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Little Creek, Kansas,
December 1882
Belle Reese hurried home from the general store in Little Creek, Kansas where she’d stocked up on flour and sugar. The winter storm was coming fast, and the town was about to shut down for the night. She reached her front doorstep when she realized she’d forgotten coffee.
She paused on her doorstep, wishing she had a husband she could send to fetch it for her, and then quickly pushed that thought away. It only made things worse. For a while, she’d been certain that Sidney would propose, only to have all her hopes dashed. The image of Sidney, with his dark hair and rich brown eyes, made her heart ache.
Never mind him right now. He’s not worth crying over. Not anymore.
Her pink lips, already turning red with cold, thinned out and she stepped into the small home she’d shared with her sisters until earlier this year, shivering. The home was a one-story wooden structure with two bedrooms, a living area, and a kitchen. “Simple” was the word her eldest sister, Meadow, had always used. “Plain” was the word her middle sister, Summer, had used. And “boring” was the word Belle used.
The furniture was tidy but not particularly fashionable; the floorboards could have used a good scrubbing, and the curtains were a bland shade of beige that kept the sun out but did little to brighten the room. The house itself was too small for a proper parlor for entertaining, which had always been Belle’s biggest regret, as she dearly loved to entertain, but being able to stay close to her sisters had been of greater importance growing up, especially after their parents had died.
Now her sisters were gone, both married with children or children on the way, and Belle was alone. She had never thought she’d end up this way, and at nineteen, she already felt like an old maid. She pushed her blond hair behind her ear as the wind picked up and realized she’d forgotten the beans as well.
“Darn it!” she cursed under her breath.
She’d debated with herself over the coffee and had been able to come to terms with its absence, but now she would not have beans either. It was too much for her to bear, and not for the first time, she wished she had stayed in Elmwood, Missouri when her sisters had asked her to. She’d been a fool to leave after the birth of Meadow’s baby, thinking that she could care for this house alone.
It wasn’t the house itself that bothered her, she realized, it was her solitude in it. With both sisters in another state, and her only uncle and cousins unreachable by foot, she had nothing and no one to keep her company. Whatever friends she’d had at the beginning of the year had dropped away like flies after the scandal that had forced Meadow to flee. Even though her name had been cleared, the scandal remained etched in the town’s memory, and despite Belle’s best efforts to move past it, they would not.
She stared at the empty pot on the stove, and her stomach grumbled. “I need the beans,” she muttered to herself and began counting out her change. She might be trapped in the house for the next few days and needed to make sure she could feed herself. She had just enough for what she wanted, and a tad more stashed away in a cupboard behind a jar of pickles. She peeked out the window in the kitchen and shivered just watching the trees shake with the wind.
“I can do without,” she said, then realized she’d forgotten the sodium bicarbonate as well. She bit her lip, reprimanding herself for her total forgetfulness. Why hadn’t she made a list before going out?
Beans, sodium bicarbonate, and coffee.
No, it wouldn’t do. The absence of one of those three she could handle, but all of them? She quickly put her coat back on and exited her home. Her neighbor, Mrs. Middleton, was just stepping out of doors as well.
“Hello, Mrs. Middleton.” Belle waved and smiled warmly at the woman, though it was something of a strained warmth these days. “I don’t suppose you’ve received any of my mail by mistake?”
It had been over a week since she’d had received any word from her sisters. At least one of them wrote to her weekly, if not more often than that. The delay in hearing from them worried her.
Mrs. Middleton, a frumpy forty-year-old with greasy hair, frowned back at her. Her eyes were as cold as the snow that was coming. “I don’t steal other people’s mail,” she said, her voice scratchy.
“I didn’t mean to imply—”
“Next you’ll be accusing me of digging out your flowers in the spring or taking your newspapers off your porch when you leave them out after your reading.”
Belle pursed her lips and thought Mrs. Middleton’s words oddly suspicious. Just the other day, she’d sat out on the porch reading of the latest train robbery to have been committed by the Beauty Bandits—a trio of women taken to robbing from the rich and giving to the poor.
It had been an uncustomarily warm day for a December, but there was still a chill to the air. Belle had gone in for some hot tea so that she might continue to sit out without shivering, reluctant to give up the bit of warmth before it vanished entirely for the winter, and when she’d returned, her paper had been missing.
Mrs. Middleton was still glaring at her. “I could see your sisters accusing me, given how they’re prone to lies, but I expected better of you.” She walked off in a huff.
Belle cast her eyes down then reminded herself she had nothing to be ashamed of. Meadow had taken no part in the crimes for which she’d been accused. She’d robbed no banks, and the true thief had been brought to justice.
Of course, their middle sister, Summer, had had her own scandal to contend with not long after, and even though that had taken place in Elmwood, news of it had spread back here. It had been resolved months ago now, but people were reluctant to let go of a good scandal, especially when they had little else to occupy their time.
Belle started down her porch steps and returned to the general store. Mr. Errol, the shop owner, was surprised to see her but did not comment on her return, as that would have prompted her to converse with him, which would have made her remain longer in his shop. Like most people in Little Creek, he wanted her money, just not her company.
She took the coffee from the shelf then headed for the beans. He had only one can left, and Belle reached for it at just the same time Mrs. Vance was reaching for it. She hadn’t even seen the woman. Mrs. Vance had appeared as if from nowhere, her light gray hair streaked with black pulled into a low bun at the back of her head.
Her spindly arms shot out like a spider’s legs, attaching her hand to the can as if glued to it. Belle had already had one hand on the can when Mrs. Vance grabbed hold of it, and the women glared at each other.
“I believe that’s mine,” said Mrs. Vance.
“I believe you’re mistaken,” said Belle. “I had it first.”
“I didn’t see you with your hand on it.”
“Then you must have missed it. I assure you it was there.”
Mrs. Vance “hmphed” her but refused to let go.
Mr. Errol watched with interest from behind his counter.
“Give it here,” said Mrs. Vance and pulled, but not hard enough.
“It’s mine.” Belle knew she should just let it go, but she was tired of the looks and attitude of the townspeople. If they thought her and her family so monstrous, then she ought to at least play the part.
Belle yanked hard on the beans and her hand closed firmly around the can, sending Mrs. Vance falling backward as she lost her footing. She fell against a rack of pickled vegetables, and the glass jars hit the floor with a loud crack. The smells of vinegar and onions and garlic wafted steadily up to her nose.
Now Mr. Errol came out from around the counter.
“She pushed me!” cried Mrs. Vance, pointing at Belle. “Did you see?”
“I did not!” Belle cried.
Mrs. Vance’s eyes widened, and Belle was alarmed to see Mr. Errol’s head bobbing up and down in agreement with her.
“I saw it, all right,” he said, glowering at Belle and indicating the broken jars. “Who’s gonna pay for all this?”
Belle bit her lip. She didn’t have nearly enough money to pay for so many broken items. “It wasn’t my fault. I didn’t push anyone. She refused to let go and fell.” She glared at Mrs. Vance. “It’s your own doing. You should pay for it.”
Mr. Errol reached over and took the can from Belle’s hands, handing it to Mrs. Vance, who began to gloat. Her overinflated face beamed, and Belle noted that one of her teeth was cracked and turning a dark gray.
“There’s nothing for you here, Miss Reese,” said Mr. Errol. “Best you get home before the storm sets in. I’m closing up in a minute myself anyway.”
“Well, if I can’t get the beans,” Belle said, “then maybe I can get something else.” She was thinking of the sodium bicarbonate, and maybe some oats.
Mr. Errol stared at her with dead eyes. “Leave,” he said, his expression plain enough.
Belle’s bottom lip began to tremble. She forced it to still and threw her head back, giving them a false sense of her complete indifference. She walked out of the store with her head held high, then let the tears fall as she hurried back home.
She got to her front door and saw a stack of mail bundled loosely together. The envelopes had been torn open and obviously read. Her missing newspaper had been folded back up out of order.
Belle picked the bundle up and hurried inside, locking the door behind her and vowing never to speak to Mrs. Middleton again. The woman was a rat. That she seemed to think she was birdsong instead made her all the worse.
There was one letter from Meadow, and one from Summer, each begging for her return to Elmwood.
Meadow urged her to relinquish their house, as they no longer needed it, and move in with her and her husband. The children, she said, needed their aunt.
Summer had a similar offer, though her child was not due for several months yet. Summer declared that she had been there when Meadow’s was born, and she might as well be there when hers was as well.
Belle’s tears, which had already been flowing, rolled quicker over her cheeks now. If only she had the money for a train ticket back, she would buy one instantly. She knew if she asked her sisters for the funds, they would send them to her at once, but she couldn’t do that.
When she’d left Elmwood, she’d made a production out of assuring them she would be all right on her own and that she could get by. She had especially wanted Sidney to think that. He’d been the only one not to beg her to stay, and it had hurt more than she cared to admit. If he’d only asked, she would have sold the house at once and never returned to Kansas.
Upon her return, she’d run into trouble. The men she’d employed to watch the house in her absence—she’d had to ensure it wouldn’t be vandalized, as this had been at the height of her neighbors’ bad opinion of her family—had wanted money when they’d agreed previously to work for room and board.
She’d refused to pay, and they’d refused to go. She’d been obliged to give them what they wanted just to get rid of them, and now her purse was nearly empty.
She sat in her kitchen, rereading the letters, before turning to the newspaper in hopes of taking her mind off things. She had never finished the article on the Beauty Bandits but could not find it, since the pages were so out of order.
One page caught her eye, however. It was an ad for a mail order bride. She normally moved past such ads without a second glance, but this particular ad had a name attached to it she knew well—Sidney Poole.
Her eyes widened as she read, wondering if it could be the same man. Wanted: Bride. Will help in barbershop. Comfortable home.
Belle’s first thought was that Sidney should have asked her to marry him if he wanted a bride and was hurt he hadn’t. Then she thought better of it. Sidney was a proud man. He might have been embarrassed to ask for her hand, afraid she’d say no. Perhaps she’d been too subtle with her signals.
The fact she was seeing a Missouri man’s ad in a Kansas newspaper might mean he’d placed it with the intention of getting it in front of her. He was probably hoping she would see it and write to him. In that way, he might avoid having to ask her the question but still get her answer. It was a bit cowardly, she supposed... then again, perhaps it was more clever than cowardly. Yes, Sidney was remarkably clever.
The more she thought about it, the more sense this new idea made. Her heart began to race at the thought of becoming his bride. She would write to him at once. No! Better yet, she would surprise him. She would do as her sisters wanted and sell the house as quickly as she could. Then she’d use the money to pay for her way back to Missouri. Sidney might suffer a few weeks while she got things in order, not knowing that she’d seen his ad, but it would be deserved for his not asking for her hand directly.
She wondered briefly if there was any chance he might marry another if he didn’t hear from her immediately, and then dismissed the notion. His ad had just been placed. Finding a bride would take weeks, perhaps longer. And clearly, it was her he was after. Why would he marry another?
She bit her bottom lip and decided she would simply sell the house directly to the bank, even if it meant taking a reduction in its value, so that she might speed things along. Then there’d be no worries at all. Within a fortnight, she would be in Elmwood, and Sidney would be hers.
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