Synopsis
WHEN NATHANIEL BURTON, notorious gambler, is murdered in the middle of a poker game, it leaves his three daughters and niece not only bereft but destitute. None of the young women have been educated to support themselves; and, with their luxurious lifestyle suddenly torn away, they are desperate to gain some sort of financial security before they end up in the street.
Camellia, as eldest and most responsible, explores various options but can find nothing suitable. Until she comes across the Mail Order Brides section in her local newspaper. She applies to marry one Ben Forrester, he accepts, and the deed is done.
Within a few months, the Burtons have left behind their St. Louis mansion to the bank’s foreclosure, hired a wagon train and drivers, and set off for a place in northeast Texas called Turnabout. There, Camellia discovers that her intended is kept quite busy, running a mercantile store and serving as mayor.
So many adjustments must be made. Transferring from large bustling city to small compact town. Moving from sumptuous living to Spartan surroundings. Transforming from blushing maidenhood to blushing wifehood.
And engaging in arguments.
Ben and Camellia have been married one whole day when a rousing quarrel flares up out of nowhere. He is obstinate; she is opinionated. Inevitably, the two clash, and Ben leaves on a business trip before the matter can be resolved.
After an unprovoked and unforeseen attack by outside forces, survival itself is left in question. Both realize they need to re-think their values, and decide what is most important in life.
Chapter One
“I’ll see your bid and raise you twenty.”
THE FAINT MUSICAL TINKLE of chips being tossed onto a pile, already collected atop the green baize table, drew no extra attention from five players intent upon their game. A thick haze of cigar smoke hung in the air, and the near-emptiness of liquor bottles and assortment of heavy crystal glasses arranged upon a sideboard attested to the amount of drinking being done.
Including by Nathaniel Burton. He could swear he was keeping his wits about him, despite the late hour and the liberal doses of good Kentucky bourbon sweetly warming his belly. It was just a friendly little gathering.
Well, no, he could somewhat fuzzily imagine himself explaining to his irate daughters, I don’t know my fellow participants very well. Actually, not at all. Certainly not to speak to in the street.
But one flash of wallets well filled with greenbacks, several winks of diamond rings and staunch gold pocket watches, a reminder of the financial hole into which he was rapidly sinking, and Nathaniel was hooked.
Their venture into five-card stud was supposed to have taken place in one member’s home, which should surely have kept everything above board and honest instead of slightly on the sleazy side. And Nathaniel had certainly handled enough of the sturdy little Parnell cards in his lifetime to have gained the experience and expertise necessary to know the difference.
However, the group, sousily met in one of St. Louis’s better-known watering holes, had decided to follow their pursuits in a private upstairs gaming room. Oh, it was well arranged. Clean. Comfortable. Cozy, even, with its endless supply of alcoholic beverages, its dark paneled walls, and a turkey-red carpet underfoot. If one were to take in the surroundings, instead of concentrating on the stakes being held in one’s hand, it could only feel satisfying to be so richly accoutered.
Of course, a goodly amount of money was being passed back and forth across the table. First one of the gentlemen—a well-dressed, bearded fellow named Henry Dinkins—took the pot; then, as the cash reserves built back up, another. Nathaniel had won a small amount—just enough to salve his pride, and more than enough to keep him interested in staying in the game. But he had lost too much to even the odds.
Actually, he was in the process of, as the saying goes, losing his shirt.
And then some.
Because, as he was finding out, he was being played with as much slippery ease as the cards themselves. But he couldn’t quit. He had to continue trying, despite being past the point of no return.
The room had been built (probably deliberately) without windows. Thus no outdoor light, that might cause a distraction, could intrude upon the indoor scene, nor no noise enter. It counted for naught; the December weather belonged typically to St. Louis: cold and icy, with several inches of new snow heaped onto the streets, and a thin layer of ice beneath that. Could anyone but hear it, a hard wind was lashing down from the bitter Arctic, rattling frozen bare branches and sending any loose papers skimming into the gutters.
“I call,” said the host of this impromptu party, with a great deal of gratification. His grin said it all, as he spread open his holdings of a Royal Flush: the Ace, King, Queen, Jack, and Ten, all in Hearts. A beautiful hand, and one created through pure luck. Or chicanery.
Nathaniel, having acquired the proverbial poker face through many years of practice, was usually able to contain his emotions. But at this revelation, and his opponent’s smug raking in of the chips, he couldn’t restrain a small grimace.
This evening’s adventure was fast going against him. Deep under every other thought came the sinking feeling that this time, this time, no matter how long this game lasted, he would not be able to recover from his losses. He was simply in too deep.
Another round was dealt. There was no sound other than the muted slap-slap of cards being passed out, and an occasional shift of body weight in the chair or soft sizzling puff of a cigar. Someone murmured, “I see that, and I raise.” Another murmured something negative: “Too rich for my blood; gotta fold with this one.”
At this point, Nathaniel decided to take his lumps and reconsider what choices might be left. “Gotta excuse me a few minutes, boys.” He carefully returned what had been given to him and rose, somewhat stiffly, as does one of more mature years who has been stuffed into a tight position for too long a time. “Need to make a visit.”
Afterward, while he was re-buttoning his wai