Della_Bride of Texas Read online

  Roy opened the door to the General Store and Della heard a bell ring. “After you,” he said.

  She stepped through the door and let her eyes adjust from the blinding rays of the Texas sun to the inside of the store, where just about everything you could imagine was being sold. Cans of various foods, bins of a few fresh vegetables brought in by farmers, hard tack, rope and bolts of material were just a few of the items sold in the General Store and it was all neatly stacked on shelves and in every available corner.

  Roy walked around the counter where a fidgety young man sat on a stool. “You’re free to go now, Billy,” Roy said. “Thanks for watching the store for me.” He paid the boy a small sum and Della watched as the child bolted out the door and ran across the street where his friends were waiting.

  Roy walked back out the door and held it open for Della, locking up as she waited on the steps by the wagon. Della glanced up and down the street, absorbing the community with her eyes, and trying to picture this as her home from now until the day she died. At the far end, she could see the Fort Worth Bank—and a tall man exiting. I wonder if that’s him, she thought, trying to imagine who her future banker husband would be. There had been no time to exchange photos, but Della wasn’t particular about looks anyway—she was much more interested in a man who felt as she did about life—that’s what was important to her.

  “Have anywhere you need to go before we head home?” Roy asked, startling Della from her thoughts.

  “Oh! No, thank you,” Della said, climbing up into the wagon and tying a bonnet around her hair to keep it intact for the windy ride home. The road outside of town was a bit bumpy, having dried in deep ruts following a high amount of rain Della heard being discussed by others at the train station.

  “Heard you had a fire back in Massachusetts,” Roy stated as if initiating conversation so there wouldn’t be awkward silence on the ride home.

  “Yes,” Della said. “Burned the sewing factory to the ground—and took my job with it.”

  “Sewing?” Roy said. “Maybe you can teach my daughter Mary how to sew. She’s real good with her hands, but her ma ain’t real good at teaching her how to do things—not a lick of patience in that woman.”

  “I’d be happy to,” Della replied. “How old is Mary?”

  “Seventeen last fall,” Roy said. “Problem is, she was born without any sight, so teaching her is a bit tough for some people. She’s real willing to learn, though! Brightest kid I ever seen. Pity her eyes don’t work.”

  Della could see how Roy’s face lit up when he spoke of his daughter. “I can’t wait to meet her,” she said.

  “Got any kin back east?” Roy asked.

  Della nodded. “A sister in Lawrence and parents who moved to Savannah,” she said.

  “Didn’t want to stick around with them?” Roy asked.

  That question hit Della hard. It was more like they didn’t value family as much as she did. Different priorities, different lives. “I just wanted a fresh start,” Della said, forcing a smile on her face to lighten her mood.

  “Well, you’ll certainly get that here,” Roy said. “I came to Fort Worth about ten years ago. Wife wanted to stick Mary in one of those places for the blind, but I wouldn’t hear of it. Came here for work, so she could stay home and raise her properly. Can’t say Helen was too happy about it, though.”

  “I admire your decision,” Della said. It was obvious that this man put family first, and she envied Mary for having someone so determined to keep her around and safe within the arms of a family. “So you’ve worked in the General Store the whole time?”

  “No,” said Roy. “Started out as the town marshal, working under Sheriff Lockhart. But some people just ain’t cut out for dealing with rustlers and wild cowboys and that includes me. Working the General Store is more my pace.”

  Della could understand that. Who would want to go to work each night having to encounter rambunctious criminals and rowdy folk? Yes, Della thought. Roy Jennings and I are going to get along just fine.

  The house sat just outside of town. It was a small frame home with a neat fence around a dirt yard that had obviously been swept until the dirt was smooth. There was a small garden in one corner of the front yard and some droopy flowers planted around the front stoop. It could have been a sweet cottage if someone took the time to paint and plant more flowers.

  Roy pulled up and hopped off the wagon, coming around to Della’s side to help her down as well. As she gathered her bags, an excited young woman opened the front door and reached her arms out toward the porch railing. “Pa!” she shouted happily. “You’re home! Did you bring her?”

  Roy laughed as he grabbed one of Della’s bags and bounded up the steps to embrace his daughter, Mary. “I sure did,” he said. “Wait till you meet her!”

  Della walked over to the house, eager to meet her host’s family. “Pleased to meet you,” she said to Mary, holding out her hand.

  “Is she trying to shake my hand?” Mary asked, a huge smile flashing across her face as she turned her head in Roy’s direction.

  “Yep,” Roy laughed—an inside joke Della didn’t seem to understand. She lowered her hand, feeling like she’d somehow offended the young woman. She had forgotten that Roy told her earlier that his daughter had no sight.

  Mary laughed and approached Della closer. “Don’t worry,” said Mary. “Everyone does it. I can’t see your hand, though. Do you mind?” She held her hands up close to Della’s face as if she were about to touch it.

  “I reckon I don’t,” Della hesitated, unsure what it was she supposedly didn’t mind. Mary stood before her, almost as tall, and gently moved her hands over Della’s face. Mary’s touch was tender, not intrusive, and her face beamed with joy as if she were opening some fantastic gift. She was a beautiful girl—hair the color of wheat, which cascaded over her shoulders like a warm, soft blanket. Her eyes had an ethereal appearance—blight blue, but almost like you could see right through them.

  “She’s beautiful,” Mary said, turning her head in Roy’s direction.

  Roy turned to Della and said, “She sees with her hands.”

  “What color is your hair?” Mary asked, her hands now caressing Della’s long, blond locks that had fallen when she removed her bonnet.

  “Blonde,” said Della, unsure how to describe color to a person who couldn’t see.

  “What’s it like, Pa?” Mary said, turning to Roy.

  “Like the color of corn, only lighter,” Roy said. “Or the color of the sun on a bright, warm day.”

  Mary shook her head in approval as she lowered her hands. “It’s nice to meet you, Della Owens,” she said, now holding her hand out for Della to shake, which she did.

  “Nice to meet you, too,” Della said, happy that the matter was settled and she’d been accepted into the fold.

  Roy opened the door, holding it for Mary and Della to walk in. A woman stood over the table near the kitchen, scowling. “You’re late,” she said. Della was taken aback by her demeanor, after the warm welcome she’d received from both Roy and Mary.

  “Got here as fast as we could,” Roy sighed as he walked toward the room Della would be sharing with Mary, setting her bag down at the foot of one of two small beds. He walked out of the room and avoided eye contact with Della as he made his way to the table for supper. Mary, too, had become quieter the minute they walked in the door. It was if this woman had stolen their sunshine and in its place left a dark cloud that now hung over them all.

  Della followed suit and walked over to the table where four plates had been set. “I’m Della Owens,” she said to the woman, offering her hand to shake. “And you are?”

  “Nobody important ‘round here,” the woman said flatly. Silence filled the room, putting Della on edge. “Name’s Helen—I’m Roy’s wife and Mary’s ma.” Helen wiped her hands on the apron she wore and began passing plates of food around the table, allowing Roy to fill Mary’s plate for her. No one spoke a word until Della tried to initiate conversation.

  “Bet it comes in handy having a husband who works at the General Store!” Della said, trying to offer Roy a compliment and lighten the mood.

  “Hmph,” Helen scoffed. “Only reason he’s there’s because he wasn’t man enough to handle a real job.”

  Roy stopped in mid bite and dropped his fork onto the plate, making it clatter loudly as his eyes pierced Helen’s in silent rage. Helen looked down again and kept eating. Roy shoved his chair back from the table and stood up, turning to his right where Mary and Della sat frozen. “If you’ll excuse me,” he said. “I’m turning in for the night—we have a big day tomorrow at the store.”

  The rest of the meal was spent in silence. Mary moved the food around on her plate, using her fingers to scoop bits up onto her fork and guide it to her mouth. What have I gotten myself into? Della thought.

  When Helen finished her meal, she stood up, cleared her plate and went into her bedroom without saying a word. Della took the initiative to clear her and Mary’s dishes and then followed Mary into the small room they’d be sharing. She didn’t mind sharing the room—it felt like the days of her childhood when she and Charlotte shared quarters and would stay awake all night giggling. The moonlight shone through the window to illuminate the room as Della laid there going over the day in her mind.

  “My ma isn’t right about my pa,” Mary whispered in the dark.

  “Oh?” Della said, not wanting to fish for more information, but not wanting to shut Mary out, either.

  “Everyone knows those cowboys and rustlers are mean,” Mary said. “They humiliated my pa—tying him up like a hog and chasing him down, even though he had a badge.”

  “That’s horrible,” Della said, shocked that a man of the law would be treated like that in
public.

  “He had the courage to stick it out a long time,” Mary continued, “up until the night Mr. Hensley shot at him.”

  “Mr. Hensley?” Della gasped. “But isn’t he the one who owns the General Store?”

  “Yes,” Mary explained. “Sheriff Lockhart told him he’d better find Pa a job after what he’d done—chasing Pa down the street, into a saloon while shooting at his feet. Pa says Mr. Hensley’s really a nice man when he don’t drink, but Ma was humiliated about it and she’s been even meaner to him ever since. I don’t know if I forgive Mr. Hensley or not, but if Pa says he’s good, then I believe him.”

  Della was on the side of Helen in this matter. No one, absolutely no one, should be shooting at people—even if it is all in fun. “Your Pa is a brave man,” Della said. “And he adores you to no end!”

  “He’s the greatest,” Mary giggled in agreement. “Goodnight.”

  “Goodnight,” Della said. It had been a very long day and while the sun had just gone down not long ago, she was more than ready to fall into a deep sleep.

  …

  The sun hadn’t risen yet when Roy Jennings knocked on the door to waken Della. She tiptoed quietly across the floor so she wouldn’t wake Mary and cracked the door open to let Roy know she’d be ready soon. It was her first full day as a member of the Fort Worth community!

  She’d seen other women walking around town, and the attire had ranged from highly made-up women with the reddest lipstick Della had ever seen, wide feathered hats and low cut dresses to clearly well-to-do women in the latest Paris fashion of silks and lace. Then, there were the obvious frontier women in plain, cotton clothing who wore bonnets. These were the women Della most identified with. Her dress was plain and everything she had could be mixed and matched if needed.

  As they headed up the road to town, Roy was quiet. Della couldn’t go into this situation with Hank Hensley blindly, so she decided to put Roy on the spot and ask him about it. “What exactly happened the night Hank Hensley shot at you?” she blurted out.

  Roy raised his eyebrows and turned to face Della. “Well it ain’t nobody’s business but mine and Hank’s, but I’ll tell you,” he said. “Hank’s the kind of man who would give his life for you when he’s sober. But come nightfall, he’s like many of the town’s male citizens—likes to stir things up over in Hell’s Half Acre. He’s the best shot in town, second only to Sheriff Lockhart, so he thought it’d be funny to chase me down by shooting near my feet.”

  “That’s not funny at all,” Della said, disgusted.

  “I didn’t think so, either,” Roy chuckled. “I can look back on it now and laugh, but back then I was up to my eyeballs dealing with Helen at home and…well, add the chaos of the Acre and it was just more than I could take.”

  “And what’s Hell’s Half Acre?” Della queried.

  “Well, now, that’s a subject you best take up with Helen. It’s not a subject for polite company,” Roy said emphatically.

  Della could read between the lines and chose not to ask more questions about the Acre. “But how could you stand working for the man?” Della asked, genuinely trying to figure it out.

  “Well, Hank came to me, hat in hand, and apologized for his wrong-doing,” Roy explained. “Told me he had ordered a whole set of these raised letter books for Mary, and he planned to hire a tutor for her to teach her how to read them, which he did. That son-of-a-gun even bought the General Store from someone else, just so I could run it during the day. Pays me a nice sum, too.”

  Della didn’t see how anyone could be so night and day with their personality. A scoundrel who terrified people at night, and a hero for those same people at dawn. “But Helen’s still not okay with it?” Della pushed, wanting to know more about the situation at home.

  “Helen’s never been okay with anything having to do with me or Mary,” Roy said. “I’ve learned to ignore it for the most part. Sometimes it gets the better of me. As for Hank, well, we’ve all got our demons—and his happens to be whisky and gambling. Can’t judge a man for how he acts when he’s liquored up.”

  Della sure could. While she appreciated the kind things Mr. Hensley had done for Mary and Roy, she couldn’t shake the fact that anyone who covered up their bad behavior with good deeds, was still half rotten at the core. She certainly wouldn’t forgive him.

  As they brought the wagon to a halt in front of the General Store, a fair-skinned woman with bright hair the color of fire waited outside on the steps. Roy jumped down and hurried around to the storefront as Della made her way there, too. “Forget your supplies?” he asked the woman.

  “It’s a horrible habit of mine, Roy,” she said, rushing in to purchase a few odds and ends.

  “Della,” Roy said. “I’d like you to meet Mrs. Annabelle Collins. She’s the local teacher—moved here from Savannah and settled down with one of our ranchers.”

  “Lovely to meet you,” Annabelle said. “Sorry I’m in such a hurry—my students will be at the schoolhouse any minute now!” Her dress wasn’t the type Della would expect a school teacher and the wife of a rancher to wear. It was more like one she would admire in the fancy shops of Lawrence, but that were way out of her reach to purchase. Della wondered if there was a special occasion at school or if Annabelle always dressed that fancy.

  “Nice to meet you, too,” Della said, gathering the items for the customer and opening the door for her after she’d paid. Annabelle smiled at her as she rushed out the door. Della spent the rest of the morning learning where everything was and how Roy liked to run the store, but every so often she would look up when the bell rang and a new face walked in. Any time now, Hank Hensley would be stopping in, and if there’s one thing Della didn’t want to happen, it was to let that man catch her off guard.

  In Della’s mind, Hank was the worst kind of scoundrel—one who never cared that his actions might hurt others and always able to charm or pay his way out of bad situations. She was happy that she would build a relationship with a man who had morals and stability and one who was predictable.

  That thought brought her around to Milton Tidwell. I wonder when I’ll meet my future husband? Della wondered. Excitement and anticipation filled her thoughts and she began to envision their meeting and what they would say to each other.

  Della felt a glimmer of happiness at last – and a real sense of what the future might hold for her. Hank Hensley was quickly forgotten and replaced with thoughts of marriage, family, home and love—at long last.

  Chapter 4

  “Don’t tell me I’m headed for the calaboose this early” Hank said, laughing when Sheriff Lockhart walked through the door of his construction company.

  “Nah,” the sheriff grinned. “We have a policy not to lock you up until at least 10 o’clock at night—that way you can’t bail yourself out and cause more trouble before the evening’s over.” The two friends frequently laughed about Hank’s mischievous ways—drinking a little too much in Hell’s Half Acre, letting a card game get him all riled up, and then unwinding with a pair of six shooters and an aim so sharp, even the liquor couldn’t come between him and his target.

  “Well I appreciate that,” Hank said, grinning as he motioned for the sheriff to have a seat. “What can I do for you—or are you here on behalf of the council?”

  “You of all people should like what I’m about to say,” Sheriff Lockhart said. “The council’s taking a lot of heat for the current shape of the calaboose. We’ve got one cell with bars, no windows, and a stench that has neighbors hollering up a storm. We need it replaced, and I’m here to fetch a quote from my good buddy, Hank Hensley.”

  “Ah, calling in favors of acquaintance, are they?” Hank said with a smile. “And what makes the council think I’m going to knock anything off my rate?”

  “Well, rumor has it, a certain someone’s nightly fines might sharply decrease if he were to cut us some slack on the cost of the rebuild,” the sheriff said.

  Hank raised an eyebrow. “That alone would pay for the whole rebuild,” he said. Hank had shelled out some serious money over the years getting himself out of trouble during his nightly escapades. Mostly they were minor infractions like disturbing the peace or shooting up someone’s tin sign. But if there was one thing everyone knew about Hank Hensley, it was that he made things right the following morning. He not only paid a steep fine that served to keep the city running, but he also replaced whatever he’d damaged, and then improved on it. If he insulted someone or made them feel intimidated, he took it upon himself to do something really special for their whole family. With the exception of a few, no one held a grudge against him—even if he had earned himself a sometimes dishonorable reputation.