Gerrity'S Bride

by Carolyn Davidson

  Down to the end of the long aisle, past the empty, whitewashed box stalls, to where the musicians played in double time, they danced, Emmaline’s cheeks flushed and her eyes sparkling as she kept up with his twisting and twirling steps. About them, couples joined in and the barn rang with laughter and the sound of hard boots and sliding slippers across the slippery floor.

  He swept her closer, and her hands crept from their position on his shoulders to twine about his neck as she melded her slender form against his firmness. And for the space of several magical moments, they were caught up in the music, the intimacy of the dance, the careless, carefree pleasure afforded them.

  “I feel like a real bride,” she managed to say, her voice little more than a whisper. She was breathless, her eyes sparkling, as they swung once more past the doors.

  “Dancing does that?” One eyebrow lifted as he grinned into her rosy countenance. “Here I thought I’d been making you feel like a bride for a couple of weeks already.”

  She scowled at him, but the pretense was too difficult to maintain. Her pleasure in the music, the friendly faces that watched them and the man who held her would not allow the sham of indignation.

  “I’m out of breath,” she declared as the music finished with a final flourish of sound. The fiddlers’ bows extended skyward as they bowed, accepting the applause of the dancers. The piano player spun on his stool to wave at the crowd that gathered close at hand to call out requests for favorite tunes.

  Matt drew her toward the doorway, and they stepped out onto the hard-packed dirt. Another buggy pulled under the trees across the way, and a stout man climbed down, only to reach up and lift down his equally sturdy companion.

  “That’s Otto Schmidt and his missus. He runs the livery stable in town,” Matt told her, in a low voice that carried only as far as Emmaline’s ear.

  Hand extended, the older man approached, wife in tow. “We’re in time for dinner, I see, Matthew. I told Hilda you’d be barbecuing a steer for the occasion.” His head nodded with emphasis as he spoke, his wide smile exposing the gleam of a gold tooth near the front of his mouth. Beside him, Hilda Schmidt beamed her best wishes silently, nodding almost in unison with her husband.

  Emmaline smiled, unable to restrain her pleasure at their open enjoyment of the occasion. “We’re so glad you came. I’m Emmaline.”

  Hilda Schmidt nodded vigorously. “I figured as much. I was in the emporium the day Matthew bought you that dress. Did he tell you that the ladies’ sewing circle is making you a quilt?”

  “No...” Emmaline answered distractedly, looking back over her shoulder at Matt, who was being hauled in the other direction by Mr. Schmidt, to where a circle of ranchers was gathering about the tailgate of a wagon.

  “Just leave them be,” Hilda said, clucking her tongue at Emmaline’s look of bewilderment. “The men have to have their snort from old Tyler Mason’s jug before the party gets to going good, you know. Matthew’ll be lookin’ you up in no time.”

  “My, doesn’t that look good!” Hilda clutched at Emmaline’s hand, drawing her to where white-aproned men were doling out generous servings of barbecued beef. “Have you tried any yet, Emmaline?”

  “Here’s an empty plate for you, Mrs. Gerrity,” a nearby woman called out.

  “That’s Ruth Guismann,” Hilda said in an undertone. “Her husband owns the store in town, and she’s the one who picked out all the fancy things Matthew got for your wedding.”

  Emmaline blushed, imagining the scene. “Who else was there?”

  “Oh, my, half the ladies in town were in the store that morning. We just had the best time, watching him get all flustered while he tried to choose things for you.”

  Emmaline groaned, imagining Matt surrounded by these women while he did his shopping. They’d all seen the lacy underthings she wore even now.

  “Here you go, here’s your plate. Now you just step right up there and try some of your husband’s prime beef,” said the woman at her elbow, ushering her forward to be served.

  “Thank you...Mrs. Guismann, wasn’t it?” Emmaline asked as she accepted the plate and held it in readiness. Within seconds, two slices of steaming meat centered it and she was pressed in the direction of the serving table.

  “Land sakes, girl, you just call me Ruth, like everyone else does.” Her face beaming with humor, the shopkeeper’s wife ushered a bemused Emmaline before her, spooning generous servings to surround the beef.

  “Havin’ a good time, Miss Emmaline?” Across the table, Claude, drafted for the day by Maria and resplendent in his own white apron, beamed at her. Carrying a platter of fried chicken, he searched for a bare spot to place it.

  “It’s wonderful, Claude,” she complimented, glancing about at the women who gathered about her as if they would take her to their collective bosoms.

  And wonderful it was, she decided a short while later, when she had somehow escaped and found herself beneath a tree, plate laden high with salads and meat and topped with an irregularly shaped slab of bread, generously slathered with butter by some helpful soul. Beside her, Tessie bounced on her heels as she squatted for a moment, a chicken leg clutched in her fingers and eyes glistening with excitement.

  “Oh, Emmie, isn’t it the most fun ever? Did you see the man playing the piano? His fingers just fly so fast, you can hardly see them,” Tessie breathed, eyes wide with wonder.

  “Don’t you need a plate for your chicken, Theresa?” Her tone faintly admonishing, a plate of her own in hand, Olivia approached.

  “Won’t you join us, Olivia?” Emmaline asked, patting the quilt beside her.

  Tessie’s eyes lost a bit of their sparkle. “I didn’t think I had to use all my manners today, Miss Olivia,” she said carefully. “This is a picnic.”

  “Manners are never to be discarded, no matter where we are,” Olivia reminded the child firmly.

  Emmaline bit at her lip for a moment, but the words would not be withheld. “I think we might understand if Tessie is excused her table manners, just for this once. It’s a special occasion, after all.”

  Olivia bowed her head in acquiescence. “I’m sure you know best, Mrs. Gerrity.”

  “I gotta go,” Tessie said quickly, shooting a quick grin at her sister before she scampered away, chicken leg in hand.

  Olivia was silent for a moment, contemplating Tessie as she skipped through the yard. “That child would have done well with a mother,” she said quietly.

  Emmaline’s mouth dropped open, her face a study in stunned surprise. “She has me,” she said finally.

  Olivia waved her hand dismissively. “A real family would have been ideal. Theresa requires a firm hand.”

  “Did you have anyone in mind?” Emmaline’s query was quiet.

  Again Olivia’s hand dismissed the other woman’s words. “It’s too late now, anyway,” she said. “And, after all, I’m only the teacher.”

  Emmaline was stunned, her eyes round with surprise, as she watched Olivia walk away. And then her gaze fell with relief upon the tall figure of Matt sauntering through the groups of people. As though he sensed her watching him, he turned his head in her direction and his mouth tilted in a secret smile that brushed her heart with a silent message. Halted by one person and then another, he nevertheless made his way to where she sat, his eyes focused upon her, homing in on the bright beauty that drew him like a candle flame in the night.

  “Where’d Olivia get to?” he asked as he stooped beside her.

  Emmaline shrugged and shook her head, her hands clasped loosely in her lap. “I don’t know.”

  He sank to the ground with limber ease. “How’d you manage to get abandoned over here all by yourself?” he asked, settling next to her and reaching for the bread she’d shoved to one side of her plate. Picking up a slice of the beef she’d been given, he held it between two fingers, then placed it squarely atop the bread. He folded the whole thing in half, then took a bite.

  “Umm...good,” he pronounced, relishing it with a
ppetite.

  “I’ll share with you,” she offered, motioning at her plate and handing him her fork.

  He looked at her askance. “Aren’t you hungry, honey?”

  She nodded quickly. “Of course! It’s just that I’m excited, and I’ve already eaten some....” She gestured at the plate.

  “Hmm...not much, Emmie,” he noted. His eyes were keen as they swept over her face. “You all right?”

  She looked up at his solemn face. “Olivia says Tessie needs a mother.” Her mouth tightened suddenly. “I don’t think she approves of me.”

  “I’ll talk to her,” he said abruptly. “Guess I haven’t paid much attention to her lately. Maybe she’s gettin’ too big for her britches, sayin’ something like that to you.”

  “No, don’t do that.” Emmaline shook her head. “I don’t think she meant anything. Except maybe she thought Deborah would have done better as your wife than me.”

  Matt grunted disparagingly. “Not likely. Olivia hasn’t got the time of day for Deborah.”

  “Maybe she had herself in mind,” Emmaline suggested quietly.

  “Not on your life.” Matt’s words were loud and clear, and Emmaline shushed him quickly, vowing silently to put Olivia’s words out of her mind.

  “How about another dance, Mrs. Gerrity?” Matt suggested, tugging her to her feet before she could protest. Hands clasped, they made their way to where the fiddles were playing a fast-moving tune, caught up in the music.

  * * *

  The sun had gone down in splendor and the shadows of evening had fallen when Emmaline sought the quiet of the house. Bending over the basin in the kitchen, she rinsed her face in cool water, drying her hands on the towel as she looked from the window. The night was dark, the sky scattered with clouds, with only a few stars peeking through to lend their light.

  About the yard, shadowed figures moved in a silent dance of their own, silhouetted against the glow from the embers in the barbecue pit. The spit was gone, but several platters full of beef were left on the table, where muslin cloths draped the food to keep it clean.

  Emmaline sighed deeply, aware of the quiet of the house about her, the music that the breeze carried to her ears and the occasional sounds of laughter from neighbors who walked about beneath the trees or sat on bales of hay within the barn.

  “Where’s Emmaline?” she heard Matt ask from a distance, and then watched as he left the brightly lit barn to walk across the yard. Her face was wreathed in a smile at the sight of his long-legged, slim-hipped stroll, her eyes fixed on the lean strength of his body, shadowed in the light of the fire.

  “Emmaline!” he called, facing the line of trees that bordered the long lane.

  She went swiftly to the door and pushed it open, stepping onto the porch. He was walking away, and she moved quickly, wanting to catch him. Her mouth opened, the words that would call him to her on the tip of her tongue.

  And then a silent figure hiding in the darkness next to the kitchen door moved.

  One step brought the man close behind her. One rapid movement of his hand effectively halted her words. About her waist, his arm swept her from her feet, and she was carried around to the side of the house, gasping beneath the fingers that clutched with cruel strength against her mouth.

  She kicked her feet wildly and squirmed against his side, hanging like a sheaf of new-mown hay, his arm solid about her middle. Wordlessly he made his way to the narrow line of brush beyond the house. His steps were long and swift, covering the ground quickly, and she dangled helplessly in his grasp.

  Against the night, a horse waited, dimly visible as they approached. Its reins were looped over a branch on a scrubby short tree, and as they neared, the animal lifted his head and nickered softly.

  “Listen, you stand up right in front of me and don’t make any trouble...hear?” The rough voice was close to her ear, and the words were hard and succinct.

  Emmaline shuddered, the taste of salty, grimy flesh on her lips, the chill of fear slicing at her spine, and her legs trembled beneath her weight. She almost fell, but he caught her once more, handicapped by the need to keep her mouth covered.

  “Damn, I said stand up,” he growled, and his hand on her shoulder tightened bruisingly. His other hand snaked to the saddle horn, where a rope hung. His fingers snagged it neatly.

  Emmaline’s eyes widened above the hand that held her in a harsh grip, watching as he formed a loop in the rope and then passed it over her, binding her arms to her sides.

  For just a moment, his hand moved, so that the rope could slip into place about her waist. And that moment was all she needed. Her lungs filled with air, precious, clean air. She screamed. Screamed while the anger of her captor washed over her in audible waves of vile curses. Screamed while he scrambled into his saddle and tugged at the rope that cinched her waist tightly. She was still screaming when he reached down to lift her into the saddle with him.

  His arm was in front of her face, and she leaned into it, her mouth already open. Through the dark cotton of the shirt he wore, she chomped down, her teeth the only weapon she had.

  It was all she needed. His howl of pain must have carried almost as far as her shrill cries had traveled. Her teeth held fast like a bulldog’s in a pit, and she squeezed her eyes shut as she hung on grimly. The horse was moving in short hops, snorting and tossing its head. She was hard-pressed to stay on her feet, dangling at the end of the rope her captor held.

  “Damn fool woman,” he snarled finally as he heard the shouts from the back of the house. Letting loose of the rope, he swung his arm about, catching Emmaline with a solid fist against the side of her head.

  “Emmaline...where the hell are you?”

  It was Matt, Matt’s voice, coming from a distance.

  “Here...I’m here, Matt...” The words were whispered as she fell. Then, against her face, the ground was cool and she felt the vibrations of the horse’s hooves.

  “I bit him.” The words were a slurred whisper. “I bit him.” Her lips moved against the dirt, just as she felt warm hands lift her.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “Got any ideas, Claude?”

  “No, sir, can’t say that I do.” The old man’s dark eyes surveyed the shadowed corners of the barn, and he shook his head. “It’s pretty bad when you start lookin’ for trouble on your own place, ain’t it?” Sitting abruptly on a bale of hay, he motioned with a curt gesture to indicate another just a few feet away. “Might’s well rest your bones awhile, boss. Chompin’ at the bit, the way you been doin’ for the last couple a days, is like to wear you out.”

  Matt shrugged and lowered himself to the fragrant bale, drawing a deep breath as he rested his elbows on his knees. He clasped his hands loosely and focused on the callused skin that ridged his palm just beneath his thumb.

  “I figure it has to be a maverick. Maybe some cowpoke who’s out for a buck. But then, who’d be hiring him...and why?” He shook his head and his eyes squinted against the sunlight from the wide doorway. His mouth drew down at the corners in a frown. “Then again, maybe somebody’s carryin’ a grudge or something. I don’t get it, and that’s a fact.” His words vibrated with anger and frustration.

  “Well, somebody sure ain’t took a shine to Miss Emmaline, I’d say,” Claude drawled. “Can’t get it through my head why anybody’d want to cart her off thataway, though.”

  “Bet he hadn’t reckoned on ropin’ a hellion.” Matt ground the words out, thankful as he thought of Emmaline’s brief battle.

  “Yeah, she is that,” Claude agreed. “All that spunk and red hair came true from her daddy, you know. You imagine that low-down skunk’ll think twice before he lays hands on her again?”

  A frown furrowed Matt’s brow and tightened his jaw. “Sure hope to hell he never gets another chance to touch her. And he won’t, if I can help it.”

  “You can’t tie her to that bed forever, boss,” Claude told him shortly. “She’s gonna want to be out and around, and you know you can’t keep her
off’n her horse. She’s taken to ridin’ with the little miss purt’ near every day.”

  “Well, she won’t be riding without me from now on,” Matt answered abruptly. “And in the meantime, she’s not gettin’ out of my bed till tomorrow at least. Doc says he wants to be sure her head’s okay.” He lowered his voice and leaned forward. “‘Course, he’s draggin’ it out just a little. I told him I needed a few days to sort things out before I was ready to cope with her runnin’ free.”

  A grin creased the old man’s face, his eyes crinkling with laughter. “I heard from Maria that Miss Emmaline is accusin’ you of puttin’ bars on the windows next. Sure didn’t think you’d go that far, boss.”

  Matt glared at him, then rose in a lithe movement, hitching his low-slung pants a bit higher on his hips as he stood. He faced the open doorway and tucked his fingertips into the flat pockets that rode his hipbones. “Doubt if bars would stop her,” he admitted glumly. “She’s one determined woman, Claude. But I sure as hell don’t want anything to happen to her. I was only raggin’ her, anyway...about the bars,” he muttered. “I don’t know how she’ll take the news, but I’m afraid Miss Emmaline is gonna have to curtail her runnin’ free for a while.”

  “We’ll all keep a good eye on her, boss.” Claude navigated his body to an upright position, a low grunt signifying his effort. “My old joints sure feel like they could use some wagon grease,” he muttered, following the taller man from the barn.

  On the porch, Maria raised her hand to ring the big bell for dinner. It was enough to prod Matt into motion. His hand lifted to tilt the brim of his hat as he set off for the house.

  “Pret’ near too hot to eat,” Claude grumbled, quickening his gait to keep up with Matt’s long-legged stride.

  “That’ll be the day” came the drawling reply. “You know, Maria killed a couple of old hens this morning. My guess is that we’re havin’ chicken and dumplings.”