A Bride in Store

by Melissa Jagears

  Will narrowed his eyes at his friend. Eliza wouldn’t forget that scar if she’d gotten a good look. The semicircle might not be very noticeable anymore, but it was definitely crooked with a divot in the curve where the dog’s teeth had torn the skin. He’d not known the best way to sew around a missing piece of flesh back then.

  Eliza’s mouth was slightly agape and her eyes roved around as if they were searching for something in the air. “The moment you first saw me at the Emporium, you stepped back out the door. You recognized me, knew you’d taken my money, knew you’d split my cheek with the butt of your pistol while threatening to make an example out of me in front of everybody. Yet you just signed your name to that paper.”

  Axel ran his fingers along his mustache. “Now, hold on. We can settle this. I’ll go get the sheriff, and we’ll get this straightened out.” He turned his eyes on Will but couldn’t hold his gaze long. He backed out the door. “I’ll be back.”

  Eliza sidestepped, as if she were about to crumple. Will snaked a steadying arm under her shoulder. Her fingers clawed into his bicep. He looked over his shoulder toward the open front door, then at Mrs. Finch. “Take care of her.” He helped her into the nearest chair, then ran outside. Where’d Axel go?

  The sound of Axel signaling to a horse sounded to the left of the church. Will rounded the corner as Axel jumped onto his gelding, which he must have just unhitched from the livery’s buggy.

  “Stop where you are.” He had no horse, no gun. How could he enforce his command? “I’m going with you.”

  Axel turned his paint and steered a wide arc around Will. “I’ll be back with the sheriff.” And he kicked his horse into a trot toward town.

  The Finches didn’t own a horse, but did any of the neighbors?

  Axel turned onto Main Street, a cloud of dust billowing behind him. Was the man honestly going to get the sheriff? How could his childhood friend actually be a train robber—a man who could point guns at children and ruin a woman’s face? Will raked a hand through his hair. Axel had given up defending himself too easily—he was lying. He had to be. Which meant he wouldn’t be headed to the sheriff but out of town.

  Will took the stairs back inside two at a time. Was there a way he could stop him without a horse?

  “I married a thief,” Eliza said, her voice cracking. She took Mrs. Finch’s offered handkerchief.

  “No you didn’t.” Will pointed at the certificate, slightly out of breath. “Axel’s signature is the only one on that document.”

  Reverend Finch’s jaw worked from side to side, his fingers rubbing against his stubble. “I . . . I suppose that’s true, in the sight of the courts, anyway, but in the sight of God? I’m not sure. They did say vows.”

  Eliza slumped in her chair.

  Will blinked at the pastor. Did he really think God would approve of such a union?

  Mrs. Finch bristled as if she had the feathers that went along with her surname. “A marriage under false pretense is no marriage God would want for Eliza.”

  Exactly. Will walked toward the desk. “We’ll tear up the paper.”

  “Now, wait a minute.” Reverend Finch’s long stride caught up with him, and he grabbed the document. “We’ll wait to see what the sheriff says first. That way, if Mrs. Langston here—”

  “Miss Cantrell,” Will said through clenched teeth.

  “Anyway, if Eliza realizes she’s mistaken in her accusations, we can simply finish putting on the signatures so I don’t have to go through the hassle of getting a new paper.” He looked to his wife, but her eyes held no sympathy. He shrugged. “I wouldn’t know how to explain how I’d been so careless as to let one of my witnesses destroy an official document. And how would that look for the couple?”

  Strangling a man of God inside a church was surely something the Lord would frown upon, even if the pastor needed a good choking to set his priorities back in order. “I think paperwork is the least of our worries.” Will shook his head. How could he have missed all the signs? “Axel can’t be telling the truth. Not with Eliza recognizing that scar. And his disappearances . . .” He looked at Eliza, pale except for an unnatural blush in her cheeks. Her scar stood out against her skin like a lightning bolt.

  His vile friend needed to be caught and held accountable. “Do any of your neighbors keep a horse?”

  The pastor frowned. “Everyone walks besides Mr. Morton, and he’d be working. Which direction did Axel go?”

  “Into town.” Will ran a hand through his hair and stifled the urge to curse. Even if he had a horse, Axel could outrace him any day.

  “See, my dear.” The pastor clamped a hand onto Eliza’s shoulder. “He’s going to the sheriff.”

  “He’s not at the sheriff’s.” Eliza’s face was so blank, she looked like the woman down on Turkey Creek who sat in her rocker all day staring at a knot in the porch beam.

  Will knelt beside her, and she looked at him as if he were enveloped in a fog, tears filling her eyes. “You have to catch him,” she said.

  Will pulled her hand into his and resisted the overwhelming temptation to kiss the tops of her knuckles. “I can’t ride after a criminal with no gun and no posse.”

  “Then get a gun and gather a posse.” Her hand trembled in his. “My money. Mr. Hampden’s grandfather’s pocket watch. Everyone’s things might be recovered. I can’t believe I married him, because I really wanted . . . I wanted . . .”

  Will’s breath caught. Would those perfectly bowed lips utter his name?

  “I wanted that store so badly.”

  His chest deflated like a pin-popped bubble.

  Nothing had changed. She might not end up married to his friend, but unless he gave up his doctoring for the Men’s Emporium, there still would be no future for them.

  He pulled her up from the chair. “Come on, Eliza.” He glanced over her head at the Finches, who were clinging to each other, though no longer radiating the happiness of reliving their own nuptials. “We all ought to head for the sheriff’s.”

  “Let’s pray Axel’s already there clearing this up.” Mrs. Finch pulled at a button on her high collar.

  “You do that, Mrs. Finch.” Will couldn’t deny the older woman the desire to pray for a boy she’d taught for years in Sunday school. She’d poured so many prayers into the young ones of Salt Flatts, something like this must devastate her.

  He should pray too. Except he didn’t want to. He much preferred the idea of wrapping his hands around Axel’s neck. How could his friend treat Eliza—or any woman—in such a manner?

  He’d thought his decision that morning would give Eliza the happiness she desired, and he’d believed Axel was her ticket there.

  If he was wrong about that, could he be wrong about everything concerning the woman slumped against his arm?

  Chapter 13

  Eliza released the last petal from one of Irena’s yellow roses. It danced in the wind and caught in a thorn bush. She yanked off another flower. How many roses had she torn apart in the last four days?

  A heavy hand dropped onto her shoulder. She didn’t need to look up. Mrs. Lightfoot’s footsteps did not match her surname. Did her husband’s? She’d never ask though. She could only imagine Irena’s misery over being abandoned by a no-good husband.

  At least she’d discovered who Axel was before he’d anchored her to him forever. How many months would have passed until he left her? He could have been killed in a shootout or any number of brawls with the criminals he associated with. Maybe he would have just plain abandoned her. Criminals certainly wouldn’t consider the bonds of matrimony worth preserving if they didn’t respect the law.

  How long might it have been until she would have realized he’d been the train robber who’d sliced open her face? The next time he slapped her, perhaps?

  A shudder traveled up her arms and took over her body. How could she have been so stupid? She flicked away a petal clinging to her fingers.

  “Dear, you need to stop tearing off my roses. I’ll have
none left.”

  “Sorry.” Eliza tried a smile, the first one since her wedding disaster. The expression didn’t sit well.

  Irena walked around the bench to sit beside her. “You can’t hide in my garden for the rest of your life.”

  Why not? She wiped the spent flowers off her lap. “I suppose I need to find a job to pay for my room and board now.”

  “I’d like to slap you silly sometimes. I don’t care about the money.”

  “You should.” Why were these western business owners so unconcerned about making a decent living?

  “I care about my friend, the one moping as if the whole world has burned to ashes.”

  “Can’t I grieve for at least a full week before you tell me to get over this?” She couldn’t look at Irena anymore. The ink on the annulment papers she’d signed this morning was probably still wet enough to smear. “I suppose when I was little and my cat died, you’d have said wearing black for a pet was silly.”

  “You should be upset, Eliza, but this turn of events saved you.”

  “Right. I’m not married to a lying, cheating thief.” She flopped against the bench and huffed.

  “That’s not a good thing?” Irena’s eyes registered confusion.

  “Of course it’s a good thing, but my dreams?” She stared at the soft blue, empty sky. “Gone.”

  “Owning that store, I suppose?”

  “Any store. Axel stole my dream in more ways than one. A dumb dream I never should have pursued.” Eliza leaned forward and stared at the ground. “My brother was right. He said wanting anything besides sitting at home and rocking babies would get me in trouble . . . and did it ever.”

  “So you’re giving up, just like that?”

  “Yeah.” She swiped the last pale yellow petal off the bench. “Like that.”

  “You’re not the girl I thought you were.”

  Eliza rubbed her eyes. Good, she was done being a foolish chit. One who would’ve married a criminal and then watched him siphon every profit she made for ill-gotten gain. She sighed and stood. “I can’t start a store with no money, so I’ll have to find something more sensible to do.”

  “Why don’t you talk with William? Maybe you can work together.”

  Eliza scratched at her hairline. The odd emotions she’d experienced the day of the wedding made everything more confusing. “I don’t . . . trust him.”

  Irena stood and put her hands on her ample hips. “Don’t tell me you believe he’s in cahoots with Axel, like the other people in town. That boy hasn’t a bad bone in his body.”

  Oh no? Would a man of integrity make sneaky changes in the store’s ledgers? Axel had mentioned fixing Will’s math. . . .

  She smacked a hand against her forehead.

  Of course. Why should she believe Axel about anything? He had most likely doctored the books.

  But how could she be certain Will was innocent? The man had worked with Axel for years—they were good friends.

  Maybe he was as innocent as Mrs. Lightfoot suggested, but she wouldn’t ramble down stupid lane again. Though her accusatory thoughts against Will were probably unfounded, she’d engaged herself to not one but two reprobates—she couldn’t trust herself to make good decisions when it came to men. “Perhaps he’s never intentionally done as much as squashed a bug, but how would attaching myself to someone under suspicion a week after being abandoned by a train robber help my reputation?”

  Irena sat. “And that reputation would affect future store profits, I suppose.”

  She gave her a sad smile. “No. No store. I give up.”

  Irena snorted. “You can’t change who you are.”

  Enough with the interrogation. “I’m going to start housekeeping.” She softened her face, knowing how her next words might affect her prideful friend. “I’ve noticed how difficult it is for you to clean and cook with your joint pain, and your breathing gets labored when—”

  “You think me an invalid?” Irena’s eyebrows lowered.

  “No. I only want to clean and cook for you to earn my board. I’ll look for other housecleaning positions with a few other wealthy families to—”

  “You’ll not earn enough money to live on.”

  She shrugged. “If I’m boarding with you, I only need money for clothing and perhaps a bit of entertainment. Unless . . .” Was Irena angry enough to end their friendship over her distrust of Will and giving up on the store? “Unless you require money for me to remain here.”

  Irena huffed and stared out over her bushes toward the haze billowing off the dirt road as a team of oxen shuffled into town.

  O God, let her say I can stay. I’d rather dust Irena’s strange knickknacks than return to my brother in such shame.

  “I guess you can stay in exchange for housecleaning. My feet and hands would thank you.”

  “Wonderful.” She gave her a hug.

  Irena halfheartedly patted her. “There aren’t many wealthy families in Salt Flatts. Even if a few women hired you for odd jobs, you wouldn’t make enough to save anything.”

  “Well then, I’ll live out my spinsterhood with you. Volunteer at the church, maybe.” A twinge twisted her insides. How long since she’d done anything charitable? Been to church?

  Irena huffed again. “You live in a town full of bachelors. You won’t remain a spinster.”

  “I’m not considering marriage right now—maybe not for years, and then I’ll be too old for anyone to want.” Eliza looked in the direction of Main Street, hugging her arms, and envisioned the Men’s Emporium. “One thing’s for certain. I’m going to know a man’s coming and goings, his past and present dealings, better than I know myself before I commit to anyone again.”

  “I suppose that’s wise.” Irena rubbed at her knuckles.

  If Irena agreed, all the better.

  A man turned the corner down the street, his gait familiar.

  Will.

  Had they caught Axel? Would he be the one to tell her? What if he’d decided to visit her just to . . . visit? Please no, she wasn’t ready to talk to him yet. “Did you ask Will over?”

  Irena turned on the bench with a little groan. “No, but I sure wouldn’t mind him looking at my foot again.”

  Will spotted them from the porch before reaching the front door. He pulled off his hat and walked into the side yard. “Good evening, ladies.”

  “Are you scrounging around for someone to feed you, boy?”

  Will smiled at Irena. “Not many men will turn down food.”

  Irena rolled her eyes, though a twinkle enlivened them. How could her husband and son have left a woman who found such pleasure in filling stomachs? “Then I’ll check the ham and add an extra place setting.” She hobbled off without another word.

  Eliza hugged herself harder. She’d not seen Will since he’d walked her home in a daze after they’d found the sheriff—whom Axel had not visited as the Finches had hoped.

  Will’s eyes were as focused on her now as they’d ever been.

  She couldn’t stop her stomach’s fluttering, but she’d refuse to heed it. “I doubt you came to mooch.” She spread her feet, planting her bootheels in the grass to steady herself if he was going to deliver news of Axel’s capture and upcoming trial. She half wished her former fiancé would escape so she would never have to face him. Then again, she wanted her money. “Did they catch him?”

  Will shook his head. When she sighed, his mouth puckered. “You seem relieved.”

  He’d probably think her insane if she admitted why. “Has it gotten out that we . . . that he and I . . . almost wed?”

  “Unfortunately, you’re the talk of the town.” He played with the hat in his hand. “But more so, I think, because you’ve stayed hidden away.” He looked at her with pity-filled eyes. “They think you’re devastated.”

  “What woman wouldn’t be?” Not that she was distraught over the loss of Axel himself, but what he’d promised her.

  “Of course.” He dug his toe in the dirt and flicked up a p
ebble. “So . . . why haven’t you been to the store?”

  She narrowed her eyes at him. “What would I need at the Men’s Emporium?”

  He furrowed his brow right back at her. “Work.”

  “You can’t afford to pay me.”

  Well, that shut him up. He stared off at the clouds on the horizon.

  Had he thought she’d work for nothing? Even if she wanted to work with Will, he’d be going to medical school sometime. And what if pesky emotions got the better of her again before he left? It was best to start housekeeping now.

  He ran his hands through his hair as he always did when tongue-tied.

  What else was there to say? It was the end of their time together. Might as well end the conversation . . . drift apart . . .

  “Dinner’s ready!” Irena called out the front door.

  Eliza started toward the house.

  “I know I can’t pay you much, but surely—”

  She held out her hand to stop him. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine working for Irena as her housekeeper, and I’ll seek similar jobs.”

  “You’re giving up owning a store?” he sputtered.

  She steeled her back. “I haven’t much choice.”

  He grabbed at the back of his neck, but she wouldn’t stand around for him to argue with her.

  “As you said, Will, sometimes dreams die.”

  “Sometimes dreams die.”

  Will put the last repaired firearm under the counter and drummed his fingers, surveying his empty shop. From the front.

  The pungent smell of new lumber and sawdust blanketed him like a pile of suffocating quilts. What good would come from having this counter built if no customers came and Eliza wasn’t there to appreciate his efforts?

  For the first time in months, he’d finished all his gunsmithing jobs and no one needed assistance. He should restock or something.

  Surely his customers would return once the shock of one of their own belonging to a bunch of train robbers wore off. Then they’d realize he couldn’t have been involved. Not a boy who’d bandaged wounded animals, not the man who cared for them when Dr. Forsythe gave up. What kind of criminal spent an entire night holding a widow’s hand until she met her Maker? They’d remember who he was soon enough and return.