Brides of the West (21 page)

“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 everything.”

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.