Love & Marry (7 page)

To make a long story short, I sunk my life’s savings into a gold mine, and I’m now the richest woman in this part of the Dakota Territory.

If you and your new husband ever decide to venture out west, it would please me very much if you would visit me in Red Gorge.

All my love and best wishes,

Aunt Julia

The vibration of a passing train rattled the room.
Her new husband
? A tear dropped from her eye and stained the pink paper. Annabelle closed her eyes. The death of her husband seemed as if it had happened yesterday instead of a few months earlier.

“
I’m sorry, Mrs. Miles
,”
the doctor said
. “
Your husband has expired
.”

Expired?
Her husband was
dead.
A newspaper subscription
expired.
People
died.

“
I tried to tell Jacob that his heart wasn’t strong enough to perform…well…the duties of marriage at his age
,”
he said
.

In truth, Jacob had only performed his marital duty one time. And surely, those two minutes on their wedding night wasn’t enough to kill him. If anything, it had been harder on her. The consummation of her marriage had shown her what a terrible mistake she’d made. Perhaps Jacob had realized the same thing. Since that night, he’d slept in another room and hadn’t come to her bed again.

“
So what do I do now
?”
she asked more to herself than to the doctor
.

“
Send for the undertaker
,”
he answered with a shrug of his shoulders
.

It took more than a week to lay Jacob to rest. His son Byron insisted that his body should be autopsied by the physicians at the medical college. He wanted to be certain that his father hadn’t been poisoned. Annabelle hadn’t thought that her life could get any worse until several days after the funeral when Jacob’s lawyer came to the house to read Jacob’s Will. She’d known that something was amiss when Mr. Peterson had taken her aside and had told her that he’d held off as long as he could. To her horror, Jacob had left her nothing—not one penny to sustain herself. Everything went to Byron.

Receiving Aunt Julia’s letter had been like a beacon of hope to her in more ways than one. Her aunt’s generous gift had paid for her travel expenses. With no more than the clothes on her back, she had left Baltimore to begin what she hoped would be a new life in the west.

She refolded the letter and stuffed it back into the envelope. She removed her hat and loosed her dark brown tendrils from the tight bun at the back of her head. She eyed her bedding.
I wonder when the linens were last changed,
she thought. Without taking off her clothes, she reclined on top of the bed covers. Before long, she somehow managed to fall asleep.

Early the next day, Annabelle boarded a different train en route to a town called Yankton in the southern Dakota Territory. It wasn’t long into the journey when she began to feel as if she’d left civilization behind her. The small towns that passed by her view from the train window seemed to sit isolated in the middle of open plains—land as far as her eyes could see.
No wonder it takes days to traverse it
, she thought.

The wail of the whistle and the slow jerking of the train as it came to a stop roused Annabelle from her cat nap. “All off for Yankton,” the porter called out.

She stood on legs made wobbly by sitting for hours and followed several other passengers out of the car. She glanced around at the good-sized town with modern buildings that served as the Dakota territorial capital. The hotel and restaurant across the street from the depot appeared to be quite nice, but she hoped that she wouldn’t have to stay long before she continued on her journey.

She walked toward the ticket office. A tall man, wearing a badge, emerged from the depot and held the door for her. He removed his hat and raked his fingers through his sandy blonde hair. His steel blue eyes met hers.

“Ma’am,” he said with a tilt of his head.

She nodded, and her gaze followed him down the sidewalk. The brown canvas pants he wore caressed his muscular thighs as he walked. His long brown coat and dark vest accentuated his strong build. She hadn’t meant to stare, but she’d never seen such rugged and raw masculinity—not in her privileged, sheltered world back east. He mounted a horse and rode off at a gallop.

“May I help you, ma’am?”

She turned to the ticket agent. “I need to inquire about transportation to Red Gorge,” she said.

“From here,” the man told her, “It’s a six-day journey by stagecoach to Red Gorge. Luckily, the stage should be here in less than an hour if it’s running on time, so you won’t have to wait long.”

Annabelle smiled. For once, things appeared to be going her way.

“I’d like to purchase a ticket for the stage,” she said while opening her drawstring purse. “Do you think I’ll have time to get something to eat before it arrives?”

“The hotel restaurant might not have the quickest service for you, but you can get finger sandwiches and cookies at the tea room. It’s a short walk from here, and you’ll see the stage come in from that direction, so you won’t miss it.”

She thanked him and laid a hand against her growling stomach to quiet it. Perhaps a small meal was best considering that butterflies were dancing around in her chest. She’d read the dime novels that told of stagecoaches being attacked by bandits and Indians. She said a quick prayer that her trip would be uneventful.

Her traveling companions on the stage were a young brother and sister and an odd fellow who held onto his brown leather valise as if his life depended upon it. He had boarded the stage that morning at their first stop in the town of Tyndall. She’d attempted to make conversation with the man who looked to be the same age as her late husband. All she received in return was a nod or glare, so she gave up and gazed out the window.

By twilight, they pulled into what looked like some kind of settlement. Annabelle could see several buildings and a two-story inn. The stage driver, along with the man who rode shotgun, jumped down from their perch. The driver, a young man who couldn’t have been much older than she was, opened the door.

“We’ll spend the night here,” he said. “Tomorrow morning, we’ll cross the Missouri River.” He paused and turned to Annabelle. “A room in the inn is a dollar and fifty cents.” Looking towards the gentleman, he said. “A bed in the bunkhouse is free.”

“I’ll be staying in the inn, as well,” the man said.

Annabelle suppressed a chuckle. The starched-collared businessman with his slicked back hair had probably never been anywhere near a bunkhouse.

She was glad to see someone waiting to pick up the two children. At least the young ones wouldn’t have to endure four more days of rough, bumpy trails. A pretty, red-haired woman who appeared, from the size of her belly, to be close to giving birth, met Annabelle and the gentleman on the porch of the inn. She introduced herself as Daisy Hansen, took them upstairs, and showed them their rooms for the night.

“The outhouses are behind the stables,” she told them. “And the bathhouse is just outside the kitchen door. A hot bath is fifty cents. A cold bath is a quarter.”

Annabelle was more than willing to pay the price. She hadn’t had a decent bath in days.

“Supper will be ready in fifteen minutes,” the woman said. “We’re not fancy here. Everyone eats around the kitchen table like family.”

After a nice supper of pork roast, cabbage and potatoes, Annabelle went straight to the bathhouse. She filled the tub first with the buckets of cold well water that the housekeeper had drawn for her. She used an empty bucket to dip hot water from the steaming cauldron that had been heating over the fire. She stuck her toe in the tub to test the temperature.
Just right
, she thought. Before removing her dressing gown, she turned down the wick on her lamp. She didn’t want any peeping toms who might be wandering about to see her through the dusty but uncovered window.

She settled into the soothing warmth of the bath and closed her eyes. She had almost dozed off when she heard very clear voices and realized that someone else had entered the bathhouse. She sunk deeper into the tub. Light emanated through a cracked board in the partition between the two bathrooms. From what she could see, two men were in the next room. The man who had sat next to her on the stagecoach and another tall and muscular man moved into her line of sight. The younger man hadn’t been at dinner with them, nor had she seen him when the coach arrived.

The older man took out a jewelers’ loop and placed it against his eye.

“Show me the goods,” he said.

The younger man opened the saddlebag he’d brought with him and removed a small, canvas sack the size of the palm of his hand. He emptied the contents into his other hand. About a dozen small stones sparkled in the amber glow cast from the kerosene lantern.

“Well, is it what we think it is?” the younger man asked.

Annabelle squinted and scooted closer to the edge of the tub where she could get a better view. The older man examined the stones and inhaled a deep breath.

“These are without doubt, diamonds, Mr. Harper.” He removed the eyepiece and dropped it into his vest pocket. “I’ve never heard of any diamond deposits in the Black Hills. The only ones I know of are in Wyoming and Colorado. With all the gold-mining going on, I would’ve expected someone else to find diamonds by now.”

Mr. Harper shrugged. “So we’re the first.”

“I hope this isn’t a hoax like that one in Colorado a few years back,” the older man said. “Those men are serving lengthy sentences in federal prison.”

“It’s no hoax, Mr. Kelly,” Mr. Harper said. “One of our miners found these by accident, and we were keeping it quiet until you confirmed that these are genuine diamonds.”

When Mr. Kelly opened his valise, Annabelle understood why he’d held such a death-grip on it all the way from Tyndall. Stacks of currency filled the case, and some paperwork rested on top of the money. Mr. Kelly removed the papers and handed them to Mr. Harper.

“Twenty-thousand is my offer for the mine. I assume you have full Power of Attorney to make the transaction.”

The younger man took an envelope from the saddlebag. “Here’s the owner’s signature, signed and notarized.”

Mr. Kelly examined the paper. “It seems to be proper and legal.”

He handed the paper back to Mr. Harper who stuffed it into the envelope and put it back in the saddlebag.

“Then all that’s left is to sign the deed,” the older man said. “I drew this up based on the map that I received in the mail and on previous surveys I had of that property, so please understand that your signature makes you liable if the official surveys show any discrepancies.”

Mr. Harper scrawled his name on the paper and moved all of the money from Mr. Kelly’s valise to the saddlebag. Mr. Kelly dropped the pouch of diamonds and the signed deed back into his valise, closed and locked it.

“It will take a few months for me to arrange for the mining equipment,” he said. “That should give your people plenty of time to vacate the mine.”

They shook hands, and Mr. Harper took a gold watch from his pocket to check the time. He extinguished the lamp, and Annabelle heard their footsteps leaving the bathhouse in different directions.

She expelled the breath she’d been holding.
Diamonds
, she thought.
And a king’s ransom paid for them
. It was little wonder that her Aunt Julia had become a rich woman in this vast and remote land. She sat up in the tub and finished washing before the water turned cold.
What an odd place to choose for a meeting
? Then again, when that much money and diamonds were changing hands, discretion would be of the utmost importance.
Still
, she had a feeling that there was something not quite right about the whole business.

* * *

Morning came much too soon, considering that she’d spent the night tossing and turning, pondering what she’d witnessed the previous night. When she heard the bell ringing, she dressed quickly and went downstairs to breakfast.

“Where is Mr. Kelly?” she asked Daisy.

“His room was empty this morning,” she said. “And the bed was made as if he hadn’t slept in it. Perhaps, he rose early and went for a walk.”

After eating, Annabelle gathered her things and went out to the stagecoach. Four new traveling companions greeted her—a young couple named Hannah and Joshua Parsons and their twin boys.
But where
was
Mr. Kelly
? She heard the driver say to his partner that he couldn’t hold the stage any longer waiting for the man. He climbed into his seat, and gave the horses the command to move out. They didn’t get far before Daisy ran from the inn screaming.

“Help! Come quick,” she called out.

Annabelle heard the driver yell, “Whoa!” The stagecoach jerked to a stop. He climbed down out of his seat and followed Daisy back into the inn along with two of the stable hands.

“I wonder what’s wrong,” Hannah asked.

“I hope she’s not gone into labor,” Annabelle said. “From what I gathered last night, she’s the stage driver’s wife.”

A few moments later, the driver and one of the stable hands came out of the inn. Annabelle watched the stable hand saddle a horse and ride off. Daisy came out next, and while clearly distraught, she didn’t look as if she was close to giving birth. The driver led her to a porch rocker and urged her to sit down.

Joshua yanked his watch from his vest pocket to check the time. “I sure hope they get this stage moving soon,” he said.

“I see the driver coming this way,” Annabelle said.

He opened the stage door and poked his head inside. “Sorry, folks. We’re not going anywhere just yet.”

“What’s wrong?” Annabelle asked.

The driver tilted his head toward the inn. “I’m afraid there’s been a murder, ma’am. The man who was traveling with you yesterday was stabbed to death some time last night.”