A Little Romance: Stories for Hopeful Hearts

by Marilyn M Schulz

  Velma said, “Kids, you’re going to have a new sister or brother. Better run up and pick out your rooms, this place is going to get crowded.”

  Joe’s mouth fell open. Joey picked his nose, and June gazed longingly to the bookshelf in the living room.

  Velma shouted, “I mean it! Last one up gets to live in the rafters of the attic.”

  The kids squealed and headed up the stairs.

  Joe hugged his wife with tears in his eyes.

  It was an American family—and was looking like Joe was going to have that big family after all.

  The End

  Love Leaves a Memory

  * * * * * * * * * * *

  THE END

  A Little Romance

  Stories for Hopeful Hearts

  Copyright © 2013

  By Marilyn M Schulz

  * * * * * * * * * * * *

  BONUS STORY

  From Women of the West

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  Widow's Weeds

  Somewhere out west in a gold rush town, 1850s

  The man stood up from the tea table and held a hand out in greeting. "Mr. Bibbermann, so glad you could make it. May I introduce Mrs. Alice McGinty? Mrs. McGinty, this is Abner Bibbermann, who is somewhat of an institution here in Travis Gulch. One of our first citizens, he's made this town what it is today." Then he leaned closer to the woman still seated and added more discretely, "I think he might be willing to help you."

  The woman in black lifted a limp hand in greeting. "So pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr. Bibbermann. Has Mr. Duggery related the details of my unfortunate and most embarrassing situation?"

  Bibbermann eased into a chair, his bloated stomach stretching the buttons on the ornate waistcoat. He noted that even in her black widow's weeds, Alice McGinty was a handsome woman. But given the modesty of her downcast stare and the ever-present handkerchief dabbing at her pink nose and reddened eyes, he couldn't guess her age.

  Young enough to have some spark, old enough to know the ways of the world. Especially for a pretty woman in need, he thought as he tried not to let the anticipation of pleasure show on his face or anywhere else.

  As Bibbermann brought the cigar to his mouth, the lawyer shook his head just a touch, suggesting he not light up. The men then lifted their brows in unison, looking over the top of her head. The slight gesture was their agreement: They had an understanding in their plans for Mrs. McGinty and her assets, even if she didn't quite understand that she had some.

  Duggery was tall with long, thin limbs. He had the slicked-back hair and pointy nose of a Dickens character of ill repute. In fact, he was a lawyer of note in the town, with all the best clients. That really meant he made the most money, though his appearance and his habits didn't show it.

  Bibbermann was the perfect caricature for Wild West decadence one saw in the Nickel Novels that sold so well back East: He ate too much, he drank too much, and his personal habits were abhorrent. But there was plenty of opportunity for an ambitious man. You could do well and live a good life—no sense in holding back.

  They might have seemed like a set of opposites, but really they were a perfect pair—but of what?

  That was the question the Widow McGinty should have been asking, and they were relieved that she didn't. But they knew that women like her never did. Women were too trusting when they were grieving.

  This situation was perfect for men of their intent. Mrs. McGinty was the perfect mark.

  Bibbermann waited for his tea to be poured before he spoke. As he shoveled in sugar, he said, "Mr. Duggery informed me of the old mine shaft and the size of the parcel. Do you have anything to add, Mrs. McGinty?”

  It sounded businesslike, as it was supposed to be, but the men had already made their minds up as to how they would proceed. The men could claim neither friendship, nor trust. But they had done business like this together for years in the booming, but isolated, territorial town of Travis Gulch. The place had provided them with a remarkable number of clients out for a fast bit of luck.

  True, they may have helped the numbers along now and then. Still people kept coming here for the dream of gold. Gold could draw men like honey draws bears, and everyone knows the West is a dangerous place.

  At least, they should know as much, and too bad for those that didn't.

  Besides, this bit of honey sitting here now was looking particularly sweet. Mr. Bibbermann chewed on his cigar as the woman spoke, "My dear Chandler—God rest his precious soul—“

  She dabbed at her nose.

  "Well, he was a dreamer. He had such plans of living well from the proceeds of the gold mine.”

  She blew, once, then again. Had a sip of tea.

  "I'm afraid he bought the land sight unseen when we were still comfortable in our lovely home in Philadelphia. It was only later, to his great shame, poor lamb, that we found out that all it held was dreams—our broken dreams."

  The woman fought a sob, and dabbed daintily at a tear. The men exchanged glances over the top of her bowed head.

  She took a deep breath of fortitude and continued, though her voice was shaking and weak, "But I must be practical now, I suppose. My darling Chandler was so broken that he shot himself. Not that I blamed him for anything.”

  She paused; they waited. It came as it always did: "No, I don't blame him. Those men who sold him the parcel must have been unscrupulous," she finished bitterly.

  Duggery and Bibbermann gave the usual indignant comforts:

  "Dastardly deeds, but how could you know?”

  "What is the world coming to, I would like to know?"

  "Such men will face their sins come Judgment Day, don't you worry, my fine lady."

  The lovely woman continued, "I have to admit to myself that I am a widow now of little fortitude and only modest means. Chandler's family house in Philadelphia was sold to buy the parcel, and I must be practical now. I have decided to sell the land such as it is and head back to my own family in New York. Perhaps they will be kind to a foolish woman who—"

  The grieving widow could not continue.

  After a moment of silence, Mr. Duggery cleared his throat and asked kindly, "New York, that's a long way to travel. Will you be going alone, Mrs. McGinty?”

  The woman nodded, then bravely lifted her head and put her shoulders back. It took a bit of doing, but she looked him in the eye.

  "There, that's the spirit," said Mr. Bibbermann. "Where in New York, Mrs. McGinty? I have family there myself."

  "Scranton. Is your family from Scranton, Mr. Bibbermann? What a coincidence." She even managed a bit of a smile.

  "No, no, my family is from the city, New York City. Well, across the river really, Jersey City. Well, no matter. Wherever we came from, we are all here now."

  Duggery added, "And we all end up the same way in the end, kneeling before our Maker."

  Mrs. McGinty said, "Amen.”

  Bibbermann was studying his cigar now—hard to find out here on the frontier. Good cigars were quite expensive too. They took awhile to get here, and he didn't have many left. He needed this to work, and he added, absently, "It's been a long time since I was back there."

  The widow explained, "I know my land is not worth much compared to the gold mine we had hoped it would be, but . . ." As she trailed off, she looked at the men hopefully.

  Bibbermann grunted as he shifted in the chair. "Well, that's an understatement, Mrs. McGinty, what with no minerals to speak of and little water, as I understand. Scrub is poor grazing.”

  Duggery was sitting across the table from the round man, protectively at the side of the Widow McGinty. The lawyer put a hand to her shoulder as he said, "Yes, but there is almost two hundred acres, and it borders Henry Culvert's land where there is a stream not too far. No doubt if he chooses to expand, well, need I say what an investment potential the parcel holds?"

  "Don't need potential, Duggery, I need capital and assets now. I'm not a charity. If Culvert needs it, why don't you sell it to him?”


  At the slight cry from Mrs. McGinty, both men moved to hide their smiles, one with a cigar, and the other with a slight cough into his tea cup.

  This was easier than usual. Duggery called the waiter over for a refill. He added, "And make sure it's more tea in the pot, not just new water."

  But then the woman added softly, "I must confess I did inquire into other possibilities, gentlemen. Mr. Culvert himself, in fact. But he's on a cattle . . . drive? Is that what you call it? Is that the right term?”

  The men exchanged glances. Both nodded. It was true that the area's biggest rancher was driving a herd of cattle north towards a railroad town even as they spoke. The cattle would be shipped to Chicago for slaughter and great profit. They envied Mr. Culvert the money if not the effort.

  She gently fanned herself then. The men exchanged glances again: They hoped she didn't faint.

  But she only said, "I must be truthful, I am financially embarrassed at present, and I cannot wait much longer. Gentlemen, I need the money as soon as possible. I'm so ashamed."

  Bibbermann said gallantly, "Madam, don't distress yourself further. I understand the West has a poor reputation, but I assure you that there are plenty of gentlemen here. Some of us have not forgotten the chivalry we have learned at our own sire’s knee. We know how a lady of good family is meant to be treated.”

  She looked up, her eyes shining in hope. He continued with a smile, "There, that's better. And since our families share a nearness of origin back East, I will offer on the land, sight unseen. How does two hundred dollars sound."

  Duggery blanched. "A dollar an acre, don't be obscene. She paid five dollars an acre just for the land. Then there was the gold mine—"

  "But there is no gold in the mine, so that's just a dangerous hole in the side of a hill. Next thing you know, someone will wander in, and the whole will fall down. I'd have to pay to dig them out."

  Duggery insisted, "Never the less, Bibbermann—"

  The woman put a hand to his arm, stopping his angry tirade. She said, "I shall certainly contemplate the offer, if for no other reason than Mr. Bibbermann's kindness. And be assured that unless Mr. McClinton makes a better one, the land is yours. I can't thank you enough."

  Duggery blurted, "McClinton!”

  Mrs. McGinty turned to her lawyer, "Why yes, do you know him too? Lovely man, I hear. He works as Mr. Culvert's business manager. Didn't I say?”

  Bibbermann was red in the face, his cigar taking the abuse as his teeth cut off any reply.

  Duggery asked pointedly, "When did you talk to Mr. McClinton?"

  "Oh, I only have a telegram. He's been in the capitol, I believe. The Reverend Maddox suggested I contact the man. Mr. McClinton isn't due until next week, but he informed me that he's familiar with the parcel, and he's authorized to make an offer on behalf of Mr. Culvert when he gets back."

  The men glared at one another, this time openly. Mr. Duggery spoke up first, before Bibbermann's anxiety ruined the day. "Well, that is certainly lucky for you then. However, if you don't mind me saying so, you are taking a gamble to wait when you have a perfectly good offer in hand. Especially with Mr. Bibbermann making the gesture in good faith. And if you are concerned with leaving the territory quickly and are, at present, strapped for cash, why would you want to wait?"

  "Oh, dear. Well then, all that you say is true, but you also said the offer was very low. I suppose I am just confused with money and business matters. How will I manage on my own?”

  Tears threatened again, and Bibbermann interjected, "I will give you five dollars to the acre this very instant. You will make no profit, but recoup any loss at all. There is a stage leaving in a little over an hour, and you could be on your way home today. What do you think Duggery? Can we finish the legalities in that time?"

  Duggery assured them both that he could and waited for Mrs. McGinty to give her consent. With a sigh, she agreed, on the condition that they give Mr. McClinton her apologies and explain the feckless mind of a widow.

  They assured her they would, and the lawyer nearly ran back to his office. Businessman Bibbermann, in turn, trotted to the bank to make his withdrawal, his face showing red with the strain.

  The Widow McGinty continued sitting in the otherwise empty dining room of the hotel, sipping her tea. She had perfect composure, but no one was there to see the nervous tapping of her foot anyway.

  With the papers drawn, the signatures attached, and the money exchanged, both men kissed the hand of the departing Widow McGinty. Mr. Bibbermann did take a moment to linger, for he regretted the lovely so soon getting away.

  As the stage rolled out, the men turned to each other with a whoop of delight.

  "That stupid woman!" exclaimed Bibbermann with a mouth full of lit-tipped cigar. "She didn't even know gold when it came up and bit her!"

  Duggery clapped his partner in not-quite-crime (but definitely walking that fine line) on the back, "Come on, Bibbermann, and let’s go look at our future. I nearly died when she waltzed in with gold dust covering her widow's weeds. The woman must have the brain of a pea.”

  Bibbermann snickered, "Too bad I couldn't have gotten a little extra honey from her, she was a tasty woman, but no sense in being greedy."

  "Your lustful eye will get us both in trouble some day, Abner. But let's wait for another day before we go out. Just to be sure no word gets out ahead of our widow. I don't want her coming back, and you know how such news travels fast."

  Bibbermann slapped his partner on the back. "Let's get a drink, we need to toast Mrs. McGinty."

  Both men laughed together then and retired to the saloon for the rest of the day.

  ~~~

  A few days later, Mrs. Jessica Maddox watched out the window as the stage rolled into Culver City.

  End of the line was called.

  She asked about the most reputable hotel. Told the Grand, she asked that her luggage be delivered there. The driver assured the woman it would be, after the stock was attended to first.

  She nodded, then asked shyly, "Is it very expensive, the hotel, I mean?"

  The driver looked at the lovely young widow with raised eyebrows. He said, "Well, for around here, I guess it is. I think it's eight dollars a week, ma'am. But that includes breakfast and dinner everyday, but Sunday. Then you'd be on your own. Them that owns it don't work on the Sabbath.”

  She thought for a second, then nodded, murmuring, "Yes, of course."

  Jessica then walked purposefully toward the most familiar sight, the church. The white steeple was the tallest point in the bustling town. She navigated through playing children, wagons with loads coming and going, then veered past a group of drunken cowboys.

  Inside the chapel, the widow moved to the Altar and dropped to her knees with a sob.

  Out of the side doorway, a balding head poked out. "Can I help you, ma'am?" asked the pastor in concern.

  Jessica dabbed her eyes. "No, thank you so much. Only time and the Lord can help me now.”

  He nodded, turning to leave, then thought for a moment and paused, his finger tapping to the side of his nose. The man extended a hand to the slouched woman, "I am Pastor Webber, Jonathan Webber. Won't you come have tea with my wife and myself."

  "Oh, I couldn't impose," she said doubtfully.

  "Nonsense, you're new here, I can tell that—and in distress. I insist.”

  She noted the kind eyes, then nodded, rising to follow the now-chattering man.

  "On these lovely spring days, we just love to have tea on the back veranda. Amelia, that's my wife, has a wonderful flower garden. Daffodils and tulips and it looks to be a bumper year for lilacs. We love to have company, we have no family of our own, not here.”

  They passed through the church and around the side of a house. A small, round woman was fussing over a table. She chirped her greetings to her husband then turned curious bright eyes to Jessica.

  "We have a guest, my dear.”

  They both turned to her expectantly and Jessica blushed
as she said, "Mrs. Jessica Maddox, I'm a widow, I just got here and I . . .”

  She trailed off, dropping her eyes forlornly. The woman clucked like the frustrated hen she resembled and told the pastor to get additional silver and china for a third.

  After tea and refreshments, color had returned to Jessica's face, and life to her eyes. She explained that she was in Culver City for a solemn purpose. Their interest piqued, she took her time with the tea before continuing.

  "My dear Abner, rest his precious soul, well, he was a gambler. Not at first," she exclaimed defensively. "We were married back East, but planned our new life here in the West. At first, we had a little farm, not far from here, three days ride."

  "Over by Travis Gulch?" asked the pastor.

  She nodded happily at the recognition. The smile was infectious, and both pastor and wife returned it.

  "Well, I don't know what happened, but one day he heard the Devil's call and turned to gambling. Maybe it was the crop failures or the wild predators taking our livestock. Maybe it was my failing, we had no children. A stronger woman, a better wife—" she choked.

  They reassured her that it could not be the case. After all, they had no children themselves. The pastor patted her hand. "God has His own plan, He'll guide you, it's only a matter of faith." Then he took his wife's hand in his own, and they gazed at each other lovingly.

  Her composure regained, Jessica continued as the hostess poured more tea. "Anyway, I was still at the farm, where else could I go? Abner would stop by every so often, you understand?"

  "Disgraceful," the pastor's wife said, even as she blushed very red.

  "I pleaded with him to stay home, but he would be off again too soon, each time taking more of my grandmother's jewelry or his father's watch or leather-bound books. Off he'd go again to I don't knows where or what. I found out he'd taken all our money from the bank and mortgaged our homestead. Of course, I couldn't make the payments.”

  Jessica paused, took another sip of tea, and then with a brave intake of breath, added. "I only heard what happened from the sheriff who also got it second-hand, you understand?”