Romancing the Bride

by Melissa Jagears

  “As long as he doesn’t call upon us on a Sunday, of course.”

  Feeling every eye upon her, Annie fanned herself again. “His work doesn’t always make it possible to rest when he pleases, but I’m sure he doesn’t expect others to go against their convictions for his convenience.”

  Mrs. Beard cocked her head. “Good. His profession is one where it would be dangerous to quit on Sunday altogether—but the railroads, the stagecoach?” Mrs. Beard rapped her hand on the lectern and thankfully took her eyes off Annie. “Despite those who claim closing travel on Sunday would be unrealistic—it is, in my opinion, that the stations very well could be closed, except for the apathy of Christian workers—and to our shame, ours as well. If we gave them no business, they would not remain open. Trains on Sundays are not a necessity.”

  Annie tried hard not to fidget in her seat, but how much longer could she sit in this furnace of a room? When she’d learned Harriet’s mother would not be attending after all, she should’ve slipped out the door and gone back home.

  “Too many have said, ‘We have tried to schedule Sundays off and failed.’ But we must keep to our task, and that brings me to the Daily Ricochet.” Mrs. Beard held up the newspaper as if it were coated in manure. “Not only does it produce a Monday paper—meaning the purchase of said paper encourages work to be done on Sunday—but Mr. Crandall insists on running ads enticing people to purchase liquor.”

  Annie made a mental note to hide her newspaper if any of the temperance women came calling.

  “At the least, let us all boycott the paper’s Monday edition. Now what else shall we be sure to...”

  Annie held her tongue while listening to the women generating lists of businesses to boycott and people to confront. The ladies didn’t seem to be the kind to listen to differing opinions, but surely trying to shame non-Christians into rigorous Christ-like living wouldn’t entice them to seek the Lord, but rather drive them away.

  Many of the faces surrounding her were rapt with attention or on fire with indignation. Maybe this wasn’t the best place to find new friends—not that she was against the group’s goals, but she couldn’t imagine joining the militant chorus of approvals as Mrs. Beard condemned many of Armelle’s citizens every month.

  “Ladies, thank you for your attention, and let us all work diligently on our goals this coming week. Before you leave, feel free to have more cookies and tea.”

  Annie glanced at the insanely large number of leaflets she and Jacob were supposed to hand out—likely more leaflets than there were citizens in the county—then looked across the aisle to the one woman who’d seemed about as uncomfortable being here as she’d been.

  Corinne Stillwater was likely a few years younger than she was, yet a heavy weariness slumped her shoulders, giving her the look of a mother drowning in a sea of children and chores. The woman had yet to rise from her seat, her head bowed. But considering she was rubbing her lye-cracked hands, she hadn’t fallen asleep.

  Annie slipped across the row and sat beside Corinne. The laundress’s clothes were brilliantly white and starched per usual, but they were awfully threadbare. “Would you like to get some cookies with me and chat?”

  The younger woman’s blond brows rose, then scrunched as if trying to place Annie.

  “I know we’ve never really met, but I’m Annie Hendrix, Celia’s mother.” Last fall, Corinne had hired Celia to do laundry for a few weeks. “Now that I live in town, I’d like to get to know more people—”

  “I’m afraid I don’t have time for teas and such. I hardly have time for anything but work.” She lifted her right hand and turned it palm up. An angry red welt festered in the crease near her thumb. “I’m only here because this got infected and it makes it difficult to work very long.”

  She placed her hand back in her lap and gave Annie a smile that was oh, so close to looking real. “But every woman needs a cookie once in a while, right?”

  Perhaps Harriet’s mother not being here wasn’t so terrible after all. If someone could teach Celia a thing or two about persevering without grumbling, this woman could. “Is anyone helping you while your hand heals?”

  She looked down. “No, but the doctor says it’ll be all right by next week. I just hope I don’t lose customers before then.”

  “Why don’t I have my daughter come help you?” She’d hoped to have seen elation on Corinne’s face, but instead, her expression tensed.

  “I can’t afford help, Mrs. Hendrix. I’m already behind paying for what needs to be paid for.” Corinne ducked her head and rubbed at her eyes.

  Annie gave her shoulder a squeeze. “That’s all right. Celia doesn’t need to be paid. I was thinking—”

  “Oh, but that wouldn’t be fair. She knows how hard the work is, and she’d not want to do so for what little I could spare.”

  Though she wanted to insist that Celia would work for free, wages might spur her daughter into being the worker Corinne needed. “What if Jacob and I paid her wages? She’s been a trial lately, and I’m thinking manual labor might do her some good. Might as well have her help you instead of polishing the floors I’ve already polished. Of course, if she’s more a hindrance than a help, don’t feel obligated to keep her for my sake, but if her work earned her a little something, I think she’d do well by you.”

  “I don’t know.” Corinne let out a noisy exhale. “But I could ask her. If she says yes, then we can arrange things. If not...”

  “Fair enough.” If Celia said no, their floors would be that much shinier. “How about you come over tomorrow?”

  At the woman’s nod, Annie rose. “Let’s get some cookies.”

  “I’m afraid I shouldn’t have more. I need to return to the laundry and do what I can.” Corinne stood and gathered her things. “But I’ll come by your house late tomorrow.”

  Annie said her goodbyes and started for the snack table.

  Mrs. Tate hobbled up beside her with an empty glass. “How are you adjusting to your new husband since it’s been such a short time since the last one passed?”

  The woman’s disapproving glare made Annie fist her hands at her sides. “It’s not a situation I ever hoped to find myself in, but I am thankful God provides.”

  Mrs. Tate simply held her gaze.

  The knot in Annie’s throat stayed lodged despite repeated swallows. Why couldn’t the line for tea move faster?

  The elderly woman’s mouth twitched. “When I lost my husband, I had five little ones at home.” She paused to frown. “I loved Mansferd with a passion nothing and no one could take away, not even his death. Years passed before I could even think about another man raising my children, because no one could measure up to my Mansferd.”

  Mrs. Tate tilted her head as if in question.

  What response did the woman want? “It must be of great comfort to look forward to seeing him again in Heaven.”

  Mrs. Tate’s lips turned into a half smile. “Yes, and I’m sure he’ll be comforted by the fact I didn’t leave him behind so quickly for the arms of another.”

  Annie stifled a gasp.

  Mrs. Tate’s silvery eyebrows rose as she shrugged. “But you do what you must—or so the people around here say. It’s what the newspaper owner is saying about Sabbath work, isn’t it? Along with the railroad men. Seems to me, if we all had more faith in the Lord, He could bless us at the right time, His way. Good afternoon, Mrs. Hendrix.” The old woman leaned more heavily on her cane as she started forward to refill her glass.

  Annie shut her eyes and willed herself to think kindly of Mrs. Tate. The whole town knew the real reason no man had ever offered the widow his hand. For who could live with such judgment?

  Giving up her spot in line, Annie didn’t bother to retrieve her leaflets before heading for the exit.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Annie stared at the letter she’d started after returning from the temperance meeting.

  She’d yet to get past “Dear Mother.”

  So many things had
happened since she’d informed Mother of Gregory’s death. And little of what had transpired would be welcomed information.

  Loud thumping overhead made Annie frown up at the ceiling. How could Celia make so much noise in such a tiny room? Was she trying to annoy Annie into letting her come down and run about as she pleased?

  Annie shook her head and picked up her letter. What should she tell her mother about Celia? That she’d been right? That raising a dignified young lady out West was impossible?

  Maybe Celia should deliver this letter personally and stay at her grandmother’s Virginian home for an extended visit. No finishing school on this planet could be more rigorous and demanding than Grandmother Saint. If Celia didn’t return home a proper young lady, she’d at least be more appreciative of her family.

  Annie snatched up her dip pen, re-inked, and set the tip to paper.

  I know it’s been months since I’ve written, and you may be surprised at the changes that have occurred in such a short time, for I myself can scarcely believe it. Thank you for writing last winter and offering to pay our way to Virginia to begin anew. I was unfortunately correct in my last letter’s assessment. I couldn’t run the ranch without—

  Gregory.

  Annie’s pen hovered mid-sentence. It hurt knowing that writing his name was as close as she would get to him now, and yet, she wanted that distance a little more every day. She didn’t want to cry anymore, didn’t want to hurt.

  Her mother had been immensely fond of Gregory—even if he had dragged her daughter off to this “godforsaken land.”

  Would Mother view her marriage to Jacob as a betrayal, as Mrs. Tate had? Mother still didn’t know about Gregory being accused of the sheepherder’s death. Annie’s outrage at the charges had kept her from penning it last fall, and now she didn’t feel right speaking ill of the dead, especially since no one had proven anything. She twirled the pen between her fingers.

  How would Mother respond if she divulged the flurry of her mixed-up feelings over the remarriage?

  Though Jacob hadn’t yet said “I love you” like Gregory had oft repeated in their sixteen years of being man and wife, she felt them more with every second Jacob spent with her.

  Above the parlor mantel, Gregory’s guns, now Spencer’s, glistened like they never had now that Jacob had taught the boy how to give them a thorough cleaning. The broken arm on her rocker had been fixed without her even asking. He’d even set Celia’s old rock collection on the parlor windowsill after noticing her daughter had stuffed them under her bed.

  Annie’s smile slowly drooped into a frown. What had she done for him since moving in? He might thank her every day for cooking and cleaning, but she’d have done so for herself and the children.

  She laid down her pen and massaged her forehead.

  If Mother wrote back with one unkind word about her marrying Jacob, she’d ignore her every opinion thereafter—Mrs. Tate’s, too. For Jacob had chosen to love the family foisted upon him without anything in return.

  She picked up her pen. She’d introduce him to Mother with great fanfare and not hide how grateful she was that he’d come into their lives at the exact right time.

  The front door flew open, and Spencer crashed through the parlor and fell into her lap. His tiny arms squeezed her torso. “Afternoon, Mama.”

  She kissed the crown of his head, inhaling the clean scent of him. “Had fun with the Whitsetts, I see. Why don’t you go up and ask Celia if she plans to come down for lunch?” The girl had to be hungry.

  He gave her a quick peck on the cheek and ran up the stairs as if a bear chased him.

  Leah’s chuckle sounded from the open doorway. “My girls never had so much energy.”

  Annie let out a puff of air. “I wish I had a fraction of it. Come in. Thank you for letting him get some of that energy out.”

  “I’m afraid I actually made it worse. He can stuff more sticky rolls in that lean, little body than I thought.” Leah laughed as she stepped in and pulled off her bonnet. “How’d last night go?”

  Annie’s palm flew up to cover the trail of kisses she could still feel on her neck.

  “Hmmm. I take it you didn’t waste the entire night lecturing a wayward child?”

  Annie popped off her chair and knocked her pen onto the floor. Bending over to retrieve it, she tried to come up with a response to Leah’s tease, but nothing seemed appropriate.

  Too bad she hadn’t a reason to stay under the desk. Her face was so warm, her cheeks were likely a deep crimson. She came up, careful to keep her face turned away from Leah as much as possible, and set the pen down on paper.

  Leah’s laughter chimed through the room. “Annie, girl, you act as if you’ve been caught in an indiscretion.” She came over and put a hand on her shoulder. “After all that’s happened, I’m glad you’ve found some happiness.”

  “So you don’t fault me for not observing the one year and one day mourning period Mrs. Tate and—?”

  “Since when should anyone listen to relationship advice from Mrs. Tate?” She tsked. “If the Lord hands you a blessing, you don’t spit on it for the sake of good standing with a bunch of women who’ll never be happy no matter how many of their lines you toe.”

  Annie glanced behind her to make certain Spencer hadn’t returned. “But still, in some ways, it feels wrong.” She lowered her voice and willed herself not to blush. “I’m not exactly in love—”

  “Love comes in many forms.” Leah’s hand squeezed her shoulder as the now familiar whine of the back door sounded. “Including that of a busy man leaving work to have lunch with his family.” Leah backed up a little to wave into the kitchen. “Good afternoon, Jacob,” she called through the hallway.

  A warm shiver radiated from Annie’s chest into her fingers. She hadn’t expected him home until this evening. Her feelings were not as collected as she’d wanted them to be upon his return.

  “Hello, Leah.” He walked purposefully into the room, his gaze pinned on Annie. He stopped in front of her, his brown eyes looking more like fresh brewed coffee than their normal creamy brown. “Anne.”

  Though Leah was still present, his voice had dipped intimately low.

  “I best be going.” Leah sounded distant. “Thanks for letting me play mother hen to Spencer.”

  Annie tore her gaze from Jacob to find Leah backing away. “I hope we didn’t put you out too much on such short notice.”

  “Not at all. Don’t hesitate to send Spencer back to me any time you have a need.” Her mouth tweaked up into a wicked grin as she snatched up her hat. “I’ll let myself out.”

  Annie stared at her friend’s back until it disappeared behind the door.

  “Is it time for lunch?” Jacob twirled her around by her shoulders. His gaze lowered to her neck. “I’m hungry.”

  Oh my, was he in a mood.

  She looked toward the empty stairwell. “The children will be down any second. If I’d known you were coming—”

  He slid his arms about her waist. “Nothing would’ve kept me away today.”

  A door above banged, and footsteps scurried overhead.

  Jacob pulled her in closer, his eyes dark and intense.

  Wasn’t he paying attention to the thumping on the stairs?

  “With you in my arms, the weight of the world has slid right off my shoulders.” His face nuzzled into the curve of her neck.

  She flattened her palms against his chest. “The children,” she whispered.

  “So?” His breath tickled her skin, and his arms tightened about her.

  Her pulse beat erratically against his lips, and she whispered sharply. “It’s not proper for them to see us like this.”

  Jacob shook his head and blinked. Had she just said embracing her wasn’t proper? What silly rule was she following now? “A man’s allowed to hold his wife in his own home.”

  “But—”

  “Didn’t Gregory kiss you in front of the children?”

  She stilled. “Occasionally, yes,
but that was...” She averted her eyes and her voice dropped. “…different.”

  He released her.

  His fool tongue.

  He knew another man had loved her, known her, held her, and he’d sworn he’d never force her to compare. And yet, he just had.

  “I see.” He swallowed the lump in his throat.

  He’d not realized hearing where he didn’t measure up would hurt so much.

  “I’m not sure you do.” Her gaze darted to the stairwell.

  His heart clenched. A hug and a kiss in front of the children after last night was nothing indecent.

  Unless, she regretted...

  He tensed. “Last night—”

  “It’s not that,” she whispered.

  “Then what?” He took a step back and crossed his arms. The stress he’d shed last night returned, digging its fingers back into his neck and shoulder muscles.

  “I want to make sure Celia’s in a good place before…” she whispered as the shuffling of feet sounded on the stairs. “Well, I’m not certain this is the best time for them to see how our relationship has changed. You see, Gregory wasn’t—”

  “Hey, Pa.” Spencer hopped off the last stair, and Jacob cast him a weak smile. He tipped his head in the direction of the kitchen, and the boy obeyed without hesitation.

  “I suppose timing is my Achilles’ heel.” Jacob fixed his eyes on the ceiling where the oil lamp’s soot had built up. He shouldn’t have come home acting like a love-sick schoolboy. “If I’d visited the Crawfords’ northwest section last week instead of this morning, I’d have found rustlers instead of tracks. If I’d married you a week earlier, Bryant could’ve warned me about the loan defaulting.”

  If I’d waited until you loved me to show you how much I love you, you’d be counting down the seconds until you were back in my arms rather than worrying about when it would be proper to be so.

  A failure all around, that’s what he was.

  She laid her hand on his arm, and his bicep contracted at her touch. “I just don’t want her to think—”