by Stella Clark
Deceiving the Bride
©2019 by Stella Clark
All rights reserved. No part of this may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means without prior written permission.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are a product of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, events or locales is completely coincidental.
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Epilogue
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Chapter One
Tucking the book under her arm, Grace waved to the neighborhood children as she passed through the alley and promptly hitched up her skirts to slide down the five steps on the railing. They cheered her on as she landed. Laughing, she offered a bow before turning on her way.
It was a beautiful day in New York City, after all.
She had the day to herself since the factory had closed last week. There was nothing more she could do until more work was publicized. In an attempt to find more jobs, she had wandered around the city for two days.
But then she’d stopped. All her life had been hard work and school. There had been lessons to learn but ultimately, it was boring. She needed space for her imagination, after all.
New York wasn’t much, but as long as she could sneak off to Central Park with a book, there would be something for her. Just a little bit of adventure tucked between the pages of a bound story waiting to be explored.
The afternoon passed in a daze as Grace devoured the pages. It made her smile and laugh and pause breathlessly at all the right points. But as the sun began to set and she finished the final page, Grace found herself frowning.
“It’s still just a pattern with the same sequences,” she murmured to herself. “The same characters over and over. Doesn’t anyone create something new?” It had happened in a couple of the last books, but she had thought it was an accident. Now, she slumped on the bench and wondered.
Eventually, she came to only one conclusion. Grace would have to write a book herself. That made her smile. She had considered it before. It had kept her awake in the factories where she stood on the line to count soap bars. Biting her lip, she started home. It felt simple enough, pulling out paper to write.
“Good evening, Archie,” Grace paused by the newsstand. “The usual, please.”
The big, bushy-browed man chuckled as he gathered one of every newspaper. “You keep me in business, young lady. Have a fine evening. Here you are.” She offered a few coins in exchange. No one wanted the news at the end of the day, so she could always get one of every paper for her father for half price. It had taken a while to make her bargain, but Archie hadn’t failed her in the last three years. “Take care, kid,” he hollered as she headed home.
Smog touched down on the tops of the red- and brown-bricked buildings, creating a hazy look to the city. Grace sighed, knowing she wouldn’t see the blue sky until she returned again to Central Park. With all the factories going full steam ahead, it was tarnishing the beauty of the city. But no one else cared.
When she reached her family’s apartment, she paused in the doorway and wondered if she was in the wrong place. Her heart skipped a beat. There was her coat hanging on a nail on the wall. The window to the fire escape that was cracked when she’d attempted juggling four years ago. And the familiar scent of her father’s cheap cologne mixed with ash.
Everything was familiar except for the man standing at the end of the hall, holding a cigarette and eyeing her. Grace reluctantly closed the door as she called out, “Mother?”
“Come in, Grace.”
Only then did she take a breath. The shoes came off, the book went in the pile with the others, and she scooted around the stranger to find her mother in the kitchen. “Hello, Mother. We’re not having a party tonight, are we?” She glanced at the stranger.
“Mr. Post.” Her father’s voice came from their other window that led to the roof. “Here we are. Come on out.”
The stranger disappeared as Grace watched. She tried to think back in case her mother had mentioned anything before they had parted ways that morning. But there was no memory of any of that.
“Mr. Andrew Post,” her mother answered as she tasted the soup. There was the ripe smell of onions simmering with cabbage. Grace glanced in the bucket to see if they were able to include anything more, but it didn’t look like it. Not even potatoes. “He’s our new boarder, dear.”
She jerked back. “Boarder?”
Her mother kept her gaze down. “We need the money, Grace. Since you can’t find work, and they’re cutting pay at the hospital again soon, we … we had to do something. Your father works with Mr. Post.”
“For how long?” Grace frowned, trying to imagine living with a stranger. The man had eyed her with such disinterest that she felt affronted. “And where is he going to sleep? The couch? The roof?”
Sighing, her mother shook her head. “Your room.” Lifting the ladle, she gestured over to the lumpy couch. “You’ll be sleeping out here from now on. I moved your dresses under the table. You will keep it tidy, won’t you?”
Grace stared in disbelief. “What? But it’s my room, I …” She glanced around hopelessly. “Mother, I … I’m eighteen. I need my own space.”
“You’re eighteen and unemployed,” the woman corrected her. Grace stared at the sharp nose and small, watery eyes. Red splotches appeared on her cheeks meant she was holding back tears. Grace looked away as her mother continued, “We’re struggling, can’t you see? Yes, you’re eighteen. Most girls are married by now. I had already given birth to you when I was eighteen. We don’t have the money to let you keep buying those silly stories and do nothing. We need the money and you clearly aren’t bringing it in.”
Stung, she took a step back. Grace bumped into the counter in their tiny kitchen and glanced around for relief. But there was none. She knew the cupboards were mostly empty and she knew there was nowhere for her to hide now that she had lost her bedroom.
“I’m not hungry,” she decided. If her parents didn’t have the food, then why should she eat it? It wasn’t like the onion soup was any good. Swallowing hard, Grace forced herself out the side window to the fire escape.
She took a seat between the next floor and sighed. There was no arguing with her parents, she knew that. Life was growing hard for them and she knew she wasn’t skilled enough in most jobs to get hired even if they did need someone. If only there was somewhere else she could go, Grace pondered.
Pulling open the newspapers she was still carrying, Grace read. Her eyes skimmed the pages, but she didn’t understand a thing as her brain started to move ahead. She couldn’t stay there forever. Not on the fire escape and not with her parents. But where would she go?
The West, she mused, would be exciting. She wanted more adventure than the gray streets and machines of the city. She had seen the pictures, and many of the stories she read talked about thrilling places like Wyoming. A state like Wyoming would be a fresh start, certainly, away from her hardscrabble childhood and boring introduction to adulthood.
Like an answer from the heavens, the second-to-last magazine answered her prayers. Grace had never seen it before, but Archie had to have included it.
“The Matrimonial Times,” she read aloud to herself with a furrowed brow. Glancing up towards her window, she could hear her father
in the kitchen telling her mother to cook faster for their guest. As though soup could be hurried. Grace shook her head and started leafing through the booklet.
There were people from all over the land, she discovered, looking to marry strangers. The idea of marriage was ridiculous, of course, but the second page offered three testimonials from happy women. That they liked being somewhere new with someone new. That it was the best adventure.
“I suppose.” Grace rolled her eyes as she flipped the page and began looking at the ads. It was only out of curiosity, she told herself. Just to see what people were looking for. There were a few women who were offering themselves and their skills. And there were a few men with various properties who needed someone.
She was about to close it when she saw the last advertisement. “Wade Shelton, 24, in need of a wife in Riders Creek, Wyoming. Handsome, smart, young. Foreman for the Center S Ranch. Looking to settle down and marry. Contact Mr. Shelton through the Riders Creek Post Office.’”
Grace read it again. There was very little to understand. But she saw the state and wondered if this was meant to be. “Wyoming,” she murmured and tried to imagine herself there.
It was easy. She’d wear a big hat and good boots. She would learn to ride a horse and meet all the animals. No more factories, and all the blue sky she had ever wanted. The more she thought about it, the more she couldn’t help but smile.
***
When the night descended on the city, Grace heard her parents retire. Only then did she step inside.
The newspapers went away as she searched for a pencil. She had made up her mind. The last two hours had been spent playing around in her mind just how she would talk to Wade Shelton. Because she wouldn’t marry just any man, and he wouldn’t be just marrying any woman.
Chapter Two
Jeb tasted his coffee and paused to add a spoonful of sugar. After a moment’s hesitation, he added two more. Quickly he stirred them in before his wife Leona made her way in from the kitchen. Glancing up, he grinned as she walked over to the table with two full plates.
“What a beautiful sight, my dear.”
“I saw that,” she informed him as she set the plates down. He offered a sheepish grin and she shook her head. “You’re only getting half a piece of pie tonight, then, and there’s no other way about it. If you’re not careful, you’re going to have another heart attack.”
He sighed at the mention. “It wasn’t a heart attack, I told you. The doctor told you. It was a …” Jeb couldn’t remember the word.
“I don’t care,” Leona told him firmly. “Because it’s not going to happen again. It’s almost been a year and I’m not going to get lazy just because you are. Only one spoonful of sugar. But I wish you wouldn’t drink the blasted coffee in the first place. It can’t be good for you.”
His eyes drifted over to the fresh orange juice. “It keeps me going. Besides, what’s life all about if you can’t enjoy the little things?”
She gave him a firm look that immediately told Jeb he’d said the wrong thing. “You can enjoy the little things, Jeb, or you can enjoy me.” She picked up her fork and pointed it at him. “You behave yourself today or you don’t get any pie.”
“I don’t even like pie,” he grumbled as he turned to his eggs and cheese.
“Yes, you do,” Leona corrected him. But she was smiling, so he figured he wasn’t in too much trouble. Jeb chuckled to himself before digging into his food. They ate quietly for a minute before Leona changed the subject. “Have you talked to Wade yet?”
The mention of their son made him hesitate. He had always considered himself a stubborn man, but his boy just had to beat him. Shaking his head, Jeb put his fork down. “Not yet. He’s moved everything into the foreman’s cabin, you know.”
Leona hesitated. “Oh really?” she asked lightly, but he heard the worry in her voice. Wade was their only living son; after they’d suffered three miscarriages and lost two daughters within the first three years of their lives, Leona was protective. Though she was kind and careful, she hated to see him go far away.
Jeb stared at his food, reminded of two years ago when the young man had gone on a cattle drive all the way to Texas. Sure, they didn’t mind sending him down to Colorado. But Texas meant he was gone for nearly four months. Leona had made herself sick during that time, spending many weeks in bed. After that, Wade wasn’t allowed to go past Colorado.
It was only one of their many arguments.
“He’s not far,” Jeb reminded her. “And you know he’ll probably return. Who wouldn’t miss your cooking?”
She smiled lightly at his attempted joke but shrugged it off. “Well,” she cleared her throat. “Perhaps I’ll take him some bread this afternoon. And pie. I thought I’d make blackberry, you know. That’s his favorite,” Leona added as if Jeb didn’t know.
He scraped his plate clean, full and satisfied. “And mine.” Jeb had already forgotten his earlier lie. “That sounds great, dear. He’ll appreciate it. Thanks for the food, but I’d best be getting over to the pens.” Standing, he headed out of the dining room but paused by the cabinet. “Is this mail? From town?”
Leona nodded. “I told you yesterday, remember? After I bought the extra sugar?”
Shrugging, he shuffled through the documents. Mostly they were telegrams from old neighbors and friends and business partners. But tucked beneath an opened letter from Leona’s brother was an unfamiliar script that asked for “Mr. Shelton.”
He took that with him.
***
Jeb was halfway down the valley by the time he ripped the letter open. The unfamiliar scrawl continued, addressing him and a desire for marriage. Marriage?
Jeb was confused for two whole minutes before he remembered. He stopped short. It was the letter. It was what he had been looking for. Hastily, he glanced around to make sure there was no one nearby. When he could only find the cowboys’ cook, Tom, near the blackberry bushes, Jeb felt safe enough to continue reading.
“Grace Landers,” he said out loud. That was a nice name, an upright kind of name. And she came all the way from New York. Then that meant she was cultured, didn’t it? Jeb reread the letter and chuckled. The young lady was fiery, for sure. She had a heart, and he liked that.
It was that kind of woman, he suddenly felt certain, that could convince his son to settle down.
He tucked the letter into his saddlebags and made his way down to the mess house where he found all of his hired help pausing for a quick meal. There were nearly twenty of them now, and they all waved as he entered.
Jeb tipped his hat. “Good morning, gentlemen! Good to see you all here. Rather see you on your horses, though,” he chuckled and finding his son nearby, took a seat right beside him.
“Pa,” Wade said with a sigh. “You can sit with the other men, you know.”
“But I want to sit with my boy,” Jeb offered mildly. “It’s not like I get to see you too often, now, remember? Besides, your ma wanted me to make sure you’re doing all right.”
Wade raised an eyebrow skeptically which was fair, since this was technically a lie. But Jeb reasoned to himself that Leona would want to know. If she had thought to ask, she would have asked.
Wade turned back to his food. “I’ll go see her later today, then.”
Two of the men besides them tipped their hats and excused themselves. Jeb waved them off and grinned at his son now that they had the table to themselves. Wade glanced around slowly as he looked to be deciding if he should get up and go. The boy needed a haircut, Jeb noticed. He’d have to tell Leona to get to it soon, or the boy would get the notion that he should do it himself.
As much as Jeb and Leona wanted to be in their son’s life, Wade had always been a willful and independent child. He craved the chance to run off and disappear, having his own adventures. They worried, and he said they didn’t need to. He just didn’t understand what it meant to be a parent.
Sighing, Jeb knew he had to get to his point before Wade finishe
d. “Are you helping with the branding today?”
“No.” Wade gulped his water down. “I’ve got Henson on that. I handed the first batch two days ago,” he added. “So I’m taking some of the guys around to the canyon. Want to make sure they know every part of the area in case anything happens. You know, blizzards, runaway cows, that kind of thing,” he added when Jeb raised his eyebrow. “I don’t want any accidents on my watch, Pa. Things are going to go right. I told you.”
He had a good point. Jeb nodded slowly as he knocked his knuckles against the table. “That sounds good, son, right good. You’ve got a head for this work. I always said you’d do right, didn’t I?
“Now,” he continued with a hopeful grin that he couldn’t keep tucked away, “if you could just put your mind to finding a nice girl to settle down with, you could do that, too. Don’t give me that look. You are a handsome young man, a fine, smart man who will have this ranch someday.”
Wade tossed his fork down so it clattered against the half-eaten plate. “Look at that. I just lost my appetite.”
Jeb stood when he did. “Now, come on, boy. You can’t avoid this forever.”
“Can’t I?” Wade had his mother’s eyes. They were soft blue and usually crinkled and kind. Usually. But lately when they talked, they grew dark.
“Now, Wade,” Jeb tried to be patient. “It’s something you need to consider. You’re twenty-five, aren’t you? Your ma and I just want you to be happy. We know what marriage can do for a man, and we want the same for you.”
It was the natural course of things. Jeb had had a wonderful life with his Leona for so long that he wanted Wade to have the same. It was time for more Sheltons in the world. They hadn’t fought him when he was younger since there were plenty of women that Wade spoke with. But Jeb had recently felt he needed to start pushing the young man to take action.
Wade didn’t appreciate it. Children rarely did. “I’m not interested. There aren’t any girls in town I like, all right? Besides, I’m having fun and you’re not going to take that from me.” He tossed his fork and left his father sitting there.
