by Kit Morgan
Mr. Jones turned toward her with the most tender look she’d ever seen on a man’s face, other than her father’s. But this look was different. This one said, in no uncertain terms, you’re about to be mine.
Five
If Anson could will himself not to sweat, he would. Unfortunately, he didn’t have that sort of body control. He felt his forehead begin to bead, and prayed droplets didn’t cut a path from his temple to his cheek and eventually down his neck. How nervous and pathetic would that make him look?
He snuck a peek at Miss Barrett. Hmmm, probably no more nervous than she did at the moment. In fact, the poor woman was shaking like a leaf. He tried not to look at her trembling form, but couldn’t help it. Her knees were probably knocking together. Great Scott, did he frighten her that much? Or was it marriage itself that sent her to quaking? At least, for all outward appearances, he looked calm … except for the sweat.
But was he? Maybe he should’ve taken the time to court the girl first. Hadn’t Mrs. Morgan—herself a mail-order bride—told him something about a stipulation in her own marriage contract … what was it again? The husband had to agree not to exercise his husbandly rights for a month? He couldn’t argue with the reasoning behind such a thing. A couple might be married, but would have to take that time to get to know one another better. Maybe he should have taken another look at his own contract to see if there was anything similar …
“Mr. Jones?”
Anson jumped. “I beg your pardon?”
Rev. Norton looked at him in surprise. “Didn’t you hear me? This is the part where you say ‘I do’.”
Egads, he hadn’t even heard the last few things the preacher had said! Was he that distracted by his own thoughts? “Oh yes, of course.” He glanced at Miss Barrett and gave her a sheepish smile. “I guess I’m a little nervous.”
“Understandable,” the Reverend said with a pleasant smile. ‘Now to answer my last question?”
Anson gazed into Miss Barrett’s eyes, they were full of hope and fear. He gave her a tender smile. “I most certainly do.”
Her shoulders slumped in relief. Rev. Norton began to recite the same vows to her, and when she had to say them to him, Anson gave her his full attention. He wasn’t sure if it helped or not, as she got a little tongue-tied. “… Honor, obey, h-health … No, that’s not right … I’m sorry, Rev. Norton, could you say that last part again?” she asked, her face crimson.
“It’s perfectly all right, Miss Barrett,” the Reverend assured her. “People do this all the time.”
She gave him a relieved smile as he repeated himself. This time she recited everything perfectly. When it came her turn to say, “I do,” she stopped and stared at Anson, her eyes now more hopeful. The sight made him smile again. “I do.”
“By the power vested to me by the territory of Montana, I now pronounce you man and wife. Mr. Jones, you may kiss your bride.”
Anson gently put an arm around her and drew her close. Her head tilted back at the movement, and she gasped. The sound almost did him in. “Hello, Mrs. Jones,” he said softly.
Her eyes went wide. “Hello,” came out on a whisper, and Anson wondered if she found him as attractive as he now found her. Maybe their first kiss would answer his question.
He bent his head to hers, letting his eyes roam her face, and brushed his lips across her own. He felt her body shudder in response and a chill went up his spine. It was all he could do to pull his mouth away.
“Congratulations!” Mrs. Norton said with a clap of her hands. “Another blushing bride!”
And was she! Miss Barrett – now Mrs. Jones – looked at him with the same mix of hope and fear she had before, only now she was as red as a beet. He was going to have to chase that fear out of those eyes and quick.
Anson had started feeling strangely possessive during her vows, a realization that this woman was now his and his alone. His father and uncle had explained to him at one time or another what it was like when a man’s heart claimed a woman’s as his. “Love” didn’t quite sum it up – it went deeper than that. And lust had nothing to do with it. A man could lust after any woman, but his heart would only claim one.
He hadn’t understood what they were talking about until now, and wondered what it would feel like to be in love with someone and have that same sense of wanting to protect her. Then again, he didn’t have to wonder. He’d seen it for himself in the way his father fiercely protected his mother.
Anson studied his new wife’s face. “How are you holding up?”
She gave him a glassy look and faltered where she stood.
Anson’s other arm caught her around her waist before she could fall. “Miss Barrett! I mean … Zadie!”
“I’m all right,” she said, her voice weak. “Too much, too much in one day …”
“Bring her over here,” Mrs. Norton ordered. “Let her sit for a while. I’ll fetch a glass of water.”
Anson steered his bride to the nearest pew and sat her down – not an easy task, with her strong build. One arm still around her, he brushed some hair out of her eyes with his free hand. “Zadie, is there anything I can do?” He hated this sudden feeling of helplessness. He understood that sometimes women had a case of the vapors when they were excited or overwhelmed.
Also, she was probably wearing one of those blasted corsets. He liked how it accentuated her waist, but it wasn’t very practical – she was going to have to get rid of it if she was to help him around the ranch. “Zadie?”
“I’m fine, really I am,” she said as she fanned her face. “A little faint is all.”
“You almost collapsed,” he stated.
She looked around as if she didn’t remember walking to the pew. “Did I?”
Good grief, was she delirious too? “It’s all right,” he said, hoping it was. She wasn’t getting sick, was she?
Mrs. Norton reappeared with a glass of water and handed it to Anson. “Here, this will help.”
“Zadie, take a sip of this,” he coaxed, holding the glass before her. “It will make you feel better. It’s nice and cold.”
With a shaky hand she reached for the glass. He gently pushed her hand away and kept hold of it himself. He didn’t want her to spill any of it on her dress. “Here,” he said, bringing it to her lips. “Just a small sip now.”
She did as instructed, took a tiny mouthful, then swallowed. “I don’t know what came over me.”
“Four days of worrying yourself to death over whether or not Mr. Jones would show up is what happened,” Mrs. Norton said. “We told her you’d be here,” she told Anson. “But the poor thing didn’t listen – not as well as she should have, anyway. She’s hardly eaten a thing either, she’s been so worried.”
“No thanks to Monsieur Pickles,” Anson drawled.
Mention of the dog brought a smile to Zadie’s lips. “Yes, let’s blame this on Monsieur Pickles. Dreadful little beast …”
“Ah, you see?” Anson said. “You’re feeling better already. But I suggest you get out of that dress so we can return to the hotel. Maybe if you lie down for a while you’ll feel better. Then I can see about some food.”
She nodded her agreement and tried to rise. “Food …” Her momentum spun and carried her right back into the pew. “… oof.”
“Not so fast,” he said. He stood, took her by the hands, pulled her up and held her against him to make sure she could stand. She looked into his eyes and his chest swelled. The look she held in her own had changed to helplessness. He was now responsible for her, every last beautiful inch. And she knew it.
Without a word he steered her toward the back of the church and into the room where she’d prepared for the wedding. “I’ll leave you two ladies to your work,” he told them then turned to Rev. Norton. “I believe you and I have some business to attend to?”
“Yes, but we’ll have to wait for the ladies. My wife usually acts as witness during the signing of the license.”
“Of that I’m well aware. I wanted to gi
ve you something for looking after my wife.”
“Oh, think nothing of it.”
“We’ll be with you momentarily,” Mrs. Norton said as she gently steered Zadie into the room. “Then you two newlyweds can be on your way.”
Anson watched the women disappear as the door shut and released his breath.
“Don’t worry, son,” Rev. Norton said. “It happens to the best of them.”
“Fainting? I’m sure it does.”
“I wasn’t talking about your new bride. I was talking about you.” He held out a handkerchief.
“Me? Oh … yes.” Anson took the cloth gratefully and mopped his forehead.
“Yep, I’ve performed my share of weddings the last few years,” Rev. Norton continued. “And I can tell you that a lot of the men were just as nervous as the brides. Our pride is what keeps us on our feet. So if you’d like to sit down for a few minutes, feel free.”
Anson quickly glanced between the closed door and the good reverend. “Thank you … I think I will.”
* * *
Two hours later, Zadie was safely tucked away in her hotel room. After Mrs. Norton helped her out of her wedding dress and back into her day dress – sans corset, and really, thank God! – she also helped her carry the gown back to the hotel after all the paperwork was signed.
She was now Mrs. Anson Jones. On the one hand, she didn’t feel any different. On the other, she felt as though the entire world had dropped from beneath her feet and no solid purchase could be found.
She was married, and would now be a part of this man’s life for the rest of hers. But what was that life going to entail? Was she up to the task? She had no idea what a rancher’s wife did. She’d lived in cities all of her life, first Boston and then Denver. Even if they were to live in town, there were still certain wifely duties she was not prepared for…
“Oh goodness gracious,” she muttered. One wifely duty in particular, one that Anson would no doubt expect. She was thinking more of cooking and laundry before that popped into her head. Considering she almost fainted after the ceremony, maybe she could convince Anson in postponing … well, that.
Speaking of Anson, where was he? He should’ve been back by now. How long did it take to check on a horse? And didn’t he say something about food? Her stomach rumbled at the thought and she absently rubbed it in response. She sighed and stared longingly at the door. Maybe he’d come through it with a basket of fried chicken and an apple pie.
Her stomach growled louder this time. “Hold on,” she told it. “Help is on the way. At least I hope so.”
She was beginning to wonder if she should go look for some when a soft knock sounded at the door. She got up to answer it. Anson had made sure she’d locked it behind him after he left. She undid the bolt and opened the door a crack. “Oh thank goodness!”
Anson stood on the other side, a basket in one hand, a canteen in the other. “The cavalry has arrived,” he said with a grin.
Zadie smiled and opened the door wide. “Wonderful – come in and save me!”
“You sound better,” he commented as he walked past her and set the basket atop the dresser. He unscrewed the cap of the canteen and handed it to her. “Have some water.”
She took it from him and had a few sips. “I never thought water would taste so good. And to think I’m not even thirsty.”
He took the canteen from her. “I understand – you’ve been through a lot these last few days. I’m sorry I wasn’t here to meet you. I don’t blame you for doubting if I’d show up.
“You didn’t know I was here,” she said with a shrug. “But you’re here now.”
“Yes, me and this lovely basket of food. Shall we see what’s inside?”
“Please, let’s do.” She watched as he flipped back the napkin covering the contents. The first thing he pulled out was a small bowl of fried chicken followed by some cookies wrapped in another napkin, then a few apples.
“I’m afraid it’s not much, but I have to say that the Rev. Norton and his wife are some of the nicest people I’ve ever met.”
“Mary put that together, didn’t she?”
“Yes, while I was checking on my horse. Rev. Norton was waiting for me on the hotel’s front porch with it,” he said and nodded toward the bed.
She sat and watched as he unfolded two napkins, put a piece of chicken onto each and handed her one. “Here, this will do you good.”
She took the food from him and scooted over as he sat next to her and smiled. “Well Mrs. Jones, this is our first meal together. What should we do to celebrate?”
“Celebrate?”
“Yes, it’s our wedding day – we need to celebrate. Let’s see, we could toast our chicken legs.”
Zadie laughed. “What?”
He held his drumstick like a wine glass. “Come on, hold yours thusly.”
She giggled and did as he instructed.
Anson cleared his throat. “To our marriage. May it be long, fruitful and full of good food.”
“Just food?” she teased, sharing in his light mood.
“Well, we’ll start with food. I could say ‘plenty of money,’ but I think fruitful covers that part, don’t you?”
“Some people might think you were talking about children,” she pointed out.
“Those too … but right now all I can think about is food.” He tapped his drumstick against hers, grinned and took a bite.
She giggled again and did the same. She liked his sense of humor. It made the moment special.
They shared their meal in silence after that, both of them too hungry to talk. By the time they got to the apples they were both full. “Shall we save these for tomorrow?” she asked.
“Sure, they’ll come in handy on the trip home. Speaking of which, I’d better take this basket back to the Nortons’ before I forget.”
“I’ll go with you,” she said. For some reason she didn’t want to be apart from him just yet. He had a calming presence, she noticed and it felt good. Solid.
“Very well, then,” he said.
Zadie stopped and stared at him a moment. “Say that again.”
“What?”
“Say that again,” she repeated.
He gave her a quizzical look. “Very well, then?”
“I thought so,” she said more to herself than him.
He cocked his head. “What is it?”
“You have a bit of an accent. I didn’t notice it until now.”
“Oh yes, I’m much more relaxed. That’s when it tends to come out.”
“British,” she guessed.
“My mother’s from Sussex in England. My father’s American.”
“You must have spent most of your time around your mother growing up.”
“I’d say it was equal measure between the two, but I do have a lot of British aunts, uncles and cousins.”
“Really?” she said intrigued. “How is it that you have so many British relatives here in America?”
“A long story,” he replied. “Several long stories, in fact. It could take weeks … no, months to tell you.”
“Maybe you’d better start on the way to the Nortons’,” she suggested.
Anson smiled at her as he placed the empty bowl and napkins in the basket, then offered her his arm. “Very well, then, I shall.”
Zadie took it with a smile. She was beginning to like Anson Jones even more as she saw more of his character. With a full belly he was more relaxed, his voice a touch softer than before, plus the accent. At first she’d thought he was an Easterner, but he hadn’t mentioned being raised back East in his letters. No, she was positive he’d written that he was born and raised on the Oregon prairie.
They left the hotel and received a few curious looks from those passing by. “It seems word is out about us,” Anson remarked.
“That we’re newly married?”
“What an astute woman you are,” he teased. “I should award you a medal.”
She gave him a playful slap on the
arm. “I’m sure they have their fair share of newlyweds in this town. It’s the only church around for miles with a weekly service. Which means …”
He gave her a sideways glance. “I’m afraid it does. As I told you before, there will be no weekly Sunday sermons for us. Not unless you want to leave for church on Friday and return home on Tuesday.”
Zadie sighed. “No, I think your horses would protest.”
“And you’d be right.”
“Did you go to church in Clear Creek?” she asked, curious.
“Every Sunday and then some.”
“What did the ‘then some’ consist of?”
“Preacher Jo held Bible studies for the men once a week; his wife Annie, one for the women in town. They still do.”
“I don’t suppose they do that around here, do you?”
“Wouldn’t matter if someone did. We couldn’t get there. I’m sorry if that troubles you.”
“What about Morgan’s Crossing?” He might be a comfort to her at the moment, but days on end without other human contact in the future could dampen that.
“They have something at least once a month, remember?”
Zadie felt her relaxed mood slip a notch. She closed her eyes a moment as they walked. No, I won’t let this ruin my wedding day. I’ll get by.
“There are some women in town,” Anson continued. “I met a few of them in the mercantile … er, store, that is.”
Zadie opened her eyes and looked at him. “What’s the difference?”
He shrugged. “I’ve always thought of a mercantile as something much … bigger.”
Zadie cringed. “How big is the store?”
“Probably about the size of your parlor back in Denver, would be my guess. Maybe a little smaller.”
A gasp of dismay escaped, despite her attempt to stop it.
“They’re well stocked!” he hastily added.
She looked at him, a gleam of hope in her eyes. “That’s good to know.”
“If … if you’re a miner,” he added glumly. “But I’m sure we can find a way to get whatever we need.”
“Need?”
“A decent bed, for one,” he muttered. Reality seemed to be catching up with him as well. He was obviously used to having a lot more amenities at hand, just as she was – though she obviously won when it came to creature comforts being close by.