Bride School: Molly (The Brides of Diamond Springs Ranch 3)
Page 4
She looked at him like he'd just asked her if she could turn into a billy goat.
“No, sir,” she finally said.
“Well, that's all right. I can wait until to tomorrow to find out.”
“Fine, mister.” She shrugged her shoulders. “But I won't know it tomorrow neither.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
“So?” Mrs. Carnegie smoothed her napkins across her lap. “How was your walk, young lady?”
Molly didn't know quite how to answer. She didn't want to tell the woman about Mr. Craighton in case the man might have been breaking some rule in approaching her outside the Diamond Springs events. If he broke a rule, would he be sent packing? Of course, she didn't expect to see him again anyway, since she wasn't going to be attending the dance, and such a handsome man would be gobbled up by one of the other ladies before the week was out. But she didn't want to ruin his chances with one of the others.
Besides, another bride would probably make him a better wife in the end. Who would want a bride that couldn't stand to dance or hold hands?
Nobody. That's who.
“Molly. Dear! Please tell me nothing unpleasant happened to you? I'll never forgive myself for breaking my own rule if you were hurt in any way.” The woman looked ready to jump from her seat.
“No. Nothing unpleasant happened. It's a lovely town. Everyone was so kind. Absolutely everyone.”
And it was true. She was met with nothing but smiles wherever she went. There wasn't a man on the street who didn't tip his hat to her, and not all of them would have known she was with Mrs. Carnegie.
“I took a slow walk down main street and up around the city hall. The children were especially friendly.”
Finally, Mrs. Carnegie relaxed and smiled. “They are precious, aren't they?”
“I never walked along the south side of the street. Did I miss much?”
The woman set her tea cup on its saucer and nodded. “There is a new milliner shop I'd like to visit before we leave. I didn't have the chance... I met with Mr. Willot, the carpenter—”
“And the sheriff?”
“Yes.” She scooped up her tea cup again and took a long drink.
Either the tea was hot, or Mrs. Carnegie was blushing for some reason. But it was none of Molly's business to ask.
“There is a trading post,” she went on. “And beyond that is the post office and telegraph. I'll need to stop in there as well. But tell me, what did you think about the people? Do you still believe they treated you kindly only because you're one of mine?”
Molly's chest rose in excitement at the memory of Samuel Craighton pulled her close and insisting Mrs. Carnegie had nothing to do with his interest in her. He seemed to be fairly convinced of it, though there was no way to know for certain. Time would never allow her to go back and meet the man under different circumstances.
“No,” Molly said. “I believe the people here are genuinely kind. I guess I'm just not used to being treated with such kindness outside of church.”
Mrs. Carnegie frowned and reached across the corner of the tablecloth to pat Molly's hand. “I was told about your life at home. I’m very sorry.”
Molly smiled and shook off the woman’s pity. “I can’t complain about the kind of woman I’ve become, now can I? And only God Himself knows what kind of a woman I’d be otherwise. Besides, it’s not Christian to think ill of my father.”
Mrs. Carnegie’s pitying frown turned into something a bit more fierce. “I don’t know who told you such nonsense. If a man’s a killer—not talking about your father here—then he isn’t less of a killer to his own kin. If a man’s a snake, being a parent doesn’t make him less a snake. And if a man beats you,” she lowered her chin and narrowed her eyes letting Molly know that she was, indeed, referring to John Brumley. “If a man beats you, he’s no man at all. He’s the worst kind of coward. And there’s nothing in the Good Book that says a Christian woman shouldn’t call a pig a pig.”
For the rest of the meal, Mrs. Carnegie attacked her meal as if it were made from the carcass of Molly’s pa and hoped the man felt every stab of her knife and fork. Eventually, her passion faded and she settled into her own thoughts, so Molly was left in peace. Samuel Craighton’s charming smile came to mind, and although another woman would scoop him into her pocket soon enough, for the time being, he didn’t belong to anyone else, so she indulged herself.
She imagined him living in the quaint little log cabin she’d been painting. A simple farm behind it. Enough animals to keep them fed, not so many she and Samuel couldn’t handle the work on their own. And if they had children…
If they had children, they’d be raised with kindness. And any daughter of hers would have a pretty doll with arms, legs, and a lovely little gown of pink.
~ ~ ~
The milliner’s shop was the strangest place she’d ever visited. There were enough hats to cover every head in Sage River and then some. It was easy to tell that the yellow hat pinned to her own hair had been made by the same man because Mrs. Carnegie purchased three similar hats in other colors.
A familiar looking form stood with his back to Molly. It was Samuel Craighton, trying on Boss of the Plains hats and viewing himself in a little mirror suspended on a stand that sat on the counter.
Molly shot a nervous glance in Mrs. Carnegie’s direction, but the woman’s attention was on the milliner.
She was in a quandary.
If the man acted familiar with her, their little walk down Main Street would have to be explained, and Pa wouldn't...
She took a deep, sudden breath. Pa wasn't there. He wasn't watching every movement, every word. If Mr. Craighton turned and started speaking to her, Pa wouldn't drag her away and then demand to know what she'd done to encourage a stranger. And she hadn't done anything wrong, had she?
If the gentleman erred in speaking to Molly without permission, then it was he who might be punished. She only hoped that wouldn't happen. She so hated for anyone to be punished because of her.
The man in question removed a large grey hat and placed it back on the shelf, then stepped back to look in the mirror again. Molly was wondering at his vanity when she realized he was looking in the mirror, not to appreciate his hatless head, but to look at Molly.
She bit her lip and suppressed a smile. He grinned in return. It occurred to her she might be able to warn him, so she opened her eyes wide and gave a little shake of her head.
He frowned and turned to face her.
“Molly?” Mrs. Carnegie called to her. “The weather is going to turn any day now. I think we should pick out a warm cloak for you.” The woman moved closer and noticed Mr. Craighton only five feet away. “Good day, sir.”
“Good day,” he replied with a little bow of his head. “Mrs. Carnegie, I presume?”
“Yes. And you are?”
“Samuel Craighton, at your service.” He offered another little bow.
“Ah, Mr. Craighton. Mrs. Kennedy told me you've booked a room at the hotel. I'm happy you've made it in time for this week's dance.” She slipped her hand around Molly's elbow. “May I introduce you to Miss Brumley? Molly, Mr. Craighton from Snow Creek, Colorado.
Molly nodded, but said nothing.
“Miss Brumley and I have met,” he said. “We happened to be walking the same direction on Main Street this morning and I introduced myself. I hope you don't mind, ma'am. The entire population of Sage River was happy to play chaperon.” He laughed lightly.
Molly looked quickly at Mrs. Carnegie. She was laughing too, as was the milliner.
“They are very good to us here,” she said and turned to the hat maker. “Mr. Forrester, would you mind showing Miss Brumley your selection of cloaks? She'll need something fur-lined and if you don't have one long enough for her, I'll need one made very quickly to suit her. She's graduated, you see, and I don't expect her to be in town much longer.”
The milliner jumped and nodded, then gestured to Molly to follow him to the other end of the store.
“Until we meet again, Miss Brumley.” He bowed his head again, but his eyes never left hers.
Mrs. Carnegie gestured toward the door. “Come, Mr. Craighton. Let's have a chat in the fresh air.”
The two were all manners as they left the shop and Molly reluctantly followed Mr. Forrester, wishing all the while she was a mouse beneath the boardwalk so she could listen to the conversation outside.
Was the man being sent away? Had he broken a sacred rule and couldn't come to the dance after all?
She was glad she wouldn’t be there at least. Somehow, she didn’t think she would care to see him dancing with the other brides…
Mr. Craighton was so opposite from her father in the way he made her feel, she couldn’t help but like him. His honesty was refreshing. In all the years she'd spent trying to say what her pa wanted to hear, she rarely had the chance to tell the simple truth, for the simple truth would often offend him in some way. Even though he vowed that he’d never lie to her, he’d left her no choice but to lie to him or she’d have been beaten every hour of the day.
Wouldn’t it be wonderful to marry a man she could be honest with? And if she couldn’t be at the dance to impress Mr. Craighton, would others like him come along who weren’t so fond of dancing? How long might she have to wait?
How long would she be allowed to wait?
Mr. Forrester didn't have a pre-made cloak long enough for Molly, but he promised he could have one made within the week.
Molly smiled with a shrug. “Don't you fret, sir. No matter what Mrs. Carnegie might have said, I expect to be around for a good long time.”
The man gave her an odd look, then went to find his wife to take Molly's measurements. The man was too nervous by half.
CHAPTER EIGHT
“Let me apologize again, Mrs. Carnegie, if I shouldn't have spoken with the young lady—”
“Oh, posh, sir. You've committed no sin. Like you said, the entire town was watching you. And rest assured, I would have heard about it immediately if you'd misbehaved.”
Samuel nodded and waited for the woman to speak her mind. If she wasn't upset about him talking to Molly, then he had no idea why she thought they needed to have a conversation outside.
They stood at the rail looking down on the busy street.
She looked over at him and narrowed her eyes slightly. “Have you already formed an opinion of the girl?”
He chuckled. “There was hardly time.”
She nodded. “Of course.” A faint frown made little dips in the middle of her eyebrows. “But if you had an opinion...”
Samuel took a deep breath and blew it out. “She's beautiful. Smart. Made me laugh.” He wasn't about to confess how he enjoyed the sound of her voice or looking into her eyes. Next thing, she'd be hauling them off to the church before he ever got a chance to court the girl. Though he hoped Molly Brumley wouldn’t be wooed away by another man, he wasn’t about to marry the girl within hours of meeting her. So he thought it might be better to throw her patron off the scent. “Are all of your students like this one?”
Still, she frowned. “No, Mr. Craighton. They are not. Each has her own attributes and talents, of course. But Molly is special. She's lived a harder life than most and I'm determined to find her a husband who might make it up to her. A kind man who knows how to...”
His hopes were tumbling down a well, slamming against a new rock with every word out of the woman's mouth. And he was afraid her next words were going to be the dry, hard well floor that would knock the wind out of his lungs.
“Well,” she couldn't be stopped, “she needs a man who knows how to care for wounds even if he can't see them.”
The air was gone. All hope of Molly Brumley being the bride for him? Gone.
“I've heard impressive things about you sir, and I must say your timing couldn't be better. Tomorrow would have been Molly's first dance since she's just graduated.”
He found air in his lungs again. “Would have been?”
“Yes. Well. I've never pressed Molly for the details, but she claims she can't attend the dances. Can't stand the feeling of being cornered.”
Samuel held firm against the sympathetic impulses rising inside him at the implications of the word. Cornered. It was if the devil had been eavesdropping on his thoughts and heard the promise he'd made to himself not to bring home another wounded creature, especially as a wife. And so, to be cruel, Lucifer had set another Mustard Seed in his path.
He just needed the strength to take another path.
Mrs. Carnegie watched him closely for his reaction, but he refused to give her what she wanted.
“That's too bad,” he said without emotion. “But I'm afraid I'm looking for a woman who likes to dance, ma'am.” The woman looked doubtful, her head tilting to one side, her eyes narrowing again. She was much too clever. He'd have to confess some of what he was thinking or she wasn’t going to leave him be.
“I'll admit, I'm not in the rescuing business anymore, Mrs. Carnegie. And if that's the only reason why you approved me, you've got the wrong man.”
The woman flinched, obviously surprised by his words, if not the coolness of the sentiment. For a minute, she looked him over, then met his eyes. He stood his ground and let her look her fill. If there was something objectionable in his soul, he wasn't going to pretend it wasn't there.
She gave a single nod, finally, as if she'd found what she was looking for.
“You'll make a fine husband for any of my brides, Mr. Craighton. And I appreciate your candor. It saves us both a lot of time. So,” she smoothed her skirts like she was smoothing any feathers that might have been ruffled, “I'll see you tomorrow evening.”
~ ~ ~
A light rain began as they exited the Telegraph and Post. It stirred up the dust on the street and then tamped it back down again while Molly and Mrs. Carnegie hurried down the boardwalk to their awaiting buggy. Thankfully, they'd come with the surrey, for neither of their hats was designed to hold out water.
Once they passed out the south road and made the turn toward the ranch, they huddled close to each other. The slight breeze against damp clothes had them shivering in no time and they turned to conversation to help the time pass quickly.
“So,” Molly said. “Will Mr. Craighton be attending your dance tomorrow?”
Mrs. Carnegie stared at the road ahead. “He will.”
Molly thought it strange she didn't elaborate.
“So he is looking for a bride then?”
The woman nodded, still watching the road.
“Then you aren't going to send him home for speaking to me?”
Her companion finally turned to look at her. “Of course not.”
Molly smiled with relief. “I'm so glad. I'm sure he'll be happy with one of the others. He seemed like a very nice man. Charming, too.”
Mrs. Carnegie frowned. “Charming and nice? But you don't want him?”
Molly swallowed against the tightening in her chest. “He deserves to be happy, doesn't he?”
“And he can't be happy with you?”
“No. I don't think so. He was rather excited about dancing. He should marry someone who likes to dance too.”
“And what kind of man should you marry?”
Molly laughed. “I'll take the first man who doesn't like dancing.”
Mrs. Carnegie smiled, but she didn't seem to think it very funny. Perhaps she worried she'd have to feed Molly for a good long while.
After a bit of silence, Molly couldn't help but ask the question that had been plaguing her since she left home.
“Ma'am?”
“Yes?”
“What do you do with brides that...no man offers for?”
The woman didn't speak for a minute or two.
“Forgive me, Molly, but I wasn't prepared for the question since it has yet to happen. Once a woman has learned all I can think to teach them, once she
has become polished and confident, she is irresistible to a good man. Just as you are.”
Molly forced her lips into a little smile and turned to look at the autumn flowers that spread out to the right so the woman wouldn't see the water gathering in her eyes.
“But maybe we need to work on the confidence a little more, eh?”
Molly nodded enthusiastically, but kept her face averted. More confidence was exactly what she needed.
“And if there is ever a bride who doesn't find the husband she wants...I suppose she'll just have to make her home at the ranch and work for me.”
Air filled Molly's lungs again and she tried to brush that worry from her mind. A life at Diamond Springs, among kind and happy people, sounded just short of Heaven. And maybe one day, she'd be able to have her own little cabin surrounded with flowers, like the one in her painting.
“Molly?” Mrs. Carnegie said as the little buggy neared the big house. “You know, if you are interested in Mr. Craighton, there is something you can do to win a man like him for yourself.”
Molly's heart thumped firmly at the suggestion. “Really? How?”
The woman laid a glove on her forearm and gave it a little squeeze. “You can dance.” After a little pat, that glove was gone. “I know it frightens you, but just consider it. Maybe tomorrow night, you could sit outside the hall and listen to the music. By next week, you might want to go inside. A week after that, you might accept an invitation to dance.”
“You make it sound so simple.”
“We could pretend it is.”
Molly sighed. “I doubt it would work. But even if it did, Mr. Craighton would already be gone.”
Mrs. Carnegie climbed from the carriage, then turned back and shrugged a shoulder. “So you'll be ready to dance with another nice man.” She turned and headed for the house. The usually silent driver, Minnie offered to help Molly down so she could take the horse and buggy out back.
“Do you like to dance, Minnie?”
The woman snorted. “Don't everybody?”
Molly exhaled sharply through her nose. If she'd been looking for a sympathetic ear, she'd made a poor choice. But then she imagined the quiet woman joining in a square dance still dressed in britches decorated in nothing but knife handles and cartridge belts.