A Bride for Clark

by P. Creeden

  A Bride for Clark

  P. Creeden

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Love Western Romance?

  A Marshal for Christmas

  An Agent for Josie

  An Agent for Opal

  A Bride for James

  A Bride for Henry

  A Bride for Clark © 2019 P. Creeden

  Cover by Virginia McKevitt

  All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Warning: the unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in prison and a fine of $250,000.

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  Chapter 1

  End of November 1867

  Winifred Holt chewed her fingernails. She knew it was a nasty habit and that she needed to quit, but every time nervousness struck her, she began chewing once more. And this time, she had cause to be nervous. Her mother had arranged for her to meet with the town matchmaker, Ms. Francis Buckland. It was said that she was a gypsy in England before coming and settling here in the Maryland. And Baltimore had been blessed by her presence. But because many of the young men who’d gone off to join the Union in the war did not return upon its end, Ms. Buckland had become much choosier about the women she helped match with prospective husbands. At twenty-two years old, Winnie was already feeling like a spinster and that she didn’t have many prospects for a husband here in Baltimore.

  And by the way that Ms. Buckland eyed her up and down, it only made Winnie more conscious of her flaws. In the end, Ms. Buckland opened a fan and fanned herself as though it were the middle of summer, turned away and said, “I’ll see what I can do.”

  Winnie’s stomach twisted. She wasn’t sure if that was a good reaction or a bad one. Ms. Buckland didn’t say that she wouldn’t help Winnie, so she decided that it must have been a good thing. She pulled her fingernails from her lips and rubbed her hands together. “Thank you so much. I really need the help.”

  The woman turned back and lifted a brow. “Of course, you do. Now. Mind you. This will probably be a match outside of Baltimore. Are you ready to pick up and move if necessary?”

  Immediately, Winnie nodded. “Yes, of course.”

  “Are you all right with having never met your husband before loading on a train and heading west? I have contacts in Texas, in Wyoming Territory... even as far west as San Francisco. Would you be willing to pack up and head that far west if necessary? Your match could be anywhere in the country.”

  That twist in Winnie’s gut suddenly felt heavy, as though she’d eaten a stone. Still, Winnie knew her parents wanted her to get married and get out of the house and she’d never had a suitor. Slowly, she nodded again. Her voice squeaked a bit as she answered, “Yes, I’m willing.”

  “Good. Then I have more potential to find someone who can look past your flaws and take a wife with your attributes.”

  Probably Winnie’s biggest fear was that she had all flaws and no attributes. She wondered what Ms. Buckland might think were her attributes. She was tempted to ask but had already heard that the British gypsy had a short temper and little patience. Even though the temptation was great to just ask a few questions, she’d already been told she shouldn’t. She held her tongue, but in doing so, her thumbnail found its way to her teeth again. A fan flashed out of nowhere and smacked Winnie on the arm.

  “That is a nasty habit and one of your biggest flaws. You must find a way to quit that.”

  Winnie frowned and put her hands behind her back, weaving her fingers together. “You’re right. I will do my best.” However, she knew she’d been doing her best to get rid of the nasty habit all of her life and had failed to do so thus far.

  “Good. And your posture needs work. No more crouching and slumping your shoulders. You are a pretty woman. Act like one.”

  “Pretty?” Winnie blinked in surprise. No one had ever called her that. Homely, plain, maybe handsome, but never pretty.

  “Yes. Don’t let anyone tell you differently. Believe in yourself. Half of beauty is in how we treat ourselves. If you are convinced you are pretty, than it is easier to convince everyone else of the fact too. If you believe you are not attractive, it’s easy to convince others of that fact as well.” The gypsy moved to the dining room table in her house and sat in front of a tea pot. She gestured to a chair on her left. “Have a seat.”

  Swallowing hard, Winnie nodded and came and sat down where she’d been told to. With her hands no longer behind her back, she had to fight the temptation to begin chewing again. It wasn’t as if she always chewed those nails. It was just in nervous situations like this one that she couldn’t help herself.

  “Let’s talk about your abilities and what we can do to improve them. Can you cook?”

  “I know how to bake, but my mother does most of the other cooking.” Winnie helped as much as she could in her parent’s bakery but had never learned to cook anything else.

  “Can she not teach you at least a few good dishes? Baking is wonderful, it’s an asset, but you need to be able to care for your husband by cooking meals as well.”

  Winnie nodded. “I will learn.”

  “Good. Do you have experience caring for children? If I match you with a widower who has children, will you be able to attend to them?”

  Winnie drew her lips in. “I do not have much experience caring for children. I’d considered gaining some so that I could become a schoolteacher.” It had been her plan if she’d been flat-out rejected by Ms. Buckland.

  Ms. Buckland nodded, “All right. Do what you can in learning that as well. We never know when those duties might come in handy anyway.”

  At that thought, Winnie wrung her hands to keep herself from pulling her nails to her teeth.

  “All right then. I think I have everything I need to make a match. But! I’m not a miracle worker. My mother was a gypsy, but I am a Christian woman. I know that people like to say that I follow the old gypsy ways, but I do not work that kind of magic. I just find out what needs a person has, what needs a person can fulfill, and then follow my intuition and the prompting of the Holy Spirit to help make matches. I will let you know when I have something available for you. If you don’t hear from me within a week, be sure to check back in with me.” The woman stood and gestured for Winnie to do the same.

  Winnie nodded and then allowed herself to be ushered toward the door. The temptation to start chewing her nails again overcame her. What if there was no match for her? What if she came back in a week and Ms. Buckland decided that she no longer wanted to help her? The fears that Winnie had mounted, but she stayed silent through them all, wringing her hands. Once at the door, she mumbled her goodbyes with a quick bow and then turned and headed for ho
me.

  Ominous gray clouds crowded the sky overhead. On the cobblestone street, horses, carts, and people rushed by with extra vigor, each in a hurry to avoid the wet weather that was promising to open up on them at any time. Winnie’s heart picked up speed as she found herself pushed by the tide of people crowding around her. She’d never done well in crowds, and usually avoided them. Finally, it got to the point that she could not take their pressure upon her any longer and she just stopped and stood where she was. A gentleman nudged her shoulder as he passed her suddenly. He bobbed his head with an excuse me but didn’t stop. A child looked up at her, confused while a woman dragged him away. Then the wave of people passed and the churning in Winnie’s stomach began to settle. The low rumble of thunder growled in the east. That was good news. Storms generally didn’t come from the east and if lightning or thunder came from that direction, it was possible that the storm would pass just to the east of them, as well. She hoped it was true in this case as she took a deep breath and started walking again, this time at her own pace. The pressure of people was removed from her now, and she found that she’d much rather allow the rain to fall on her shoulders than rush along with everyone else.

  What did she have to go home to, anyway?

  Last year, her father’s anger became much worse after receiving seventy dollars from the government because they couldn’t replace his leg with a false one. Even though he didn’t want a false one, he nearly burned the money in his rage. Winnie’s mother had barely managed to save the money and had used it as sparingly as possible, as she did everything in order to keep the family bakery afloat.

  And when the smell of fresh baked bread reached Winnie’s nose, she knew she was nearly home. She and her parents and her younger brother all lived above the bakery. Her younger brother, Justin, had was fifteen, nearly sixteen and was learning to run the bakery, by himself. He’d grown up learning to run the shop and had become the favorite of all their customers. Because he was the son of an injured Union war hero who returned home, he was given a great deal of leeway, and everyone, including their mother, spoiled him for it.

  The bell that hung against the door rang as Winnie entered the shop. Justin looked up and raised a brow, looking more manly than his fifteen years. Without a word he continued arranging the dough on the wooden tray that would soon go into the clay-brick oven. Winnie looked around the room but saw no one else. “Where’s Mother?”

  At first, she wasn’t sure he heard her, as he turned around with the paddle and shoved the tray into the oven. Then, with a nod of his head, Justin pointed with his chin. “Upstairs.”

  Winnie started up the stairs, but had only made it halfway up before hearing her father’s raised voice. “Get away from me with that Catherine! If I have to tell you one more time, woman, I swear I will—”

  Even though Winnie couldn’t see it, she imagined her father’s hand raised high. He threatened almost daily to strike their mother but hadn’t done so that she’d ever seen.

  Her mother’s sing-song voice followed. “You have to eat, Darling. It will do our son Justin no good if his father starves to death, would it?”

  Winnie’s heart sank in her chest. Justin. Both parents made it very clear that Justin would inherit the bakery. Justin was the one they wanted to give the best things in life to, and Justin was the one they cared about the most. Winnie was little more than an inconvenience. Next, she heard the wooden bowl clattering against the hardwood floor.

  “I told you to get it away from me, and I mean it!” her father yelled again.

  Winnie started up the last few steps, just in time to see her mother wiping up the floor with a towel and then rushing toward the kitchen with the bowl and rag wrapped up in her apron. Tears ran down her cheeks. Her blue eyes met with Winnie’s hazel ones for half a moment before she continued on to the back of their home. Winnie followed her. “Is there anything I can do, Mother?”

  After dropping the bowl in the wash basin and the rest into a waste basket, her mother turned around with a sharp glare pinning Winnie where she stood. “You can tell me things went well with the matchmaker today and that she has a place for you to go.”

  Slowly, Winnie’s thumb made it to her lips and she took the nail between her teeth. A lump formed in her throat as she pushed past the words, “She promises to have something for me within a week.”

  Even though Winnie knew that wasn’t entirely true, it was the gist of it. It was what she hoped for. Her parents wanted her gone as soon as possible because it would mean one less mouth to feed for them. It meant one less thing to worry about. It meant that they could focus all their energy elsewhere. Winnie peered over where her father sat, his eyes fixed on the window. No one would miss her when she was gone. Maybe it was best if she left as soon as possible. Either way, loneliness settled in over her, just like it usually did when she was home.

  Chapter 2

  Clark Masterson trained his eye down the barrel of his rifle. He drew in a slow breath, and then as he exhaled, he pulled the trigger. The buck he’d aimed at reared, let out one low groan and then fell over. Clark knew that the best way to kill a buck was to shoot it directly in the heart. That way the animal didn’t suffer and would die almost instantly. The sound of the gun’s bang scattered the rest of the small herd in different directions momentarily before two of the does realized that they were heading away from the remainder of the herd and then changed course. Slowly, Clark stood and stretched his back. He’d crawled along the ground for several yards just to get near enough to send his perfectly timed shot.

  Joe Harp stood with him and patted him on the back. “Good shot, old boy.”

  Even though it was silly to feel good about killing an animal, Clark nodded, a bit of pride filling him and inflating his chest. “It wasn’t bad.”

  The two of them headed down the hill to bag the deer. There was enough venison on this one deer to feed the the four workers he had on the ranch for a few days. But added to the other deer the cowboys had bagged the day before, and they had enough for the week, provided that they took good care of it. It was better to eat venison when they could. Saving the steer that they had for selling at auction in the spring was better for everyone. They’d do what they could to help the beef remain fat through the lean months, and they’d try their best not to eat any of it. Deer were plentiful in the early winter, so it was better to get as many as they could while they could. It was easy enough to smoke the meat and store it in the cold.

  Clark and Joe carried the deer down to their waiting wagon and then rode the rest of the way home in a peaceful quiet. The gray clouds undulated across the sky, making Clark feel like they promised snow more likely than rain. And the way his breath clouded around his face made him feel the same. For a moment, he had the fleeting thought, the ephemeral feeling that he needed to hurry home to his wife, Mary, then he remembered that she wasn’t home waiting for him. She was gone. Had been for almost four months—ever since Scarlet fever took her. He swallowed down hard on the lump that formed in his throat and cleared his throat to push back the tears that stung the backs of his eyes.

  He’d not been away from the ranch much since the day of her death, though he often went on hunting trips and cattle drives before. But since she passed away, he hadn’t left the homestead. As they drew closer to home, wind picked up and blew across them, slowing the chestnut gelding down as it lowered its head and leaned a bit to brace itself against the harsh breeze. Clark found himself tilting his head and pulling his arms into himself to do the same.

  They pulled the cart around to the back of the house where Mrs. Harp came out the back of the kitchen in only her house-dress and apron. Sweat beaded on her forehead. “Bring it this way. I’ll have the boys get started on preparing the deer. They can take the meat directly to the smoke house.

  “Sounds good,” Joe called back and then kissed his wife on the cheek. The older couple had been childless, but tended to treat Clark and the other boys on the ranch as if they were pare
nts of them all, even though they were only twelve or so years older than Clark, himself.

  She held the door open for them. “Come on in! Hurry up. I’ve got a soup pot on the stove ready to warm you both up. I’m sure you’re cold right down to your bones.”

  “Soup sounds mighty good,” Clark said as he pulled off his gloves and shoved them into his work coat’s pocket. First, he headed toward the hallway where he could hang his jacket on the coat rack. Then he started toward the kitchen to sit at the table and almost immediately, Mrs. Harp set a bowl of soup and a crust of bread in front of him. He bowed his head in a quick say of grace before tucking in.

  As he was eating, Mrs. Harp and Joe prattled to one another in a continuous, playful way that made Clark smile. If he and his wife, Mary, had been able to remain married for eighteen years the way this couple had been, would they have had the same kind of comfortable banter that the Harps had? Instead they had only had eighteen months together. Clark’s heart broke at the memory of his wife. When would the pain recede? When would he no longer feel a longing and a stabbing in his chest? When would tears no longer sting the back of his eyes at the thought of her? He blinked hard, cleared his throat and then took a long sip from the cup of water beside his soup to keep his emotions in check.

  A knock at the door sounded through the house, making them all stop in the midst of what they were doing. For a moment, the three of them just looked at each other. If it had been one of the two cowboys, they would have just come in through the back door. Clark thought back and tried to remember if he’d seen anyone on the road along the way. He couldn’t. A frown reached his lips as he began to stand.