Ruth Langan

by The Courtship Of Izzy Mccree

  The boy nodded, too frightened to speak.

  When Aaron and his brothers returned to the wagon, the boy struggled to his feet and raced away to join his friends.

  It had all happened in the space of a few seconds. And yet, Izzy realized, it had widened the chasm between Matthew’s children and these children here in town. Her heart turned over at the hunger she could read in the eyes of Benjamin, Clement and Del. As for Aaron, he looked as stiff, as unyielding as his father.

  “Would you like me to talk to them?” she asked. “Maybe if I did, they would ask you to play.”

  “No, ma’am.” Benjamin spoke for all of them. “We’re not welcome here. They call us trash.”

  “But why?”

  “’Cause our ma…”

  Aaron shot him a look and he turned away with a shrug. “Just because.”

  In the distance Izzy could make out the shouts and laughter of the children. And the cruel taunts aimed at the strangers in the wagon.

  Some things, she thought with a rush of remembered pain, never changed.

  She glanced at Del, whose tears trickled down her cheeks, making dirty streaks. In an effort to soothe, she drew her close. “Shh. Don’t cry, Del. They don’t mean anything by it. A lot of folks just don’t know how to treat strangers. So they say things that are hurtful.” She wiped the little girl’s tears with the hem of her skirt. “You’re so lucky to have big brothers to look out for you.”

  Del sniffled. “Do you have a big brother, Miss McCree?”

  Izzy shook her head. “No. But there were times when I surely wished I did.”

  Aaron touched a hand to her sleeve. “You won’t tell Pa what I just did, will you?”

  “But why not, Aaron? I should think he’d be proud that you stood up for Del.”

  “No, ma’am. Pa doesn’t hold with fighting.”

  “But…” She thought about the war that had divided this country and sent so many of its fine men to their graves. Could it be that Matthew Prescott had refused to fight? Or had he run away, as so many had, when faced with the horror of it all?

  She nodded. “I don’t see any reason to mention what you did, Aaron.”

  He gave a sigh of relief. “Thank you, Miss McCree.”

  She glanced at the open door of the store and saw an old man with his hands tucked beneath a dirty apron, studying her with grave interest.

  A tiny trickle of sweat made its way between her shoulder blades and down her back. What was taking Matthew so long?

  She heard strangers’ voices. A woman’s, then a man’s. Both raised in anger. Glancing at the swinging doors of the saloon, she saw the woman from the upstairs window now standing beside a bewhiskered man who seemed to be pulling on his clothes. As Izzy watched, he tucked his shirt into the waistband of his pants, then slipped his suspenders over his shoulders. Matt helped him into his jacket and handed him a hat. He accompanied Matt outside, while the woman remained at the door, looking visibly annoyed.

  As the two approached, the stranger stumbled and would have fallen if Matt hadn’t caught him and held him upright. With his hand beneath the man’s elbow, Matt paused beside the wagon.

  “Aaron, help Miss McCree down.”

  As she climbed down, the stranger, in a courtly gesture, doffed his hat and made a slight bow. “Miss McCree, I understand you’ve come to marry this fine gentleman. This is indeed an honor. I am the Reverend Jonathon Carstairs. At your service.”

  She took a step back, evading the stench of his breath. The reverend was as drunk as a skunk. And as aromatic.

  She glanced at Matt. “I think…”

  “You’re right. Come along, children.” He caught her hand and dragged her along, all the while holding up the preacher, while the rest of the children scrambled out of the wagon and trailed behind. “The lady thinks we should get this over quickly.”

  “My thoughts exactly,” Carstairs said as he coughed, hacked, then spat in the dirt. “The night looms ahead and I still have a great many…” He glanced at Izzy and the children before finishing lamely, “Hymns to sing.”

  He climbed the steps and pushed open the door to the meeting hall. After fumbling through a drawer, he came up with a dog-eared book. Then a thought occurred. “You’ll need a witness.”

  “What about the children?” Izzy asked.

  “How old are you, boy?” the preacher asked Aaron.

  “Almost fifteen,” he replied.

  “To make it legal, we need an adult,” Reverend Carstairs announced.

  Matt headed for the door. “I’ll be right back.”

  Within minutes he returned with the man Izzy had seen in the general store. “Miss McCree, this is Webster Sutton. Web, this is Isabella McCree, my…intended.”

  Now Izzy understood why Sutton had kept his hands hidden beneath his apron. His left hand was missing, and his shirtsleeve hung limply over a bony wrist.

  Webster offered his right hand to Izzy, looking her up and down as he did. “Ma’am. Like I said, Matt, I can’t spare much time. The wife’s ailing. How do, Aaron, Benjamin, Clement, Del.”

  Before the children could acknowledge his greeting, the preacher said abruptly, “Time’s a-wasting. Let’s get started.” He was leaning heavily on a wooden stand that held a hymnal, and he probably would have toppled forward without its support. “Did you two come here of your own free will?”

  Izzy and Matt avoided each other’s eyes as they nodded.

  “Will you, Matt…” He squinted. “What’s your given name?”

  “Matthew Jamison Prescott.”

  “Will you, Matthew Jamison Prescott, take this woman for better or worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, forsaking all others, until death do you part?”

  Matt’s tone was hoarse. “I will.”

  “And will you, Isabella McCree, take this man for better or worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, forsaking all others, until death do you part?”

  Izzy chewed her lip. “I will.”

  The preacher glanced at Matt. “Did you bring a ring?”

  Izzy felt the heat of embarrassment color her cheeks. But to her amazement, Matt reached into his pocket and withdrew a small gold band.

  “You may place the ring on her finger, Matt.”

  Matt did as he was told.

  “Now repeat after me. With this ring I thee wed.”

  Matt’s voice was low and deep, more nearly resembling a growl as he repeated the words.

  “I pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss your bride.”

  At the same moment that Matt bent forward, Izzy stepped back. The thought of kissing him for the first time in front of his wide-eyed children, a drunken preacher and an impatient shopkeeper had her face flaming.

  To cover the awkward moment, Matt shook hands with Webster Sutton and Jonathon Carstairs, slipping the preacher a dollar as he accepted a signed document. Then he caught Izzy’s hand and led her and the children outside.

  “Well.” He shoved his hands into his pockets to keep from touching her. “I thought I’d pick up some supplies before we leave. Do you need anything?”

  She shook her head and walked along, struggling to keep up with his impatient strides. “I’ll go inside with you, though.”

  “We can’t spare much time.” He waited for her to precede him through the open doorway.

  Inside he gave Webster Sutton a list of supplies, then he and the children helped load them into the back of the wagon. There were sacks of flour and sugar, a pouch of bullets, another pouch of tobacco and a packet of coffee beans.

  Matt came up behind Izzy, who was standing at the counter staring at the jar of candy sticks. “Would you like one?”

  “Oh, no.” She glanced away. “I was just thinking about the children.”

  “Wouldn’t want to spoil them,” he muttered.

  “No. Of course not.” She swallowed her disappointment and turned away, heading toward the wagon, where the children had already settled.
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  A few minutes later Matt shook Webster’s hand before walking out. He climbed up to the wagon seat and flicked the reins. The team started up with a jolt. And within minutes, the town of Sutton’s Station was left in their dust.

  When they were once again climbing toward their mountain cabin, Matt reached casually into his pocket and withdrew a handful of candy sticks.

  The children’s eyes went wide with surprise and pleasure.

  “Miss Mc—” He cleared his throat and started over. “Isabella wanted you to have something to celebrate our wedding,” he said as he passed the candy around.

  Izzy experienced a jolt of pleasure so unexpected she had to stare hard at her hands to keep from clapping them together in delight. She had wanted so desperately to erase the jeers and insults the children had endured. And now, at least for a few minutes, they would know only sheer joy.

  “Ooh.” There were long sighs and exclamations as the children accepted the special treats and popped them into their mouths.

  Matt handed one to Izzy. “I thought you might like one, too.”

  “Thank you.” She took a long, slow taste. “Peppermint. It’s my favorite. How did you know?”

  He seemed suddenly pleased with himself. “I didn’t know. I had to guess. I just liked the color.”

  “Did you get one for yourself?”

  He shook his head. “But if you don’t mind, I’ll have a smoke.”

  He lifted the cigar from his pocket, studying it a moment. Back at the store, he had debated the expense of such luxuries. Now, when he saw the happiness in his children’s eyes, not to mention his new bride’s, it seemed the perfect touch.

  He scratched the end of a match, holding the flame to the tip. Breathing deeply, he emitted a stream of smoke that curled around his head before dissipating into the air.

  “Miss McCree, now that you’re married to Pa, what should we call you?” Del asked from the back of the wagon.

  “How about my given name, Isabella?”

  “Isabella.” Del managed the word around the sticky candy, since she couldn’t bear to take it out even for a moment. “It sounds…musical.”

  “If you’d rather not…”

  “Oh, no. It’s pretty. I like it,” the little girl assured her. “It’s just so fancy. But it sure does suit a fancy lady like you.”

  As the team ate up the miles, Izzy was left to ponder what she had just done. Was it wrong to pretend to be something she wasn’t? Was that the same as lying?

  She chanced a quick sideways glance at the rugged profile of the man beside her. If he learned the truth, would he have the right to declare their marriage a lie, as well, and order her back to Pennsylvania?

  And what of the children? What would they think if they ever learned the truth about her?

  To calm her racing heart she reminded herself that she was thousands of miles away from anyone who had ever known her. Her past was dead and buried. She was now Mrs. Matthew Jamison Prescott. From now on, her life was whatever she chose to make it.

  Chapter Four

  “We’d better rustle up some supper, Pa.” Aaron had long ago finished his candy and licked his fingers until there was no trace of the sticky sweetness left.

  “I was just thinking the same thing.” Matt stubbed out his cigar after smoking only half, saving the other half for later. “We’ll stop over by that stream and see what we can find.”

  He slowed the team to a walk and finally brought them to a halt in a clearing. “Get your rifle, Aaron,” he called as he climbed down.

  Matt started to turn away, then, remembering his manners, extended a hand to help Izzy down.

  The moment their hands touched, she felt a tingling along her spine that had her jumping. It wasn’t Matthew, she told herself as she struggled to calm her racing pulse. It was just the excitement of the day. She glanced at his face, to see if he had felt the jolt. But all she could see was his familiar frown. And those dark, penetrating eyes looking back at her.

  “You and the children can gather wood and twigs for a fire. As soon as Aaron and I finish hunting, we’ll start supper.”

  “Here?”

  “You’re in the wilderness, Isabella. One place is as good as another.”

  “Yes. Of course.” She turned away, eager to put some distance between them.

  When he and his oldest son melted into the woods, Izzy and the others began searching for firewood. Before long they had enough for a bonfire.

  “I wish Matthew had left us some matches,” Izzy muttered, drawing her shawl around her shoulders.

  “We don’t need matches.” Benjamin took a flint from his pocket and huddled over the wood, which he’d layered with a patch of dried grass. In no time he had a tiny flame, which he soon coaxed into a blaze.

  “Oh, Benjamin.” Izzy knelt in the grass and held her hands to the warmth. “That’s so clever of you.”

  The boy beamed with pride. “It’s easy, once you know how.”

  “I’ve never lived in the mountains before.” Izzy glanced at the three children, sprawled comfortably around the fire. “There’s so much I’ll need to learn.”

  “We could teach you,” Del offered. The little girl glanced uncertainly at her brothers. “Couldn’t we?”

  Clement nodded, intrigued by the thought of teaching an adult what he took for granted. “Pa says the only ones who can’t survive in the wilderness are fools who never learned to use their heads.”

  Izzy gave a shaky laugh. “Then I certainly hope I learn to use mine before I lose it.” She glanced at the wagon. “All those sacks of supplies, and no way to cook them. I wish I could make some biscuits and coffee, but I don’t have anything to make them in.”

  Benjamin grinned. “We don’t have any kettles. But we do keep an old pot in the wagon for emergencies. It’s under the flour sack. And I’ll bet if I look around I can find something for you to cook the biscuits on.”

  Izzy walked to the wagon, returning with a handful of coffee beans and a battered old pot, which she filled with water from the stream. Soon the wonderful fragrance of coffee filled the evening air.

  When Benjamin handed her a flat, round stone, she was puzzled, until he said, “This ought to work as well as any pan. Give it a try.”

  Mixing flour and sugar with a little water, she pressed the batter around the flat stone and set it on the fire.

  A short time later Matt and Aaron returned from the forest, balancing on their shoulders a young sapling on which was tied a deer. The weight of it would stagger most men, yet they handled it with ease.

  “You’re going to cook the whole thing?” Izzy blanched, thinking about the half-cooked side of beef back at the cabin. She was ravenous. But she didn’t think it would be possible to choke down another bloody meal.

  To her relief, Matt shook his head. “We’ll take it with us. But we can cut off enough to cook for a quick supper.”

  He and Aaron unsheathed their knives and set to work, skinning the animal and slicing a portion for their use. Izzy and Del cut the meat into chunks and threaded them onto sticks, which they set over the flames to cook. Soon they all gathered around the fire.

  After his first bite Matt looked up. “Benjamin, these are the best biscuits you’ve ever made.”

  “I didn’t make them, Pa. Isabella did.”

  He turned to her. “What did you do to them?”

  At his probing look, Izzy flushed clear to her toes. “Nothing special. I just used what I had. Sugar and flour and water. They would be better with a little lard. But it was Benjamin who found the stone to bake them on. Without that, we’d have been eating raw dough.”

  “That was good thinking, Benjamin.” Matt’s praise added to the boy’s pleasure. Then he muttered, “We’ve made do with much worse than raw dough.”

  He broke off another portion of biscuit, before passing it to the others. With a sigh he ate more slowly, savoring each bite. Finally he leaned back and sipped strong, hot coffee.

  Turning t
o his daughter, he said, “You’ll have to pay attention to how Isabella makes her biscuits, Del.”

  “Why, Pa?”

  “So you’ll know how to make them when she lea—” He gulped coffee, hoping to hide his slip of the tongue. But he saw Izzy glance at him across the fire and knew she’d heard.

  So. He expected her to leave. Her nervousness must be even more obvious than she’d thought. But if he believed that, why had he married her? She stared down at her hands. Maybe he had begun to realize that she was the only woman foolish enough, or desperate enough, to take a chance on a ready-made family and a man who barely eked out an existence in this wilderness.

  To cover the sudden silence she turned her attention to the children. “Why don’t you tell me a little about yourselves? Aaron? I remember hearing you tell the preacher you’re almost fifteen.”

  “Yes’m.” At a look from his brothers he added, “Well, I will be in a couple of months.”

  She tried to hide her surprise. “You seem much older.”

  He ducked his head. “Pa says there wasn’t much time for being a baby out here in the mountains.”

  “I suppose that’s so.” She turned to Benjamin. “And you are…?”

  “Twelve,” he said proudly. “And Clement’s ten and Del’s eight.”

  Izzy glanced at Del. “I’ve been meaning to ask you. Is Del short for Delphine?”

  “No, ma’am.” The little girl glanced at her father before saying, “Delphinium.” She made a face to show her disgust.

  “Why, that’s a lovely name. Did you know it’s the name of a flower?”

  Del seemed intrigued. “A flower? What kind?”

  “It’s like a buttercup. I believe it’s also called a larkspur. It has lovely ruffled flowers as yellow as your hair.”

  At her words the little girl was positively glowing. “Maybe my name’s not so bad. But I’d still rather be called Del. Or Little Bit.” She glanced adoringly at her oldest brother.

  “Little Bit?” Izzy glanced from one to the other.

  Aaron tousled his sister’s hair before glancing at Izzy. “That’s just a name I’ve always called her. What about you, Isabella? How old are you?”