Della: Bride of Texas (American Mail-Order Bride 28) (6 page)

“Everything appears to be agreeable to me,” Milton said without enthusiasm as he wiped the corners of his mouth. “If all continues to go well, we’ll need your services for the wedding six weeks from now, Pastor. That will give us time to improve her attire and acquaint her with those on our guest list before the wedding.”

Mabel and Pastor Littlejohn shifted uncomfortably in their seats. Della knew they could see it written all over her face that she was disappointed. Milton, on the other hand, hadn’t seemed to notice how she felt. “My attire?” she asked, confused by his comment.

“As a banker’s wife, you’ll be unable to make appearances in clothes such as these,” Milton said, gesturing toward her as his eyes looked her up and down in disapproval.

“Clothes such as
these
?” Della asked, the tone of her voice beginning to sound impatient and highly annoyed. She was quickly becoming disillusioned with Mr. Milton Tidwell…especially the thought of spending the rest of her life with him.

“Oh, they’re fine for housework and even work in the store,” Milton said. “But for public appearances by my side, they’ll never do.”

“I know the loveliest shop for dresses,” Mabel interrupted, obviously attempting to lighten the mood. “We can stop by this week and see if they have anything you like!”

Della finished her meal in silence. Her whole day was spiraling downward. First, she’d had a run-in with Hank, then Milton had turned out to be less than she expected. Now, her mere appearance was being called into question! Mabel got up to clear the table and Della stood along with her. “Let me help,” she begged, looking for any opportunity to get away.

She followed Mabel into the kitchen and cleared the plates. “He takes a bit of getting used to,” Mabel said quietly as she put her hand on Della’s shoulder.

“I…I was just expecting someone a little more…kind,” Della said, refusing to let the tears she felt in her eyes escape and roll down her cheeks.

“Sometimes, we have to look for admirable qualities that might be hidden,” Mabel said, trying to cheer Della up. “For example, Milton may not be the most gracious man, but he’ll be a good provider, and you won’t ever have to wonder what he’s thinking—because it’ll come shooting out of his mouth as soon as he thinks it.”

Della let out a small laugh. It was true she didn’t want a man who was unpredictable. In fact, aside from his looks, which she’d always said were unimportant anyway, she was getting exactly the kind of man she’d said she wanted. “I’ll just focus on the good provider part,” she said, smiling up at Mabel.

The two women walked back into the dining room to see the men had moved to the parlor again. “Stanley?” Mabel asked. “Can you give me a hand in the other room, please?” Pastor Littlejohn understood it was his cue to leave, so he excused himself and left Milton and Della alone.

“Now’s your chance to ask me anything you want to know about me,” Milton smirked.

“I guess I want to know everything,” Della replied, hoping to improve her outlook on the man she was set to marry just six weeks from now—who, by the way, had never formally asked for her hand in marriage—just set a date, as if she were no more than a business transaction taking place.

“I am a banker by trade,” Milton began. “I live in a two-bedroom house located in town near the business district. Both parents are deceased. I have no siblings. I attend church on Sundays. I do not drink, nor use tobacco.”

It’s like a grocer’s list!
Della thought, unimpressed. “Have you been married before?” she asked.

“No, I have not,” Milton said. “Nor do I have any offspring, although I assume you’re amenable to the prospect of rearing children to carry on the family name?”

“Yes, I want children,” Della said. She couldn’t quite picture what Milton’s children would look like…and God help her if they had his personality. All she could imagine was a miniature version of him, complete with mustache, which made her erupt in a giggling fit.

“I’m afraid I don’t understand what’s so funny.” Milton said, looking disturbed by her frivolous behavior.

Della settled down instantly. “Nothing, sorry,” she replied. “What would you like to know about me?”

“I believe I know all of the relevant information,” Milton said. “You hail from Florida. You’re here due to unfortunate circumstances and a lack of financial stability. You obviously have a tolerable command of the English language and are capable of handling financial transactions at the General Store. I find you acceptable for our arrangement, just as Pastor Littlejohn promised.”

Her existence, summed up like that, sounded fairly pitiful to Della.
Acceptable
. No wonder she was alone, in a town where she knew no one, being married off to a man who couldn’t care less what she was like—provided  she complete the image he wanted to project to the community.

Pastor Littlejohn and Mabel emerged as if to shut down the conversation and salvage their mission. “Della,” Mabel said sweetly as she handed Milton his top hat. “Stanley’s going to run you home to the Jennings’ place now. Milton? I’m so happy you were able to be here today.”

Milton stood quickly, as if relieved to be ending the visit. “Thank you for having us.” He put his hand on Della’s back and guided her out the door before turning to face her. “I’ll be in touch soon.”

Della forced a smile onto her face and nodded. Pastor Littlejohn chatted the whole way home, trying to cheer her up and make her look forward to her future with Milton. In the end, she agreed that maybe things would be better than her first impression of him. She just had to give it time.

When she went inside the Jennings’ house, Mary was waiting for her in the parlor, reading one of the raised letter books Hank Hensley had bought for her. “What’s he like?” Mary asked, wanting a description like the one Roy had provided about Della when she’d first arrived.

“Like the oily skin of a cooked chicken,” Della laughed. “Like the dry dust that hits your face when you walk outside in the Texas wind.”

“Oh, my”! Mary said, laughing along with her. “Will you go through with the marriage, then?”

“Of course I will,” Della said. “I’ll stick to the plan. I just have a lot of work ahead of me, that’s all! A
lot
of work.”

Chapter 6

The following week was busy for Fort Worth and its citizens and visitors. The Chisolm Trail was full of cattle drivers, which meant plenty of shoppers stopping by Hensley’s General Store for supplies before they left and made their way home. On this particular morning, Hank had asked all of the managers to stop by his construction company for an update, since he didn’t have time to make the rounds that week.

Roy Jennings came in shortly after opening the store and dropping Della off to run things for a spell. “Howdy, Hank!” he said, stepping into the office.

“Roy,” Hank said. “Come on in and have a seat. How are things going over at the store?”

“We’ve darn near sold out of everything,” Roy said. “Got another shipment coming in later today. Billy and the boys are coming over to help me bring it in from the depot. I tell you what, though—you might be using this here construction company to tack on an expansion if things keep up the way they’re going. It’s elbow to elbow in there, even when the trail’s not hot!”

“That’s good to hear,” Hank laughed. “And Della? How’s she working out?”

“Well, I’ll tell ya,” Roy said. “That little woman’s about the hardest worker I’ve ever seen. You can tell she enjoys meeting so many new people—and they take to her nicely, too. Said she’d never seen so many longhorns shuffling down the street at one time, although she could do without the smell.”

The men laughed. “Her and Tidwell doing okay?” Hank asked, curious about the state of that arrangement.

“Ah, we’ve been so swamped lately, I don’t think she’s had time to stop and think about the situation with Milton,” Roy said.

“Why don’t I head on over to the store with you and take a look at that space—see what we might be able to do about making it a little bigger?” Hank asked, knowing full well he already intended on building the addition—he only wanted to see Della again. He dismissed the meeting, picked up a pouch of cash he wanted to deposit at the bank while he was out, and tucked it into his jacket.

The two walked over to the store, where Della was handling the crush of customers just fine on her own, weaving in and out, smiling and filling orders. Hank pretended to be taking measurements and making decisions, while listening in on the conversations she was having.

“You going to the shindig over at the Stockyards tomorrow?” Roy asked Della, after the last customer exited the store.

“That’s right!” Della said, pointedly ignoring Hank’s presence in the store. “I’d almost forgotten it was this weekend.” The Fort Worth Union Stockyards was finally celebrating its official grand opening—complete with a dance. They were turning the auction house into a ballroom for the night, but on the frontier, it wouldn’t be as formal as some of the events she’d heard about back east.

"I reckon I'll head on up to the bank to make a deposit before I leave to check on Mary," Roy said.

"Oh, I'll take it," Della said. She quickly secured her bonnet and picked up the pouch of money—marching straight to the door without acknowledging Hank at all.

"Why Miss Owens," Hank said. "I'm beginning to think you don't wish to get to know me."

"That's not it at all, Mr. Hensley...or is it Sam today?" Della asked impatiently as she turned and opened the door. "I'm simply far too busy to engage in frivolous discussions."

"Well if that's all it is, I'll be happy to accompany you to the bank so we can talk on the way," Hank teased. “I like to get to know as much about my employees as possible. Helps me work with them and know what makes them tick.”

“I’ll be out of your hair in less than six weeks’ time, Mr. Hensley, so there’s absolutely no need for you to get to know me better—and even less reason to know
what makes me tick
,” she said. Despite the rebuke, Hank followed Della out the door and quickened his pace until he sidled up next to her, ignoring the look of complete disgust on her face as she hastened her step.

"So you’re going through with the marriage to the venerable Mr. Tidwell,” Hank stated the obvious. "I must say, I was expecting someone
different
to be in this situation," Hank said.

"And what
situation
would that be, Mr. Hensley?" she said, nose high in the air and chin jutting out.

"One where a woman is sent for like a parcel," Hank said as Della stopped dead in her tracks and shot him a look of anger. "In the words of your beloved Mr. Tidwell, of course," Hank went on to explain. “That’s how he summed up your move to town to marry him—like a piece of furniture he ordered from the Sears & Roebuck catalog.”

Visibly shocked by Hank’s words—and the words of her future husband, Hank observed Della struggling to maintain her composure. "And just what kind of person would you expect?" she asked, her voice shaky and filled with emotion.

"Well...someone more like…Beatrice Reynolds," Hank laughed at his own wit.

Della had met Beatrice at church and in the store. She was a stout woman, considered homely by most, who didn't act friendly toward newcomers. Her status in the community was cemented in the fact that her family owned almost as many businesses as Hank Hensley himself.

"I can assure you I'm perfectly content with my
situation
," Della said. As they walked down the street toward the bank, the women they passed whispered and smiled—most likely gossiping about his supposed lascivious ways or his latest conquests. The men moved aside to let him pass, each one taking time to offer a gesture of respect—something as simple as a nod or tip of the hat.

“Mr. Hensley—I realize you own the General Store and that technically, I’m an employee, but that gives you no right to question me or Mr. Tidwell about our plans for the future, nor to offer your opinion on why or how I’m here.” Della’s eyes were bright with anger and she was breathing in short bursts of air.

“Sorry if I offended you, Miss Owens,” Hank offered. “I simply like to question what I have a problem understanding. And this situation is one for the books.”

“Mr. Hensley, I….” Della began.

"Looks like we're here," Hank was sure he interrupted her just as he was about to get an earful of what she thought of him. He opened the door to the bank and allowed her to pass in front of him. "The teller's right this way."

"Thank you, but I'll take my transaction directly to Mr. Tidwell," Della said, obviously trying to escape Hank's presence.

"Suit yourself," Hank shrugged.

He watched as Della made her way to Milton's office and peeked her head around the corner while he stood there listening to what she would say and watching Milton’s reaction through the glass of his office. “Surprise!" she said. "I asked Roy if I could bring today's deposit so that I could visit you a spell."

Milton’s face showed annoyance with the interruption, but he dutifully rose from his chair to greet her. “You have a deposit?” he asked, jutting his hand out to take the pouch of money from her

“Oh,” Della said, handing over the money. “Just deposit this to the General Store account.”

Milton looked up and noticed Hank standing in line for the teller again. He turned around and handed the pouch back to Della. “The teller is right this way,” he motioned, leaving Della to trail behind him.

Milton approached the line for the teller and walked straight up to Hank, who turned with a raised eyebrow as he observed Della’s incredulous look from the rude rebuff by Milton. “Need to cut in line?” Hank offered, smiling at her kindly and trying not to rub it in too bad that she’d been forced to be stuck with him after all.

“Oh, no sir,” Milton answered for her. “Let me handle your transaction for you. We hate for our very best customers to be saddled with this inconvenience.” He attempted to snatch the money bag from Hank, but Hank pulled the bag from his reach.

“Actually, Milton, I would much rather you take care of Miss Owens first. We’re very busy at the General Store and I need her back there right away,” Hank said.

“I’m perfectly fine standing in line,” Della stated, her chin jutting upwards as she tried hard to keep a stoic face.

“Why…of course, Mr. Hensley,” Milton said, his face suddenly turning red and puffy. He turned to Della, snatched the bag out of her hands and rushed around to the teller’s window.

Della gave Hank a scathing look. “Mr. Tidwell is perfectly right in wanting to please one of his best customers rather than catering to me.” I really wish you’d stop inserting your opinions into our business.

“Still,” Hank said quietly, “you have to wonder about a man who forces a woman as beautiful as you to wait in line, while giving preference to a rascal like me. Maybe in a few years, you’ll earn
very best customer
status, too.”

Milton returned and handed Della the deposit receipt. “Here you are,” he said. “Now run along back to Mr. Hensley’s General Store and resume your duties.”

“Milton, you have an amazing woman here,” Hank offered—ignoring Della’s demand to stay out of their business. He was staring at Della and she finally returned his gaze—eyes blazing with a look that Hank hadn’t seen before. He couldn’t put his finger on exactly what the look was, but he mused that it might be gratitude.

“Why thank you, Mr. Hensley,” Milton replied pompously as if taking credit for the person Della had become over the years.

“Tell you what,” Hank suggested. “I’d be happy to host your nuptials out at the Double H ranch as my gift to you two.” It was a sprawling ranch home with all of the amenities that could be found at the time—much too big for one man who lived by himself, which might be the reason Hank spent more time in Hell’s Half Acre than he did inside his own walls.

Although Hank didn’t need the home, it was a show place for those business associates who passed through Fort Worth and for those who doubted his success. It was unlike any other home in the town, with two extensive wings flanking Greek columns in front. Hank had imported marble, mirrors and the best accessories money could buy and the townsfolk were always agape when lucky enough to be invited over for an event.

“That’s very kind of you, but…” Della quickly interjected.

“But,” Milton interrupted. “We’d be delighted! That’s very generous of you,” Milton said excitedly, plainly considering the monetary savings and status of the event over his soon-to-be bride’s feelings.

“Yes,” Della sighed, acquiescing to Milton’s desire. “That would be wonderful.” She bowed her head in defeat and when she looked up, Hank noticed tears brimming in her eyes. He knew Della didn’t have any money, so she probably felt obligated to go along with whatever Milton said.

“Would you excuse me? I have a pressing bank matter I must return to,” Milton said as he glanced around to see what other prominent Fort Worth citizen he might impress. “Please do let me know if you need anything else.” The two nodded as Milton made his way back to his office.

“Good day, Mr. Hensley,” Della said.

“Good day, Miss Owens,” Hank said. “I reckon I’ll be in touch so we can plan the wedding—
not ours
, of course—yours and Tidwell’s.”

“I know
exactly
what
you
mean, Mr. Hensley,” Della said. The defeat in her eyes that she showed before was quickly replaced with acute anger.

Hank smiled, tipped his hat and exited the bank. He felt angry for her, being in this impossible, loveless situation with Milton. Hank knew what it felt like to have to rely on others—and to try hard to love someone who wasn’t worth loving, only to get no acknowledgment from them at all. It’s all he’d ever known as a child. Della deserved more than that—and Hank was starting to wonder if it was his mission to make sure she got it.