Laurel_Bride of Arkansas

by Carra Copelin

  “So, Griffin,” she began. “Are you from Arkansas originally?”

  “I, umm, no. I’m from Texas. I came up here five years ago looking for a job with the Sealy Lumber Mill. I hired on and, shortly after, I married the boss’ daughter. When she passed away last year, I stayed for the job and my girls.”

  “I’m so sorry for your loss. What ages are your girls?”

  “Coral is five and Josie is three.” He smiled. “They’re very sweet and quite precocious.”

  She could see his pride in his children and took that as a good sign toward his temperament and personality. She sipped her tea, and then asked, “Do you still have family living in Texas?”

  “My parents, a cousin and his family live near Dallas.” He took a drink from his cup. “How about you? Any family back East?”

  “My parents and two sisters live in Philadelphia, but we aren’t close. The aunt I lived with in Lawrence passed away several months ago. There’s no one else.”

  There was no reason to say anything more about her father, Peter Weidner or her mother, at this point. As far as her father was concerned, she’d disappeared without a trace and, with any luck, he’d stop looking for her. She’d been careful not to leave a forwarding address with anyone but Violet and she’d already left to meet her groom in North Dakota.

  She knew, though, in her heart her father wouldn’t give up. She also knew he loved her and wanted the best for her. It was just that they had very different ideas as to what was best for her future. What she missed the most was having communication with her mother.

  Adelaide Weidner possessed a sweet, gentle soul, but had been under the complete domination of her husband for the last twenty-five years. She hadn’t ever been mistreated or physically abused, for Peter had given her the best money could buy along with a perfect standing in Philadelphia society. Laurel knew her mother had strength and determination. She’d seen her in action with their staff and had watched her deal with merchants in various situations. The fact that she wouldn’t speak against her husband baffled the imagination. It seemed she allowed her husband to tell her what she really needed or wanted.

  Laurel had decided, as a young girl, she would never surrender that much control to a man. Griffin Benning seemed nice enough now, but she found herself wondering how long it would take for him to show his true colors.

  She suddenly realized he was speaking. She’d been so wrapped up in her own thoughts she’d lost track. Her father had lectured her since childhood about having her head in the clouds.

  “I apologize for not paying attention to the conversation. I’m afraid I was wool gathering.” She smiled and rearranged the napkin in her lap. “What did you say?”

  “I said I’m sorry you’ve lost someone close to you. I know what it’s like.”

  “Thank you, I’m sure you do, being a widower. But hopefully we’ll be able to help each other with those feelings of loss.” She sipped her tea and savored the robust flavor. Quite a nice surprise, since she had no idea what to expect from this part of the country. The books she’d read before boarding the train talked about Indians and outdoor privies. What she’d seen so far had been a pleasant surprise. “Is your home in town?”

  “No, I live alongside the river a few miles south. It isn’t far, though. The location allows for frequent trips into town to get supplies.”

  Griffin tried to read the look on her face, but she wasn’t giving anything away. He flagged down the waitress to place their order and to get a refill for his coffee. He’d been watching her since they’d sat down. The way she carried herself, her table manners, her clothes, her speech . . . everything about Laurel Weidner supported his first impression of her at the train station. Quality. Too nice, maybe, for Flat Rock Point.

  He should probably give her an easy way to back out of their deal and not hold her to their verbal agreement. But he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He had to have a wife. His in-laws would be here with his daughters for Thanksgiving in about three weeks. No, he had to have a wife, no matter what.

  He continued to mull their situation over, and when their food came, he knew what he had to do regardless of what was right or wrong. While Laurel deserved to understand living here wasn’t what she was used to, he needed her to stay to cook, clean, and take care of his girls.

  Half-way through their meal, he started up the conversation again. “You said you’re from Philadelphia?”

  “Yes, I am. Why?”

  “No reason other than you didn’t strike me as the small-town type.” He picked up his cup and drank the last of his coffee. “Our little town may be a few steps below what you’re accustomed to and I can’t have you backing out of our agreement because you can’t handle the differences.”

  She placed her fork on the table beside her plate, squared her shoulders, and folded her hands. “Have you lied about the requirements you placed in your ad?”

  “I have not.”

  “On the surface, have I misrepresented myself or disappointed you in some way?”

  “Not that I know of, but I—”

  “As far as I’m aware, then, I can meet your specifications.” She reached into her reticule and produced a small piece of newspaper. Smoothing the creases, she read, “. . . need wife to keep house and raise 2 daughters . . .’ I’ve stated in my response that I can do this. I am a God fearing woman and am in very good health. If you wish, you may check my teeth. Although I’d appreciate the opportunity to rinse out my mouth.”

  He stared at her for a second, admiring her directness and her determination. He smiled and answered, “That won’t be necessary, but thank you for the offer.”

  She picked up her fork again and leveled her gaze on him. “Griffin, I don’t mean to be difficult or obstinate. It’s just that I’ve entered into an agreement with you and I intend to honor that agreement. I won’t be leaving.”

  “Good.” He picked up his own fork and proceeded to eat. He wondered what had happened to make her come out here by herself to marry a strange man, to face the unknown. What or who was she running from? Was she in trouble with the law? Was he ultimately putting his children in danger?

  No. He answered his own question almost as soon as he had the thought. He’d always been a fair judge of character, had to be in his business of hiring men to work in the logging business. Trust was imperative. They put their lives in each other’s hands every day. It was the same with his family.

  No. Laurel Weidner wasn’t running from the law. She was only escaping a situation life had handed her and now she was the answer to the situation life had handed him. They’d figure it out together.

  He ate the last bite on his plate and saw she had finished as well. “Shall I take you to the hotel so you can freshen up before we go see the preacher? Do you have everything you need?”

  “Yes, thank you.”

  He paid for their food and escorted her out of the café and onto the sidewalk. The Bradford Hotel was just a few doors away and they had an hour before they had to be at the parsonage. An hour before he made the best or worst decision of his life.

  ***

  Laurel took in more of the businesses in the town of Flat Rock Point, as they left the café. The livery sat nearest to the train station on her left, the café, and then the bank. As they crossed the street, she saw the General store, Adams Furniture Store, and Doc Hartsell’s Apothecary.

  The hotel sat next to the Apothecary and down to her right. When they came nearer, she read the sign across the front that proudly stated in bold letters, The Bradford Hotel, Aaron Bradford, Proprietor. The building sat on a corner lot with several columns supporting a grand balcony that graced the two exposed sides. Beautifully scrolled trim adorned the façade.

  She entered through the leaded glass and carved oak door ahead of Griffin. The lobby, she noticed, kept the promise of the exterior with thick floral rugs atop polished wood floors, a carved wooden desk sat beside and slightly behind the wide oak staircase.

  T
hey walked up the stairs to a room that turned out to be on the front side of the building. After he unlocked the door, Laurel walked over to the window and looked out to the street. She turned to face him just as he set her bag onto the foot of the bed and thought the room was as nicely appointed as the downstairs. It had a woman’s touch with soft linens and lace curtains.

  Griffin took his watch from the pocket of his vest. “We have about forty-five minutes before we have to be at the parsonage, so take your time. I’ll go down to the lobby and wait for you there.”

  “All right, I won’t be long.”

  The door had no sooner closed behind him before she collapsed on the edge of the bed beside her bag, and took a deep breath - well as deep as the stays of her corset would allow. She was glad to have a few minutes to herself to think about her new surroundings and her future husband.

  She’d always put a lot of stock in first impressions, and so far, Mr. G. Benning, or Griffin, or Griff, seemed very nice. He seemed to be of strong character and a little bit nervous, which was sweet. He was handsome, not an ogre with a single eye, bulbous nose, or thin lips. As a matter of fact he had quite pleasant brown eyes, both soft and kind, and a mouth that took her to thoughts a proper young lady had no business thinking about.

  Shaking her head to clear her thoughts, she stood, opened her bag, and retrieved her face cream to remove some of the grime and grit, and her favorite sachet. She also removed the lace and eyelet blouse she’d packed at the last minute. It had seemed silly and frivolous at the time, but now she would wear it for her wedding dress. A few minutes later, she viewed her reflection in the mirror. Her lips were naturally a soft deep pink, so she didn’t need rouge and she’d bitten her bottom lip to plump it up, but she looked pale. A quick pinch to her cheeks for a subtle blush and she pronounced herself presentable. She only hoped her groom thought so, too.

  ***

  Griffin left Laurel sitting on the porch swing while he went inside the parsonage in search of the preacher.

  “Brother Waggoner?” He walked to the office where he’d found the preacher on his previous visit, and knocked on the partially open door. When he entered the sparsely furnished room, he called out, “Owen, are you here?”

  “Yes, Brother Benning, come in.” The middle-aged preacher stood behind his desk putting on his black coat. “I’m assuming, since you’re here, a marriage ceremony is taking place?”

  “It is, if we’re still on your schedule.”

  “That you are. I’ll go let Tildie know.”

  “Thank you, Owen.”

  Griffin retraced his steps to the porch where he’d left Laurel. She was still on the swing gently rocking back and forth, fanning herself with her hand. The weather was warm for October, and he’d thought she’d be cooler outside with even a small breeze than to take her inside the oven-like house. Rain would help the temperature considerably, but they were in the middle of a drought that didn’t appear to be ending anytime soon.

  Joining her on the swing, he let her know what was happening. “The preacher will come get us as soon as he’s ready.”

  “All right, excuse me.” She stood and walked to the corner next to the railing around the porch.

  “What do you need?”

  “Nothing. I’m just . . . tired, I suppose. It’s been a long day.”

  “I’m sure you are. I’d planned on dinner at the hotel restaurant, but if you’d like, we can go straight to the hotel after we’re married.”

  “Oh, here you are!” A woman with salt and pepper hair and an ample bosom swept over to them from inside the house and pulled Laurel into a hug. The fragrance of vanilla surrounded her. “You must be Laurel, I’m Matilda Waggoner, Owen’s wife. I don’t think you’ve met him yet, he’s finishing up something in the office and will be ready soon for the ceremony. Come with me, dear, we’ll go into the kitchen and have some tea while the men get all the paperwork filled out. I can’t wait to get to know you, call me, Tildie, by the way, everybody does.”

  By the time the woman stopped talking long enough to catch a breath, Laurel was sitting at the kitchen table with an empty cup in front of her. She smiled. She knew nothing about this Tildie, but she liked her.

  “So tell me, dear, did you just get in this morning?”

  “Yes, on the eleven—”

  “The eleven o’clock, yes, that’s the one. Always on time, don’t think I ever remember Titus running late.” Tildie poured hot water from the kettle into the tea pot and reset the lid. After she set the kettle on the stove, she joined Laurel at the table. “I hope you don’t mind, I’ve invited some guests over after the ceremony to meet you.”

  “Tildie, that’s nice but a lot for one day.”

  “It’s just a few of the ladies from the congregation. It won’t take long, and then you and Griffin can settle in for the evening.” She poured their tea, added milk and sugar, and picked up the conversation where she’d stopped. “Several of our loggers have had wives come in from out of town and I’ve found introducing them right away helps them in their transition to life here. But, of course, if you’d rather not . . .”

  This wasn’t a traditional marriage. Hers and Griffin’s courtship had consisted of a couple of letters and a lunch for goodness sake, but Laurel knew the importance of making a good impression. No matter where you were, it mattered what people thought of you. “I think a small reception would be lovely, Tildie. How very thoughtful.”

  “Good.” Tildie beamed. “I think you’ll like everyone.”

  “Now, Matilda, don’t overwhelm the girl.” The man Laurel assumed was the preacher entered the kitchen with Griffin.

  Tildie blushed like a school girl when the man kissed the top of her head. “Laurel, this is my husband, Owen Waggoner. He’ll marry you and Griffin today.”

  “It’s very nice to meet you, sir.” She thought the two complimented each other well and wondered if she and Griffin ever would. It was certain they’d have a number of issues to work through before they could co-exist comfortably.

  “If you two are ready, we can have the ceremony now," Owen said.

  “We might as well get it done.” Her groom seemed resolute.

  “I agree.” Laurel knew it was unreasonable to want the things a bride normally would have liked to have, like a bouquet, a bridesmaid . . . a proposal. A real proposal, not merely an ad and a couple of letters. Unfortunately, when she made this choice, she relinquished any resemblance of normal. Adapting his tone, she agreed, “Let’s get this over with.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  Laurel stood with Griffin before Brother Waggoner in front of the window in the parlor as they repeated their vows. She admired the ring on her finger as the late afternoon sunlight glinted off the gold band. She hadn’t expected Griffin to have a ring for her and felt badly she didn’t have one for him. While men didn’t traditionally wear them, her father did and she liked the idea. He squeezed her hand and when she looked closer she couldn’t tell where her hand stopped and his began. A moment of panic hit her and she attempted to pull away, but he held fast.

  Somewhere in the background she heard Brother Waggoner say, “From this day forward you will be one in mind, one in heart, and by the grace of God, one in eternal destiny. Believing it is God who truly joins a couple together in marriage, let no man put it asunder. Griffin, you may now kiss your bride.”

  She lifted her gaze to find him watching her closely. He lowered his head and touched his lips to hers, lightly at first and then with more pressure. When he pulled away, she instantly felt his absence. Literally her first kiss, she hadn’t known what to expect. Her body over heated beyond the stifling temperature of the room and she felt light-headed. She swayed and, before her knees buckled, his arm wrapped around her waist keeping her upright.

  “Breathe, Laurel.”

  “I . . . I can’t,” she whispered, gasping for air. She didn’t know what was happening to her, perhaps her stays were too tight, but she was determined not to embarrass
herself by fainting. A breeze cooled her skin and she realized Tildie’s fan stirred the air around her face. Slowly, she began to feel better, and eased away from him.

  “Are you feeling better? Do you need to lie down?” he asked, his voice thick with concern.

  Tildie spoke up, “Yes, bring her to the back room. She can rest for a while before the reception.”

  “Thank you,” Laurel said quickly, lest she be whisked away. “I’m feeling much better.”

  “What reception?”

  “Tildie has been very thoughtful and arranged for a few guests to stop by after the ceremony so I can meet a few of the residents.”

  “Well, that’s—”

  “Very nice, Griffin.” She gave him a pointed look, telling him to understand Tildie’s grand gesture. It was the first one of their life together as a married couple.

  “Maybe we should finish up here and go back to the hotel,” he suggested.

  “No, I think I just overheated in the closeness of the room.” She didn’t dare tell him it was her nerves and the reality of the moment that started her heart racing or that his kiss stole her breath. She didn’t know him yet, but refused to allow him that kind of power over her. “I want to stay.”

  “You’re sure?” he persisted.

  “Yes, I’m fine.” She’d avoided his gaze, afraid he might be laughing at her but, when she looked up at him, he wasn’t even smiling. Was he upset with her? Did he think her weak and possibly unable to handle her end of their bargain?

  “Well then, Mrs. Benning, may I escort you to the garden?” He held out his arm.

  She slid her hand into the crook of his elbow to allow him to escort her outside to the reception and her initial exposure to the women of Flat Rock Point. Raised in Philadelphia society, this was what she’d been trained to do. She wouldn’t embarrass her new husband.