The Scarlet Pen

By Jennifer Uhlarik

Step into True Colors — a series of Historical Stories of Romance and True American Crime
 
Enjoy a tale of true but forgotten history of a 19th century serial killer whose silver-tongued ways almost trap a young woman into a nightmarish marriage.
 
In 1876, Emma Draycott is charmed into a quick engagement with childhood friend Stephen Dee Richards after reconnecting with him at a church event in Mount Pleasant, Ohio. But within the week, Stephen leaves to “make his fame and fortune.” The heartbroken Emma gives him a special pen to write to her, and he does with tales of grand adventures. Secret Service agent Clay Timmons arrives in Mount Pleasant to track purchases made with fake currency. Every trail leads back to Stephen—and therefore, Emma. Can he convince the naive woman she is engaged to a charlatan who is being linked a string of deaths in Nebraska?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Barbour Publishing
• Release date: Jul 1, 2021
• ISBN: 9781643529318

Book preview

Chapter 1

Mount Pleasant, Ohio

January 30, 1876

No sooner did the last notes of the closing hymn, Precious Name, fade after the Sunday service than Emma Draycott allowed Stephen to pull her behind the Methodist church building. Away from prying eyes, she gripped his hands, her stomach fluttering furiously.

It was so good to have him back home—and especially with this unexpected turn.

Of course I will. A small laugh bubbled from her lips, but just as quickly, a shiver overtook her.

Strange. The January afternoon wasn’t that cold. She pulled one hand free and tugged her heavy shawl tighter.

Stephen’s own grin faltered. Look at you. He rose from the frozen ground where he’d knelt and shrugged out of his overcoat. With a flourish, he settled the woolen garment over her shoulders. I was worried the chill might be too much, especially after you were sick so recently. We can’t have you catch your death out here, can we? He sidled up next to her and settled his hand at the small of her back. Why don’t we head back. Find your coat.

Head back? Emma’s excitement drained. My sniffles weren’t so recent. Perhaps he’d forgotten, having been gone a week on some trip—of which she’d not yet heard the details. Stephen, didn’t you hear what I said? We were in the middle of something.

His slate-gray eyes narrowed, then widened, and a strange grin captured his lips. I rather confounded that moment, didn’t I? Forgive me, love. Let me try again.

He tugged his coat tighter about her shoulders, then folded himself back onto one knee. Emma Draycott, will you honor me by becoming my wife?

A thrill swirled through her until she was almost light-headed. Yes. I will gladly become your wife.

The muffled tittering of girls burst from the large bush at the corner of the church. Movement flashed, and two forms darted from behind the foliage and retreated down the side of the building. One was definitely Emma’s younger sister, Cynthia, though she’d not seen who the second was.

Her younger brother, Thomas, stood, an apologetic smile on his face. I’m sorry. The fifteen-year-old shrugged. We were looking at where that stray cat hid her new litter. His grin grew broader. We weren’t trying to eavesdrop. I promise.

Stephen loosed a low groan and lunged up.

Emma reached for his hand, but he darted after the girls.

Stephen! Where are you going?

He circled past her brother and disappeared, his strides purposeful.

Emma rushed to Thomas’s side. Stephen!

At her sharp call, her intended turned.

Where in heaven’s name are you going?

I have to stop your sister before she tells. Expression pleading, his voice dropped to a more confidential tone. I asked you before I sought your father’s blessing.

Her stomach clenched. Wide-eyed, Thomas met her gaze, and they both bolted toward the front of the building.

We have to stop her. Papa will be devastated. Why on earth hadn’t Stephen waited? Had she known, she’d have told him to ask first. There were protocols for such things, after all. If we can just catch her before she tells Janie and Hester Blakely, perhaps—

Thomas gulped. Janie was with us.

She stopped short. Father in heaven, no. Please make them both keep their mouths shut.

Thomas reached for her arm. C’mon, or the whole congregation will know.

They rounded the front of the building, catching up to Stephen. As they all came to a stop, Emma peeking around Stephen’s stocky frame, Hester Blakely straightened from where she’d received the conspiratorial tidbit from Cynthia and Janie. A sly smile on her face, Hester applauded loudly, drawing the attention of the full churchyard.

Locking eyes with her best friend, Emma shook her head, though Hester wouldn’t be deterred. Not with such a juicy morsel of gossip to share.

Congratulations are in order, everyone. Stephen Richards and Emma Draycott have become engaged to be married!

Startled gasps and excited exclamations filled the yard, and many added their applause to Hester’s.

A sudden ringing in Emma’s ears all but drowned the happy sounds. There, on the far side of the church steps, Papa and Mama stared at her, nothing short of shock in their expressions.

Oh, she would have so much explaining to do!

The following afternoon—January 31, 1876

I am sorry. Stephen Dee Richards bristled at the Draycotts’ stern looks. He folded his hands like the mindful schoolboy he’d once been. Stay calm, show Emma’s parents proper deference, and surely he’d win them over. I did things out of order, and I apologize.

You most certainly did, young man. Gray-haired Emmitt Draycott gripped the arm of his chair, his knuckles blanching. You embarrassed my wife and me in front of the entire congregation.

It was an honest mistake, Papa, Emma whispered from beside him on the settee. She reached for Stephen’s hand, her warm touch like a soothing balm. He didn’t mean—

An honest mistake? Mr. Draycott’s eyes flashed. No, Daughter. An honest mistake is picking up the wrong stack of papers from a desk or miscalculating the fabric yardage to make a dress. This? He leaned in and stabbed the chair’s arm with his finger, pinning Stephen with a glare. This was a flagrant disregard of proper etiquette.

Flagrant? Hardly! And how dare he speak so harshly to sweet Emma? A sharp retort settled on his tongue, but Emma twined her fingers in his, and a hint of her flowery scent wafted his way. His senses calmed again.

He hung his head, the sting of the words he must speak causing his gut to churn. Yet speak them, he would—for Emma. Yes, sir. I allowed my anticipation to carry me away. I should have restrained myself. He risked a look at the aged man. Again, I apologize.

Mr. Draycott’s grip on the chair loosened. You two have courted for just over a month. It’s far too soon—

Not too soon, Papa. Emma scooted forward, perching on the edge of the settee and turned an adoring, if serious, gaze Stephen’s way. The look sent a thrill through him. Stephen and I have known each other since he moved here many years ago. Remember?

He remembered. She’d been one of the few who’d defended him against the bullying attacks of the other, stronger schoolchildren. And she defended him still.

Again, she faced her father. We’ve grown up together, and—

Draycott’s jaw firm, he held up a hand.

Emma halted her justification.

You may have been acquainted all these years, but you began courting only after reconnecting at the Christmas dance last month. In that time, you can’t know whether you are a suitable match. His attention shifted to Stephen. "And this … oversight … of not asking us before proposing, then announcing it to everyone, is unacceptable."

Lest Emmitt Draycott forget, he hadn’t announced it. That honor was shared by Hester, Janie, and Cynthia. But reminding the man of such facts would only inflame the situation more, so Stephen nodded. How can I make this up to you?

After a moment of silence, Draycott’s much younger wife reached for Emmitt’s hand. Emmitt, I know you’re upset. We both are. She flashed Stephen a sharp glance. But Stephen seems truly repentant.

Please, Papa … Emma’s voice squeaked.

Mr. Draycott bored holes through Stephen with his glare.

The silence grew unnerving. Desperate, Stephen reached into his coat and withdrew a few bills from the wad tucked against his chest. I noticed your front gate isn’t closing properly. I’d be happy to pay to have it fixed if that would—

Mr. Draycott shot to his feet. "You will not buy my blessing, young man—and I am shocked you think you could. We are done here. See yourself out." He stalked from the room.

Stephen’s anger swelled like the air inside a bottle of fermenting liquid. Visions of following the man, spinning him around, and—

Emma sniffled and withdrew her lace-trimmed handkerchief. The vision fled as the blond beauty at his side dabbed her cheeks.

How dare the tyrant upset her!

Mrs. Draycott stood with a sigh. You do realize, that was exactly the wrong thing to say.

Stephen also stood, offering an apologetic smile. I gathered as much. Forgive me. Could he do nothing to please these people?

He’s not going to let us get married, is he, Mama?

Truth be known, this feels very sudden to me also. However, let me speak with him. Perhaps I can quell his anger so we can revisit the topic. Her expression grew stern. But don’t you dare try to buy his favor again, young man.

Stephen swallowed hard. I understand.

The woman turned to leave.

Mrs. Draycott?

She stopped in the doorway. Yes?

Would it be all right if I take Emma into town?

She hesitated, her expression firm. I should say no, but if you’ll take Thomas and Cynthia too, I’ll agree. It will be good to have you all out of the house when I speak to Emmitt.

Emma rushed over to kiss her mother’s cheek. Thank you, Mama. We will. I’ll go get them now.

No. She held Emma at arm’s length. Go wait near Stephen’s buggy. I’ll send them out to you. Hurry now. She released her daughter and glanced at Stephen. Be home by five, please.

Irritation rankled, but he pushed a smile to his lips. Yes, ma’am. And thank you.

For the first time, Mrs. Draycott smiled back. Hardly a full-throated sign of acceptance, but perhaps a bit of softening. Although she was sending two spies to keep watch.

Come, love. Stephen reached for Emma’s hand. Let’s be away before I step any deeper in the mire. Such a blasted easy thing to do with her father’s irrational notions.

She took his hand, and once he’d laid their coats over his arm, they exited the stately home. There his beautiful Emma fell against him, resting her blond head against his chest.

Oh Stephen. I’m sorry for Papa’s harsh behavior. As her arms circled his waist, every nerve flared with delight. Goodness knows, I love him, but when his pride is wounded, he can be almost unbearable.

Fumbling, he draped her coat over her shoulders. You’ve nothing to apologize for, my sweet. You’ve always been my biggest advocate, and you proved that again today. As if he’d needed proof. Long before she ever gave him a second glance as a beau, he’d dreamed of more with her. Of moving with her far away from the wicked insults of his father. Of holding her just like this and—more. He swallowed the exciting imaginings. If I’d done things right, this would be a day of celebration. He kissed her hair, then stepped back and tipped up her chin. In fact, I’m certain it will be, so let’s treat it as such. Your father is a reasonable man—and your mother a good negotiator. She’ll sway him to our side.

You don’t know how stubborn Papa can be. She heaved a breath. Since we’re going to town anyway, could we stop by the church for a few moments?

The church? Whatever for? First, he was told he could only take his sweet Emma out for three hours. Then he was made to let her younger brother and sister tag along. Now this.

I want to pray that Papa might forgive us and be reasonable about our getting married. She gave him a sweet, if pensive, smile, eyelashes fluttering. Please?

Shoving aside his irritation, he pushed a smile to his lips and tapped the end of her nose. Anything for you, my love.

Chapter 2

As they rolled into the churchyard, Emma loosened the blanket Stephen had so thoughtfully tucked about her legs and looked back at Thomas and Cynthia. Stephen and I are going to pray before we carry on to other business. Please keep yourselves quiet until we’re ready to go.

Thomas smiled. Of course.

Cynthia’s brows rose. Can we look for the kittens?

The twelve-year-old’s enthusiasm for any furred creature always warmed Emma’s heart. That would be fine.

Emma, love. Stephen shot her a sidelong glance. Don’t you think it’s too cold for that?

She grinned. Could the man be any more darling, the way he cared for her family? We’ve already been in the cold for the whole buggy ride, silly.

That’s precisely the point. They’re already chilled.

I don’t expect we’ll be inside for long. Perhaps fifteen minutes.

He dropped his voice. I’m already in some trouble with your father. Their getting sick would only provide more fodder for your father’s hatred.

Hurt flared in her chest, and she dropped her voice even lower. "Papa doesn’t hate you. He’s upset. There’s a difference."

Stephen looked none too convinced.

Please tell me you know that. She pinned him with a searching look.

Of course. I know you’re right. But he doesn’t make it easy on me.

I suppose not.

So may we go look for the kittens? Cynthia asked.

I’d prefer they not. Stephen glanced her way, almost pleading.

I promise, they’ll be fine. It takes them longer to walk to school on far colder days than what we’ll spend praying today. She turned toward the back. But Stephen is right—be cautious that you don’t get too chilled. Stay bundled up.

Em, quit worrying. You know I’ll look after her, Thomas chided.

You’re such a good brother. She patted Thomas’s knee.

That settled, Stephen helped Cynthia, then her, from the buggy. Almost before her feet touched the ground, a distant voice carried to her ears.

Stephen! Emma!

As Cynthia dragged Thomas toward the rear of the building, Hester Blakely hurried toward them, waving.

Stephen stiffened. Hasn’t she done enough?

Pardon? His mumbled words almost escaped her. Almost. You’re not blaming Hester, are you? Could she fault him? Hester had long been prone toward gossip, and despite her having curbed that habit in recent years, it still reared its head at times—like yesterday.

Stephen, she didn’t act out of malice. She’s happy for us. And keep in mind, Hester wouldn’t have known if Cynthia and Janie hadn’t told her first. Emma had reminded herself of these very facts in the past day.

His jaw tightened, but he drew her closer. I didn’t come to town to see Hester. In fact—he glanced back to where Thomas and Cynthia had gone—I was hoping to have you all to myself for a few moments.

A delicious warmth spread through her. There’d been few enough solitary moments with Stephen, given her parents always stayed close or sent Thomas and Cynthia on outings with them.

I’ll shoo her quickly. I promise.

Hester scurried into the churchyard, breathless, and gave Emma a peck on the cheek. Hello! I was playing piano in our front room when you drove past, so I just had to come and give you my greetings. The willowy young woman gulped a breath. I can’t tell you how happy I am for you both. I always thought you two might end up together. How are the sweethearts today?

The torrent of words stopped as quickly as it began.

As Emma attempted to answer, Stephen pressed in. We’re in a bit of a fix, thanks to you.

Emma laid a staying hand on his arm. When you shared our news with the church yesterday, Stephen hadn’t asked Papa yet.

Hester stared, a stunned half smile on her lips, then she doubled over, cackling. Oh, stop teasing.

Stephen released a disgusted snort, and Hester sobered.

"Oh my. You’re not teasing."

I wish we were, Emma whispered.

Ooooh, what trouble I must’ve caused.

You could say that, Stephen grumbled.

I am so sorry. She cupped one hand against her cheek. Forgive me.

From the back side of the building, Cynthia loosed a startled yelp. Emma!

Emma spun, heart pounding at the panic in her sister’s voice.

Stephen darted past. I’ll check on her.

She stared at the back corner as Stephen hurried down the building’s length. I should probably go too.

You’re not angry with me, are you?

Torn between her sister’s needs and her best friend’s, Emma watched Stephen round the corner and listened for a further call before she faced Hester. I’m not angry. Truly. But I should go check—

You’re not angry, but …? Her friend cringed as she interrupted.

Emma sighed. One problem at a time. "But I was hurt, especially given the circumstances. I do wish you weren’t always so quick to share the latest news. I would’ve been giddy with delight to have had the chance to tell people of our engagement myself."

Hester’s shoulders slumped, and her brown eyes brimmed with tears. Oh Emma. I am the most selfish woman in the world. I’ve been stealing your thunder forever, haven’t I?

Emma had long ago accepted Hester’s ways, and she’d learned to forgive quickly. "Not to worry. I told you—I’m not angry."

I’m angry enough with myself for both of us. Hester hesitated. How is your father taking all this?

He’s upset—understandably. Emma glanced again toward the back corner of the church, but all seemed quiet. Stephen must have handled the issue.

"He will allow you to marry, won’t he?" Hester dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief as Emma faced her.

I hope so. His stubbornness is ruling him right now. However, I trust God will turn his—

Excuse me, ladies. From the direction of the street, a lean stranger wearing a western-style hat turned a fine buckskin horse their way. He drew to a halt and dismounted, giving them a pleasant nod. I’m new about these parts, he drawled in a smooth, inviting voice. Might I trouble you for some information?

Hester’s tears seemingly forgotten, she turned a demure smile on the ruggedly handsome gentleman. So like the flighty, flirty girl. Present her with an attractive face, particularly if paired with blond hair like his, and nothing would break her focus.

He was rather dashing, in a roguish way. If she weren’t pledged to marry Stephen, his strong jawline and intense green eyes might have turned Emma’s head as well.

"Welcome to Mount Pleasant. I’m Miss Hester Blakely. Hester emphasized the title. And this is Miss Emma Draycott. How might we help you, Mister …?"

Miss Blakely, Miss Draycott. The man touched his hat brim. It’s an honor. The name’s Clay Timmons. I’m sorry for intruding. Could you tell me where I might find a room to rent?

Sally Mills runs a boardinghouse near the center of town. Emma rushed to volunteer the information before Hester could, though why, she wasn’t sure.

Mr. Timmons turned her way. And how far is that?

Hester edged closer. Mrs. Mills took on that new boarder recently, but there is the Mount Pleasant Hotel. She gave him a hopeful look.

No! Emma shook her head. I’ve heard the hotel has had issues with bedbugs.

He cringed. Thank you for that warning. Are there any other options?

Emma’s thoughts flashed to one, but she dared not risk the suggestion without checking first. Not that I’m aware of.

A wry smile lit Mr. Timmons’s face, and his eyes danced. Then I might just be bunking with my horse tonight.

Where in heaven’s name was he from to develop such an accent?

Heat flooded her cheeks at her intrusive thoughts, and she fought to shove her contemplations back in line. I’m … sorry. I suppose our town isn’t quite as advanced as we’d like to think if that’s all we have to offer.

Oh, Rio and I are old bunkmates, so that’s no issue—and Mount Pleasant looks—he glanced at the church, then down the street, and finally shifted his attention back to her—right pleasant. At his grin, her stomach flip-flopped. Far better than some places I’ve visited.

Then you’re a well-traveled man, I take it? Hester shoved her way back into the conversation. Will you be staying long?

I’ve seen a fair bit of the country, miss. And how long depends on how quick I wrap up my business. Again, I apologize for interrupting. He focused on Emma. If you wouldn’t mind pointing me in the direction of the boardinghouse, I’ll let you pick up where you left off.

Emma smiled far too friendly of a grin. Of course. Follow this road straight into the heart of town. You’ll see it on your left about two blocks down. Look for the white picket fence around the two-story brick home. The one with three attic dormers.

Thank you kindly. He again tipped his hat, then walked to his buckskin and swung into the saddle. Good day, ladies.

Hester slid her arm into Emma’s and, waiting until Mr. Timmons was out of earshot, inclined her head close. That is one handsome man, she whispered.

Emma’s cheeks warmed. I didn’t notice.

A sharp elbow jabbed her side. Yes, you did.

Emma bit her lip. Yes, she did … and the sooner she forgot the gallant gentleman, the better.

Who was that? Stephen called from behind them.

She faced him with a smile. Is Cynthia all right?

Stephen sobered. She’s quite upset. The kittens have all died.

Oh no. She started toward the back of the building. I should talk to her.

Stephen caught her arm. She’s not back there. I gave them some money and asked Thomas to take her into town to buy something, get her mind off her discovery.

You what?

I said, I sent them—

I heard you. She fought not to react too harshly. Stephen, the whole point in them coming was so we’d stay together. She scrambled into the nearby buggy, then called to her friend. Hester, I’m sorry—we have to go.

When Stephen didn’t move, she cocked her head in his direction. Come. Please. Drive me into town. We must find them.

Sparkling blue eyes. Beautiful smile. She was a good-looker, that Miss Draycott. Clay scanned the street as he rode. Not that her friend, Miss Blakely, wasn’t. They were both attractive, but Miss Draycott had—what was the quality he was trying to name?

He stifled a snort. What’s it matter, Rio? He patted the buckskin’s neck, and the horse swiveled an ear toward him. Not like I’ll see her again, anyhow.

I want to go home. A girl’s plaintive voice drew his attention down the street to his right.

We can’t. A blond young man, more grown than not, pulled a younger, dark-haired girl from an alley to cross the street. This’ll help take your mind off it.

No. The girl dug in her heels and pulled free of the boy’s grip. I want to go back to the buggy. I want— Her last word garbled—her ma, maybe?

A chill raked down his neck, and his mind shot backward fifteen years. Before the memory could root, he shook it away—something he’d practiced many times.

Come on, the boy pleaded.

Should he intervene? Out west, that answer would’ve been easy. But he wasn’t out west. He was in Ohio, and he was a stranger in town. How would the locals feel about him shoving his way into a matter that didn’t concern him? Then again, if the girl was in some kind of trouble, how would they feel if he didn’t? Could he live with himself if something happened?

Clay angled Rio onto the intersecting street toward the pair. Howdy. He touched his hat brim in greeting. Everything all right?

Both stared up at him as he leaned on his saddle horn.

Yes, sir. The boy nodded.

He pinned his focus on the girl. Is there a problem, little lady?

She stood wide-eyed and silent.

When she didn’t answer, he tried a different tack. Where ya’ll headed? Clay kept his tone conversational.

I’m trying to get my sister to Melcher’s Emporium and out of the cold.

Sister. That was a step in the right direction. Was this simply a spat between family members? He looked to the girl, then back to the young man. Don’t sound to me like she wants to go.

No, sir, the girl burst in, her light eyes sorrowful. I want to find my sister and go home.

The boy turned. You know we can’t, Cynthia. Not right now.

Another chill raced down his spine. Once upon a time, he’d chided his own sister with almost those exact words. Things hadn’t ended well that day. How differently would things have turned out if someone had intervened in his troubles?

Clay dismounted and stepped closer to the kids, giving them both a good look. They were well-dressed, clean, with their hair neat. Hardly the neglected and