“Miranda?” Clarisse walked right up to him and stared as though she were trying to decide how he’d managed to acquire a third eye. “Miranda is to be married?”
“Yes, of course, Miranda. Who else would I marry?”
“You’re marrying Miranda?” Clarisse repeated.
“I . . . What else would you be congratulating me about?”
“Why, the sale of your paintings, of course.”
“My . . .” It was Ben’s turn to be puzzled. “The paintings you purchased from me?”
Clarisse nodded. “I didn’t give you nearly enough, it turns out.” She moved behind the counter, opened a drawer and removed a small package. “I gave you fifty dollars because I wasn’t certain how much I’d get for them.” She grinned and handed him the small rectangular package. “You’ll find another fifty in there.”
“Fifty.” Ben felt the weight of the parcel. “Dollars?”
“I set this money aside for you when I received the wire from my friend in New York. He bought the paintings and wired the money to our account in Denver.”
“New—” Ben stopped himself from echoing her again. “I don’t understand. You bought the paintings.”
“I sent them to an art dealer I happen to know, in New York.” Clarisse smiled as though it were common for the proprietor of a small mercantile in the wilderness to be friends with New York art dealers. “I knew he’d be able to get more money for them there than what I could get here, or even in Denver. The only surprise was the speed of the post and well, I never thought he’d get over a hundred dollars.” She wiped her hands on her apron. “I took out a small commission and the cost of shipping them, of course.”
“Of course.” Ben stuck the wrapped bills into his jacket pocket. He wondered if the money would be enough for passage to the Sandwich Islands. He’d heard that mail ships left from San Francisco regularly. Then he remembered the reason he’d come to the store. “I . . . I wondered if you had a wedding ring.”
Clarisse winked. “You came to the right place.” She waved him down to the end of the counter where she pulled out a drawer and set it on top of the display case. “Now, which one do you suppose Miranda would like?”
Ben had no idea. But the fact that his stomach twisted at the question struck him as a very bad sign.
“You don’t have to do this.”
Miranda scrubbed the old iron skillet. She did not want to have this conversation. Her sister was too good at knowing what was in Miranda’s heart. Although perhaps this time it would be harder for Mercy to figure out since Miranda wasn’t quite sure herself.
“I know I don’t have to.”
“Thad. I love him dearly, but he can be bullheaded about these things. He doesn’t know Fort Victory like we do. Things are different here. Could be that in the East you’d become an outcast, I don’t know. But that isn’t the way it is here. There are a few folks, of course, who will gossip, but a little talk isn’t as hard to live with as a man you don’t love.” Mercy sighed. “If you find yourself in a family way, you know we’d help you.”
Miranda stopped her scrubbing to look up at her sister. “I know, Mercy. It isn’t as though I feel I have to”—she stumbled over the words—“marry him.” She took a deep breath. “I want to.”
Mercy took a step closer and Miranda could feel her sister’s eyes probing her. “You love him?”
Miranda hesitated. She hadn’t thought of it that way until this moment. She wanted him and felt he needed her. That was enough. It was more than she’d ever expected to have from a man. “I do.”
“I’m happy for you, little sister.” Mercy grabbed her then and hugged her close. “It’s awfully quick, but Lord knows it happens that way sometimes.”
Miranda wrapped her arms around her older sister and let her tears run freely. She sniffed into Mercy’s shoulder. “I’ve got black grease on my hands; you’re gonna be a mess.”
Mercy stepped back, touched Miranda’s cheek, and smiled. “Why didn’t you tell me the two of you are in love? I was so worried with Thad ranting and all that he’d forced Ben to—”
Miranda turned away and wiped her hands on a towel. She glanced back at Mercy.
“Ben did ask you before Thad came barging in on you?”
Miranda wet her lips. That was Ben’s story. They were already engaged before they’d slept together. “I thought we’d already explained all that,” she said, though she knew her statement lost a good bit of credibility since she couldn’t look her sister in the eye.
“Miranda.” Her sister heaved a sigh and sat in one of the ladder-backed chairs their pa had made. “You’re very sure about this?”
Miranda blinked back more tears. Her sister would think her tears were a sign of sadness or fear, but that wasn’t the case. She was happy. Ben might not love her, but he did want her, and she was going to be a good wife to him. “I’m very sure.”
Miranda had surprised everyone when she announced that she intended to move into the small cabin on the mountain. Come winter they might have to move into the main house. The narrow trail up to the cabin was steep and difficult enough in the summer. When the snow came to stay, it could be icy and treacherous and might even be impassable for days at a time. If she were honest, Miranda would have to admit that the prospect of long days and nights alone with Ben in the small cabin held a good deal of appeal. But that wasn’t the main reason she’d chosen to make this place their home.
It wasn’t fair to Ben to force him to live with Thad, Mercy, and Pa. Not yet, maybe not ever. He had grown up in a mansion with servants and extra rooms for houseguests. Miranda was certain she’d be lost in such a house, but she imagined Ben would find frontier life just as difficult to accept.
If Miranda was going to find a way to show Benjamin Lansing how much he really needed her, they were going to need some privacy.
She’d spent hours cleaning and making the simple cabin comfortable for her new husband. Pa had given her a sturdy table and two new chairs. If they had callers, they would still have to use the old crates for sitting. She laughed at the thought of entertaining guests in this little building. Like everyone else in these parts, if they had visitors, Miranda would offer them hospitality.
She glanced at the freshly painted bed frame. They’d thrown out the old straw tick, and Thad had spent all yesterday afternoon working on the frame. Ingrid Hansen had organized several women to make a quilt as a wedding gift, and Clarisse had promised a new featherbed and two pillows.
Miranda’s heart sang with the idea of being a wife to Ben, a man who was handsome, intelligent, and strong enough to fight when he had to. She smiled at the memory of Ben tackling Thad. The man could take care of himself and protect his family. But he would never raise a hand to her in anger—she was certain of that.
Against all odds she’d found the man who was meant for her. All that remained was for Ben to understand the gift they’d been given. And he would, in time. He’d agreed to marry her to protect her from disgrace, which showed he was a man of honor. In time, she was certain he would come to really care for her. Perhaps not the way she loved him, but there were many different kinds of caring. For the moment, she’d settle for the knowledge that he truly desired her. He wanted to hold her and touch her and have her touching him.
He even thought she was beautiful—in spite of her scar. She brushed a finger along her jaw, feeling the ragged line the scar made. Ben wasn’t blind to the flaw, but it didn’t matter to him. She was sure there weren’t many men who would feel that way. Surely that was a sign that he was the one for her.
She made him smile—not that pretend snake-oil-vendor grin, but a real smile that came from deep inside him. A smile of contentment that warmed her heart nearly as much as his kisses did.
One day they would have a real house and children. Ben would find joy then, Miranda was certain of it. Funny how easy it was for Miranda to see Ben’s folly. He was a clever man, too smart perhaps. He had himself fooled into believing tha
t a man could live alone. But living alone wasn’t really living, and it didn’t suit Ben at all. He needed her as much as she did him. It wasn’t until she’d found Ben that she felt womanly and wanted. Almost whole again. Her love was starting to heal him inside, too, though it was bound to take some time.
She pulled his bag out from under the bed and put his things into the drawers she’d cleared. He didn’t have much, just two suits, three shirts, some stockings and undergarments, and three books. Miranda opened the first of the books and found it wasn’t filled with printed words, but pictures. Pencil sketches. She turned through page after page and found horses, and women. Men too, as well as buildings, trees, and rocks. There were sketches of anything you could imagine, animals of all kinds and people of all ages.
The faces almost made her cry. Sadness and horror, terror and woe. She stared for a long while at a picture of a man sitting with a blanket wrapped around him. It was so real she could almost feel the cold.
The second book had pictures of seashore and river, trees and mountains. Almost all of the pictures were outdoor scenes, some with horses, cows, and sheep. One picture seemed to be looking up at a few clouds and a hawk dark against the sky.
“Miranda.” Ben strode across the wooden floor, pulling the book out of her hand. “That’s mine.”
“I was putting the books away with your other things,” she said. “I couldn’t help looking. Your pictures—”
“I’d rather you didn’t.”
She let him take the books, which he returned to his bag and shoved back under the bed.
Ben spun back to her. “I appreciate your efforts, love, but my books are private.”
“I’ll do as you wish, Ben.” She stretched up to the tips of her toes and kissed his cheek, then looked away.
He lifted her chin. “I don’t want you feeling you must bow and scrape to my every wish.”
She grinned. “No need to worry, I won’t. I’ll respect your wishes about your books, though.”
“Thank you.” Ben looked around the room. “I didn’t expect to find you here. Thad made it clear you weren’t to move in until after the wedding,” Ben said. “You’ve cleaned up a bit.”
“I wanted it to be nice for us—a home.”
Ben shifted his weight from one foot to the other.
“You’re not changin’ your mind about tomorrow, are you?”
He smiled then, his genuine smile, the one that always made her heart skip a beat.
“No fear of that, my dear.” Ben pulled her close. “I intend to stand beside you in front of the preacher tomorrow and make my intentions clear to anyone who will listen.”
Miranda pressed her lips to his, wove her fingers into his hair, and held him tight until they were both breathless.
She rested her head against his chest, feeling his heart pounding as hard and fast as her own. “I hope I can hold up my part of the bargain.”
“You have nothing to fear,” Ben said. “All you have to do is be a beautiful bride, and I have no doubt you will be that.”
Chapter 16
Considering the haste with which the family had planned this wedding, Ben was amazed to see the entire community join in the celebration. There weren’t enough seats in the small church for the assembled crowd. Even the preacher remarked he would like to see so many faithful for a regular Sunday service, though he wasn’t willing to provide free whiskey as an incentive. This comment drew laughter from the congregation.
Ben wiped his palms on his jacket as he waited near the minister for the ceremony to begin. His stomach churned as he reminded himself he was doing this for Miranda. It was the right thing to do. Thad was correct. It wouldn’t be fair for Ben to destroy Miranda’s reputation in the community, then leave her to deal with the consequences alone.
All eyes focused on Miranda when she entered the room, and Ben gave up all effort to think sensibly. The usual bounce was missing from her step; instead, she seemed to float toward him. When she reached his side, she stood in a ray of afternoon sunshine coming through the window, glowing in her blue satin dress. It was unfair of her to wear something that so exactly followed and emphasized every one of her womanly curves, from her luscious, round hips to her narrow waist and on up to her delicate bosom. The cut of the bodice dipped low enough to show the rounded tops of the pair of firm breasts that had been created to fit precisely into a man’s palm. His mouth went dry as he imagined dipping his tongue into the warm crevice between those breasts and around them and all over her smooth, creamy skin.
Yes, she was heartless to make him have such thoughts in church in front of a large crowd. It was no wonder he’d lost his mind and repeated whatever the minister suggested. He was helpless. Surely no one could be expected to live up to promises made under such conditions.
Ben was stunned as the crowd let out a whoop at the end of the ceremony and swept the couple up into the tide carrying the crowd from the church to Rita’s. The saloon had been decorated and rearranged for a double celebration—the wedding and Jonathan’s long awaited adoption. Food and drink spread out along the long bar for the taking, provided by Rita, the Wyatts, the Buchanans, and many of the other families in attendance. Ben could hardly believe the quantity of food, or the speed with which it disappeared.
When some of the women teased Miranda about letting her man go hungry, she piled a plate high with food and brought it to him. Giggling, his bride sat on Ben’s lap and fed him with a crowd of onlookers cheering her on. He smiled and indulged her in the ritual, though it all seemed senseless to him. It had been a day of absurdity. He had stood in front of a room full of strangers and made promises to a woman he barely knew. A woman who intrigued him, puzzled him, and filled him with incredible desire. And that was the worst of it.
As much as he tried to convince himself that he was going through with this ritual for her, he could not escape the truth. He wanted the chance to make believe that she really was his, even if their marriage was to be short-lived.
The sounds of fiddles tuning drew Ben’s attention. He looked up to watch the musicians assemble: Thad on guitar, Clarisse and a man Ben hadn’t met on fiddle, and Mercy playing the piano. Several of the men moved the tables against one wall to create a dance floor in the middle of the large room. As there were three men for every woman, Ben relinquished his wife after the first dance. The men were lined up to partner her, but she sought out Jonathan. After all, she said, it was his party, too. Jock Meier swept in for the next dance. Then an officer from the nearby fort led her out for a reel, while Ben found a table in the corner to sit and watch.
He studied Miranda. Her smile never faltered as she was handed from one partner to the next. Occasionally, she looked at Ben and shrugged, which seemed to be her admission that she was perhaps a bit guilty for neglecting him. But there was no question that she was enjoying herself. That was it—Miranda could enjoy herself more thoroughly than anyone Ben had ever met.
He’d known men who, under the influence of spirits, could laugh and sing all night, but their pleasure never seemed real. Miranda’s laugh was filled with pure joy. Perhaps that was why she seemed so . . . alive to him. And knowing the truth about the pain she had endured, Ben couldn’t help but wonder how she managed to feel so much now.
That smile of hers nearly made him feel alive, too. It was natural—he was certain of that. She didn’t have to stop and think to smile. When he smiled it was deliberate, something he did because he had to, or because he thought it would help him get something that he wanted. He could use a smile to persuade, to woo. But he didn’t smile because joy compelled him to smile. At least he hadn’t done so in a long, long time.
When he was very young, his mother had told him that his smile was her sunshine, and he had wanted to smile for Mother. Being with her made him feel content.
He looked back at Miranda, who was now dancing with her father. The old man hobbled around, not quite in rhythm with the music, but they were both laughing. He glanced at the gather
ed musicians and noticed Thad watching the dancers; he was smiling as well. Most of the folks in the room looked happy at that moment. The atmosphere of the celebration and the contribution of the liquor, too, no doubt, had everyone feeling something like joy.
Ben poked a fork into the plate in front of him. He wasn’t going to indulge in whiskey to achieve that artificial joy. That was too fleeting. And real joy was beyond his reach.
Mercy sat down near Ben and he braced himself for a lecture.
“Been wanting to have a moment with you.” She leaned toward him, her clear green eyes focused on his. “I don’t need to tell you how much I care for my sister.”
“I know what you’re going to say. If I hurt your sister, you’ll break my arm.”
“You have me figured wrong, Ben.” Mercy’s eyes gleamed as she broke into a wide grin. “If you hurt my sister, your arm will not be my target. And, in case you’re wondering, I do generally hit what I’m aimin’ for.”
Ben cleared his throat. “I assure you, I know how to treat a lady.”
“Yes, Miranda did mention that.” Mercy favored him with a more demure smile. “I’m not talkin’ about that.”
They both turned to where her sister was dancing with yet another soldier. Miranda was beaming one of her sunshine smiles at the man, and Ben felt a tug of jealousy—he hated sharing her. Though, since he wasn’t planning on staying with her, he had no right to demand her sole attention.
“I expect . . .” Mercy still focused on her sister. “You intend to leave her soon. Thinkin’ you’ve done your duty, marrying her so she’ll be respectable.”
Ben schooled his expression to hide his surprise that Mercy had guessed his plan.
“I want you to know—you’ll be making a mistake.” She turned and shot him a look that could burn through an iron plate. “You stumbled on a treasure when you found Miranda. Only a fool walks away from treasure.” She stood and tugged at his hand. “Now, you best come dance with me. Your wife has danced with near every man in Fort Victory and here you sit in the corner alone. Folks’ll think you aren’t a happy bridegroom.”
Teresa Bodwell Page 19
