by Mercy Levy
“Damn you, Livingston.” Joshua ground out in a harsh whisper. “Get out of my store.” Gregory Livingston smirked and turned his back on Joshua, appraising Emily as he strode past her. She crossed her arms over her chest and looked away from him. She flushed with embarrassment at the sound of his laughter as he walked away.
Joshua limped and slid on the glass as her tried to go after Livingston. Emily and Celia simultaneously reached out for him. The naked fear in their eyes stopped him cold, and he straightened up and brushed himself off.
“This was not how it was supposed to be, Emily.” Joshua said in a harsh whisper. “I have nothing for you, now.” He motioned at the destruction all around him. “You’d be better off going back to New York, and no one will blame you for it.” I wanted to give you everything, and now… He shrugged his shoulders and turned away from her. Emily seethed at his dismissal. She grabbed him by the shoulder and spun him around.
“See here, Captain Prentis.” Emily struggled to open the little drawstring purse on her wrist. “You wait just one moment before you throw away everything you want or need or love.” She gave up on the purse and looked straight into his eyes. “Don’t you dare give up, do you hear me?” She picked her way out of the glass and fabric and exited the store, stopping to ask a bystander a question before pushing her way back out through the crowd.
Celia and Joshua began to pick up the cloth and clear away the mess. Soon Millie joined them and the three set to work in earnest. Joshua was too unhappy to notice that Emily had not returned by the time the fabric was all piled in the storage room and Celia and Millie were sweeping up glass. Just as the shop began to look useable again, Livingston stormed through the door and confronted Joshua waving a paper in his face.
“Just how did you manage to come up with this money?” He demanded of Joshua. He was red-faced and spittle hit Joshua in the face as Gregory raged at him.
“What money?” Joshua asked. Livingston shoved the paper in his face. It was a bank statement, a receipt of payment in full. “Gregory, I have no idea where this came from.” Joshua admitted. Livingston sniffed derisively.
“I don’t believe you.” He smirked. “It had to be your money, the little girl who delivered this was here with you earlier.” Joshua looked around. Emily was still missing. Celia shrugged her shoulders. She hadn’t seen her since before they had begun clearing away the vandalism. As if on cue, Emily quietly walked in the hole where the front door had been. Livingston saw the recognition on Joshua’s face and spun around. “How did you get this?” He wildly brandished the bank note in her face.
“I bought it.” She answered quietly. Joshua looked at her in askance. “You are Gregory Livingston. Am I correct?” Emily queried. Gregory Livingston merely nodded, smoothing down his lapels and straightening his waistcoat. “Ah, good.” Emily replied. “I am so glad you are here.” Livingston raised an eyebrow skeptically. Emily smiled at Joshua and he returned it with a wan smile of his own.
“Mr. Livingston.” Emily said gently. “Please leave this shop, and never come back. You have no place here, and you never will. Leave now, lest I be forced to send for the authorities.” Joshua looked at Emily in surprise. Livingston got red in the face and began to sputter. Emily stepped out of the way and motioned him toward the door with an elegant and graceful gesture. Joshua barely managed to stifle a chuckle at his retreating back. He drew close to Emily and placed his hands on her shoulders.
“What have you been up to, Emily?” He asked quietly.
“I’m afraid I don’t have a wedding gift for you anymore.” Emily responded. “That is to say, if you were so inclined to ask me, I no longer have a gift for you. It was the loveliest gold pocket watch.” She sighed. He blinked slowly, thinking of what to say.
“I didn’t think you would say yes if I did ask now.” He replied. “What happened to the watch?” He asked, although he was certain of her reply.
“I sold it and paid the remaining debt on your land.” She stated casually. “Actually, I was a little short. It seems the manager of the bank had concerns regarding the timing of this action against you, and was desirous to assist an upstanding member of the community such as yourself.” Joshua gaped in shock. “You owe him a silk dress for his wife. He said her favorite color is blue.” Joshua laughed, in relief and surprise.
“You are… you are unlike anyone else, Miss Emily Bouchard.” Joshua laughed again, a grin spreading across his face and lighting up his eyes. “I don’t know what to say.” Emily returned his grin with a shy smile. He pulled her into a tight embrace. “How do I make this up to you?” He whispered to her staring into her eyes.
“You could ask me to marry you.” Emily offered drily. “Considering I just sold the only item of worth I owned and now I can’t leave.” Joshua chuckled and kissed her gently.
“I would be honored if you would be my wife, Emily.” He murmured.
“Fortunately for you, sir, I am inclined to agree.” Emily replied, blithely.
“Emily, you are my savior.” Joshua spoke softly, holding his mail-order-bride to be in a possessive embrace.
“I will settle for being your love, Captain Prentis.” Emily paused to control the tears of happiness that threatened to spill forth. “Remember, you’re saving me too.”
THE END
Miss. Greenstone
Chapter 1
Before the War
Melanie Greenstone shook her head no as anger erupted flashed through her eyes with sharp lightning. “I've already told you,” she told a tall man wearing a simple gray suit, “I'm not staying in Atlanta.” Looking up at a low, cool, gray sky, she knew rain was coming. Standing outside of a large two story home sitting out in the countryside like a broken dream, Melanie felt sadness begin to overwhelm her temporary anger. “It was the rumor of war that killed my husband.”
Jack Brittleton watched the anger in his sister-in-law's check fade away as grief gripped her heart. “What are your plans? I suppose you will sell me the house and land?” he asked looking up into tall pine trees being pushed side to side by the wind. Although his voice came out like cold stone, he felt a certain compassion for Melanie that kindled emotion in his heart from time to time.
Melanie nodded her head. Her brother-in-law was a businessman with a cold heart. She had never cared for the man; and even wondered how her husband, who was a warm and loving man, could share the same blood with a man who had never shed a tear in his life. The man stood facing her like a worn down scarecrow whose thin face reminded her of misery and sorrow. “Yes,” she said desperately attempting to retain her anger. The last thing she needed was for Jack to see her show weakness.
“I will not be responsible for this house and land. If you choose to desert your duty toward my brother and manage his land and home, then that is your fault and not my own. I will sell the house and land.”
“And make a profit of course,” Melanie snapped. “I wouldn't even sell to you...you...snake...but my husband made me promise to never sell to anyone but you. I have no other choice.”
Jack rolled his eyes as the wind snatched at Melanie's long brown hair and yellow dress. Melanie was a beautiful woman, that was for certain. In fact, the woman was one of the most beautiful creatures he had ever laid eyes on. But it was her hot temper and stubborn attitude that caused conflict between them. Jack expected a woman to be weak and obedient—like his own wife—not stubborn, temperamental and willing to slug someone at the drop of a hat. “I will offer you a fair price. I'm sure my own profit margin will be very little.”
Melanie examined the house and land with sad eyes. “When the war starts..the land and people will change. When the war ends...nothing will be the same. My husband was adamantly opposed to any idea of allowing our land to be destroyed by war. He organized meetings and--”
“And it was because of those meetings your husband is dead,” Jack snapped. “My brother, the hero...” he huffed. “My brother was shot dead by a union sympathizer while calling for a
peace that we all know is going to soon be filled with the sounds of war.” And with that, he turned and walked toward a brown horse buggy parked on a narrow dirt lane standing in front of the house.
“At least my husband had guts,” Melanie yelled. “He wasn't a coward.”
“Meet me at the bank first thing tomorrow morning,” Jack called back over his shoulder. “The sooner I'm rid of you, the better.”
Melanie felt like chasing after Jack and clubbing him over the head with a tree limb. But all she could do was watch her brother-in-law drive away in horse buggy as a heavy sprinkle began to drop from the gray sky. “Soon it will be Thanksgiving,” she nearly wept finally allowing her anger to dissolve into complete misery.
With no other choice but to go back inside into a large, empty, house, Melanie turned and walked toward the front porch as tears began falling from her eyes. Later on, as darkness fell and fierce storm settled in, Melanie sat in a candle-lit kitchen eating soup and reading her Bible. “Dear Lord,” she prayed after finishing her meal, “please show me where to go and what to do. I'm still young and my husband and I were only married for two years. I can't stay here...but I don't know where to go. Please guide my heart. In Jesus Sweet Name, Amen.”
*
Peering through the heavy falling snow, Melanie wondered if the stage coach was going to be able to push through to Virginia City or not. Her destination was Sacramento, but certainly, she thought, leaning back in her seat, she would not arrive in Sacramento on time; due to the weather. A rough looking man wearing a dark gray suit eyed Melanie with curiosity. “Forget about making Virginia City. The stage will probably be forced to stop in Greenville.”
Melanie wasn't in the mood for the stranger. The man had already played a sour hand with her, pretending to be a wealthy businessman when, in fact, it turned out that he was a crooked card player. “The Lord is in control of the weather. It's up to Him where we stop, sir,” she answered in a strong voice. Straightening out the yellow coat she was wearing over a white and pink dress, Melanie hoped that her attitude would prevent any further conversation with the stranger.
The man took out a pack of cards from his jacket pocket. “You may need that faith of yours,” he replied and focused on shuffling the cards.
“What does that mean?” Melanie demanded.
The man grinned. “In this part of the country, lady, you need more the luck to survive. From the way you talk, I can tell you're from the south. And lady, this isn't the south.”
The stage coach took a sharp curve and then settled back on a straight road. All Melanie's eyes could see was snow drenched hills stuffed with dangerous rocks. “I can take care of myself, mind you. My destination is--” Before Melanie could finish her sentence the stage coach drivers began yelling at the horse. “What's going on?”
The man put his cards away as the stage coach began to slow down. “This is my stop,” he said and, in a dash, yanked open the stage door, jumped out into the snow, and vanished.
Minutes later, a man holding a rifle and wearing a Sheriff's badge poked his head into the stage and looked at Melanie. “Where is the man who was riding in here with you?” he asked in a gruff voice.
“How should I know?” Melanie fussed. Gripping the white carry purse in her hands, she stared hard at the rough man with the wiry black beard and black hat. “That awful man jumped out when the drivers started to pull the horses to a stop.”
The Sheriff slammed the stage coach door shut and began yelling at a few other men sitting ahead on horseback. Melanie waited a long time, and eventually, the drivers got the horses moving again. Half an hour later the stage coach roared into a small and cozy town called Greenville. “This is our stop for tonight,” an old man told Melanie. “Storm is too much for the horses to run in. I reckon we might be sitting on our hands for a few days.”
Melanie bowed her head and sighed. “Lord,” she whispered, “why are you making this passage so difficult for me?” she asked. With no other choice but to go to the hotel, Melanie crawled out of the stage coach, raised her hands to her eyes, looked through the snow, and spotted the hotel. “Where are we?” she asked.
The old man reached up and took a brown suitcase from the second driver who was standing on top of the stagecoach. “This is Greenville, mam. We're about a day's ride from Virginia City. Not much here, mostly ranchers. But,” the old man smiled handing Melanie her brown suitcase, “it's a nice enough place. Sheriff Wheeler keeps the lawbreakers out. The fact is, Greenville is probably the safest town in the territory.”
“Was the safest town,' the second driver called down from the roof of the stage coach. “Bank was robbed three months ago, remember?”
The old man scratched the back of his neck. “Mighty cold, mam. Best to get into the hotel and settle yourself into a hot meal and warm bed.”
The second driver yelled down at the old man: “Sheriff Wheeler hit the target with Edward Mayes. Told you he was guilty, Mac. Why else would he have jumped from the stage when we stopped for the Sheriff?”
“Why would the man be coming back to Greenville if he was guilty?” the old man snapped back. “Besides, Sheriff ain't got nothing concrete on Edward Mayes...just all suspicion. It was that Paiute if you ask me.”
Melanie wasn't in the mood to stand around in the snow, freezing, while two men argue over who robbed a silly bank while the winds struggled to yank off the pink bonnet she was wearing. Hurrying away to the hotel, she gratefully pushed her way through a green door leading into a well-lit lobby being kept warm by a strong fire burning in a tall, stone, fireplace. Walking up to the front counter, she was greeted by an old man with gray hair. “Help you, mam?” the old man asked.
Melanie sat her suitcase down and calmly straightened the bonnet on her head. She didn't feel very ladylike. Even though she appeared beautiful and delicate. “Yes, I would like a room, please. I don't know how long for? The stage coach driver said due to the weather we might be lodging in your town for a few days,” she answered the old man, struggling to sound pleasant and polite.
“Mighty strong storm brewing across the land,” the old man agreed. “And right before Thanksgiving, too.” The old man straightened the brown tie he was wearing, rearranged the reading glasses on his face, dusted some lint off the gray jacket covering his pot belly, and smiled. “Now that I'm decent to the eyes,” he smiled, “let's get you a room. And forgive me for saying, but you look like a good, hot, meal could is just the thing.”
“I am hungry,” Melanie admitted signing the guest registry book.
“I thought so,” the old man smiled. Turning away from Melanie, he focused on a wooden board nailed to the back while behind the front counter. The board had ten keys hanging from it. Studying the board, the old man settled on a certain key. “Ah, this will do. Room number five.”
“As long as the room has a warm bed, it will do,” Melanie forced a tired smile to her frozen lips.
“Room five has been freshly repainted along with a new bed,” the old man smiled back at Melanie. “You'll like the room, I promise. Now, go get settled in. Supper starts in about...oh...twenty minutes. Mrs. Mayes is making her best roast beef tonight.”
“Mayes?” Melanie asked. “I...a man with that last name was riding on the stagecoach with me. But he escaped when the drivers stopped for the Sheriff of this town.”
The old man's face went pale. “Oh dear...” he said nervously. Without saying another word, he rushed away toward the dining room. Melanie followed. The dining room, to her relief, was lined with tables covered with clean, brown, tables cloths. The floor was hardwood, but well polished. Paintings hung on the four walls—nothing fancy or tacky; simple and cozy. But what caught Melanie's attention the most was a man sitting at a back table alone, reading the Bible. The man, Melanie saw, was Native American. “John,” the old man said to the man in a sacred voice. “Edward Mayes...he...”
“What about Edward Mayes?” the man asked in a strong voice. Putting down his bible, he gla
nced away from the old man toward Melanie. Dressed in a cheap brown work shirt and gray trousers, he felt humble. His black hair was cut short, like the white man's hair. The warrior he once was seemed far, far, away, replaced by a beaten down man who worked for table scraps.
“This lady,” the old man pointed at Melanie, “she said Edward Mayes was on the coach with her.”
Melanie cautiously approached the table John was sitting at. “My name is Melanie Greenstone. I was riding on the coach with a man whose last name was Mayes. When the Sheriff of this town stopped the drivers, the man jumped out of the stage coach and vanished. That is all I know. I didn't mean to upset anyone.”
“This is John,” the old man told Melanie. “He's half Paiute and half white. Mrs. Mayes, my wife, found him deserted when he was just a baby.”
“Mrs. Mayes is your wife? That must mean--”
“Edward Hayes is our son,” the old man confessed to Melanie. “Edward and John grew up together. They were closer than brothers once.”
“A very long time ago,” John said and stood up. Staring into Melanie's beautiful eyes, he felt his heart stir. Something in the woman's bright eyes spoke to him. “You did not upset anyone. It is good that you have told us. If Edward has returned, he has returned for a good reason. In time, he will show himself.”
“And be hanged,” the old man said terrified. “Oh dear...”
Melanie watched the old man rush away toward the back kitchen.
“I really didn't mean to upset that poor man,” she told John as guilt overcame her. And then she remembered what the second driver had yelled at the old man. “A bank robbery...that's what he said,” she whispered.
