A Courageous Bride to Bring Him Hope: A Historical Western Romance Book

by Cassidy Hanton

  So that was the problem she had with some of her neighbors, or more accurately, their problems with her. There were people, mostly men, who saw her independence as something unnatural. They scowled at her, muttering she should find a husband instead of selling liquor, or if they were more polite, ignored her as she passed by them. Clementine did her best to ignore those narrow-minded souls in return.

  After everything she’d been through, she’d earned the right to do what she wanted. Those who were born privileged as men could never know or could never fully understand the sufferings of women in this world. Keeping all that in mind, as far as she was concerned, all those people could keep their small-minded opinions to themselves and let her be. Clementine lived just the way she wanted to. And I am very happy, thank you very much.

  “Clementine!”

  Clementine slowed down so she could see who was calling out to her. She smiled as she saw a middle-aged woman rushing her way.

  “Mrs. Townsend,” Clementine greeted the heavily breathing woman as she approached her.

  “Clementine, I am so happy I caught you. Your herbal tea worked.”

  Clementine was pleased to hear it. Mrs. Townsend’s son had a terrible cough for weeks, and Clementine offered to make him something her mother used to make for her when she was little.

  “I’m glad,” she replied simply. Tim was a nice boy and Clementine hated seeing him suffering.

  “I am so relieved,” Mrs. Townsend said, and it was apparent across her whole face. “Do you mind making another batch, just to make sure?” she inquired.

  “Certainly. I will have it for you in a couple of days.” Clementine needed some time to dry and mince the proper herbs.

  Mrs. Townsend patted her cheek. “Thank you very much; you truly are an angel. I have to run. Mrs. Havers is waiting for me and you know how she gets if you’re late.”

  And with that, she practically ran away without giving Clementine a chance to reply to any of it. Instead, she smiled, looking at the woman. Mrs. Townsend was one of the women who refused to see Clementine any differently now just because she worked at the store. She felt grateful she could call that woman a friend. She resumed her journey.

  As she entered the store, all the usual smells washed over her, hitting her nostrils. The pleasant odor of oats and corn packed away in small sacks; the tang of molasses and, underneath it all, the faintest hint of beer.

  The store had changed her life in many ways. She got an opportunity to socialize more, learn new skills and discover a great deal about herself, like how strong and resilient she was.

  Clementine could see that all the usual customers were already in line at the counter. She spotted a few new ones, too. That cheered her up since she wouldn’t mind getting a few extra coins in tips. It wasn’t normal to tip merchants, but Mr. Michaels had wisely put a tip jar on the counter anyway, and because of his reliable stock and cheerful attitude, the men always put in a coin or two.

  Their town was constantly growing, and unlike some, she did not have a problem with it. Having fresh blood around wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. Sure, a few bad apples could enter their lives, but surprisingly, she was still hopeful.

  People can surprise you sometimes.

  Fine folk came into their establishment just as often as trouble makers did, buying up the more expensive items like sugar, cured meats and sherry. Clementine liked to talk with them without getting too attached. She preferred to keep her circle of friends small and stay away from everyone else. It was better that way.

  The store was open day and night. Gratefully, Clementine worked during the day, until nightfall and Garry, the owner, minded the store alone at night, with a little assistance from a deputy or two if the evening customers, who mainly came to buy drink, misbehaved too much.

  “You are a pretty sight for sore eyes,” Garry greeted her with a broad smile as he did every day. Garry was an optimist; nothing could sway him to lose his calm or good mood. Perhaps that was the reason he’d managed to work in this place his whole life.

  Clementine smiled at him in return. Garry was an old man, nearly as old as her father, and she knew his words were meant as a kindness, not flirtation. A couple of patrons added their own appreciation for this female addition to their drinking party, however, Clementine simply rolled her eyes at that since they were not so charming or polite.

  Tying her apron on so she could minimize the damage on her skirts that dust and spilled food and drink might cause, she got to work. Garry handed her two big sacks of corn and a small jar of jam and she skillfully carried them to the two men that had ordered them. “Here you go,” she said and then waited to get her pay.

  As of late, they had a new rule to collect the money immediately after selling their wares to certain customers. Garry knew everyone in Courtfield, and he knew which men would forget to settle their tab at the end of the month. The two men holding the corn and jar of jam were two such people.

  These two particular men Clementine knew very well. Former miners, the Peterson brothers came to Courtfield during a gold rush. Unfortunately, that was no more than a hoax for gullible men. And while most people left, looking for the next big score, these two stayed. Johnny and Tonny liked the town so much they decided to settle.

  “Thanks, doll,” Johnny said to her, offering her the money. He was also smiling at her, showing his toothless mouth. Clementine knew he had wooden teeth, he carried them inside his pocket and wore them only on Sunday for church. Clementine couldn’t understand why that was the case, but she never cared enough to ask.

  “Yell if you need anything else,” she replied, placing the money inside her skirt’s many hidden pockets.

  “How about you come back to the farm for a while and keep us some company. Maybe cook us something with this here corn,” said the other, licking his lower lip in a rather suggestive way as he hefted the sack of corn higher in his arms. Clementine felt immediately nauseous.

  Clementine was used to men saying all sorts of things to her, or even worse, trying to do things to her at the store. God knew Clementine had practice even before this job. It did not even matter if they were drunk or sober. Some men were pigs, plain and simple.

  However, Clementine was not the victim in this story. A long time ago, she made a vow to herself never to let any man mistreat her in any way, and to this day she kept her promise. Due to her past experiences she knew exactly what to do to never be in that position ever again.

  “I am sorry Tonny, I am too busy and besides that, too God-fearing to spend time with the likes of you.”

  Garry was smiling at her as she came to stand behind the counter again, clearly hearing every word of her exchange with the Peterson brothers.

  “That was rather funny,” he complimented, approvingly. “I raised you well,” he joked.

  Clementine simply nodded in return. She loved Garry very much. He was almost twice her age, yet you would never guess it since he had a very young face with just a few wrinkles around his eyes.

  Clementine asked him once how he managed to maintain his youthfulness. “I drink one glass of brandy a day; it keeps my organs nicely cleaned and preserved, does wonders to the skin as well,” he joked.

  Despite him being so much older than her, they worked just fine. That did not mean she regarded him as a father figure, more like an older brother. Being an only child, she always longed for a sibling. Luckily, she found one in Garry, and he felt the same way about her.

  While Clementine chatted with Garry, carrying a few more orders to the thirsty patrons in between, Osmond entered, all red-faced and out of breath.

  He was the church’s organist and a very good one at that. He looked so flustered both Garry and Clementine stopped everything they were doing, wanting to hear what the other man had to say.

  “You would not believe what just happened to me,” he announced, instead of a more conventional greeting.

  “What?” Garry and Clementine said at the same time, then looked at one an
other and shared a private smile.

  There were a few things that were completely unique about Osmond.

  First was the way he was dressed. Clementine was always amazed by the fact he showed up every day to work in his most pristine and elegant suit. When he wasn’t playing at the church services, he gave private piano lessons to the more genteel of Courtfield’s inhabitants. Today his dress shirt had embroidered roses on it, his coat was a three-button sport-coat with matching trousers, and he wore a bowler hat. He looked as though he was playing in some grand hall, in a big city, for rich people and not in a dirt-poor town in the middle of nowhere for a bunch of drunks.

  “I almost ruined my favorite suit,” he complained.

  Osmond had the worst luck ever. The things that happened to him on a daily basis never happened to regular people. Garry teased him he had a clumsy guardian angel that resulted in his bad luck. Osmond was not amused by that.

  “How?” Clementine asked, a bit concerned. Having a laugh was one thing but she did not want to see him seriously hurt. He was a dear friend.

  “A horse nipped at me, started chewing my sleeve.”

  His suit was light brown and a horse could have mistaken it for hay. Picturing Osmond battling a horse over a sleeve almost put a smile to her face. At times, Clementine felt sorry for him, and at others, she couldn’t help but be entertained.

  “What did you do with a horse?” Garry asked confused. Just like Clementine, Osmond lived in town and walked to the store every day. He did not own a horse. Clementine wasn’t even sure if he knew how to ride one, which was a tragedy since they lived in the Wild West.

  “Start at the beginning,” Garry prompted.

  Osmond took a deep breath before starting his story. “While on my way here I saw a black cat trying to cross my path.”

  Clementine failed to mention Osmond was highly superstitious as well.

  “Trying?” Garry said, good-naturedly.

  “Well, yes,” Osmond replied in all seriousness. “I stopped in my tracks, naturally, and went the other way.”

  “Naturally,” Garry agreed while nodding. There was just a hint of teasing in his voice.

  Osmond sighed again as if it actually pained him to tell his tale. “Unfortunately, going backward I failed to notice Mr. Potter,” Courtfield’s undertaker. “He was getting the caskets out of his shop, and I tripped and fell into one.”

  “Well, that doesn’t sound so bad. Osmond, you’ve had worse,” Clementine tried to make him feel better. How does a horse fit into the story? Clementine was cheered when Osmond continued. She felt only partially bad there was more to it.

  “Mr. Potter helped me out while children laughed at me after trying to pull the top on.” He shuddered as though reliving the moment. “It was dreadful.”

  Clementine tried really hard not to laugh.

  “What happened next?” Garry prompted, handing the pianist a shot of alcohol to calm his nerves.

  He gulped it in one go, coughing a little. “Rattled, I completely forgot about the cat and continued on my original path. And that was when it happened.”

  “The horse?” Clementine provided, practically leaning forward toward him, as though that would make her hear the ending faster.

  “No,” Osmond replied with a wave of his hand as though being eaten by a horse was of no concern to him anymore.

  Besides, halfway through his narrative Clementine deduced nothing bad happened to him since he looked unscathed, and his clothes were clean.

  “The girl,” Osmond concluded as his eyes became dreamy. He sighed deeply. “I saw the most beautiful girl in the world.”

  Garry and Clementine shared another knowing look.

  Osmond continued, unaware of their silent conversation. “Sonnets should be written about her beauty. I am completely in love, my friends. She is the woman of my dreams.”

  Osmond had another affliction. He loved to be infatuated. Luckily, it never lasted, but he could get rather obsessive. He never pressured or bothered the objects of his love, which was a blessing. Unfortunately, he could get pretty annoying, playing melancholic melodies and sighing a great deal.

  He never regarded Clementine in such fashion. She did not know if she should feel lucky or offended.

  Looking at him now as he withered about this new mystery woman, this new muse in his life, Clementine realized she knew the answer to that question. She was definitely the lucky one. Being his friend was far more satisfying than being his ‘Muse.’

  “Who is she?” Garry asked. And Clementine simply shook her head. He shouldn’t encourage him. Garry knew what was on her mind and he sent her a smile.

  “A true goddess,” Osmond announced enthusiastically.

  That means he doesn’t know her, Clementine joked.

  In the next instant, his whole face fell. “Unfortunately, while I was gazing at the perfection of her face, a devious horse snuck up on me and started eating me like I was the most delicious meal.”

  Clementine chuckled. Worst luck ever.

  “Startled, I screamed. I fear she heard it.” Garry handed him another glass of drink.

  There was no doubt in Clementine’s mind. Clementine once had an opportunity to witness Osmond in action, so to speak. He had the most high-pitched voice she ever heard in her life. Dogs started wailing after his performance.

  “She must think the worst of me now,” he complained. “All due to that darn animal.”

  Poor Osmond. He was too sensitive for this world.

  “She doesn’t know you, there is still hope,” Clementine tried to cheer him up, and failed.

  A customer was waving at her so Clementine jumped to the opportunity to be of service, silently thanking the heavens she got a chance to move away from the two men. Osmond would most definitely retell the whole scene many times, complaining to Garry about his ill fate and she did not want to be a part of that… until she saw who was calling for her.

  Herbert, Clementine groaned inwardly. This day was really starting to get on her nerves.

  Bad luck must be contagious since there was no other explanation for this man that refused to leave her alone. Herbert was a true menace and she detested him.

  Clementine felt like she would prefer to eat glass than even sell apples to him. Of all the obnoxious men that came to the store that Clementine had had the privilege to sell to over the years, Herbert was on the top of her list.

  Swallowing her disgust, Clementine asked Garry to get a bottle of Herbert’s favorite drink before carrying it to him. He always looked at her as though she was a juicy steak and he was a starved man.

  She would just have to ignore him, and usually, if he just stared at her, she successfully did that.

  Clementine should be used to it by now. She wasn’t. There was just something about him that made her skin crawl, and she couldn’t decipher what. He was of normal weight and height and had blonde hair that was usually too greasy and unimpressive brown eyes.

  She decided to just give him the drink and walk away, pushing the uncomfortable feeling he awoke in her.

  When her hours at the store ended later that day, she was exhausted, but enjoying the fine evening air that surrounded her on her walk home. She closed her eyes for a moment and inhaled the particular musty, sun-baked sweetness of Courtfield.

  But then the scent changed, to a more poignant smell that she was sadly just as familiar with.

  Herbert. It had clearly been a while since he washed his clothes. And the smell of liquor only completed that aroma, confirming something she already knew. He was drunk, and following her.

  “Good evening, Clementine,” he sing-songed. “You look mighty fine tonight,” he added, practically licking his lips.

  “Good evening, Herbert,” she replied, crossing her arms protectively over her chest and picking up her pace.

  Herbert kept up, frowning at her as he said, “You got any drink on you? We could carry it on back to my home and partake in some nightly refreshments together.”


  “You know I don’t drink, Herbert, and more importantly, I don’t cavort with men like yourself,” Clementine replied matter-of-factly.

  Men like Herbert dissuaded her from drinking. That did not mean she did not drink at all. Nevertheless, she never drank with costumers, that was her rule.

  She tried to pick up her pace even more, breaking out into a gentle run, but Herbert grabbed her by the arm, forcing her to stop. She warned herself to stay calm.

  “I wasn’t done talking with you,” he snapped like a petulant child. “Besides, I gave you a compliment and you didn’t even thank me.”

  He cannot be serious! “Let go of me,” Clementine said very slowly over her shoulder.