by P. Creeden
All the information she had on her new husband was his name, finally. That was given to her when she’d sent the telegram back that she would come. Tom Crowley. She wondered if he were a sheriff or a marshal. Exactly what kind of man would he be? She took a moment before dismounting the carriage in front of the stagecoach office and tried to catch her breath. Nothing she did seemed to work. Finally, she gave up and took the porter’s hand as he helped her down the last few steps. The dirt road puffed up dust under her feet and the feet of all the passengers around the coach. The air out west seemed much drier than what she was used to in Virginia, and it wasn’t quite as cold here yet. She swallowed hard and then looked about. How would she know Mr. Crowley when she saw him? She had neither a description of him nor a photograph. A chill ran through her as she watched the other passengers from the stagecoach meet up with loved ones. Her heart sank in her chest. With the loss of her grandmother, she no longer had anyone she’d consider as a loved one. Maybe that would change. Maybe with Mr. Crowley, she could create a home and a family. Somehow, she doubted it. Hadn’t she chosen him specifically because he’d not spend much time in their home?
“Excuse me, miss,” an older woman said as she approached with a wide smile. “Would you happen to be Miss James? Clara James?”
Clara’s heart leapt in her chest. “Yes, that... that’s me.”
The woman’s smile grew wider, so that the wrinkles in the sides of her eyes deepened. She grabbed hold of Clara’s hands with both of her, her papery soft skin feeling cool to the touch. “I knew it was you. You’re even more beautiful than I’d hoped, even if you are a little thin. I’m Mrs. Crowley, Tom’s mother. Would you come with me?”
“Of course,” Clara said, happily. There was a relief in having another woman come and pick her up. Had Tom sent his mother? Perhaps this was one of the times when he was chasing after a villain in the work of his duties as a lawman. Regardless, Clara’s shoulders relaxed in the knowledge she was permitted to put off meeting her new husband for at least a short while longer. Even if it was just delaying the inevitable, it helped that Clara didn’t feel she was being tossed by the waves in the ocean immediately. This was better. She was being allowed to toe her way into the idea of living out here in Oklahoma with Tom’s family before ever meeting him. Mrs. Crowley looped her arm with Clara’s and led her toward the luggage area.
They approached a tall, slender woman with red hair pinned back. She seemed a bit severe, as she watched the porter take hold of Clara’s steamer trunk. But when she turned to Clara, her face softened. Mrs. Crowley squeezed Clara’s arm. “This is my daughter, Samantha, my youngest. She and Tom are the only two who still live with me, though, like I said in the advertisement, Tom is often gone for long stretches at a time.”
“You... you said in the advertisement? Mr. Crowley didn’t put the advertisement in the paper himself?” Clara’s heart sunk. Did he even know she was coming?
“Yes, I wrote it. Samantha delivered it.”
“Who... Who answered my letter with the telegram?”
“I did that as well.” Mrs. Crowley squeezed her arm again and then began leading her toward a wagon where the porter was loading her steamer trunk. “It’s been a while since Tom was last home, maybe three weeks. He should be arriving back here soon, I imagine.”
“Does he even know about me?” Clara’s voice squeaked as she asked. A lump was forming in her throat.
Mrs. Crowley shrugged noncommittally. “He knew I was searching for a bride for him. He said that I could choose who I felt would meet his needs.”
Samantha hopped up into the wagon and then reached down to help her mother up. Naturally, Clara helped as well, but her mind wasn’t on what was happening here on the street of Fort Towson. All she could think about was how Tom was probably going to reject her the minute he saw her. Didn’t men hate it when their mothers meddled in their affairs? Would he really give his mother permission to choose a wife for him? Samantha reached down a hand to help Clara up into the cart as well. Once Clara was up and in the seat beside Mrs. Crowley, Samantha squeezed her fingers before letting them go. “Don’t worry,” she said in a gruffer voice than Clara had expected. “Mom is telling the truth that Tom gave her permission. And also, you’re much prettier than anything Tom could have hoped for. I believe that once the two of you meet, you’ll be the one to decide whether you think a marriage between the two of you will work out. My brother can be a bit free-spirited and hard to deal with but he’s a good man. I hope you’ll give him a chance. And if it doesn’t work out, we’re happy to pay for your fare back to Virginia.”
Clara offered a strained smile and nodded. Although the sentiment was nice, and Clara felt they were good people for offering this to her, she feared that things wouldn’t work out. If they didn’t, where was she going to go? She had nothing to return to in Virginia. She needed for things to work out here or she had nowhere to go. As Samantha started the horses moving forward, and the wagon began rocking in time with their movements, Clara sent up prayers in her heart even though she wasn’t able to form coherent thoughts. She just hoped that God knew her needs and would provide.
Chapter 7
Tom Crowley’s hair stood on end. He felt that there was someone watching him as he made his way from the hotel to the livery early the next morning. Rubbing the back of his neck, he admonished himself silently. No one knew who he was. He pulled the brim of his hat down over his eyes. The bushwhackers wouldn’t know it was him or what he looked like unless Danny’s sidekick was with them. And that was highly unlikely, since he’d been injured and would only slow them down. A small cry struck his ear as he entered the shelter of the livery barn. It took a moment for his eyes to get used to the darkness within, but when they did, he found the owner of the livery with a hand up, getting ready to strike a child of about eight or nine years old.
“Hey!” Tom shouted as he jumped forward. “What are you doing?”
At least the man had the decency to look a bit chagrined. His hand fisted and then returned to his side. “Mind your own business and leave me to mine,” the man said in a gruff tone and then pointed at the kid who cowered away from him. “And you... you get out of here, you half-breed.”
Tom blinked as the boy rushed past him with eyes that shined with unshed tears. The livery owner mumbled something incoherent, and Tom frowned. Then he turned about and followed after the kid. Luckily, the boy stood just outside, swiping at his eyes. Tom rested a hand on the boy’s shoulder, but the boy flinched away and gasped.
“Easy there,” Tom said, lifting his hands in a position of surrender. “I’m not going to hurt you. What’s the problem? Is there anything I can help you with?”
The boy pouted and then shook his head. His honey colored skin and dark hair made it obvious that the boy was part Indian, but his eyes were a shade of greenish that stood out, especially since he had tears in them.
“It’s okay, really. Please. Tell me what’s wrong and I’ll see if there’s something I can do.”
The boy shook his head again, but when Tom continued to stand there without a word, the boy finally said, “He stole my horse. That man stole my horse and won’t give him back.”
A frown tugged at Tom’s lip as he peered out toward the turnout paddock in the yard of the livery and spotted an Appaloosa pony. “Is that your horse right there?”
The boy nodded. “It is.”
“How did the livery owner get him?”
“I asked if I could stable him for the night and that I would work off whatever I owed. The man agreed. But then this morning, he says that he changed his mind and he’s keeping the horse. I can’t...the horse is all that I have.”
“Your horse is?”
The boy nodded again.
Tom’s heart broke for him. How did he end up in this situation, and where was the kid even going? “How old are you?”
The boy puffed up his chest. “I’m eight years old. Grandmother says I’m old enough to take care
of myself. Old enough to be a man.”
Tom couldn’t help but wince. What kind of boy needed to take care of himself at eight years old? He knew the answer to that question. The kind who wasn’t welcome. If he was living among the Caddo Indians nearby, they may have turned him out once his parents passed on. Even his grandmother wouldn’t have been able to keep him in the community. It’s possible that she gave him a horse and then sent him off to go and try his hand at living with the white people. “Stay here, kid. Let me see what I can do.”
Tom walked back into the livery with anger rising up the back of his neck. Heat from it burned at his cheeks. He stalked up to the livery owner. “I’d like to pay the boy’s debt so that he can get his horse back. I’ll pay his bill along with my own. How much do I owe you?”
“Two dollars for your stay, ten for the kid then.”
“Ten? The boy only stayed one night, just like I did.” Tom said, blinking at the man.
“And he slept in the hayloft, and he ate a pie that my wife had cooling on the windowsill. I have to charge for these things. How about the fact that my wife yelled at me all night long about her stolen pie? And the kid’s got the gall to tell me he didn’t do it. I found the pie plate in the loft! I ought to charge him even more just for making my life harder.”
Tom let out a slow breath. “Fine. Twelve dollars then. But you know, the kid has nowhere to go and he’s hungry—you could have a little compassion.”
“For a half breed like him? They are a dime a dozen around here. Bastard children of soldiers.”
Tom’s heart sunk. “It’s not the child’s fault that soldiers have no morals or self-control.”
The livery owner took the money from Tom’s hand and then pointed over toward Tom’s chestnut mare. “There’s your horse. I imagine you’ll be getting out of this fort then, since you’d rather have the company of a half breed than that of the immoral soldiers who stay here.”
Heat rushed to Tom’s cheeks again. This time for a whole new reason. He frowned, and then turned around so that he could tell the boy that he could get his horse back. But when he stepped out into the sunlight and looked at where the kid was standing, he didn’t find him there anymore. Instead he found dust kicking up in the direction of the gate of the fort. The kid was already on his Appaloosa pony and running headlong in the street. He’d stolen his horse instead of giving Tom a chance to do him a kindness. He shook his head. At least Tom could find comfort in the fact that the kid wouldn’t have the law chasing after him because he’d stolen a horse. That was the last thing the boy would need.
After shrugging it off with a half-laugh, Tom headed back inside the livery to get his own horse. He had a bit of a journey ahead of him and wanted to get as much space between him and this fort as possible. He’d be heading home to Oklahoma. That was the safest way for him to go. And the farther he got from the bushwhackers, the better.
Chapter 8
Once they arrived at the Crowley household, Clara started to feel a bit better. Mrs. Crowley had talked the whole way about what it was like living there near the fort, and how the homestead that they had made it so that they rarely had to go to town. She and Samantha tended to the garden they had where they grew seasonal vegetables. And they both did their own sewing and cooking. “Do you cook?” she asked with expectation in her voice.
“Some,” Clara said honestly. “For the past several months, I’ve been doing all of the cooking for myself and my grandmother, before she passed. But they were always very simple meals.”
Very simple. So simple, in fact, that Clara had been worrying about her own malnutrition as well as her grandmother’s. They’d been sustaining on mostly beans and rice for several months, with the occasional jar of vegetables or fruit that someone might offer them.
“That’s all right. I’d be happy to teach you all of the dishes that Tom loves best and several other good, wholesome meals. We’ll fatten you up in no time as well,” Mrs. Crowley said as she squeezed Clara’s hand. It seemed that the older woman could read most of Clara’s thoughts. And she’d been nothing but kind since the moment they’d met.
Samantha hopped down from the cart. “Is your trunk too heavy for the two of us to manage? I can call over the neighbor’s boy, Bernard, if you think we can’t tow it ourselves.”
“Oh, no!” Clara called as she hopped down from the cart. “No need to impose on anyone. We can manage. I don’t have that many things.”
Once Samantha had helped her mother down from the cart, Clara helped her by taking the other end of the trunk and pulling it down from the back. The trunk swung in their hands. Samantha frowned. “Will you be sending the rest of your stuff separately?”
Clara swallowed, suddenly embarrassed. “No. This is all I have.”
She’d not accumulated much over the years. The trunk held all her possessions. She had in total three dresses, an apron, the quilt that her grandmother had made with her, and a few other small trinkets. The fact was that her things had only filled the trunk halfway. Heat rushed to her cheeks. What would her new potential in-laws think of her? Would they think they brought in a poor, hapless spinster who had nothing to add to their lives? Because that was what Clara feared was the truth. She couldn’t fight that description at all.
“It’s nearly suppertime,” Mrs. Crowley said as the came up the porch. She held the door open for them. “I’ll have dinner whipped up in a jiffy. Would you like to get cleaned up and rest a bit before we eat, Clara?”
“If there’s some way that I can be of help in the kitchen, I’m happy to give a hand.”
Mrs. Crowley smiled and set a hand on Clara’s shoulder. “It’s been a long journey and you look a bit tired. Why don’t you get cleaned up a bit and allow me and Samantha to spoil you today? We’ll take whatever help you can give us tomorrow for Thanksgiving. Would that be all right?”
Relief flooded over Clara. “Thank you,” was all she could squeak out, but what she wanted to say was that it was more than all right. The older woman felt like a blessing. She was everything Clara had wished her mother might be, if her mother had lived to this age. She was everything that Clara had remembered her own grandmother being, before loss had put her in a catatonic state. Tears stung the back of Clara’s eyes as she thought about all of her loss. The warm cabin smelled like home—of baked goods and wood burning in a stove. Of mixed spices that had permeated the very walls. Everything smelled fresh, clean and homey. Nothing smelled of sickness and mildew or dust. She hated to think of the cabin where her grandmother had spent the last few months. It would have been better for her if the older woman could have stayed in this sort of environment. Regret gripped Clara’s core.
Samantha nodded toward the room to the side. “The house has three bedrooms, since my parents raised up eight children in it. The first floor has two bedrooms, one for my mother and one for you and me to share for now. Tom lives upstairs in the one room up above. It’s bigger than these three down here, but it makes life a bit easier for us ladies downstairs. After you’re married, you can move upstairs with Tom if you’d like. Or if you both decide, you can move into a house of your own.”
Clara’s eyes grew wide as she nodded. She didn’t mind the idea of staying with these kind women. In fact, even though she’d liked the idea of being somewhat independent of her husband, she’d thought about how lonely that kind of life could be. At least with Samantha and Mrs. Crowley, she wouldn’t have cause to feel lonely while waiting for Tom to return. They stepped into the small bedroom that had two beds, a nightstand and a chest of drawers. A dressing table and mirror sat to the wall.
“I’ve emptied the top three drawers for you if you’d like to use them,” Samantha said, opening the top drawer of the chest of drawers.
“I don’t have that many things. What will I do with my steamer trunk?”
“If you don’t mind, we store things out in the loft of the barn. The storage area is made of cedar to keep out the bugs and such.”
“I d
on’t mind at all,” Clara said, still feeling as though she was staring into Samantha’s green eyes.
Samantha smiled softly and pointed to the pitcher atop the chest of drawers. “There’s water and a basin there if you’d like to get cleaned up. Just throw the water out the window for now.”
Clara’s eyes went wide. “Are you sure?”
“If you’re just washing up a bit, of course. We have an outhouse if you need to make water or tend to any other business.” She stepped closer to the window and pointed toward the back of the house. “It’s just that way. You can’t miss it. Let me know if you have need of anything else. Truly, Clara. We want for you to feel comfortable here. We want for you to feel as though you could live here the rest of your life as a wife to Tom. He’s not an easy man to live with, you’ll find. He was quite wild in his younger years, so none of the church-going women in town have an interest in him. But being a lawman has changed him. Because he spends so much of his time traveling and chasing after lawless men, he’s much calmer than he used to be. He’s ready to settle down and have a wife. Mom and I know it. He knows it. But it’s nigh impossible for him to find a suitable match. That’s why we put out the advertisement. That week, we had over a dozen replies. But none of them were as honest and heartfelt as we felt your reply was. Mom and I prayed over it and chose you out of the ladies who answered the ad. Even after meeting you, I still believe we made the right choice and that this is providence. So truly, Clara, if you have any need at all, feel free to voice it.”
