A Bride for Sam

by Linda Ellen

  As Beth Ann began washing a dinner plate, she couldn’t fully suppress the shiver that shook her body at the thought of the horrific conversation, but she cleared her voice and cast her companion an embarrassed glance.

  “He said that he would give me to four o’clock on Monday to find out he wasn’t making idle threats, and by that night I would be...” she paused and felt her cheeks heat at the remembered words. Lowering her head she mumbled, “I would be in his bed...either wearing a wedding ring or...a halo of shame.”

  “The man is vile! Nothing but swine, no better than his grandfather,” Mr. Hinkle growled. “To threaten a young woman in such a manner! He has no integrity whatsoever. Ah, but then, what can one expect, since an apple never falls far from the tree.” Taking the clean plate from her, he dried it slowly as he mulled over her words.

  After a few moments, Beth Ann put down the dish she was holding and turned to him, thoughtfully drying her hands on a nearby towel. “Mr. Hinkle...do you know Mr. Fetterman?”

  When he turned carefully toward her, a glimmer of something in his eyes she couldn’t discern was nearly hidden behind his half-glasses. He pursed his lips and then gave a slight shrug. “I know of him...I know the family he comes from...his father...uncles...grandfather,” he paused, staring straight ahead as if viewing his memories. Then, he clamped his jaw and gave a huff. “They are the kind of men, Miss Beth, that take what they want with no thought to the feelings of others...and sweep those they deem of lesser value to the side as if so much rubbish!”

  She studied him for a time as understanding began to dawn. “Were you one of those who got swept to the side, Mr. Hinkle?” she asked softly.

  With a self-deprecating chuckle, he limped forward to wipe crumbs from the table. “In a word, missy...yes. And the fact that I didn’t stand up and fight...but rather, acquiesced without a peep, is not something of which I’m proud. I merely slunk away with my tail between my legs, immersed myself in my work, and gave them no...trouble. As I was so instructed.” The last phrase came out a bit on the harsh side.

  Beth Ann reached out and gave his arm a soft caress. He tilted his head and met her eyes; his were a trifle misty.

  “Would you tell me what happened? Unless it’s too painful to talk about...”

  Pressing his thin lips together, he hung the kitchen rag over the pump. As he lapsed into thought, he reached into the pocket of his trousers and removed a drawstring tobacco bag, making short work of loading and lighting his well-used brierwood pipe. Quietly, Beth Ann sat down at the table, watching and waiting.

  Finally, the wizened old man drew in several deep pulls on his pipe and blew the smoke straight up, met her eyes, and then let out a soft chuckle as he shook his head. “I’m afraid the story is not a new one. Same thing’s been happening since history began, I should think. To the victor go the spoils and all that.” He paused, pulling out the other chair before sitting down and leaning back in thought. “It happened so long ago...and yet sometimes it feels like just a month ago...I can still see her sweet face...those doe eyes...”

  “Her?” Beth Ann asked gently and her elderly neighbor gave a slow nod as he drew in a puff. Then he removed the pipe and stared down at it.

  “Her name was...Bethanne Bartholomew. Prettiest little filly I’d ever clapped eyes on.”

  Beth Ann’s eyes widened as a chill ran down her arms and legs. “Her name was Beth Ann? Who was she, Mr. Hinkle?”

  The old man blinked several times and cleared his throat before clamping his teeth on the stem and taking another deep draw from the pipe. Then, his eyes focused on hers again and he smiled, settling back to tell the story as if relating the plot of a literary piece.

  “Yes, but she spelled hers as one name. She...she was such a delicate little thing, shy and quiet. No bigger than a minute. I’d see her sometimes shopping at McGiven’s Grocers—I rented a room above—and we’d exchange pleasantries. Each time when she would murmur a goodbye and walk down the street toward home, I’d kick myself for not having the gumption to ask her to step out with me. Then came the smallpox epidemic of ‘24, and her family all perished. She was left alone.”

  “Oh, how dreadful for her!” Beth Ann gasped.

  He nodded solemnly and continued. “I was alone, too. I’d come down the Ohio on a flatboat from my family’s farm just this side of Madison, Indiana. I was always dreaming about places I wanted to see, I guess ‘cause the teacher in our little school had come from Boston and she used to read to us of far away places. My pappy said nothing good would come of sparkin’ a boy’s imagination for things he couldn’t do. See,” he paused with a chuckle, “he wanted me to help my brothers work the farm. But I was the middle boy and always felt restless—head in the clouds, as they say. So...one day when this flatboat floated by while I was sittin’ at the bank of the river, fishing and daydreaming...somehow I found myself aboard. Once we reached Louisville... I got off that boat and even then, lemme tell you, this old river town was the busiest, most fascinating place I’d ever seen. Found myself a job settin’ type for the Louisville Gazette and never went back. Ah, but I’m gettin’ off my subject. Forgive me.”

  Beth Ann shook her head. “No, please, go on,” she encouraged, enjoying the familiar cherry scented smoke from his pipe as much as the story rolling from his lips. “I’ve always wondered about your background, Mr. Hinkle.”

  He inclined his head and went on. “Well, it was through the newspaper...an advertisement I’d set the type for...that I knew the Zachary Taylor family was searching for a replacement nanny for their fifth child, Mary Elizabeth.”

  “Zachary Taylor? The Zachary Taylor, who later became president?” Beth Ann asked in curiosity.

  “The same,” he tipped his head forward in acknowledgement, adding, “God rest his soul.” Beth Ann nodded in agreement, remembering what she had learned in school about the twelfth president dying in office of food poisoning after only serving fifteen months of his term.

  She refocused on Mr. Hinkle’s story as he continued. “I told Bethanne about it and she began working for them right away. Then,” he snickered, “She let me begin to court her. Sometimes we’d take a stroll in the park near the house, or I’d borrow a horse and buggy and take her for a ride down to the wharf—she loved to see the steamboats at their moorings. More often than not, we would walk together in the back garden of Springfield, the Taylor’s lovely Georgian Colonial home, or perhaps we would sit in the swing on the back porch. I brought her flowers and sweets. I told her stories of my boyhood on the farm. And then one day, I got up my nerve and asked her to be my wife. I can still see the twinkle in her eye as she said yes...and shyly admitted that she thought I’d never get around to askin’,” he let out a soft laugh, but then his expression slowly turned dark.

  As if by rote, he knocked the ashes from his pipe and repacked it. After a long pull, he began again. “It was the next day that Mr. Lloyd Harold Fetterman...the First,” he added the word with a sneer, “came to pay a call on Mr. and Mrs. Taylor. Bethanne walked into the room with the baby in her arms and he took one look at my sweetheart and decided right then and there that she would be his. Didn’t matter what she wanted, even less what I wanted. She told me about it the next day and how uncomfortable his attentions made her. The fact that the Taylors seemed to be encouraging the match proves that he had them bamboozled as to his true character. They’d even taken the baby from her arms and left her alone in the parlor with him! She said being near the man made her skin crawl...” his bushy brow furrowed at the memory.

  Beth Ann nodded with complete understanding. Like grandfather, like grandson...

  “Well, I came to pick her up for our weekly courting date on that Friday night, and...that’s when I was told by Lloyd Harold Fetterman to go on my way and not make trouble. You see, Fetterman owned several businesses and was already somewhat wealthy. Hmph,” he blew out a breath. “He thought he was on par with the King of England. His driver and another man escorted me out...I turne
d at the door and Bethanne’s eyes met mine. Hers were full of defeat, tears...and regret. The men made sure I’d remember Fetterman’s order before they unkindly put me in my borrowed rig. The blackguards. They broke three ribs, blackened both my eyes, and for good measure, stomped on my right hip. It was weeks before I could walk well enough to get around and go back to work. I only saw my Bethanne from afar after that...her husband kept her firmly under his thumb.”

  “Oh, Mr. Hinkle, I’m so sorry,” Beth Ann whispered thickly, her own eyes having welled at the ache in her friend’s voice as he told the sad tale. This explained her dear friend’s persistent limp, which she’d always wondered about but had never felt it her place to ask. She could tell the heartache was almost as bad for him now as it was when his love was ripped from his arms all those years ago.

  He seemed to come out of his fog then and took another draw from his pipe. Seeing the tears in her eyes, he lifted it toward her in a sort of salute and shrugged as if none of what he’d said mattered.

  “Ahh, missy. Don’t be sad for me. Was a long time ago.”

  “But...what happened to her? I mean, do you think she’s still married to...”

  He shook his head sadly and rose to his feet, preparing to take his leave. “No, missy. The old man passed on, oh...ten years ago now. And Bethanne...she died in childbirth with her third baby. Five years after he married her. I...” he paused and bolstered himself to finish just above a whisper. “I learned about it when I set the type on the story about her death. Wife of Prominent Businessman Dies... In less than a month, the reprobate had picked himself out another to replace her.”

  Beth Ann watched him slowly cross to her door with his pronounced rolling gait and put his hand on the knob. Then, he turned and looked back at her, the customary twinkle back in his eyes.

  “Missy, there’s nothing special about me. I never went anywhere or did anything important. But maybe, just maybe, I can figure out a way to keep one Beth Ann from having to live a life she didn’t choose for herself. It will be just desserts, indeed.”

  Stepping out in the hall, he winked at her and chuckled, “Get some sleep, sweet girl. We’ll put our heads together in the morning and come up with a plan. This I promise, or my name isn’t Zebulon Elijah Hinkle!”

  Beth Ann shook her head as he closed the door, her mind full of the details of a tragic lost love and a frightening family who seemed unstoppable.

  She closed her eyes and prayed that God would give them inspiration...a way out...a miracle. Somehow, she had a feeling Zebulon Elijah would turn out to be her “precious gift” and “miracle worker,” as his name implied.

  I only need a small miracle, Lord...a way out of Mr. Lloyd Harold Fetterman the Third’s clutches!

  The next morning, bright and early, Mr. Hinkle knocked on Beth Ann’s door. When she answered, there he stood in his Sunday best, salt and pepper hair combed slick, glasses shined, hat on his head, and topcoat over his arm. He grinned at her assessment of his clothing and held out one elbow.

  “When one is up against evil, one needs the power and blessing of the Almighty, don’t you think? Shall we go to the service, Miss Beth?”

  Beth Ann had risen, washed and dressed, like every other Sunday, but hadn’t been sure she felt like going to church that day. However, the wisdom in the old man’s words made something rise up within her, so she gave him an answering smile and a decisive nod, grabbed her hat, reticule, and wrap, and then grasped his arm. “We shall, Mr. Zebulon,” she answered crisply.

  They descended the steps and caught a passing trolley to the Broadway Methodist Episcopal Church, the church they both attended and had since Beth Ann and Charise had moved into the apartment. They enjoyed a pleasant service with their fellow churchgoers, and then made their way back to the apartment house.

  Climbing the steps, Mr. Hinkle held open the outer door for her as she was saying, “Thank you for escorting me to church, Mr. Hinkle. I feel much better—”

  “Miss Gilmore,” a nasally voice interrupted, and Beth Ann turned her head to encounter the manager, Archibald Drexler.

  “Yes, Mr. Drexler?” she asked, striving not to allow her voice to wobble with nerves.

  “I need to speak with you...” The man looked distinctly uncomfortable, and flicked a look at Mr. Hinkle, who cleared his throat and patted Beth Ann’s hand. “Thank you for accompanying me to Sunday service, missy.”

  The manager waited for Mr. Hinkle’s distinctive footsteps to fade and then he gestured for Beth Ann to precede him into his apartment that doubled as an office, where he promptly closed the door.

  “Miss Gilmore,” the man hurriedly began. “I’ll come right to the point. The owner of this building has sent me a message this morning with instructions...” he paused and tugged at his cravat. “I’m to evict you post haste. I’m sorry, miss, but you will have to find other lodgings immediately. I must ask you to vacate your apartment by tomorrow night at the latest.”

  Beth Ann’s heart had started racing with the man’s first words, and now she simply stared at him—at once surprised and yet having expected it. Well, now I know polecat wasn’t bluffing.

  “Well?” the man blustered. “Have you nothing to say? What exactly have you done to stir the ire of the man?” Drexler asked, but then waved one hand in dismissal. “Never mind. I do not even wish to know. I mind my own business, yessiree. Just please, do as I say, or I’ll be obliged to send for the sheriff.”

  Her mouth dry, Beth Ann tried to moisten her lips and gave him a nod, spun on her heel, and marched up the steps, resisting the urge to run up them in tears. She didn’t want to give the hateful man the satisfaction.

  However, when she reached the top, Mr. Hinkle was waiting.

  He took one look at her face and nodded. “He did it, didn’t he,” he stated flatly.

  “Yes. Apparently, I’m to be out by tomorrow evening, just like...the Third...” she spit out, refusing to even say the hated man’s name, “threatened. Oh, Mr. Hinkle, what am I going to do?”

  The man clamped his lips, took her by the arm, and began ushering her down the steps again. “It’s about time you took Charise and her husband up on their offer.”

  Chapter 4

  S am sat back and rubbed his full belly, a satisfied grin gracing his face. He, Finn, and Charise had spent a lovely morning at church, the sermon thought provoking, and now they were eating a delicious lunch at his brother and sister-in-law’s large, round kitchen table. It always gave Sam a chuckle to see how Finn had repurposed one of the old tavern’s poker tables. As a cozy dining surface, it worked quite well in its new home.

  “Charise, you sure make wonderful chicken and dumplings. Even better than our mama used to make, ‘eh Finny?”

  Finn was sopping up the last of his gravy with a piece of bread and managed to nod as he stuffed it in his mouth. Swallowing, he commented, “She sure does. She says it’s her secret ingredient that makes it special, but so far I haven’t been able to tickle it out of her,” he teased, snickering when Charise—standing at the stove spooning out one more helping of the delectable concoction for herself—turned and brandished the ladle at him.

  “And you won’t, either, Phineas Oliver. Don’t you even think about coming after me—or you’ll find yourself with a new hair tonic to use in your shop—Eau de chicken gravy.”

  Both men erupted in amused laughter as Charise turned back around with a saucy, “A cook never divulges her secrets.”

  Sam chuckled once more at the antics of his brother and sister-in-law. Their marriage, by proxy—with him acting as his brother’s stand-in—had turned into one of Finn’s greatest blessings, and had prompted Sam to finally begin seriously thinking of finding a wife of his own.

  Charise finished and sat down at the table, taking another bite of her lunch as her husband reached for the covered plate of cookies she had baked the day before.

  Sam glanced her way and noticed the loving smile she sent her husband, and yet the customary joyful
glow her face usually bore seemed a bit dim.

  “Everything okay, honey?” he asked with concern, wondering if all was well with the baby—but that was hardly a question a mere brother-in-law could ask.

  She matched his expression but then smiled softly and gave a tiny shrug. “Oh, I’m worried about Beth Ann, I suppose.”

  At that, Sam bolted straight up in his chair, the hair on his arms and the back of his neck standing up as his heart rate instantly doubled. He moistened his lips and tried to calm himself down and act nonchalant. “Worried—about your friend back in Louisville? Well...what’s going on with her?”

  Finn spoke up. “Seems there’s some louse that runs some kind of marriage broker service who’s decided she’s the girl for him and isn’t taking NO for an answer. Beth Ann wrote Charise a letter last week and she sounded pretty upset. I told Char to tell her to just say the word and we’d send her the money for train fare. We’ve got the room. She could stay with us for a while.”

  Sam felt his hands coil into fists of suppressed rage. Some guy is trying to force himself on Beth Ann? Who? How? This news hit him out of the blue...and below the belt. Indeed, he felt like the wind had been punched right out of his gut.

  “But...what about her beau...Stanley whatever...?”

  Charise dabbed at her mouth with her napkin. “Oh, that’s all over. Seems he found someone else. And would you believe, he actually had the nerve to take—”

  Just then, there was a knock on the back door.

  Finn wiped his mouth on his napkin as he rose from the table. “I’ll get it.”

  He walked over to the porch door and opened it to find Charlie Cooper, Brownville’s telegraph operator and railroad ticket agent. The man tugged on the visor of his uniform cap and mumbled, “Finn.”

  “Hey Charlie. Come on in, we’re just finishing up lunch,” Finn stepped back and gestured the man inside.