by Kit Morgan
The man’s mouth curved into a crooked smile. “Oh, so you’re the one. You’d best keep better track of things, son, or you might find yourself in a heap of trouble! I’ll let the little lady know you’re here, shall I?”
“You do that,” Anson said. “Thank you.”
The man left the counter and went up the nearby stairs to the second floor. Anson took another deep breath. In a few moments he would finally meet his mail-order bride. He just hoped she wasn’t disappointed.
Four
“What? Who?” Zadie exclaimed. “You mean he’s downstairs now?”
“Isn’t that what I said?” Mr. Livingston asked. “Now if you’re of a mind to get married, then don’t keep the man waiting.”
Zadie nodded and slammed the door shut. “Oh my goodness. Sorry!” she shouted through the door. She was suddenly so nervous she didn’t know which way was up. “He’s here,” she muttered as she paced the room. Good grief, she had to get a hold of herself before she went downstairs, lest she do or say something foolish.
She grabbed a shawl off the end of the bed, wrapped it around her shoulders and headed for the door. She stopped, remembered the key, grabbed it off the dresser and left the room.
After locking the door she smoothed her hair, silently scolding herself for not checking it first, and brushed at her skirt a few times. She’d only donned a simple blue day dress, not really expecting anyone to come. It wasn’t fancy by any means, but at least it wasn’t a work dress either. “It will have to do,” she said to herself and headed for the staircase.
When she reached it, her breath caught. “Oh my …” Standing at the bottom of the stairs was the handsomest man she’d ever seen. Of course, that wasn’t saying much – her father had hardly let her out of his sight the last couple of years. Still, if the man at the foot of the stairs was Anson Jones, she wasn’t going to quibble.
As if sensing her presence, he looked up and appeared to lose his breath as much as she had. His body jerked oddly, as if he’d just given himself an invisible slap, and he turned from the counter to face her. “Miss Barrett … I presume?”
Zadie swallowed hard. “Yes,” she said, a little too breathily for her tastes, but she couldn’t help it. This was her future husband? She hoped she didn’t trip going down the stairs! “Mr. Jones?”
“I am,” he said and started up them.
They met halfway and Zadie exploded into a bundle of nerves. “It’s a … a pleasure to meet you,” she stammered. “I was wondering if you’d forgotten about me.”
“No, but we seem to have had a miscommunication. One I intend to rectify as soon as possible.”
Zadie’s heart sank. What did he mean, rectify? Was he going to send her away? “Is there anything in particular you wish to discuss?” she asked warily.
“Yes, but not here,” he said. “Let’s go someplace where we can talk.”
“I’m not sure where that would be. It would be improper for you to come up to my room. Perhaps the hotel’s front porch?”
“Will you be warm enough in that?” he said with a nod toward her shawl.
“Yes. Let’s go.” She wanted to get this over with as soon as possible. She couldn’t stand when things were drawn out, least of all when it had to do with something as life-changing as this.
He walked down the stairs, and she discovered she was disappointed he hadn’t offered her his arm. But they were just going to the front porch – what did she expect?
They went outside and sat on one of the two benches there – she on one end, he on the other. Was he putting distance between them on purpose?
“Miss Barrett … first off, I apologize for not being at the station when you arrived. The truth is …” He glanced around. “The truth is I, had no idea you were coming.”
She blinked at him a few times. “What? How could you not know? You sent a telegram telling me to come.”
“I sent a telegram saying that I had to leave immediately for Sweetwater Springs to take care of some business of mine near Morgan’s Crossing.”
Her shoulders sagged as she looked away. “Oh,” she said flatly. What she wouldn’t give in that moment to have Monsieur Pickles in front of her right now. She’d scold that accursed dog’s fur off!
“What happened?” Mr. Jones asked, pulling her from her thoughts.
“Monsieur Pickles is what happened,” she said dryly.
His eyebrows slowly rose in curiosity while his mouth curved into an amused smile. “Monsieur Pickles? Who in Heaven’s name is that?”
“Mrs. Pettigrew’s dog. He’s this little fluffy white … mongrel is my guess. And he loves to chew things up – including telegrams from prospective grooms.”
Mr. Jones looked at her in shock for a moment, his mouth now open, yet still smiling. He looked quite charming in a comical sort of way. Then he burst out laughing. “You mean … you’re here because of a dog?”
“I’m afraid so. Mrs. Pettigrew and I could only decipher part of your message after Monsieur Pickles had his way with it.”
“But … how did a dog get a hold of the telegraph message I sent?”
Zadie sighed. “Mrs. Pettigrew lets the dog sit on her desk. She lets him do pretty much anything he wants – very clearly the ruler of the household. She scolds him whenever he does wrong while she’s around, but he clearly doesn’t care. And when she’s not around …” She shrugged helplessly.
“Well, for Heaven’s sake,” Mr. Jones said with a chuckle. “Wait until I write home about this.”
“Speaking of that, why did you have to leave Oregon so suddenly?”
He shrugged and brought his chuckles down to a smile. “We’re expanding our business. We’ve had some requests here in the Montana Territory for one of our sires, so I’ve come to set up shop, so to speak.”
Zadie could only stare. “So you’re here permanently?”
He studied her face a moment, as if looking for something. “Could be. I’ll have to see how business goes.”
“I see.”
“Are you disappointed?”
“No. Sweetwater Springs seems … nice, if a bit small and quaint. I haven’t met very many of the residents, though – just the Nortons, Mr. Livingston who owns this hotel and the bank, and a few interesting people at the mercantile.”
“Miss Barrett, I should warn you … I don’t live in Sweetwater Springs. I live outside Morgan’s Crossing. Quite a few miles outside it, actually.”
Zadie’s stomach knotted. She knew he lived in Morgan’s Crossing – hadn’t the Rev. Norton told her so? For that matter, why else had she spent the last four days waiting for him? But only now did the reality of it hit her – her groom-to-be didn’t just live in a very small hamlet, he lived far outside it! “Are you trying to discourage me, Mr. Jones?”
“Not at all, I’m simply telling you where I live.”
She took a calming breath. His sudden appearance had her so flustered, she wasn’t thinking straight. “Of course. Why else would it take you so long to get here?”
“My apologies – I got here as fast as I could. Now to the business at hand.”
She stiffened at her end of the bench. “As I’m here by mistake, I think I can guess what business that is.”
“Oh?” he said as if amused.
“I’m sorry this is such a bother to you. You weren’t expecting me after all. But I think you should know, Mr. Jones, that there’s nothing left for me back in Denver.” She met his gaze and hoped to plead her case. “If you do not wish to marry, I have no place to go.”
One eyebrow rose in surprise. “Not wish to marry? On the contrary, Miss Barrett, I was going to suggest that we see the local preacher immediately.”
She gaped at him. “Rev. Norton?”
“Of course. You do still want to get married, don’t you?”
* * *
Miss Barrett stared at him in shock. She’d obviously thought he was going to send her back – and why wouldn’t she, especially after he’d just to
ld her he had no idea she was coming? Maybe that was a mistake on his part, but how was he to know a dog had chewed up the message he’d sent?
The situation was laughable, but the look on her face told him she was not amused. “Miss Barrett, are you all right?”
“Yes, yes, of course. I’m sorry – this is… not what I expected.”
“You’re not what I expected, either. But it doesn’t mean I’m not going to take advantage of the situation.”
“I beg your pardon?” she said, recoiling from him.
Whoops! That didn’t come out the way he’d wanted it to. “What I mean is, since you’re here anyway, and you are my mail-order bride, why not? Though I should apprise you of a few things before you make up your mind.”
She sat up straight on the bench again. “What sorts of things?”
“Well, as I said, my cabin is quite a way from Morgan’s Crossing, a good two hours’ ride. And the ranch I purchased isn’t exactly … thriving yet. I’m new here, of course, and no one’s lived there for quite some time. I don’t have the amount of stock yet for a huge operation, at least not like some of the bigger ranches around here. And the cabin at present is too small for a family – I’d have to expand it or build a larger one. So the whole thing is what you might call a work in progress.”
Miss Barrett had seized on one point. “Too small?” she said weakly. “How small is too small?”
“One room. A single cot.” He wasn’t enjoying this, but she might as well know it all.
She looked away a moment, a hand over her chest, and he wondered if she was going to either swoon or be ill. “A single cot? Surely you’re joking.”
“I need to order us a bed,” he said with an understanding nod.
She closed her eyes and gripped the bench with her other hand. “Oh goodness, I had no idea … does this mean that one of us will have to sleep on the floor?”
“We’ll figure things out. But I wanted you to know the current situation. I’d only set things up for myself, and … I don’t need much.”
“Quite,” she said. “The situation is what it is, Mr. Jones.” She straightened her shoulders. “I’m prepared to hold up my end of the contract.”
He studied her a moment. In truth, it was hard to take his eyes off her. He couldn’t believe his luck – the woman was beautiful! Furthermore, she wasn’t as petite as some of his aunts and cousins back home, so she was probably strong enough to help him around the place with some of the heavier tasks.
But he had to remember that this was a city-bred woman, not used to hard work. Her blue day dress was fancier than anything he’d seen the local women wearing. Her hair, though she must have styled it herself, was beautifully coiffed. Her hands looked soft, her fingernails clean. Miss Barrett was every inch a lady – it would take her time to adjust to being a rancher’s wife, even if she was in Oregon. Out here in the Montana Territory, the work would be harder.
“Well … all right,” he finally said. “We’d best go make the arrangements with the preacher.”
She gave him a solemn nod. “Rev. Norton and his wife have been very kind to me. I’m sure they’ll be very accommodating.”
Anson nodded, glad to hear she’d been looked after the last few days. “I’ll be sure to give them a little something extra after the ceremony. Shall we go?”
She nodded as he stood and offered her his arm. She stared at it a moment before taking it. “I have a wedding dress,” she said absently, as if she couldn’t believe this was happening. Maybe she really couldn’t.
“Wonderful. I can’t wait to see you in it.” And he meant it. He liked that she was tall and broad, though neither as much as he. His mother and Aunts Penelope and Constance back home were too petite for his taste – tiny women, barely reaching the top of his shoulder. It was a wonder either of them had survived their first winter in Oregon. But Miss Barrett was just right.
He stole glances at her as they walked toward the church and tried to imagine her in his arms. Even if she did have someplace to go, he wasn’t sure he could allow her to leave now that he’d seen her. But he’d have to rein in his adoration a moment and consider her safety. If Penworthy did indeed show up, how was he going to keep her out of danger? Was marrying her right now the wise thing to do?
“I don’t know if they’re home,” she said when they reached the door of the parsonage. “They sometimes are out visiting people.”
“Most preachers do. The one back home goes out visiting all the time.”
“Mrs. Norton told me there aren’t any regular services in Morgan’s Crossing,” she stated sadly.
“I’m afraid she’s right,” Anson said and noted the disappointment on her face. “But there’s a building they use like a meeting hall, and Rev. Norton comes about once a month and does a service there. There’s also Father Frederick – he’s a circuit rider.”
“Yes,” she said softly. “So I’ve heard.”
Anson watched her disappointment turn to apprehension. She was scared, but of what? That she was about to marry a stranger? The isolation? “Miss Barrett,” he said, gently turning her to face him. “We could marry, then …” He stopped. The thought of sending her off to Clear Creek didn’t set well in his gut. What was the point of that other than to protect her? But was it fair? He had to think this through.
“Excuse me?”
Anson shook himself. “You know, never mind.” Couldn’t he protect her here as well as he could in Clear Creek? He gazed into her eyes with as much reassurance as he could muster, then knocked on the door.
Mary Norton answered, and her face lit up with a smile. “There now, you see? I knew your groom would show up!”
Miss Barrett smiled and nodded but said nothing. He hoped she wasn’t upset. “Hello Mrs. Norton,” he said. “We’ve come to get married.”
“Of course you did,” she said with a happy smile and swung the door wide. “I’ll be happy to help with all the arrangements.”
Anson reached over and patted the arm Miss Barrett had wrapped around his, and together they walked into the house. By the end of the day, they’d be husband and wife.
* * *
“Now don’t be nervous dear,” Mrs. Norton said as she smoothed the skirt of Zadie’s wedding dress. People get married every day.”
“What makes you think I’m nervous?”
Mrs. Norton straightened, one hand on her hip. “Because you’re flitting about like a butterfly.”
Zadie unconsciously put a hand to her belly. “My stomach feels as though it’s full of them.”
“Well if it’s any consolation, all brides are nervous before their wedding. I’d be worried if you weren’t.” She brushed at the skirt one last time, then walked a circle around Zadie, inspecting her handiwork. “My, but that’s a beautiful dress. Where did you get it?”
“From a dressmaker in Denver.”
“A dressmaker? My, my! There are a few women around here mighty handy with the needle and thread, myself included on occasion, but none of us could make anything like this.”
Zadie noticed the intricate beadwork and stitching on the bodice and skirt. Perhaps the dress was a bit lavish, but it was the last extravagance her father had afforded her and she couldn’t turn him down. Her hope was that he’d live long enough to see her wed. In fact, she thought it odd at first when he requested it, as she didn’t even have a beau. Maybe her father knew things would come to this … or maybe he simply wanted to give her one last gift before he died. “It is quite beautiful, isn’t it? I hope to hand it down to my daughter one day … if I have one.”
“Or perhaps a grandchild,” Mrs. Norton suggested. “Who knows, you may give that husband of yours a house full of strapping young men.”
A chill went up Zadie’s spine at the mention of children. If this was her wedding day, then tonight was … oh my …
“It’s time, dear – we’d best get started,” Mrs. Norton said happily, cutting into her thoughts again.
Zadie followed
her out of the room, then waited as Mrs. Norton fussed with the train. “What do you want me to do?” Zadie asked when she stood beside her once more.
“I’ll take my place at the organ and start the Wedding March, unless you’d like me to play something else?”
“The Wedding March is fine. Somehow I can’t think of what else you would play.”
“Sometimes I play a hymn. Once, a bride asked me to play ‘Old Dan Tucker’ – her groom was named Daniel Tucker, you see. It depends.”
Zadie nodded even as her chest tightened. She was more nervous than she thought. “And then what?”
“Then you step out and walk down the aisle. When you reach the end you take your place next to Mr. Jones, then the Reverend will take his place and the ceremony can begin.” She looked at Zadie’s empty hands. “Good heavens, where’s your bouquet?”
Zadie’s eyes drifted to the room they just left. “I can get it.”
“No, I will – don’t you move. My, but you’re a vision! Just wait until your Mr. Jones sees you!”
Zadie’s stomach did a flip-flop and her knees went weak. Oh no! This was not a good time to faint!
“Here you are, dear,” Mrs. Norton said, handing her the small bouquet of yellow glacier lilies tied together with some ribbon.
“Thank you,” Zadie said and tried not to fall on her face. She watched Mrs. Norton disappear into the main part of the church to take her place at the organ. After a moment, the music started.
“Oh dear Lord, give me the strength to get through this,” Zadie whispered to herself. And He’d better hurry up too – she couldn’t get her feet to move! Was she that terrified? But then who wouldn’t be? She was about to marry a complete stranger – and thanks to Monsieur Pickles, in a strange town to boot!
Mrs. Norton played a little louder, as if to hurry her along.
Zadie forced one foot to move, then the other. Before she knew it, they had carried her into the church, down the aisle and next to Mr. Anson Jones.
Rev. Norton beamed at her, then looked at her betrothed. “Shall we begin?”