Brides of Kansas

by Bateman, Tracey V. ;

  After praying for direction all morning, an idea had come to her around lunchtime. With great effort, she instructed the children in their lessons the rest of the day, impatient for the time when she could dismiss the class.

  She walked the short distance to the mercantile, eager to put her plan into action.

  “Afternoon, Tarah,” Mr. Tucker greeted her as the bell above the door signaled her arrival. “Glad you’re here. Got some mail for you.”

  “For me?”

  “Yep.” Faded blue eyes twinkled as he handed her an envelope. “Ya got this from some fella over in Starling. Finally courtin’?”

  Tarah felt her cheeks warm. “No sir.”

  She glanced down to make sure the letter was rightfully addressed to her. Sure enough, her name was written plainly on the envelope: “Miss Tarah St. John, Harper, Kansas.”

  There was no mistake. Her heart did a little jump at the return address: Mr. Clyde Halston, a rancher friend of Pa’s from Starling, a small community twenty miles north of Harper. He had come through to buy a horse last summer. The day he arrived, the household was filled with excitement over learning Tarah had been hired to teach in Harper.

  At the time, Mr. Halston had mentioned the possibility of Tarah coming to Starling to teach a three-month term in the spring, but she hadn’t taken him seriously. Now she wondered if perhaps the town council had taken his suggestion to start a school after all.

  “Gonna open it or stand there staring at it all day?” Mr. Tucker asked, leaning his elbows on the counter.

  Waffling between the desire to open her letter and wanting to complete her business, Tarah opted to wait. Reading the letter would come later, away from Mr. Tucker’s prying eyes. “I think I’ll wait. I need to make a few purchases and get home to help with chores,” she said, tucking the envelope into her bag.

  Clearly disappointed by her decision, Mr. Tucker straightened up and glanced at her over his wire-rimmed spectacles. “Got a letter here for your pa, too.” He handed it over. “Looks like it might be from your granny.”

  Tarah smiled as she read the return address. “Yes, it is.”

  “When’s she comin’ back, anyway?” Tucker cleared his throat and gave the letter a once-over. “Some folks been sayin’ how they’re missin’ her.”

  With great effort, Tarah bit back the smile threatening her lips. She knew Mr. Tucker and Granny had a mutual affection for each other, but so far, neither had lowered their pride enough to admit it.

  “I’m not sure, Mr. Tucker,” she said. “Perhaps this letter contains that information. We’ll all be so happy when she returns to us.”

  “Make sure ya let me know so I can pass the word along to the folks askin’ about her, ya hear?”

  “Yes sir.”

  “Now what can I get for ya?”

  “I need two pairs of boys’ trousers. About my brother Jack’s size. Do you carry those? And two new shirts also.”

  “I got ‘em. On that shelf over there.”

  Tarah thanked the storekeeper and headed in the direction he indicated.

  Originally she had toyed with the idea of getting Laney into a dress but dismissed the thought as quickly as it had come. She had the feeling if she tried, the girl would balk and refuse to wear the feminine garment. Next she had thought of asking Ma for some of Luke’s castoffs, usually given to Jack, but decided against that as well. She doubted Laney had ever owned new clothing, and she wanted the child to have something new, something no one else had ever worn.

  She rummaged through the shelves until she found two sturdy pairs of blue jeans that looked to be about Laney’s size and two shirts—one blue and one brown. On impulse, she grabbed some suspenders, just in case she had misjudged the size. Walking back to the counter, she spied a rack of coats. She glanced at the price and drew in her breath, mentally calculating how much of her meager earnings she would need to part with to buy one.

  Reluctantly she turned away, knowing she didn’t have enough to pay for the clothes and a new coat for Laney. The shirts were warm enough to shield the child from the cool autumn air for now, but Tarah knew Kansas weather. One day could be hot as July, and all of a sudden, a blizzard could blow up out of nowhere. But there was nothing she could do about it for the time being. With one last glance at the rack of coats, she turned to Mr. Tucker and set the items on the counter. “This is all, I suppose.”

  “I hate to pass up a sale, but you sure you need those shirts?” Mr. Tucker asked. “Your ma was just in here a few days ago buying material and buttons for new shirts all around. I recollect her mentioning she needed enough to get all her men through the winter.”

  “Yes. She’s busy sewing now,” Tarah replied, not wanting to give him more information than necessary.

  Mr. Tucker raised his bushy eyebrows and pursed his lips. “Sure ya want all that?”

  “Yes sir.” She averted her gaze, feigning interest in a jar of sourballs on the counter.

  “Okay, then. Should I put this on your pa’s account?”

  Tarah turned back to the storekeeper. “Oh no. I’m paying cash.”

  A curious frown etched his brow as he tallied the items and gave her the total.

  Tarah reached into her cloth bag and drew out the money. “Mr. Tucker, how much for that washtub hanging on the wall?”

  “Now hold on. Just what are you up to, young lady? I know your pa didn’t send you down here for these clothes and a washtub.”

  A sigh escaped her lips. “All right,” she said. “These things are for a needy child. But please don’t tell anyone.”

  “What needy child?”

  “Please, Mr. Tucker. Don’t ask. I’d rather not say.”

  “Humph.” He eyed her suspiciously. “These for the Jenkins boy? I’m telling you, they’ll never fit him. He’s about the size of your brother Luke.”

  Tarah gasped. She’d forgotten all about Ben. She drew in her lip, trying to decide how to proceed. She couldn’t really show up with clothing for one and not the other. She had never seen Ben but imagined he had nothing better to wear than Laney.

  She glanced down at the items still lying on the counter. One outfit each was better than what they had now. And she could come back next month and get another set.

  Snatching up one shirt and one pair of blue jeans, she walked back to the shelf containing the clothing items and selected a larger pair of jeans. Turning to Mr. Tucker, she held them up for his perusal. “Do you think these are about the right size for Ben?”

  Squinting, he studied the jeans, then nodded. “Yep. I’d say so.”

  “All right.” Tarah selected a shirt she thought might be the same size Luke wore and strode with purpose back to the counter. “One outfit each will have to do, I suppose.”

  “You buying trousers for the little girl, too?”

  “Yes sir. I doubt I could get her to wear a dress.”

  “Suppose you’re right about that.”

  “About the washtub, Mr. Tucker…”

  He smacked his hand down on the counter and scowled. “Now hold on just a minute.”

  Tarah drew a breath and steeled herself for the scolding she knew was forthcoming.

  “One set of duds ain’t enough for a couple of growing young’uns. Get on back over there and pick out another set for each of ‘em.”

  If he’d asked her to marry him, Tarah couldn’t have been more shocked, especially after her discussion with Anthony about Mr. Tucker’s attitude toward the children’s pa.

  “But…” Her face flushed hotly.

  “Go on and do as I say.”

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Tucker, but I only have enough money to pay for these and maybe the washtub, if it isn’t too much. You never gave me the price.”

  His scowl deepened. He marched over to the wall and grabbed the washtub, then stopped, snatching up two more sets of clothing, and flung the whole lot onto the counter. Next he moved to the rack of coats Tarah had been eyeing, chose two, and set those on the counter as
well. “Now anything else you can think of they might be needin’ to get through the winter?”

  “I—I really don’t know.” She also didn’t know how she would pay for the items piled up on the countertop. “D–do you think I could open an account?”

  “What for? Your pa already has one.”

  “No. I mean for me. In my name.”

  “I’d have to talk it over with your pa first,” he said. “He might not like the idea of your buying things on credit.”

  “Then, Mr. Tucker, I’m afraid you’ll have to put back the coats and one set of clothing for each child.”

  With a grunt, he began to fill a wooden crate with the items, completely ignoring her protests.

  Desperately Tarah offered him the few bills in her hand—every cent she had to her name. “Please, I’m trying to tell you I don’t have enough money for all of those things.”

  He stopped what he was doing and wagged a bony finger toward her nose. “Now look here, missy. I’m not takin’ one red cent from you. And that’s my final word on the matter.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “It’s no secret I don’t have much use for a man who won’t take care of his own. That Jenkins comes around here wanting credit for tobaccy and elixir when he can’t get liquor anywhere else, and he tries to get other useless things that won’t help those young’uns of his one bit. Oh, he’ll throw in a pound of beans or an egg or two, just to make it look like he’s trying to do for his family, but I know better. And I’m not givin’ him any more credit in my store. But these shirts and such are for them youngsters, and that’s different.” Apparently finished having his say, he resumed the task of packing the crate.

  Tears pooled in Tarah’s eyes. “Thank you, Mr. Tucker. The children will be grateful.”

  His gaze darted back to hers. “Now don’t be tellin’ anyone I wouldn’t take your money. Folks might come around lookin’ for a handout.”

  A smile tugged the corners of Tarah’s mouth. “My lips are sealed. I promise.”

  “Good. I’ll hold ya to that. Now let me carry these out to your wagon for ya.”

  Clapping a hand to her cheek, Tarah let out a groan. “I walked to school this morning.”

  “You mean you’re aimin’ to carry this stuff all the way to the Jenkins place?”

  “I—I didn’t really think about it.”

  With a shake of his head, he reached under the counter and produced a key. “Come with me.” A deep frown etched his brow, and his voice was close to a growl. “You can use my wagon, but bring it back tomorra.” He walked to the door, muttering to himself. “Gonna have to lock up the store and most likely lose customers while I hitch up the team. Women…”

  With great interest and more than a little curiosity, Anthony watched Tarah and Mr. Tucker cross the road and head toward the livery. The unlikely pair stood out like a snowy day in July. Mr. Tucker carried a crate in the crook of one thin arm and a bulky washtub in the other. Matching his stride, Tarah spoke with animated gestures, her face bright and smiling. Wishing he could hear their words, Anthony’s curiosity suddenly got the better of him.

  “Amos,” he called to the smithy, “I’ll be back in a minute.”

  The smithy nodded and resumed his pounding on a new pair of shoes for Anthony’s saddle horse.

  With purpose, Anthony strode the few yards to the livery and stepped inside. He found Tarah speaking pleasantly to Mr. Collins while Tucker hitched up his team.

  “Howdy, Preacher.” Mr. Collins glanced over Tarah’s shoulder and grinned. “How’s it goin’?”

  “Just fine.”

  A touch of pink tinged Tarah’s cheeks as she smiled a greeting. “What are you doing in town this time of day?”

  “My horse threw a shoe.” He jerked a thumb toward the smithy. “Amos is getting him all fixed up.”

  “All set.” Mr. Tucker grabbed the bridle of one of the horses and led his team toward the door.

  Tarah, Mr. Collins, and Anthony followed until they stood outside the livery.

  “Thank you,” Tarah said, beaming at the storekeeper. “I promise you’ll have your wagon back first thing in the morning. And thank you so much for—”

  Raising a weathered hand, Tucker gave her a stern frown. “Now we had a deal. Don’t go blabbing.”

  Lips twitching, Tarah nodded. “I almost spilled the beans, didn’t I? I’ll have to be more careful.”

  Anthony’s jaw dropped as she raised on tiptoes and brushed her lips to Tucker’s wrinkled face. Surprise lit the older man’s eyes, then a scowl deepened the lines on his face. “I don’t know where you got your manners, going around kissin’ people without bein’ invited.”

  A beguiling flush raced to Tarah’s cheeks. Anthony’s eyes flitted to her full mouth, and he suddenly wished that the kiss had been for him.

  Mr. Collins chortled. “Probably the first time you ever been kissed in your life, Tucker. Probably be the last time, too.” He gave Tarah a teasing wink. “If I’da known the pretty teacher was passing out kisses, I’da offered to let her use my wagon.”

  With an indignant snort, Mr. Tucker scowled. “There ain’t no need to embarrass the girl, Collins. Move on outta my way so’s I can help her into the wagon and get back to my store ‘fore I lose any more customers.”

  “Sure you don’t want me to help her?” Collins baited the old codger. “She might try to kiss you again.”

  Anthony’s chuckle earned him a reproving frown from Tarah, whose face now glowed red. Averting his gaze, he cleared his throat and tried to stop grinning, to no avail. He looked back at Tarah and shrugged an apology. The sight of Mr. Tucker’s outraged face was too much. Any moment, Anthony thought, the older man might call Collins out.

  Tarah finally found her voice. Her eyes sparked fire. “Gentlemen, I assure you I won’t be kissing Mr. Tucker again today. Furthermore, I am perfectly capable of getting myself into a wagon.” So saying, she hoisted herself up onto the seat and grabbed the reins. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll be on my way.”

  With a stubborn toss of her head, she flapped the reins and maneuvered the horses onto the cut-out road through town.

  “Now see what you went and did,” Mr. Tucker shot at the liveryman. “She’s madder’n a hornet.”

  Anthony stepped forward before another argument ensued. He clapped a hand on Tucker’s shoulder. “I’ll walk you across the street. I think I see someone trying to get into the store. You’d hate to lose a paying customer.”

  “True.” He gave Mr. Collins one last look and pointed a bony finger. “Now don’t you go blabbin’ about that kiss. No need to have folks talkin’.” Without waiting for an answer, he spun around and headed back to the mercantile.

  Anthony followed. “See you later, Mr. Collins,” he called over his shoulder. As soon as they were out of earshot, he turned to Tucker.

  “Mr. Tucker, I’ve been meaning to ask you a favor.”

  The elderly man glanced up, suspicion clouding his face. “What kind of favor, Preacher?”

  Anthony cleared his throat. “I was just thinking you might need some help around the store. With new people coming into town, I’ve noticed you’re getting busier all the time.”

  Mr. Tucker nodded. “That’s a fact. You lookin’ for another job? I heard preachin’s not goin’ too good for you.”

  Heat crept up Anthony’s neck. “The job wouldn’t be for me.”

  “Who, then?”

  “There’s a young man, a schoolboy actually, who lost his father last year. The family is in dire straits, so I was thinking maybe you could hire him to work here afternoons and Saturdays.”

  “That’s a fine idea, Preacher. Fact is, I been thinkin’ of hirin’ someone to clean up the place and help stock supplies. What’s this young feller’s name?”

  Anthony averted his gaze. “Jeremiah.”

  “That Daniels boy?” Mr. Tucker regarded Anthony as though he’d suddenly lost his mind. “You know as well as I do he’d rob me b
lind. That kid steals from me every time he steps through the door. If his ma wasn’t such a good woman, I’d have turned him over to the sheriff a long time ago.”

  “I know, Mr. Tucker, but maybe the boy just needs a man to look up to. A father figure of sorts.”

  Mr. Tucker let out a loud snort. “I ain’t never been no father, and I don’t need to start now.”

  “I know, but you are a good man. Just the sort of man a boy like Jeremiah can learn from.”

  The storekeeper seemed to consider it for a moment. “I’ll think on it, but I ain’t makin’ no promises.”

  “I appreciate it,” Anthony said.

  Mr. Tucker opened the door. “No tellin’ how many customers I lost while I hitched up the team for that girl,” he grumbled.

  “What’s Tarah doing with your wagon, anyway?”

  “Guess that’s her business.” Tucker gave him a sideways glance. “‘Course, it might not be a good idea for her to go out to the Jenkinses’ place all by herself. That fella’s a no-account if I ever met one.”

  “Tarah’s going out to the Jenkinses’ alone?”

  “Well, I couldn’t close my store and drive her out there, now, could I? I got customers countin’ on me.”

  A lump lodged in Anthony’s throat as images of a drunken Jenkins mauling Tarah invaded his mind.

  “I’m going after her.”

  “Might not be a bad idea, at that.”

  Anthony said a hurried good-bye and broke into a jog as he made his way back to the smithy, praying his horse was ready to go. Thankfully he found Dodger tied up and waiting for him when he got there. Mounting quickly, he glanced down at the smithy. “Put it on my account, Amos. I’m in a hurry.”

  “Sure thing, Anthony.”

  Anthony nudged the horse into a trot and headed toward the Jenkinses’ place. He nearly groaned when Louisa’s high-pitched voice hailed him from the porch of her parents’ home at the edge of town. “Yoo-hoo, Anthony.”

  Knowing he couldn’t pretend not to see her, Anthony heaved a sigh. He reined in Dodger, determined not to allow Louisa to keep him talking so long that Tarah would reach the soddy before he could catch up to her.