Margaret Brownley, Robin Lee Hatcher, Mary Connealy, Debra Clopton

by A Bride for All Seasons

  The irate wagon driver managed to stop in time, but he wasn’t finished with the boy. He pumped his fist and railed against irresponsible youth in general and Eddie in particular.

  Mary-Jo hated to see the child being yelled at, but a good tongue-lashing would probably do him a world of good. He could have been killed. As for his father . . . not only had Daniel Garrett lied by way of omission, he also appeared to be a neglectful parent, and she had no tolerance for either.

  She grabbed her sewing machine with one hand and her carpetbag with the other. Teeth clenched and bosom heaving, she marched across the street. She was so incensed she forgot to watch for cracks.

  “You better be in that church praying, Daniel Garrett,” she muttered. “Because when I get through with you, you’ll wish you never heard of me!”

  MARY-JO CHARGED INSIDE THE CHURCH. THE DOOR slammed shut behind her with a loud bang that made her jump. After setting her sewing machine and carpetbag in a corner of the narthex, she straightened her attire. Not a sound filtered through the thick walls or the doors leading to the sanctuary.

  Having no idea what to say or do upon coming face-to-face with her errant fiancé, she plunged through the double doors. Expecting the church to be empty or near empty, she was shocked to discover the pews filled to capacity—on a Wednesday, no less. Every head turned in her direction, but no one said a word.

  A man rose from several pews away and rushed up the aisle to greet her. It wasn’t until he reached her side that she noticed the sheriff’s badge on his vest.

  “May I help you, ma’am?” he asked in a hushed voice. Towering over her five-foot-eight-inch height by a good six inches, he had a rugged square face, a neatly trimmed mustache, and short brown hair. He regarded her with eyes so blue and intense that for a moment she forgot her reason for being there.

  Gathering her wits about her, she spoke in a quiet but urgent voice. “I wish to speak with Mr. Garrett.”

  “I’m Sheriff Tom Garrett.”

  “Sher—” Now that she thought about it, Daniel did mention something in one of his early letters about his brother being a lawman.

  “Mr. Daniel Garrett.” She glanced at the nearby faces turned toward her and wished she’d changed at the hotel before barging in. Everyone else was dressed in black, and she stuck out like a sore thumb in her yellow outfit. She shifted her gaze back to the sheriff.

  His brow creased. “Who might you be?”

  “I’m Mary-Jo Parker.” When the sheriff made no response, she added, “I’m Daniel’s fiancée.” Or was.

  Sharp and assessing eyes studied her from beneath the shadow of his wide-brimmed hat, and her cheeks flared. Was that surprise on his dark, muted face or something else? Disapproval, perhaps?

  “Tell him I’ll wait outside.”

  “I’m afraid that telling him anything at this point would be . . . impossible.”

  “And why is that, Sheriff?”

  He stepped aside and inclined his head toward the distant altar.

  A previously unnoticed pine coffin rested on a stand surrounded by wreaths of flowers.

  She sucked in her breath. “That can’t be—” She swayed and the sheriff grabbed her by the arm.

  “Perhaps you should sit down, ma’am. Can I get you some water?”

  Shaking her head, she regained her balance. “I-I’m all right. Thank you.”

  He released her. “Did you say you were Dan’s . . . fiancée?”

  She nodded mutely and stumbled down the aisle toward the altar. Nothing seemed real. She had to see for herself.

  “Ma’am,” the sheriff called to her, but she kept going, ignoring the curious eyes that followed her down the aisle.

  Daniel was dead? Not again, dear God. This can’t be happening again. Please let this be a dream. Let me wake up and . . .

  She stopped in front of the coffin and stared in horror at the stranger she’d promised to marry. Daniel had the same sandy hair color as his brother and son. Two silver coins covered his eyes so she had no way of knowing if they were the same intense blue.

  Suddenly the reality of her situation struck her—she was in the middle of who knew where, and her whole future, all her plans, had evaporated with the death of this man. The walls of the church started closing in, and it was hard to breathe. Whirling about, she picked up her skirts and raced up the aisle toward the door. The sheriff tried to stop her, but she ran past him and kept going. She grabbed her sewing machine and carpetbag and bounded from the church.

  Moving as quickly as the weight of the Singer allowed, she didn’t know she’d walked under a ladder until the man on top yelled, “Hey, watch it!”

  Oh no! Now she’d done it! More bad luck. Hadn’t she had enough already? “Sorry,” she mumbled.

  Blinded by tears, she ducked into an alley. Setting her sewing machine and carpetbag down, she slumped to the ground and bawled.

  County sheriff Tom Garrett chased after the distressed woman in yellow. The bright sun nearly blinded him as he dashed out of the church and ran down the steps to the boardwalk. He looked both ways but the lady had vanished.

  He wished now he’d been better informed as to his brother’s plans, but the two were never close. Dan had moved back to town less than a year ago following the death of his wife, but even then they hadn’t spent much time together.

  He and his brother argued the last time they spoke, and Tom regretted that more than words could say. He was against Dan’s crazy plan to send for a mail-order bride from the start. Not only did the idea strike him as distasteful, he considered it beneath a man’s dignity to order a bride sight unseen like purchasing one’s under-riggings.

  And what was wrong with a woman who couldn’t find a husband without the help of a marriage broker? Either she was lacking in looks or personality, maybe both.

  Not that anything was wrong with this lady’s looks. With her honey-blond hair, delicate features, and big blue eyes, she looked quite fetching. That could only mean one thing: she lacked something personality-wise.

  Perhaps integrity. Old man Whitcomb’s mail-order bride robbed him blind before taking off, never to be heard from again. A lawyer like Dan should have been more cautious, but once he got something into his fool head, there was no changing his mind.

  The church door opened and Mrs. Hoffmann stepped outside, her huge black hat shaped like a ship. She owned the boardinghouse where Tom lived.

  “Do you know if Barnes found the boy?” he asked. Eddie had taken one look at his father’s coffin and taken off. His deputy sheriff chased after him. Garrett grimaced at the memory; the boy was like a wild mustang.

  “Nein.” Mrs. Hoffmann shook her head. “Not that I know of.” She spoke in a thick German accent. “Who vas that woman?” She said something else in her native tongue, but Garrett didn’t bother asking for a translation. “Imagine. Coming to a funeral dressed like a harlot!”

  The woman’s tendency to be judgmental irked him at times but he kept his annoyance at bay. With all her faults, she meant well and she was the only one willing to watch the boy.

  Still, recalling the shocked look on the young woman’s face, Garrett felt a need to protect her. He didn’t approve of her reasons for coming to Kansas, but none of what happened to Dan was her fault.

  “I don’t think she expected to attend a funeral.” Neither, for that matter, did he.

  “Then she had no business barging into a church, of all places.” The woman stabbed the ground with her cane and vanished back inside, the door slamming shut in her wake.

  Garrett was about to follow her when he noticed his deputy sheriff walking toward him, shaking his head. Barnes was at least six inches shorter than Garrett and, at age forty-five, ten years older.

  “Sorry, Tom. No sign of Eddie.”

  Garrett blew out his breath and, after scanning the street one last time, followed his deputy back into the church. Right now his top priority was to bury his brother. He’d deal with the boy—and the mail-order bride—l
ater.

  THE NOTE BENEATH THE DOOR OF MARY-JO’S HOTEL room read:

  We need to talk. Meet me in the hotel dining room at seven a.m. for breakfast. Sincerely, Sheriff T. Garrett

  The bold script made it seem more like a command than an invitation. She swallowed her irritation. She couldn’t imagine what the sheriff wanted to talk about, but he was Daniel’s brother and she owed him a hearing, if nothing else.

  A seamstress by trade, she normally had little time to fuss with her own clothes, though she had made a couple of new outfits to start wedded life. Today she chose the most conservative of the three, a pretty blue skirt and matching shirtwaist. Multiple rows of ruches circled the skirt and the delicate puffed sleeves complemented the carefully draped bustle in back.

  Her aunt heartily disapproved of such frills, but Mary-Jo couldn’t help herself. Sewing was a breeze with her recently purchased Singer. Once she got started on an outfit, she couldn’t seem to stop adding embellishments. Fancy dresses required fancy hairstyles and she took special pains to smooth each carefully rolled ringlet in place. A quick pinch of her cheeks and she was ready except for her shoes.

  She put the right shoe on first so as to prevent a headache or more bad luck. Then she braced herself with a quick prayer, for all the good it would do her. She had more faith in knocking on wood than she had in God.

  She reached the hotel dining room before the appointed hour, but already the sheriff was seated at a table in front of the window overlooking Main Street. He rose when she approached and she was reminded once again how tall he was. He sure enough was pleasing to the eye and given the early morning hour, that was saying something.

  “Thank you for meeting with me,” he said, as if he doubted she would. His gaze lingered on her a moment too long, bringing a blush to her face. Seeming to catch himself, he hastened to pull out a chair for her. He then took his seat opposite. He’d removed his hat and a strand of sandy-brown hair fell across his forehead from a side part. Without his hat he looked younger, but no less commanding. He also looked tired, as if sleep had been as elusive for him as it had been for her.

  “I apologize for yesterday,” he said. “I had no idea you were arriving in town. Had I known, I would have arranged for someone to meet your train.”

  “It’s me who should do the apologizing. I had no call to barge into church like I did.” She should have known something was seriously wrong when her fiancé didn’t show up as promised, but as usual she had jumped to all the wrong conclusions. She pressed her hands in her lap. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

  A muscle tightened in his jaw. “I’m sorry you had to find out the way you did.” And as if there could be any question as to what he meant, he added, “About Dan.”

  “His son, Eddie?” The boy had been so upset he almost got himself run over. “Is he all right?”

  The sheriff rubbed his chin. “Far as I can tell he hasn’t been all right since his mother died two years ago.”

  Poor child. Had she known he was running away from his pa’s funeral, she would have chased after him.

  She glanced around and, following the lead of another diner, shook out the folded linen napkin and laid it on her lap. “Oh my. All this silverware,” she said, examining a knife previously hidden by her napkin. She could see her face in the blade. “How do they get it so shiny, I wonder?”

  The sheriff stared at her, his thoughts hidden behind a closed expression.

  She set the knife down. “Your brother said nothing? About us getting hitched, I mean?”

  “He said something.”

  Something. Sensing the sheriff’s disapproval, she shifted in her chair. “Daniel insisted we tie the knot soon as I arrived.”

  “Did he now?” He opened his bill of fare, but she sensed that its main purpose was to put a wall between them.

  “He wanted to protect my virtue, but I told him it wasn’t necessary.” Oh no, here she went again, talking up a blue streak. Somehow she couldn’t seem to help herself, although she did manage to use her best Sunday-go-to-meeting grammar.

  “I figured that if my virtue had lasted this long, a couple more days wasn’t gonna make a difference, but he insisted.” Ignoring the startled look on the sheriff’s face, she opened her own bill of fare. “Oh my. All these choices and not a grit to be found.”

  He frowned. “I had no idea Dan meant to marry so soon.”

  She closed the menu. “Looks like we were both kept in the dark.”

  He arched his brows. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

  The waiter came to take their order. Everything on the menu looked a bit rich for both the pocketbook and the appetite, so she simply ordered coffee.

  “I’ll have the flapjacks,” the sheriff said. “And bring the same for the lady.”

  She opened her mouth to decline but thought better of it. Food on the train was expensive and her fare home would practically take her last penny. Better eat now while she could.

  After the waiter left, the sheriff picked up the conversation. “You were saying? About being kept in the dark?”

  “Your brother and I exchanged dozens of letters, but he never mentioned his son. Or even that he had been hitched before. That might not be a hanging offense, but it sure enough is wrong.”

  The sheriff’s dark brows practically met. “I can’t believe he kept that from you. It doesn’t sound like Dan.”

  “Hmm.” She paused to study him. “Perhaps you didn’t know him as well as you thought.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “My brother had many faults, Miss Parker, but I can assure you dishonesty was not one of them.”

  She bit back the retort that flew to her tongue. The man had lost a family member and it didn’t seem right to argue with him or speak ill of the dead.

  The silence that followed lasted so long that she wasn’t able to take an honest breath until the waiter arrived with their orders. Having not eaten since getting off the train, she slathered her flapjacks with butter and dived into her meal with relish.

  In reaching for the syrup, the sheriff knocked over the saltshaker. Little white grains spilled across the table.

  “Don’t move!” she exclaimed. She grabbed the saltshaker, meaning to toss a few grains over his left shoulder. Instead, the top flew off and white granules landed all over his shirt and vest.

  He looked down and brushed off his vest with a flick of his wrist.

  “F-For good luck,” she stammered.

  He frowned and afforded her a frosty look. “I don’t believe in luck,” he said. “Good, bad, or otherwise.”

  She set the shaker down and silence hung between them thick as wool. He concentrated on his flapjacks and she stared into her coffee. She forced herself to eat, but now it felt like she was swallowing lead. After a while she gave up.

  “How . . . did he die?” she asked.

  He swirled more syrup on his flapjacks before responding. “He was in court defending a man accused of murder. The jury had just brought in a verdict to acquit when someone burst through the courtroom doors and shot him.”

  She grimaced.

  He took a bite and chased it down with coffee before adding, “The killer got away.”

  “Do you know who it was?” she asked.

  “The victim’s brother, Link. I was out of town when it happened.”

  His voice was thick with sorrow and regret. Without thinking she moved her hand to his. Fortunately, she caught herself just in time and stopped short of touching him. She might not always get her nouns and verbs right, but she knew her p’s and q’s.

  She dropped her hand to her lap. “Blaming yourself won’t bring him back.”

  Another awkward silence followed while she stirred coffee that didn’t need stirring and he poured yet more syrup on his flapjacks.

  She glanced around the restaurant. Today was to have been her first full day of married life. Nothing seemed real. Not the couples who spoke in low voices or the businessmen seated at the other tables, and certai
nly not the sheriff stabbing at his food.

  Her knee accidentally rubbed against his and he looked up in surprise. To hide her embarrassment she took a quick sip of coffee.

  He pushed his plate away and pulled something from his vest pocket. It was a check.

  “What’s that for?” she asked.

  “Your train fare. Since you came all the way here for nothing, I want you to have it.”

  The check was more than generous, but it didn’t seem right to take it. The sheriff owed her nothing.

  “That’s very kind of you, but I can’t.” In light of Daniel’s deceit, she would never have married him anyway. The one thing she was adamant about was honesty.

  “Take it. Dan would have wanted you to have it.”

  “I don’t want your money.”

  He reached for his napkin and dabbed his mouth. “What do you want?”

  “I want to go home and forget any of this ever happened.” Calling her aunt’s tumbledown shack in Georgia a home was a bit generous, but it was the closest thing to a home she’d ever known. “I most certainly don’t want anything to remind me of your brother.”

  “None of what happened is his fault.”

  “He lied to me. He never mentioned a son. That is his fault.”

  He glared at her. “He was a fine Christian and an upright citizen.” He stabbed the table with his finger. “He would never lie about anything, especially about his son.”

  “You call it what you want, but that don’t change nothing,” she shot back, giving no mind to her grammar.

  “And what do you call what you did?” he asked, his voice harsh.

  That knocked the wind out of her sails, or at least rendered her momentarily silent. “What do you mean?” she managed at last. “What did I do?”

  “Dan was under the impression that you were—” He hesitated momentarily. “A well-educated and accomplished woman.”

  “I am accomplished,” she sniffed. “You won’t find a finer seamstress anywhere. As for well educated, I’m not sure what to say. I can read and write, though I’m not much good at spelling.” She brightened. “But I can pick out the States from the atlas and even recite the alphabet frontward and backward though I’ve never had occasion to do so. I also know all the books of the Bible and I’ve never broken a single commandment.” At least not knowingly. She folded her arms with a nod. Let him find fault with that!