Anonymous Bride

by McDonough, Vickie;

  Her gaze swerved toward the cell again, but she yanked it back. A stack of wanted posters on the side of the desk caught her eye. “Mind if I have a look at those?”

  The marshal shrugged. “Suit yourself.” He leaned back in his chair, holding his coffee cup and watching her.

  She picked up the thick stack of posters and sat in the chair across from the marshal’s desk. Slowly, she thumbed through each one. A hand-drawn picture of each outlaw looked her in the face. She didn’t know most of the rough-looking men but did see two that she recognized—Wild Willy Watson and Hank Yarborough. Both men had run with her brother for a few months.

  Pressing the posters to her chest, she stared at one lying in her lap and saw her brother’s face. Her heart took off like an outlaw being chased by a posse.

  The marshal’s cup thunked as he set it down. He stared at her, brows lifted. “See someone you recognize?”

  Carly forced a laugh. “Only someone who looks like someone I know.”

  Marshal Davis’s eyes glanced toward the papers, and Carly quickly dropped the stack of posters back on top of her brother’s likeness. She stood, and the whole pile slipped from her hands. “Oh goodness.”

  She squatted down, snatching up poster after poster, all the while her heart thudding as if she might be arrested. The marshal had noticed her reaction to Ty’s poster. While she resembled her brother in some ways, she didn’t look enough like him for the marshal to put two and two together. Too bad she hadn’t had time to read the writing below Ty’s likeness. Did it mention anything about him having a sister? If only she could get rid of Tyson’s poster somehow.

  The marshal stood and came toward her. “Let me get those for you, ma’am.”

  She forced herself up on wilting legs and handed him the stack. “If you’re finished, I’ll just take the plate back to the boardinghouse.”

  “Thank you kindly for bringing my breakfast.” He nodded.

  Carly picked up the plate, but the fork clattered to the floor. The marshal bent easily and handed it to her. She forced a grin and was half a block away before she could suck in a breath. Her gaze roamed over the town as she forced herself to relax. There was nothing to connect her with Tyson, but the marshal was a smart man. Could he tell she was lying? Whatever possessed her to do such a foolish thing as to visit him?

  She continued on toward Hamilton House. Had it been a mistake to assume Ellie Blackstone’s identity? Now that she was in Lookout and had seen the one-horse town, she doubted many payroll shipments passed through here. Yep, she needed another plan.

  Maybe things would have been better if she’d never crossed paths with Ellie Blackstone.

  ***

  Luke stood at his door and watched Miss Blackstone scurry away like a rat caught in a feed bag. She was hiding something. And if he wasn’t mistaken, she was lying, too. But about what?

  He sat down at his desk and slowly studied each poster. He was certain she’d recognized someone, but there were nearly twenty likenesses of outlaws, and he hadn’t gotten a good look at the one she’d stumbled over. None of the wanted men were named Blackstone, but a name was a simple thing to change.

  The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. Did Miss Blackstone have other business in town besides landing a husband?

  CHAPTER 24

  Rachel stood in the backyard with her hands on her hips, staring down at her precocious daughter. The sun sprinkled through the trees, dappling Jacqueline’s upturned face, casting shadows on the smattering of freckles on her nose. “I’m sorry, sweetie, but I’ve told you before, I’m not entering the bride contest this time around.”

  Jacqueline clutched Rachel’s arm. “But Ma, you’ve gotta. You can’t let Luke marry one of them brides.”

  Rachel closed her eyes for a moment, steeling herself against her daughter’s pleas. Jacqueline was too young to understand all that had happened between her and Luke. “No. I can’t enter.”

  Tears filled Jacqueline’s blue eyes, piercing Rachel’s heart. Her tough daughter rarely cried, and seeing her do so now made Rachel waver. Should she compete in the contest’s next round? Even if she happened to win, there was still the issue of Luke’s unwillingness to forgive her. She straightened her back and her resolve. “I can’t.”

  “You mean you won’t.” Jacqueline stomped her feet. “You’re ruining everything.”

  Rachel sighed and took her daughter’s hand, pulling her over to sit in the double rocker that rested under a tall pine. She hugged the stiff girl. “Just because I enter the contest doesn’t mean Luke would pick me anyway. He doesn’t know my pie was the anonymous entry, and he’s sure not going to agree to marry the winner if he doesn’t know who she is. Besides, there are things you don’t know about Luke and me.”

  Jacqueline rubbed her sleeve over her eyes. “What kind of things?”

  Nibbling the inside of her lower lip, Rachel considered how much to tell her. “I was engaged to Luke before I married your pa.”

  The blue of Jacqueline’s eyes intensified. “You nearly married Luke? What happened? Why didn’tcha?”

  Rachel pressed her lips together. What a can of worms she’d just opened. It would have been best to keep quiet. A blue jay screeched overhead as if agreeing and letting her know she was intruding in its territory. She stroked her daughter’s head. “It was a very long time ago, and I don’t want to talk about it. I just thought if you knew about the engagement you’d understand why I can’t enter the contest.”

  “No! I don’t.” Jacqueline shot to her feet. “If you were engaged once, why couldn’t you be again?”

  Smoothing out her dress, Rachel prayed for the right response. “Because it ended badly. I married your father, and Luke left town and joined the cavalry.”

  “So? He’s back now, and you’re not married anymore.”

  She made it sound so simple. But Rachel couldn’t think of a way to explain without mentioning Luke’s inability to forgive her, and she wouldn’t make Luke look bad in her daughter’s eyes. “That’s all in the past. I’m not entering the contest, and that’s final.”

  Jacqueline flung out her arms. “Why do you always have to ruin things? I hate you.” She spun and ran toward the river, her braids flying behind her.

  Rachel clutched her upper arms, her heart aching. She knew Jacqueline didn’t hate her, but the words still inflicted pain, as they were meant to. She stared up at the sky. “Lord, I know You control all things, but I don’t understand why You had to bring Luke back to town. Maybe things wouldn’t hurt so bad if he’d forgive me, but to see him each day and to always have this past between us is so difficult. Is it my punishment to watch Luke marry one of the mail-order brides? Is that what You require from me as penance for what I did?”

  She dropped her head. God didn’t work that way. She knew that. But she wanted Luke for a husband as badly as Jacqueline wanted him for her pa. The truth was she still loved him. She sat for a while, praying and seeking God, but no answers came. Blinking the tears from her eyes, she saw the back door open. Miss Blackstone looked out and saw her then started forward. Rachel straightened her back. For some reason, God had sent the brides to live with her for a time. Maybe it was so she could speak His Word into their lives. God, help me. Give me the fortitude to do what You’ve set before me, and please watch over Jacqueline. Comfort her and keep her safe while she’s away from me.

  “Could I ... uh ... talk with you for a minute?” Miss Blackstone looked hesitant to interrupt her.

  “Certainly.” Rachel sniffed and patted the chair beside her, hoping her face wasn’t red and splotchy from crying.

  Miss Blackstone sat and glanced sideways. “You all right?”

  Rachel forced out a little laugh. “Yes, I just had a confrontation with my daughter.”

  “Oh. Well, I was ... uh ... wonderin’ if you could show me how to stitch a shirt for the next bride contest.” She wrung her hands. “I mean, I can sew—some. I ain’t never made a shirt before.”

/>   Part of Rachel wanted to shout no. To jump up and run away like Jacqueline. She already housed and fed the mail-order brides, but they wanted her to help them win Luke’s heart. She simply couldn’t do that. “Of course I’ll help you.”

  Miss Blackstone smiled, looking younger than she normally did. “Thanks. That’s right nice of ya.”

  Rachel fingered the long hair hanging down the young woman’s back. “I don’t want to offend you, but if you’d like, I could show you some ways to style your hair—so you’d look extra nice for Saturday’s contest, I mean.”

  Surprise flashed in Miss Blackstone’s eyes. “Thank you, kindly. I’d like that.” She looked down and seemed to be studying the ground. “My ma died when I was young. I lived with my brother for a while, but he didn’t have time or patience for things like fixin’ hair.”

  “I’m sorry about your mother. I lost mine, too. If not for the Lord, I don’t know how I would have made it without her.”

  Miss Blackstone gave her an odd look.

  Rachel jumped up. “I have about a half hour before I need to start supper. Would you care to get started on the shirt now?”

  Miss Blackstone nodded and followed Rachel through the kitchen and into her bedroom. As she reached for the dresser knobs, Rachel’s hands shook. She hadn’t looked at James’s things since she put them away, shortly after his death. She pulled out the bottom drawer and scanned the garments. Several shirts lay next to the stack of store-bought silk handkerchiefs that James had preferred to her homemade ones. She really should get rid of all these things. Why had she kept them so long?

  “These were my husband’s.” She laid the four shirts on the bed and rifled through them, finding the one she wanted. “This is a simple design. We’ll need to choose some fabric. I ... uh ... have a small supply.”

  Miss Blackstone shook her head. “The marshal’s supposed to give us money to buy cloth and supplies, so I won’t need yours.”

  The young woman fingered the edge of the top shirt, a tan one. “Mine won’t look near as nice as yours.”

  Rachel forced a smile as she gathered up the shirts. “But mine won’t be in the contest.”

  ***

  Jack’s heart pounded as she shut her bedroom door. Her mother was across the hall, busy with supper preparations, but if she noticed the closed door, she’d surely come to investigate. Jack had told herself that what she was doing wasn’t wrong. In a way, her father’s belongings were partially hers, weren’t they?

  Standing in front of the chest of drawers, she forced her hands to stop shaking. It only worked for a second before the trembling started again. She knelt down, slid open the bottom drawer, and scowled. Even after three years, she could still smell her pa’s scent on his clothing, and it was all she could do not to retch in the drawer.

  She quickly thumbed through the shirts that lay with his socks and the fancy hankies he’d liked. A soft blue one stood out among the others, and she picked it up and examined its stitching. Perfect, just like all her ma’s sewing. If Jack put her mind to it, she could probably sew as well one day, but the thought of sitting in one spot long enough to make something this nice made her shiver. How did women do it? Sewing hours and hours at a time? They even seemed to have fun at quilting bees, but of course, they chatted with the other women and had food to eat.

  Jack shoved the drawer shut and held the shirt in her hand. Luke liked blue. She knew that because he wore that color a lot. But would it fit him? She tried to remember how big her father was, but Luke seemed so much larger. Well, there was nothing she could do about that.

  She heard a sound just outside the door and jumped. Grabbing her skirts up, she dove between the bed and the wall. The handle jiggled, and the door opened. Jack stuffed the shirt under the bed and tried to calm her shaking.

  “Sweetie?” Footsteps followed her mother’s voice into the room. “Hmm...”

  Jack held her breath. The room was small, and if her ma walked much farther, she was sure to see her hiding—and what excuse could Jack give for being on the floor? That she was asleep and fell off the bed?

  Footsteps carried her mother away, and Jack waited a few minutes for her heart to stop banging before she peered over the bed. She nearly gasped out loud when she saw the door was left open.

  “Jacqueline?” Her mother called, sounding as if she were yelling out the back door.

  Ducking down again, Jack considered how she might get the shirt onto the table with the other brides’ entries. Surely Luke would like her mother’s the best. Nobody could sew like her ma. Jack looked down at her dress, and in spite of hating it, she thought of all the hours her mother had put into sewing it for her. She always had nice clothes made from pretty fabric and had never worn a scratchy flour-sack dress like several of her schoolmates.

  She peered over the bed again, keeping watch, and every few minutes, she’d see her ma cross from the kitchen into the dining room, carrying bowls and trays of food. She ought to be helping instead of hiding like some thief. And it wasn’t stealing to take something that belonged to your family, especially if you were going to put it back after the contest, was it?

  Her legs had finally quit shaking, and she drew up her knees to stand. If she got up just as her ma went into the dining room, she’d have time to hurry out of the bedroom and into the kitchen. She started to stand when she heard a shuffling sound and dropped back down. Her heart set off like a wild mustang again.

  It sounded as if someone else slid into the room, and she held her breath. Sure enough, she could hear rough breathing. The person’s shoes tapped out a quiet repetition and then stopped. A drawer squeaked open. Someone muttered a curse, and then the drawer squealed shut again. The bottom drawer was the only one that made a noise like that. Who could be in it, and what was it the person wanted?

  She longed to peek but was too scared to move. Her breath turned ragged, almost as if she’d run a long race. After a few minutes of not hearing anybody nearby, she peeked over the bed’s quilt and saw her ma zip into the dining room. Jack jumped to her feet and hurried into the kitchen.

  Her ma rushed back in the room. “Oh, there you are. Supper’s finished, and I need your help. I was looking for you.”

  Jack ducked her head so her mother wouldn’t see her guilt and grabbed the bowl of biscuits. She hurried into the dining room and set them on the table. None of the brides were there yet, and she wanted to run upstairs and look around to see if one of them had taken something from the dresser. Her mother hadn’t, because she never opened that particular drawer. Jack tiptoed past the kitchen door and dashed into her bedroom. She needed another look, and she didn’t like the thought worming its way into her head. She yanked the drawer open and knew right away that the tan shirt was gone. Someone staying in their home was a thief.

  ***

  “Finish drying the breakfast dishes and you can go outside for a little bit.” Rachel looked around her kitchen, glad that for the moment it was clean again. All too soon she’d have to start dinner.

  Jacqueline wiped a dish with a towel and set it on top of the pile of clean dishes. “I’m so glad I don’t hav’ta go to school for a while.”

  Rachel enjoyed her daughter being home more, but at times she could be trying. “I’m going out on the porch to mend the red checkered tablecloth. Make sure you come back in time to help with dinner.”

  Her daughter nodded, and Rachel left the kitchen, ready to sit down for a while. As she reached the parlor, she heard raised voices.

  “I’m going over there right now and take his measurements. How are we supposed to make a shirt for him when we don’t even know what they are?” Miss Bennett asked.

  “’Tisn’t proper for an unmarried woman to measure a man.” Miss O’Neil sat in one of the parlor chairs, hands clenched together.

  Rachel stood in the doorway, suddenly realizing their dilemma. The women had less than a week left to fashion a shirt for the marshal, yet they didn’t have his measurements. She dreaded the t
hought forming in her mind, but there was no other option. “I’ll go take the marshal’s measurements. And you’re welcome to use the dining table to lay out your fabric, as long as it can be cleared by dinnertime.”

  Miss O’Neil smiled. “Aye, a grand idea to be certain.”

  Miss Bennett scowled. “I was just heading over to the jail to do that very thing.”

  Rachel shook her head, knowing the young woman would use the time alone to flirt with Luke. “I’ve been married before. I don’t think it’s appropriate for you to tend to such a task.”

  Miss Bennett harrumphed, grabbed the pile of dark blue fabric she’d purchased, and marched into the dining room.

  Rachel returned to her bedroom, found her measuring tape, some paper, and a pencil, and headed to the jail. The breakfast she’d recently eaten churned in her stomach. She thought of being so near to Luke and yet so far. Maybe he wouldn’t even be there, but even as the idea entered her mind, she saw him leaning against the doorjamb, watching the town as he frequently did.

  The streets were quiet for a Monday morning. The shops were open, but many folks did their business on Saturday. She waved at Aggie, who walked down the other side of the street and entered the bank.

  As Rachel neared the jail, her hands started trembling and her legs felt as solid as melted butter. Luke saw her coming and stood looking out from under his hat like a cougar eyeing its prey. He straightened as she drew near. In the years that he’d been gone, he’d changed from a lithe youth to a tall, broad-shouldered man. Rachel licked her lips, but her mouth felt as dry as flour.

  Luke nodded at her. “Come to fetch my breakfast plate?”

  “No, I’ve come to take your measurements so my boarders can start sewing your shirts.”