A figure parted from the crowd and strode in her direction. Rand. Rachel clutched the door frame, not wanting to face him today with her emotions all in a tizzy.
“Afternoon, Rachel.” Rand removed his hat and held it in front of him.
She forced a smile, almost wishing she did have feelings for the kind rancher. “Rand.”
He glanced back over his shoulder. “That’s some to-do they’re havin’.”
“Did you sample the pies?”
He shook his head. “Nah. I thought about it, but I don’t like being caught up in a crowd. Been out on the open prairie too long, I reckon. Anyway, I heard none of them were any good except that mystery pie.”
Rachel’s heart somersaulted. “What was wrong with the others?”
“Two of them were too salty, someone said. Not sure about the third one.”
Her grip on the door frame tightened. “So, the marshal didn’t pick a bride?”
“Nope. There’s to be a shirt-sewing contest now.”
Relief that Luke hadn’t chosen a wife yet made her knees weak.
“You wouldn’t want to accompany me to the judgin’ next Saturday, would ya?”
Rachel closed her eyes. She didn’t want to hurt Rand, but he needed to know she had no interest in him.
“Never mind. I can tell by your expression that’s a no.” He hung his head and curled the edge of his hat.
“I’m sorry, Rand. I like you a lot. You’re a good friend, but friendship is all I have to offer you.”
His mouth pushed up in a resigned pucker. “I reckon I’ve known that for a while, but I just didn’t want to accept it.”
Rachel laid her hand on his arm. “You’re a good man, Rand. You deserve a woman who will love you with all of her heart.”
“Thank you for your honesty.” He nodded and shoved his hat on. “I won’t pester you anymore.”
She watched him stride back toward the dispersing crowd, her heart aching. But she’d done the right thing. She wouldn’t marry another man she didn’t love.
She returned to the kitchen, and her hands shook as she carried the plate of sandwiches to the buffet in the dining room where she set them beside the individual bowls of pudding. She just needed to ladle up the soup, and all would be ready.
“Who would do such a thing?”
“I’ve never been so humiliated in all my life.”
Rachel hurried into the entryway at the distressed sound of the brides’ voices.
Miss O’Neil held her handkerchief in front of her red face. “Oh Mrs. Hamilton, everything was such a—” The girl lapsed into a phrase in Gaelic.
“My thoughts exactly.” Miss Blackstone’s face scrunched up, and she kicked at the bottom step of the inside stairway. “The whole thing was a disaster.”
Miss Bennett anchored her hands to her hips. “I want to know who would trick us like that.”
“Please, won’t you sit down to lunch and let us sort this out?” Rachel held out her hands, hoping to calm everyone.
“I ... I don’t believe I can eat.” Miss O’Neil dropped into a chair and rested her chin in her hand, elbow on the table. The poor girl looked so forlorn.
Miss Blackstone rolled her eyes, while Miss Bennett claimed her seat at the dining table.
Rachel laid her hand on the Irish girl’s shoulder. “Some warm soup will make you feel better.”
While the women waited, Rachel quickly ladled the soup into the tureen and placed it with the other food on the buffet. By now, the other guests had entered and also seated themselves. She stood at the head of the table, curiosity nibbling at her. She knew about the mice getting into the pie safe and damaging a couple of the pies, but how had two of them turned out too salty? “Shall we pray?”
Miss Blackstone made a snorty sound that resembled a laugh, but everyone else ducked their heads. “Heavenly Father, we thank You for Your bountiful blessings and pray that You will work out things for each of the young women seated here today. Bless my other guests, too, and keep them safe in their travels.”
Conversation was kept to a minimum while her guests served themselves. Rachel walked to the front door, wondering where Jacqueline was. She rarely missed mealtimes. Just then, she saw her daughter exit the marshal’s office, hike up her skirt, and make a beeline for home. Rachel pursed her lips. Would that child never learn proper manners?
Jacqueline skidded to a halt on the porch when she saw her mother watching her. “You missed all the excitement, Ma! I just gotta go wash up. Sorry I’m late for lunch, but I was talking with Luke.”
Rachel stepped outside. “Jacqueline, ladies do not run—and don’t refer to the marshal by his given name.”
“Sure, Ma.” Jacqueline waved her hand as she hurried around the side of the house toward the back where the water pump was.
Shaking her head, Rachel walked back inside, suddenly remembering the day the brides had arrived. She’d done the very thing she’d chastised her daughter for doing when she’d remembered the pies she’d left in the oven. She sighed and went to the buffet and dished up Jacqueline’s soup.
When they were all seated again, Rachel looked around the table. “So, what happened? Mr. Kessler mentioned something about the pies being too salty.”
The three brides looked suspiciously at one another. Miss Bennett hiked up her chin. “It seems someone must have switched your sugar for salt. My pie and Miss O’Neil’s were both overly salty and inedible. We made our pies at the same time, remember?”
“Maybe you just grabbed the wrong container,” Jacqueline said, helping herself to a bowl of pudding off the buffet.
Miss Bennett frowned at her. “I’ve been cooking all my life and have never made that mistake.”
“That nut pie tasted as if the inside mixings had been burnt,” Mr. Sanderson offered.
“I guess I cooked it too long.” Miss Blackstone stirred her food on her plate. “I didn’t normally cook on a stove, so I didn’t make many pies.”
Rachel wondered about her comment. Where had she lived that she had to cook without a stove?
“The fourth one was the best,” Jacqueline interjected as she took her seat. “It was better than perfect.”
If the other three pies had turned out bad, that meant Luke probably liked hers the best. Rachel ducked her head to hide a smile.
“You didn’t by chance get the salt and sugar in the wrong containers, did you?” Miss O’Neil asked.
Rachel shook her head. “If I had, we’d have noticed. Most things I cook have either sugar or salt in them. I don’t understand how such a thing could happen. I keep my containers clearly marked.”
Miss Blackstone shook her head and slurped her soup. “Sure seems odd that all three of ours turned out bad. It’s almost as if someone did it on purpose.”
“Uh huh, like that anonymous bride,” Miss Bennett muttered.
Rachel winced and stuck a spoonful of soup in her mouth. Her gaze drifted to Jacqueline. The girl didn’t want Luke marrying one of the brides, but would she go so far as to ruin the other entries?
Jacqueline looked up and smiled with innocence. Wouldn’t she look guilty if she’d done such an unconscionable thing?
“I’m certainly curious who that fourth entry was from,” Mrs. Sanderson said.
Her husband grinned. “That sure stirred up a lot of interest. Everyone’s speculating who it belongs to.”
“Well,” Mrs. Sanderson said, “the marshal is a handsome man. I can see why an unwed woman would want to throw her hat into that contest and win him for a mate.”
Mr. Sanderson’s spoon stopped in front of his mouth, and he scowled. His wife patted his arm. “Now, Harvey, don’t let such a little comment spoil your dinner. The marshal is a comely man, but you’re the one who’s held my heart all these years.” She smiled sweetly at him, and he nodded and resumed eating.
Rachel’s heart ached. Would she ever know the love of a good man again? Her thoughts flashed to Rand, but she knew he wasn’t the man
for her. She’d only ever imagined herself married to Luke. With him out of the picture, could she love someone else?
She shook her head and stared into her soup. No, Luke was the only man she’d ever love. Oh, she’d tried to care for James after they were married, but he pushed her away with his cruel streak. And on the day he first slapped Jacqueline and knocked her down, Rachel knew she could never love him. If only she’d never married him.
Her mistake had been to allow James to comfort her that day at the river. She hadn’t spent time with Luke in over two weeks because he’d been working so much. When she learned he wasn’t coming, she’d gotten teary-eyed. James had hugged her. Told her he’d never neglect her like Luke had.
She shivered, remembering how he’d kissed her temple. How his hold on her had tightened. “I love you, Rachel. I have for a long time.” He kissed her lips, and for the briefest of seconds, she’d felt like a princess because the most eligible bachelor in town cared for her. But then she saw Luke’s face in her mind and knew where her heart belonged. She struggled—told him to stop—but James, carried away by his passion, shoved her down. She’d tried to fight him off, but he was too strong. And afterward, he’d told her that Luke would no longer want her since she was a fallen woman. James offered to marry her, but now she realized that she’d only been a pawn.
James had been spoiled as a child, and as an adult, he took what he wanted. Somewhere along the line, he’d decided he wanted her and was determined to steal her away from Luke. When he realized he couldn’t overcome her love for Luke, he stole the most special gift she had to give her husband, her purity.
“Something wrong, Ma?” Jacqueline stared at her with worried eyes.
“Uh ... no baby, I just need to get more soup.” Jumping to her feet, Rachel hurried to the buffet, grabbed the tureen, and hustled into the kitchen where she slowly refilled the big bowl. She hung her head. Did Luke know what James had done? Did he know why she had to marry James?
No wonder he couldn’t forgive her. She could hardly forgive herself. Tears burned her eyes, but she blinked them away lest they fall in the soup or her guests notice. Somehow she had to find it within herself to keep going until Luke chose a bride. She’d been foolish—hopeful—to enter the contest, but she wouldn’t do it again.
CHAPTER 23
Jack hurried through her morning ablutions and dried her face with a once-blue towel, now faded to a soft gray, that smelled of sunshine and the outdoors. She always felt more awake after washing her face in the cool well water.
The house smelled of fried bacon and eggs, making her tummy squawk. She slipped the hated dress over her head and buttoned up the front. Whoever made the rule that girls had to wear dresses should have been forced to wear one himself. It was hard to run in them—not that ladies should run—but who wanted to be a lady?
Boys had all the fun. They got to work with horses, fish, even chop wood while women had to cook, clean, wash, and sew. How was that fair? She ran the brush through her hair and braided it. If her ma would let her, she’d cut it all off short; but according to Ma, a woman’s glory was her hair. Men liked women to have long hair, she said.
Jack smacked the brush down on the vanity, wincing at the loud noise. If her ma heard that, she would lecture her about taking care of what they had and have Jack polishing every piece of furniture in the whole house as punishment.
She rubbed her hand over the dark wood, thankful that she hadn’t scratched the vanity that her grandmother Hamilton had shipped from New York. Jack appreciated having nice things, because she knew that most of the kids at school didn’t enjoy such luxuries.
She glanced at herself in the oval mirror, grimacing at how girlish she looked. Why couldn’t she have been born a boy? Then she could have protected her ma from her father.
Yesterday had been Sunday, and her ma hadn’t said anything about the pies, probably because it was the Lord’s Day. Jack was sure she would today, and she couldn’t wait to tell her again how much Luke had liked her pie. She had no idea how the salt and sugar had gotten mixed up when the brides were baking their pies, but she sure was glad it had.
Jack walked into the kitchen. Her ma bent and removed a pan of biscuits from the oven. She smiled when she saw Jack. “I was just coming to make sure you’d gotten up and that you hadn’t taken ill. By the way, the Sandersons are leaving today.”
Jack sighed. School had ended on Friday, and she’d hoped to go fishing today, but with the boarders leaving, she and her mother would have extra work cleaning the empty room.
“Put these on the buffet.” She slid the bowl of biscuits toward Jack. “And please set the table and put out a plate of butter. I’m running a bit late myself.”
Wondering if her ma had overslept, too, Jack carried the bowl to the buffet, then pulled cloth napkins from a drawer as well as silverware. She set the table, thinking how her ma had looked tired rather than rested. Maybe she was upset about Saturday’s events. Jack had expected questions about the pies, but Ma had been especially quiet last night.
Shouldn’t she have been happy that her pie was the only edible one?
Breakfast was a quiet affair. Miss O’Neil didn’t come downstairs. Jack glanced over at Miss Bennett. The pretty blond slathered peach jam onto her biscuit and took a bite. Miss Blackstone ate with her face almost in her plate, as if she feared someone would take the food away from her. Jack’s ma would never let her get away with that kind of behavior.
“I’m finished, Ma.” Jack placed her silverware on her plate.
“Very well. Take your dish to the kitchen, please.”
Jack looked at her ma’s plate as she passed her, surprised at how little she’d eaten. Something was certainly bothering her.
She dumped her food scraps in the bucket for Max and set her plate in the sink, just as her ma entered the kitchen. Jack grabbed the partially filled scrap bucket and hurried to the door, hoping to make a quick escape.
“Wait. I need to ask you something.”
Ack! Too late. “I gotta get these scraps to Max. You don’t want him goin’ hungry do you?”
Her ma followed her outside and grabbed her shoulder. “Just a minute, missy.”
That stopped her. If her ma said “missy,” she meant business. Jack swallowed the lump building in her throat.
“Did you swap the sugar and salt containers the day the brides were baking their pies? I want a truthful answer.”
Jack felt her eyes widen. She’d thought about doing that very thing, and guilt wormed its way through her, even though she was innocent. Her remorse shifted to anger. Why did she always get blamed when something went wrong? “No Ma. Honestly, I didn’t. I swear.”
“Don’t swear.” Rachel crossed her arms. She lifted her eyes to the heavens as if she were praying. “Just tell me the truth. Did you do it so I might win?”
Jack flung her arms up. “I told you. I didn’t do that.”
“If I can’t win fair and square, I don’t want to win at all. Can you understand that?”
Jack shrugged. “I guess so. But if you don’t win, we’ll lose Luke.”
Her ma closed her eyes as if the thought pained her. “Luke was never ours to win. And I won’t win by cheating, no matter what the cost.”
Jack thought of a few times she’d cheated and won. It felt good to win, but afterward guilt had eaten away her joy, except for the time she’d beaten Butch Laird in a spelling contest. A light breeze lifted a lock of hair and blew it across her face, bringing with it the scent of wood smoke. Her ma reached down and tucked the wayward strand behind her ear. Jack studied her ma. Why couldn’t Luke just pick her? She was every bit as pretty as the brides, although she was older than them. But didn’t someone say older was better?
“Sweetie, I appreciate that you wanted to help me, but you were wrong to tamper with the pies.”
“But I didn—”
Rachel lifted her hand. “I just wish you’d be honest. Other people were affected by your actions,
and you’ll have to be punished.”
“But Ma—”
“I’ve decided not to enter the next round.”
Jack’s mouth fell open. Her ma still believed she was responsible, but even worse, she was giving up on the contest. “You can’t quit.” She tugged on her mother’s sleeve. “I want Luke to be my pa, and you gotta marry him for that to happen.”
Her ma looked up again, and Jack searched the sky to see what was so interesting up there.
After a while, her mother released a loud sigh. “Go feed Max, but when you get back, I’ll have a list of extra chores for you to do as punishment.”
The Anonymous Bride (Texas Boardinghouse Brides 1) Page 22
