The Ballad of Emma O'Toole. Elizabeth Lane
T. Zachariah Farnsworth leaned forward, his expression as stern as a great horned owl’s. “Mr. Devereaux, you’ve been tried and found guilty of manslaughter by a jury of your peers. For your crime I hereby sentence you to five years in the Utah Territorial Prison.”
A shudder passed through Devereaux’s body. Emma pressed her hands to her face to hide her emotion. Hector Armitage had sprung to his feet and was pushing his way toward the aisle.
“Order!” The gavel rapped sharply. The judge’s scowl deepened as silence settled over the courtroom. “Given the extenuating circumstances, this court is willing to consider an alternative form of sentencing. Miss Emma O’Toole, would you please rise?”
Trembling and bewildered, Emma stood. The judge cleared his throat.
“As I understand it, the death of Mr. Billy John Carter has left this young woman and her unborn child with no means of support. Mr. Devereaux, in lieu of prison, would you be willing to marry the girl and provide that support?”
Emma’s jaw dropped in shock, and she knew she wasn’t alone in her astonishment. The whole courtroom was silent enough to hear a pin drop. Even the gambler’s calm mask had given way to pure, wide-eyed surprise.
“Understand that if you fail in your duty as a husband, if you abandon your wife, or mistreat her or her child in any way, you’ll be thrown into prison to serve your sentence.” He paused, giving his words time to penetrate. “How say you, Mr. Devereaux? Are you willing?”
Without so much as a glance at Emma, Devereaux answered. “Yes, Your Honor, I’m willing.”
“And you, Miss O’Toole?”
How could this nightmare be happening? Emma struggled to find her voice. “Mr. Devereaux killed the father of my child. What if I refuse to marry him?”
“If you refuse to allow him to serve the terms of the sentence he has agreed to fulfill then, dear girl, I shall be compelled to suspend his sentence and set him free.”
Emma’s hands clenched beneath her shawl. She’d promised Billy John, promised him on her mother’s grave, that the gambler would pay for what he’d done. If Logan Devereaux went free, she had no doubt he’d leave town, and she lacked the means to follow him and keep that promise. Only as Logan’s wife could she ensure access to him to exact her vengeance. Hanging was no longer an option, but at least she could make living as much a misery for him as possible.
It seemed there was no other way to keep her vow.
“Miss O’Toole, do you plan to keep us here all day? What’s your decision?”
Emma braced her knees to keep them from giving way beneath her. “You leave me little choice,” she said. “I’ll take him.”
The judge glanced at the bailiff. “Escort the prisoner and Miss O’Toole to chambers for the ceremony. Doctor Kostandis, you may come along to serve as witness. As for the rest of you, go home. Leave these people to settle their differences in peace.”
At the final crack of the gavel, the courtroom erupted in pandemonium.
Chapter Three
The jury read the verdict out.
The judge he made his rule. The gambler would to prison go Or marry Emma O’Toole, oh, yes, Or marry Emma O’Toole.
“And will you wed this man?” he asked.
She answered calm and cool. “My lover’s lying in his grave, So I must,” said Emma O’Toole, oh, yes, “I must,” said Emma O’Toole.
Logan and Emma were married in a dreary little room across the hall from the Coalville jail. Hands clenched and eyes lowered, the bride muttered her vows—to love, honor and obey, in sickness and in health, for better or for worse. Not that she meant a blessed word of it, Logan reminded himself. He knew for a certainty that what Emma really had in mind was to make his life a living hell. Why else would she have agreed to marry him, instead of setting him free?
He intended to treat her decently; that was the least he owed her, even without the threat of jail as punishment for mistreating her. But she wasn’t going to make it easy. He’d bet good money that, if she had her way, Emma would soon have him wishing he’d chosen prison.
And if he left her, or if he lost his temper even once, that could be exactly where he’d end up.
Standing beside her, Logan stole a glance at her downcast profile. Even with her charmless dress and severe hairstyle, his bride was stunningly beautiful. Her skin was pearlescent, her eyes the color of sea glass. As for her hair…He imagined loosening that tight golden knot and letting it slip through his hands to fall over her naked shoulders…
But that kind of thinking could drive a man crazy. Emma might be his wife, but he could hardly expect her to tumble into bed with him. Hellfire, he had no idea what to expect from her, except that she’d do everything in her power to make him miserable, just as she’d promised.
“The ring?” The judge shot Logan a quizzical glance before he remembered and corrected himself. “Never mind, I’m assuming you’ll get her one.”
“Here.” Doc Kostandis, who’d taken a nearby seat, stood slowly as he twisted something off his little finger. He pressed a thin gold band into Logan’s palm. “Use this. It was my wife’s.”
Emma stared down at the delicate ring. “Oh, but I couldn’t—” she began.
“Take it,” Doc insisted. “Better on a young bride’s hand than in an old man’s grave.”
“But how can I—”
Her protest ended in a gasp as Logan seized her work-worn hand and shoved the ring onto her finger. The dainty gold band fit perfectly. Trembling, Emma stared down at it, then snatched her hand away.
“By the authority vested in me, I now pronounce you man and wife.” The judge paused, waiting, most likely, for the customary kiss. The bride stood frozen in place, eyes fixed on the floor. Clearly it wasn’t going to happen.
“Well, then…” The judge checked his gold turnip watch. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ve a stage to catch. But first a few words of advice. I’m well aware that this is no ideal way to start a marriage. But with patience and good intent, there’s no reason you can’t make it work. The marshal has orders to check on you at his discretion, to make sure the terms of your sentence are being met. Mr. Devereaux, gambling is no profession for a family man. I suggest you find a job forthwith. There’s plenty of honest work to be had in the mines and mills. As for you, Mrs. Devereaux—” He turned his scowl on Emma. “It’s a woman’s duty to be a proper and submissive wife to her husband in all respects. I suggest you remember that in the days ahead.”
A proper and submissive wife. Logan’s mouth twitched in a wry smile. He could just imagine what his bride thought of that advice.
Not that he was any happier about the judge’s counsel to him. True, the rootless life of a gambler didn’t lend itself to raising a family. But working ten hours a day, seven days a week in the black bowels of a mine for three dollars a day would be little better than prison. As for the dusty, deafening bedlam of the stamp mills…
But never mind that. He was a man, with a man’s responsibilities. Whatever it took to provide for his new family, he would do it.
Gathering up his cloak and hat, the judge lumbered out the door, leaving Logan, Emma and Doc in the small office. Logan was grateful for the old man’s presence. If nothing else, it put off the inevitable moment when he would face his bride alone. Emma stood in silence, gazing down at the ring on her finger. What was he supposed to do now? He was no longer under arrest, but he had no cash and no way back to Park City. He’d left a valise, with his spare clothes and toiletries, in his room at the Park City Hotel before he’d gone to the saloon that night. But since he hadn’t paid in more than a week, his things