by Annie Boone
Secrets and Trust
Annie Boone
A Mail Order Bride Short Story
This is a work of fiction. All characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this story are products of the author’s imagination. Any misrepresentation or discrepancies about the places or history are research or interpretation errors by the author.
For more information about the author, Annie Boone, check out her website.
http://www.AnnieBoone.com
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter One
“Ossie, would you please ask my parents to come into the parlor now?” Annabelle Turlington began, as she stood up from the table in the kitchen where she had eaten dinner with the servants. Although such behavior was considered highly inappropriate, she much preferred Ossie and Hank's pleasant company over the lonesome formality of the dining room. Annabelle remembered well the last time her parents had joined her for the evening meal. Six months after Rosalie died, she found some of her poetry in the bottom of her sewing basket. Thinking to cut through the melancholia that hung over their home like dirty fog she invited her parent's into the parlor for a recitation. It was a complete disaster. Annabelle would never forget how her father's face had contorted into rage as he snatched the pages from her hand.
“How dare you,” John Turlington had shouted. “These are Rosalie's poems. You are not to touch her things. Ever!” Since that day, Annabelle had been forbidden from entering Rosalie's room. What comfort they could have drawn from each other as a family was denied to Annabelle. Effie Turlington spent her days in her room, saying her headaches were so intolerable she could not abide idle chatter. John Turlington devoted his time to his gentleman's club, The Green Lodge, drinking away his sorrow over the loss of his daughter. Annabelle knew her twin would want them to be happy. Rosalie had been like sunshine, softly shining on everyone. Chores were always bearable when Rosalie told her funny stories or sang silly songs while they worked together.
“Miss Annabelle,” she heard as from a great distance, “your parents are coming. Time to quit wool gathering,” said Ossie, placing a comforting hand on Annabelle's arm.
“Yes, Ossie, it is time to look into the future,” Annabelle replied, giving the older woman a quick hug. Without Ossie and Hank, she thought, I would have been truly alone. They are my true family.
“Now what is this about, Annabelle?” John Turlington demanded as he entered the parlor with Effie at his side. “Your mother is too ill to be traipsing about the house like this.”
“Papa, I needed to speak to both of you, and I wanted to do it here, in Rosalie's favorite room,” Annabelle indicated with a sweep of her hand. The beautiful mauve and gray flocked walls accentuated the large stone fireplace and cream sofa and chairs. “This is where we played charades with our friends and heard Rosalie's awful poetry recitations. I feel close to her here.”
“Don't you dare speak of your sister that way,” John thundered, “Show the respect she deserves!”
“Oh Papa,” Annabelle lamented, “Rosalie would tell you herself that she wrote that poetry for amusement. She loved to make others smile and laugh. If we are living our lives in her honor what a sorry memorial we have become.”
Effie spoke up, “What do you wish to discuss, Annabelle? I am so tired of these theatrics from you, and I am ready to go back to my room.” Annabelle viewed her mother with compassion. Her high bustled green dress, while the height of fashion, only emphasized how shrunken her mother had become in the five years since her sister's death.
“Well then, since you feel the need to hurry, I’ll not linger with details.” Annabelle took a deep breath and looked up at the ornate ceiling. Then she blurted out, “I have accepted a proposal of marriage.”
“You deceitful child,” John bellowed, his face turning red. “It is not for you to say who you marry. That is my decision to make for you. I am your father!”
“Oh, Papa!” Annabelle cried, as she nervously twisted the folds of her dress. “I would have been content for you to make a match for me. However, I just turned twenty, and I am so ready to start my life. Our home knows no joy. We don't entertain guests or even speak to one another every day any longer. I am dreadfully lonesome.”
“Tell me who has offered for your hand, Annabelle. There is only a handful of men hereabouts who would be suitable since the war ended. I want to know of the man who has such low character he cannot ask me for your hand himself. Why did he have you do it for him?” John insisted as he went to the sideboard to refill his cup.
“It is no one here,” Annabelle explained, “I found a copy of The Tranquil Matrimony Company at Hudson's General Store. I submitted an advert of myself. These past three months I have corresponded with a cattle rancher named Judd MacIntyre. He and his brother own five hundred acres in Cheyenne, Wyoming. They relocated there after the horrors of the war. I believe our merciful Father in heaven has allowed us to find one another. Furthermore,” she gulped, “I believe we should all move there. There is no greater medicine for wounded spirits than a new adventure and it would be honoring Rosalie to live our lives to the uttermost.”
Now her mother spoke up, “How do you know you are suitably matched, Annabelle, what if this Judd MacIntyre character has deceived you?”
“Mama, I have considered all of that, I have prayed over this match, and I feel I must go. I believe I am called to go. Also, Mr. MacIntyre has sent tickets for all of us. We are to ride the stagecoach from Atlanta to Cheyenne. Those are not the actions of a dishonest man. If you and Papa will come for the wedding it would be such a blessing,” Annabelle ended pleadingly.
“This will not stand,” John said, knocking the whiskey decanter to the floor. “No daughter of mine will sell herself in a catalog like a plow for a mule. There is time aplenty to find a suitable match here where the men are respectable and successful.”
Annabelle cried out, “Oh, Papa, how Rosalie's heart would break, you taught us to think like you, as a barrister does, logically and critically. Now you allow liquor and those degenerate acquaintances of yours at that accursed club to separate you from the love of the family you have left. Forgive me that I have spoken harshly, yet the time has come for change. You need to hear the truth. I beg you and mother to accompany me.”
“Well, Annabelle,” her father interjected impatiently, sounding like the successful barrister he once was. “Young girls are not equipped to make these kinds of decisions. If you insist on this marriage against my will, you will stay in your room and out of my sight until the time of your departure. Neither your mother nor I will deal with you unless you abandon this nonsense. This man will break you with that heathen climate and grubbing farm work like you have never experienced. You have no idea what you’re getting yourself into, Annabelle, and I will have no part of it. And it’s preposterous to think that I would drag your lovely mother to a God forsaken waste land to follow you in your impulsiveness. Wyoming, indeed.“
John grabbed Annabelle's arm and marched her out of the parlor to the winding staircase, “After what you did to Rosalie, taking the buggy out in a raging storm when I had expressly forbidden it, causing the death of your own sister,” he placed his face right up to Annabelle's. “You should be grateful to even have a home. You are fortunate I didn’t disown you! And you broke your mother’s heart!” His hand tightened on her arm, and the pain was getting worse.
Annabelle twisted away from her father and was able t
o retreat from his grip. Her mother was entering the grand hallway and saw the interaction between her daughter and her husband. She tried to go to her daughter’s side, but John held her back. Annabelle escaped and ran sobbing up the stairs. What she had feared all these years was true after all; her parents blamed her for Rosalie's death.
Her decision to go to Wyoming and marry Mr. Judd MacIntyre had been made already, but any doubts about that decision had been expertly dispelled by her father’s ugly tirade. She had hoped that their relationships could be restored, but it did appear that healing was not meant to be.
Chapter Two
When Annabelle stepped out of the Concord Coach she had traveled so far in, she was immediately relieved to be away from the other passengers. They had been crowded in together for the complete journey, and Mrs. Josephine Gentry had used Annabelle as a pillow for innumerable miles. She had been uncomfortable all the way from Atlanta to Cheyenne.
After so many years of solitude, she was shocked at the rowdiness of the city before her. There were billiard halls, saloons, and rough looking characters everywhere. Annabelle trusted in God's grace to keep her safe, but this was surely the ugliest town she had ever seen. Most of the trees were bare, and only scraggly bushes half starved for water poked up from the landscape.
Judd MacIntyre himself was to meet her here at the station, but she saw no one matching his description. She was slightly concerned, but she continued to wait. There was a rugged looking man in a cowboy hat with a team of horses and a wagon standing in the street. Finally, he approached her and she straightened her spine. “I swore I would love him even if he looked like a toad frog,” Annabelle mumbled aloud reminding herself of why she was here.
“Pardon me, ma’am, are you, Miss Annabelle Turlington?” the fellow asked, bringing with him the earthy smells of horse and manure.
“I am,” she replied, “I have just traveled hundreds of miles in a swaying box, and I feel I am still moving. Are you Mr. Judd MacIntyre?”
As he looked shyly at her face, Annabelle saw that beneath the grime he had lovely dimples and wide cheekbones. He had the potential to be quite handsome. She was relieved. Thank you, Lord, she thought.
“That's me, Miss Annabelle, I am so glad to make your acquaintance. I apologize for my looks, and my, um, smell,” he smiled awkwardly. “We were branding cattle and I didn't have time to get into my best bib and tucker. My vaqueros will help me load your trunks.” Judd chuckled when he saw she didn't know what a vaquero was. “That means cowboy, Miss Annabelle, and I couldn't ask for a better bunch. When I started out, I was green as they come. Mateo showed me the ropes. He lives at Circle M with his family. We have our own little community there since we are so far from the city, such as it is,” he added, looking at a drunken fella trying to open the door of a saloon. ”Why don't we get your land legs back with the best steak in Wyoming. Sally's Place also makes some fine apple cobbler.”
Annabelle had never gone to lunch with a gentleman caller, or even to dances at home in Atlanta. After Rosalie's death, there was no socializing allowed. Their friends became distant memories when they finally gave up on keeping up the one-sided friendships. Her father’s bitterness had ruined everything.
Although she was as nervous as a cat on a hot tin roof, she resolved to buck up and enjoy herself. She was going to learn how to behave around a man. “That sounds good Mr. MacIntyre, I could eat a horse.”
Judd looked at Annabelle's chestnut brown hair and sparkling green eyes. She wore a little hat with ridiculous blue feathers bobbing in the wind. He had known from her letters she was spirited and kind. Now he saw as he guided her down the wooden boardwalk to Sally's Place that she was cultured and beautiful, too. “Please call me Judd,” he smiled.
They made it over to Sally’s Place and were seated at a cozy table in the corner. Judd excused himself to try to wash up at least a little before lunch. When he returned to the table, his face was washed, his hair was a little less unruly, and he didn’t smell so bad. Annabelle looked at him and smiled appreciatively.
As they waited for their meals to arrive, Judd asked Annabelle why her parents hadn't come with her. He couldn't imagine letting his daughter make such a trip alone. Thankfully, Annabelle's journey had been uneventful; there were many others making that trip who hadn't been so lucky. Bandits were a real problem in the West and stagecoaches were often waylaid for the valuable packages they carried. “Had I known you would be traveling alone, I would have sent someone to make the trip with you,” he said quietly. As he shared these thoughts, Annabelle started smiling.
“We aren't even married yet and you are already concerned about me. I find that very comforting,” she teased.
Judd's face blushed red, and he took a sip of his sweet tea, as he imagined Annabelle in her bridal gown. She was going to make a most beautiful bride. He knew some of the horror stories about mail order brides. He’d heard of women who had cashed in their travel tickets for the cash, never to be heard from again. There were others who did come to Cheyenne to marry, but with no desire to help their new spouses in this often brutal frontier. Judd said a silent prayer for his good fortune with Miss Annabelle Turlington. He hoped the goodness would continue.
“My mother is too ill to make the trip right now,” Annabelle explained, omitting the details of the terrible disagreement between her and her father. The memories were too fresh, knowing she was blamed for the accident that took Rosalie's life was almost more than she could bear. Since the night her sister died, she had felt her absence like a missing limb. To have your identical twin torn from you was a special kind of grief. Judd only knew she had a sister who died young, not all the details. Annabelle had never spoken the whole story to a living soul. Perhaps one day she would be able to share her burden with Judd, but until then it would remain as a heavy and unwelcome ache in her heart.
“I'm right sorry your mother is sick,” Judd said kindly, as right then the door crashed open and a man with the longest mustache Annabelle had ever seen burst in.
“I knew you were in here, MacIntyre,” the man said, striding over to their table.
“It wasn't a secret Samuel,” Judd answered calmly, as the imposing figure towered over them. “Our business is done, Samuel, move along.”
“You accused me of cattle rustling; now I can’t get a job nowhere. I want a reckoning with you. Loaded pistols at thirty yards, last man standing is the feller that told the truth,” he exclaimed, as he smoothed his mustache. “Next Saturday at four in the afternoon, right in front of Earl's Mercantile.”
“I won't be a part of that, my brother caught you red-handed, and that is the end of the matter,” Judd asserted, standing up to face the irate man, “But if I find out you had anything to do with Red Deer's disappearance,” Judd vowed, “I will see you hang.”
Just then Annabelle saw the man that had come in unnoticed right behind Samuel.
“I'll take that challenge,” he stated flatly, “after all, I’m the man that caught you,” and Annabelle realized this had to be Judd's younger brother, Matthew.
***
Two hours later Annabelle and all her trunks were deposited at the lovely home of Consuela Rodrigo, the cook for the big house. Although the house was small it was freshly painted white and inside were a number of Indian pots and even a rain stick. Annabelle marveled at the intricately woven blankets and what Consuela called dream catchers on the walls of the small bedroom that was to be hers.
“My husband was Ojibwe. These are his creations, and they’re meant to stop the bad dreams,” she explained.
“Your home is so warm and inviting,” Annabelle replied. “Perhaps your husband could show me how to make these dream catchers. I have never seen anything like them. They’re wonderful.”
“Red Deer is dead,” Consuela answered, as she put her long black hair into a braid that she pinned on top of her head, “Many people did not like an Indian and a Mexican marrying. We came here to Judd's ra
nch because he treated us like the Bible teaches. My Red Deer has been missing for two weeks, if he was alive, he would have made it back home by now. Mr. Matthew and I believe Samuel Hofner ambushed Red Deer. He went missing two days after Matthew fired him but without a body we have no proof,” she said calmly. “That is the most horrible thing I have ever heard,” Annabelle gasped. “How are you so calm, I would be beside myself with grief.”
“This truth I tell you,” the older woman said, laying her work-roughened hand on Annabelle's cheek, “I believe the Bible, and I know justice will be served. If not in this life then surely in the next.”
“Since Judd and Matthew left so quickly, it falls on me tell you,” Annabelle said, “Hofner challenged Judd to a duel; he refused. Matthew stepped in and accepted. The wagon ride here to the ranch was very tense. I begged Matthew to reconsider, and Judd said he would hogtie him before he let his little brother ride off to be killed by scum. I am afraid of what will happen, but Matthew doesn't seem to care. Please help me understand what is happening, Mrs. Rodrigo.” Annabelle pleaded.
“First, my dear, call me Abuela, it means grandmother in Spanish. I feel like God sent you here to help Judd and Matthew, they are like my own bambinos, my kids. I will talk sense into Matthew's hard head. But first we will go over and make tortillas with rice and beans for supper,” she said as they walked to the big house. Everywhere Annabelle looked the grass was brown, and the land was flat. Tall mountains were in the distance, but they were too far away to affect the ground they lived on. It was all so different from Georgia. She prayed she could come to love this sparse, scrubby land.
