The Anonymous Bride (Texas Boardinghouse Brides 1)

by Vickie McDonough

  The mayor lifted his hands, two shirts in each one. “Quiet down. Hush up, now. We have a winner, although I want to say the competition was stiff.” He looked over his shoulder at the brides. “Nice job, ladies.”

  His announcement sent the crowd into another frenzy. After a few moments, the noise settled, and the mayor continued. He held up his left hand again—the hand that held the tan and white shirts. “These two are not the winners.”

  Luke watched the brides’ expressions as the mayor tossed the shirts back onto the table. Miss O’Neil ducked her head and wrung her hands. Miss Bennett’s eyes gleamed, and Miss Blackstone puckered up her lips and shoved her hands to her hips. He was certain he knew who’d taken the tan shirt.

  With a blue shirt in each hand, the mayor waved them around. “One of these is the winner.”

  The crowd silenced as if they were awaiting a life-changing announcement—and well it could be, for one woman. Mayor Burke held up the dark blue shirt. Miss Bennett’s hands flew to her chest, and she leaned forward.

  “This one here,” the mayor said, “is not the winner.”

  Miss Bennett blinked and fell back against the side of the jail, disappointment dulling her countenance. Something twisted in Luke’s gut. The last shirt must be from the anonymous bride. Bile churned, and thoughts of all the unmarried women in the area, from Bertha Boyd to the Widow Denison with her five kids, raced across his mind.

  “Here’s our winner, folks.” Holding the cornflower blue shirt by the corners, the mayor peered back over his shoulder again. “Which one of you ladies does this belong to?”

  No one moved, just as Luke knew they wouldn’t. The mayor scowled and turned to face the brides. “This doesn’t belong to one of you gals?”

  All three shook their heads.

  “Well.” The mayor faced the crowd again. “Looks like the anonymous bride is our winner again. If you’re here, ma’am, would you please step forward?”

  Other than the playful shouts of some children, total silence reigned. Heads turned left and right as each person seemed to be looking for the anonymous bride.

  “She’s not coming. Just like last time.” Miss Bennett stepped forward. “If she can’t bother to show up, seems like she ought to be disqualified.”

  Luke knew her plan. If the winning entry was thrown out, she would be named the winner. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that. The blond wasn’t hard on the eyes, but he didn’t care for her tendency to boss others around. He preferred a woman who was quieter—and sweeter.

  Mayor Burke surveyed the crowd. “What do y’all think? Should we toss out the winner?”

  Yeas and nays sounded all around, until the mayor held up his hand. “Let’s take a vote. Who all thinks the anonymous bride should be disqualified?”

  “Yea!” The loud cheer filled the air.

  “All right now, who’s opposed?”

  An even louder roar rumbled down the street. Luke’s heart sunk. He’d halfway hoped the anonymous bride would be eliminated. But that would mean he’d have to marry one of the boardinghouse brides. Somewhere, deep in his heart, he was holding out for someone better suited to him. He just couldn’t let his brain—or his heart—wrap around who that was.

  He stared out at the many faces in the crowd. So many he knew, and others he didn’t. Could the anonymous bride be standing right there in the road but not have enough nerve to step up and announce herself?

  “All right, the nays have it. Here’s what we’re gonna do,” Mayor Burke said. “I’m giving the marshal two weeks to take each of the brides to dinner one night so he can get to know them better. If the anonymous bride doesn’t reveal herself in a fortnight, she’ll be banned from participating further.”

  People swarmed Luke once the mayor dismissed them. He fielded comments and questions and an interview from Jenny Evans. When the music started, the townsfolk drifted back to their friends and families.

  Luke turned around, and his gut twisted. The tan shirt was no longer on the table with the other shirts.

  ***

  Monday morning, Luke strode into the freight office with Max at his side. The whole town was buzzing over the mysterious bride, and he was sick of fending off questions from folks who wanted to know if he knew who she was. He needed some advice. He was feeling more and more that he couldn’t marry one of the boardinghouse brides.

  Garrett looked up from his messy desk. “Well, howdy there, cuz.”

  Luke nodded. “Where’s Mark?”

  “Gone to fetch some coffee. Want some?”

  “I could use a cup. Been several hours since I had some at the boardinghouse.”

  Garrett leaned back in his chair. “So which of them brides are you gonna ask out first?”

  Luke crossed the room and leaned against Mark’s tidy desk. “I don’t know. I’ve been trying to figure a way to get out of taking them at all.”

  “The mayor won’t like that.”

  “Nope, I don’t guess so. But I’ve been praying hard about what to do, and I haven’t gotten leave from the Lord to marry any of those gals.”

  “I reckon He’ll give you guidance if you keep praying. Maybe you outta go talk to the reverend. He might could offer you some good advice.” Garrett leaned his chair back against the wall and put his feet on his desk. “Then again, you could walk right out the door and marry the first bride you see.”

  “You might be onto something there.” Luke ran his hand over his bristly jaw. He hadn’t even taken time to shave before he rode out.

  “Right about what?”

  “Talking to Reverend Taylor.” Luke should have thought of that sooner. He was still a fairly new Christian and needed the wisdom of a man more schooled in God’s way. As soon as he left here, he’d pay the parson a visit.

  “And here I thought you meant that you were gonna marry the first woman you saw when you left here. But then again, it just might be Bertha Boyd.”

  Luke grinned and shook his head. His cousin was ornery all right, but he sure could make him chuckle.

  Luke left the freight office, made his rounds through town, and headed toward the parson’s house. At the end of Main Street, a motion snagged his attention, and he stopped and leaned against a post. Rachel was sweeping her front porch, but the way her hips swayed, she could be dancing.

  Suddenly what Garrett had said came to mind. Why not marry the first woman you see?

  A lump lodged in his throat. Marrying Rachel didn’t sound as distasteful as it had when he’d first returned home. Had he gotten used to seeing her? Being around her? His clothes often held her scent as if she’d held them against her chest while returning them to his home. Her tasty meals had filled his belly three times a day. But he’d once trusted her completely, and she’d stabbed him in the back in the worst way possible. How could he ever trust her again?

  Pushing away from the post, he walked down the street. Rachel saw him and stopped sweeping. Her gaze looked worried, apprehensive, but why should she be uneasy around him? He touched the end of his hat and dipped his head at her. She acknowledged his greeting by nodding once.

  He should have kept on walking, but something drew him to her like a moth to a lantern. Maybe she could never be his, but he could be polite. Sociable. “How are you today?”

  “Fine, thank you.” She studied the porch floor rather than looking at him. “I thought I’d get out here and do the sweeping before the day heated up.”

  “It’s a lovely day.” She’d once been his best friend, the one person he shared his hopes and dreams with, and now they were reduced to talking about the weather.

  She glanced up at the sky, avoiding his gaze. “Yes, it’s near perfect, although I wouldn’t mind a summer thunderstorm to blow through and cool things down.”

  “It would probably just dump more moisture in the air and make us all sweat.” Luke winced at his dumb remark. Goodness, couldn’t he even talk normal with her?

  “I suppose that’s true.” She glanced at her front
door. “I’d better get back inside and start breakfast. I imagine you’re getting hungry, and my guests will be up soon, wanting to eat.”

  “Don’t hurry on my account.”

  Rachel’s cheeks turned a soft rose color. “I’ll see you in about an hour, I guess.”

  Luke nodded and watched her go inside. He hadn’t noticed before, but she looked as if she’d lost weight recently. Her dress hung looser and looked a bit bunched up at her waist. Was caring for the brides too much for her? But owning a boardinghouse, she was surely used to having guests much of the time.

  Concern for her nagged his steps as he headed toward the parson’s place.

  ***

  Rachel watched Luke walk away. She hated the awkwardness that existed between them, but with him close to choosing one of the brides to marry, she had to distance herself from him, had to protect her heart.

  There was no sense mooning over what could never be, even if her heart was breaking. She’d prayed for Luke’s forgiveness ever since he returned, but she couldn’t force him to pardon and forget what she’d done to him.

  Back in the kitchen, she washed her hands and tied on her apron. She wondered who he would choose, though she’d decided Miss Bennett would be the best choice, even if she was as prickly as a cactus at times. Rachel hugged her mixing bowl to her chest. The young woman was a farm girl, surely a good cook and seamstress, and would make any man a decent wife so long as she held her attitude in check. Miss Blackstone was too rough and seemed unsettled. Rachel couldn’t help feeling as if that woman was hiding something. And Miss O’Neil wasn’t much of a cook and didn’t seem to have the stamina needed to survive the rugged lifestyle a Texan lived, although she sure kept her room tidy.

  Truth be told, none of the brides were the perfect match for the marshal. But then, was there even such a thing as a perfect match between a man and a woman?

  Standing at the counter, she stared at the rounded bread dough that was ready to go in the oven. She’d once thought that she and Luke were a match made in heaven. But she had to go and ruin it. Tears burned her eyes and made her throat ache. If only she could go back and do things over—but then she wouldn’t have her daughter. Give me strength, Lord, to do the right thing.

  She reached into her pocket and touched the letter from her aunt. Millie had written again, asking her and Jacqueline to come to Kansas City and live with her and help work in Millie’s mercantile. The move might be good for Jacqueline. It would get her away from those ruffian boys, but she wouldn’t like moving and would most likely throw a fit at leaving Luke and Max. But once Luke had a wife and children of his own, he would no longer be interested in her daughter.

  Rachel’s chin wobbled. She had to get hold of herself before either Jacqueline came to help or someone else noticed. With the oven properly heated, she placed the two loaves of bread in it and cracked the eggs for breakfast.

  An hour and a half later, after she’d sent Jacqueline out to weed the garden, she donned her bonnet and headed to the mayor’s office. She had a hard time imagining living anywhere other than Lookout, but she knew her days in the small town were numbered. Living here with Luke married to one of the brides was out of the question. She hoped that the income from the sale of the boardinghouse would be all the money she and Jacqueline needed for a long while with her aunt providing room and board.

  Before entering the mayor’s office, Rachel turned and looked at Hamilton House. She loved the soft green with white trim and the wraparound porches that looked so inviting with all those rocking chairs just waiting for people to sit in them. But Hamilton House would soon be part of her past.

  Sucking in a steadying breath, she opened the door and went inside. If things went as planned, she and Jacqueline could be on the train to Kansas City in a week or two.

  CHAPTER 26

  Luke stared into his coffee cup as Mrs. Taylor finished up the breakfast dishes. “Thanks, ma’am, for that fine meal.”

  The preacher’s wife looked over her shoulder and smiled. “You’re very welcome. We’re happy to have you anytime, but it’s the least we could do after all the wood you helped Thomas chop and stack. Why, we shouldn’t need any for a month, I would imagine.”

  Luke nodded. “My pleasure.”

  “I helped, too, Ma.”

  Mrs. Taylor smiled at her son. “I know, Sam. I saw you out there stacking wood. You did a fine job.”

  The boy puffed up his chest and glanced between his pa and older brother.

  “Boys, you head on out to the barn and muck the stalls.” The pastor turned to his daughter, a cute blond around six years old. “Emily, help your ma finish cleaning up, and watch the baby when she wakes up.”

  “Yes, Pa.”

  The boys carried their dishes to the cabinet beside the dry sink and rushed outside. Emily scraped the plates and stacked them beside the basin where her ma was washing. Luke watched the activities around him. What would it be like to have a home with a mess of children?

  The pastor couldn’t be more than five years or so older than him, but he was way ahead of Luke as far as starting a family. Pastor Taylor downed the last of his coffee and stood. “Shall we adjourn to my study?”

  Luke followed the man out of the cozy kitchen, down a short hall, and into a nook across from the parlor. The small room painted white held a desk on one wall, a bookcase filled with reference books, and a small settee. In front of the desk was a chair. Pastor Taylor motioned for Luke to have a seat on the settee and grabbed the top of the chair and swung it around to face the couch. Then he closed the door to the room and opened both windows. A light breeze fluttered the blue curtains as the pastor took a seat.

  With short brown hair and wire-rimmed glasses, he looked more like a bank teller than a minister of the gospel. He crossed his hands over his light blue chambray shirt and stared at Luke. For a moment he refrained from speaking, and Luke sat still, resisting the urge to wiggle like a schoolboy in trouble. Was the man praying?

  Luke cleared his throat. His nerves had settled during the hour and a half that he’d chopped wood and eaten breakfast, but they were on the rise again. He jiggled his foot and stared out the window. Why had he felt such a need to speak with the pastor?

  “So ... something on your mind today?”

  Luke nodded, relieved to be starting yet unsure where to begin. The pastor wasn’t a native of the town and probably didn’t know about Luke’s previous relationship with Rachel.

  “You nervous about picking a bride?”

  “Uh ... no, well yes. But that’s not the main reason I needed to talk to you.”

  “All right. Just take your time. I’m in no hurry.”

  Luke ran his fingers through his hair. Sucking in a steadying breath, he stared at the preacher. “I ... uh ... guess you could say I’m having trouble forgiving someone for a past offense.”

  “Ah, I see. And have you prayed about it?”

  Luke’s hand clamped onto the arm of the settee. “More than you can imagine.”

  “Is it something that’s happened recently or a while back?”

  “A long time ago—more than a decade, actually.”

  The pastor’s brows lifted. “That’s a while to carry an offense. Must have been a big one.”

  Luke pursed his lips and stared out the window, remembering Rachel’s words. She’d looked at him, the whites of her eyes and her nose red from tears, and that alone had nearly done him in. I’ve married James Hamilton.

  A gunshot point blank couldn’t have hurt any worse. He’d been working for a year to make enough money for a down payment on a little house and to support Rachel. She’d been the love of his life, the only girl he’d ever had eyes for. But she dumped him to marry the richest man in town.

  “Luke,” the pastor’s soft voice drew him out of the past. “I know you’re a Christian, but how long have you been one?”

  He shook his head. “Not long. Less than a year.”

  “I can tell you that forgiving isn’
t an easy thing, even for a man who’s been a believer for most of his life.” He leaned forward, head down for a moment. “If you’ve read your Bible, you know that it says in Mark, ‘But if ye do not forgive, neither will your Father which is in heaven forgive your trespasses.’”

  Luke faced the pastor. “I know that, but it doesn’t tell me how to forgive. Just that I need to.”

  “I can tell by your expression how you’ve struggled with this. Forgiveness is a choice, Luke. We must choose to forgive and turn loose of our hurts. Nobody can do that for us.”

  “But how do you do that?” Luke leaned forward, his elbows on his knees.