Mrs. Whittaker slipped the jar back into her bag. "I'll send it with you after the reception. What you need is a nice warm bath, and then Mason can rub this on you." She nudged Beth and leaned near, her eyes twinkling. "Doesn't that sound interesting?"
Sure her face turned bright red, Beth barely nodded.
Mrs. Pendleton gasped and bristled. "The nerve. She will do no such thing. My daughter is a lady, and no man, not even her husband, will ever see her in her bath or put his hands all over her."
Beth weighed her mother's words against Mrs. Whittaker's. Her mother cared only what people thought. Mrs. Whittaker actually cared for Beth's comfort and welfare. Her mother thought relations between a man and woman something to suffer through. Mrs. Whittaker thought they were interesting.
Beth faced her mother. "You care more about what folks think than how I feel. You always have, Mother. It's time you learned that the way you treat people is more important than your social status."
Her mother clutched at her heart. "Bethany! What's come over you?"
"Nothing. I've set my priorities, and being a good wife to Mason is first. If you want to see me in the future, you and Daddy had better be nice to Mason and his family. He's a fine man, the best I've ever known, and he deserves your respect." She turned and smiled at her future mother-in-law. "Thank you for the ointment, Mrs. Whittaker. I appreciate your thoughtfulness."
Mrs. Whittaker patted her hand. "Now, dear, you call me Mama, just like Mason does. Can't tell you how I've looked forward to having a daughter."
Beth sighed. "Thank you, um, Mama. That's very kind of you." She hoped her parents would come around. Maybe when they returned from their trip they'd see how happy she and Mason were and be glad for her. Whether they did or not, she was fortunate to become a part of the Whittaker family.
Beside her, Beth's father snorted. "Hmph, no point in calling her Mama if that boy doesn't show up—not that he deserves you, Bethany."
Mr. Whittaker stood with hands in his pockets and a shoulder braced against the back wall of the chapel. "He'll be here. Unless some jinx has kept him from it."
Mr. Pendleton stepped forward, but Mrs. Whittaker reached her husband first. She hit him hard on the arm. "You stop that talk right now, Glenn Whittaker, or you'll be sleeping in the barn with the other jackasses."
Mr. Whittaker rubbed his arm and looked at the floor. "Beg your pardon, Beth."
Rachel removed her cloak, and Ben stared.
"You look awful pretty, hon. I reckon' that's even prettier than the other dress."
"Yeah, Mama, you look nice as candy." Ben, Jr., was of an age where he compared everything to horses, dogs, or candy.
'This is the first dress." Rachel looked at Beth, and a look of understanding passed between them. "Beth fixed it with one of hers."
Mrs. Pendleton harrumphed. "Wasted a perfectly good Paris gown."
"No, Mother, we made good use of it." Beth smiled at Rachel.
"Your dress is beautiful, Beth." Mrs. Whittaker touched the skirt's beadwork. "Such an unusual and clever design. And the little lace at the bottom is so interesting."
Beth's mother moaned.
Beth announced loud enough that Mrs. Weldon and Mrs. Humphreys would be certain to hear, "That's my late Grandmother Ransom's handkerchief. I'd planned to carry it in her memory, but this keeps my hands free for my bouquet and Mason's arm." She leaned near Mrs. Whittaker's ear and whispered, "I'll tell you the rest about it later."
An elderly woman two rows up turned around and struggled to stand. "May I see, dear. Your grandmother was one of my closest friends."
"Oh, Mrs. Vanderpool. How nice you could come, even with all the rain." Beth moved a few steps up the aisle to greet the woman.
"I wouldn't miss it for the world." Mrs. Vanderpool adjusted her spectacles. "Oh, Beth, you're as lovely a bride as I thought you'd be. You look exactly like your grandmother at your age. What a beauty she was."
"Thank you so much. That means the world to me." Beth thought she might cry.
The elderly woman looked at Beth's dress. "Oh, I see the handkerchief with her initials showing. What a nice touch, my dear. She would be so proud of you."
"I hope so. She was a wonderful person."
"Yes, she was so kind and compassionate and did many good works about town—without her husband's knowledge, of course. I've heard you carry on that tradition, dear, and help many of the unfortunate in our community. Bless you." Mrs. Vanderpool smiled. "Don't worry, that boy will be here. He's a smart young man, and no man in his right mind could resist you, my dear." She sank back onto the pew.
Beth thanked her again and moved to the back of the church holding back tears of happiness and sorrow. Sorrow her beloved grandmother had passed on but happy that finally, someone besides Mason had something good to say about her.
Mason was never late for anything, and Beth feared he might have been injured in the storm. She pictured all sorts of disasters—he could have been struck by lightning, a tree branch could have fallen on him, the lump on his head from this morning could have made him ill.
Still near tears, she asked his parents, "When did Mason leave?"
Mr. Whittaker met her gaze. "He left at noon. Took my horse to Medina. Watson's Buggy Works didn't have the buggy ready when he went three days ago, but Watson promised to have it ready and waiting today. Reckon this storm's slowed him."
Beau wove to look out the window. "River's too high to cross." He took a flask from his pocket and took a swig. "Might have had to turn back and leave the buggy, then ride here."
Beth hugged her arms. Had she turned into a jinx after all? She counted the travel time on horseback to Medina, then added the time back by buggy, and threw in an extra hour for the storm. Mason should have arrived by now. What if he'd fallen into the river or the axle had broken? She took a deep breath and battled light-headedness.
Nine
"Now, dear, don't fret." Mrs. Whittaker patted her arm again. "Nothing could keep Mason from showing up here and marrying you."
Mr. Pendleton crossed his arms. "Boy doesn't deserve her, but he'd damned well better show up, and fast."
Beau took another swig from his flask, and Mr. Whittaker scowled at Mr. Pendleton.
Beth felt trapped in a nightmare. What if Mason didn't come? Beth fought for air and saw white circles swirling in front of her. Maybe her corset was too tight. "I think I'd better sit down."
People on the back pew scooted together and made a place at the end, and she sat on the hard bench. Someone produced smelling salts, and the acrid scent combined with the awful odor of the ointment. Her nostrils stung and her eyes watered, but the dizziness decreased. If only Mason were here, she'd be fine.
Beth heard the murmurs through the small sanctuary. Though she couldn't understand much, she picked out the words "bet," "jinx," "again," and "family way." Everyone thought Mason had decided to run out on her, leaving her with a baby on the way. If he didn't show, it would be because he'd been injured— but wouldn't that prove she was a true jinx?
The door burst open, and Mason limped in— maybe fell in was more accurate. Everyone in the sanctuary turned around, and a murmur rose in waves across the chapel. Beth sighed with relief and stood to greet him. She wanted to rush into his arms, but there were too many people between them. She pushed her way through.
"Mason, you poor dear, you're soaked." He wore what looked like the same work clothes he'd worn this morning, but she didn't care.
He stood in front of her, water from his hair running into his eyes and every part of him dripping onto the floor in a growing puddle. Grabbing her hand like a lifeline, he looked at her. "Aw, Beth, honey, what happened to you? I'll bet you're miserable." He leaned forward. "Smells like mama's goo."
"I broke out in hives. Your mother put the ointment on the skin that's not covered by dress and gloves. It eased the itching." She wanted to add the part about him rubbing it all over her later, but couldn't with all the people around them.
>
Beau looked at the floor. "Solly, kuz, I mean sorry. Poured gin in the water bucket. Though it'd relax folks. Didn't know Beth couldn't take gin."
"Beau, have you lost your brain? I take back what I said. I'm not one bit sorry I hit you this morning."
Beau hung his head. "Know I'm acting crazy, but can't think straight. Glad you're marrying Beth after wanting her all these years, but I can't think about anything but Amy leaving me."
"I know, Beau." Mason exhaled and smiled at Beth. Love shone from his eyes. "Don't worry, Beth. You look pretty as a picture."
Beth looked down at the angry welts across her skin and knew she looked a fright. "You always say nice things to me. Thank you."
"Papa, your horse is at the Medina livery with a stone bruise on the frog of his right front hoof." Mason looked at Beth while he spoke, and clasped her hands in his. "Beth, for your wedding present I bought you a pretty new buggy and a roan mare to pull it."
Another murmur rippled across the room.
Beth smiled up at him. "Your folks told me. It was awful sweet of you, but you've always been thoughtful."
"Couldn't get the rig across the creeks. Had to turn around and take it back to Medina. We'll send for it when the water goes down."
"Thank you for thinking of it, Mason. But, if your father's horse is at the livery, how'd you get here?"
"Had to ride the new roan I bought you. She's buggy trained but not saddle broke, and she fought me." He looked down at his clothes. "Somewhere along the way I lost my hat. My satchel came loose and fell off the back of the horse. Lost my good suit, boots, and best shirt, but didn't have time to go back."
Mr. Whittaker took off his own jacket. "Here, son, wear this. Beau, give Mason a drink from that flask."
Mason accepted a nip from the flask. Taking the coat his father offered, Mason pulled it on over his wet shirt.
Reverend Moseley cleared his throat. "Shall we get on with the ceremony? Mason, would you and the best man take your places at the front?"
Mason's boots squished when he walked. When he and Beau were at the front, Rachel's husband acted as usher and seated the Whittakers on the front pew next to Mason's grandfather, who slumped as if he'd dozed off. When the Whittakers sat beside him, Mr. Whittaker nudged him.
The elderly man started awake. "What happened? Oh, I see Mason finally made it." He pulled out his pocket watch and peered at it. "Damned well time he showed up."
Ben returned and guided Mrs. Pendleton to the front pew across the aisle from the Whittakers and down a space to leave room for Mr. Pendleton.
The accompanist played the little pianoforte that Mr. Pendleton and two other men had hauled to the chapel. Beside the pianist, Mozelle Darby straightened her shoulders, thrust out her bosom, and broke into song. Off key. Apparently the screech startled the accompanist, and she missed notes of her own.
Beth gritted her teeth against Mrs. Darby's shrill voice and ignored the titters that rippled across the guests. Mrs. Pendleton had insisted they use. Mrs. Darby because the woman had once sung solos at a large church in Austin. It must have been years ago, for what little voice the woman may have once possessed had long since departed. Mrs. Darby finished the first selection and broke into a second. The accompanist raced to keep up. Thunder rumbled outside and appeared to punctuate the soloist's vocalizing.
Rachel, standing in front of Beth, turned around and rolled her eyes. Some people laughed openly at Mrs. Darby's attempts at singing. A couple of children covered their ears. Beth would have liked to, but she stood rigid beside her father. Finally, Mrs. Darby took her seat. The accompanist played alone.
Ben took out a match safe and lit a long taper he handed to Ben, Jr., who carried the lighted candle and used it to start those at the front of the chapel.
Halfway through, he yelped, "Hot damn," and dropped the lighted candle. The boy danced first on one foot and then the other while shaking his hand. Ben rushed toward his son. Mason scooped up the candle and stomped out the burning floor. Smoke rose, and Beth smelled the scorched wood.
Mason struck a match and lit the candle again. Ben held his son so he could reach the remaining candles without hot wax dripping on his hand. They blew out the candle they'd used to light the others and placed it on the floor. Then he and Ben, Jr., took their places on the second pew beside Ben's mother and father and Rachel's other five children—Jamie, Angus, Bart, Liza, and baby Becca.
Rachel glanced over her shoulder, and Beth nodded to signal she was ready. Rachel walked slowly toward the front.
"That boy doesn't deserve you." Mr. Pendleton's stage whisper carried through the chapel.
Mason's gaze met Beth's, and he smiled.
"No, Daddy, it's I who don't deserve him." She placed her hand on her father's arm and began the walk down the aisle.
Mason heard the murmurs. Bets. Jinxed. All sorts of vicious gossip floated toward him. At this point he didn't care. The day he thought would never come, the day he thought barred to him, the day he would wed Beth had finally arrived. In a few minutes she'd be his wife.
He watched her walk toward him and beamed at her. No woman on earth had ever looked so lovely. The dress hugged her figure the way he intended to in a few hours. The long train probably picked up plenty of mud and water as she came toward him in spite of the washtubs at the door, but Beth had never looked lovelier. Even Rachel, walking a few steps in front of Beth, looked pretty in her pink dress.
Beside him Beau seemed to weave, but Mason ignored his cousin and kept his eyes focused on his bride. Rachel, Mr. Pendleton, and Beth came forward. Halfway in their walk down the aisle, Beau keeled over and took out both of the large flower urns as he fell flat on his face. The accompanist crashed her fingers against the keys and stopped playing.
The first urn's contents spilled across Mason's already soaked britches and boots and splashed onto' Reverend Moseley and the lectern. The minister stepped back; his eyes widened in horror as he watched the second container reach its destination.
Mrs. Pendleton shrieked as water and flowers showered her. "My dress! My gorgeous Imperial Chrysanthemum silk brocade is ruined. Ruined." She held out her skirts and shook them, as she sobbed. Flowers flew off the skirt or tangled in the lace. Water soaked the front of her dress.
Mr. Pendleton deserted Beth halfway up the aisle and pushed by Rachel to rush toward his wife. "Louise, are you all right?"
Mrs. Pendleton sobbed. "First my own daughter turns against me, and now my special new dress is ruuuuuined." She accepted the handkerchief her husband offered. 'This is the worst day of my life. This is the worst wedding in history."
Mr. Pendleton glared at Mason, who ignored him and bent to retrieve one of the urns. He dumped what remained of the water onto his cousin's head. Beau didn't move. Mason placed the empty urn back where it had set earlier.
When Mason saw Beth shaking with her hand over her mouth, at first he thought she was crying, and he started to go to her. Rachel, who had missed the water by only a few steps, hid behind her hand as well. Then he realized that Beth's anxiety had apparently shattered her demeanor, and she pressed her hand to her mouth in what looked like an attempt to stifle laughter. Both women shook with suppressed mirth. He had to admit it was pretty funny that Mrs. Pendleton had received her comeuppance, but he kept a straight face.
Rowdy appeared and took Beau's feet while Mason grabbed his cousin under the arms. They dragged him to the side. Apparently out cold, Beau never so much as moaned.
Rowdy grinned as if he'd heard a funny joke and wanted to bust out laughing. "Reckon the jinx is on your cousin."
Mason agreed and smiled. "Thanks for your help."
Rowdy went back to his seat. Mason felt in Beau's pocket for the ring and nodded to his father.
"Papa, I think you'll have to fill in for Beau. He's out for awhile."
Mr. Whittaker came forward and took the ring. Mr. Pendleton seemed to suddenly remember he'd left his daughter midway up the aisle and went back for her. Th
e accompanist resumed playing, and Beth and her father stopped in front of the minister.
"We are gathered here today to ..."
Beth tried to follow his words, but too much had happened. The red spots on her itched, and those white spots danced in front of her eyes again.
"Who gives this woman?"
Mr. Pendleton glared at Mason. "Her mother and I do." He handed her to Mason and stepped back.
Beth felt the train tear when she turned toward Mason. She looked back, and her father's large, muddy footprint was smack in the middle of her train. She felt a draft at the waist where the train had come loose. Beth handed her bouquet to Mason and reached behind her to poke at the seams.
Rachel peered around to look at the train. "It's torn, but nothing shows through."
Her mother broke into wails. "Mr. Henri's beautiful dress. I hate this wedding!"
Beth heard her mother's sobs, but she didn't care about anything but marrying Mason—and maybe getting into that warm bath Mrs. Whittaker mentioned. She took back her bouquet and nodded at the minister. Reverend Moseley launched into the rest of the ceremony.
Once again Beth tried to pay attention, but she thought she might pass out. The heat from the candles seared her. The corset stays cut off her air in the sultry humidity. Her hives itched fiercely, and her shattered nerves threatened to overwhelm her. She clung to Mason's arm. He put his hand over hers and gave her hand a gentle squeeze. Amazing how he reassured her, how his touch calmed her.
Happy Is The Bride Page 8
