Libbie: Bride of Arizona (American Mail-Order Bride 48)

by Linda Carroll-Bradd

  Dell admired Skip’s patience with the mustang-breaking process. He’d done his turn for several seasons but witnessing his father’s crippling accident years earlier had solidified his decision to work with cattle. He preferred the calmer beasts that rarely got overexcited or bashed a rider into the side of a barn.

  Both men stepped into the bright fall sunlight and turned right toward the two-story house with a tidy flower bed lining the front of the deep veranda. Blossoms still clung to the pinkish verbena, and the air carried a sweet scent from a last profusion of white honeysuckle flowers. Sunday dinner was a family tradition his mother insisted upon so she could keep apprised of her children’s lives. Sometimes he wondered at the practice of a man almost twenty-six years of age appearing on his parents’ doorstep to take advantage of their larder. But he couldn’t deny his mother’s cooking was far superior to his own.

  One of the many reasons he’d decided the time was right to acquire a wife. The most pressing one occurred when his housekeeper deserted him to tend a family emergency. Because the Hemmings hadn’t known the extent of the illness, Ted decided to make the move with his wife. The change left Dell without a foreman as well. A little more than two weeks had passed since he’d been on his own, but the time seemed much longer. He could barely stand the grumbling from his cowhands whenever he delivered a meal of watery stew or charred steaks to the bunkhouse. At least, hiring a cook had solved that problem.

  The screen door opened just as the men approached the wooden steps. “Dell, glad you’re here.” Maida smiled and waved her brothers forward.

  At twenty-two, Maida presented a picture of health with a curvy figure, bright hazel eyes, and a glow to her skin. “Today’s Sunday, isn’t it?” He raised an eyebrow and fought back a grin. “I’m not ill nor am I traveling, so where else would I be?” He swept his upturned palms outward from the sides of his body.

  Maida’s brows drew low, and she glanced over her shoulder. “Hush, don’t let Mama hear you. She’d be crushed to learn you view coming here as a chore.”

  Dell leaned forward to tap a finger on his younger sister’s nose. “Don’t you know a jest when you hear one?”

  Smiling, she gave his shoulder a playful slap. “Oh, you.”

  The three walked through the modestly furnished house to the kitchen that ran the width of the back of the house. Dell glanced through the windows at the rough granite mountains and scrub trees mixed with an occasional saguaro cactus that he’d seen almost his entire life. The raw landscape always made him pause in admiration.

  A clack came from his right, and he turned to see his mother removing a pan of golden-topped rolls from the oven. “Smells great, as usual, Mom.”

  “Better wash those hands, because the food’s just about ready.”

  Dell looked over his shoulder and raised an eyebrow at Skip. Adult men being told what to do? He lifted his hands and sniffed. Sparky’s scent clung to his skin. He walked to the sink, grabbed the lump of soap in one hand, and gave the pump handles a couple strokes. As he worked up a sudsy lather, he eyed the water pump then stilled. Would his new bride expect this same setup? Or would she be content with the pump on the back porch like at his house at the Bar S Ranch? Doubt settled over his thoughts as he reached for a towel. Why hadn’t he listened when his ex-housekeeper Daisy had complained about the extra steps she walked each day while doing chores?

  The back door closed with a thud and in walked the family patriarch. “Dell, good to see you. How’s things at the ranch?” William walked to the sink, his limp a bit more pronounced toward the end of the day.

  Better not bring up the subject of the half-dozen missing cattle that Dell suspected had been rustled. “Got to admit I’m missing the Hemmings more than I anticipated.” His jaw tightened, and he pulled out a chair and plopped down. “Ted had the routine and assignments set, and nothing changed. Now, the hands are acting like this situation is an opportunity to switch up their duties. I’m hearing more than I want to about the work habits of the men I employ.” Dell glanced at his father’s shaking shoulders and knew he bit back a chuckle.

  When he turned, rubbing a towel over his clean hands, William Stirling displayed no such humor. He pinched tight his lips before speaking. “All part of being the boss, son.”

  Hazel carried the platter heavy with a sizzling roast and placed it at the head of the table where five plates were stacked. “Take your seats, please, everyone.”

  Dell scooted his chair close and glanced at the food resting in his mother’s painted earthenware dishes. Beef, mashed potatoes and gravy, carrots, and rolls—one of his favorite meals.

  After the blessing, William carved slices of meat and set them onto plates that were passed around the table. The next several minutes were spent in silence as everyone served portions onto their plates and tasted the delicious food. Inconsequential topics of weather and prices at the mercantile filled the air.

  When his plate was half empty, Dell figured the time was right to share his news.

  Maida set down her water glass and then turned to her left. “Dell, are you coming to town for the Harvest Dance next Saturday night?”

  Dang, he’d plumb forgotten about that event. But a community activity sounded like a great opportunity. This might be the opening I need. He cleared his throat.

  “Well, I heard Guy from the Bar S asked to escort Miss Lydia Farnell from the millinery shop.” Maida’s eyes lit up as she glanced around the table. “And there’s a music competition with prizes put up by the Goldwater and the Bashford & Burmister general stores.”

  “Prize money ought to bring in lots of competitors.” Hazel held up the bowl of potatoes. “Seconds, anyone?”

  Skip leaned back, hooking an elbow around the chair’s upright. “I’d heard that, too. Thought I’d bring along my harmonica and participate, if the mood strikes.”

  “Sure, Mom, pass down the bowl.” Dell held out his hand.

  “Mama, do we have time to spruce up my green calico and make it look a bit fresher?” Maida shook her head over an offer of more potatoes.

  “Maida, don’t get started on laces, ribbons, buttons, or all that fancy stuff. You and Mom can save that talk for later.” Shaking his head, Skip rested a forearm on the table. “Dad, you ought to consider playing your fiddle.”

  William chuckled. “You think so?”

  Conversations swirled about Dell, and he ducked his head to focus on trickling gravy over his potato mound. Nothing of what was being said was extraordinary, but the easy-going exchanges resulted from years of familiarity. With one decision, Dell would be changing this dynamic—forever. This dinner was possibly the very last time his family would exist as he now knew it. For several seconds, he glanced around at his loved ones then ran patterns with his fork through the dark gravy. Why on earth hadn’t he asked their opinions before making a decision that would expand the Stirling family?

  All of a sudden, Dell realized the voices had grown silent. He glanced up to see the others staring in his direction. “What did I miss?”

  “Something wrong with my food?” Hazel eyed his plate and met his gaze, an eyebrow cocked upward.

  “No, ma’am.” He scooped up a heaping forkful and shoved it in his mouth, forcing a tight-lipped smile.

  “You got awful quiet after I mentioned the dance.” Maida touched a striped napkin to her lips.

  Dell ate one more bite which almost caught in his dry throat and then pushed his plate toward the center of the table. “I do have an announcement. But now that the time is here, maybe Mom should serve the pie and coffee before I share the news.”

  “I’ll decide when I’m ready to do that.” Hazel grabbed a roll and broke it in two, her blue eyes narrowing. “Maybe I’m still eating.”

  Nervous energy flooded him and Dell stood, moving behind the seat and holding tight to the top rung of the ladderback chair. “Well, I guess you’d say congratulations are in order. At least, most folks usually offer theirs at a time like this.”
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  “Best to come out with it, son.” William spoke in a low tone.

  Dell winced at the commanding note in his father’s voice. After taking a deep breath, he turned toward his sister. “To answer your earlier question, I will be attending the Harvest Dance. Although this year, I won’t be hanging around on the perimeter of the gathering with the other bachelors and widowers.” Sudden anxiety attacked him and he had to swallow hard against a tight throat. “This year, I’ll be escorting my new bride, Libbie.”

  Silence reigned for several seconds, and then voices erupted, one person talking over the other.

  “Who is—?”

  “What about—?”

  “When was—?”

  “How did—?”

  Dell held up his hands and waited for them to stop, struggling not to react to their shock. “She’s coming in from Chicago on Bullock’s train and should be here on Tuesday, Wednesday at the latest.”

  “Wednesday of this week?” Hazel sat forward and stared wide-eyed.

  “Yes, whenever the spur line arrives. You know the schedule is somewhat erratic.”

  “Dell, how did you ever meet a woman who lives in Chicago?” Maida turned in her chair to stare, her brows wrinkled tight.

  Now that the announcement was made, he felt a bit light-headed so he slid back into his seat. “Actually, she lived in Boston, but Chicago is where she changed railroad lines.”

  William cleared his throat. “Perhaps you should start at the beginning and tell us everything.”

  “Oh, not to worry. I’m not letting the boy leave here today without knowing each and every detail.” Hazel leaned back and crossed her arms over her middle.

  Dell winced at his mother’s use of “the boy”—a term that meant he or Skip were in hot water. His dad was always the logical one, but his mom’s curiosity ruled her. “The idea took root when Ted gave notice of his and Daisy’s departure from the Bar S to work her folks’ land in Colorado Territory during her pa’s illness. I sent them off with my best wishes, but their absences created a big hole in my ranch operation. At the same time, I know my strengths and weaknesses, and keeping house is not one of my strengths.”

  Hazel snorted and then rolled a hand in the air for him to continue.

  “So I thought about my situation. I’m a man in good health with a ranch that provides an adequate living. Thanks to you folks, the house and the outbuildings are sturdy and well-built. I’m strong, a hard worker, and have a good head for business.” As he spoke, he glanced around at his family, making brief eye contact with each. “More than one young lady has mentioned I’m handsome.”

  “And modest…don’t forget that.” Skip chuckled then twisted fingers over his lips in a locking motion.

  If only Skip would keep quiet. Dell knew he was due for a bit of ribbing about this decision when they were away from their parents’ house. “No woman in town has captured my fancy, at least not like we’ve always heard Dad wax on about the way Mom caught his.”

  “What about Trudy Mathieson?” Hazel spoke up. “I always thought you two were sweet on each other.”

  Dell scoffed at the notion of him and Trudy as a couple. Sure they’d shared a few kisses, and he carved their initials in a tree by the creek years ago. “When we were about fifteen or sixteen. But that was puppy love.”

  “I’m not so sure”—Maida reached out a hand but pulled it back—“um, never mind. Please continue, Dell. What’s her full name, and what’s she like?”

  “Easier for me to read aloud the letter she sent, actually it was a telegram.” He stood and dug the envelope from his back pants pocket.

  “A telegram? That’s costly. So maybe she’s not a gold-digger.”

  Hazel snapped around her head. “Skipton Stirling, watch your tongue.”

  Skip raised his eyebrows and fanned his open palms in front of his body but remained silent.

  “How did she know where to write you?” William scooted his chair sideways to the table and crossed an ankle over the opposite leg.

  “I placed an ad in a newsletter called the Grooms’ Gazette. Months ago on a business trip, I saw a similar publication in Phoenix.” Plus he’d overheard a recent conversation at the Cabinet Saloon about a rancher out in Chino Valley who was quite happy with the wife he’d acquired this way.

  Maida’s sigh lasted a couple of seconds. “So, she’s a mail-order bride.”

  Just like his sister to go all dewy-eyed. He guessed mail-order was the appropriate term, but he didn’t like it much. Dell unfolded the telegraph office stationery that by now had well-worn creases. Hoping to make her words flow better, he omitted the ‘stops’ at the end of each sentence.

  “Dear Mr. Stirling, Your ad in the Grooms’ Gazette caught my eye above all the others.”

  He paused and glanced up to see if anyone would comment on that statement. This first line was his very favorite.

  “I, too, have an affinity for animals. In fact, I’ve spent a good portion of my life on my family’s Australian cattle stations.”

  “Australia? I thought you said she’s from Boston.” Skip pointed an accusing finger.

  “I’m reading what the lady in question wrote.” Dell shook the paper. “Let me finish.” Then he glanced down to find his place.

  “I’ve helped with branding, herding, and calving. I sling a mean loop, and my boomerang-throwing skill is proficient.”

  He rested a finger on the foreign word and looked up. “I’m not sure what she means here.”

  “At twenty-one years old, I’m not a stranger to hard work. I enjoy all types of music and feel most at home in natural settings, especially warmer climates. My circumstances have become unsettled, and I will relocate immediately. Miss Libbie Van Eycken.”

  Aware of tightness invading his shoulders, Dell flexed them before lowering the paper to the table and waited.

  “Now, I’ll get the pie and coffee.” Hazel reached for Skip’s plate and stacked it on top of hers as she stood. Her lips pinched tight, and she studied Dell for a long moment before turning away.

  “Mama, I’ll help.” Maida shot to her feet, cleared Dell’s plate, and reached for the bowl of carrots. “No one says another word until we return.” Then she scurried toward the kitchen.

  Good. Dell needed time to think. He knew while the women were absent, none of the men would exchange a single word. As he’d read Libbie’s words aloud, he suddenly realized how very few details she’d included. In his ad, he’d requested an experienced cook and housekeeper, but Libbie mentioned neither of those skills. Nor had she described what about her circumstances had changed. Why hadn’t he noticed these omissions before? Since hers was the only response he’d received, he’d counted himself lucky that she understood a rancher’s life. Maybe he’d been too hasty.

  A buzz of whispered discussion filtering from the kitchen abruptly stopped. Then Hazel walked into the room carrying a tray holding plates, cups, a golden-crusted pie, and a crystal sugar and creamer set.

  Following her, Maida carried the speckled coffeepot, her hands protected with cloth pads. The cups were set on saucers and then arranged in a line at the edge of the table. She filled the cups, set down the pot within reach, and distributed the coffee.

  Dell spotted his sister’s sideways glances and knew she was dying to start in on the questions. As the youngest, she’d have to let the others go first. He waited until everyone had been served. “Ask what you will.” Before the barrage came, he closed his lips around a bite of pie. His mother’s apple pie tasted as good as ever, the sweet-tangy taste laced with spices lingering on his tongue.

  “The telegram is your only correspondence?” William looked over the rim of his steaming coffee cup.

  “Not only, but the first one. My response was to send money through Western Union for transportation and traveling incidentals.”

  Skip’s gaze narrowed. “What’s your recourse if she takes the money and runs?”

  “When did you get so cynical?” Dell glared
at his brother, irritation tightening his muscles. “Do her words sound like she’s a young woman only interested in money?”

  Skip dropped his gaze, but his frown didn’t relax. “No, they don’t.”

  The need to defend her rose in Dell. During the evenings since receiving the telegram, he re-read the message several times and had created an image of them working side-by-side to develop the ranch. Of course, he’d never actually pictured her face, because he didn’t know which physical details to ascribe to his future bride. But he had a sense of a congenial bond forming between them for the betterment of his holdings. “The second communication was another telegram, this time from Chicago.”

  “Dell…” Hazel spoke then waited.

  With reluctance, he angled his head and met his mother’s serious gaze. “Yes?”

  “What is your plan here?”

  “My plan?” His gut clenched. Why did he feel like he’d walked into a standoff without his sidearm? “Meet Libbie at the train, then we’ll go to the church, get married, and head out to the ranch.”

  Maida gasped, covering her mouth.

  “Did you think your family would like to be invited so they could be present at this momentous event in your life? That your mother and sister might have needed a bit more notice in case they wanted to stitch new dresses?” She sat back, her right hand clenched on the tabletop. “Did you even consider providing a meal that would serve to introduce this young woman to your loved ones and celebrate your wedding?”

  To be frank, he hadn’t. Not a single one of those ideas had crossed his mind. He’d looked at the arrangement more like a business deal to be completed. If, upon better acquaintance, they developed feelings for one another, that condition would be an added benefit. eemed he had more to learn about women than he’d thought.

  Chapter Three

  Libbie hurried as she walked beside the tracks of the Boston to Albany Railroad, moving forward from the freight cars. She brushed away several pin feathers from the front of her black skirt. On the platform, she paused and pulled the ticket from her reticule, glancing at the stamped destination: Albany, New York. The first step toward my future.