Mail Order Man

by Heather Gray

  Sarah was moved by Ida’s kindness. “I would like that,” she offered in a soft whisper.

  Minnie grabbed her wrap and a couple of apples before John ushered her and Ida out the door. Before closing the door behind him, he winked at Sarah and told her, “You are in for quite a treat. Ida retelling the life of Samuel is more entertaining than any dime novel you could find. Make sure she tells you how she discovered that ticklish spot.”

  Sarah sank into one of the seats and said out loud to no one in particular, “Secret Service? I don’t even know what that is.”

  A short while later another knock came at the front door. This one was louder and roused Arty from his slumber. “Some chaperone I am,” he muttered as he shook the cobwebs from his brain and stepped out of the sitting room to answer the knock. Arty was speaking to someone out in the foyer, but Sarah was distracted from the voices as soon as the doctor walked into the room.

  Turning her attention to Doc Billingsly, Sarah said, “The linen is staying cooler. I took all the strips off and put a blanket on and was deciding whether I should come get you so you could examine him again.”

  The front door could be heard opening and closing again seconds before Mrs. Smith entered the make-shift sickroom.

  “Sarah, I’ve sent Arty home to get some sleep, and you need to do the same. Off to bed with you now.”

  Exhaustion licked at Sarah and gained in ferocity, trying to pull her down much the way a fire would slowly climb and then consume and topple a lone tree. Everything seemed hazy and far away. She wanted to argue with Mrs. Smith and say she was perfectly fine and could take care of Samuel, but she couldn’t make her mouth move to form the words. Instead, she did as Mrs. Smith bid her. Before she knew it, she was sinking down into a mattress that felt divinely soft and welcoming to her fatigued mind and body. Sarah was barely aware of Mrs. Smith moving about the room. The woman might have said, “Sweet dreams,” or “Sleep well,” or something along that line, but Sarah couldn’t be sure.

  Sarah’s last coherent thought as she drifted off to sleep was, Joy, Lord. I want to have joy.

  ****

  The sun was high in the afternoon sky when Sarah woke. The bedroom door was closed, and Sarah could hear nothing coming from below. She felt grimy all over. Simply knowing she could change into a fresh dress brightened her outlook. Thank you, Lord! Sleep had done wonders for her and her determination to see the good in the current situation.

  Quick work was made of her ablutions, and then Sarah changed into that fresh dress and pinned her hair up in her customary bun. She made her way down the stairs and found Mrs. Smith working on some quilting squares as she sat in a chair at Samuel’s bedside.

  “Samuel’s fever returned, and the doctor is worried about him,” Mrs. Smith said matter-of-factly.

  Sarah’s heart skipped a couple of beats and then raced ahead. She knew she couldn’t have done anything different from Doc Billingsly to prevent the return of the fever, and she knew she would have collapsed if she hadn’t gotten some sleep, but nonetheless, Sarah felt guilt move through her in waves. Help me, Lord, to hold onto what I know and not to be swept away by what I feel.

  The doctor, whom Sarah hadn’t realized was in the room, startled her when he said, “I’m pleased to see you up and about, dear. Do you feel rested?”

  “Y-yes sir, I do,” she stuttered in surprised before regaining her composure. “What can I do to help?”

  “I am perfectly willing to let you take over the task of trying to keep Samuel’s temperature down. I have some patients I need to see to that are outside the city proper. Will you be okay while I’m away?”

  Smiling with bravado, Sarah said, “Of course, Doc. We’ll be just fine.”

  Mrs. Smith showed Doc Billingsly out. When she returned to the sitting room, she settled into a chair back by the wall, presumably leaving the chair by the bed for Sarah. Resuming her sewing, she said, “Don’t mind me, dear. You go right about your business.”

  Sarah did indeed get right to work but had to ask, “Do I need a chaperone?”

  Mrs. Smith put her sewing down and gave Sarah a direct gaze. “People in town don’t fully understand Samuel’s role in what happened yesterday. There is some talk, especially since my dear William hasn’t revealed who placed the ad. I am taking precautions to try to protect you both as much as possible.”

  Chaffing at the perceived restrictions, Sarah felt her face heating, not with embarrassment over the need for a chaperone but rather with irritation. She could tell by the look on Mrs. Smith’s face that she was not hiding her reaction well.

  “Sarah, dear, you’ve been on your own long enough to have gotten used to making your own decisions. I understand and know you don’t want me telling you what to do, but please trust me when I say this is for your own good and for Samuel’s own good.”

  Sarah reigned in her irritation and simply asked, “Was anybody else besides Samuel injured?”

  “Not many, and they’re mostly minor injuries.” Sarah was thankful that Mrs. Smith didn’t fight the subject change. “To be honest, I think everyone else that got injured is now locked up in jail with the exception of my husband, who only had a small graze.”

  “Mayor Smith!” Sarah said louder than she’d intended. “He was going to take today off to spend with you. I’m so sorry you’re stuck here chaperoning me. You should be with your husband.”

  Mrs. Smith waved Sarah’s concern away and said briskly, “Not to worry, dear. He would have spent the day with me without hesitation, but he truly was needed at work. I did the best thing by telling him I was needed here. Now he can take care of city business without any guilt. Once I saw he was fine – tired, but in good health – then I, too, was fine.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  As the afternoon wore on, Sarah noticed that Samuel’s temperature came back down. She wasn’t convinced this would be a permanent change, but she was thankful nonetheless.

  When Minnie and Ida arrived that evening, Minnie whisked her mother away to go discuss a new wardrobe for college. Ida remained with Sarah, saying that her husband would be by to pick her up later in the evening. With Samuel’s sleeping form between them and the house relatively quiet, Sarah and Ida chatted.

  “Was the stage office busy today?” Sarah asked.

  “Not at all. After yesterday’s shootout, everyone seems to be staying pretty close to home. Minnie and I mostly talked fashion and girlish daydreams all day.” With a twinkle in her eye, Ida added, “And drank good coffee, of course.”

  Sarah didn’t quite have it in her to laugh, but she did appreciate her friend’s attempt to lighten the mood and relieve some of the worry that permeated the room. “Nobody here lets me make coffee either. Apparently I have a reputation.”

  After a few more minutes of idle conversation, Ida spoke up, “I said I would tell you more about Samuel. I can do that now if you’d like.”

  Sarah felt like she’d been awaiting this conversation for days. She leaned forward in her seat, anticipating Ida’s words, desperate for anything that might help her to understand this man. Sarah knew he might still die, but if she could feel closer to him, even if only for this brief period of time, then that is exactly what she wanted.

  “You know that Samuel is my cousin, right?” When Sarah nodded, Ida continued, “His mother and my father were brother and sister. Samuel’s mother was shot and killed during a bank robbery when he was seven. Thankfully, he was in school. Otherwise we might have lost them both.”

  Sarah gasped and sat back in her chair, feeling the blow of Ida’s words. Samuel had lost his mother too? Why had he never said anything to her about it? Her heart always went out to any child who lost a parent. She imagined, though, that it must be doubly hard for him to have lost his mother in such a brutal fashion.

  “I have few memories of Samuel’s father before the shooting.” Ida folded her hands in her lap and watched Sarah for a moment, her eyes distant, before picking up the tale again. “I remember h
im as being jolly. That all changed when his wife was killed, though.” Ida looked at Sarah, the pain of remembering etched on her face. Though Sarah was glad that Ida had continued, her heart continued to ache for young Samuel and the tragic violence that had affected both him and his father. “My uncle did not handle his wife’s death well,” Ida said in a ghost of a voice.

  Sarah reached for a nearby glass of water and took a small sip, hoping to ease the sudden tightness in her throat. Nodding, she said, “Go on.”

  “Samuel’s father began drinking and acting erratically. I didn’t know much about what adults did during the day back then, but I knew that Samuel’s dad worked for the government in Washington, DC, and I had heard my parents say that he had a high stress job.”

  Ida paused long enough to unclench her hands and flex them a couple of times. She looked past Sarah, a faraway expression again on her face. Her eyes came back into focus and moved to the man lying between them. Ida tenderly enfolded one of Samuel’s hands between her own before continuing. “It was more than that. I would sneak down the stairs and listen to my parents talk at night. They believed that Samuel’s father was losing control.” Ida again looked around the room. When her gaze returned to Sarah, her eyes were anguished. “You have to understand. Samuel and his family went to church with us every Sunday. We spent time together at each other’s homes. We were extended family, but we were a part of each other’s lives. After his mother died, though, we didn’t get to see Samuel anymore. His father cut us off. He began blaming everyone in his wife’s family, including us, for everything that was going wrong in his own life. His grief was intense, but it was also fueled by alcohol, a drink I don’t think he’d ever touched before his wife’s death.”

  Sarah could not tear her gaze away from Ida’s face. Ida, who had never been good at hiding her emotions, told the story of what Samuel had been through with more than just her words. The emotions that flitted across her face told of greater woe and heartache than mere words could ever convey.

  With a deep breath, Ida continued, “Samuel’s father virtually cut us off. He still brought Samuel to church each Sunday, and we got to see him there, but that was it. It stayed like that for a couple of years. My folks talked to an attorney to see if they could take Samuel by force but were told they had no legal grounds. The attorney told them that all they could do was pray.” Sarah reached up to brush her fingers along Samuel’s forehead. She told herself she was checking his temperature but knew deep down that her need to touch him was much more. Ida, meanwhile, rose from her seat and went to stand by the window. Arms wrapped around her middle, she looked like she might not finish the story.

  Sarah returned her hands to lap and leaned forward in her seat. Anticipation and dread both coursing through her, she asked, “Why couldn’t they take him?”

  Her eyes on something outside the window, Ida answered, “There was no proof that Samuel was being harmed. Laws protect families. Most of the time that’s a good thing. In this case it wasn’t.” She turned away from the window and gave Sarah a sad smile. “So we prayed. We prayed for Samuel everyday as a family. He may not have been allowed in our home anymore, but he was still a part of our family, and not a day went by that we didn’t pray for him. Then the unthinkable happened.”

  “What?” whispered Sarah, taking another nervous sip of water.

  “Samuel didn’t come to church. In all that time, he had never missed a Sunday. I think I must have been too young to understand what that meant, but everyone in my family was terribly distraught over his absence. I was too, but not in the way that my parents and older brothers were. It’s the only time in my life that I can remember seeing my father afraid.”

  Ida raised one hand to the neck of her blouse and grasped the locket that lay there among the folds. “It was years before I learned what happened that afternoon. It was truly awful.” A distance look in her eyes, Ida continued, “Samuel’s father apparently got fired from his job earlier that week. He got drunker than he’d ever been before. Samuel avoided his father all week, waiting for Sunday to come so he could see us. On Saturday, though, he didn’t get away fast enough. Samuel must have said something. Whatever it was, it set his father off. His father became violently angry. He lashed out. He beat Samuel so badly that he was almost unrecognizable. His face was swollen, bruised and bleeding. The backs of his hands were covered in open cuts, many of the bones in them broken. His back, his legs – every part of him was covered in bruises.”

  Sarah willed herself to breathe evenly as she waited for Ida to continue. She wondered if it was as painful for Ida to retell it as it was for her to hear it. Sarah watched a shudder run through Ida’s body as she began to speak again. “My father left us at church to go check on Samuel. When he saw Samuel’s condition, he put him into the wagon. My uncle was supposed to be passed out drunk, so my father went back into the house to hurriedly collect some of Samuel’s belongings. It turned out that Samuel’s father wasn’t passed out after all. He pulled a gun. There was a struggle. My father got shot in the arm.”

  Ida visibly relaxed, but her expression remained somber. “The story gets better from here,” she said. “Someone had already called the authorities, so the police arrived and took Samuel’s father into custody. He was tried for his crimes and sentenced to three years in prison but hung himself after only one.”

  Ida returned to her previously vacated seat next to Samuel’s bed. She again picked up his hand and held it gently between her own. “The doctors said that not only had Samuel suffered brain damage, but also that he’d probably never be able to use his hands again.” With a chuckle, she added, “They clearly didn’t know him very well.” A genuine smile now lighting Ida’s face, she told Sarah, “Samuel came to live with us. I was young enough to think he was there just for me to play with, and he didn’t seem to mind. We became fast friends. It was years before I realized he played with me because he didn’t feel threatened by me. Most of the physical scars healed within a year, but the emotional scars took longer. After a few years, he began smiling again. Eventually he started laughing. Samuel flourished in our home and found himself again.” Sarah picked up the glass of water then put it back without taking a drink. She smoothed her skirt, only to realize her hands were trembling. Folding them stiffly in her lap, she willed herself to remember that Samuel’s story had a happy ending.

  Ida didn’t seem to notice Sarah’s turmoil as she continued, “He always had a great sense of humor, strength and confidence. He just needed a chance to remember. He eventually became the biggest prankster in the family. We’re a family of pranksters, so trust me when I say that’s a big deal.”

  Heart still heavy for all Samuel had been through, Sarah wanted to grasp and hold onto the optimism she now heard ringing in Ida’s voice. “You said something about the Secret Service this morning. What’s that?”

  “Samuel is the best one to answer that, but I’ll tell you what I know,” Ida replied. “Samuel studied business in college. After graduating, he joined the Secret Service. He wanted to help protect people against bank robbers, like the one who had taken his mother’s life. He ended up getting assigned to the illegal gambling unit instead. He spent four years in the Secret Service, mostly working undercover.

  “Samuel was good at what he did and was highly decorated for his work. Eventually, though, the job became too routine for him. He didn’t feel challenged anymore.” Shrugging, Ida added, “He’s an adventurer at heart, I think. So Samuel left the Secret Service and bought a hotel. He told me in a letter that he wanted to spend more time around good, honest folk and less time around crooks and criminals.”

  Curiosity getting the better of her, Sarah blurted, “So he owns a hotel?” Startled by how loud her voice sounded in the still room, she stood. Needing something to do, she began fidgeting with the blanket, making sure Samuel’s covering was straight and wrinkle-free.

  Ida gave Sarah an odd look before answering. “He fixed up that first hotel and then sold it
for a profit. Then he bought another and did the same thing. And then another. He purchased hotel after hotel, fixing each up, improving them to no end, and then selling them. After John and I got married and moved out west, though, something changed for Samuel. He started to talk about wanting to settle down. I didn’t take him seriously at first, but after a while I began to think he meant it. I got a letter telling me he’d be arriving in about a year and to have a bed ready for him. His plans changed, as you know, and he came to town much sooner.”

  “But Larkspur doesn’t have a hotel. What’s his interest in being here?”

  Ida stood and brushed the hair from Samuel’s forehead. Her eyes were on her cousin as she answered Sarah’s question. "He wants to build his masterpiece here, the first hotel he’ll have built from the ground up. Then he plans to settle in and run the place and put down roots.”

  Sarah mulled that over for a moment, wondering if Samuel’s roots would include her. Not sure how to continue that subject without revealing too much, she asked, “How did he get involved in the shooting yesterday?”

  “Samuel heard some things around town. His background with the Secret Service made him believe there was a plot being hatched to rob the bank. He brought his suspicions to the mayor. The mayor had him coordinate with Sheriff Spooner to try to thwart the robbery. You pretty much know the rest.”

  “How exactly did Samuel get shot? Shouldn’t he be experienced at this sort of thing?” asked Sarah.

  “I don’t rightfully know the answer to that. Sheriff Spooner could probably tell you, I suspect, but he’s mighty busy down at the jail and won’t likely be making social calls anytime soon.”

  Mrs. Smith stepped into the room with a tea service in hand. She set it on the table and said, “I thought you ladies could do with some refreshments. A nice bracing cup of tea always does wonders for me.” Mrs. Smith stepped out just as unceremoniously as she’d arrived.