Julia: Bride of New York (Amercan Mail-Order Bride 11) (5 page)

He smiled and returned to his work, rifling through the latest stack of Wanted posters.

Luckily, Julia didn’t encounter Mr. Johnson on the way back and forth with the dishes. He was truly a difficult man. Life with him would have been quite unpleasant. She thanked her lucky stars the man had rejected her before she found out how truly mean he was.

When she returned to the jailhouse, the sheriff wasn’t there. He’d left a note on his desk that he’d been called away to help the sheriff in Hamilton, the next town over. He told her in the note to just clean up a little bit. He also had left her coins to buy her dinner and said he would be back in time for supper.

She truly hated taking the man’s money. She rattled around in his desk until she found a piece of paper and a short stubbed pencil. She calculated the charges for her lunch and supper last night, what breakfast would have cost, and what the hotel room was. Even if the township was paying her expenses—which she doubted—she would want to return the money to the town coffers once she secured a real job.

With nothing else to do for however long it took the sheriff to return, she decided to give the jailhouse a good cleaning. Although she felt odd about doing it, she went behind the jail where she’d learned the sheriff’s house was. In her quest for a job yesterday, she’d received quite a bit of information on the man. The townspeople liked the sheriff and were pleased to relate information about him.

She found a bucket, soap, and a couple of rags in his house. She quelled any desire to poke around in his home but did notice there were plenty of things that indicated a woman had lived there at one time.

It was difficult, but she drew water from the well, and even though it was cold, she managed to get the soap to dissolve in the water and then went about her task. She scrubbed the floor, the walls, the file cabinet, his desk, even the three jail cells. It appeared no one had done that in years.

Shortly after one o’clock, she found a key to the front door on a ring hanging from a hook by the door. She locked up the building and headed to the café where she had chicken and dumplings for dinner. Since she’d worked so hard, she indulged in a piece of boysenberry pie.

No sooner had she returned to the jailhouse than an older woman entered. Her white hair had been pulled back into a knot at the top of her head. Her dark blue wool skirt and white shirtwaist were dotted with mud splatters. Her face and spectacles had splashes of mud also.

“Where is the sheriff?” She huffed the words, her bosom heaving with apparent outrage at not finding the man there and waiting for her.

“He was called away to Hamilton. I’m not sure when he will return. Can I help you with something?”

The woman raised her chin and regarded her with flashing eyes. “And just who are you?”

“I’m Miss Julia Benson, the sheriff’s assistant.”

“His assistant!” Her screech could probably be heard down the street at the café.

“Yes, ma’am. Can I help you in some way?”

“Well, I never. I can assure you, young lady, the town council will hear about this. The sheriff cannot just go around hiring whomever he pleases. These things have to be decided, laws passed, positions created, hiring interviews conducted.”

Oh, Lord. This woman sounded like someone who could make trouble for the sheriff. “Oh, ma’am, this isn’t a paid position. I’m just helping out until I find a real job. You don’t happen to know of any job openings in town, do you?”

Somewhat appeased, she relaxed her stance. “No, I don’t. But as long as you’re here, you can take down a report for the sheriff when he returns.”

Julia scurried around the newly cleaned desk and drew out another piece of paper and picked up the pencil stub she used before. She looked expectantly at the woman.

The woman settled in the chair across from Julia, fluffing the row of ruffles down the front of her shirtwaist. Ruffles were definitely something the woman’s generous bosom didn’t need.

“Go ahead, and write this down, Miss Benson.” She nodded at the paper. “I’m Mrs. Alfred Martin. My husband is very important in this town, you know.” When Julia nodded her acknowledgment, she continued. “Just now our little Daisy Susan got out of the yard. I asked a young boy walking by to fetch her for me.”

She stood and waved at her skirt and shirtwaist. “This is from when he brought my baby back to me and dropped her in a mud puddle at my feet, instead of handing her to me!”

Julia gasped “Oh, my goodness, is she all right?”

“Very shaken, I can tell you.” She sat back down and stabbed the desk with her index finger. “I want the sheriff to talk to that boy’s parents.”

“Do you know the young man’s name?”

“Yes. He is Davey Forman. Fresh little boy. His parents live in a shack outside of town.” She leaned in and lowered her voice. “They are…poor.”

Julia finished writing and stood. “I will certainly tell the sheriff about this, Mrs. Martin. I’m sure he will speak with the boy’s parents and let you know how it was resolved.”

Mollified, she rose and nodded. “Thank you, young lady.”

Fletcher untied the rope securing the prisoner to his horse and pulled him off the animal. Grasping his arm, he led him to the jailhouse. He opened the door and walked him in. The two men came to an abrupt halt, the prisoner letting out with a long, low whistle.

Julia stood on a chair, leaning over the top of the file cabinet, as she reached for something on a shelf above it. The skirt of her dress had fallen forward, outlining her shapely bottom, and the hem rose above her half boots, giving the men a view of her lovely ankles.

“Julia, come down from there!”

She jerked at his words, and, arms flailing, lurched backward, heading for the floor. Fletcher released the prisoner and raced forward, catching her in his arms just before she landed on her charming backside. “Oomph.”

She stared at him, wide-eyed. “You scared me to death!”

“You could have hurt yourself.” Aside from the danger she courted, the thought of the prisoner eyeing the outline of her body tightened the muscles in his jaw. He placed her carefully on her feet. “Just stay there until I get this fellow into a cell.”

“Good afternoon, ma’am.” The prisoner smiled at Julia as Fletcher unfastened his handcuffs.

“Good afternoon,” she returned as she fussed with her skirt.

“No speaking to the prisoner.” Fletcher barked out his words as he shoved the man forward toward the cell. “And you don’t speak to my assistant.” He slammed the door to the cell shut and turned the key.

“It’s a free country, Sheriff.”

“Not for you. You gave up your freedom when you held up that bank. Now just sit there, and keep your mouth shut.”

Julia stood with her hands on her hips. “Really, Sheriff, is it necessary to be so harsh? The man only wished me a good afternoon.”

Fletcher couldn’t explain why the prisoner viewing the outline of Julia’s bottom and then speaking to her annoyed him so much. She was merely his assistant until she could find a real job. He’d offered her marriage three times and she’d refused. So he had no claim on her.

Maybe that will change.

He returned to his desk and pulled out a pad and pencil. He didn’t want to discuss why he’d snapped at the man. Then he would have to examine his reason closer than he wished to. Best to change the subject. “Looks like you’ve been doing some work while I was gone.”

“I did. I cleaned and did some filing. What did that man do?” She gestured toward the jail cell.

“He robbed a bank, along with three others in Hamilton. The sheriff there asked for help in rounding up the gang. We got all of them except this one, who made a run for it. I caught up with him when I was closer to Wickerton. I’ll transport him back tomorrow.” Fletcher continued to write up his report.

Once he finished, he pushed the pad aside. “What the hell were you doing balanced on that chair?”

“I was trying to reach that stack of papers, thinking I could file them also.”

He shook his head. “I don’t want to offend you, but with your leg…”

Julia sat and sighed. “You must remember, I’ve lived with this since I was a young child. I managed to climb trees, run around, play, do chores, and almost everything all my sisters and brothers did. I’ve really forgotten about it.”

“Just promise me you won’t do any more climbing onto chairs.” He opened the middle drawer of his desk. “Where is the stack of Wanted posters I had in here?”

She smiled and straightened in her chair. “I filed them.”

“Filed them?”

“Yes.” Her smiled dimmed at his expression. “What?”

“How did you file them?”

“Under their names.”

He groaned and dropped his head into his hands. “No, no, no.” He rubbed his face and regarded her. “The reason for Wanted posters is to look at them to see if you recognize anyone’s face. I don’t know their names.”

“Oh.”

“It’s all right. Just go through the files and pull them back out.” Lord, he had to get this woman a job or her agreement to marry him. Keep her busy in his house and far away from the jailhouse. “Anything else happen while I was gone?”

“Oh, yes. One more thing. Mrs. Martin came in.”

Fletcher grunted. “What was it this time?”

“Sheriff—“

“Fletcher.”

“—what?”

“If I’m to call you Julia, you should call me Fletcher.”

“Well, I’ll think on that. Anyway. This is a serious charge. She asked a young boy,” she glanced at the paper where she’d taken the notes, “to bring back her daughter. When he did, he dumped the poor child in the mud. Mrs. Martin was very upset and wants you to speak with the boy’s parents to have them explain to their son how reckless he’d been with the little girl.”

“What daughter?”

She shook her head. “Mrs. Martin’s daughter.”

“She doesn’t have a daughter. Furthermore, she’s here every day with another complaint. The woman could use a couple of little ones to keep her busy, if you ask me. Although, she’s certainly a bit long in the tooth for one now.”

“If she doesn’t have a daughter, then who is Daisy Susan?”

Fletcher had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from bursting out laughing. “Daisy Susan is her dog.”

Julia stared at her reflection in the mirror over the dresser in her hotel room. She liked the way she looked. Her yellow flowered dress with lace on the edge of the sleeves and around the collar was one of her better ones. She’d fixed her hair in the new French braid style. It took some maneuvering and pain holding her arms up for so long, but it had been worth it.

Fletcher was coming for her in about ten minutes for Sunday services and then the church picnic afterward. She was excited to attend the event. It would be a way for her to meet more people in the town, especially more ladies. The past couple of years when she’d worked at the factory and shared a room with Genny and Katie, she’d been surrounded by female chatter. Now she spent her days with Fletcher, who rarely talked, and the prisoner who still resided in Wickerton’s jail until the circuit judge visited Hamilton for the bank robbers’ trial. Of course, Fletcher continued to forbid her and the prisoner to speak to each other. He’d stated ladies didn’t converse with prisoners.

She’d almost snapped back that ladies didn’t work in the jailhouse, either, but she didn’t want to give him any reason to take away her job. Not that it was much of a job. He wouldn’t allow her to do any more filing—said he couldn’t find anything. The cleaning had been done, and the little bit of dusting she did each day took only a few minutes.

He wouldn’t even let her stay in the jailhouse when he was called away because the prisoner was there. She guessed he was afraid they would break the rules and actually mumble words in each other’s direction. Consequently, she was left with running errands. Picking up meals for them and the prisoner, sending wires, and buying Fletcher’s favorite pipe tobacco.

She’d taken to bringing a book with her that she’d gotten from the library and spent a lot of her time in the jail reading. One morning she’d snuck into Fletcher’s house and straightened up in there, washed a few dishes, and swept the floor. He’d gotten mad at that, too, saying it wasn’t proper for her to be in the sheriff’s house since she was an unmarried woman.

The most interesting part of her day was the funny feeling in her stomach almost every time Fletcher did deign to talk to her. She’d noticed that he watched her with a look in his eyes she didn’t recognize, but made her face heat up.

In any event, today would be a day of spiritual reflection and fun. She bent forward over the dresser and smiled at herself in the mirror as she tied the ribbons on her bonnet. She pinched her cheeks and bit her lips for color.

A tap at her door drew her attention. She grabbed her reticule from the chair by the door—that Fletcher made her promise she would wedge under the doorknob each night—and opened to the sheriff.

And lost her breath.

Even after spending every day with him, seeing him now, dressed in his Sunday best, took her breath away. He wore black wool pants with a matching vest under his well-cut jacket. His white shirt emphasized the golden tan of his skin. Her eyes slid past his broad shoulders to his slim hips where the ever-present gun belt hung. She swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry.

He gave her a lazy grin, like he knew she admired him, and handed her a bouquet of flowers.

She sniffed at the wonderful aroma. “Oh, my. What’s the occasion?”

He moved into the room, took her by the hands, and sat her on the chair. She raised her eyebrows when he went down on one knee and cleared his throat. “Julia, I’ve done this three times before, but now I want to do it the right way.”

He took a deep breath, and said, “Will you do me the honor of accepting my offer of marriage?”

Chapter Five

Julie inclined her head and studied Fletcher. He really meant it. This was no flip comment about “Why don’t we get married?” His request sounded sincere, and by the look on his face, he wasn’t certain he wouldn’t be rejected again.