by Regina Scott
“We are here to arrange your wedding,” Mrs. Arundel announced.
“I couldn’t impose,” Elizabeth started, but the woman held up a meaty hand.
“It is no imposition,” she intoned, feather in her hat bobbing its agreement. “It is our duty. I told Mr. Arundel the moment he sent the telegram for Pastor Stillwater that nothing would stop me from making sure you two were married properly.”
What other way was there to marry, particularly when she was marrying a minister?
“It’s very kind,” she tried again. “But...”
“Helen,” Mrs. Arundel barked.
Helen Carson stepped forward with a motherly smile. Fading blond hair framed a pleasant face made kind by the wrinkles fanning out beside her blue eyes. “If you’ll let me take your measurements, the ladies of the quilting bee would be delighted to sew you a wedding gown.”
“How thoughtful,” Elizabeth said, truly touched, “but there’s no need to go to such trouble.”
“Nonsense,” Mrs. Arundel said. “We cannot have you marrying our pastor in rags.”
If her aunt had still been alive, she would have had some choice words to say about calling the expensive dresses she’d had made for Elizabeth into question.
“Mrs. Fuller,” the lady continued as Helen took out a tape measure and began wrapping it around Elizabeth’s waist.
Stella grinned at Elizabeth as she stepped forward. “My roses are gone, but I have foxglove and lilies coming on, and I know where to get some green eyes and rose mallow. We can gather some up for your bouquet and can put a vase or two around the church for color.”
Mrs. Arundel nodded her approval. “Mrs. Green.”
Mrs. Carson nudged Elizabeth to stretch out her arm for measuring as Mercy Green took Stella’s place in front. “I’ll have apple, peach and blackberry pie for the reception. Pastor likes apple, and his brother is partial to peach.”
Elizabeth noticed no one asked her preference, but she couldn’t complain. Blackberry was her favorite.
“The general store will donate cider,” Mrs. Arundel added. “And the church has plates and cutlery.”
“And I’ll bake a wedding cake,” Fannie promised, face flushed with excitement Elizabeth wished she could feel.
“We’ll have the usual gentlemen play for the reception,” Mrs. Arundel put in.
A reception with music? Perhaps things were getting a bit out of hand.
“We needn’t do anything so fancy,” Elizabeth protested.
Mrs. Arundel ignored her, tapping her chin with one finger. “We’ll invite the whole town, of course. And all the outlying farms and ranches.”
Mrs. Hickey, who had been mercifully silent until now, spoke up at last. “All the farms and ranches?”
“All of them,” Stella insisted. “Those cowboys deserve a party, same as the next person.”
Mrs. Hickey sniffed. “I simply thought that, as a pastor’s wife, Miss Dumont might care who she associated with.”
They all looked to her. There was no easy answer. If she included everyone, she ran up the cost and the effort. If she excluded the cowboys, she was no better than Mrs. Hickey.
“If we intend this as a community celebration,” she said, “it would be wrong to keep some members of the community away.”
Mrs. Hickey deflated, but Mrs. Arundel nodded again. “Quite right. We are all God’s children.”
“But no dancing,” Mrs. Hickey insisted. “I don’t hold with a pastor cavorting.”
Annie frowned at her. “But your husband calls the dances.”
“There will be dancing,” Mrs. Arundel decreed before Mrs. Hickey could answer her. “And Pastor Stillwater can decide whether it’s seemly for him and his bride to take part.”
They all nodded at that, and it struck Elizabeth again how easily they all deferred to his judgment. Would they expect her to do the same? As the pastor’s wife, was it her role to make everyone happy?
Was she ready to take on that role?
* * *
Brandon wasn’t entirely surprised to find the ladies of his congregation planning an elaborate wedding. In general, Little Horn was blessed with bighearted people, and they loved any excuse for a community get-together. What did surprise him was how little of the event was in his and Elizabeth’s control.
“The wedding gown, food, music and decor are all arranged,” Mrs. Arundel told him scarcely two days after Elizabeth had accepted his proposal.
There was no question in his mind how the lady knew he and Elizabeth were getting married. The telegraph ran out of the Arundel General Store, and her husband had sent the message to Mr. Milner in Burnet seeking the other minister’s help.
“Have you determined what the minister should say as well?” Brandon inquired with a polite smile.
If she heard any sarcasm in his question, she ignored it. “A reminder of the wedding at Cana should suffice. Or perhaps the creation of Eve. The Book of Common Prayer may have recommendations. I could look if you like.”
“I think we can safely leave that in Mr. Milner’s hands,” Brandon said.
She nodded, feather twitching in her hat. “I merely wished to ensure you had a ring. We have several at the store.”
She looked at him pointedly. No doubt she expected him to assure her that he would be delighted to purchase a ring from her fine store, but he had something else in mind.
“I have my mother’s ring,” Brandon told her.
He thought she might protest that the rings at her store were far superior, but she smiled. “How suitable. The product of one happy marriage blessing another.”
He refused to tell her how wrong she was. His parents’ marriage has been anything but happy. Still, his mother had been so loving, so kind, he knew she’d want Elizabeth to have the ring. It was certainly finer than anything a country parson could offer.
Yet he could not help but wonder after Mrs. Arundel left him to the peace of his study. Bo had sworn off marrying so he would never perpetuate the hurtful family they’d known. Brandon had followed their mother’s way instead—loving service, care for those less fortunate. Would she have been pleased he’d offered for Elizabeth, or had he taken his beliefs too far? Should he have held marriage sacred to love?
He drew out his Bible, thumbed through the pages, so worn now that the edges were curling, the lettering smudged in places. After his mother had died, this book had offered solace. When his father had called him worthless, the Bible had whispered he was truly loved. He knew what it said about marriage. Husbands and wives were to cleave together, stand united against the difficulties life brought, rejoicing in the good.
Could he do that with Elizabeth?
Could he do that with anyone but Elizabeth?
She was the only one who had ever stirred his heart beyond the affection a pastor owed a member of his congregation. He had never thought to marry her for convenience’s sake rather than love, but he could not be sorry for his offer. As her husband, he could protect and provide for her, ensure she lacked for nothing. He felt as if he owed her that at least.
And so he found himself standing at the foot of the altar rather than its head two weeks later on a sunny September day when Mr. Milner came to read the vows.
The church was filled to overflowing. His usual congregation came to wish their minister and his bride well. The others came from curiosity or the promise of food and entertainment. He spotted Jo and Gil Satler in the back row, eyes wide and faces scrubbed clean. Even Dorothy Hill, he noted, was sitting near the back, beside Tug Coleman of all people. Annie and Jamie sat on either side, the girl glancing about as if memorizing every detail for her own wedding. Perhaps that was a good sign.
Bo and Louisa were in the front row, beaming at him, with Jasper in Louisa’s arms and Eli in Bo’s. Beside t
hem, Caroline held Theo while Maggie made faces at the tot, and David gave Brandon a nod of encouragement. Lula May looked dreamy-eyed on Edmund’s arm, and CJ and Molly Thorn smiled at each other as if remembering their own wedding a year ago.
Then Mrs. Hickey wiggled into place before the piano, and music wove through the building. Elizabeth appeared at the end of the aisle.
Helen Carson and the ladies of the quilting bee had done themselves proud. The graceful cream-colored gown was embroidered all along its hem with red roses on twining green vines, rose buds on the puffy short sleeves and vines edging the modest fitted bodice. Her hair was piled up high, and pearl combs fixed in place a veil that draped her shoulders. He felt as if he could see the blue-green of her eyes even from this distance as the crowd rose and she started down the aisle toward him.
His bride.
His wife.
It was a good thing he wasn’t preaching today, because his tongue seemed to be stuck to the roof of his mouth, and all he could do was drink her in.
She walked alone, having no father, uncle or brother to give her away, yet Brandon thought each step was brave and sure. What had he ever done to deserve such a wonderful responsibility, such bright hope?
Whatever happens, thank You, Lord.
As she drew abreast of him, he took her hand and held it tight. Her smile was soft.
“Dearly beloved,” Mr. Milner began. A slight man with flyaway white hair, he managed to convey seriousness and delight at the same time. “We are gathered together here in the sight of God to join together this man and this woman in holy matrimony, which is commended by St. Paul to be honorable among all men and therefore is not by any to be entered into inadvisably or lightly.”
Brandon had said those words more than a dozen times himself, yet never had they pierced his heart so surely. He wasn’t entering into this lightly. He entered marriage knowing that he and Elizabeth would have to work hard to make a family. There was no doubt in his mind she was up to the challenge.
Was he?
Chapter Fourteen
Elizabeth could hardly believe she was married as she wandered through the reception in the field between the church and parsonage on Brandon’s arm. Much as she had wondered at all the help she’d received, she could not wonder at the results. Her beautiful dress whispered about her ankles as she crossed the grass. The walls of the church and parsonage were draped in red-and-white bunting that vied with the wildflowers for attention, and the tables were groaning under the pies and the wedding cake.
The local cowboys, including Kit Durango, were polite and humble, standing off by themselves as their employers talked and danced, but Elizabeth could see some of the young ladies casting glances in their direction and thought it was only a matter of time before someone asked one to dance as well.
“Congratulations,” Fannie said, coming up to them with Jasper in her arms. The little boy reached for Elizabeth, and she took him and cuddled him a moment.
Annie and her mother had also offered to care for the triplets during the reception, and Elizabeth could see them now, moving through the crowd and stopping to let folks visit with the boys. The quilting bee had also sewn new shirts for the boys, a soft blue with a rosebud embroidered on the collar. It was almost as if they had been the groomsmen.
“Thank you,” Brandon said to Fannie, bending his head to make a face at Jasper. The baby crowed in delight.
“So, are you all settled into your new home?” the older woman asked.
Reluctantly, Elizabeth handed her back the baby before he could christen the wedding dress. “I believe so. I understand Mr. Arundel and Mr. Crenshaw are moving my things and the boys’ over to the parsonage this afternoon.”
Brandon smiled and nodded, minister’s face firmly in place. Then he took Elizabeth’s arm and continued their stroll about the area.
“I can see I’m a terrible husband already,” he said, nodding to a couple who had raised their cups of cider in toast.
“What do you mean?” Elizabeth asked, smiling at a family they were passing.
“If we were still in Boston, I would have whisked you away for a romantic honeymoon. New York, Paris.” He wiggled his brows. “The mighty metropolis of Burnet.”
She giggled. “The parsonage will do. I know you have responsibilities. So do I.”
“The boys,” he agreed. “I’ll do my best to make sure no one interferes with that responsibility, Elizabeth.”
She wasn’t sure what he meant. Would the Lone Star Cowboy League suddenly take even more interest in the triplets now that she’d married Brandon? Or should she expect more visitors because she was in the parsonage?
Caroline sashayed up to them just then and batted her lashes. “Shouldn’t the bride and groom be having fun at their own reception?”
“I’m having just about as much fun as I can tolerate,” Brandon said, face solemn.
She shook her head, smile broad. “Don’t you tease me, Pastor. You need to dance.”
Elizabeth remembered the argument in her room about whether a pastor should frolic. Very likely Brandon wouldn’t feel comfortable. Some of the country dances did seem to involve a lot of hopping about.
“It’s probably not wise,” she told Caroline, glancing about to find Mrs. Hickey watching them avidly.
Brandon gazed down at Elizabeth. “Would you care to dance, Elizabeth?”
Her gaze went to the couples, who were just finishing a set. The ladies were laughing, the men patting each other on the back for their efforts. Wouldn’t it be delightful to just let go for a time?
“Does the minister’s wife dance?” she asked Brandon.
He bent closer, until his breath brushed her ear. “My wife can do as she pleases. I see that smile on your face. Let’s dance.”
Before she could argue, he pulled her into the group.
Mr. Hickey grinned at them as they took their place at the head of the line. His wife might wonder about the advisability, but he certainly had no qualms. Neither did anyone else. They nodded and called greetings before Bo stepped forward, guitar in hand.
“What will you have, Pastor?”
Brandon eyed Elizabeth. “Something sweet, for my sweetheart.”
Several ladies sighed.
Elizabeth wanted to sigh as well. The look in his eyes was so tender, so endearing, that the silver warmed. If only she could believe the love it promised.
“A waltz, then,” Bo ordered, and he struck up the chord. The other musicians followed suit.
Brandon swept her into his arms. They had never attended a ball together in Boston, him being a divinity school student, but the feeling of his arms around her brought back memories of stolen kisses and murmured promises. He twirled her about the grass, the skirts of her wedding gown belling out about her. She knew other people were dancing too, but all she could see was Brandon’s smile, all she could hear was her heart pounding.
All she could feel was hope.
Laughter woke her from the dream.
“Your timing’s off, brother,” Bo called. “The music ended four beats ago.”
Brandon’s cheeks were pinking as he drew her to a halt.
“Sufficient unto the day are the worries thereof,” Brandon told their audience. “And so are the joys.”
To applause, he took her arm and walked with her away from the dancing area.
Elizabeth had barely caught her breath when Mrs. Arundel sailed up to them.
“Tolerable reception,” she pronounced. “And I was pleased to see you dance, Pastor. Some people need such a good example.” She glanced to where Mrs. Hickey was glaring at them. The lady had obviously counted that dance as one more mark against Elizabeth, but she found she couldn’t care.
“Though perhaps you should take the opportunity to speak to the cow
hands,” Mrs. Arundel continued with a look to Brandon. “We must convince them to change their ways.”
As the riders had been uniformly polite and restrained, Elizabeth couldn’t see what needed correcting.
“I’ll be sure to invite them to services,” Brandon promised the lady.
She raised a graying brow. “Well, there’s no need to go that far.” She turned to Elizabeth. “I will see you at the literary tea on Thursday. Do bring someone to manage the babies so they don’t interrupt.”
She sailed off without waiting for a response.
“Literary tea?” Elizabeth asked Brandon.
“Several of the ladies meet in the parsonage parlor to discuss books,” he explained. “I’ll see if I can convince them to try another location.”
“That might be better considering the babies,” Elizabeth agreed. “I’m not sure they’re up to a literary tea. But you won’t turn away Mr. Durango and his friends, will you?”
His true smile appeared. “Have a soft spot in your heart for cowboys? Never fear. Everyone is welcome in God’s house, Mrs. Stillwater.”
Mrs. Stillwater. She couldn’t accustom herself to the name, for all she’d once dreamed of making it her own. She heard it more than a dozen times before they quit the reception and took the boys inside the parsonage, leaving the congregation to set things to rights.
Elizabeth hadn’t visited the parsonage in Little Horn yet. Given her past association with Brandon, it had seemed intrusive to say the least. Now she couldn’t help glancing around as they entered through the front door, Jasper in her arms and Eli and Theo in his.
“It isn’t anything grand,” Brandon said. “The good people of Little Horn designed this house with the needs of the community in mind.” He settled the babies more closely and nodded to the wall of the entry hall. “Brass hooks for the hats, coats and gun belts of visitors and an iron boot scraper to knock the mud off their feet.”
Jasper was leaning toward one of the brass hooks on the paneled wall. Elizabeth turned him for the doorway on the right. “And in here?”