Thirty minutes later, Edward stood squarely in the center of his front yard, sweating like a pig. He kept looking at the trees his grandfather had planted so many years ago: they framed the sunset for him, even though they were only twenty feet in front of him at the edge of the grass. He felt better having them in his sight. He felt less positive about the sunset; the twilight had thrown the entire town into melancholy relief, as though it were already mourning for him. Even the squirrels and birds seemed sorrowful, all silent and still in their perches and trees. His eyes were scanning the horizon restlessly, though he had no good reason to believe Trigger Mike would be coming at him from the front, besides his pattern of behavior in the past. He’d already deviated from his usual pattern, however; his escape had been an organized effort, and he was really more of an impulsive law breaker.
Trigger Mike had worked with dozens of other criminals to be notified of Edward’s impending retirement and the arrival of his wife, and planned it perfectly with his escape and his trek across multiple states. Nothing was going to stop him until he got what he wanted, and what he wanted was to hurt Edward as much as possible. The back door was blocked in case he tried to come in that way, and Sheriff Jeremy Lee was on the roof, keeping his body as low to the tile as he could with his rifle loaded and ready, pointed toward the back in case he tried anything there.
He heard a horse coming up the road, and his muscles tensed. He didn’t move, even when he saw the black stallion foaming at the mouth, carrying its scarred, one-eyed rider toward Edward faster than he could hope to move. Trigger Mike’s black hair was still long and matted, flung over one side of his damaged face in a half-hearted attempt to hide his disfigurement. A fire had melted his features as a child and had cost him his right eye. He’d grown up ugly and angry, cruel to anyone and everyone he could exert power over. Despite his one eye, he was a good shot; if he’d wanted to kill the Sheriff’s deputy, he would have done so. That was how Edward knew his real aim, and he’d told Eliza as much that afternoon.
The stallion reared as the outlaw stopped, and he dismounted as his horse’s legs were still in mid-air. He took a few steps forward and let his one eye rest on Edward’s grim face, stopping so his body was framed by the three tall, bushy trees on either side of the yard. After a long moment, he smiled, and most of his teeth were dull and brown. A few had fallen out since they’d last met.
“Well,” Trigger Mike drawled loudly, his voice scratchy and high-pitched. “Didn’t think you’d make it this easy on me, Sheriff.”
“I’m not the Sheriff anymore, Mike,” Edward spat. The criminal smiled as if he’d been expecting this response.
“Not in title, sure,” he allowed. “But you’ll always be the Sheriff to me.” He took a step forward, and Edward resisted the urge to go for his gun. Wait for it.
“You’re the Sheriff that took my brother from me,” he continued, and Edward could read the malice in his gaze as he took another step. “You’re the Sheriff that shot at my aunt. And you’re the Sheriff that finally put me away.” His smile widened. “Too bad it wasn’t for good, eh?”
Edward watched him get closer to crossing the tree line. “You’re going back, Mike,” he warned. “You’re not going to get away with this.”
“Why, because your little replacement is going to shoot me?” he asked conversationally. His eyes flicked upward at the roof, which he could see despite the trees. “He’s as yellow bellied as a snake, Sheriff. Surely you see that. Plus,” he said as he took another step, “he’s pointed the wrong way.”
Edward swallowed hard as Trigger Mike finally crossed the tree line and fixed his gaze with his. “Finally getting to you, eh? Well, I’ll make it easy on you.” He put both hands on his bony hips, assuming a stance of impatience. “Just bring me the girl, and I can get out of your way. Okay?”
When Edward didn’t reply, he took another step forward. “Come now. You know that’s why I’m here. That’s why you have her hiding somewhere, probably in that barn I passed on the way here. Just tell me where she is. I’ll have to make you,” he said threateningly, and a slim, deadly-looking knife appeared in his hand out of nowhere. Edward’s heart started beating double time.
“It won’t be fast,” Trigger Mike said casually. As he got nearer, his stench started to overpower Edward’s sense of smell. “Not if you make me do it this way. So, let’s make it easy. Where is she?”
He was twenty feet away, and he still hadn’t raised his eyes to the house again now that he was past the trees. Trigger Mike gripped the knife more firmly in his hand and raised it slightly, his lips pulling back into a vicious snarl. “Where’s the girl, Sheriff? Where’s your girl?”
“Right here!”
Eliza’s voice rang out over them, and Trigger Mike looked up just in time to see his death smiling down at him from a window he couldn’t see from the street. Eliza pulled the trigger, and his body crumpled to the ground in slow motion. Edward’s hearing was oddly tinny and far away. He took a step back, then another, and then he felt himself falling to the ground.
Eliza came bounding down the stairs a moment later, and Sheriff Lee was close behind her, both of them as white as ghosts. Eliza grabbed hold of Edward’s shoulders and pressed her lips to his desperately, throwing her shaking arms around him in relief after she made sure he had no injuries.
“Are you okay?” she asked, and Edward could only nod. Jeremy’s eyes were fixed on the body in front of them, and Edward realized that even though he’d been in the law for nearly the same amount of time as him, he’d never seen a dead body. Well, that’s one first he won’t have to worry about on the job.
He cradled Eliza’s teary face between his hands and peered into her eyes. “I love you,” he said firmly, because he didn’t know what else to say; for the first time, he knew how it felt to owe his life to someone.
“I love you too,” she said instantly, and his heart warmed at the sound of her voice. She looked down at her shaking hands and clasped them together forcefully to stop their motion.
“I’m sorry it had to be this way.” She let out a strangled laugh. “I can’t believe he didn’t check the windows.”
“I can,” Edward said. “You heard how cocky he was. He thought he had me.”
Eliza nodded. “That’s true. I guess hubris really is fatal.” Her voice was soft with wonder, and her eyes were clear, but Edward could tell by the tremor in her muscles that it had been a closer call than she liked. He couldn’t have gotten you with that knife, he started to say—then he realized that she hadn’t been afraid of him. At least that’s over now, he thought. Then: It’s never going to be over. Not in our minds. It’s always going to be possible for someone to come after me. I’m always going to be looking over my shoulder, and she’s always going to be worried for my life. This isn’t what life should be like.
“Eliza,” he said suddenly. “How would you like to head off on our honeymoon a little later? I was thinking we could spend some time thinking about where we’d like to live.”
Eliza looked startled, but a slow smile started to spread across her face. “But this is your family’s house,” she said. “Your memories are all here, your people are here…your great grandmother’s spirit is here,” she finished quietly, gesturing toward the trees.
Edward felt his heart nearly swell to bursting at the rush of love he felt for Eliza. “My family is with me wherever you are,” he said, and pulled her in for another kiss. She melted against his lips like sugar into tea, and her smile was even sweeter. Edward knew immediately that he’d made the right choice.
He looked at Jeremy, who was gazing at the ground, still in shock from the events, and cleared his throat. “Sheriff,” he said. When the man didn’t answer, he called again. “Sheriff!”
Jeremy yelped and turned toward them in fear. “Yes?”
“I think you’d better draft up a report.” Edward stood and surveyed the damage. “Go and get the coroner. Then see how your deputy is doing.”
“What are you going to do, sir?” he asked nervously.
“I’m going to finish my dinner,” he said pleasantly. “And then I’m going be with my wife.”
Jeremy sputtered while they both chuckled at his expression and started up the stairs. “Yes, Sheriff,” the man said, tipping his hat. Edward stopped in his tracks at the man’s slip, and turned toward him at the top of his stairs.
“I’m not the Sheriff anymore, Jeremy,” he said. “You are.”
The look on the other man’s face was so expressive that Edward nearly laughed again, but the truth was that he felt as chaotic about it as Jeremy looked. Astonishment and misery were fighting for a foothold as his own words echoed in his ears: I’m not the Sheriff anymore. He’d said it for Jeremy’s benefit, but as he closed the door, he realized he was saying it for himself, too. How was he going to deal with the loss of the only thing he’d ever lived for? How was he going to figure out where he belonged, when he’d resided in the only place he’d ever felt useful and important?
The next moment he felt foolish; as soon as his eyes fell on Eliza again, his fear melted away, and the static cloud of joy started to build in his chest again. She had told him he was going to have to find his place outside of his role as Sheriff, but he didn’t have to look far. Wherever he belonged, it was always going to be with her.
THE END
Mail Order Bride: Rosanna’s Story
Mountain Brides Of Wyoming
Faith-Ann Smith
Mail Order Bride: Rosanna’s Story
Philadelphia - September, 1893
Orphaned when her parents perished during the smallpox epidemic, young Rosanna Ellington is left with a little brother to care for. As a smallpox survivor, Rosanna finds it difficult to live an ordinary life, her appearance now tarnished by scars—cruel reminders of the devastating disease.
When a family friend suggests for her to respond to an ad seeking a God-fearing mail order bride, Rosanna finally feels a glimmer of hope: the Cheyenne man states that “appearance and status of wealth are not important.”
Without revealing her condition, Rosanna hopes that her future husband will be willing to marry her, but when she arrives, she is stunned to learn that Alexander Malone did not place the ad after all: his sister had been the person secretly corresponding with her all along.
When they meet, will Alexander see past Rosanna’s flaws and find her inner beauty?
Chapter 1
“No, please don’t go and leave me all alone. Please.”
Rosanna Ellington’s vivid dream took her back to a starless night when dark clouds seethed and boiled, threatening to flood the land with relentless rain.
A cold north wind howled, blasting the trees with its wintry breath, and lightning flashed like iron scythes from an endless void.
A column of frigid air burrowed through the slits of the wooden hut with its sparse furnishings, and the temperature plummeted by degrees. The bitter cold sliced through her slender body and stabbed through the barrier of thin clothing.
In an attempt to leech a dash of warmth from the grime-studded lantern, Rosanna tried to light the limp wick, but the shards of light shattered into icy blizzard drops and fell in singsong unison.
In the flickering shadows, her parents cried out, their emaciated bodies covered in splotches of red pocks. They begged her to run away and take David along, and she wanted to leave, but she couldn’t abandon them.
In a darkened corner, her brother watched the scene with terrified, red-rimmed eyes. When he scrambled to get on the bed, Rosanna cried out, “No, David, come away. You’re going to get sick!”
He turned to her with a contorted face the color of bleached bones, and crouched down next to his mother. He begged her to get up, but she couldn’t raise a hand, much less her frail body.
Out of her mind with fear, Rosanna rushed forward to save him. A cloud of steam enveloped her body, bonding her feet to the ground. When the murky haze faded, crimson welts spread like brush fire over her ivory skin and raised blisters—one after the other—embedded in her flesh. Dear God, please no—
Rosanna jerked from sleep, bathed in sweat, her heart pounding like a herd of galloping horses. She struggled to get her bearings and calm harsh breaths, but it took a moment to remember where she was. With dark thoughts swirling in her mind, she tore off the linen sheet and climbed out of the bed, careful not to wake David from sleep. Her bare feet made no sound as she eased from the room and rushed to the kitchen for a drink of water.
Why couldn’t she banish the terrifying memories that tormented her soul?
Chapter 2
“Rosanna, are you all right, my child?”
Gwendolyn Mason’s solicitous voice rose in concern as she followed hot on Rosanna’s heels. She swept into the room with a cream lace bonnet and matching nightdress rustling with each step.
A furrowed brow and deep grooves lined her face under coarse silver hair. At the sight of Rosanna’s pale face, she held out her generous arms with a loving smile.
Rosanna burrowed into the ample bosom of her mother’s best friend, and let the salty tears overflow. All her sorrows poured out in an endless stream as her body was racked with bitter tears.
When the onslaught diminished to weak trickles, Gwendolyn pushed her into a creaking chair and hurried to stoke the fire in the iron stove. “Talk to me, my child. Is it the nightmare again?”
Rosanna hesitated to share her latest burden as Gwendolyn hunted for a kettle among the rows of Blue Willow teacups and matching plates, but the dream had left a sour taste in her mouth. “I was thinking about my parents today, and it hit me a bit harder than before. I wish I could decide what to do… should I go back to Indiana, or stay here? I just don’t know.”
At Gwendolyn’s understanding look, Rosanna’s grief-stricken thoughts wallowed in memories.
The journey from Indiana to Pennsylvania had taken three weeks through muddy roads, obstructed rivers, and vast, rugged hills. The area had been quarantined due to the outbreak in Muncie, but a neighbor had taken it upon himself to get her and David out of danger.
They’d stuck primarily off roads and to the shadows due to Rosanna’s recovering condition, which led to hardships along the way, but she felt grateful for the help and did not complain. David’s needs and the urge to escape the hopelessness at her parents’ death spurred her onward and kept her mind steady to the mission at hand.
“I know you miss them, but I am glad you got to me. I was worried sick when I heard about the outbreak. They say ten people have died already, but you don’t know how many more will die.”
Rosanna felt reassured by Gwendolyn. Her parents had ordered her to run, and run she did. But she wondered if the pain of their loss would ever fade away.
“Just rest for a moment, my dear, while I make you a hot cup of tea. It will help you feel much better.”
Rosanna murmured a gentle ‘thank you,’ immensely grateful for Gwendolyn’s kindness and faith.
In her mind, Gwendolyn’s tight-knit home created the haven she needed. Although the kitchen at the back of the house resembled a dugout shed—built more for efficiency than anything else—and the low ceiling could be stifling, the vestibule and parlor held charming accents in tones of blues and whites.
The shared bedroom with a large bed had a heavy curtain down the middle to maintain some degree of privacy, and a freestanding wardrobe left space for little else.
What Rosanna loved most was the front porch, a few steps from the main street, where the row house on Brandywine Street blended with small retail establishments and larger stores.
The constant hustle and bustle of daily life offered a window to the outside world, and a place for David to mingle and play with the neighborhood children. Sadly, it offered scant anything else, and that troubled Rosanna greatly. She had to do something other than wait for good fortune to rear its gracious head.
“I was thinking I could join you and find work at one of the homes on G
reen Street? Would you put in a good word for me there? Do you think they would accept me looking like this?”
Rosanna knew the houses on Green Street housed the upper echelons of society, with its elegant brownstone walls, elaborate towers, and bay windows, but she hoped someone would take her in, even if she worked in the basement.
Gwendolyn poured the hot water into the teapot and allowed it to sit for a few minutes to warm the pot. She met Rosanna’s anxious gaze with a degree of sadness reflected in her own. “My dear, I do not wish to upset you further, but it will be hard to find a job in your condition.”
In your condition. Rosanna raised her pale hands to her high-boned cheeks and fingered her skin with a butterfly touch. Under her calloused palms, pitted scars marked a dotted trail across her face like a map to hidden treasure. Those scars would keep any potential work always beyond her reach.
When a bout of tears threatened again, she wiped them away. What was the use of bawling? It wouldn’t change anything. If only the scars would fade, then things might be different. She knew her hair was nice enough, with generous deep cinnamon curls falling over slender shoulders down to her willowy waist. And her bright eyes could be a blend of summer blue or meadow green, depending on her mood. But removing the unseemly blemishes on her face was another story.
“What am I going to do?” The whispered plea echoed with all the distress of her heart, pleading for a solution to her predicament.
Gwendolyn placed the tea into the pot and poured boiling water over the leaves. Soon, the fragrant aroma filled the air with a gentle blend of herbs and spices. The scent coupled with the slow flame burning in the iron stove made for a cozy atmosphere.
“There is not much that can be done, but please don’t lose hope. There is a God in heaven and he will answer our prayers—that much I know. Now please, drink some tea and go back to bed. I’ll think of some way to help you—I promise.”
Brides of Grasshopper Creek Page 21
