Wyoming Mail-Order Bride, page 6
She looked at the man still covered with snow.
“It’s a good thing Mr. Gulch was able to bring me out here on his snow boots,” she began, only to have the man himself interrupt.
“It’s Dry Gulch, they call me,” the man corrected her impatiently. “No Mister to it. Dry Gulch is where my diggings used to be. And when our wagon got stuck back a ways, I used snowshoes—shoes, not boots, to get here.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” Mrs. Hunt turned to the man. “Dry Gulch is not a name—not even for a dog. And everyone knows you need boots in the snow, not shoes.”
Craig smiled as he saw the two older people stare each other down. Finally, Mrs. Hunt looked away and muttered, “You can call yourself whatever you want—that doesn’t make it your name. Your mother would be ashamed.”
“My mother would not,” the mountain of a man declared.
“And what was her name?” Mrs. Hunt asked, clearly striving to ridicule him.
“Red Rosy,” the man announced with a flourish. “Red Rosy with the Posy in Her Hands.”
Mrs. Hunt gasped. “Why, she must have been—”
Craig was glad to see some sense of self-preservation stopped the society lady from finishing that sentence. He didn’t want to have to brawl with Dry Gulch just to save a woman who was giving him nothing but grief.
He needn’t have worried.
“Yes,” Dry Gulch agreed with his head held high. “My mother always fancied Queen Victoria’s posies, and her friends knew it. She worked saloons from Cheyenne to San Francisco. Well-thought-of, she was. When she died, hundreds of miners left their diggings and came out of the hills for her funeral. They each brought a posy of flowers just to put on her coffin. Oh, they gave her a rousing send-off.”
“I see.” Mrs. Hunt was clearly in shock, but she managed to be polite. “That must have been—ah—very nice for you.”
The man shrugged. “Weren’t me being planted in the ground.”
But then Craig noticed a lone tear slide down the man’s cheek into his beard. He still cared very much.
A long minute of silence hung over everyone until Reverend Thompson cleared his throat and turned to Dry Gulch. “I met Red Rosy, your mother, and she was a fine woman. Gave the church enough money to feed about twenty families through that hard winter we had some years back. Folks would have starved without her help. You meet anyone who gives you a hard time about your mother, you send them to me, Reverend Thompson, at the church along the Crow Creek.”
Craig had to admire Dry Gulch for not grinning at the idea of the portly reverend defending him when he was twice the size of the godly man and more than able to back down a group of men coming at him. But Dry Gulch was kind enough to say a proper thank-you.
It was good that Dry Gulch was quick about his gratitude, because Craig could see fury building on Mrs. Hunt’s face.
“You.” The society woman burst forth with the word like it was an accusation. But to Craig’s surprise, she was not looking at him or Dry Gulch. She pointed her finger at Reverend Thompson. “You’re the one that left me at the railroad depot in Cheyenne. I made arrangements to have someone bring me out here, and you picked up some man instead.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry, ma’am,” Reverend Thompson said as he stood up from the bench where he was sitting. “We thought that man here was the passenger.”
The reverend pointed at the one they’d brought out in their wagon.
“Oh,” Mrs. Hunt said as she looked at the stranger.
Craig sensed the two of them knew each other, but neither said anything. Instead, Mrs. Hunt turned back to Vivian.
“I still can’t believe you put yourself up for being a mail-order bride when you could have had my Ethan,” Mrs. Hunt said to her, almost pouting this time.
“Ethan has not talked to me in six years,” Vivian answered. “I don’t think his heart was in pursuing me, not even back in the rose garden.”
“Nobody wants to get married anymore,” Mrs. Hunt said, sounding vaguely unhappy about that.
“Speaking of getting married,” Reverend Thompson said to Craig. “If you didn’t know Vivian here was coming, why did you give me the note telling me to come for a marrying? It doesn’t sound like there’s going to be a wedding.”
“There will be a wedding,” Mrs. Drummond said sternly as she stood up from the bench. She straightened her shoulders and took a step forward. Craig suddenly noticed that she was wearing her best Sunday clothes, a dark blue linen dress with a white lace collar. She even had a sprig of something in her hair. A woman wouldn’t usually get herself up like that just to deliver a few pieces of fruit to a neighbor.
She continued to speak. “I sent you that note, Reverend. I came to marry Craig. I know he can’t make up his mind—he’s really quite shy—so I figured he needed someone to have a firm hand in all this. I decided to marry him as a surprise Christmas present to his family, even if I’m a bit late. Now no one needs to worry about finding the children a mother. We can all just be here together. Cozy-like.”
“Oh,” whispered little Katy as she gripped her cat tighter in her arms.
“Oh,” echoed Robbie as he lowered his head.
“Oh,” Craig added as he stared at Mrs. Drummond.
No one had called Craig shy since he’d been a tiny fellow no higher than his mam’s knees.
“Don’t go getting all in a huff,” the older woman said to Craig before he could gather enough wits together to figure out what to say to her. “I know you need to get married to—” she hesitated and looked over at the children “—well, let’s just say to satisfy interested people that you have a good family life. I thought you and I could have one of those marriages like you had with Delores. She told me all about it.”
Craig cringed. There had been a time or two when he’d come back to the house to find Mrs. Drummond’s buggy out front and Delores and her drinking tea together inside. “I doubt she told you much.”
Delores had never seemed to like Mrs. Drummond, but then, Delores had thought all of the people around were too common for her to call friends. Craig had been grateful that at least one woman would take time to visit with her. He couldn’t imagine Delores sharing any secrets, though.
“Oh, but she did tell me things.” Mrs. Drummond clicked her tongue. “No shared bedroom—at least not after Katy. You did the heavy wash and the cooking. Delores said they were the easiest years she’d ever had since she left New York. You even looked after the children. Not that they gave Delores much trouble.”
Craig felt his face flush, but he had to defend his wife. “Delores was delicate.”
Finn snorted but didn’t say anything.
Craig figured he needed to stop this. There was no tactful way to say it, so he’d just let it out. “That doesn’t mean I want to sign up for another marriage like that.”
“Oh.” This time it was Mrs. Drummond who was taken back. “My understanding was that the sheriff said you had to get married. For the sake of the children. I thought surely you would want to. You can’t let those little ones down.”
Craig cleared his throat. “I did have a judge to satisfy, but that ended on December 24.” He nodded in the direction of Robbie and Katy. “We are all safe now.”
“I’m not so sure about that.” The stranger stood up from the table and exchanged a long look with Mrs. Hunt. “You should have received a letter from the judge.”
“Letter?” Craig felt his heart begin to race. He hadn’t even looked at the other piece of mail Mr. Adler had left.
Craig looked at the stranger. “I think you’d better tell me who you are.”
The man put up his hands in a gesture of peace. “I’m Robert Cassidy. And I have been looking for a fatherless child. My child. I thought I might find the little one here. That’s all. I’m not looking for trouble.”
The whole room was silent.
“We have our f-father,” Robbie finally said as he moved to put his arm around Katy.
Craig was proud of the two of them. And then he noticed the movement behind them. The girl who had spoken up earlier was slowly walking toward the stranger. She was quiet, but the look on her face was so full of longing that, without thinking about it, Craig stepped forward.
The girl stopped several feet away from the stranger. “Are you my father? I’ve always wanted to have a father.”
Craig almost pulled the girl away from the man, but then he saw that the stranger was kneeling on one knee. He had a tender look on his face and was focused only on the girl.
“I don’t know,” he said to her quietly. “What’s your name?”
“I’m Becky Eastman,” she said, talking fast. “I was always Becky, but I wasn’t always Eastman. I didn’t have a second name ’til my mama died. She said I had to change my name because she couldn’t take care of me any longer on account of she had to go to heaven to be with Jesus.”
“Did she tell you who your father was?” the man asked.
The girl shook her head. “She just said I belonged with the Eastmans.”
Craig looked over at Vivian. She was viewing the girl with proud approval and nodding silently.
“Well, I’m not your father,” the man said, then rather sweetly added, “But, wherever he is, I’m sure he’d be proud of you.”
“That’s what Mama Vivian says.” Becky nodded and stepped away.
She looked so disappointed that Craig almost went to her, but then she walked over to stand by Vivian.
The stranger stood up again and faced Craig. His expression was no longer tender or kind. Craig figured the man had more to say, and he didn’t want to hear it, not like this in front of the children.
“I think you need to read that letter.” Mrs. Hunt injected the words from where she stood beside the table. “I sent a telegram to the judge when it was clear our train would not make it to Cheyenne in time for his meeting. He said that, since the train schedule was not in my control, he would change the date of the initial meeting to tomorrow, Tuesday, December 28, at noon in Cheyenne. That letter is to inform you of the change in plans.”
“I’ll have my attorney challenge that.” Craig hadn’t considered the words before speaking them, but he wasn’t willing to risk anything regarding the children. “These are my children. I know I’m not the first—ah...” Craig did consider his words now and he didn’t know how to explain it without upsetting Robbie. So, he continued, “All I’m saying is that I was the husband to the woman who gave birth to both children, and I’m the only father either one has known. In my mind, that makes them my children. I am their father.”
“You’re sure about that?” Mrs. Hunt asked with a sly look on her face.
He didn’t trust her expression, but he knew what he knew. “I am their father. Both of them. I was married to their mother.”
“If your reasoning is that you are their father because you were Delores’s husband, you will be mistaken,” the older woman said triumphantly. “You were never married to Delores.”
“Of course, I was,” Craig answered impatiently. “Reverend Thompson performed the ceremony himself, and he’s right here. He’ll tell you.”
“I did marry them,” the reverend added helpfully. “Back in October of 1864. Fall ended early that year and winter was already starting. Gave them their marriage papers and everything.”
“That marriage was not legal,” Mrs. Hunt stated calmly.
“Just because it happened in the territories, doesn’t mean it isn’t legal all over the country,” Craig argued back.
“No matter where you are, it’s not legal if the bride is already married,” Mrs. Hunt said as she then turned to the stranger, Robert. “Tell them who you are.”
Craig watched in horror as Robert ducked his head in the direction of Mrs. Hunt.
“Delores and I were married in the spring of 1863,” Robert said clearly.
“But she waited for you and waited for you in Cheyenne and you never came,” Craig burst out. That had to count for something. “You abandoned her.”
Robert grimaced. “I had an unfortunate encounter with the law. I thought I’d rig the cards a little in a poker game.” He glanced at Craig. “Delores had expensive tastes, and I could never say no to her. I knew we’d need lots of money for winter and my pockets were almost empty. Anyway, I found myself held in a jail for a couple of years down in Arizona. I didn’t know it would be that long, and I didn’t want to write and have her know what had happened.”
“So, you’ve been out for the past two years?” Craig asked.
Robert winced. “I did write to her before that. Told her what happened. She wrote back and told me about everything. Then, two years ago, I busted out of jail. I wrote again, telling her I’d be in Cheyenne for a day, and if she wanted to meet, I’d be there. Said to bring the boy. That we could start over and be a family someplace.”
“That’s where she was going then,” Craig said. “That day when she was killed trying to ride that wild horse.”
“I expect so,” Robert said. “I actually couldn’t stay in Cheyenne, so I would have been gone by the time she got there. Someone tipped off the law that I was there, and they came for me again. I ended up in San Quentin state prison in California. Hard place to be.”
“For gambling and breaking out of jail?” Craig was surprised. “I didn’t think they’d send you there for that.”
Robert looked down. “Well, there was another gunfight and lawman. He tried to take me in, so I shot him.”
“You killed him?” Craig guessed.
Robert shook his head. “No, but he was hurt bad. If he had died, they would have hanged me. They still wanted to. The Cassidy name means something in political circles back east, though, so my father tried to force the judge to go easy on me. Made the judge mad instead, so he sent me to San Quentin. He showed no mercy at all.”
Craig was suddenly aware of the four little hands, two on each leg, that were holding on to him for dear life. Their eyes were riveted on the stranger. Craig squatted and opened his arms. Robbie and Katy both snuggled close.
“I wish my father hadn’t interfered,” Robert muttered. “I would have had less time to serve.”
“You’d have been dead,” Mrs. Hunt declared. “The courts needed to know who you were.”
The man was an ungrateful cheat, Craig thought. He would never let him claim his rights. “You can’t have either of my children. Even you must know it wouldn’t be good for them.”
“Oh, he’ll sign all of his rights over to me,” Mrs. Hunt said complacently from where she stood. “That was our agreement.”
Craig looked up then. “What agreement?”
Mrs. Hunt smiled. “I pulled some favors and was able to get him released early from that horrid place.” She smiled again at Robert. “Anybody can tell he never meant to hurt anyone. He and Delores were childhood sweethearts. Our families knew each other. They were a little naughty when they ran away to get married, but Robert has agreed to live in the Hunt household now. He’ll be there to guide the children, too. A boy particularly needs a man in his life.”
Craig looked down at Robbie. The boy looked confused and worried. Craig wasn’t sure he understood, though.
Craig thought that Robbie needed a mother more than he needed a grandmother who bought anyone she wanted and an ex-convict for a father. Especially one who would likely sell him out to the highest bidder.
“I can’t imagine the judge will allow any child to be raised by a man who almost murdered someone,” Craig said. He would insist on that.
“That’s harsh,” Mrs. Hunt protested. “Look at Robert. He served his time. The law is satisfied. He’s the perfect gentleman.”
Craig did look. He saw a man who was carefully dressed to be a gentleman. His chestnut hair had been tended by a barber. His black suit was tailored, elegant and new. His vest was threaded with gold. And the wool coat he put over his shoulders was worth more than Craig’s homestead ever would be. There was no way the man had made that kind of money in prison to buy clothes like that. Mrs. Hunt must be giving him an allowance, too.
“He has squinty eyes. He bears watching,” was all Craig said. He knew it sounded petty before the words were out of his mouth, but he was desperate.
“My eyes are still getting used to the sunlight,” Robert protested. “You’ll see. I’ll look honest and prosperous in a few weeks.”
“Maybe,” Craig said.
Clothes never had made a man kind, and Robert seemed to totter on the edge of something. Anger, perhaps. Regret, certainly. Craig had no doubt the man could become thoroughly unpleasant. And he didn’t want Robbie anywhere around when that happened.
He didn’t even want Robert around his children now, but he nodded stiffly at the man. “I wouldn’t put any man outside in this kind of weather, but it stays fairly warm in the barn. We have an old stove out there, and there’s wood against the south wall, by the door to the large chicken coop. We use the barn for calving season, so it’s snug. Once a fire is going, you’ll be comfortable enough. You’re welcome to stay there until tomorrow. There’s a metal trunk in the second stall with some old blankets inside and plenty of hay to bed down in.”
Robert nodded. He seemed almost relieved. Then he looked over at Mrs. Hunt. “That’s where I’ll be if you need me.”
Everyone watched Robert as he opened the door just wide enough to step through and then closed it quickly behind him. A flurry of snowflakes made their way inside anyway, and it was clear the blizzard had taken a turn for the worse.
“I’d better go out and see that he doesn’t take off with one of the horses,” Finn said as he walked toward the peg that held his sheepskin coat. “A city man like him wouldn’t know how to survive in a blizzard.”
