The Most Unsuitable Wife

by Caroline Clemmons

  Lex turned up the collar of his oiled coat against the storm. Sure a bad start for what promised to be an unusual adventure.

  "Grandpa's let me off work and my stuff's packed. Believe me, I wouldn't miss this for the world.” He shook his head in disbelief, sending a trickle of cold rain down his neck. "Most unsuitable wife, indeed."

  * * *

  Piper's Hollow, Tennessee, two weeks later--

  Pearl Parker watched the sun send its first tentative fingers of light over the crest of hills framed perfectly in the cabin window. Robins in the hawthorn bushes beneath the window called noisy greetings while a nearby cock crowed to herald the day. Inside the cabin, Pearl's workday had begun hours ago. Proof of that labor was the tempting yeasty scent of fresh-baked bread mingled with the tangy perfume of spiced fruit in warm pies.

  She turned as her half-sister slipped into the kitchen carrying a basket of eggs.

  Sarah set the basket in the dry sink, cleaned her hands, and reached for a slice of warm bread. "Looks like you're about ready for town. There's a chill in the air this morning. Aren't you going to wear shoes?"

  "Oh, no. You know I hate those stiff old clumping things. Lately they pinch my toes something awful.” Pearl untied her apron and tugged at the neck of her faded brown dress. She brushed a hand over her sister's hair.

  "You've grown so over the winter. I hoped you'd be shorter than me, but I think I was about the same height when I was thirteen."

  "I'd be proud to be as tall as you, but I've five inches to go. Or grow. Storm and I measured yesterday. I'm five-four. He's only five feet even, so don't say anything to him about it. He hates being shorter."

  Sarah's eyes were a shade bluer and her hair a shade lighter blonde than Pearl's. Even with those differences, Pearl had to admit they looked a lot alike despite the ten years separating them.

  She leaned against the kitchen table and inhaled the fragrances that surrounded her. This was her favorite time of day, full of promise and hope. Pearl turned and spread butter on a slice of bread. Eyes closed to savor the taste, she took a bite.

  "Mmm, nothing better than fresh-baked bread and butter.” When she finished the treat, she took several sips of her coffee. "Now, I'd better get back to work.”

  Pearl and Sarah wrapped each loaf in a clean cloth made from flour sacking, working rapidly in a pattern learned from daily practice. Warm loaves were placed in neat rows in the lower part of the cart. Pies made from Pearl's cellar cache of apples and dried peaches were stacked on racks across the top. Eggs for the general store went into a special basket nestled securely in a corner slot.

  Once all her wares were loaded to suit her, she tucked her most precious belonging of all, her medical bag, safely inside the vehicle's wooden base. Though she loved baking, she loved healing more. Making people well or helping birth new life provided satisfaction far beyond life's ordinary pleasures. Her efforts made a difference in the world. Even though only a few patients could pay her, she knew healing was her true life's work.

  The cart took up most of the open kitchen area in the large cabin and barely fit through the outer doorway. She hated having the thing inside, but knew no other way to protect it from the vicious vandals plaguing her family the past few weeks. The wheelbarrow-like conveyance served its purpose well as she made her daily deliveries of baked goods across the area. Her half-brother, Storm, had helped build it using pieces of planking and parts of broken machinery salvaged from the barn. She thought of it with pride. It was their most ingenious invention.

  Sarah leaned forward to sniff a warm apple pie. She straightened and fussed, "I wish you didn't have to wear those hateful old dresses of Granny's. That one's been mended until it's the ugliest thing I've ever seen."

  Pearl fingered the unsightly brown hopsacking garment in question. "Yes, I hate this one even more than the others, but it serves its purpose. I need the baggy clothing to disguise my figure.”

  "But you work so hard and help so many people, you deserve pretty things. I hate to see you look so dowdy.”

  "If I don't look this way, some men might trail after me and make improper remarks and propositions.” Pearl twisted her face into a grimace while she wriggled and tugged the upper body wrap across her breasts into a more tolerable position.

  "Doesn't that binding on your bosom hurt?"

  "It bothers me some, but I don't mind." She straightened and smiled at Sarah. "I don't mind the dresses, either, not if that's what it takes for us to stay in business. A housewife won't buy our baked goods if her husband gives the baker"—She fanned the voluminous skirts in a mock curtsy to her sister—"a second glance."

  Storm strode in from feeding the animals and milking the cow. In one hand he carried a pail of fresh milk; in the other, a rifle. He set the pail beside the churn and leaned the rifle in the corner.

  Sarah reached for another slice of the bread. "They'd give you more than a second glance if they saw how pretty you really are. They'd be chasing after you for sure."

  "We have enough problems without men getting ideas into their heads about either of us.” She thought of the troubles she had encountered over the past few years. A controversial lone woman acting as head of household could not be too careful, especially with two young people in her care." All people need to see is we're clean, we're good cooks, that I can help sick folks, and we mind our own business."

  Storm spread jam on the buttered slice of bread he held. "That's more than most of them do."

  His long black hair was clubbed behind him this morning. In a nut-brown face that confirmed his half-Cherokee heritage, his cobalt blue eyes explained his Cherokee name, Eyes Like Storm Cloud. Though he had turned fourteen last week, Pearl thought he looked several years younger, maybe even as young as eleven or twelve.

  She caught the twinkle that sprang into his eyes as he watched her ritual.

  "Getting all prettied up for town, I see.”

  She grinned at him, happy they shared the joke of conspiracy against the public. What would she do without him? His dry sense of humor and sharp mind bolstered her spirits as much as his helpful nature made her work easier. In fact, he helped her in many ways each day, and so did Sarah. Once again Pearl thanked God for sending them to her.

  The two had come into her care at separate times when she was no more than a girl herself. Both were big responsibilities, but she couldn't love them more if they were her own children. She would never turn them over to someone else or abandon them and she couldn't imagine her life without them in it.

  Pearl skimmed her hand across the block of butter on the table and patted her oiled fingers to the front part of her hair. Then, she frizzed the hair around her face.

  "Have to get into my wild woman look.” She dipped her fingers into the flour and flicked it at her hair. "A little flour on the grease to make my hair look dull and listless.” She cleaned her hands on a towel and stood as if for inspection. "There, now my masquerade is complete. Am I frumpy enough?”

  Sarah wrinkled her nose in disgust. Pearl gave her a smile. They went through this routine each morning. Sarah never approved, but Pearl knew her disguise helped insure their fragile existence.

  In one fluid motion Pearl swung her thick braid over her right shoulder and picked up her revolver. She slid the heavy Colt .44 into the special pocket of her dress and patted the weapon for reassurance. Drawing a blue shawl around her shoulders, she gave last minute orders to her charges.

  "Storm, bar the door behind me and stay inside the house. Sarah, please take care of our guest till I get back, you hear?"

  Storm drew his thin frame to his full five feet. "I don't see why I have to stay here. Sarah can look after Belle. Let me help you.” He rushed forward to open the door for Pearl.

  "I don't mind staying with Belle while Storm goes with you."

  "Those blasted Ainsworths were due out of jail yesterday evening. They'd just love to cause another ruckus, or come causing mischief around here.” She gave her brother's should
er a pat. "I really need you to stay home and keep a sharp eye out. Belle's not well enough to help Sarah fight them off if those two worthless brothers show up.”

  Belle Renfro worked at the local saloon, Roxie's Place. She had been brought to Pearl a week ago after a beating from a vicious customer. For the first two days they feared the woman would bleed to death from internal damage, yet she gained a little strength each day.

  Belle's presence in their home only added more conflict to their unsettled lives. The preacher and his cohorts would use Belle's presence as another lever to charge Pearl an unfit guardian for Storm and Sarah. She had known that when she took Belle in, but she couldn't turn away anyone who needed her help, even if it meant more unpleasantness. And she wouldn't let anyone take Storm and Sarah from her, no matter what she had to do to prevent that happening.

  Pushing her cart before her, Pearl cleared the sloping ramp from the front stoop. She paused, waiting to hear the bar slide into place on the door. She took a deep breath, filling her lungs with the clean, crisp morning air. With bare feet free of the pinching shoes she hated, she scuffed little puffs of dust through the chill as she trudged the half mile to town and her first customer.

  Her family's troubles burdened her thoughts. How were they to protect themselves against a multitude of troublemakers?

  Dear Lord, what's to become of my family and me?

  Chapter Two

  By the time Pete Hammonds unlocked the town's only store, Pearl had finished all her deliveries except those for the storekeeper. She parked her cart and gathered her remaining wares to carry inside.

  Pete pulled the door open to admit her. "Mornin' Pearl.” From the living quarters above, smells of Pete's breakfast sausage drifted down the stairs and into the merchandise area. "Got my cinnamon-apple pie this mornin'?"

  "Right here, but your eggs are still in my cart.” Pearl laid four loaves of bread and a plump pie on the counter. She handed Pete a list written on a small piece of foolscap. "And here's the supplies I'll be needing today."

  Pearl liked to visit Hammond's Mercantile. While the dapper shopkeeper filled her order, she strolled slowly between shelves stacked with clothes and household goods. Baskets hung from the beams. Dried herbs, vegetables, oil, and other smells blended with the odor of Pete's breakfast.

  The sights and aromas kindled her imagination. What unseen hand made the overalls? Where had these buckets come from? What wonderful sights had the lanterns seen on the way to this small village? Pearl loved dreaming of places these things had traveled. Someday she'd leave this nowhere place and take her family to see a bit of the world for themselves.

  Today her load would be heavier on her trip home than when she came into town. While the storekeeper carried sacks of flour and sugar and other supplies to her cart, she wandered the shop's aisles. How she would love to surprise her brother and sister with special treats, but she must save every penny. Well, maybe a few peppermints or some sticks of licorice wouldn't be too wasteful. She loved the smiles her brother and sister rewarded her with for even a small treat.

  Lingering over a bolt of blue calico, she fingered the fabric longingly. What lovely dresses she could make for herself and Sarah, and maybe even a shirt for Storm from the red nearby. On a shelf overhead, a spool of sky-colored ribbon caught her eye, and she brushed at the wisps of hair escaping her braid.

  With a deep sigh, she put pretty dresses and hair ribbons from her mind. There would be time for such things later. At least, if her plans worked out.

  By the time Pete loaded her purchases, other townspeople were about their daily chores. The steady clang of the blacksmith's hammer resonated from the smithy down the street. In the cottage nearby, old Mrs. Peabody wielded her broom to attack the dust on her front porch with a fury that defied her age. The woman must be close to one hundred.

  From the west end of the village, two strangers rode slowly into town, dismounted and tied their horses in front of the jail. They were dressed differently from local men, more like pictures in the penny dreadfuls depicting men from the Wild West. She wondered if they were from California, or maybe Texas.

  Would they be outlaws or cowboys or businessmen? Not many strangers came to Pipers Hollow. She memorized each detail of the men to relate later to Storm and Sarah. At least today she would have something interesting to tell when she got home.

  Both men wore waistcoats and wide-brimmed hats, and each had a rifle in the saddle scabbard. The taller of the two caught her attention as he leaned against the front of the jail, his gaze slowly roaming the town. He appeared relaxed until she noticed the way he stood, back to the wall, as his scrutiny took in each building along the short main street.

  Oh, my. Just look at the man standing there like one of those Greek god drawings in Mrs. Cummins' books. Of course, the statues in the pictures didn't have on a western hat or boots. In fact, most times they didn't have on anything at all.

  Unable to stop the images that leapt to her mind, she smiled. In spite of the clothes he wore, this man beat those pictures seven ways to Sunday for good looks. He stood tall, much taller even than her long frame, and the tallest man she'd ever seen. Even she would feel dainty standing beside a man that size.

  His long, dark hair hung almost to shoulders wide enough to furnish shade for three people. With a shrug, he rolled those massive shoulders as if to lessen their fatigue. Maybe this past night he'd slept on the ground instead of a fine feather bed like hers.

  Though casually dressed, his clothes appeared of a quality superior to those of Pipers Hollow residents. The tan fabric of his pants fit taut across muscled thighs. One thumb hooked in his belt loop and pressed his dark brown jacket aside. From the wariness of his expression and his stance with one hand near his waist, she decided he must have a handgun tucked into his waistband. Smart man. Few would venture far without one and, clearly, this man had come from far away.

  She wondered if he thought himself better than the people in a little hick village like this? Probably so. Most travelers who wandered through here had only criticism to offer for its lack of opportunity and unfriendly residents.

  Under her lashes, she tried to appraise the other man. His large hat tilted at an angle. Though shorter than his companion, he would tower over anyone hereabouts. He wore his clothes well and his waistcoat looked made of cow's hide with the hair still on it, of all things. Dark pants of fine wool tucked into boots with fancy stitching on them.

  Her gaze strayed back to the other man. His clothes were not so fancy as his friend's, but she figured they cost plenty. And didn't he look fine? Standing there like a king surveying his domain, he set her mind wandering to fanciful dreams.

  How wonderful to have a man like that sweep her and her family away. His arms would be strong, his character stronger. They would be partners against all life's problems, share all of life's joys. Their romance would be as powerful as Antony and Cleopatra, Romeo and Juliet, Lancelot and Guinevere.

  With a start, she brought herself to task. Just look where romance and dreams got those couples. Disaster for all of them. Safety for her family lay in depending on no one but herself. Yet this man looked so handsome, so strong, so intelligent. At the very moment she decided he surpassed any man anywhere, his gaze swung her way.

  Piercing stone-gray eyes roamed up and down her form and a frown puckered his brow.

  A frown?

  Indignation boiled up from deep inside her, and she fought to keep from stamping her foot. How dare he? What gave him the right to stare at her and frown, of all things?

  The devil take the man, anyway.

  She long ago grew tired of people treating her as if she were so much trash on the heap. Did that scowl mean he thought her worthless, too? Or maybe he thought her too tall and spindly?

  She held herself as straight as she could while pushing her cart. With her haughtiest glare, she met his stare. She saw his surprise and could have sworn his mouth opened, as if he meant to speak.

  Pleased
with the unexpected reaction, she let her gaze assess him openly. Let him see how he liked being subjected to examination. Once again, she took in every detail of his clothing from fancy boots to wide-brimmed hat.

  What brought him here to a wide place in the road like Pipers Hollow? To her mind, only those who absolutely had no other choice would be anywhere in this county where more rocks than crops grew.

  The other man appeared more polite. He smiled and tipped his hat as she passed, revealing a shock of unruly auburn hair and a pleasant face sprinkled with freckles.

  "Mornin', ma'am.”

  She watched the corners of his eyes crinkle and his smile shine out of sparkling chocolate eyes.

  "Good morning to you, sir.” She spoke directly to him, pretending to ignore his glowering companion.

  The taller man continued to gape at her. What on earth was wrong with him? Had he no manners at all?

  Movement across the road caught her attention. She spotted the two worthless Ainsworths loitering about with that evil Jug Eggers. Inwardly she cringed, but kept herself straight and tall. She dared not let Jug know how he frightened her.

  Pearl figured those three hooligans would make trouble for her, maybe even tip over her cart again. Well, she vowed to prevent that. Precious flour and sugar spilled across the road would do her no good.

  She saw that stocky brute Jug nudge Willard Ainsworth before he yelled.

  "Lookee here who's come to town all by herself, and her friend the sheriff ain't even around.”

  Willard moved his rotund form and stepped into the road. His brother Burris followed him. The two of them reminded Pearl of plump roosters. Burris' Adam's apple even looked like a wattle. Between them, she thought, they didn't have as much sense as one rooster.