A Bride in the Bargain (10 page)

“I’m sorry, Mr. Denton,” she said, gently withdrawing her hand from his. “I’m afraid I can’t help you.”

C
HAPTER
S
EVEN

“But you have to marry me.” Joe made a conscious effort to slow his breathing. “I have a contract. Money has changed hands.” He paused. “A great deal of money, Miss Ivey.”

“And I’m afraid you’ve been taken, sir.” Her eyes showed sympathy, but no indecision.

He curled his hands into fists. He was going to kill Mercer. Tear him apart limb by limb. Unless somebody else beat him to it.

He ran his gaze over the empty church. Were the rest of the men in town discovering their brides weren’t brides, or had Mercer swindled only him?

“What about the other women?” he asked. “Had they signed on as brides?”

“Not that I’m aware of, other than Mrs. Wrenne, of course.”

He nodded. “The one who needs a dentist?”

“Yes.”

He set his jaw. Demanding a refund from Mercer probably wouldn’t do any good, but he’d insist on one anyway. Until then, he’d be jiggered if he let Miss Ivey loose. He might have been expecting a bride, but his crew was expecting a cook. He’d not disappoint them.

“Well, our papers may read differently as far as matrimony is concerned,” he said, “but it doesn’t change the fact that I paid your fare and you are contractually obligated to cook for my lumber company.”

“I’m perfectly willing to work off my debt to you, Mr. Denton.”

“All right, then. First, we’ll telegraph Mercer. Then we’ll visit the judge and show him our contracts.”

To A S Mercer
STOP
Ivey refuses to marry
STOP
You owe me a bride or 400 dollars
STOP
Payable immediately or else
STOP
J Denton
STOP

Anna shifted on a delicate chair in the judge’s parlor. A thick wooden side door muffled the voices of Mr. Denton and the judge, though Joe’s swelled several times and had a definite edge to it.

The molded ceiling, huge chandelier, and marble fireplace reminded Anna of the rooms her father had once made wallpaper for—though this one had painted walls, not papered. A rosewood sofa upholstered in maroon and gold damask had its back to a large bay window and would have easily sat four men. Its spiral ends and lion’s-paw feet were intricately carved.

She studied the huge oval portraits of Judge Rountree and his young wife. Would this woman with somber eyes and serious expression become a friend?

She sighed. Probably not. The parlor exuded wealth and status. Her threadbare gown and frayed cape were completely out of place. She picked a piece of lint from her skirt, then folded her hands in her lap.

A door slammed somewhere in the house, followed by the rapid descent of footsteps on the stairs.

“Hurry it up, Two. I wanna catch him before he leaves.”

A slower
clump-clump-clump
followed. “I’m comin’. I’m comin’.”

“Here. Hold on to my hand.”

The owner of the voice ran back up and the
clump-clump-clump
increased in pace. She kept her eyes on the entrance to the parlor and didn’t have long to wait.

A brown-haired boy in short pants, hickory shirt, and bright yellow bandana rounded the corner, towing a younger, female version of himself in a cropped-off tent dress. Anna judged them to be perhaps six and four.

The boy pulled up short. “Who’re you?”

“I’m Miss Ivey of Granby, Massachusetts.”

He released his sister’s hand and executed a formal bow. “I’m Sprout Rountree of Seattle. This here is Two.”

Anna frowned. “Excuse me? I didn’t quite catch your sister’s name.”

“Two,” he repeated. “We call her Two.”

The girl thrust her thumb into her mouth.

“Two? As in the number two?”

“Yep.” He sauntered forward, causing a slingshot in his pocket to peek out with each step.

“I see.” She paused. “And what’s her real name?”

“She hasn’t decided yet.”

Anna blinked. “I’m sorry?”

“She hasn’t decided.”

“What do you mean?”

“We get to pick our own names when we’re old enough. So I’m One, she’s Two, my brother’s Three, and the baby’s Four.”

Anna held back her smile, not wanting to encourage the boy in his tales. “I thought your name was Sprout.”

He shrugged. “Oh, that’s just what everybody calls me until I make up my mind.”

“You know, Sprout,” she admonished gently, “I had a brother just like you once, and I happen to know all about little boys. You’ll find you can’t pull the wool over my eyes quite so easily.”

He scowled, wrinkling the freckles on his nose. “I’m not lying, if that’s what you mean.”

The connecting door opened.

“Now, now,” she continued, “no loving parent would ever name his children One, Two, Three, and Four.”

“Sure he would.” He looked to her left. “Wouldn’t he, Pa?”

Anna twisted around, then quickly rose to her feet. A diminutive man, made more so by Denton’s bulk, gave her a scathing glance before turning to the boy.

“Run along,
One
. And take
Two
with you.”

The boy immediately acquiesced, leaving a charged silence behind him.

“You have seven weeks to acquire a bride, Joe, and not a day more,” the judge snapped.

“I understand.” Denton stepped forward, grabbed Anna’s elbow none too gently, and thrust her toward the door.

To J Denton
STOP
Ivey obligated to work off debt
STOP
Boynton rescinded
STOP
Bertha Wrenne now yours
STOP
Contract fulfilled
STOP
A S Mercer
STOP

From the looks of it, Mrs. Wrenne was somewhere in her sixties and appeared to weigh not much more than a sack of flour. Her hand gripped Anna’s arm as she descended the Occidental’s staircase.

Tucking her head, she gave Joe a glimpse of pink scalp beneath sparse gray hair. The hem of her gown was several inches too short, revealing sturdy black shoes and impossibly thin ankles.

She looked almost old enough to be his grandmother. He rubbed his jaw. Did he really love his land enough to marry her?

Sighing, he knew that he did. And wasn’t she exactly what he’d expected from Mercer? It was only after Anna had been dangled before him that he realized how worried he’d been.

But Mrs. Wrenne was who Mercer had now assigned to him, so Mrs. Wrenne it was. He’d be loyal, faithful, and good to her. He’d provide food, clothing, and shelter. He’d do everything a husband should—well, almost everything. He’d decided last year when he signed the contract that unless the woman was—by some miracle—suitable, their marriage would be chaste. He was sure Mrs. Wrenne would be of the same mind.

Anna whispered something to her and the older woman smiled. All gum. He looked away, taking a moment to compose himself.

“Mr. Denton,” Anna said, pulling his attention back to them. “This is my friend, Mrs. Wrenne. I told her you’d asked for an introduction.”

The woman nodded, careful to keep her lips together. Stepping off the last stair into the entry hall, she released Anna’s arm.

He inclined his head. “How do you do, Mrs. Wrenne.”

She smiled, lips tightly sealed.

He glanced at Anna, then back at Mrs. Wrenne. Perhaps he shouldn’t immediately blurt out the contents of Mercer’s telegram. Easing her into it might be a bit more prudent.

“May I interest you in a short stroll through town?” he asked.

Delight touched her eyes and she nodded vigorously. He held out his arm.

Anna trailed behind Mr. Denton and Mrs. Wrenne, feeling very much the fifth wheel. He’d been stiff with anger after leaving the judge’s home, and she hadn’t tried to engage him in conversation. She had sympathy for the predicament he found himself in, but she was also affronted that he expected her to enter into something as serious as marriage at the snap of his fingers.

They’d returned to the telegraph office to find Mercer had already sent a reply. Mr. Denton had shown no emotion while reading the missive, nor did he share its contents with her. He’d merely folded it, put it in his pocket, and said, “I need you to introduce me to Mrs. Wrenne.”

They’d come straightaway to the Occidental.

He now tucked Mrs. Wrenne’s hand into his elbow, bending low while speaking to her. He kept up a monologue as if sensing she was too embarrassed to reveal her toothless gums.

“Now, this is our smithy,” he said, whipping a handkerchief from his pocket and offering it to Mrs. Wrenne.

She placed it against her nose and cocked an ear to better hear him.

The thunderous grinding of the sawmill several streets over underscored the clink of the blacksmith’s shop. A blast of heat and the smell of acrid fumes hit Anna full force as they approached the smithy’s wide, open doors. Peeking inside she could make out the silhouette of a large man holding a poker over hot coals.

“Used to be our doctor ran this shop, but he wasn’t very good at it.”

The blacksmith raised a hand in greeting. Denton returned the gesture.

“When young Lewis here passed by and commented on Doc Maynard’s clumsiness, Maynard sold him the business on the spot for ten dollars—lot and all.”

The street held very little traffic. An occasional horse stood tied to a rail, and a wagon pulled by an old mare ambled by. Anna decided most of the men must have left for the lumber camps or whatever other jobs they held.

They passed a mercantile, a boot maker, an attorney’s office, and a tannery. Denton submitted an interesting tidbit about each place and took great care to center his attention on Mrs. Wrenne during the telling.

In response, she blushed, she fluttered, she patted her hair.