A Bride in the Bargain (17 page)

Facing the stove, she dumped a handful of chopped onions into a saucepan. She’d coiled up her hair and skewered it to her head with what appeared to be a larding needle. Already rebellious bits and pieces had slipped loose.

“I’m going to town.”

Anna placed a pot of water on to boil. “Town?”

“Yes.”

She dried her hands on her apron. “But Red and Gibbs just went.”

Not wanting to tell her about Bertha’s husband just yet, he merely shrugged.

She propped her hands on her waist. “Well, you sure did a lot of bellyaching about how you couldn’t be away from work and how you didn’t want to be going back and forth to town.”

He grinned. She was already sounding like a wife.

“You going to miss me, Anna?”

Her eyes widened. “I . . . well, no, I just . . .” She whirled around and began hastily slicing up bread. The scissor motion caused her skirt to swirl and hug her hips.

She was wearing her dark blue dress today. As far as he could tell, she only owned it and the brown one. Threadbare as the wool dresses were, they still had to be hot in this kitchen. Particularly this time of year.

Maybe he’d pick her up some fabric. He couldn’t bring her flowers. That would be too suspect. Especially after the twinflower debacle.

He’d wasted no time in gathering up those wild flowers and throwing them out, but it would be a while before he forgave himself for that impulse. Fabric, however, would be perfect. It would be something she’d love, yet something he could somewhat justify.

Scratching his cheek, he considered how he was going to give one girl fabric while being “betrothed” to another. “Would you like me to pick up anything while I’m there?”

She paused, cocking her head to the side and exposing the slope of that pretty neck. His gaze lingered. When they were married, that’d be his for the taking, Lord willing.

“No,” she said, returning to her bread. “I think I have everything. Thank you, though.”

He walked up behind her. Close behind her. She took a sudden breath, her knife snagging in the bread, then stopping altogether.

Sandwich makings lay neatly stacked on the table. Reaching around her, he lifted several slices of ham and laid them on three separate pieces of bread. With each motion the inside of his arm grazed the outside of hers.

She didn’t use any scents when she bathed, but he knew she bathed most every day. Not only because she was always so clean and fresh-looking come suppertime, but because each time he put the tub away, he’d find it back out that same evening propped against the side of the house to dry.

“I can do that for you,” she whispered as he added cheese and sliced pickles to his sandwiches.

“That’s all right. You go ahead with what you’re doing.”

She started cutting, but had taken no more than a few saws when they both froze. The motion had caused her hips to brush his legs. Joe looked down. Her chest was rising and falling in time to her quick, short breaths. The watch pin above her breast rocked.

“What do you have against marriage, Anna?”

“Nothing. I love going to weddings.”

“I’m not talking about other people’s weddings. I’m talking about your own.” Placing a hand on her waist, he leaned far enough over to snag two boiled eggs. “Why don’t you want to marry?”

She began to step out of his way, but he’d boxed her in—his hand on one side of her waist, his body leaning across the other. Setting down the knife, she laid both palms flat on the table. “I don’t know. I guess I have no desire to enter into that particular state.”

“Why not?”

Looking down, she said nothing.

“Were you married before? Is that it?”

Anna shook her head.

“Left at the altar?”

“No.”

“You have a special someone you’re pining for?”

“No. Nothing like that.”

“Were your parents unhappy in their marriage?”

Her gaze flew to his, bringing her face close as she looked at him over her shoulder. “Oh no. They loved each other very much.”

Looking into her earnest brown eyes, he frowned. “You don’t have anything against, um, men, do you?”

His shoulders lost their tension at her look of confusion.

“There are some men I don’t like, but I have nothing against the actual gender.”

“Then why don’t you want to get married?”

“I just don’t.”

“Not ever? For your whole entire life?”

“Not ever. For my whole entire life.”

“Why not?”

“It’s not something I talk about.”

Joe hesitated, then released her to wrap his sandwiches in paper.

She quickly scurried to the table lined with vinegar pies. “Would you like some pie?”

“Sure.”

She cut him a huge slice, then wrapped it.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

Dropping his sandwiches, the two eggs, and the pie into a lunch bucket, he decided not to press her anymore about marriage. He had a few weeks yet. He could afford to take his time. He headed toward the door.

“Are you leaving right now?” she asked.

“I am.”

“Without your breakfast?”

“I wanted an early start.”

“Surely you have time for some hot cakes? The batter’s made. It’ll only take a minute to cook some up.” Whirling around, she moved a frying pan from the back of the stove to the front. “Sit down.”

“Will you eat with me?”

“I eat after the men. It’s easier that way.” She poured several circles of batter into the large pan. While waiting for them to bubble, she peeled four boiled eggs and arranged them on a plate.

Pilfering one of the doughnuts, he tore off a bite. The sugary pastry melted in his mouth. The woman sure could cook. His crew spent the mornings talking about what they’d had for breakfast and the afternoons speculating about supper.

True to her word, Anna finished the hot cakes quickly, flipping them from the pan to a plate and garnishing them with bacon. “I haven’t made the oats or potatoes yet.”

“This will be fine.” He stuffed the rest of his doughnut into his mouth, then broke his boiled eggs between his hot cakes and smothered all with a generous amount of butter and syrup.

She returned to slicing bread for the men’s sandwiches. “When will you be back?”

“Tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” She slowly turned.

“Yes.” He made quick work of his meal, then pulled his napkin from his neck and tossed it on the table. “That was good. Thanks.” Heading to the door, he snatched up his lunch bucket.

“Joe?”

He paused, his hand on the knob. She’d done it again. Used his Christian name. “Yes?”

“You’ll be gone all night?”

“Yes.”

“The whole, entire night?”

“Yes.”

“Oh.” She twisted her fingers in her apron.

“Is something wrong?”

“No, no. I just . . . wondered.” She crossed, then uncrossed her arms. The watch pin begged for attention.

He ignored it. “What is it?”

“Nothing.”

“It’s something.”

“It’s nothing.” She spun back to the bread.

He studied her rigid back as comprehension dawned. “You won’t be scared to be all by yourself and me out of calling distance, will you?”

“No!” She took a deep breath, her shoulders slowly rising, then falling. “No. I just wondered.”

He smiled. She was scared, all right. But so much the better. That would make her wish he were with her. “If we were married, I’d stay and protect you.”

She stiffened. “I’ll have you know I was on my own long before I came here. I didn’t need a man then, and I certainly don’t need one now.”

She slammed a saucepan onto the stove.

He didn’t even try to hide his amusement. “Anna?”

She looked at him over her shoulder.

“Sweet dreams.” He gave her a wink, then let himself out.

Bertha Wrenne clutched the Occidental’s staircase railing, wearing a bright purple gown with black buttons, black ruffled collar, and black braid accents on her sleeves and bodice.

“Joe,” she said, extending a gloved hand. “What a pleasant surprise.”

“Bertha.” He removed his hat and kissed her offered hand. “So nice to see you again. Can I interest you in a stroll about town?”

“Why, I’d be delighted.” Stepping outside, she opened a purple parasol—
parasol
—with a black ruffly edge, then placed it on her shoulder, twirling it as they walked.

“New dress?” he asked.

“It is. Do you like it?”

“It is very becoming.” He tipped his hat to passersby, then led Mrs. Wrenne down a less-busy side street. “We need to talk about our betrothal, Bertha.”

“Oh, rest assured, Dr. Barnard is working as quickly as he can. My teef might eben be ready by next—”

“Bertha?” He stopped, turning the woman to face him and taking her hand in his. “I have some news from San Francisco.”

“News?” She frowned, bringing a collection of wrinkles together at the bridge of her nose. “What news?”

“It seems your husband is not dead after all, but was a prisoner of the Confederates. He’s returned and will be here in Seattle today or tomorrow.”

Her face slackened. “Clement? He’s alibe?”

“He is.”

“And coming here?”

“Today or tomorrow.”

Her breathing grew labored and her tiny little eyes filled. “Are you certain it’s my Clement?”

“I received a telegram from Mr. Mercer saying it was.”

She slowly pulled her hand from his and looked around as if her husband might materialize at any moment. “I . . . I can’t beliebe it.”

He said nothing while she took a few moments to absorb the news. A series of emotions crossed her face, before finally settling on a joy that gave him a brief glimpse of the beauty that must have first drawn Clement Wrenne to her so many years ago.

Eyes shining, she placed her hand on Joe’s arm. “You are a berry kind man, Mr. Denton, but I’m afraid I can’t marry you. I must go back to my precious Clement.”

“I completely understand and please don’t worry. I will still cover all expenses owed to Dr. Barnard, and I will pay for your room and board at the Occidental until Mr. Wrenne arrives.”

“Tank you, Mr. Denton. You are a true gentleman. Before you leab, you must be sure to meet my Clement. I know he’ll like you berry much.”

“If I’m still in town, it would be my pleasure.” He held out his arm, making a note to leave Seattle as soon as he could manage. Because if he were Clement Wrenne, he wouldn’t at all care to meet his wife’s former betrothed.

C
HAPTER
F
OURTEEN

Their chores complete, the men dropped their dirty lunch buckets by the back door, each one clanging against the other.

“That sure was some good pig’s fry, Miss Ivey.”

“Think we could have more of that vinegar pie on Monday?”

“Is there anything you need ’fore we head to town?”

This last question was from Thirsty, a small man standing no more than five feet six. But he was strong, and she’d heard he could eat and digest hay if it was sprinkled with whiskey.

“Town?” she asked. “You’re going to town?”

“It’s Saturday night and Sunday’s our day off. But we’ll be back in time for breakfast on Monday.”

She looked at the group at large. “All of you are going?”

“Well, yes, miss. If there’s something you need, though, we’ll be glad to take care of it before we go.”

She pasted a smile on her face. “No, thank you, Thirsty. I can’t think of a thing. I appreciate all the help you’ve given already.”

“It’s no trouble, miss,” Ronny said, dropping his lunch bucket by the others. She noted, though, that his bucket had been scrubbed free of all dirt and grime.

She knew better than to thank him. The others would tease him mercilessly. So she simply gave him a warm smile and decided to place an extra piece of pie in his bucket on Monday. “Good night, Ronny. You behave yourself in town, now.”

His cheeks turned bright pink. “Yes, miss.”

She remained on the porch watching the lumber crew walk past the leaning chestnut tree, then down a path heading east until she could neither see nor hear them. Up to now, she’d loved being alone in the house.

No superior looking over her shoulder. No ceaseless gossip between kitchen workers. No Hoke harassing her at every turn. Then at night, Joe had been within calling distance and the men were only a mile away.

She swallowed. No one would be anywhere close tonight. It wasn’t ferocious beasts or brutal savages that concerned her so much as her own thoughts.

The evenings used to be her favorite part of the day. Her family would settle around the fire. Papa would read out loud, the pleasant aroma of his pipe wrapping them in its arms. Leon would set up his paper soldiers on the floor preparing them for mock battle. Mama and Anna would decorate boxes or frames with seashells they’d collected over the years.

Then the war came and Papa left. The band had sailed by their house trumpeting a slightly off-key rendition of “The Girl I Left Behind.” With flags flying and bayonets resting on shoulders, the townsmen, dressed in Union colors, marched toward Main Street where wagons waited to take them to the train station in Amherst.