Libbie: Bride of Arizona (American Mail-Order Bride 48) (3 page)

Inactivity didn’t sit well, so she moved back to the kitchen. “What might I do to assist you? Please, Mary, allow me to help.”

“We’ll be needing a wreath for the front door. Ye could gather a dozen or so short branches from the laurel tree back by the stables.”

Grateful for any task that meant she could be outside, Libbie hurried across the back porch and into the yard. Stopping only a moment to gather shears and a flat basket from the gardening shed, she breathed the crisp air and moved along the crushed shell and gravel walkway toward the back of the property. The snipping of the blades and the scent of damp earth reminded her of working at Mama’s side in their small garden. So much so that she imagined being back there and hearing the lilting voices of the villagers harvesting in their own gardens.

“Missy?”

Libbie shook her head against the silly thought and reached for the next limb.

“Miss Libbie Anke?”

At this familiar reference, she whirled and gasped, dropping the basket at her feet. Unbelievably, at the back of the house stood one of her father’s trusted South African workers. “Jomo. Is that really you?” She ran down the walkway and threw herself against the tall, dark-skinned man. For just a moment, she savored this tenuous connection with home before tipping back her head and gazing into his dark eyes. As natural as could be, she slipped into her native Dutch. “Do you know?”

His bristly eyebrows lowered as he scanned her clothes. “I see death has visited dis house.”

Her lower lip quivered. “Not only here in America. Mama and Papa were killed in a carriage accident.”

“No.” For a moment, he hung his head then he pressed his fingers to his eyes. After a deep breath, he looked up and gathered her close into his wiry arms. “I am sorry, miss. Dey were good people.” He eased back and dropped his hands. “Now I know not what to do.”

“But why are you here? In America?”

“I accompanied your birthday surprise. Were you not told?” An eyebrow lifted, he gazed over the expanse of the back yard. Then he clasped her hand and tugged her along the walkway toward the street.

When they rounded the house, she spotted a wagon parked at the curb. Several wide-slated crates displaying black or gray feathers filled the wagon bed. Libbie clasped her hands under her chin and let out a squeal. “My ostriches. They’re my present?” Lifting her skirt, she dashed toward the big birds, clicking her tongue in the familiar cadence to catch their attention. Before her was the pet she’d had as long as she could remember. Koning—a seven-foot tall ostrich. His bulging eyes and knobby head were as dear to her as a kitten’s pink nose and perky ears might be to a child in America or Europe. Cooing, she reached a hand through the slats to stroke his breast feathers. “Which females comprise his harem?”

Jomo chuckled. “You remember his primary mate, Lady. And there’s Gulden, Diamant, Zilveren, and Juweel. A mix of new and experienced breeders.” He moved to the front of the wagon and reached into a well-worn leather satchel. Then he passed her an envelope. “From your papa.”

With an eager grin, Libbie ripped open the envelope and unfolded the letter. Through brimming tears, she read of her parents’ wishes for her to establish connections with their old friend, Henrick Dekker in New York, and provide ostrich plumes for the fashion trade. This was to be her contribution to the family’s various businesses. Pressing the letter to her chest, she beamed at Jomo. “They believed in me.”

“Yes, and they loved you and the boys very much.”

The front door slammed open. “What is the meaning of this unseemly delivery, Libbie?” Eyes wide, Fayth stood at the head of the stone steps, hands planted on her hips. “Who do those ugly, awful beasts belong to?”

Those two questions spoken in such a scornful tone informed Libbie her welcome at this house was wearing thin. Her reason for being in Boston at the finishing school was no longer valid or essential. Any marriage match to be made would not be forthcoming from among her parents’ social circle, but would have to be accomplished by her own initiative. Besides, with the family accounts frozen, no additional funds would be wired to the bank for her monthly expenses in the foreseeable future. Her brother Larz would do what he could at the earliest opportunity, but no guarantee existed on when that would happen.

That day, she and Jomo worked side-by-side to build a temporary enclosure in the back yard from the disassembled crate pieces. At the dinner table, Carson couldn’t have been clearer in giving her a firm deadline by which to remove herself and
those
animals from the premises. Following that tense and uncomfortable meal, Libbie again looked over the letter in the
Grooms’ Gazette
that she’d already read several times.

Hard-working cattle rancher in Prescott, Arizona Territory seeking wife not afraid to do her part in creating a harmonious household. I’m Dell Stirling, 26 years of age, and of sound body and mind. I own 200 acres with a comfortable house, big barn, bunkhouse and corral, and a vegetable garden. Cattle herd varies in size, depending on season, and I employ adequate hands to manage them.

A compatible match should know she’d have a roof over her head and food on the table always, but she shouldn’t expect fripperies in the house or furnishings. Only practical, sensible women with adequate domestic skills need apply.

Working late into the night, Libbie composed several versions of a response to be sent by telegraph the following day. The trick was choosing words to disguise the ranch’s geographic location in a southern region was Mr. Stirling’s most attractive feature.

October, 1890, Prescott, Arizona Territory

Dell glanced at Libbie’s latest telegram one more time before stuffing it in the back pocket of his denims. He’d made his decision weeks ago, and his soon-to-be bride had notified him she’d reached Chicago where she’d transfer to the Atchison, Topeka and Santa Fe Railroad line. The new mistress of the Bar S Ranch would arrive mid-week, barring an unexpected delay on the tracks or mechanical failure. Nothing left but to make his important announcement to the rest of the Stirling family.

He gave his bay gelding Sparky a last scratch between the ears and closed the door to the stalls on the far end of the barn his dad reserved for family use. A glance down the row showed only two out of twelve stalls stood empty. Prescott was a fast-growing city, and his parents’ decision to open the livery looked to be paying off.

“Are you hiding in here?” Skip stood in the open barn door. At twenty, he was almost as tall as Dell, but not as broad. He lifted his hat, ran a hand through his wavy hair, and repositioned his hat on his head.

“Nah, just getting my horse settled.” Dell met his younger brother’s gaze and grinned. “How have you been this past week?”

“Can’t complain. That stallion I’ve been working is showing progress. At the halter and blanket stage now.” Flashing a crooked grin, he rocked back on his boot heels. “This week, we’ll work with putting on the saddle.”

Dell admired Skip’s patience with the mustang-breaking process. He’d done his turn for several seasons but witnessing his father’s crippling accident years earlier had solidified his decision to work with cattle. He preferred the calmer beasts that rarely got overexcited or bashed a rider into the side of a barn.

Both men stepped into the bright fall sunlight and turned right toward the two-story house with a tidy flower bed lining the front of the deep veranda. Blossoms still clung to the pinkish verbena, and the air carried a sweet scent from a last profusion of white honeysuckle flowers. Sunday dinner was a family tradition his mother insisted upon so she could keep apprised of her children’s lives. Sometimes he wondered at the practice of a man almost twenty-six years of age appearing on his parents’ doorstep to take advantage of their larder. But he couldn’t deny his mother’s cooking was far superior to his own.

One of the many reasons he’d decided the time was right to acquire a wife. The most pressing one occurred when his housekeeper deserted him to tend a family emergency. Because the Hemmings hadn’t known the extent of the illness, Ted decided to make the move with his wife. The change left Dell without a foreman as well. A little more than two weeks had passed since he’d been on his own, but the time seemed much longer. He could barely stand the grumbling from his cowhands whenever he delivered a meal of watery stew or charred steaks to the bunkhouse. At least, hiring a cook had solved that problem.

The screen door opened just as the men approached the wooden steps. “Dell, glad you’re here.” Maida smiled and waved her brothers forward.

At twenty-two, Maida presented a picture of health with a curvy figure, bright hazel eyes, and a glow to her skin. “Today’s Sunday, isn’t it?” He raised an eyebrow and fought back a grin. “I’m not ill nor am I traveling, so where else would I be?” He swept his upturned palms outward from the sides of his body.

Maida’s brows drew low, and she glanced over her shoulder. “Hush, don’t let Mama hear you. She’d be crushed to learn you view coming here as a chore.”

Dell leaned forward to tap a finger on his younger sister’s nose. “Don’t you know a jest when you hear one?”

Smiling, she gave his shoulder a playful slap. “Oh, you.”

The three walked through the modestly furnished house to the kitchen that ran the width of the back of the house. Dell glanced through the windows at the rough granite mountains and scrub trees mixed with an occasional saguaro cactus that he’d seen almost his entire life. The raw landscape always made him pause in admiration.

A clack came from his right, and he turned to see his mother removing a pan of golden-topped rolls from the oven. “Smells great, as usual, Mom.”

“Better wash those hands, because the food’s just about ready.”

Dell looked over his shoulder and raised an eyebrow at Skip. Adult men being told what to do? He lifted his hands and sniffed. Sparky’s scent clung to his skin. He walked to the sink, grabbed the lump of soap in one hand, and gave the pump handles a couple strokes. As he worked up a sudsy lather, he eyed the water pump then stilled. Would his new bride expect this same setup? Or would she be content with the pump on the back porch like at his house at the Bar S Ranch? Doubt settled over his thoughts as he reached for a towel. Why hadn’t he listened when his ex-housekeeper Daisy had complained about the extra steps she walked each day while doing chores?

The back door closed with a thud and in walked the family patriarch. “Dell, good to see you. How’s things at the ranch?” William walked to the sink, his limp a bit more pronounced toward the end of the day.

Better not bring up the subject of the half-dozen missing cattle that Dell suspected had been rustled. “Got to admit I’m missing the Hemmings more than I anticipated.” His jaw tightened, and he pulled out a chair and plopped down. “Ted had the routine and assignments set, and nothing changed. Now, the hands are acting like this situation is an opportunity to switch up their duties. I’m hearing more than I want to about the work habits of the men I employ.” Dell glanced at his father’s shaking shoulders and knew he bit back a chuckle.

When he turned, rubbing a towel over his clean hands, William Stirling displayed no such humor. He pinched tight his lips before speaking. “All part of being the boss, son.”

Hazel carried the platter heavy with a sizzling roast and placed it at the head of the table where five plates were stacked. “Take your seats, please, everyone.”

Dell scooted his chair close and glanced at the food resting in his mother’s painted earthenware dishes. Beef, mashed potatoes and gravy, carrots, and rolls—one of his favorite meals.

After the blessing, William carved slices of meat and set them onto plates that were passed around the table. The next several minutes were spent in silence as everyone served portions onto their plates and tasted the delicious food. Inconsequential topics of weather and prices at the mercantile filled the air.

When his plate was half empty, Dell figured the time was right to share his news.

Maida set down her water glass and then turned to her left. “Dell, are you coming to town for the Harvest Dance next Saturday night?”

Dang, he’d plumb forgotten about that event. But a community activity sounded like a great opportunity.
This might be the opening I need
. He cleared his throat.

“Well, I heard Guy from the Bar S asked to escort Miss Lydia Farnell from the millinery shop.” Maida’s eyes lit up as she glanced around the table. “And there’s a music competition with prizes put up by the Goldwater
and
the Bashford & Burmister general stores.”

“Prize money ought to bring in lots of competitors.” Hazel held up the bowl of potatoes. “Seconds, anyone?”

Skip leaned back, hooking an elbow around the chair’s upright. “I’d heard that, too. Thought I’d bring along my harmonica and participate, if the mood strikes.”

“Sure, Mom, pass down the bowl.” Dell held out his hand.

“Mama, do we have time to spruce up my green calico and make it look a bit fresher?” Maida shook her head over an offer of more potatoes.

“Maida, don’t get started on laces, ribbons, buttons, or all that fancy stuff. You and Mom can save that talk for later.” Shaking his head, Skip rested a forearm on the table. “Dad, you ought to consider playing your fiddle.”

William chuckled. “You think so?”

Conversations swirled about Dell, and he ducked his head to focus on trickling gravy over his potato mound. Nothing of what was being said was extraordinary, but the easy-going exchanges resulted from years of familiarity. With one decision, Dell would be changing this dynamic—forever. This dinner was possibly the very last time his family would exist as he now knew it. For several seconds, he glanced around at his loved ones then ran patterns with his fork through the dark gravy. Why on earth hadn’t he asked their opinions before making a decision that would expand the Stirling family?

All of a sudden, Dell realized the voices had grown silent. He glanced up to see the others staring in his direction. “What did I miss?”

“Something wrong with my food?” Hazel eyed his plate and met his gaze, an eyebrow cocked upward.

“No, ma’am.” He scooped up a heaping forkful and shoved it in his mouth, forcing a tight-lipped smile.

“You got awful quiet after I mentioned the dance.” Maida touched a striped napkin to her lips.

Dell ate one more bite which almost caught in his dry throat and then pushed his plate toward the center of the table. “I do have an announcement. But now that the time is here, maybe Mom should serve the pie and coffee before I share the news.”

“I’ll decide when I’m ready to do that.” Hazel grabbed a roll and broke it in two, her blue eyes narrowing. “Maybe I’m still eating.”

Nervous energy flooded him and Dell stood, moving behind the seat and holding tight to the top rung of the ladderback chair. “Well, I guess you’d say congratulations are in order. At least, most folks usually offer theirs at a time like this.”

“Best to come out with it, son.” William spoke in a low tone.

Dell winced at the commanding note in his father’s voice. After taking a deep breath, he turned toward his sister. “To answer your earlier question, I will be attending the Harvest Dance. Although this year, I won’t be hanging around on the perimeter of the gathering with the other bachelors and widowers.” Sudden anxiety attacked him and he had to swallow hard against a tight throat. “This year, I’ll be escorting my new bride, Libbie.”

Silence reigned for several seconds, and then voices erupted, one person talking over the other.

“Who is—?”

“What about—?”

“When was—?”

“How did—?”

Dell held up his hands and waited for them to stop, struggling not to react to their shock. “She’s coming in from Chicago on Bullock’s train and should be here on Tuesday, Wednesday at the latest.”

“Wednesday of this week?” Hazel sat forward and stared wide-eyed.

“Yes, whenever the spur line arrives. You know the schedule is somewhat erratic.”

“Dell, how did you ever meet a woman who lives in Chicago?” Maida turned in her chair to stare, her brows wrinkled tight.

Now that the announcement was made, he felt a bit light-headed so he slid back into his seat. “Actually, she lived in Boston, but Chicago is where she changed railroad lines.”

William cleared his throat. “Perhaps you should start at the beginning and tell us everything.”

“Oh, not to worry. I’m not letting the boy leave here today without knowing each and every detail.” Hazel leaned back and crossed her arms over her middle.

Dell winced at his mother’s use of “the boy”—a term that meant he or Skip were in hot water. His dad was always the logical one, but his mom’s curiosity ruled her. “The idea took root when Ted gave notice of his and Daisy’s departure from the Bar S to work her folks’ land in Colorado Territory during her pa’s illness. I sent them off with my best wishes, but their absences created a big hole in my ranch operation. At the same time, I know my strengths and weaknesses, and keeping house is not one of my strengths.”

Hazel snorted and then rolled a hand in the air for him to continue.

“So I thought about my situation. I’m a man in good health with a ranch that provides an adequate living. Thanks to you folks, the house and the outbuildings are sturdy and well-built. I’m strong, a hard worker, and have a good head for business.” As he spoke, he glanced around at his family, making brief eye contact with each. “More than one young lady has mentioned I’m handsome.”

“And modest…don’t forget that.” Skip chuckled then twisted fingers over his lips in a locking motion.

If only Skip would keep quiet
. Dell knew he was due for a bit of ribbing about this decision when they were away from their parents’ house. “No woman in town has captured my fancy, at least not like we’ve always heard Dad wax on about the way Mom caught his.”

“What about Trudy Mathieson?” Hazel spoke up. “I always thought you two were sweet on each other.”

Dell scoffed at the notion of him and Trudy as a couple. Sure they’d shared a few kisses, and he carved their initials in a tree by the creek years ago. “When we were about fifteen or sixteen. But that was puppy love.”

“I’m not so sure”—Maida reached out a hand but pulled it back—“um, never mind. Please continue, Dell. What’s her full name, and what’s she like?”

“Easier for me to read aloud the letter she sent, actually it was a telegram.” He stood and dug the envelope from his back pants pocket.

“A telegram? That’s costly. So maybe she’s not a gold-digger.”

Hazel snapped around her head. “Skipton Stirling, watch your tongue.”

Skip raised his eyebrows and fanned his open palms in front of his body but remained silent.

“How did she know where to write you?” William scooted his chair sideways to the table and crossed an ankle over the opposite leg.