A Bride For Bode (The Proxy Brides Book 21)

by Marisa Masterson

  The days leading up to his wife’s arrival had been hectic. Also, he’d camped in a tent for the last two months to save money so it had been weeks since he’d shaved or had a good soak in a tub. As Rex handled the customers Bode hadn’t worried about his appearance. Now he heard the Lizzie Campbell’s whistle and knew that he’d run out of time to visit the bathhouse. His bride was here.

  Scooping his coat and hat up off of the beer kegs which he’d been inventorying, he hurried out through the back door and around the building to the main street to start his half a mile walk to the ferry landing. If she arrived with a trunk, he would need to arrange to have it delivered. He just didn’t have the funds to hire a wagon on the oft-hand chance that one would be needed.

  Leaving the street to cut across lawns and fields, he miscalculated his step along the river’s edge. The bank was slick from heavy rain that had fallen the night before and Bode ended up slipping down it. He landed on his right side and came away caked in mud.

  At the ferry landing, a crowd swarmed around the riverbank, pushing like cattle heading into a chute. Why did the people mill around since they should be leaving after disembarking? Looking around him, he noticed more than one person held signs painted with a name. He realized then the difficulty he faced in finding a wife he couldn’t recognize. Shoot! He didn’t even have a description of her to know her hair color.

  A break in the crowd opened up then and he moved forward toward the gangplank. With tenacious determination, he decided that he would simply ask every unaccompanied and lost-looking young woman if her name was Violet Parker.

  Should he say Barrigar instead? He’d ask, “Miss, are you Violet Barrigar Parker?” That was a good plan in case she wasn’t used to her new name yet.

  After stopping three women and receiving quickly issued negative replies and more than one glare from men who claimed the ladies, Bode began to feel idiotic, mentally kicking himself that he hadn’t painted a sign. Regardless, he made ready to ask the next woman descending the ramp.

  Golden streaks shone in the light brown hair that escaped both her hat and the knot at the back of her neck. He watched in amazement that she could hold up her skirts and carry her bag without falling in the crush of people. As she reached the bottom, the woman stopped to look around her and Bode stepped forward to ask her the question he’d posed three times already.

  At the very moment that he opened his mouth to speak, a woman brusquely pushed past the young lady. The girl tumbled forward and, mindless of how forward his behavior might be perceived, Bode reached strong hands around her arms to save her from falling.

  Once she stood upright again, he put a hand under her elbow and escorted her to a small bench set a short way away from the river’s edge. Glaring at a man already seated there, his dark look caused him to vacate his spot. Holding onto her elbow, Bode helped the golden-haired beauty lower herself onto the bench before removing his hand from her person.

  “Miss, will you be alright?” The lady nodded, and he met warm brown eyes. An exchange of sorts happened in that gaze and he felt a spark heat his chest. It was as if he had been waiting to meet this woman. If he were a praying man, he might petition the Almighty for this to be his new wife. Since God couldn’t change what already was in the works, he knew that thought was silly.

  “Would you like me to escort you somewhere?” He reached a hand again toward her. She looked nervously at him and shied away from his hand.

  When she still didn’t say anything, he knew he should leave her be and return to searching the river bank. This girl appeared too innocent to be a woman forced into agreeing to a proxy marriage. No, a girl like this will have been coddled and protected. She was probably here to meet a spinster aunt or a grandmother.

  While he reasoned that it was pointless, he nonetheless asked his question in a strained voice. “Are you Violet Barrigar Parker?”

  Horror! That word best described her reaction to his use of the name. Her eyes rounded and the soft, pink lips opened with a softly voiced, “Oh!” He watched her eyes travel to his scruffy beard and then down his shabby, mud-caked work clothes. When her eyes once again met his gray ones, he read a disappointment there that she couldn’t hide.

  Suddenly, understanding filled her face before she spoke her first words to him. “I expect that my husband sent you to fetch me to him.” Hope colored her tone and Bode knew she didn’t want him to be her groom. Having grown up around cultured and well-groomed people, he sympathized with her hope. He would need to visit the barber and the bathhouse so she could see the man beneath the hair and filth.

  It stunned him that he should care. Only an hour ago, he mentally practiced how to discuss an annulment with her. Now he desperately wanted her to accept him. Touching her, hearing her gently whisper one sentence, losing himself in those rich brown eyes—it had been enough to change his mind about the marriage.

  She repeated herself with uncertainty in her voice, and Bode grasped the fact that he hadn’t responded to her. He stared stupidly at her instead with mouth agape. Shutting his mouth he hardened his lips for a moment to gather his composure.

  Shaking his head in response, he watched her face as he introduced himself and gave a brief bow. “I am Bode Palmer Parker.”

  The young woman blanched and seemed to wilt. Thankfully she still sat on the bench so she didn’t collapse totally. It was truly an inauspicious start to a marriage he now, inexplicably, wanted badly.

  The October afternoon felt cool to Bode. Violet must have felt differently as she removed her bonnet and began to fan herself with it. Honey hued tresses fell around her face at its removal and he longed to reach out and tuck them behind her ears. The mud clinging to his fingers prevented him from touching her lovely hair no matter how badly he wanted to test its softness.

  She didn’t say anything, staring gloomily at him. At least she didn’t cry. He felt glad for that.

  “You don’t need to take my arm, but we do have to make our way back to town. Do you feel up to walking or should I rent a carriage?” He searched her face for an answer, expecting her to nod or shake her head.

  To his surprise, she spoke with falsely warm timbre to her voice. “Of course, I will take your arm. I apologize for my confusion, but I am recovered now.” She stood and put a hand on his muddy sleeve. When he smiled down at her, she weakly returned the gesture.

  She showed backbone. Maybe there was more woman than girl in her after all. He hoped so because he wanted a wife to work by his side rather than one who expected him to baby her. At least, that’s what he decided, now that he knew he would keep this woman.

  Chapter 4

  Hands gripped her arms and she looked up into one of the hairiest faces she’d ever seen. Mud clung to one side of the man’s beard and dripped from hair that reached his collar.

  Stunned, she had docilely followed him to a bench. During the last day, she’d fervently prayed that her husband would be there to collect her when she arrived. The dear Lord had even led him to be there to save her from a tumble.

  Comprehending that her prayer had been answered, she looked past the hair and mud. Violet chose to focus on the polite manners and concern he’d shown her. Schooling her features as best as she could manage, she placed a hand on his left arm and allowed him to carry her carpetbag.

  Disappointed, overwhelmed and fatigued. That best described her at that moment. She forced her mind to remember that she was blessed and not abandoned. He had been there and was even now taking her to their home. Everything would be fine.

  They walked up the main street of Nebraska City. A post office stood beside a mercantile. She expected the mercantile to be his business. After all, his father had owned a store in Pittsburgh so it was only logical that the son would follow that example when founding a business.

  Silence engulfed them and made it easy for Violet to become lost in her thoughts. She was so deep in them that a young man calling Bode’s name surprised her. “Hey, Parker. Got a message for you. I
t just came across the telegraph.”

  Her husband fished for a coin from his pocket and gave it to the messenger. They’d stopped in front of a brick building with a sign hanging above the door that named it The Ferryman. A man greeted Bode and tipped his hat to her before opening the door. She peeked through the opened door and saw a long counter with countless glass bottles behind it. Embarrassed, she realized that her husband had mistakenly stopped in front of a tavern.

  Squeezing his arm to gain his attention, Violet looked up at her taller than average husband. He did have lovely eyes. The gray color was lovely, but what drew her was the warmth that she saw in them. Before she could mention their proximity to the saloon, he set her carpetbag down and moved her to his right arm.

  “I wouldn’t be much of a gentleman if I let you continue to walk next to the street.” A warm chuckle accompanied his words and she felt it touch her inside. It created a feeling almost like rubbing her fingers across velvet. She’d never experienced the like and marveled that this dirty, ill-kept man’s laugh could create warm tingles in her.

  They began to walk farther along the side of the street. “Did you attend a specific church in Pittsburgh?” He continued to stroll as he asked the question.

  “Yes, the South Baptist Church. Every Sunday, whether it was stormy or fair.” Her voice sounded more normal now. He must have realized that too, as he stopped them and looked into her face.

  “Good. Your voice has lost that forced quality. I hope it means you are more relaxed now.” She nodded in answer and gave him a shy smile.

  He grinned and started them moving again. “We have a bit of a walk to get to the First Baptist Church. There’s a bridge up a few more streets. The church lies directly across Table Creek.”

  Now that they could speak more easily with each other, Violet didn’t feel intimidated about questioning him. “Why are we going to a church instead of your home?” She felt exhausted and didn’t want to tour the town.

  He sighed and stopped to look at her as he spoke. The arm under her hand tightened so that she could easily feel his tension. “Bingham sent a telegram and put off sending my inheritance. He is requiring a marriage certificate before he’ll send my money.” She knew her face must reflect her confusion. In response, he shrugged. “Guess he was afraid one of us would annul the proxy marriage. Don’t know why it matters to him. Do you?”

  “I think he and my cousin want to be sure I have a home.” Even as she said that Violet knew her words were false. “No, that’s not right since neither ever showed me much kindness.”

  Her husband grinned. “He’s done me a good deed by sending you. If you’ll agree to it, we’ll marry today and send off a copy of the certificate. I’ll jump through one more hoop, so to speak. If he doesn’t send the money, I’ll have to get my own lawyer next and sue for it.”

  She found that boyish grin engaging. Days ago, she’d already made her commitment to him in front of Judge Morgan. To marry him in a real ceremony was a small but meaningful thing to grant him. “You don’t look like the wealthy merchant’s son who I expected. Still, I am already committed to you. If this is what you want…”

  He patted the hand that lay on his arm and took them up the steps of a white-washed wooden building. The church was empty so they left it and walked to a small house that stood behind it. That too gleamed white in the last rays of the fading October sun.

  A short, slender young man answered the door. “Are you the preacher?” Bode’s question let her know that he didn’t typically attend this church. She hoped he did regularly attend another one. Surely, a mercantile owner would be an active part of his community and part of being active meant that he would attend church.

  Rather than answer the question, the younger man yelled, “Pa,” before waving them into the house. Sparsely furnished, the front room of the house nevertheless had a homey feeling, probably created by the doilies that graced the backs of the two chairs as well as the sampler hung on the wall.

  An older man with a long salt and pepper beard came into the room and moved forward to shake Bode’s hand. “Welcome. I’m Micah Brown. And you are?”

  Her husband took the offered hand and smiled. “I’m Bode Parker.”

  At those words, the minister stiffened and pulled his hand out of the other’s grasp. “Are you the one who’s opened that new saloon, The Ferryman?”

  It was Violet’s turn to stiffen. With a gasp, she whirled on Bode. “You don’t own a mercantile?”

  He looked at her with puzzlement etched on his face. “Did Bingham tell you I ran a mercantile?”

  She shook her head and mentally chastised herself as a child. She hadn’t asked the questions she needed to. Rather than sort through what she knew and ask questions to fill in the gaps, her imagination had invented what seemed most likely to her.

  Wanting time to sort out the situation she decided it would be best not to go home with her husband. As she was at the minister’s house, she turned to him for help. “Reverend Brown, is there a women’s rooming house or hotel in Nebraska City?”

  Bode’s face went crimson at her question. Pointing a finger in her direction, he determined to make clear who was in control of the situation. “Wait one doggone minute! You’re my wife and you stay with me.”

  Though he spoke with a low and controlled voice, her husband might as well have roared at her. She flinched and an older woman who had just entered the room came to stand next to Violet, putting her arm around the girl’s shoulders.

  The preacher held up a commanding hand and waited until all eyes were on him. “Is this true, young lady? Have you already spoken vows to be this man’s wife?” His ice blue eyes seemed intent on ferreting out the truth.

  Violet didn’t get a chance to respond before Bode reached for her hand and pulled her into his side, away from the older woman. “She married me by proxy last week. The lawyer and her cousin want the marriage made official with another ceremony now that she’s here.”

  Preacher Brown stroked his beard as he considered the young couple. “What God has joined together. Seems the knot’s been tied earlier, but I still feel compelled by my calling to make a suggestion.”

  The man paused rather dramatically before he continued. “You know, the lord gives grace to the humble. So I want you to consider the young lady as I ask you to do something.”

  The preacher’s hand left his beard. He crossed his arms and he fixed a serious gaze on Bode. “Wait three days and then come to church Sunday. I will marry you after the service that day. I’m sure my wife and a few of the other women of the church will be happy to provide a small reception afterward.”

  A huge smile brightened Violet’s face. Looking down at her, her unhappy husband reluctantly nodded. She met his gaze and whispered, “Thank you. This will give us a few days to be sure we suit.”

  He stiffened. “I don’t have money for you to stay in a hotel.”

  The preacher intervened with his hands held up, palms out as a signal for the conversation to stop. “We would love to be able to house this young lady here but haven’t the room. Edna Andersen will take her in. She houses female boarders.”

  At Reverend Brown’s suggestion, all eyes turned to Bode. A muscle twitched in her husband’s jaw. Otherwise, she noticed that he remained tense but controlled. So far, she was impressed that he didn’t seem violent when angry. That was one thing in his favor, though it didn’t outweigh owning a saloon.

  “I’m surprised at you not supporting a marriage already made before God and witnesses, preacher.” He squared his shoulders to make one more push to get his way. She had thought he’d given up on marrying again that day, but Bode was again kicking that empty bucket.

  “Three days, Bode.” Her pleading eyes looked his way. “In the meantime, I have some money and will pay the landlady to stay with her. This way, we’ll have a wedding I can remember fondly.” Her voice ended on a wistful note that won him over to her way of thinking.

  When she saw his fac
e soften, she reached out and squeezed his dirty hand. The touch started that same warmth deep inside her. There had to be a way past the impediment of his owning The Ferryman.

  Mrs. Brown decided to add her voice then. “We don’t know this young woman’s name yet.” After Bode introduced her the woman continued in motherly, no-nonsense tones, telling them all what would happen.

  “We will go along to introduce Mrs. Parker to Miss Andersen. Then Saturday, she and I will clean the church and ready it for the wedding. In the meantime, I will contact a few of our ladies to produce a pot luck meal after the service.” Finished with her pronouncement, she put on her coat and bonnet before exiting the house.

  Bode and Violet exchanged a stunned look, but Reverend Brown merely chuckled. “That’s my Alma. Always ready to take charge. Best to follow her.”

  Offering Violet his arm, the couple left the house. Mrs. Brown stood outside the door with arms akimbo and a tapping foot. She spoke, not unkindly, but brusquely, “I’ve supper to finish so let’s be off.”

  The barber was just about to close up shop when Bode caught him at the door. “I need to impress a girl to save my future and my business. Just a quick shave and haircut please.”

  The older man squinted his eyes in annoyance and then snorted. “You been rolling in the mud with hogs, boy?” Still, he waved Bode inside the shop and turned the chair to indicate he should sit.

  Bode sat in the high seat and sank gladly back against the upholstery. It had been a trying day. Resting his boots on the footrest, he sighed as Heinz wrapped a warm towel around his face, probably as much to get rid of the mud as to soften his beard.

  While the towel did its work, Heinz carried on a one-sided conversation. He was intent on retelling any gossip he’d heard about townsfolk. Bode felt sure one of the reasons the barber kept his shop open for him this afternoon was that the man wanted another story to tell his customers. He could imagine the tale of the saloon owner desperate to marry for money, or some such thing, that would be going around town by tomorrow morning.