“Mr. Wilson,” she said in her prim and proper way, “you and I have a contract. We also have a situation.”
Caleb nodded. “Yes, indeed, I’d say we do.”
“You got a situation, all right,” the maid said. “The situation is you brought this gal all the way out to this place, and you are goin’ to marry up with her right and proper—or I’ll know the reason why.”
Miss Bertrand placed her gloved hand on the maid’s arm. “Let me handle this, May.”
She addressed Caleb. “As May said, I’ve traveled from New Orleans to fulfill my end of the contract, Mr. Wilson. I am interested as to whether you intend to fulfill yours.”
“Well, now, just a minute here.” Caleb’s mind raced through the possible excuses for holding off on a wedding, coming to a stop at the most likely one. “You and I, we barely know one another, Miss Bertrand. I suspect you don’t relish the thought of being married to a total stranger. Besides, we haven’t exactly had a good start, have we?”
Her look gave him the impression she didn’t relish the idea of being married to him at all. If he hadn’t been so set on getting out of the deal himself, he’d be offended.
“This is true.” She shifted positions and cast a quick glance at the maid. “But the townsfolk are calling for a wedding date, sir.”
“I’m aware of that.” Caleb set his boots on the desk again and tried to look as if he hadn’t a care in the world. “What do you think of a summer wedding, Miss Bertrand? Say June?”
“June? Why, that’s several months away.” Her tone signaled displeasure, but the twinkle in her eye told him she felt otherwise.
“It is indeed,” he said slowly. “But don’t you think we need the Lord’s blessing on this? You are a God-fearing woman, aren’t you?”
“I am,” she said. “And I think your idea is an excellent one. There’s just one problem. I was not prepared for such a lengthy engagement.”
He crossed his legs at the ankle. “Meaning?”
“Meaning we will be in need of a place to stay. I’m sure Mrs. Sykes won’t be pleased when we have no more funds to pay for our room.”
“Well, now, that is a problem. Let me ponder on it a spell.” She rose, and Caleb set his feet on the ground and did the same. “I suppose I ought to come calling now that we’re going to get hitched, Miss Bertrand.”
She looked less than pleased at the idea. To her credit she recovered quickly. “That would be lovely, Sheriff. Please, call me Lydia.”
“Lydia.” He looked past her to see the maid frowning at him. “I’m Caleb.”
The maid’s frown deepened, but she said nothing.
“The mayor and his wife are having me to supper tonight. What say I fetch you round about six and we walk over together?”
Lydia aimed a smile in his direction. “Are you asking me to supper, Caleb?”
He hitched up a grin. “I reckon I am.”
“Then you’ll have to do better than that. I’m used to spending time with gentlemen.”
With that she swept out of the office like the queen of England. Rather than follow, the maid leaned toward him.
“I’m on t’you, Sheriff,” she said softly. “But I’m gonna speak t’the Lord afore I say another word t’anybody.”
“While you’re talking to Him, would you mind mentioning that I’d take any help He might want to send my way?”
She lifted a dark brow. “If ’n you’re gonna have anything t’do with that ’un, you’re gonna need all the help He can send.”
Caleb watched the swirl of yellow skirts disappear from sight and sighed. “Ma’am, I believe you’re right.”
Chapter 8
For some reason unknown to him, Caleb showed up at the boardinghouse at a quarter to six. Hat in hand, he had Widow Sykes announce his presence in the parlor. Courting came about as natural to him as breathing before he met the Lord. Now he seemed to be sadly lacking in the fine art of wooing a lady.
Not that he intended to woo Lydia Bertrand. Rather, he sought to pass the time until the Lord got him out of the mess he’d gotten himself into. In the meantime, it didn’t seem proper to ignore the woman the whole town thought he was to marry.
He practiced his speech a couple of times while he waited. He’d tell her he was sorry they’d gotten off on the wrong foot, sorrier still he’d brought her all the way to Dime Box just to find out the wedding wasn’t going to happen.
Sure, he’d said June, but after giving the matter some thought, he’d figured she would see the logic in holding off on getting hitched. Then she stepped into the room, and every word he planned scattered like dust on a stiff breeze.
This time she wore green, and it occurred to Caleb that he’d never once noticed the color of a woman’s dress before today. Proof positive he had to steer clear of Lydia Bertrand.
“Mrs. Sykes said you wanted to speak to me.”
“I did, actually,” he said, hat in hand. “I felt like I had some apologizing to do, and now seemed as good a time as any.” He shook his head. “What I mean to say is, I know you and I didn’t get along right off, but I was wondering if you might consider putting that aside and accompanying me to the mayor’s house for supper. I didn’t ask right the first time, and for that I do apologize.”
She seemed to consider his offer. “I’m not sure I have the time, Caleb. It’s rather bad form for you to come waltzing in on short notice and expect me to jump at your command.”
The woman certainly didn’t intend to make his apology an easy one. “Yes,” he said, “I do appreciate the problem here, but I believe if you’ll think on it, you’ll see that I did mention it earlier in the day. I just didn’t use the right words.”
Caleb straightened his shoulders and took a deep breath. He’d learned much about being humble over the past year, but he did have his limits.
“I can see I’ve made a mistake in coming here.” He set his hat on his head and pressed past Lydia to head for the front door. “I’m sorry I wasted your time. Do have a good evening, Lydia.”
He hadn’t even reached the street before the Bertrand woman caught up with him. “My, but you walk fast, Caleb.”
“I thought…” He looked down and saw all the fire had gone from her expression. “My mistake, Lydia. I assumed you’d be dining with the Widow Sykes tonight.”
“It was an option,” she said as she gathered her shawl about her shoulders. They walked in silence for a bit; then she spoke up again. “Apology accepted,” she said softly. “Would you accept mine, as well?”
Caleb nodded and kept walking. The less they talked, the more he liked it.
With the mayor’s house in view, Caleb stopped short and reached for Lydia’s hand. “What say we start over, you and me? I mean, long as folks think we’re a pair, we might as well be civil.”
“About that.” Lydia studied the ground for a minute, then swung her attention up to meet his stare. “I should have said something sooner, but if I had my way, I’d be back home in New Orleans. I really don’t want to marry you, Sheriff.”
“You don’t?” Caleb’s shock rendered further words impossible for a full minute, maybe longer. When he recovered, he shook his head. “If you’re telling me the truth, you’re the first woman I’ve ever met who wasn’t looking to snag a husband.”
Her giggle surprised him. “I suppose that makes me one of a kind then, doesn’t it?”
The mayor’s wife called Lydia’s name, and he watched her wave and pick up her pace in response. Caleb caught up with Lydia and grasped her wrist, halting her progress.
“Wait a minute,” he said. “You really don’t want to marry me?”
Lydia’s smile lit her face. “Not in the least.”
Dinner seemed to last forever. Making small talk with Amanda Thompson didn’t hold a candle to besting Caleb in a discussion about weddings. While Amanda ladled gravy over the roast, Lydia recalled the entire conversation in the street. Every time she thought about telling the sheriff she had no inter
est in marrying him, she smiled.
“Penny for your thoughts, Miss Bertrand,” the mayor said.
“I’m sure she’s planning our wedding.” Caleb leaned over to squeeze Lydia’s hand. “Her face just lights up when she’s thinking about getting hitched.”
Lydia kicked Caleb under the table, then she watched with satisfaction as he winced then propped his smile back into place. “Oh, yes,” she said to the mayor as she extricated her fingers from Caleb’s grasp. “I do so love to think of my Caleb. He’s such a fine catch, don’t you think, Amanda?”
The poor woman seemed at a loss for words. The mayor, however, offered a quick blessing over the food, then asked for the corn bread to be passed in his direction.
“So when is that wedding, Caleb?” the mayor asked.
Caleb stabbed his fork into a slab of beef and unloaded it onto his plate. “Lydia and I were just talking about that today. Why don’t you tell them, dear?”
She gave Caleb a smile, then turned to face Mr. Thompson. “Caleb’s a gentleman, you know, and so protective of me.” She patted Caleb’s hand. “He suggested a June wedding to give me time to adjust to living here in your lovely community.”
“June?” The mayor shook his head. “That’s thinkin’ positive. We usually don’t get a parson in here till late summer.”
Lydia nearly dropped her fork. “You mean you don’t have a preacher in town who can marry us? What about the fellow who’s been doing Sunday services?”
“Elmer Winslow?” The mayor cut a swipe through the air with his hand. “He’s nothin’ but a farmer from north of here. He offered to fill in until we got a full-time preacher. He’s right good at carrying on a Sunday service or speaking at funerals, but he don’t have no marryin’ abilities.”
Relief shot through Lydia. Perhaps there was a way out of this mess after all. “And you say you expect a preacher in July?”
“Or August,” Amanda said. “That’s when the circuit riders come through. ’Course, it could be sooner.”
Caleb looked in her direction and smiled. “Well, dear, looks like you’ll have to wait longer than you wanted to get hitched.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” she said in her sweetest voice. “For you I’d wait forever.” She leaned close to Caleb. “Actually, forever sounds like just the right amount of time to wait.”
The evening stretched on until Lydia thought she’d never see the end of it. After supper the men headed out onto the porch to talk politics while Lydia followed Amanda into the kitchen to help with the cleanup.
“You didn’t wash many dishes back in New Orleans, did you, Lydia?” Amanda asked.
“Truthfully I didn’t.” She dabbed at the plate in her hand with the towel. “How could you tell?”
Amanda took the plate from her and finished the task, setting it on the drain board. She turned to Lydia and removed her apron. “If I’m being nosey, you just go ahead and tell me.”
Lydia folded her apron and set it atop Amanda’s. “Of course.”
She leaned against the edge of the cabinet and dried her hands, then looked up sharply. “I was a mail-order bride, too.” She held up her hand. “Ed and I haven’t shared that fact with anyone in Dime Box, so I’d appreciate it if you’d keep this to yourself.”
“Of course.”
Amanda led her to a chair by the fire, then settled in the rocker beside her. “My first husband passed on and left me with my son to raise. Ed here is a fine man, and he never held it against me when his mail-order bride showed up with a mail-order baby.” She chuckled at the joke, then grew serious. “I’m telling you this because I want you to understand that God engineered the circumstances. Remember He does that. Often He does it in spite of us.”
“Yes, I’m reminded of that frequently,” Lydia said.
Amanda nodded. “Please know that I understand you’re afraid, and you have every right to feel that way. You’re far from home without a mama or papa to advise you, and now you’re about to gain a husband.”
Tears clouded Lydia’s eyes, but she refused to allow them to fall. Rather, she took a deep breath and let it out slowly.
“Cal Wilson’s a fine man,” Amanda said. “My Ed says he comes highly recommended, and after working beside him nigh onto a week getting that jailhouse back in shape, he claims Cal’s a hard worker, too.”
Lydia shifted positions, suddenly uncomfortable. “I wouldn’t know.”
“I’ve seen him in worship, Lydia. That man loves the Lord. It’s plain on his face when he’s singing the hymns.”
“You make him sound like a saint, Amanda.”
“Oh, honey, none of us are saints.” Amanda set the towel across the clean dishes. “Remember that when you go judging the man the Lord gives you.”
“But I’m not judging,” she protested. “It’s just that I don’t want to be married to a man who…” Lydia found she had no words to complete the sentence. She hung her head. “Yes, I suppose I am judging him. It’s just that every time we’re together something happens to irritate me.” She sighed. “I can’t explain it.”
Amanda patted Lydia’s shoulder and smiled. “There’s a fine line between irritating and interesting.”
“Are we being spoken of, wife?” Ed Thompson rounded the corner and embraced his wife, who merely grinned. “I was tellin’ your intended that we’re lookin’ at buildin’ a new Sunday go-to-meetin’ place. One of our parishioners donated her property before she left to go back East. Now all we have to do is figure out how to turn it into a proper place of worship.”
“Anything would be better than the little place we use now. Why, it’s so small we barely have room to squeeze everyone in. But you know all about that, don’t you, Cal?”
“I do indeed, ma’am.” From where she stood, Lydia could feel the sheriff staring. She braved a glance and saw Caleb leaning against the doorpost, hands crossed over his chest. His grin took her by surprise.
“I’m going to send a bowl of cobbler to your landlady, Lydia. I promised I’d send some next time I made it.”
While Amanda spooned dessert into a bowl, Lydia noticed Ed studying Caleb. She watched the mayor for a moment before turning her attention to the sheriff. To her surprise, he walked over and placed his hand atop hers. Lydia swiftly removed her fingers from his grasp and reached for the cobbler.
“It’s been a real pleasure,” Caleb said to their hosts before taking Lydia’s elbow. “Once Lydia and I set up housekeeping, you’re going to have to teach her how to make that delicious roast, Mrs. Thompson.”
Chapter 9
I want a recipe for roast?” Lydia walked two steps ahead of the sheriff, stalking off her irritation. “Do you think I can’t make a roast?” Caleb shrugged, a grin forming. “Can you?”
She made her way around a puddle, then turned to head for the boardinghouse. “That’s beside the point.”
He came up beside Lydia, then stepped in front of her. “What is the point, Lydia?”
Lydia stopped short then tried to walk around him. The persistent sheriff caught her elbow and whirled her around. This time when she looked into his eyes, she saw no hint of teasing.
“That contract—is it real?” He blinked hard. “What I mean is, did you actually come all this way to marry me?”
Her heart thumped against her chest. “You’re not funny, Caleb. Not at all.”
The moonlight cut a slice across his face. “I wasn’t trying to be.”
“You’re the one who sent for me,” she managed. “I never asked to be here.”
Caleb’s expression softened. “Care to explain?”
“No.” She turned to go, then thought better of it. What did it matter if she told him?
“What’s your story, Lydia? I’m not going to ask again.”
“Miss Lydia, that you, chile?”
She glanced over her shoulder to see May sitting on the porch. “Yes, it’s me. I’ll be right in.”
“See that you do. You ain’t hitched t’this man yet,
and your mama would have my hide if ’n something were to happen.”
“I was just leaving.” Caleb turned his attention to Lydia. “You let me know when you’re ready to finish this conversation.”
As it turned out, the next day Caleb was too busy to finish any conversations. His first full day as sheriff was spent helping Ed Thompson and Elmer Wiggins fetch a wagonload of supplies from Millsville. The lengthy trip gave them plenty of time for conversation, much of which Caleb only listened to.
Occasionally Ed would ask a question of him or make a comment that required an answer, but most times Caleb drove the wagon and let the older men do their jawin’. Round about an hour from Dime Box on the return trip, Elmer fell silent. Caleb glanced over his shoulder to see the red-haired man sound asleep leaning against the pile of supplies.
“Mind if I join you, son?” Ed asked as he climbed up on the seat beside Caleb. “I’m of a mind to give some advice. You of a mind t’listen?”
“I suppose,” Caleb said.
Ed stretched his legs out in front of him and leaned back against the seat. “I’m wonderin’ something, Sheriff Wilson.”
A dry wind blew dust across Caleb’s face, and he lifted his bandanna to cover his mouth and nose. “What’s that?”
“I’m wonderin’ what your intentions are toward Miss Bertrand.”
Caleb gave Ed a sideways look. “What set you to wondering about that?”
The older man shrugged. “You didn’t fool me,” he said slowly. “I know you and that girl are complete strangers.” He clapped a hand on Caleb’s shoulder. “Oh, don’t worry. Amanda and me are the only ones who’ve figured it out.”
“Figured what out?”
“Figured out you mail-ordered your bride from back East.” He shook his head. “Now there’s nothin’ to be ashamed of. Why, that’s how I got my Amanda.”
“It is?”
He nodded. “They’s some fine women who start married life as a stranger to their husbands.” Ed paused. “And they’s some husbands who don’t cotton to gettin’ hitched to the gal they paid for. I reckon they figure they can do better elsewhere, but I say you stay with what God brings ya.”
Texas Brides Collection Page 48
