MAIL ORDER BRIDE: Brides of Sawyerville - Boxed Set, Volume 2 - Brides of Sawyerville - Clean and Wholesome Western Romance

by Debra Samms

  He handed the large axe over to Hammerhead and then left him to his work. As soon as these last trees were down and the logs dragged to the river, the team would be on its way back to the main encampment at Sawyerville.

  That time couldn't come soon enough for Bradley.

  But just as he was headed back to his tent to start packing up, there was a loud cry from the camp behind him and the shouting of several other men. Bradley turned and ran back to see what the trouble was.

  He found Hammerhead lying on the ground at the base of the tree he'd been working at. The axe lay beside him – but so did the far end of the man's foot, still inside the boot.

  "How the hell'd you do that, Hammerhead?" cried Bradley, crouching down beside the man. A couple of the others wrapped a length of rope around the foot to cut off the bleeding.

  "Never done nothin' like this before," Hammerhead moaned, closing his eyes. "Just get me back, okay? Just get me back to the camp in Sawyerville."

  "We will. We'll go right now." With that, Bradley helped carry the man away from the tree and prepare him for the journey back home.

  ***

  Finally, later that afternoon, they got Hammerhead Whitley back into town and resting in his tent until the camp doctor could come and look at him. Bradley went back into his tent, where he found George resting up after his workday and reading yet another book.

  He nodded to George, who barely glanced at him, and then took out the envelope that Delilah had given him – the envelope he'd carried against his chest for weeks now.

  "Say, George – look at this for me?"

  George's eyes flicked to him, and then he slowly put the book aside and sat up on the cot. Bradley finally opened the envelope and looked inside – and froze.

  George stared at him, waiting. By way of answer, Bradley turned the envelope upside down and let the contents fall out. There was a note – and there was a handkerchief.

  A pale pink handkerchief.

  ***

  Delilah came running down the ridge from the Sawyerville Ladies' House to the main road and found Bradley Fisher waiting for her near the livery stable – the place where they'd talked the first time they'd walked out together.

  "Mrs. Strong came up and told me you were here," she said, smiling brightly and a little breathless as she ran up to him. "I'm so happy to see you!"

  But Bradley only stared hard at her, and then walked with long stomping strides over to the rail fence behind the barn. He stood there facing away from her with one arm draped over the rail.

  "What's wrong?" Delilah asked. "What's troubling you?"

  He turned and once again fixed her with a hard glare. "I just want to know why you put a curse on my cut site."

  "What on earth are you talking about? A curse? On – what? What are you saying?"

  "This." And to her complete shock, Bradley pulled out the embroidered pink handkerchief she had given him and threw it at her feet.

  She could only shake her head and look at him, stumbling over her words. "I – I made this myself, and embroidered it myself! I wanted to send a little of myself with you because I knew you'd be gone for weeks. And now I'm sorry that I did!"

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Feeling almost as angry as Bradley was, Delilah leaned down and picked up her handkerchief. "What do you mean, a curse? From this? That's ridiculous!"

  He scowled at her, still very angry. "Don't you know?"

  "Know what?"

  "That you never wear anything pink into a logging site. Not ever! It's bad luck!"

  Delilah blinked, staring up at him. "But surely you don't believe that."

  He only glared down at her. "Last day of the cut, Hammerhead Whitley nearly lost a foot when his axe slipped. He's down to two toes, in any case. I'm the one who sharpened his axe for him. And the envelope with this handkerchief was under my shirt!"

  She only shook her head. "I'm sorry a man was hurt. But how could my little handkerchief have done that?"

  Bradley clenched his jaw. "That's just the way it is. Never wear pink on a site."

  "But you weren't wearing it – "

  "It was in my pocket! I just didn't know it!"

  "How could you not know?"

  "Because I didn't open that envelope."

  "You didn't? You didn't want to see what I'd given you? You were gone for weeks!"

  "I just – I didn't – I can't – "

  Bradley turned away from her and then walked away, not bothering to follow the road but simply crashing through the underbrush and saplings on the hillside behind the barn and pushing his way past the tents.

  Delilah could only watch him go, feeling both shocked and hurt at his actions. She was entirely unable to comprehend what her little embroidered handkerchief could possibly have had to do with a man getting seriously injured at a logging camp.

  ***

  The next two weeks were some of the most painful that Delilah could remember. Bradley was quite angry with her and had stopped calling for her, but she simply could not understand why.

  "Jess, it is so senseless!" wailed Delilah, as she sat on the bed in her room one evening. "Yes, I gave him a pink handkerchief. It was in the envelope, along with a little note I wrote to him."

  "What did the note say?" asked Jess, lighting the lantern on the dressing table. "Are you sure it wasn't something in the note that he took offense to?"

  "No. No. The note was harmless, just wishing him well while he was away. It was the handkerchief that offended him. Because it was pink. He says that it's bad luck to wear anything pink on a cut site."

  "Even something like a handkerchief?"

  "Apparently so," said Delilah with a sigh.

  Jess frowned. "I just don't understand why he waited so long to open your envelope. If he'd opened it before he left, he would have known right away. He could have given the handkerchief back if he didn't want it."

  Delilah looked down. "I hope it isn't something else. I'm afraid it is, and the pink handkerchief is just an excuse he's using . . . to not call on me any longer."

  "Oh, Delilah . . . it won't happen again. It couldn't."

  She stood up from the bed and walked across the room, standing beside the shelves which held her neatly folded clothes. "It happened to me once before, Jess. I don't like to think of it, or speak of it, but it's the reason why I'm out here in Sawyerville to begin with.

  "I'm afraid it's happening again – and that, like before, I'll never really know why."

  ***

  At last came a Sunday afternoon which provided a welcome distraction: the first of what it was hoped would be a number of weddings in Sawyerville. This one was for Maeve Harrison, certainly one of the toughest of all the women who'd come here, and the faller known as Red Lyon.

  Delilah and Jess helped Maeve to get ready, and then all the women of Sawyerville walked with Maeve to a little grove at the eastern end of town and watched the brief ceremony.

  Upon their return, the bride and groom enjoyed a simple reception in the street in front of the Frost Mercantile, complete with dancing and an enormous cake. Best of all, when Maeve tossed her bouquet – Queen Anne's Lace tied with a sky-blue ribbon – Delilah was the one who caught it.

  "Good luck to you, Delilah," Maeve called. "Though I don't think you'll need it."

  Delilah just smiled, holding the delicate white flowers close to her. Tradition said that the girl who caught a bride's bouquet would be the next to marry . . . but right now, she did not see how that was possible.

  The bride and groom departed for their home up on top of the ridge, and most of the happy, noisy crowd followed along. But Delilah did not have the heart to do so and simply stood in the same spot where she'd caught the bouquet, gazing down at the flowers and wondering if the old tradition had any truth in it at all.

  Then a long shadow moved up behind her. Delilah turned around to see a tall figure standing in the now-empty street.

  It was Bradley.

  Delilah stood up. "Hello,"
she ventured.

  "Hello." He looked rather sheepish, and simply gazed down at the walkway – though his eyes soon flicked up to her. "You look very pretty today."

  "Thank you."

  "Marry me, Delilah."

  She blinked, and then gazed down at the wedding bouquet with a little smile. "When?"

  He paused only for a moment. "Next Sunday. Just like this."

  She nodded. "All right."

  "Good. I'll see you later this week. Have a pleasant afternoon, Miss Michaels."

  "The same to you, Mr. Fisher."

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  The following Sunday, just past noon, Delilah and several of the other women of the Ladies' House – all that could crowd into her small double room – worked together to ready Delilah for her wedding ceremony.

  "Which dress, Delilah? Which dress?"

  "I heard you brought an actual wedding gown with you!"

  "Oh, you must show us! Show us!"

  Delilah, wearing only her corset and petticoats, turned to the shelf with all of her clothes on it. "Here it is," she said, and unfolded the long white lace gown.

  "Ohhh," sighed the entire roomful of women, including several more standing in the doorway.

  "Delilah, that is truly beautiful," said her friend Jessamine. "It will look perfect on you! So light and delicate!"

  "How wonderful that you brought your own wedding gown," said Pauline, another friend. "How many of us will you allow to borrow it?"

  "All, I hope!" cried another voice in the crowd, and they all dissolved into giggling and laughing.

  But Delilah looked down at the lace gown in her arms, and all she could do was shake her head – and make a sudden decision.

  "This gown was originally meant for another wedding. So I'll give it to you all right now," she said, turning to Jess and placing the gown in her arms. "As of right now, it's for anyone in this house who might like to wear it for their own wedding."

  All of the young women fell silent. "I think that today, I'd rather just wear my pale blue gingham," said Delilah. "It's new, and well made. And I have a white bonnet. I think that'll do just fine."

  "If you insist, Delilah," said Jess. "Though it is a shame to waste it."

  "Oh, I don't think it will be wasted, Jess," Delilah said. "There are over forty women in this house. I just hope the poor gown can last that long!"

  ***

  At last Delilah was ready, and stood on the front porch of the Ladies' House surrounded by every woman in the town of Sawyerville. She looked up to see Maeve Harrison Lyon, who had been the first of all of them to marry and whose bouquet Delilah had caught, standing just in front of her.

  "Congratulations, dear," Maeve said. "You look so pretty. Not like me."

  Delilah frowned. It was true that Maeve was tall and thin and plain, and looked older than her twenty-nine years. "But you were the first of us to find love, Maeve. And you have the most beautiful heart of anyone here."

  "Well, thank you. But right now I'm here to give you a wedding gift."

  "Oh, no need to do that!"

  "I'm doing it anyway. You see, Red is off on a cut for the next few days, so you and your new husband are welcome to stay in our cabin until he gets back. I know your own cabin isn't ready yet and you don't want to stay in a tent down there on the river for your wedding night."

  Delilah could only nod, blushing. "Thank you," she said fervently. "But where will you stay?"

  "I'll be happy to spend a little more time here in the Ladies' House until my husband gets home. Now – let's go get you married, young woman!"

  With that, the whole crowd of nearly fifty women, all dressed in their best, walked two-by-two in front of Delilah. Maeve Harrison Lyon – the first to get married – led the way.

  After her was Molly Strong, the wife of the sheriff. Then, wearing her fine blue gingham dress and white bonnet, was Delilah. Molly gave her a little bouquet made of white Queen Anne's Lace and little yellow monkeyflowers, tied with a piece of yellow ribbon. Then Delilah took Sheriff Strong's arm and walked after the lines of women to the side of the river, near the same spot where the log-rolling contest had been held.

  The tumbling river rapids shone and glinted in the afternoon sunlight as Bradley stepped forward to take Delilah's hand. The traveling preacher, whose name Delilah never did catch for he was only in town on Sundays for camp church services and to perform any marriages, looked first at the couple and then at the river behind him.

  "This is what I like to call a 'whitewater wedding,'" the preacher said, "because it is made between two people who are as swift and bold and bright as the rapids themselves."

  The bride was delighted with this, and even the groom seemed pleased; and then the quick ceremony proceeded, and before she knew it Delilah received a quick kiss from her new husband and it was over.

  The crowd closed around them, offering congratulations, and of course many of the girls were talking excitedly. Two of them, Jessamine and Pauline, were the closest to her and leaned in close to her ear.

  "James was such a fool to leave you at the altar back east!"

  "How could he have thought she was better, just because her family had more money?"

  "I'll bet he'd be jealous now, to see how pretty you look."

  "See, we told you so. We knew you'd have no trouble getting married out here!"

  "Shh . . . shh!" Delilah hissed, frantically trying to quiet them. Obviously, the girls must not have realized how close Bradley was or how their voices carried in their excitement.

  She looked up to see him staring hard at her . . . and by the look on his face, he was clearly wondering whether he'd just made the biggest mistake of his life.

  CHAPTER NINE

  After a brief reception with a little cake and punch at the Frost Mercantile – there was no dancing this time – the newlyweds retired to Maeve and Red's fine new cabin for their wedding night.

  The feeling in the cabin was that of a quiet calm, but there was an awful lot that was being left unsaid. As Delilah prepared supper on the very modern wood-fired stove, she could only hope that the tension would fade and the things that might cause trouble between them would simply fall away and be forgotten . . . left in the past, where they belonged.

  She served the food and sat down across from him at the small table. "We are well provisioned by our friends and the loggers and the town," Delilah said, smiling. "Wonderful cuts of beef and plenty of potatoes. I made gravy – I hope it turned out well."

  Her new husband just nodded as he quickly fell to eating. He would barely look at her, and she knew that sooner or later the words he'd heard Jessamine and Pauline say would come up.

  Delilah kept a little distance and allowed him to enjoy his supper in peace. But by the time they were finished eating, and she was clearing away the dishes and the remaining food, the tense silence was beginning to weigh on her.

  Once the cleaning up was done, Delilah looked around for some distraction or topic of conversation. Then she noticed, on a small side table, a Bible and a medical book.

  Perhaps those would serve to break the ice. She took up the Bible and turned to her husband, who sat at the table with a small glass of whiskey.

  "Look, Bradley," she said to him. "Mrs. Lyon has a Bible at hand. I thought that perhaps I could show you my favorite verse, and then you can show me your favorite."

  He stared at the Bible in her hand for a moment, and then shrugged and looked away. "Go ahead."

  With a quick smile, Delilah sat down again at the same place at the table. She opened the Bible and quickly paged through it.

  "Here it is. It's long been my favorite. It's from Corinthians 13:4 and says, Charity suffereth long, and is kind; charity envieth not; charity vaunteth not itself."

  Bradley remained silent, and took a small sip of the whiskey.

  "I like it because it talks about being patient, and kind, and putting others first instead of one's self."

  Still only silence.

&n
bsp; Delilah closed the Bible, remembering what she had just said about being patient, and slid it towards him on the table. "Would you show me your favorite verse, Bradley?"

  His eyes flicked to the book. After a long moment of silence, which Delilah feared would simply continue, he spoke at last. "Psalm 42:7," he said. "Deep calleth unto deep at the noise of thy waterspouts: all thy waves and thy billows are gone over me."

  "Oh, that's lovely," she breathed. "It sounds like it's speaking of the river, or the whitewater rapids in the river."

  Encouraged, Delilah nudged the Bible towards him again. "Will you show me another verse that you like?"

  But he only got up and stood behind his chair, looking away from the table.

  Delilah sat back, a little shocked. "Bradley – are you refusing to look at the Bible?"

  He glanced back, and she could see the anger in his cold blue eyes. "Of course I'm not."

  "Then why – "

  But he only walked to the door and stopped just in front of it, grinding his teeth in frustration.

  Delilah rose, too, and started towards him – but then she began to remember a few things, and she began to put them together.

  "When you won the log rolling, Bradley, and they handed you the note stating your winnings, you let it fall in the water. When I gave you that envelope before you left, you never opened it. And now, when I asked you to look at the Bible, you got up and walked away.

  She took a deep breath. "Bradley – I've got to ask you. Do you know how to read?"

  He only growled and looked away, reaching for the door handle as if desperate to bolt through it. "Don't need to read to be the best river rat in the camp. And earn good wages for it."

  Delilah nodded. "That's certainly true. It's all right. I just didn't know. Is there – anything else you'd like me to know about you?"