The Bartered Bride (The Brides Book 3)

by Lena Goldfinch

  “What’d you say was wrong with her?” the rancher asked, halting mid-count, his eyes on the preacher. He cast a glance at the young woman.

  “Can’t talk. Not right, anyways. And can’t write neither.”

  “Other than that?”

  “Healthy. Young. Strong. Hard worker. She can cook. Clean. Mend.” The preacher waggled his head as he listed off her attributes, as if he were selling bottles of remedy. It was a spiel, all right. Oily man. It was no way for a preacher to behave. No way at all. In fact, Jem would’ve liked to strangle the young man right then, but he held himself back. Violence had a way of taking over a man if unchecked—and he hated seeing it in himself. If he needed to protect someone he loved, he wouldn’t hesitate to fight. That was only natural. But to give free rein to violent urges? He couldn’t do that. Besides that, he couldn’t seem to move away.

  “And you said she’s ‘not all she’s supposed to be’?” the rancher asked.

  He made it sound like a bonus.

  Jem’s hands balled into fists.

  “I wouldn’t know myself, not firsthand, but I’d say so,” the preacher said. “Not really her fault,” he hurried to add. “Guess her mama was—that way. A prostitute, you know. But she ended up being fostered later on—a good family in Tennessee took her on.”

  “And that was the father?” Jem heard himself asking. “The one who sold her to you?”

  They both looked at him as if he’d sprouted a pair of devil’s horns. Or flashed a marshal’s badge at them.

  “That’s right. He was a good man, I assure you. A preacher like me.”

  “Like you,” Jem repeated tersely.

  “That’s right,” the young preacher looked at Jem closely as if trying to measure him—perhaps feeling a tad judged, Jem suspected, because he could feel disapproval welling up and rolling off his body in hot waves. It had to be showing on his face. He tried to cool his temper, folding his arms purposefully over his chest.

  Seeing no badge, the two men relaxed and ignored him.

  “I’ve got all the proper papers,” the preacher said to the prospective “groom.” He glanced at the money in the man’s hands and quickly bent to rifle through a satchel next to the tent opening. The tent was one of those big square white affairs, with flaps that pinned back to make a dark triangle of a door. A revival-gathering tent.

  He must not have had much luck in a little town like this, Jem thought. Whether his money had truly been stolen or not, he could well believe the young man was short on funds, if not completely broke. Likely the latter.

  Hearing a small strangled sound, Jem glanced at the young woman. She was standing now. She must have made the noise he’d heard. He quickly checked on Mae and saw her still playing contentedly with the puppy, blissfully unaware of what the grownups were talking about. The young woman wasn’t. All the color had washed out of her dirt-streaked face, and she was staring fixedly at the affluent rancher.

  Her buyer.

  She caught Jem’s eye then. All the while, he’d been so studiously not looking her in the eye, not getting involved. He knew himself well enough to know that was what he was doing. It had become something of a habit since Lorelei died, this way of holding people at a safe distance. So her catching his eye happened purely by accident.

  She sent him a silent plea. What she expected him to do now, he didn’t know. He tugged down the brim of his hat.

  “No, no need for a ceremony, really, if you don’t want.” He overheard the young preacher saying to the rancher. “She can’t talk anyway, so I don’t see the point of it. Just sign right here.” Jem glanced over to see the rancher signing a paper. A marriage certificate, he guessed.

  “She’ll just have to sign too,” the preacher said, turning to the young woman. She faced him with a forceful glare, and he seemed to diminish a little, as if she’d stolen his confidence.

  “Now, Annie,” he said to her gently as if to a small child, “all you need to do is make a mark here. Any kind of mark.” He pointed to a line on the document. “Right here.” He held a pen out toward her.

  She didn’t move.

  “Please,” he said through gritted teeth. He was at her side in two strides, then briefly pressed his mouth to her ear and whispered something. Jem noticed how stiffly she held herself until he pulled away. She bowed her head for a moment, and when she looked back up her expression was beaten. What had he said—or threatened her with? Whatever it was, his words had taken all the fire out of her eyes. She took the pen and held it in an awkward grasp. The young preacher held the paper against his palm and crowded in close until she signed it. To Jem her mark looked like nothing more than a couple of rolling mountains, but he supposed it could have been an A and a couple of Ns.

  “That’s good,” the preacher said, relief evident in the way his shoulders dropped slightly. “Here you go.” He blew on the ink to dry it and waved it in the air a bit before he folded it nice and neat and handed it to her buyer. A man who hadn’t even bothered to introduce himself to his bride. Like his name didn’t matter. Like she didn’t matter. He’d never once asked her name either.

  Annie. That’s what the preacher had called her.

  A simple name.

  Jem felt sickened by the whole thing. He moved, fixing to retrieve Mae and already bracing himself for her to pitch a fit. She wouldn’t want to leave the puppy.

  Don’t look at Annie, Jem told himself.

  The young woman’s gaze on him was too penetrating though, and he found himself glancing at her. She sent him another pleading look.

  What did she want from him? There was nothing he could do. She was married now, all legal and proper. Or whatever it was the preacher had called it.

  She grunted, some tiny desperate sound that tore at him. It seemed to come from the core of her, a place of pure panic.

  He wanted to reassure her, but there was nothing he could say.

  The man was likely just a mite close-lipped, like a lot of men were, blind to the greater emotional needs of women, but generally not bad.

  Jem had to stop just short of Mae, because Annie’s new husband rudely brushed by him—bringing a whiff of some faint burnt odor—and latched a chain around the puppy’s neck. It was his dog?

  “Time to go,” he said, giving the leash a tug. He seemed to direct his command both to the dog and to Annie. Little Mae looked up at the man towering over her, her eyes wide and frightened. Jem made to step around the man to get to her, but Annie had already put a reassuring hand on Mae’s shoulder. The puppy flopped onto its side, obviously not wanting to leave its new playmate.

  “I said, ‘Come.’” The man yanked the pup forward along the ground, lifting it onto its feet. The puppy straight-legged him, but the man was stronger, pulling it along protesting, its head thrashing against the chain.

  A noose tightened around Jem’s neck, just as surely as if the man had slung that leash around him.

  You didn’t treat an animal that way.

  Don’t get involved. You don’t know anything about the man. He could’ve suffered a bad bite as a boy. Maybe he never grew up around animals.

  Any number of reasons.

  “Come on, gal,” the man snapped at Annie, seeing she hadn’t moved to join him.

  She looked pleadingly at Jem, and this time he saw a flash of anger in her eyes. It didn’t seem like she was mad at him though, more like frustrated. Angry at how the puppy was being treated? He wasn’t sure.

  Honestly, he was so angry himself he thought his control might snap, that he might actually hit the man. So he bowed his head, trying to gather himself. There at Annie’s feet he saw what she’d been drawing in the dirt, a picture. It was a sketch of Mae and the puppy. Simple lines, but a real picture. Impressive for having done it with just her finger and a bunch of dirt.

  She wants me to protect the dog, he realized, not her. She’d been hovering over that dog the whole time, not just watching Mae. She saw something earlier—she must have. She didn’t like
the way this man handled his animal.

  The rancher yanked on the leash again, this time so hard the puppy fell sideways in the dirt. The man reeled it in closer, muttering.

  “Drop the leash.” Jem held himself together with icy calm.

  “What did you say?” The rancher halted and squinted at Jem, clearly not used to being challenged. He had money. That was evident from how readily he’d taken out his wad of bills and paid the preacher. He was used to people listening to him. Liked to throw his weight around. Liked playing boss. That kind of man.

  A man like him didn’t deserve a dog.

  A man like him didn’t deserve a wife.

  Although, a man like him—wealthy, in his mid-forties or early fifties, it looked like—probably already had a wife.

  It was possible.

  Which meant, possibly, he hadn’t just married Annie. Not legally, anyway.

  Which meant, possibly, he had plans for her that had nothing to do with being married or faithful. Things that didn’t bear thinking about.

  Jem couldn’t know for sure.

  But it was enough to make him doubt.

  “I said, ‘Drop the leash.’”

  “Listen, mister,” the rancher said, his eyes going mean. “I don’t want any trouble with you.”

  “Why? Because I’m bigger and can fight back?” It was a guess, but Jem had the satisfaction of seeing his words hit home.

  The rancher took a step toward him, bristling.

  The preacher hovered near his satchel with an anxious expression, as if he’d just swallowed a wasp.

  Jem glanced at Mae, wishing he could protect her from sights like this. Wishing she was far away. Annie had scooped her up and was holding his daughter’s face pressed into her shoulder. Good.

  “I’m taking the dog,” Jem told the rancher coolly. He pulled money out of his pocket before the man could say anything else. Jem handed him a bill that made his eyes widen, and, before he could say anything, slid the leash from his senseless fingers. Jem didn’t shy away from making himself look as big and as intimidating as possible, which might’ve helped. Then he turned to the preacher and asked, “What did he give you? How much?”

  The preacher swallowed and named a number.

  It was high, enough to make Jem raise his brows, but not enough to make him stop.

  “I’m taking her too. I’ll give you twice what he paid,” Jem told the preacher. “Just give him the money back.”

  “What?” he stared at Jem blankly, his face going faintly green.

  “If you won’t, I will.”

  “But—but they’re married. All proper and legal.”

  “Oh really?” Jem asked. “Seems like a married man can’t have two wives.”

  “Who says I’m married?” the rancher protested. He put on quite a show, but Jem wasn’t convinced. Didn’t matter anyway.

  “I say you are.” Jem took the paper from the man’s hand and ripped it into pieces. The wind took them away, blowing them down the street like tiny white leaves

  “Hey!” The rancher shoved Jem. He fisted his hands, ready to fight.

  Jem held him off. “Give him back his money,” he practically barked at the preacher, losing his patience fast.

  The preacher swallowed and stuck his hand out, the wad of bills outstretched. The man subsided all of a sudden, perhaps thinking it wasn’t worth his effort anymore—something that had perhaps only been an amusement to him. He took the bills from the preacher, his gaze hard on Jem the whole time.

  “That’s right. Good. Now get us a new paper, preacher,” Jem said. It was the last thing he wanted to do, but what choice did he have? Let the preacher “marry” her off to the next man, possibly someone worse?

  The preacher hurried to grab another paper from his bag, his hands visibly trembling as he made it out. Jem gave his particulars.

  “You need to sign.”

  Jem took the pen, held the paper against his palm and signed. It was all there: his name, as the preacher had hurriedly printed it, and his own signature. He looked at her name and just saw Annie.

  “What’s her last name?” he asked the preacher. “Doesn’t it need to be on here?”

  “She doesn’t have one. Never did, I guess. That’s what her father said.”

  “Don’t call him that again,” Jem said, irritated. “Just put his last name down here for hers, now.”

  He hurriedly wrote the name in: Ruskin.

  Annie Ruskin.

  As soon as the preacher added the name, Jem slipped the paper out of his hands and beckoned to Annie. She brought Mae closer, and Jem took his daughter from her. Mae squirmed immediately.

  “Hush,” he told her. “Wait just a minute.”

  “Hungry.”

  “I know. I’m hungry too.” Except now he wasn’t. This whole business had driven his hunger away.

  “Can you make your mark here?” he asked Annie, handing her the paper. “Annie,” he added, out of respect. “I’m James. James Wheeler. But most folks call me Jem. And this here is Mae. She’s mine. I’m not married now, but I was. Widowed.”

  She looked at him, seemingly frozen in place.

  “If you want,” Jem said quietly, looking at the preacher and the other man, her supposed “husband,” who was still hovering nearby. He was a big man. Used to getting his way. Unprincipled. Rough. Rude. And he was obviously furious.

  She looked at the man and swallowed, obviously not liking her odds. She hesitated a beat more, turning to look Jem over from head to toe, maybe not much liking the looks of him either. But in the end she nodded and took the pen and paper from him and made her little mountains. Her grip appeared painfully tight and the effort to make the mark showed on her face. Funny how she could draw so nice but couldn’t make her letters. Jem tried to recall any condition from his studies that would explain her inability. None came to mind. Not that he knew that much about human conditions, seeing as his specialty was animal care. But he was fairly certain she was mute. Maybe it had something to do with the way her mind worked. Some sort of impairment from birth? Or maybe some trauma or accident that took it away?

  “That will do just fine, I think.” Jem rolled the paper in his right hand, holding Mae on his left, her legs wrapped around his waist. He had a good grip on her, but keeping her still was made awkward by the fact that he was holding the leash too, and the puppy was pulling. Jem shoved the roll of paper down the front of his shirt, just to be safe. Wouldn’t do for the man in the duster to grab it and rip it up.

  “That’s all proper and legal?” Jem asked the preacher, wondering. He seemed to remember there being more to it when he married Lorelei, but then they’d been married in a big white church with a steeple, flowers, and everything, in a proper town with a proper town clerk.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Then I don’t ever want to see you again, understood?”

  “Understood.” The preacher hurriedly shoved his wad of money into his satchel and ducked into the church tent. He snapped the tent folds closed, evidently done with the proceedings.

  Jem was pretty sure Annie wasn’t sad to see the last of the young man. Although, she seemed pretty much lifeless at the moment.

  “Can you take the pup?” he asked her, hitching Mae up a little higher on his hip.

  Annie woke up a bit and nodded. She took the leash and hurried after him as he marched to the train.

  Jem paused with his foot on the step. “Do you have any bags?”

  She shook her head.

  “Nothing at all?”

  “No.” It was the only word he’d heard her say, and it came out oddly clipped, guttural even. She blushed fiercely, and he suspected she was embarrassed by the sound of her own voice. Maybe she’d been mocked as a child. People could be cruel.

  “Then get on board,” he said. “I’ll pay your fare when the porter comes around.”

  She scooped the puppy into her arms, and Jem helped her up the stairs, putting a hand under her elbow. Well, as best he
could with Mae squirming and asking again about food.

  The rancher was still standing there watching them, watching the train, unhappy and possibly feeling the need for vengeance. Jem wouldn’t put it past him to come after them later. Maybe get him alone, ambush him. Take Annie and the dog. It seemed a bit overdramatic, perhaps, but Jem had seen worse things in his life. Men who’d done far worse to their own kin.

  Food would have to wait.

  TWO

  The train closed in on Annie. It was like being wrapped up. But not like the warm comfy feeling of a blanket coming around her on a cold night—more the suffocating kind. It wasn’t the boxlike walls or the ceiling, not anything like that. She was used to riding the train by now, having followed Daniel Griggs, the “preacher,” around for the past few weeks.

  The man across from her—her husband—had leaned back in his seat, the brim of his hat pulled down low over his eyes like he was fixing to take a nap. Not looking at her at all, so it wasn’t his gaze she felt on her. It was everyone else’s. All the other passengers in the car were looking right at her. There weren’t that many of them, but they were all looking at her. She squirmed in all her filth. She’d gone a week or more without bathing, but with good reason. Daniel liked things clean. He liked things clean so much, he barely looked at her if she had a speck of dirt on her or a hair was out of place.

  She couldn’t be blamed for not wanting him to look at her.

  She hadn’t wanted him to touch her either. He’d tried that one time—not married up with her in the least—and she’d struck out at him. Gave him a good black eye too. He’d deserved it. Hypocrite. Liar.

  Oh, he preached salvation and faith and all that, but after his revivals, he liked to take up with the young teenage girls behind the tent—the ones with the moon eyes, looking up at him like he was God himself in a black coat and tie. She’d seen him out back doing...things...and more than once. Sickened her.

  He was handsome enough, she supposed, but in a too-slick kind of way. Not suitable for the preaching life. More suited for a gaming hall. Something like that. Some instinct had told Annie to stay out of his way from the first moment she laid eyes on him.