Brokken Promises

by Abagail Eldan

  “When you finish your deliveries, please go by and check on Miss Jenkins.”

  The young man’s eyes brightened. “Is Missy still there?”

  “Yes, but you are not to dawdle. Simply do any chores she has for you.”

  “I will make sure they have plenty of firewood and take in as much as they need. We’re in for some bark-busting nights.”

  Fritz nodded. “In that case, hurry along and then get inside before you freeze.”

  Calvin touched a bare hand to his cap.

  Fritz shook his head. He’d given Calvin several pairs of gloves, and the boy kept losing them. No need to waste his breath rebuking him, so he continued to the Brokken Post Office and gathered the mail that had accumulated before going on to Molly’s Restaurant.

  It was after breakfast although not yet lunch time. Most of the tables were empty, and he chose one close to the woodstove in the middle of the room. The woodstove had a pipe venting out through the ceiling, and the fire had been stoked to the point that parts glowed red.

  Molly was at his side in but a moment. “I hope your lunch the other day was suitable?”

  He smiled. “It was delicious as always. Your husband is a wonderful cook—or should I say chef?”

  “Cook will do.” She grinned. “What do you have there?”

  “My mail.” The postmaster had tied it into a bundle, and it set on the floor beside his chair. “I hope you don’t mind if I sit here and go through it? This is the warmest place I could find.”

  “Of course! And I will bring you some coffee. You drink it black, if I remember correctly?”

  “Yes, and do you have any apple pie?”

  “I’ll see what I can wrestle up.”

  “Thank you.” He’d warmed enough to take off his coat. He stood to hang it and his hat on the coat tree by the door.

  He’d again settled in his chair when Molly returned with his steaming cup of coffee and a slice of apple pie.

  He thanked her again and set to work on his mail, slitting the letters open with his pocketknife. He had several letters from Karl, and he read them with interest. After a moment, his jaw went slack, and he looked up as Molly came to refill his coffee.

  “Anything wrong?” she asked.

  He stroked his chin. “Wrong is not the correct word, I don’t suppose. Surprising is more like it.”

  “Are those letters from Karl? You mean that your brother has surprised you?” She gave a low chuckle.

  “Yes, Karl, of all people.” He grinned at Molly. “This is difficult to believe, but it seems he married by proxy before he left for Germany.”

  Her own jaw became slack for a moment. “He’s married? Karl? Your brother Karl?”

  Fritz laughed. “Yes, and he’s returning with his bride. He wants me to prepare the family before I pick them up at the train station.”

  She tilted her head. “Rest assured, I will not mention it to anyone until your brother announces it.”

  “I know you won’t.” He glanced at the letter again and shook his head in disbelief.

  Molly still stood beside him, and she cleared her throat, not moving away.

  He looked up and caught her eye. “Yes? Did you want to ask me something?”

  He cheeks pinkened. “While you are here, there’s gossip swirling around that I wanted to ask about. You know how it is in a restaurant—people gather and talk about folks.”

  “How may I help?” He gave her a quizzical look but had a strong inkling of what she was going to say.

  “The gossip is that Miss Jenkins is not Sally Jane’s mother. If I need to stop the rumors...”

  Fritz shook his head. “It’s not a rumor. I can verify that is indeed the case.”

  “I thought it might be true but wanted to be sure. When I was out the other day, when you arrived with Miss Jenkins, I noticed that Sally Jane does not much look like her.”

  “You should have gotten my attention and I would have introduced you.”

  “I understand she will be in town for a while longer. I’m sure I will meet her sooner or later.” The way she studied him, her eyes twinkling, made heat creep up his neck. More than one rumor was swirling. Folks knew of his visits to Cam.

  “I’m sure you will have a chance to meet her,” he answered and cast his glance to the next letter although his eyes failed to focus until she walked away.

  When his eyes did focus, he frowned. He picked up the letter but did not open it for it was not addressed to him. Instead it said: Camellia Jenkins, in care of Fritz Brokken, Brokken, Texas.

  And furthermore, the stationery was from the H & B Hotel although it did not have a return address. Who would be getting in touch with Cam from the H & B? And more importantly, why?

  Even though he wanted to take it to Cam immediately, he put the unopened letter in his pocket with the intention of giving it to her when he visited later. The way Molly had looked at him made him well aware he and Cam were the subject of gossip.

  He would strive to be more circumspect. There was no need to tarnish Cam’s reputation further, especially since his own lay in tatters.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Not only did Fritz, Mr. and Mrs. Hale and Sally Jane show up at Camellia’s door but also the sheriff with her husband whom she introduced simply as Jon. And somehow, Calvin Meyers joined the group and made a beeline to sit next to Missy. Every seat was taken, and Camellia overwhelmed, murmuring of coffee, retreated to the kitchen.

  Missy had been busy that afternoon baking cookies, making coffee, and even had loose tea seeping in hot water. Missy had also set out trays to place everything on, leaving little for Camellia to do.

  She found the teapot and strained the tea when the kitchen door opened. She expected it to be Missy, coming to help her, but it was Fritz, his eyes serious.

  Instinctively, she backed away, and he held up a hand to stop her. “I do not plan to tarry. I have something for you, a letter I received today.”

  She did not comprehend his words and simply blinked at him. He reached in his pocket and pulled forth an envelope. She looked at it as if he held a snake in his hand, still not fully comprehending. Was the letter from her father? Her heart beat frantically, as if trying to escape its confines.

  “It’s from the H & B,” he explained. He must have seen the panic in her face for he continued speaking, his voice gentle, as if speaking to a child. “Didn’t you have a friend there?”

  She took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. The squeezing in her chest gradually eased, and she was able to speak. “The cook, Miss Smith. Is it from her?”

  “It doesn’t say. I’m afraid you’ll have to open it to find out.” He still held the letter toward her, but when she failed to reach for it, he finally set it on the table. “Should I send Missy to help?”

  “Yes, please. Thank you.”

  He left, but she did not pick up the letter. She would read it later when everyone had left. Missy came in and helped her carry the trays into the sitting room, and they left the letter behind, on the kitchen table.

  Fritz jumped to his feet when they entered the sitting room and helped pass out the refreshments. Before she took a seat, in a chair Fritz had brought from the dining room, she spoke to Sally Jane. The little girl, sitting in Chance’s lap, widened her eyes but did not speak. She lay her head on Chance’s chest, tilting her head to peer at Camellia.

  When a hush fell and made her realize she was the subject of attention from the others gathered in the room, Camellia hurried to her seat.

  As soon as she was seated, the sheriff stood. “I apologize for coming over uninvited. However, I knew all of you would like to know my inquiries are completed.”

  “So soon?” Deborah asked, her face hopeful.

  It had seemed an eternity to Camellia, but she did not speak. She tried not to wring her hands as she waited for the sheriff to continue.

  The sheriff’s gaze traveled around the room and found hers. “Miss Jenkins, you are no longer confined to the hou
se. Your story has checked out.”

  “What does that mean, Vic?” Chance asked. “Are we now free to adopt Sally Jane?”

  The sheriff flicked her gaze from Chance to Camellia. “I suppose it means whatever Miss Jenkins chooses it to mean, seeing as she is Sally Jane’s next of kin.”

  Camellia’s heart hammered. That was not strictly true, but if the sheriff’s investigation had not turned up anyone else, so she assumed, she would make the determination. “You have my permission to adopt Sally Jane.” Her heart lifted when Deborah gave forth a squeal of delight and rose from her seat to hug her husband.

  But Chance looked past his wife to capture her attention. “You will sign the papers?”

  Deborah let go of Chance and Sally Jane to turn to face Camellia. “Surely, you will?”

  Again, Camellia was the subject of scrutiny, and she stirred uneasily. “I see no need. I assure you I will never try to take your daughter from you.” She fell silent, and no one else spoke.

  “Why are you hesitant to sign the papers?” Deborah asked, after a quick glance to her husband whose gaze had turned into a glare.

  “I simply do not see the need.” Her eyes pricked with tears. “I was only a half-sister to her mother, and I barely know the child.”

  Fritz stood and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Let’s not belabor the point. Miss Jenkins has given her word, and I think that is enough.”

  Deborah sat down next to her husband on the settee and whispered something Camellia could not hear. Chance visibly relaxed and inclined his head although his face remained grim.

  Fritz moved to the center of the room, in front of the fireplace. “I received some news today I think y’all will find of interest.”

  Camellia breathed a sigh of relief that he had pulled the attention from her, and she was no longer under scrutiny. She tilted her chin up a notch.

  “I received several letters from Karl today—I have not checked my mail since I arrived home, and the post office had accumulated quite a few.”

  “Is he doing well?” Deborah asked. “He has not corresponded with us since he left.”

  “Yes. As a matter of fact, he’s coming in on the morning train and wants me to meet him and his wife.” A smile curled on Fritz’s lips, as if satisfied at the effect of his words.

  Eyes widened and jaws slackened.

  The sheriff was the first to gain her voice. “His what? It sounded as if you said ‘wife.’”

  “I did. He was married by proxy before he left for Germany.” His grin broadened.

  Camellia looked at her hands folded in her lap. His smile had brought warmth to her cheeks, and she composed herself, before daring to glance in his direction again.

  “Furthermore, he married an opera singer, a celebrated one from what he indicates in his letter,” Fritz said.

  “He married by proxy? An opera singer?” Chance said.

  “Karl enclosed an article explaining more.” He patted his pockets until he found the newspaper clipping, and he gave it to his sister. Several got to their feet to peer over her shoulder.

  While they were occupied, Camellia caught Fritz looking at her, and the heat once again crept to her cheeks.

  He moved closer and spoke quieter. “Did you read the letter from your friend?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know if it is from my friend. I didn’t open it yet.”

  “Why not?”

  “To tell you the truth, I was afraid it would upset me.”

  “Would you like for me to be with you when you read it?”

  “After everyone leaves?” Her eyes widened. It was not wise to be alone with him again.

  “No, now. Everyone is occupied and probably won’t see us slip away.”

  She glanced around the room and discovered what he said was true. The sheriff and Deborah had taken the clipping closer to the oil lamp and were exclaiming over the picture of Karl’s new wife.

  “She’s so elegant and beautiful,” Deborah said to the sheriff.

  Meanwhile, the sheriff’s husband Jon had joined Chance, and it sounded as if they were planning to get together to go hunting. Missy and Calvin were giggling together.

  Camellia allowed Fritz to pull her to her feet, and she followed him into the dining room without attracting attention, as far as Camellia could tell. Fritz pulled out a chair for her, but she did not sit but went into the kitchen and came back with the letter.

  “Would you like for me to open it?” he asked. “I have my knife.”

  She looked at the letter in her shaking hand and gave it to him. “Please.”

  He took out an ivory-handled pocketknife and slit the side of the envelope open. She took it from him and went to her seat while he closed his knife. He took a chair across from her.

  She felt his eyes upon her as she shook the letter from the envelope and unfolded it. It was not from Miss Smith but from Mrs. Howe, and she could not stifle a gasp.

  Fritz shifted his position as if to stand, but she shook her head. The letter was all she feared it would be, but at least, it removed a burden from her shoulders. It would reveal the truth, and now that she was free to leave, she would tell Fritz.

  She attempted a smile, her lips trembling with the effort. “The earth crumbles beneath me, and the raging river lies below.”

  His smile was tender in return. “I will rescue you.”

  Her voice was but a mere whisper when she spoke. “Don’t make promises you cannot keep.”

  “I can fathom no secret so deadly that it would cause me to abandon you.”

  This time she was able to muster a trembling smile. “I wish I could believe that was true.”

  His smile faded into soberness. “Whatever you have done is in the past. We will face the future together.”

  “It is too much to hope for, to even wish for.” The grief was so sudden she collapsed beneath it, folding her arms on the mahogany table and burying her head.

  Someone touched her back, but she barely felt it. Sheriff English’s voice sounded nearby. “Fritz, please go.”

  He protested, and she tried to raise her head to plead his case but to no avail.

  Sheriff English’s voice became louder. “Deborah! Your brother has been at it again!”

  It should have been comical, but her tears only increased.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Fuming, Fritz left the house. Why did the sheriff always blame him when something went wrong? Vic had told him she’d bury him under the jail if he showed his face before morning. Calvin had been thrust out, too, and he walked beside Fritz, asking a hundred questions which Fritz ignored. Fritz wished he had his own jail to bury Calvin under.

  Calvin even followed him up to his house, and Fritz told him to go home, and he went inside without bothering to see if Calvin did as he said. He’d banked the fire earlier in his study and now added lighter. When it flared, he added a log and pulled a straight-backed chair to the front so he could poke the log upon occasion and watch the sparks fly. Some popped forth and landed near his feet, burning bright for a second before dying out. He watched with little interest, and his floor was marked with burnt areas before he fully became aware of what he was doing.

  He hung the poker back on its stand and rested his elbows on his knees, letting his arms and hands dangle dangerously close to the fire. He did not know how long he sat there when a knock sounded. He arose so quickly his chair toppled over.

  He swung the door open, vowing to kill Calvin if it was him. Instead, without Sally Jane in his arms for once, Chance stood there. Fritz motioned him in.

  He resisted the urge to grab Chance and shake him by the shoulders, but his voice was gruff when he spoke. “What’s going on with Cam?”

  Chance rubbed his hands together briskly. “Do you mind if I go warm up by the fire?”

  Fritz gestured impatiently to his study, and Chance went in. His brother-in-law warmed his hands for a second, and Fritz set his chair upright and collapsed in it as if his legs ha
d given way.

  He swung his arm in a circle and glared at Chance. “Are you going to tell me or what?”

  “They sent me to bring you the letter.”

  “The letter? The letter she received from the H & B?”

  “I think so, although Miss Jenkins may have enclosed a note for you also.” Chance finally brought it forth, although why he had not given it to him immediately was beyond Fritz’s comprehension.

  “Thank you,” he said, as civilly as he could manage.

  Chance cast him a glance. “I’ll let myself out. Deborah said she’d meet me at the carriage.”

  Fritz pulled the letter forth from the envelope and did not answer nor look up. The letter from the H & B was short, and he scanned it quickly before reading the other note that had fallen from the envelope.

  He re-read both more slowly and breathed deeply. Mrs. Howe was as despicable as he had imagined. He got out of his chair and paced the room but could not decide what to do. Before he finally came to a decision, he had paced enough to wear a groove into the floor.

  He needed to talk to Deborah but the clock on the mantle showed it was after eleven. The anger that burned within him urged him forward. He could not wait until morning. He had enough presence of mind to bank the fire and to blow out the kerosene lamp before grabbing his coat and heading out the door. Chance’s carriage was gone, no telling how long. Camellia’s and the sheriff’s houses were dark. They were all probably asleep by now.

  His horse was stabled at the Walsh’s livery, an awkward arrangement to be sure. He knew the place like the back of his hand and did not plan to arouse anyone in the house. Hopefully, he would not get shot by Lydia’s brother-in-law.

  The cold was so bitter that his hands were numb by the time he’d gotten the horse saddled and ready to go. Like Calvin, he’d forgotten his gloves. As he rode along, he alternated putting his hands in his coat, like an ambidextrous Napoleon.

  The sky was clear, and the stars shone brightly against the darkness. The vastness of the night sky made him feel small, insignificant, but God was with him, within him, and would help him keep his promise to Cam, no matter the cost.