by Lilly Inman
Isabelle refused to allow the old man to make dinner, and they shared a simple meal of corn and ham slices with bread. She prepared a plate for Joseph, too, just in case. The old man was good company, joking and telling old stories of his childhood in Glasgow, but Isabelle only listened with half an ear, silently hoping to hear the front door opening and Joseph’s boots walking down the hallway.
But he didn’t come home.
Later, she covered his dinner with an extra plate and extinguished the kerosene lamp with a heavy sigh.
*
In the morning, she dressed quickly and hurried downstairs in the hope that she could catch Joseph before he left for work, but the kitchen was empty. Isabelle’s heart sank. She noted the used coffee mug left at the sink and the dinner plate, untouched on the table.
Chapter Five
The door clanged behind Joseph as he entered the kitchen, and Isabelle jumped.
“Oh, I didn’t mean to startle you,” he apologised, removing his hat. “How was your first night here?”
Isabelle seemed a million miles away as she turned away from the sink. Joseph noted last night’s dinner plate, clean and left to dry on the sideboard, and fingered his hat nervously. Isabelle’s expression was closed. She did not look too pleased with him.
He cleared his throat. “I… I trust you found everything to your liking?”
Isabelle remained silent, drying her hands on a cloth, watching him. The woman radiated a kind of terrifying, beautiful force.
Joseph shifted his weight to the other foot and scratched the back of his head. “Listen, I…” he looked around desperately. “Would you like a coffee?” He motioned to the stove and she made a move towards it. “No, please, allow me,” he interjected. He pulled out a chair for Isabelle and she sat down.
Joseph poured two steaming mugs of coffee and set one down in front of Isabelle, taking his place across the table from her. He didn’t know where to look. His leg jumped up and down underneath the table.
Isabelle sipped her coffee silently. Her soft brown eyes locked his over the rim of her coffee cup and Joseph felt propelled to speak.
“I’m sorry I didn’t eat with you last night. I’m sorry I wasn’t there to take you home. I’m sorry I wasn’t there to meet you at the train station. Talk about a welcome! What would my father think…?” His cheeks were red with shame. “It’s just, there’s so much work...” he shook his head. “I’ve been on this case for a while now, months, and, well, I’m just new at this job, and I think the criminals know it, maybe they’re testing me, I don’t know, I —” Isabelle leaned towards him and the words stopped spilling out.
“It’s OK. Breathe,” she spoke softly. Her eyes smiled.
“They just… always get away,” he said quietly, bowing his head.
“You’ll get them one day, I’m sure,” Isabelle encouraged him. “And don’t worry about last night. Today is a new day.”
“Yes, today is a new day. And I have a proposal for you,” he said, and flushed profusely as a look of shock crossed Isabelle’s face. “No, no, not that kind of proposal. Sorry,” he stammered. “We should get to know each other a bit better first. How about I make up for missing dinner last night by taking you out to lunch? We can visit the town, too. Show you around, meet the locals, you know, that kind of thing…” he trailed off, still feeling a bit embarrassed.
“That sounds like a wonderful idea. Thank you, Mr. Cartwright.”
“Joseph, call me Joseph. Joe, actually.” He glanced away from her, suddenly shy.
“Joe. Then you must call me Isabelle. Belle, actually.” She fought to keep a smile off her face and he grinned.
Chapter Six
Isabelle's body was rocked gently as the cart trundled along the road. She felt a little tense. Next to her, holding the reins, Joe sat back in a relaxed, easy posture. Isabelle focused on the road ahead but try as she might, she couldn't ignore the warmth radiating from him. Her whole left side was startlingly aware of every movement he made. Isabelle peeked at him from the corner of her eye.
"Not much further, " Joe said, probably aware of her watching him. It was the first words he'd spoken since they started out. He turned to her, his brown eyes twinkling. "We'll go to the dressmaker’s; have a look if you want. Then the bakery, the butcher’s, the general store. Got to drop by the office, too," he added quietly. Isabelle gave him a questioning look. "Just for a minute."
"I thought you were taking the day off?" Isabelle tried to keep the annoyance out of her voice.
"I sure am, don't you worry. You'll have my company all afternoon. Just got to make sure my cousin isn’t up to no good." He winked but couldn't mask the seriousness in his expression.
They arrived at the main street of Close Ridge and Joe hitched the horse up to a post outside the dressmaker’s. They went inside and Joe tipped his Stetson hat to a young woman browsing a catalogue.
“Morning, Maureen. This here is Isabelle. Come from Philadelphia to help with the old man.”
The young woman clasped her hands in delight and came over to greet them. “Oh, hello Isabelle! Matthew told me all about you,” she said, taking Isabelle’s two hands in her own.
“Maureen is Matthew’s wife. Two of ‘em just had a baby,” Joe gestured to a large pram on the deck of the shop. Isabelle’s face lit up.
“How wonderful!” she exclaimed. The two women went straight outside and Isabelle gazed at the sleeping baby. Isabelle had always loved children. “How old is she?”
“Eight months. Fastest eight months of my life so far,” Maureen laughed.
Joe arrived on the porch. The two women were already getting on like a house on fire, and they’d only know each other for two minutes. He watched Isabelle cooing over the baby and smiled. “And here I was thinking she’d want to be looking at the dresses…” Isabelle rolled her eyes. “Maureen, we got some things to be seeing to today. How about you, Matthew and the baby come over for tea tomorrow afternoon?”
Isabelle nodded at Maureen enthusiastically.
“That sounds lovely! See you about two o’clock? Matthew will be delighted to get out of the office.” Maureen chuckled and shared a knowing smile with Isabelle.
Outside, Joe took Isabelle on a short tour around the local area. He pointed out all the shops and services Isabelle may need and introduced her to various shopkeepers. Isabelle was impressed with Joe’s polite demeanour towards the locals. Many times a resident would stop him in the street to talk about some problem or another, trivial things, and Joe always remained patient and understanding, his face an image of concern. Some pretty young ladies called out greetings to him, giggling, and blushed when Joe raised his hat to them in return.
“Hard work, huh, being the local law enforcement officer,” Isabelle remarked with a smirk.
“All part of the job.” Joe stared straight ahead but Isabelle could see the corners of his mouth lift into a smile. She couldn’t help but compare how friendly he was today with yesterday’s coldness.
Deep in thought, Isabelle didn’t notice the man approach, but she suddenly became aware that Joe had quickened his pace.
“Well, just who do we have here?” The man was barring their passage.
“Good morning, Mr. Robertson.” Joe stood up a little taller, almost imperceptibly, and Isabelle found herself drawing closer to him.
The man watched Isabelle intently. He had dark shadows under his eyes and a fresh-looking cut on his cheek. He reached for Isabelle’s hand and brought it to his dry, cracked lips.
Joe bristled. “Allow me to introduce Miss Williams,” he spoke through gritted teeth.
“Lovely to meet you, Miss,” the man grinned leeringly and Isabelle felt her blood run cold. “How’s that old Jim Fraser? Still on the lookout for that criminal gang?”
“He is doing just fine, thank you,” said Joe stiffly. “We must be on our way.”
The man moved aside, feigning a royal bow.
Joe turned back to face the man. “I trus
t you are keeping out of trouble, Mr. Robertson,” he said, looking pointedly at the wound on his cheek.
“Of course, Sheriff. You know me. Respectful, law-abiding citizen,” he laughed arrogantly and swaggered down a side street.
Joe scowled and made off, his grip tight on Isabelle’s arm.
“Who was that?” Isabelle’s voice was alarmed.
“Butcher’s cousin. Scoundrel. Always involved in some kind of trouble-making. …” he muttered. His fingers dug into Isabelle’s arm. “Sorry.” He relaxed his pace.
They climbed the steps into the Sheriff’s office, where Matthew jumped up from the desk looking guilty as Joe came inside. Joe swiftly took his seat and began searching through the disorganised stack of documents on the desk.
“Matthew, please accompany Isabelle home,” he said, without looking up. All promise of a nice lunch in town, forgotten.
Isabelle sighed. So much for getting to know each other.
Chapter Seven
Joe was beginning to regret bringing this woman here.
He knew she’d lived in Philadelphia, a big city, but out here it was different. They didn’t call it the Wild West for nothing, after all. Was Isabelle strong enough to live in a dangerous place like this? Was Joe strong enough?
He shook his head and tried to concentrate on his work. Need to figure out a way to outsmart the villains terrorising local towns recently. But there was something about this girl… He was already starting to feel a strange sort of attachment to her—ever since he’d seen her on the porch that first day, outside the office.
His knee jumped up and down under the desk as his brain raced. How could he protect her? Keep her safe from people like Robertson? And the others? Those men had been committing awful crimes in the area for many years, striking fear into the hearts of the citizens of Close Ridge—he couldn’t let that happen to Isabelle.
Joe swallowed hard as a bad memory tried to resurface. He pushed it away and felt his heart sink to the pit of his stomach.
A strong gust of wind rattled the window pane and Joe jumped. How long had he been here? The room had grown cold; the shadows were long. A thought popped into Joseph’s head: Isabelle. Shoot, their lunch date. How could he forget? Instead he’d sent her away coldly. Did she make it home without any trouble? Matthew was trustworthy, but he scolded himself for leaving her. Especially with people like Robertson hanging around town.
Stuffing some of his documents into his vest pocket, he untied his horse from the post outside, fingers fumbling, and headed home.
*
The sun was just dipping below the horizon as he arrived at the house.
He entered quietly, remembering Isabelle’s temper when they met for the very first time outside the Sheriff’s office. As usual, the door banged behind him and gave him away.
“Well, look what the cat dragged in!” A familiar old voice called from the kitchen. Joe poked his head round the door. “We thought you’d gotten lost!” The old man’s rosy cheeks creased as he laughed.
Joe edged into the room, taking in the scene. Isabelle had laid out a nice spread for dinner. He felt a pang of guilt about forgetting their lunch arrangement, but Isabelle didn’t look too angry… at least not on the surface. He removed his hat solemnly and hung his vest over his arm, hovering behind his usual seat at the table.
“It’s OK, Joseph.” Isabelle sighed and motioned to the chair. “Come in and eat.”
Joe relaxed visibly and smiled sheepishly at the old man, hanging his vest on the back of the chair and sitting down. “I’m starving,” he said.
“I wonder why…” Isabelle rolled her eyes at him.
Yep, she was angry, all right. Joe didn’t know what to say. He opened his mouth to speak but couldn’t find any words, just looked at Isabelle. There it was again, that strange pull he felt towards her.
“Yes, I suppose there are some adjustments to be made to our routine, isn’t that right Joseph?” The old man tried to lighten the atmosphere. “You will need to learn to compromise, my boy. That’s what marriage is about…” he seemed almost ready to launch into a speech about the trials and tribulations of marriage but received a dark look from Joe and trailed off. Joe glanced back over at Isabelle but she was intently focused on her dinner.
The rest of the meal was eaten in relative silence, the only sound being the scraping of knives and forks off the ceramic plates.
Chapter Eight
Isabelle lay in bed, restless. Sleep evaded her. She thought about the past few days with Joe.
Would she ever be able to have a stable relationship with him? Would she always have to walk on tenterhooks with him, worrying if and when he’d be in a bad mood? Is this what married life would be like?
She thought back to her parents, trying to remember what they had been like together when her mother was still alive. Their relationship had seemed to work like magic — Isabelle couldn’t remember the two ever having any arguments. As a child, she loved sitting in her father’s lap as he recounted the story of how he had met their mother: Corinne had just arrived from France, alone, and carrying far too much luggage. She barely spoke any English, and when the buggy drove the passengers away from the ferry port leaving Corinne’s suitcases on the side of the street, she didn’t know how to explain to the driver. When Isabelle’s father chased them down the street, it was love at first sight. Isabelle smiled. Theirs had been a happy marriage.
A pang in her heart came as her mind flitted between memories. When Isabelle’s mother died, her father disappeared too. He wouldn’t talk; he couldn’t eat. Consumed by grief and heartbreak. Her siblings were too young to understand. It had been down to Isabelle to care for the family. That’s the way things were for many years, even after her father got better. And it was how things were supposed to be… until she read that ad in the newspaper.
Isabelle rolled herself up into a ball under the covers and shook her head firmly. Love would never be a possibility for her. She had closed her heart off a long time ago. This would never work.
She imagined Joseph’s strong hands writing the advertisement text, choosing his words carefully the way that he did. Her stomach flipped.
*
She woke up in the still-unfamiliar bed with a start. Voices echoed down the hall.
“Oh, come on, Joe, don’t be like that!” The Old Man hissed. “It’s not that bad!”
Isabelle slid out of bed and crept to the door. She pressed her ear to the wood.
“It is! I never should have brought her here!” Joe spoke in hushed tones. Isabelle opened the door a fraction to be sure she caught every word. “We need to send her back.” Isabelle’s heart pounded hard in her ears.
“Everything’s going to be fine, Joe. Get to know her, you’ll see!”
“I wish you’d never shown me her letter -- now I don’t know what to do… I didn’t even want her here in the first place.”
The floor creaked suddenly as Joe stormed away and Isabelle heard a door across the hallway open. She jumped and quickly closed her door, leaning against it and breathing heavily. Her eyes prickled and her fists were screwed up.
Moving silently but quickly, Isabelle turned to her wardrobe and threw open the doors. Her dresses were hanging neatly inside, tidied away only earlier that day. She took them out, one by one, and tucked them into her suitcase, her expression growing more firm with each item of clothing. If Joseph didn’t want her here, fine – she didn’t want to be here either. She would be on the first train the next morning. There would be no marriage.
A piece of paper fluttered out from between the folds of one of the dresses. Isabelle picked it up delicately. She recognised the handwriting immediately. She took a deep breath.
Belle, it read, I am so very proud of you.
It was a note from her father.
I cannot thank you enough for the care you have shown me and the children during these difficult times. You are so like your mother. I know she is proud of you too.
It is time now for you to care for someone else. To have a family of your own. I know you want this too.
You are stubborn, like your mother, but give it a chance. I promise you it is the right thing to do. Everything will work out, if you just let it.
Open your heart, Isabelle.
Sending you all my love.
Isabelle looked back towards her suitcase, almost fully-packed, then back to the letter. Her father’s words blurred beneath her tears.
Chapter Nine
Joseph fumbled with his shirt sleeves as he waited in the kitchen for Isabelle. He had something to tell her.
He knew it would be hard. Joseph had always been a man of few words, but he had to at least try. It was important — for him, for her, for their future in Close Ridge. She had to know what she was getting herself into.
Joseph went towards the window. The dark sky was turning pink, and blue out towards the east. Isabelle hadn’t risen yet. Strange.
He wondered if he should go and check on her — maybe she wasn’t feeling well? Joe shook his head. It wouldn’t be right to enter her room unannounced. She was probably just still sleeping. She’d had a busy few days, after all. Must be overwhelmed.
Joe decided to leave her a little time to get ready and went outside to the porch, taking in the view. He stayed like that, lost in his thoughts, until the sky was mostly a clear, bright blue. Still no sign of Isabelle.
The Old Man must be waking up now too. Joe poured a cup of coffee from the stove, added cream and a little splash of whisky (just the way the old man liked it) and brought the mug upstairs. He paused briefly outside Isabelle’s door, listening. Sounds of movement, blankets spread up, clothes swishing. She must be getting dressed. Slept in, then. That was it. No problem. Joe breathed a sigh of relief and carried on down the hall.
*
Joe was passing Isabelle’s door on the way back down to the kitchen when it opened suddenly. He jumped back, startled.
