She did her best to beat some of the dust from her skirt but saw that it was no use. He would have to take her the way she was. It was his own fault, after all, for not wanting to come to Lewiston to meet her. She’d learned he had paid the minister an extra five dollars to escort her to Greer’s Ferry and perform the ceremony there.
The swaying of the ferry stopped. Her hands, fisted in her lap, were white-knuckled, but she lifted her chin. You can deal with this! Hadn’t she survived Uncle Jackson all these years? If she could survive his beatings, then she could survive the abuses of any man. Hadn’t she proved that with Hank? Moving out of Uncle Jackson’s house to move in with Hank had been like jumping from the frying pan into the fire. She still had nightmares about Hank, but she was alive. She would be fine. But she must be strong.
Yet she could taste fear at the back of her mouth.
These past months, traveling west, she had not been beaten or abused once. Could she truly put herself back into such an environment? There was no doubt that life here would be the same as back in St. Louis. All men were the same : Father, Uncle Jackson, Hank. She shut her mind off from that line of thinking. She would not dwell on the past; she needed all of her strength to face the future.
She took the hand that the minister offered and stepped out into the bright sunlight, raising one hand to shade her eyes from the glare.
Sky watched the ferry cross the river, wishing he wasn’t here, yet knowing he couldn’t be anywhere else. Holding a single, yellow, dark-centered daisy in one hand, he reached with the other to flick an invisible speck of dust from the sleeve of his black suit coat. Black, perfectly creased pants encased his legs, tapering down to his highly polished black boots. His black Stetson protected his eyes from the glaring sun as he looked out over the river considering his present situation.
Would there really be a woman on board who had come this far to marry Jason? Of course, she doesn’t know what Jason is like, or she’d never have agreed to marry him. Then again, maybe she would have. What did he know of the woman coming across the river? Perhaps she would be a bawdy, boisterous madam, just Jason’s type. But then he remembered Jason’s description of her. “Young and pretty” had been his words. No, he didn’t think the woman would be risqué, but he found himself wondering what she would be like. It doesn’t matter—no woman deserves to be left to Jason.
She won’t be beautiful, though. She wouldn’t be coming west to find a husband if she had any hope of finding one back home. With this thought in mind, he cleared his vision of the beautiful Victoria Snyder, his childhood sweetheart who lived back home in Shilo, and prepared himself for the task at hand. Reaching up, he straightened the string tie at his throat and banished all concern about Jason. The Lord knew about his future, and this gave Sky the peace he needed to face the decision he had made.
The stage pulled off the ferry with squeaking wheels and the minister descended. “It’s now or never, old boy,” Sky mumbled to himself as he sauntered toward the coach, twirling the daisy between his fingers.
He stopped several yards off as a small, dusty hand grasped the minister’s, and a woman stepped down to the ground. She reached one hand up to shade her eyes from the glare of the sun and Sky saw her apprehensive fear. He knew at that moment he’d done the right thing in coming. All his doubts fled. Jason would have thoroughly ravished the enchanting creature before him, destroying her serene spirit.
She was beautiful. Very beautiful. Her hair, though covered in dust, was a curly reddish-blond. Large blue eyes peered out from a tanned face accentuated by high cheekbones and a full, soft mouth. A vulnerable expression tightened her features, and his heart constricted in his chest. Her uncertainty gave her magnetic charm. He took a step closer. She bit her lower lip, drawing his attention to her mouth momentarily before it snapped back to her eyes. Blinking in the sunlight, she slowly focused on his face, her lips pinched together. She’s scared to death!
Sky saw the surprise in her eyes as they adjusted to the glare of the sun and came to rest on him. He stepped forward, smiled lightly, and lifting his hat, nodded in her direction. “Ma’am, it’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” He held out the daisy like a peace offering, watching her carefully, his eyes never leaving her face.
She looked down at the flower but did not move for several seconds. Then she took it with one slender hand and glanced back up into his face.
Lifting the daisy slightly, her generous mouth serious, she said, “Thank you.” The words held the note of a question, and her voice was moderated so low that he almost couldn’t hear what she said.
Sky felt his heart go out to her as he again realized how apprehensive she must be. He wanted to smooth the fearful frown off her brow, but he simply nodded, and they stood looking at one another. He wondered what she was thinking.
She was the first to avert her gaze, bringing her hands together in front of her. Her next words captivated Sky: “If you don’t mind...” All color in her face disappeared and something flashed in her eyes. Was it fear? She quickly schooled her features and brought her eyes back to his.
When she spoke again, her words sounded strained. “I would like to clean up before the ceremony.” A slight lift of her chin and a glint of determination in her eyes dared him to tell her no, yet her chin trembled slightly.
He carefully kept his curiosity from showing on his face and attempted to put her at ease. “It’s a dusty ride down the grade.” He gestured across the river to the trail she and her fellow passengers had descended and smiled. “I’ve made that trip on several occasions myself.” Holding his hand out toward the log cabin that functioned as the sleeping quarters at Greer’s Ferry, he added, “I don’t mind waiting.” It was the truth. He was still having a hard time believing that he was here, considering marriage. And to a woman I’ve only just met. He wanted a few more minutes to think things through.
A look of gratitude crossed her face. Nodding serenely, she turned, picked up her small carpet bag, and headed toward the building.
Brooke sighed in relief, clutching the handle on her bag with both hands as she entered the little log cabin. It had two rooms. The front room contained several bunks, a wood stove, and a long table constructed out of logs sawn in half and laid side by side with the flat sides up. Various utensils hung from pegs above the black stove where a pot of coffee perked cheerfully. The smell of venison stew wafted through the cabin.
The heels of her boots echoed on the rough plank floor as Jack Greer led her to the second room in the cabin.
“You can clean up in here,” he informed her kindly. He glanced down at her hands and his face softened.
She realized her double-fisted, white-knuckled grip revealed more than she wanted others to know.
“If you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask.”
She nodded mutely, wishing she could think of something to say. As he left, closing the door, she collapsed onto the edge of the bed, her quaking legs unable to hold her upright any longer. She stared at the wall for several minutes before her thoughts began to register coherently.
She glanced around. This room held a double bed and a chest of drawers.
A small wash basin sat next to the door, fresh water filling the blue pitcher on the table near it. Light flooded the room from the window in the back wall, illuminating a table and two chairs that sat against the wall across from her.
Her thoughts wandered to the man who’d met her when she stepped off the stage. He was very attractive. But that didn’t stop the shaking of her limbs as she pulled her dress off over her head. She was thankful that...what was his name? Jordan...? Jason...? She bit her lip. That’s just great. I can’t even remember his name. Well, at least he doesn’t look anything like those dour old men did yesterday. Still, she had found Hank attractive too. A man’s looks had nothing to do with the way he acted.
Thoughts of the evening ahead assailed her and she glanced at the room’s one window. What would her chances of survival be if she mad
e a run for it? She walked over to it, but the window had no latch and couldn’t be opened. Sighing, she returned to her bag. Your only option is to go through with this. You have nowhere else to go.
Pulling her hand mirror out of her bag, she examined her reflection, wrinkling her nose in disgust at the dirt she saw on her face. Pouring some water into the basin, she washed her face and arms as best she could and then, seeing no towel, dried them on her petticoat, which mercifully had missed most of the dust. Pulling the pins from her hair she brushed it out, plaited a braid, and coiled it at the back of her neck. Wispy curls fell out and framed her ashen face, but she did not take time to tuck them back in.
Removing her only other dress from her bag, a dark green full-skirted frock that had once belonged to her mother, she gave it a brisk snap to dispel any dust that might be on it and settled it over her head. It was her nicest dress and she felt thankful that she had decided against wearing it on the trip. The fitted bodice had a V of cream lace that came down to just above the nipped-in waist. The full skirt and puffed sleeves of the dress accentuated her slender curves, and the dark green material made her eyes look like emeralds instead of sapphires.
After shaking out her dark blue dress, she folded it up and placed it neatly into her bag with the brush on top. She smoothed the front of her skirt with nervous hands. I’ve already taken far longer than necessary. I can do this!
She opened the door and peeked into the outer room. None of the men were inside. As she started to cross the room, she remembered the daisy. No man had ever given her flowers before. It had been a touching gesture. A spark of hope had sprung to life in her heart when he handed her the daisy, but she had quickly smothered it lest the pain of the inevitable abuse be too much to bear.
Turning back, she retrieved the flower and then made her way outside into the golden sunshine.
Conversation ceased as she stepped out and all eyes turned toward her. The admiration on their faces only added to the turmoil in her soul. She had seen firsthand what admiration could do. It was Hank’s admiration of her beauty that had first drawn him to her.
But this was her wedding day, and she determined to ignore the looks. A gust of wind blew a strand of hair into her eyes. Reaching up with one hand, she tucked the curl behind her ear, her eyes coming to rest on the face of the man she was to marry. Somehow his look was different from all the rest. He was not smiling, but she saw something in his face. What? Concern? Was he worried about her, or was he having second thoughts about marrying her? She fleetingly hoped he might reject her. She would be fine with that. But it wasn’t rejection she glimpsed. What then? It wasn’t an expression she’d seen on any man’s face before.
The minister was the first to break the silence. Gesturing to the hard-packed dirt in front of the cabin, he asked quietly, “Shall we commence?”
Her soon-to-be husband stepped forward and offered her his arm. She stepped up beside him, facing the minister, the yellow daisy clutched in her hand like a lifeline.
Skipping the “dearly beloved” speech she’d heard at so many weddings back home, the black-coated minister launched immediately into the vows. “Do you, Brooke Baker, take this man to be your husband? Do you promise to love him, honor him, and obey him until death do you part?”
Brooke hesitated only a moment before she said quietly, “I do.”
“And do you, Jason Jordan—” The minister’s words were cut off as the man beside her raised a finger.
“Skyler. Skyler Jordan.”
Brooke looked up at him, surprised, and the minister, taken aback, glanced down at the names before him, as though to be sure he had read correctly. He paused only a moment, though, then continued, “Do you, Skyler Jordan, take this woman to be your wife? To love her, honor, cherish, and keep her until death do you part?”
“I do.” Skyler’s voice was firm.
Skyler! Why couldn’t I remember that?
“Then by the power invested in me, I now pronounce you Husband and Wife.” The minister stepped back, his expression saying he was pleased with a job well done. Clasping his hands in front of him, he looked back and forth between them expectantly, his eyes twinkling.
Brooke’s heart sank. They were supposed to kiss.
At first Skyler stood still and unmoving. Then he faced her.
Brooke called on every ounce of self-control in her body to prevent herself from running for the safety of the cabin. She looked up as her new husband ran a hand back through his curly blond hair and resettled his hat, a pained expression in his deep brown eyes.
After a moment more, the minister cleared his throat and frowned. “You may kiss the bride.”
Skyler stepped closer, his movements deliberate and casual. Her heartbeat thundered in her ears.
He placed his hands gently on her upper arms and gazed down at her. She wondered what he could be thinking. Then, his dark eyes holding hers, he lowered his head, his lips brushing hers for the briefest of seconds.
Her tense shoulders relaxed as thankfulness coursed through her. He had not kissed her possessively as she had seen so many of the men do the day before. Maybe he really was the gentleman he appeared to be.
But her quick cynicism returned, reminding her it couldn’t be true. So! He’s the type that likes to appear the gentleman in public.
A spattering of applause greeted them as he stepped back from her, and
Jack Greer called out, “Congratulations!” Then, turning to the small group of men, he gestured toward the cabin and called, “Grubs on! Come and get it.”
Brooke rubbed the stem of the daisy nervously between her palms, its head twirling crazily in a yellow blur, as the men began to turn toward the cabin, leaving her alone with Skyler.
Percival was the only one who approached her. Holding out his hand, he said, “My congratulations, ma’am. This gentleman here,” he nodded toward Skyler, “is one lucky fellow.”
She smiled at him, allowing him to bow over her hand and offering a murmured thank you, then watched his back as headed toward dinner.
When Skyler did not move for some time, she looked toward him, suddenly aware of the rushing river only paces away. Long fingers draped casually over the front of his pockets, he stood, hands resting on slim hips, his black suit jacket pushed open. He watched her intently. What’s he thinking? His deep brown eyes were disconcerting, and she turned her gaze to the twisting golden daisy, trying to calm the deluge of butterflies in her stomach.
But he never looked away in the long silence that followed. Finally, out of pure curiosity, she peered back up at him.
“Are you hungry?” he asked gently.
She shook her head, not trusting her voice.
“You should try and eat something; you’ve had a long day.”
When she still did not answer, he took her elbow and turned her toward the house. “How was your trip, other than the last stretch?” He grinned down at her, even white teeth contrasting with his deeply tanned face. His smile was meant to ease her tension, she was sure, but it only added to it.
“It was fine,” she managed, before her throat closed completely. This was the time she had been dreading since before the wagon train had left St. Louis. She had told herself she was strong enough to handle the abuse any man meted out to her, but memories of past anguish caused her heart to rebel against her mind’s logic. She did not want to go through this again. She berated herself for allowing his apparent kindness and good looks to soften her estimation of him even in a small measure. It would only make the inevitable all the harder to bear.
As they entered the dimly lit cabin, all her fears were confirmed. Jack turned toward them with a knowing smile. “You two newlyweds will have my room for the night. There’s food on the table in your room.” He paused, a twinkle in his eye as he looked at Skyler, and said conspiratorially, “I didn’t know if you would want to eat now or later.”
Brooke suddenly wondered why she’d thought this man was so kind earlier.
Skyler nodded in his direction, touching the brim of his hat, but there was no amusement in his eyes as he placed his hand in the middle of her back and gently guided her toward the room she had used earlier.
Visions of Uncle Jackson’s whip and Hank’s fists danced through her mind. She didn’t know what to expect from this man, but she knew that if he were anything like the men she had known, it would not be pleasant. Her heart clawed at her throat as she walked woodenly into the room, and Skyler turned and shut the door behind them. She jumped as the latch clicked and knew by the soft clearing of his throat that he had noticed.
He walked slowly to where she stood, twirling the now limp daisy between her palms, and rested his hands lightly on her upper arms. She tensed noticeably, hating herself for her weakness as tears pooled in her eyes and her legs quivered. Past experience had taught her that things only got worse if you tried to resist, so she waited helplessly.
She was surprised when he led her not to the bed but to one of the chairs at the table, easing her down into it. Taking the daisy from her, he laid it next to her plate. Squatting down on the balls of his feet, he pushed his hat back and looked into her face. She glanced at him momentarily but then turned to stare stubbornly at a knot on the pine-wood wall, not wanting to meet his dark, penetrating eyes. As he placed one hand gently on her cheek, she stiffened. With gentle pressure he turned her face toward him. She looked at him for a brief second, glanced away, and then looked back, studying him intently.
“I will not hurt you.” His voice was low and tender. “I promise not to touch you until you say it’s okay.”
She searched his face, hoping to find truth there, yet unable to believe she would.
His face was placid as she studied him. His fingers trailed down her cheek as his hand dropped back into his lap and he reaffirmed, “I promise. You have nothing to fear from me.”
Placing her hands over her face, she couldn’t stop the sobs wracking her body as relief washed over her. After only a few seconds, ashamed she had shown such weakness, she stopped as suddenly as she had begun. Pulling herself together, she smoothed her tears away with the flats of her fingers, got up slowly, and walked to the bed. Removing one pillow and the top blanket, she held them out toward him. His eyes never leaving her face, he came closer to accept her offering.
The Joy of the Morning: A serialized historical Christian romance. (Sonnets of the Spice Isle Book 6) Page 11
