by Trinity Ford
The ride to the church was short, and within minutes, Della was standing before the very steps where she would first lay eyes on her future husband. Holding her reticule, she could feel her hands trembling. What if he feels I’m too ordinary? She worried.
“You’ll be fine,” Mary whispered, latching her arm with Della’s. It was as if this sightless, seventeen-year-old girl could see and sense more than anyone else who had been in Della’s life. Then again, Mary did have to rely on other senses, and she would have focused on the lack of conversation and the shaking of Della’s body to indicate she was edgy.
Roy stood on the other side of Mary to walk up the steps of the church house. Della was glad Helen had stayed home—she didn’t need the extra tension. But she couldn’t help but feel sorry for Mary, not having the kind of doting ma she could see the other young girls with that day.
“Why Roy Jennings,” a voice beamed. “Is this our new neighbor you’ve been hiding in the General Store?” A woman with chestnut hair and a pair of little ones tugging on her walked up and gave Della an unexpected hug.
“Yep,” Roy laughed. “This is Miss Della Owens.”
“I’m Millie Lockhart,” she said. “Wife of the sheriff, and ma to these two troublemakers. I’m sorry I haven’t had a chance to stop by, but I’d love to have you and Milton over for supper one day!”
“I’d love that,” Della said. Out of the corner of her eye, a man approached. He was handsome and strong looking, Della noticed that everyone showed respect to him as he walked by. He towered over most men and bore a neatly trimmed mustache. When he stopped to chat with people, she could hear his deep voice—one sure to command respect. His eyes kept darting her way. Finally, he made it through the crowd. Could this be Milton? Della wondered.
He strode up and wrapped his arm around Millie’s waist. Della exhaled. It’s not him, she thought, disappointed. Where is he? The suspense of who Milton Tidwell was started to get on Della’s last nerve.
“This is my husband, John Lockhart,” Millie said, leaning her head back into the sheriff’s chest.
“Nice to meet you,” Della said, her eyes quickly scanning the crowd to continue the search for the man she could call her own.
“Pleasure to meet you,” Sheriff Lockhart said. “Hey, did you meet this guy yet?” The sheriff grabbed the shoulder of a man walking past the group, spinning him around.
Della didn’t even have time to wonder if it was Milton because when she turned to face him, she was staring back at the one man she hadn’t wanted to see that day—Hank Hensley. His eyes were red and he looked as if he’d just crawled out of bed seconds earlier. She wasn’t sure, but she thought she could smell the faint scent of liquor on him. “Yes, I…” Della started.
“Yes,” Hank interrupted, “She’s had the unquestionable pleasure of meeting me and my alter ego, right Miss Owens? Now if you’ll excuse me, it appears as if Hank…or is it Sam? … is in high demand today.” He tipped his hat and winked at Della before turning to approach a group of young women who were giggling and calling him over. Good! Della thought. Just as I wanted it—no phony conversations or insufferable teasing.
“Rough night,” Sheriff Lockhart said, grinning and nodding toward Hank.
The crowd began filing into the church house—each congregation member being greeted by Pastor and Mabel Littlejohn as they stepped through the doors. Della was pulled aside by Mabel on her way in. “I’m so happy to meet you, Della,” she said. “I know it’s late notice, but Pastor Littlejohn and I were hoping you’d be able to have supper with us after church along with Mr. Tidwell—to make the proper introductions.”
Just what Della had been waiting for! “Yes, of course,” she said. “I’ll let Mr. Jennings know of my whereabouts. Thank you!”
Mabel smiled and motioned for Della to enter the church before her. As her eyes scanned the room, trying to find Roy and Mary, she noticed Hank sitting alone in the back pew. I’m surprised he’s not sitting smack in the middle of three or four silly girls, Della scoffed. She spotted her host and made her way down the aisle to sit beside them. They were in the second row, and while she was grateful for the opportunity to hear the sermon front and center, she couldn’t help the urge to glance around the room, trying to figure out the identity of Milton Tidwell. As the Pastor spoke his sermon, Della casually turned around to see if anyone was looking at her—a clear sign it would be Mr. Tidwell. There was no one to the left or right looking her way, so she turned her head back toward the doors of the church. Every man faced forward, listening to the sermon, expect one—Hank Hensley—who was staring directly at her, quietly chuckling—as if he’d been watching her all this time and knew exactly what she was up to! Della’s eyes grew wide and she quickly turned back around to focus on the sermon. Well it figures he wouldn’t be listening to the sermon, she thought. Of all people, he probably needed to hear the Lord’s word most! It was just as well that Milton wasn’t paying attention to her—he must be a Godly man who has his priorities straight.
At the end of the sermon, Della rose with Roy and Mary and made her way to the church steps where Mabel and Pastor Littlejohn were bidding everyone a farewell. Della noticed Hank exit the church before her. He stood chatting with a group of businessmen, obviously immersed in a serious discussion. She was glad he hadn’t approached and teased her about her behavior—it would have been terribly embarrassing.
“Della,” Mabel said as the last of the congregation exited the building. “I’d like you to meet Mr. Milton Tidwell.”
Della looked up and drew in a sharp breath. He was not attractive like the other men—rather wiry looking and pale. He wore a black suit and top hat, which he removed, revealing a receding hairline that led to a stark display of slicked back, oily hair. He was also many shades paler than the other men, which contrasted with the thin mustache defined above his upper lip. “Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Tidwell,” Della fibbed, hoping that despite his physical appearance, he would have a soft heart and engaging personality that could help her fall in love with him. At the very least, he had to be a better man than Hank Hensley!
“Yes, I’m sure,” Milton replied in a nasally voice, shaking her hand weakly.
As Mabel explained the meal she was preparing for their supper, Della noticed Hank watching the encounter. “Oh, that just sounds lovely,” Della said a little too loudly, smiling and touching the arm of Milton, who tensed up at the unusual contact. When she looked back at Hank to see his reaction, he was gone. Della’s face burned with humiliation and regret. She was relieved when Pastor Littlejohn approached and guided them across the street to their home.
“Well, I see we’ve all met,” Pastor Littlejohn said. “Shall we?”
The foursome crossed the road and made their way into the comfortable home.
“Please, have a seat,” Mabel announced. “I just have to set the table.” A delicious aroma wafted from the kitchen where Mabel had been cooking earlier in the day.
An uneasy silence settled over the room when Mabel exited. Milton and the pastor waited for Della to be seated before sitting down across from her in the parlor. “So, how do you like Fort Worth so far, Della?” the pastor inquired.
“Oh I just love it,” Della said, grateful for the conversation to begin. “It reminds me of home somewhat.”
“Back in Massachusetts?” the pastor asked.
“Florida,” Della said.
“I thought you were from Massachusetts,” Milton said accusingly as his nose twitched in a very unattractive manner.
“Oh no,” Della explained. “I was only there for a week before the unfortunate fire. I’d come straight from Florida with my sister and her husband, Charles. I’m hoping she can come visit here soon.”
“She’ll need to wait until after the arrangements are complete,” Milton stated emphatically. “Then she’s welcome to the house anytime during the day while I’m at the bank, as well as to have supper after church on Sunday. Evenings, I prefer no visitors. I’ll
have my secretary, Emily, send over the hotel details for you to send to her.”
“Um…well, I reckon that’s fine,” Della said, shocked at the firm and mean spirited manner in which he made his wishes known. He certainly didn’t seem shy, as she’d imagined. More likely, Mary hadn’t witnessed his kindness because there was very little to be found! Mabel called them over to the table, and Della watched as Pastor Littlejohn pulled Mabel’s chair out for her. Milton didn’t do the same for her—he simply walked to his chair and waited to sit until she’d seated herself.
“How are you two getting along?” Mabel asked, passing the plate of chicken to Della.
Della stayed quiet. She was afraid if she opened her mouth, all sorts of unkind things would come flying out of it, spoiling her chance at a future here in Texas.
“Everything appears to be agreeable to me,” Milton said without enthusiasm as he wiped the corners of his mouth. “If all continues to go well, we’ll need your services for the wedding six weeks from now, Pastor. That will give us time to improve her attire and acquaint her with those on our guest list before the wedding.”
Mabel and Pastor Littlejohn shifted uncomfortably in their seats. Della knew they could see it written all over her face that she was disappointed. Milton, on the other hand, hadn’t seemed to notice how she felt. “My attire?” she asked, confused by his comment.
“As a banker’s wife, you’ll be unable to make appearances in clothes such as these,” Milton said, gesturing toward her as his eyes looked her up and down in disapproval.
“Clothes such as these?” Della asked, the tone of her voice beginning to sound impatient and highly annoyed. She was quickly becoming disillusioned with Mr. Milton Tidwell…especially the thought of spending the rest of her life with him.
“Oh, they’re fine for housework and even work in the store,” Milton said. “But for public appearances by my side, they’ll never do.”
“I know the loveliest shop for dresses,” Mabel interrupted, obviously attempting to lighten the mood. “We can stop by this week and see if they have anything you like!”
Della finished her meal in silence. Her whole day was spiraling downward. First, she’d had a run-in with Hank, then Milton had turned out to be less than she expected. Now, her mere appearance was being called into question! Mabel got up to clear the table and Della stood along with her. “Let me help,” she begged, looking for any opportunity to get away.
She followed Mabel into the kitchen and cleared the plates. “He takes a bit of getting used to,” Mabel said quietly as she put her hand on Della’s shoulder.
“I…I was just expecting someone a little more…kind,” Della said, refusing to let the tears she felt in her eyes escape and roll down her cheeks.
“Sometimes, we have to look for admirable qualities that might be hidden,” Mabel said, trying to cheer Della up. “For example, Milton may not be the most gracious man, but he’ll be a good provider, and you won’t ever have to wonder what he’s thinking—because it’ll come shooting out of his mouth as soon as he thinks it.”
Della let out a small laugh. It was true she didn’t want a man who was unpredictable. In fact, aside from his looks, which she’d always said were unimportant anyway, she was getting exactly the kind of man she’d said she wanted. “I’ll just focus on the good provider part,” she said, smiling up at Mabel.
The two women walked back into the dining room to see the men had moved to the parlor again. “Stanley?” Mabel asked. “Can you give me a hand in the other room, please?” Pastor Littlejohn understood it was his cue to leave, so he excused himself and left Milton and Della alone.
“Now’s your chance to ask me anything you want to know about me,” Milton smirked.
“I guess I want to know everything,” Della replied, hoping to improve her outlook on the man she was set to marry just six weeks from now—who, by the way, had never formally asked for her hand in marriage—just set a date, as if she were no more than a business transaction taking place.
“I am a banker by trade,” Milton began. “I live in a two-bedroom house located in town near the business district. Both parents are deceased. I have no siblings. I attend church on Sundays. I do not drink, nor use tobacco.”
It’s like a grocer’s list! Della thought, unimpressed. “Have you been married before?” she asked.
“No, I have not,” Milton said. “Nor do I have any offspring, although I assume you’re amenable to the prospect of rearing children to carry on the family name?”
“Yes, I want children,” Della said. She couldn’t quite picture what Milton’s children would look like…and God help her if they had his personality. All she could imagine was a miniature version of him, complete with mustache, which made her erupt in a giggling fit.
“I’m afraid I don’t understand what’s so funny.” Milton said, looking disturbed by her frivolous behavior.
Della settled down instantly. “Nothing, sorry,” she replied. “What would you like to know about me?”
“I believe I know all of the relevant information,” Milton said. “You hail from Florida. You’re here due to unfortunate circumstances and a lack of financial stability. You obviously have a tolerable command of the English language and are capable of handling financial transactions at the General Store. I find you acceptable for our arrangement, just as Pastor Littlejohn promised.”
Her existence, summed up like that, sounded fairly pitiful to Della. Acceptable. No wonder she was alone, in a town where she knew no one, being married off to a man who couldn’t care less what she was like—provided she complete the image he wanted to project to the community.
Pastor Littlejohn and Mabel emerged as if to shut down the conversation and salvage their mission. “Della,” Mabel said sweetly as she handed Milton his top hat. “Stanley’s going to run you home to the Jennings’ place now. Milton? I’m so happy you were able to be here today.”
Milton stood quickly, as if relieved to be ending the visit. “Thank you for having us.” He put his hand on Della’s back and guided her out the door before turning to face her. “I’ll be in touch soon.”
Della forced a smile onto her face and nodded. Pastor Littlejohn chatted the whole way home, trying to cheer her up and make her look forward to her future with Milton. In the end, she agreed that maybe things would be better than her first impression of him. She just had to give it time.
When she went inside the Jennings’ house, Mary was waiting for her in the parlor, reading one of the raised letter books Hank Hensley had bought for her. “What’s he like?” Mary asked, wanting a description like the one Roy had provided about Della when she’d first arrived.
“Like the oily skin of a cooked chicken,” Della laughed. “Like the dry dust that hits your face when you walk outside in the Texas wind.”
“Oh, my”! Mary said, laughing along with her. “Will you go through with the marriage, then?”
“Of course I will,” Della said. “I’ll stick to the plan. I just have a lot of work ahead of me, that’s all! A lot of work.”
Chapter 6
The following week was busy for Fort Worth and its citizens and visitors. The Chisolm Trail was full of cattle drivers, which meant plenty of shoppers stopping by Hensley’s General Store for supplies before they left and made their way home. On this particular morning, Hank had asked all of the managers to stop by his construction company for an update, since he didn’t have time to make the rounds that week.
Roy Jennings came in shortly after opening the store and dropping Della off to run things for a spell. “Howdy, Hank!” he said, stepping into the office.
“Roy,” Hank said. “Come on in and have a seat. How are things going over at the store?”
“We’ve darn near sold out of everything,” Roy said. “Got another shipment coming in later today. Billy and the boys are coming over to help me bring it in from the depot. I tell you what, though—you might be using this here construction company to tack on an expansion
if things keep up the way they’re going. It’s elbow to elbow in there, even when the trail’s not hot!”
“That’s good to hear,” Hank laughed. “And Della? How’s she working out?”
“Well, I’ll tell ya,” Roy said. “That little woman’s about the hardest worker I’ve ever seen. You can tell she enjoys meeting so many new people—and they take to her nicely, too. Said she’d never seen so many longhorns shuffling down the street at one time, although she could do without the smell.”
The men laughed. “Her and Tidwell doing okay?” Hank asked, curious about the state of that arrangement.
“Ah, we’ve been so swamped lately, I don’t think she’s had time to stop and think about the situation with Milton,” Roy said.
“Why don’t I head on over to the store with you and take a look at that space—see what we might be able to do about making it a little bigger?” Hank asked, knowing full well he already intended on building the addition—he only wanted to see Della again. He dismissed the meeting, picked up a pouch of cash he wanted to deposit at the bank while he was out, and tucked it into his jacket.
The two walked over to the store, where Della was handling the crush of customers just fine on her own, weaving in and out, smiling and filling orders. Hank pretended to be taking measurements and making decisions, while listening in on the conversations she was having.
“You going to the shindig over at the Stockyards tomorrow?” Roy asked Della, after the last customer exited the store.
“That’s right!” Della said, pointedly ignoring Hank’s presence in the store. “I’d almost forgotten it was this weekend.” The Fort Worth Union Stockyards was finally celebrating its official grand opening—complete with a dance. They were turning the auction house into a ballroom for the night, but on the frontier, it wouldn’t be as formal as some of the events she’d heard about back east.
"I reckon I'll head on up to the bank to make a deposit before I leave to check on Mary," Roy said.
