by Danni Roan
Beth
A Needful Bride
By
Danni Roan
Though one may be overpowered by another, two can withstand him. And a threefold cord is not quickly broken.
Ecclesiastes 4:12
Copyright © 2019 by Danni Roan All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner without written permission of the copyright owner except for the use of quotations in a book review. FIRST EDITION https://authordanniroan.com
Contents
Dedication:
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Dedication:
To my extra mom, Nancy Sue Hemphill. Thank you for the love and care you have lavished on me over the years. You are so deeply missed by all who knew you. Until we meet again on that beautiful shore.
Chapter 1
“Beth, Beth.” The soft voice of Mrs. Farley pulled Elizabeth Beechen from her thoughts. “Are you ready dear?” the gray-haired woman asked, her blue eyes full of compassion.
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Farley,” Beth said giving one last glance to the freshly turned grave. “I’m afraid I’m still not thinking right,” the young woman said, adjusting her bonnet over her pale blonde curls. “I know I should have been prepared, but I’m not,” she added with a sad smile.
Mrs. Farley wrapped an arm around Beth’s shoulders urging her away from her mother’s grave and toward town. “You know you’re welcome to stay with me and Bill as long as you need to,” the older woman said making Beth nod.
“I know,” Beth finally spoke. All the tears were gone, and she felt dry and empty inside. “Mother and I had already made a plan,” she continued, her green eyes looking ahead. “I’ll be leaving on the morning train to become a mail-order bride,” she choked.
“There’s nothing left for me here. Ever since Pa was killed in that shootout we’ve been thinking of a new start, and Mama made me promise to move on.”
“I don’t see what the hurry is,” Mrs. Farley shook her head. “You’re welcome here. Me and Bill can use the help. Besides what if you end up with some no account drunkard or such?”
Beth didn’t speak. She knew that Mrs. Farley, an old friend of her mother’s, meant well, but her words still stung. Most everyone in Oakdale, New York, thought of her late father as a drunken gambler, but she had known him as a very different man.
Mama had loved to tell the story of how she met Ephraim Beechen, the tall, blonde man who cut a dashing swath across the town.
“Pa wasn’t all bad,” Beth mused as they stepped into the neat home and cozy kitchen of the Farley place. “He didn’t drink or even gamble seriously anymore. Pa said he only kept his hand in to stay sharp,” she added with a slight smile, thinking sadly of the man who had adored her.
Mrs. Farley released Beth and headed for the stove checking the tea kettle and pulling down mugs. “Ephraim was a terribly handsome man. When he rolled into the sleepy little town of Oakdale, every girl lost her heart,” she agreed. “Me and your mother, Rene, were both smitten by the sleek gambler in the flashy suit, but Rene lost her heart completely to the man, and to everyone’s surprise, he married the quiet, Christian woman with a devout heart.” The older woman shook her head slightly, moving pots and pans about on the stove before continuing.
“I don’t know how your mama put up with that man,” Mrs. Farley sighed. “I don’t mean to speak ill of the dead, but the years before you came along, he was gone more than he was home, leaving her to tend the house and garden all on her own.”
“But,” Beth began, moving to help with lunch preparation, only to have Mrs. Farley wave her back to a seat at the table.
“I know, I know, he sent money and paid the house and land off, but that’s not the same as being there. Why, your mama pined for him something awful. When you came along, it made it better, and Ephraim was home more.” The older woman’s blue eyes raked the lovely young woman before her as she smiled. He doted on you and even stopped plying his trade on the river boats and cruisers, so he could keep closer to home.”
Beth took her seat at the table, her mind drifting back to days when her father would leave only to come home again in a few days bringing gifts and fripperies. Her mother had always been so excited when he arrived, and Beth knew from long nights at the dinner table that her mother never stopped praying for her father to stop his traveling ways.
Even with her father’s frequent absences, Beth had enjoyed a happy childhood, though the few times her father had gone away for an extended time had been sad and trying for her and her mother.
“Mama was always praying for Pa,” Beth said looking up, her green eyes full of bitter-sweet memories. “She didn’t like him gambling, and worried something would happen.”
“And it did,” Mrs. Farley grumbled, placing a cup before her young guest. “Got shot just down the street at the Swill and Sop Saloon,” she chided.
Beth sniffed remembering her mother’s devastation. “She was always proud of the fact he never gambled with our land.” Beth lifted her mug looking over the edge at Mrs. Farley. “He was good that way.”
“I can’t fault him there,” the older woman agreed. “He wasn’t careless with you and your mama’s well being. I know it was hard for Rene to sell the place when she got ill, but I think it was wise. At least you have a little bit of money left in case of an emergency.”
“There isn’t much left,” Beth shook her head. “We used a good deal of it to live on and then there were two funerals to pay for.”
Mrs. Farley patted the girl’s hand. “You don’t have to go,” she said, a bright tear trickling down her cheek. “You can stay right here with me and Bill, or even get a job. It would make losing my best friend a little easier.”
Beth smiled at her mother’s oldest friend. “I know you mean that, and I appreciate it, but I need a new start with new people. Based on the letters I’ve received from Mrs. Hampton, I’ll be able to work for her until I feel ready to wed,” she smiled sadly, squeezing the other woman’s hand. “If I don’t feel comfortable with the situation, I can always come home.”
Mrs. Farley dried her eyes. She hated to see young Beth go away, but she could understand the desire to leave behind the pain and sorrow of her parents passing in hopes of finding a love of her own.
“I’ll be praying for you daily,” the older woman said. “God go with you.”
Chapter 2
Brandon Tippert stepped into the saloon, the familiar smells of whisky, beer and stale smoke filling his senses with a heady buzz.
The tinny sound of a player piano jarred on Brandon’s nerves as he stood at the bat-wing doors, smiling while men covered their cards with their hats and stared at him in wonder.
“Preacher,” the barkeep called wiping the bar top with a dry cloth, “can’t say I expected to see you here,” the short balding man said, his dark eyes glinting. “What can I git ya?”
“I’ve come to put your poor patron’s out of their misery,” Needful, Texas’s new parson said, a grin tugging at the corners of his
mouth, as he tugged at the lapels of his gray suit jacket.
Several of the men at the bar turned, shuffling guiltily as they pushed there half finished drinks away, while chairs scraped across the sawdust strewn floor and grown men fidgeted like naughty boys.
“I can’t say I understand,” the bartender spoke as Brandon stepped into the room his long legs carrying him across the floor to the battered upright and pulling a hand full of tools out of a pocket.
Several men looked at the barkeep then back at the recently approved preacher-man, who was busy pulling the piano forward and lifted the lid to poke his head into the heart of the instrument.
“What’s he doin’?” a dirty looking miner asked as he gulped down the remnants of his beer behind Brandon’s back. “No call for a preacher comin’ in here and up-settin’ folks.”
“I can’t say I know,” the bartender shook his head picking up a mug and wiping it out. “I reckon he’s got as much call bein’ in here as anyone else.”
A soft ringing sound broke across the room making the hair stand up on the arms of patrons everywhere.
“What was that?” a grubby miner asked shivering. “I felt like someone just walked over my grave.”
“Way you play cards, you probably already got your piece of ground spoke for,” a burly man barked, making others laugh nervously as the preacher stood walking around to the front of the piano once more.
“Preacher what are you doin’?” the barkeep asked.
Brandon lifted a hand for silence, plunking the center key of the piano and shaking his head as he moved to the back of the thing once more.
“You reckon he’s lost his mind?” a card player asked peaking at his cards under his hat. “Sometime these religious types get a little squirrely.”
The other men at the poker table shrugged but made no move to restart their game, instead watching the preacher poke around inside the piano.
Again, the strange sound rippled through the crowd and men scowled their attention fully on the preacher-man as he settled on the small three-legged stool and adjusted his coat.
***
Brandon smiled looking straight ahead at the blank spool in the piano window and placed his fingers over the keys. His tuning fork had not only given him his key it had pulled his audience in completely.
Placing his fingers over the aged ivory, he tossed his head shifting his mop of unruly brown curls, closed his eyes and began to play, the freshly tuned piano tinkling brightly in the hushed room as he pounded out a merry tune.
It was all Brandon could do to keep from laughing at the stunned men around him as his tune drifted through the heavy air of the saloon and on into the darkness outside. It had been a long time since he had played anything secular, but if it gained him even a modicum of respect from the patrons of Needful’s sole saloon, it was worth it. Besides, the incessant off-tune music, repeated daily on the player piano had been driving him to distraction for weeks.
If he had a piano of his own, or an organ even, in the crisp new church, built mere months ago, he would have happily drowned out the horrid sound ages ago.
“What’s he doin’?” one of the gamblers asked tentatively lifting his cards from under his hat and nodding at his friends.
“I don’t know,” a dusty cowboy drawled, his words slightly slurred by the three beers he’d downed earlier. “I ain’t complainin’ though,” he hiccupped. “It sounds alright.”
“You want a drink preacher?” the barkeep asked raising one dark brow and watching the men in the room for any reaction. “I usually let anyone that can play that thing good, drink for free,” he winked.
“You haven’t had anyone in here that could play a piano, let alone spell it,” Brandon laughed. “You keep your beer, but I’ll expect you to turn up Sunday morning for service in return,” he finished as another group of cowboys walked inside.
Several of the men gaped at each other, wondering what the hard bitten old bartender would do and turned to study him with critical eyes.
“You come in and play for me this Saturday night,” Greg Alder snapped, “and I’ll sing in the choir.”
“Done!” Brandon laughed running a trill up the key board before starting in on another lively tune to the wonder of the men in the bar.
“Preacher are you serious?” Greg asked carrying the man a dusty bottle of sarsaparilla in surprise. “You actually want me to come to your church?”
“I am,” Brandon said, taking the bottle and toasting his host. “The scriptures say to go into all the world,” he added gesturing around the room. “Looks like this is part of my world.”
Greg Alder licked his lips and ran a hand over his balding pate. “You’ll really come play here on Saturday night?”
“I said I would, and I’m a man of my word,” the thin preacher nodded taking a swig from his bottle. “If you’ll live up to yours, I’ll be here right after supper Saturday night.”
As Brandon met the hard gaze of the bartender and owner of the establishment, he could hear the patrons’ whispered conversation as they wondered if he’d really show up.
“I’ll do it,” the bar keep snapped, a rough bark of laughter accompanying his proffered hand.
Brandon stood, taking the other man’s hand and giving it a hearty shake. “See you on Saturday,” he called placing his bowler cap back on his head of unruly curls as he headed for the door. “Sunday service starts sharp at ten,” he added with a grin, “You boys are all welcome in the house of the Lord,” he finished, stepping through the doors as a string of grumbled excuses trailed him into the street.
Chapter 3
Needful, Texas April 1870
Beth gazed out the window of the stage, the soft drizzle outside misting her face as she tried to glimpse a bit of her future home through the mist and the rain.
Her belly quivered with nerves and her small hands clung to the handle of her small bag as she lurched through another rut and the horses turned hard toward a dark building as they started to slow.
Pushing her face out from under the flap of the pull down shade Beth squinted at the sign above the large structure and didn’t see the puddle until the horses had dashed through it, splashing the thick muck across her face and nose forcing her to withdraw with a yelp.
Still spluttering from the offensive mud, Beth was unprepared for the sudden lurching stop of the stage as she pitched forward into the seat across from her only to topple back onto the floor in a heap of skirts, and squashed hat as the stage rocked violently. Struggling to pull herself together, Beth felt her backside bounce on the hard wooden floor of the cramped conveyance and thanked the Good Lord she was traveling alone. She would have been mortified if she had landed in someone’s lap.
The train ride from New York had been a luxury compared to her time on the stagecoach, and though battered and bruised, she was grateful it had finally come to an end.
Still somewhat stunned from her spill, Beth struggled to gain her feet, reaching for the stage door, even as it opened, and she blinked up into the face of a thin dark-haired man wearing a bowler cap, who smiled, his bright brown eyes twinkling with welcome.
“May I be of assistance?” the man asked reaching for her bag as the stage driver jumped down from his seat and began un-strapping her trunk.
“Thank you,” Beth blushed, handing the man her bag before trying to push herself upright once more.
“You seem to be having a bit of trouble,” the tall man said, grinning at the splatter of mud across her face. “If I may,” he finished reaching in and slipping his arm under hers as he practically lifted her from the coach.
Beth knew she must be a complete mess and felt the heat of mortification race through her slim form, even as she wondered who her helper was.
“I’m Brandon Tippert,” the man said as if reading her mind. “Welcome to Needful,” he smiled, setting her feet on the boardwalk then doffing his hat.
“Thank you,” Beth said smoothing her rumpled skirts as her feet
finally found solid ground. “I’m Elizabeth Beechen, and I’m looking for Mrs. Hampton,” she added, still trying to get a glimpse of the sign above the house.
“Olive?” Mr. Tippert asked. “I’ll take you to her myself,” the man tugged his gray plaid coat back into place. “I’m headed that way now.”
Beth nodded, only to gasp as a spot of mud dropped from her chin and onto the board walk. She must look a sight, but there was little she could do about it now. This was not how she had imagined arriving in her new town.
“Brandon, why don’t you take that little lady inside and find her a place to clean up,” an old man called as he walked around the building leading a team of four excited horses. “I don’t think she was plannin’ on standing in the street all day.”
“I was just about to do that very thing Orville,” Brandon called back to the white haired man, hefting the young woman’s bag in one hand and offering her his other arm. “Shall we?”
Beth fell into step with the skinny man in the cheap suit but smiled despite herself. She was still horrified at her state of appearance, but feeling welcomed as she wondered who this man could possibly be.
“Mrs. Hampton?” Mr. Tippert called as they walked through a heavy wooden door and into a large dining area where men eating heartily, turned to stare at her.
“I’m coming, I’m coming,” a voice echoed from a room on the other side of the large space as all eyes turned to study Beth. “What’s the fuss preacher?” an older woman said hurrying toward them her dark eyes going wide as she took in Beth. “Good heavens! You’re here,” she finished coming to a stop. “Brandon you take a seat and one of the girls will bring your dinner,” the gray-haired woman called Mrs. Hampton said, grabbing Beth’s hand and pulling her toward a set of stairs in a huff.
