Mail-Order Man

by Martha Hix

  Skylla sighed. “Upset, René. We are all upset. We’ve got to find my late uncle’s papers.”

  “Forget dinner,” Brax ordered. “Round up whoever’s handy and tell them to spread out. Fast.”

  The French cook did as ordered.

  No matter how diligent their combined efforts, nothing turned up. Night had fallen by the time the seekers quit, cowboys and cook trudging to the kitchen for their now-cold meal. The family dropped onto chairs in the front room and admitted defeat, but Brax hadn’t given up.

  “I’m gonna search the hidey-hole again.”

  Truth be known, he got the willies just considering crawling into that pit, but this ranch had become as important to him as it had always been to his wife. He marveled at how lucky he’d been, not getting caught in the web of his lies, except for the one about the cameo. His eyes traveled to Skylla, and his blood warmed as he recalled last night and the peace they had found in each other’s arms. He intended to spend the rest of his life holding her and thanking the fates for luck.

  For now, though, they had to find the deed. “Will you hold the lantern for me, sweetheart?”

  “Braxton, we’ve looked twice.”

  Wide-eyed, Pansy and Violet clutched their mother’s skirts and began to suck their thumbs. Pearl gripped Geoff’s hand. “Pappy, mammy, and a dead dog called Sammy. Careful of snakes, Bubba. We don’t need any more trouble.”

  “Hello? Anybody home?”

  The feminine voice wafted in from outdoors. Company—just what they needed. Christmas visitors. Skylla went to the window. “It’s a stranger. She’s tying her horse to the hitching post.”

  It would be a lie if Brax told himself he wasn’t relieved at the reprieve. Unfortunately, that reprieve was not what he’d figured. After this half-year of lying and scheming to get his hands on the Nickel Dime—after these few months of wedded bliss—Braxton Hippocrates Hale looked upon the face of his reckoning.

  The tall middle-aged woman caught sight of him, elbowed her way indoors, and threw herself - into his arms. “My baby!” She covered his face with kisses. “How’s my baby? Where’s Geoffie? Oh, there you am. Come here, honey chile. How you boys been? I been missing y’all and missing y’all!”

  Brax allowed himself a moment to delight in her arrival. He gave her a big sloppy kiss, then stepped back to let his brother have a turn. “Welcome.”

  There wouldn’t be any need to send to California. With enough ammunition to kill a marriage, Bella Hale had arrived.

  Twenty-seven

  Who was this straw-thin black lady? Bella? She had to be. Skylla gaped as Braxton picked the caller up, whirling her around and around; Geoff joined the happy reunion. Pearl sidled up to her sister-in-law. They locked hands to watch the threesome, each of them talking at once. But why, in his obvious elation, did Brax have such a peculiar look on his face?

  From the corner of her eye, Skylla noted Kathy Ann standing by the staircase, holding her little girls by the hand. The serving woman hovered in the dining room. His arms over his chest, Stalking Wolf stood by the topaz-polishing wheel.

  When the newcomer caught sight of him, she leaped off the floor, screeched, and jumped into Braxton’s arms again. “What’s that red Indian doin’ in this house!”

  “He’s kin, Bella. He’s married to Skylla’s sister. The Hales are at peace with the Comanches.”

  “Phew. Bella thought she gonna have to get back on her horse and ride!”

  Skylla had been right. This was Bella, the slave Elizabeth Hale had emancipated not long after her husband left. The freed woman who’d stayed with the jinxed Hales through thick and thin, mostly thin. The woman Geoff thought his mother.

  “I hope you’re here for good.” Skylla wouldn’t wish a return to Vicksburg on anyone who’d endured the Siege. She squeezed Pearl’s hand reassuringly, leading her shy sister-in-law to the threesome. “Welcome to the Nickel Dime Ranch. Since our husbands are too excited for introductions, I’m Skylla. Braxton’s wife. And this is Pearl. She’s married to Geoff.”

  A satisfied smile spread over that blade-sharp ebony face. “Two pretty girls, even if one is a red Indian. Lordy, Bella’s baby boys done good.”

  Bella’s boys. It didn’t surprise Skylla that the woman took a proprietorial stance. It wasn’t unusual in the South—she had done so much to rear her “baby boys.”

  Kathy Ann took charge of hospitality. “Guadalupe, go to the cookhouse and have René fix a tray of turkey sandwiches and some hot tea.”

  Skylla offered Bella a seat. The woman dropped her bony self into Brax’s favorite horn chair. “It sure good to be here. Lordy, it’s good.”

  “Everyone. Sit down, please.” Skylla made a circular motion with her hand. “This is indeed a special Christmas treat! May I present Bella Hale? She helped rear Braxton and Geoff.” Recalling that Geoff didn’t know about the circumstance of his birth, Skylla amended, “She is Geoff’s mother.”

  When the introductions were finished, Kathy Ann led her husband and girls to the settee. Skylla and Pearl settled down, while Braxton and Geoff collected dining-room chairs. Skylla wondered. . . was there some reason why her husband chose not to sit close to her or to Bella?

  She began chatter, Geoff joining in. Like Pearl, Braxton didn’t say a word. Out of character for him. Guadalupe served the repast, and everyone partook of it. Everyone but Braxton and Skylla.

  The new arrival placed her empty cup on a table. “Bella been praying and praying for the boys to find good ladies. When Brax tell Bella about that mail-order husband business back in Vicksburg”—she clicked her tongue and rolled her eyes—“Bella try to talk him outta it. She say, ‘um, um, no telling what you gonna be rollin’ in.’ Bella wrong on this one. And she sure glad it lastin’.”

  Skylla, casting an eye on her fidgeting husband, refilled the teacup. “I’m pleased by your approval.”

  “Bella, you must be tired.” Braxton dug at his collar. “Why don’t I show you to your room?”

  “Now you just keep your seat, baby. Bella not tired a bit. Massa Petry give her enough money to eat and sleep proper, and to ride a good horse what don’t rattle these ole bones.”

  Skylla said, “So, you’ve spoken with Virgil Petry recently. How is he?”

  “Worried.” Bella sat up straight. “Massa Petry been sick something bad, too sick to make the trip with me.”

  “Sick?” Braxton spoke hurriedly. “What’s the matter?”

  “Wastin’ disease. But he more worried sick about sendin’ my baby here. He say my baby married the wrong lady.” She smiled. “Bella sees that ain’t so. Her baby got hisself a plum.”

  While the older woman added her other “baby” and his Indian wife to the list, Skylla couldn’t take much heart in the praise. Why would Virgil Petry be worried about Braxton? While he’d written to say she must do everything in her power to protect the Nickel Dime, he wouldn’t have sent a shady character to marry Claudine. What in the world could he have against Braxton? Well, there had been that petty gossip about women in Vicksburg. Gracious, if that was all, Skylla had nothing to fret about.

  “Massa Petry worried about this ranch. But Bella sees there ain’t nothing amiss in this happy home.” She sipped more tea. “She sure happy to find this place. Talk about worried. Bella been half worried to death, scared she gonna lose her boys in this big ole world. She scared all the way around.”

  “Braxton, didn’t you tell Bella where to find you?” Skylla asked, finding it peculiar that he would confide in the woman about becoming a mail-order husband without mentioning specifics.

  “No’m. He—”

  “Must have slipped your mind,” Braxton corrected, his face green.

  Had he taken ill? Surely, he’d say something if his stomach wasn’t agreeable.

  “Skylla, do you think René has some dessert fixed?” He ran his hand down that green face, another sign of agitation. “Pansy and Violet look like they could use something for a sweet tooth. And I know Bella
has a sweet tooth, don’t you, Bella?”

  She nodded.

  “Guadalupe will see to dessert,” Skylla said.

  Kathy Ann, Violet on her lap, shot her sister a questioning look. What’s wrong with him? Sizing up Brax’s demeanor, Skylla saw something disturbing. He feared something Bella might say.

  “Wolf, I’m tired.” Kathy Ann stood up, sensing trouble. “You’ve filled me full of a baby that’s flat wore me out. Let’s hit the buffalo skins. Come with Mother, girls.”

  She half dragged Violet and Pansy to their feet, but handed them over to their father. “I need a good-night kiss, sis.” When she placed her lips against Skylla’s cheek, she whispered, “You know where to find me. The tepee. I love you. And Sarge loves you, too. He’s crazy for you. Keep that in mind.”

  Skylla, whose heart had begun to race, looked up into Kathy Ann’s concerned face and saw her champion. Did she need one? Surely not. There had to be a good explanation for the riddle of Bella and her baby boys.

  Kathy Ann and her family took their leave amid a chorus of good-night wishes. Pearl, having stayed silent, looked as if she yearned to go with them. Geoff appeared to be a man wishing for the floor to open up beneath him—quite an unusual reaction for a man to have upon seeing his mother for the first time in months.

  Meanwhile, Braxton abandoned his chair and crossed the room to stand at Skylla’s side. He hunkered down on his booted heels. Uneasiness marked his mouth with grim lines, and something quaked in Skylla. I may need a champion. There’s more than a riddle hidden here.

  “Did you have a pleasant trip?” she asked Bella. “Did you ride all the way from Mississippi?”

  “Yes’m. Bella took a stagecoach far as it come, then bought that sweet mare Tina in San Antonio. It sure better this trip. Um, um. After Bella cryin’ and wavin’ goodbye to her babies, she been scared that ole Jackie Jo gonna sink goin’ around that awful ole Horn. She been scared of ships ever since that ole slave trader caught her and shoved her in that awful ole slaver. That been over thirty years ago. Bella didn’t forget, no she didn’t. She done jumped ship in that ole Tampico down in Mexico. Weren’t no way she gonna go all the way to California on that ole Jackie Jo.”

  “My goodness. You do have a tale to tell.” Skylla paused. “You mentioned California. Such an interesting place! I’m curious to know what was sending you to the blue Pacific.”

  Geoff patted his mouth. “It sure is getting late.”

  “Go to bed then, baby. Bella ain’t through talkin’.” Bella smiled at Skylla. “You wanted to know about California. Bella figured they was halfway—”

  “What’s the matter with us?” Braxton broke in. “You must be burning up in that coat. Some damned fool lit a fire when it must be seventy degrees outside.”

  He jumped to stand and rushed to help her with her wrap. Then Bella settled back on the settee. When he said to Skylla, “Let’s me and you check on that dessert,” she didn’t argue.

  “We’ll be back shortly,” she said but knew they wouldn’t. Her intuition told her: Whatever was going afoul had to be worse than anything that had gone before. He had done something. And it was bad.

  Surely not.

  Surely it wasn’t as horrible as she suspected.

  Her husband caught her arm as Skylla stepped toward the cookhouse. Guadalupe, carrying a tray of pie, emerged from René’s domain. Braxton said, “Tell the family Skylla and I have a problem. Horses. Yeah, a problem with the horses. Tell them we don’t need any help, to make themselves at home. Or show Miss Bella upstairs to one of the bedrooms. Tell her I’ll bed her horse down in the stable. Guadalupe, my wife and I don’t want to be disturbed.”

  This sounded serious, which didn’t come as a surprise.

  It was serious.

  After Braxton indeed penned Bella’s pinto mare, he shuffled Skylla into the tack room adjoining the stables. They faced each other. His face pulled tight by this mysterious mess, he stood, arms limp. He fought for something to say; Skylla allowed him to fight this inner battle alone. But she refused to allow him to leave the tack room without revealing the full story, whatever it was.

  The hush between husband and wife allowed normal sounds to intrude on her thoughts. A stabled horse neighed, knocking against a stall. A mouse raced between Braxton’s legs. By rote, Skylla calculated how many people could stay alive from its meat in a soup. Old habits died hard. Her shudder didn’t compare to the turmoil of not knowing what Braxton intended to say.

  “Skylla, you’d best sit down.”

  She looked around, catching sight of a bale of hay. On the makeshift chair, she hugged her knees. “Am I going to need a shot of Uncle’s whiskey to get through this?”

  “I’ll go get some.”

  “No! We need clear heads. What is it you fear Bella will tell me?”

  He rubbed his hand down his face again, then bent to right a branding iron that had tipped over. His thumbs acting as anchors, he slipped his fingers behind his waistband. He began to pace the tack room with his eyes to the ground. After two turns up and down the straw-cluttered dirt floor, he dropped down to rest his back against the wall opposite to Skylla. Drawing up one knee, he laid his wrist across it. “Skylla, I blackmailed Virgil Petry into handing over that ivory chess piece.”

  “That’s a relief.” She expelled breath. “I was afraid you were going to tell me you’d broken out of jail . . . or something.”

  He went white, she could tell even from this distance.

  He said, “In a manner of speaking, I did break out of jail. I blackmailed Petry so he’d coerce the captain of guards into destroying my records and leaving my cell unlocked.”

  A terrible pain went through her heart. Her Braxton a jailbird? She couldn’t imagine this as true. “What . . . what was the charge against you?”

  “Disrupting martial law. And thievery. I cheated a guard in three-card monte. I was looking to spend years locked up—the Yankees didn’t abide nonsense. So I did what I had to do to get out.” His every expression and gesture bespoke a man climbing to the gallows. “Titus owed me money, and I wanted it. You didn’t have any money. Which gave me no choice but to get my hands on the Nickel Dime, then sell it. I was hoping for a gullible carpetbagger, so I brought colored glass to seed Topaz Creek with. Geoff and I . . .” He looked away. “We had plans to meet Bella in San Francisco.” His eyes slammed closed. “I intended to sell this ranch and take off with the proceeds.”

  Unable to accept the truth—praying she’d heard him wrong—she raised her hands to the sides of her face, as if the action would keep all her foolish illusions captured within her. Yet a clear picture of perfidy and conspiracy sprang to a mind even more reluctant to accept the truth than her aching heart.

  Pain struck, this one not in her chest. She rubbed her left leg, her hand dipping into the indented scar. It hurt as much as when she took the Minié ball. Why couldn’t I have died right there and then ? Why did I have to live? Why couldn’t I have been spared this worst kind of suffering, the death of a heart?

  The urge to flee from this land—from her husband—burned within her. Yet she wouldn’t. Not until she knew the whole ugly story—the truth Claudine had tried and tried to tell her. “What did you intend to do with the refuse from this plan? What did you intend to do with me?”

  “Take you with me, of course.”

  She stared at the husband who’d become a stranger. “Not true. I can tell. I hear it in that hollowness of your voice. You were planning to desert me all along.”

  “Only in the beginning. I’ve changed from what I was before. Skylla, you mean more to me than life itself. If I could do anything to change the way this all started, I would.”

  Despite Kathy Ann’s assurance that he loved Skylla, her fierce belief in him was gone, clearing the way for her to see through his facade. He was a liar and a crook. How could she ever put faith in anything he might say in the future?

  Why hadn’t she seen the signs, even after Claudine had w
arned her? Little lies, small untruths. His lack of interest in a beautiful and vivacious, though penniless, redhead more than eager to make him lucky number five. What about his tenacity in getting an heiress to the altar? What about his unyielding resolve in getting her into the marriage bed? Well, his grasp on the ranch wouldn’t have been legal unless an annulment could be forestalled.

  It hadn’t been for love that Braxton said, “I do.” It was for the ranch. Why else would any man want a scarecrow who lurched when she walked? Except when she could prop herself on a pot of gold and jewels.

  Dropping her unfocused gaze, Skylla heard Braxton stand, heard him walk toward her. She felt his presence as he knelt at her feet. She rejected the hand that tried to take hers. “Keep your distance.”

  “If I do, I can’t tell you I love you. That I changed my mind about California, probably the first moment I laid eyes on you in the magnolia grove.”

  “Love is only a word, Braxton. Only a glib four-letter word, useful for getting what one wants from a weaker person.”

  “Have you no more faith in me than that?”

  Faith? Only from his father had she heard about his family—which confirmed her suspicions about the liar and trickster who was his brother. What’s Calibornion ?

  How these co-conspirators must have roared with laughter behind the back of a stupid, gullible cripple. What fun Braxton and Geoff must have had at the ease with which she fell into the trap. She could almost hear their hysterics.

  She clutched her middle, protecting the child conceived while its sire connived. How could she shield the babe from the liars and thieves of the Nickel Dime?

  “What can I do to make you forgive me?” He stood.

  She feared what she needed most—him. And she hated herself for this weakness. How can he love me, when I can’t love myself? “Forgive you? You actually expect me to say, ‘Oh, please, honey, please do take St. Clair land—do send a card to let me know you’re having a wonderful time in California. And help yourself to some riches while you’re at it.’ Surely you don’t think I’m such a dunce that I’ll let you continue to live the leisurely life, complete with a fat bank account.”