Stranger's Bride

by Denise Hunter

  It hadn’t seemed real until she had received his letter of acceptance. Helen had been with her when she’d gotten the letter from the post office. They’d sat right on the dusty steps of the old building and read it together, her hands trembling with anticipation.

  Helen had pulled Sara up and spun her around in a victory dance after reading the first paragraph. It had all seemed so right at that moment. Helen was sure and brave enough for the both of them. It was only later, as she lay alone in bed that night, that she began to wonder if it was all a horrible mistake.

  The only real information she had about Mr. McClain was that he was a Christian, twenty-nine years old, owned a ranch in Kansas, and had advertised for a wife in the newspaper. What sort of man did that? His letter sounded rather impersonal, which was fine, but left her wondering about his character. Did he treat others fairly? Was he a gentleman? Did he have a temper? Worse yet, was he a drinker?

  Her present situation was onerous, but she was treading into unfamiliar territory. What if Mr. McClain were worse than Pete? She didn’t share her concerns with Helen, who seemed so optimistic. And every time Sara started to bring it up, she wound up feeling like she must be seeing trouble where there was none.

  For two days she weighed her options. She could go to Kansas and take her chances with Mr. McClain or she could stay here and continue saving and working toward her own independence. Given her meager earnings from the Hotel Vendôme, it would take at least another year to put away enough money. Perhaps she was impatient, but another year of living with Pete seemed like eternity. He was becoming progressively more violent and coming home drunk more than ever before.

  While she didn’t know much about Mr. McClain, he was a religious man, and that should count for something. To live far away in Cedar Springs, Kansas had its appeal as well. The town’s name itself conjured up lovely scenes of giant trees and gushing water. Sometimes the unknown simply is more attractive than the familiar; perhaps that was why she decided to accept Mr. McClain’s proposal.

  Leaving her friend was her only regret. She knew it would be risky to remain in contact with Helen. Pete knew they were friends, and Sara only hoped that he wouldn’t harass Helen once he discovered Sara missing. Sara was glad Helen had her brother for protection, even though Helen insisted she was not intimidated by “that old drunk,” as she called Pete.

  Sara had not even given advance notice to her employer for fear that Pete would find out she was quitting her job. Mr. Stalfort had not taken her short notice kindly. He had pursed his thin lips as he wrote out her final paycheck, subtracting two days pay for the inconvenience of her late notice.

  Ever since she’d finally made it to the train, Sara had been worrying about what Mr. McClain would think of her. What if he didn’t like her? What if he found her unsightly? Pete had always called her scrawny and said her thick curls were unruly and brazen. He’d called her names, too. Many of them were unfamiliar, but she could tell by his scathing tone and malicious expression that they were horrible.

  Sara rummaged through her travel bag and withdrew a miniature looking glass. Yesterday the bruise on her jaw had been a ghastly shade of yellow but it had faded, and today it was hardly noticeable.

  Her eyes met their reflection and she recognized a flicker of apprehension. She drew a deep breath and forced her muscles to relax. This was going to work out fine. It had to.

  Gazing out the window through beads of water, she watched the landscape sweep by. All her hopes rested in the faith that Mr. McClain was a decent man and that this marriage, although unorthodox, would prove satisfactory.

  Oh, how she wanted a new life! To be happy and free, away from the oppression of her stepfather. To be at peace in her own home.

  She so wanted to do this right. Pete had always made her nervous. It seemed as if he were forever waiting for her to make a mistake. And he never had long to wait. It was easy to burn supper or miss a speck of dirt when Pete was growling at you from across the room. It had taken these long days of travel for her nerves to settle from the constant tension of living with Pete.

  The tall trees beside the train track sailed by like grand ships being driven by a mighty wind. It was a dismal day outside. The sky was a gray abyss, hiding all evidence of yesterday’s sun. Nevertheless, she enjoyed the countryside as it rolled by. It was a splendid change from Boston’s landscape. She was ready for a quieter life.

  Sara wondered how far Mr. McClain lived from Wichita. It didn’t matter. She was looking forward to the solitude. Not that they would be alone. He’d mentioned in his last letter that his ranch hand, Gus, lived in another house on the property with his wife, Hetty. They were to be the witnesses at the wedding tomorrow.

  She leaned her head against the cool window and attempted to recapture some much-needed sleep.

  When she awoke, she saw that a young girl occupied the seat next to her. Most of the morning and afternoon were spent listening to her chatter. Abbey was traveling to Texas to visit her grandmother. When Abbey asked Sara who she was going to visit, Sara simply said she was going home. Sara wasn’t accustomed to such a lively person, but Abbey was delightful and amusing, and she helped to pass the day.

  When the next stop was Wichita, Sara smoothed the creases in her deep blue dress. She wished she had something more becoming to wear today. Her nicest dress, an ivory gown trimmed with a flounce and sporting a bustle, was being saved for tomorrow. Her mama had sewn it several years ago, and it was a bit out of fashion; still, it was her fanciest dress. Anyway, it would feel nice to wear something her mama had made; it would be almost like having her there for her wedding. For today, her blue frock would have to do. Besides, that’s what she’d told Mr. McClain she’d be wearing. The matching blue ribbon in her hair would further serve to identify her.

  When the Wichita stop was announced, Sara stood and gathered her belongings. Abbey rose to let her by, and after a quick embrace, they bid each other farewell.

  The train was a little early, and as she disembarked she wondered if Mr. McClain had even arrived yet. The Wichita stop was a popular one, judging by the number of people who disembarked with her.

  Once her feet were on the wooden platform, she cast a furtive glance around. There were several groups of people greeting loved ones, but she saw no one matching Mr. McClain’s description. She shifted her weight awkwardly for a moment, then lugged her case to a vacant bench against the wall of the depot, and perched on the edge of the bench to wait.

  Her mama had used the expression “bundle of nerves” often, and it came to mind now as she sat waiting for her husband-to-be. Every part of her body seemed to be affected. Her cold hands were trembling, her legs felt like noodles, her heart was beating out a cadence to a speedy tune, and her thoughts were ricocheting from one side of her head to the other.

  She glanced up each time she heard the tromping of feet on the hollow landing, but no one seemed to be looking for her as they shuffled by. The crowd was clearing, the new boarders having gotten on, and only their family members stood on the platform now, waiting to wave good-bye.

  According to her timepiece it was still a few minutes before 6:00, so she scooted back on the rugged bench and waited for her future to materialize.

  ❧

  Hetty’s excitement was obvious in the way she fidgeted all the way to Wichita. She clearly was looking forward to having another Christian woman around the house.

  As for Nathan, he just wanted to get this farce of a wedding behind him and get on with his life. This woman’s presence in his life would be an inconvenience, but he felt things could pretty much go on as they always had.

  They’d heard the shrill whistle of the train as Nathan pulled the carriage to a stop. Gus and Hetty insisted Nathan meet Miss Donaldson alone, so he tethered the horses and hurried off to find her.

  Several people lingered in the train station, some saying hello, some saying good-bye,
but there was no young lady fitting Miss Donaldson’s description.

  He went to the rear of the building, stepped out onto the platform, and scanned the area. He saw a few people milling about before his eyes settled on her. She was sitting on a bench no more than fifteen feet away. A blue dress hung upon her frame, and he could see from her profile the blue ribbon secured in her upswept hair. Stubborn ringlets of dark satin had escaped and teased her face as a gentle breeze blew. Her eyes were cast downward, studying her little black boots, and her hands were folded demurely in her lap. Even from a distance he could see her smooth ivory skin and delicately rounded nose.

  His jaw hardened and his eyes narrowed as he studied her. This wasn’t the homely young woman he’d imagined, the one he’d been planning to disregard, the one who was simply supposed to share his house and whose presence he would scarcely heed.

  He couldn’t ignore this woman, pretend she wasn’t there.

  He felt betrayed, as if she’d deceived him; she had made him believe she was uncomely, when, in fact, she was exquisite!

  With time he would have seen the absurdity of these thoughts. But as he stomped over to where she sat, anger boiled up within him, threatening to spew out.

  Sara heard the heavy footsteps coming toward her and knew instinctively who it was. She kept her eyes trained on her boots and bit her trembling lip.

  Massive black boots scuffed to a halt several feet away. Her eyes followed the long line of his legs and torso. He was a big, strapping man, even taller than her stepfather. Corded muscles bulged below his rolled cuffs, and his neck extended columnlike from beneath his collar.

  His jaw was angular and tight, his lips compressed in a firm line, and the brows over his gray eyes were drawn low, causing two vertical creases between them.

  He might have been handsome, if not for the scowl on his face. She wondered what she’d done to provoke this man.

  She levered her body off the bench, forcing her quaking legs to support her weight.

  He removed his worn hat, exposing hair the color of coal hanging in waves to his shoulders. “Miss Donaldson?” he asked between clenched teeth.

  “Y–yes,” she said, wishing she were anyone else.

  “I’m Nathan McClain.” He reluctantly offered his hand.

  Sara timidly extended her own and found it swallowed up in a brusque handshake. “It. . .it’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. McClain.” It came out in a croak, but he didn’t seem to notice.

  “Hope you haven’t been waiting too long,” he continued before she could answer. “This all you brought with you?”

  “Uh, yes, j–just the one bag.”

  He picked up the valise as if it weighed no more than a dishcloth. “We’d best be going. Hetty and Gus are waiting in the carriage.”

  Sara walked briskly behind him, trying to keep pace with his long strides. Through the depot and down the steps they went. All the while, her mind was racing as fast as her feet. What have I done? How can I marry this man? Questions surged through her in waves, churning up doubts and eroding her peace of mind.

  four

  There was no time to challenge her sanity or sort through her options, as she soon found herself standing beside an old carriage that held a middle-aged couple.

  The woman, Hetty, was plump, with brown hair that was turning gray on the sides. Sara’s face relaxed in a small smile as Hetty beamed at her, then leaned over the carriage to catch hold of Sara’s hand. “You must be Sara. Oh, you are a dear! But you must be exhausted after that dreadful long ride.”

  Gus bounded down from the carriage and politely extended a hand. “Pleasure to meet you, miss. Let me give you a hand up.” He was a little on the thin side, his hair speckled with gray, but his face sported a welcoming grin.

  Sara mounted the carriage in front of Hetty, and Mr. McClain vaulted up on the opposite side. The seat was plenty wide for two people, but he was such a large man that Sara had to wedge herself against the bench’s arm to keep from touching him. He snapped the reins, setting the team in motion, and said nothing.

  Hetty filled the silence with friendly chatter. “I think you’ll find Wichita much like Boston, Sara. When me and Gus came here eleven years ago, there wasn’t a train station or nothin’. Now I hear tell there’s forty thousand people livin’ in the area. And just look at those buildings! Four stories high, some of ’em, and made of brick.”

  The dirt road—Douglas Street, the sign read—was lined on both sides by various-sized buildings. People carrying packages or toting children scurried by on the street-side paths. Horse-drawn wagons clattered by with heavy loads. The city did, indeed, bear a resemblance to Boston.

  Hetty explained that they would be staying at a local hotel. She asked if Sara had eaten yet, and when Sara said she hadn’t, Gus told her they’d have supper in the hotel dining room.

  Mr. McClain had remained silent all the while, and Sara dared a peek at him through a fringe of lashes. His rigid body scarcely swayed with the carriage’s movement, and his large hands gripped the reins so tightly his knuckles had gone white. Her eyes skittered up to his face and she saw that it was still dark with anger.

  Since he’d been fuming before she’d even spoken, she reached the only conclusion she could possibly draw: He was displeased with her appearance. Well, she’d feared this would happen. Had expected it, really. Her appearance surely did seem to incite men to anger. First Pete, now Mr. McClain.

  He probably wouldn’t want to marry her at all now, and perhaps that was for the best. She wasn’t keen on living with another ill-tempered man. Mercy, but she did bring out the worst in men.

  Reality haunted her and she remembered her paltry savings. At best it would buy her two night’s lodging, and it was doubtful she’d be able to secure employment without a letter of recommendation. One thing she was certain of: Mr. Stalfort would not send her a letter of recommendation even if she begged for it. Oh, why hadn’t she thought this through? At the very least she should have stalled for time to save a bit more money. Now she had no options open to her. What had she been thinking?

  If Mr. McClain chose not to marry her, he might offer to pay her fare back to Boston, but she had no desire to go back there. Mr. Stalfort would certainly not rehire her, and Pete would surely find her if she were anywhere in Boston. Helen would probably offer to take her in once again, but she refused to bring trouble upon her friend’s household. And where else could she go? There were no distant relatives who might take pity on her, even if she were willing to take charity.

  All she could do was hope that Mr. McClain hadn’t changed his mind. She would follow through with her plan and make the best of it. Perhaps he wasn’t such a wretched man after all. People were entitled to have bad days now and then. Besides, he couldn’t be that awful and have such warm and congenial friends.

  She peeked at him again and, observing no change in his demeanor, she resolved to try to please him in any way she could. Even if her appearance disappointed him, there were other ways she could please him. She knew how to take care of a house, had been doing it since her mother had died. And even Mr. Stalfort had no complaint with her cleaning.

  The carriage drew to a halt at the hotel. Gus assisted Sara and Hetty, while Nathan looped the reins around the hitching post.

  Once inside, a chambermaid showed them to their rooms. Hetty suggested they freshen up and meet in the dining room in fifteen minutes. Sara agreed, eager for a moment alone and wanting to splash some cold water on her face. Thankfully, Nathan had requested three rooms, which meant Sara would have the whole night to gather her courage for tomorrow. And she had a notion it would take her the whole night.

  As she entered the room, she noted that the hotel was more civilized than she’d expected to find in the West. Not lavish, like the Hotel Vendôme, but stylish and clean.

  She doused her face with water from the basin and peered i
n the looking glass as she blotted her face dry. Her hair looked a fright, so she let it down and combed out the snarls. That done, she swept it up again in an effort to tame the thick mane of curls.

  Next, she withdrew her wedding dress from the valise and hung it on a peg. There were some creases in the delicate material, but she supposed they would fall out. She looked at the dress and remembered the hours her mama had spent on it. Oh, Mama, I miss you so!

  Besides the ivory gown, she had only the dress on her back and one other, a calico, soft from wear. The other items in her bag—toiletries, a nightie, underclothes, an old Bible, and her mother’s picture—would be enough to see her through. It wasn’t much, but she hadn’t wanted to be encumbered by a larger bag.

  She saw by her timepiece that only two minutes remained until their appointed meeting time, so she checked her appearance one more time and hastened to the dining room.

  As she descended the stairs, she saw the threesome sitting at a circular table near the center of the room. Once again she was surprised by the refinement of this western town. White linen cloths covered tables that were set with china and surrounded by wooden, spindled chairs. Shaded lanterns, elegantly suspended by three cords, hung overhead. Shades were drawn halfway on the west side of the room in an effort to block the glare of the setting sun.

  Though the dining room was only half full, the room was alive with the clanking of sterling on china and the buzz of idle chatter. Fried chicken was the prominent aroma, and the smell prompted a growl from Sara’s empty stomach as she made her way to the table. She’d had no appetite for days, but she would eat well tonight, if only to stop the knawing in her stomach.

  Nathan was speaking to Gus and Hetty as Sara ap-proached the table, and for the first time she saw his face at ease. She realized her earlier assessment was correct; Mr. McClain was a fine-looking man.