White River Brides

by Frances Devine

  They were so adorable. She wished she could see Jack’s face as he watched them, but from where she stood he was just out of sight.

  The girls stepped to the side and turned a little. Grins split their faces.

  The next to the youngest Jenkins girl, Martha, was halfway down the aisle. When she realized she was now alone, she dumped the rest of the flowers out on the floor and ran to stand beside the twins. Muted laughter reached Lexie’s ears.

  Oh! There it was. It was her turn. Mr. Jenkins pulled the tent flap back farther to make room for her gown.

  Will stepped to her side and offered his arm with a tender smile. “I love you, sis,” he whispered.

  She smiled back and they stepped into the tent.

  Lexie barely noticed Horace Packard, who served as Jack’s best man. Her eyes saw only Jack, whose eyes adored her as she walked toward him. She forced herself to walk slowly, in time with the music, when what she really wanted to do was run down the aisle to him, like Martha had done to the twins.

  In a daze, she found herself standing next to Jack, facing Reverend Hines. She barely heard his words, barely heard Jack, barely heard herself promising to love, honor, and obey.

  But she heard the reverend pronounce them man and wife, and she felt Jack’s kiss like she’d never felt anything before.

  The reception was held in the Jenkins’ barn, just as every inside get-together was. After all, they had the largest barn in the community.

  Soon it was time to go. Jack and Lexie said good-bye to the girls, who were to stay with Aunt Kate, Will, and Sarah overnight.

  “I don’t see why we can’t go home with you.” Tuck frowned. “You said if you and Mr. Jack was married we could all live together.”

  A roar of laughter arose from the few folks who’d gathered around the bride and groom to say good-bye.

  Will and Jack had hinted that the newlyweds would be going to Kansas City for a honeymoon, so Lexie was hopeful a shivaree would be avoided.

  Lexie put her arms around both girls and whispered softly, so the crowd wouldn’t hear, “We’ll come to get you tomorrow, so we can go get you adopted, but don’t tell anyone.”

  Tuck and Addy both gave solemn nods and hugged her, then ran to receive Jack’s hugs.

  Jack and Lexie walked to the buggy followed by the people. Now why was everyone grinning? Uh-oh. What had they done?

  Tin cans were tied to the back of the buggy. Okay. That was usual. Jack helped her in the buggy. So far, so good.

  Jack flicked the reins, then turned to Lexie and grinned. “I think we fooled them.”

  She breathed a sigh of relief. “I’m glad.”

  He put his arm around her shoulders, and she leaned against him. They headed home.

  Contentment spread over Lexie like a warm quilt. Thank You, God, for my wonderful husband and for making sure we finally knew the truth.

  They drove into the yard. Jack got down, and Lexie scooted over so he could help her out on his side.

  The minute her feet touched the ground, light from dozens of lanterns flamed across the yard and a horrible din broke out. With pots, pans, anything they could bang on, dozens of their neighbors stood, laughing and grinning.

  The good people of the Ozarks welcomed them home with a shivaree.

  White River Song

  Dedication

  I’d like to dedicate this book to all the tomboys of the world and the families who wouldn’t change them for anything. And to my own family. I love each of you more than I can express, and I can’t imagine life without you.

  Very special thanks to my Lord and Savior Jesus Christ, My All Sufficient One.

  Chapter 1

  Branson, Missouri, August 1901

  The note hung high in the air, sweet and mournful. Kentucky Sullivan perched on the rickety bench, her bow held high. She closed her eyes, allowing the tension to build, then, with a swing of her arm, drew the bow across the strings. The note, mixed with the sounds of banjo and accordion, plunged into an ear-splitting cacophony that sounded like a passel of pigs squealing. Maybe with some chicken squawking flung in for good measure. It never failed to amaze Tuck how the four of them could make beautiful music one minute then an agony of crazy squeaks and screeches the next. But there was no denying it was fun.

  She flung herself against the front wall of the feed store by the mill, wincing as the rough boards stabbed at her shoulder blades, then grinned at her fellow musicians.

  “Whew! That there was some good fiddling, Tuck.” Mr. Willie Van Schultz slipped his fiddle under his arm then removed his slouchy hat to wipe a hand across his bald head. “Mighty good.” He grinned and plopped the hat back in place.

  “Well thanks, Mr. Willie. You sounded pretty fair to middling yourself.” Her shock of thick braids bobbed as she nodded, several straw-colored strands escaping their confinement.

  The old man laid his fiddle on the bench next to him and cackled. He’d taught Tuck nearly everything she knew about fiddling over the last decade, and they both knew she was nowhere near his match.

  With a sigh, she wrapped the silk cloth around her instrument and placed it in the case. The handmade violin had come from Ireland with her great-grandfather many years ago. A final pat, and she closed the lid with gentle pressure. “I’ve got to get a move on.”

  “Ya sure ya gotta go, Tuck?”

  The cracked voice brought a smile to Kentucky’s face, and she grinned at Squeezebox Tanner, the best accordion player in the entire Ozarks. Or at least as far as Tuck’s knowledge went, which was just about fifteen miles on either side of Branson. “Yes, Addy will be waiting for me at the general store.” She shook her head. “If I’m late, she’ll throw a fit.”

  “You sure you’re talking about your sister? Fit throwing is more up your alley, ain’t it?” Tom Black’s laugh came out as a wheeze, and he quickly laid his banjo on the bench and bent over until the coughing spell was over.

  Tuck shrugged. He was right. Her twin never threw fits. The old man’s hacking cough started up again. She winced. “Maybe you should give up that corncob pipe of yours, Mr. Tom.”

  “And maybe you oughta’ be mindin’ yore own bizness, Miss Sullivan.”

  Tuck covered her mouth with her hand to hide the grin she couldn’t hold back. “And maybe you’re right. I should at that.” Tucking her fiddle under her arm, she gave a jaunty wave, leaving them laughing as she pranced off down the dusty road toward Branson’s General Store.

  Her twin sister stood by the wagon tapping her toe and glaring as she watched Tuck walk toward her.

  Uh-oh. Tuck crossed the road and cast a side grin at her sister. “Sorry. Guess I’m a few minutes late. I got all caught up with our practice.”

  “A few minutes? More like twenty while I stood a gazing stock for every passerby.” Her frown spoke a thousand words, and the anger in her eyes was apparently meant to cut through Tuck like a knife.

  “You could have waited inside.” She groaned. She’d been trying to do better with sarcastic remarks since she got baptized two months ago. Lately, it was awful hard though when her sister was around. Addy used to be the sweetest thing in the world. A little too sweet in Tuck’s opinion. What in tarnation had gotten into her? “Sorry. I sort of got lost in the music.”

  A most unladylike snort emitted from Addy’s pretty little mouth. “Music. Humph. If that’s what you want to call the noise you and those old fogies squeeze out of those horrid instruments.”

  All right. That was it. Tuck opened her mouth to retort but stopped as her sister leaned over and hissed in her ear. “Someone is approaching. Oh my goodness, Abby, your collar is tucked inside your dress.” She dug her fingers into Tuck’s neckline.

  “I’ll fix it, and don’t call me Abby!” Tuck pushed her sister’s hand away. “What are you so nervous about? I always tuck my collar in when I play the fiddle.”

  “Hush.” Addy shushed her, the frown turning into a simpering smile, as a coquettish look appeared in the previously
stormy eyes.

  At the clip-clop of a horse on the hardened road, Tuck twisted around.

  The stranger sat tall and relaxed in the saddle, a hint of a smile on his lips. Dark blue eyes danced as they rested on the two sisters. When he lifted his hand and touched the brim of his hat, a lock of dark hair fell across his forehead. “Afternoon, ladies.”

  Her breath exploded from her open mouth with a loud whoosh. Had someone just kicked her in the stomach? By the time Kentucky’s pounding heart settled back to normal, horse and rider had rounded a curve in the road and disappeared behind a grove of oak trees. “Who was that?” Whoever he was, she was going to marry him.

  A dreamy look crossed her sister’s face. “The new doctor, Sam Fields, and I think he’s going to be your new brother-in-law.”

  Tuck returned to her senses and frowned. Obviously, Addy was as bowled over by the doctor as she was. Huh. Her sister was in for a great big surprise.

  “Abby, why are you looking at me like that?” A frown crossed Addy’s face.

  Okay, this wouldn’t be easy. First, Tuck couldn’t let on that she was smitten with the doctor. “I said don’t call me Abby. My name is Kentucky. Do you hear?”

  “All right. Don’t get so riled up. But don’t you think you’re a little old for such a childish nickname?”

  “No, I like it.” Tuck glared at her sister. Miss Bossy.

  Tuck scrambled up onto the wagon seat and grabbed the reins, barely waiting long enough for her sister to scurry onto the seat before she flicked the reins. “Hiiiya, Toby, Haystack.”

  The mules took off at a lumbered pace. Why couldn’t they go faster? If she had to be this close to Addy much longer, she might explode. She turned and grabbed the long black whip from the back of the wagon. Papa Jack had made it for one of the neighbors to use in a stunt riding show and hadn’t gotten around to taking it to the man yet. She cracked the whip, and the mules took off running.

  “Abigail Sullivan! What do you think you’re doing?” Addy grabbed at Tuck’s arm and tried to wrestle the whip away. “Let go of it. Papa Jack will kill you if you hurt his mules.”

  So she wants me to let go? Fine. Tuck opened her hand and Addy fell backward, teetering close to the side. Tuck grabbed her by the arm and steadied her.

  She pulled hard on the reins and brought the wagon to a stop. Leaning over, she panted for breath, then finally sat up and stared at her sister. The look of horror on Addy’s face struck Tuck as funny. A giggle rose from deep in her belly, exploding into great gulping, gasping laughter. “Hooo.” Spent, she leaned back in the seat, her chest hurting.

  “Look at me.” Addy’s voice was barely above a whisper.

  The soft words surprised Tuck and she glanced at her sister. “What?”

  “You like him, too, don’t you?”

  “What are you talking about? Like who?” Tuck knew the innocent tone wouldn’t fool anyone, much less Addy.

  “It’s no use. I know you like him.”

  “So, what if I do?” Tuck frowned. She should have been more careful.

  Addy picked up the reins and handed them to her. “Then you shall have him. Let’s go home.”

  Tuck eyed her sister. Was she serious? Why did she always give up so easily? She flicked the reins, and the mules started up the steep hill. “Whadda you mean, I’ll have him? Like a man like him would give me a second look.”

  A pair of lines appeared between Addy’s eyes, and she pursed her lips as she examined Tuck. “It’s true, you are a little rough looking, but only because of the way you dress and act.”

  “What’s wrong with the way I dress and act?” Tuck felt the insult but wasn’t about to let Addy know. “Just because I don’t simper and primp?”

  “Oh, never mind, sister. Let’s not fight. The woods are so beautiful today. Let’s enjoy the ride home.”

  Tuck relaxed and shifted a little on the seat. Addy was right. Oak trees, silver maple, and ash filled the woods on either side of the bumpy road, the sun glinting on their silver and green leaves. Soon the summer would be over, and gold, red, and orange would appear. Nothing was as beautiful as fall in the Ozarks. She grinned. Except maybe deep blue eyes and shiny black hair.

  “So what did you mean about the way I look and act?” Tuck asked.

  Addy huffed. “Really, Tuck, you’re a very pretty girl if you’d let me fix you up like I’m always offering. Those braids are childish and make you look like a little girl, instead of a twenty-year-old woman. And when you’re not wearing overalls, your dresses look disheveled. And…and…maybe you should use your first name.”

  “Well okay, maybe to the fixing up, but I’ll never give up Kentucky.” She gave Addy a sidewise glance. “You liked him, too. Why’d you change your mind?”

  Addy laughed. “I hardly even know the man. I only met him at the store one day. I thought he was handsome. That was all. But he’s the first one you’ve ever shown the slightest interest in, except maybe Rafe.”

  “Rafe?” Tuck laughed. “He’s my best friend. You know that.”

  “Yes, but sometimes I’ve seen you two looking at each other with that…ummm…that look.” She averted her eyes and stared at the woods.

  “What look?” Tuck frowned, and indignation rose up like a cyclone inside her. “You better take that back. You know there’s nothing between Rafe and me. And don’t you go saying there is.”

  “All right, all right. Calm down. I must have been mistaken.”

  “I’ll say you are.” She gave a short laugh and flicked the reins. “Hiya. Let’s go, mules.”

  Rafe chewed on a piece of green sour dock and watched as Tuck baited her hook, swung the line over the side of the boat, and then settled down on the bench seat.

  She glanced at him. “Hey, aren’t you gonna fish?”

  “Naw, ain’t in the mood.” He chewed on the stalk and swallowed.

  “Why’d you want to go fishing then?” She squinted. “You better quit chewing on that dock. The other day, I heard someone say it’s poisonous.”

  Rafe stared at her. “You chew on the stuff all the time.”

  Tuck frowned then looked intently down at the water. “No, I don’t. Not anymore. It ain’t ladylike.”

  Rafe chuckled. “Ladylike? Since when do you care about that stuff?”

  She checked her line then slung a glance his way. “Since a certain doctor moved to town. That’s when.”

  Huh? Did she mean what it sounded like she meant? Rafe sat up. “What are you talking about?”

  She bit her bottom lip, and her big blue eyes studied him for a moment. “Promise you won’t tell anyone?”

  “What do I look like? Some gossipy old woman?” He shrugged. “Tell me or not. It doesn’t matter to me.”

  “Sorry. Guess I’m a little fidgety talking about it.” She hesitated, and a blush washed over her face. “Truth is, I’m kind of sweet on the new doctor.”

  Rafe tensed and took a deep breath. He managed a sharp laugh. “I see. So is he sweet on you, too?”

  “How should I know? I’ve never even spoken to the man.” Her face softened, and tenderness filled her eyes. Something he’d only seen on Tuck when she was talking about a new baby calf or something. “But he will be. I’ll see to that.”

  A bolt of unexplainable anger shot through him. “Oh really? And how do you mean to go about it?”

  “Not sure yet.” She closed her eyes and sighed. “He’s just about the handsomest man I’ve ever laid eyes on, Rafe. Hair black as midnight and deep, stormy blue eyes.”

  “You mean like Lexie’s?”

  She glared and gave a scornful laugh. “Of course not. The doctor’s hair and eyes don’t look like a woman’s.”

  “Okay. Don’t get so riled up. I get it.”

  She sighed. “I’m going to marry him, Rafe.”

  Rafe’s chest tightened and a knot formed in his throat. He wasn’t sure why, but he’d better do something before he exploded. He took a long, slow breath and drawled, “I expe
ct you’d better introduce yourself to him and make sure he’s interested before you start planning the wedding. Besides, for all you know he may be a mad killer.”

  She gave him a shove, rocking the boat. “He is not, Rafe Collins. And stop making fun of me.”

  “Why, Tuck honey, I wouldn’t think of making fun of you. Just want to make sure you’re not murdered on your wedding night.” He ducked, expecting a bucket full of bait in his face.

  “Why you…”

  Tuck stood, and the next thing Rafe knew he was treading water. He shook a wet cascade from his face and looked around. Several feet away, Tuck’s head bobbed in the river and she grabbed for the boat. He swam over to help right it. Sputtering and gagging, they flipped it over and together dragged it to the riverbank.

  Rafe hunched over, his hands on his knees, and coughed up water. Glancing over to make sure Tuck was okay, he threw himself onto the wet ground, heaving deep breaths.

  Loud, guffawing laughter exploded near his ear, and Rafe flipped over on his stomach. Tuck lay on her back, slapping her legs as she howled.

  What did she think was so funny? “Tuck, you know better than to stand up in a boat, you idiot.”

  “Sorry. I got so mad I just stood right up, didn’t I?” She grinned at him, her eyes sparkling. “Bet you didn’t mean to go swimming today.”

  Try as he would, he couldn’t keep a straight face. His laughter joined hers, echoing across the valley.

  Finally, she jumped up and started wringing out her shirt. His breath caught in his throat. The sun shone on her hair, giving it the appearance of gold threads. And droplets of water glistened on her skin. Rafe had never seen such a beautiful sight.

  He shook his head. What in thunder was the matter with him? It was only Tuck. His best friend. The nutty tomboy who lived on the next farm.

  He cleared his throat. “Look, Tuck. I’m sorry I teased you. But you aren’t serious about marrying that doctor, are you?”