“Yes,” she answered without hesitation.
“Then remember you have made this decision.” He closed the door behind him as he left.
Fallon shook her head in wonderment at her own daring. Could it be? Would the dark and mysterious Trader Donavon really wed the orphaned and plain Fallon Ashby?
CHAPTER FOUR
The snow had stopped. Three days had passed, and Fallon studied herself in the mirror as Patty looped the seemingly endless row of pearl buttons down the back of the dress. She fancied she looked rosy-cheeked, fresh, and pretty—such a contrast to what she had appeared only a few days before. Closing her eyes, Fallon offered a silent prayer, thankful for her deliverance from her uncle’s clutches and into a life of—for all appearances—hopeful security.
“You are the loveliest thing I’ve ever seen, Fallon,” the elder woman remarked with a sigh. Patty and Fallon had become fast friends in the past few days, and Fallon was flattered. “I love the color of your hair, like spun maple.”
“Patty, are the bruises gone?” Fallon asked.
“Almost, honey. A few more days. But don’t worry…Trader won’t notice them. As lovely as you are, I’ve no doubt that tonight in your wedding bed—”
“Patty,” Fallon interrupted, blushing to the tips of her toes. “I thought Trader explained to you that—”
“He explained everything to me. At least the words came out of his mouth, but I’m sure his thoughts are more likely lingering on—”
“Patty, please,” Fallon said. A great disappointment washed over her, a discontent she knew she must learn to overcome and ignore. “The circumstances aren’t anything next to ordinary, so let’s not pretend they are,” Fallon reminded, as she pushed a lock of hair into place.
“Oh, all right then,” Patty whined. “I guess I’ll just be overjoyed Trader’s getting married at last, no matter what. He always swore not to.”
“Thank you, Patty,” Fallon said, again ignoring the sudden unsettlement in her bosom.
“There!” Patty exclaimed, smiling into the mirror. “It isn’t the fancy dress you probably always dreamed of, but it was pretty when I wore it, no matter its simplicity.”
Fallon smiled. “Believe me, Patty, I tell you with all my heart it’s the most beautiful dress I’ve ever worn.”
Fallon heard the organ begin to play Mendelssohn’s familiar composition. She was instantly sickened with anxiety. What if Trader truly resented her? After all, he had referred to their marriage as “a good deed.” Would she really be able to find happiness in simply being married to him, unable all the while to receive his love and affections? It frightened her. Yet she knew that to have him—belong to him—would be enough. It must be enough, and it would be.
“Oh! Come on, honey. It’s time. I’m so nervous!” Patty chattered as she smoothed her hair upward into place.
Fallon looked at her and laughed. As the doors opened into the chapel, Fallon’s knees nearly buckled. “Patty!” she whispered. “There are so many people here. Why are there so many people? I can’t possibly walk past all those people!”
Patty patted Fallon’s cheek tenderly and quietly said, “Trader Donavon, the mysterious hermit, is finally marrying. Folks were astonished to hear of it, and most of them work for him anyway. In one way or another, they are here to pay their respects. Just look straight ahead, and don’t fret.”
Fallon swallowed hard. She looked up to where the Reverend Jones stood. Her knees went liquid as she caught sight of Trader standing at the altar. He turned toward her, no doubt staring directly at her, but she could not tell for certain, for, as always, he was hooded. He was not wearing his cloak, however. The white shirt, black trousers, and black vest he wore revealed he was large and uniquely well-built. Fallon was amazed at the sheer size of him—the broadness of his shoulders, the powerful muscles of his arms, visible even beneath his shirtsleeves. She swallowed hard as she studied him, from the top of his hooded head to the tips of his black boots.
The organist began another refrain, and Fallon took her first steps, resisting the urge to run. Somehow she walked a normal pace to the point where Trader stood.
The music stopped. Reverend Jones began the ceremony. Fallon felt the eyes of the guests burning into her back and wished for it all to be over quickly. Of course, there would be the small reception, held at the town hall afterward, to endure.
Trader had been adamant the wedding be proper and well attended. “It must not appear as it actually is,” he had said again and again. “I hope the people don’t begrudge me my actions afterward,” she heard him tell Ben the previous day. Fallon had wondered only briefly at the remark, however.
“No one will question what you intend to do, Trader,” Ben had replied.
“…to love, honor, and cherish ’til death do you part?”
Fallon snapped to attention as she heard Reverend Jones speaking to Trader. She looked quickly up at the dark form. Will he truly agree to this? she wondered.
“I will,” Trader said without hesitation.
“And will you, Fallon, take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband? To love, honor, and cherish ’til death do you part?”
Fallon was aware of the hooded head turning to look at her. “I will,” she said, though the thought of the death of Trader Donavon suddenly frightened her.
“The rings, please.” Johnny, one of the stable hands, stepped forward and, taking her bouquet, handed Fallon a gold band. Trader removed his left glove and held out one large hand.
“With this ring, I thee wed,” Fallon repeated after Reverend Jones. With trembling hands, she placed the ring on Trader Donavon’s finger. He quickly replaced his glove, taking her own small hand in his and repeating the phrase. Fallon gasped audibly when she saw the ring he placed on her finger. The center stone was enormous, a stunning diamond surrounded by dainty sapphires blinking back at her.
“I now pronounce you man and wife,” the reverend concluded.
Fallon Donavon began to feel faint as Trader lifted her hand. It disappeared beneath the hood, and she felt the brief, moist warmth of his lips pressed to her tender flesh—the brief, moist warmth of Trader Donavon’s kiss. He quickly dropped her hand as all in attendance cheered and applauded. Fallon put her hands to her face to try to slow her heated blush.
“Everyone please join us across the street at the town meeting hall for a small celebration!” Trader announced. Fallon looked to him quickly, surprised by the somewhat happy tone in his voice.
Patty rushed forward and embraced Fallon tightly. “This will be so wonderful!” she said, wiping the tears from her eyes. “Trader!” And she threw her arms around his waist.
“Patty! For the love of Pete,” he growled, detaching her. “Run along, Fallon. I’ll be there in a minute,” he instructed her and motioned to Ben to join him. Fallon watched as they approached her Uncle Charles, standing near the entrance of the church.
“Patty?” Fallon asked, puzzled. Patty put her arm through Fallon’s and began to walk away.
“Just walk away, love. Never you mind. It’s the men’s business.”
Everyone was out the door and crossing the street to the town hall, but Fallon broke from Patty. She looked back in time to see her uncle throw a fist at Trader. She gasped as the hooded man simply caught the degenerate’s fist in his own, twisting the man’s arm behind his back. Ben spoke sharply to the drunken fiend, and Trader shoved him forward. Trader then adjusted his vest and turned to leave.
“Come along, Fallon,” Patty said.
“What’s going on, Patty? Tell me.”
Patty again began to lead her across the street. “Trader has served that man a notice of eviction, effective immediately.”
“What?” Fallon whispered. Even though her uncle was a vile man, something within her felt sorry for him.
“Complete with a payoff to leave you alone,” Patty whispered.
“What?” Fallon gasped again.
“Trader would never leave an
yone penniless, Fallon, even a man like that.”
Fallon’s mind whirled with the information. Trader Donavon had married her! It was stunning in and of itself. But to fathom he had also paid her uncle to leave her be? She could not believe it.
“I presume it would be appropriate for me to escort her into the building, Patty,” Trader said, quickly coming from behind to link Fallon’s arm through his own. She looked up into the darkness of his hood, wishing with all her heart she could see the expressions of his face.
Everyone clapped as they entered the town hall. Fallon suddenly realized she was caught in an enormous lie. Immediately the musicians began to play, and to her complete surprise, Trader led her into a waltz. After a few moments, the guests joined, and Fallon regained the thread of composure she had lost while being held so intimately by her former landlord. He danced very smoothly considering his great size, and Fallon fancied for a moment the charade was in truth. She could feel his breath in her hair, and something about the way his hand held her waist caused her to shiver in an oddly pleasant manner.
“I’ve evicted your uncle, Fallon,” he said bluntly. “The man is a degenerate.”
Fallon’s compassion rose again. “Somewhere there must be a good man in him, sir, or my father wouldn’t have cherished him so.”
“Even so, anyone who would strike a woman…he’ll be taken care of. Write to your mother, and let her know that.”
An elderly man reached up and tapped Trader on the shoulder. “May I?” he asked, bowing to Fallon. Her heart sank. No doubt this would be ever her only chance to be held in a waltz with the man she had dreamed of. Still, she smiled at the elderly man and began her dance with him. She watched as Trader walked away from her and toward other guests.
“Well, none of us ever thought that one would get hooked, ma’am. But then, you are a charmin’ little thing,” Fallon’s dancing partner said.
“Thank you, sir,” she answered, thinking to herself no girl had ever captured a man with less effort on her part.
“He’s a good man, Mrs. Donavon. He’s done so much for my family these past few years. I hate to see him such a haunted soul. Maybe you can help rid him of his ghosts.”
“Perhaps,” she said, smiling sadly. Her heart sunk lower and lower into her stomach as she watched Trader shower everyone in the room with his attention. Everyone but her.
Fallon danced continually for nearly an hour. Finally she found a moment to break away to the refreshment table and a revitalizing drink.
“Another few minutes and you can get off your feet, dear,” Patty said, coming to stand next to her. “You do look so lovely.” Fallon smiled and started to speak to her, but her attention was at once captured by Trader. He was waltzing with the most intriguing-looking woman Fallon had ever seen.
Obviously reading Fallon’s curious thoughts, Patty offered, “That’s Julia Salazares. She owns the ranch that borders ours on the east. A Spanish beauty. She’s tried to get Trader to court her for years. Oh, I bet she was furious about this wedding!” Patty laughed, but Fallon felt crushed. She couldn’t see Trader’s face, of course, but the woman’s face showed plainly a woman completely in love. She gazed joyously up into the hood, and her face was literally resplendent as she spoke and paused to listen to his response. It had never occurred to Fallon she might have rivals. Although she then thought it was not surprising—after all, she herself was not frightened away by the hood.
The waltz ended, and she watched as Trader clasped the woman’s hand. Raising it, it disappeared beneath the hood, as Fallon’s had earlier. Trader bowed to the woman and turned. Fallon set her cup down and turned to seek escape as she realized Trader’s attention was now on her. He was determinedly striding her way, but she saw no path to flee. She wondered why she wanted to, why it had been her instinct to run from him.
“One more waltz, and we’ll take our leave. I’m sick to death of hollow talk,” he grumbled, taking her hand and leading her to the dance floor. Fallon broke into goose bumps as Trader’s hand grasped her waist. “‘Fallon’? Such a severe-sounding name for someone like you,” he said, beginning to lead her in the dance.
“I…I was named after my great-grandmother,” she said and then countered. “‘Trader’ isn’t exactly the most common name either.”
“True. But I am not a common man. Harry or Bob wouldn’t fit me, do you think?”
“No.”
“But ‘Fallon’? I think you should soften it a bit.”
She smiled. “You mean like ‘little Trader.’” She stifled a chuckle as he cleared his throat.
“Well, not exactly. I’ve tried to break Patty of that habit, but she persists. She’s known me for twenty-five years. I guess it’s a hard habit to break.”
Fallon looked up quickly, surprised by her own sudden thoughts. Patty had known Trader for how long? How old was he? She had never considered it. Perhaps he was fifty—or more. Had he always worn a hood? Perhaps Patty had known him before. Perhaps he had always worn one. Then it happened—she could not stop her thoughts from escaping her mouth.
“Have you always worn the hood?” She felt him stiffen.
“I neglected to mention, Fallon, another condition of this marriage. Never question me about the hood, and never try to look beyond it. The consequence would mean your being sent away. Do you understand?” His voice was hushed and harsh.
“Yes, sir. Forgive me,” she whispered, lowering her head.
“No. I have not always worn it,” he answered just the same. “The dance is ending. We will take our leave now. Force a smile to your face, and think no more of this,” he whispered. “Ladies and gentlemen, Fallon and I would like to thank you for venturing out to help us celebrate, but we wish to be on our way now. Thank you again,” he boomed. “Come along, Fallon.” He took her arm, covering her hand with his strong, black-gloved one.
“Of course, Trader,” she said with a smile. As they left the building and Trader helped her into the buggy, their guests cheered, tossing pine needles into the air. Fallon waved, smiled, and caught a kiss thrown by Patty.
She had done it! She had married Trader Donavon. More astounding, Trader Donavon had married her. Fallon smiled. No life could be worse than that she had endured with her uncle. Certainly it could not be.
The buggy ride was delightful. The unexpected snow from the storm was quickly melting, revealing budding daffodils in the meadows. Fallon was overjoyed to see the beautiful sunshine trumpets had survived the storm and were thriving.
“Thank you, Mr. Donavon,” she humbly muttered.
“What?” he asked.
“Thank you—for saving me from a miserable existence.”
“Perhaps you should wait awhile before thanking me. You may find this one to be worse,” he rather grumbled.
“You wouldn’t have done this if you believed that.”
He was silent again. “We must choose a horse for you. Also, I hope you have hobbies to keep you busy. Patty will be excellent company for you, and I’m glad. She’s been so lonely since she lost her husband.”
“How did she lose him?” Fallon asked. Patty was such a tender-hearted, delightful woman. She hated to think of the sweet elderly lady as lonely.
He paused again. “The war, at Gettysburg. Union soldier. A great man.”
Fallon looked at him quickly. Of course, she thought. She had known there was something different in the way Trader spoke. A slight yet discernable southern accent was his. It was faded, almost gone. Was he a Johnny Reb? she wondered.
“My daddy fought in the war as well,” she said aloud.
“Really? For who?”
“The Union.”
“Good man,” Trader stated.
“Did you fight in the—” Fallon began.
“I hope Ben returns with haste,” he interrupted. “There are still some cattle missing, lost in the storm, I’m afraid.”
Fallon followed his lead, which was that of rerouting the conversation.
He did not want to talk about his past, any of it. It was painfully obvious. And so she spoke no more to him—simply enjoyed the beauty of the day, the gold of the daffodils amid the melting snow on the meadow.
Upon their arrival at the house, Trader climbed down from the buggy and reached up, his capable hands encircling Fallon’s waist. It was then he finally spoke again, but his words gifted Fallon no comfort.
“The charade ends here, Fallon. Let me show you to your new room and some of your duties as my wife,” Trader said.
“Very well,” she mumbled. Suddenly Fallon felt disheartened and lonely. Yet there was nothing to be done—nothing to be done but endure.
“This is my room, and Patty has prepared the one across from it for you. It is the best. Even better than mine,” Trader said as he opened the door. Fallon drew in her breath at the beauty of the room he revealed to her. She was assured at that moment she had, indeed, married a Southerner. Indeed, the room was the most beautiful room she had ever seen! Cream-colored lace dripped tastefully from everything. Red velvet, a vanity, a large ornate standing mirror, decorative pillows! It was too much to take in all at once.
“It’s…it’s beautiful! Thank you,” she whispered.
Trader walked to the wardrobe and opened it. “This is my wedding gift to you. I hope it is sufficient,” he explained.
Fallon nervously began wringing her hands. The wardrobe was stuffed full of fine-looking dresses and nightwear. She reached out and touched a peacock-blue satin gown.
“This was so unnecessary,” she whispered.
“Don’t be ridiculous. You must be clothed. Now follow me. I want to show you something else.”
Fallon reluctantly followed, desperate to simply lie down on the comfortable-looking bed, to slip out of her wedding dress and into a soft cotton gown. But she followed as ordered, suddenly awestruck by everything that had changed in her life over the course of a few days.
That night, lying in the soft cotton sheets of her new bed, Fallon drifted off to sleep more comfortable and more at peace than she could ever have imagined a week before. Her dreams were soft, safe, and warm.
Divine Deception Page 3
