by Linda Ellen
“Hello Charlie. Would you like some chicken and dumplings? We have plenty,” Charise offered, but the man held up a hand.
“No, thank you, Miz Maynard. This isn’t ‘xactly a social call.” Meeting Finn’s questioning stare with a serious glower, the man handed him a folded telegram. “This sounded kinda important Finn...thought I should get it over here to you right away. I’ll wait for an answer if you’d like.”
Sam’s heart thundered in his chest, as somehow he knew the telegram was Beth Ann’s plea for help. It was all he could do not to snatch it out of Finn’s hand and read it. “Well?” he prodded. “What’s it say, Finn?”
“Oh, Finn, what is it?” Charise asked, almost simultaneously.
Finn opened the message, read the few lines, and raised his eyes to his wife. “It’s from Beth Ann to both of us. It says... Need help if offer still stands STOP Situation has escalated to BE dangerous STOP Have nowhere to turn STOP Please reply POSTHASTE STOP Love Beth Ann.”
By the end of the message, Charise was nervously pressing her napkin to her lips, her eyes filling with tears. “Oh Finn! Something terrible has happened I just know it! Oh honey, wire her the money for the fare, right away, please!”
“Wait, wait, slow down,” Sam responded, holding up a hand to get Charise’s attention. “Can I read her letter? The one where she told you the details of what’s going on?” At her surprised look, he added, “I want to help. She’s a nice girl, and she’s my sister-in-law’s best friend. We can’t let some swine do her harm...”
Charise swallowed with a quick nod and rose from her chair to hurry out of the room. Soon, she was back and placing the letter in Sam’s hands. He opened it quickly and scanned the words, a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. He’d encountered men like this before. This guy was not going to take no for an answer, and Sam knew without a doubt that if she just got on a train, the son of a mangy dog would probably follow her. If he caught up to her before she reached Brownville, she’d be alone...he could force her to...
He looked up, his gaze instantly connecting with his brother’s. “Tell her to grab somebody and get down to the courthouse first thing in the morning for a proxy marriage. That’s the only way this swine will back off—if she’s married. He’s the kind that won’t take get away from me as a final answer. I’ll help you out if you haven’t got the fare—”
“I’ve got it, Sam,” Finn interrupted, obviously a bit surprised. “But—who should I tell her the proxy is for?”
“ME!” Sam burst out as he jumped up, nearly knocking his chair over in agitation. “Tell her to marry me by proxy and get on the first train out of there. Tell her once she gets here, we can all sit down together and figure things out.” Finn just stared at him, unblinking. “Well? I got one of my gut feelin’s, Finn. You know I’m never wrong. Don’t just sit there, man! Write it!”
Finn exchanged an expressive glance with his wife. She nodded urgently, so he turned the paper over and wrote out a quick reply before handing it to Charlie, who stood there bug-eyed and switching back and forth between the brothers.
“Here, Charlie. Send this wire right away. A girl’s virtue, or worse, could be at stake.”
“You got it, Finn.”
Leaving the table, Finn went into the other room and came back with some bills, only to stop short as he watched Sam counting out his own money for Beth Ann’s ticket and instructing the telegraph operator, “Let me...us...know as soon as she sends a reply.”
The man mumbled an answer and hurried through the door, clutching the money, Finn’s note, and another piece of paper.
Once he was gone, the other two in the room turned and leveled their gazes at Sam, and he felt his cheeks and neck begin to redden.
“You got something you wanna tell me, brother of mine?” Finn asked with a smart aleck smile plastered on his face.
“Yes, Sam, please—I’m afraid I’ve been left completely out of the loop,” Charise also wondered.
Sam opened his mouth to answer, but suddenly clammed up and turned toward the door, desperate for escape. Over his shoulder, he called, “Lemme know when she answers.”
He didn’t turn to see what he knew would be amused and knowing grins on his brother and sister-in-law’s faces. There would be time enough for the teasing later.
Right now, all that was important was getting Beth Ann out of Louisville and away from that man’s grasp!
Beth Ann and her elderly escort had taken seats in the fairly empty telegraph office to await a reply. Time seemed to be moving like molasses on a cold day until thirty minutes had crept by before Beth Ann stood reading the answer, her hands trembling as the words registered in her mind.
Money for train fare coming by Western Union STOP WE Advise to visit courthouse first thing and marry Sam by proxy STOP AUTHORIZATION TO FOLLOW STOP Very important STOP Upon arrival we can go from there STOP Love Charise AND Finn STOP and Sam.
“Sam?” Mr. Hinkle inquired as they finished reading the message.
Beth Ann, her eyes large with the unexpected shock of her friend’s compelling entreaty, turned to him and mumbled, “Yes...remember I told you about him? He’s Finn’s brother...Charise’s proxy husband...”
The old man thought for a moment and then let out a chuckle. “Seems like this Sam must have taken a fancy to you, the short time he was here in town.”
Immediately, Beth Ann shook her head, as Sam had not given any indication that he found her the least bit attractive or...but then again, he was an honorable man and she had introduced Stanley to him as her steady beau. Somehow, she knew Sam was not the kind to snaffle another man’s girl... “No...surely not...”
Zebulon clamped his mouth shut, but his eyes fairly twinkled with suppressed mirth as Beth Ann’s thoughts tumbled over one another.
Actually marry Sam Maynard—the brawny, virile, handsome-in-his-own-way Sam? Did that mean what it sounded like? Could he possibly have feelings for me? Wouldn’t Charise have said something in one of her letters, though? But...perhaps he hadn’t said anything and Charise didn’t know...
“Well, I say they’ve got a good idea, Beth Ann. Now...I’ve been thinking about this. I’d been concerned about you traveling all the way to Nebraska by yourself. So, I’ve made up my mind—I’m going with you.”
Beth Ann turned to him, her thoughts still swimming with the idea of actually becoming Sam Maynard’s bride. Now, Mr. Hinkle was saying what?
He held up a hand for her to listen. “Now, I know what you’re thinking, missy, but think about this. Fetterman is going to find out sooner or later of my part in usurping his plans and he’s not going to be happy about it. I hate to admit to cowardice, but...well...” he paused and gave her a sheepish grin. “These old bones of mine wouldn’t take kindly to being broken at my age. And besides, I’ve always had a hankering to visit Nebraska. If it’s half as nice as Charise has written in her letters, why, I just might stay a while.”
Tears welled in Beth Ann’s eyes as she gazed into the twinkling brown irises of her companion. How could she turn him down? And it would be good to have a traveling mate for the five-day trip.
“Excuse me, miss? Another telegram has just come through for you,” the telegraph agent called over. Mr. Hinkle made it to the window to retrieve the message and brought it back to Beth Ann. She read over it quickly. It was the promised authorization for her to marry Samuel Cornelius Maynard by proxy. It gave all the particulars the judge would need for the marriage license. At the bottom, the sending operator attested to the fact that it was truly Samuel Maynard sending the authorization.
“Well, all right, then,” Beth Ann mumbled as she drew the paper to her chest and turned her head away as another complication surfaced. “But now, where am I going to find a proxy...”
Zeb took her arm and steered her out the door of the depot so that the operator wouldn’t overhear their plans...for one never knew. He cleared his throat and groused in mock insult, “Why, Miss Beth, I thought there was no
question about that. I’ll be your proxy groom, of course. Then I can finally say, after all these years, that an old cripple like me got to repeat vows with a pretty young woman,” he added and bobbed his eyebrows at her, resulting in a hoped-for giggle. Heading toward the nearest trolley stop, he added, “But we’ve got a lot of work to do this evening. We’ll need to pack everything we want to take with us, because—I don’t know about you—but once I leave this old river town, I don’t plan to ever return.”
“Nor do I!” she agreed wholeheartedly.
An hour later, Beth Ann was busy placing items carefully into her traveling trunk, the one that had been given to her as a gift when the orphanage had “released” her at age eighteen. Covered with a quilt and padded with pillows, it had doubled as a window seat and linen storage in the one room apartment, since there was no space for a wardrobe or armoire.
She had already packed most of her clothing, the knick-knacks she had collected over the years, and certain dishes and housewares that she wanted to take with her. Having no family heirlooms to worry about was, in this case, a good thing. Now, hands on hips, she looked around the large room, deciding what she could part with and what she needed to bring along.
Truly, she didn’t exactly know what to expect once she arrived in Nebraska...were they going to annul their proxy marriage, or was she going to remain Sam’s wife? Keep his home? Bear his children...that thought brought with it a little shiver of thrill. Sam was so strong, warm, friendly, and kind. The more she allowed herself to think about him, the more she liked the idea of becoming his proxy bride. The biggest unknown factor in all of it, however, was... had he only suggested this course of action out of common concern for her? Knowing that he might insist upon an annulment once she reached safety made her a bit sad. He’s been advertising for a mail-order-bride...perhaps he might find me agreeable...I think I might enjoy being married to him...if he wants me, that is...I certainly wouldn’t want him to feel obligated or forced...
A knock at the door startled her out of her deep reverie, and she smoothed back her hair and ran suddenly damp hands down her skirt as she crossed the few steps to open the portal, only to find the disagreeable Mr. Drexler standing in the hall. He immediately looked past her shoulder and saw the open trunk and her apartment in disarray.
“Oh...” he hesitated suspiciously, moving his gaze back to hers. “So...you’ve found other lodgings already, Miss Gilmore?”
Something in the tone of his voice sent warning signals down Beth Ann’s spine and she knew she had to answer carefully. “I’m packing my things, Mr. Drexler. Isn’t that what I should be doing?”
“Oh, well...yes...of course it is, but...” he stammered, and a small part of Beth Ann gloried in his obvious discomfort. She could just imagine that her nemesis had put him up to checking on her progress, while he sat back and licked his chops like a hungry wolf. Well, it’ll be a snowy day in August before I’ll tell this snake-in-the-grass anything.
“Then, if you don’t have any further orders, Mr. Drexler, as you can see, I’m quite busy.” With that, she shut the door firmly in his face, slapping a hand over her mouth to stifle a giggle. It wouldn’t do to set the hounds to barking an alert. After a few strained heartbeats, she heard his footfalls descending the steps. When all was quiet, she opened the door again and tiptoed across the hall, knocking gingerly on Mr. Hinkle’s door.
He opened it seconds later and moved his pipe to one side of his mouth so that he could manage a lopsided grin. His apartment looked like a windstorm had blown through and she noticed a large pile of old newspapers stacked near the door. “Yes, missy?”
“Mr. Drexler just knocked on my door. I think he was quite surprised that I wasn’t hold up in here crying my eyes out. I just hope...I hope he doesn’t send a message to him tonight.”
Mr. Hinkle considered her words, seeming to crunch a bit on the stem of his pipe, and then shook his head. “I don’t think he will. I think he was just covering his own a—posterior...sorry Bethie,” he added with a soft chuckle.
With a quiet giggle, Beth Ann waved a good night to her partner-in-crime and went back inside to finish her packing.
Then, hopefully, she would be able to get some sleep.
She had a feeling tomorrow was going to be a long, harrowing day.
Chapter 5
F irst thing in the morning, Beth Ann left Zebulon outside of the ornate doors of the Louisville Savings and Loan Company and went in, hoping to withdraw her savings from her account—that is, if the jackal hadn’t had time to cut her off from her own finances yet. Her heart pounded as she approached the teller’s window. Goodness, one would think I was about to rob the place...like that famous bank robber, Jesse James. She shook her head slightly at the wild thought and made sure her expression looked normal.
The tall man inside the cage looked up and recognition lit his rich brown eyes. As usual, his black curls were impossibly tamed, combed and parted with the professional manner of a bank clerk’s standards. Despite his rigid, straight arrow frame, a friendly warmth softened his face when he saw her. He, indeed, knew her, as he was regularly the teller that took her deposit each Friday when she cashed her pay voucher and had put a little bit away for a Rainy Day.
He smiled and greeted her. “In on a Monday, Miss Gilmore? What can I do for you?”
“Hello Sylvester. Yes, I’d like to make a withdrawal, please,” she stated, passing him the little booklet where each deposit had been carefully recorded.
He sent her another smile. “That’s fine. I can help you with that. Planning to go on a shopping spree, are we?” he asked as he reached for a withdrawal slip and slid it under the bars.
Beth Ann merely smiled back at him, filled in the amount, and signed her name, before passing it back along the polished counter surface. He read the amount and then checked the book, his eyes widening as he bid her to wait while he cleared it with the manager, as policy dictated when someone closed out their account.
Her heartbeat sped up another notch and her mouth went dry as toast as she tracked his walk to the manager’s desk to present the booklet to him. Then she watched the man read her name and quickly turn his head her way, visibly swallow, nervously adjust his collar, and look back into the teller’s eyes. Her pulse pounded in her ears as she observed their exchange, and then saw the teller walk back toward her, confusion clearly written on his features.
He hesitantly pushed the booklet under the barrier toward her and murmured, “I’m sorry...Miss Gilmore...it seems that some kind of a hold has been placed on your money—” he hedged and then stammered, “o...or r...rather...on all account closings. At this time, I am unable to grant your request. My manager, Mr. Daugherty, informs me that you may complete this transaction next week...” he paused when she snatched the small book back and stuffed it in her reticule.
“Good day, Sylvester,” she mumbled as she made a hasty retreat.
Outside the door, seething at the audacity of a man like Third—she couldn’t stand to even think the horrid man’s name—she met Mr. Hinkle’s eyes and shook her head.
“No luck. The manager claims that all accounts are on some kind of ‘hold’, but I’m sure he’s just covering his...posterior,” she added with grim humor.
Zebulon ground his teeth, but nodded in acceptance. “Not surprised. Never trusted banks, myself, just for reasons like this. Always kept my money in a hiding place in my room.” Seeing her angst, he stepped forward and gently took her arm. “Well, I think you and I need to make tracks over to the courthouse, missy. Not a moment to lose.”
She agreed, and they set off at as brisk a pace as Zebulon could manage, caught a passing trolley two blocks down, and disembarked in front of the monumental Greek revival, stone building that was the Jefferson County Courthouse.
Looking up the thirty steps to the Doric portico and its four massive columns, she flicked worried eyes toward her companion. “I hope he hasn’t anticipated this.” The old man merely took her elbow an
d escorted her up the long stairway and on inside.
As they stood in line together, Beth Ann felt extremely grateful for the calm, steadying presence of the gentleman at her side, although she did find herself looking over her shoulder a dozen times, half expecting their enemy, or perhaps a policeman, to come charging in. Each time, Mr. Hinkle would merely pat her hand and mumble, “Don’t worry.”
Reaching the desk, they asked for and filled out the necessary papers—and Beth Ann recognized the same young clerk that had helped Charise and Sam—and then sat down to wait for Judge Noah Perry. Having the same judge officiate her and Sam’s solemnization made Beth Ann feel much more at ease, as if the man were an old friend. That thought made her almost giggle from sheer nerves.
Finally, their names were called to proceed into Judge Perry’s distinguished courtroom.
The man up on the tall, elaborately carved oak judge’s bench hadn’t changed a bit. He was just as Beth Ann remembered him—wire-rimmed glasses, curly, salt and pepper hair that had receded back to the crown of his head, a full six-inch beard and a gray mustache. He was even wearing what looked like the same dark blue suit covered by his black robes.
After cleaning his spectacles, he adjusted them around his ears and looked down at them as he ran his hand over his whiskers. “I’m Judge Noah Perry, and young lady, you seem a bit familiar. Since this is only the fourth proxy marriage I have solemnized in all my years on the bench, I seem to remember you as a witness at the last one I performed. Perchance am I correct?”
Hoping that didn’t seem odd or suspicious to him, Beth Ann swallowed nervously and managed a nod. “Yes, sir...I mean, Your Honor.”
Pursing his lips, the magistrate switched his gaze to her companion, and then picked up the documents and the authorization Sam had sent. “You are the proxy in this union, Mister...” he paused, and Zebulon provided, “Zebulon Elijah Hinkle, Your Honor.”
