by Linda Ellen
Sam replaced the chinking and slathered on fresh daubing in the walls, fixed the broken windows, and cleaned and serviced the large triple-flue chimney, while Beth Ann scrubbed every surface, swept, dusted, and polished. None of which stopped them from taking time to play and enjoy one another, with Sam chasing his bride around after a teasing comment and her running and squealing. Of course, he always caught her easily and scooped her up in his arms with the triumphant growl of a caveman, resulting in prolonged moments in which they reveled in one another’s kisses.
Sam and Finn had never gone through their parents’ personal belongings, so the family spent an entire day doing just that, keeping what they wanted to use or safely tucking away anything that had sentimental value. The rest was given away or disposed of.
Of their mother’s clothing and jewelry, which consisted of an assortment of things such as a few dresses, an ornate broach, several rings, and a gold locket, the brothers allowed the girls to keep what they wanted.
Beth Ann picked out a lovely, multi-color woven shawl that Sam revealed was a twentieth wedding anniversary gift, purchased by their father for their mother. It warmed Sam’s heart to see his bride cherish the garment and treat it with honor. It quickly became Beth Ann’s favorite wrap.
Sam procured new bedding for their bed and a larger cook stove for the retooled kitchen, along with pots and pans at the request of Beth Ann—just a few items that their mother hadn’t owned. He built a cabinet and several shelves that she wanted and installed them amidst a flurry of compliments with grateful kisses and hugs.
The weather grew steadily cooler as winter approached, and one evening there were even a few snowflakes, but nothing substantial.
Beth Ann and Charise made new curtains that coordinated with Mama Maynard’s yellow set in the kitchen window—and even fashioned slipcovers for the stuffed chairs by the fireplace. Sam and Finn hauled a wagonload of refuse, broken furniture and other odds and ends to the area out back where the family had always burned their trash. Sam cut and lugged in cords of firewood and plenty of supplies to last the winter. Luckily the barn wasn’t in bad condition, so it only took about a day to get it shipshape.
That resulted in Sam being able to bring Cinnamon home from the livery, and there was even talk about teaching Beth Ann to ride and perhaps purchasing a horse for her in the spring. She indicated she liked that idea very much, although she had never been on a horse in her life.
Finally, the work was finished and the cabin looked better than it had when it was first built.
With each day that brought them closer to her and Sam’s real—or what felt like their real—wedding, Beth Ann couldn’t contain the nervous energy flowing through her body at the thought of becoming Sam’s true wife. She and Charise had several very specific conversations on that subject, which thankfully had alleviated most of Beth Ann’s concerns. But still...there was always that element of the unknown...
One Saturday as Sam and Beth Ann were together in the mercantile, shopping for staples to stock their new kitchen with, Sebastian Hodge came to the door of his storeroom and called Sam over.
“That item you’ve been waiting for from Omaha just arrived in today’s shipment,” the man whispered to the lumberjack, peering up at him with an odd expression before jerking his head silently toward the other side of the store. Sam immediately knew what he meant and he eagerly took the package, looking around to see where his lovely bride was, and grinned widely when he saw her with a full shopping basket on one arm, examining a small stack of kitchen towels.
“Thanks, Seb,” he murmured, slipping the small package into his pocket and smiling at Beth Ann as she turned to see to where he had wandered off.
He headed back in her direction and she met him halfway. In her hand were two of the yellow and red towels she’d been contemplating, which she held up to show him. “Sam, what do you think about these to go in the kitchen? I’d like to get them for when we have company over.”
He smiled down at her, his eyes roaming over the top of her auburn tresses, thinking how blessed he was to have snared such a beautiful, hardworking, wonderful woman for his wife.
Raising a hand, he gently cupped her face, careful to not allow his calluses to scrape her skin, and declared, “I think if you like them, darlin’, then they’ll go just fine.”
She caught the adoring look in his eyes and promptly returned the smile and the adoration, before giggling softly. “Oh you,” she mumbled, before stretching up to give him a kiss to his cheek, just above the line of his beard, and then pierced him with a pseudo fierce look. “You’d better watch out, Samuel Maynard. You’ll spoil me, and then I won’t be any good to you or anyone else.”
“You deserve to be spoiled, sweetheart. And that’s just what I intend to do—for the rest of our lives together.”
He leaned down to touch his lips to hers, but as usual, the kiss went on longer than either realized—for each one soon became lost in the essence of the other. That is, until the thwarting sounds of a throat being cleared and the ringing bell over the door disrupted the shared enchantment.
“Now, now, none of that, you two. Not ‘till your official weddin’!” Sebastian teased, causing the bride and groom to laugh and simultaneously blush as they walked together toward the counter to pay for their purchases.
After everything was settled up and they turned to go, Sebastian gave Sam an exaggerated wink, which the lumberjack smilingly returned.
That evening, Zebulon insisted that they all go out to eat at the nicest place in town, Huber’s Restaurant on Second Street. Sam couldn’t hold back his smile, as the idea worked right into something he’d been planning.
He once again put on his new suit and greatly admired his wife when she appeared in a stunning emerald green and royal blue dress, which Charise informed the group was made of a taffeta fabric that she’d brought from Louisville, and which she had helped Beth Ann sew. As she urged Beth to model in a slow turn, the men tried and failed to follow Charise’s descriptions of the stand up collar and low-waisted, fitted bodice with something called domed needlepoint covered buttons, a bouffant bustle with a large bow, and Brussels lace at the cuffs.
Sam privately wondered what the heck a bouffant bustle was...and Brussels lace? He took a hard gander at the lace at Beth’s wrists, thinking it didn’t resemble a Brussels sprout in the least, and then gave a clueless shrug.
With the others dressed in their own finery, the five of them rode over in a large carriage Finn had rented for the evening. The men helped the ladies to alight from the high conveyance and escorted them inside.
Looking around, Finn commented, “Hmm, looks like Huber spiffed the place up since I was here last.”
Charise sent him a whimsical look. “And why is it that you have neglected to take me here, Mr. Maynard?”
Finn sent her a wink and grasped one of her hands to raise it to his lips in a gallant manner before answering, “My dear Mrs. Maynard—your cooking is so delicious, why go anywhere else to eat?”
She sputtered at that and then laughed, leaning to give her husband a kiss on his cheek. “Well, I don’t know whether to say thank you or figure out ways to make you dislike my cooking after a remark like that,” she playfully threatened as the others chortled.
The owner, Bernard Huber, came to greet them before escorting them to a table in the center of the large, open room. Looking around, Sam grinned to himself as things were working out perfectly for his plans. He seated his gorgeous bride and his eyes glowed with pride as he noticed other men in the restaurant giving her appreciative looks.
The meal, consisting of steak, baked potatoes, honeyed carrots, seasoned green beans, and blackberry cobbler for dessert, was quite good—but Finn made it a point to declare that the cook had nothing on his wife’s talents in the kitchen, which earned him a pleased smile and a substantial kiss.
Just as the dishes were cleared away and their cups of coffee were refilled, Sam figured the time couldn’t be bet
ter.
Straightening his cravat and smoothing his hair, he cleared his throat to get the others’ attention.
“Um, folks...there’s something I want to do right now, and I’d appreciate it if you’d all give me a few moments.”
Finn, his eyebrows puckering a bit in wonder, lifted a hand in a sweeping motion. “You have the floor, Sam.”
Sam looked around at the faces giving him their rapt attention and then he settled on the most important face of all, seated to his right. He sent her an adoring smile and began, “Beth Ann...I realized recently that I’d neglected something important, so I took steps to fix that and tonight...well...” he stopped, sorting out in his mind the words he wanted to say, as the practiced speech he’d worked on seemed to have flown straight out of his head when she fastened those bright green eyes on him.
He took her hand in his. “Beth, we went about things a little different than normal couples, so I wanted to take this opportunity to pledge myself to you. For the rest of my life, I’ll work harder than any man in history to be the best husband I can be, and God willing, the best father to our children that you could ever want. I’ll provide for you, protect you—and them—and never let anyone or anything hurt you as long as there is breath in my body.” He paused and gave her a smile as he saw those beautiful gem eyes begin to well with emotion.
Then he rose up and moved his chair back so that he could drop down on one knee at her side. Half his brain faintly registered the surprised and pleased gasps of several females sitting nearby, including his sister-in-law as well as his bride.
Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out the small object that had been in the package he’d received earlier, and what Mr. Hodge had helped him pick out from a Brown & Borsheim Jewelry catalog in Omaha. Reflected in the light from the lamp hanging over their table was what the catalog had called a Marjorie ring in the Queen Victoria style, with a center emerald flanked by two small diamonds, set in a 15 karat gold setting of intricate metal work and scrolling details. When he had taken it out of its box, he couldn’t believe how perfectly it complemented his new bride’s gorgeous eyes and the color of her hair. He just hoped she would think so too!
“I know our wedding is in a few days and I’ve already proposed...in the heat of a moment, but Beth Ann, I’m asking you again, in front of all of these witnesses—because I want to give you as many moments and memories as I can to tell our children and grandchildren, to come, all about. So—will you marry me?” he asked, holding her left hand with the ring poised at her finger.
In an attempt to control her emotions, Beth had been holding on with bated breath, but all at once she let go with a squeak as she managed to nod through a gasping chuckle, “Oh Sam! This is...this is...oh yes, YES! I’ll marry you, you big, wonderful, amazing lumberjack!” she added, causing everyone at the table, as well as several nearby observers, to chuckle along with her, oohing and aahing as Sam slipped the glittering ring onto her finger.
Sniffling and swiping at her tears with her other hand, Beth Ann tittered with joy and launched herself forward, wrapping her arms around his neck and giving him a very satisfactory kiss—oblivious to whoever was watching. Then sitting back, she brought her hand up to better view the ring as Charise leaned over and several people at the nearby tables called over their congratulations.
For Sam, he felt like he had won the pot on a royal flush in the poker game of a lifetime.
Sitting back down, he watched as his sweetheart enjoyed her surprise. At one point, she looked over at him and with a smile of absolute delight and mouthed to him, “Thank you, sweetheart. I love you.”
Well, I’m walkin’ in high cotton now, Sam mused as he blew her a kiss. The sky’s the limit and nothing can go wrong—‘cause my girl loves me and she said yes!
However...
Unbeknownst to either of them—six hundred miles away...
A knock sounded at the door in the building that housed the Fetterman Marriage Brokers.
Lloyd Fetterman...the Third...let out an aggravated sigh. “Yes, Gertrude, what is it?” he called through the closed carved mahogany pocket doors.
“It’s Mr. Elliott, sir.”
Elliott...it’s about time he reported in...but I wonder why he didn’t just send me a wire... “Show him in.”
The doors slid open and, Brock Elliott, the private detective he had hired, came striding in.
Lloyd sat up straighter in his opulent chair and watched the man approach the desk. “You have news?”
The man stopped and cleared his throat. “Mr. Fetterman, I...uh...lost their trail.”
“YOU WHAT??” Lloyd bellowed. “After all these weeks, you come back and have the nerve to tell me you LOST THEIR TRAIL?”
The man swallowed and muttered a few choice words. “I’ve never failed a client in my life but...I ain’t never seen anything like this, Mr. Fetterman. I tracked them through depot after depot in so many different towns I lost count, but in Harrisonville, Missouri, the trail just dried up. I searched the town, I threatened the ticket agent with bodily harm to no avail, but he said he saw an elderly gentleman and a young lady get off the train there, but he didn’t see anyone who looked like that get back on. Now...” he hesitated, taking off his hat and smacking his thigh with it. “Those two gave me a merry chase at all of the other depots, I’ll admit. Seems they used disguises so it would be hard to track them, and it nearly worked. But when I’d question the ticket agents, there was usually someone who fit the bill in some way, shape, or form and I’d get a clue to go on to the next stop on the line. I’ve spent weeks trying to get more information—even at my own expense—but...I’ve come up dry.”
Lloyd sat back and stared at the man. Obviously, he was telling the truth. And obviously, he wasn’t as good of a detective as he’d led me to believe. Oh well, it’s a moot point now.
“Well,” he conceded in a rare show of understanding. “I can see you did your best.” Reaching into the right hand desk drawer, he drew out an elaborate checkbook and quickly scratched out a check for an amount he felt was fair for the time the man had spent on the job.
Handing it over, he grumbled, “Take that to my bank, the Louisville Bank & Trust, on Third and Walnut, and they’ll cash it for you.”
The man looked at the check and his eyes widened in surprise, as he’d been sure Fetterman would throw him out without a dime. It wasn’t what he would have received if he had been able to bring the woman back, but he was obviously satisfied. Quickly slipping his hat back on his head, he tipped it to Fetterman with a cursory, “Th...thank you, Mr. Fetterman,” before turning and beating a hasty retreat...in case I change my mind, Lloyd snorted softly to himself.
As the door slid closed in the wake of his departure, Lloyd swung the chair around and stared out the heavily draped window.
Seems nothing has gone right for me ever since that vixen walked in here and asked me to find her a husband. Then...when I offer myself as a groom, she bolts as if I had the plague... The fact that Miss Beth Ann Gilmore had outsmarted him at his own game still rankled his pride whenever it crossed his mind. As the privileged son and heir to the Fetterman fortune, he’d never been denied anything in his life. That fact alone had made him quite blind to the feelings and needs of others.
However, since Beth Ann and that Hinkle character had slipped from his clutches, not a day had gone by that someone hadn’t given him a piece of their mind. Never before had anyone actually had the nerve to give him what for and actually tell him what he or she thought of him or his actions.
Thinking back over the weeks, he remembered an old woman standing on a street corner in the rain, splashed by the wheels of his carriage, who screeched her displeasure and hurled personal insults regarding his character. The pregnant wife of a man he had fired from his job at the bank because he had caused Lloyd an inconvenience—she had leveled accusations of specific deficits in his conscience. The wife of a man who had been several weeks late on his mortgage payment and Lloyd had e
xercised his legal—but not necessarily moral—right to foreclose had nearly called curses down on his head. The same day, a little girl he had bumped into on the sidewalk and caused her to drop her much-treasured bag of candy into a mud puddle had called him the devil himself. And even his own mother, in a fit of temper had called him a spoiled brat who cared for nothing and no one but his own selfish desires.
If all of that weren’t enough, these past few nights he had suffered wild nightmares that made him almost tempted to believe the things he had heard as a child when his maternal grandmother had taken him to church. Things about God and heaven, the devil and hell, good and evil, and treating your fellow man the way you wanted to be treated...
Bah! Those things are for weaklings and the poor and downtrodden, just like grandfather always said. There’s a sucker born every minute, just like father always quoted. Money, and lots of it—that’s the only security there is. Competing and winning at all costs, that’s what makes the world go ‘round. With money, you can do anything, go anywhere, and have anything you want...
His self-important musings were interrupted by another knock at the door.
“Yes?” he snapped.
The housekeeper, little silver-haired Gertrude, slid open one door. “A boy delivered a note from Judge Livingstone, Mr. Fetterman,” she murmured, walking quickly to the desk and depositing said note on its surface before turning and leaving the same way.
Lloyd picked up the note from the man who had been in the family pocket for decades and scanned it. However, as he read the judge’s name... something clicked in his memory.
Her swore softly, closing his eyes in an attempt to concentrate and remember the name of the judge that Gilmore girl had mentioned had signed her so-called marriage license. Why have I failed to remember that until this moment? It was Judge...Terry...Berry...Gerry... Gah! I can’t remember! But perhaps the clerk will remember a lovely, green-eyed young woman and her elderly escort... If that was not a real marriage license she showed that patrolman...
