Della: Bride of Texas (American Mail-Order Bride 28) (7 page)

Chapter 7

Not ours
, Della thought as she repeated the words of Hank Hensley from the previous day.
Imagine being married to Hank Hensley of all people!
While she tried feigning disgust at the thought, she couldn’t help but notice that thoughts of marrying Milton registered no emotion whatsoever.  She wasn’t sure which was worse—anger or apathy.

But now wasn’t the time to get bogged down in those thoughts. There was a party starting shortly, and Della was excited about attending her first event in Fort Worth, Texas. She’d heard about previous celebrations, but in her short time there, all she’d been able to get a feel for was daily life, which she enjoyed.

A nice routine was developing for Della—and she liked waking up each morning, knowing what to expect. Breakfast was served early—at a table where Roy, Mary and Della enjoyed their discussion filled with laughter as Helen sat sour-faced and silent. A tutor would arrive, courtesy of Hank Hensley, just as Roy and Della were leaving, to spend the day working with Mary on her lessons. Della would always eat lunch in the store, while Roy went home at midday to eat with his daughter and check in on her. He would return and close up the store with Della, and she would help Helen with supper later that evening. It was a life filled with good friendships, honest work and prayer—the kind of life she’d always imagined for herself.

In less than an hour, Della would be fetched by Milton, according to the formal invitation he’d sent, along with a small sum to purchase a dress for the occasion. She’d already taken a peek at the Threads and Top Hats store, where Beatrice Reynolds housed all the latest fashions—but with the amount Milton had sent, she’d never be able to afford one of those. Instead, she’d opted for a simple chartreuse and cream, high neck gown with lace and a bow in the back. It didn’t have many adornments, but it was a step above what she wore on a daily basis.

“How do I look?” she asked Mary, immediately realizing she’d done it again—forgotten the girl was blind.

“Beautiful,” Mary said, laughing.

“Oh, Mary, I’m so sorry,” Della apologized.

“It’s okay,” Mary said. “I kind of like that you forget I’m sightless. It means you look at me like I’m normal. Other people treat me like I’ve lost my mind, not my vision—talking louder, whispering in front of me as if my hearing went the way of my sight. Besides, I know you mean well.”

Della put her arm around Mary and gave her a hug. “You’re
better
than normal,” she said. “You’re an amazing young woman and if I could be half the person you are, I’d say a prayer of thanks to the good Lord above!”

Mary took her hands and gently placed them on Della’s face, guiding them softly to her hair. She brushed her fingertips along Della’s collar, feeling the lace and material, and brought them down slowly along the puffy sleeves and down the back of the dress to the bow. “It…it
is
beautiful,” Mary said. “What’s it like?”

“Like the soft underbelly of a lovebird,” Della said, trying to describe the color. “Mixed with the color of creamy, warm grits.”

Mary smiled and nodded, as if envisioning it in her head. “You promise to tell me all about it the second you get home?” she begged.

“I promise,” Della said. There was a knock on the front door. “He’s here. Wish me luck.”

“Luck!” Mary said as Della hurried out of the room and into the parlor where Roy had let Milton in to wait.

“Much improved,” were Milton’s first words as he looked her up and down when she entered the room. Della’s heart sank. Not exactly the kind of compliment she wanted to hear. “Shall we?” Milton stood and motioned for her to leave before him, nodding to Roy and Mary as he and Della went outside to the wagon.

“I’ll be introducing you to some very important people this evening,” Milton bragged. “It’s vital that you make a good impression. They’ll be attending our wedding, and God willing, using my services at the bank for some rather large transactions.”

Della folded her hands in her lap and looked away from Milton, toward the hilly countryside.
Think about the positives,
she reminded herself.
He’s trying to procure a stable future for us.
“I’m looking forward to meeting your friends,” she said with a smile.

The rest of the ride was silent, but they only had a short distance to go before arriving at the Stockyards. The area had been turned into a festive event, and music could be heard coming from the banquet inside the auction hall. As Della stepped down from the wagon, she still smelled the strong odor of cattle, but it was to be expected here—and she was oddly starting to get used to it—something everyone told her would happen when she first moved to Texas.

The Fort Worth Union Stockyards was located about two and a half miles north of the Tarrant County Courthouse and saw an amazing four million head of cattle pass through from 1866 until this day in 1890. There were rumors of plans for a new Livestock Exchange Building—just another star in the crown of success for Fort Worth.

But today, cattle were in the background and the big event was about to begin. Couples strode into the hall in pairs. Milton offered his arm, which Della took, happy for the first sign of courtesy he’d given her, even though she suspected it was all for show. Della had never seen the inside of the auction barn and she was amazed at its size. The hay on the auction floor had been cleaned away and the pine boards beneath were polished to a high shine.

A small group of musicians were playing at one end of the hall and couples were already twirling to square dance tunes and other festive–-and distinctly Texan—music of the day. Around the perimeter of the hall, tables were set up to display a wide array of food and drink. The older citizens of Cowtown were relaxing and fanning themselves on chairs set up between the tables of food and drink and many of the younger couples and singles were laughing and talking in groups. It was fun to see the ladies dressed up in their finery and the men clean and dressed up from the usual fare of grungy Western work clothes. Della was happy to recognize so many faces. It was hard
not
to get to know everyone, when they relied on the store you worked in for their daily needs.

“Della!” a voice squealed from behind. “So glad you could make it!” it was Annabelle Collins—whom she’d gotten to know in the early morning hours, whenever the town’s teacher stopped by to pick up some supplies or treats for her class.

“You know Mrs. Collins?” Milton whispered.

“Yes, she comes in the store regularly,” Della answered.

“Introduce me,” Milton ordered rather than asked.

“This is my husband, Lee,” Annabelle said. Lee Collins was a big rancher in the area. He’d started out with a fledgling cattle company and become one of the most influential cattle barons in all of Texas.

“Lee, nice to meet you,” Della replied. “This is my fiancé, Milton Tidwell. He’s the manager at Fort Worth Bank over on Main Street.” It felt funny introducing Milton as her fiancé, when the reality was, he’d never formally proposed to her. All he’d done is discuss the wedding date with her.
I reckon not every man is a romantic
, she reasoned with herself.

Lee shook Milton’s hand. “I haven’t met you yet, Mr. Collins,” Milton remarked. “Perhaps you’d like to discuss your banking needs and what we can do for you?”

“I’m not here to conduct business, Mr. Tidwell,” Lee said. “I already do my banking over at the Texas Sun branch. Now if you’ll excuse us.” They walked away, with Annabelle giving Della a look of pity.

“I thought you said she was your friend,” Milton barked, taking his frustration out on Della. “I don’t like to be made a fool of.”

“No, I said I knew her as a customer,” Della said sharply, already fed up with the way Milton treated her due to his own shortcomings.

Milton sighed and excused himself, leaving Della to stand there alone in a room full of acquaintances. A light and popular tune began to play from the musicians’ area. “Care to dance?” a voice said from behind.

Della turned around and came face to face with Hank Hensley, who stood there wearing a gentlemen’s three-piece suit—a sack coat with a high collar shirt, a fashionable, floppy bow tie and black trousers. A pocket watch hanging at the front of his vest completed the polished look, which Della was sure had been custom created for his form.

“I’m afraid I already
have
a dancing partner, Mr. Hensley,” she said.

“And it looks like he’s nowhere to be found—certainly not dancing with
you
,” Hank said. “If you were
my
girl, there’s no way I would have left you standing here alone—not with men like me lurking all around.”

Della noticed several of the woman standing nearby began whispering to each other and pointing at them, giggling. “There are plenty of women here for
men like you
, Mr. Hensley,” Della said, referring to the groups of gossipers.

“And I’m as interested in
them
as you are in Milton Tidwell,” Hank laughed.

Della turned to Hank, looking shocked. She was blushing, but only because he actually guessed the truth about her. “I can assure you I’m
quite
interested in Mr. Tidwell,” Della lied. “As a matter of fact, he’s over there right now forming important relationships with people who
matter
—people whose business at the bank will help
our
future.”

Hank glanced over at Milton, who stood on the outer circle, being ignored by the same group of businessmen Della had previously seen begging Hank to partner with on a project. “Hmm, yes. I can see he’s
very
good at forming relationships,” Hank mocked. “He’s doing just as well there as he’s done with you.”

“And just what would
you
know about relationships, Mr. Hensley?” Della asked. “Why, I haven’t seen you with a decent woman yet!”

“Nor
will
you,” Hank said. “That is, until you decide to free yourself from that phony engagement and see what being courted by a
real
Texas man is all about.”

Della felt herself trembling at his bold words. Her face flushed red. She couldn’t help but look at Hank Hensley and know he was right. She
did
wonder what it would be like to be courted by a man who showered her with compliments, who didn’t need to put her off to the side as he scrambled to do business—a man whose dashing good looks and willingness to show generosity to others made it impossible to consider him
all
bad. But Hank Hensley wasn’t in the plan. It wouldn’t be fair to Milton Tidwell, who had paid for her passage here, for her to abandon him whenever the first man came along who paid her any attention. And besides, she viewed Hank as a scoundrel and a rogue and could never be happy with a man such as that. But she couldn’t help the feelings that stirred her inside—feelings that weren’t part of her plans for the future.

“You’ll find yourself waiting a long time, Mr. Hensley,” Della said, cooling herself off with the fan she brought out from her reticule.

“I’m willing to take a risk on you being wrong, Miss Owens,” Hank said. “As my good fortune reflects, all that time I’ve spent in Hell’s Half Acre have made me pretty confident in my ability to gamble.”

“Yes, well you’ve never been willing to gamble with your
heart
, Mr. Hensley,” Della said, fanning faster and looking away from those chocolate brown eyes that were boring into her own blue ones.

“There's a difference between being
willing
to do something and
wanting
to, Miss Owens,” Hank said, his voice taking on a less teasing tone.

“I’ll warn you ahead of time that regardless of your past success, this will put an end to your winning streak,” she scoffed.

“I wouldn't wager my pride if there was a chance I'd lose,” Hank said. “It won't take much to make old Milton fold.”

“Even if you
do
manage to ruin my engagement, it won’t change things between us,” Della said, determined to put an end to this troubling conversation.

“I look forward to doubling down on my efforts,” Hank said. “Looks like your endearing Mr. Tidwell is heading this way. If you change your mind about that dance…”

Della turned her nose up at Hank, but watched as he walked away. Somehow she couldn’t help but wish it were Milton walking away and that she could enjoy a dance with Hank, but she knew that was all wrong. She couldn’t possibly fall in love with a man who had wild, unpredictable ways—especially not one who spent his time in the company of uncouth ladies. Della struggled to bring her thoughts back to her present situation. She was engaged to Milton Tidwell—maybe not the man of her dreams, but a man who could provide stability and a solid plan for the future. Then, there was Hank Hensley—a man she wanted to despise, but who intrigued and excited her. There was a strong battle brewing between Della’s heart and mind—one that both scared her senseless and tickled her with delight.

Chapter 8

Hank was forced to skip church on Sunday to handle a dispute between the foreman and the construction crew on one of his new projects. He hated missing it—not only because he wanted to see Della, but he knew being absent provided more fodder for the Fort Worth gossip mill. What he really wanted was to see how Della would react to him after Saturday night. Hank could tell when a woman liked him, and although Della outwardly spoke as if she was repelled by his mere existence, he knew she was intrigued.

It wasn’t like Hank to steal another man’s woman—although he’d had his fair share of opportunities in the past. It wasn’t the gentlemanly thing to do, and while Hank had a long record of troublemaking in town, meddling in another man’s marriage was a transgression he wouldn’t even do when liquor was involved—at least, up ‘til now. He had to admit he was mighty captivated by the stubborn Miss Owens.

It wasn’t the same with Della and Milton. It’d be one thing if they were in love, or if Milton was even a bit worthy of a woman like her. But he wasn’t—and Hank wasn’t sure
he
was, either. The only thing he
did
know is that he found himself thinking about her during every waking moment—wondering if she was thinking about him, too. He wanted Della to let him spoil her and make her smile. It drove him nuts to think about her signing away her happiness to marry a man like Milton Tidwell.

“What now?” Hank asked himself aloud as he looked in the mirror and put on his hat. What plan could he conjure up to make Della see what a wretched life she’d have with Milton? Even if things didn’t work out for him and Della, Hank knew that Milton wasn’t the ultimate answer for her future. The whole way into town, Hank played each scenario in his head.
I’ll just save her from a life of misery—show her a good time,
he thought. But Della wasn’t the kind of woman who was looking to be entertained with dancing and drinking. 
Maybe I’ll court her for real,
he considered, trying to picture himself settling down with a sensible woman for good. Hank shook his head.
No, I’m not cut out for that.

He decided to forego the planning and just let the chips fall where they may. But Hank knew one thing…he’d never have a chance with her if he didn’t learn to show her another side of himself. He’d have to bare his soul, and
that
was something Hank Hensley had never done before. For the first time in his life, he worried that maybe his instincts about whether or not he’d win a wager could be wrong.

“Good morning, Hank” three ladies said in unison as he walked into the Hensley General Store, passing them on their way out. They were workers from Hell’s Half Acre—woman Hank doted on from time to time. He was sure from the look of disgust in Della’s eyes, she thought it meant something more.

“Want to pay
their
bills, too?” Della sneered.

“If they need me to, I will,” Hank shot back, before remembering his goal of putting an end to the teasing so he could show his true colors. “Everyone needs some help from time to time—like how you were lent a hand after that situation up in Massachusetts.”

Della was taken aback that he remembered that part of her life from previous conversations. “It’s just…well, you
must
know what everyone thinks when you pay their way,” Della said.

“People think a lot of things they shouldn’t,” Hank said. “Like you think it’s a good idea to blend in with the wooden walls. Why, if it wasn’t for your golden hair, I wouldn’t even be able to see you standing here.”

Della looked down at her dowdy, brown dress. Every one she’d worn so far had been some shade of brown, and Hank was tired of seeing her dressing like a servant. “I believe my attire is perfectly suitable for work here,” she said defiantly.

“Well I’m the boss, and I say it isn’t,” Hank said. “In fact, I’m ordering you to come with me so we can purchase some new
uniforms
for you to wear here. Roy? You got this?”

“Got it, boss,” Roy said, chuckling at the exchange between the two of them as he arranged some heavy sacks of flour on a shelf.

Hank grabbed Della’s hand, pulling her like a feather toward the door even though she pulled back with all the strength she could muster. He guided her across the street, carefully missing the mess the Longhorns had made a few moments before and dodging a wagon in the process. “Let
go
of me,” she ordered in a loud voice so that people were stopping to watch the spectacle.

Hank kept a grip until they reached the door to Beatrice Reynolds’ fashion store. “After you, my dear,” he said as he opened the door.

Della stamped her foot. “This isn’t a store for uniforms!”

Hank gently pushed her inside. “It is if I say it is,” he argued. “Besides, look at all the color in here. You’ll stand out to the customers wearing one of these fine dresses. ”

“Stand out like a silly
fool
,” she rebelled. “Honestly, let’s go back now. I promise to wear a colorful scarf tomorrow.”

Hank could tell Della wasn’t used to having anyone splurge on her or to the wide array of color and fine fabric of the dresses in Beatrice’s shop. He grabbed a light, sky-blue cotton, square-necked dress that he was sure would show off the delicate shape of her slender neck. Darker blue flowers stood out like bright Texas Bluebonnets against the lighter blue of the material and the waist of the dress was gathered and dropped down to a point in front. A pale, cream colored lace framed the neck, front bodice and around the bottom of the elbow-length sleeves. Delicate pewter buttons ran down the back of the dress and added a finish to the dress that set it apart from the normal work dresses of frontier women.

“Look, Della,” he commanded, pulling her in front of him, both facing the mirror. He held it up to her body so she could see the transformation for herself. “Look at how beautiful you are.”

“I’m not
trying
to look beautiful, Mr. Hensley,” she said loudly. “I’m
trying
to start my life over in this town and start a family…”

“With Milton Tidwell,” he finished her sentence with a sneer.

“Yes,” she shrieked. “With Milton Tidwell, if he’ll have me.”

“Even Milton Tidwell knows the dresses you’re wearing now won’t do,” Hank laughed. “Didn’t he buy you that dress I saw you wearing Saturday night?”

“Yes, he did,” Della admitted. “And it was
very
generous of him.”

“Milton Tidwell wouldn’t know generosity if it bit him in the behind,” Hank said.

Beatrice Reynolds heard the commotion from the back and emerged like an angry bull. “What in tarnation is all the ruckus?” she bellowed. “Oh, Mr. Hensley. I didn’t know that was you. What can I do for you today?”

Hank was always amused at the way people who talked behind his back treated him to his face—especially when he was about to spend a small fortune in their business. “Afternoon, Mrs. Reynolds,” Hank said. “You know Miss Della Owens, don’t you?”

“Why I certainly do,” Beatrice said a little too sweetly. “She was in here just the other day shopping for a gown for the Stockyards event. Although, I don’t recall if she bought anything.”

“No, ma’am,” said Della, remembering how Beatrice sneered when she told her she didn’t have the funds for one of her dresses. “It was a bit out of my price range, although you have beautiful fashions.”

“Price is no object for us today,” Hank announced. “We’re here to stock up on some pretty little dresses for Miss Owens to wear as a representative of the Hensley General Store.”

“Well I’m afraid I don’t have work uniforms, Mr. Hensley,” Beatrice said, confused.

“Correct me if I’m wrong,” Hank said, “but didn’t your husband, Otis, tell me you were the best seamstress west of the Mississippi?”

“Oh hush,” Beatrice blushed and waved her hand at Hank as if to dismiss the compliment. “I might have a few tricks up my sleeve.”

“I want you to create a set of colorful and well-made dresses for Della here to wear to work every day,” Hank said. “Something she could wear anywhere!”

“Oh that’ll be a delightful project!” Beatrice said. “What fabric would you like? I have a nice selection right this way.”

Della shot a look of anger toward Hank as she followed Beatrice to the shelf with the samples. “This,” Della said, pulling out a dark green swath. “Or this.” Both samples were more suitable for an aging matron than a beautiful, young woman and matched the outfits she already had.

“I’m afraid that won’t do,” Hank said, grabbing the fabric and tossing it back on the shelf. “We’ll take these instead.” He pulled several colors out—bolt after bolt of material that were obviously for the more well-to-do and distinctive citizens of the town. The colors were those she seldom wore—blue, bright yellow and peach. Then, he began to grab laces and buttons meant for the most elegant of ensembles.

“That’s quite an array,” Beatrice said, taken aback as she headed to the counter to fetch her measuring book.

“Please talk some sense into him,” Della pleaded to Beatrice. “I can’t work in this attire.”

“If you were married to me,” Hank teased, whispering as he leaned in next to Della, “you wouldn’t have to work another day in your life if you didn’t want to.”

“I
will
want to,” Della retorted, obviously feeling flustered at Hank’s suggestion.

“I’m glad you’re thinking about our future, too,” he grinned.

“That’s not what I…” Della tried to explain before Hank interrupted her.

“See to it that you get all the measurements you need,” Hank hollered to Beatrice on his way out the door. “And make sure she goes home with that dress, too.” He pointed to the dress he’d held up to Della moments earlier.

“Will do!” Beatrice tittered with glee.

As he looked back through the window, he saw Della standing there, arms spread out to the side, as Beatrice took her measurements. It was fun getting to spoil Della against her will. Hank knew she’d never do anything for herself, and he was bound and determined to make her see what life could be like without the penny pinching, self-absorbed Milton Tidwell.

As he walked across town, Hank couldn’t help thinking about how Della would look in that blue dress—and what a shame it was that Tidwell wouldn’t appreciate it. Well,
he
would—and he’d make sure that Della knew just how much.