by Natalie Dean
Sam gave Branson a tired and entirely skeptical smile as the sheriff put on his hat at the door.
“I will, Sheriff. Thank you.”
With a last nod to Sam, Sheriff Branson opened the door and disappeared into the deserted street outside.
Now that he was alone with nothing more than the clicking of his printing machine for company, Sam found himself thumbing through the small, red booklet.
As he looked at the pictures, mostly of young men standing in front of long farm fences, he felt a certain curiosity mixed with a hint of his trademark skepticism.
He knew several of his friends had gone this route to find a mate. And, he knew that, overall, the other men in Laramie had been pleased with the wives they’d found.
But, even when the young farmers and ranchers were singing the praises of ‘mail order bride’ catalogs, Sam had always scoffed at the idea. He’d always thought there was a touch of desperation in a man writing in a magazine to try and entice a woman. And, one year ago, he had promised himself that he would never become so desperate.
But, now, when he thought about his sparse and empty bed above his shop, when he listened to the silent street outside the door, (the silence that made his printing press clicking seem more ominous than comforting), he couldn’t help but think of how nice it might be to share this life he’d created here with another person. He realized, perhaps for the first time, why a young man might look through a booklet like ‘The Hand and Heart’ in search of a companion.
So, with a heavy sigh, he set his skepticism aside and began to flip the pages more earnestly. Hours seemed to have passed before he found a woman in the little magazine. And a longer time passed before he found one who interested him.
But, he was more surprised when he did find a woman who caught his attention. On the last page of the booklet, complete with a blurred photograph, sat a description of Miss Fiona Greyson.
Chapter 2
Her father could not know.
That was the only thought that rushed through Fiona Greyson’s mind as she glanced out the window, packing her things and praying that her father would not return. At least not until she was far away.
Beside the window, a letter, written in a neat and clear hand sat open and dog eared. Fiona had read the words so often that the paper, though less than one-week old, had developed a crinkled and weathered look.
As she hastily placed the last dress she owned into her bag, she locked the case tight, then turned her eyes to that small piece of paper. That small slip of parchment was the reason she was now leaving her father’s home. Likely forever.
Now that the packing was finished and there was nothing else to do but wait for the signal that would come when the wagon arrived to pick her up, the excitement she felt at the prospect of going west to find a home of her own mixed with panic.
Her father would not return for hours, she knew that. His work always kept him away for long periods of time. He would not learn of her deception until she had long since disappeared. Picking it up again, her hands still shaking with nerves, she read it through once more.
‘My dearest Fiona,’ it read. Fiona’s heart still thrilled at the words. It was the first time Sam Jenkins had written to her using her first name.
In his letters before this one, he’d always addressed her as ‘Miss Greyson.' The change had not been lost on her.
‘I can no longer hide my great esteem for you,’ the letter continued. ‘And, I now feel confident in telling you that I can think of no other woman with whom I could share my life. But, I realize that this decision is not mine alone to make. So, if it is pleasing to you, Fiona, I would like nothing more than to make you my wife.’
It was pleasing to Fiona. She could not remember being pleased by anything more.
At last, after years of living in a ramshackle house with her drunken father. After putting up with the increasingly bold advances of his “associates”, a kind, well-mannered young man had offered to take her away from it all.
Of course, that had been her goal when she had placed her advertisement in the booklet. When she did, she hoped that some decent young man out west would write to her. She knew marriage was the only way out of this life.
Taking the now packed bag in her hands, she moved from her small back bedroom to the main room of the house.
Despite her efforts to clean the place, the wood was still rotten. The window frames hung off their hinges and the trash left by her father’s friends the night before made the house look more like a trash heap than a family dwelling.
Looking about the room, Fiona began a mental argument with herself.
Normally, when she entered the main room and found it in this state, she would sigh heavily and immediately begin clearing the debris. Today, however, she tried to tell herself that there was no point. She would not stay here long enough to be annoyed by the mess. And, she knew it would not bother her father one bit when he returned.
But, when she thought of her father, a small sense of guilt filled her.
She was the only family her father had left. And, despite his drunkenness, despite his choice of “profession”, he was still family.
She would not reconsider running away. She had decided upon that direction the moment she placed her advertisement in that booklet.
But, for some reason, it seemed cold-hearted, even cowardly, to leave her father’s home in shambles. Especially when she knew there would be no one to clean it when she was gone.
So, with large portions of her mind still protesting, she set her bag aside, put up her hair and grabbed the broom and dustpan from the corner of the room.
As carefully as she could, she swept around the wooden table and chairs. Shoving half empty bottles of beer and whiskey into her pan; clearing glasses from the table when she found them.
All too soon, she fell back into her typical routine. For a moment, she almost forgot the packed luggage sitting at the corner of the room. For a moment, she was, once again, the dutiful daughter of an unsavory former ranch hand turned outlaw.
It was not until she had nearly finished her sweep of the room that one anomaly brought her situation back to her mind. As she reached the room’s edge, just beside the fire place, she saw the loose floor board, sticking up just slightly as though it had come apart from the other wooden boards of its own accord.
Fiona stopped, and her eyes narrowed as she examined this board closely. She knew exactly what this anomaly was. She had seen her father return from one of his ‘work related journeys’ as he called them and rush immediately to this loose floor board.
She knew this was where he kept his money. The money that he had stolen from numerous banks, businesses and even a train or two.
Fiona swallowed as the small voice of her conscience immediately took root.
‘You promised,’ the small voice told her. ‘You promised your mother before she died that you would never steal. You promised you wouldn’t follow in your father’s footsteps.’
That voice made her stop in her tracks.
She remembered the promise her Ma had extracted from her as she lay dying five years before. She had made Fiona promise that she would not be like her father. That she would make a change for the better.
So far, Fiona had done her very best to keep that promise. That was why she had placed the advertisement in that booklet. That was why she had agreed to marry Sam Jenkins.
She wanted a new life. Away from robbing and thievery. Away from the temptations brought on by her father’s world.
‘Still,’ another voice inside her reasoned. ‘Is it truly stealing if you know the money was never your father’s to begin with?’
Fiona blinked at the conflicting voice in her mind.
It was true, if she took her father’s money, she would not be stealing from the right owner. She would simply be double crossing a thief.
Perhaps the loss of this savings would even cause her father to think twice about his way of life.
Fiona felt her heart pound in her chest as she moved, once again, towards the floor board sticking out. The money and the promise of what it could give her calling out to her with each step she took.
Sam had given her a train ticket and a small allowance for her trip out west. But, she knew Sam was not a wealthy man. Surely, he could do with a bit more cash than he had.
Surely, he would be grateful if she arrived with a good amount on her person.
She moved closer to the floor board, her conscience dwindling with each step she took.
The new voice in her mind was right. Her father had stolen the money already, hadn’t he? There would be no harm if she stole it again.
Her mind nearly made up, she knelt beside the floor board and slowly began to lift the odd piece of wood.
“Sun’s startin’ to move towards the west. The others should be back soon.”
Fiona jumped at the new voice and turned towards the intruder.
“Bill!” she said. “I…I thought you’d gone with Pa and the other men.”
Bill, one of her father’s lackeys gave her a leering smirk that showed all of his yellow, rotting teeth.
“Someone has to keep an eye on you, don’t they?” he asked.
Bill was nearly as old as her father and looked almost twice that. He had a weathered face, dark balding hair, and a thin, wrinkled frame. His appearance, however, did not stop him from making advances toward Fiona and, indeed, any other girl who came near him.
“I don’t know why you would have to watch me,” she said. “I’m not going anywhere.”
She tried her best to keep her voice from shaking and wasn’t sure that she had managed it. Bill’s smirk grew wider as he sauntered towards her.
“Really?” he asked. “Then what were you doin’ by that floor board?”
“Cleaning the floor,” Fiona said nodding towards the rag in her hand. “What else would I be doing?”
He let out a humorless chuckle as he walked towards her. Fiona backed away until she felt her back collide with the wall.
“I’ve been around a lot longer than you have, little girl,” Bill said ominously. “And I know better than to trust the word of a woman. ‘Specially one as pretty as you.”
Fiona’s hands balled into fists at her side as she glanced about the room trying to find something she could use in her own defense if the need arose.
There was nothing.
“Now, if you give me a little kiss,” Bill said. He moved so close to her that she could feel his hot, foul breath on her skin. “I might be inclined to trust you. I’ll leave the room, and your pa don’t have to know that you were searchin’ for his money.”
At the mention of her father, a light went off in Fiona’s head.
“But, I’m afraid he will know that you threatened his daughter,” Fiona said. “And we both know he wouldn’t like that at all.”
Fiona forced back a smile as she saw Bill’s thin face go white. He pulled slightly away from her.
“You wouldn’t tell ‘im,” he said, his voice now shaking as badly as hers had a moment earlier.
“I might not have to,” Fiona said evenly. “You said yourself he’s likely to be back soon. And, I think you know what he would do if he found you with your hands on me.”
Frank blinked and turned his eyes from Fiona to the window as though terrified that he would see her father and his men come down the dirt road.
Turning his head away from the window, he looked at Fiona for a long moment, as though considering whether or not a moment with her was worth incurring the wrath of her father. A moment later, he seemed to have made his decision.
He pushed himself away from Fiona and started across the room towards the outside door.
“I’ll wait for your pa out here,” he told her on his way out the door. “Give a holler if you need somethin’.”
As soon as the door closed behind him, Fiona took several gasping breaths, feeling as though she had nearly drowned and was just now coming up for air.
Bill was part of the reason she had to get out.
Though threats of her father’s wrath had worked this time, she knew there would be times in the future when it would not. Pa was often gone for long periods. And he occasionally left Bill to tend the house when that happened.
Not to mention, if Bill asked her Pa for her hand in marriage, her father could say ‘yes’. No matter what Fiona had to say about it.
Now that the intruder was gone, she looked back at the floor board beneath her feet.
While her Pa was protective of his daughter, who he still thought of as his property, he was ten times as protective of his money.
If she left without a penny of his stolen property, he would do nothing but rail against her for several days before reluctantly learning to cook his own meals.
If she took his money, however, he would not rest until he got it back.
But, she reasoned, it would probably be days before he realized anything was missing. She wouldn’t take all of his stolen savings, after all, just enough to get by.
And, even if he did notice something amiss, he would have no way to track her down. She would be in Wyoming territory. Well away from her father’s reach.
Still, that small voice in the back of her mind reminded her of her promise. She would never steal. She would never become like her Pa.
That was when she heard the wagon pull up at the side of the house, away from where Frank was guarding the front.
They would not wait long for her, she knew that.
Quickly, she moved away from the floor board and grabbed her suitcase on the other side of the room.
When she moved back, her eye caught sight of the floorboard once again. Once again, the siren call of the money within drew her.
As quickly as she could, she made her way to the loose wood and lifted it up…
Chapter 3
The wagon was late.
Sam paced in front of the hotel, his fingers dancing at his sides as they always seemed to do when he was nervous.
“Don’t worry, dear,” Mrs. Matthews said to him in a conciliatory tone. “I’m sure they’ll be here soon. It isn’t the first time the wagon has been delayed.”
“I know,” Sam said absently, looking down the road. “But it is the first time the wagon is carrying my future wife.”
At the mention of Fiona, Sam’s hand instinctively reached into the pocket of his trousers where he felt the firm paper of her portrait.
He thought about taking the picture out to look at it again, but, there was no need. He’d stared at that picture so often that he had nearly memorized her features.
If asked, Sam could not exactly explain his fascination with Fiona Greyson’s features.
No one, upon looking at her portrait, would call her a great beauty.
It was not that she was ugly or even particularly plain. Her slightly chubby cheeks and the curls of her long hair were attractive. But, her nose, which was too long for her otherwise petite features and her small, narrow eyes caused her to appear distinctly unremarkable.
Despite this fact, every time Sam looked at her picture, he found himself more and more drawn to her.
He supposed there was something about her eyes, the way she looked down slightly, as well as the curve of her small lips that spoke to Sam in a way none of the other girls had.
The moment he’d seen her image in that magazine, he knew that Fiona Greyson was harboring a secret.
Through his letters, he’d tried to coax it out of her. He tried all means of flattery, sincerity, and transparency to encourage her to open up to him.
He had told her things in writing that even some of his closest compatriots in Laramie did not know. He told her about his mother’s death and his father’s abandonment. How he had grown up living as a guest in his aunt and uncle’s home until he made his way out west.
She, in turn, had remained elusive.
She shared only a few details of her life at present. Instead, she to
ld him about her dreams of running a home of her own and of finding a husband who performed some meaningful work with which she could assist.
She asked questions about the newspaper industry that he was more than happy to answer. Even though he became certain she asked these only to deflect attention from her own current life and past.
When she did speak of where she lived and who she lived with at present, she wrote a line at most and then dropped the subject.
‘I have to finish this letter quickly. My father has just called me into the main room,’ she would write. Or, ‘I’ve only just finished clearing the table. My father had some friends over for dinner’.
These few lines served to intrigue Sam all the more. It was as though Fiona Greyson was giving him pieces to a puzzle that she expected him to put in the correct order.
And, now that they would be meeting in person, he was anxious to put all the pieces together.
Minutes that felt like hours ticked by and Sam felt his fingers dancing all the more fiercely across the picture in his pocket.
Finally, when he thought he could not bear the intrigue any longer, he heard the familiar sound of horse hooves and wagon wheels making their way down the street.
“Finally,” Mrs. Matthews said, sounding a bit anxious herself. “Even I was beginning to give them up for lost.”
Sam did not answer. Instead he hurried to the edge of the road as far as he dared and watched as the small, covered wagon pulled up beside the hotel.
His heart began pounding frantically as two men in suits stepped out first. Sam heard Mrs. Matthews greet them warmly as his eyes remained fixed on the wagon door still open.
Finally, an unfamiliar figure sporting a very familiar face emerged from the back of the wagon.
Fiona Greyson was taller than Sam had imagined. Nearly as tall as some of the shorter men in Laramie. Her skin, however, was as bright and smooth as he had imagined it would be. Her slightly chubby cheeks were rosy, and her eyes were wider and much nicer looking than her portrait.
Those bright eyes scanned the front of the hotel anxiously until they landed on him.
