Rustlers and Ribbons

by Kirsten Osbourne

  “You’re right about that.” Iris concealed a giggle with her hand. “We could really start the tongues to wagging. I’ll be right up to help you.”

  “There’s no need, I’ll manage this morning. Go ahead and get yourself ready.”

  Iris nodded. “My lady.”

  All the way up the stairs, Anne thought about her predicament of being here alone, and penniless. But all that paled with the shooting of Marshal Fountain. He and Mollie were her first friends in this strange town of Beaumont, and she would do anything for them. Even trying to cook. She would survive in spite of her father’s coldness.

  In her room, she gathered her clothes for the day. Their trunks hadn’t arrived as expected, but even if they had, she realized how inappropriate they were for what she needed on a day-to-day basis, much less this morning. It was fair to say she had nothing remotely suitable for life on a ranch either.

  She had noticed Mollie dressed in a style of fashion that was more relaxed, without the requirement of a corset. She would speak to her when she came home and ask for guidance. Thank goodness her intended groom had offered to open a few charge accounts for her. His gesture would save her a great deal of embarrassment and afford her the means to purchase a proper wardrobe.

  She looked forward to their outing this afternoon, and the opportunity to learn more about the man she was to marry. He’d made references to his rough edges, but she hadn’t seen anything so terrible. Morgan Grant was no English gentleman and never would be, but no one was perfect. There was always room for improvement.

  Back to the task at hand, Anne chose her garment for the day and managed to get everything laced and buttoned on her own. She made her way downstairs just as Iris set a plate of sliced bread on the table. No one gave her a second look but continued passing around a platter of fried eggs and bacon.

  She found Mollie at the stove frying more eggs. “Mollie, you’re back. How is the marshal?”

  “He’s not out of the woods yet,” Mollie said, wiping her brow. “The doc removed the bullet though and, if his fever goes down, he should recover.”

  “That’s good news. What can I do to help?”

  “If you’ll take the pot around and refill their cups, I’ll take these last eggs in, and we’ll be done for a bit.”

  Mollie grabbed her arm as Anne reached for the large pot on the stove. “Wait!” she said, quickly handing her a folded towel. “Use this or you’ll burn your hand on that hot handle.”

  “Thank you, Mollie. That was careless of me.”

  “Not to worry, I’ll watch out for you.”

  Anne picked up the coffee pot and carried it into the dining room with Mollie right behind her. The few that were left, finished their meals, and said their goodbyes. She helped Iris stack plates and took them to the kitchen.

  Mollie sat at the small kitchen table and said, “Come on, girls, join me for a spell. You put in some hard work and deserve a rest.”

  “You’re the one who should lie down after being up all night.” Anne poured Mollie a cup of coffee and joined her. “I hope you are right about the marshal recovering. I pray he does regain the use of his arm.”

  “If Walt does what Doc Harper says, he should make a full recovery. I’ve offered to have him stay here so I can tend to his wound easier, hopefully he won’t raise too much of a ruckus.” Mollie yawned and smiled. Standing, she glanced around the room. “I believe I will lie down for a while. Don’t worry about this mess, I’ll clean up when I come down to fix dinner.”

  As soon as Mollie left the kitchen, Iris began to put food away. Anne cleared the table of the dirty dishes, removed the tablecloth and napkins, and put a kettle of water on to boil.

  “My lady,” Iris said, “go put your feet up. I’ll take care of this.”

  “No, I’ll help.” When Iris started to protest, Anne said, “It’s all right. We’re in a different situation here, and I will have to adapt and adjust. I may not be able to cook, but I can certainly wash a dish. Now, where’s the soap?”

  Iris might have protested but found the soap and a pan for the sink. “Here, my lady. I’ll find towels for drying.”

  “Good.” Surveying the daunting task before them, she tied an apron around her waist and said, “Well, let’s get to it.”

  After what seemed like hours later, Anne set the last dish onto the drainboard to dry. She picked up the dishpan and carried it to the backdoor to dump the dirty water. She set the pan on a small table, opened the solid wood door, picked up the pan, pushed open the screen door with her backside, and swung the pan to her left. Too late, she saw Morgan walking up to the back of the house. She narrowly missed drenching him.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” he shouted.

  “Cleaning up,” she said, raising her voice to the level he had used. She saw the spot on the side of his head and was reminded of their earlier encounter where he had startled her. “Must you always skulk around the rear entrance? Don’t you ever use the front door?”

  Chapter 6

  Morgan took in Anne’s level of dishevelment and wondered what the devil she’d been up to. Damp curls clung to her face, her cheeks were bright red, while the front of her dress looked like she’d tried to wash it while wearing it. He followed her inside and saw immediately what she’d been doing. There were a few plates left to be dried, but the rest were stacked on the table to be put away.

  “You’ve been busy.”

  “It was the least we could do, since Mollie was up all night.” She picked up a plate and wiped it with a damp towel. When she’d stacked it with the others and picked up another, she said, “She was practically asleep on her feet, so we sent her to bed.”

  “That was thoughtful, I know she appreciates it.” From their recent history, he held his tongue before saying something she could take the wrong way. It was obvious she was unfamiliar with the task of dishwashing, and he admired her for stepping up to help Mollie. Had he misjudged her?

  Iris came into the kitchen. “My lady, I’ve put a clean cloth on the table and next I’ll put the dishes back into the buffet.” She jumped when she saw him, and said, “Oh, Mr. Grant, it’s nice to see you. Can I get you anything?”

  “No, thank you. I was hoping to take Anne on a brief tour of the town.”

  “I think that’s a fine idea.” Mollie came into the room. She drew a large pot of water, set it on the stove, and lit a fire. “I’m going to boil water for the rest of the day and prepare dinner for those who’ll be here. Leftovers will be for supper tonight.”

  “Mollie, I am more than willing to assist you,” Anne said. “What can I do?”

  “Not a thing I can think of. As soon as the water boils, I’m going over to the doc’s office to check on Walt. Dinner may be a little late today, but that shouldn’t be a problem.”

  Clasping her hands together, Anne said, “Well, then, Morgan, I would like to see the place that will be my new home.”

  “Good,” he answered. “Take the time you need, there’s no rush.”

  Anne took in her reflection in the free-standing mirror and was pleasantly pleased with the way she had turned out. Iris had many talents as a lady’s maid and never ceased to amaze her at what she could accomplish.

  Thanks to Iris, in a short amount of time, she was more than presentable in her travel suit that miraculously didn’t look like it had been worn for three days, and her hair had been styled slightly off her face into a chignon. Her hat deftly placed, she pulled on her gloves and made her way back downstairs.

  Morgan stood at the countertop peeling potatoes and dropping each one into a pot of water. Odd to see a man in the kitchen. At Higby, they only had women as cooks and kitchen staff.

  She cleared her throat when he didn’t he didn’t acknowledge her presence, and said, “I’m ready if you are.”

  He turned as she spoke. Drawing an almost imperceptible breath, his thorough perusal of her, as he dried his hands on a towel, almost made her bolt from the room but she stood fas
t. Good or bad, she was Lady Medvale and even in this country that should mean something. She would see that it did.

  “Yes, I believe you are.” He nodded and said, “I’ll put on my coat.”

  They walked the short distance to the edge of town where the hum and buzz of activity continued much the same as it had been yesterday when they arrived. She had never seen this many people in one place before, even in London. It was both exciting and frightening.

  Holding tightly to his coattail, she walked close behind him so as to not get separated from him. After they passed one of the many oil company offices and the many men trying to get inside, she asked, “Is it always like this?”

  “Ever since they struck oil at Spindletop, yes. Come on.” He took her by the hand and ducked into the next store. “It’ll be warmer in here and you can look around at the fancy gewgaws.”

  She quickly glanced at her surroundings and realized she was in the mercantile. The aisles were bordered with bolts of fabric, notions, ribbons, and lace. She marveled at the size and content of the business.

  “This is amazing,” she said, as she ran her gloved fingers over a bolt of satin. “The choices are staggering, and what is that wonderful smell?”

  “I imagine something just came from the oven. Hortense has a small bakery in the back of the store.” He slipped his hand beneath her elbow and asked, “Shall we go find out?”

  “Oh, yes, please.”

  Her mouth was watering by the time they reached the small area containing two small tables in front of a counter. A tray holding freshly baked scones sat to the side. In the midst of the chaos and barbarism outside, she had fallen into a piece of heaven.

  A short, round woman with red hair appeared behind the counter and said, “Hello, love, could I interest you in a nice, hot scone?”

  Anne thought the resemblance to Mrs. Flaven, their cook at Higby Castle, uncanny. Add in the woman’s perfect English accent, and for just a moment, she was home.

  Morgan spoke before she had a chance to answer. “Hortense Blinebry, this is my fiancée, Lady Anne Medvale of England.”

  “Pleased to meet you, my lady. You haven’t been here long, now, have you?”

  “My maid and I arrived yesterday.” The words sounded strange as she voiced them. So much had happened already. Had it only been twenty-four hours?

  “Well, you’ve had a shock, I imagine. I’ve lived here twenty years and my senses are reeling, I’ll tell you.” The woman smiled, as she picked up a scone. “Have a seat and I’ll bring you a plate and a nice cup of hot tea.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Blinebry.”

  Morgan carried the cups and the teapot to the table, while Hortense brought the scones. When she turned to leave them alone, he said, “Join us, Hortense. I’m sure Anne would enjoy getting to know you.”

  “And I her. My lady?”

  Anne removed her gloves to spread some jam onto her scone and said, “Do sit and chat. I admit your voice is making me homesick for the Queen’s language. Where are you from?”

  “Cambria, my lady.”

  “Do you miss it? Home, I mean?”

  “Some,” Hortense said wistfully. “But, I imagine it’s changed from when we were last there.”

  “Is Albert around?” Morgan interrupted.

  “He’s unloading a wagon out back.”

  “If you’ll excuse me, ladies, I’ll go find him.”

  “So, Albert is your husband?”

  “He is, for thirty years, but he’ll always be a prince to me.”

  Anne smiled at the woman’s reference to Prince Albert, Queen Victoria’s husband. “I suppose we are all looking for our prince, so to speak.”

  “Well, my lady, if I’m not speaking out of turn, Morgan Grant is a prince among men.” Hortense leaned forward, her elbows on the table. “You are a fortunate woman.”

  “Apparently,” Anne said. “Mollie feels so, too.”

  “I don’t know what circumstances brought you here, my lady,” Hortense said, pushing away from the table, “But, Morgan is a good man and you could do much worse.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Blinebry, it is a pleasure to meet you.”

  “Welcome, ma’am.” Hortense stood, gathered the teapot and a cup, and said, “I must get back to my customers.”

  “Of course. I’ve enjoyed our conversation.” Anne stood, slipped her gloves back on, and saw Morgan a few aisles over where he was talking with two men. She nodded when they connected and joined him.

  “Gentlemen, Lady Anne Medvale. Anne this is Albert Blinebry, proprietor of Blinebry’s Mercantile, and Ellis Barton, our preacher.”

  “Your wife is lovely, Mr. Blinebry,” she said as she shook hands with both men. After Mr. Blinebry excused himself, she asked, “Mr. Barton, I was under the impression you were not in town.”

  “I was out checking on a few members of our congregation, but my wife’s sister sent word she needed me at home.” Accepting a bag from a clerk, he looked inside, and then turned his attention back to Morgan. “I’ll take these home to Mary. I’ll be available for the time we discussed.”

  “Thanks, Ellis.”

  “Do your plans include me and were you planning on including me?” She realized she was the reason for her predicament, but she absolutely refused to be dictated to or pushed, something Morgan Grant may as well realize sooner than later.

  “Of course, and I was—I-I do,” he stammered. “I was just talking to Brother Barton, and he can marry us this afternoon.”

  She glanced to her right, focused on a tray of delicate, satin-pink pearl buttons, and then closed her eyes. This was going to happen, needed to happen, whether she was ready or not.

  “Anne, have you changed your mind?”

  Slowly, she opened her eyes and rested her hand on his forearm. “No, I haven’t changed my mind. Since refusing your offer isn’t an option before me, and I did say today . . .” Her voice trailed off along with any hope of retaining her former life.

  He lifted her chin with two fingers, and softly asked, “So, Lady Medvale, will you be my wife?”

  Meeting his gaze, she answered resolutely, “Yes, Morgan, I will marry you.”

  “Good, shall we say two o’clock? Will that give you enough time to get ready?”

  “Yes, I believe so. Can you make sure our trunks have been delivered?”

  “We can do that on the way back to Mollie’s.”

  “Two o’clock this afternoon!” Mollie exclaimed. “So that’s the reason I felt the need to bake a cake.”

  Anne immediately felt guilty for telling Mollie of their plans after Morgan had left her at the boarding house. She had enough to do without adding one more thing to her list.

  “Please, don’t go out of your way,” she said. “Nothing special is required.” Because this marriage is nothing special. It was merely a means to an end. Nothing more, nothing less.

  Mollie’s attitude was effervescent and infectious, as she answered, “Nonsense. We’ve had far too little to celebrate lately. Now, you and Morgan will come here after the ceremony and we’ll have cake and coffee to mark the occasion.”

  “That will be lovely,” Anne conceded.

  Someone knocked on the front door. Mollie opened it and splayed her hand to her bosom. “Mercy, two trunks? Well, bring them on in and take them up to the room at the top of the stairs.”

  After the men had deposited the trunks, Anne walked to the bottom step and said, “Iris, I’ll need you to help me dress for the ceremony.”

  “Of course, my lady, I’m right behind you.”

  Anne opened the first trunk and found the wedding dress she intended to wear right away. It was of white silk, organdy, and metallic thread. Handmade lace graced the bodice and formed the sleeves. Her father had complained about the cost of the Paris original but, being so anxious to marry her off, had paid the bill none the less.

  She carefully laid the dress across the bed, smoothing out the wrinkles, then set out the jewelry from the top tray. Nex
t, she pulled the satin slippers from the shoe bags. They matched her dress perfectly but, with the hem of her travel suit completely ruined, she wouldn’t wear them. She couldn’t bear to think of ruining them in the oil-soaked, mud streets.

  “What do you think?” she asked Iris when she came into the room.

  “I would have laid it out for you, my lady.”

  “I know, I wanted to.” Anne shook out the organdy covered lace sleeves and brushed at the wrinkles in the skirts. “Is it too much? Should I wear another gown?”

  “No, this is the one you should wear.” Iris picked up the gown and held it in front of Anne, and then turned her to face the mirror. “See, this is perfect, my lady, and if you don’t wear a wedding dress on your wedding day, when would you?”

  “You’re right.”

  As if Iris had read her mind, she added, “Don’t worry, my lady, we’ll take care not to let the hems get soiled.”

  Anne sat at the small dressing table, removed her earrings, and held out her arm for Iris to unfasten her bracelet. Iris removed the pins from the chignon and began brushing her hair.

  “I don’t have a hat for the occasion, or a veil. Is there something you can do?”

  “Well, I could pin your diamond bracelet into the front like we did at Christmas or . . .” Iris went to the top tray in the opened trunk, picked through the cache of necklaces, rings, and bracelets. She chose a couple of pieces and joined Anne. “What do you think if I gather your hair onto the top of your head and wind Lady Margaret’s pearls into the curls?”

  “I think that would be lovely, and grandma-ma will be there with me.”

  “Hey, Doc?” Morgan entered the doctor’s office through the same back door he’d used earlier this morning.

  “We’re in here.”

  Morgan recognized the voice and followed it to find the marshal sitting up in the bed smoking a cigarette. His left shoulder was bandaged, and his left arm wrapped next to his body.

  “Well, this isn’t what I expected to find.” Morgan grinned and stepped closer to shake the man’s hand.