Brokken Promises Read online

“Why are you leaving then?” she challenged him.

  He ground his teeth before he turned to face her. He surveyed her with narrowed eyes. “Perhaps I tired of your flirtations with my brother-in-law, Miss Walsh.”

  She gasped and put a hand to her throat. For a moment, she only stared. “As if I would do that to Deborah! You are despicable,” she spat at him.

  He raised a brow. “Despicable because I can see through your machinations?”

  Her hand shook as she pushed back a curl that had fallen across her forehead. “You should consult a lawyer, Mr. Brokken. I plan to sue you for breach of promise.”

  “In that case, I will hire a private detective to discover what you were up to while I was away attempting to save my brothers. There have been rumors.”

  Her lips opened and closed before fully formed words emerged. Even then, her voice was but a hoarse whisper. “After what I did for you? I broke you out of jail and I was put under house arrest. You have ruined my reputation, strained my relationship with my family, and yet, you are not content with accomplishing that?”

  “Not if you were involved with Chance Hale while I was gone. What a disappointment it must have been when he chose my sister instead.” Some part of him enjoyed the pain he inflicted. The lantern light reflected in the tears brimming in her eyes.

  She took a step closer to him, the pain replaced with anger. “You will be sorry for your false accusations.”

  For a moment, he thought she would strike him. Instead, she burst into tears and ran back toward the house. He looked after her for a moment and shrugged before mounting his horse.

  From inside the barn, someone made a slight cough. He turned his horse, noting the lantern still burned, forgotten by him. Sheriff English stepped into its light.

  She gave him a look of disgust. “Proud of yourself, Brokken?”

  He ignored her and started to rein his horse around, but she caught the horse’s bridle.

  He was annoyed. “State your business, Sheriff English. But I warn you, I have no wish to speak of matters that do not concern you.”

  She laughed harshly. “Words would not suffice. A good horsewhipping would not be amiss, but, alas, that is not my business with you tonight. You see, I have a dilemma.” She sighed heavily and stroked his horse, muttering some words beneath her breath.

  He tilted his head and studied her for a moment. “I am sorry, Sheriff English. I do not see how I am concerned with your dilemma.” She had flinched at the word English. Anyone with any sense knew that man she lived with was not English, however much he might look like him.

  Her eyes narrowed when she looked up at him. “This would be killing two birds with one stone, so to speak. You need to get out of Brokken, away from Lydia for a while, to cool your heels.”

  He frowned at her. “Send her away, if you wish. I am much too busy to go, as you well know. With Karl leaving tomorrow...”

  She waved a hand, and his horse pulled back forcing her to release the bridle. She brushed her hands briskly. “I have a mission for you...”

  He smirked and raised a brow. “A mission? What are we, Sheriff? Some secret society?”

  “A mission to help your sister. Unless you’ve lost all feeling for every person in the world?” Her eyes hardened.

  He sat straighter in the saddle, the leather creaking. “Exactly how am I to help Deborah?”

  “As you know, Chance and Deborah wish to adopt Sally Jane. We need to find the little girl’s mother.” She looked away for a moment. “Things have not exactly been quiet around here, and I should have made inquiries before now. The mother needs to be found so Deborah and Chance will not spend their whole lives fearing she might reappear one day to claim Sally Jane. That would leave your sister and brother-in-law devastated.”

  He scratched an imaginary itch on his chin, his mind racing, and then nodded. “So, you think the mother will be willing to let Deborah and Chance adopt Sally Jane?”

  “I don’t see why not. She left her with Miss Edna, and no one has a clue to where she has gone. If she cared about her daughter, she would have at least sent a letter to find out how she is faring.”

  He nodded, thoughtful. “You know, I’d love to help you out on this one, Sheriff, but with Karl leaving, I’m in somewhat of a pickle. Why not send Curt?”

  She shook her head and glared at him. “You don’t have a lick of sense, Fritz. Curt and Karl have not yet recovered from their wounds. I am not about to send Curt riding off when his arm should still be in a sling, according to the doctor. And Karl is heading to Germany because he’s still afraid that stomach wound is going to do him in.”

  At this, he did feel a pang of guilt. His brothers meant the world to him. He nodded. “I’ve noticed, but neither ever complains so what do you want me to do about it?”

  “Well, for one, you can go find Sally Jane’s mother. Curt and I have discussed this, and he’s planning to go as soon as Karl leaves. So far, I have not been able to dissuade him. Perhaps you will have better luck.”

  His gaze dropped to his hands, folded over the horn. “I’ll talk to him. Curt can be stubborn when he’s made up his mind to do something.”

  She laughed harshly. “Isn’t that true of all the Brokkens? It’s a blessing and a curse. With you, it’s mostly a curse.”

  He gave a tip of his hat to her. “Thank you for that compliment, Sheriff. Now, if our business is concluded, I will head home.”

  “I’ve had my say.” She took a deep breath as if it pained her to say the next words. “Thank you for doing this, Fritz.”

  She took a step back and then held up a hand to stop him. “Sally Jane’s mother is Camellia Jenkins, according to Molly. It’s the only thing we have to go on.”

  “I’ll do my best to find her, providing Curt allows me to take his place.”

  She nodded, stepped farther back, and he nudged his horse into a walk.

  When he figured he’d ridden out of earshot, he snorted his laughter. He’d be glad to find this Camellia Jenkins. With any luck, and a bit of Brokken money, perhaps he could persuade her to take Sally Jane back. If anything would hurt Chance, that would.

  True, it would also hurt Deborah, but he was certain she was not attached to the child as Chance was. And she’d be fine once she had her own kids. With any luck, Chance would be upset enough to move on and leave Deborah behind. She’d survived while her father and brothers were off in the War. She’d survive the loss of Chance Hale just as easily.

  The Brokkens were, if nothing else, survivors.

  Chapter Three

  Camellia awoke with a start, a sob in her throat. The dream that plagued her had visited once again. She sat, swung her legs off her cot, and wiped away her tears. The memory was called forth in vivid detail, no matter how much she longed to forget. Would it never fade?

  Everyone in the household, including the slaves, had gathered on the Christmas Eve before the Civil War. All waited for her father to appear. She and her sister had been twelve at the time and were sitting together before the fireplace on the plush oriental rug.

  Her father’s lateness had been unusual. His sudden appearance startled everyone. When he entered, his stride toward her mother was purposeful and angry, and he held something in his hand. Everyone had quieted.

  Her mother, who had been sitting at the card table, stood, folded her hands in front of her, and cast her glance to the floor. For a moment, Camellia had feared her father would strike her in front of family, friends, and servants, but he stopped, inches in front of her, before barking over his shoulder to those gathered.

  “Leave. Now.”

  Camellia glanced at her sister who motioned for her to follow. They had scurried behind an upholstered chair in the corner by the marble fireplace. If their father had seen them, he gave no indication, at least not then.

  The knotted handkerchief in his hand held gold coins, and both she and her sister knew where they had come from and their purpose—money for their escape. He slammed it on th
e table, some of the coins escaping and rolling off. Camellia prayed her mother had burned all correspondence.

  Her father’s hands became fists, and he spoke through gritted teeth. “Tell me where you got this.”

  “I made a promise that cannot be broken.” Her mother spoke quietly, her head still bowed.

  “Something will be broken—either the promise or your neck.” He raised a brow and his voice became mocking. “It’s your choice.”

  Only then did her mother raise her head. “Do what you must, but please send the girls away.”

  His gaze turned directly to them, but he shook his head. “Both need to learn what disobedience reaps.”

  Her mother cast them a glance, her eyes dark and shiny with tears, before tilting her chin up a notch. “Then do it quickly.”

  When their father landed the first blow, Camellia clung to her sister who vainly tried to stifle her gasp behind her hand. Her mother stumbled but did not fall. Their father advanced, his blows landing harder and harder until her mother’s knees crumpled. He stopped once or twice to ask again where the money had come from, but her mother never answered, whether unable or unwilling.

  When Camellia realized her father’s words had been no idle threat, she prayed for her mother’s deliverance, that God would release her soul as quickly as possible. Finally, her prayers were answered, and the body of her mother laid unmoving upon the floor, their father standing over her, his knuckles red with blood.

  The sisters wept silently, as still as mice, until their father left the room. Camellia crawled over to her mother and briefly touched her arm which already grew cold. Her sister came behind, tugging her, until Camellia stood.

  “We must go,” she whispered.

  But before they could leave, the door opened, and their father blocked their path. “Do not ever speak of this to anyone. Go your separate ways and do not ever let me catch y’all whispering together. Do you understand?”

  Her sister spoke, her voice cracking. “Yes, sir.” Camellia only nodded her head.

  Their father moved farther into the room and motioned for them to leave. She started to move away, but her sister did not allow her to obey their father. Instead, she pulled Camellia into her room. Her protests fell on deaf ears. Her sister reassured her, saying their father would be too busy to bother with them for a while.

  They’d huddled together under the bedspread, at first only holding each other, their tears spent.

  After a few moments, her sister spoke. “We will escape and change our names so Father will never find us.”

  Camellia’s mind was fogged, disoriented, and she focused on only one part of her sister’s words. “Change our names to what?”

  “I will be Pearl.” Although it was too dark under the covers for Camellia to see her clearly, she knew her sister had propped on her elbow. Camellia imagined her in her mind’s eye. Her sister had dark hair, but it was lighter than Camellia’s, and she had eyes of hazel instead of dark brown. All her sister’s features were fairer, more beautiful.

  “Pearl suits you,” she’d said. “You are precious, as unique as a pearl, and formed in adversity. And what will my name be?”

  “Camellia.”

  She’d been surprised. “Why Camellia?”

  “It symbolizes love. The flower, according to legend, is a woman, and the leaves are a man, the protector, forever bound in eternal love.” The sheets rustled indicating she’d changed her position, and her warm breath was closer to her ear when she whispered. “Not all men are like our father. One day you will find a man worthy of you, I promise.”

  Camellia had propped on her elbow. “We’re only twelve. That’s far into the future.”

  “No, it’s not. not if we hope to leave here soon. We will have to rely on someone to help us, and only a man is strong enough to face father. One, or both of us, will have to act quickly, find a man to help. A boy will not do.”

  Camellia had been shocked at her sister’s words, afraid of their meaning. “I have no comeliness. No man would want me.”

  “You are wrong, sister. You have a quiet beauty like a... a... camellia,”

  “I always thought they were a showy flower.”

  “Not when they are surrounded by dark emerald leaves. Their beauty is hidden.” Her sister had then fallen quiet, and after a few more minutes, Camellia had left, to go to her own bed.

  She was not as brave as her sister ‘Pearl’ and did not want their father to discover their disobedience, although in her room, she’d felt utterly alone. Much as she did now, over nine years later.

  They had escaped from their father but into what? Her sister had died, Camellia lived in poverty, and poor Sally Jane was motherless, far away in Brokken, Texas.

  Her father still lived, as far as Camellia knew, and there would be no protector, no one to rescue her, no one strong enough to stand against Judge Richard Morrison.

  She would die alone, trapped at the H & B, with no joy and no comfort.

  Her life lay littered with broken promises, as broken as her mother’s body had been on that plush carpet stained with blood.

  Chapter Four

  Fritz tried to hide his irritation with his brother Curt. It had been easier than he’d expected to get his brother to agree that Fritz should take his place in finding Camellia Jenkins.

  The reason Curt gave in so easily was the cause of Fritz’s irritation. His brother, across the table from him, surveyed him coolly.

  Curt rapped his knuckles on the rich mahogany, using the cadence to emphasize his words, as if Fritz had not heard him correctly the first time. “Do as the sheriff has asked, please.” The “please” was accompanied by the loudest thump.

  Fritz grimaced. “I plan to do so.”

  Curt was not through with his lecture. “The town has gotten wind of your latest clash with Lydia, and most folks are highly displeased. Three customers withdrew their savings today while we were seeing Karl off at the station.”

  Fritz tried to speak as coolly as his brother had done, but his anger spilled forth. “And you take the town’s side over me, your own flesh and blood?”

  “It’s not a matter of taking sides. Your absence will allow memories to fade. Some other gossip will arise to occupy the minds of the good citizens of Brokken.” His fingers, instead of his knuckles, tapped the table’s edge, as he cast his glance down. He spoke his next words without raising his head. “With a little luck, Lydia will come to her senses and drop the lawsuit. You have not denied her allegations?”

  “As I have already told you, I never said Lydia had an affair with Chance. My insinuation was that there have been rumors.”

  A muscle in his brother’s jaw twitched before he raised his head. “Even if there have been such rumors, must you repeat them? Doing so implicated your own brother-in-law and hurt Deborah.”

  Fritz leaned across the table. “You defend that Yankee?”

  “Deborah made her choice, and Chance is part of the Brokken family. The War is over. You do understand he had a difficult time during it, according to Deborah. Did she tell you the full story?”

  Fritz leaned back with his arms across his chest and his chin tilted. “Please enlighten me.”

  “One of Chance’s brothers fought for the Confederacy...”

  “Good man,” Fritz replied.

  Curt’s lips thinned, and his face darkened and held censure at Fritz’s words. “As I was saying, Chance, not recognizing him at such a distance, shot and killed his own brother.”

  “More than likely he knew exactly who he shot.”

  A look of shock passed over Curt’s face. “I fail to understand you. Why have you developed such hatred for our brother-in-law?”

  Fritz shrugged although shame made him turn his head when he spoke. “The town is hailing him as a hero, and he plays the humble man. It’s infuriating.”

  Curt sighed heavily. “His own family blamed Chance and turned him out. Do you want the Brokken family to act in such a dishonorable manner?
I, for one, refuse. We stand with Deborah and her husband.”

  “Is it not dishonorable to harbor a War criminal in our midst?” Fritz regretted his words as soon as he said them.

  Curt’s face darkened further. “War criminal? No one has accused him of that—except you. Most regard his actions as noble. Perhaps, while you are away, you need to ponder upon your actions and unwarranted dislike. You may begin to see his side more clearly.”

  Fritz straightened, searched his brother’s eyes, and gave a nod. “I promise to consider it. I am not sure my dislike is unwarranted, however. To return to the matter at hand, I need my horse and doubt I would be welcomed at Lydia’s family livery.”

  Curt sighed heavily. “Who can blame the Walshes for not welcoming you?”

  “Has Lydia no fault? If nothing else, she repeated my words.” He narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “Or was it Sheriff English who was the gossip?”

  His brother shot him a hard look. “No, it was not the sheriff. Lydia was distraught and only told her sister after much questioning. I wouldn’t be surprised if Jake Wheeler came after you.”

  Jake was Lydia’s brother-in-law, and the man would not hesitate to act if he thought it necessary. Fritz had once looked down the wrong end of a rifle held in Jake’s hands. He’d be lying to himself to say the thought did not make him uneasy, and the uneasiness propelled him to his feet.

  “I must be going.”

  His brother stood, also. “Will you speak to Lydia before you go?”

  He shook his head. “Lydia is the one suing me for breach of promise. It’s best if I ride on, if the town is as upset as you claim. Even Deborah?”

  The look in his brother’s eyes dashed his hope of his sister’s good will. “Who can blame her? As I said, you have dragged her husband’s name through the mud.”

  Fritz bit his lip to prevent a sigh. He turned away. “I can be gone in an hour.”

  “Who knows what might await you when you return. Why not discuss this with Lydia before you go?”

  Fritz stopped to face his brother and waved a hand. “You may let her know I will not hire a private detective. However, she is as much to blame as I that our engagement failed.”