by Linda Ellen
Her friend’s words helped dispel much of the apprehension Beth Ann had felt regarding the summons to come to the agency. Bowing her head, she sent up a heartfelt prayer that God would keep her safe and let her know if she was doing the right thing. Please God, guide me, don’t let me veer from what Your will is for my life...
Feeling somewhat reassured, she read the rest of Charise’s letter, in which her friend shared amusing anecdotes regarding her husband and his brother, as well as people living in the town. Beth Ann had read about them so much, she felt as if she knew many of Brownville’s residents, such as the three old gentlemen, Cyrus Ames, Charlie Grawemeyer and Cliff Fulton, as well as the wild Elvira Davis, and Dorothea Plasters, wife of the sheriff and cousin to an infamous outlaw.
Finally, Charise ended her letter with another entreaty for Beth Ann to use caution, and for her to tell Mr. Hinkle that she missed him. Her last sentence declared that Finn’s brother Sam said to tell her hello.
With a fond smile, Beth Ann folded the letter and carefully put it back in the envelope.
Sam said to tell me hello, she mused with a feathery smile as she remembered the burly lumberjack that had been her friend’s proxy husband. She saw again the fistful of flowers he had brought Charise at the courthouse steps, and the thick but soft looking beard he sported. She gave a chuckle as she remembered the brawny Sam knocking that worm, Ethan Breckinridge, on his keister with one punch.
As she rose from her chair to begin preparations for bed, she wondered how the kind, bewhiskered man was faring. She hoped well, and remembering that Charise had mentioned Sam was also in the process of looking for a mail-order-bride, she wondered if he was having any success.
I hope he’s doing better than me at this point!
The next day, Saturday, marked the start of her workless weekend. The day began with a thunderstorm that settled into a steady rain, which made the requested trip to the agency even less appealing.
However, Beth Ann determinedly bundled up, put on her oldest pair of boots, and took up her umbrella, setting out to catch a horse-drawn trolley to the broker’s building.
On her way out of the apartment, Mr. Hinkle happened to open his door; holding a small envelope in his hand, he smiled as he saw her.
“Well, good morning, missy. Thank you, again, for that most enjoyable repast last evening. And where are you off to on such a miserable day? This isn’t a work day for you, is it?”
Beth Ann smiled and shook her head, deciding to tell him about the note the marriage broker had sent requesting that she come to the agency. Recognition seemed to flash in Mr. Hinkle’s eyes and his expression turned serious. He reached forward and laid his hand on her arm in an affectionate gesture.
“Just be careful, honey. Use discernment and good sense regarding this man.”
Beth Ann stared into the old man’s eyes, waiting for him to expound, but that was all he would say. With that, he indicated for her to precede him down the hallway. After a moment, she gave a small shrug and led the way toward the staircase until he turned in a different direction at the bottom of the steps, with another caution for her to take care, and she continued out the front door, firmly striving to ignore the feeling of foreboding that his words had ignited once again.
After a miserably wet trip, during which her dress and cape were splashed by a wagon as she huddled under her umbrella at a trolley stop, followed by ten blustery blocks of riding in the open-sided vehicle, she finally arrived at her destination and hurried inside, glad to be out of the elements.
Mr. Fetterman met her at the entrance with a benevolent smile and escorted her into his office where he quietly shut the door before moving toward the room’s hearth.
“Have a seat, Beth and get out of those wet things. I’m sorry now that I asked you to make the trip during such inclement weather...” he commented smoothly, and then turned his head with his eyes zeroed in on hers, “But I’m so very glad you’re here.”
Beth swallowed down her discomfort and moistened her lips. “Thank you, Mr. Fetterman—”
“Lloyd, please,” he insisted as he stood and turned from adding more wood to the fire.
Beth shook her head firmly, but said as gently as she could, “No...Mr. Fetterman...I don’t feel comfortable calling you by your—”
“But I’m your friend, Beth,” he interrupted. “And, it is my intention that we get to know one another...much better...in the very near future.”
Beth Ann’s heart began to thump hard in alarm at his choice of words, and she felt suddenly, foolishly, very much alone with this man who gave her such disquieting feelings.
She tried again, striving to appear calm and not allow him to see the true measure of her trepidation. “Mr. Fetterman...you said in your note that you think you have found the perfect match for me. Could you just tell me about him...please?”
Something flashed in the man’s eyes, but it was there and gone so quickly that Beth Ann wasn’t sure whether it was anger or something else. He smiled, a bit condescendingly she thought, and shuffled a few documents on his desk as if he were looking for the information on the man. Then, he sat back and steepled his fingers, regarding her as she sat nervously on the other side of the desk, fiddling with the strings on her reticule.
“Ahh yes, so I did. The man I referred to is...well, let me see. He’s from quite a wealthy family...powerfully wealthy, if you know what I mean. He is a man who knows what he wants and goes after it—and he always gets what he wants.” He paused for a few suspenseful seconds; that smile remaining under his stiff mustache. “He’s thirty years of age, successful, handsome, and never been married—although many women have sought his favors—he’s just been waiting for the right one to come along as he has very specific tastes. And now...she has,” he finished softly, his eyes glittering as they bored into hers.
Beth Ann’s heart was thundering so hard it made her feel lightheaded and nauseous. A feeling of panic washed over her and her mouth went dry. Somehow knowing what he was going to say, she asked anyway, “And, w...what is th...this man’s name?”
At that his downright sinister smile grew even larger and he let out an eerily gentle laugh. “Why, my dear, I should think that would be obvious. His name is Lloyd Fetterman. And you shall soon become Beth Ann Fetterman. This, my dear, is your lucky day!”
Beth Ann was struck speechless and couldn’t utter a sound. This couldn’t be happening! This bizarre situation felt more like the plot of a dime novel than reality—the innocent damsel and the evil villain. If it weren’t so serious, she might almost laugh, but the man across the desk continued, “You are the woman I’ve waited for all my life, sweet Beth Ann. I’ve dreamed of a woman like you so many times, seeing in my mind’s eye clear, green eyes and vibrant red hair, so vivacious and begging to be touched, a smooth complexion, and full, pink, amazingly kissable lips—which, my dear, I confess I can’t wait to taste.”
At that, she found her voice as she shook her head vehemently. “But Mr. Fetterman! I’m sorry, but I don’t...I’m not...I don’t feel an attraction to you,” she stated, hoping he would relent and listen to reason. The thought of letting that man kiss her made her want to gag.
The steely look that came into his eyes told the truth, however. He stood up and rounded the desk. “That means nothing, my sweet,” he answered, his voice almost a purr that ratcheted up the fight or flight feeling inside Beth Ann. “You’ll soon develop more than attraction for me. As I said,” he paused as he suddenly reached out and grasped her arms, pulling her to her feet, “When I know what I want, I go after it. I always get what I pursue. And right now, I want you—” he ended as he leaned down and smashed his lips against hers.
Beth Ann immediately raised both hands and pushed valiantly against his chest, trying to turn her face away from his bruising kiss, eventually managing to break the contact.
His face landed in the curve of her neck and he continued his attack as she squealed, squirmed and fought, pleading with him to l
et her go and striving to get enough leeway to slap him. When the opportunity arose, she did just that. The loud crack of her hand against his face reverberated in the room.
“How dare you!” she gasped, her breathing ragged from exertion.
He loosened his grip and moved back a half step, his hand lifting to the already distinct red marks on his cheek as his eyes slowly turned to hard, cold, black diamonds.
Beth Ann backed up another step, calculating if she’d be able to grab her belongings and make it to the door before he could stop her as he murmured, “You shouldn’t have done that, my dear.”
Emboldened, Beth Ann wrapped her arms over her middle and stared back at him. “I’ll do more than that if you attack me again.”
For a second, he seemed surprised; perhaps at the bravery she was showing. Then, the seething anger returned to his eyes. “I think not. You see this is not up for debate. I meant what I said. My family has money—and power. I’ve found the rose I want and I mean to have you—one way or another.”
“You must be mad,” Beth Ann whispered, shaking her head, completely flabbergasted. “What makes you think you’ll get away with this? I’ll tell the authorities. I’ll have no part of this...this plan. I—” she paused, sickened by the events of the past few minutes. “Mr. Fetterman, you make my skin crawl and I wouldn’t marry you if you were the last man on earth!” she bellowed before scooping up her things and making a dash for the door.
He caught her as she reached it and spun her around, his hot breath fanning her face and reeking of cigar. “You little trollop! How dare you turn down the marriage proposal of Lloyd Harold Fetterman the third!”
“Proposal? That was no proposal, it was an edict with not one ounce of romance—” she began, but he went right on as if she hadn’t spoken.
“I’ve spent the last two weeks finding out everything there is to know about you, my dear. You’re an orphan with no family to support you; no one to help you or get in my way.” She struggled against his grip as he sneered, “I’ll make it impossible for you to live without me, my dear. What you don’t know is my family owns the department store where you work, the apartment building where you live—and even the bank where you have a tiny savings account. On my order, by Monday evening you won’t have a job, you won’t have an apartment, and you won’t have any money to live on.”
The dangerous sincerity of his threats sunk in and her eyes widened in genuine fear as he added with a wicked laugh, “Without a family to protect you, dear lady, you’ll be destitute. You’ll come crawling back to me and beg me to marry you. Only then...” he paused for dramatic effect, “I might just keep you as my mistress to teach you a lesson you’ll never forget. The lesson being that Lloyd Fetterman the third is not a man to be crossed! You’d do well to remember that.”
With that parting shot, he unexpectedly wrenched open the door to his office and summarily escorted her to the entrance, his grip on her arm firm and just shy of painful. Once that portal was open, he simpered, “Until Monday, my dear. I’ll see you at your apartment at four o’clock, sharp. That should give you time to see that I’m not one to make idle threats.” He paused with a chuckle, “By tomorrow night you’ll be in my bed, naked and...well, whether willing or unwilling doesn’t really matter at this point. The question is—will you be wearing a wedding ring, or a halo of shame? I advise you to choose carefully...my pet.”
The door closed and Beth Ann stumbled down the porch steps and out into the rain, the drops mingling with her tears as she headed for home. She welcomed the deluge to wash away the hated touch of that man.
Oh Lord, how did I get myself into such a mess? What will I do now? Help me, please!
Chapter 3
D ripping wet skirts heavy with water, Beth Ann staggered up the stairs to her apartment, shivering like a leaf from the cold as well as from the fear Lloyd Fetterman had instilled with his ominous threats.
She hadn’t bothered waiting for another trolley, but had run the entire way back home, splashing through puddles—not a care for her drenched skirts—and dodging people on the sidewalks that were gaping at her as she dashed by. Now, not only was she sopping wet, but exhausted as well.
As she fumbled with the door handle, her cold hands quaking so hard she could barely hold the key, she heard Mr. Hinkle’s door open behind her, and the sound of his gasp. “Oh my dear, what happened to you?”
She turned to him, at first intending to brush off his question, but the genuine affection and concern she saw in his eyes was her undoing. Her lips trembled and her voice came out as a squeak. “Oh, Mr. Hinkle! I did just what both you and Charise told me not to do, and now...that horrible man...oh it’s a nightmare!”
Shuddering violently, she lifted her sodden fingers and tried in vain to swipe at the tears and rain dotting her face. Releasing a weak chuckle, she quipped, “Maybe I’ll wake up and find it’s all, indeed, been a very bad dream.”
The old man then took charge, reaching around her and turning her key in the lock, pushing open her door, and ushering her, a bit clumsily, inside as he fussed, “Well, young lady, first thing’s first. You need to get out of those wet clothes before you catch a catarrh, or worse!”
He moved a hand in a sweeping motion indicating for her to go behind the curtain that separated the sleeping area from the rest of the room. “Now, you go on in there and take off those wet things,” he encouraged. “I’ll put the kettle on to boil for some of that tea you’re so fond of.”
Beth Ann slogged her way in and tugged the curtain closed enough for privacy, and then began the arduous task of peeling off her waterlogged garments. She couldn’t stop her shivering as her body quaked and she had to clamp her teeth together to stop them from chattering noisily. Finally hurrying through the last few pieces, she slipped into her warmest cotton nightgown and the fluffy robe Charise had given her for Christmas the year before.
Pausing long enough for a smile as she remembered that aforementioned Christmas, when she had given her friend one just like it, both purchased at Fessenden and Stewart. The only difference had been that Beth Ann’s robe was her favorite color, lavender, and Charise’s was likewise in her favorite color, peach. They’d gotten quite a giggle out of telling their stories about how they’d paid for the items and had snuck them out without the other catching wind of the gift. Oh, thinking about it now made her long for one of her friend’s reassuring hugs.
Grabbing a towel to work at drying the curly mess her coppery hair always became in stormy weather, she grabbed her wet things and shuffled around the curtain in her wool socks and knitted slippers just as the kettle began to steam. Mr. Hinkle already had the loose tea in the pot before he began pouring in the water as she draped her sodden clothing across the rack she used for just that purpose and then slumped, exhausted, onto a chair at her small table.
“You should probably eat something. My old mamma used to say the best way to stave off sickness is to fill the belly up with food and something warm to drink,” the old man insisted as he moved haltingly around her kitchen with his familiar hitching steps, gathering what he needed.
Beth Ann tiredly rested her head on one hand and released a sigh. “I’m not really hungry...”
“Nonsense. Here, you have a bite or two of this bread and some of that marmalade you sweet-talked me out of last week. I’ll fix you a slice and when your tea is steeped—”
“Mr. Hinkle, really...I—”
“Were you never taught to respect your elders, young lady?” the wrinkled old gentleman interrupted, although she could tell he was merely blustering to get her to comply, so she shook her head and let out a weary giggle, but acquiesced with, “Oh very well, if you insist.”
A few minutes later, a plate of bread with a smearing of Mr. Hinkle’s delicious marmalade in front of her and the promised cup of hot tea warming her hands, the old man lowered himself onto the second chair.
Looking at her, his eyes shimmering with kindness, he began, “Now...do you feel l
ike telling me what happened at Fetterman’s?”
At the mention of the hated man’s name, Beth Ann’s frayed nerves began to shudder once again and she put the cup down into the saucer with a clatter. “Oh, Mr. Hinkle...it was awful, just awful. He...why he...” she paused as she strove not to burst into tears, before launching forth with a torrent of words.
“He’s mad, I tell you! Simply mad! He told me I have to marry him, and he told me that his family owns the store where I work and this apartment house and the bank and...he told me I had no choice but to marry him...or worse, he threatened to make me his...his...paramour, as a punishment because I...I slapped him when he...goodness, what am I going to do?” Her voice had risen to a wail by the time she finished and she brought one hand up to cover her mouth as she burst into tears.
Mr. Hinkle reached over and patted her other hand. His eyes snapping with anger, he shook his head and mumbled, “That dirty, low down scum. He’s a chip off the old block, just as I suspected. No one in that family seems to be happy unless they find a way to ruin the lives of others.” He watched as she fought to get hold of her ragged emotions. “There, there, honey. We’ll think of something. But first, drink your tea, sweet child. You let me think on this a spell.”
Immeasurably glad she no longer felt so alone in the crisis, Beth Ann gave a nod and swiped at her tears with the back of one hand, and then took up her jiggling teacup again in an attempt to try and get some of the soothing liquid down.
Between the two of them, maybe they could think of...something? Some way to derail the speeding freight train that was heading right for her with its blinding headlight obliterating coherent thought...
“All right, then what did he say?” Mr. Hinkle asked several hours later as they worked together to clean up the dishes from their shared supper. The old man had insisted that Beth Ann not be alone that evening, and had passed the time telling corny jokes, doing his best to make her laugh and take her mind off the trouble looming over her head.