Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Epilogue
About Caroline Clemmons
Chapter One
St. Louis, Missouri, 1872
Rebecca Wilson faced Reverend Fred McLain, the man she called Uncle Fred when they weren’t at church. “I hoped you’d have an answer,” she twisted her handkerchief in her hands, “as if you could pull up a solution like a magician would pull a rabbit from his hat.”
From across his desk in the small parsonage office, the kindly minister offered a smile. “You’d be a good wife for any man, Rebecca. And, Arthur Downum might even make a good spouse for some woman but it’s a sure thing he isn’t right for you.”
“Bradley controls so many people in town that I can trust only a few people. I’ve tried and tried yet I can’t think of a way out of this. He says as my guardian he can force me to wed Art and has given me a week to, as he put it, ‘come to my senses’. If I refuse, he’ll have me committed to an asylum.”
Light coming in the window created patches of sunlight framed by strips of shadow. The scene reminded her of bars on a window. A shiver raced up her spine.
The minister’s eyes help sympathy. “I don’t doubt Bradley would carry out his threat. I’ve heard of that very thing happening many times.” He tapped his fingers on his desk. “Let me think for a couple of minutes, Rebecca.”
She’d twisted her handkerchief until the fabric was hardly recognizable as this morning’s fresh linen. “I won’t marry Bradley’s odious friend. My stepbrother thinks Arthur is attracted to me but I’m sure he only wants my dowry. I wouldn’t want him anyway. Arthur hangs about at Bradley’s saloon for too many hours every day.”
For a few more moments, Uncle Fred tugged at his chin whiskers. “I may have a way out of your dilemma, that is, if you’re willing to trust my judgment.”
She leaned forward to rest her hands on the desk. “Of course I do—that’s why I’ve sought your advice. You were Papa’s best friend and you were a friend to Mama even after she married Charles Rhinehart. You’ve been like a trusted uncle to me. What’s your idea?”
“You’ve heard me mention my nephew, Dalton Sterling, son of my only sister. He writes me frequently and has mentioned how lonely he is. He’s asked me to come live with him. Frankly, I’d hoped to entice him here so he could meet you, but he’s a rancher and has trouble getting away.”
She wanted to urge him not to let his thoughts wander, as he often did. “Yes, I know you’re quite fond of him but what has that to do with my problem?”
“We could arrange a proxy marriage right here so you’d already be married to Dalton before you leave St. Louis.”
She frowned and shook her head slowly. “I don’t know what a proxy marriage is.”
“Someone would stand in for Dalton here, and I’d perform the wedding. At the same time or as near as possible, someone would stand in for you at a ceremony with Dalton in Montana.”
She probably gaped at him. She’d never heard of a proxy marriage. Who could dream up with such an odd arrangement?
“My goodness, would Dalton agree? Could that even be legal?”
Uncle Fred smiled at her as if the problem was solved. “I’m sure he would agree and it’s a perfectly legal arrangement. I couldn’t wish him a better partner in life than you.”
She mulled over the idea. Move to Montana where she knew no one? At the same time, she’d have a fresh start away from her stepbrother and his obnoxious friends. Bradley couldn’t stop her because she’d already be married when he learned of the marriage.
Marry a stranger? That was the difficult part of the plan to accept. She’d heard about Dalton so often from Uncle Fred that she felt she almost knew the man. But, what would Dalton think?
“If your nephew would agree, this could be the way out I need. How soon can we have this proxy marriage?”
“Right away. Gather the things you plan to take with you. I don’t know how you’ll manage that part of the plan. You’re a clever woman and I’m confident you’ll succeed there.”
“I’d like to leave tomorrow evening while Bradley is at work. Do you have an idea how much the fare is? I doubt I can claim my funds until Dalton can go to the bank with me. But, if I don’t have enough now, I’ll sell something.”
Uncle Fred held up a staying hand. “I’ll buy your ticket as my wedding gift to you and Dalton.”
“That’s too generous but I’ll accept and repay you after I get to Montana and obtain the funds from my dowry trust. I’d be too afraid to claim them here in case someone at the bank told my stepbrother. I’d even be afraid to send a telegram from here. I’m sure the man at the telegraph office reports to Bradley.”
“From what I’ve heard, I fear you’re right.”
Uncle Fred stood. “Mrs. Hammond and Mrs. Bowman are arranging flowers in the sanctuary. If you wish to set this plan in motion, we can go now and they can witness your marriage. Hmm, I see Petey Price working in the cemetery. He can stand in for Dalton.”
She considered herself beside simple-minded Petey at the altar. In spite of her worry, she laughed as she took Uncle Fred’s arm. “As long as I wouldn’t be married to Petey. Although, now that I think about it, a simple man like Petey would be nicer than Arthur Downum.”
The minister patted her hand where it rested on his arm. “I doubt he’ll realize what’s happened. Shall we set this plan in motion?”
“Yes, please. Thank you, Uncle Fred.”
Both ladies were excited when they learned of the ceremony. While Uncle Fred summoned Petey, Francis Bowman and Doris Hammond took a few of the altar flowers and fashioned a small bouquet.
Francis handed it to her. “Every bride needs a bouquet.”
Doris dabbed a handkerchief to her eyes. “If only your mother were here to see what a lovely bride you are.”
Rebecca held the flowers to her nose and inhaled the fragrances of roses, honeysuckle, and daisies. “I believe Mama is looking down at us and knows what’s happening. She’ll love that her two best friends are witnessing my marriage.”
***
Ten days later, Rebecca’s backside was sore from the stagecoach’s jostling. A gust of dust blew in through the window and added another coat of grime to her clothes and skin. She had given up fighting the wind and sand.
At least the sky overhead was a brilliant blue and the snow-capped mountains in the distance were picturesque. In spite of the cheerful view, she was beyond tired of the stage. In fact, she didn’t remember being this exhausted—ever.
She reread her proof of marriage once more as the stage bounced along the rutted road. The paper was becoming wrinkled from her frequent handling. Mrs. Dalton Sterling. She mentally repeated the name once more as she carefully rolled the certificate and returned it to her valise.
Uncle Fred had shown her photos of Dalton, who was a handsome man. The minister had also shared a couple of Dalton’s letters about life on the ranch. She was relieved there would be chickens for eggs and cows for milk. They would make cooking much easier.
The stage slowed and the driver called, “Coming into Sweet Springs.”
Rebecca brushed her gloved hands down the skirt of her tan traveling suit then adjusted her hat. Inside her gloves, her hands were clammy. She wondered if she
appeared as disheveled as she felt.
She hadn’t cinched her corset tight yet she could hardly breathe. Her mouth was as dry as the dust blowing in the window. The flock of butterflies circling in her stomach created nausea.
Would Dalton Sterling be on hand to meet her? Uncle Fred had said this was a busy time for ranchers. As she emerged from the stage, she scanned the town to find it resembled many the stage had traveled through.
Some buildings were painted while others were bare boards. Many stores had overhangs to protect shoppers from rain and sun. A wooden walk traversed the business area.
Streets were unpaved and would be a morass in wet weather. This morning was dry and the breeze carried whirls of dust down the road that passed for a main street. People of all descriptions went about their business.
Standing in front of the Sweet Springs Mercantile, she surveyed the people in view. None was a tall, handsome man who resembled Dalton’s photos. While her trunks were being unloaded, she spotted a man with a badge.
“Excuse me, Sheriff. I’m Mrs. Dalton Sterling and I wonder if you know if he’s in town today?” Her voice came out in a higher pitch than usual.
Surprised showed on the man’s face and he reared back to stare at her. “Kevin Scott’s the name. Didn’t realize Sterling had married. None of my business, of course.”
He shifted from one foot to the other. “I haven’t seen him in a couple of weeks. Busy time for ranchers rounding up and branding spring calves.”
She cleared her throat. “So I’d been told by his uncle. How would I go about hiring someone to drive me and my luggage to his ranch?”
Sheriff Scott put his fingers to his mouth and emitted a loud whistle. He gestured to a couple of young men who stood by a wagon. “James, John? This lady needs you to drive her to Dalton Sterling’s ranch. You available?”
The lad who looked the oldest jogged over. “Yes, sir, Sheriff.”
The lawman nodded to Rebecca. “Mrs. Dalton Sterling, this is James Heflin and that’s his brother John by the wagon. They’re dependable.”
“I appreciate your help, Sheriff.” She turned to the younger man. “Mr. Heflin, what will you charge and how long will the drive take?”
He named a reasonable amount. “In a wagon, the drive’s a little over an hour. Dalton don’t come into town very often, so if there’s somethin’ you need, you’d better get it from the Mercantile ’fore we leave.”
“That’s a good suggestion. I imagine I’ll need more staples but I won’t take long. You can load my trunks and valises in your wagon while I shop.”
James scratched his jaw. “Are all those trunks yours? All three of them?”
“And the two valises. I was fortunate enough to bring some of the things my mother and grandmothers left me.” She imagined her stepbrother was angry about that, but the pieces were left to her, not him. Leaving the Heflin men to load the wagon, she hurried into the Mercantile.
The man behind the counter had a face that showed laugh lines. His brown hair was thinning and he wore spectacles. “Good morning, ma’am.”
After she returned his greeting, she gathered coffee, tea, sugar, salt, oatmeal, lard, raisins, canned peaches, and items she thought a bachelor might not keep on hand, such as spices. When she laid her things on the counter, she nodded to the flour sacks.
“I’ll need a sack of flour. The one with the blue flowers on it, please.”
“A popular design. Does this go on your account, Mrs…”
“Mrs. Dalton Sterling, but I’ll pay for these today.”
The man’s smile widened. “Well, I’ll be doggone, I didn’t realize he was married. I’m Vern Jordan. Real pleased to meet you, Mrs. Sterling.” He stacked all but the flour into two boxes and totaled up the charge.
Rebecca paid and had enough left to cover the Heflin brothers’ fee. After that, she’d be down to small change until she could take the marriage certificate to the bank. Once the bank transferred her inheritance she’d have enough to purchase whatever she needed.
Should she have had her purchases added to Dalton’s account? Since he hadn’t met her yet, she would have believed that was taking advantage. Besides, paying gave her a sense she was in control. She gave thanks Uncle Fred had insisted she take extra cash from him.
Money had disappeared faster than she had dreamed. She hadn’t even eaten much on the train. Food on the stage stops from Cheyenne had been pitiful. Thankfully, a kind woman on the train had warned her to stock up before she boarded the stage. The last apple and chunk of cheese had served as supper last night.
John Heflin came into the store. “You can go on to the wagon, ma’am. James and I’ll get your things for you.”
The storekeeper called, “Oh, Mrs. Sterling? There’s a telegram here waiting for your husband to come in for his mail. I reckon you could take both to him.”
Her breath hitched in her chest. “A-A telegram? Aren’t those delivered when they arrive?”
“Well, ma’am, in town they are but not to the ranches. Places are so spread out it takes a man too long. This one came right after Mr. Sterling had been here for supplies.”
Oh, no, that must be the one from Uncle Fred. Her legs barely supported her from sinking to the floor. Her throat closed and she thought she might be sick.
That meant Dalton couldn’t meet her because he didn’t know she was arriving. He hadn’t completed the proxy marriage. Where did that leave her?
Like a sleepwalker she returned to the counter and accepted the wire and Dalton’s mail. She managed a weak smile and mumbled, “Thank you, Mr. Jordan.”
James Heflin carried the heaviest box and held open the Mercantile’s door.
John hefted the sack of flour on one shoulder and carried the smaller box with his other arm. “After you, ma’am.”
She stumbled out toward the wagon. “I’d better put the mail in one of my valises so I won’t lose anything.” Like the telegram that didn’t get delivered. Who would have dreamed the wire never reached Dalton?
There was nothing for her to do but plow ahead as if the plan was working. If Dalton was as nice as his uncle claimed, he would be honorable and marry her right away. She prayed he would be and wouldn’t send her back to St. Louis—or leave her stranded in town.
Chapter Two
The scenery was pretty enough that Rebecca enjoyed it even as fatigued and worried as she was. Dark pines and other trees bordered lush green grazing land. White-capped mountain peaks rose toward an incredibly blue sky. She wished she could paint and record the sight. But, she doubted even the old masters could do justice to this beauty.
The brothers kept to themselves on the drive until they turned down a narrower road. John gestured ahead. “That’s Sterling’s ranch. Nice place.”
The buildings spread out from the home and barn. Sheds, pens, and a long low dwelling appeared well-maintained. The size of the house and barn impressed her. She’d had no idea what to expect but was prepared for a small cottage. Admittedly, she was relieved this house was larger.
When they arrived at the homestead, it appeared deserted except for chickens pecking near the barn. Surely no rancher would leave his poultry loose and the barn door open unless someone was around. She surveyed the homestead as the wagon pulled to a stop at the front door.
The two-story house of squared logs appeared sturdy and larger than she expected. She spotted three chimneys. A wide porch held a couple of benches, a rush-bottomed chair, and a rocker. Sitting or rocking on a summer day would be pleasant with that mountain scene in view.
Although the large barn door was open the interior was dark from this viewpoint. A dog’s barking came from nearby, probably from the barn. Other out buildings included a pig pen, corral, and several sheds. At least she’d have plenty to eat with swine, poultry, and beef cattle on the ranch. If she was allowed to stay.
A cowboy with a slight limp ambled from the barn toting a rifle. He was lean and of medium height—probably not much over her five fee
t seven inches. She guessed him to be middle-aged. His hat looked as if a horse had trampled it and taken a bite from the brim. An excited large russet-colored hound ran this was and that beside him.
James waved. “Howdy, Bert.”
Bert’s pale blue eyes were sharp with intelligence but his expression was solemn. “Howdy, boys. Who’s this you’ve brought with you?”
Rebecca stepped forward. “I’m Rebecca, Mrs. Dalton Sterling.”
Behind her, the brothers quickly offloaded her luggage and groceries onto the porch.
Bert’s eyes narrowed. “You don’t say? How come I’ve worked here for six years and didn’t know about no marriage?”
She held up her forefinger. “If you’ll wait for just a moment, I’ll explain everything.” She paid the Heflin boys.
With barely a goodbye they hopped onto their wagon seat and James drove the way they’d come.
Her heart raced but she fought to present a calm presence. She gestured toward the front door. “Could we go into the house and sit down? This is a complicated story and I’m really tired.”
He looked her up and down, not in a leering way but as if he was gauging her character. “All right, but I warn you I ain’t easy taken in even if you are pretty as a speckled pup.” He opened the door and stood back for her to precede him.
The hound of doubtful parentage bolted inside. He looked back as if waiting for her to follow. His jowls were droopy and his expression resembled a goofy grin.
She scooped up her valises as she walked by. “Thank you, Bert. What is your last name?” She stopped short inside the door and set her valises on the floor. Oh, my goodness, she should have bought soap and a mop and broom.
“Mickles, but everyone calls me Bert. Dog is Buddy. Now don’t go looking down your nose on Dalton’s and my housekeeping. This is a busy time of year. There’s other considerations as well.”
She scratched Buddy’s head. “How are you, boy?”
Bert crossed his arms. “You just start your explaining.”
She opened her valise and pulled out the proxy marriage certificate. “Dalton’s uncle arranged this proxy marriage.” She explained and pulled the mail and telegram from her valise.
A Bride For Dalton Page 1
