Lottie_Bride of Delaware

by Kit Morgan

  Without even looking at him, she swallowed hard and headed for the porch. “Let’s go inside so I can meet your mother.” She went to move past him.

  But he grabbed her arm. “After the introductions, we’re going to settle this once and for all. You’re my wife and I’ll not have your former employer come between us any longer.”

  “Then you remove him. Or let me. Your choice. But he’s not going to go away just because you wish it.” She pulled her arm from his grasp, stomped up the stairs into the house and stopped short. There was a parlor on the right, a dining room on the left, but no one in either. She glanced up the staircase in the foyer. Where was everyone?

  Sam entered the house, reached her and took her hand, more gently than she expected. “They’re in the kitchen,” he said as if reading her thoughts.

  Sure enough, they walked down the hall to an enormous kitchen, complete with family gathered around a huge table. “Oh dear,” Lottie gasped.

  “Steady on,” Sam whispered softly in her ear.

  “We were just sitting down to supper,” his mother said. “But your father informs me you ate at Mulligan’s.”

  “True enough,” Sam said as he glanced around the table. “Though I’m sure that’s not all he informed you of. May I introduce my wife?”

  All eyes fixed on her. She reached up and unconsciously smoothed her hair as she noticed the curious stares of his family.

  “Everyone,” Sam started again. “This is Lottie. My mail-order bride.”

  A woman with brown hair and dark blue eyes stood, her mouth half-open, and looked between Sam’s mother and Lottie. “Belle, is there something you forgot to tell me?”

  “No,” Belle, Sam’s mother answered. “He did this without any help from me.”

  The man sitting next to the woman also stood. “Well … I must say this comes as quite a shock, but …” He chuckled. “… I suppose the only thing to say is, welcome to our family!”

  Sam breathed a sigh of relief as the man approached them and wrapped his arms around Lottie tight enough to elicit a grunt. He let her go, stepped back and smiled. “I’m Sam’s Uncle Harrison. Over there is his Aunt Sadie.”

  The brown-haired woman gave her a little wave then made her way around the table to them. “I’m so happy to meet you! We had no idea!”

  “Neither did I,” Lottie commented, then gave Sam a meaningful glance.

  An elderly man pushed himself up from the head of the table. “Well, don’t just stand there, bring her over here!” he barked.

  The others moved out of the way and Sam led Lottie to him. “Lottie, this is my grandfather Jefferson and his wife Edith.”

  The old woman gazed at her, tears in her eyes. “I never thought I’d see this young buck wed.”

  “I’d never thought I’d see yer pa so shocked!” Jefferson said gruffly. “Well done!”

  Sam laughed and Lottie, despite being upset with him, did too. “You’ll get used to Grandfather,” Sam assured her, then glanced around. “Is anyone else here?”

  “This is it right now,” his father told him. “Your cousins are helping Logan round up a couple hundred head for some branding. They’ll be back in a day or two.”

  Sam nodded, then looked at Lottie. “Well, if no more introductions need to be made, I think I’ll show my wife to our room.”

  Lottie tried not to cringe. That’s not all he was going to do – he was going to tell her to drop her search. Again. But as she’d already told him, that wasn’t going to happen – she wasn’t capable of it. Besides, how could she when she now knew he had the means to help her find out the truth? How cruel would he be if he denied her such help? She gulped, having a feeling she was about to find out.

  Fifteen

  A series of “goodnights” echoed around the table, and before Lottie knew it Sam was pulling her up the stairs, down a hall and into a large bedroom. She stopped short when he let go of her hand.

  There was a huge four-poster bed with a large trunk sitting at the foot of it. An armoire graced one corner, a dresser with a pitcher and washbowl atop it and a small desk. The room was definitely a man’s room and Lottie swallowed hard. This was probably the best representation of Sam Cooke she’d seen thus far. Yes, he was gentle and kind, but he also possessed a raw masculine power she had yet to see. What else didn’t she know about him? She’d been so focused on …

  “Now about Mr. Brown.”

  Lottie sighed in resignation and set her jaw. Here it came. “Sam …”

  “I have news.”

  That stopped her in her tracks. “What?”

  “I had Ferris follow him, or at least a man we thought might be him.”

  “And?”

  “And I’m afraid there’s not much to tell.”

  “Sam, please. You know how this eats at me every time we talk about it.”

  “Yes, I know and that’s the problem.”

  She stared at him, her jaw set. “You heard what I said. I …”

  “Lottie, what if I told you that your Mr. Brown was dying?”

  Her face fell. “What?”

  He nodded. “Indeed. If the man Ferris followed that night in Chicago was your Mr. Brown, then he’s in a bad way.”

  “How so? What did Ferris see?”

  “Did the man you claim as Mr. Brown carry a handkerchief?”

  “Yes, he had it over his mouth and nose. I thought he was trying to not let me see who he was.”

  “He was coughing up blood.”

  Lottie stood, a shocked look on her face. “I … I don’t understand. When did Ferris tell you this?”

  “At Vermillion, South Dakota. That was half of his sandwich I gave you.”

  Lottie crossed to the bed and sat. Sam followed and sat beside her. “I’ll thank him later,” she said absently. “What about Mr. Brown coughing up blood?”

  Sam put an arm around her. “Lottie, Ferris said the man coughed up enough blood between the hotel and his destination, that, rather than put his handkerchief in his coat pocket, he tossed it into an alley.”

  Lottie went cold. “What are you saying?”

  “I’m saying it’s over.”

  “No, you can’t say that, I have to…”

  “See that justice is done, I know. But it looks like justice – divine justice – has already caught up with him. You don’t have to do anything but concentrate on being my wife.”

  “But …”

  He put his hands on her shoulders and turned her to face him. “No buts. You can rest now. If he committed any crime, he is suffering for it, more than you ever could have made him. He won’t hang over our heads anymore.”

  “What about everything else?”

  He raised a single eyebrow at her.

  “You didn’t tell me everything there was to know about you.”

  “I had my reasons.”

  “You lied to me.”

  “I did no such thing. I … didn’t tell you about the ranch’s success and my family because I wanted you to get to know me for me, not have your vision clouded by the wealth of the Triple-C. A lot of good it did me, though. Your mind still wasn’t on me.”

  Lottie closed her eyes against the hot sting of tears. He was right, of course, she knew that. Sam had been more than patient with her. Would she have fared as well if she’d become a mail-order bride to another man? “I … I’m sorry, Sam. But what that man did was …”

  “Lottie, you can’t be totally sure he did or didn’t. You don’t know what happened to start that fire. You have to accept that you might never truly know.”

  Her eyes widened. “But … it almost …”

  “But darling, it didn’t. That fire didn’t do anything but put you in my life and I, for one, am truly grateful.”

  Lottie eyes misted with tears. “Grateful?”

  “As I told you before, I never would have met you if it hadn’t been for what happened at the mill.”

  “But I’m nothing special.”

  He tucked a finger
under her chin. “You are to me.” He kissed her then and the warmth it evoked in her pushed Bob Brown away. Maybe only a few inches, but it was a start.

  “You are beautiful, and that’s special,” he continued after he broke the kiss. “You have a hunger for justice, even if you let it get away from you sometimes, and that’s special. There’s so much about you that’s special – I could spend days listing just what I know so far.”

  She was crying now, unashamedly. But some of the tears were happy. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I haven’t been there for you as your wife. It’s so hard to let this go – I can’t begin to say why.”

  Sam wrapped his arms around her and held her close. “Do you think it has anything to do with the way your parents died?”

  Lottie froze. “My parents?”

  Sam nodded. “Did you or your sister ever find out what started the fire that killed them?”

  She closed her eyes. “No.”

  “Are you trying perhaps … to make things right?”

  She pulled away from him. “What are you saying?”

  “Just a thought. Probably the best person to talk to about something like that would be Jefferson.”

  “Your grandfather?”

  He nodded. “Remember what I told you about him?”

  Lottie turned her face away. Of course she remembered – the old man downstairs had set fire to a building with Sam’s future mother in it. “Oh good heavens,” she whispered. Could she sit at the same kitchen table with the man who’d done such a thing? But Sam’s mother was. “How is that possible?”

  Sam cupped her face with a hand and coaxed her to look at him. “I know what you’re thinking … and trust me, it can be done. My mother loves Jefferson and he’s not even a blood relative. He’s my father and uncle’s stepfather. But he wasn’t always the way he is today. There was a time when folks said he was an evil, vile person.”

  “What changed him? And how can your mother and grandfather get along after such a thing?”

  “The same way I hope we can get along as husband and wife and start our lives. Forgiveness.”

  “What?” Lottie said in disbelief.

  “Grandpa Jefferson had a lot of hurt in his heart that festered, corrupted him. There were things back then he couldn’t change. But he changed, and forgiveness is what helped him get to where he is now. You’re going to have to face that you may never know what happened that day at the mill. The only way to do that, Lottie, is to forgive Bob Brown of any wrong, supposed or otherwise.”

  Lottie sucked in a breath. The thought of forgiving that blackguard galled her. “I can’t.”

  “You can. You’ll have to. Or you’ll never be free of him. We’ll never be free.”

  “But he …”

  “… is dying, if he hasn’t already. Ferris followed him to a doctor’s office. Anyone who coughs up that much blood isn’t going to be around long.”

  Lottie groaned as her emotions raced to the surface, one at the forefront. Guilt.

  “If you can’t find it in your heart to forgive a man for wrongs you don’t even know he committed, then what does that leave you with? What does that leave us with?”

  He stood and without another word, left the room. It didn’t take Lottie long to figure out that he wasn’t coming back for awhile.

  *

  Sam sat down hard on a cot. He didn’t feel so great, and figured he might just sleep in the empty bunkhouse. Most everyone was on the other side of the ranch getting the branding done. He’d leave before dawn and join them. Maybe then he could figure out what to do.

  Dagnabit, Ferris was right – he’d gone and fallen in love. How or when, he didn’t know, but he’d done it. His best guess was when he found Lottie in the street outside their hotel, trying her best to follow after the infamous Mr. Brown. The thought she might come to harm had him in a frenzy and he was shocked at the power that fear evoked. He wanted to throttle her for not listening to him and leaving the hotel … but at the same time, he understood. She had a burning desire to set things right, to have justice.

  But was the justice she sought really about her employer, or did it go much deeper?

  He settled onto a bunk and tried to sleep. He could spend tomorrow on the prairie working, then talk with her again tomorrow night. He wanted his wife back. Okay, he’d never completely had her in the first place, thanks to Bob Brown. Only now, the man was dead or closing in fast. From what, who knew – consumption, influenza, some other sickness? He’d heard of such things from Doc Drake, read about them at Oxford.

  Sam groaned. He hadn’t told her about where he’d been educated either. Deep down, he knew Lottie was right – he had lied to her. From the best of intentions, perhaps … but what did they say the road to ruin was paved with? Well, no more – she was his wife, and he owed it to her to be honest and forthright. No secret-keeping from her – he decided that on the spot.

  As far as Bob Brown, maybe he was as guilty as Lottie thought. Maybe he knew he was going to die, got angry and set the mill on fire. Or maybe he had nothing to do with it at all. And … maybe he needed to take his own advice and forgive him too. He had driven a wedge between Sam and his new bride, however accidentally.

  The more Sam thought about it, the happier he was that the fire had happened. What sort of life had the women who’d labored there lived? Long hours, low wages … they were all better off becoming mail-order brides, he thought. Now all he had to do was get Lottie to see it that way as well.

  Sam sighed, pulled his hat over his eyes and tried to get some sleep.

  *

  Lottie crept downstairs. The sun was rising and she wasn’t sure if the rest of the family was up yet. Then again, maybe she was the last one to rise. She was half-tempted to stay in her room and not come down at all, seeing as how Sam never came back last night. But what good would that do? Besides, she had to eat.

  She entered the kitchen slowly, stopped and stared.

  “What’re ya lookin’ at?” Sam’s grandpa barked. He sat at the head of the table and looked as if he’d never left, three empty pie tins in front of him. “You and Sam have a fight?” he asked and pointed to the tins.

  “Fight? No, ah … not exactly.”

  “Sure looks like ya did.”

  Lottie looked at him, the table, the empty tins, then back. “What is this?” she asked, pointing at the tins.

  Jefferson waved a fork as he talked. “It means my grandson’s upset, that’s what.”

  Lottie stared at him a moment. “So … Sam eats pie when he’s upset?”

  “All the Cooke men do.”

  Lottie wasn’t sure coming downstairs was such a good idea. Was the man crazy? Best tread carefully. “Do you eat pie when you’re upset?”

  “Course I do – everyone around here knows it.”

  She took a few steps back for safety’s sake. Perhaps Sam forgot to mention that his grandfather had gone round the bend.

  “Now see here, missy. My grandson took it upon himself to get a wife, and frankly I can’t say I blame him. Lord knows the pickins have been slim around here the last few years, but that don’t mean ya have any right to ruin it.”

  Lottie gasped. “Ruin what? I haven’t done anything!”

  “Yet. Keep going the way ya are, you’ll end up with nothin’!”

  She should go back upstairs. The man wasn’t making sense. He was obviously out of his head. “I think I’ll just head back …”

  “No, you don’t! You’re gonna stay right here and bake that man some pies.”

  “Back to the pies, is it?” she managed.

  “Yes! And an apology might be in order too.”

  “Wha … apology?”

  “Yep – to yourself.” He sat, jaw tight, eyes fixed on her, willing her to stay put. “Why don’t ya tell yourself you’re sorry for messing things up, forgive yourself and move on?”

  Lottie had had enough. “Mr. Cooke, what are you talking about?”

  “You know what I’m talking
about. This house has thin walls. I can hear everything.” He pointed to the ceiling.

  She looked up and saw a metal grate. When she looked at him again, he was smiling. “You were eavesdropping last night?!”

  “Only when I heard my name mentioned.”

  Lottie put a hand to her mouth. She didn’t know whether to laugh, yell at him or cry. A mix came out. “You heard what Sam and I talked about?”

  “Ya know, ya really oughta forgive that Brown fella like Sam suggested. Do ya a world of good.”

  “Oh for heaven’s sake…”

  “No – for yer sake, missy.”

  She glared at him, unable to help it. “And what would you know of it?”

  His face became somber. “Purt near everythin’.”

  Her expression matched his. Of course he would – and what better person to ask? “How? How did you do it?”

  The old man took the pie tins and stacked them in front of him. “Yer gonna need these.”

  Lottie sat at the opposite end of the table. “How did you deal with the guilt?”

  “At first, by bein’ a fool and an idiot and a real nasty drunk. But I ain’t that person no more. Belle, Sam’s ma, she found it in her heart to forgive me. If she hadn’t, she’d be a different person, and so would that crotchety aunt of hers. She was trapped in the fire too.”

  Lottie stared at him. She didn’t know what to say.

  “Ya know what bitterness feels like?” he asked.

  Lottie was about to shake her head, but instead nodded. She’d had a taste of it.

  “That’s what this is really about. That’s what it comes down to. Sammy, he’s never experienced it. But I have. I used to drink it every day. And ya know what I got?”

  “What?” she asked in a small voice.

  “Poison. Ya know what I tried to do with it?”

  She shook her head again.

  He watched her a moment. “Tried to make my stepsons drink it and hoped it’d kill them.”