A Bride in the Bargain by Deeanne Gist
He frowned. “Next week? Why would we wait until next week when we’re practically in town already?”
“No.” Anna brushed a lock of hair from his forehead. “I mean, if we waited until you lost your land. Would you still want to marry me?”
He reared back. “Why would I do that? If we’re going to get married, it is of utmost importance that we do it before I lose the land, not after. You’re not making any sense.”
Sighing, she stroked his lips with her fingers.
He nipped her little finger with his teeth.
She extracted herself from his embrace, then moved back to her side of the seat. “Well, it doesn’t matter anyway. The whole thing is hypothetical.”
“What do you mean it’s hypothetical?”
“The question.”
“There was absolutely nothing hypothetical about my proposal.”
She pulled the blanket up over her shoulders. “No. I don’t suppose there was.”
“Then what the blazes are you talking about? Are you going to marry me or not?”
“Not.” She flipped the blanket over her knees. “I’m afraid I’m not.”
He closed his eyes, trying to figure out exactly what had happened. “How can you kiss me like that, then tell me no?”
“I didn’t mean to give you the wrong impression. I’m sorry.”
“Give me the wrong impression? Give me the wrong impression? If you’d kissed me any more thoroughly, I’d have gone up in smoke. Just what impression was I supposed to have gotten?”
Her entire face flushed. “I’m sorry. It won’t happen again, I assure you.”
He flung up his hands in a gesture of disbelief. “And that’s supposed to make me feel better? Just what was that, then?”
“A good-bye kiss, I believe, is how you described it.”
He stared at her. Shocked. Confused. Angry. And frustrated as the devil. Jerking the reins from the dash rail, he slapped Shakespeare with a bit more intensity than he should have. The horse jumped, then trotted, making the wagon jostle so much Anna flew clear up off the seat.
But he didn’t slow their pace, nor did he help her stay anchored. She could fall off the stupid wagon for all he cared. And when she did, he’d be hanged before he even looked back.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-EIGHT
Hound Dog, Anna’s private nickname for the clerk at the Occidental, handed Anna a missive and a purse of coins. “Mr. Denton said this was yours.”
“Thank you, Mr. Collins.”
The pouch’s weight and jingling indicated it held quite a bit of money. Frowning, she looked around. “Is Mr. Denton here?”
“No, miss. He’s headed back to his place.”
She blinked. “But we just arrived an hour ago.”
Hound Dog shrugged. “He went over to Yesler’s Cookhouse and hired Ollie Rendorff right out from under Mr. Yesler. They left not fifteen minutes ago.”
She glanced at her watch pin. “Why didn’t you come and get me?”
“He said not to bother you.”
But he’d not even said good-bye, she thought. Well, unless she counted that kiss, but that had only been an act of desperation on his part.
“Did he leave my carpetbag with you?”
“No, miss. Only that pouch and the missive I just gave you.”
“I see. Well, thank you.”
Moving to the porch, she broke open the letter.
Anna,
I forgot to put your bag in the wagon. It is still in the house. Please accept my apologies. I will bring it to town next week when I come for other business.
I have told the Occidental to forward your bills to me until you have found a new job or made other arrangements. I have enclosed a modest remittance to help you launch whatever pursuits you decide to follow.
Sincerely yours,
Joe
She looked inside the pouch. He’d left her enough money to live on for several months, longer if she was careful. And if she didn’t have her bag, she’d have to wear the clothes on her back for another week and finger-comb her hair.
Leaning back in the chair, she watched the rain pummel the ground in an unrelenting gush. Lightning seared the sky with a flash of light so bright it took her a moment before she could see again. The crash of thunder followed several seconds later.
Joe was driving home in this mess. Just like the last time he’d taken a new cook to his place. Sighing, she pulled the drawstrings of the money bag closed.
She’d keep the coins. She had no delusions about what it meant to be destitute. Once she secured a job, though, she would return the balance and pay back any she’d used. The sooner the better. She probably ought to repay the fifty-dollar fare she’d agreed to, also.
Anna read the note again. His “other business” must be the transfer of his land to Mr. Tillney. Joe’s twelve days would be up a week from tomorrow.
Propping her elbow on the arm of the chair, she buried her face in her hand. When he brought her belongings next week, it would be her last opportunity. If she didn’t marry him then, the land would be lost and so would her chances of marrying him.
People married for convenience all the time. She already loved Joe and he certainly wasn’t immune to her. But did she really want to live in a loveless marriage until Jesus took her home?
No. She did not. But that didn’t make her feelings for him lessen. Nor did it make her guilt go away, for her decision would affect Red, Ronny, Fish, Thirsty . . . all of them. But especially Joe.
Gathering up the money purse, she stood, then returned to her room. The room Joseph Denton was paying for.
Joe was dog-tired, yet he couldn’t sleep. It was the first time he’d been in his own bed for six weeks and the house was quiet. Empty. Lonely. Giving up, he flung the covers back, then walked across the hall.
Her room was dark. A hint of twinflower still tinged the air. After lighting a lantern, he wandered about opening drawers, touching the washstand, smoothing the bedsheets. The carpetbag he’d forgotten to load caught his eye.
It sat by the doorway where she’d left it for him to carry to the wagon. The temptation to open it tugged at him. She’d been in his bureau. She’d scrubbed, washed, ironed, and folded his clothing and even his drawers more times than he could count. What was good for the goose was surely good for the gander.
He picked up the bag. Its sides bulged; its threadbare seams strained. It hadn’t weighed more than a feather when she’d first arrived, but with the new dresses she’d sewn, it was much too small to hold everything. What she needed was a trunk.
Straightening, he dropped the bag, then hurried to one of the spare rooms. Finding an extra trunk, he carried it back to her room.
He’d give it to her as a going-away gift, of sorts. And as a courtesy, he’d pack it for her. Squatting down, he unbuckled the carpetbag, wondering how many times she’d performed that very action.
Squelching the voice in his ear that warned him of wrongdoing, he opened it. The yellow calico lay on top, the green buttons he’d longed to touch divided the bodice in half.
He fingered them now, one after the other before smoothing his hands over the fabric that had once touched her. Unfurling the gown, he brought it to his nose and breathed deeply of the twinflower scent woven into it.
One by one he removed the items from her bag and laid them in the trunk until he uncovered a set of underclothes. He sat back on his heels without touching. She must have two sets, just like she’d had two dresses at the beginning, because she’d have surely worn some undergarments to town.
He’d only had a quick glimpse of her in them that long-ago day. Pushing the sides of the bag wider, he tucked his hands inside and drew her shift out. It was in worse shape than he’d first imagined. He slipped a hand beneath the hem and spread his fingers. The cloth was as transparent as a cobweb and almost as fragile.
He’d never once seen them on his clothesline. She must have hung them out only while he and the boys were
He wanted to draw it to his nose but didn’t dare. Only a flimsy pair of drawers remained in the bag. No corset. No petticoat.
Lifting them out, he accidentally pulled loose a false bottom. Setting the garment aside, he examined the bag and uncovered a bundle of worn, wrinkled letters. The top one was addressed to Josephine Ivey.
Settling onto the floor, he held the bundle for a long while before finally untying them.
He read every single one. The themes were the same: Her father felt honor-bound to enlist. He expected Anna to all but run the household and Leon to take his place. By doing so, they would be just as patriotic as if they were soldiers in the field.
It was the last one, though, that made Joe downright angry.
Don’t you realize that when you and Leon argue and misbehave, the rebel bullets come closer to me? But if you and Leon are good, then God will take care of me and bring me home safely.
What a great bunch of tripe. And what kind of price had Anna paid for those thoughtless words? She was no more responsible for her father’s death than Joe was.
He remembered her discussion with Maynard. Hopefully, Anna realized the truth of the matter now. Either way, it was all Joe could do to keep from crinkling up the letter and throwing it in the fireplace—dead though the fire was.
Instead, he refolded it, slipped it back into the envelope, and tied it up with the rest of them. Once he’d secured them in the false bottom, he flattened the bag, laid it on top of the clothes in the trunk, and carefully closed the lid.
Anna stared at Doc Maynard, then slowly set her teacup on the table. After nearly a week of looking for employment, she could scarcely believe her ears. “You’d like me to what?”
“I’d like you to be my nurse.” The doc cut into his breakfast steak, then stuck a bite in his mouth.
The dining room of the Occidental was almost deserted at this late hour of the morning. Which was fine with Anna. The less crowded, the less conspicuous she felt.
She blinked. “Why?”
“I’d heard you were in the market for a job.” The doc wiped his mouth with his napkin and leaned back. “What do you say?”
“Well, goodness. I . . . I’d be happy to assist you, I suppose. If you think I could be of help, that is.”
“I think you’d be a great help.”
“I have no formal training.”
“Does the sight of blood upset you?”
“It never has before.”
“Then I’ll teach you what you need to know.”
She stared at the food on her plate. Yesler would have hired her on the spot, but she’d wanted to try something different. She’d hoped to find a position as a nanny, but there weren’t many children in the Territory. And the families who had children also had mothers at home to care for them.
Domestics weren’t in much demand either, unless she wanted to work for an unmarried man again. And she definitely didn’t want to do that. She’d resigned herself to going to Mr. Yesler today. But now she wouldn’t have to.
Maynard took a sip of coffee. “Well, what do you say?”
“I say ‘yes.’ ”
He smiled. “Good. Can you start today? Right now?”
“Right now?”
“Unless you already have plans?”
“No. No plans at all. Just, um, let me freshen up and I’ll be right with you.”
“Very good. I’ll wait for you out front.”
She made her way to her room, her feelings bittersweet. Her situation was improving on the cusp of Joe’s situation deteriorating. For tomorrow was Day Twelve.
Guilt over his loss slowed her steps. It wasn’t too late. She could tell the doctor she’d changed her mind, then find Joe and marry him. She knew he was in town. The men had made sure to tell her last night at dinner.
She’d watched for him all evening, lingering over dinner, rocking on the porch, taking a stroll through town. But she never saw him, and if she had, what would she have said? That she was sorry about his land? A rather paltry statement, all things considered.
He wouldn’t believe her anyway. Not when she had it within her power to rectify the situation. Still, her refusal to marry him didn’t mean she wouldn’t mourn for his loss. Wouldn’t harbor guilt over it. She would. And she’d do so for a long, long time.
Slipping into her room, she poured water into the basin. At least with this new job she’d be able to start paying him back for her accommodations. And the sooner she released him from any sense of obligation he might feel, the better for both of them.
Joe stood in the Central Store staring at the document in his hands. He’d stopped by Hind’s to give him a list of supplies when the grocer had handed him his mail.
“How long has this been here?” Joe asked, unable to keep the disbelief from his voice.
Hind shrugged his bony shoulders. “About a month.”
“A month? Why didn’t you give it to Red?”
“Wasn’t addressed to Red.”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
Hind rubbed the lens of his spectacles with his apron. “Denny doesn’t like it when we give mail out to anyone but the person it’s addressed to. Denny was Postmaster long before me, you know.”
Joe tamped down his exasperation. If only he had stopped at the store when he’d brought Anna to town last week. “From now on, you can give my mail to Red. And if Arthur Denny doesn’t like it, you have him come speak to me.”
Stepping out onto the boardwalk, Joe glanced up at the sky. All this time. A copy of Lorraine’s death certificate had been sitting in the Central Store this whole entire month.
It hadn’t burnt in the courthouse fire because his aunt had it. Heard he needed it and mailed it to him.
He fingered the document. Lorraine Cowden Denton had been written across the middle in elaborate Edwardian script by some unknown clerk. Some clerk who filled out a dozen of these a day. Who had no idea of the beautiful girl whose life had been snuffed out before her time. The girl who’d married one Joseph Roy Denton when the daisies were in bloom.
What a puppy he’d been back then. Full of enthusiasm and optimism and adventure. He’d packed a lot into the intervening years. How would all those years have been different if he’d had a woman by his side?
But it wasn’t Lorraine he was picturing. It was Anna. Anna tripping down the steps and sending potatoes to every corner of the yard. Being caught in her underclothes while ironing her dress. Sorting seashells with her tongue trapped between her teeth. Cleaning his house until it shone. Washing his clothes, then secreting them away in his drawers. Kissing him until his entire world narrowed down to nothing but her. Only her.
Taking a deep breath, he turned north and headed to Judge Rountree’s place. It was of no consequence now. The important thing was that nobody could ever threaten to take his land from him again. Not Tillney, not the judge, not anybody.
Immense satisfaction washed over him. The spring in his step lessened, however, when the what-ifs began to run through his head. What if his aunt hadn’t gotten word? What if he’d not stopped by the Central Store? What if he’d married Bertha? What if he’d married Anna?
The thought brought him up short. What if he had married Anna? Would he have been sorry?
No. Not even close.
And in the middle of that glorious Seattle morning, with wagons kicking up dust and merchants sweeping their landings and horses dozing at the rails, Joe realized what he’d only suspected before. He was in love with Anna Ivey of Granby, Massachusetts. That without her, his land was not near the prize he thought it was.
He played their kiss back in his mind for the thousandth time. What he’d missed before was now glaringly obvious. When she’d asked him if he loved her, he’d never given her an answer. Because he hadn’t known. Not for certain. Not with his land hanging in the balance.
But he knew the answer now. And he needed to convey it to Anna. Telling her wouldn’t be
“Watch out!”
A ball of brown yarn sailed toward him. Instinctively, he caught it.
One of Sprygley’s sons broke away from the group of boys playing shinny in an empty lot.
“Sorry, Mr. Denton! Ernie hit the thing a little too hard.”
Joe tossed him the yarn. “It’s all right. Who’s winning?”
“We are!” Waving, the boy raced back to the center of the lot, placed the ball at his base, and struck it with a shaved tree branch. The game ensued, each boy trying to move the ball toward the opposing team’s goal with their shinny-sticks.
Joe took a moment to watch, wondering for the first time what it would be like to have a son of his own. Would he look like Anna or himself or a mix of the two?
His thoughts veered toward the creating of those sons and again he pictured Anna in her threadbare underclothes. He straightened. That was it. He’d buy her some fabric for a new petticoat, corset, shift, and drawers. A man’s intentions would be pretty clear were he to give a woman a present like that.
He hesitated. His intentions could also be completely misconstrued. Perhaps he should include cloth for a bridal gown along with the cotton. No mistaking that. But first he needed to see Judge Rountree. As soon as all was settled concerning his land, he’d return to Hind’s store and make his purchases.
Doc Maynard pulled up the buggy next to a white picket fence surrounding a well-kept lawn and a gable-roofed house. The attractive home was shaded by maple trees, set back from the street and had a wide porch lined with spice pinks and lavender. They had no more come to a stop when the most beautiful woman Anna had ever seen burst through the front door.
“One fell off the barn loft and broke his leg,” she cried. “You need to get over to the Rountrees’ right away.”
Doc waved, turned the horse around, and whipped the reins. Anna glanced back at the woman. Was that Doc Maynard’s wife? She was so young. So beautiful. So . . . unexpected.
She looked again at the doctor. He wasn’t homely, of course, but neither was he handsome in the classical sense. Oh, he had fine shoulders, but not as big and broad as Joe’s. His salt-and-pepper hair had a bit of a wave to it, but nothing like Joe’s blond curls. His blue eyes were nice, but nothing like—