Wilson's Hard Lesson

by K. Anderson

  “Somewhere in this mess you must have an Introduction to the Law,” Benson sneered. “That argument may impress what passes for a judiciary out here on the frontier, but I assure you that’s not the way things work in the civilized part of the country.”

  “Well,” William said, “that’s too bad, because here is where you are, and here is where Abigail is going to stay.”

  Benson reached inside his coat pocket, a motion that caused William to cock the trigger on his pistol. Benson held a hand up, seemingly unconcerned. “Hold on, cowboy.” He extracted a thick envelope from his pocket and put it on the table. “In this envelope is enough cash to fund your research endeavors for the rest of your life.” When he dropped it, I could see the green edges of bank notes. “Surely that’s enough to persuade you this marriage wasn’t meant to be?”

  “I’m not sure if you’ve ever heard this, Mr. Benson,” William said, speaking through gritted teeth, “but there are things in this world that just can’t be bought.”

  “What nonsense!” Benson said. “You’ll think differently after you count what’s in there.”

  “I’m not going to count it,” William said. “I’m not interested in money. I want you out of my house.” He adjusted the grip he had on his pistol. “Now.”

  “Such a waste.” Benson got to his feet, in a slow process that was clearly painful for him. “You’re obviously bright, and have vision and potential. But you don’t know that the law says a widow is free to remarry as she pleases.”

  The gun in his hand was many times larger than the one William was holding. I did the only thing I could think to do: thrust myself between the two men, directly in the line of fire.

  “Wait!” I cried. “Don’t shoot!” I turned toward Robert Benson and asked him the question that had been burning in my mind. “Why in the world are you willing to go to such lengths just to marry me? There are a million women in this world. Plenty of them would love to be rich. Pick one of them to keep your house and share your bed.”

  “I don’t want to pick any of them,” he replied. “I want you. I’ve wanted you since I saw you playing in the garden outside of your Father’s house, with your hair in braids.” His tone grew wistful. “You were wearing a blue checkered dress.”

  I blinked. “I had that dress when I was a small girl. Eight years ago – maybe ten.” The thought of this man watching me while I was still in grade school sickened me. “You know I’m not that child any more. I’m a woman grown now. Grown and wed.” I cocked my head and raised my voice on the last word, emphasizing my marital state. “Whatever you’ve been imagining happening, Mr. Benson, it can’t happen. It’s too late for that.”

  “I’m willing to forgive your indiscretions,” Benson replied. “You’re young, and you were scared. I can see I’ve handled things badly, and I’m sorry about that. But I can look past what you’ve done. All you need to do is come with me now.”

  “No.” I shook my head. “William and I are married, and I love him.” The words flew from my lips like bullets from a gun, and I could see Benson wincing as each one landed. “You can’t just come in here and expect that I’ll willingly walk away from my husband.”

  Benson sighed. “No, but you’ll walk away from his corpse.”

  Everything happened at once at that point. Benson lifted his arm and cocked his pistol; I leapt directly toward him, hoping to knock him to the ground with the force of my weight. At the same time, from behind me, I heard William fire his gun.

  Then Benson fired. The room was full of thunder and screaming. I raised my hands to my ears to block out the thunder, and realized I was the one who was screaming. It took all my will to stop, a task that became even more difficult when I realized the very top of Benson’s head was missing.

  “Oh no,” I said , scrambling off of his prone form. “Oh no, oh no.” If William’s bullet had landed, what had happened to Benson’s shot. I didn’t want to turn around, terrified that I’d find my husband’s bloody corpse sprawled out behind me. “This can’t be happening.”

  Then I heard those familiar beloved German tones ringing in my husband’s words as he clarified the situation. “It isn’t happening, liebchen. It has happened.”

  I whirled around. William was standing there, pale faced and unsteady, but as far as I could see, unharmed.

  “You’re all right?” I demanded, rushing to him.

  “I am,” he said. “The same cannot be said for our clock.” The ornately carved wooden clock that had hung high on the wall had been blown apart; springs and gears spilled out of its case in every direction.

  “Are you sure?” I began pulling back William’s vest, frantically searching for any wounds.

  “Yes, Abigail,” he said patiently. “There is more blood on you than there is on me.”

  I stepped away from him then and looked down at myself in horror. My dress was covered in blood and gore; I’d no sooner realized this than I had to run out onto the porch and vomit.

  I was out there, struggling to avoid my composure and avoid looking at Shatsi’s battered body when the Sheriff arrived, riding a big black horse. He had his gun unholstered before he was out of the saddle. “Am I too late?”

  “He tried to kill us!” I said. It was all I could do to keep from fainting. I had to cling to the porch post to stay upright.

  “What happened?”

  “William shot back at him,” I said. “Killed him dead.” I felt sick again, but there was nothing left in my stomach. “It’s horrible.”

  “Where’s William now?”

  “I’m in here, Sheriff,” my husband called through the doorway. “It is as Abigail says. Mr. Benson is quite dead.”

  “You’d better come out here,” the Sheriff called. “No gun. With your hands up.”

  William did as the Sheriff asked. “Come over here,” the Sheriff said. He patted William down. “How is it that you don’t have any blood on you while she’s covered?”

  “My wife…” William paused, searching for the right words. “She is brave and foolish both. She was struggling with Benson, trying to keep him from shooting me.”

  “And you shot him with her in his arms?” the Sheriff looked at me for verification.

  “Everything happened so fast,” I said.

  “It had not been my intention for the gun to fire at that time,” William said. “When he fired, my reflexes took over. I pulled the trigger without meaning to.”

  “You’re lucky you didn’t kill your wife,” the Sheriff said.

  “Rest assured that if I had, Sheriff, the very next shot would have gone into mine own brain.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  There was an inquiry. No one could find the fire marshal; the Saints swore up and down that he’d never arrived in their community to search for us, and as far as anyone knew, he didn’t return to the Shenandoah Valley either. Pastor Hofmann and the Anglican Curate vouched for our side of the story; that was enough to secure our liberty.

  “It is the opinion of the court that William Abelwolf was acting in self defense, protecting his home, property and wife, when he shot and killed Robert Benson. Therefore there is no reason for the territory to bring a case against Mr. Abelwolf.” The district attorney read slowly from his document before looking up at the Sheriff. “Are we agreed?”

  The Sheriff nodded. “The way I see it, the man brought it on himself.” He shook his head. “What he did to the dog was bad enough. A man like that needs killing.”

  William bowed his head. “Thank you, sir. Does that mean I am free to go?”

  The district attorney nodded. “Absolutely.”

  My husband grinned from ear to ear. “Oh, thank God.” He left the stand. I rushed into his arms and embraced him with all of my might.

  “Thank goodness they saw reason!” I exclaimed. To the very last moment, I’d been sure that somehow Robert Benson’s wealth and influence would count against us; even from beyond the grave, surely there was a way that he could make our liv
es miserable. But nothing had happened, and having been cleared of responsibility for Benson’s death meant William could never be tried on the matter again.

  “And now I have to introduce you to someone very special,” I said to my husband. I took him by the hand and led him to the back of the courtroom, where my Father sat waiting. He’d been there for every day of the inquiry; the contract Benson had forced him to sign had been entered into evidence. “William, this is my Father. Papa, this is William.”

  Father stood up. We’d been apart from each other less than a month, but he appeared to have aged a full year. I didn’t remember him being quite so short, or quite so frail. He extended his hand to William.

  “It’s good to meet you, son,” he said. “I’m sorry I didn’t get the chance to do so sooner, under more propitious circumstances.”

  William smiled, and took Father’s hand. “Well, the circumstances we have are much better than what they could have been, so I’ll take them gladly.” He pulled Father into a hug and embraced him briefly; when William stepped back, I saw tears in Papa’s eyes. “It is good to meet Abigail’s father. You know she loves you dearly.”

  “And I her,” Father said. “Signing that contract was the worst mistake of my life. If I could change anything, I would have told Benson to keep his damned money.”

  “Well, all’s well that ends well,” William replied.

  “I see Abigail’s been reading you her Shakespeare,” Father said with a laugh.

  “Most nights,” William agreed. It had become a treasured part of our evening routine, as my husband and I would relax in bed together, the lantern light just bright enough to illuminate the pages I read from.

  “That’s what I miss the most, I think,” Father said. “I got used to her reading me Scriptures on the Sabbath. She does a better job than any preacher man.”

  “You don’t have to miss it, sir,” William said. “My farm’s got plenty enough room that we could build another small house on it.” He shrugged his shoulders and gave me a sly little grin. “Maybe even set you up with another print shop.”

  Father looked so surprised. “But I’ve no money to put toward such a project,” he said. “Benson’s lawyers wound up taking the house, you know. I am practically penniless.”

  “The Lord works in mysterious ways, Papa.” The envelope Benson had tried to tempt William with had contained more than enough money for everything my husband proposed and then some. “All you have to do is say yes.”

  “To be near my daughter once again is joy enough,” Father said. “More than I deserve. Of course I’m going to say yes!”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  “Nicholas Copernicus Abelwolf, get your hands out of that ink right now!” My oldest daughter has a voice like a martinet; the strident sounds of her outrage echoed through the yard with a power you wouldn’t believe a four year old could produce. “Mama! Nicholas is bothering Opa!”

  “Shush, shush,” I heard my Father say. “Don’t bother your mother right now. She’s resting.”

  “But Nick is going to make a mess,” Lydia protested. “He’s got ink all over his fingers.”

  “Don’t worry,” my Father soothed her. “I know what to do. I’ve dealt with this before.” His tone brightened and I could imagine him smiling, not all that far outside my bedroom window. “I’ll tell you what. Let’s take care of your brother’s hands, and then we’ll all go see if any of those blackberries your Father planted are ripe enough to eat yet.”

  “Those are for pies,” Lydia said.

  “Always law and order with that one,” William said. He was snuggled in bed against me, one arm thrown carefully over my swelling stomach. Our third child was due to arrive soon, an exciting development that also left me more than a little exhausted.

  “I wonder where she gets that from,” I teased him. Having relaxing moments with my husband was a rare treat these days; between the children’s non-stop adventures, helping Father establish the region’s newest print shop, and figuring out which two varieties of plums should be bred in order to create a truly pox resistant cultivar, we barely had a second to ourselves most days.

  “Surely from you,” William laughed.

  “I don’t think so,” I said, turning awkwardly to kiss him. My gravid form left me far from flexible. “Get on this side,” I laughed and tapped the bed. “So I can kiss you properly.”

  “Your wish is my command,” he said, leaping deftly over me.

  “Ugh,” I said, as he landing on the other side of the mattress. “You’re as wild as the children.”

  “Even more so, probably,” William agreed cheerfully. He kissed me again. “There, is that better?”

  “Much,” I said, and returned his kiss with one of my own. “Much, much better.”

  William’s kisses grew more passionate. He started to reach for my breasts, stopping only moments before contact to ask “May I?”

  “Clearly, you already have,” I said, rubbing one hand over my belly. “Go gently. This little one is doing cartwheels.”

  He smiled. “I’m not going to upset the baby.” He pulled down the top of my chemise just enough to expose the swollen rounded tops of my breasts, placing a gentle kiss on top of each one. “Or his beautiful Mama.”

  “Believe me,” I said, running my fingers through William’s soft golden hair. “You’re welcome to disturb me in that fashion any time you’d like.”

  “You say that, but you know the children will come bursting through the door the minute we begin to…disturb each other.”

  “Opa has taken them down to pick blackberries.” I smiled. “They should be gone for an eternity – maybe even an entire half-hour!”

  William laughed. “You are incorrigible.” He kissed me again. “How did I get so lucky?”

  “I ask myself that same question, every single day.”

  Chapter Thirty

  “You need to tell that husband of yours to come up with some other way of describing his findings than all these confounded charts!” Father looked up from his letter press tray, clearly annoyed. “I’m getting old, Abigail. I can’t even see eight-point type anymore.”

  “Have Nicholas help you.”

  “He’s too young.”

  “He knows all his numbers now,” I said. “It’ll be good practice for him.”

  “And what if he makes a mistake?” Father shook his head. “I know how William needs every detail of this work to be correct.”

  “We’ll have Lydia proof it,” I replied. “You know nothing will get by her sharp eyes.”

  “Never mind her eyes,” Father said. “It’s her ears I worry about. I unwrapped a peppermint and that child appears out of nowhere.”

  “Children are like that, Papa,” I said with a laugh.

  “You were the same way,” my Father said. “I remember.”

  “I’m glad you’re here to see the children growing up,” I said. “It means a lot to William and I both.” One of the mysteries that remained between William and I, even at this late date in our marriage, was who and where his family were. I knew him to count himself alone in the world, but just as spontaneous combustion didn’t really happen, children did not spring into existence without a parent or two along the way.

  “I’m glad of it too. I’m glad you’ve lived long enough to have children. William is good to you.” He shook his head. “That Benson beast – when I think of what you escaped!”

  We’d all learned the truth about Kitty Benson’s disappearance while her husband’s estate was being settled. Her bones, along with another set believed to be that of her would-be lover, were found locked in a stout leather trunk marked Benson Trading & Exchange, Limited.

  “All’s well that ends well.” I tried to comfort Father. He spent far too much time worrying over what might have been, instead of enjoying what was.

  “Shakespeare. That at least I did right.” Father smiled.

  “You did a great many things right, Papa.” William walked up behin
d us, resting his hand on my shoulder. “You raised a strong girl into a beautiful woman. You did the best you could to protect her through the years. And now you’re here to guide and look over your grandchildren. Not every man gets so much.”

  “I’m sure I don’t deserve so much,” Father said.

  “You do,” I protested. “Every bit and more.”

  William wasn’t the only one to find their way into the print shop. Nicholas toddled in as fast as his legs would take him, followed closely by big sister Lydia, who watched over him always like a mother hen.

  “What’s going on in here?” she asked, looking at us all in turn, suspicion in her eyes. “Are you having peppermints without us?”

  We laughed and assured her that no, we weren’t. Then of course, Father had to search for a candy to satisfy the treat. I took William’s hand and watched the proceedings with a smile on my face. Despite a rocky start, life had turned out pretty sweet after all.

  A Mail Order Bride for the Lonely Widower

  By: Tanya Rutherford

  A Mail Order Bride for the Lonely Widower

  © Tanya Rutherford, 2016 – All rights reserved

  Published by Steamy Reads4U

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