After a pause, Anson’s mouth stretched into a grin, crinkling the skin at the edges of his eyes.
Reverend Weatherwax extended the Bible forward. “Anson, please take the ring you offer as a symbol of your marriage bond and slide it on Fiona’s third finger. Then speak these words.”
Anson lifted the gold band from the Bible and slipped it on. “With this ring, I thee wed, with my body I thee worship, and with all my worldly goods I thee endow.”
“Fiona, will you do the same for Anson?”
Fiona had to glance away from the softness of Anson’s gaze when he looked up from her hand. “Reverend, mayhap could I use a vow for this occasion that has been spoken by all me ancestors through the generations?”
A frown creased the reverend’s brow. “I suppose.”
She lifted the silver band and centered it at the tip of Anson’s finger. Thankfully, it easily slid into place. She lifted her head to connect with his intense gaze. “I take ye to me heart, at the rising of the moon and the setting of the stars. I vow to love and to honor through all that may come.”
“Well said.” Nodding, Reverend Weatherwax rested his palm atop their joined hands. “By the power vested in me by the State of Colorado and entrusted by God’s holy ordinance, I pronounce you man and wife. May the Lord bless and keep you. As God said to Adam and Eve, may you go forth and be fruitful.” Smiling, he leaned his head closer. “I know you two have only just met, but this is the time for the marriage kiss.”
Seeing Anson look away made her cringe inside. But she’d thought too many times of what her wedding would be like to be robbed of this special moment. Bracing a hand on his forearm, she rose on tiptoes and tilted up her face, waiting. Their height difference was large enough that he would have to meet her halfway for the desired kiss to happen. Her pulse hammered in her ears.
His eyes widened then his gaze dropped to her mouth. After one more look into her eyes, he bent his head and kissed her.
Her lips instantly warmed, and a tingly sensation filled her chest. Vaguely, she was aware of his right hand clamping her waist. His lips cajoled, and she pressed harder. The arm muscles under her hand tightened, and she heard a swift inhale of breath. Was it hers or his?
Anson eased away and stared wide-eyed.
I’m as surprised as ye are. Fiona smiled. “Le mo ghrása mise, agus liomsa mo ghrá.”
“What did you just say?” Anson dropped his hand to his side.
“I am me beloved’s, and he is mine. Something me ma used to say to me da.” Between the ring blessing and these words, she savored her parents’ inclusion in her special day.
“Congratulations to you both.” Reverend Weatherwax closed the Bible and stepped back toward the table. “Chad and Vika, please come up here to sign the certificate as witnesses.”
As people moved to do the reverend’s bidding, Fiona held out her left hand and looked down at the gold ring. The sunlight reflected a texture on the band, and she lifted it closer. Etched on the surface was a trail of ivy leaves just like pattern decorating her stationery. Tears came to her eyes. Her serious husband did have a bit of romance in his soul. What else about him would she discover?
Chapter Five
The wedding luncheon at the Mountain High Café was almost over when Anson felt Fiona lean against his right arm. She might not be aware of the touch, but he felt every inch of their contact.
A few moments later, she raised a hand to cover a yawn.
Of course, she would be tired. He’d traveled by train a time or two and remembered the constant stops to deliver or take on passengers and the general noise of sharing space hour after hour with so many other people.
A waitress walked toward the table, a speckled coffeepot in her hands.
Maybe coffee is what she needs. Anson lifted his arm and signaled toward the adults’ cups. If he thought he could take a look at his pocket watch and not cause offense, he would. From the café, he couldn’t see his storefront and worried about customers waiting for his return.
“Fiona—” Vika shook her head and hovered a hand over her mug. “Did ye attend many plays while in Chicago?”
“Only on special occasions. When the Huntingdons deemed a play appropriate for the older children, I attended to oversee Philberta and Lyman.” Fiona tipped the cream pitcher on the edge of her mug then stirred the dark brew.
“I don’t mention it often, although I do miss the social life of living in Lincoln.” Glancing at her husband, she patted Chad’s hand on the table. “But I gained so much more by moving here.”
“Glad to hear you say so.” Chad shifted his hand so their fingers intertwined.
Why was he suddenly so aware of his friends’ loving gestures? So far, only the formal touches of escorting and assisting Fiona into the wagon felt normal. Now was not the right time to think about that kiss.
“Daddy, I’m tired.” Guinie leaned her head on her father’s left arm.
Vika straightened and glanced between Lance and Guinie. “Goodness, I’ve been enjoying meself and not paying attention to the children.”
“Don’t worry, dear. Today is special. Besides, she can nap on the drive home.” Chad scooted back his chair so Guinie could climb onto his lap.
Anson stood. “Let me take care of the bill, and we can head back to the store.”
The others rose and gathered their coats and hats.
As soon as the team stopped moving, Anson vaulted over the side of the wagon and quickly unlocked the store to let in a couple customers. “I’ll be right inside, folks.” Then he walked to where Fiona sat. “The Rutherfords will drop you at the house.” He dug into his front pocket and pulled out the second key he recently had Jeb Burns, the blacksmith, make.
Chad jumped to the street and strode into the store.
Fiona’s eyes shot wide. “Yer not taking me there? To me new home? But I thought ye’d give me a tour…”
Guilt burned the tops of his ears. Why didn’t he anticipate her completely logical request? “Remember about the missing telegram and how I didn’t have much notice to make today’s plans? I didn’t anticipate closing the store for more time than was necessary.”
Eyes widening, she sucked in a breath. “Oh, of course.”
The wagon jostled from the weight of the trunk Chad loaded into the bed. The satchel he set next to it.
“Don’t worry, Fiona.” Vika patted Fiona’s knee. “Between Chad and me, we can answer any questions ye might have.”
“Thank you, Vika.” Anson studied Fiona’s face but couldn’t tell how offended she was. “I’m sorry, Fiona, because today probably isn’t what you imagined. But now that the store has to provide upkeep for another person, I can’t afford to keep it closed any longer today.” He waved a hand toward his business. Surely, she could understand the practicality of this arrangement.
Chad leaned forward, shook his head, and shot a frowning glare.
Wrong again.
She dropped her chin and stared at the yellow flower in her lap.
Anson realized his mistake but didn’t know how to retract the words. He pulled off his hat and rubbed a hand on the nape of his neck. “I figured you’d want time alone to get settled and put away your belongings.” That statement was true. He didn’t think she’d want to unpack her unmentionables in his presence. But who was he kidding? Being around a woman and her different needs would take some getting used to. He was the one who didn’t want to be present until everything was tucked away in its place.
Shaking his head, Chad rolled his eyes and settled back into his driving position.
“Please don’t go into the barn until I have a chance to take you. A couple of the animals are skittish.” An impulse from some unknown source told him to make a physical connection before the wagon drove away. He reached for her hand and leaned forward to kiss the top of her black glove. Still holding her hand, he glanced upward. “As long as I don’t have late customers, I’ll be home about a quarter after six.”
She gave a quick nod and retracted her hand. “Goodbye, Anson.”
Her soft-spoken words, tingled with sadness, tugged at his conscience. “See you later.” He stepped up to the boardwalk and looked on as Chad circled the wagon in the middle of the street and then guided the team toward the outskirts of town. Watching their progress, Anson hoped Fiona would look behind her, but she didn’t before the wagon disappeared around a street corner. He slumped his shoulders and turned toward the store. Tonight, he owed her a better explanation. But now, he had customers to serve.
About four hours later, Anson trotted Brownie down the road leading to his house. Performing the routine tasks of sweeping the floor and locking the store, he thought about the cheery welcome that probably waited. The contents of a single trunk couldn’t take too long to unpack. Instead of a dark house, the windows would be lit and provide a beacon for the last part of his solitary trip.
The chilly evening air nipped at his cheeks. As he rode past the house on the way to the barn, he spotted only a dim light shining in the kitchen. Had Fiona not discovered where to find other lamps? He rushed through unsaddling and grooming Brownie then moved on to the evening feeding and milking before entering the house through the back porch. “Fiona?” He set down the pail of milk just inside the door.
The smell of cooked meat and fresh bread teased his nose. Here was an advantage of marriage he had looked forward to—meals prepared by another’s hand. After hanging up his coat and hat, he stepped forward and knocked a shin against the bathtub. Biting back a curse, he shoved it aside with a boot then patted a hand along the shelf to locate an oil lantern and lit it. With it held aloft, he moved through the kitchen, taking note of an unfamiliar ceramic teapot and matching cups and saucers on the counter. A covered fry pan and a pot sat on the stove. No plates or glasses accented the table.
Where could she be? “Fiona?” He glanced around then stepped into the hallway. No movement came from the parlor so he walked to the center door of the three rooms on this side of the hall.
The lamp cast flickering light over the bare walls.
Closing his eyes against a potential embarrassing encounter, he turned the knob and stepped into the master bedroom. In a whisper, he again spoke her name. No response. He opened one eye, scanned the room, then opened the other one.
Fiona lay curled atop the quilt, facing toward the wall. Her auburn hair flowed over her slim back. A floral garment, different from the two dresses she’d worn earlier, covered her body, with the exception of the boots still on her feet. The trunk occupied floor space at the foot of the bed, and the armoire doors were closed.
Uncertainty swamped him. Should he wake her so they could eat supper together? He couldn’t deny he’d been looking forward to doing just that. Or should he let her sleep? When he purchased the train ticket, he’d reviewed the schedule and saw she would spend only one night in a sleeping berth on the journey. If she was to sleep the night through, she certainly couldn’t do it fully dressed and on top of the bedclothes.
His stomach rumbled, demanding food. After tossing the quilt from his side of the bed over her still form, he left the lamp on the bureau and headed back to the kitchen. Maybe the extra light and household noises coming through the open door would rouse her without his further intervention.
A stew thick with meat chunks, carrots, and potatoes filled the pot, and the fry pan held a curious-looking bread that was the thickness of a thick pancake. He set himself a single place at the table and ate his fill. After every third or fourth bite, he glanced toward the dimly lit doorway, hoping to see Fiona. When no movement happened, Anson washed the dishes and put away the remaining food in the icebox. He strained the milk into a jug for the icebox and rinsed out the pail. Then he took his copy of Book of the Black Bass into the back storeroom. Stripped down to his undershirt and drawers, he cycled on the stationary vêlocipède for his standard thirty minutes while reading about his favorite leisure activity. Not the way he’d expected to spend his wedding night.
When he completed all the usual evening chores and banked the fires in the kitchen and parlor stoves, he walked to the bedroom doorway. His trousers and shirt dangled over an arm, and he carried his boots. After hanging the clothes in the armoire and slipping his boots under the end of the bed, he returned to the doorway and leaned a shoulder against the jamb. What to do with his Little Briar Rose?
Fiona now lay flat on her back with a forearm laid across her eyes. The quilt bunched in a ridge at her side.
“I’m not sure what to do here, but you can’t be comfortable sleeping with your shoes on.” He moved to her side of the bed to unhook and untie the laces on her black boots then eased them off. Leaning to his left, he slid them under the bed.
She sighed and wiggled her toes but remained sleeping.
“Fiona.” At the same moment he spoke, he nudged her arm.
“Thalla.”
He leaned closer and nudged her again. “What did you say?”
“Go away.” She rolled toward the middle of the mattress and swung an arm.
Anson jerked back then walked around to his side of the bed. “Fiona, wake up. You need to remove your dress.”
“You left me alone.”
Her words were muffled but clear enough to understand. “I know I did so.” Was now the time to have this conversation? He sat on the edge of the mattress, forearms on his thighs, and stared at his stockinged feet. “Even while serving customers, I ran over this afternoon in my mind. When I saw you come from the storeroom, I should have immediately told you how beautiful you looked. I tried to find the words, but they wouldn’t form in my mouth. Then everyone grabbed their coats, and the moment was past. I realize how rude my decision to stay at the store must have seemed. Again, I apologize. I sure wish I’d received that first telegram and had more time to plan. I’m not a man who operates spontaneously.”
“Humph.”
So, was she still angry? Even after a second apology? He glanced over his shoulder and watched her lips flutter as she breathed evenly. She was still asleep? She hadn’t heard a word of the speech he’d been planning for hours. Irritation tightened his muscles, and he jostled the mattress. “Fiona!”
Her eyelids crinkled then slowly opened. She pushed up on one elbow and glanced around, blinking. “Why’d ye yell?”
As sleepy as she looked, she probably would only respond to commands. “Bedtime. Take off your dress.”
She sat upright, but her head hung low as her fingers worked on unfastening the front row of buttons.
So far, so good. But seeing her actually undressing in this sleepy state didn’t seem right. He turned away so he could look out the door. “When you’re done, hand me the dress.” He laid an open hand on the mattress between them. After rustling and shifting of the mattress, he felt warm cloth cover his fingers. “Good. Now work on undoing your corset.”
“Bossy.”
As he hung the garment over another dress on an armoire hook, he smiled. Maybe the activity was rousing her, and they could have a real conversation. He hoped to explain a bit about what a normal day looked like. Plus, she’d finished only half of her lunch, and he wanted her to eat something before they turned in. “How are you coming with the corset?”
“Done.”
“And it’s off?”
The ropes under the mattress creaked. “Stuck.”
“Can you stand and then step out of it?” He was just guessing here about the way to remove such a garment.
A soft thud sounded then the ropes creaked again, and the quilt soughed.
A glimpse over his shoulder revealed she’d crawled into bed again and snuggled with her pillow. Could a man admit to being jealous of cotton and feathers? With a sigh, he walked to the chest of drawers, cupped a hand about the glass chimney of the oil lamp, and blew out the flame. He slipped between the sheets on his side of the bed and took a deep breath to help relax his body. Through the bare window, stars sparkled in the night sky. He thought of the question s
he wrote about finding pictures in the stars and looked forward to sharing that activity.
Today had been more emotionally challenging than he’d anticipated. He ran his left thumb over the underside of his left ring finger to adjust the unfamiliar band. Fiona’s rhythmic breathing created a foreign sound in the room. But within moments, he matched his breathing to hers and welcomed the oblivion of sleep.
“Stayed at his store.” Fiona rolled over and jerked the quilt.
Without opening his eyes, Anson grabbed the hem and pulled back so it covered his body.
A foot kicked against his thigh.
“Hey.” He snapped open his eyes and rubbed a hand over the sore spot.
She flopped again, mumbling something unintelligible. Then her leg lifted straight up and pushed the quilt toward the foot of the bed. “Abandoned me.”
Cool air chilled his skin. Anson slipped from the bed and felt around in the dim light of the half moon. He tucked the sheet and quilt edges under the mattress foot and along both sides. After crawling in again, he pulled up the bedclothes to cover his shoulder.
Fiona rolled against his back and sighed.
“I didn’t abandon you, Fiona. I’m right here.” He debated about turning so he could put an arm around her but contented himself with her body against his.
The next morning, the alarm jangled, and Anson reached out an arm to depress the lever. Like every day, he stretched his arms overhead and to the sides. But today, he touched her curled body. Right, his bed was no longer his own. He used the chamber pot in the commode then performed his usual exercise routine. Finishing his pushups, he stripped off his undershirt and reached toward the tie to his drawers. He stopped and glanced over his shoulder to see his wife staring wide-eyed with the sheet clutched under her chin.
“We need a folding screen.”
“Morning, Fiona. Why?”
She glanced around the room. “I’ll not be dressing and undressing in full view of bare windows.”
A Promise for Christmas Page 5
