Ruby's Risk Read online

  Ruby’s Risk

  Westward Home and

  Hearts Mail-Order Brides #2

  Marisa Masterson

  Table of Contents

  Acknowledgements

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Epilogue

  Leave a Review

  Sneak Peek

  About Marisa

  Acknowledgements

  A huge thank you goes to Elaine Manders for inviting me to join this series. In writing this book, I relied on an 1857 map of Missouri based on U. S. surveys. It can be found at https://digital.shsmo.org/digital/collection/Maps/id/95/rec/10.

  Thanks also to Christine Sterling Bortner and Amy Petrowich for their help in making my book publication ready. An additional thank you goes to the Ruby’s Risk beta readers: Theresa Baer, Becky Bell Bowen, Cindy Edwards, and Lou Klassen.

  Chapter 1

  Eyes followed him as he walked down the street. A burning sensation prickled the back of his neck, helping him feel those eyes on him. The gossip and judgment of the people he’d previously called friends galled him.

  Straightening his muscular shoulders, he didn’t twitch or look backward to name the people who watched him. After all, it didn’t matter since he knew the attitude of the entire town seemed unanimous. They all were sure he had done it.

  The entire population of Mills Bluff believed he’d killed his wife.

  Elias Kline decided in that moment to move away. How could he raise his son in this atmosphere? Already he’d heard rumbles that questioned whether he should be allowed to keep his child or if Mary’s parents should raise him.

  Yes, he needed to leave. But where to move to? It would be the same in the other towns nearby. Word of Mary’s drowning and Franz’s murder had certainly traveled to the surrounding communities.

  Leaving wasn’t as frightening for him as it might be for other members of the community. After all, he hadn’t been born here. No, he’d drifted into Mills Bluff and been accepted as one of them shortly after he returned from the war.

  His father had sent him to purchase grain from the mill there. While visiting, he’d stayed the night. The communal support and peace of the people in the town called to his war-weary soul. Too, Mary Schmidt’s beauty and apparent interest in him played a big part in his decision to start a smithy here.

  As a trained blacksmith, he’d been warmly welcomed, even though he’d been carefully watched at first. Because he’d been raised in a household that spoke only German at home, he was able to attend the Lutheran services done in that language. There he’d met Mary.

  The Schmidt family also spoke only German in their home. They were thrilled to have a successful community member who shared a similar heritage take an interest in their only daughter. In fact, they pushed for a quick wedding as soon as his interest became apparent and offered a generous dowry for him to marry their flirtatious daughter.

  Mary’s forward manner and flirty behavior should have warned him. Later, he cursed himself for not questioning why they’d pushed for him to marry her in such haste. The fact that he’d been the only virgin on their wedding night explained their urgency.

  Seven months later, they welcomed a son, a beautifully formed infant who was large for an early baby. Mary had named him Franz, after her grandfather. He called him Frank, arguing that he would need an American name.

  While he rarely allowed his mind to consider if Frank was his son, the return of Franz Sauer and his wife to Mills Bluff as well as Mary’s recent death brought his repressed doubts to the surface. Five years ago, Sauer and his wife had moved away suddenly, around the same time that he and Mary had wed. He’d heard murmurs about that for weeks. After all, the families of both Sauer and his wife lived in the town. People didn’t just pick up and leave their families to move to a nearby town.

  That first Sunday in church after Sauer’s return, Elias caught the heated glances passing between his wife and the man. After the service, Mrs. Sauer openly snubbed Mary when she approached the woman while dragging Frank behind her. Watching this snub, Elias’ large hands had fisted while suspicions formed in his mind.

  After church, while Frank napped, he’d fought with his wife about the Sauers. He’d accused her of being pregnant at the time of their wedding. Not answering the accusation, she’d stormed toward the front door, throwing a singsong taunt his way. “Poor Elias, filled with regret at the poor bargain he made!”

  Those had been her last words to him. Later that night, the sheriff came to his door with news of Mary’s death. “Odd mark on the back of her neck. Bruised and scraped as if something sat there to hold her in the water.” His voice held a thinly veiled indictment of Elias. “Heard you were in a black mood after church today. Franz Sauer have anything to do with that?”

  And so, the recriminations and suspicions began. To make things worse, a day after his wife’s death, Franz Sauer was found dead with a bullet in the back of his head. Dark accusations about Elias’ involvement flew around town. Some folks decided that he’d taken vengeance while other people whispered that Franz had seen him drowning Mary, so Elias killed him.

  Now, a month later, people around him showed no signs of forgiving and forgetting. Not that he’d done anything requiring forgiveness. While his in-laws were convinced that jealousy had somehow led to their daughter’s death, they were some of the few who didn’t place the blame squarely on his shoulders.

  Actually, they kept him informed about the talk in town. More than once, his mother-in-law shared with him what Franz Sauer’s mother had said about a widower having no business raising a child. She’d hinted that her family had a right to the boy.

  No matter what they knew about Frank’s parentage, Elias claimed the child as his, had wanted him from the moment that he’d held the blotchy, red bundle. His son was the one constant joy in his life, and he refused to risk losing him. He would not lose him.

  He’d go west. Mother Schmidt was right. Frank needed a mother. Elias twisted his mouth wryly. He would need a wife’s help as they traveled by wagon as well as when he set up a home and built his business in one of the young western towns.

  Marrying one of the local girls was out of the question. He wanted a new start. Besides, he doubted any family in town would look kindly on his offer of marriage with this cloud of mistrust hovering over him.

  No, he would write to that agency he’d seen advertised in the paper. Thinking back, he remembered its rather long name—Western Home and Hearts Matrimonial Agency.

  Arriving at his business, he groaned at the lack of customers waiting outside its doors. In the past, men would be lined up with horses to shoe or tools that needed mending. Some even came just to tell a thumper while the day passed by. Until recently, he hadn’t had the time to stand around and spin impossible stories like those men.

  Now, he’d been tried and convicted in the court of public opinion. He’d been sentenced to isolation, evidently. All the more reason to sell what he could and head to Missouri. Whatever bride that agency sent to him could meet him there.

  Keeping the doors to his business shut all day, he lit a lantern and worked in the dim light of his smithy. Coals buried in the ashes of his forge added to the glow as well. He kept his wagon in the back of the long building, near the two horse stalls that stood empty. His own animals were kept at the livery. The stalls were there for horses left by their owners to be shod.

  Using the muscles built over long hours at the forge, he pushed the wagon to the middle of the room. Then he pulled a metal trunk
from a corner and opened it. During the next hours, Elias carefully packed tools into it before stowing it into the wagon. If only he could pack the carefully built pit that was his forge. He would start over, but at least he would have a future and his son.

  Once the tools of his trade were packed onto the wagon, he leaned into it with both hands and pushed the vehicle to the double doors at the back of his shop. He’d retrieve Frank from the boy’s grandparents and then pack their clothes.

  No, that didn’t make sense, he realized. He would pack before getting the boy. Everything needed to be ready when he left town. For some unknown reason, he felt like he needed to sneak away after dark.

  Did he truly believe anyone would stop him? The sheriff had no evidence linking him to the two crimes. After all, he was innocent. Would leaving town make him appear guilty? Should he talk with the man to explain why he was leaving?

  Since that seemed advisable, he made a stop at the jail before heading to his home. Royce Atkins, the sheriff of Mills Bluff, nodded and harrumphed as he listened. When Elias finished his explanation, the sheriff rose and stretched a hand up to lay it on the much taller man’s shoulder. “Don’t blame you. I know you didn’t do a thing to either your wife or that tomcat Sauer. Folks around town aren’t likely to forget their suspicions any time soon, especially since the two victims were born and raised here while you sort of drifted into town.”

  After shaking hands with Royce, he headed to the door. Crowds had gathered on both sides of the street to stare at the jail. When he opened the door into the cluster of people gathered around it, he called back to the sheriff. “Atkins, you want to head outside before me. Seems there are some folks who want answers.”

  The sheriff stepped out onto the boardwalk that ran in front of his jail. Then he stepped up onto the bench placed against the front of the building. Holding up his hands, he called for the murmurs of the crowd to cease. “Now, just quiet down and listen. I’m not saying we don’t have a murderer in town. I can tell you that I’m doggone certain it’s not Elias Kline.”

  Herman Sauer, Franz’s father, stepped forward from the group and shook a fist at Elias. “Don’t matter what he says. In my mind, I see you putting a gun to the back of my boy’s head. I hear former soldiers kill easily.”

  Elias opened his mouth to explain that he’d seen enough killing at Gettysburg and Antietam to last a lifetime. He would never willfully shoot another human. His explanation was cut off by Atkins. “No one pinned a badge to your chest, Sauer. I’d best not hear of you taking the law into your own hands. I have a rope to hang any vigilante with, you hear me.”

  Grumbles and jeers rippled across the crowd. From the women on the other side of the street, Mrs. Sauer began to scream the word “justice” over and over. Her daughter-in-law, the widow, cringed and looked down at her feet while the women around her took up the chant so that the word became like the beat of a drum. Even when the sheriff gestured with his hands and then called for them to quiet down, they refused to stop.

  Leaving them to the sheriff, Elias turned his back and headed north to his home. After a month, the level of hatred toward him had grown instead of abating. Today’s scene confirmed his decision to head out of town.

  His stomach growled, reminding him that he hadn’t eaten since breakfast. No time now to stop and eat. Already, most of the day had passed. In another four hours, it would be night, so he needed to hurry with the packing.

  The windows of houses he passed seemed to follow him like condemning eyes as if all the way home people stared at him. He had to get out of this town before the persecution drove him crazy.

  Finally, at the small home he rented from his in-laws, Elias climbed the two steps and pushed aside the wisteria that had grown too tall. He’d meant to trim it, but too many concerns had filled his time in the month since Mary’s death. With his hand on the door, he froze. Sounds were coming from inside his house. Bumps and muted voices drifted out an open window.

  Memories of sneaking through the wilderness of Virginia while on patrol came back to him with sudden clarity. The cold fear now was the same as what he’d felt then. Moving back through the wisteria and down the steps, he silently moved to the side of his home and peered in first one window and then the next, hoping to catch a glimpse of the intruders.

  At the open window of his bedroom, he spied two shadowy forms. Then a third one, a child joined them. What were his in-laws doing in his bedroom and why were they emptying the drawers of his oak tallboy dresser? It was tempting to speak to them through the window and put a scare into them. Still, he didn’t want to draw the neighbors’ attention. Even more, he didn’t truly want to frighten his in-laws. After all, they’d consistently supported him.

  Making his way to the back door not far from his bedroom window, he opened the green door with its black screen and allowed it to slap against the door frame as it closed. That should alert Father and Mother Schmidt that he was there.

  The pine boards squeaked as he made his way across the kitchen. His mother-in-law had been busy. The fragrant smell of fresh bread, along with the aroma of stew, tempted him, and he moved through the room towards the hallway. He stopped at the first door on the left and leaned against the frame. “What’s going on?”

  While he’d been sure he had made noise, both of the Schmidts jumped at his question. Frank squealed with delight and ran to his father. He hoisted the four-year-old into his arms and hugged him, carefully not to squeeze too hard. Small arms looped around his neck and clutched him tightly.

  “Daddy, Grandma says you and I are takin’ a trip. Did you know that?” His son pulled back so he could watch Elias’ face as he spoke, confusion clear in both his voice and his expression.

  Elias turned to his in-laws with an eyebrow quirked. “I’d planned a trip, but I didn’t think they knew about it. Did someone see me packing the wagon at the smithy today?”

  Helga Schmidt shook her head at his question, gray ringlets bobbing as she did so. “No, no one. I’ve heard something and knew you must leave quickly. Tonight.” Her voice shook as she spoke. Her husband stood in the shadow of the darkened bedroom, saying nothing. She gestured with a hand for him to stand next to her. When he joined her near the dresser, Elias read the grim distress on his face.

  “What do you say, Father Schmidt? Are things as dire as Mother Schmidt says?” Elias hoped for further details. His father-in-law was better at concisely explaining a situation than his wife.

  The man cleared his throat. “Probably much worse. Sauer is planning to hang you tonight and snatch the boy. He’s lost a son and knows that Frank is his only living link to Franz.”

  Elias’ face flattened as though he’d taken a punch. No one had ever voiced the truth before this. A small part of him had hoped that Frank had been born early and was his.

  No, this boy was his. An illicit act didn’t make Franz Sauer a father. The day in and day out nurturing bonded father and son. Frank was and always would be his son.

  Mary’s father was apologizing, forcing Elias to discipline his thoughts and emotions. “—all for the best. We left it up to her to tell you, though we knew the truth. You’ve been all we could hope for in a son-in-law. The boy loves you and we don’t want him to lose another parent.”

  Nodding his head, Elias stood silent for a moment. Then he asked, “Did you have a plan?”

  Josef Schmidt gave a grim, tightlipped smile. “Of course. Don’t I always?”

  The man outlined a plan to send Elias off with the Schmidts’ team and wagon. Since his own was already partially packed, Elias interrupted him. “I’ll take my own wagon, but having you get your team from the livery will create less suspicion. After all, Mac at the livery is good friends with Sauer. We’ll drive your wagon to the smith after dark and hook the team to my vehicle. You can take my team later to reclaim your wagon.”

  Father Schmidt put an arm around his wife’s shoulders and shook his balding head. “No, we’re going with you. We don’t want to lose
our grandchild.”

  Elias kissed his son’s brown curls and then set him back on his own feet. “You’ll be safe if you stay here. That way, you can sell things for us—the smithy, this house, and your own. We’ll need funds to set up somewhere.”

  A look passed between the couple. Without a word, his father-in-law turned back to Elias and nodded his agreement. In the next hour, Elias signed the deed to the smithy over to Josef. Then he ate a meal as Helga packed a hamper with sandwiches, fruit, and cookies. She’d already packed Frank’s clothes and toys. Josef finished packing Elias’ things while the others were in the kitchen.

  At dusk, Josef headed to the livery and asked Mac’s helper for the wagon and his team. Once back, he drove the wagon up the alley behind the house. Elias hauled the trunks easily and loaded them into the wagon. The hamper and a stack of quilts came next, carried by Helga and Josef.

  Frank stood just inside the screen door and clutched his stuffed rabbit, his thumb in his mouth. Since his mother’s death, the little boy had resumed sucking that thumb. They’d broken him of the habit just after the new year, but Elias hated to get after him now about it. Frank needed whatever comfort he could find after the month they’d just experienced.

  Inky darkness hid the wagon’s movement. No one stopped them as Josef drove it to the back door of the smithy. Opening the padlock, Elias handed it and the key to Josef. “It’s yours now. Thank you for taking care of this for us.”

  With the double doors opened, the team pulled the wagon inside the dark smithy. Since he’d allowed them to die out that day, no coals glowed in the forge. Their absence caused a shiver of fear to go down Elias’ spine. This was the end. Would he escape the plans the Sauers had for him? Something about the cold, gray ash in the forge seemed to hint at bad things to come.

  Telling himself to stop being a superstitious German, he helped unhitch the team and led it to the other wagon. As Josef hitched it up again, Elias transferred the trunks, blankets, and food to his wagon. He stretched and tied down a tarp over the load, leaving a spot open for Frank to crawl through. He wanted his son to be able to sleep under the tarp like a tent or even to be able to get under it in case of rain.