Mail Order Bride

Chapter Two

CHAPTER TWO

Joel

I happen upon the ad quite by accident, the way any good fortune happens, I suppose. The Farmer’s Almanac was the only interesting thing among the man’s possessions. He had it folded on the crease of the advert section. Only a monster would treat a book like that, but Mr. Flack had more interest in other people’s belongings than his own, so I guess it makes sense.

The ad was circled several times in thick black ink. PERFECT BRIDE GUARANTEED.

Once I’d completed the job, I took a beat to cool down and catch my breath. I sat in the truck, flipping through the Almanac, until eventually, my appetite got the better of me and I decided to stop in town at the feed store. Mrs. Martin makes the best cold cuts and I needed to pick up a few provisions.

I turned over the ignition, tossed the book into the passenger seat, and didn’t give it a second thought.

Mostly, I was thinking about the bag of hands and feet and teeth and whether it was a good time to return them to their rightful owner.

In the end, my empty stomach won out, and I made a right-hand turn into Martin’s Seed and Feed.

As Old Man Martin rang up my items, I noticed there was something about the way he was looking at me suspiciously, out of the corner of his eye, and with a certain amount of pity. Almost like he knew about the body parts in the cooler in the bed of my truck. Almost like he’d just figured out who and what I really am. Although, that’s impossible.

Regardless, he had that judgmental look about him, the kind I never much cared for. Not that I’m too keen to care what anyone thinks. A town like this, well, sure enough, that ship has long sailed.

Martin smiled as he tallied my purchases, but we both knew what he was thinking. My crop hadn’t turned up squat the past two seasons. Why did I think this season was going to be any different?

The thing is, I know something Old Man Martin doesn’t, something that oughta knock that smug grin right off his face. Some people approach every problem with an open mouth. I am not one of them.

My Pa always said sometimes you gotta eat a little crow in life, and I knew this interaction with Martin was one of those times. Pa told me not to worry too much. “It all evens out in the end.” I wondered what Curtis Martin knows about that.

“Glad you came in, Miller,” he said, punching buttons on his register. “Saves me a phone call.”

I kept my head down and did my best not to look him in the eye. “Betsy has a niece coming to town two weeks from Friday. We thought you might swing by for dinner.”

This was a development I wasn’t expecting. “Two weeks from Friday?”

He nodded at the calendar on the wall and then walked over and stabbed at the date with a fat finger. “Yep, the twenty-eighth.”

“I’ll be out of town that week. Got a job up in Beaumont.”

He shook his head like he knew I was lying, which I wasn’t. I’d find a job wherever, whenever, if it meant getting out of dinner with the Martins. Let’s just say the genetics in that family leave a lot to be desired. Pa always had a lot to say about it. She'd make a train take a dirt road.

She's ten miles of bad road.

She's so ugly, she has to keep a pork chop tied around her neck to get the dog to play with her.

Martin looked genuinely disappointed. “That’s too bad.”

“A good day’s work is a good day’s work,” I said, handing him a crisp five-dollar bill. I should have rubbed a little dirt on it, as Mama would have said, but I didn’t want Martin to worry about me too much. See, I’m doing just fine.

“A good day’s work. Amen to that.” He put the money in the till and then counted out my change. I watched his hands as he closed the register. Pa always said you could tell a lot about a man’s hands. “Storm’s a comin’,” Martin announced, stealing my thoughts. “I suppose you’d better get a move on.”

I gathered my haul, ever thankful for the rain. When he moved to help, my stomach flip-flopped. “I can manage.”

“That’s too bad about Sarah,” he said, ignoring me. Martin is old and stubborn. It was hard to tell which was the bigger problem.

I motioned to him I had it, just in case it was his hearing. I couldn’t let him get near my truck. Not only were there the spare body parts, who knows what else he might find. “Sarah?”

Curtis Martin glared at me with a hopeless expression. “Betsy’s niece.”

“Oh, right.”

“You need a good woman in your life, kid.”

I started to speak, but closed my mouth. It’s a special skill, like speaking several languages, or keeping your mouth shut in one. “I’ve got the bags. The rest I’m just going to toss in the passenger seat, if you don’t mind.”

Martin followed me to the truck and swung the passenger door open. “I heard about Red.”

My throat went dry as a bone. Like it folded up on itself. A weaker man might’ve gotten choked up.

He shook his head. “I’m really sorry.”

I shrugged and thought about what Pa told me to say to people after Mama died, and that’s what I told Martin. “She had a good life.”

He looked confused at first, but then he did what most people do and pretended like he wasn’t. “Speaking of, son,” he said, walking around the truck to where I was standing. He placed his hand on my shoulder in a way that made me feel very uncomfortable. So uncomfortable I hardly heard what he said. His voice sounded far off, like it was coming from a thousand miles under the sea. “Give it some thought, would you? About supper. Perhaps things can be rearranged. Perhaps⁠—”

“Sure,” I said, my word full of empty promise. I slung a bag of feed over my shoulder, considering what I’d do if he found the bags with the hands and the feet, or if he touched me or called me son again. “I’ll give it some thought.”

He took a deep breath in and let it out slowly, almost like he was relieved. Almost like he believed me. “It’s not good for a man to be alone. It’s not the way God intended it.”

“I’m not alone.”

“You know what I mean.”

Just then, his eyes landed on the cooler. I followed his gaze to the blood smeared on the side. “Been huntin’, eh?”

“Had to cut out early,” I said, pointing at the sky. “On account of the storm.”

“I envy you, kid. It’s been forever since I shot anything good enough to write home about. The missus doesn’t let me stray too far.”

Martin walked around and closed the passenger door. I slid into the driver’s seat. He motioned toward the Almanac, folded open to the heavily circled ad. “Looks like you might soon learn a thing or two about that.”

I smiled like I might be embarrassed that he’d busted me. “God willing.”