Della: Bride of Texas (American Mail-Order Bride 28) (4 page)

“Hmph,” Helen scoffed. “Only reason he’s there’s because he wasn’t man enough to handle a real job.”

Roy stopped in mid bite and dropped his fork onto the plate, making it clatter loudly as his eyes pierced Helen’s in silent rage. Helen looked down again and kept eating. Roy shoved his chair back from the table and stood up, turning to his right where Mary and Della sat frozen. “If you’ll excuse me,” he said. “I’m turning in for the night—we have a big day tomorrow at the store.”

The rest of the meal was spent in silence. Mary moved the food around on her plate, using her fingers to scoop bits up onto her fork and guide it to her mouth.
What have I gotten myself into?
Della thought.

When Helen finished her meal, she stood up, cleared her plate and went into her bedroom without saying a word. Della took the initiative to clear her and Mary’s dishes and then followed Mary into the small room they’d be sharing. She didn’t mind sharing the room—it felt like the days of her childhood when she and Charlotte shared quarters and would stay awake all night giggling. The moonlight shone through the window to illuminate the room as Della laid there going over the day in her mind.

“My ma isn’t right about my pa,” Mary whispered in the dark.

“Oh?” Della said, not wanting to fish for more information, but not wanting to shut Mary out, either.

“Everyone knows those cowboys and rustlers are mean,” Mary said. “They humiliated my pa—tying him up like a hog and chasing him down, even though he had a badge.”

“That’s horrible,” Della said, shocked that a man of the law would be treated like that in public.

“He had the courage to stick it out a long time,” Mary continued, “up until the night Mr. Hensley shot at him.”

“Mr. Hensley?” Della gasped. “But isn’t he the one who
owns
the General Store?”

“Yes,” Mary explained. “Sheriff Lockhart told him he’d better find Pa a job after what he’d done—chasing Pa down the street, into a saloon while shooting at his feet. Pa says Mr. Hensley’s really a nice man when he don’t drink, but Ma was humiliated about it and she’s been even meaner to him ever since. I don’t know if I forgive Mr. Hensley or not, but if Pa says he’s good, then I believe him.”

Della was on the side of Helen in this matter. No one,
absolutely no one
, should be shooting at people—even if it
is
all in fun. “Your Pa is a brave man,” Della said. “And he adores you to no end!”

“He’s the greatest,” Mary giggled in agreement. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” Della said. It had been a very long day and while the sun had just gone down not long ago, she was more than ready to fall into a deep sleep.

…

The sun hadn’t risen yet when Roy Jennings knocked on the door to waken Della. She tiptoed quietly across the floor so she wouldn’t wake Mary and cracked the door open to let Roy know she’d be ready soon. It was her first full day as a member of the Fort Worth community!

She’d seen other women walking around town, and the attire had ranged from highly made-up women with the reddest lipstick Della had ever seen, wide feathered hats and low cut dresses to clearly well-to-do women in the latest Paris fashion of silks and lace. Then, there were the obvious frontier women in plain, cotton clothing who wore bonnets. These were the women Della most identified with. Her dress was plain and everything she had could be mixed and matched if needed.

As they headed up the road to town, Roy was quiet. Della couldn’t go into this situation with Hank Hensley blindly, so she decided to put Roy on the spot and ask him about it. “What exactly happened the night Hank Hensley shot at you?” she blurted out.

Roy raised his eyebrows and turned to face Della. “Well it ain’t nobody’s business but mine and Hank’s, but I’ll tell you,” he said. “Hank’s the kind of man who would give his life for you when he’s sober. But come nightfall, he’s like many of the town’s male citizens—likes to stir things up over in Hell’s Half Acre. He’s the best shot in town, second only to Sheriff Lockhart, so he thought it’d be funny to chase me down by shooting near my feet.”

“That’s not funny at all,” Della said, disgusted.

“I didn’t think so, either,” Roy chuckled. “I can look back on it now and laugh, but back then I was up to my eyeballs dealing with Helen at home and…well, add the chaos of the Acre and it was just more than I could take.”

“And what’s Hell’s Half Acre?” Della queried.

“Well, now, that’s a subject you best take up with Helen. It’s not a subject for polite company,” Roy said emphatically.

Della could read between the lines and chose not to ask more questions about the Acre. “But how could you stand
working
for the man?” Della asked, genuinely trying to figure it out.

“Well, Hank came to me, hat in hand, and apologized for his wrong-doing,” Roy explained. “Told me he had ordered a whole set of these raised letter books for Mary, and he planned to hire a tutor for her to teach her how to read them, which he did. That son-of-a-gun even bought the General Store from someone else,
just
so I could run it during the day. Pays me a nice sum, too.”

Della didn’t see how anyone could be so night and day with their personality. A scoundrel who terrified people at night, and a hero for those same people at dawn. “But Helen’s still not okay with it?” Della pushed, wanting to know more about the situation at home.

“Helen’s never been okay with anything having to do with me
or
Mary,” Roy said. “I’ve learned to ignore it for the most part. Sometimes it gets the better of me. As for Hank, well, we’ve all got our demons—and his happens to be whisky and gambling. Can’t judge a man for how he acts when he’s liquored up.”

Della sure could. While she appreciated the kind things Mr. Hensley had done for Mary and Roy, she couldn’t shake the fact that anyone who covered up their bad behavior with good deeds, was still half rotten at the core. She certainly wouldn’t forgive him.

As they brought the wagon to a halt in front of the General Store, a fair-skinned woman with bright hair the color of fire waited outside on the steps. Roy jumped down and hurried around to the storefront as Della made her way there, too. “Forget your supplies?” he asked the woman.

“It’s a horrible habit of mine, Roy,” she said, rushing in to purchase a few odds and ends.

“Della,” Roy said. “I’d like you to meet Mrs. Annabelle Collins. She’s the local teacher—moved here from Savannah and settled down with one of our ranchers.”

“Lovely to meet you,” Annabelle said. “Sorry I’m in such a hurry—my students will be at the schoolhouse any minute now!” Her dress wasn’t the type Della would expect a school teacher and the wife of a rancher to wear. It was more like one she would admire in the fancy shops of Lawrence, but that were way out of her reach to purchase. Della wondered if there was a special occasion at school or if Annabelle always dressed that fancy.

“Nice to meet you, too,” Della said, gathering the items for the customer and opening the door for her after she’d paid. Annabelle smiled at her as she rushed out the door. Della spent the rest of the morning learning where everything was and how Roy liked to run the store, but every so often she would look up when the bell rang and a new face walked in. Any time now, Hank Hensley would be stopping in, and if there’s one thing Della didn’t want to happen, it was to let that man catch her off guard.

In Della’s mind, Hank was the worst kind of scoundrel—one who never cared that his actions might hurt others and always able to charm or pay his way out of bad situations. She was happy that she would build a relationship with a man who had morals and stability and one who was predictable.

That thought brought her around to Milton Tidwell.
I wonder when I’ll meet my future husband?
Della wondered. Excitement and anticipation filled her thoughts and she began to envision their meeting and what they would say to each other.

Della felt a glimmer of happiness at last – and a real sense of what the future might hold for her. Hank Hensley was quickly forgotten and replaced with thoughts of marriage, family, home and love—at long last.

Chapter 4

“Don’t tell me I’m headed for the calaboose
this
early” Hank said, laughing when Sheriff Lockhart walked through the door of his construction company.

“Nah,” the sheriff grinned. “We have a policy not to lock you up until at least 10 o’clock at night—that way you can’t bail yourself out and cause more trouble before the evening’s over.” The two friends frequently laughed about Hank’s mischievous ways—drinking a little too much in Hell’s Half Acre, letting a card game get him all riled up, and then unwinding with a pair of six shooters and an aim so sharp, even the liquor couldn’t come between him and his target.

“Well I appreciate that,” Hank said, grinning as he motioned for the sheriff to have a seat. “What can I do for you—or are you here on behalf of the council?”

“You of all people should like what I’m about to say,” Sheriff Lockhart said. “The council’s taking a lot of heat for the current shape of the calaboose. We’ve got one cell with bars, no windows, and a stench that has neighbors hollering up a storm. We need it replaced, and I’m here to fetch a quote from my good buddy, Hank Hensley.”

“Ah, calling in favors of acquaintance, are they?” Hank said with a smile. “And what makes the council think I’m going to knock anything off my rate?”

“Well, rumor has it, a certain someone’s nightly fines might sharply decrease if he were to cut us some slack on the cost of the rebuild,” the sheriff said.

Hank raised an eyebrow. “That alone would pay for the whole rebuild,” he said. Hank had shelled out some serious money over the years getting himself out of trouble during his nightly escapades. Mostly they were minor infractions like disturbing the peace or shooting up someone’s tin sign. But if there was one thing everyone knew about Hank Hensley, it was that he made things right the following morning. He not only paid a steep fine that served to keep the city running, but he also replaced whatever he’d damaged, and then improved on it. If he insulted someone or made them feel intimidated, he took it upon himself to do something really special for their whole family. With the exception of a few, no one held a grudge against him—even if he
had
earned himself a sometimes dishonorable reputation.

Sheriff Lockhart stood up. “Well, I’d best be getting home to Millie and the babies,” he said. “This shift’s already run way past quitting time.”

“You tell Millie hello for me,” Hank said, seeing the sheriff to the door. “I’ll get you a quote on the calaboose early next week.”

Hank returned to his desk and straightened the paperwork he’d been immersed in before Sheriff Lockhart’s visit. Every morning, after his initial check in at the construction company, he’d stop by the bank to make a deposit and then make his rounds to each of the businesses he owned, checking in on everything and popping in to see if they needed him for any major decisions or issues.

He set off down the block for his first stop at the bank. Inside, Milton Tidwell immediately exited his office and hurried over to Hank. “Mr. Hensley,” he said. “Please allow me to handle your deposit today so you don’t have to wait in this inconvenient line.”

“Oh, it’s no bother,” Hank said. He enjoyed standing in line, visiting with everyone. When it came to money, there wasn’t a soul in Fort Worth who didn’t respect his ability to take something small and get a big return on it—a skill he’d learned directly from Floyd. They would regularly ask Hank’s advice about how to succeed, and he freely shared it—even with his competition.

“I insist,” Milton said, quickly grabbing the bundle of money with his long, bony hands and scurrying around to the teller’s window before Hank could object.

Hank strolled over to the window, looking out at the street while he waited for his transaction to be finished. The town of Fort Worth was growing every day, and he was amazed at how much had changed since Floyd first brought him here. He loved the town, and the fact that he’d grown up right along with it, even if it
had
matured more quickly than he’d allowed himself to. Hank glanced around at the lobby of the bank and noticed Milton quickening his gait as he returned to Hank with the record of deposit. “So I hear you’ll be a married man soon,” Hank said.

“Ah yes,” Milton said. “I’ve sent for the little parcel already and she’s arrived, although I haven’t had the chance to meet her just yet. Tomorrow, we’re having supper with Mabel and Pastor Littlejohn to finalize the agreement.”

‘Little parcel?’
Hank repeated in his mind. He wondered what type of woman would marry Milton Tidwell.
What a sterile marriage
, Hank thought.
It’s bad enough to agree to wed someone before meeting, but to look at the situation as no more than a business transaction…well, I’ve seen enough of that my whole life to know better than to go that route.
“Know much about her?” Hank asked.

“Only that she’s broke and jobless after the fire in Massachusetts,” Milton sneered. “She’s looking for financial support, which I’ll be able to provide, assuming she upholds her end of the deal and performs her wifely duties of homemaking and hosting of celebratory engagements.”

Hank had never met a more blatantly shallow man than Milton Tidwell. Just the look of him was off putting—so pointy and superficial, he resembled a large thorn on a dry cactus. But all that could have been overlooked if he’d had just a shred of common decency. Oh he was polite enough to those he served in the bank—nicer to you the more money you had—but you just
knew
, deep down, he would sell his own grandmother if it meant a penny in his pocket. Hank felt sorry for any woman coming to Texas expecting to find a loving husband and instead, getting married off to a weasel like Tidwell. “I wish you luck with it,” Hank said, straightening his hat to head back outside.

“You let me know if I should call it off,” Milton said.

“How would I know that?” Hank asked.

“Well she’s working over at your General Store,” Milton said. “Della Owens.”

“She is?” Hank asked. “I had no idea. Will do.” Hank had given Roy the power to hire help when he needed it, and he knew Pastor Littlejohn often brought the brides-to-be here to work for a while before getting married, but he wasn’t aware that this one would be on his payroll. Curiosity got the better of him and he changed his route slightly to allow him to visit the store first today. He just had to see the kind of woman who would allow herself to be blindly married off to a man like Milton.

Hank crossed the dirt road and stepped up onto the uneven wooden planks lining the storefronts. It was a beautiful day, although windy, and the streets were scattered with men and women lingering outside to enjoy the fresh air. He greeted most of them by name, stopping briefly to chat about the weather or an upcoming event, but eventually he made it to Hensley’s General Store. Through the window, he could see the slight figure of a woman in a plain brown dress with an apron tied in the back. She was facing the opposite way, organizing the shelves and cleaning the dust off the products.

Hank pushed the door open, causing the bell to ring. “Welcome!” a pleasant voice said from across the room. Hank had to let his eyes adjust before she came into focus.

“Howdy,” Hank said. “Roy here?” The woman turned around, holding a box as she wiped the dust off of it. Hank’s eyes grew wide. This woman wasn’t at all what he was expecting. Her golden hair was loosely bundled at her shoulders, and even in a room with bad lighting, her blue eyes reflected back at him like precious, sparkling gemstones. Her face was barely made up, allowing her natural beauty to shine through. And shine it did—like the finest porcelain Hank had seen in the homes of some of the wealthier citizens of Fort Worth.
This woman is going to marry Milton?
He thought immediately.
She must be very desperate.

“Roy’s gone home to eat a bite with Mary,” she said, setting the box down and wiping her hands on the apron fastened around her waist. “Is there something I can help you with?”

Yes,
Hank thought.
Tell Pastor Littlejohn I’ve changed my mind about this mail order bride business.
“You’re new here, aren’t you?” Hank asked, deciding to see what he could learn about Della Owens before she found out who he was and formed an opinion based on the rumors about him.

She smiled. “Yes, I am—Della Owens,” she said, holding her hand out to shake Hank’s.

Hank grinned at the introduction. He knew she might have already heard a thing or two about him, so he decided to avoid the truth as long as he could. “You can call me Sam,” he lied, taking her delicate hand in his and turning it over to politely kiss the back of it.

Della blushed and pulled her hand back, busying herself with organizing the same shelves he’d already seen her straighten. “What can I get for you, Sam?” Della asked, looking a little flustered.

“Oh Roy knows what all I’m here to get,” he said. “If it’s okay with you, I’ll just hang around and chat a spell until he gets back. So, where’d you say you were from?”

“Florida, originally,” Della said, obviously grateful to have someone to converse with. “But I lived in Massachusetts briefly before coming here.”

“Is your family in Florida?” Hank probed.

A distinct look of sadness crept over Della’s face. “My parents sold our home in Florida and set out on their own. There was no reason for me to stay. My sister lives in Massachusetts, but I don’t really belong there either.” Della had a faraway look in her eyes as she spoke of her family. “I guess you could say I was abandoned,” she said, her voice trailing off.

Hank could certainly empathize with that feeling. There was more to this woman than he’d initially thought and he hated to admit to himself that he’d like to get to know her better.

“What brought you to the frontier?” Hank asked, wanting to change the subject so she’d smile again—and see if she’d tell him the truth.

“I’m to be engaged to Mr. Milton Tidwell,” she said boldly, jutting her chin slightly upward to show how proud she was.

Hank raised his eyebrows at her admission. “Tidwell, eh?” he said. “Heck of a man. How long have you two known each other?” He couldn’t help it. Hank just
had
to push her boundaries to see when she’d crack. He couldn’t wait to see how this all unfolded, because Della Owens didn’t seem like the kind of woman who would shrink silently beside a man whose morals matched those of a hungry street rat.

Della’s shoulders slumped a bit as if the wind had left her sails. “Well we haven’t exactly met just yet—not until tomorrow at church,” she confessed. “But I’ve been told he’s a wonderful man. Being a banker and all, I’m sure he’s a man with strict morals and one who will provide nicely for his family. It’s very important to have a mate who wants the same things as yourself, don’t you think so, Sam?”

“Indeed,” Hank said. “You’ll be very happy with Tidwell. Have you met the owner of the General Store—Hank Hensley?”

“No,” Della said, her bow of a mouth turning downward in a frown. “But I’ve heard detestable things about him. Can’t say I’m looking forward to it!”

“He’s quite a scoundrel,” Hank agreed.

Just then Roy Jennings walked through the door of the store, sounding the bell, and Hank knew the jig was up. “Hank,” Roy said, “You’re here early today. Did you meet Della?”

“You said your name was Sam,” Della said, with a look of shock and fury on her now crimson colored face.

“No, I said you could
call
me Sam,” Hank chuckled. “I didn’t say that was my name. You can call me Hank if you prefer.”

Della’s eyes narrowed and her lips pursed together. “Mr. Hensley,” she said, clearly struggling to maintain her composure. “Now that Roy is here, he can handle your transaction from here on out.” She quickened her pace as she began cleaning, almost furiously.

“Ammo and cigars, Roy,” Hank said, his eyes still fixed on Della. He saw her shake her head slightly—probably disgusted with his purchase, and the fact that she’d actually been
nice
to him before his true identity was revealed. There were two kinds of people in Fort Worth when it came to Hank Hensley—those who overlooked his bad behavior, and those who couldn’t look past it. The latter were fewer in number, but they
did
exist—and Hank wasn’t sure if Della would be the type of person capable of getting to know the real him.

Roy was packaging up Hank’s ammo and cigars for the night’s outing when the bell rang again as the door pushed open. A young woman, no more than eighteen or nineteen years of age, sheepishly entered the store, obviously aware of the fact that her attire instantly revealed that she worked in the Acre.

Della turned at the woman’s entrance and was noticeably startled by her appearance, but quickly turned professional in her demeanor in front of her two bosses. “How may I help you, ma’am?” she said curtly.

The woman spoke softly, almost as if trying not to call attention to herself. She was new to Fort Worth—Hank was sure of this. He hated to see girls so young getting trapped in the lewd life of the Acre. “I’m in need of a needle and thread, miss,” she replied.

“Right this way,” Della stated as she showed the customer where the items were. “Anything else?”

The woman opened her palm to reveal a small amount of change. Hank could tell she was counting to see if she might be able to afford more. She picked up a small bar of soap and put it on the counter with her other items. “This is all,” she said, giving Della the go ahead to tally up her purchase.