He took a decisive step forward. “Mrs. Valleau.”
“Mrs. Valleau!” Mrs. Cobb cut in, a scandalized expression on her face. “You’re not wearing a corset.” She cleared her throat. “Ladies must wear them.”
Mrs. Murphy wagged her head, making the wattle of skin under her throat shake. “Saw her ride in, I did. Dressed like a squaw. Wouldn’t expect her to know how to dress decent.”
Antonia paled and half turned, headed toward the other room.
Erik took a few steps to stop her from fleeing. “Do not speak to my wife-to-be in that manner,” he ordered.
Antonia gasped and whirled around.
Play along, Erik told her with his eyes.
“What are you saying, Mr. Muth?” Mrs. Cobb said sharply. “You have a wife. Bigamy is illegal in this state, you know.”
“I’m well aware of that fact, Mrs. Cobb.” Erik did his best to sound pompous and authoritative. “Actually, I am premature in my announcement by a few minutes. My wife, Daisy, has died in childbirth, although my daughter lives. Our baby would have joined her mother if Mrs. Valleau hadn’t stepped in to nurse her.”
Mrs. Cobb stepped back in apparent shock. “I’m sorry to hear of your wife’s passing,” she said as if by rote. “Yet, she is released from this vale of tears.”
Anger flushed his body. No, I will not strangle the woman. Erik took a deep breath, striving to keep his tone even. “Mrs. Valleau’s husband passed away recently, leaving her with two little boys. She and I have agreed our mutual need will supersede our grief for our spouses and the conventions of mourning. After we conclude our business here, Reverend Norton will join us in Holy Matrimony.” He hoped Mrs. Valleau would turn his lie into the truth.
He glanced at Mrs. Valleau, who stared at him with wide eyes. Was there a hint of humor in their depths? The thought she might find this discussion with Mrs. Cobb as absurd as he did lifted his spirits just a bit. He liked that he might have alleviated her pain for a few short minutes. A shared sense of humor eased many of the stresses of life, and the two of them would certainly need that advantage if they chose to marry in grief instead of love.
Mr. Carter stood on the outskirts of the circle of people. From the rigid stance of his body, Erik could see the rancher was disturbed and would step in if need be. Yet he had a sense the man was allowing Erik to handle the situation.
“Well,” Mrs. Cobb huffed. “If Mrs. Valleau is recently widowed, she can’t go around wearing gold. She needs black.”
Widow Murphy sniffed. “And you getting married on the same day your wife has died? Scandalous.”
“Do you have a black dress that will fit Mrs. Valleau?” Erik asked the shopkeeper, trying to keep his tone even.
Mrs. Cobb glanced over toward the dress section. “No.”
“Then gold will have to do, which is fine with me. Black would be too painful for us both.”
Even Mrs. Cobb had enough sensitivity to keep her mouth shut.
The door opened, and Pamela Carter whirled in. She saw her husband first, and a happy smile lit up her plain, plump face. She held up a parcel wrapped in string. “Success! Mrs. Mueller had just taken out a batch. I had to wait for the pretzels to cool a bit.” Seeming to become aware of the tension in the air, she lowered her arm, her expression becoming wary.
John Carter took a long step toward his wife and held out his hand. “You’re just in time, my dear. There’s someone I want you to meet.”
Mrs. Carter put her gloved hand in her husband’s, and he drew her forward.
Erik realized the Carters were heading toward Mrs. Valleau, and he stepped out of their path, hoping Mrs. Carter wouldn’t be offended by Antonia’s lack of a corset like Mrs. Cobb and Mrs. Murphy were.
As the couple passed, Mrs. Carter gave Erik a friendly smile and a nod of acknowledgment.
John Carter bowed slightly to Mrs. Valleau. “How fine you look in that dress. The color suits you.”
Mrs. Carter cast her husband a curious glance, but her friendly smile stayed in place, and she didn’t seem put out by his admiration of another woman.
I should have been the one to compliment Mrs. Valleau. Seems Erik could do nothing right this day.
Mr. Carter gestured to Mrs. Valleau, introduced the two women, and quickly explained the circumstances.
Mrs. Carter’s expression softened. “Oh, you poor dear. I can’t even imagine what you must be going through.” She leaned forward to embrace the new widow.
As Mrs. Carter hugged her, Mrs. Valleau stood wide-eyed and stiff, as if not knowing how to respond.
Mrs. Carter didn’t seem to mind. She glanced at Erik then placed a sympathetic hand on his arm. “What you both must be going through. How can we help?”
Erik snuck a glance at Mrs. Cobb and Mrs. Murphy. Both had identical grimaces on their faces, as though they’d just drunk sour milk.
John Carter gazed at his wife with approval. He leaned forward to say something and hesitated, his ears reddening. “Please reassure Mrs. Valleau that she can refrain from wearing a corset and still be a lady.”
Not by expression or posture did Mrs. Carter betray any astonishment at the improper conversation. She scrutinized the yellow dress. “You’re so slender, Mrs. Valleau, that you don’t even need a corset.” She touched her waist. “Not like us, eh, Mrs. Cobb, Mrs. Murphy?”
Mrs. Cobb’s face reddened, and Mrs. Murphy ruffled up like a chicken. But neither said anything, apparently not wanting to offend the foremost lady of Sweetwater Springs.
Mrs. Carter raised her chin. “The essence of a lady comes from within,” she said in a gentle but firm tone. “A lady can wear rags, but as long as she holds her head up and carries herself proudly, people will see her, not her clothing.”
Mrs. Murphy made an outraged choking sound.
Mrs. Carter sent a pointed look toward the two gossips. “A lady always seeks to educate herself and is kind to others.”
Color came back into Antonia’s cheeks, and she straightened her shoulders.
Erik wanted to cheer. Relief relaxed his anger. He didn’t dare turn to look at the two biddies, who, by Mrs. Carter’s descriptions, definitely were not ladies.
Mr. Carter swung around and pinned Erik with his gaze. “Duly noted there’s to be a wedding soon, Muth. May Mrs. Carter and I invite ourselves to attend?”
Why the man’s offer would make tears spring to his eyes, Erik didn’t know—perhaps because such a busy, important rancher extended kindness to a prairie farmer—basically a stranger. Manfully, though, he choked them back. “I—” he glanced at Mrs. Valleau “—we’d be obliged.”
Mrs. Valleau tried to smile, but the sadness on her face wasn’t chased away by the turning up of her lips.
John Carter shot Erik’s shirt a pointed look. With a wave of his hand, he urged Erik toward the shelves. “I imagine you’ll want to get back to shopping. Mrs. Carter will help Mrs. Valleau with whatever else women need at times like this. Then—” he lowered his voice “—you can get cleaned up and warn Reverend Norton he’ll be performing a ceremony, since I have the impression he doesn’t know.”
Erik shot Mr. Carter an ironic glance. “The reverend had the idea in the first place. Neither Mrs. Valleau nor I could stomach it, though.”
Mr. Carter glanced toward his wife. “I can understand not wanting to jump into another marriage after the loss of one so beloved. In fact, Muth, I can’t imagine ever marrying again.”
“Then you know our sentiments exactly. But Reverend Norton was right. We must.”
“But, when I think of my children as babies, vulnerable—my youngest daughter isn’t strong and still gives us anxious times—I’d do anything to save them. Anything.”
Somehow, having the prominent man echo Erik’s dilemma made him feel more resigned to his choice.
Mr. Carter fell silent for a moment, staring at the wall of folded clothing. “I have a feeling. . .in time this hasty marriage won’t be bad at all. Mrs. Valleau seems a good woman
. I think you’ll be able to make a comfortable life together.”
Erik’s doubts must have shown on his face.
“I’m not saying you won’t have a sorrowful time to get through first.”
First? Erik didn’t think he’d ever get through this wretched, sorrowful time.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Erik hesitated outside the church door, wondering if he could, indeed, go forward with the wedding ceremony. I must. Stiffening his spine, he pushed open the door and walked into the small vestibule, where he took off his coat and hung the garment on a peg next to some others.
His brief consultation with Reverend Norton had resulted in a flurry of wedding preparations on the part of Mrs. Cameron and Mrs. Norton, and he’d had a chance to wash up and change.
He straightened the new navy-blue shirt he wore, and then ran his hands over his hair, which he’d slicked back with water, using a borrowed comb. In his haste to get Camilla to town, he hadn’t thought to don his hat. With no other reasons to delay, Erik gathered his courage and moved into the church.
The Nortons and Camerons waited near the front.
Reverend Norton stood near his wife, who sat on the piano bench. The Camerons were in the first pew with Henri. Dr. Cameron held the Valleau baby in one arm, while keeping a supportive hand on the young boy’s shoulder.
Henri looked at Erik with a blank expression in his golden eyes, then he glanced away.
A vase of pink Lenten roses stood on the altar. A well-used Bible and a prayer book lay in front of the flowers.
Mrs. Cameron cradled Camilla in one arm. In her other hand, she held a bouquet of more Lenten roses.
Just the sight of his daughter gave Erik some strength to see this farce of a wedding through. No, not a farce. He strove to find a better way of describing the marriage he was about to enter.
It’s like a hiring-out for work, Erik tried to tell himself. No, better still, going into business together. That’s it! We’ll both bring needed skills to the job of raising a family and working a farm. Mrs. Valleau will be my partner. Erik suspected he could be a good business partner to her, even if he couldn’t be a loving husband.
Putting his forthcoming marriage in that context eased Erik’s mind somewhat. Even though he’d only known Mrs. Valleau for less than a day, he hoped she’d have a similar practical approach to their union.
Erik walked over to Mrs. Cameron. She’d changed into a nicer dress—green, which made her eyes brighter. She angled the baby toward him so he could see her.
For the first time, he could admire his daughter without feeling a clutch of fear in his belly. Mrs. Cameron had dressed Camilla in some sort of white garment, and she looked like a little angel. She’s so tiny. So delicate. So precious.
He bent down and kissed Camilla’s forehead. I’m doing this for you, my love.
Reverend Norton glanced out the window. “They’re coming.”
Mrs. Cameron held up the bouquet. “Let me give Mrs. Valleau the flowers.” Carefully, so as not to jostle the baby, she glided down the aisle.
In Dr. Cameron’s arms, Jacques stirred and opened his eyes.
He gave Erik a sleepy smile.
Reverend Norton walked over to the front of the altar and waved for Erik to join him. “Come stand here.”
Feeling his heart pinch, Erik followed Reverend Norton’s orders, taking a position in front of the minister. I’m really going to do this. His stomach churned, and for a brief moment, he wondered if he would lose his last meal.
The minister gazed at him, compassion softening his austere face. “I will say prayers for your family daily,” he murmured so only Erik could hear.
The comforting words settled his stomach a bit. “Thank you, Reverend. We’ll surely need them.”
From the back of the church came the sound of people entering.
Reverend Norton picked up his prayer book from the altar and angled to face him. The man who’d married Erik and Daisy now prepared to say the words of the marriage service over Erik and another woman. A stranger.
Mrs. Norton began to play Blest Be the Tie That Binds.
But, when Erik turned and saw his bride walking toward him on the arm of John Carter, and witnessed the sadness in her eyes and the pallor that lay under her tanned skin, compassion rose in him.
Antonia passed through a beam of sunlight that made the golden dress blaze.
For a moment, Erik’s heart stuttered.
She moved like a queen, shoulders erect, chin lifted, floating toward him with that grace he admired. Then she stepped beyond the light and became the woman, vulnerable and frightened.
Erik held out his hand and took hers.
Her fingers trembled.
He gave them a reassuring squeeze and drew her to stand beside him before the minister.
Clutching a bouquet given to her by Mrs. Cameron, Antonia moved up the aisle in a daze, barely hearing the sound of music. She leaned on John Carter’s arm more than she normally would have, given he was a stranger, and she wasn’t the leaning type. But her knees trembled, and she felt grateful the gold dress hid her weakness from the small crowd of people waiting at the front of the church. Somehow, I be gittin’ through this.
Mr. Muth and Reverend Norton stood at the front of the aisle before the altar. Her groom had washed up and donned the new shirt, which made his eyes look sky blue. He was big and handsome, with wide shoulders, although she preferred slender, green-eyed, brown-haired Frenchmen to ruddy, blond Germans.
He didn’t watch her approach with the look of a bridegroom, his eyes full of pride and eagerness. Instead, his expression looked sad, his eyes shadowed. She supposed her face looked the same.
Be two people ever more unwilling to wed than we? The few couples whose ceremony she’d witnessed had taken the steps to marriage with joy, and, if not joy, at least practical anticipation. Not with pain and a sense of betraying a beloved spouse.
She couldn’t help contrasting her first wedding—how she’d almost flown to Jean-Claude’s side, so eager was she to join herself to him that she seemed to have wings on her feet. How he’d laughed, not out loud in front of the priest and their friends, but with his eyes. She’d been so happy that day. . . .
In the front pew, Dr. Cameron held Jacques, who bounced when he saw his mother. Henri stood next to the doctor. Her older son wore a confused expression on his too-thin face.
For his sake, Antonia tried to compose herself enough to send him a reassuring smile, which she wished was real.
Across the aisle, Mrs. Cameron and Mrs. Carter stood together. Mrs. Cameron held the sleeping baby in her arms. Both women smiled at Antonia, as if trying to give her strength and encouragement.
Mr. Carter escorted her to the front of the church.
Mr. Muth gave her a slight turn of his lips and held out his hand to her.
Mr. Carter uncurled her arm from his and stepped back.
With trepidation, Antonia reached out to Mr. Muth. His hand felt large and callused, his fingers thicker than Jean-Claude’s. His hand tightened around hers, and she wondered if he needed support as much as she. The thought made her more sympathetic to him.
Reverend Norton gave her an understanding smile.
Tears welled up in her eyes. Through an effort of will, she didn’t let them fall.
“Dearly beloved,” the minister said, his voice gentle.
Antonia stared blindly at him, letting the words of the service wash over her, repeating the vows she was prompted to say.
In minutes, Reverend Norton joined her in Holy Matrimony to a man she’d known for a few hours. . .changed her from Antonia Valleau to Antonia Muth. But nothing be changed inside me. In her heart, she remained Antonia Valleau. She knew she would always be Antonia Valleau.
After the marriage ceremony, the minister baptized the children. Camilla never woke up, looking like a sleeping angel.
Jacques squealed with laughter when the water touched his head, making everyone, even Erik, chuckle.
Henri’s solemn expression never changed.
Then, with Mr. Muth holding his baby, and Antonia carrying Jacques on her hip and holding Henri’s hand, they walked back down the aisle—a makeshift family.
On the hard seat of the jouncing wagon, Antonia bounced beside her new husband, holding Camilla, wrapped in a blanket, who’d fallen asleep again after nursing. Her wedding bouquet, stems wrapped in a damp towel, was wedged between her side and the end of the seat.
They rode in silence, obvious discomfort radiating from both. She supposed the man’s thoughts were as dark and heavy as hers.
Early on, the uniqueness of the transportation had worn off, and she shifted on the wooden bench, careful not to wake the sleeping baby in her arms, and wished she’d thought to pad the board with one of the sleeping furs before they’d set out. She pulled her new brown shawl closer around her shoulders.
Antonia checked on her boys, who rode in the back of the wagon, next to the pine coffin. They seemed fine with this new form of travel. Jacques grasped the side of the wagon, bending his knees and straightening them in a bouncing motion, while Henri held him in place. Her baby son would be tired soon and need to sleep. The two mules were tied to the back of the wagon.
Next to Henri was a round woven basket with a flat top—a wedding gift from the Camerons. Inside were enough jars of jam and pickles to last them quite a while, as well as two fresh-baked loaves of bread wrapped in a towel, dropped off by Mrs. Mueller, who’d already heard the gossip. The baker had wished them well with a thick German accent. The Carters had provided a wedding cake bought from the bakery, as well as a glass stand and cover.
Antonia was touched by the generosity of the townsfolk, who only hours before had been strangers. She just wished she had gotten to know them under better circumstances.
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