by Jan Watson
“Mam? Daddy’s coming with the buggy,” she heard Laura Grace call. “We’d better get my dress.”
She reached in her pocket for her handkerchief and withdrew instead the letter that had come in the mail just yesterday. The letter postmarked Sabinal Canyon, Texas. She’d cornered Dr. Corbett when he visited in January, and he’d told her a truth she hadn’t really wanted to know. Sighing, she put the envelope back. Time enough to talk to Will about a change in plans after Laura Grace was gone. A headache blossomed like a malevolent rose at the back of her head. Time enough then.
The little church in the valley of the mountains was packed with women and children as Laura Grace Brown entered on the arm of her father. The men waited outside, guns cocked and ready to fire in celebration.
An audible sigh went up from all the ladies when she walked down the short narrow aisle. She was a beautiful bride. Her dress was the prettiest thing they’d ever seen, the color of the richest cream, all lace at the top, made of silk so soft every hand reached out to touch it. The back of her skirt had a rounded bustle and a short train that whispered as she walked. In her gloved hands she carried a bouquet of white service berries and full-blown pink roses atop a small black Bible. Long streamers of beaded ribbon, nearly reaching the floor, fell from the flowers.
The stranger she was marrying was dressed like a judge in a gray serge, long-jacketed suit that nipped in at the waist. His shoes were as shiny as a lump of wet coal, and he dabbed at his eyes with one dove-gray-gloved finger as she came toward him. One of the little Brown twins held his top hat, and the other stood there by the preacher with a little silk pillow that held Copper’s ring.
Will was hardly recognizable. He’d clipped his full bushy beard so close, the shape of his chin was visible for the first time anyone could remember. Some sitting there remembered when it had turned white overnight and shed a tear for that sad day. It sure wouldn’t be the same on Troublesome now that Will’s wife was taking him away. She was a fey one, that Grace Brown.
Brother Isaac stepped before them, grinning from ear to ear. Like everyone else, he’d always been partial to Copper. Her groom took her hand and kissed the back of her glove. She blushed the color of her flowers. Oh, they made a handsome couple.
Before the watching crowd could catch its breath, Copper followed her groom in pledging her troth. They could have heard a leaf twirl in the wind, so quiet was it in the church when she followed Brother Isaac’s words: “I, Laura Grace Brown, take you, Simon Alexander Corbett, to be my husband. I will honor you and obey you, cherish you and love you until death do us part.”
Then they were pronounced, and the doctor took her in his arms and kissed her full on the mouth before them all, kissed her as if he’d been waiting an awfully long time. Every woman commenced fanning herself with the pasteboard fans provided new just for the ceremony.
The men shot their guns into the air in celebration as the new husband and wife ran through the church door. Copper stopped long enough to cut a length of ribbon from her bouquet for every little girl in the crowd. Then she gave her flowers to Emilee Pelfrey, who would see that they were placed on her mother’s grave.
Dr. Corbett pumped Will’s hand, then swept Copper off her feet and carried her to the waiting surrey.
“Hurray! Hurray!” the crowd sang out amid the gunfire as the carriage pulled away.
“Wait! Wait!” they heard Copper call. Then the carriage stopped and she was out the door and running to her step-mother, seizing her with a fierce embrace before running back to the surrey again.
Cheers changed to laughter as they all looked at the back window of the buggy and saw Paw-paw settle his old-dog self as upright as a man between the couple, his stiff leg like a lover’s embrace behind the bride’s neck.
Copper leaned out the window as far as she dared, waving until her friends and family faded from view. Tears dimmed her vision, but a flash of red on the ridge high above the road caught her eye, and she fancied she saw a slight figure running there, keeping pace with the buggy.
Making a fist, she tapped her chest in the place directly over her heart and kept her eyes on the ridge until Simon flicked the reins and the horse pulled away, away from the swiftly flowing water of Troublesome Creek.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
A retired registered nurse of twenty-five years, Jan Watson specialized in the care of newborns and their mothers. A charter member of Southern Acres Christian Church, she lives in Lexington, Kentucky. Jan has three grown sons.
Always a late bloomer, she didn’t begin to write until her husband bought her a word processor for Christmas seven years ago. Challenged to see writing as a ministry at a writer’s conference in 2001, Jan began to take her stories seriously and so Troublesome Creek was born.
Jan’s hobbies are reading, antiquing, and taking long walks with her Jack Russell terrier, Maggie.
She hopes to bring readers more of Copper Brown’s adventures in the future.
You may contact Jan by writing to her in care of Tyndale House Author Relations, P.O. Box 80, Wheaton, IL 60189; or visit her Web site at www.janwatson.net.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Foreword
Acknowledgements
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
CHAPTER 27
CHAPTER 28
CHAPTER 29
CHAPTER 30
CHAPTER 31
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
