A Bride for Sam

by Linda Ellen

  The judge read over the papers and then arched a teasing eyebrow at Zeb. “A bit long in the tooth to be marrying such a young lass, aren’t you Mr. Hinkle?”

  Zebulon chuckled at the distinguished judge’s sense of humor. “Your Honor, I believe age has nothing to do with this situation. I’m merely a surrogate for the real man. And although I admit to having seen seventy New Years rung in, I still fit the bill—male, and willing to help out a young friend in need.”

  The judge, who more than likely was near Mr. Hinkle’s age, chuckled as well and nodded in agreement. “Well said, Mr. Proxy.”

  A look cast over the jurist’s face and he glanced at the sheet of paper again. “Samuel Maynard...wasn’t he the proxy in the other wedding...the groom’s brother, is that correct?”

  Shaking and fearful that the man would suddenly smell a rat and refuse to go through with the ceremony, Beth Ann acknowledged the fact. Would he wonder why Sam hadn’t come back again to take her as his wife in person? “Yes, Your Honor. That’s when Sam and I met...when he came here to marry by proxy my best friend, Charise.”

  The details beginning to come back, the judge tilted his head to look down at her, but his tone was warming. “As I mentioned, I’ve only officiated over a few proxy solemnizations. The thought of sending a young lady off to meet her groom after a legal marriage has been performed just seems a bit of a stretch. Can’t say I’d want my daughter—or now my granddaughter is of age—to do something like that. Tell me...how is that marriage doing...your friend and her groom?”

  At this, Beth Ann smiled in relief. “From what she tells me in her letters, they are doing wonderfully well, Your Honor. They are very much in love...and expecting a baby in June.”

  The old magistrate’s face showed his delight and he gave a nod as he searched for something on the bench. “Fine. That’s fine. And so now, seeing how well your friend’s marriage turned out, you and Mr. Samuel wish to give it a go, is that it?”

  Before she could think of an answer that wasn’t a bold faced lie, Mr. Hinkle patted her hand—that was squeezing the life out of his arm—and answered, “Stranger things have happened, I’d say. Right, Judge Perry?”

  Judge Perry laughed out right at that. “I dare say that’s true, Mr. Hinkle. I dare say that’s true.”

  Satisfied that all was in order, to Beth Ann’s immense relief, the judge commenced with the ceremony.

  Thirty minutes later, they stopped at a small café a few streets from the apartment building and had a quick bite to eat while they planned out their strategy.

  Beth Ann, her reticule clutched on her lap containing the most important document she owned—her marriage license—worked hard at remaining calm and clear headed.

  “If we time things right, everything should go off without a hitch,” Mr. Hinkle was saying as he wiped his mouth on a napkin. “When we finish here we’ll go to the Western Union office to retrieve the money Finn wired you, and then I’ll hire a wagon to take our belongings to Central Station.”

  Taking a sip of her tea, Beth Ann tried to shake off the feeling of foreboding that was trying to take hold. “Oh, I hope nothing goes wrong. I hope we don’t have to even lay eyes on that man. What if the manager sends word to him?”

  The old man paused for a moment and then lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “Well, missy, we’ll cross that bridge if we come to it. As my mama used to say, let’s don’t borrow trouble.”

  Finishing their meal, Mr. Hinkle paid their check and escorted Beth Ann outside. They didn’t have to walk far toward the Western Union office before yet another trolley rattled by and they managed to get aboard, with Mr. Hinkle chuckling that he had ridden more trolleys in the space of two days than he had in two years.

  Everything went fine at the Western Union office at Third and Main, and from there, they hired a man with a wagon at a livery down the street and rode with him to the apartment building. Once they reached what would soon no longer be home, they set about completing their business with as much haste as possible. Beth Ann was so nervous of being found out and stopped, she nearly panicked when she saw the manager, Mr. Drexler, lurking in the lower hall, obviously watching their actions and seeming to be on edge himself.

  Glad that she had finished packing everything, Beth Ann led the way up the steps as the hired man followed and supervised him as he wrestled her trunk down the steps. Seeing the trouble he was having doing it all himself, she had second thoughts about wanting to take so much with her. The man managed the feat, however, and came back in for the rest of her luggage and for Zebulon’s things as well.

  It was then that Mr. Drexler made his presence known.

  “I dare say, Miss Gilmore, you seem to have landed on your feet, as the saying goes. To where, might I ask, are you moving on such short notice?” He paused as he spotted Mr. Hinkle making his way carefully out of his apartment with two carpetbags obviously bulging with his possessions. “Mr. Hinkle? What is going on here, are you vacating your apartment as well? If so, I’ll not be refunding you the rent for the remainder of the month!” This last he spluttered and retrieved a handkerchief with which to wipe his suddenly perspiring forehead.

  Mr. Hinkle refused to let the man cause undue tension. “That’s fine, Mr. Drexler. I heard what you are doing to this dear, young woman and I decided I no longer wanted to reside in such a den of inhumanity. Consider this my notice.”

  “This is all so preposterous. Now I’ll be required to fill two vacancies, and the owners definitely do not like vacancies!”

  With a shrug that showed he couldn’t care less for the man’s trouble, Mr. Hinkle edged past the manager and headed haltingly down the stairs with his burdens, leaving Beth Ann alone at her door with the nosy man. He eyed the carpetbags in her hands and what was obviously her traveling outfit, when suddenly he seemed to be fishing for something to say. Finally he blurted, “I insist that you give me your forwarding address, Miss Gilmore...in case you receive any mail.”

  Making a heroic effort not to let him see just how truly terrified she was, Beth Ann thrust out her chin and replied, “I don’t think that will be necessary, Mr. Drexler. Anyone whom I care about will know my new address. Now, if you will please excuse me, I have things to do,” she added as she pushed past him and hurried down the steps, striving to keep her footing and appear confident. Truthfully, she was petrified that every shadow that darkened the large front portal would materialize into the fearsome marriage broker.

  Minutes later, with everything secured in the wagon, including them, they took off in the direction of Central Station. Mr. Hinkle, who after a herculean effort due to his impairment, sat perched on top of her trunk in the back of the wagon, reached forward and patted her shoulder. “See?” he said cheerfully. “I told you everything would work out. Relax, honey. We’re almost home free.”

  The driver cast them both an odd look, but said nothing and continued to steer the horses on their way. Soon, Central Station came into view and Zebulon tipped the driver to wait with the luggage while they went inside to secure their tickets and find out when their train would depart.

  At the booth, Mr. Hinkle took charge to put their plan into action. As a safety precaution, they had decided to leave a trail that would not be easily followed. “Two tickets to Indianapolis, please.”

  The agent told him the amount and issued the tickets, informing them that their train was scheduled to depart from track four at 4:25. Beth Ann and her partner-in-crime exchanged glances, both thinking that would give Fetterman at least twenty-five minutes to guess where to find them, but nodded nonetheless and accepted the tokens. There was not much else they could do.

  The next step was to get their trunks and baggage to the loading platform. Then, they would have two hours to wait. Beth just hoped she could keep from screaming or jumping out of her skin from raw anxiety until they were safely aboard the train and chugging away from Louisville.

  Funny, she had always loved her hometown, but now, she couldn’t wait t
o bid it a sailor’s farewell.

  Scanning the large depot’s cavernous waiting area, with its mammoth ceiling and plethora of benches, she chose one against the wall and sat down to wait as her traveling companion took care of the details. Thank God for Mr. Hinkle! I would have had no clue how to manage all of this. This experience has resulted in one thing for sure—I now have even more respect for those plucky women who become mail-order-brides and set off across the country alone to meet their future husbands. God bless ‘em. With one bag by her side—containing things she would need on the journey—and her reticule in her lap, she fidgeted and squirmed, eyes darting to peruse every movement until Zebulon rejoined her. The big clock on the far wall seemed to be advancing awfully slow...

  Finally, Mr. Hinkle came back, and nearly two hours later, Beth Ann had just opened her mouth to say something to her friend when her worst nightmare came true...she looked up to see Lloyd Fetterman the Third striding angrily in their direction, with two men she didn’t recognize keeping pace with him.

  “God in Heaven, he’s here...he’s found me!”

  She nearly jumped up to run, but she felt a reassuring hand on her arm and Mr. Hinkle’s familiar whisper in her ear, “Gather your courage, Beth. Remember your ace in the hole.”

  Then, the hated man reached their position, bent down, and jerked Beth Ann to her feet by one arm as he seethed, “Just what do you think you are doing here, my pet?” My pet. The words were anything but affectionate.

  Beth Ann wrenched her arm from his grasp. “What does it look like, Mr. Fetterman? My companion and I are waiting for our train.”

  The man’s eyes glittered with barely suppressed rage. “You’re not going anywhere—especially with the likes of him,” he jerked his head in Zebulon’s direction as if he were of no consequence whatsoever. “Just come with me now and I won’t punish you too badly. But, mark my words, sweetheart—you will be punished for this. You’ve led me on a merry chase. That simpleton, Drexler, was no help, but as usual, greed saved the day. It didn’t take too much persuading to get the liveryman to tell me where he took you and your possessions. But all of that is neither here nor there. My patience is at an end, come on,” he added, reaching to grasp her arm again.

  Zebulon, though he hobbled slightly, inserted himself in front of her, blocking the man from his intent just as she yelled, “No! I’ll not go anywhere with you! Take your hands off me!”

  “I believe the young lady has expressed that she does not wish to go with you, Fetterman,” Zebulon declared calmly.

  The wedding broker sneered down into the smaller, older man’s face. “This woman is my fiancée, so this is none of your business...and just who are you anyway, crippled up old man?”

  Beth Ann watched from behind, her hands nervously clutching the back of her escort’s coat with her entire body trembling in terror. Mr. Hinkle rose up to his full height, which was a good eight inches shorter than their nemesis. “I am Zebulon Elijah Hinkle, and I am this young woman’s friend. Now, I advise you to go on about your business before I am forced to call for a patrolman.”

  Fetterman smirked as his eyes raked over the wrinkled old man who dared stand in his way, and then flicked a look at one of his companions. The man reached for Zebulon, literally picked him up by the front of his coat, and shoved him out of the way.

  Pandemonium ensued.

  Beth Ann screamed and all vestiges of panic vanished like a shooting star as she saw her dear old friend being attacked. Adrenaline shot through her veins as she leaped forward.

  “No! Stop! You’re hurting him! Leave him be! Get away from him!” she yelled, using her small fists to try and prevent the first man, and then both men, from harming Mr. Hinkle, and she was scared to death that they would injure his already defective hip. All the while, Fetterman fought to grab hold of her around the waist and haul her away. Having none of that, she fought like a wild cat, screeching at the henchmen and at Fetterman, and managing to kick him in the shin hard enough to make him howl in pain and let go allowing her to immediately jump back into the fray.

  “Someone, help us! Call the authorities!” Beth Ann begged passengers nearby who had scattered when the fight broke out. A young man finally took off at a dead run to the far side of the depot. Train whistles began to blow, departing announcements were shouted, and the noise of the crowd increased tenfold.

  Mr. Hinkle had done a fair job of defending himself thus far, until one of the thugs landed a hard punch to his middle and he hunched over in pain. “You brute! Mr. Hinkle, are you all right?” she squealed, once again fighting off Fetterman’s grasp as she tried to reach her companion.

  Finally, the shrill piercing of other whistles could be heard over the din as several uniformed officers with clubs came running. Beth Ann was never so relieved to see anyone in her whole life.

  “What’s going on here?” one patrolman bellowed over the skirmish as he and the other officer elbowed their way into the melee and pulled the two henchmen away from Mr. Hinkle, whose suit was now rumpled, his hat trampled on the floor of the station, his hair and spectacles askew, and his lip bleeding on one side as he knelt on the filthy floor.

  Fetterman spoke up as Beth Ann yanked out of his grasp, although she had the distinct impression that he wasn’t happy to have his plans and intentions trumpeted for all to see. “I’m Lloyd Harold Fetterman the Third, officer,” he announced, as if his name alone should make everyone around him bow and scrape. “This old gimp here started a fight with me and my men and I was trying to rescue my fiancée from his clutches...”

  “That’s not true!” Beth Ann screeched as she tried her best to brush dirt from Mr. Hinkle’s jacket and make sure he hadn’t been seriously injured. “I’m not that man’s fiancée,” she added, sneering the word as she glared at him and removed her hanky from the sleeve of her jacket to dab at Mr. Hinkle’s bleeding lip. “I’m a married woman and I can prove it. I’m on my way right now to go to my husband.”

  “What poppycock!” Fetterman roared.

  “Here, officer,” she insisted, her hands once again trembling as she clawed at the cord on her string purse and carefully removed the all-important document. She said a quick, silent prayer that the officer wouldn’t ask the particulars. “This is my marriage license. That’s my signature,” she added, pointing to the place where she’d signed it in the judge’s presence. “And that’s Judge Noah Perry’s signature, he can testify that I’m telling the truth.”

  As hoped, this made Lloyd the Third start sputtering in confusion. “B...but, that’s impossible, officer. This woman came to my marriage broker service and signed up with me just two weeks ago. She agreed just two days ago to marry me. She was supposed to wait at her apartment until I—”

  “Mister Fetterman,” the officer holding the license laughed. “I’d say you’re out of luck. According to this document, this little gal is a married woman, legal and binding. Maybe she was playing a game with your affections, I don’t know. But you have no say over her, what she does, or where she goes.”

  A huge weight seemed to drop off Beth Ann’s shoulders, and she couldn’t resist a triumphant grin as she accepted the license back from the policeman and carefully returned it to its place of safety.

  “Now then,” the other officer added, “You need to go on about your business and let these two continue on their way...unless you, sir,” he switched his gaze to Zebulon, “would like to press charges against these men?”

  The old man glared at Fetterman, and Beth Ann knew he would like nothing better than to see the awful man hauled off to jail, but he shook his head. “No, officer, that’s quite all right. We’ve got a train to catch.”

  With that, Beth Ann and her companion managed to scurry away, found the right track, and boarded their train.

  The last she saw of Lloyd Harold Fetterman the Third, he was still seething. He hadn’t moved from his spot, but stood with fists clenched, glaring at her with such hatred, she felt a chill skitter from her head
clear down to her toes.

  Remembering what he had told her about never losing, she realized this was probably the first time he had ever been thwarted when he had set his sights on a prize. She had bested him—she, a mere female that he had planned on dominating and controlling. How would he cope with such a blow to his pride?

  She could only hope he would take it in stride and this would be the last encounter with the man she would ever be forced to endure.

  Chapter 6

  S am stood with his hands on his hips as he cast an appraising eye at the old log cabin that he and Finn, along with their parents, had once called home.

  Their father, Kenneth Maynard, had built it in 1854. Sam remembered as if it were yesterday—it was the year he matured from a boy into a man, and had made his father proud. The family had joined a wagon train along with nine other wagons, each following after a man named Richard Brown to a choice spot along the Missouri River in Nebraska. Since Brown had built the first cabin the year before, he had called the new settlement Brownville.

  The surrounding acreage had been chock full of tall, straight, strong trees, just waiting to be chopped down and used for something of value. When the others had settled here and built homes—ten cabins that first year—Sam, being fourteen years of age, had helped just much as the men.

  Sam had always loved the view from the front door, as it was lovely year-round. Kenneth had chosen a plot on a slight incline that looked down on the swift moving water of the Missouri River. Their mother, Loretta, had worked diligently to make the humble cabin into a home, and what a home it was with her at the helm—warm, happy, full of fun, laughter, and good food. Sam and Finn had finished their growing-up years there and they both treasured many fond memories within its rugged walls.

  That next spring, Ken Maynard had set out to build the town’s first sawmill and lumberyard a good half mile away from the cabin, and nestled over a tiny waterfall on the brisk running Minnow Creek that headed toward the river.