by Kit Morgan
Isabella nodded jerkily. The stage was pulling into Nowhere, and suddenly the bravado that had carried her all the way from New Orleans began to falter. She had to remember why she was here and not give in to fear.
The stage came to a stop and she drew in a deep breath. “I can do this,” she whispered.
“I can’t wait for you to meet my family,” the sheriff said over her whisper. “I know I don’t live here, but it’s kinda like a second home to me when I visit.”
Isabella smiled in acknowledgement, not sure of all he’d said, and pulled the leather flap that covered the stage-door window aside. Nowhere was small, even smaller than she’d expected. She closed her eyes and tried not to panic. Her heart was beating faster than it ever had before, even faster than when she’d fled her father’s house.
“Here we are!” Sheriff Hughes announced with glee. “I can’t wait to see my great-nephew Charlie! He wasn’t born too long ago, you know.”
Isabella nodded again amidst her rising terror. She held her breath to get her breathing under control and hoped she didn’t sport a red face when she disembarked.
The stage door opened and the sheriff once again allowed her to precede him. She took the driver’s hand, stepped out into the golden light of sunset and scanned her surroundings. Her dark eyes moistened as she turned this way and that, but saw no one who could be her intended. Then she realized that he might be on the other side of the stage, and she’d been searching for him across the street.
Not waiting for the sheriff, she picked up her skirts and walked around the rear of the stage. A chorus of gasps caught her attention and she looked up to see a row of people, men and women, lined up on the boardwalk and staring down at her with a stunned expression. Their inquisitive stares made her feel self-conscious, and she looked elsewhere.
Stop it, Bella! Be strong! she thought to herself. She straightened, then looked them over as if about to give them each a sentence. “I look for … Mr. Calvin Weaver. Where is he?”
“Doggone! Didja hear that?” one of the men said in wonder. An older woman next to him smacked him in the chest. “Ma!” the young man protested.
Another man stepped forward and stared at her bug-eyed. What was the matter with these people? He swallowed hard as he looked her over. “I’m … Calvin Weaver,” he squeaked.
She studied him. He was tall and … molto bello! Very handsome, and broad of chest besides. She arched an eyebrow as she looked him over, her mouth suddenly dry. Maybe this wasn’t going to be as bad as she’d first thought …
“Howdy, Leona!” Sheriff Hughes called to the group on the boardwalk. “Come give me a hug!”
One of the women hurried past the line of people to a set of stairs and hurried down to him. “Harlan, it’s so good to see you!” She went into his arms and gave him a fierce hug, then pulled away and stared at Isabella. “And who do we have here? Don’t tell me you got to ride with this lovely creature?”
“Yep, sure did,” he told her. “This here’s Miss Isabella Cucinotta. She’s come to marry Calvin Weaver over there. C’mon down here, boy, and meet your bride. She ain’t gonna bite, you know.”
The man called Calvin stepped forward, jumped to the street and stared at her.
Isabella felt her heart stop. The man really was magnificent – all muscle and sinew, like a Swiss guard. She’d seen handsome men before, but society and convention had destroyed the true passion in them. Not this man – she could see it in his eyes. This one was wild, untamed … she smiled at the thought.
He took a few steps toward her as his eyes roamed her face and body. She knew she looked good. Her traveling dress and cloak were of high quality, and she’d spent everything she’d had to get the fabric to make it. It was to be part of her trousseau when she married …
“Howdy, ma’am,” he said as he reached her. His voice was a whisper, and she found herself leaning toward him to hear.
Isabella glanced at the others before meeting his gaze, then curtsied.
“Wow,” one of the men on the boardwalk gasped.
Isabella noticed the stunned look on her betrothed’s face as she met his eyes again. Then she waited. And waited. Was he going to acknowledge her or not? But for the longest time, he stood and stared at her as if he’d forgotten how to talk.
Finally, he found his voice. “Miss Cucinotta,” he whispered. “Ya sure are purty.”
She smiled. The sincerity in his voice was hard to miss.
“Now isn’t this just the nicest thing!” the sheriff’s sister said with a clap her hands. “We’re going to have a wedding!”
Another man stepped off the boardwalk and approached them. “You say that about all the weddings around here, Mrs. Riley.” He stopped in front of Isabella and smiled. “I’m Arlan Weaver, Calvin’s brother.” He glanced at Calvin, then gave him a little kick in the shin.
Calvin jumped. “I’m okay!” he blurted.
“Not yet, ya ain’t,” Arlan said. “Not unless ya get yer bride to the church. Even then, ya two might have to wait ‘til tomorrow. Daniel said the preacher ain’t back yet.”
Calvin shook himself. “What? He’s not?”
“Oh dear, that’s a problem,” said the sheriff’s sister – Leona, was it?
Another woman approached, a tiny, older one who looked at her as if she’d just seen the angel Gabriel. “I knew you’d be beautiful.” She took Isabella by the hand then looked at Calvin. “She’s just as I imagined her, son.”
He smiled. “You can imagine a lot better’n me, Ma. I’m … still a little shocked.”
“Mi scuci … I mean to say … excuse me. We can no get married?” If she understood Calvin’s brother – Arlan? Or was it Harlan, like the sheriff? – the priest wasn’t in town. What a disaster that would be! She had to get married!
“Of course you can, dear,” Leona said. “But it might have to wait until tomorrow. What’s one night? You can be married as soon as the good reverend returns. I’ll see to it myself.”
“That’s right,” Arlan said. “The Johnson farm is next to yours.”
“I’ll send Clayton or Spencer over and let everyone know Calvin’s bride is here.”
“We’d sure appreciate that, Mrs. Riley,” Arlan told her.
“You must be starving after that long trip,” Calvin’s mother, Signora Weaver, said. “Unless Mrs. Gunderson made up a good heavy stew. Did she?”
“Soup and sandwiches this time around,” Sheriff Hughes said. “I could do with a bite. Are you ready to head out to your place, Leona?”
“Just as soon as Spencer finishes up some paperwork. He’s inside the sheriff’s office if you’d like to see him.”
“Don’t mind if I do.” Sheriff Hughes headed for the boardwalk, then turned before reaching the steps. “You’re going to have a fine wedding, Miss Cucinotta. And don’t worry, I’ll be there!” He tipped his hat, spun on his heel, marched up the steps to the nearest door and disappeared inside.
Isabella fought back tears. He’d been such a comfort this last leg of her journey and she suddenly felt unprotected in his absence. She stood straighter and faced her future husband. “We not get married until morning, then?”
“Er … I guess not,” he whispered as he licked dry lips and stared at her in … she discreetly glanced around. He wasn’t looking at anyone but her – and the look he had on his face was something she’d never seen before.
Usually men in America stared at her with a hunger that said run! Run as fast as you can now! For if I catch you, I will devour you. She was almost used to that. But Calvin Weaver had no such look. Instead, his was one of admiration, as if she was a fine painting, or an icon in a church. She didn’t know how to deal with this. “Mr. Weaver?”
He gasped and took a step back. “Oh, uh … can I take yer bags?”
She looked over her shoulder, to see her trunk and satchel sitting on the ground. She’d had no idea the driver even unloaded them, being too preoccupied with her intended’s preoccupation
with her. “Si … eh, yes!” She made a circular motion in front of her mouth. “My English … it not so good at times.”
“Shucks, ma’am,” he said. “Mine ain’t either, so I guess that means we oughta get along fine.”
His statement shocked her into a smile. She watched him move past her and – oh my! – hefted her trunk up on one shoulder. “We’d best head back to the hotel then. It’s gonna get a might chilly if’n we wait ‘round out here.”
“Land sakes, he’s right!” Signora Weaver cried. She snatched up Isabella’s satchel and took her by the hand. “Follow us, child – I wouldn’t want you to catch cold before you marry Calvin!” She gave Isabella a tug to get her moving.
“I’ll come to town first thing in the morning, Mary, to see if you need any help,” Leona called after them.
“You do that,” Signora Weaver called back.
So, her name was Mary. Isabella committed it to memory and followed along. She hadn’t thought about what to call her intended’s mother, but wasn’t going to worry about it now anyway. First, she had to make sure she got married. “Where … we go?”
“To the hotel. Oh dear, this means we’ll have to get another room – you can’t very well stay with Calvin and Daniel!”
“Daniel? Who is this Daniel?” she asked, then remembered. “Oh yes, a brother!”
“That’s right. Speaking of which, where is that boy?”
“Right here, Ma!” Daniel caught up to them. “Mrs. Riley wanted to know if Miss Coon … I … awtah … aw, dagnabit. I’m sorry, but I cain’t say yer name too good.”
Isabella blushed. “You no have to. It will be your name tomorrow.”
“My name?” Daniel asked, then giggled. “Oh, you mean Weaver!
“Si, si, Weaver!”
Daniel stared at her with a huge grin on his face. “Can you teach me to talk like that?”
Isabella wasn’t sure if he meant her accent or language. “Italiano?”
His smile broadened. “Yeah, that.”
“Si, I teach you.”
His face turned to one of pure delight. “I cain’t wait!”
“Land sakes, boy!” his mother scolded. “Let your brother marry her first!”
Daniel’s face fell. “Aw, Ma! Don’t ya think I know that?”
“Just making sure,” she said and led Isabella up a set of stairs and through the doors to the hotel. “Here we are.”
Calvin set Isabella’s trunk down near the hotel’s front desk. The woman standing behind it stared open-mouthed at them. “Is … this your mail-order bride, Calvin?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he replied, looking between the two. “And she’s gonna need a room.”
The woman managed to pull her gaze from Isabella and fix it on him. “Mabel and the Reverend still out at the Johnson farm? I hope they bring me some cider.”
“About the room?” Calvin said, glancing nervously over his shoulder at his future bride.
“Oh yes, right away.” She opened a large book and scanned a page. “I have one left. Hotel’s full on account of the festival tomorrow.”
“Yeah, I kinda figured it would be. I also figured I’d be married tonight, but …”
“One night more ain’t gonna kill ya!” Daniel said with a roll of his eyes.
“You shut up!” Calvin turned on him, one arm half-pulled back.
Isabella’s eyes went wide. Was he going to strike his brother?
“Calvin!” his mother barked. “Mind your manners in front of your bride! You can hit your brother all you want when you get to your room!”
The woman behind the counter blanched. “I’d much prefer he didn’t do it there neither.”
Mrs. Weaver sighed. “Oh, all right.” She turned back to her sons. “You’ll just have to wait until you get home.”
Now Isabella paled. These were indeed wild men! But the thought oddly thrilled her. She’d heard about men like these, but never thought she’d ever meet one. Especially one as handsome as her future husband …
“We’d best get you up to your room,” he declared. “Less’n ya’d like to eat first?”
“Take her things up, Calvin,” his mother ordered, then looked at Isabella. “You really should eat something. I know how long it takes to travel from the Gundersons’.”
Isabella nodded as she put a hand on her belly. “Yes, food.”
Signora Weaver smiled. “Well, I’ll say this for you, child. You may be a woman of few words – for now – but you know what you want.” She gave her a quick wink, then followed her sons up the stairs.
* * *
Calvin set Isabella’s trunk at the end of the bed, turned and stared. She was stunning, beyond anything he could have possibly imagined. She’d described herself in her letters as “a woman of average appearance and temperament,” which led him to think she wouldn’t be awful to look at, but this … hmmm. And if her beauty far surpassed her own description of herself, what about her temperament?
“Are ya hungry?” he asked, remembering his manners.
She nodded. “Si … uh, yes. I am sorry, my English …”
“Like I said before, don’t worry about it. I don’t talk so good either. Ya’ll be in good company.”
“Maybe ya can teach him some Eyetalian like yer gonna teach me,” Daniel said. “I wanna learn all kinds of words.”
She smiled at his enthusiasm, then turned back to Calvin. “We eat now?”
“Yes, let’s.” He approached her, not sure whether or not to take her hand. He held his arm out instead – he should have thought to do that in the first place.
She took it slowly, as if she wasn’t sure what he would do when she touched him. He almost sighed with relief when her arm finally wrapped around his.
“Well don’t just stand there,” Ma said. “Let’s go get some food in this poor child.”
They left the hotel and went down the street to Hank’s Restaurant. After getting a table and ordering, Calvin at long last began to feel more comfortable. He still couldn’t get over his future bride looking like she’d stepped out of some priceless painting. Pa’d had a book with pictures of fancy paintings from folks whose names he couldn’t begin to pronounce. He’d have to find it and show the pictures to Isabella, but he doubted if any of the pictures could compare to her.
“Tomorrow’s the town harvest festival,” Ma said, causing him to jump.
Isabella studied him a moment, then turned to his mother. “What is this … festival?”
“It’s where all the folks around here get together to celebrate making it through another year without starving. More or less.”
Isabella’s eyes widened, and Calvin caught a flicker of fear in them. “Ma,” he scolded before addressing his bride. “It ain’t as bad as that sounded. Folks around here don’t starve.”
Isabella put a hand to her chest and took a deep breath. So she was afraid! But why? Had she known hunger? He watched her study each of them, her eyes settling on him. “Your farm, it is … success? What days you go to market?”
“Market?” Calvin said. “Oh, we don’t go to market.”
She shook her head in disbelief. “You no sell at market?”
“Nah, we’re too busy eatin’ what we grow to sell most of it. We do sell apples and pears to Mrs. Gunderson every year, but the rest we use for ourselves.”
“What this? How you make money if you no sell at market?”
Calvin caught the surprised looks of Ma and Daniel. They were as befuddled as he was. “We grow what we need to feed us, and Ma sells hats to buy what we cain’t grow.”
Isabella looked horrified. “How you … how you live?”
“Tell me, child,” Ma said as she reached for one of Isabella’s hands. “Just how were things where you came from? Were your family farmers?”
Her eyes darted around the table, and Calvin instinctively braced himself to grab her if she tried to bolt. One would think they’d just cornered a wild animal by the look on her face. “No. My family,
we no farm. We … we work.”
“What kind of work?” Calvin asked.
She closed her eyes in resignation, as if her next words pained her. “All kinds. What work we could find.”
Ma looked her up and down. “You must’ve found a lot of it judging from your clothes.”
Isabella turned her face away as she ran her hands over her dress. Good grief, had she stolen them? “Did ya make what yer wearin’?”
She nodded, but didn’t look at him. She wasn’t going to cry, was she?
Calvin leaned toward her. “Ya can tell us later. Now let’s eat.”
She looked up in relief as Hank brought a tray of plates to their table. He set their orders in front of them, asked if they needed anything else, then left them to their meals.
Isabella was quick to pick up her fork but Calvin stopped her. “Not until after the blessin’,” he said gently. Her red eyes slowly came up to meet his – yes, she had been about to cry. But why?
“Dear Lord,” his mother began. “Thank you for delivering this child to us unharmed, and thank you for this food. Amen.”
Calvin took one last look at his mail-order bride and silently thanked the Lord for the same thing. The sooner he married her, the better.
Three
The next day came all too soon for Isabella. She awoke before dawn, as was her habit, and wondered if she’d be able to go through with this. She had to get married to keep her father and his mad scheme at bay, but was she about to jump into another world of poverty and squalor? She’d had enough of that before leaving Italy with her family several years ago.
And then they’d crossed an ocean – only to be plunged into more of the same, thanks to her father. Antonio Cucinotta was quick to pick up a very bad habit upon reaching American soil, one she suspected got started on the ship they’d crossed over on: gambling.
Isabella’s mother Maria didn’t like his new found habit any better than she did. Her father had found work right away, but his wages were quickly consumed by the dice and the cards. Worse yet, Maria had died during their first winter in that drafty New York tenement.