Anonymous Bride

by McDonough, Vickie;

  “And have the whole town talkin’?” Luke rolled his eyes. The town was already talking. All yesterday afternoon and evening people had stared at him and whispered as he walked along the street.

  “Look, you two are the reason those women came to town. I’m going to talk to Rachel and see when’s a good time, and you two are coming to the boardinghouse to apologize and make amends. Is that clear?”

  His cousins shared a glance, but both men nodded. Luke stared each one in the eye, making sure they understood he was serious. “I’ll let you know what time the meeting is.”

  He shoved open the door, and several people on the boardwalk gawked at him with curious expressions. He liked small-town life except when he was the main attraction, and he didn’t want to admit that he enjoyed the time he’d spent chatting with Rachel last night. It was almost as if they were friends again, without their troubled past. He wouldn’t likely get to do that again if he was with another woman. In spite of all that had happened between him and Rachel, she was the only woman he’d ever known as a close friend. A part of him longed to rekindle that relationship, but could they do that? Just remain friends?

  They’d have to, because that was all he was willing to be.

  CHAPTER 16

  Rachel, Jacqueline, and the brides sat at one end of the dining table while Mr. Sampson ate at the other end. Rachel sighed inwardly. You’d think the middle-aged salesman wouldn’t mind eating with a couple of pretty women, but he almost seemed afraid of them. Maybe he feared one of them would set her sights on him. She smiled and ducked her head.

  He wolfed down the last of his eggs and stood. “Thank you for another fine breakfast, Mrs. Hamilton. See you at supper tonight.” His gaze danced toward the two brides, and he nodded. “Ladies. Miss Jacqueline.”

  Rachel shook her head and buttered her biscuit. She hoped he did better talking to women as he hawked his wares than he’d done with the two brides.

  Miss O’Neil cleared her throat and laid down her fork. “Will we be able to talk to Marshal Davis this morning? I ... uh”—she glanced at Miss Bennett—“need to make some decisions as to what to do very soon.”

  “I, for one, plan to marry the marshal, so I suppose you do need to make alternative plans.” Miss Bennett dabbed her lips with her napkin and eyed Miss O’Neil with disdain.

  Rachel swirled more sugar into her coffee then took a sip of the hot liquid, hating that the women were fighting over Luke. How had things gotten to this point?

  Jacqueline shoved another slice of bacon in her mouth. “Luke’s gonna marry my ma.”

  Rachel choked as she swallowed. She coughed as she tried to clear her clogged throat. Tears blurred her vision. Both brides stared wide-eyed at her. Rachel turned her attention to her daughter. “Wherever did you get that idea?”

  Jacqueline plowed rows with her fork lightly across the lukewarm gravy covering half of a biscuit. “It just makes sense. He nearly lives here. You feed him and do his laundry already. You need someone to take care of you. But I don’t hav’ta mind him.” She dabbed some peach jam onto her biscuit and took a bite.

  “Saints preserve us.” Miss O’Neil held her napkin to her chest and squeezed it fiercely.

  “Luke does not live here. He lives next door.” Rachel tried to apply salve to the wound her daughter had just inflicted.

  “Same thing.” Jacqueline shrugged.

  Rachel closed her eyes and shook her head. “I’m not marrying Luke.”

  Especially now.

  Desperate to change the subject, Rachel turned to Miss Bennett. “Why don’t you tell us a little bit about yourself?”

  The young woman took a sip of her coffee then touched her napkin to her mouth. “I have lived just outside of Carthage, Missouri, for the past twelve years, but I was born in Boston. My father got it in his system to travel west when I was a child, but Carthage was as far as Mother would go. She simply wouldn’t tolerate moving to the frontier. Father owns a farm, and I’m the oldest of eleven children.” Miss Bennett stared at Miss O’Neil as if saying it was her turn to share.

  Eleven children! Was that why she decided to become a mail-order bride? To get away from such a large household? Rachel couldn’t imagine the responsibility that must have fallen on Miss Bennett’s young shoulders. Why, she doubted either woman had reached her twentieth birthday yet.

  Suddenly, she felt old. She was twenty-eight and still two years younger than Luke, but maybe he was now looking for a much younger woman to marry.

  Miss O’Neil cleared her throat. “I came to New Orleans from Ireland with my parents, but they both died shortly after we arrived. I uh ... met a couple from Shreveport who took me there to work on their estate just outside of town.” She fingered the handle on her coffee cup and stared at it, looking apprehensive. “I was a h–housemaid.”

  Rachel’s heart ached for the girl. She’d lost her parents, was all alone in a foreign country, and now had to deal with competing for Luke’s affections. No wonder she was so desperate. She couldn’t have made much money working as a servant, which explained why she only had the funds to stay two nights.

  Rachel tapped her finger against her plate, thinking. When a close friend or distant relative visited, she would often offer them a room for free, but she hesitated doing that with someone she barely knew since the boardinghouse was her sole source of income. And it would hardly be fair to give one bride free room and board and not the other bride. Still, she couldn’t just toss the woman out on the streets.

  Miss Bennett stood. “I’m going to my room to freshen up. I imagine the marshal will be here soon.”

  Rachel watched her sashay out of the room. The woman put on airs for some reason, though her clothing was faded and thin. She seemed bound and determined to become Luke’s bride, but why? Had something driven her away from her home, other than her numerous siblings?

  Jacqueline jumped up. She disappeared into the kitchen and returned with a bowl filled with the contents of the scrap bucket. “I’m running this over to Max.”

  Rachel stood and gave her a hug. “All right, but you come right back. Just because it’s Saturday, doesn’t mean you can play all day. We need to weed and water the garden before it gets too hot.”

  Jacqueline nodded and tugged loose from the embrace, then swaggered out of the dining room, walking like a boy. She’d even requested that the brides call her Jack. Rachel couldn’t understand the changes in her once sweet child. Were they because her father had died? Or just a natural part of growing older?

  “Um ... excuse me, Mrs. Hamilton, but have you by chance thought of a place I might find employment?”

  Rachel turned her attention back to Miss O’Neil. Her curly auburn hair looked as rebellious as Jacqueline as it fought against the confines of its hairpins, and her green eyes looked large against her fair complexion. Her Irish accent only enhanced her beauty.

  “Oh no. I haven’t thought about that, but let me do so now.” She took a minute to consider the establishments and then the families in the area. “Um, well, there’s a family just outside of town that has a new baby. They already have two other small children. Perhaps they could use some help, or they might know of someone else who does. Why don’t we start there? I’ve been meaning to go visit them anyway.”

  Miss O’Neil smiled. “’Twould be nice, as long as it won’t inconvenience you.”

  “No, not at all. Just let me get the dishes cleaned up.” Rachel stood and placed Miss Bennett’s plate on top of her own. Miss O’Neil set Mr. Sampson’s plate on top of hers and followed Rachel into the kitchen, putting them on the worktable. Rachel looked at her boarder. “Thank you for bringing those in, but you go and relax.”

  “I don’t mind helpin’. I’m used to staying busy. When I’m idle, I worry too much.”

  “If you’re sure, I’d be happy for some help.”

  “I shall finish clearing the table, if ’twould be all right.”

  Rachel nodded. She took some hot water from th
e stove’s reservoir, poured it into the sink, and then scraped the plates into the scrap bucket for Max. Miss O’Neil brought the salt and sugar bowls in, set them down, and then darted back into the dining room. The two women were so different. Miss O’Neil, while lovely, was quiet and seemed quite insecure. Miss Bennett’s clothing indicated someone who also had little money, but she seemed sure of herself. How did they end up becoming mail-order brides?

  Luke was certainly handsome, but they hadn’t known that before coming to Lookout. And they knew nothing of his personality. What if he changed like James had after he married? Her husband had been charming—except for when he grew angry or drank or lost at gambling, which happened more and more often toward the end. Rachel shuddered at the memory. But Luke wasn’t like James. He’d never hurt someone, no matter how angry he might become.

  The chair behind her banged against the table, and she jumped. Just thinking about James had set her on edge.

  “Sorry. I accidentally kicked the chair.”

  Rachel peered over her shoulder, her heart still thudding. “It’s all right. I was just lost in thought, and the noise startled me.”

  Half an hour later, Rachel and Miss O’Neil headed out the front door. Miss Bennett sat in a rocker on the porch, reading a book. Rachel lifted her basket over one arm, stopped, and turned to her. “We’re off to visit a friend and see her new baby. Would you care to come with us?”

  Miss Bennett stuck her finger in the book to mark her place and looked up. “No, thank you. I’ve had my fill of babies. I believe I’ll sit right here and wait for the marshal to show up.”

  Miss O’Neil’s gaze darted up Main Street. “I’d hate to miss Marshal Davis’s visit. Should I be staying, too?”

  Rachel shook her head. “Luke is easy enough to find if you want to talk with him. You need to come with me so we can attend to that other business you asked me about.”

  Miss O’Neil nodded. “Aye, you’re right. ’Tis most important.”

  Rachel and her guest crossed the dirt road, walked toward the stage depot, and stayed to the north side of the street so they wouldn’t have to walk past Luke’s office and risk running into him. What would the brides say when they learned he wasn’t the one who had contacted them? It would be better for Miss O’Neil to accept the fact that Luke wasn’t likely to marry her and for her to find gainful employment. She obviously didn’t have the money to return to Shreveport.

  “I suppose Marshal Davis will wed Miss Bennett.”

  Rachel looked askance at the young woman. “Why would you think that?”

  Miss O’Neil shrugged one thin shoulder. “She’s quite pretty and so self-assured.”

  “That’s true, but you’re every bit as pretty as she.” Rachel couldn’t help wondering if the girl had been mistreated at some point in her life. She was as skittish as an abused animal and didn’t like looking people in the eye. Rachel remembered acting the same way after experiencing James’s outbursts when he lost at the gambling tables.

  On a whim, she wrapped her arm around the young woman’s shoulders. “Lookout is a nice little town. People here are friendly and treat each other with respect. Whether or not you marry the marshal, this is a place where you could start over.”

  “’Twould be wonderful if I could. There’s nothing for me to return to, either in Shreveport or in Erin—Ireland, as you call it.”

  They passed the banker’s house and the Dykstra sisters’ home as they ambled down the dirt street. Rachel shaded her eyes from the bright morning sun and gazed at the one-room schoolhouse, where church was also held. Was Jacqueline behaving herself? Rachel had heard tales from the church women about children reaching their adolescent years and acting out, but Jacqueline was only ten. Was she just an early bloomer, or were other issues troubling her?

  A small cottage about a half mile from the schoolhouse sat nestled among a copse of pines and oaks. Diapers and children’s clothing in various sizes flapped in the warm breeze on a line strung between two trees. A lazy hound lifted its snout, sniffed, and glanced at them, then dropped his head back onto his front paws.

  Louise Chambers sat on the front porch rocking a squalling baby. She raised one hand in greeting and resumed patting the infant’s backside so roughly Rachel wondered if that was why the infant was wailing. “Have a seat, if you can find one. Cyrus must be colicky. He’s normally a good baby, but he’s fussy today.”

  Rachel accepted a rocker next to Louise’s and set her basket on the porch, while Miss O’Neil took the chair beside Rachel.

  “I’m so glad you came to visit. I’d let you hold little Cy if he wasn’t so cranky.”

  “How have you been feeling?” Rachel asked as two blond toddlers ran past them hollering like Comanches.

  “Hush up, Sam. Ethan. I’m trying to get Cy to sleep.” The dirty children instantly quieted and ran toward the hound dog sleeping under a persimmon tree.

  Rachel wondered what the secret was to getting children to obey so swiftly and without arguing. Maybe she should return alone and talk with Louise sometime soon.

  “I brought you some of my cinnamon bread.” Rachel uncovered her basket and held up the loaf.

  “That’s right kind of you. I know we’ll all enjoy it.” Louise leaned forward and glanced around Rachel to Miss O’Neil. “My name’s Louise Chambers. Them two youngsters over there are my two oldest boys. Cy, here, is the baby. Jarrod, my man, is out working somewhere in one of his fields.”

  “This is Miss O’Neil. She’s staying at the boardinghouse for a while.” Rachel wondered if Louise had heard what had happened yesterday. Perhaps they could simply avoid the uncomfortable topic. “Miss O’Neil is in need of employment, and I thought perhaps you could use some help or might know of someone else who needed the services of a nice young woman.”

  Louise looked past Rachel as she rocked forward. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

  Rachel’s boarder nodded, her cheeks a bright pink as she fiddled with the edge of her sleeve.

  “I won’t argue that I could use some help, but sadly, I cain’t pay no one, and I don’t have a spare foot in the house, or I’d offer room and board. I’m sorry, I wish I could help, but nothing comes to mind at the moment.”

  ***

  Carly Payton held tightly to the window frame as the stage rounded the sharp turn into Lookout. She’d never been to Texas before this trip, which was one thing in her favor. If all went as planned, she would find the means to start over somewhere far away like Colorado or California, somewhere her brother would never find her, but first, she just might have to get married.

  She pulled Ellie Blackstone’s letter from her reticule and reread it. She could do this. Hadn’t she done far worse?

  Closing her eyes, she memorized the name that the letter had been addressed to: Ellie Blackstone. Once she arrived in town, she was to see a man named Garrett Corbett, who was the marshal’s solicitor—whatever that was. Then again, maybe she’d bypass him and just go find her future husband on her own.

  “Whoa!” The stage driver’s loud voice echoed through the open windows, and the coach shimmied in a series of jerks as it slowed to a halt amid a cloud of dust and high-pitched creaks. The door opened, and the shotgun rider reached in with a smile to help her down. She accepted his hand as a lady should and allowed him to assist her. Once on solid ground again, she dusted her skirts with a fervent shake. The neck of the high-buttoned shirtwaist pressed uncomfortably against her throat, and the long skirts threatened to trip her as the stiff breeze trapped them around her legs. Oh for a soft flannel shirt and trousers.

  As she waited for her satchel to be unloaded, she scanned the town and took a deep breath to settle her nerves. What was the name of this place? She pulled the creased letter from her pocket and peeked below the signature. Lookout, Texas. She knew it was something odd, and she hoped that wasn’t a warning. Lookout where you’re going. Lookout, we’ll catch you if you do wrong. Lookout for the law!

  The town wa
s just like so many others that she’d traveled through with her brother, but she hoped this one was far enough off the beaten track that he wouldn’t find her, at least until she’d accomplished her goal in coming here.

  If not for Miss Blackstone’s timely injury and her bleeding all over Carly’s dress, making her brother think she was dead, who knew where she might be? Still robbing banks and trains and anyone with money, most likely. Everything had worked unbelievably in her favor. Even Ellie’s clothing had fit her fairly well; but would the townsfolk be able to tell she was a sham?

  The shotgun rider set her satchel on the boardwalk among the crates they’d just unloaded. Carly cleared her throat, and the man glanced her way. “Pardon me, but do you know if there is a decent hotel in this town?”

  “Nope.” He shook his head. “No hotel a’tall. But you might find a room at Miz Hamilton’s boardin’house. Don’t know if she has any rooms available, though, what with all the brides that arrived the other day.”

  Carly didn’t bother trying to make sense of his words. “Which way do I go?”

  He grinned and yanked off his hat. A layer of dust cascaded down like a waterfall. “See that big green house at the end of the street?”

  Carly held on to the sunbonnet that made her head sweaty and blocked her view of most everything and spun in the direction he was pointing. She tilted her head up. “Yeah ... uh, yes, I see it.”

  The man chuckled. “That’s it right there.”

  “Oh. Good.” She grabbed her satchel off the pile of crates the stage had delivered and walked toward the boardinghouse. The light green, three-story house looked homey with its white shutters, wrap-around porch both downstairs and up, and numerous rocking chairs. At least she would get to sleep in a real bed, which would be much more comfortable than the hard ground she normally slept on. And she could take a bath. While traveling with her brother, she’d pretty much given up hope of ever being clean and sweet-smelling again. At the time, it was just as well that she wasn’t. Helped deter any unwanted male attention.