by Lynda Cox
“It may be the Brokken Bank, but it held the town folk’s money.”
“And Alexander and Aaron knew this?”
“No, they didn’t bother to ask why your brothers needed supplies hauled to Yellow Rock.” She shrugged. “Maybe Alexander knew that they were going to be on the run. He hasn’t said much. He’s been in too much pain.” Her eyes filled with compassion. “Aaron saw only the money, didn’t question why. Poor boys have had a rough life. You know their mother ...”
Deborah nodded. Their mother had an unquenchable thirst for moonshine and rarely knew what her boys were up to. “Where is their mother now?”
“I sent Calvin for her, but she’s nowhere to be found. I gather that’s the way it is most nights. You know there’s a railroad crew not far from here.” Her cheeks reddened.
A knock sounded at the front door, and Miss Abigail gave Deborah’s arm a squeeze. “Let me get that. You can wait in here if you’d like.”
“No, ma’am. It’s probably Isaac looking for me.”
It was Isaac. After speaking politely to Miss Abigail, he turned to her.
“Miss Deborah, we’ve been out long enough. We must be on our way.” He’d said his peace and fell silent.
Deborah glanced toward Aaron who watched with frightened eyes. “Where will the boys go tonight?” she asked Miss Abigail.
“Home. No reason to keep them here. Alexander is in a lot of pain, but I’ve done all I can for him.”
“We’ll take them home with us. If their mother asks, please let her know they’re with us. Do you have any special instructions for Alexander?”
“I do have something he can take for pain, every four hours or so.”
“Isaac, will you help the boys in the wagon? I’ll get the medicine.”
“Excuse me, Miss Deborah,” Isaac said. “I wonder if the boys wouldn’t be more comfortable in the bunkhouse?”
Deborah turned to him. Surely her grandmother could not argue with that. “I’m sure that will be an acceptable arrangement.”
They bid Miss Abigail goodnight and left.
Deborah did not attempt to speak to either boy. Alexander was in too much pain and Aaron too frightened. She’d have time to speak with them later.
Now, the anguish of all that had happened washed over her. Her brothers had stolen the town’s money. Their actions had caused Alexander to be shot.
She tried to remember Isaac’s words, how the lion David encountered made him stronger. But this was nothing like a puny lion. This was worse, much worse.
She turned her back to Isaac, buried her head in her hands and wept for the brothers she’d once known.
Chapter Eight
Deborah scrounged in the attic of the ranch house until she found each of the boys a decent pair of overalls that fit. She could have gone to the General Store, but she didn’t know if the sheriff would want her in there. Besides, she wasn’t sure if she ever wanted to show her face in town again. So, she’d washed the overalls and hung them in the sun to dry.
While they dried, she went to the bunkhouse, to check on Alexander. Calvin rode up. Was he bringing more bad news? Isaac came out of the bunkhouse to stand beside her. Calvin didn’t offer to dismount.
She nervously wiped her hands on her apron. “Anything wrong?”
“No, ma’am, I don’t reckon. But the sheriff wants to talk to you. She said for you to come to town, to the bank.”
“Right now?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Calvin rode away.
“Isaac, will you hitch up the wagon? I need to go change, but I wanted to check on Alexander.”
“His brother has done a fine job looking after him. Why don’t you take a look?”
Deborah peered through the door. Aaron held a glass of water to his brother’s lips. What was even more amazing was that Alexander thanked him when he finished.
“They’re good boys who’ve been through a rough time,” she said to Isaac.
He nodded. “Maybe. Time will tell. I’ll get the buggy and meet you at the house.”
“I’ll be ready.” Deborah hoped her grandmother was not watching as she hiked up her skirt and ran.
ISAAC WAITED IN THE buggy. Sheriff English, holding a small sack, stood on the sidewalk outside the bank. She opened the door and motioned Deborah inside. Deborah automatically headed to the conference room.
Today there was no fire in the fireplace. The cold seeped into her. She wished she’d brought a shawl, something to ward off the chill. She linked her fingers in her lap and waited for the sheriff to be seated.
Sheriff English gave her a half smile that was more a grimace. “These are difficult times.”
“For you, too.”
“I brought it on myself. Shooting an unarmed boy.”
“You didn’t know.”
“No, we never know, do we?” She passed a hand over her eyes and pinched her nose.
Deborah wondered if she’d slept at all. She should offer to make coffee but was desperate to hear what the sheriff wanted with her.
“I need to ask you some questions about your brothers, but first I wanted to tell you something ...” One eyebrow hitched up a notch. “How are the Jennings boys doing, by the way?”
“Alexander is still in a lot of pain, but Aaron is tending to him.”
“Good. Abby told me that Alexander should make a full recovery. What I wanted to tell you is that their mother is not coming back.”
“What do you mean?”
“It looks like she took off with a man from the railroad, left for parts unknown.”
Deborah nodded but didn’t speak.
“How long can they stay at the ranch?”
“As long as they need to. I’m not sure if they’ll even miss their mother. Aaron will continue the chores at the Peters.”
“Yes, and Alexander, as soon as he recuperates. Abby thinks he should be able to do some light chores in a week or two.”
Deborah nodded.
The sheriff studied her. “So, you have no idea where your brothers have gone?”
“No, and I’ve been thinking about it, trying to figure out where they would have gone and why.” Unexpectedly, tears burned her eyes. She blinked them away.
“Their mother’s side of the family? Or to someone in the Brokken family?”
Deborah shook her head. “As far as I know, their mother had no other family. There are Brokkens in the Pennsylvania region. I can’t imagine why they’d go there, to a place they’d never been, to see people they’ve never met, even if they are related to them.”
“I’ll send a telegram, just to be sure. If you could get me a list of names ...” Sheriff English pushed her chair back.
Her heart fluttered in her chest as she stood to face the sheriff. “Did they take all the money?”
The sheriff shook her head. “Not all. They left a note, with a small bag of coins.”
Deborah shouldn’t have asked, but she needed to know. “Was the note for me? Or did it mention me?”
The grimace was back on the sheriff’s face. She awkwardly patted Deborah’s shoulder. “No, not really. It was a note to the town. I have it, if you want to read it.” She got it from a pocket in her leather vest and handed it to Deborah.
The note said: It is with the utmost regret we are borrowing the money in the bank. This is a temporary situation and will be resolved soon. We are leaving enough silver to tide you over until our return, unless unforeseen complications arise. All will be explained soon. Our prayers and good wishes go with the town. Sincerely, The Brokken Brothers.
Confused, Deborah glanced up to meet the sheriff’s gaze. “They’re borrowing the money? For what?”
The sheriff shrugged. “No one I’ve questioned knows anything, not even Lydia Walsh who was sweet on your brother.”
“On Karl?”
“No, Fritz.” The sheriff laughed. “You didn’t know about that? The whole town knew.”
Her brothers had been hiding a lot fro
m her. Her heart constricted. They’d never cared enough to share their lives with her.
“There was one more thing, though. They left something with your name on it.” The sheriff reached into the sack and pulled out a jar and slid it across the table to her.
The contents glistened in the light—orange marmalade. Deborah grasped it and gaped at the sheriff. She held the jar as if it was a precious baby and blinked away tears.
The sheriff remained silent a moment and watched her. And then she stirred. “I wanted to tell you that all the ladies in the town are meeting at Abby’s on Sunday afternoon. She’ll be informing them of our plans to advertise for men.”
Deborah didn’t wait to be asked. She shook her head. “No, I couldn’t possibly go. What must the town think of me?”
“We cannot control the actions of our family, only our own. I’m sure no one blames you, Deborah.”
They walked outside into the sun, and Deborah shaded her eyes. “The men who answer the advertisement are still welcome to come to the ranch ... I mean the ones you have checked on.”
“Come to the meeting. You’re part of this, Deborah.”
Deborah shook her head. “I don’t think I have the courage ...”
“We often have more courage than we know. I’ll be watching for you.”
Deborah didn’t answer, and the sheriff walked away, in her usual way, focused on an unseen destination, and not letting anything stand in her way.
Deborah tilted her chin. This town had been named for her father, and she was the only Brokken left, at least for now. Maybe she did have enough of the Brokken in her, the iron that was still not bent, not broken yet. She nodded to herself, climbed in the buggy, the jar still clutched tightly in her hand, and Isaac turned the horses toward home.
DEBORAH SLIPPED INTO the back and found a seat in the corner without attracting anyone’s attention, except Sheriff English. She’d been watching for her, as she’d said.
“If our missing men were going to return to us, they would be here by now.” Miss Abigail choked on the words and blinked. A stray tear slid down her cheek. When she spoke again, her voice was stronger, more forceful. “Many of our men will never come back to our arms.”
“Some of us are not ready to let go just yet. I know Matthias will be returning,” Gwynn said, her voice barely a whisper. “Or at least I pray that is so. I don’t relish the thought of being alone anymore than any of you do, but it’s my duty is to wait for his return or word of his ... passing.”
Several friends averted their gazes. Others grew teary-eyed. The litany of the names of the men who had fallen on some distant battlefield echoed within her, probably every woman in the room could recite the roster of the dead.
“What do you suggest we do?” Lydia Walsh asked, her eyes bright.
Abigail set her needlepoint down. “This town does not boast of a man between the ages of fifteen and sixty, not since the Brokken brothers, erm, left town.”
Several of the women stirred but no one spoke. Gwynn stood and moved to the window. “Let’s change the name of our town. I don’t care if it was their Pa who founded —”
Abigail held up a hand. “Let’s think long and hard before we decide we want to change our town’s name.”
Several heads bobbed in agreement. Brokken was their home, a familiar name. These ladies didn’t like change, but that didn’t mean they were in any mood to forgive her brothers.
“We can’t jump to conclusions. Those young men may be coming back soon.” This came from Lavendar Lilly, a tiny woman, sitting by the fireplace, who was known for taking in every mangy dog that came through town. She was busy darning a sock. A man’s sock.
“Whose sock is that?” Abigail asked.
It was Sophia who answered for her friend. “Lavendar and I have been talking. It’s a shame we’ve ignored Alexander and Aaron for so long. We’ve decided to help out, as we can. Good warm socks seemed a good place to start.”
Abigail’s gaze swept over them and then to the other ladies. “That’s a wonderful idea. We should all be doing more to help.”
Most of the ladies murmured in agreement.
When they’d quieted, Abagail spoke again. “With most of our men and money gone, we face desperate times. We are on a main line of that railroad track. Those people who build the tent cities along the rail line are downright dangerous. Those tent cities are nothing but dens of iniquity filled with coarse men, and, with the railroad being rebuilt, reconstruction can’t be far behind. Sarah shared the letters from her sister reporting what that was like in New Orleans.”
“What are you suggesting?” Sophia asked.
“Desperate times call for desperate measures.” Abigail drew in a long, deep breath. “In the Dakota Territories, there is one woman for every ten men. They’re bringing in mail-order brides.”
“You want us to become mail-order brides?” Annie’s eyes widened, and her glance flew to the sheriff.
It was Gwynn who answered. “I refuse to leave my home.” Her eyes narrowed, and she crossed her arms and patted one foot.
The other voices, as if drawing strength from hers, became a chorus.
“I don’t want to uproot my children.”
“That could be dangerous.”
“My Andrew is buried right outside of town.”
“I ain’t leaving either.”
Abby shook her head, silencing the cacophony. “Ladies, I am not suggesting we become mail-order brides. I am suggesting we advertise in newspapers back East and in the South, or even farther West, for mail-order grooms.”
Shocked gasps filled the small parlor followed by a contemplative silence. Deborah’s eyes widened, although she’d been expecting the announcement. Hearing it spoken of by Abigail sounded a bit shocking, but it did not concern her. Her grandparents would never allow their granddaughter to correspond with anyone except, perhaps, a gentleman from Boston.
Sarah stirred first. “You mean marry a Yankee?”
“Be careful,” Abigail warned. “Many of us still have family up North.” She met her friend’s gaze. “Your ranch is the farthest from town. I would think if the choice was between your ranch being raided or marrying a Yankee, a Yankee would be the lesser of two evils.”
A tense silence ensued.
Melody, from the back of the room, broke the stillness. “He could be a Southern gentleman too.”
Another long silence fell, and then Ora Walsh asked, “This might be the only way to save Brokken and bring menfolk here.” Ora had three daughters, all of marrying age, and none with husbands to show for it. She had as much to gain, and lose, by this endeavor as anyone. Ora’s own husband, Daniel, and oldest son, Daniel Junior, had been killed in the war. They needed help running the family’s livery at the end of town.
The youngest Walsh sister, Hannah, sat in the corner of the room holding a book, not paying attention to the argument around her.
“I for one, love the idea,” Lydia, Ora’s middle daughter, proclaimed. The buxom blonde had been blessed with ample curves and pretty looks, both of which were wasting away with no men present. It wasn’t surprising she was for the idea of the advertisement. It hadn’t taken her long to recover from being jilted by Fritz. Or had she jilted him?
Rebecca, Ora’s oldest daughter, turned red with embarrassment. “Mother, we can manage without having to have strangers brought in to help us.”
With a stern expression, Ora glared at her oldest daughter. “Enough. This needs to happen, for all our sakes.”
Miss Abigail smiled. “We will allow Preacher Grisson to place the advertisements in the papers. Victoria will make sure no scoundrels answer the ad. We ourselves determine if any of the responses merit an answer from us.”
Several of the women bobbed their heads, and some smiled. Others had widened eyes, and color drained from their cheeks.
Abigail spoke again, her voice dropping, as if to comfort them. “The men who answer can stay at the hotel or ...”
“The Jacksons can certainly take them in at the ranch —they need to after their grandsons nearly destroyed our town.” Sarah placed her hands on her hips and looked defiantly in Deborah’s direction.
“Step-grandsons,” one of the women said.
Deborah’s cheeks burned. They spoke of her family as if she was not present.
Abigail held up a hand. “Have you forgotten Deborah took in the Jennings brothers? And besides, she has already agreed to take in the men.”
“Yes, but her grandmother did not want to.”
Abigail sighed. “We will not engage in gossip. Now, let’s get down to business. Exactly what qualities do we want in these men?”
Sheriff English clicked her tongue and sighed. She sat down at the small desk and dipped the pen into a bottle of ink and had it poised above the paper. “I reckon I’ll do it for y’all since it’s my ma and pa who will run the advertisement.”
Abigail shot the sheriff a look and spoke again, her voice louder. “It’s time we came together, ladies. The War is over, has been over for two long years. We are no longer Rebels, no longer Unionists. First and foremost, we are citizens of this town. If we want to save Brokken, our hometown, we will come together.”
Deborah sucked in her breath, a little too loudly. She smiled at Abigail, pleased to finally hear someone willing to fight to save her father’s town. The infusion of men could only bring good.
Heads turned toward her, and she got to her feet and found her way outside. She stood stockstill beneath Abigail’s window and removed her shoes. After a moment, she moved away on bare feet. She made less noise without shoes, and the freedom it gave made her feel at one with the world.
She hugged the happiness to her as she’d hugged the orange marmalade. In the morning she’d make a big pan of biscuits and share her orange marmalade with the Jennings. Pleased, energy surged through her.
When she reached the outskirts of town, she moved onto the road and paused to gaze at the sight that never failed to fill her with awe — the night sky, crowded with stars. As if carried on the breeze, words floated before her, soundlessly: The skys display his handiwork.
