"Who gives this woman to be joined in holy wedlock with this man?" Preacher Newland asked.
"I do." Her father passed her hand to Booker's and, after a final watery smile, stood beside Trudy.
Preacher Newland read a passage from his dog-eared Bible. Booker squeezed her hand. She gazed into his eyes. Holy wedlock. He was to be her husband. Hers. She would live with him now, sleep beside him, sew his shirts, bear his children, see the first streaks of gray appear in his lustrous ebony hair. The rest of the ceremony passed in a blur.
"You may kiss the bride." The preacher gave Booker permission to kiss her and closed his Bible.
Booker's gaze slid to the pearls at her throat, quickening her pulse before his admiring glance danced across her hair. He leaned toward her and pressed his lips against hers. Chaste. Proper. But they now shared a secret anticipation.
She'd done it. She'd married Major Booker Hayes.
Applause broke out behind them. Booker straightened and took her arm. Lynette pounded out the wedding recessional, and they walked arm in arm down the aisle toward the door, everyone's eyes upon them. Her friends. Neighbors. People she'd known for most of her life—her long lonely unmarried life. She'd worshiped with her father and sisters in the third row on the left since she could remember. She'd sat with them during church and gone home to put out the meal she'd started at dawn the same morning.
Booker Hayes had changed all that.
From here on for the rest of her life, she'd go home with him. Booker opened the door and led her outside. Hot midmorning sun beat down on their heads and shoulders.
Thea tugged on her white gloves. The congregation poured out around them, talking, congratulating, breaking up and heading out toward the Woodridge farm.
Thea perched beside Booker on the wagon seat, Zoe and Lucas with MaryRuth and Denzel in the back. Fields waved congratulations at them as they passed.
"Most of this wheat will come through our mill," Booker said, tugging his black hat low over his eyes. He'd removed his jacket, and his white shirt hurt her eyes in the sunshine.
‘Our’ mill, he'd said. Not his anymore: Theirs. Happiness stung at the backs of her eyes, and she blamed the sun. Booker pulled the wagon alongside the row already forming, and reached for her.
A picture of him lifting Mrs. Vaughn down from the wagon as though she were a child's doll shot from Thea's memory. "Booker," she said, her voice lifting on the last syllable.
MaryRuth took Zoe's hand and walked toward the house.
"No one has helped me from a horse or a wagon since I was a child," Thea said, feeling silly.
"Except me. You deserve the same courtesy anyone does," Booker explained. "More. You're my wife."
"But..."
He tilted his hat back on his head and stared up at her, his hands bracketing his hips in exasperation. "Look, Thea. Let's get this straight. What is the problem you have every time I try to help you?"
Thea's face burned. "Well, I'm too big," she said simply.
"Too big for what?"
She glanced around and took comfort in the fact that the others had left them behind. "Too big to be carried, obviously. Now, move before we make a spectacle."
"I'm not moving," he declared stubbornly. "My mother raised me to be a gentleman and, even if I die trying, you're going to let me be one."
She regarded the determined set of his shoulders, the way he'd planted his feet firmly on the ground. He faced the sun, the side of his cheek pulled up in a squint. His squaring off amused her in a fashion she couldn't explain. Mirth bubbled up inside, and Thea laughed out loud.
His stance relaxed, and one corner of his wonderful mouth quirked up.
"Oh, very well, then," she said with a flippant wave of her gloved hand. "But don't say I didn't warn you." She placed her hands on his shoulders and leaned forward.
He caught her waist and eased her to the ground, his shoulder muscles bunching beneath her fingers. "There now, Mrs. Hayes. Was that worth all the fuss?"
She blushed and tried to turn toward the house, but he caught her wrist and hauled her back to face him. "Here's where you say, 'Thank you for not dropping me on my pretty, freckled bottom, Mr. Hayes.'"
Heat rose in her cheeks, but she grinned and swatted him playfully. "I didn't think you'd drop me. You didn’t last time."
"What did you think?"
She inspected a tiny speck of dirt on her gloved finger. "I'm as tall or taller than most men, Booker. No one but you has ever dared do that."
"Do I look overtaxed by the task?"
She blinked up at him, then away. "No, of course not."
He took her elbow and started toward the gathering in Aunt Odessa's dooryard. "No worries. I'll be up to my husbandly duties tonight."
Thea let that comment sink in, fire licking a consuming path from her breast to her ears. Daring a glance at him, he graced her with an innocent smile.
"Here they are!" Trudy piped up from the back porch. "Come see the cake and the lovely decorations, you two!"
Booker grabbed her gloved hand and pulled her toward the crowd.
Lunch turned out to be a lavish spread of everyone's special dishes. The womenfolk provided their best canned relishes, and Lexie presented an enormous three-tiered cake draped with ribbons and bows of pastel frosting.
"Lexie, you did this?" Thea cried in astonishment.
Lexie dipped her dark head in a becoming blush. "Aunt Odessa helped me," she admitted.
"Why, it’s absolutely beautiful!" Thea caught up her little sister in a hug. "You couldn't have given me a nicer gift. Thank you." She kissed Lexie's cheek.
Odessa pulled Thea and Booker to the back porch where a pile of gaily wrapped packages waited in the shade. The newlyweds took turns unwrapping linens and kitchenware. Jim Coulson gave them a heavy Seth Thomas mantel dock. MaryRuth had embroidered sheets and pillowcases, and Thea's sister Elsbeth and her husband had brought them a set of gold-rimmed china from St. Louis.
The excitement settled down. The men wandered off to play horseshoes, and the women scattered throughout the house and yard. Lucas found Thea sitting beside Booker on the porch swing. "I brung ya somethin', too," he said, hands behind his back.
Thea smiled and admired the haircut she'd given him the day before. "What is it?"
He handed her a thin, flat package wrapped in brown paper and tied with a string. She glanced at Booker, and he shrugged. She tugged the bow and the paper fell open, revealing the back of a picture frame. Thea turned it over.
A charcoal drawing lay captured beneath a piece of glass. Variegated shades of black, white and gray brought the picture to life. A fair-haired little girl sat on a carpet of grass, one leg jutting out beneath her skirt. A playful kitten climbed the front of her dress, its tongue lapping her cheek. The child's head tipped back in a delighted laugh. Zoe.
Thea glanced back up at Lucas and smiled through her tears. "It looks just like her."
He stuffed his hands in his pockets. "Mr. Hayes bought me the paper. Charcoal sticks and pencils, too."
"You certainly put them to good use." She glanced over at Booker. "Had you seen this before?"
He cleared his throat. "No."
"How did you have it framed?" Thea asked Lucas.
"Red Horse 'n' me went to the tradin' post at Bellevue."
"Thank you, Lucas. I have a special place for it."
"Yes, ma'am." Lucas flushed and smiled bashfully at her obvious pleasure. He backed off the edge of the porch and shot across the yard.
She studied the drawing in her lap. "He's so talented, Booker. Did you know he could do this?"
He nodded. "He drew horses and landscapes on chunks of bark all the time, so I bought him paper. I saw him working on a picture of the house after the chimney was built and the walls were framed. I recognized myself hammering a doorframe."
"Where is it?"
"I don't know. This is the first I've seen him actually show anyone his picture. You're pretty special to him, you
know."
Thea ran her finger across the top of the frame. "How long until Mrs. Vaughn gets here?" she asked.
"Probably another week or two. Why? "
"I've been thinking—"
"Uh-oh."
"Booker?" She raised her eyes to his. "Can we adopt him?"
He met her gaze. "I've considered the same thing myself."
"You have?" She sat forward.
"He would have to want it."
She nodded. "We'll ask him, then?"
He covered her hand with his. "We'll ask him."
Thea turned her hand and clasped his fingers. An intimate touch. A husband-and-wife touch. Underlying the rush of excitement and flurry of activity, though, she sensed a sadness about Booker this afternoon. Knowing she'd been caught up in her own happiness, she experienced a twinge of guilt. What could it be?
Thea took stock of his arresting, well-cut tanned features and wondered what could be bothering him. She'd been enjoying the day, the attention of her parents and sisters, her aunt's obvious enjoyment in preparing the—
Of course.
Thea's friends had gathered for the occasion. Her entire family had shown up, even Elsbeth all the way from St. Louis. They'd hugged her and congratulated her and brought her gifts. And Booker had no family.
Except Zoe.
Moisture sprang to Thea's eyes. How he must be missing his sister!
"Thea? What is it?" He pulled her hand to his chest and laid his palm along her jaw.
She blinked ineffectually, and a tear slid down her cheek. "I just realized how hard this must be for you. How you must miss your sister."
He frowned and wiped the droplet with his thumb. "You're crying for me?"
She gave a half smile through the tears and licked a salty drop from her lip. "How difficult it must have been for you to go through your sister's belongings and fill Zoe's room and your house with things familiar to her."
"It makes me feel closer to Julia to have her things around." Booker took his hand from her face and rested against the back of the swing.
She let her gaze fall to his black-clad knee. "How about your parents, Booker?"
He let their clasped hands fall to his lap. "My father died when I was young. My mother and Julia and I had some rooms over a dry goods store in Illinois. Mother died a few years after I joined the army."
"I barely remember my mother," Thea said. "We lived in a soddy back then, and she got sick. It was so cold that winter."
"I know one thing about her, for sure," Booker said.
"What?"
"She must have been beautiful."
Thea surveyed his expression to see if he was serious. "Is that important, do you think? That a woman is beautiful?"
"No," he replied immediately. "I've known a lot of beautiful women who couldn't hold a candle to you as for what's on the inside."
"You barely know me," she whispered.
"I know what I need to know."
Did he? He didn’t know he'd been her last chance—her only chance. Would he care? He couldn’t know after she'd agreed to marry him to stay close to Zoe, those reasons had shifted and changed with her sharp, escalating attraction to him.
He seemed so sure of himself. Of the situation. Of her.
"Booker!" Denzel called. "How about a game of horseshoes?"
"Go ahead," she urged.
He kissed her fingers and joined her father and the other men.
He'd known a lot of beautiful women. The thought stuck with her. Thea wandered into the house to see if there was anything she could help with. She glanced around the empty kitchen, and voices drew her toward the dining room.
Madeline stood replacing bowls in their aunt's china closet, and Elsbeth sat at the table wiping spots from the silverware.
"I mean, did you see him, Elsbeth? Isn't he just the most perfect man you've ever laid eyes on?"
"He is handsome," Elsbeth replied.
Thea paused in the doorway, wondering who they were talking about.
"He could have had any girl in the county—or Lancaster county, too!"
"Do I hear a spark of jealousy in your voice, Madeline? Did you have your eye on Mr. Hayes?"
Mr. Hayes! Thea froze where she stood. Her half sisters were discussing her new husband.
Madeline closed the china closet door with a snap. "Well, we would have made a better match. Think of it, for heaven's sake, Ellie! She's so big and dresses so awful. She doesn't have the first idea of how to behave with a man... how to treat him... how to please him."
Thea's slice of wedding cake lurched in her stomach. She'd always suspected her half sister's opinion of her, but hearing it put so baldly brought new pain.
"Oh, and you do, my world-wise little sister?" Elsbeth asked.
"Better than she does. Why, you know he just married her for Papa's land. She's an old maid with a considerable inheritance."
"She and MaryRuth will get this farm one day, too," Elsbeth agreed.
"You should see him with that little girl, Ellie." Madeline sat on a chair. "He would do anything for that child. He came all the way from New York to find her. He built her a house. And now he gave her the mother she wanted. He'd have done anything for Zoe."
Thea's stomach turned over. She pressed a shaky hand to her lips. Would Booker have done anything for Zoe? Even marry an old maid he had no desire for?
No. No man was that good an actor. Shocked, she dropped her hand to her side.
Madeline caught the motion in her side vision.
"Thea!" she cried and stood, the blood draining from her face.
Elsbeth turned toward Thea, but Thea spun in the doorway, ran across the kitchen and flew out the back door. She calmed herself, stepped down into the yard and deliberately walked toward the tree where Aunt Odessa sat in the shade with Agnes and the other women. Had Madeline really wanted Booker for herself? Perhaps that was why she'd sounded so mean—so spiteful.
That was ridiculous. Madeline drew all the young men to her, why would she begrudge Thea her own measure of happiness? Thea had never been anything but loving to all of her sisters.
"We need to ask you something," Lynnette Rawlings called to Thea from the edge of the gathering. "None of us has ever finished the hem on a mission quilt. Can you show us your special stitch?"
"Yes, of course," Thea replied, glad to have something to take her mind off her sister's comments and the misgivings that were eating away at her heart.
"The quilt's in the house," Odessa said. "Why don't I go get it and you can show us?"
"We could probably finish it today," Thea predicted, and glanced across the yard. He'd known a lot of beautiful women.
* * *
Booker straightened up from another near miss and grinned at his new father-in-law.
"Don't take up gamblin', son," Jim advised, and drew on his pipe. Smoke curled around the bowl until a breeze caught it.
"Don't plan to," Booker assured him. As it had all afternoon, his attention strayed from the game of horseshoes, and he searched for Thea.
"Saw her in the house a while back," Denzel offered.
Booker crossed the yard and entered the house. The kitchen felt delightfully cool. She worked at a long table stretched down the center of the room, slicing bread and stacking it on platters.
David sat in a wooden-trayed chair beside her, mangling a crust of bread.
Booker studied her straight shoulders and flared hips in the sleek cream-colored dress. A white apron covered her skirt, and a hasty bow nestled in the small of her back. An infinite row of tiny fabric-covered buttons ran from the back of her neck to below her long waist. He imagined unbuttoning each button and hearing the satin dress rustle as it slid from her marvelous body.
What did she wear beneath it? Garters... Stockings... He shifted his weight and changed the direction of his thoughts. "What are you doing?"
"Just laying out some food for the evening meal. Everyone will need to get home to their chores after the dancing.
" She brushed her palms together.
"But this is your wedding day," he objected. "Surely someone else could have done this."
"They were all busy with the quilt. I don't mind." She glanced up, her eyes a more vivid aquamarine than he remembered.
The ivory dress toned her fair skin to porcelain, and in his mind's eye, he saw the freckles dappling her chest beneath the concealment of the fabric. Where else did she hide those charming sprinkles? Spangled down her long, supple legs... Spattering her knees... Angel kisses, he'd heard them called, and experienced a twang of jealousy at the thought of even angels kissing those most tempting parts of her body.
Booker's gaze slid to the pearls at her neck and the backlash of his thoughts sent a spear of unappeased desire to his groin. He remembered the cool texture of the pearls against her warm, satin skin. He could picture her glorious hair like a fiery nimbus around her head and shoulders. Booker could even taste her skin, smell her hair and—
He clenched his fists and jaw muscles tightly and forced himself to relax them, slowly. He reminded himself she was pure in mind and body, and he'd never wanted a woman with such a ravenous degree of burning desire as he wanted her.
David slapped his hands on the tray and diverted Booker's attention. Thea wiped the baby with a cloth and plucked him out of the chair. Holding him straddled on her hip, she kissed his rosy cheek soundly.
"I suppose MaryRuth needed a little time to enjoy herself," he said, annoyance lacing his tone.
Thea's bright eyes darted across his features. "Is something wrong?" she asked.
He couldn't look at the pearls. "Thea, you're so tolerant. Everyone takes advantage of you, can't you see that?"
She shook her head.
"This is your day. You shouldn't be doing this. Look at you." He reached behind her and snatched the apron away, tossing it over the back of the high chair.
She raised her face to his, worry in the depths of her gaze. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to displease you."
He heard the concern in her voice. What was he doing? What a hypocrite he was. The idea of her family and friends using her angered him, while at the same time he stood lusting after her. Wasn't he imagining taking advantage of her, too? He wanted to satisfy his own needs, just as selfishly as they did.
Land of Dreams Page 14
