A Fugitive for Christmas (Confederate Widows, Spinsters, and Proxy Brides)

Chapter 1

November 1869

Roses Briar, Wisconsin

“The Sheriff’s been shot. Come quick!” the stagecoach driver shouted as he barreled into town, scattering pedestrians and spooking horses.

Benjamin Chauncy stepped off the narrow boardwalk into the bright sunshine and waited for the frantic man to reign in his lathered team. “How bad is it?”

“Don’t know, but there’s lots of blood. Someone better fetch the doc outta Clear Water Falls.”

Confused, Ben looked to the west and questioned, “Didn’t you just come from that way?”

“Sure did,” the shaken fellow agreed. “But ain’t goin’ back that way, no how. That’s where those varmints were waitin’ for us – down in the gulley as we was crossin’ the creek.”

“How many?”

“Two that I could see.”

The postmaster backed away from the stagecoach and shook his head. “Danbury needs a box, not a doc.”

A gasp of dismay went through the small crowd that had gathered, and Ben sighed before shooing the bystanders away. “What is that?” he stammered when the driver began to wave an angry fist, adding to the racket coming from inside the stage.

“Durn kids. Been fussin’ since they crawled aboard two days ago.”

“Good grief, man! Get them out of there,” Ben yelped. “Is anyone hurt?” he hastily questioned when he peeked into the dim interior of the coach.

A young woman lifted her face and tried to quiet the little boys crowded around her. “Just frightened,” she softly answered before glancing down at Sheriff Danbury one more time. With the dead man’s head cradled in her lap, the lady was trapped under the weight of his lifeless body.

“Help me get these poor folks out of there,” Ben urged the driver as he reached for the lawman’s boots.

Shaking his head, the wiry little man reached into the pocket of his vest and pulled out a crumbled piece of paper. “Not ‘til you take a gander at this,” the driver said, lowering his voice to a near whisper.

“Later,” Ben insisted, pulling the Sheriff’s crumpled form from the rig. “Here. Take his feet, and I’ll get him under the arms.”

Once the grisly task was accomplished, and the deceased was laid out on the boardwalk, Ben turned back to the stagecoach and pulled two frightened toddlers from inside. When he reached back in to help the young woman, Ben was surprised to find her with a babe in arms. “Are you hurt?” Ben asked when he noticed the blood on her hands and cloak.

“No,” she raggedly answered. “It is from Arnold . . . Mr. Danbury, um, I mean the Sheriff,” she stammered before accepting Benjamin’s hand and stepping from the stage.

“What is this!? What is all this!?” the railroad representative shrilly demanded as he barreled down the boardwalk, scattering onlookers. However, when he noticed Sheriff Danbury laid out on the rough plank walkway in front of the post office, the brusque man stopped short and stared in disbelief.

“Chauncy,” the representative growled. “Get that dead man off my boardwalk. Then find out who did this.”

“Sir!”

“No excuses. You’ve been promoted, deputy. Now get to work,” the furious man shouted before marching away in a huff.

Roseanne Sherman looked around the Sheriff’s office and tried to choke back the tears that threatened to suffocate her.

“Is someone coming to meet you, ma’am?” Ben asked as he escorted the little family into the building.

“Arnold,” she rasped.

“You knew the Sheriff?” Ben gently asked, surprised by the answer.

After situating the baby more securely in her lap, Roseanna spent a moment digging through her reticule to find the piece of paper she’d received from the parish priest in Louisiana. Heart thumping like a runaway train, she gingerly offered it to the man across the desk.

“Married?” Ben stuttered in surprise, looking from the young woman to the marriage certificate and then past her to the boardwalk visible through the window. “You and Sheriff Danbury are married? How can that be?” Ben mumbled in consternation. Not only was the recently departed lawman on the shy side of fifty, he was also a self-confirmed bachelor.

“We were wed by proxy three weeks ago,” Roseanna softly answered. “It was my father’s wish.”

Still struggling to make that thought jive with what he knew of his friend and mentor, Ben laid the document on his desk. “Ah, um, Miss . . .”

“Missus,” Roseanna reminded. “Missus Roseanna Danbury.”

Huffing out a cleansing breath, Ben’s wry grimace pushed his mouth to one side as he contemplated the odd development. “Ma’am, I don’t know what’s going on here, but I need to round up some men and see if I can’t track down the outlaws responsible for Arnold Danbury’s death.”

“I know what’s goin’ on!” the stagecoach driver loudly announced with an angry gesture at the stranger and the howling children. Brandishing another piece of paper, he stepped forward and dropped it on top of the marriage certificate. “See! This is what I was tryin’ to tell ya!”

Disgruntled by the wailing baby Mrs. Danbury held and the fussing toddlers clinging to her skirt, Ben was tempted to cover his ears. Instead, he yanked the crumpled bit of newsprint from his desk. “Corsets? You want me to look at an ad for corsets?” he growled.

“Nah! Turn it over!”

Ben rolled his dark eyes and then closed them while he counted to five. When he opened them, Ben glanced at the scrap of paper, and his stomach dropped. “Roseanna you say?”

The lady wearily nodded.

“Would that be Roseanna . . . Sherman?” Ben questioned after taking a quick peek at the newspaper.

The woman blanched, then gathered the toddlers closer to her blood spattered skirts and bravely raised her brilliant blue eyes to the man behind the desk.

“Well, ma’am. I guess my first job as Sheriff will be to place you under arrest for the kidnapping of the Matthews children.”