courting couple, speaking of time and emotion and things both important and unimportant. “What did you—” and “When did you—” and “How did you—” all with but parcels of answers. Along with touches and caresses, and the hungry kisses from which it was almost impossible to break away.

  “Tish, sweetheart. You’re all I’ve ever wanted—and never expected to find. If you only knew...”

  Sentiment paused what he was trying to explain, and couldn’t. “But you and me—together...It isn’t... I’m not sure we can...”

  Letitia, the shining mass of her hair disordered, the natural flush of her cheekbones deepened, looked up in consternation. “It isn’t—what? We just can’t—what? What are you talking about? I don’t understand, Reese, and you’re making me—very—anxious!”

  “I want us married,” he said so earnestly that no one could doubt his intentions. “I want us married, and settled somewheres nearby, in a nice home. But I ain’t about to ask that you take on a man with no means of providin’ for you. Gotta have work, first, Letty. Gotta be engaged in gainful employment.”

  “And you won’t set a wedding date just because of that?” Her disbelief showed in rounded eyes and parted lips.

  “That, yes. And—more; part of my history that wouldn’t ever concern you, except for—this...”

  From a mood of acceptance that had morphed into mellowness, her Burton blood now began to simmer, and she pulled away. “You came to Turnabout for the express purpose of arranging our marriage, Reese Barclay. If you have some reason—some logical, understandable reason—to delay, or even indefinitely postpone—our wedding, then you owe me an explanation. And you shouldn’t have traveled all the way from Denver if you can’t do that much!”

  “Letty, darlin’, I already said you’re the only woman for me! Ain’t you willin’ to be patient, and just wait, until I can square away some details?”

  “Wait for what, in particular?”

  “Well—as I said, till I—till I can work things out. There’s some stuff goin’ on that—”

  Suddenly she surged to her feet, as abrupt and as fierce as a volcano exploding hot lava from deep in the earth. “That isn’t good enough.”

  “If you love me like you say you do, you should be able to trust me for—”

  “Reese!” Letitia, her forearms clutched together across her middle as if in real agony, cried out. “I don’t know enough to give you that trust! You must tell me what’s going on, or—or—”

  He, too, had risen, but less like a menacing cobra and more like a towering maple about to fall. “Or what?”

  “Or—or we’ll call everything off, here and now!”

  “Don’t,” he suggested evenly, with a muscle bulging ominously in his jaw, “make threats you have no intention of keepin’.”

  Tears once again glimmered in her eyes. Helpless tears, this time. Desperate tears. “Go away, Reese,” she told him, her voice sounding like a death knell. “And don’t come back unless and until you’re willing to share with me what’s going on.”

  Flinging him one last hopeless look, she grabbed her skirts, turned, and pelted into the house. The sturdy back door slammed shut, and the hard cold snap of the lock rang out through the stillness.

  She watched through a meager gap in the parlor’s curtains as his tall form, shoulders sagging, trudged slowly away into the late afternoon sunlight. Something halfway between a shriek and a sob bubbled up from deep inside. And then she collapsed, in a siege of violent weeping that immediately rendered her immobile.

  Eventually, after the spate had finally slackened off into an occasional whimper, Letitia realized that she needed to seek the advice of someone who would understand.

  Molly was, as always, ensconced at the jail, laughing and chatting like a freed bird with the jail’s master. The two were alone, fortunately, with no prying glances to judge, no speculative eyebrows to raise. Because, by the time Letty had tracked down her sister, she looked like the wreck of the Hesperus and wanted no one else to witness her humiliation. Hair in complete disarray, eyes reddened and swollen, cheeks blotchy, lips a-tremble—Molly, viewing all this when the girl stumbled through the law office door, leaped upright in shock.

  “What happened, honey?” she demanded, rushing to wrap comforting arms around the distraught figure. “What in the world happened to you?”

  Paul, too, had swept to his feet, impatiently kicking the desk chair out of his way. Protective of any member of Molly’s family for her sake, and for womanhood in general, he joined in the clamor. “Has somebody hurt you, Letty? Do I need to go knock the stuffin’ out of some mucky vagrant?”

  “It isn’t—it isn’t a vagrant,” she hiccoughed from the support of Molly’s shoulder. “It’s—R-R-R-Reese!”

  “Reese! But I thought things were going just fine with the two of you!” Molly, patting and rubbing at the same time, protested in surprise. “Here, come sit down and tell us all about it. Paul, sweetheart, a cup of coffee, if you please?”

  Settled in an extra chair beside the desk, Letty accepted both a full enamel ware cup and her sister’s lace-edged handkerchief. She needed very little prodding to spill out the whole sad story, and her reaction.

  Molly, who had been pacing in agitation while she listened, paused to stamp her foot. “The cad! The unsufferable cad!” Had the venom twisting her voice been poured into a shot of whiskey for the aforementioned cad, his first sip would have knocked him over dead. “How can he treat you so shabbily? You were absolutely right, Letty. Throw him out with the dishwater!”

  “I don’t understand,” Letitia wept. “He said he wants to plan for a future. And yet he stalls off everything, without an explanation.”

  No one could ask for a more staunch, more devoted ally in this painful contretemps than Molly, who had lived through the same sort of ordeal which was now worrying Letitia. Issues of credence, of conviction, of certitude: if these could not be proven right and true, then how was one to proceed?

  “There, there, you just cry it out.” Molly was doing her best to be supportive, patting her sister’s arm, brushing back her tumbled curls. “We’ll figure something, honey. We won’t let him off the hook so easily. We’ll run him out of town on a rail, won’t we, Pau
l?”

  Silence.

  “Won’t we, Paul?”

  Still silence, as her betrothed sat staring off into space, contemplating the situation.

  “Paul!”

  Startled, he turned his attention from whatever he was considering to the problem at hand. “Oh. Sorry, sweetheart, I was wool-gatherin’.”

  “Yes, so I saw.” Clearly Molly was none too pleased. “And what conclusion did you come to?”

  “You want my advice?”

  “Well, of course we do, silly! What do you think we’ve been talking about?”

  “I’d do what Reese asked. Be patient, and wait.”

  Molly huffed out an exasperated breath. “Oh, you—you man, you!”

  He gave her his slow, sweet smile, full of heat and conviction. “Ahuh. Don’t have much choice in the matter, now, do I?”

  Lifting her tearstained, woebegone face from the damp handkerchief, Letty stared. “You’re taking his side? Oh, Paul! I thought I could count on you, at least!”

  “Now, don’t go lookin’ like you’ve lost your last friend on earth. I realize I’m outnumbered against you two ladies—and my male views may not count for much, anyway—but you’ll get through this, Letty, and things will eventually turn out all right.”

  She sniffled, jerked back a sob, and re-applied the handkerchief. “So you—s-s-s-say.”

  “So I know. One of life’s lessons, Letty, and I’m givin’ it to you for free. How’s that coffee?”

  “T-T-Terrible.”

  “Paul, dearest, you know how putrid the stuff tastes. Don’t you ever wash that pot?”

  Grinning sheepishly, he scratched his head as if perplexed. “Funny, Doc said the same thing. If you didn’t want me to give the girl some coffee, then why did you order me to do it?”

  She flashed him a small secretive smile. “To keep you occupied. And it wasn’t an order.”

  “Ahuh. Coulda fooled me. You feelin’ a mite better, Letty?”

  “I suppose.”

  Molly hiked up her skirts to perch her luscious bottom on the edge of Paul’s desk—an inappropriate maneuver she never would have attempted in the presence of others. “What are you going to do?” she asked her sister tenderly.

  “I’m not sure,” came an answer all the more poignant for being so forlorn. “At this point, I don’t even know where Reese and I stand, betrothal-wise. But I can tell you this.” Here her voice gathered strength and resolution, as she pulled herself erect. “I am not about to seek out that—that miserable varmint, wherever he is or whatever he is doing. He will have to come to me!”

  Chapter Eleven

  IT WAS A STUNNING AUTUMN afternoon two days later, with just a nip of coolness in the air, when Ben and Camellia returned from Manifest. Judging by their expressions, as they trotted into town, it was either a remarkably successful trip or one holding particular significance. Camellia’s face shone with radiance, and Ben wore a look of almost smug satisfaction. Business travel, or belated honeymoon?

  Ben parked in the sycamore’s welcome shade long enough to escort his bride inside their home, and to haul in their valises and what-nots (Camellia’s luggage, in particular, strained even his mighty muscles, though he refused to admit it). A quick trip to see Abel Norton, settle the horse and buggy, and pay the bill, and he could tramp back to the house which had never held such pleasure and contentment as now, with his wife moved in.

  Within no time at all, word swept round through the family, and those close to being family, that the couple were back in, apparently, fine fettle.

  Molly was the first to arrive, trailing Paul, who had left his two deputies in charge at the jail, behind her. Paul, looking rather sheepish at the notion of serving as someone’s errand boy, was carrying a large covered pan of roast beef and vegetables, procured from the Sarsaparilla for the benefit of all who would gather at the Forrester homestead this evening.

  Next came Hannah, striding along in her second-best dress of pinstripes and primness. She had thoughtfully stopped at the bakery for cornbread muffins and a box full of magnificent chocolate layer cake. Always sure to offer a warm welcome to weary travelers and hungry guests, alike.

  The doctor ambled in shortly after. Much earlier, he had been called to a cabin on the outskirts of town, where consultation was needed for a patient running an unexplained high fever and suffering from headache. Gabe, in considering all possibilities, could not rule out diphtheria. To be on the safe side, he had quarantined the young man; and everyone, including himself, had washed thoroughly with a solution of diluted carbolic acid. He had arrived back at the office to wash again and change his clothing from the skin out.

  Last to arrive was Letitia, who had separated from her sister long enough to fetch two bottles of fruit wine from the mercantile. All the while doing her best to avoid running into, or even catching glimpse of from a distance, her former suitor. Not to worry—no single sighting anywhere. Apparently Reese Barclay had disappeared off the face of the earth. Was she relieved—or disappointed?

  So, aside from Letty’s downcast mood, which she did her best to put aside for benefit of the occasion, it was a merry group who assembled in the Forrester downstairs. Cool enough to warrant a fire on the hearth, where the cavorting flames, occasional snap of burning wood, and fragrant, pungent scent added to the ambiance. It was certainly a party atmosphere.

  Glasses were poured full of the delicious light wine and lifted high in toasts: to the prodigals’ safe return, to the coming marriage of Paul and Molly, to the happiness and settlement of the growing Burton clan. Then the males went for the stronger stuff—namely Ben’s favorite bourbon, retrieved from the study—while the ladies prepared a supper that was, happily, already prepared. It but needed dishing up, with plates and napkins put out and chairs pulled together.

  “What exactly did you get done, down at your new store?” Gabriel, digging into the pot roast, wanted to know.

  “Wanna pass that platter over this way, Gabe, or are you gonna hog the whole meal yourself?”

  Time away had dulled neither Ben’s drollery nor his opinion of the doctor’s prodigious appetite. “Well, now, first thing was inspection, makin’ sure everything had gotten done to the buildin’ that I’d asked for, and some changes made.”

  “And were they?”

  “Nope.”

  “They were,” put in Camellia, with a twinkle, “after Ben threw a perfectly horrible temper tantrum.”

  “I did no such thing,” he said placidly.

  “Oh, but you did, my love. You stomped around and slammed things and said words I had never heard before. Your performance nearly turned my hair gray.”

  He turned toward her with the widest, goofiest grin ever recorded. The others, fully expecting a firecracker response, as usual, or at least a small eruption, watched in amazement as he looped an arm around her shoulder and exacted a rich, deep kiss as payment for her teasing.

  “It’s just a cryin’ shame, Mrs. Forrester, how you exaggerate the facts. But I reckon I’ll have to forgive you, considerin’.” His voice had dropped into its lowest register, and his green eyes had darkened into viridian.

  “I reckon you will.”

  “The store?” Practical Hannah dragged them back to the original subject.

  “Ah, yes.” After he and his wife had exchanged a long, slow look that excluded everyone else in the room, Ben took a sip of coffee and began to describe the location and layout of the store. “Got all the shelves in line, counters constructed, pot belly stove put together, and so on. Gonna start sendin’ some of my shipments on over there, now that I’ve got a couple people hired and things are ready to be up and runnin’.”

  “Sounds like you need to plan a date for your Grand Openin’,” Gabe pointed out.

  Brightening even more, Ben considered. “Now that’s a fine idea. Cam and I will work on it and let you know. Y’all should come down and help us celebrate.”

  “Depends,” said Gabriel, scooping up another spoo
nful of turnip from its rich pool of gravy. “What kinda hotel accommodations are gonna be available there?”

  Camellia, meanwhile, was handing around the plate of muffins and halfway chuckling to herself. “Ask him the name of his new store.”

  Dutifully, there was a chorus of, “What’s the name?”

  Ben, chewing busily, mumbled something and ignored any follow-up.

  With a wink and a wicked smile, she confided, “Forrester’s Mercantile.”

  “Such a fascinatin’ show of originality,” commented the doctor. “Say, I’ll have some more of them potatoes, if nobody else has got a hankerin’ for ’em.”

  “And you’ll differentiate how?” Paul looked up from the murmurings with his bride-to-be to ask.

  “Number One and Number Two?”

  “Don’t be an ass. It’s just gonna be Turnabout and Manifest. How hard is that?”

  Despite all the banter that was being circulated, Paul had nothing but admiration for his friend. “This is quite the empire you’re buildin’ up, son. You got plans to expand more in the future? Maybe Winhaven. Or even Dallas?”

  “Dunno.” Ben paused in the middle of spearing a cooked carrot to send that same goofy grin to his wife. “Lotsa possibilities.”

  “How often do you think you’ll need to go there to make sure everything is being done as you want?” Letitia, attempting to get in the spirit of the conversation, asked politely.

  “Not sure yet. Forty miles ain’t that far, considerin’, so I could be down and back inside of a couplea days. We just took longer this trip because—well...” The tips of Ben’s ears were beginning to flame, a sure sign of embarrassment. “Cam and I spent some time together, just the two of us, goin’ off to do...”

  “Some canoodln’,” Gabe hooted in laughter. “Spell it right out for us, Ben. No wonder you’ve been wearin’ that off-the-top grin since we walked in the door.”

  “Yeah,” Paul chimed in, chuckling. “You seem mighty happy about how things are goin’.”