Short-Straw Bride

by Karen Witemeyer

  “Coffee’s on,” Jim growled in a sleep-roughened voice as he plodded through the bathing room, the wire egg basket dangling from his meaty fingers.

  Travis had never really noticed how incongruous a picture the big man made carrying the thin basket, since Jim had been in charge of all food chores and cooking duties since the time he was ten. But as Travis held his razor away from his neck and watched his brother exit, he couldn’t help imagining what it would be like to have Meredith squeeze past him with the basket, her skirt brushing his pant leg, maybe a smile curving her lips as their eyes met in the shaving mirror.

  The sting of the blade biting into his neck brought him back to reality. “Thunderation!” He hadn’t been this clumsy with a shave since he was Neill’s age.

  “Nervous, Trav?” Crockett stood in the doorway, one shoulder propped against the jamb. The fellow looked far too well rested and chipper for Travis’s taste, and the teasing gleam in his brother’s eye rubbed over him like sandpaper.

  “Worried she’ll turn you down, or afraid she won’t?”

  Travis glared at him in the mirror and swiped the razor under his chin for the final stroke. Ignoring the quiet chuckle behind him, Travis set the blade aside and rinsed the soap residue from his face before toweling dry. If he was lucky, Crockett would be gone by the time he finished.

  He lowered the towel from his face and stole a glance toward the door. Drat. Luck never had favored him much.

  “You know, I could stand in for you if you’re not up to the task.”

  The words lit a fuse in Travis. He twisted to face his brother fully and jabbed his finger into Crockett’s chest. “Leave it alone.”

  Tossing down the towel, he shoved his way through the blocked doorway and stormed over to the stove to check the coffee. As he reached into the cupboard to retrieve a mug, however, his conscience nudged him. Taking the cup in hand, he slowly reined in his temper. After a long moment, he reached for a second mug.

  Travis poured two cups of coffee and motioned for Crockett to join him at the table. “Sorry I snapped at you.”

  Crockett shrugged and slid into a chair. “I knew the spot would be sore when I prodded it.”

  Travis shot a glare at him. “Then why’d you bring it up? For pete’s sake, Crock, we’re in enough of a mess without you stirring up more trouble. The matter’s been decided. If Meredith chooses to marry, she’ll marry me. That’s the end of it.”

  Instead of firing back, Crockett stared at him over his coffee cup as he sipped the steaming brew. The silent survey lasted so long, Travis grew uncomfortable and finally dropped his gaze, suddenly finding it imperative that he unroll his shirtsleeves and fasten the button at each cuff.

  The sound of Crockett’s mug coming to rest on the tabletop brought Travis’s head back up. The sparkle he was accustomed to seeing in his brother’s eye glowed once again.

  “I needed to be sure Meredith was marrying the right Archer.”

  Travis raised a brow. “And?”

  Crockett smirked and lifted his cup to his lips. “Let’s just say my concerns have been addressed.”

  15

  Meredith twisted from side to side, examining her appearance in the mirror above Travis’s bureau. Some bride she made, dressed in faded calico. In her dreams, she’d always worn blue brocaded satin with lace at the neckline and cuffs. She’d imagined her hair done up in an elaborate style. Perhaps a pearl comb or a spray of tiny flowers tucked into her tresses, depending on the time of year.

  But with over half of her hairpins missing following her run-in with Samson, the best she’d managed was a braided chignon low on her nape. Her bangs had lost most of their curl and frizzed a bit at her forehead. She wound a strand around her finger, counted to fifty, and released it, but the rebellious ringlet failed to hold its curl. Huffing out a breath that sent all her bangs fluttering, Meredith smoothed a hand over her tremulous stomach and lifted her chin.

  So what if this wasn’t to be the wedding of her dreams. She was marrying the man of her dreams. That would be enough. Besides, a wedding was only an event. It was the life together following it that truly mattered. Grow up, Meri. It’s time to start putting sensibility ahead of sentimentality.

  Her shoulders sagged a bit as she examined the worn navy housedress hanging from her frame in all its wrinkled glory. Was it too sentimental to wish for a prettier dress to wear? She sighed. At least it didn’t smell like smoke. The green dress she’d worn the night of the fire stank of the stuff, and she worried she might not be able to get all the soot stains out. One thing was for sure—when she took over the cleaning duties around here, laundry was going to top her list.

  A knock sounded on the door. The butterflies she’d willed into submission earlier burst forth in a flurry of batting wings.

  “Meri?” Travis’s voice. “Your breakfast is ready.”

  “Thank you. I’ll . . . I’ll be right there.” She spun away from the mirror and gripped the bedpost a final time, more to steady her nerves than her feet. Closing her eyes, she mentally recited her version of the promise of Romans 8:28. “All things will work together for good. All things will work together for good.”

  Then, with a lift of her chin, she opened her eyes and strode to the door. She grasped the handle and pulled, only to find Travis waiting for her. He straightened from where he’d rested his back against the opposite wall, his widening eyes traversing from her face, down the length of her, and back up to her eyes. When his gaze connected with hers, the flare of male appreciation he failed to tame sent warm tingles skittering over her skin before he hid it behind a look of apology.

  Meredith felt a blush warm her cheeks, but oddly enough, she felt no need for his apology. If anything, the look he’d given offered hope that, in time, there might be more than a relationship of duty between them.

  “You’re looking . . . better this morning,” he said, breaking the silence at last. “How’s your head?”

  Meredith suddenly found it hard to hold his gaze. Her attention slid to the floor as she fidgeted with the edge of her sleeve. What was wrong with her? She’d been staring at the man just fine while he gawked at her, but now that he offered polite conversation, she turned into a mess of jumbled nerves. Really. It was too ridiculous.

  She coughed softly and forced her chin up. “The dizziness is gone, so long as I don’t move too quickly, and except for a dull ache behind my ear, my head is much improved.” Darting a glance into his brownish-green eyes, she added, “Thank you for asking.”

  He smiled, then looked at the wall behind her. “I’m glad to hear it.”

  Now he was the one fidgeting. Meredith nearly giggled as the sole of his boot scraped back and forth over the floorboards. And what were those red marks along his jaw? The poor man looked like he’d been in a tussle with an angry chicken. She thought of one of her mother’s laying hens that always used to peck at Meredith’s hand. She’d been terrified of that bird until the day Mama finally tired of its antics and served it up for supper. Meri had never taken more delight in stabbing a knife into a chicken thigh than she had that night. Perhaps she ought to add roasted chicken to the Archers’ menu this week.

  “Did you . . . ah . . . arrive at any conclusions during the night?” Travis asked, lifting a hand to cover the red spot on his neck.

  The chickens roosting in Meredith’s mind vanished.

  “I did.” She fortified herself to look at him and waited until his eyes touched hers to continue. “If your offer still stands, Travis . . . I accept.”

  She sensed him sigh, even though no sound or movement evidenced such an event. And while she wouldn’t necessarily describe his demeanor as overjoyed, the way his mouth curved up at one corner combined with the slight crinkling around his eyes communicated a positive reaction to her response that stretched beyond mere politeness.

  “Good.” He nodded once and gestured for her to continue on to the kitchen. “Jim held back some eggs for you in the skillet, and if Neill didn’t g
et to it first, you might be able to scrounge up a scrap of ham, too. I’m gonna round up some clean clothes while you eat.” Travis pointed to her room and headed that direction.

  Well, technically it was his room. Although after spending so much time there the last few days, it felt like hers. Meredith crossed into the kitchen and picked up the empty plate that sat waiting for her on the table. When her hand closed over the spoon handle to ladle up what was left of the scrambled eggs, however, a new thought froze her where she stood.

  Would it be their room tonight?

  Meredith blinked and reminded herself to breathe as she scraped the last of the eggs and a tiny square of ham onto her plate. Somehow coffee ended up in her cup and her rear ended up in a chair, despite the fact that she had no recollection of accomplishing those tasks herself. As she bent her head to pray, thankfulness for her breakfast didn’t even cross her mind.

  Lord, I’m not sure I’m ready to be a wife. It seems a lot more daunting now that it’s staring me in the face. I thought I was prepared, that my affection for Travis would make things easier, but all those lovely daydreams seem so juvenile in light of what is truly to come. Please don’t let me embarrass myself. Give me the courage to be the wife he needs.

  As she chewed the lukewarm, overdone eggs, Meredith vowed to be like the biblical woman Rebekah. If she could enter Isaac’s tent on the first day they met and become his wife, surely Meredith could manage the same feat after knowing Travis three times as long.

  Although . . . Rebekah had ended up with twins.

  The square of ham she’d just swallowed lodged itself sideways in her throat. Meredith grabbed her coffee cup and gulped down a swig of the strong, bitter brew in an effort to keep from choking.

  Good heavens. Contemplating the realities of life with a husband was frightening enough. Motherhood could wait a bit.

  At least she didn’t have to worry about facing Travis’s brothers yet. Meredith eyed the mound of dishes waiting for her in the washtub with a wry quirk of her lips. It seemed they’d already abandoned the house to her care. Either that or it was their custom to save the dish washing till the end of the day.

  Maybe they drew straws for that duty, too.

  Travis yanked on the too-short sleeves of his father’s old suit coat and scrunched his shoulders for fear of tearing out the back seam. His dad had always been such a large figure in his mind, Travis never imagined that his coat wouldn’t fit. The thing was as old as the hills and musty as month-old bread, but it was the only decent suit coat in the house. Travis and his brothers certainly had no need for fancy duds, living the way they did. Or they hadn’t until today.

  So much for dressing for the occasion. Travis shrugged out of the coat and returned it to the bottom drawer of his bureau, where it would probably sit unused for another couple of decades. At least he had a clean shirt to wear. Of course, it was the scratchy white cotton one that always made his neck itch, but it was probably more appropriate wedding attire than the dark brown flannel he usually wore. And he could dress it up with his dad’s black string tie—the one part of the suit guaranteed to fit.

  Travis took out his mother’s keepsake box and ran his hand over the rose pattern carved into the top of the mahogany lid. After seventeen years without her, his memories had faded. He remembered her smile, the way her arms felt around him when she hugged him in the morning before sending him off to school, the way she fussed at him for tracking mud into the house. But he couldn’t recall the particular sound of her voice, or the precise color of her eyes. He thought they might have been green, but perhaps they’d been more brown, like his.

  What would she think of his marriage? Would she approve? He didn’t doubt that she’d like Meredith. Mama had always been a fighter, even at the end when the childbed fever finally claimed her life. Meredith possessed the same quality, in spades.

  Travis opened the mahogany box and fingered the hodgepodge within. His father’s watch, a packet of old letters, the three-legged dog he’d whittled for her one Christmas. Then his hand closed over the slender band he’d sought. Plain and not as shiny as he would have liked, yet the ring warmed his palm as if the love his parents shared still radiated from within its circle.

  He didn’t have a proper suit of clothes or a white clapboard church to offer, but his bride would have a ring—a ring representing all he hoped their relationship would one day become.

  Before closing the box, he snatched the black ribbon that wove in and out of the treasures and strung it through the center of the ring. After knotting the ends of the tie securely around the gold band, he shoved both objects deep into his trouser pocket. With his father’s tie and his mother’s ring on hand, he’d be ready whenever Mr. Hayes showed up with the parson. In the meantime, he had work to do.

  Travis slid his brown wool vest over the scratchy cotton shirt, wincing as the stiff material pressed against his back. He did up the buttons and grabbed his hat, catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror as he turned for the door.

  Meredith wasn’t getting much of a prize in their arrangement. Travis frowned at his razor-nicked face and saddle-bum clothes and thought about how pretty she’d looked stepping out of his room with her hair done up and her eyes glowing shyly at him. Seeing her only in a shapeless sleeping gown the last couple of days, he’d nearly forgotten what nice curves she had. The faded dress she wore with its snug bodice and trim waist brought all those memories rushing back.

  Meredith Hayes was a fine specimen of a woman. And sometime later today, she was going to be his.

  A rogue with a devilish grin stared back at him from the mirror. Travis winked at his reflection, settled his hat into place, and fought the urge to whistle as he headed outside to tend to his chores.

  Roughly two hours later, before the sun hung fully overhead, the expected sound of gunfire ricocheted through the pines. Travis looked up from the pile of scorched tack he’d been sorting through, his gut suddenly knotting. This is it.

  The banging over by the shed where the boys were reinforcing the lean-to halted. Neill and Jim emerged from the west side, hammers moving from right hand to left as they reached for their gun belts. Even knowing who their guest would be, they were ready for any trouble that might be riding shotgun. Travis straightened, pride infusing his stance. His brothers were competent men—Archers through and through. Whatever came through that gate, they’d handle together.

  And it was a good thing, for when Crockett finally rode into view leading their guests, Travis noted that the wagon Everett Hayes drove carried a passenger who bore little resemblance to a preacher. Jim’s indrawn breath echoed loudly in Travis’s ear, and one glance at the dazed look on his brother’s usually stoic face confirmed that trouble had indeed ridden shotgun—and their normal defense tactics would be useless.

  16

  The minute Everett Hayes reined in his team and set the wagon brake, the young gal at his side shot to her feet and grabbed a handful of pink skirt as if she meant to leap to the ground then and there. Travis had never seen Jim move so fast. Usually the deliberate one of the bunch, Jim’s movements blurred as he holstered his weapon and dropped his hammer to the dirt, all while hustling toward the wagon before the pretty little blonde could alight on her own.

  “Why, thank you,” she said as she rested her hands on Jim’s shoulders and allowed him to lift her to the ground. She beamed a smile at him that must have blinded the poor fellow, for all Jim could do was blink at her after he set her down. “Are you Travis?”

  Jim’s head wagged slowly in the negative, his eyes never leaving her face.

  Travis’s eyes rolled in a sardonic arc at his brother’s absorption while he strode forward. Apparently an introduction was beyond Jim’s abilities at the moment. He lifted a finger to his hat brim when he reached Jim’s side and nodded to the petite lady with the china-doll face. “I’m Travis, ma’am. Travis Archer.”

  She examined his face and glanced over the rest of him, yet her inspection held suc
h innocence, he couldn’t exactly call her bold. Curious was probably a more apt description.

  “A pleasure to meet you, sir. I’m Cassandra Hayes, Meredith’s cousin.” She turned one of those glaringly bright smiles loose on him, but his vision remained unaffected.

  Oh, she was pretty all right, and there was something about the joy inherent in those smiles that made a man want to hang around and see how many he could draw out of her, but nothing significant stirred in Travis when she turned the full force of her sky-blue eyes on him. They were pale compared to the vibrancy of Meri’s and didn’t evidence the same depth of living.

  “You are going to marry my cousin, aren’t you?”

  The young lady was certainly direct. Travis grinned and scratched a spot on his jaw with the back of his thumb.

  “Cassie, dear,” Everett Hayes murmured as he moved around the horses to position himself between his daughter and the Archer brothers. “We wouldn’t have brought the preacher with us if there wasn’t going to be a wedding.”

  Travis glanced past the pair in front of him to see Crockett talking quite animatedly to an older man climbing down from the back of a mule.

  “Yes, Papa, but you only said she was marrying an Archer. You didn’t specify which one.”

  When Jim continued staring at Cassandra, Everett Hayes scowled a warning at him, then took his daughter’s arm and tugged her close to his side before smiling at her in a way that was so indulgent it bordered on condescending.

  “It doesn’t matter which one, darling. All that matters is that she marry.”

  Cassandra pulled her hand free and stared up at her father, tiny lines creasing her porcelain brow. “How can you say that, Papa? Of course it matters. Meredith has to marry Travis.”

  Everett’s smile flattened. “Why?”