Grace Read online

  Oh, dear God. I know we aren't on a first name basis but please tell me this is not my future husband. And as an afterthought she added a post script. And God, by the way, please don’t let there be a wanted poster with my face on it in town.

  She offered a silent prayer heavenward even though she knew she had no right to ask God for any favors. Her fate was already riding downhill on a runaway train straight to the devil’s door.

  A knock brought Mr. Hanover out of his seat. He exited the room and Grace could hear the heavy pine door swing open. Grace held her breath, hoping to hear the conversation in the next room. She normally found eavesdropping a dishonest practice, but considering her circumstances, she figured one more mark against her wouldn’t amount to much.

  Mr. Hanover’s voice was clear. "Sheriff Grayson. Please come in. We are all in the parlor having refreshments. Can I offer you something?”

  Mr. Hanover led the sheriff and the man with the scruffy appearance into the parlor. Grace stood frozen by the window, unable to move.

  Mrs. Hanover, on the other hand, had no problem speaking. “I am assuming this is our eager groom. It's good of you to escort the gentleman to our home, Sheriff."

  "Good afternoon, Mrs. Hanover." The sheriff took off his hat and nodded to the lady of the house and then to Grace.

  Grace tried not to shrink into the wallpaper.

  To look guilty was the first sign of being guilty, according to Rosie.

  She nodded as demurely as she knew how to the sheriff.

  "When Hiram told me you were looking for John here, I was lucky enough to know he was having drinks with his friend at the Holy Moses Saloon. You didn’t have to travel all the way to his home up in the mountains, but— “the sheriff nodded in the man’s direction, “he may have stayed a little too long."

  Mr. Hanover moved closer and took a whiff of the groom, his nose wrinkling his distaste. "Yes, so it seems." He stepped back from the man and invited his guests to sit.

  "Can I get you anything, Sheriff?"

  "No thank you, Hiram. I need to get back to work. One of the saloon customers provoked one of the girls and she hit him up beside the head with a spittoon. Not only is the barkeep mad at such a mess, but the victim needs patching up. I've notified Doc Howard. He'll be arriving at the jail any moment so I need to unlock the cell so he can administer his witch doctoring remedies."

  Grace watched the scene play out. So, this drunken, scruffy person was to be her husband. She thought back to the letter in her reticule. He may be kind-hearted but he sure wasn’t a teetotaler. Her shoulders slumped. Just her luck. She had hoped to start a new life with the tiniest smidgeon of class and social acceptance. She doubted this Mr. Malone was as respectable as they all had hoped.

  Looking at him now, even if she married this man, could she provide a home for herself and her three sisters? He had not disclosed all in his letter but then, the truth be known, she hadn’t been exactly forthcoming about her own lack of admirable attributes. Frustration mounted. If she was going to save her sisters, she needed him to marry her. Now. Today. She would just have to buck up and set this plan in motion if she had any hope of success.

  “Come sit down, Miss Sinclair. Have some tea.” Mrs. Hanover began to pour leaving her no choice but to comply.

  John knew he was drunk. He stopped by the Holy Moses with the intention of having one drink before meeting the young woman arriving today. Just one stupid drink to bolster his nerve to deliver the news that he did not write the letter and he was not now, nor would he ever be, interested in taking another wife. Even in his inebriated state, Lizzie’s memory twisted in his gut.

  So what had gone wrong? Billy Buchanan. That’s what went wrong. The minute John stepped between those swinging doors, Billy grabbed him and insisted he join in drinking to his sister’s new baby. One drink turned in to too many to count. Billy was in celebration mode and he took John with him. After a while, he couldn't remember exactly what he was celebrating but every time he drained his glass, Billy refilled it.

  He vaguely remembered Charlotte, the only barmaid in the saloon at the time, had taken offense to a comment made by some drifter. Not a local for sure or he would have never gotten on Charlotte’s bad side. She cursed back at him. He splashed his drink in her face. She retaliated by dumping the contents of a spittoon over his head. He and Billy tried to leave but by then it was too late. He was drunk and Sheriff Grayson carted Billy off to jail and had him by the collar leading him here.

  He did his best to focus on the young lady now sitting stiffly on the sofa. She looked pale, or was that just her coloring? Light blonde hair swept up to reveal porcelain skin and dark brown eyes. No, he was pretty sure she looked sick, as if she could be ill at any moment.

  He felt a little sick himself. He swayed on his feet. He should have eaten lunch before he barreled headfirst into that bottle of rotgut. The room was spinning, reminding him of the time his brother Daniel pushed him on the rope swing and twisted the rope taunt. Daniel stepped back and the swing spun around and around until John had fallen out and landed hard on the ground below. The dizziness made it impossible for him to walk. And right now he was having a hard time standing. Someone was speaking to him. The man who opened the door. John decided the man must live here. What was his name? Hangover? Handover? His brain refused to cooperate.

  "Mr. Malone, I think you have some explaining to do. This lovely young lady has traveled a very long distance at your behest, and I can assure you your current state does not speak well of your upbringing nor your character. Do you make a habit of this type of behavior, Mr. Malone?"

  No, he didn't normally drink at all. Well, maybe once or twice a year for celebrations like the Fourth of July picnic. And the occasional toast at weddings, but... weddings. He remembered why he was in this mess in the first place. Searching for the letter in his pocket, he pulled out the bank note he had procured earlier in the day.

  "Miss Sinclair." He turned to address the solemn young woman sitting ramrod straight on the sofa. "I am most apologetic to you and your hosts," he slurred. "I agree the current situation is untenable and I intend to rectify the situation.”

  He removed his hat and shuffled his way to where the young woman sat. Even in his inebriated state, he was aware of her warm brown eyes watching his every move. The closer he got, the further she retreated into the cushion of the settee. He knew he didn't look his best, but she didn't have to act like he was some kind of varmint to be chased under the porch.

  “Mr. Malone, I think we should freshen you up before we address the ladies, don’t you?”

  Before he could protest, Mr. Hanover escorted him out of the house and across a wide expanse of dirt leading into a carriage house. He was invited to a good dunking in the cold water of the horses’ drinking trough. The icy cold invigorated his blood and cleared out some of the cobwebs in his head. Feeling a little more in control, he attempted to inform Mr. Hanover he was not in the market for a wife and he most definitely had not written the letter requesting one. The conversation did not go as planned.

  "Young man, I am hereby putting you on notice that you are in very serious trouble, and if you continue on this treacherous path of denying Miss Sinclair the matrimony she was promised, I will personally represent her without cost. My wife’s cousin has vouched for her to be a very proper young lady. Both my wife and I have read the letter you sent to the Matrimonial News in Kansas City requesting a mail-order bride. Miss Sinclair has answered that letter. Now you heed my words, Mr. Malone. I am very good at my profession and I can assure you I will not allow you to remain unscathed while this lovely woman's reputation and livelihood are compromised."

  John’s head continued to spin. What did this man mean about unscathed? John made several attempts to explain to Mr. Hanover the misunderstanding since he never wrote the letter, so technically he wasn't the one in trouble. But he couldn’t seem to get the words to come out right. Damn that Billy Buchanan.

  It was impossible
to rectify this situation in his present condition. Perhaps he could convince Mr. Hanover and his bride to postpone the wedding until he felt better. Tomorrow maybe. Then he could present his situation in a more rational light. He wanted to see this letter and prove he didn’t write it.

  But when he approached the subject, Mr. Hanover rejected the whole notion. Without merit he declared, “Your only recourse is to resign yourself to the fate for which you have been blessed. It is a lucky young man indeed to be gifted with a lovely young woman such as Miss Sinclair for a wife.”

  “But I don’t want another wife,” he slurred.

  “Yes, well… I am deeply sorry about your loss, Mr. Malone. I learned of your wife’s death through the background research my legal assistant conducted on all potential bachelors. Your friends, neighbors and employers all gave glowing reviews about your character. They also informed me of your tragic loss. They did not inform me of your propensity to drink but I’m certain with a little self-restraint, you can overcome that flaw. You have a second chance to live a happy life. A good life. Don’t squander this opportunity. Make the most of the hand you have been dealt.”

  “But…” He couldn’t seem to focus on exactly what he wanted to say. Why on earth would someone write a letter to request a wife for him when he had done such a poor job of taking care of the first one? Someone was shaking him. Oh, God. Please stop.

  It was that man again. Mr. Hangover. No, Hanover. He was the attorney who said he had to marry the woman in the house or…or. He couldn’t remember what the or was. Clothing was shoved into his blurry line of sight. “Put these on. I’ll be back in a moment to check on you.” And then a door banged closed, drilling a sharp pain through his muddled brain.

  John did his best to comply. The jacket was too tight in the shoulders and the pants were four inches too short. At least he and the owner of these clothes were the same girth. Otherwise everyone’s sensibilities would be sorely tested. He sat down on a bale of hay and rested his eyes and his stomach. Within what seemed like minutes, someone was shaking him, telling him it was time for his wedding. He had to be deep in the middle of a nightmare. Nothing about this day seemed real.

  He walked toward the house, Mr. Hanover at his side. He would not marry this woman. Once inside, he would take her aside and explain the situation properly. He did not write the letter. He did not want a wife. This woman was an innocent victim and he would compensate her with the generous bank draft in his pocket. He patted his pocket. Damn. It was in his dungarees. He would get it to her later.

  John stumbled into the house and did his best to focus his bleary eyes on his surroundings. He was ready to put this unfortunate situation behind him and be on his way. He had work to do which did not include the taking of a wife.

  “Are you ready, Mr. Malone?” A man in black standing by the fireplace must have read his mind.

  “Yes, I am ready.”

  4

  Grace allowed herself to be undressed and submerged into a tub full of steaming hot water. What had she gotten herself into? Mr. Hanover had been hired by the town leaders to investigate each groom thoroughly before they could write a letter to the Matrimonial News requesting a bride. They wanted no liability for an innocent young woman to suffer at the hands of one of their grooms-to-be. And he showed her the file with pages of interviews from friends and business acquaintances attesting to her groom’s character. She was grateful a similar file wasn’t available on her. She feared her groom would be out the door in a blink of an eye. The afternoon had passed so fast and now Grace stood in front of the floor-length mirror in the Hanovers’ guest bedroom. She almost didn't recognize her own reflection staring back at her. Her face was as pale as her mother’s wedding dress she wore. So this was to be her wedding day. Not exactly the way she had always imagined it. But then again, her life hadn’t exactly been in line with the fairy tales she had read about in Reverend Baker’s library of books either.

  It felt like a lifetime since she stepped off the train this afternoon. She couldn't imagine what she would have done if not for the Hanovers' generosity and kindness. She certainly couldn’t have gone to the sheriff. She was terrified the day would come when the man with the star on his chest would knock on her door and haul her away to some dank, dark prison cell. But the thought of poor timid little Faith being blamed gave her renewed courage. Faith’s Native American ancestry would probably see her hung without courtesy of a trial.

  Grace shivered at the thought. She had made the right choice. She just needed to focus on the present and let the future take care of itself.

  Mrs. Hanover did her best to justify the man's behavior. Overly excited. Nervous groom. Some men couldn’t handle the marital expectations and need something to bolster their nerves. Grace's experience dealing cards in Rosie’s saloon told her Mr. Malone wasn't one of those. But something was definitely off with her new groom. He seemed very confused about writing the letter. Grace hoped he wasn’t prone to drinking. She had enough run-ins with alcohol-soaked buffoons. She didn’t want to be married to one.

  Grace turned from the mirror and sat at the vanity next to the four-poster bed. There on the lacy doily lay her mother's pearl drop on a fine silver chain. Tears stung behind her eyes as she fingered the necklace. Tears had no benefit. All they did was make her feel weak and useless. She wished she could say she missed her parents but her memories were shadowed and vague. At least her dress—and this necklace--were real. They were all she had left of her mother. She was grateful to the Reverend Baker. He was a decent man. An honest man. A true man of God and he kept what few belongings the girls possessed in the old safe locked away in his office. How easy it would have been for a lesser man to sell their valuables in exchange for room and board. She often wondered how the dress and pearl necklace came to be left with a motherless orphan at the orphanage doorstep. But that was another mystery still yet to be solved.

  Grace spent years clinging to hope these symbols had brought her mother happiness with Grace's father. But she had no idea if that was true or simply a young orphan girl’s fantasy.

  “Miss Sinclair, the minister is ready to begin the ceremony," Sarah called from the hallway outside her door. Her time was up. She fastened the necklace around her neck and picked up the lovely bouquet of yellow Alpine wallflowers Mrs. Hanover had provided from her late summer garden.

  "I'll be right there," she called back. Taking one last look in the mirror, she inhaled a deep, calming breath. Her reflection looked scared. She pinched her cheeks with a little more force than necessary but the rosy glow that followed gave her the appearance of a confident young woman on her wedding day. Appearances were most definitely deceiving.

  She stepped out into the hallway and firmly closed the door behind her. Her past was yesterday. Today she would marry her Mr. John Malone. And they would be happy—or die trying. She squared her shoulders in determination and walked down the hall toward her future.

  John's head felt like one of his draft horses had kicked the sides in. The throbbing in his temples threatened to bring him to his knees. Mr. Hanover stood next to him. He turned to look at the man in the black suit standing in front of the rock fireplace in the Hanover's parlor, bible in hand. Open. Ready. Smiling.

  John did his best to return the man's smile but the look on the minister's face told him he hadn't quite succeeded. Something niggled his brain. What was he doing here and why was he standing in front of a man holding a bible? His head would not stop spinning. The rustle of petticoats caught his garbled attention. Mr. Hanover turned. He smiled at the man facing him who grabbed him by the shoulders and spun him around. Not good. His stomach felt queasy. He watched in morbid fascination as Mrs. Hanover came down the stairs dabbing her eyes with a lace handkerchief. What was wrong with her he wondered.

  Somewhere in the room, someone played a tune on a piano. The music sounded familiar. He had heard it before but the name of the song was just out of his brain’s reach. A movement caught his attention and h
e turned toward it. Trim ankles in white stockings tucked into satin slippers make their appearance through the spindles of the staircase. His heart's steady rhythm stumbled.

  Next, several layers of frothy ruffled petticoats followed by a white lace dress with the smallest waist he had ever laid eyes upon. He cleared his throat and pulled at his necktie. He must have tied it too tight. He needed some air.

  A bouquet of flowers appeared next, held by delicate trembling hands. He was suddenly filled with anticipation. Before he had a moment to wonder at his unexpected reaction, a dainty neck encircled by an equally dainty silver chain from which dangled a single ivory pearl came into view. His breathing felt ragged and insufficient.

  Finally, a heart-shaped face surrounded by golden hair streaked with coffee-colored strands came into full view. She is beautiful. John held his breath. It was as if he was waiting for something. But what, he wasn't certain. And then the lovely young woman raised her whiskey-colored eyes to meet his. A white-hot shock of attraction hit him in the middle of his chest knocking the air from his lungs. His heart beat fast and furious as if he'd run for miles.

  "Let's get this ceremony started, shall we?" The man in black with the bible spoke. "Everyone take your places. Miss Sinclair, please stand next to your groom. Mr. Malone, please take your bride's hand in yours and repeat after me."

  Groom? He looked down at the small hand in his. The bible. Wait. He needed to give the woman a bank draft because--. He couldn’t remember. His mind, slow and numb, slogged through the facts. He was getting married to the beautiful woman on the stairs. But he couldn’t marry her. He was already married. To Lizzie. But she died. His stomach pitched.

  The rest of the ceremony was a blur. John remembered dribs and drabs as the minister spoke the words. "Will you take this woman...with this ring I thee wed...in sickness and in health...obey and honor...cherish...till death us do part." Soon, it was over. "You may kiss your bride."