Lucky Creek Lady

by Shirley Kennedy

  When Weldon pulled the buggy to a stop in front of the Ainsworth mansion on the outskirts of the city, the Beemans’ three children tumbled out the door to greet them. “Aunt Belle! Aunt Belle!” Tommy, who was ten, Ellen, five, and Amy, three, rushed to their aunt and threw their arms around her.

  Ellen asked, “Did you bring us presents?”

  Belle bent to untangle all the little arms. “Not today, sweetheart, but maybe next time.”

  As they went inside, the children crowding around her, she noticed a peculiar expression on her sister’s face but didn’t think to ask why.

  * * * *

  “Bridger? Are you awake?” Belle knocked on her brother’s bedroom door. He hadn’t come down to dinner tonight, and she wanted to know why. “Bridger? Answer me!”

  “Come in if you must.”

  Her brother’s sullen voice came as no surprise. More than ever these days, he kept to his room, isolating himself from his family and the few friends he had left. Almost total darkness met her when she opened the door. “Good heavens, Bridge, let’s get some light in here.”

  He lay on his bed and watched while she took a match and lit the paraffin lamp on his dresser. “If you’ve come to scold me for not coming down to dinner, you can go away.”

  “I didn’t come to scold you about anything.” Belle sank into a chair beside her brother’s bed. The sight of him filled her with sadness, even though she should be used to the way he looked now with his pale, thin face, emaciated body, his left sleeve folded and pinned because his arm wasn’t there anymore. “We missed you at dinner.”

  “Of course you did. I’m such charming company these days.” With his one arm, he pushed himself into a sitting position, his face twisting with pain.

  “Is it worse today?’ She wasn’t asking about the arm. He could have easily survived that and gone on with his life, but at Bentonville, during the last days of the war, he’d been wounded in the stomach. Miraculously he’d survived, but at what cost? The mini-ball that tore through his intestines had caused irreparable damage. Her heart wrenched whenever she remembered Bridger before the war: handsome, strong, confident with a touch of arrogance, a devilish gleam in his eye as he flirted with the young belles who adored him. But now? Everyone knew, Bridger most of all, he wouldn’t be around much longer.

  “The pain’s the same. Let’s not talk about it. Tell me about the latest meeting of your Georgia Ladies of the Confederacy.” A shadow of the old Bridger appeared in the playful grin he gave her. “I can hardly wait to hear.”

  She welcomed the opportunity to make him laugh. “Well! You would never in a million years guess what that awful Allegra Barnes is up to now…”

  She related the events of the afternoon, including, with a trace of laughter in her voice, Allegra Barnes’s shocking announcement that she was going to get married, and her hilarious reading of the ad from the Matrimonial News. When she finished, she sat back and grinned. “Did you ever hear of anything so ridiculous? And what’s funniest of all, she read another ad aimed at me. She thinks I should be a mail-order bride same as she.”

  Bridger didn’t laugh as she expected. For a time, he remained silent, as if mulling over what to say. “I think you should answer that ad.”

  “What! You can’t be serious.”

  “I am serious.” He paused as if mulling some more. “You’ve got so many days on this earth. No one’s more aware of that than I, especially now when I don’t have much time left.” She opened her mouth to protest, but he raised his hand. “Don’t bother. I face the facts and I’m fine with it. I worry about you, though.”

  “But why? I’m doing fine. I lead a full life and am perfectly happy.”

  “Are you?” A corner of his mouth pulled into a slight smile. “All during the war, when I was slogging through the mud in Tennessee, and God knows where else, thoughts of home were all that kept me going. In my head I carried a special mEmery of you. We were at a ball, the last one I ever attended if I remember right. You had ribbons and roses in your hair, and you were wearing that purple dress, the one with the puffy sleeves and big skirt.” He grinned. “You looked like you were floating in the thing, like a big, upside-down tulip.”

  She smiled, remembering. “The purple velvet. I wore it only the once at the Debutante Cotillion, right before Fort Sumter happened and the war started.”

  “You looked beautiful that night, and that’s the image I carried. At every ball, do you remember how the boys were after you? Charlie Sawyer, Tom Peterson, both Ackerman brothers. You had your pick.”

  Her smile faded. “There’re gone now, all of them.”

  “That’s my point, Belle. That damnable war wrecked your life as well as mine. Now here you sit, trying to convince yourself you’re blissfully happy when you’re not, and don’t tell me otherwise.”

  She opened her mouth to protest but changed her mind. His words had struck deep in that secret part of herself where she hid her unceasing despair. In silence, she looked toward the ceiling, then finally back at her brother. “You know me too well, Bridge. I try not to think of the old days. What a silly, shallow little fool I was, nothing more on my mind than the next ball and who would fill my dance card. I simply assumed I’d marry and live happily ever after.”

  “I think we all did. But why look back? All we really have is not yesterday, not tomorrow, but now.”

  “I’ve adjusted. I thank God for my family. Harlan, Victoria, the children”—she placed an affectionate hand on his one arm—“even you, you grumpy old rascal. But that’s not… That doesn’t… What’s hardest for me now are those awful moments when I realize I will go through my life without someone special to love, without someone special who loves me. I’ll never have children of my own. I’ll never…” The words stuck in her throat. If she didn’t watch out, she’d start to cry, and she wouldn’t have that. Her problems were nothing compared to those of her doomed brother. She forced a laugh. “Look at me, feeling sorry for myself. Don’t worry, I’m happy. I feel needed. What would the children do without their auntie Belle?”

  “They’d survive.” Bridger gazed into her eyes with a blazing intensity that surprised her. “To stay in the South is to rot away. There’s a man for you somewhere, but not here. You need the guts to go find him.”

  Poor Bridger. He sincerely meant what he said but had no idea how totally impractical, how absolutely absurd he was sounding. “I’ll think about what you said. Meantime, will you promise you’ll come down for breakfast in the morning?”

  “You can change the subject all you want, little sister, but if you want a life of your own, I suggest you answer that ad.”

  * * * *

  The next morning, Belle joined Harlan, Victoria, and the children for breakfast in the dining room. Bridger hadn’t appeared, which, she reflected, was just as well. Ordinarily Harlan, with his balding head and slight paunch, presented the perfect picture of a levelheaded businessman, but today he was on one of his rants. “Damn Yankees!” he raged between bites of his omelet.

  “What have they done now?” Belle asked calmly. They’d been through this before.

  “Kept us under their thumb is what they’ve done. Thanks to the carpetbaggers, our taxes get higher and the price of cotton sinks ever lower. After five years, we’re still under military rule. My God, haven’t we suffered enough?”

  “Don’t remind us,” Victoria said. “Those terrible days are best forgotten.”

  Belle heartily agreed. Living through the war was bad enough, but at the end, when General Sherman’s troops took Savannah, the nightmare began. At least the Union soldiers didn’t burn the city, like they’d done in Atlanta, but they wreaked their devastation just the same. They destroyed the railroads, digging up the rails, heating them over fires, wrapping them around tree trunks and telephone poles. “Sherman’s Neckties” they were laughingly called. The soldiers broke into hom
es and businesses and stole what they pleased. Worst of all, they blockaded the port and seized all the livestock and food from the local farms, leaving the population to starve. To this day, Belle could hardly look at a Union soldier without remembering those terrible days when they had nothing to eat. When Victoria’s children were crying, weak from hunger. When she feared they’d all starve to death, and they about did. “It’s hard to forget those days, Victoria. Whenever I see a blue uniform, the old fury rises inside me and I can hardly be polite.”

  “I will hate the Yankees until the day I die,” Victoria exclaimed. “And General Sherman the most.” She picked up a bread basket. “More biscuits, Harlan? At least we’re not starving anymore.”

  Her husband’s agreeable grunt told them his rant was over. Actually Belle could hardly blame him. He’d been rich before the war. Now, like nearly all Savannah’s merchants, he’d lost his fortune and was just squeezing by, constantly beset by rules, regulations, and new taxes decreed by the Northern-influenced state legislature.

  Tommy spoke up. “Aunt Belle, are you taking us out today?”

  “Indeed I am.” Belle looked at her sister. “I hope it’s all right. I promised I’d take the children to the riverfront. You know how Tommy likes to see the ships. Maybe there’ll be one coming in.”

  Victoria smiled. “Of course. They do love to be with you, Belle. What would I do without you?”

  How good to be wanted, and needed. Bridger meant well, but he failed to understand how thoroughly she’d adjusted to her new role in life. “It’s my pleasure, Victoria. You know how much I love the children, and you, too.”

  The children finished their breakfast and were eager to leave. Belle shepherded them from the dining room, had them wash up, and was leading them to the stable when Amy, the little one, declared, “I forgot my doll. I left it in the dining room.”

  Amy was hardly ever without her favorite doll. Belle turned back toward the house. “I’ll get it, sweetheart. You children go ahead. Tell Weldon to hitch up the buggy.”

  Back in the house, Belle headed toward the dining room. She was almost there when she heard voices. Harlan and Victoria must be still there, no doubt lingering over another cup of coffee. She was about to enter when she was struck by the peculiar tone of Victoria’s voice, a stressed, near-desperate sound she’d never heard before. Belle never snooped, but something made her stop outside the door and listen.

  “…it’s hopeless, Harlan. She’s stolen my children away from me. They’ll probably start calling her ‘Mother’ soon, and I’ll be left completely in the cold, just someone who happens to live in the same house.”

  “That’s nonsense.” Harlan was using his most soothing voice. “You are their mother, Victoria. No one can ever take your place.”

  “Ha! The other day when Amy cut her finger, who did she go running to? It wasn’t me, it was her wonderful aunt Belle, and that’s because my children love her the best now.”

  “Then why don’t you talk to her? Seems to me that would be the most sensible solution. Just tell her to back off, don’t give the children so much attention.”

  “I could never do that. Belle’s been wonderful to the children, and to us, too. I would never dream of hurting her feelings.”

  “Then I don’t know what to tell you.”

  “What can you say? There’s no solution. Belle will be with us for the rest of her life, and I’ll just have to live with the pain of knowing my children love her more than they love me. Oh, look, Amy forgot her doll. I’ll try to catch them before they leave.”

  The scrape of chair legs told Belle she’d soon be discovered. She darted away, barely making it to the stable before Victoria arrived, doll in hand. “I found Amy’s doll.” She smiled at Belle. “So sweet of you to do this. What would I do without you?”

  Belle accepted the doll. She forced a smile, not easy considering her insides had turned numb and a dry sob burned in her throat. “Always my pleasure, Victoria. I feel the same. What would I do without you?”

  River Queen Rose

  The ramshackle River Queen Hotel is home to vagabonds, gamblers, and heathens—and now, to new widow Rose Peterson. The rundown Gold Rush establishment is the only thing her late husband, Emmet, left her. Despite its raucous saloon and ladies of the evening, Rose can see the hotel’s potential. Her late husband’s family claims that sheltered Rose isn’t capable of running the Sacramento inn herself. But she is determined to make a new life for herself and her young daughter, even if it means flying in the face of custom and propriety. She feels as if she hasn’t a friend in the world.

  Except, perhaps, one. Decatur “Deke” Fleming, a tall, lanky Australian who once served as Emmet’s farmhand. Pride prevents Deke from revealing his moneyed past; conscience keeps him from confessing his feelings for the still-grieving widow. But when Rose is tempted by wealthy civic leader and hotel owner Mason Talbot, Deke may be the only person who can save her—and the one man capable of reviving her bruised and battered heart . . .

  Gold Rush Bride

  Letitia Tinsley’s well-ordered spinster life is thrown into chaos when she learns her beloved brother has mysteriously disappeared from his gold mining claim in California. Determined to discover the truth, Letty sets out on the treacherous journey west. But there’s only one thing more perilous than a single lady traveling alone into the rugged frontier—and that is sharing the passage with Garth Morgan. The wealthy bachelor is astoundingly arrogant—and dangerously handsome. Worse, Letty is forced to lean on his strong shoulders, again and again . . .

  Humbled by the harrowing expedition, Garth resolves to keep Letty safe—though the courageous beauty is unwilling to give an inch when it comes to trusting him. Still, despite her defiant resistance, he’s ready to stand with her as she faces the truth about her missing sibling. And by the time they reach California, Garth is determined to stake his own claim on the lovely Miss Letty—if only she will let him . . .

  Wagon Train Sisters

  After the death of her abusive husband, Sarah Gregg is free to join her family along with thousands of others in the nation’s westward march for gold. But in the middle of the hard journey, Sarah’s younger sister, Florrie, disappears. Devastated by the family’s failed attempts to find her missing sister, Sarah now wants only to settle into a quiet, uneventful life when she reaches California . . .

  But Jack McCoy, a drifter and one-time gambler riding along their wagon train, sees so much more for Sarah. In the roaring mining town of Gold Creek his attentive persistence points Sarah toward new vistas. Then unexpected news of Florrie arrives—and it’s worse than anyone expected. But driven by a new hopefulness, Sarah seeks help from Jack, despite his troubled past. The two have traveled a rough road together, and only their hearts can tell them where they are headed . . .

  Wagon Train Cinderella

  1851, Overland Trail to California. As a baby, Callie was left on the doorstep of an isolated farmhouse in Tennessee. The Whitaker family took her in, but have always considered her more a servant than a daughter. Scorned by her two stepsisters, Callie is forced to work long hours and denied an education. But a new world opens to her when the Whitakers join a wagon train to California—guided by rugged trapper, Luke McGraw . . .

  A loner, haunted by a painful past, Luke plans to return to the wilderness once his work is done. But he can’t help noticing how poorly Callie is treated—or how unaware she is of her beauty and intelligence. As the two become closer over the long trek west, Callie’s confidence grows. And when disaster strikes, Callie emerges as the strong one—and the woman Luke may find the courage to love at last . . .

 

 

 
ilter: grayscale(100%); -moz-filter: grayscale(100%); -o-filter: grayscale(100%); -ms-filter: grayscale(100%); filter: grayscale(100%); " class="sharethis-inline-share-buttons">share