The Anonymous Bride (Texas Boardinghouse Brides 1)

by Vickie McDonough

  “You two hurry up. The laundry needs to be taken down from the line and folded.”

  “But we wanted to walk out to the fields and see Pa.” Molly drew out her words in a whine that made Leah want to cover her ears.

  Leah shoved one hand to her hip. “Pa doesn’t need you gettin’ in his way.”

  “You’re bossier than Ma.” Molly stuck out her tongue while Mabel looked down, quietly drying the plate in her hand.

  Leah turned away, not wanting her sister to see that her pointed words had hit their target. She never wanted to be the boss, but with so many children in the family and her being the oldest, she had to take over whenever Ma was tending to young’uns or something else that constantly demanded her attention.

  Ten-year-old Sally shuffled in from the eating room, carrying a bowl of water and a wet rag. She placed it in the dry sink that Leah had just emptied. “The tables and chairs have all been washed down and straightened, and Ida finished sweeping the floor. Can we go out and play now?”

  Leah shook her head. “Go weed the carrots first.”

  Sally scrunched up her face and leaned against the doorjamb. “Do we hav’ta? All we ever do is work.”

  Leah adopted the pose she’d frequently seen her mother use with one hand on her hip and her index finger wagging and echoed her words. “With eleven children in this family, there’s always something that needs doing.”

  Sally stuck out her lip, and eight-year-old Ida sidled up beside her, bearing the same expression. “Andy says you’re too bossy for your britches, and I agree.” Sally hiked up her chin.

  Leah sighed. Was a little respect too much to hope for? “I don’t wear britches, young lady. You two get outside and weed the carrots. When that’s done, you can play until dark.”

  The girls locked arms and marched out the back door, still frowning. Why couldn’t they mind her like they did their mother? Because she wasn’t their ma, and she hoped she never was one. Having children just meant extra work—and heartache if something happened to them. Nope, she never wanted to be a mother.

  As long as she could remember, her ma was either pregnant or nursing and sometimes both. Not even forty yet, Alice Bennett looked closer to sixty. Leah washed out the bowl Sally had used and set it in the rinse bucket. Ma had probably finished tucking the youngest of her brood into bed already, but she hadn’t come back downstairs. She’d most likely fallen asleep during the children’s prayers.

  Leah checked the bread rising for tomorrow. She punched down the first bowl of dough and then the second one, sending a yeasty odor into the room that reminded her grumbling stomach that she was still hungry. With so many mouths to feed, she never seemed to get enough to eat. Kneading dough always helped relieve her frustrations. She placed the frayed towel back over the bread and fingered a corner. Just one more thing that needed mending.

  In the parlor, she sorted through the pile of clothing and picked out everything that needed to be repaired with blue thread. She grabbed the sewing kit and went outside to sit in her favorite rocker—the only one that didn’t creak.

  In the field next to the barn, Allan and Andy, her younger brothers, led the two cows toward the barn where they’d be fed and milked. There was plenty of work on a farm the size of the Bennetts’, but there was a soothing rhythm to it. She selected a baby gown and found the place where her youngest brother, still a crawler, had snagged it on a loose floorboard. She cut a tiny patch from some scrap material and quickly stitched it over the tear.

  Giggling preceded Mabel and Molly a short while later as they bounced out the front door and flopped down on the steps. “Tell her.” Molly nudged her twin.

  “Tell me what?” Leah folded the mended gown and laid it in the rocker next to her. She picked up a colonial blue shirt with loose buttons that belonged to three-year-old Micah. In the fields past the barn, she saw her father walking behind the huge draft horses, plowing.

  “Nooo, you do it.” Mabel shook her head and wrung her hands.

  Molly grinned. “Sue Anne Carter is going to be a mail-order bride. She’s got a magazine with ads in it, and she’s studying them for a husband.”

  Leah blinked, and her mending dropped to her lap. There were advertisements where one could find a husband? “Why would she do such a ridiculous thing? Sue Anne could have any man she wanted.”

  Mabel piped up now that Molly had brokered the subject. “Maybe she wants to get away from her strict father, or maybe she wants an adventure.”

  The image of Sam Braddock rose in Leah’s mind, as handsome and strong as any man she’d known. He’d been the only male to ever capture her heart, and he’d returned the attraction. But he died when influenza ravished the neighboring town, killing Leah’s dreams. She placed her hand over her heart. Even after a year, the pain still felt fresh. She remembered her eagerness to marry Sam as the days to their wedding had drawn closer. Instead, Sam had been buried that day.

  She shook her thoughts back to her best friend. Sue Anne hadn’t mentioned anything to her about being a mail-order bride. And how could she consider traveling hundreds of miles to marry a man she’d never met? Seemed like a recipe for disaster.

  The twins were huddled together, whispering, but Leah could still hear them. “Tell her the rest,” Molly whispered.

  “Nooo, we ain’t supposed to know. Remember?” Mabel crossed her arms and flipped her long brown braids behind her.

  Leah looked back at Molly and leaned forward. The little busybody never could keep a secret.

  Molly glanced at Mabel. Guilt marched across her face, but her eyes twinkled with mischief. She stood up and swung her faded skirt back and forth as if she were dancing. “Mr. Abernathy is buying you from Pa.”

  “Mo–ll–y!” Mabel jumped up, her gaze darting to the field where their father worked. “Pa is gonna be furious with you for telling.”

  Leah’s hands dropped to her lap like lead weights. Mr. Abernathy was ... old. And fat. And had hair growing out of his nose and ears. “Wh–what do you mean, buying me?”

  Proud that she knew something her big sister didn’t, Molly puffed up like a toad. “Mr. Abernathy wanted me.” She shuddered, as if the thought repulsed her. “But Pa said I was too young to marry and that he could have you instead. Pa said he had too many mouths to feed. Am I ever glad, for once, that I ain’t the oldest.”

  “I don’t believe you.” Leah glanced at Mabel. Seeing the confirmation in her sister’s brown eyes, her heart jolted, Molly might lie, but Mabel couldn’t. Needing to get away by herself, Leah stood. “Did you two finish the laundry?”

  Evidently realizing they’d said enough, the twins fled down the stairs and around the side of the house without answering. Pa was selling her like some ... old cow? Shock pulled Leah back down into the rocker. He wanted to be rid of her because he had too many mouths to feed. Hadn’t she proven her worth by taking up the slack when Ma needed help and working from before sunup to past dusk? How would Ma manage without her?

  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 aw
ay 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.”