The Anonymous Bride (3 page)

They crossed the street, shoulder to shoulder, like a trio of gunslingers looking for trouble. Luke’s gaze swung toward Hamilton House. The three-story structure would have looked strangely out of place if not for the two newer mansions built to the right of it.

He imagined Rachel sitting on the inviting porch, knitting or mending at the end of the day. He hoped she’d lived a happy life with James. Her lifestyle certainly was better than it would have been if she’d married Luke. The best he could have hoped for back then was to have a small farm and a one-room shack. Yeah, Rachel had married for money, and it certainly paid off. She’d probably never given him a second thought after he left town. So much for young love and promises of everlasting devotion. Clamping his jaw on that thought, he bounded up the steps to the boardwalk.

His heart jolted. A woman in a dark blue bonnet strode toward them, head down and looking at a list in her hand. Rachel? She glanced up, and dove gray eyes met his instead of Rachel’s pale blue ones. He was both relieved and disappointed. The woman’s cheeks flushed at his stare, and she looked down and walked past him.

Someone shoved him from behind, and he stumbled forward. “We ain’t never gonna eat if you stand there gawking at every woman that passes by.”

“Now, ease up, Garrett. He’s been stuck out on the frontier with a bunch of smelly soldiers for the last eleven years.”

Luke chuckled with them, not bothering to tell them that he’d seen women, but they’d all been married to officers, for the most part anyway. Besides, even though Rachel had married someone else, he’d never been able to consider starting life with another woman. That was one of his reasons for returning to Lookout—to get Rachel out of his system, once and for all.

They selected a table near the front window and placed their orders with a young man Luke didn’t recognize. He stared out the window, trying to get a feel for the town and how much it had changed. How many of the folks that he knew from before still lived here?

“So, tell us what you’ve been doing the past eleven years.”

Luke stared at his cousins. “You’d know if you read my letters.”

Both men squirmed, but Garrett spoke up, “We read ’em. It’s just been a long while since you wrote last.”

“Been a lot longer since I’ve heard from you.” Luke lifted his brow. Years had passed since he’d gotten a letter from either cousin, but he decided not to press the issue. Most men didn’t like writing missives, and besides, his cousins had been hard at work developing their freight operation, from the looks of it. “Been busy rounding up Indians, cattle rustlers, and train robbers. Making the frontier safe for settlers.”

“Sounds like you had your hands full.” Mark grabbed a slice of bread from the basket in the center of the table and buttered it. “You must have spent plenty of time in the sun. You’re brown as an Indian.”

Luke chuckled. “Not quite.” He snagged a slice of bread and slathered on butter. He closed his eyes, relishing the softness of the white center, the crispy crust, and flavorful spread. “Been a long time since I ate bread this good. It’s a far cry better than hardtack.”

He leaned back in his chair, enjoying the atmosphere of the small-town café. He’d missed this. Folks relaxed, not worried about Indian attacks. Silverware clinked, and in the doorway to the kitchen, he saw Polly waddling back and forth, dishing up plates of food.

“Yeah, Polly’s cooking is the best. Why, if she was fifteen years younger and fifty pounds lighter, I’d marry her myself.” Garrett grinned and grabbed a piece of bread.

“Why
aren’t
you two married? I would have thought by now that you’d both have a ring around some pretty gal’s finger.”

Mark turned red. “Been busy. Starting up a freight business and delivering goods keeps us away from town for days at times. Most women want a man who’s home every night.”

“Speaking of women”—Garrett’s eyebrows waggled up and down—“are you going to visit Rachel anytime soon?”

Luke halted the bread that was halfway to his mouth. “Now why would I do that? I don’t reckon it would make James too happy.”

Garrett and Mark exchanged a telling glance.

Why did they keep doing that? “What? Spit it out.” Luke lowered his hand holding the bread, expecting some earth-shattering news from the looks on his cousins’ faces.

“Uh ... didn’t we write and tell you about him?” Mark asked.

“About who?” All manner of thoughts skittered around Luke’s mind like insects swarming a lantern at night.

“James is dead,” Garrett said, looking pointedly at him. “Died three years ago. Broke his neck when he got thrown from a spirited stallion he’d won in a poker game.”

Luke opened his mouth, but all the thoughts that had scurried through his mind now fled.

CHAPTER 3

The kitchen screen door banged shut, and Rachel jumped. She pulled in a breath and forced her voice to sound steady. “Please do not slam the door, Jacqueline.”

“I caught a mess of trout and bass.” She dropped the smelly fish onto Rachel’s clean kitchen worktable.

Rachel pursed her lips. How could Jacqueline just waltz in and pretend nothing had happened after defiantly disobeying her? “You know if you catch fish that you’re supposed to clean them before bringing them in.”

Jacqueline flopped into a chair. Auburn hair sprouted loose from her braids, making her resemble an old rag doll whose hair had seen better days. “Can’t you do it just this once? I’m all tuckered out. Fishin’s hard work.”

Shaking her head, Rachel knew she had just the right ammunition for this argument since her daughter loved fried fish. “If you want me to cook those, you’ll have to clean them.”

Jacqueline sighed. “But I’m starving. Can’t I eat something first?”

“Supper is nearly ready.” Rachel used the end of her apron to pull a pan holding two baked chickens from the oven. Fragrant scents filled the room, making her stomach rumble. “Take the fish outside, put them in some water, and wash up. You can clean them after we eat, and I’ll fix them up after supper. Set the table when you come back inside.”

Clad in overalls and a blue plaid shirt, her child scowled, but then she scrambled out the kitchen door with the string of fish in tow. Rachel shook her head. James had always wanted a son, but only Jacqueline had lived to reach full-term. With an aching heart, she remembered the three infant boys she’d lost. Jacqueline tried so hard to be a boy when Rachel only wanted her to be a sweet little girl.

She mashed the potatoes with more force than necessary. Thoughts of James always stirred up a swirl of resentment in her heart. At least he could no longer make her feel helpless. She rolled her neck, trying to relax. She was thankful she no longer had to tiptoe around the house, worrying that she’d set James off; yet she felt guilty for her train of thought.
Forgive me, Lord, for thinking such things about the deceased.

She dished up the turnips and sliced the chicken into pieces. Jacqueline tromped back inside, her face shiny with moisture.

“Run and change quickly into your green dress.”

“Aw, do I have to?”

“You do if you want to eat, and I’m telling you right now, you’re getting no pie and you will wash the dishes alone, afterwards; and you’ll pen Colossians 3:20 thirty times.”

Jacqueline’s eyes went wide. “But why? I took the fish outside.”

“How quickly you forget.” Rachel asked then shook her head. “You deliberately disobeyed me this morning when I told you that I needed your help for dinner, and you chose to run off with those boys when you should have gone back to school.”

Jacqueline crossed her arms and frowned. “But I caught a whole mess of fish. You’ll have extra meat to fix for supper, so I did you a favor.”

The little manipulator. “It’s no favor to disobey me, and in case you didn’t notice, supper is ready now. Go get changed and hurry back. I’ve got to get the food served for our guests.”

Jacqueline stomped off. Rachel hoped she hadn’t been too hard on the child. Disciplining didn’t come easy to her. She despised spanking even though she’d always heard, “Spare the rod and spoil the child.” But after the way James had slapped Jacqueline in anger and spanked her repeatedly with his belt, she couldn’t bring herself to lay a hand on her daughter, even if it meant the girl was a bit wild. Surely she would grow out of this stage as she got older. Maybe in a few years she’d think of boys as potential beaus and she’d like wearing dresses and looking pretty.
Please, Lord, let it be so.

After serving the mayor’s guests and eating, Rachel stayed in the kitchen and tinkered while Jacqueline washed the dishes. Normally, she enjoyed doing the dishes with her daughter. It was a time that the girl often dropped her guard and talked. Rachel wiped off her worktable and the stove. “Listen, sweetie, I appreciate the fish you caught, but I don’t want you going off alone with those boys.”

“Why?” Jacqueline crinkled her forehead. “They’re my best buddies. Ricky dug up some great worms. Found a couple of fat, white grubs.” Just that fast, she grinned. “Jonesy dared him to eat one, and he did.”

“Ewww. That’s disgusting.” Rachel crinkled her lip. “You didn’t eat one, did you?”

Jacqueline’s eyes twinkled. “No, but if they’d dared me to, I would have.”

“Don’t let those boys talk you into doing something you don’t want to do.” Rachel stared at her child. How could such a pretty young thing be a tomboy? Why couldn’t she love dresses and hair bows instead of pants and hanging around with rascally boys? She was young and naive, and Rachel had to protect her from the wiles of men—and boys. She pulled out a kitchen chair and sat down. “Sweetie, women have to be cautious around men. They’re different than us. You can’t relax and let down your guard with them.”

Her daughter looked over her shoulder, innocent blue eyes staring at Rachel. “Ricky and Jonesy are my friends.”

“Friends sometimes...” How could she explain that even friends could hurt you to get what they wanted? She sighed. That was no topic for a ten-year-old.

Rachel picked up a towel and dish and started drying. As soon as they were done, she could take her mending outside and sit down for a while.

“Ricky says there’s a new marshal in town.”

Rachel closed her eyes and willed strength back into her bones. So, her work wasn’t over for the day. The marshal always took his meals at the boardinghouse, and in return for her work, which included cleaning the little house next door and doing the marshal’s laundry, the town would pay her an additional forty dollars per month. The extra money would be a blessing, but it added to her busy workload. Why hadn’t the mayor let her know a new marshal was coming today? “We’ll need to go over and make sure the house is ready for him.”

“Now? You cleaned it two weeks ago, and nobody’s been there since. What’s there to do?”

“Plenty. Dust, air out the place, put clean sheets on the bed. I wonder when he’ll start taking his meals here.” Rachel got a bucket and put a clean cloth in it. She’d have to run over and take care of things right away. Since the marshal was already in town, he’d probably be sleeping at the little house next door tonight. Her mending would just have to wait until tomorrow.

“You sure you don’t want me to stay here so I can greet new boarders if we get any?”

Rachel smiled at her wily child. “Good try, but this won’t take too long.”

Jacqueline moaned but left her apron on and followed Rachel out the kitchen door.

At the Sunday house, as it was called, Rachel left the front door open. “Raise a few windows to let some fresh air in. I’ll make the bed. You dust and then run outside and gather some wildflowers if you can find some nearby.”

Jacqueline moaned halfheartedly but perked back up. “They say the new marshal is some kind of cavalry hero.”

“Well, that’s good. He should be well qualified to guard our little town if he’s been a soldier.” Rachel snapped open a clean sheet, enjoying the fresh, sun-kissed scent, and made the bed. She topped it off with a colorful bear’s paw quilt she’d made the year after James had died.

The Sunday house, with its large, single room and the roof that slanted down on the back quarter of the house, giving it a lean-to look, reminded her of the type of home that she and Luke might have had if they’d married. The kitchen area had been turned into the bedroom, since the marshal didn’t need to cook. If he was a tall man, he may have to duck to avoid hitting his head where the ceiling slanted over the bed. A parlor of sorts was set up in the main area with a settee, a rocking chair, desk, and table big enough for two people to eat at. The cozy place would be much better than staying in the jailhouse as early Lookout marshals had done.

Buying the Sunday house when the German owners moved farther south to be near their kinfolk and donating it to the town had been one of the nicer things the Hamilton family had done.

Footsteps sounded outside on the porch. Rachel’s gaze darted around the tidy room. Everything was in place except for the flowers. She was glad that she’d come on over rather than waiting until tomorrow.

Jacqueline swiped the window sill and looked up. She tucked the dust cloth behind her and scurried over to stand by Rachel. “I saw the mayor.”