by Danni Roan
“How’d you do that?” Rebecca asked. “Mother never listens to anyone,” she confessed.
“Let’s just say I had a little talk with Pastor Dalton.” She winked. “Now, shall we?”
Together the young women filed out of the parlor to be met by Mr. Carol, who smiled at his daughter.
“You look beautiful,” he said, wrapping her hand in his arm, “and happy.”
“Thank you,” Rebecca said, her heart warming.
“Stop right there, young man,” Rebecca could hear her mother’s voice as they stepped out onto the grass near the church.
“But I got something for Ms. Rebecca,” Billy Stanley’s voice echoed on the soft breeze.
“It’s alright mother,” Rebecca called. “Billy is my special friend.”
“I brought you a buttercup,” Billy said. “I brought it all the way from down by the creek.”
“Thank you Billy,” Rebecca said, a smile spreading across her face and into her heart as she took the tiny yellow flower and tucked it into her bouquet. “It’s perfect.”
“I’m sorry I couldn’t marry you, Ms. Rebecca,” Billy offered, “but I’m glad if anyone else was had to, it was Mr. Gatlin.” He grinned wide, then spun on one foot and raced back to the church.
Mrs. Carol opened her mouth to speak, but closed it again at the look on her husband’s face.
Stepping into the church on her father’s arm was like a dream. Rebecca felt too hot and too cold all at once, and when Grady looked up and smiled at her, her whole body felt weak.
He was beyond handsome in a crisp, black suit and standing next to him were his half-pint best man, Billy, and Rafe, sharing smiles that dazzled.
In moments, her hand was clasped tight in Grady’s and the pastor called out the familiar words, reminding everyone why they were gathered on this joyous occasion.
His words rolled over them like a blessing, the old cadence of rich or poor, better or worse, and sickness and health, drawing her closer to the man with the teaching touch.
Suddenly, Pastor Dalton was leaning close and telling Grady to kiss his bride as the church broke out in wild whoops and cheers from the community’s children and George.
Epilogue
“You don’t have to walk me to work, Grady,” Rebecca laughed as he slipped an arm around her possessively and headed onto the boardwalk.
“But I want to and Ms. Polly might offer me a cookie,” he teased, snuggling her close.
“You’re sure you don’t mind that I continue at the boarding house?” Rebecca asked, enjoying the feel of his arm around her. They’d been married for two weeks and she couldn’t have imagined feeling so content.
“I don’t see any reason you shouldn’t work if you want to. What else are you going to do with me at school? Sit in that tiny apartment over the mercantile all day?” He tugged her tight, offering a smile.
Making the turn onto Main Street, the sound of taunting voices met their ears and Grady picked up the pace.
“Double, double, toil and trouble...” boys’ voices echoed in the gray of a new day.
In the dim light of an early dawn, four boys danced around in the dust of the street, dogging the steps of an older woman as she walked along the street.
“That’s Mrs. Nelson,” Rebecca whispered, “she works for Harlan Dixon.”
“Don’t make her mad, Toby,” a skinny boy in patched trousers called, “she might turn ya’ into a frog.”
“Boys,” Grady’s voice rumbled across the street, making each miscreant jerk to attention, before turning and racing away with barely a sound.
Rebecca watched as the older woman stood frozen in the middle of the street, her hand grasping her throat, as her nearly black eyes grew wide above a beaky nose.
Turning her head, the young bride followed the old housekeeper’s eyes to where they followed a lean rider on a skewbald horse, ambling through the T-junction of Biders Clump.
The cowboy on the big brown and white horse, wearing a heavy sheepskin coat and dark brown Stetson, looked like any other cowhand, at least until a lanky dog stepped out of an alley, wagging its tail in greeting.
Like a snake striking, the horse bared his teeth in his bi-colored face, lunging at the dog and sending it yelping away.
Rebecca gasped, looking at Grady as he stepped into the street toward the woman who seemed to have become rooted to earth.
The stranger flipped his reins almost casually, pulling the thickset pinto away from the dog, avoiding the potential catastrophe in the beat of a heart as he rode into shadows.
“Mrs. Nelson?’ Grady’s voice was soft as he approached the woman. “Mrs. Nelson?” he repeated, finally drawing her hard eyes toward him.
“Are you alright, ma’am?” Grady questioned, a cool shiver running down his spine at the glint in her eyes. “I’ll be having a talk with those boys today. They’re behavior was not acceptable.”
The old housekeeper’s face was passive as she stared at him for the slow tick of the minute hand. “Boys don’t bother me none,” she answered, her voice low and resonant.
“Can we be of any assistance?’ Rebecca asked, lifting her skirt and stepping into the street to join her husband.
“No.” The word was flat as the woman’s gaze slowly turned back to the now empty street. She lifted a booted foot, her black skirt rippling and flowing like dark water as she walked away.
“What do you think that was about?” Rebecca asked, bewildered.
“I don’t know.” Grady replied, slipping his hand in hers. “Do you know the woman?”
“No, I don’t think anyone really does. She works for Mr. Dixon but she keeps to herself.”
“Have you ever seen that rider?” Grady continued, starting back toward the boarding house.
“No, but I hope he’s moving on.” She turned her pale eyes to him. “He looks as hard as nails.”
“Grady.” George Olson’s voice drifted softly toward them as they stepped up to the front porch.
“George.” Grady greeted his voice quiet in the stillness of the morning.
“That’s a rough lookin’ customer ifn’ I ever saw one,” George mused, looking along the street to where the brown and white horse angled its body aggressively at a hitching post near the Sheriff’s office.
Grady studied the beast, and then grinned when Rebecca gave him a peck on the cheek and scurried into the house.
“We done had enough trouble a few months back,” George continued, “I hope that fella moves along.”
Together the two men watched as the rider placed a foot on the first step of the Sheriff’s office, his eyes glinting beneath his hat while scanning the nearly empty street.
George shook his head “Come on in for coffee,” the older man said as the stranger disappeared into the stone building, laying a hand on the teacher’s shoulders. “We’ll see if we can wrangle a cookie or two from the wife and leave the rest to work itself out.”
***
“Sheriff.” The tall dark stranger ambled into the office, his gray eyes like a storm beneath the shadow of his hat.
Sheriff Pike rose to his feet, the hair on the back of his neck-prickling upright.
“Ferd, why don’t you run along to the Grist Mill and fetch us some of them treats Mr. Rupert makes?” The old lawman cut his eyes to his deputy, who jumped to comply.
“What can I do for you?” Sheriff Pike asked, eyeing the man carefully.
Without a word, the stranger reached into his coat and withdrew a folded sheaf.
“Everything you need to know is in there.” His voice came from deep in his chest, rumbling like a flooded stream.
The sound of the door clinking shut was the only answer to any questions the Sheriff was likely to get.
The End
ive.