The Bridal Veil

by Alexis Harrington

  That hadn’t stopped the women in Fairdale from trying to pair him off. It seemed that no more than a month after Belinda’s death, two or three of the unmarried females in town had begun inviting him to Sunday dinner. He’d known them when he was still a single man, known them very well, but that had been years earlier, and he’d been a carefree young buck back then. The first year after he lost Belinda, he’d been drunk a lot of the time, anyway, and he’d had no interest in their obvious maneuvering. Eventually, he’d realized that Rose needed a mother, someone besides her grandmother. But he hadn’t thought that any of those women would be good to his girl. And that was his chief concern.

  At first, he’d kept the decision a secret from both Rose and Cora. God, especially Cora. Then, after placing the advertisement in the Chicago Tribune, he’d come to town every Saturday, looking for a reply. He wasn’t sure why he’d chosen Chicago. It just seemed that he’d stand a better chance of finding a woman who knew nothing about his past, one who would help him get a fresh start on life.

  Franny Eakins, who ran the general store and was Fairdale’s first postmistress, had been none too subtle with her probes into Luke’s interest in the mail. She was also one of the women who’d pursued him these past three years. She’d been so obvious and persistent in her flirting that he began to hate going into her store.

  Ordinarily, he didn’t get much mail—a farm journal or two, maybe a seed catalog or an order from Burpee. Then he had a few different replies to his ad. He pored over them, and only one woman’s caught his eye, Alyssa Cannon’s. And when her creamy envelopes had begun arriving for him, all bearing a fine hand and the faint scent of roses, Franny’s eyes widened and her dark, caterpillar brows inched up her forehead. Pretty soon she’d started asking him some pointed questions, which Luke had done his best to evade.

  When he’d finally announced his plan and Alyssa’s pending arrival to his daughter and mother-in-law, the storm that broke over the Becker farm rivaled any that blew through the gorge in winter.

  Neither of them wanted this new person, Alyssa Cannon, in their house. A stranger, Cora had raged, handling her dead daughter’s possessions, taking her dead daughter’s place? Cora had turned the house into a kind of shrine to Belinda, leaving her belongings exactly where she’d kept them, as if she’d only gone into town for the afternoon instead of to her final rest. Had his wedding vows meant nothing to him? she demanded. Given his history with Belinda, he’d wondered how she had the nerve to ask.

  Rose had sulked over the news and vowed not to like anyone he brought home.

  Their reaction had been so bad, Luke had decided it would be better not to mention in his letters that Cora lived under his roof. He knew he’d taken the coward’s way out. He just hoped it would all sort itself out. Somehow.

  All the nights he’d lain awake, worrying and planning, simmering over Cora’s tight-lipped disapproval and Rose’s withdrawal and unladylike antics . . . all those nights of planning and hoping that a new bride would lighten his lonely widower’s life and help him reach his remote, unhappy, tomboy daughter. A new wife who’d described herself so vividly—petite and dark-haired—that he’d actually been looking for Belinda to get off that damned steamboat. He’d arranged a quiet ceremony with old Judge Clifton, to be conducted this afternoon in his office, followed by a little wedding dinner back at the farm. He’d told Cora to wait at home until the whole thing was signed and sealed. Oh, he’d had lots of plans.

  At the very least, he’d expected someone named Alyssa, with whom he’d corresponded for several months. Instead this stiff-backed female had arrived, resembling one of the scarecrows in his cornfield, tall, skinny, and pale, with the horrifying news that his intended mail-order bride was dead and she was here to take her sister’s place. Generally, it wasn’t in him to be rude to a woman, but he wanted to ask her just what the hell she was thinking of.

  As if reading his thoughts, Emily Cannon spoke. “I’m sure you must be wondering why I came to Oregon, Mr. Becker. It must seem very odd to you. And I admit that it was a very forward thing for me to do.”

  “Yeah, well, ma’am—”

  She looked away, but not before Luke noticed that her eyes were the color of spring clover. “After Alyssa’s funeral, I had intended to write and tell you about her accident. Then it occurred to me, you need help with your daughter Rose, and I’m a teacher of etiquette and fine needlework at Miss Abigail Wheaton’s Finishing School for Young Ladies.” She gave him a sidelong glance. “Or at least I-I was until Miss Wheaton was forced to close her doors for lack of funds.” She gave the tea another nervous stir with the spoon and continued in a low voice, the words tumbling out. “In any event, your letters explained your difficulties and what you’re looking for in a wife.” She pulled a piece of paper of out her pocket and extended it in her slender hand. “‘Please come,’ it said. ‘We need you.’ So I came.”

  Luke stared at his own letter, one of the several he’d written to Alyssa Cannon, now in Emily’s grip. Damn it to hell, this was too much. “You read the letters I wrote to your sister?”

  The lunchtime diners at the surrounding tables leaned in a little closer.

  A look of mild horror crossed her even features and she dropped her spoon. “Only with her permission, I assure you! To do otherwise would be—would be—unmannerly, dishonorable. She shared them with me, yes. After all, my only sister was planning to travel to the west edge of the country to marry a man she had never met. She wanted me to know something about you and where she was going.”

  He felt color and heat rising to his face. Her explanation didn’t do much to relieve his embarrassment. He groped around in his memory, trying to remember if he’d said anything very personal in those letters. He didn’t think so. He certainly hadn’t bared his soul to Alyssa Cannon, but the mail had been private, or so he’d believed. His reply was blunt. “They were meant for her. So was the train ticket I sent to her. I planned to marry your sister, Miss Cannon, not you. I asked her to come, not you.”

  Emily dropped her gaze to the tabletop, sat back, and folded her hands in her lap. She looked like a dog that had been kicked from here to the river and back again, and Luke’s conscience gave him a swift kick as well. God, he even thought her chin quivered once.

  “I know that I’m not Alyssa, Mr. Becker,” she murmured. “But I believe I would suit. I’m not expecting romance, merely companionship and a chance to help.”

  Luke said nothing and the silence stretched out before them like a long, dark tunnel.

  Emily thought about the disheveled girl and considered her grim-faced father, and wished she could shut her eyes and wake up to find herself back in her rooms in Chicago. She wished she could turn back time to the days before all the bad things had happened, before Alyssa’s accident and the demise of Miss Wheaton’s school, back to a time when Emily had been just a teacher, innocent and ignorant.

  She felt like the worst fool God ever allowed on the face of the earth. Coming here had been a horrible mistake—she must have been out of her mind when she’d made the decision. She had suffered many humiliations in her life, large and small, but none like this. How she yearned to be back in her classroom, in charge, in control. Not at the mercy of her own feckless judgement, and subjected to a girl who should be taken in hand for her abominably smart mouth and unacceptable behavior.

  But with Alyssa’s death and the closing of Miss Wheaton’s, Emily had felt so lost in the world, the idea of staying in Chicago became intolerable. She had no classroom to return to, nothing to take charge of. She was adrift and without employment. Her impatient landlady had threatened to evict her for back rent that Emily had no means to pay. And so she had come to Oregon in her sister’s place.

  Once again, though, Emily had fallen short of lovely Alyssa’s charm and beauty. It had happened so many times over the years—now that her sister was dead, Emily felt vilely disloyal even thinking about it. Except it was true. She’d loved Alyssa with all her heart, but A
lyssa had been everything that Emily was not: small, dark-haired, popular.

  “I’m sorry I wasted your time, Mr. Becker,” Emily said, shaking off the painful memories. “I will return to Illinois. If you’ll just escort me to the ticket office so that we can buy my passage to The Dalles, then I’ll get a train back home—”

  Luke put an elbow on the table and leaned forward. “Do you have the money to make the trip?”

  His blunt question brought Emily up short. Not only was it unseemly to discuss finances, it forced her to reveal her reduced circumstances. Her small savings had gone to giving Alyssa a proper burial. And none of the sentimental things in her trunk had any monetary value. Even her landlady had said as much when Emily had offered them in exchange for the back rent. “Well, n-no, I don’t.”

  His smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Neither do I. Farmers don’t earn a lot of cash, Miss Cannon. If I see more than a hundred dollars a year, I’m lucky. I spent the little I could spare on the train ticket you used to get here.”

  The pit of Emily’s stomach seemed to drop to her knees. She’d long ago become a careful person, weighing her actions and the possible outcomes from every angle. But when she’d finally decided to come to Oregon, she’d closed her eyes and jumped, refusing to give any thought to what might happen if Luke Becker didn’t want her. If she’d been more cautious, she was afraid she wouldn’t come at all. She’d had to get away from Chicago and the bad memories that teemed in her mind like a milling crowd. But it had been pure foolishness and now she stared into the face of the consequences, both for herself and Luke. Of course, he didn’t want her. He was too handsome, too vitally attractive to be satisfied with a plain-featured woman who was almost tall enough to look him straight in the eyes. She felt her cheeks grow as hot as stove lids. What was she going to do now?

  “I’m sorry,” she began again. “I had no idea— What if Alyssa had come and things didn’t work out?”

  He shrugged and took a sip of his cold coffee. “I never thought they wouldn’t. I had a lot of hope.”

  It seemed they were both guilty of the same idealistic notion.

  Just then, Rose ran into the restaurant, holding a large handful of striped candy sticks. Fast on her heels was Franny Eakins, her face vermillion and her caterpillar brows knitted in a furious frown. Her shopkeeper’s apron flapped around her skirts like a sail and every eye in the place shifted from Luke and Emily to the distracting commotion.

  “Rose Becker, you give me back that candy right now! One thing I won’t put up with is stealing.”

  Luke jumped up. “What the hell is going on?”

  Franny, a small woman, stood on tiptoe to put her face in his. “I’ll tell you what’s going on. Your girl here stole all those candy sticks when she thought I wasn’t looking.”

  Rose ducked behind Luke, but Franny made a passing grab at her arm to pry the candy out of her grubby hand. “Unmannered little thief!” she barked.

  “Rose, is that true?” Luke demanded. “Did you take those peppermint sticks? I gave you three pennies.”

  “I was gonna pay for them!” Rose said, but she held more than three cents’ worth in her fist. Somewhere since the time he’d last seen her, she’d lost her new straw hat and streaked her dress with mud. At least he hoped it was mud. These days, he never knew what she might get into.

  “I’ve had enough of your daughter’s shenanigans, Luke. A week ago she took a new pencil from my place, and the Tuesday before that, she was caught soaping the windows at the drugstore. You’d better take better control of this girl pretty soon or she’s going to be in more trouble than you’ll know how to fix.” Glaring at Rose as she peeked around her father’s coat, Franny added, “You are not welcome in my store, Rose Becker. You’re just like your father was, a wicked, black-hearted brat and a thief, too!”

  Luke could take the insult to his character—it sure wasn’t the first time someone had made an unflattering comment about him. He’d heard them all of his life. And for all her complaining, Franny Eakins had always been attracted to what she called bad boys, even though she talked them down in public. But he wasn’t about to stand here and let this busybody attack his child, regardless of Rose’s guilt. Especially since he suspected that Franny was grinding her axe over him. “Just a minute now, Fran, I—”

  Emily stood, her height calling attention to itself. With her shoulders back and her chin lifted, she had a regal bearing. “Forgive my intrusion, madam, but your accusation is very harsh, and making it in such a public place is highly improper. I might add that name-calling is no way to teach a child right from wrong. It makes the name-caller look worse than—”

  Franny gave her a withering glare. “I don’t know who you are, Miss High-and-Mighty, but it’s not my job to teach her anything. This is none of your business, anyway.” She cast her hard look on Luke. “I’ll add the price of the candy to your account.” Turning, she flounced out, her heels pounding across the plank flooring.

  Luke glanced around the room, at the rubbernecking lunchroom patrons, at the tall, pale woman who’d come west to deliver bad news and then to marry him, and at his incorrigible, defiant daughter. This was swiftly becoming one of the worst days of his life. It wasn’t the worst, not by a long shot. The worst day still lay in his heart like a rock. But this one was right up there near the top of the list. He threw a half dollar on the table, far more than he owed for the check. “Let’s get out of here.”

  They filed out to the sidewalk into the gray drizzle and he turned to Rose. “Stealing, for God’s sake? You’ve got some explaining to do when we get home.”

  Rose said nothing, but rolled out a long-suffering sigh and flipped her wilting curls behind her shoulders.

  Then there was the matter of Emily Cannon, who’d followed Luke outside. He felt as if he now had more problems than Job. “Look, Miss Cannon, I appreciate that you stuck up for Rose, but I’m sorry you came all this way. I just don’t think . . . ” She met his gaze and the welter of emotions he saw in her eyes made the rest of his sentence fizzle away.

  “I felt I had to try. For Alyssa, and for your young Rose, too.”

  For Rose.

  That made him forget what he’d been planning to say. He barely heard her over the rumble and clatter of a passing farm wagon. But he heard enough.

  At last he uttered, “Yes, ma’am. I think I understand.”

  Rose butted in, and he swore he heard Cora talking. “Well, you can’t marry her.”

  These days when Rose spoke, Luke more often heard Cora’s voice and vitriol, and none of Belinda’s sweetness. His mother-in-law was spoiling Rose rotten, indulging her, and little by little, undermining his own authority. On top of that, her bitterness was boiling over onto his daughter, and that was part of the problem, wasn’t it? Rose was turning into a sullen imp. Yeah, he’d sown his share of wild oats in his younger years, but he’d never been like his girl. No eleven-year-old child should be so miserable or cantankerous.

  He glanced at Emily Cannon. Etiquette teacher. It seemed like a useless occupation to him, what little of it he could imagine. A girl didn’t need to fill her head with foolishness like how to hold a teacup or a fan. She needed to learn practical things, to cook and sew and keep house. To be a good daughter. To be a good wife.

  Most importantly, to be a good person.

  What was she learning now? To lie and steal? To be disrespectful and irresponsible, a whining complainer?

  Luke didn’t want to marry Emily Cannon. But he sure as hell couldn’t sit back and let Cora win the tug-of-war that she was waging over Rose. Even though he’d been deceived and didn’t owe Emily a damned thing, when he saw the pain and uncertainty in her eyes, he couldn’t find it in his heart to turn her away. And she’d risen to his daughter’s defense, when Rose had been nothing but rude to her. That took a woman with integrity and steel.

  Maybe, just maybe, Miss Emily Cannon, etiquette teacher, could help him turn his daughter around and teach her to be a
decent young woman. He hadn’t gotten what he wanted, but he might have gotten what he needed. If she could save Rose from Cora’s influence, he’d do whatever it took, even if it meant marrying a woman he would never love.

  “Rose, go wait in the wagon.”

  “Aw, Daddy—”

  He fixed her with an unwavering stare. “You’re already in a peck of trouble. Don’t make it worse. Wait in the wagon.”

  The girl dawdled off to their wagon where it was parked down the street.

  When she was out of earshot, Luke turned to Emily. “Look, Miss Cannon, I can’t pretend that I’m real happy about the way this has turned out. I can’t afford to send you back to Chicago. And I can’t promise you anything besides a decent place to live and the respect any man would give a wife.” He shoved his hand through his hair. “I guess what I mean, that is, well, I won’t be any good at moonlight and roses—”

  Emily tipped her head slightly. “You mean love and affection.”

  He sighed, half relieved, half self-conscious to even hear the word love voiced. Luke had never felt comfortable talking about personal things like that. Except with Belinda. “Yeah. I can’t give you that. But you can see that Rose needs some refinement—well, a lot of refinement, I guess. I can’t do it by myself. I don’t know how to do it. If you’ll help me with her, I’ll give you everything else a woman should expect from her husband—my name, a home, and respect. So if you still want to get married, my offer stands.”

  Emily gazed out at the river for a moment, as if weighing her whole life on the point of that moment. She had kind of a nice profile, Luke thought. To his surprise, he felt a twinge of worry that she might not accept the proposal.

  But she nodded and said, “I accept your offer, Mr. Becker.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  Mrs. Luke Becker.

  Emily sat next to her new husband on the hard seat of his farm wagon, trying to keep her back straight and maintain her balance on a conveyance that bounced her around as though she were a bead dropped from a broken strand.