Shameful Celia (The Mail Order Brides of Boot Creek Book 3)

by Carré White

  “Ha! Not likely. I’ll marry someone like Walter Holter, who won’t spend a dime on me.” We wandered down the boardwalk, past darkened shops that had drawn their shades.

  “You never did say how lunch went. I’ve been meaning to ask you.”

  “It was a disaster, but the soup was good.”

  He chortled, “You like all food.”

  “Indeed I do.”

  “I told you Mr. Holter was a poor choice. You’d live a life of misery.”

  “I feel horrible for his children, but I got my own to worry about shortly.” I patted my belly. “I’d never throw Noah into a situation like that. Call me selfish, but I’d like to ease into a big family by having one child at a time.”

  “That sounds reasonable.” We neared the alleyway between the mercantile and the Men’s Emporium. His hand clamped down around my arm. “It’s dark here. I don’t want you tripping over rubbish.”

  The alleyway had been free of refuse, but it seemed someone had deposited crates and smelly burlap sacks stuffed with Lord only knew what. “That’s a shame. It was clear earlier.”

  “They use it as a rubbish heap. There are times when I wish we had access through the front door.” We stepped over bottles and tin cans, although it was impossible to tell exactly what it was in the darkness. “I organize a town clean up every week, so this will be on the list.”

  “Where do you put everything?”

  “We load it onto carts and drive it to out a distance. We leave it in the desert.”

  I stepped in something wet. “It smells terrible.”

  “Yes, like urine.” No sooner had he said that than something dark jumped before us, the figure of a man appearing. I screamed, while Nicolas pushed me behind him. “What is this about?” he asked angrily.

  “Gimme yer money!” the stranger rasped. “All of it.”

  “I’m Pastor Kinsley, and this is Mrs. Wellington, who is with child. We ask that you let us pass.”

  “Money! Gimme money!”

  The shock of having been accosted had worn off, as my instincts took over. The need to protect my child and myself ran hot through my veins. I could run in the other direction and avoid the confrontation all together, but that would leave Nicolas with our attacker, who seemed insistent on causing trouble. A bottle rolled at my feet, and I picked it up, planning on using it for defense.

  “I haven’t got any money on me,” said Nicolas. “I’m sorry. If you’re in need of a meal, the hotel gives away its unused portions every evening, after the dining room closes.”

  “I know that! I want money!”

  It was then that I saw the glint of a blade. The man held a knife! “Oh, drat,” I muttered.

  “Please, put that down, sir. I’m a man of God, and this woman is in my care. Please stand aside, and let us pass.”

  “I’m not gonna say it again. I want money! I don’t care one wit who you are or who she is. Empty yer pockets!”

  “I’ve got nothing for you.” There was movement, as the vagrant lunged for Nicolas, who stepped out of the way, but not soon enough.

  “Arrrggg…!” he roared, swiping at the air, heedless of what he might strike.

  Gripping the bottle, I swung as well, catching the man in the arm, which dislodged the knife. The weapon flew through the air, landing with a clink behind several crates. Not satisfied with this result, I continued to swing, hitting him against the side of the head, which smashed the bottle on contact, breaking into sharp shards.

  “That’ll teach you, mister! Now you go away, and don’t come back!” Holding the side of his face, he dashed down the alleyway cursing up a blue streak. “Serves you right!” I shouted. I turned to Nicolas. “Did he get you?”

  “Yes.” He grabbed my arm, propelling me towards the end of the lane. Once we had emerged, we stood in the yard of the Men’s Emporium, with its gardened vegetable patch a few feet away. He drew me into his arms, holding me close. “You’re a wild woman, Mrs. Wellington.”

  Stunned by the intimacy, I leaned into him, inhaling his pleasing scent deep into my lungs. Closing my eyes, I thanked God for sending calamity in the form of a thieving street urchin. Because of the attack, I was now safely in Nicolas’s arms, exactly where I wanted to be.

  Chapter 11

  “Let’s get inside,” he murmured, pulling away.

  I gazed into his face. “Where are you hurt?”

  He moved towards the door. “I’ll show you. Come along.” Following him into the building, we took the stairs to the second floor, finding the hallway dimly lit. He opened the door to his abode, stepping into the darkened room, while I closed it behind us. After lighting a lamp, he turned to me. “That was incredibly brave, Celia. I can’t believe you did that.”

  “A girl’s gotta protect herself.” I shrugged, closing the distance between us. “Where are you hurt?” He seemed fine, but if he bled it would be impossible to tell through the darkly colored frock coat.

  Removing the jacket, he draped it over a chair. Blood had stained his striped blue and white shirt. “I got it here.” He pointed to his shoulder. “I hope it’s just a nick, but we shall see. Do you mind having a look?”

  Appalled that he had been stabbed, I approached, making him sit. “Let’s get it this off, so I can see. It’s not bleeding very badly. I’ve seen worse.”

  “You have?”

  “Lloyd was always getting gored by something, so yes. Sewn him up more times than I can count.” Seeing Nicolas as helpless as he was, although I suspected he wasn’t mortally wounded, had unleashed feelings of affection so strong, I fought the urge to wrap my arms around his neck. He sat still while I peeled away the shirt, exposing a ragged cut just below the shoulder joint. “Do you have some whiskey? We need to clean this out. I need a rag too. You’re bleeding worse now.”

  “Use a dish towel.”

  Snatching the towel, I began to dab at his arm. “It might need some stitching. I have needle and thread in my room.”

  “Whiskey is beneath the sink.”

  “All right.” I found it next to a tin of lard. Unscrewing the top, I poured a splash onto the wounded flesh, as he grimaced. “There we go.” He had not taken the shirt off completely, only having freed one arm. “The blood will ruin your clothing. You should take that off, so I can soak it in water.”

  “If you insist.” The material was in his hands a moment later. “Here you are.”

  I stared at him, marveling at the small patches of blondish hair on his chest, which tapered towards a lean waist. “You hold this here, and I’ll soak that.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He grinned. “I can’t stop thinking about what happened. You’re quite a force to be reckoned with. I think I underestimated you.”

  Leaving the shirt in the sink, I filled the tub with water. “I lived on a farm, miles from nowhere. I can take care of myself.” The incident had bothered me, but it was to be expected living in town, especially if one was foolish enough to venture down an alleyway in the dark. “I need my sewing kit. I’ll be back in a moment. Keep the wound covered.”

  “I will.”

  Hurrying from his apartment, I went to mine, unlocking the door and finding my traveling bag. Retrieving the small sewing kit, which was nothing more than a leather pouch filled with needles and thread, I returned to Nicolas, who smiled when he saw me.

  “All right. Here we go. You only need a stitch or two, so this won’t hurt too bad.”

  “Thank you, Celia.”

  “Think nothing of it, but you really should carry a gun.”

  “I’ve been contemplating it.”

  “I know you’re a man of God and everything, but even preachers need to be practical, especially in a lawless town like Boot Creek.”

  “That’s true.” He watched me attentively, as I bustled around him, pouring more whiskey on the wound, cleaning the needle with the fluid, and then threading it. “You won’t poke me in the eye with that, will you?”

  “If you move, I might.”


  He grinned at my joke. “I better sit still then.”

  “That would be wise.” I glanced at the cut, knowing he would need at least two stitches. “I suppose I won’t be leaving here at night ever again, unless I’m with someone.”

  “That’s correct.”

  “Or I buy a gun.”

  “You’ll always have an escort.”

  “I will?”

  “Yes, until you marry, and then you’re your husband’s responsibility.”

  The thought of Nicolas taking care of me pleased me to no end. “I suppose. This might hurt.”

  “Just do it. I’ll live.”

  Pushing the needle through the skin, I quickly tied off one stitch, cutting the thread with a pair of scissors. Repeating the procedure with the second stich, the ordeal was over within two minutes. “There.” Dabbing at his arm with the towel, I removed the remaining traces of blood. “You should heal fine.” Then I poured a splash of whiskey over the wound. “That’ll do it.”

  “Let’s hope so, at least until the next lunatic decides to attack me.”

  “You really aught to get a gun.”

  “I have one.”

  That was surprising. “You do?”

  “Yes, it’s in a box beneath the bed.”

  “There you go then. It’s all the protection you need.” For some odd reason, while I stood there with my hand on his shoulder, I ran my fingers through the hair near his ear. I couldn’t resist the impulse, feeling the silky soft texture of the strands. He sat still, seeming not to care that I touched him in this manner. “Maybe Mrs. Wexler will change her mind about the front door. It’s a shame there isn’t a better entrance.”

  “True.” He closed his eyes, as I threaded my fingers through velvety hair.

  “Are you hungry?”

  “No.”

  “I could make hot chocolate. I’ve coco powder, and you’ve got milk.”

  “That’s … nice.” I wasn’t sure if he referred to the drink or the way I massaged his scalp. Both hands were now employed, combing through his hair and kneading softly. He shook himself to wakefulness then, bounding to his feet, where he nearly knocked me over.

  “Oh!”

  One arm went around my back, while he dragged me to him, his lips closing over mine. I hadn’t expected this, but the moment we joined, I kissed him eagerly in return, savoring the way he tasted. Hints of something sweet, like cake lingered on his breath. His lips were soft, yet insistent, his tongue sliding into my mouth to meet my own. He grasped my face with both hands, while suddenly devouring my mouth, his beard chafing me. The kiss felt drugging and magical, my spirits floating above like a lazy, fluffy cloud. It was a shame when he let me go, pushing me from him as if he had been burned.

  “All right then,” he said, not meeting my gaze. “I think I’m fine, Celia. You don’t have to trouble yourself over me anymore. You’ve done more than enough.”

  Disappointed, I stared at his mouth, wishing he would kiss me again.

  “Celia?”

  “Hum?”

  “You can go now.”

  “I suppose, if that’s what you want.” I couldn’t help the disappointment in my voice, but I felt wretched, wondering why he would not confess to feeling something for me. He had trembled in my arms only moments ago, his heart hammering against my chest. He was not unaffected by me—not in the least. “Are you certain?”

  “Yes, it’s late. You should rest.”

  He had his reasons, I assumed, my happiness diminishing. Turning for the door, I departed then, knowing there was no reason to stay.

  * * *

  Before I got out of bed the next morning, I stared at the ceiling, while listening to someone knocking around above my head. It sounded like small feet stomping. Knowing the apartments were only on this floor, the noises perplexed me. I had relived that kiss over and over, feeling anxious and hopeful to see Nicolas again. With this in mind, I slipped from the bed and dressed, wanting to venture to his apartment and make breakfast.

  He slept still, as I discovered after opening his door. I set about brewing coffee and baking biscuits with bacon, while passing the time glancing at the books upon his shelf. Amongst the multitude of religious material, there were works of fiction, history, and poetry. I took a volume of poems by John Keats, pulling it free. Opening the book, a small piece of paper fell out, floating to the floor. Picking it up, I glanced at a drawing of a young woman, created with coal. She sat in profile, looking away, while a wreath of flowers adorned her hair.

  “What are you doing?”

  Scaring me silly, I glanced at him nervously, wondering if I had overstepped myself. It looked like I was snooping through his things, and I was. “I didn’t mean to wake you. I was looking at your books.”

  He strode towards me, taking the book and the picture. “Please don’t meddle in my things.” After inserting the picture within the pages, he slid it back onto the shelf. “These matters don’t concern you.”

  “I'm sorry. I’m mostly done with the novel you gave me. I was only looking for something else to read.”

  “You finished ‘Vanity Fair’ already?”

  “Mostly.”

  “You may choose something else, Celia. I don’t mind in the least, just … just leave that book alone.”

  “Who is she?”

  He closed his eyes. “That’s none of your concern.”

  “She’s lovely. She must be quite special to you, if you keep her picture inside a book of romantic poetry.” And now he looked like he might throttle me. “Oh, never mind. I’ve made breakfast, but I won’t stay. I’m making a nuisance of myself. I’m sorry.”

  He ran fingers through his hair. “You’re not a nuisance, but you’ve hit on a sore spot. I’m not used to having people in my home going through my things, no matter how innocent it all is. Why do I have to explain myself to you? Why do I have to tell you everything?” His features ranged from angry to confused with a liberal sprinkling of exasperation thrown in for good measure. “Why do I even want to tell you anything? Why do I think you’ll understand?”

  I felt utterly confused. “Pardon?”

  “You’ve infiltrated my life from the day we met. I’ve been trying to make sense of it all, but it’s the most vexing thing. Maybe it’s because you’re all alone and with child or you look so damnably fine to me. How on earth could I have feelings for someone I don’t even know, and whose condition is so different from mine? You’ve little or no schooling, but you’re extraordinarily smart. You saved me from death last night, and I didn’t even have the grace to thank you.”

  His odd speech and confession had my rapt attention.

  “Why can’t I live forever in abject misery, pining for her? I never thought I’d feel that way again—ever. It was the most wondrous thing the first time around. God would never allow it to happen again, not to me. But here it is!” He turned away to pace aimlessly around his living space, stepping over a pillow that had fallen to the floor. “This has to be some form of insanity. That’s the only explanation.”

  “She was someone you loved.”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “In Missouri.”

  “Yes.”

  “A long time ago?”

  “Before I came here. I never intended on settling in Boot Creek. After Emma left me, I didn’t care where I went. I simply bought a ticket and got on a train, and it took me to Lamy. From there I found my way here. I lied when I said I came here with a friend.”

  “I’m sorry it didn’t end well.”

  “So am I.” He sank onto the sofa, holding his face in his hands. “We all carry a burden in life, Celia. We all must suffer.” He glanced at me. “You should go. I really wish to be alone.”

  “I understand. I’ve breakfast heating in the oven. If you don’t eat it, it’ll burn, so do remember to remove it.”

  “Did you eat?”

  I grinned. “Yes. It’s so lovely to have food whenever I want. I’m spoiled now.” He strugg
led with some demon I could not fathom, and he had all but said he loved me, because I was certain I had understood him, but he remained tormented. Our eyes met, as he gazed at me, but I would never know what he thought because he did not speak. “Good day, Nick. May I come back for lunch?”

  “I’ll be at the church. Do what you want.”

  I smiled, but the feeling was bittersweet, because it felt as if he pushed me away. “Very well.”

  “Take the poetry book, if you must. I’ve read them all a thousand times. I could recite Keats, if you ask. Each and every one of his blasted poems.”

  “I’d adore that.”

  “I know you would.”

  Reaching for the doorknob, I said, “Maybe another time then, when you’re feeling better.”

  “Yes, perhaps, but that’s a condition I’m not used to. The longer you’re around me, the more you’ll realize I’m not so happy after all. I’m just very good at hiding despair.”

  Leaving his apartment, I remained in the hallway for a few minutes, while the odd conversation from moments earlier drifted through my mind.

  Chapter 12

  Later at the grocers, Mrs. Hershey came upon me, smiling, while holding a wrapped package. “Hello, dear.”

  “How are you, Mrs. Hershey?”

  “I’m well. I saw you cross the street earlier, and I wanted to hurry out to talk to you.”

  “You didn’t have to do that.”

  “Yes, but I wanted to.” We stood near the counter, as there were several people before me in line, each holding a basket of items. “We should have tea after you’ve purchased your things. You can have Mr. Miller hold them in the back for you. They’ll even deliver.”

  “That’s good to know. I’d love to have tea.”

  “Then we can discuss your meeting with Mr. Holter, among other things.”

  “Very well, but there really isn’t all that much to discuss. I’ll see you at the hotel in a few minutes.”

  “Excellent. Just come into the dining room. I’ll save us a table.” She strolled to the door, her skirts swooshing behind her.