She broke into a cold sweat as she sat up straight and flicked the reins again, this time a little more firmly, and the horses broke into a gallop, heading toward the ranch. She kept her eye on the disappearing wagon, still trying to make out some distinguishing features. As she approached the tall, iron gates to the ranch she gave up as the wagon disappeared around the base of a hill, heading toward Tombstone.
She passed under the sign that read Double Barrel Ranch and her eyes searched frantically for the ranch house further on up ahead. She figured Percy had lit a lamp by now with more stars in the sky than twilight, and she looked for it beyond the cactus and mesquite trees lining the drive.
As she rounded the bend, the sight of orange flames licking the sky turned her stomach. No. No, it wasn’t possible. Percy was home. Percy was looking after things. Percy...
Where was Percy? She urged the horses faster toward the house and held her breath. On the road home, her eyes had grown accustomed to the darkness and the brightness of the flame almost blinded her. She just headed for the fire—and the house.
In the darkness, it appeared that the house was ablaze and flames shot high in the sky. It wasn’t until she had almost reached the fire that she realized it was the smokehouse—not her home—that was turning to ashes right in front of her very eyes.
Chapter 8
Joe actually was interested in anything and everything his brother had to say and always had been. Especially now—at least he’d wanted to hear about the trip, but he seemed to be having some difficulty remembering all of it as he sat down to supper with his mother. After closing the shop for the day, he’d headed home and quickly heated up some ham and bean soup that he’d made prior and cornbread to go with it. It was all he had time for as his mother would be waiting for supper.
It wasn’t as if he hadn’t been paying attention at his lunch with Will—he had—and he was truly happy for Will and his new bride, Carol. And he’d even been excited to hear about Will’s training in silversmithing and thought it would be a good addition to the shop. People with money streamed into Tombstone daily as the mines grew and became more profitable. There was plenty of money floating around to spend on the more expensive artistic baubles that these people seemed to covet. In fact, with several other blacksmiths in town and a swelling population that walked to work in the mines, Joe had found himself not all that busy lately.
It seemed like a good business direction for him and Will to go in but he wasn’t at all sure he wanted to share that with his mother. It wasn’t as if he had to hide it from her as she was much too proud to ask directly about Will and Carol, although it was pretty plain to Joe that it was killing her not to.
“So your brother has returned from Chicago?” she asked after at least ten minutes, the only sound in that time the clinking of their spoons in the soup bowls.
“Yes, he has,” Joe said as he reached for another piece of cornbread.
He felt his mother’s glare settle on him as he finished his beans and wiped his hands on his napkin. He’d learned long ago that she expected him to volunteer information—but it never ended well when he did, so he opted against it now.
The ticking of the clock seemed even louder still as the silence stretched on. His spoon dropped into his bowl as he finished the last of his soup. He folded his napkin, placing it on the table as he stood and reached for his mother’s empty bowl.
“Thank you,” his mother said as she dabbed at the corners of her mouth, a pinky finger raised.
“You’re welcome,” he replied as he stacked the bowls and reached for the soup pot. Well, what passed for soup—the best he could do. At least she had the decency not to comment on his cooking as he couldn’t remember a time she’d cooked since his pa died. That was left to him and Will, and now with Will gone—well, just him.
She folded her napkin and laid it in front of her, resting her hands on top of it. Sitting back in her chair, she cleared her throat.
“Joseph, I have something I want to talk to you about.”
For a moment, the soup bowl in his hand stopped mid-air as he closed his eyes and gathered himself. If she wanted to know about Will and Carol, she’d just have to ask him outright—and it looked like she was going to do just that. He hoped, at least, that they wouldn’t get into a row about it, and she would keep her feelings about Carol to herself.
He set the soup pot and bowls on the table and sat down again, crossing his arms over his chest.
“If this is about Will and Carol, I think you should talk to them yourself,” he said slowly as he turned toward his mother. After the way she’d treated them so shabbily—refusing, even, to attend their wedding—he wasn’t about to make anything easier for her. If she wanted to know, she could thaw her heart and ask them on her own.
She squinted at him and pursed her lips. She clasped her hands together more tightly and annoyance flashed across her face.
Joe tried not to smile. He’d never taken pleasure in seeing her uncomfortable, but her behavior with Will had been extreme, even for her. Since she’d been spending even more time with her sister, the Widow Samson, it had gotten almost unbearable.
“It’s not about them. Will has made his feelings known, Joseph, and it’s been a horrid time of grief for me. For him to have chosen that...that...”
“Stop right there. Carol may not be able to walk, but she’s the sweetest, kindest and I might venture to add smartest young lady I’ve ever met. She and Will are very much in love, and—”
His mother looked away and waved her hand in Joe’s direction. “You can stop right now, Joseph. I counseled Will the best I could, that no good would come of helping the downtrodden. It will be the end of him, just like your father. The subject at hand is not them. Besides, things will be fine as soon as you’re married. They won’t matter at all. You and your wife will bring me grandchildren, and all will be in order.”
Grandchildren? Joe’s eyebrows rose and he sat up in his chair, leaning his elbows on the table. He looked around the small dining room, confused. Its barren walls were devoid of any family pictures at all, and mementos marking his and Will’s childhood were notably absent. His mother hadn’t seemed to enjoy being a mother much, and he was confused that the thought of being a grandmother had even crossed her mind.
“I’m in no hurry, Ma, you know that,” he said slowly, wondering what she was after. What was the hurry for him to get married? Sadie and Suzanne had brought it up earlier, also, and then there’d been that woman at dinner the other night. What had been her name? He couldn’t remember, but he had no trouble remembering the screechy pitch of her voice—and hoped to never hear it again.
“Jasmine was quite taken with you the other night, Joseph. Dorothy told me herself. She thinks you’re quite interesting, and doesn’t at all seem to mind that you work in the blacksmith shop. You are able to clean up nicely, when need be.”
Jasmine. That was her name. In his memory, he’d named her Screechy, and that’s how he’d described her and the disaster that was dinner with her and their cousins to Will earlier. Never once had the idea entered his mind that his mother might take this further, as he’d made it quite clear he couldn’t wait for the evening to end.
“Ma, I have absolutely no interest in that woman—as a suitor or in any other way imaginable.”
His mother looked at him over her spectacles with an expression he was quite familiar with—the one that told him it wasn’t his choice, that he would be doing as expected and no discussion would be tolerated. He and Will were pretty quiet, generally, and they’d opted against arguing with her for the most part since their father died but this—marriage? He had to have a say in that, didn’t he?
“I’m sorry for that, Joseph, but it’s really not relevant. Your aunt and I have taken inventory of the eligible young ladies in Tombstone—and as you know, there are not many, especially as a few of them are your cousins—and this arrival from New Orleans at this time is quite precipitous. She is amenable, and we can
have a wedding as quickly as possible.”
Joe started to speak, his mouth opening at which point he’d expected words to come out—but none did. As the clock ticked behind him, it occurred to him slowly that she was not jesting.
“Ma, I don’t understand what the rush is. I’ll find someone. Someone I love, just like Will did.”
His mother stiffened, her eyes icy as she turned to him. “And that is the problem. I cannot accept another love match at the risk of having yet another defective daughter-in-law who is unable to take care of my son, let alone having children of her own. Why, it’s unthinkable,” she said as she rested her hand on her heart.
Joe stood quickly, his chair scraping loudly on the wooden floor of the dining room. He reached for the soup pot and bowls and glanced at his mother before he turned toward the kitchen.
He shook his head slowly. “I’m pleased Pa isn’t here to witness those words spoken about Carol, and I don’t want to hear it.”
“Fine. We won’t talk about Will and Carol, but your aunt and I have decided that it’s best for you to wed Jasmine. It’s your duty as the oldest son to carry on your father’s lineage, and Jasmine is the perfect candidate. After what Will has done, we need someone with decency in the family and—”
Joe let the kitchen door swing closed behind him in hopes that he’d have to hear no more of this nonsense. He covered the soup and placed it back in the icebox, his mind jumbled with thoughts of marrying a woman he didn’t even know, and not one of his own choosing.
He reached for his coat on the peg by the door and grabbed his hat. It was still light enough to walk back to the shop, and maybe he could make some sense of this there.
As he shoved his hands in his pockets, he felt a paper crinkle. He remembered that Suzanne had shoved something in his hand as he’d left the restaurant but he’d been busy saying goodbye to Will and hadn’t taken a look at it.
He unfolded the papers and frowned. The pamphlet was titled The Grooms’ Gazette and he flipped through the pages, skimming over advertisements from men searching for brides.
The paper crinkled loudly as he placed it back in his pocket. With a swift glance back at the kitchen door, he stepped out, wondering if it might be the only way he could choose his own wife. Even though it would be someone he hadn’t met before, he could correspond, exchange letters and maybe see if it was a good match for him. Maybe that would silence his mother—and keep Screechy Jasmine away from him.
Chapter 9
Olivia, oblivious to the stares of the people she passed as she guided the buggy down Allen Street, glanced at her hands—covered in soot. The stench of the fire clung to her hair no matter how much she shook her head. She hoped the hotel she had only one night’s worth of money to stay in included a bath.
Her best—now her only—dress was covered as well, and the yellow flowers had turned to black smudges some time during the course of the night before she’d given up any further attempts at putting out the fire.
She couldn’t stop the memory from replaying in her head, over and over, the entire time it had taken her to ride back into Tombstone. At first, she’d tried emptying the rain barrels, one bucket at a time, doing her best not to curse at the darkness that prevented any of her faraway neighbors from seeing the smoke and coming to help. The fire had been raging when she’d arrived, and no amount of water—certainly not a measly bucket at a time—had squelched the flames even a bit.
When the rain barrels were empty, she’d tried to pump buckets full of water as fast as she could, but still couldn’t get ahead of the flames. She’d tried to pump even faster when she spotted the sparks floating over to the house, but even as she gave up on the smokehouse and turned her attention to the flickering embers that settled on the roof of her home, she couldn’t pump fast enough.
The realization that she couldn’t stay ahead of the flames bolted through her bones, and she ran through the house, one room at a time, throwing things out the front door at the base of the lone oak tree beyond the porch. She hoped it was far enough away and that it wouldn’t burn, too. She grabbed what she could, staying one step ahead of the flames as the roof caught, covering her mouth with a wet handkerchief as she coughed. There wasn’t any time to decide what to take, and her eyes darted from framed pictures to her mother’s crockery.
Panic finally seized her as the kitchen curtains went up in flame, the floral fabric almost melting in the heat. The sight of her mother sewing those very curtains before she died flitted in her mind’s eye and she had to turn away. She bolted to her bedroom and grabbed what she could and rushed to her parents’ room. She stopped for a moment and reached for the picture of her parents that her father had kept by his bedside for years and wiped away a smudge.
The window of the bedroom she’d just left shattered and she was jolted back into the moment. She threw what things she could find onto her father’s bed and wrapped them in the blanket, dragging them outside and under the tree. She turned inside once more, but flames peeked out of the front door and she had to accept she was finished. The house would be no more.
She’d left the horses tied to a tree out by the gate so they wouldn’t bolt and had immediately started to put out the fire. Her heart broke as they whinnied, watching the fire engulf the house as she dropped the blanket and slowly backed away. It took all the courage she could muster to admit defeat. She tasted the salt of her own tears that streamed down her face as she finally turned away and headed toward the horses.
She’d shouted desperately for Percy, hoping to find some help, but she’d been met with silence. His bunk in the barn near the smokehouse hadn’t yet been engulfed in flames by the time she’d gotten there, and she certainly hoped he’d not been harmed. By the light of the flames, she hadn’t seen anything that would tell her otherwise and gave thanks that she hadn’t found his body. Not yet, anyway.
She’d groaned at the thought, but shook her head. Her father would never have let this happen. How had it happened?
She carried the last bucket of water she’d pumped to the horses and slumped to ground as they drank, her back to the house as it disappeared in flames. Exhausted, she stretched out on the ground, hesitating a moment before she realized that the dirt she was lying on couldn’t make her dress any worse than it was.
She looked up at the stars and took in a deep breath. They twinkled brightly, seemingly oblivious that her entire world was going up in flames. The moon shined brightly, but the stars still mocked her efforts at saving her home, and she couldn’t stop the despair that rose from deep in her soul.
“I’m sorry, Pa. I’m so sorry,” she whispered between sobs before the sorrow overtook her, and she’d cried herself to sleep.
Chapter 10
Joe slept fitfully that night, wondering what to say in his ad in The Grooms’ Gazette. Looking for a mail order bride wasn’t something he’d even considered yesterday—or even heard much about, really—but Sadie’s words had stuck with him, rolling over in his mind.
And after supper, he knew his mother was set on his marrying screechy Jasmine or someone just like her and wouldn’t take no for an answer. This mail order bride idea just might be the thing to save him if he could manage marrying someone he’d never met. The way Sadie had described it, he’d have a chance to get to know about some ladies and have his choice of who he’d like to correspond with. Nice and slow, that sounded good. He could correspond for a while to see if it was a good match before he committed to anything, anyway. And when he announced it to his mother, she’d be on to another project. He hoped so, anyway.
He washed up and dressed for his day at the blacksmith shop. Will would be coming in eventually, but he wanted to get there early and clean up before his brother arrived. They both liked things in order and Joe wanted Will to feel welcome and comfortable as they discussed the new venture Will had been in Chicago learning about, silversmithing. He’d written about that in the letter he’d penned when he woke up, the one that he’d give to Suzanne
as soon as the mercantile opened, and hoped Will would look it over first, as well.
As was customary for him these days, he didn’t slow down as he reached the bottom of the stairs, reached for his hat and said, “Goodbye, Ma,” with his hand already on the door latch. He might have even walked a little more quickly this morning, hoping he wouldn’t have any repeat of the previous evening’s discussion, especially before he could implement his plan.
The letter safely in his pocket, Joe unlocked the shop and the neighboring livery where they kept horses if needed while people were in town. Joe pulled his pocket watch from his vest and glanced at the time. Too early for Luke to be in, but they wouldn’t likely have any customers for a bit yet. The stable hand had plenty of time to get to work.
Joe closed the gate to the livery and turned toward the shop next door, hoping to brew a quick pot of coffee before starting for the day. He’d take a break later and head to the mercantile, maybe grabbing a pastry from Sadie or a meat pie when his stomach started to grumble. But for now, he’d straighten up the shop and get ready for Will.
Joe slipped the key into the lock and turned it, throwing the door open.
“You open for business over at the livery?” a woman’s voice said as he stepped inside the door. He thought it sounded familiar, but as he turned he couldn’t imagine where he’d ever seen this woman before. He took off his hat and his eyebrows rose, but he did his best to hide any other expression.
“Uh, the stable hand hasn’t quite arrived yet,” Joe said after he’d cleared his throat. He checked his pocket watch—Luke wasn’t expected until after three in the afternoon as he’d asked for some time off today.
The woman in the buggy before him was covered head to toe in soot, but her green eyes pierced him through the black as she met his gaze.
The Blacksmith's Mail Order Bride: A Sweet Western Historical Romance (Wild West Frontier Brides Book 5) Page 4