Yellow Rose Bride

by Lori Copeland

  It was as if the marriage had never taken place.

  Adam leaned his head back against the chair, recalling the brief ceremony. He’d managed to get her home without being seen and the next morning he had talked to Judge Clive Henderson, who had given him a tongue-lashing, the memory of which still stung. After he’d calmed down, Clive had agreed to arrange for the annulment and promised to take the secret to his grave. So far he had kept his promise.

  The room was quiet except for the buzzing of a blue-bottle fly. Adam focused on the question he had tried hard to ignore. Why did he have such a difficult time forgetting that firelight wedding ceremony and the pride and love he’d felt in his bride? He had another wedding in his future. This one would take place in a church where there would be guests and flowers and a proper preacher. Beth would make a beautiful bride, and later, she would keep a fine home, make a loving mother and a caring wife. So why was he still thinking about the one woman he couldn’t forget?

  Chapter Four

  “Another one?”

  “Another one,” Vonnie said, watching Garrett Beasley ring up five spools of white satin thread. “And I’m going to need sixteen more yards of Duchesse lace, Mr. Beasley.”

  “I’ll order it right away.” His pot-bellied clerk’s eyes twinkled. “Getting it here, now that’s another thing.”

  “Do you think—”

  “I’ll send the order out first thing tomorrow morning. You know I will.”

  Vonnie smiled. Mr. Beasley had a real talent for making customers feel special.

  “There you go, little lady,” he said, adding the thread to her purchases. “Heard you’re making the Wilson gown?”

  “Yes, when it’s finished I’ll bring it by and let you see it.”

  Rumors about the gown had been in all the newspapers. Hammond Wilson, a prominent Phoenix millionaire, doted on his eldest daughter, Emily, and had commissioned Vonnie to make the point de Flandre gown for a handsome sum. The pure white lace with graceful, rhythmic patterns of leaves, flowers and scrolls was widely regarded as the most beautiful of the pillow laces. The accompanying Flemish Duchesse bridal veil was certain to become a Wilson heirloom treasure.

  “Business must be booming,” he said. “Had a man stop by earlier in the week asking about you. Seems they’ve heard about your bridal gowns way up there in New York.”

  “Business is good.” Almost too good, she added to herself, thinking about the bolts of cream satin stacked on her cutting table.

  “Sounds like the Bennett wedding is going to be quite a shindig.” He transferred a bolt of tulle to the cutting table. “Twenty more yards, you say?”

  “Mmm, better make it twenty-five, just to be sure.”

  “Twenty-five it is.”

  While he measured and cut the silk net, Vonnie browsed. Outside, the sun was beaching the horizon. Most of the stores were closing, while the bars and bawdy houses were just starting their business day.

  Beasley’s was one of the first delicatessens in the town. The idea that you could buy ready-to-eat products and dry goods at the same time was a real hit with the customers.

  Closing her eyes, she sniffed the tantalizing mix of cured hams, loose spices and fresh pies. Freshly ground coffee and hot cinnamon buns.

  The countertops brimmed with a colorful array of foods. Glass cases full of cakes, pickles in trays, and a big tub of sweet creamery butter added character to Beasley’s Grocery. Sitting beside buckets of salt herring and salt mackerel were barrels of crackers, cookies, nuts and other dried condiments. There were big bushels of apples and a crock of mincemeat. Bunches of long bolognas and fat cheeses wrapped in netting dangled from the ceiling. The store was charmingly chaotic.

  “Yep, seems like everybody’s decided to get married at the same time. Looks like Adam and Beth will be next,” Beasley continued as he cut the fabric.

  “Looks that way.”

  “Fine young men, those Baldwin boys. Fine young men.”

  Vonnie picked up an ornately carved music box and carefully wound the little key at the back. A boy and girl in a swing turned slowly to the strains of “I’ll Take You Home Again, Kathleen.”

  “Yes, Beth and Adam make a handsome couple,” Beasley rattled on as he wrote the price of each item on the back of a bag and totaled it. “Reckon P.K.’s hopes are high on having his first grandchild by this time next year—”

  “I’ll also need six packages of seed pearls, Mr. Beasley.”

  If he thought anything about her interruption, it didn’t show.

  “White or ivory?”

  “The white, I think.”

  He tore a long sheet of brown wrapping paper off the roll he kept under the counter. “How’re your folks doing? Saw Cammy the other day.”

  “Good, thank you.”

  “And the birds?”

  “We have a new batch of babies.”

  “Is that a fact? My goodness, those birds must be interesting to raise.”

  “They are indeed.”

  The community knew how proud Teague Taylor was of his ostriches. Little did Teague know that when he got the pair of adult, pure North African ostriches, he had hit the jackpot. When he’d come home dragging the two birds behind him, rumor had it Cammy was miffed over having another pair of mouths to feed but had quickly changed her mind. The birds developed into a profitable business, with over a hundred birds now at the Flying Feather. The feathers and meat provided the Taylors with a comfortable income.

  The store owner peered over his glasses at Vonnie. “What’s that your father calls the chicks?”

  “Waddlebabies.” Vonnie laughed, thinking of the newly hatched ostriches. They were curious things, playful as week-old kittens. When they walked across their pens, it was clear why Teague had pinned them with the nickname.

  “Waddlebabies. That Teague. He’s quite a character. Always has been.” He tied the string on the package of material. “That about do you for today?” He wrapped the buttons in a second bundle.

  “That should do it. Thank you so much.”

  Anxious to be on her way, Vonnie paid for her purchases. She’d gotten a late start today, and Mr. Beasley had stayed open later than usual to accommodate her.

  Twilight was gathering when she stepped onto the plank sidewalk.

  The heavy scent of cattle fouled the air tonight. Cattle.

  Cabeza Del Lobo.

  Adam Baldwin.

  Why did her thoughts always stray to Adam?

  Franz Schuyler slowly made his way down the sidewalk, his stool hooked over one arm and his long-handled lighter held like a scepter. He lit the gas lanterns, one by one, until the dusty street resembled a brick-paved city avenue.

  Lamplight had always been a delight for Vonnie. Franz was like some wizened elf who quietly went about his work without fuss or bother. With a touch of a wand, the town’s gas lanterns sprang to life.

  “Evening, Franz,” Vonnie called.

  The old man had always been a favorite town character. Of Dutch and German descent, his parents had cursed him with a strange little body. Squat and decidedly rotund, he reminded Vonnie of Santa Claus pictured in the books Cammy had ordered from back East. His snow-white hair and twinkling blue eyes made her want to sit on his lap and recite her Christmas list. Wouldn’t that have raised a few eyebrows!

  The lamplighter glanced up and waved. “Shopping again?” He made his way down the street toward her, carefully trimming and lighting each of the lanterns. The sun had disappeared now. The mellow lantern light gave the street a golden glow.

  “My, my,” he said, standing back to admire her. “Has anyone told you that you get prettier every day?”

  Vonnie’s smile was one of deep affection for the man who, she was sure, was not as old as he appeared to be. “No, but it’s sweet of you to say so.”

  “It’s true.”

  “You say that to all the girls.”

  “Not to all of them,” he denied. “Only the prettiest ones.”

 
; They shared a comfortable laugh, then turned toward the north as a cool breeze suddenly sprang up.

  “Nice weather today,” he commented.

  “Yes, it’s been so hot.” At times the sun seemed cruel. “How’s Audrey?”

  Sadness touched Franz’s eyes, and he slowly shook his head. “Not good, little one, not so good.”

  “I’m sorry.” Vonnie rested her hand on his sleeve.

  Audrey Schuyler was dying, slowly but surely. Everyone knew it. With a quiet dignity she bore the knowledge that she hadn’t many days left. Audrey and Cammy Taylor had been friends since childhood. Vonnie couldn’t remember a year when the Schuylers hadn’t been at the Taylor house for Thanksgiving and Christmas. Audrey’s special cherry-rum fruitcake was a treat they all looked forward to sharing on Christmas Eve.

  But the fruitcake wouldn’t be there this year. For the past few months, Audrey had steadily lost ground, and Cammy Taylor refused to accept her friend’s terminal illness. She still clung to the belief that a miracle would occur and Audrey would be spared.

  “But,” Franz sighed, his smile returning, though it was a bit dim. “Any day you wake up is a good day, isn’t it?” He touched the packages she held. “Guess you’re making another beautiful wedding dress?”

  “Yes. Janie Bennett’s. She’s getting married next month.”

  “Ah, yes.” Franz nodded. “I saw the young lovers at the party the other night. Edward appears smitten to the gills.”

  “He is. Hopelessly so.”

  Setting his stool and stepping up, he touched the wand to the lamp above her head and smiled wistfully. “Ah, to be that young again.”

  Yes. To be young and foolish again.

  “Franz,” she said, “if Audrey feels up to it, why don’t you come for supper Wednesday night? Mother would love it. She’s been wanting to bake a blackberry cobbler, and what’s a blackberry cobbler without you around to eat it?”

  Franz chuckled. “Well, I don’t know what would stop us. A man can hardly pass up an offer like that. I’ll tell Audrey. She’ll feel better just thinking about it.”

  “Wonderful. We’ll expect you Wednesday.”

  “Wednesday, we’ll look forward to it.”

  She accompanied him as he carefully made his way down the sidewalk. His wife’s lingering illness had taken its toll on him. Where he had once stood straight and proud, he now was slightly stooped and worn. Her heart ached. What would Franz do without Audrey? They were so close, married young, and had no children. They had no one but each other.

  “Oh, and Vonnie?” Franz called over his shoulder.

  “Yes?”

  “Tell Cammy to put enough sugar in the cobbler this time.” He flashed a grin over his shoulder that reminded Vonnie of a younger, happier man. “Last one was right-down sour.”

  Shaking her head at his good-natured teasing, she waved and laid her packages on the seat of her waiting buggy. She had to hurry. Cammy would be fussing, and Teague would be upset if she wasn’t home before dark.

  The light breeze faded quickly. A stillness lay over the countryside by the time she got home.

  She glanced toward the ostrich pens as she left her buggy for the stable hand, Roel, to unhitch.

  “Mother?” Vonnie called out, dumping her packages on the mahogany deacon’s bench in the foyer.

  The Taylor house was a large, two-story cedar, built by Vonnie’s grandfather, Reginald Edimious Taylor, and his sons. The Italianate Victorian house, with its slightly pitched roof, square towers and round-arched windows, represented more than a home: it was a tribute to the Taylor men’s ingenuity and quality craftsmanship, which had earned them a living in those days.

  “In the kitchen!”

  The click of nails on hardwood floors signaled that Suki, the family mutt, was approaching to extend her usual greeting. Leaping high in the air, she demanded Vonnie’s attention.

  “Down, Suki…yes, I’m happy to see you, too.” She rubbed the dog’s ears, then gave her an affectionate pat. “Come on. Let’s go find Mother.”

  The aroma of frying meat filled the air, and Vonnie followed it to the kitchen at the back of the house. The spacious cooking and eating area was her favorite room in the house. Fourteen windows kept the room light and cheery all year round, and she never tired of the panoramic view. Cammy Taylor was at the stove, dishing up thick slices of ham.

  Cammy, a small, frail-looking woman with the figure of a young girl, looked up. Her laugh was a tinkle, her eyes bright as a bird’s, and she was never certain of anything, she’d tell anyone—except that she’d loved Teague Taylor since she was a girl of fourteen.

  “I was afraid you wouldn’t make it home before dark.”

  “You know Brigette. She can smell the barn a mile away. She was high-stepping by the time we reached the lane. Daddy not in yet?”

  “No, I’ve called him twice, but he’s still out at the pens.”

  Vonnie hung her bonnet on a peg and went to the hutch to get the everyday china. “Mmm, smells good in here.”

  “Daddy wanted ham tonight—and rhubarb pie.”

  “I saw Franz earlier.” Vonnie gathered silverware to set the table.

  “You did? Did he say how Audrey is today?”

  “Not good, I’m afraid.”

  “Well, after supper I’ll have your daddy carry a big piece of pie over to her. She loves rhubarb. Always did, even as a child.”

  Folding napkins, Vonnie placed one beside each plate.

  “I invited them for supper Wednesday night.”

  “Wonderful. The fresh air will do Audrey good. She stays closed up in that house too much.” Dumping collard greens into a bowl, Cammy carried them to the table. “That daddy of yours—Vonnie, go tell him his supper’s getting cold.”

  The words had no sooner left her mouth when the back door opened, and Teague Taylor came in, stomping his feet. Her daddy had always reminded Vonnie of P.K. Baldwin. They were from the same hardy stock: whipcord thin, skin leatherlike from the sun, hair a steel-gray, eyes that squinted permanently into the future.

  “Well, well,” he said, glancing at Cammy, then at Vonnie. “If it isn’t the two prettiest little gals in Potter County.”

  “Oh, go on with you,” Cammy said, waving a long fork in his direction.

  Vonnie was amazed that after thirty-five years, Teague Taylor could still make her mother blush. She smiled, enjoying her parents’ spirited antics. Her mother and dad had an enviable relationship, an affectionate and teasing kind of love that made her long for a marriage like theirs. They’d adopted her young, an infant, but she’d never thought of her birth mother. Cammy was her only mother.

  Cammy carried a bowl of potatoes to the table, brushing past Teague on the way and bumping him pointedly with her hip.

  With a sweep of his arms, Teague scooped his wife off her feet and held her to his chest in a bone-crushing hug. Protesting laughingly, she swatted at him, demanding to be put down.

  Teague and Cammy had that rare relationship, able to weather any crisis that came their way. Theirs was a marriage of respect and mutual trust. A marriage based on love for each other and love of God. Teague and Cammy lived their belief, except for Teague’s unrelenting hatred for P.K. Baldwin. If Vonnie could find a man who would make her half as happy as Teague made Cammy, she’d marry him on the spot.

  But then, that’s exactly what she had done, wasn’t it?

  Kissing her soundly, Teague set Cammy back on her feet, then hugged Vonnie.

  “How you doing, Puddin’?”

  “Good, Dad. How about you?”

  “If I felt any better, you’d have to tie me down!” He pumped a wash pan full of water, splashed his face and reached for a towel. “Order that lace you wanted?”

  “I did. And the buttons. Mr. Beasley’s ordering more Duchesse for me. Should be here in plenty of time to finish the Wilson dress.”

  “Duchesse, huh? I suppose that’s something all womanified and frilly?”

  “
Something like that.” She grinned. Womanified. “How are the birds?”

  “Looking good, ladies. Real good.”

  Cammy slid a pan of biscuits from the oven. “Harold Jenson stopped by this afternoon. Said there was a man in Phoenix interested in buying a pair.”

  “He wants adults?”

  “Harold thought he did—and Lewis Tanner stopped by again. He wants that fifty acres, Teague. He’s offering to pay top price for it.”

  Teague grunted. “I’ll bet he does.”

  “Honestly, you ought to consider his offer. We don’t need the land.”

  “We sure don’t need Lewis’s dirty money. The Good Book says we’re to avoid the appearance of evil, that includes taking money earned in ways God wouldn’t approve. Besides, you know he hates the birds. He’d like nothing better than to see us sell out to someone who’ll run cattle.”

  “You’ll do what you want, but I think the offer’s worth considering.”

  Teague switched the subject. “That’s the third person this month wanting birds. If I keep selling at this rate I won’t have enough roosters for my own flock.” He rubbed a bar of soap to a high lather and scrubbed his elbows.

  “Daddy, I saw Franz when I was in town.”

  Teague kept scrubbing. “Did you?”

  “He sends his best. He and Audrey are coming for supper Wednesday night.”

  Teague rinsed his arms. “Well, your momma will enjoy the company. Hand me a towel there, will you, Puddin’?”

  Vonnie stepped to the hutch to get a hand cloth. “Franz said to tell you to put enough sugar in the cobbler this time, Mom.”

  “You tell Franz Schuyler that I’m baking the cobbler, not him.”

  Handing the towel to her father, Vonnie grinned. “You tell him yourself.”

  “Don’t think that I won’t.”

  Drying off, Teague met her gaze. “Heard you danced with Adam the other night.”

  Vonnie winced. “Mother.”

  “Oh, don’t get all flustered. I remarked to your daddy that it was a shame there was such bad blood between him and P.K. Adam’s a fine man. Not only handsome, but responsible and levelheaded. A woman could do worse.”