Grace

by Peggy McKenzie

  He looked down at the petite young woman. She barely stood chest high to him. Her face came into focus. Someone said he should kiss her. His gaze dropped to her lips. Pink. Plump. Kissable. His groin tightened. He thought he would like to kiss her. She smelled so nice. He leaned into her and braced for the touch of her lips against his. His stomach churned again.

  John was not expecting this prim young miss to return his kiss, but even through his drunken brain, he was surprised when she turned away from him. Was that disgust he saw on her face? Who did this little miss think she was anyway? He was one of the most eligible bachelors in the county. He had his choice of the many young women who threw themselves at him almost daily. It was he who had chosen to remain unmarried.

  His pride pricked, his ego provided the strength to straighten as much as his spinning head would allow. An attempt to smooth his wild hair into some kind of presentable form made the room spin out of control. He felt off kilter. He reached out to grab hold of something to help him keep his balance. Arms flailing, he fell into the beautiful woman and they both tumbled to the floor, his head buried in the skirts of the dress she wore. The last thing he remembered was losing the contents of his whiskey-soaked stomach between the creamy folds of his new bride’s wedding dress.

  God help me.

  5

  Grace didn’t think this day could get any worse. And then it did. She lay on the floor, frozen in place. Her new, and now unconscious, groom lay on the floor beside her, her mother’s wedding dress covered with the stench of his drunken binge. She had turned away from his whiskey breath just in time to avoid a full frontal assault. The smell reminded her of the many inebriated patrons of the saloon who thought the card dealer was fair game, along with Rosie’s girls. She had hoped she had dealt with her last drunk when she got on the train to Creede. Her hopes of Mr. Malone being a caring, upstanding husband was fading with the evening sun along with her chance to save her sisters.

  Grace watched the minister and Mr. Hanover pull her groom to his feet and usher him out to the carriage house. According to Mrs. Hanover, her groom was in for another dunking in the horse trough.

  “Dear, let’s get you cleaned up.”

  Careful to keep her soiled gown from touching Mrs. Hanover’s furniture, she allowed Mrs. Hanover and Sarah to help her back up the stairs and into another tub of hot water. The second one in a day. Under other circumstances, she would have loved to soak in a tub full of hot water and fragrant bubbles. Rosie charged three dollars for a bath. That was a luxury she could afford only once a month when she and her sisters pooled their money and shared a bath. They drew cards to decide which one of them went first. Grace knew how to work the cards so she always managed to go last. It didn’t matter if the water was lukewarm and soap scum floated on top. She put her sisters first. That’s what family did for one another and they were the only family she had. Besides Rosie. And now, her husband.

  But today, her mind wasn’t able to enjoy the treat. Her thoughts were spinning out of control wondering what her new life was really going to be like.

  After her bath, Mrs. Hanover sent supper up to her room. The meal looked delicious. She didn’t think she had much of an appetite but her stomach made some very unladylike sounds so she gave in and picked at the plate full of pot roast, potatoes and carrots. A knock on the door interrupted her meal. “It’s Mrs. Hanover. Are you agreeable to company, Miss Sinclair?”

  “Of course. Please come in.”

  She watched her hostess sweep her amble girth into the room and sit on the edge of the bed. Her sympathetic look made Grace’s humiliation hitch up another notch.

  “Miss Sinclair…”

  “Mrs. Hanover. After everything you and your husband have done for me, please, call me Grace.”

  “Thank you, my dear. And my name is Agatha, but I insist you call me Aggie.”

  “Thank you, Mrs--.” Her host nodded her head reminding Grace they were on first name basis now.

  “--Aggie. Thank you for everything you have done for me, a total stranger. I will be forever grateful to your generous nature on this day. And what a day it has been.” Grace sighed.

  “I don’t consider us total strangers, dear. After all, Rosie did vouch for you and your sisters. And please, don’t judge your groom too harshly. The truth of today’s tomfoolery is yet to be discovered and in that truth will come understanding.”

  Grace didn’t think there was much to be discovered other than a groom who misrepresented himself with a taste for whiskey. But, she wasn’t exactly forthcoming with her truth and she wasn’t a horrible person so perhaps there was something to Mrs. Hanover’s words.

  “How much do you know about your cousin, Aggie?” Grace twirled her finger in the ribbon of her nightgown.

  Aggie was silent for quite some time and Grace thought she wasn’t going to answer. And then she did. “Grace, sometimes life places women in situations they never expected. Rosie has had a time of it, that’s for sure. Her husband was a foul human being.”

  Grace was shocked.

  “I didn’t know Rosie was married.”

  “Was is the truth of it. She was a young girl, so innocent. And trusting. Anyway, he was a scoundrel at best. And cruel. After Rosie’s baby daughter died…”

  Grace gasped. “Rosie never mentioned any life other than her saloon.”

  “I think it’s too painful for her to remember so she never speaks of it. Not in almost ten years. But after Rosie’s baby daughter passed, it is like she made a decision to take control of her own life. She divorced Herbert and moved away. None of the family knew where she went for several years. And then one day, I received a letter from her. So, yes, dear. I know who Rosie is. She’s a fine woman who was dealt a very bad hand. Just like you. And your sisters.”

  “So you know—about me and my sisters.” Grace’s heartbeat thumped in her chest. Her breath escaping in nervous puffs.

  “Yes, dear. And so does Hiram. That letter from Mr. Malone was a godsend. And Hiram did have his assistant investigate your groom perhaps a little more carefully than most. That is why it is so puzzling to him that your groom would act contrary to the gentleman we know him to be.”

  Aggie stood and kissed Grace on the cheek. “You and your sisters are lovely young ladies. Rosie has treated you as she would her own daughter and you have treated her no less than the daughter she never knew. So go make her proud.”

  Grace was touched by Mrs. Hanover’s sentiment.

  “I intend to do my very best, Mrs.…Aggie,” was the only response Grace could muster without letting her emotions loose.

  “Yes. That’s the spirit, Grace. Now, I have come to tell you that your groom will be spending the night in the carriage house. I know it is your wedding night but I think under the circumstances it would be best if you spent the night here and let him sleep it off.”

  Grace couldn’t help the image of her matrimonial bed ending up in the same condition as her now ruined wedding dress.

  “Yes, I think that is probably the best course of action under the circumstances.”

  Aggie let herself out the door.

  “If you need anything at all, please let Sarah or myself know. Try to get a good night’s sleep. Tomorrow you will be on your way to your new life. Make it a good one, Grace.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Aggie closed the door behind her. Grace didn’t think she had to worry about her groom seeking her bed tonight but habit made her lock the door anyway. Crawling under the covers, she sighed when her nightgown clad body slid between the luxurious sheets covering the incredibly soft mattress. This was heaven. Would her new home have a bed such as this? Grace could only hope. She hated the straws in her old bed that clawed at her skin through thin blankets. And the creepy crawlies. God, she hated those critters, too many to count, she had plucked from her bed and squashed during the long nights sleeping over the saloon.

  Indulging in a sigh of contentment, she snuggled deeper into the expensive cov
ers and, just this once, gave herself permission to think of her own comfort while she drifted off into a peaceful sleep without worrying about anyone else.

  The pounding in John’s head jolted him out of a fitful sleep. He was awake but his eyelids refused to move. Focusing on the source of his misery, he realized someone was pounding a horseshoe on the anvil with an evil hammer.

  “Stop that torture if you please.” John grabbed his head in both hands and moaned.

  “Well, there now. Looks like our groom is alive after all. Welcome back to the land of the livin’, laddie.”

  The blacksmith’s Irish accent dripped with sarcasm. John didn’t feel like he was living. He felt like he had died and gone to hell where the caretaker gleaned his joy from tormenting resident souls.

  John rolled over and pushed himself up onto his hands and knees. He waited for his roiling stomach to settle before he climbed his way to his feet and slowly shuffled to the water trough. Again. This time under his own power.

  The blacksmith’s hammer clanged again, penetrating his brain as effectively as a spike propelled by a hammer. The same damned hammer the blacksmith was tormenting him with.

  “Sir, I beg you. Could you please stop that incessant clamor until I can get my wits about me?” John dunked his head into the trough again leaving it under the water a little longer this time. When he came up for air, the blacksmith was sporting a face-splitting grin.

  “So ye want me to stop, do ya?” The blacksmith’s grin widened. He dropped his hammer on the anvil eliciting a resounding clang and then blessed silence.

  “Just for a moment—if you don’t mind?” John didn’t try to hide his sarcasm.

  “Well, well I see our groom has recovered—somewhat.” Mr. Hanover’s shadow shielded him from the morning sun just peeking over the top of the carriage house.

  “Yes, sir. I’m getting there.”

  “Good. I was lead to understand by those who know you well, that drinking is not a regular occurrence, Mr. Malone. I would hate to think Miss Sinclair……or rather, the newly wed Mrs. Malone, will have to carry the bulk of the burdens at home because her husband has an appetite for spirits.”

  “No, sir. I don’t. I mean it’s not a regular occurrence. I’m not sure what happened but I intend to steer clear of the Holy Moses and Billy Buchanan for quite some time.” John stood and shook the water from his hair and beard. Mr. Hanover surprised him with a clean towel, a sliver of soap and a fresh sprig of mint.

  “I didn’t think you would have need of a razor.”

  John looked up from drying and caught the faint smile on Mr. Hanover’s face. John grimaced.

  “No sir. Hauling freight as a bachelor never presented a need for one.”

  He nodded in agreement. “You might think about it. I’ve never met a lady who cared much for weeding through heavy brush for a kiss.”

  “Yes, sir.” John wasn’t sure his bride would want a kiss after yesterday’s fiasco no matter what he looked like. He vaguely remembered she wrinkled her nose and turned away in disgust at his attempt yesterday. Considering the catastrophe that followed, he didn’t blame her.

  “Well, you better get going. I understand your wagon and team are at the livery stable. I would offer you a clean shirt and pants, but since we are slightly different in stature, I asked my legal assistant, Liam, to go by the general store and pick these up for you. I trust they will be a closer fit than anything I could offer you.”

  John took the package wrapped in brown paper and twine. “I’m sure they will be fine, sir. What happened to the clothes I had on yesterday?”

  “The barnyard cat decided to deliver her kittens right in the middle of your shirt and pants.”

  John attempted to shake his head but thought better of it. “Figures that would be my luck. What do I owe you? For the clothes, I mean.”

  “Let’s call this a wedding gift to get you started on the right path. I think it would be ill-advised for a smart man such as yourself to meet your new bride with anything other than your best foot forward. Don’t you agree, Mr. Malone?”

  “Yes, sir.” He nodded in agreement. He didn’t tell Mr. Hanover he was afraid his foot was now firmly planted in his mouth and that it may be much too late for first impressions.

  He brushed his teeth with his finger to get the vile taste of misspent whiskey out of his mouth. Then he chewed on the twig of mint and headed to the carriage house where he could dress and comb his wild hair.

  He hadn’t asked for a wife but somehow he had one, thanks to trickery. He would get his hands on that damned letter and before this week was out, he would discover who was responsible for his matrimonial state. And then he would tear them limb from limb. But, in the meantime, he would not dishonor his family by being discourteous to this woman. His mother would turn over in her grave if she suspected, even for a moment, her youngest son was not treating a lady with the utmost of respect.

  He walked down the street toward the livery stable to collect his team and wagon. His brain throbbed in rhythm to his footsteps. He had placed his order for supplies at the general store yesterday before his visit to the Holy Moses so he knew under normal circumstances it wouldn’t take more than half an hour to load. He wasn’t sure about today with his head ringing like an anvil and his stomach still pitching a fit after his overindulgent whiskey binge.

  An hour later, he was loaded and ready to go. He added butter, goat cheese, and milk to his order. He figured a city girl like Miss Sinclair would have no idea how to make that sort of stuff out of goat’s milk much less coax a goat into giving up the milk in the first place. Snapping the reins on his team of six, he drove around the block to Main Street and then two blocks over to the Hanover’s house. It gave him a few minutes to think.

  He will give Miss Sinclair all the respect due her. And, he will award her every benefit as to his doubts regarding the counterfeit letter in her possession. He surmised she was as much a victim as he was. But, if he discovers duplicity on her part, there will be hell to pay and, woman or not, pay she will.

  6

  Grace dressed in her traveling gown and matching jacket. She and Aggie stood on the front porch waiting for her groom to appear and whisk her off to her new home. It wasn’t long before a large freight wagon rumbled and stopped in front of the house. The man sitting on the bench made a very impressive sight. He was a bear of a man and he was sitting up now and no longer looked like he was going to be sick. That was progress. Mr. Hanover invited their blacksmith to help load her trunks. In a matter of minutes, her two small trunks were loaded onto Mr. Malone’s wagon among sacks of potatoes, dried beans, flour, and sugar. Cans of lard could be seen stacked in the corner underneath the driver’s seat protecting a bolt of lovely blue calico. So, the man had sensibilities where a woman was concerned. The thought pleased her more than she wanted to admit.

  There were stacks of hay, sacks of feed and other things hidden under a canvas canopy. Surprised by this new Mr. Malone and his ability to provide, she straightened her jacket and adjusted her bonnet. No sense looking like a rag muffin.

  She liked the sight of his draft horses hooked to his wagon. They were quite impressive. The six giant beasts were perfectly matched bays with white stocking legs. She knew from experience only wealthy people could afford to own horses of this caliber. And, the brass accoutrements on the polished leather harnesses spoke of his attention to detail and pride in ownership.

  She stole another look at her groom. It was hard to tell exactly what he looked like under all that scruff, but, apparently, he was responsible enough to start and run his own business and from the looks of his rig, and the abundance of supplies inside it, he was doing very well for himself. Perhaps there was more to her husband than an unkempt appearance and cheap whiskey would imply.

  "The menfolk say you are ready to go, Grace. Do you have everything you need?" Aggie hugged her. "If it helps you, dear, Hiram told me your husband had a tragic loss several years ago. Don’t judge him too hars
hly until his truth is known to you. Give him time, dear. Give him time."

  Grace nodded and returned Aggie’s hug. She would miss her new friend and promised to come see her as often as she was able to get to town.

  She stepped off the covered porch and down the flight of wooden stairs to stand next to the waiting wagon. The warmth of the September sunshine felt good on her face. She had to believe everything would work out. This was her chance to help her sisters and she would do everything she could to make it work.

  "You ready?" came the curt question from her husband.

  "Yes, Mr. Malone. I am ready." Grace schooled her voice to sound as demure and respectful as she was able to mimic. It wasn’t easy without many examples of how to be a lady.

  She stood beside the wagon expecting him to come down and help her up into the enormous wagon. But, apparently, he was not so inclined. She held her skirts in one hand and pulled herself up and onto the wagon seat. Seated, she straightened her clothes and adjusted her bonnet.

  Grace turned once more to the Hanovers and waved her goodbye. In the midst of her farewell, her husband snapped the reins and the huge draft horses jerked the wagon forward onto the main thoroughfare. She almost lost her seat and was forced to grab onto something for balance. It turned out to be her husband's arm but if the way his muscles flinch underneath his coat was any indication how he felt about the matter, this was going to be a long ride to somewhere.

  She watched him flick the reins again, this time pulling his arm out of her grasp. It seems her hungover husband was not going to be good company this morning. She stared straight ahead at the giant haunches of the beasts pulling her and her husband to their new home. Why was he so out of sorts with her? It wasn’t her fault he was a drunken fool on the day of their wedding. It wasn’t her fault she did exactly what he had instructed in his letter. And it damn sure wasn’t her fault they hadn’t been able to, well, do what it is married folks do on their wedding night. So if that’s why he suffered such a sour disposition on this beautiful crisp sunny morning, then he could just stuff it.