Her Fearless Love_Seeing Ranch Mail Order Bride

by Florence Linnington

  “You are leaving today?” Bonnie asked. “For Pathways?”

  “Yes,” Margaret said. “The miners who bought the furniture came for the last of it this morning. I was going to wait a few more days till I went to Pathways, but I figured, why bother staying? There is a hotel there. I can room there for the rest of the week until my position starts. So I told the miners they could get the rest of what they bought this morning, if they wanted.” She looked down at her gloved hands. “It’s not as if there is anything left here for me.”

  The pew creaked as Thea shifted her weight around. Was she just as conflicted and uneasy as Bonnie was?

  “Well?” Margaret asked. “Aren’t you going to question me? That is what you are here for, is it not?”

  “Margaret...” Bonnie hesitated. “Say you did do it... We would understand why. He was awful to you. Almost any woman in your circumstance would have.”

  “And we have been over this,” Margaret said, her eyes flashing. “I have morals, Bonnie Potter. Murder is a heavy cross to bear.”

  Thea touched Bonnie’s arm, signaling that she would like a chance to speak.

  “We care for you, Margaret,” Thea said, “Please don’t misunderstand. We only thought that, if you had done it, you could plead self-defense. Everyone knew what was happening. We were all worried for your safety. We thought he might kill you.”

  “I can’t plead self-defense for a murder I did not commit,” Margaret said.

  Thea leaned back against the pew. “All right.”

  Bonnie looked sharply at Thea. Was that it? After that talk at her house, was this all Thea was giving to the cause?

  “The guns,” Bonnie said.

  Margaret frowned. “What guns?”

  “You had none in your house.”

  “I sold them.”

  “May I ask to who?” Bonnie said.

  “To Mr. Mullins.”

  “All of them?” Bonnie asked.

  “Yes. All of them.” Margaret looked back down at her lap. “Is that all? Are we done?”

  Bonnie hesitated. Just because Margaret sold the guns to Mullins didn’t mean she hadn’t killed her husband.

  “Mr. Hawkins wore a revolver, correct?” Bonnie asked.

  Margaret lifted her face. “Yes. A Meisner. Mr. Mullins has that one. And there was a shotgun that he kept at the home. They are both at the general store now.”

  Bonnie nodded, knowing where her next stop would be.

  Thea spoke up. “Margaret, I know this has been an awkward conversation, but... I still consider you my friend. And Pathways is not that far away. Please, if there’s anything you should ever need... I will be right here.”

  “And the same for me,” Bonnie said.

  Margaret dabbed at her eyes, avoiding their gazes. “Thank you, although I am not sure I will ever return to Whiteridge. I am eager to begin again, to wipe the slate clean. Perhaps letting everything here go will be for the best.”

  A lump formed in Bonnie’s throat, but she did not protest. If Margaret needed to separate herself from everything in Whiteridge, that made sense.

  Margaret finally looked at Bonnie. “I truly am sorry about your husband. I hope they find whoever did kill Russell, so that Mr. Huebner may walk free again.”

  “Thank you,” Bonnie whispered, her voice choked with emotion.

  Margaret stood walked back down the aisle. Bonnie stared at the floor, listening to her retreating footsteps. After another few moments of silence, Thea spoke.

  “That was awful,” she whispered. “I did not expect it to be that hard.”

  “She said he had a Meisner.”

  “He could have had another gun as well,” Thea pointed out. “A Folsom. And she got rid of it.”

  “Yes. Hmm.” Bonnie stood. “Do men take note of each others’ guns? Would the other miners remember what kind Mr. Hawkins had?”

  Thea raised her brows. “That sounds like something men might do.”

  Bonnie looked at the empty doorway. “I can’t help but feel we betrayed her in a way.”

  Thea sighed. “I understand. But we need to find who did this so Steve can be released.”

  “Of course,” Bonnie agreed eagerly. “I want that more than anything, but I wonder if perhaps there wasn’t a gentler way to go about things with Margaret.”

  “Is there a gentler way to go about any of this?”

  Bonnie looked at Thea, not knowing how to respond.

  “I’ll answer that,” Thea said. “No, I don’t think there is. This is all sticky business.”

  Bonnie nodded, a wave of exhaustion abruptly swept over her. When would she be able to get a full night’s sleep again?

  But she knew the answer. Not until Steve was home.

  “I need to go speak to Mr. Mullins,” Bonnie said.

  Thea stood. “Well, what are we waiting for?”

  30

  30. Bonnie

  Chapter thirty

  When they emerged from the church, there was no sign of Margaret anywhere. Had she ridden a horse down to Pathways? Bonnie had not seen one near the church. Had someone driven her in a wagon?

  Bonnie could not stop thinking about the widow. She hoped her life in Pathways would be much better than the one in Whiteridge had been. And, if their paths should one day cross again, Bonnie prayed things would be better for the two of them.

  “The good thing about this town being small,” Thea said, as they walked across the churchyard, “is that it takes all of a minute or two to arrive anywhere.”

  Bonnie forced a smile. It was the least she could do, as Thea was attempting to cheer her up.

  In the general store, Mr. Mullins was selling a man a bag of flour. Bonnie and Thea stayed near the front of the store, pretending to look at the bolts of fabric there.

  “I’m sure he did it,” the man was saying. “Who else could have?”

  “There’s a trial next week,” Mr. Mullins answered. “So we will see.”

  Bonnie looked sharply over her shoulder. As she and Thea stood behind barrels that were stacked with candy jars and bags of sugar, she couldn’t make out the man’s face. That meant he likely hadn’t seen her face, either.

  “At least it’s a bit of excitement,” the man chuckled. “Ol’ Steve Huebner. The good, quiet boy turned killer. Gives us something to talk about.”

  Bonnie sucked in a breath that stung her nose. Why, the nerve! She had no clue who this man was, but he had to be the lowest of creatures. Who would find entertainment in a man being brought to trial for murder?

  And a murder he did not commit, at that.

  “Calm yourself,” Thea whispered in Bonnie’s ear. “No good will come of causing a scene.”

  Bonnie’s fingernails dug into her palms as her hands curled into fists, but she stayed where she was, choosing to focus on her breathing as Mr. Mullins and whoever the man was finished up their transaction.

  The man took his bag of flour and headed for the door. As he passed by the barrels, he glanced at Bonnie and Thea. He was a miner, Bonnie was sure. She’d seen him that time she brought Steve’s lunch to the mine.

  She did not break gaze as he walked by. His eyebrows rose, showing the slightest hint of recognition. A split second later and he was gone. If he knew who Bonnie was, he did not care.

  Bonnie huffed. “The nerve!”

  “People will think what they choose to,” Thea said. “And for now, you must let them. Once Steve is freed, they will see what really happened.”

  If he is freed.

  Bonnie knew how low the chances of discovering the real killer were. It was a reality she had been desperately trying to keep from her mind. Sometimes she lost that fight, though.

  “Miss Potter. Mrs. Briggs.” Mr. Mullins walked over to them. “I am sorry you had to hear that.”

  Bonnie did her best to keep her chin lifted. “It is quite all right, Mr. Mullins. It was not your fault.”

  “Still, I apologize again.” He focused on Bonnie. “I heard you
went to see Steve. How is he?”

  “As well as one can imagine, given the circumstances,” Bonnie said, hating that answering that question meant recalling the sight of Steve in the jail cell.

  “You must know that I hate that I played a part in his winding up there. If only I could go back in time, I’d tell you to throw that bullet into the river.”

  “It is as much my fault as yours, Mr. Mullins, and there is nothing we can do about it now. Except...”

  He raised his brow. “Yes?”

  Thea spoke up. “Margaret Hawkins sold you her husbands guns, did she not?”

  “She did,” Mr. Mullins said.

  “And were either of them a Folsom 1890?” Bonnie asked. She held her breath in anticipation as she waited for his answer.

  “I’m sorry.” Mr. Mullins put his hands on his hips and sighed. “You would know if they were. Sheriff Ross would, too. You two would be the first people I’d notify.”

  The heavy weight on Bonnie’s shoulders doubled. “Oh.”

  “You two are being careful, aren’t you?” Mr. Mullins asked. “Going around and asking about this?”

  “Of course,” Bonnie answered.

  “Hmm. Well, look, I’m slightly worried about you, Miss Potter.”

  “You helped me before,” she said. “When I brought in the bullet...”

  “Yes, I know. But that was before your fiancée was locked up. And now you’re up here all alone, looking for answers, and... it could get you into trouble.”

  Bonnie’s blood ran cold. She understood the implied meaning there. If the real killer was around, and he or she found out that Bonnie was looking for them... would that put her life in danger?

  “It does not matter,” she decided out loud. “I have to find out who did this.”

  “The sheriff is on it.”

  “Not quite enough,” Bonnie retorted.

  Mr. Mullins stroked his mustache, looking thoughtful but saying nothing more.

  “Just because Margaret did not bring a Folsom here does not mean Mr. Hawkins never had one,” Thea said. “It’s just as you mentioned with the bullet, Mr. Mullins. She could have tossed it into the river.”

  “Anyone with half a brain would,” he answered.

  “That’s right,” Bonnie said. “Which is why we are going to ask around and find out if anyone remembers seeing a Folsom 1890 on Mr. Hawkins.”

  Mr. Mullins’ mustache turned down as he frowned. “Now talk about looking for trouble, Miss Potter...”

  “It is what I must do.”

  “Right. Look. I know just about every person in this town. Hold on there. Let me rephrase that. I do know every single person in this town. Everyone needs supplies, which means I see each Whiteridge face at least once a month. I don’t recall ever seeing Mr. Hawkins with a Folsom.”

  “But it is a rare gun,” Bonnie pointed out. “So does it not make sense that he might keep it at home, instead of wear it out?”

  “Like a novelty item,” Thea said excitedly.

  “It’s possible,” Mr. Mullins said.

  Bonnie and Thea exchanged a satisfied look.

  “I need to say this,” Mr. Mullins said. “Don’t do anything rash. Don’t confront anyone. If you hear about something, anything... come to me. Please. Or send word to Sheriff Ross right away.”

  “We will,” Bonnie said.

  “Good.”

  Thea took Bonnie’s hand. “Thank you for your help,” she told Mr. Mullins.

  The women emerged into the bright and chilly day and began walking back to Thea’s house.

  “We’re no closer,” Bonnie said sullenly.

  “But we are. We know that Mr. Hawkins could have had a Folsom, and that is something.”

  Bonnie’s heart twisted. “Steve is running out of time.”

  Thea did not respond to that, which only heightened Bonnie’s feeling of desperation. Suddenly, her promise to Mr. Mullins to send word to him or the sheriff if she discovered a clue meant little. What if she found the killer and had to act quickly?

  Bonnie’s heart beat fast. She’d never shot a gun before. Steve’s pistol and shotgun were at the cabin. She’d seen him clean them, and she’d seen others load guns before.

  But as far as aiming one and pulling a trigger... did she have the courage to do something like that?

  Perhaps she ought to go home and practice shooting the gun, just in case she ever needed to. She could ask for instruction from someone, she supposed, but she did not want to wait until one of the men in Whiteridge had time to teach her. Plus, she had seen guns fired before. Had difficult could it be?

  As the approached Thea’s house, Aria’s wailing drifted down the road.

  “Oh, goodness.” Thea clutched at her chest. “She does not sound any better at all.”

  Bonnie stopped in front of Thea’s house. “You go on in and take care of her. I will see you soon.”

  Thea hesitated at the door. “Bonnie. Don’t go to the mine by yourself.”

  “Why not? I’ve done it before. I took Steve lunch there.”

  “Yes, but it is a... well, it is a mine.”

  “You mean it’s rough,” Bonnie said.

  “Yes. Can you at least wait till Wakefield can go with you? He should be home today before the mine closes, and then you can go with him.”

  Bonnie did not want to answer. She didn’t want to lie to her friend.

  “I need to go inside,” Thea said, opening the door. “Please. Wait for him.”

  Luckily, Thea was inside the house before Bonnie had to respond.

  Waiting for Wakefield did seem the safest idea, but Bonnie was running out of time. And it would be hours still till Wakefield finished his day at the hotel.

  Bonnie did not have time, and she did not have patience. Steve counted on her. She needed to do something straight away.

  31

  31. Bonnie

  Chapter thirty-one

  The mine. Thea made it sound like a veritable portal to Hades.

  As Bonnie walked to it, she reminded herself it was merely a pit in the ground worked by men.

  Except some of those men were rather... rough. She’d seen them through the windows of the saloon, drinking and shouting loudly. And there had been that day she brought Steve his lunch. One miner had had no qualms at all about eyeballing her.

  She wished Neil were at the mine that day, but he had taken off to go visit Steve in Shallow Springs. And Bonnie could not wait for him to return so she could ask him to poke around the next day. If she were going to go to the mine, she needed to do it right away.

  At the clearing, she breathed a sigh of relief to see that there were hardly any men above ground. Only a few were at the mouth of the mine, and from inside of it came shouts and banging. Two men stood at the roughly hewn table in the shade, and the taller of them looked up as Bonnie approached.

  He said something to the other man, who rolled up a piece of paper they had been looking at and walked off.

  “Miss Potter,” the man said, “Hello.”

  “Hello, Mr...” Bonnie fumbled over her words. “I am sorry. I am afraid I do not even recall whether we have formally met or not. Please forgive me.”

  “That’s quite all right. It’s a trying time. I’m Joe Walker. I’m the foreman.”

  “Oh, yes. Thank you.” Bonnie remembered him now from the day she brought Steve lunch.

  “I’m sorry about your fiancée.”

  “Thank you,” Bonnie mumbled, awfully tired of hearing that wherever she went. Instead of making her feel better, people’s condolences only reminded her of what was at stake.

  “Do you have a few minutes to chat?” Bonnie asked.

  “Sure thing. Please, have a seat.”

  Mr. Walker pulled over two rickety chairs, and they settled into them under the canvas’ shade.

  “Is this about Steve?” Mr. Walker asked.

  “Somewhat. It is about Mr. Hawkins.”

  Mr. Walker’s face folded in confusion,
but he said nothing.

  “Mr. Walker, do you know what a Folsom 1890 looks like?”