Mail-Order Man (19 page)

If the far West was so appealing, why did the man return to the South in the first place? Skylla wouldn't ask. Some nebulous soldier wasn't the problem here. “Braxton, in the beginning, you told me not to press you about your past. But as your wife, I'd like to know more about you.”

He left the settee, going over to the liquor bottle Claudine kept handy. “Look, it's after midnight. I need to hit the trail. It'll take me a good while to get to Camp Llano, especially since I've got to stop by Safe Haven Canyon.”

As he downed a shot of whiskey, Skylla said, “If you must go, fine. I understand. But I'd like to know one thing. Uncle said you first came to Texas to look for your father. Do you have some reason to believe he's in California?”

“No.”

“Did you ever find him?”

“No.”

“That bothers you, doesn't it?”

“Yeah, it bothers me.” Braxton crossed to the hearth, placing his hand on the mantel and staring into the fireplace that held no flames. “I guess it isn't in the cards for me to find out why my father damned his family to hell.”

Damned his family to hell? How could any father and husband do such a thing? She went to Braxton, placing her hand on his shoulder. “Now that we have money, why don't we hire a detective to find him?”

“I know where he is. Or was. I got a clue from a Yankee soldier, the one who took charge of my weapons at Appomattox. ‘I know a Hale from Mississippi,' he told me. ‘A sawbones. He's with our Medical Corps, down in the Dry Tortugas.' A strange coincidence, but it didn't take much to deduce Dr. John Hale, late of Natchez, was one and the same with the Unionist doctor.”

The rank hurt in her husband's admission tore at her. “How frustrated you must feel, knowing where to find him, but not being able to do it.”

“There was always something to hold me back. Raising the younger Hales, at first. Then being held in captivity by the Indians. Then my marriage to Song of the Mockingbird. After she died, I thought I could make my search, but my mother needed money. So I took a job with Titus and sent my salary home. You probably know all this.”

“Uncle did mention your search.” The pitched battles from 1861 to 1865 had deterred him, she knew. “Why didn't you go after John Hale, once the war was over?”

“Hell, Skylla, I was in shreds. General Lee's defeat, you know. And I had to get back to Vicksburg. Geoff's mother was there. We needed to make certain Bella was okay, which she was. By then I'd decided to hell with John Hale.” His smile didn't reach his eyes. “I'd decided I needed me a wife.”

“That you have.” Her hand moved to his chest. “I pray your heart will heal, now that you have a home and family.”

“We're a family all right. But we've got a troublemaker in our midst. Claudine.”

“Braxton, we're her family. Can you accept her as such?”

He took a long time answering. “She can stay. As long as she doesn't cause trouble.”

 

 

Claudine should have been content. In the hour before dawn, she eyed the handsome Yankee who snored softly in her arms. They rested on a pallet in the log cabin that was quarters for Major Webb Albright. While Webb knew how to make love to a woman, this particular one wanted more than that satisfaction.

She hoped the Indians hadn't raised Brax's scalp. She wanted the pleasure of doing it.

Recalling those red demons, she shivered despite the warmth of her lover. It was good that she'd shown concern over Kathy Ann, but what about Skylla?

Claudine would have gladly choked her stepdaughter for demanding to go into the Comancheria. If something happened to Skylla, where would that leave Claudine? Once more, she'd know profound loss. And once more her future would be shaky. A lifetime interest in the Nickel Dime wouldn't mean much, should Skylla go to a grave, especially with a surviving widower.

She yearned for word to reach Camp Llano before the major and his men were forced to fight the Indians. If anything happened to Webb Albright—well, it just couldn't. Her eyes settled on him. He'd be her salvation. Salvation in marriage would give Claudine a firm foundation to stand on as she made trouble for Brax Hale.

It was just one thing after another keeping Skylla from town. First, Claudine returned home, flushed with romantic interest and filled with plans to marry a stranger! Skylla tried to reason with her, tried to make her understand there was no need to rush into anything. By late afternoon—too late to call on the new county clerk—she even confessed that luck had come their way.

“We'll have everything we need,” Skylla said brightly. “We'll never wish for a thing. You can take all the time in the world to find a proper husband.”

“Webb Albright is proper enough. And at least he's marrying me for myself instead of a ranch and resulting dowry.”

“I got my man by a coin toss. Fair and square.”

“That's not what Charlie says.”

Skylla wondered what Charlie would say now, once he'd found out Claudine's head was turned by another man. The bedraggled cowhand had been encouraged by her, and encouraged plenty. And who could guess how he would react to losing out?

“Brax used a trick coin,” Claudine elaborated on her theme. “The whole toss was a setup.”

“Which only proves the lengths my husband would go to to win my hand.”

“Which only proves he wanted the ranch enough to cheat for it. If you're smart, you'll watch your purse, or he's liable to start picking it.”

The nastiest thought popped into Skylla's mind. Braxton
had
helped himself to the stash, though Skylla couldn't fault the result.

“Daisy, a decent fellow would've at least brought you a box of chocolates when he showed up to marry your ranch. Brax didn't even give you that cameo.”

Why ask how she knew about it? Charlie Main had been talking. But that was beside the point. Why
hadn't
Braxton given her the cameo? What was he saving it for? Skylla hated all the questions that chipped at her trust.

“If he didn't give you the brooch, what could have happened to it, hmm?”

“Maybe he sold it to put food in your mouth.”

“You'd like to think so,” Claudine came back. “Well, I have no choice but to make certain my interests are seen to.” She poured a snifter of whiskey, then sipped it. “When do you plan to file the deed of trust in my favor?”

“For heaven's sake, Claudi, I must deal with the Reconstructionists about the ranch before I file the life-estate papers.”

“What if those papers are null and void, since we didn't have a government at the time you signed them?”

“Will you settle for money?”

“You insult me by asking to buy me off. I suppose that was Brax's idea. He's ensconced in your bedroom, and I'm to be parceled off with a fistful of coins.”

Skylla studied the floor, recalling his suggestion and realizing home life would be easier were Claudine to go away.
Have you no shame?

“Daisy, I'm entitled to part of this property and its resultant profits from here on out. I did—need I remind you?—force myself into sin with Winslow Packard for your benefit.”

“Is this the way it's going to be?” Skylla asked, falling victim to a headache. “Every time a disagreement arises, you'll throw that up to me?”

Contrite, Claudine set the snifter down to glide over and take Skylla's hand. “Forgive me. I don't want to hurt you.”

“And I don't want you hurt. Please don't rush into marriage. We have so many things to settle. Once they are done, then you can make a decision.”

“If you wish, I'll wait.”

 

 

The women had made a stab at peace, yet Skylla's headache didn't go away. The pain should have passed by the next morning. It didn't. In fact, it got worse, thanks to Claudine's driving away under the auspices of returning Luke Burrows's buckboard. Skylla sensed that wasn't her only task. Would she elope with the Yankee major?

The best thing to do, Skylla decided, was to get legal matters in order. Once the deed of trust had been filed, then she would have ammunition to keep Claudine from making a mistake. She began her search, paying little mind to outdoor sounds, although she did hear Kathy Ann's laughter a couple of times.

Skylla threw off the bedclothes to shove her hand between the mattress and ropes. Nothing. She lifted the mattress, taking a quick look. Again, nothing. The document wasn't in its hiding place. There was nothing save dust and lots of it.

What could have happened to the deed of trust?

 

 

Dressed for her trip to the courthouse, Skylla stopped short. Clothes littered the parlor, Kathy Ann's clothes. The girl preened in the remnants, twirling around barefoot. Agog, Skylla stared at her sister, who wore a buckskin dress, large in size and decorated with paint along with bright blue stones.

“Isn't it lovely?” Kathy Ann gushed. “It's a gift from Stalking Wolf. His braves delivered it a few minutes ago. Oh, by the way, he's not moving his village just yet. At least that's what I gathered from Head Too Big. He and another brave took the firewater Sergeant promised them.”

Skylla was in no mood for chitchat. “Take that dress off. I won't allow you to accept gifts from an Indian.”

“I'm not taking it off. I'm keeping it.” Her hands smoothed down the soft leather. “Unless. . . unless Sergeant says I oughtn't to.”

All Skylla could do was try to reason. “Lovey, that Indian will think you're interested in becoming his wife.”

“I am interested.”

Land's sake! Whatever was Skylla to do? Now she had two relatives with marriage in mind. “You can forget it.”

Pudgy fingers fondled the dress's ornaments. “If you're talking about these blue rocks, you needn't worry. They aren't real topaz. They're some of those fakes ones Sergeant had in his saddlebag a while back.”

“Excuse me?”

“He and Geoff had a bunch of colored glass when they first got here.”

Skylla couldn't imagine what they had had in mind, but she intended to question her husband about it, once he returned from delivering cattle to Camp Llano.

At the same moment she had this thought, she heard a noise from outside. She collected Kathy Ann's pistol and went to the bedroom window, disturbing Electra on the sill and drawing back the curtain to see a pair of men tying fine-looking mares to the hitching post. One man wore a Rebel kepi over regular clothes, the other the faded uniform of the Confederacy.

Skylla opened the window. “State your business, men.”

They raised their hands to show they weren't armed. The taller of the two, a fellow with dark hair and blue eyes, ambled toward her. “Would you be Major St. Clair's niece?”

“I am. I'm Mrs. Braxton Hale.”

“Brax Hale! I'll be dipped in snuff. Congratulations!”

“Who are you?”

“I be Luckless Litton, ma'am.” He pointed to the other man. “That be Snuffy Johnson.”

As soon as she heard the names, she recognized them, and laid the pistol on the windowsill.

“We used to cowboy here at the Nickel Dime,” said Snuffy, a slim fellow with a head of riotous carrot-colored curls.

Two of Uncle's ranch hands had returned. Thank goodness.

She waved them indoors, smiling and teasing. “What took you so long?”

 

 

Immediately, Uncle's returned cowboys set to work to complete the fence at Safe Haven Canyon. Working men needed substantial food, and Skylla had to find the new county clerk.

She borrowed Luckless's fine mare and rode into the county seat, Mason town, where she asked after that official, but was told Mr. Packard had business in Ecru.

Mr. Packard?

She shuddered, hearing the name. Surely not Winslow Packard. The boardinghouse lady didn't know his given name, so Skylla tucked her fears away and backtracked to Ecru.

She reached a near-to-deserted town, this not being the usual marketing day of Saturday. No one had seen the new county clerk. Darn. She'd so hoped to get his advice.

At least she could buy a few groceries. Herr Kreitz was the only person in his store when Skylla walked in.

“This is a nice surprise, Mrs. Hale.” Wiping his hands on an apron, the Prussian stepped from behind the counter that was sparsely stocked, thanks to the hard times after the war. “How can I help you?”

“I have a long list,” she said proudly, thankful she had plenty of money, for once.

The good-natured grocer couldn't provide everything, but he had several key items. Before long, she was enjoying, compliments of Herr Kreitz, a huge and briny pickle from the barrel in the middle of the rectangular store.

“Please fish me out a dozen of these,” she said. “We have new men at the Nickel Dime, and they'll be looking for a nice dinner in a few hours. Actually, they aren't altogether new. They used to work for my uncle. Do you remember Snuffy Johnson and Luckless Litton?”

“Ja
, I remember.” The proprietor smiled. “They are good men. You and your husband will not regret their return.” The last of the requested pickles packed in a large jar, he walked to a line of sausages strung behind the counter. “The boys, I recall, liked this kind of sausage.” He took down a half-dozen strings. “Would you prepare them for your supper? And tell them Emil Kreitz sent the sausages as a welcome home gift?”

“How very kind. Thank you. I'm sure Mr. Johnson and Mr. Litton will enjoy them immensely.”

“They are for everyone at the Nickel Dime.” The grocer had pickled eggs and red cabbage on hand, which he suggested would go well with the sausage.

“How about fruit?” she asked. “I think a nice pie would be in order.”

“Nein,
no fruit.” He shook his head. “A lady in Fredericksburg will send canned peaches. Next week.”

A while back Luke Burrows's wife had mentioned vinegar pie being delicious—a Texas staple—so Skylla purchased a small jug of vinegar, then asked the grocer to total her bill.

She laid the money on the counter, and said, “Have you met the new county clerk? I heard he was here in Ecru today.”

“I have met him.” The Prussian's square face twisted. He motioned toward the street. “The jackal is out there.”

“Thank you.”

She picked up her marketing bag, made for the boardwalk, and came up against the stare of a silver-haired portly man wearing a fine suit of clothes. Winslow Packard.

“Fancy meeting you here, Miss St. Clair,” he said as her bag slid to the boards. “But then, I did have the advantage of knowing your destination.” He picked up the fallen goods, holding them. “Where is Mrs. St. Clair?”

It would have been easy to despise Winslow Packard, for great shame is known to rouse such animosity. Yet Skylla found her feelings at cross purposes. Packard was the evidence of the means for the trip from Vicksburg. If not for him, though, how would she and her kin have gotten to Texas?

“Might we sit down?” she said. “I find my leg is sore.” A couple of chairs were lined against the storefront. Gathering her groceries, she limped to one, seating herself. “I never expected to see you again,” she declared, an understatement.

Packard pulled a chair out so he could look straight at her. Seated, he dropped his laced fingers between his spread legs and raised his gray eyes. “I always expected to see the St. Clairs again. I used my clout to garner the clerkship of this county. My intentions are to marry your lovely stepmother.”

Great
Scott!

Two suitors in a row for Claudine.

Where had all these men been a few weeks ago?

Skylla spoke up. “I'm afraid you're too late, Mr. Packard. Mrs. St. Clair is engaged to a cavalryman.”

Packard's face clouded.

Which caused Skylla to groan inwardly. Just what she needed, to alienate the official. Marshaling courage, she elevated her chin. “I've been meaning to speak to you, Mr. Packard. There are rumors hereabouts. Rumors that you will invalidate land titles held by former Rebels.”

“The issue hasn't been decided,” he answered tersely, rising to his feet. “If Mrs. St. Clair would like to discuss the matter, have her meet me at my office. Or better yet, my boardinghouse quarters.”

The innuendo wasn't lost on Skylla. She wouldn't allow his blackmail to break her spirit. “The issue isn't for Mrs. St. Clair to discuss. I own the Nickel Dime Ranch. That is, it belongs to me and my husband. We are ready and willing to pay our taxes. Mr. Hale and I will call on you at your office, unless you're willing to discuss official business
now.
”

Herr Kreitz had been right in calling Packard a jackal, for a feral meanness shot into the man's eyes. “You weren't so prissy when you were begging to get out of Vicksburg.”

“You weren't too good to take my stepmother up on her offer, either. I should imagine one night with Claudine St. Clair more than covers our debt.”

“One night?” He sneered. “Do you honestly think I'd compromise a United States naval vessel for
one night
with any woman? I wonder how Mrs. St. Clair's fiancé would feel, should I mention that she'd been crawling into my bed for two weeks?”

“That is an ugly accusation, Mr. Packard.”

Skylla didn't look back as she limped to her borrowed mount. She had just gotten into the saddle when Packard took hold of the pommel, and said, “I make no accusations, Mrs. Hale—or whatever you're calling yourself. I speak the truth. Claudine St. Clair was my lover. And if you're wanting to keep that ranch of yours in the family, she will be again.”