They walked a few more steps before they reached a two-storey wooden house. John had set her bags down inside and bade her farewell.
“I’m looking forward to get to know you better in the coming weeks, Betty.” He smiled and bowed his head before leaving.
Betty honestly couldn’t say the same. What did she get herself into?
* * *
Betty hadn’t expected to see so many horses – and so many women struggling to get atop them in Angel Creek. The sun cast a muted glow on the field, making everyone look pale and exhausted. Or maybe that was just her?
“I’m not really sure I should be here,” Betty began, trying to tug her arm out of Claire’s grasp, but the other woman was having none of it.
“Nonsense, Mary Ann’s the best teacher, and you’ll have so much fun I’ll have to drag you back home. You’ll see!”
Betty sighed – Claire’s enthusiasm was endless.
“Oh, there she is.” Claire waved and dragged Betty over to Mary Ann, who was just showing another woman how to hold the reins. The woman wearing a cowboy hat and boots under her petticoat turned to them.
“Hey, so you’re the new arrival everyone’s been talking about,” she greeted.
“I am.” Betty nodded and grasped the woman’s glove-clad hands. “Nice to meet you Mary Ann, I’m Betty Williams. Claire says you teach women horse riding?”
Mary Ann nodded. “Most of my students are young women like us.” She turned to Claire, who was watching a female rider astride her horse. “Are you going to ride sidesaddle today, Claire?”
Claire grinned at Mary Ann. “I wanna try riding astride. By the way, John’s here, right?”
“J-John?” Betty whirled around. What was John doing here?
“He’s been helping me give riding lessons,” Mary Ann said, “He couldn’t wait to meet you, so he’s been in town a few days now. Not one to idle about that man. He insisted we find him something to do during his stay.” She looked over her shoulders and waved over the two men leaning against the fence.
Betty gulped as they approached. She eyed the broad-shouldered man with a badge walking besides John. The later had rolled up his white sleeves, exposing his sinewy brown skin.
“G’day, Miss Williams,” Mr. Turner said, “I’m Warren, Angel Creek’s sheriff. I heard you’ve just arrived yesterday to meet John River here.” He patted John’s shoulder. “I can tell you he’s a fine lad and an upstanding citizen. Great help with the horses too.”
“Are you here for a lesson, Betty?” John asked with a wide smile.
“No –”
“Yes.” Claire grabbed Betty’s hand before she could run for the hills.
“Betty and John can get to know each other, under my supervision of course.” She threw the sheriff a glare. He coughed, then turned his gaze towards the sky, but Betty still caught a brief grin cross his face.
“Well, then, let’s saddle up.” Mary Ann introduced Betty to a beige-colored stallion with a head of blonde hair. “This here’s Rusty. He’s gonna take good care of you.”
John took one look at her and said, “I think she’s gonna faint.”
Betty bit the insides of her cheeks, then cleared her throat. She wasn’t one to back away from a challenge. “I’m fine. I’ve just – never ridden a horse before.”
It wasn’t for fear of heights or wild animals, she was more worried about the horse than herself. Betty eyed the other women, their thin frames wavering slightly on the horses. She didn’t know which would be worse, struggling to get mounted on Rusty as everyone stared, or getting thrown off the horse right after she accomplished the feat. And all that with John just a few feet away, watching, probably deciding if he wanted her or not.
But before she could protest Claire and Mary Ann gave her a gentle push towards the snorting horse, and before she knew it, she stood right by the animal. Why are you even doing this? Betty grabbed the saddle as John hovered beside her. She tried not to look at him. He wasn’t what she had imagined after reading the letters.
She remembered the townspeople back home and the things they’d been saying about her and her lack of suitors. What would they say if they saw her match?
“You’re all set.” John grinned at her.
Betty looked down into his dark eyes sparkling with excitement. He seems so nice, so eager to impress her. Betty blushed at the intensity of his gaze. She took in a deep breath and looked at some of the other riders. That’s when it hit her. No one stared at John here, no one batted an eye when he passed by.
“Just grab the reins,” John said, “I’ll lead.”
She did as he asked and they circled the field, always just a few steps ahead of Claire.
“John,” Betty began, “in the letter, you said you came from Fernville.”
“Yup. And you were from… Sunny Springs?”
“Yes. You mentioned that you knew Mercy. How again?” Betty stopped, or to be precise, the horse had stopped and Betty couldn’t make him move again. She leaned forward and to see why the horse bowed its head. “What’s wrong, Rusty?”
“He’s grazing,” John said, patting the stallion. “There’s a bit of grass ‘round this rock.” He looked up at Betty. “To answer your question – Mercy helped my cousin, Faith, a few years ago. She and her family were passing through, and they needed somewhere to stay. Her husband was sick, and they had two children to take care of...”
“Mercy offered them a place for the night?” Betty certainly could imagine the ever-smiling Mercy extending an invitation to Faith’s family.
“Yup. The local inn wouldn’t take in Faith. She’s full-blood Indian, you see.”
“Oh.” Betty bit her lip. “It – it must’ve been hard for them.” What? Oh, you can come up with something better than that, Betty Williams!
“It was, but people here are more tolerant now. Very much thanks to Mercy and her husband.” He pulled the reins, and urged Rusty forward. Betty instinctively straightened up in the saddle.
“Claire’s throwing daggers at me,” he half-whispered as an apology for the sudden movement.
She looked over her shoulder to see Claire nearly fall off her horse, trying to wave them over. Betty giggled as John led them back.
“Were you nervous about the horse?” John asked.
“I was more afraid I’d make a fool of myself.”
“You seem very capable…”
“…for a woman my size?” she blurted, only realizing what she had said once the words left her lips. She was so used to fending off the insults she didn’t even let him finish. “I mean… I – I was afraid I’d have a hard time climbing on top of Rusty.”
“I don’t think you’d have a hard time doing anything,” John said with a laugh. “Plus, I think you’re beautiful just the way you are.”
Betty blushed. “Really?”
John nodded, then extended a hand as she climbed down. “Trust me, all my life I’ve been judged by my looks.” When she dropped before him, he placed her hand on his chest. “What matters is always here.”
“All right, time to go!” Claire called, approaching them.
Betty blushed again and pulled her hand back. “Thank you for the ride,” she said, but she couldn’t stop thinking about the heartbeat she felt under her fingers a few moment earlier.
“You’re welcome.”
He gave her one last smile before Claire took her way, muttering about decency and shy lovers.
Chapter 3
Betty fidgeted in the yellow petticoat that Joy Briggs, the local fashion fanatic, had gifted her for the wedding. At first, she was afraid she wouldn’t fit in, but Joy got everything right. And although Joy had thrown in a corset, Betty left it at home. No way was she going to pass out on her own wedding day.
And what a lovely day it was. The ceremony itself was a blur as she barely held off the tears till they left the church. Everything turned out better than she had ever dreamed of. To think just a few short weeks earlier she despaired she
would never find a husband. And John… He grabbed her heart at that faithful riding lesson, and squeezed it tighter with every meeting from there on.
Betty wiped a tear threatening to turn into another outpouring of joy with her handkerchief and turned to the guests streaming into the reception area in the garden behind the church. Half the town seemed to be present. She stood by the table at the end of the lawn surrounded by small lanterns hanging off strings. They stretched all around the edges and over the tables lighting the afternoon sky.
“They’re so beautiful,” she said to her husband as she sat down beside him. “Thank you.”
“Oh, don’t thank me, dear. Cole Beckett did most of the work,” John said, modest as always. He reached out with his hand, but then paused, looking like a deer caught in the open.
Betty bit the insides of her cheeks to stop from grinning widely. She took his hand. “Really, thank you.”
John rubbed the back of his neck. “The Becketts helped a lot. Even Joy Briggs…. Couldn’t have done this without them.”
Betty leaned forward, squeezing his hand. “Also, thank you for dealing with my mother’s questions after the wedding.”
John shrugged. “It’s normal, I like friendly questions like that and I was happy to finally meet your family.” He looked over her shoulder and tugged her hand. “And now, I want you to meet my family.”
They stood up as a group of people arrived. Betty held her breath. The music was still playing, the young and old men strumming on banjos and guitars, but many people had stopped what they were doing to watch. Who wouldn’t?
Dressed in what Betty could only assume was animal skin, four men and two women approached them, carrying live chickens, a fruit basket, and a goat. Betty gulped.
John greeted them in a different language, shaking hands and hugging.
“This is my wife, Betty.” He pulled her towards them. “Betty, this is my family.”
Betty’s eyes darted from person to person, taking in their sandy-colored clothes, moccasins, and brown, smiling faces. The older of the two women, who had her black hair tied in a bun, approached Betty and handed her the basket. “A gift,” she said, “for a year of fruitful blessings.”
“Auntie,” John said, “thank you.”
“Yes, th-thank you,” Betty stammered, her clammy hands gripping the basket, “Thank you, Ma’am.”
“No need to call me that. You are, after all, now a member of our family.”
“And this is my uncle,” John whispered, drawing her attention to a tall man with an impressive build. Though older, there wasn’t a single gray hair on his head adorned with a simple feathered band.
“It is good to finally meet you. You are now my child as much as John since his parents passed away,” he said, narrow eyes alight with interest. He, too, like his wife, had long hair he wore in a bun behind his head. “I am Wapasha, and this is my wife, Wichapi.”
The names breezed through Betty’s mind, but she smiled at the woman anyway.
“And this is Kohana,” John said, patting the shoulder of a muscled young man, who stood a head above all of them, “my younger cousin.”
Betty’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh.”
“And this is my other uncle, Mankato.” A man with a shaved head nodded grimly at Betty, his mouth pinched closed, and his eyebrows pulled down. Betty gulped.
“And I’m Kohana’s sister, Kimimela,” the younger woman said, “but you can call me Kimberly.” She pulled the goat behind her and handed the rope to John.
“Kimimela,” the bald uncle said. “Do not shame your ancestors! That name is not yours.”
“Mankato,” Uncle Wapasha muttered. He frowned at the younger girl, but then his eyes wandered along the decorations in the garden. “Beautiful ceremony, Takoda.”
“‘Takoda’?” Betty asked.
“It was my former name,” John said, a faint smile on his face.
“It is still your name,” Uncle Wapasha said, placing a hand on his chest. “To us, you are still Takoda, a friend to everyone.”
His wife, whose brown face bore only a few lines, took John’s hands. “Your parents would be so proud of you. I feel that this union is blessed.”
“Soon you’ll have lots of children,” Kimimela said, wiggling her brows.
Betty blushed. “Oh, I… We…”
“For the Lakota, children are a blessing, the most precious gift on earth.” Wapasha squeezed John’s shoulder. “We must go back now, Takoda. It was good to see you.”
They hugged one last time, and even Betty was swallowed by Kimimela and Wichapi’s arms. They left them with the basket, the chickens, and the goat.
“Well, that – that was very lovely of your family to come,” Betty said, trying to keep the chickens from flying from her grasp. She didn’t often deal with live fowl. “So… Kimimela wants to be Kimberly. Is she going to be baptized any time soon?”
John shook his head. “She is young and is influenced by many things, but her parents are pure-blooded Sioux. Although my father had many Indian friends, he had struggled as a half-breed among his people.”
“It’ll be all right,” Betty said, unsure if she was saying it for John’s benefit or for hers. “Everyone in Angel Creek is accepting and kind.”
John opened his mouth to speak, then promptly closed it. He smiled weakly at her. “You’re right. It will be fine.” He looked down as the goat grabbed hold of his pants with its teeth and started chewing. “Well, perhaps it will be fine tomorrow.”
Betty giggled as John shook the goat off and dragged it to a tree.
* * *
Fernville, Montana Territory, November 1872
The horse stopped and Betty sighed in relief. At least the covered wagon hadn’t rocked like the carriage on her first day in Angel Creek. The old mare was tame, and seemed to like John very much.
“We’re here,” John called from the front. He gave the driver his payment and jumped down.
“Finally,” Betty said, climbing off with her bag in hand. “I could use some rest.”
“It wasn’t very far.” John grinned.
“But it was very hot,” she retorted.
A few hours’ ride to their new home had initially excited Betty, but when they reached the town, she frowned. Brown, dull, the small settlement seemed underwhelming. For some reason she expected something more vibrant, more cheerful. Somehow she thought the town would resemble John and his gentle charm. At least Angel Creek had seemed alive, with many friendly people smiling and waving. Here, everyone gave their wagon a wide berth.
“What a welcome party,” she muttered.
John chuckled and brought down several of their things. “C’mon, I’ll show you the house.”
She’d rather they had stayed in Angel Creek, but John had already a house set for them, handed down from his grandparents. She didn’t want to disrespect that. Plus, he seemed excited to show her Fernville. Maybe she was just tired after the journey. She reminded herself how first impressions can be misleading…
Together, they walked a few steps through town. Betty was glad they didn’t have a lot of things, except for the goat that kept bleating. Was that why the people were throwing angry looks at them?
“They must think we’re being too noisy.” Betty tugged the goat’s leash. “Shh! They’re gonna start throwing rotten tomatoes at us.” She chuckled at her husband, but he didn’t smile. “What’s wrong?”
John shook his head. “Nothing.”
A group of children passed by and started pointing at them. They laughed into their fists and pushed each other. John turned to her, “C’mon let’s go so we can rest.”
But the minute they arrived in front of the two-storey house, Betty gasped. John dropped his things and ran up the porch. He pressed a hand against the crimson-stained wooden walls and took a deep breath.
“Oh my, Lord have mercy.” Betty dashed to her husband’s side. “What happened here?” She whirled around to find some neighbors looking at them
, brows and lips pulled down. “Did anybody see what happened here? Who did this?”
John grabbed her shoulder with his other hand and muttered, “It’s all right, Betty, let’s just get the things inside. I’ll take care of this.”
He went back to get their things and one man with a bad leg said, “You shouldn’t have come back, ya Injun.”
Betty’s eyes widened and her mouth opened in disbelief. Who would speak like that to a neighbor?
“And you had the gall to bring your wife here, huh?” The man threw Betty a sneer. “What, couldn’t find anyone else who’d marry you? You had to settle for that?”
That was it! She did not take insults lightly when they flung them at her. But to offend her husband? Betty practically flew at the man, an angry vain throbbing on her forehead. She would show him! But John held her back.
“Let go of me, John. No one speaks to you like that.”
“Remember,” he said his breath a wisp on her neck. “We must turn the other cheek.”
She took deep breaths, nostrils still flaring. But her anger slowly calmed down. She shook John’s hands off her shoulder and grabbed their things before going inside the house. John followed her and closed the door.
Thankfully, the inside looked undisturbed. She cleared her throat. “Sorry John. I don’t know what came over me. I – I just couldn’t believe they’d do this to you – to us.”
John shrugged. “I’m sorry you had to see this. It’s me they hate, actually. They’re… suspicious of me. They always have been.”
Betty bit back the words scalding her tongue. “We should tell the sheriff,” she said instead.
“There isn’t a sheriff. The town’s still quite small.”
“What about the local pastor? I’m sure he’d take your side.”
“We don’t have one either.” John blushed as if it was his fault. “But, there’s one coming in a few weeks.”
Betty sighed and sat down at the table. She looked around taking in the sight of her new home. Not cluttered, tidy, but needs a woman’s touch, she concluded.
A Mail Order Bride for Thanksgiving: Betty & John (Love by Mail 5) Page 2
