Brides of Texas

by Hake, Cathy Marie

  “I will not!” Mercy shouted from upstairs.

  Rob winced.

  “No, no, no, no.” Mercy’s voice went from a shout to a strangled moan.

  “That doesna sound like a woman who’s finding her serenity. Go help her, man!” Chris shoved at him, and he raced upstairs.

  Less than a minute later, Mercy’s voice held a shrill edge. “You promised thirty minutes!”

  Rob came back downstairs, grinning like a fool. “Things are progressing well.”

  “If that’s ‘well,’ you’d best stuff cotton in your ears once you hae her at the clinic. The lass is liable to scream you deaf once she’s in the thick of it.”

  “Bein’ a mite temperamental is a fine sign. It indicates a woman’s toward the end.”

  “Toward the end of her rope, I’d say,” Chris muttered.

  Someone knocked once while opening the front door. Connant stuck his head into the house. “I’m relieved to see Rob’s horse. I’ve ridden all over and couldn’t find him. How’s Mercy?”

  They all looked toward the ceiling. As if she’d heard Connant’s question, her stricken voice echoed down the stairs. “No one needs to know!”

  Connant’s eyes widened. “I’ll go now.”

  “She didna hear you. She’s talking with Carmen.” Rob motioned him in. “Come. Eat.”

  The sheriff looked appalled at the notion. “I’ve got things to do.”

  “Is that so?” Rob asked. His tone sounded entirely too entertained.

  “I’ll help.” Chris rushed toward the door, to freedom.

  “No. No. Everything’s under control. Happy New Year.” The sheriff shut the door with obvious alacrity. Chris looked like a man about to be stuffed into a cannibal’s pot.

  Half an hour later, Carmen descended the stairs. “Mercy’s asking to go to the washroom.”

  Rob shot to his feet.

  “Before you go up there,” Carmen’s voice carried a vaguely amused flavor, “I’ve been ordered to warn you men that if you try to take her to the clinic, she’ll avenge herself.”

  Chris snorted. “Mercy wouldn’t swat a fly. Her threat’s all bluster.”

  Rob scowled over his shoulder. “Don’t vex my wife, Chris.” He went up the stairs and came back down with Mercy in his arms. She was bundled in a heavy flannel nightgown. Instead of wearing her hair up in its usual style, Mercy now had a single, fat braid swinging back and forth with each step Rob took.

  From the way Mercy clung to Rob, buried her face against his chest, and moaned, she was embarrassed for them to see her in such a state. Duncan figured the least he could do was be casual about it. As they went past him toward the washroom, Duncan proclaimed, “The lass is whiter than her bedgown, Rob. Talk sense into her.”

  Ismelda shoved a soapy dish into the rinse water. “Shhh.”

  “Here you are,” Rob said as he turned sideways to carry his wife through the doorway to their modern washroom. Duncan silently gave his brother credit for sounding so calm and remembering to turn so he didn’t knock Mercy’s head or feet against the doorframe.

  “Out!” Mercy’s voice took on a shrill edge. “Out this minute, Robert.”

  Rob stepped out of the washroom, shut the door, and finally had the good sense to look concerned.

  Chris kicked the chair Duncan leaned against. “Don’t just stand there. ’Tis cold out. Rob’ll be wanting to wrap Mercy in a blanket whilst he totes her to the clinic.”

  “I hhhheee–aaarrd thaaaaat!” Mercy shouted.

  “Now, Mercy,” Rob wheedled.

  Silence hung in the air. Rob shifted his weight from one foot to the other a few times, wiped his hands down his thighs, and cleared his throat. “Mercy?”

  “Leeeeve meee aaa–looonne!”

  Duncan decided it was a good thing Rob told them Mercy might be getting a wee bit testy. She seemed to be embracing the role with zeal.

  A mere breath later, Mercy’s voice changed to a bewildered, “Rob?”

  “Aye, my sweet?”

  She sounded so uncertain, so lost. “I don’t know what to do.”

  A tiny wail rent the air. Rob yanked the washroom door straight off the hinges. Duncan collapsed into the chair. Having a baby was far more taxing than he’d expected.

  Chapter 3

  How’s little Elspeth today?” Carmen called across the street to Duncan. He sat in the open doorway of his cobbler’s workshop, stitching something.

  “Fat and sassy.” He grinned at her. “That garden of yours surely takes a lot of attention.”

  Carmen caressed a narcissus. “I hope these and the fern-leaf lavender bloom for the wedding.”

  Duncan nodded. “Those pinkish-red things behind you are a sight.”

  “The azaleas? I love them, but they’re not easy to put in a wedding arrangement. Same with my crocus. Ismelda didn’t want to wait until March when the whole countryside will be abloom.”

  “That tree Mercy calls a redbud is blossoming. Could you use a few branches?”

  His offer pleased her. “Thank you. I’ll keep that in mind.”

  He nodded and went back to work. All day long, every day, he’d sit out on the porch attached to his workshop. An eye-popping array of spindles, fans, turnings, and trim should have made the outside of his shop look tacky or garish; instead, it seemed whimsical. Folks would walk down the street, drop in and chat with Duncan, then meander off.

  “What are you doing?” Ismelda asked from the corner of their yard.

  “Checking on the flowers.” Carmen turned around. “I need to water some of them a little more.”

  “Otto’s mother offered to come help me pin up the hem of my gown, but I told her you would.” Ismelda clasped Carmen’s hand as she went up the four steps to their veranda. “I wanted to talk with you about something.”

  “Sure.”

  “You won’t move into the Kunstlers’ with me?”

  “No, I won’t.” Carmen shot her sister a stern look. “You and Otto need to be husband and wife. I’d be underfoot and in the way.”

  “His mother is there.”

  “I know.” Carmen stopped. “You and she get along well, and I know in my heart that it’ll be a happy arrangement. But Mrs. Kunstler and I wouldn’t be happy under the same roof. Besides, I love our home here.”

  “But I was wondering about something else.”

  Carmen waited for her sister to speak. Try as she might, she couldn’t quite get past the hurt of everyone else finding mates and having babies. Her own sister didn’t even hold out hope that some man might come along and develop affectionate feelings for Carmen. The reality that she was trying to make arrangements for Carmen’s spinster years stung.

  “Mr. Stein and Peter—they’re faring decently, but with Mercy in town now, I think he’d be delighted to have a housekeeper. Why don’t you talk with him about it? We’d be neighbors!”

  Carmen merely shook her head.

  “You already take a dish over there once or twice a week.”

  “If that is a reason for me to become someone’s housekeeper, half of our neighbors would already employ me.”

  “But maybe it’s time for you to get something in return for all the good deeds you do.”

  “I don’t want anything, Ismelda. I’m content. I have a home and friends. Papa left us enough money that I needn’t worry about finances.” Carmen shook her head. “I’d be lying if I told you I would think about it. Go put on your gown. I’ll wash my hands so I don’t smudge it.”

  The heavy white satin felt smooth and cool in Carmen’s hands as she pinned the hem. She forced a laugh. “I was just picturing Otto standing at the altar waiting for you.”

  “What’s so funny about that?”

  “I imagined him in one of the Gregors’ kilts.”

  Merry laughter bubbled out of Ismelda. “Never. After church on Sunday, Otto told me if I have any plans to make him wear odd costumes, I’d better forget them.”

  “They’re not odd costumes. Th
e Gregors are proud of their heritage. I thought they looked…unified at church on Sunday.” The pastor had called Mercy and Rob to the altar on Sunday to present Elspeth to the congregation and say a blessing over her. Duncan and Chris stood on either side of them. All of the Gregor men wore kilts, and the length of tartan Rob had draped over Mercy’s shoulder for their wedding now served as the infant’s blanket. “And I also think it was very touching how Duncan mentioned they’d named Elspeth after their own mother.”

  “It was.” Ismelda sighed romantically. “I told Otto I’m wearing Mama’s bridal mantilla as my something old. In a year or two, maybe I could drape it over our baby, too. Don’t you think that would be a lovely tradition?”

  “Mmm.” Though tears filled her eyes, Carmen smiled up at her sister. She’s so sure I’ll never be a bride.

  Ismelda pressed her hand to her bosom. “Oh, do I look so beautiful that you’re in tears?”

  “Muy hermosa. Very beautiful.”

  “You’re such a wonderful sister to make me feel lovely in my gown.”

  “Never once forget how beautiful I think you are—inside as well as out.”

  “Are you done pinning me up?”

  Grateful to break eye contact, Carmen reached for the pincushion. She pulled out another pin. “Just one more. Here.”

  “Now that we’ve finished my gown, we need to decide on yours. I don’t care if the gringos here think red is for a loose woman. You look beautiful in red, and—”

  “Be practical, Ismelda. I’d never be able to wear it again. If I put work into making a dress, I ought to get some use out of it.”

  Her sister made wavelike motions. “What about layers and layers of yellow and orange?”

  “Since when did we wear layered skirts? Mama always dressed us in designs featured in Godey’s.”

  Ismelda shrugged. “You were talking about heritage. I thought it might be fun to have some of our heritage in my wedding.”

  “You could carry our Spanish Bible.”

  Eyes alight, Ismelda proclaimed, “You can! I’ll hold a sheaf of flowers from our garden, just as I always dreamed, and you can carry Papa’s Bible. In fact”—Ismelda clapped her hands—“you could read a verse from it.”

  “That doesn’t seem right. Otto doesn’t know any Spanish. A groom ought to understand the whole ceremony.”

  Ismelda wrinkled her nose. “I guess you’re right. I know she doesn’t mean to be rude, but his mother often speaks German to him in front of me. I’m so determined to understand them I’m having Otto teach me new words all of the time!”

  “Chris Gregor rattles off German like he’s one of them, and he’s getting good at Spanish, too.”

  “I’m glad.” Ismelda blushed. “He can translate for the doctor now. Duncan—he hasn’t learned much Spanish or German, but everyone understands him, and he understands whatever someone else is trying to say.”

  Carmen started to unbutton her sister’s gown. “That stream of people wandering past his shop and visiting with him—it’s that way every day, all day long.”

  “Really? I hadn’t noticed.” Ismelda let out a trill of laughter. “I love Otto so much that I don’t seem to notice anything else at all.”

  Carmen gave no reply. Duncan Gregor was a nice man. A good man—godly and gentle and kind. People couldn’t help responding to his warm and humble personality. He’ll never be lonely, but I will. That thought hit her hard. What does he do that I don’t?

  “You look so sad!”

  Summoning a smile she was far from feeling, Carmen knew she didn’t dare confess her fears. She wanted her sister to bask in the joy of her marriage, not to fret over things that couldn’t be helped. She softened the truth. “I was thinking how empty the house will be. I’m going to miss you.”

  “So you’re reconsidering my suggestion about becoming the Steins’ housekeeper?”

  “No.” Carmen didn’t have a hard time looking appalled at the notion. “I’m going to have to find ways to keep busy once you’re not here to pester me.”

  “You can come visit me whenever you want.” Ismelda carefully stepped free from her gown. “We still haven’t decided about what you’ll wear for the wedding.”

  “Leonard mentioned he’s gotten a shipment of bombazine in at the mercantile.”

  “Bombazine is for widows and chaperones. You said you want to be practical—well, then we’ll have your gown be a bright color in a lightweight silk or a challis. That way, you’ll be able to look festive all through the spring and summer.”

  “Come spring and summer, I’m going to want lightweight cotton so I can stay cool while helping you with the extra chores that come from being a farmer’s wife.”

  “Then we’ll have to be sure to get material for two dresses for you.” Ismelda grinned. “In addition to the fabric for the dress you’ll wear for the wedding.”

  Accustomed to her little sister’s stunts, Carmen laughed and nodded. “Yes, querido. One for me and one for you.” And maybe a few more yards of cotton, besides. I could make Mercy’s little Elspeth a couple of gowns, and with old Mrs. Lintz becoming bedridden, I’m sure she’d appreciate a crisp nightdress and soft pillowslips. And Mr. Rundsdorf—it must be so hard for him to find shirts to fit his twisted frame. I’m going to devote myself to the people who need love and might not get it otherwise.

  Relieved to have come up with a solution to battling the impending sense of loneliness, Carmen went to fetch her reticule.

  “Rob took Mercy and the baby home.” Duncan offered Carmen his arm.

  “It was nice of them to come to the wedding.” She slid her hand into the crook of his elbow and walked toward the buggy with him. When she glanced up, her deep brown eyes carried a wealth of emotion. “I know Mercy loves Rob with all her heart, but it was especially nice of her to treat Ismelda so kindly. Some people were still talking about how just a year ago Otto was going to marry Mercy.”

  “It’s time everyone let go of the past and embrace the future. It’s plain to see Rob and Mercy love each other. As for Ismelda and Otto—he was a broken man, and her love did wonders for him. Both men are blessed.”

  As Carmen allowed him to lift her into the buggy, Duncan noted her new dress. He waited a moment while she gathered up the extra material from her fancy gown. “Your frock’s comely. It puts me of a mind of the heather from back home.”

  “Thank you.”

  The buggy swayed as he swung up beside her. For all the fabric in their skirts, it was easy to forget how tiny most of the women were. Carmen was of average height but fine boned. He saw how she tried to drag her left foot out of the way.

  “You must be exhausted.”

  She bristled. “What makes you say that?”

  He flicked the reins. “I’m thinkin’ on how you’ve babied the garden so there were flowers aplenty and that you’ve stitched yourself a pretty frock. You cooked and cooked and cooked. And ooch, those Mexican wedding cookies—you baked hundreds of them. I’m not exaggerating, either, because I ate a good half dozen all on my own. Then you saw to any number of trifling details to make the wedding all your sister e’er dreamed of. Just reciting the list of what you’ve done leaves me weary.”

  The tension drained from her shoulders. “I’m afraid now that the wedding is over, I’ll be bored to distraction.”

  “You?” Duncan chuckled. “I dinna think the word leisure is in your vocabulary. Rob tells me you’ve been cheering up old Mrs. Lintz, and I ken you’ve helped o’er at the Rayburns’.”

  “Mrs. Rayburn’s splint should come off next week.”

  “Aye, but a woman with a broken arm and a passel of children is a sorry sight.”

  “They’re dear children—well behaved and affectionate.”

  “I’ve not been ‘round them enough to agree or disagree.” Duncan grinned. “You’re a fine woman, and I’m sure they love you on your own merit. That bein’ said, e’en the naughtiest of bairns would toe the mark just to have a taste of your bunuelo
s and empan-things.”

  “Empanadas.” She smiled. “I’ll be sure you have some the next time I make a batch.”

  “I confess, I would hae never thought the Germans and the Mexicans to hold much in common, but the cinnamon-sugar desserts and the polka sort of music are startlingly similar. In the end, ’tis fun to see how much alike we all are.”

  She nodded. “I suppose it all boils down to a simple truth—we really all are the same. Young or old, blond or black-haired, we want to belong, to love, and to be loved.”

  Chapter 4

  Duncan, did you think I wouldn’t notice?”

  Duncan ignored Christopher’s bellow and assisted Mr. Rundsdorf up the single step leading to his workshop’s porch. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

  “I can come back later if this is a bad time.”

  “Your timing couldn’t be better.” Duncan grinned. “Chris swears he canna stand all the frills that came wi’ the house kit. Just to keep him on his toes, I’ve been tacking up a piece in or on the house every now and again.”

  Mr. Rundsdorf’s gaze roamed the workshop. “Your brother’s far ahead of you in the race.”

  “He likes to think so.”

  Chris stalked over. “Take it away by noon, Duncan, or I won’t be responsible for what happens next.”

  “You gave me all the gingerbread. ’Tis mine to do with as I please.”

  “Bad enough we have enough scales to cover ten dragons on the outside of my house. Worse yet, you tacked a bunch of those stupid curlicue things together and hung them in the washroom.”

  “I made a shelf for Mercy,” Duncan explained to Mr. Rundsdorf, who nodded in appreciation.

  “But my bed?” Chris practically thundered the words.

  “What did he do to your bed?” Mr. Rundsdorf asked.

  Chris suddenly went ruddy.

  “Dinna leave the man wondering.” Duncan nudged his brother. “Tell him.”

  “He, uh…tacked something onto a post,” Chris muttered darkly.