Anonymous Bride Page 7

  Tears stung her eyes. Hurbert Abernathy had to be forty. More than twice her age. He was an obese, smelly man, and the whole town knew he preferred gambling to working. How could her father agree to let her marry someone like that? Even if it did help the family.

  Tears trailed down her cheeks. Once Pa made up his mind, he wouldn’t be swayed. What could she do? She had no money. Nowhere to go.

  Maybe she should visit Sue Anne and have a look at that magazine. Could marrying a stranger be any worse than being forced to wed Hurbert Abernathy? Funny, how an idea could sound outlandish one moment but seem perfectly sane the next because of desperation.

  She stood, gathered the mending, and carried it back into the parlor. A lump the size of a goose egg made it hard for her to swallow. If she wasn’t appreciated for all the work she put into this family, then she would leave. Tomorrow, she’d pay Sue Anne a visit.

  Lookout, Texas

  Shuffling sounded outside the open door of the marshal’s office, pulling Luke’s gaze away from the rifle he was cleaning. The yellow dog lifted up his head, sniffed the air, lumbered up from his spot near Luke’s desk, and wagged his tail. The mutt whined and stepped forward as a girl stopped in the doorway.

  Jack stood just inside the jail, dressed in a dark green calico dress with her braids hanging down the front. Her lunch bucket hung from one hand while she clutched a book to her chest with the other. The dog sniffed her pail and then stuck his head under her hand. Jack set down the tin bucket and scratched his head. Luke grinned as the old dog closed his eyes, looking contented and loved.

  “Well, now, don’t you look pretty.”

  Her cheeks turned red, but then she curled her lip and twisted her mouth up on one side. “Uh huh, and this ugly, ol’ dog is purty, too.” She crossed her arms over her chest, and the mutt looked up longingly. After a moment, he flopped down, lying his head on Jack’s shoe, probably dreaming of the tasty table scraps the girl often brought him.

  Luke studied Jack. What had happened to make such a young girl so jaded? He knew Rachel was a loving mother, so that only left her father. Or maybe she acted out because she’d lost her father. He leaned forward, catching her eye. “You are a pretty girl. Why I’ve known women who’d give just about anything to have auburn hair like yours.”

  Jack picked up one of her braids, looked at it, then dropped it as if it had burned her. “Yeah, then why do the kids tease me for having red hair? It ain’t even red. More like brownish. Sort of.”

  Luke leaned his rifle against the wall, wiped his hands on an old towel, and stood. “Some kids always tease. When I was your age, I was real tall and skinny, and a boy in my class took to calling me chicken legs.”

  Jack looked on with interest, her blue eyes intent. “What did you do?”

  Oops. He couldn’t exactly tell her he’d waited after school and took that bully down a few notches. He shrugged. “Best thing to do is just ignore them.”

  Jack’s lips curled again. “That’s hard. Sometimes I just want to punch them.”

  “And is this person bigger than you? A boy?”

  She nodded.

  “Want me to talk to him?”

  Jack’s gaze sparked but then dulled. “No, but thanks. If you do anything, it’ll make things worse. You can’t be around all the time, and besides, you’re not my pa.”

  She had no idea how much that comment poured salt into past wounds.

  Luke sat on the chair across from Jack. “I was sorry to hear about your father dying.”

  Jack scowled. “I wasn’t, so why should you be?”

  Taken aback by her comment, he studied her as she stooped down to pet the dog. What would cause a child not to grieve over the loss of her father? Being the only child of a wealthy couple, James had been cocky and spoiled, but never cruel—although at times, he had bordered on it. Luke wanted to ask if her father had hurt her or Rachel, but it wasn’t a topic to be broached with a child. Maybe his cousins could shed some light on that subject.

  “I was wondering something.” Jack kept her gaze down.

  “What’s that?”

  She glanced up, nibbled her lower lip, then looked out the door. “Would you teach me to box?”

  Luke tried to keep his expression straight. Wouldn’t Rachel love that? “Uh ... I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

  “Why not?” She gazed up with innocent blue eyes, making him wish he could protect her from all the pains of the world.

  “Because if you get in a fight, especially with someone bigger, you could get hurt.”

  “I get hurt anyway.”

  “Jack, you let me know if anyone bothers you, and I’ll take care of it. All right?”

  The girl studied him as if she didn’t quite trust him, but she nodded. Relief washed through Luke. Some kids were just plain mean and wouldn’t have a second thought about hurting a girl. He searched his mind for a lighter topic of conversation. “Have you thought up a name for this old dog yet?”

  Jack lifted her head and smiled, revealing white teeth with a tiny gap between the middle two. “Took me a while. I thought about Prince or King, but those names just don’t seem to fit him. Then I thought maybe we should call him Bandit since he likes to steal stuff from trash heaps.”

  “He’s reformed his ways after being in jail for a few days.”

  Jack giggled and flopped onto the floor next to the dog. “Or maybe because you and me’s feeding him every day.” A wicked gleam entered her eyes. “I thought about maybe calling him Stinky, because ... well, you know how the jail smells a while after he’s eaten.”

  Luke chuckled and rolled his eyes. “Why do you think I leave the door open so often?”

  Grinning again, Jack patted the dog, whose head now rested in her lap. She glanced up, vulnerability showing in her gaze. “I decided on Max. What do you think?”

  “Max, hmm ... I like it. Not too high and mighty, and not something he’d be ashamed of. Good choice.”

  She looked relieved. “Well, I suppose I should get along home. Ma probably has chores for me to do, though I’d rather go fishin’ with Ricky and Jonesy.”

  Luke leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. “Those fellows are a bit old for you to be running around with, aren’t they?”

  She lifted one shoulder then dropped it down. “They’re fun. Besides, the girls I know only want to play school or house.”

  “What’s wrong with that?”

  Jack’s eyes went wide. “It’s girl stuff. I like to fish and hunt and do what the boys do.”

  “Uh, has anyone told you that you are a girl?”

  Jack stood, evidently not liking the turn of conversation. “Ma tells me all the time. I just wish...”

  She didn’t finish her sentence, and he sat still, hoping to learn what motivated her to dress like a boy and to run with them. “Wish what?”

  Her eyes took on a sheen, and she batted them as if she had dust in them. “That God had made me a boy instead of a girl.”

  Luke opened his mouth to respond, but she tore out of the jailhouse as if a colony of wasps were on her tail. He flopped back in his chair. Max whined and stared out the door before coming over to sit by him.

  Why would such a cute little girl want to be a boy?

  ***

  Rachel opened the windows of the library, allowing the warm May breeze to flutter the curtains and air out the room. She looked forward to Tuesday afternoons when the ladies of town would gather just after lunchtime in her library. Since the huge house also had a parlor, she had gladly offered use of this room so that the quilt frame could remain up until the product was finished. The room was so large that her guests still had plenty of space to peruse the vast number of books that James’s mother had been so proud of.

  She removed the towels covering the raisin bread and sugar cookies and went to the kitchen to get the coffeepot. The ladies would start arriving anytime, and she wanted to have everything ready. As she entered the kitchen, a knock sounded on the front
door, sending her spinning around to answer it. She pulled the door open and smiled. “Sylvia, Margie, I’m so glad you could come today.” She stood aside, holding open the screen door to allow the pastor’s wife and Mrs. Mann to enter.

  Sylvia’s gaze wandered up the showy staircase with its spindle balusters and wide steps. “You have such a lovely home.”

  “That Amelia Hamilton sure did know how to fancy up a room.” Margie never failed to remind people that her good friend had once owned and decorated Hamilton House.

  Ignoring the jibe, Rachel forced a smiled. Though she’d redecorated the upstairs bedrooms and had the outside repainted, Margie seemed to take pleasure in reminding everyone that the older Mrs. Hamilton had first decorated the big home. “Would you care for some tea or coffee while we’re waiting on the other ladies?” Rachel gestured toward the library’s open french doors. Another knock sounded. Agatha stood on the other side of the screen door, fidgeting and looking over her shoulder.

  “Is everything all right, Aggie?” Rachel looked past her but saw nothing except the normal activities of the peaceful town: a wagon rolling up Main Street, two cowboys talking outside the mercantile, Luke ambling along in front of the bank with Max trotting at his side. She pressed her hand to her chest where her heart had started galloping and forced her attention back to her guest.

  Aggie wrung her hands and leaned forward as if preparing to share a big secret. “Bertha’s down for her afternoon nap, and I slipped out. I’m hoping the door didn’t wake her when the wind caught it and made it slam shut.” The thin woman pressed her lips together and peered over her shoulder again.

  “C’mon in. Sylvia and Margie are already here.” Rachel’s heart went out to the older woman. Having Aunt Beebee visit for an hour was almost more than she could cope with. She couldn’t imagine how difficult it must be to live with the talkative, opinionated woman. She held her hand out toward the library. “Please find a seat while I get the coffee.”

  In the kitchen, Rachel removed her apron, wrapped a towel around the handle of the coffeepot, and carried it into the library. She poured three cups then set the pot on a trivet on the table in the corner where the lamp rested. “The coffee is ready, and I have some raisin bread and sugar cookies if you’d like some.”

  “That sounds delightful,” said Sylvia, as she stood and made her way toward the table with the other two ladies following like ducklings.

  Another knock pulled Rachel back into the entryway. “Martha! I’m so glad you could come today.”

  “Me, too. Hank didn’t have any emergencies where he needed my assistance. He’s just studying his medical books, so I told him I was going to the quilting bee. I brought some of Aunt Maude’s oatmeal cookies.”

  “Thank you. It’s always a treat to get to eat someone else’s cooking.” She stepped back to let her friend enter.

  “I, for one, think you shouldn’t have to provide refreshments other than coffee, which would be difficult for someone else to bring, since you host us each week and allow us to leave the quilt frame up. That makes the stitching so much easier.”

  Rachel hugged Martha’s shoulders, grateful for a friend who was thoughtful enough to look out for her well-being. “Three ladies have arrived so far.”

  “That’s a nice group.”

  Rachel set the plate of cookies beside her bread and helped herself to two of them. She took a seat on one of the chairs she’d pulled in from the dining room. Immediately, Margie Mann’s gaze turned to hers, and the bite of cookie lodged in Rachel’s throat. No subject was sacred with Margie around.

  “So, how do you like having Luke Davis back in town?”

  Aggie’s eyes grew wide. Martha and Sylvia, who were fairly new to town, missed the ramifications of that question.

  “I don’t think that’s a topic that should be broached here,” Aggie said.

  Margie swatted her hand through the air. “Oh, pish-posh. It’s a perfectly fine subject. He seems to be doing a decent job as marshal, though we hardly need one as quiet as our town is.”

  Maybe Rachel could satisfy Margie’s curiosity without venturing too far into deep waters. “I hardly see the man.”

  “Nonsense. You cook him three meals a day, clean his house, and do his laundry. How is that possible if you don’t see him?”

  It was hardly any of Margie’s affair, but Rachel knew the woman would poke and prod until she was satisfied. “I do fix Luke’s breakfast and dinner, but he prefers to eat at his house. I pack him a lunch, which he picks up at breakfast, and he eats that at the jail, as far as I know. I do my cleaning while he’s away, so I only see him if I run into him walking around town.”

  Sylvia’s gaze went back and forth between the two women, looking as if she’d missed something. “Why should Rachel care what the marshal does?”

  A gleam lit Margie’s eyes, and she leaned forward. “Luke and Rachel have a ... past.” She whispered the last word. “Everyone in Lookout thought for sure they’d marry up one day, but she jilted him for James Hamilton.”

  Sylvia glanced at Rachel, an apology in her eyes. Rachel wanted to talk to the minister’s wife about Luke and her remaining feelings for him but hadn’t had the chance yet.

  Martha stood, helped herself to another cookie, and then stopped next to Rachel’s chair. “I’m sure Rachel didn’t jilt Luke. She’s not capable of such an action.”

  “She married for money, that’s what Ray’s ma always said. Shucked that young Davis boy and broke his heart so badly that he left town.” Margie paused to sip her coffee. “The thing is, I can’t figure out why he’d come back here after so long. I bet that just irritates Rand Kessler to no end.”

  Aggie looked as if she were about to faint. The woman never gossiped and had a heart as big as all of Texas. “I ... I ... uh ... nice weather we’ve been having lately, isn’t it?”

  “Why, yes it is, Agatha,” Sylvia rushed to pick up the new train of conversation. “Just perfect. Not too hot, not too cold, and the wildflowers are so lovely.”

  Margie looked as if she’d sucked on a green persimmon. Rachel stood to refresh the coffeepot, and Martha followed her into the kitchen. “The nerve of that woman,” she hissed. “I’m sorry, Rachel.”

  Needing a moment to catch her breath and to allow her heart to slow down, she leaned back against the cabinet. “I should be used to folks’ chatter by now.”

  Martha rubbed her hand down Rachel’s arm. “I can tell Luke is still a tender spot for you. I don’t know much about the situation except what I’ve heard around town lately.” She glanced at the ground, and her cheeks reddened. “But do you think it’s possible that you two might get a second chance? It is strange that he returned after being gone for eleven years.”

  Rachel’s heart fluttered. If only Luke had come back because of her, but she knew the truth. She’d seen the disgust in his eyes, and he’d proven his feelings by the way he avoided her. He didn’t even think she was a good mother. She took a moment to force the shakiness from her voice. “Honestly,” she glanced at her dear friend. “I’m surprised he didn’t return sooner. It’s the only home he’s ever had, even if the actual house is no longer there. His cousins are here, as well as many old friends. He shouldn’t have to give that up just because I’m here, too.”

  “Well, the Lord works in mysterious ways. Maybe He’s got a miracle or two up His sleeve.”

  Rachel stared at Martha’s gleaming eyes, knowing that in Luke’s case, nothing could be further from the truth.

  CHAPTER 10

  Carthage, Missouri May 1886

  Leah Bennett quickened her steps as the town of Carthage came into view. She was in no hurry to return home, but the sooner she’d finished her errands, the more time she’d have to spend with Sue Anne. She glanced down at her list of things to do, determined to finish them quickly. At the City Flour Mills, she entered the front office and rang the bell on the counter. A tickle in her nose made her sneeze, just as she always did whenever she entered the
mill. Flour and dust motes floated in the air and coated her lips. A man she’d seen before entered from a back room, dusting off his hands.

  “Good day, Miss Bennett. What can I do for you?” He wiped his hands on a dingy towel hanging from one front pocket. His tanned face was coated with white flour, as was his dark hair, making him look older than she suspected he was.

  Leah refrained from grinning at him. “I need to have a fifty-pound sack of flour delivered to our farm next time you make rounds.”

  “I’m happy to oblige. We have a wagon heading out that way on Thursday.” He smiled, wrote something down in a ledger book on the counter, and quoted her the price.

  She paid him and marked that item off her list. Next stop, the apothecary. Hiking up her skirt, she crossed the dirt street, dodging horse flops. As she entered the apothecary, her nose wrinkled at the pungent scents in the small building, but the assortment of colorful bottles in different shapes and sizes never failed to intrigue her.

  Mr. Speck looked up from his desk behind the counter and adjusted his wire-framed glasses. “Ah, Miss Bennett, a pleasure to see you again. I hope all is well with your family.”

  Leah nodded. “For the most part, but Ma has developed a cough.”

  “Is it a dry cough or a phlegmy one?”

  “Thankfully, it’s just a dry cough, but it’s been persistent for half a week.” She looked down, breaking his gaze. After her mother developed the cough, Leah found it hard to know how to pray. In her heart, she wanted her mother to be well, but if it took her ma a while to recover completely, Pa might realize how much he needed Leah to run the household and change his mind about forcing her to marry Mr. Abernathy. But she knew how stubborn her pa was once he made a decision. He wasn’t likely to back down, especially if money was involved. He worked sunup to sundown, struggling to raise enough food for their big family, and would tell her she needed to do her part to help out, even if that meant leaving home and marrying a man she couldn’t abide.