Brides of the West Page 16

“I’ll take ya over to Mrs. Appling’s,” he said.

  “Just give me directions.” She could do this—the sheriff had no say over what she did. “I’m certain I can find it.”

  “I told Sheriff Morrow that I would and Ben Smith keeps his word.”

  After walking a short distance with him in silence, she was glad to reach the boardinghouse.

  Mrs. Appling led her to a room on the second floor. It contained a lumpy mattress on a simple wood frame, an old discolored three-drawer wooden dresser and a couple of hooks next to the door. All the comforts of home and she didn’t have to cook.

  Returning downstairs, Annabelle broached the topic of rent and was told in no uncertain terms it had been paid in advance.

  “I can’t allow Mr. Morrow to pay my rent. I’m certain you understand, Mrs. Appling,” she pleaded. “It isn’t appropriate.”

  “Call me Fanny since you are going to be living here. Sheriff Morrow is an honorable man. He said he was paying his debt to Woods and I have no problem with him paying for your room.”

  “I can pay my rent,” she protested. “If you won’t accept my money, then I’ll help with the cooking, the cleaning or the laundry. I’m not afraid of hard work. I kept house for my pa and brothers back home in Georgia.”

  “I won’t turn down help with the laundry.” Annabelle wasn’t surprised the old lady accepted her offer so quickly.

  Fanny explained the bathing policy. One hot bath a week. Any more would cost extra. She heated the water on the stove and emptied it into a bathtub set up in the kitchen. Annabelle enjoyed her first hot bath since she’d left home.

  Mr. Woods’ death changed her future. Her dream of starting a new life with a husband who could provide for her had been shattered in an instant. She’d almost cried at the sheriff’s office, but now, alone in a bathtub with warm water relaxing her muscles, the pent-up emotion of the day ran down her cheeks in a torrent of tears.

  She felt better after her bath and before making her way to her room pulled on the new robe she’d made for her life as a married woman.

  Sleep was elusive as thoughts assailed her. How could she have been so stupid as to travel over a thousand miles to marry a man she’d never met? She’d believed every line Barry had written.

  Now she had to make a decision. She could return home to face Pa’s wrath and the ridicule of the neighbors. That meant cooking and cleaning for her pa and five brothers, until Lord knew when. She’d be a worn-out old maid in no time. Or she could stay in Shiloh Springs and somehow try to build a life using what skills she had—cooking, cleaning, washing and some sewing, and she knew how to read, write and do simple ciphering, not that she had used the latter very often.

  She still wanted a family of her own—a husband and children. Surely she could find another man willing to marry her. She’d seen plenty of men around town. An image of the sheriff came to mind. The man seemed as demanding as her pa and brothers. He’d told her to think about getting back on the stagecoach. He hadn’t given her a choice about where to eat, then paid for her meal. And he’d found a room for her.

  On the other hand, if she took a more positive attitude, he didn’t have to do any of those things. She wondered if there was a Mrs. Morrow.

  When she opened her eyes the next morning, bright warm sunlight streamed into her room. When had she fallen asleep?

  She’d worked hard all her life and considered herself as tough as anybody. By God, she was going to make it somehow. She cleaned her face with a washcloth, brushed her hair and put on a fresh dress before hurrying downstairs. Fanny sat in the parlor sewing.

  “Don’t rush, dear. You had a rough trip with a bad ending, so I let you sleep in. I saved some breakfast for you.” The landlady smiled and shooed her into the kitchen. “Just eat what you can.”

  In the warmer she found biscuits and bacon. A cup sat on the counter and she filled it with coffee. How different food tasted when it wasn’t prepared slapdash at stagecoach stations. She ate two biscuits and the bacon. Then she cleaned up after herself and returned to Fanny.

  “Which rooms need to have the linens laundered?”

  “They were changed the day before yesterday, so won’t need changing for another two days. Ouch!” Fanny yelped, poking her finger with a needle. “Sit a spell and visit with an old lady.”

  “Would you like some tea?” Annabelle asked.

  “Hotter than blue blazes, but tea would hit the spot. Thank you kindly.”

  Annabelle had just returned with two cups when a knock sounded. She answered and found a small boy standing on the porch.

  “I have a message for Miss Yeager.”

  A message? “I’m Miss Yeager.” She took the paper and shut the door. Returning to the parlor she opened the note. “Mr. Landers, attorney at law, wants to see me in his office, today,” she told Fanny.

  “He’s a shyster,” Fanny said. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you and don’t believe him unless you see it in black and white.”

  Whatever it was had to be important coming from a lawyer. Her mind raced. What could it be? Anxious, she had to find out what it was right away.

  “I’ll go see him now.” Annabelle chewed her fingernail, something she always did when nervous.

  “I reckon that’s a good idea, or you won’t have any fingers left.” Fanny laughed as Annabelle walked out the door.

  ***

  Even without Fanny’s directions, Annabelle could have found Mr. Landers’ office. A weather beaten sign announcing his name and profession was visible on the front of the building and the dust covered window.

  She entered a small office where a man labored behind a desk. “Excuse me. I’m Annabelle Yeager. I’m looking for Mr. Landers. He asked me to meet him here.”

  “Oh, yes, I’m Sylvester Landers, attorney at law.”

  He was a stout, middle-aged gentleman with a balding head, who led her into a back office. Fanning his hand, he offered her a worn leather seat across from a huge, dark oak table with fancy carvings all around it.

  “I represent Barry Woods’ estate, Miss Yeager.” He sat behind the table and opened his dispatch case. “There are some issues of money that need to be settled.”

  Fear grabbed her and she felt as though her arms were being tied behind her back. He expected her to repay the money to Barry. “I don’t have any money, Mr. Landers.”

  “That isn’t a problem.” He leafed through his papers.

  “I said I can’t repay the money Mr. Woods sent me.” She wrung her hands. “I don’t have it.” Panic set in hard.

  He peered at her over his spectacles. “What? Miss Yeager, I didn’t ask you to come here about the money Mr. Woods sent you. I asked you here about your inheritance.”

  “Inheritance?” Her heart pounded.

  He removed his glasses. “Mr. Woods kept his affairs in order. After you accepted his marriage proposal, he set up a will leaving everything to you.”

  Her jaw dropped. It was a good thing she was sitting. “Everything?”

  “Everything, lock, stock and barrel,” he repeated. “The Chances Are Saloon and Social Club, his bank accounts and his personal property. They’re all yours now.”

  “I don’t know what to say.” Her hands trembled. A man she didn’t know, the man she would’ve married, had left her all his property. Well, she would’ve made him a good wife, if he hadn’t died.

  “It won’t be final ‘til tomorrow when I take it to the judge and get it signed. It’s at least a half day’s ride to the county seat and I’ll be back the day after tomorrow with the signed documents. I just need your signature on a few papers.” One at a time, he handed her sheets of paper, briefly explaining them to her. She signed them and handed them back.

  He gathered the papers into his case. “I wouldn’t advise you telling anyone until I have the signed papers. No sense being pestered by any busybodies.”

  She stood to leave and he escorted her to the door. “Thank you, Miss Yeager. I’ll take care of everyth
ing.”

  She walked out onto the boardwalk. Her pa always said life was unpredictable. How quickly her fortune had changed.

  ***

  Josh wanted to hit something. He’d tossed and turned all night as that little piece of fluff wreaked havoc with his sleep.

  He stomped down the boardwalk with a scowl on his face. People stepped out of his way. Those who spoke got a tip of the hat and maybe a terse hello.

  Ahead he saw the bane of his existence stepping out of the lawyer’s office. What would she be doing there? Maybe she’d inquired about her rights as Barry Woods’ fiancée before he died. Maybe even a little money to get her back to Georgia. There was no way to avoid her.

  “Good morning, Miss Yeager.” He tipped his hat. She looked different, not quite like a woman whose fiancé had died suddenly.

  Annabelle gifted him with a smile. “Good morning, Sheriff Morrow. It’s a nice day, maybe a little on the warm side, but the breeze helps.”

  Was she actually discussing the weather with him? What had happened overnight? “If you need any help around town, don’t hesitate to ask. I’ll be glad to show you around.” Why did he say that when all he wanted was to be as far away from her as possible.

  “Thank you, Sheriff.” He detected a fleeting sparkle in her blue eyes.

  “Josh. Call me Josh.” It sounded so stuffy when she referred to him as sheriff.

  “All right, Josh. But you must call me Annabelle.” He imagined her warm and inviting smile was just for him. “I need some thread. Where can I find some?”

  “Johnson’s Emporium. I’m headed that way.” He held out his arm and she took it. At that instant he felt her special warmth wrap around his heart and cascade through his body. He could hear his blood rush. The more he tried to suppress his feelings, the more he realized his heart was aching for her and he was hopelessly entangled in her web of innocence. They walked together along the boardwalk until they reached the store. Josh opened the door and ushered her inside. The bell on the door announced their entrance.

  “Sheriff Morrow, how can I help you? I’m afraid I haven’t gotten in more books.” Mrs. Johnson greeted him, then stopped abruptly when she saw Annabelle.

  “Mrs. Johnson, this is Annabelle Yeager. She needs some thread.” Everyone in town knew about the mail order bride, so the introduction was for Annabelle’s benefit.

  Josh recognized the sudden coolness in Mrs. Johnson’s demeanor. Her daughter, Patricia, had designs on him. He’d been invited to dinner with the Johnsons more times than he cared to remember and he was running out of excuses. They were nice people and she was a fine girl, but he didn’t feel that spark or that special warmth he’d felt deep in his heart only once before and not again until Annabelle Yeager walked into his life.

  No, this was wrong. He couldn’t, shouldn’t. The stage was due back in a few days. He just had to keep his distance until then.

  “I need some dark blue thread,” Annabelle said.

  “I’m sorry for your loss,” Mrs. Johnson added, clearly devoid of any genuine sympathy.

  “Thank you.” Annabelle looked at the thread proffered by Mrs. Johnson. “Yes, this will do. Five yards should be adequate.”

  “Do you plan on staying in town or returning East?” Mrs. Johnson cut to the heart of the matter.

  “My plans are unsettled. I may stay in Shiloh Springs.”

  “I don’t have any openings, and I don’t think there are any openings in town unless you want to work over at the Chances Are Saloon.” Vinegar practically dripped from her fangs as she forestalled any attempt Annabelle might make at finding a job.

  “Now, Mrs. Johnson, Miss Yeager isn’t the type of person to work at the Chances Are, and I’m certain she’ll find a suitable position in town,” Josh interjected, “if she decides to stay.” The words sounded strange and far away. Did they come out of his mouth? He reminded himself that he wanted her on the stage headed out of town.

  She paid for her purchase and he escorted her out the door. He wouldn’t make the mistake of trying to pay for her things again.

  “Sorry. I don’t know what got into Mrs. Johnson,” Josh said outside the emporium.

  “I need to get back. Mrs. Appling will be expecting me to help with dinner.” She smiled at him again and he melted like butter on a hot biscuit.

  “Yes, ma’am.” He tipped his hat. “I’ll continue with my rounds. Good afternoon.”

  “Good afternoon, Josh,” she said before turning and heading toward the boardinghouse.

  Josh continued his rounds through town and pondered on Annabelle. She seemed likeable enough, but what had driven her to become a mail order bride? To Barry Woods of all people.

  Even now the thought of Woods caused his skin to crawl. The man was bad, no doubt about it. His contacts with Woods had been few and far between. He didn’t frequent Woods’ establishments except as sheriff. The man defined the words weasel and cheat. The Chances Are Saloon and Social Club demanded more attention than any other business in town. Alcohol combined with card cheating created a volatile situation and kept him busy, particularly on Saturday nights. Throw in the social club, a fancy name for a brothel, and it was a real problem.

  Barry Woods had been an enigma to everyone in town. No one knew who he was or where he hailed from. Story was he showed up in town one day with enough cash to buy the old saloon which was on the verge of closing. Business boomed after Lauren Thamann opened the social club on the second floor of the saloon. Cowboys flocked in from surrounding counties. Woods seemed to have a lot of business sense and a lot of money. He was seldom seen outside the saloon. Rumor was he’d made his fortune running Yankee blockades during the war. Needless to say, a man like him had enemies and some thought he was hiding out in Shiloh Springs, but no one knew for sure and Woods wasn’t talking.

  ***

  Annabelle made her way to the boardinghouse. Barry left her all his property! She would use the money to make a new life for herself.

  One thing was certain; she didn’t have to go home. Did she want to stay in Shiloh? She didn’t know, but she owned property now and didn’t have to make a decision right away.

  Admittedly, accepting Barry Woods’ proposal had been a pretty bad idea. He lied to her about owning a hotel and restaurant. Did he lie about loving her? Of course he had, but his marriage proposal was real. Why did he want a wife? What happened that made him secretly make out a will and leave all his earthly possessions to a woman he’d never met? She’d never know what kind of a man he was or the husband he would’ve made, but one thing was darn sure—his gift was real and had no strings attached. Woods must’ve loved her in his own strange way. Silently, she thanked him.

  The boardinghouse loomed before her. Fanny sat on the porch snapping a pan of beans. Annabelle pushed all thoughts of men to the back of her mind.

  “Let me help you.” She sat beside Fanny, picked up a handful of the beans and began to work on them. Her younger, agile fingers worked more quickly than the older woman’s.

  “You have a nice trip around town?” Fanny was clearly fishing for information on her business with Mr. Landers. Annabelle avoided it.

  They discussed the Johnsons at the store. She learned Patricia, the daughter, thought the sheriff would marry her. For some unknown reason that bothered her, but it explained Mrs. Johnson’s hostility toward her.

  Annabelle finished snapping the last of the beans. Fanny picked up the bowl and started inside. “Better get these on if we’re gonna eat them for dinner.”

  Together they fixed supper. It wasn’t any different than meals back home. Annabelle volunteered to do the dishes and help straighten the kitchen.

  “Goodnight, Fanny,” she said after they’d finished. “I’m going to bed.”

  “Go right ahead,” Fanny replied. “You need to peel potatoes in the morning.”

  She gave Fanny a quick smile as she stopped on the stairs. She squeezed the banister so hard her knuckles were white. What had just changed? Was
she a paying tenant or a charity case?

  The next two days, Annabelle stayed at the boardinghouse and Mrs. Appling treated her like the hired help. Her patience was beginning to wear thin when Mr. Landers sent for her.

  She put on the only clean dress she had and told Mrs. Appling she was going out. Before she got out the door, Mrs. Appling handed her a shopping list. She shoved it into her reticule.

  At the lawyer’s office, Mr. Landers ushered her to his desk.

  “Thank you for coming, Miss Yeager. The Judge signed the papers and you’re now the legal owner of the Chances Are Saloon and Social Club. Money at the bank has been transferred to an account in your name. All that remains is my fee.” He presented her with a bill.

  It was over a hundred dollars. “I don’t have this much money,” she lamented.

  “Yes, you do—at the bank. We can go there and I’ll introduce you to Mr. Webber.”

  “I’m not sure what to do next.” She pushed the panic away, certain he’d tell her.

  “You’re the owner of the saloon and social club. The employees work and have to be paid. Rufus, the bartender, has been paying them out of the daily receipts. I’ll take you there and introduce you to him, too.” He pulled his watch out of his vest pocket. “We can do it now.”

  “Now?” she stammered.

  “Yes, it’s a perfect time.” He gathered up some papers and put them in his dispatch case, then led her to the door and locked it behind them.

  At the bank, Mr. Landers introduced her to the bank employees. Mr. Webber wasn’t in. To her surprise, over five hundred dollars was in an account with her name. She arranged payment for Mr. Landers and thanked the attentive clerk.

  ***

  Mr. Landers then led Annabelle to the back entrance of the saloon and knocked on the door. A fat man with greasy hair answered. “Mr. Landers, come in.” The man stared at her.

  “Rufus, this is Miss Annabelle Yeager, Mr. Woods’ fiancée.” They went inside to a small office. “Mr. Woods made a will out after Miss Yeager agreed to marry him. It was important to him to provide for her. He left the saloon, the social club and all his assets to her.”