by Kit Morgan
“What if it is?” asked Benedict. “Then you get married tomorrow.”
“Or the next day,” Lilly added. “I’m sure Mr. Brown will want to rest when he gets here.”
“Yes, that makes sense,” Millie replied, trying to keep the hopefulness out of her voice. Good grief, could her terror be any more obvious? What would Benedict and Lilly think? Would they call her a coward, a silly girl? Her father might. He probably thought that of her anyway, the way she took off. But who could blame her?
“Let’s go see what fabrics are at the mercantile while Benedict does the banking,” Lilly suggested.
Millie breathed a sigh of relief. At least they weren’t going to the telegraph office right away. But then, maybe waiting was worse …
Benedict parked in front of the mercantile and climbed down from the wagon. “Is there anything else you think you might need?” Lilly asked.
“I … I don’t know.” Millie began to fan herself. It wasn’t even that warm out – drat her nerves! What if when she met Mr. Brown, she discovered he had the disposition of a troll? What if he ate like a madman, and her with no culinary talent whatsoever? What if he thought she was too short – or, heaven forbid, too tall? Gads, she hadn’t thought of that before –
“Miss Porter?”
Millie was so caught up in her self-made nightmare that she didn’t even notice Lilly standing next to Benedict. He looked up at her, arms outstretched, waiting to help her down. “Oh, I’m sorry. Woolgathering.”
“I can imagine, what with your wedding and all,” he said as he swung her safely to the street. “I’ll be at the bank. You two try to control yourselves at the mercantile.”
“Don’t I always?” Lilly asked sweetly.
Benedict raised an accusing eyebrow, turned and headed off.
“What was that about?” Millie asked, welcoming the distraction.
“He thinks I’m frivolous. The difference between us is, where I might come out of the mercantile with a new hat, he comes out of the livery stable with a new horse.”
“Oh my, those are two vastly different things.”
“With vastly different prices,” Lilly said with a curt nod. “He, of course, insists that a horse is a needed item. But so is a new hat – I can’t let my face freckle.”
Millie giggled as she began to follow her across the street. “No, that would never do.”
Lilly suddenly stopped. Millie almost ran into her but managed to keep her balance and not fall on her face. “Hello, Lela,” she heard Lilly say cheerily.
Lela, whoever she was, sounded less enthusiastic. “Hello. What brings you to town?”
Millie managed to step to Lilly’s side. No mean feat considering she’d almost plastered herself to the woman’s back. A pretty woman in a yellow day dress that had seen better days stood in front of them, a little girl at her side. She couldn’t be any older than Hattie, if that.
“My friend Millie and I are going to pick up some fabric,” Lilly said. She looked at the little girl. “Hello, Colleen – how are you?”
Rather than answer, the child clung to her mother’s leg and buried her face in her dress. There was something sad about the little girl and Millie’s heart immediately went out to her.
“You’ll have to excuse her,” the woman told them. “She’s had a rough time of it lately. You understand,” she said to Lilly.
Lilly smiled. “Yes. Give it time – things will get better, I’m sure.”
Lela gave her a solemn nod, then urged the child forward.
Millie watched them cross the street. “Who was that?”
“Her name is Lela Mason. She’s … an old friend of Walton’s, so to speak. It’s a long story – one best told by Gwen.” They watched the retreating mother and daughter right before they disappeared around the corner. “Suffice to say, that poor woman needs a break.”
“What do you mean, a break?”
“You know, good luck to come her way?”
“Oh,” Millie said with a nod. Did she ever sympathize! If she hadn’t had the unfortunate luck to be pawned off on Hubert Toilet Tissue, she wouldn’t be here.
“Come on, let’s see what hats are in,” Lilly said, pulling her out of her musings.
“Hats? What happened to fabric?”
“We’ll look at both,” Lilly said happily and headed inside, where she oohed and ahhed over several hats on display while Millie searched for the fabric. Spying some, she went to the shelves and began to examine them. Why, she didn’t know – she couldn’t sew a whit. But at least it gave her something to do besides fret over a possible telegram from Mr. Brown. For all she knew, he might be at the ranch when they got back. She fought a shudder and pulled out a bolt of pretty pink calico.
“What did you find?” Lilly asked as she joined her, a new hat on her head.
“You didn’t just buy that, did you?” Millie asked.
“No, I always wear them around the mercantile first, to see how they sit.”
Millie smiled and showed her the calico. “I like this one. It’s very pretty.”
“I’ll get you enough for a dress. It can be your wedding present from Benedict and me.”
“Oh no, really. You don’t have to. Besides … I can’t sew.”
“You’ll learn. Mr. Brown must have neighbors, sisters … somebody that can teach you.”
“What if he doesn’t?”
“Trust me, if we can learn, so can you. Join a sewing circle if nothing else.”
Millie cringed at the thought. She could just imagine being with a dozen expert seamstresses, and her unable to even thread a needle. How embarrassing! Yet Lilly didn’t so much as bat an eye at the idea. Maybe learning to sew was easier than she supposed. “I don’t cook at all, either.”
“Oh dear. That might pose a problem, depending on how picky Mr. Brown is when it comes to his food.”
Lilly’s words were less than encouraging, and Millie felt herself cringe anew. “Maybe he’s a light eater and can handle a lot of soup. That can’t be too hard to make, can it?”
Lilly laughed. “We’ll send you off with some recipes, the easiest ones we have. How does that sound?”
“Better, but it still doesn’t make me a prize chef.”
“None of us were when we first got married, except for Bonnie. She was always a fantastic cook. Now, Gwen or Libby …”
Millie smiled. “Yes, Libby told me stories of when she and her sisters were first married.”
“There, you see? If they can learn, so can you,” Lilly assured. “Now, let’s measure you out enough of this for a dress.”
Millie sighed – the woman was determined. She watched Lilly take the bolt of cloth and march straight to the counter to have the proprietor measure it out. By the time she joined her, the woman had donned another hat. “What about the other one?” Millie asked.
“I decided I didn’t like it. This one is much better, don’t you think?”
Millie eyed the one she’d had on, now sitting on the counter, and had to fight the urge to try it on herself. Mr. Brown might not like buying her things. Who knew? Maybe he was so tight with his money that he’d allow her fabric for a dress only once a year. She cringed at the thought.
Soon the shop owner had the fabric wrapped in brown paper and tied up with string. “Here, you take this,” Lilly said, handing her the package. “I’ve got another hat to try on.” She went to the front window and looked at one on display. “I’m not sure I’d look good in red – what do you think?”
Millie clutched the bundle in her arms to her chest, her thoughts still trending in a very unsatisfying direction. If she kept it up, poor Mr. Brown wouldn’t stand a chance. She’d run the moment he got off the stage. How was she going to steer her mind from such thoughts? She turned to the counter, and her eyes fixed on row upon row of candy jars. “Excuse me,” she said to the shopkeeper. “May I please have some lemon drops?”
“You may,” he said and turned for the jar. “How many again?”
“She said a dozen,” Lilly quipped.
“I did not!”
“No, but I just did. For heaven’s sake, let me have the pleasure of doing a few things for you before you leave.”
Millie drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I’m sorry. I’m just so nervous …”
“I understand,” Lilly said as she took off the second hat and put on the red one.
Millie made a face and shook her head no. Lilly did not look good in red.
Lilly quickly removed the hat and put on the one she’d been wearing.
“Still can’t make up your mind, Mrs. Blue?” the shopkeeper asked as if annoyed or amused. Maybe both.
“Now, Mr. Fisher, you know it takes me a while to do this. I have to see what feels right.”
“Personally, I liked the first one best,” Millie volunteered. If she were lucky, they’d keep talking – and keep distracting her. Conversation was just the thing to keep her from dwelling on how stingy Mr. Brown might be. But then, what if he had the sort of money Hubert had? What did Mr. Brown do again? Oh drat – she had herself so flustered, she couldn’t even remember the man’s occupation!
“I’m not so sure about the first one – I don’t think Benedict will like it. But this one he’s sure to enjoy.”
“He’s not going to be wearing it, is he?” Mr. Fisher asked dryly.
Lilly laughed. “No. Now stop teasing me – you know this is serious business.”
“Whatever you say, Mrs. Blue.”
Millie began to wring her hands together, the package still in her arms. If she wasn’t careful, she’d tear the paper. Maybe she should march herself down to the stage office and buy a ticket to Weatherford. From there she could catch a train back to Beckham. She’d head home, apologize profusely and …
“Miss Porter, did you hear me?”
Millie turned, her face pale. Benedict stood there, a telegraph message in his hand.
She looked at the missive, her heart in her throat. This was it. She was about to find out when she would become Mrs. Walter Brown. Her lower lip trembled with the thought. How was she going to get herself out of this? She had made a mistake, no doubt about it! She couldn’t get married. She was horrible wife material …
“Miss Porter, I’m terribly sorry,” Benedict said, his voice soft.
Millie shook herself. “Wh … what?” She glanced at Lilly and noticed her face had gone white. “What is it?”
“I said I have a telegram about Mr. Brown.”
She caught the preposition. About, not from. That wasn’t right. “What does it say?”
“It’s from the sheriff’s office in El Paso. I’m sorry to be the one to have to tell you this, Miss Porter, but Mr. Brown is dead.”
Eight
When Millie came to, she was on her back, staring at the wood-plank ceiling.
“Someone fetch some water!” she heard Lilly cry.
“Right away!” one of the men said, probably Mr. Fisher as Benedict was pulling her to a sitting position.
“Wha … what happened?” she asked, though she had a pretty good idea. Never having fainted before, she wasn’t sure if she could call this that. Had she lost consciousness? Didn’t a real faint constitute being out cold?
“Miss Porter, are you all right?” asked a concerned Benedict.
Lilly was suddenly at her side, a glass of water in her hand. “Here, take a sip of this. Oh, what a horrible shock!”
“Shock? Oh yes, Mr. Brown … dead?!”
“Yes, dead,” Lilly confirmed. “Oh, you poor thing. I’m so very sorry.”
Millie gave her a blank stare, then sent it to Benedict. “How?”
He glanced at the paper in his hand. “It says here that he … got in a fight at a saloon.”
“A fight in a saloon?!” Millie asked in shock as she pushed away the glass Lilly offered. “He was fighting?”
“Apparently so,” Benedict confirmed, his face tight. “It says here he went and got himself shot.”
“Shot!” Millie squeaked in alarm.
Benedict looked helplessly to his wife and swallowed hard. “I feel it’s our responsibility, given the circumstances, to look after you until a replacement can be found. Don’t worry about a thing, Miss Porter, we’ll find you another candidate as soon as possible.”
Millie felt like falling to the floor again. A small part of her was relieved – she wouldn’t have to get married. On the other hand … “Shot … in a saloon … what was he doing in a saloon to begin with?” she mused aloud.
“It doesn’t matter now, does it?” Lilly said and pulled her into her arms. “But don’t worry. You’ll be married in no time.”
Millie pulled herself out of Lilly’s embrace. “I need time to think about this.”
“Think about it?” Benedict asked. “What’s there to think about? You came out here to get married, didn’t you? And married you’ll be.”
“Besides, you told us you became a mail-order bride to avoid having to marry someone you didn’t want to,” Lilly added. “You aren’t thinking of going back to Beckham and marrying the man you can’t stand, are you?”
Millie swallowed hard. No, definitely not – the thought of becoming Mrs. Toilet Tissue and living with that manipulative brute was not an option. But what options did she have? She fell against Lilly with a groan. “I don’t know what to do!”
“Calm yourself,” Benedict said as he stood. “I’ll speak with Jack and Dell. I’m sure they can have someone sent out in no time. Mr. Brown was from California. It shouldn’t take long to find another from there or perhaps Oregon.”
“Oregon?” Millie practically moaned.
“Maybe we can find you a nice man closer by, like San Antonio or Galveston?” Lilly suggested.
“I don’t even know where those places are,” Millie whimpered.
“Well, the main thing is not to worry,” Lilly consoled. “It’s all in hand.”
Millie let a few tears fall. Isn’t this what she wanted? To not have to marry Mr. Brown? But did something so extreme have to happen to the poor man? She wouldn’t wish such a fate on anyone!
Although … would she want to be married to a man who drank and got into fights? If she’d married dear Mr. Brown, it might’ve only been a matter of time before the same thing happened. Then she’d be left a widow in California, possibly with nothing to her name, her husband in a drunkard’s grave, a child clinging to her skirt like Lela Mason … maybe she had, in the Western parlance, “dodged a bullet.”
Of course, that didn’t mean she had any idea what to do next …
She continued to silently lament her predicament as Benedict pulled Lilly to her feet, and they in turn helped Millie to hers. “Let’s get you home,” Lilly said as she put an arm around her and steered her toward the door.
Millie nodded, her mind a whirl of thought. What was she going to do now? But a more pertinent question was, why was she so worried about it? Didn’t Lilly and Benedict both say they’d find her another husband? The worse thing that could happen is she would be at the Dalton ranch longer than expected. What was so bad about that?
In fact, with no Mr. Brown to worry about, maybe staying longer in Dalton might be a good thing … Millie, you should be ashamed of yourself! Your intended’s body is barely cold and already you’re thinking of another man?!?
She let Lilly lead her across the street to the wagon. “I’ll run into the café and order some sandwiches to take with us.” She left Millie standing next to Benedict, who offered to help her up onto the wagon seat. She did so numbly, her mind finding another string to unravel: if she hadn’t been such a coward in the first place and stayed in Beckham (while still refusing to let her father marry her off to Hubert), Walter Brown might still be alive.
Then another thought struck: had her rash actions ruined her parent’s business and estranged her from them forever? How would she know unless she went back? How could she marry anyone until she found out?
Her s
tomach turned and she almost retched.
“You needn’t worry about a thing,” Benedict assured as he stood next to the wagon. “We’ll see to everything.”
“You said that already,” she reminded him weakly.
“I want to make sure you understand. This is just a temporary setback.”
“Not for Mr. Brown. For him it’s rather permanent.”
Benedict sighed. “Miss Porter, I intend to find out exactly what happened. It’s not your fault, you know.”
She stared down at him. “Isn’t it?”
“No, it’s not. If it’s anyone’s fault, it’s ours. We take great pains to screen the men requesting brides. I had no idea Mr. Brown was any sort of drinking or gambling man. It’s something we ask when the men are interviewed.”
“Interviewed?”
“Yes, we have quite a process. We’ve learned to check out prospective grooms before taking them on. Elizabeth Miller … I mean, Elizabeth Tandy taught us that.”
“I see,” was all she could offer as she spied Lilly coming out of the café, a bag in hand.
“Let’s not speak of it anymore. I can tell it’s upsetting you too much. Rest assured, however, it will be taken care of. Your only job right now is to recover from the shock.”
Recover indeed, she thought. Mr. Brown’s sudden death was shock enough, but more shocking was that she was so ready to flee back to Beckham, even though the situation there was horrendous. What was wrong with her? How could she even think of heading back into Hubert’s web of deceit? Parents or no parents, there was no way she could go back.
The door to Beckham was closed. The door to California had just slammed shut. She was trapped in the middle of nowhere.
* * *
Meanwhile in El Paso …
Thaddeus Slade slugged down the remainder of his drink and then left the saloon. The mess from the night before had been cleaned up – namely one Walter Brown of Oakdale, California – and things had already gone back to normal.
He’d missed the action, as was usually the case. Not one to get his hands dirty, lest he be too easily connected to the less savory aspects of his job, he’d stayed in his hotel room and played solitaire. He was heading there now to meet his newest counterpart, Marcus Whitbey, who, like Thaddeus, was a professional.