“Thank you.” Her throat grabbed tight and she could say no more.
With measured steps, they advanced down the church’s center aisle.
Libbie thought of making her family proud and walked with her shoulders back and her head up, focusing her gaze on the waiting tall, dark-haired man.
Beside him stood a middle-aged man wearing a black suit and a gray scarf that hung past his waist.
During the last few steps, she glanced at the glowing sconces on the back wall and two tall candles burning on a side table next to the thick book Hazel had carried.
“Good afternoon, young lady. I’m Pastor Reynolds.” He smiled, and the skin around his blue eyes crinkled.
“P-Pastor.” Libbie dipped her chin, embarrassed at the catch in her voice. Now that the moment was here she couldn’t fight the anxiety. What if this choice was the biggest mistake of her life? Maybe she should have fought harder to stay in Boston, at least until she’d received word from one of her brothers.
“Normally, I would already know these details, but special circumstances exist today.” He leaned forward and whispered, “Please tell me your full given name.”
“Libbie Anke Van Eycken.”
“And, miss, seeing no family to speak on your behalf, I must ask. Do you assert you have no encumbrances preventing this marriage from taking place?”
What can he mean? Frowning, she angled toward Dell and looked upward.
One side of his mouth quirked, then he winked. “He’s asking if you’re unwed and have made no promises to anyone but me.”
She jerked her head to gaze at the pastor. “I assure you I have not.” Her eyes rounded. “I mean, I am not married nor am I affianced.” Her hands shook, and she pulled the bouquet close to her waist. If only the ritual wasn’t so confusing. “I am ready to be married to this man.”
Dell released the flowers from her hold and held them out to his side until Maida rushed forward to claim them. “Libbie, take a breath.” He covered her clasped hands with his own and held tight. “The words are a formality. I know you made your pledge in good faith.”
Looking into his light brown eyes as he spoke and listening to his baritone voice calmed her. Already she looked to him for reassurances, which must speak well of their future.
“All right. Family and fri—uh, family, we are gathered here in God’s house to witness and bless the pledge of love and fidelity Miss Libbie Anke Van Eycken and Mister Arndell Hart Stirling are to make to one another.” Pastor Reynolds glanced at their joined hands, nodded, and then read from the book he held open in his hands. “Dell, do you wish to have this woman as a wife, and to esteem her, to honor, hold and protect her, healthy and sick, just as a husband ought to do for a wife, and to cling to her so long as your life and hers will endure?”
“I do wish.”
“Libbie, do you wish to have this man as a husband, to obey him, to serve, esteem, honor, and guard him, healthy and sick just as a wife ought to do for a husband, and to forsake all other men, and to cling to him as long as your life and his will endure?”
The promises rang in her ears, sounding so important and weighty—like ones that only an older person with more experience in life would make. Or at least one who knew what a wife ought to do for a husband. Guilt at her lack of housekeeping skills stabbed her conscience. Maybe she should have found a way to mention that fact. The pressure of Dell’s fingers brought her wandering thoughts back to the ceremony. “I do so wish.”
The pastor reached toward the middle of his bible and held up a shiny gold ring. “This ring is given as a symbol of your spoken pledge.”
Dell plucked the ring from the pastor’s fingers. He slid his hand under hers so it laid flat, and then he slipped the slim band onto the proper finger. “This ring proclaims my vow to cherish a life we will build together, along with any children granted us.”
His intense gaze captured hers, making her pulse pound like a goema drum. She heard the conviction in his voice and believed his words. “I, too, look forward to making a life at your side.”
“You both have stated your promises and made pledges to one another here in this house of worship.” Pastor Reynolds held his hand near Dell’s head then moved to Libbie’s as he continued speaking. “The Lord’s blessings are upon this marriage of Libbie and Dell. Now you may seal your vows with a wedding kiss.” Smiling as each in turn, he stepped back.
As she turned to gaze upon her new husband, Libbie held her breath. Why did this first kiss have to be in front of others? Her wish would have been for privacy, to enjoy the sensations she’d been anticipating since seeing Dell on the sun porch.
Dell slid a hand along her neck, his thumb caressing her jaw as he lowered his head. His other hand gripped her waist, holding her in place.
Libbie anchored a hand on his forearm and stood on tip-toes to meet his mouth. The tug of his moving lips excited, making her own tingle. She stretched higher, closing her eyes and wanting more of the sensations that make her blood pound in her ears.
When he eased away, he huffed out a breath and spoke her name.
She blinked and looked upward, amazed that her lips felt so warm.
Dell’s cinnamon-eyed gaze watched her, then he smiled.
The Stirling family stepped forward and gave their hearty congratulations to the wedded couple. The men shook hands, and Libbie received hugs and cheek kisses from everyone.
The specialness of the moment still clung to her thoughts. Her responses were faintly spoken and probably didn’t sound sincere. The ring dangled on her finger, and she kept her fist half closed to keep from losing it.
Following the pastor’s instructions, they watched as he recorded the date of the ceremony, their birthdates, and their names in the family bible.
Dell reached for Libbie’s left hand, tucked it in the crook of his elbow, and then started down the aisle.
Moments later, the entire group exited out the double doors and stood on the boardwalk in front of the church.
“Dad, will you see that Libbie gets back to the livery?” Dell moved his hand to Libbie’s lower back and pressed her forward. “Sergio should be waiting to drive her to the ranch.”
“What? You’re not taking me to our home?” She really hadn’t meant for her voice to rise in anxiety. Didn’t he realize she was adrift here in this new place? That she’d barely had a chance to take a breath since the train stopped at the depot. But of course he didn’t, because he wasn’t there to greet her when she arrived.
Dell turned and pressed a hand to her shoulder. “I have to report Clancy’s theft to the sheriff. I don’t know how long that will take. Sometimes he’s out walking his rounds of the town, and I have to track him down.”
So the bull is more important than me? “But, this person─”
“Sergio is the ranch’s farrier, and he’s a real nice man. Before I arrived at my folks’ house, I asked him to wait at the livery to drive you to the ranch. Once you’re there, feel free to explore the house. Or maybe you’ll want to rest up or unpack─” He frowned then glanced at his dad. “Is her luggage at the livery? I didn’t see any bags at the depot.”
Lifting a staying hand, William nodded. “We’ll take care of her, son.”
“Plus, we’ll send along some of the leftovers from the noon meal so she doesn’t have to cook on her wedding night.” Hazel shot her son a frown. “No bride should.” Then she turned to Libbie and smiled. “Don’t worry about the dishes I’m sending, either. I won’t need them back until you come to town the next time, even if that’s not until the Harvest Dance on Saturday.”
Libbie forced a smile to acknowledge Hazel’s kindness. Her study of the cookbook had only been sporadic and the directions contained terms she didn’t know. She hadn’t given a thought to preparing food and would be glad for whatever was sent. That her husband seemed willing to leave her to an employee showed the marriage was more of a business-like arrangement. The type of security she’d thought she wanted while sitting in her Boston b
edroom had centered only on a stable place. Although reciting the wedding pledges and seeing the warmth in his gaze lifted her hopes for something more, she must have been mistaken about his intentions. She could now shift her thoughts to her birds. Raising healthy ostriches and building a profitable business would be her focus. Eventually, this place might feel like home.
Libbie watched her husband stride in the opposite direction, hoping he’d look back to give a final wave. A small gesture to bestow but one that might show he still felt the connection created as they’d stood in the sacred space and made their promises.
Instead, Dell kept walking, turned the corner, and moved out of sight.
At that moment, she realized the gold ring on her finger assured her a house, but did not guarantee her a place to belong.
Chapter Five
The moon hung low above the horizon when Dell caught the first sight of the barn’s silhouette. Tracking the rustlers’ trail had taken longer than either he or Nascha anticipated. When he’d placed Libbie into his father’s care, his intention had not been to leave his bride alone for so many hours. Unfortunately, plans often had to be modified. The Bar S’s future depended on maintaining a strong bloodline in coming generations of calves. Clancy was essential for that purpose.
Surprising the gang of rustlers at their campfire on the outskirts of Seligman had been to the trackers’ advantage. The bull was recovered with only a couple warning shots and no bloodshed. At this hour, all the animals were tired and the horses seemed content to move at the bull’s plodding pace.
Normally, Dell gave his entire focus to the task at hand. But several times during the afternoon and evening, he’d his thoughts straying to what Libbie might be doing. Had she been pleased by the look of his…their house? The way the setting sun lit up the back porch, inviting a person to linger in one of the wooden rockers until the last golden streak disappeared. From that position, he had a clear view of the corral and could watch the horses enjoy their last stretch of freedom for the day. As a person who grew up on a ranch, she’d appreciate that prospect. He thought of times to come when they would take their coffee on that very porch after enjoying a pleasant meal.
The thought of food made his stomach rumble. Since dinner at his parents’ house, he’d eaten only a couple strips of jerked beef. That meager sustenance has long since disappeared from his belly.
Finally, they crested the last rise and walked into the area behind the barn. But something didn’t look right. Where he should be able to look through the corral rails straight to the back of the house instead stood a solid wall. Of what? “Hey, what’s this?” He jerked his chin toward the corral.
Nascha reined in Strider and dismounted. “Thought you knew.”
The Navajo proved his value tonight by tracking the rustlers, but he often was a man of too few words. Dell mirrored the other man’s action, wincing when he put his weight on his tired legs. A few long steps brought them to the horse trough, and he waited while Sparkly drank his fill. “Knew what?”
The tall man walked beside his horse and gave a nonchalant shrug. “Not my story to tell.”
If that didn’t sound ominous. Dell couldn’t think of any task the hands would have completed that brought this change. With a click-cluck of his tongue to get Sparky moving, he trudged into the back of the barn and moved toward the tack room. Removing the saddle and brushing down the gelding’s coat were completed with as much efficiency as possible─the actions repeated so often his movements were performed by rote.
Then he headed for the house, hoping that maybe Libbie’d left on a light to ease his arrival or provide a welcoming light in the darkness. As he crossed the ground, he debated about lighting a lantern and inspecting what had created this unexpected change. Tonight he was too tired to go wandering around to see what was different. Like he did every night, he set his boots on the shoe rack to the side of the back door and let himself into the kitchen.
On the off-chance she’d left him a plate of food from whatever she’d prepared for her own supper, he pulled down the door to the warmer over the range. Empty. As he treaded softly down the hallway, he figured they needed to have a talk tomorrow about how to handle this type of situation. Which had probably happened a time or two on her family’s Australian ranch. One thing a rancher did not enjoy was regular hours. Instead, he turned back the cloth cover from a partial loaf stored in the wooden bread box on the counter and tore off a hunk. Chewing as he trod a well-known path through the house, he didn’t bother with lighting a lantern. He walked up the stairs, skipping the fourth one to avoid the annoying creak, and turned right at the landing.
Regret at the way he’d handled Libbie’s arrival weighed heavy on his mind. Not that he’d had a specific plan, but he’d anticipated seeing her disembark from the train. Being the one to get the first glimpse had danced through his thoughts since he’d first received her response. That it had been a telegram added a bit of mystery. He had thought of a couple different ways to welcome her to his hometown. Nothing elaborate but he had wanted to point out his favorite spots, and maybe toss in a funny story or two. True be told, he’d wanted to show off his delicate blonde beauty to any who happened to be on the street. He had the definite impression that his mother was not pleased he’d dashed off to make the theft report to the sheriff.
As he tiptoed toward his bedroom at the end of the hallway, he regretted the missed opportunity to discuss the sleeping arrangements with Libbie. He’d read somewhere, probably in the Grooms’ Gazette, that couples often agreed to setting a length of time before sharing the marriage bed. A logical arrangement for a maiden, but probably not necessary for too many grooms. Another subject to be discussed in the light of day.
Tiredness dragged at his muscles. All he wanted was a mattress under his body and the quiet of his room. Padding on stockinged feet, he crossed the bare wood floors to the edge of his bed. Piled on the mattress were the same rumpled blankets he’d left the previous day. He tugged the tails of his shirt, or Skip’s shirt, from his belted waistband and started to pull it over his head.
But something nudged at his conscience. The vows he’d spoken just hours earlier had somehow gotten under his skin, almost tattooed with hot quill and ink. Responsibility nagged. He had to know where Libbie was, which room she’d chosen as her own, because no sign existed she’d even set foot in this one. Only then could he lie down and rest.
A sense of protectiveness drove him back into the hallway. He checked the bedroom he’d shared with Skip while growing up, but both beds were undisturbed. Suddenly, he had to see her, to know that she was all right. He turned to the last door, Maida’s previous bedroom, realizing this is where he should have looked first. A woman would be drawn to the room with the feminine additions of lacy curtains, embroidered cloth on the bureau, and a flowered quilt covering the straw-stuffed mattress. The door hinge squeaked a bit, making him wince, then he eased open the door and stuck his head inside.
No small body laid on the mattress. He inhaled and moved to the side table, fished a matchstick from the small box, and scraped the head against the rough strip. A light flared, he lit the wick, and replaced the glass chimney. After adjusting the flame, the room came into sharper relief. A piece of tall luggage sat open on the floor in the corner with various items of ladies clothing visible.
A long relieved breath whooshed between his lips. Finally, proof of her presence here at the Bar S. That an accident hadn’t befallen her and Sergio on the trip from town. Again, guilt at not being the one to bring her to the ranch ate at him. But surely, after hearing his explanation, she would understand how important the bull was.
The need to find Libbie intensified. The upstairs was empty of her presence, so that left the downstairs. Was she in the parlor? Had she waited up, thinking to greet him when he arrived, and then fallen asleep? He paused with his hand on the stair railing, thinking of how having someone waiting each night would feel.
No longer caring about the noise he made, h
e clambered down the stairs, his footfalls echoing in the silence. Holding the lantern over his head to cast the widest light, he moved into the chilly room and froze, not believing what he found. Moving only his head, he searched the room. The sofa and both armchairs were empty—meaning she wasn’t inside the house.
His gut clenched. Married less than a day, and he couldn’t keep track of his new wife. “Libbie.” Her name came out as a whisper, and the strangled sound broke his immobility. He dashed back through the kitchen and out onto the porch. A scan of the immediate area showed no movement. The bunkhouse was dark, but surely she wouldn’t be sleeping there. The cow hands would have more sense than to let her stay inside. That fact he knew for certain.
After grabbing his boots off the rack, he upended them and gave them a good shake to be sure a scorpion hadn’t climbed inside. Nothing more painful than a scorpion bite. Then he jammed his feet inside and ran toward the only structure that remained as a possible location—the barn. As quickly as possible, he lit the kerosene lantern hanging from a hook at the side of the jamb and moved down the closest row of wooden stall doors. Sleepy-eyed horses looked up or over their shoulders at the moving light. He settled them with reassuring noises and moved on. Everything looked normal, nothing was out of place.
In the stall opposite the tack room, he spotted a blonde-haired head peeking out from under a blue blanket. She’d made a bed, nestled in the straw of an empty stall. Bracing a hand against the stall door, he dipped his head low, murmuring silent thanks that she was safe. What she was doing out here was another matter.
He eased open the door and hung the lantern bail on a hook on the stall’s support beam. As he turned toward her, he realized he had no idea how to approach his sleeping bride. Was she a person who startled awake, or did she simply awaken with a sweet smile? Where on her body would his touch be the least shocking to a woman unused to such intimacy? All were good questions, and he looked forward to learning the answers. But for now, maybe being verbal was more prudent.
Libbie: Bride of Arizona (American Mail-Order Bride 48) Page 7
