The Anonymous Bride (11 page)

Sue Anne grabbed Leah’s hand. “Let’s go upstairs. Ma’s gone visiting.”

They tromped up the steps in the back room, entered the second story where the Carters lived, and were met with the lingering scent of baked bread. Leah loved the inviting parlor with its pretty settee, needlepoint chair, and large wooden rocker. A colorful braided rug covered all but the corners of the wood floor. A blue floral hurricane lamp rested on a round wooden table.

Sue Anne turned before going into the kitchen. “Would you like some tea?”

Leah shook her head. “Water is fine, thank you.” She sat on the needlepoint chair, enjoying being off her feet and the way the chair hugged her.

Sue Anne returned with a glass of water and a small plate of cookies. She set them on the table next to Leah and flopped onto the settee, making a whoosh and sending dust motes floating in the afternoon sunlight that gleamed through the large window. She leaned toward Leah, her blue eyes shining. “Have you heard the news?”

Leah nodded. “I think so, at least if it’s the same as what Molly told me.”

“I just have to show you something.” Sue Anne jumped up and left the room again.

A rustling sounded from somewhere in the small home, and her friend all but skipped back, a wide grin on her face as she held up a newspaper. “I keep this hidden in my room.” She sat down, opened the paper, and pointed to an ad. “I haven’t told my parents yet, but I’m going to be a mail-order bride. That’s the man I picked.”

“So, it’s true then?”

Sue Anne shrugged. “I hope so. I wrote to Simon—that’s his name—Simon Stephens, and he wrote back. He owns a ranch in Nevada.”

Leah grasped her friend’s hand. “How can you even think of traveling so far to marry a man you don’t know?”

“I won’t marry him until I’m sure I know him well enough. Oh, Leah, he sounds so dreamy—curly blond hair, brown eyes, and over six feet tall.”

Leah’s thought drifted to Mr. Abernathy. That description fit him except for the height, but there was nothing dreamy about him.

Sue Anne sobered. “Don’t you dare tell my parents. Pa would be livid and probably try to marry me off fast to someone in town.”

“I won’t tell them, but I learned about it from Molly, and if someone as loose-lipped as she knows, don’t you think your folks will find out before long?”

“I just need to get another letter or two, and then I’ll know for certain that Simon is the one.” She stared into her lap. “Do you think it’s silly of me? It just sounds so adventurous.”

Leah shook her head. She couldn’t very well scold her friend when she came wanting to have a look at the advertisements herself. “I ... uh ... no. In fact, I was thinking about maybe trying to find a husband myself.”

Sue Anne’s eyes brightened again, and she squealed, grasping Leah’s hands. “You’re thinking about becoming a mail-order bride, too?”

Leah nodded. At least it had sounded like a good idea last night. “Mr. Abernathy made an agreement with Pa to marry me, but I just can’t.”

Lifting her hand to her mouth, her friend stared back at her with wide eyes. “Oh, Leah, I’m so sorry. He’s so—old.”

Leah crinkled her lip and leaned forward. “And he has hair in his ears.”

“And hanging out his nose.” Sue Anne curled her lips inward, obviously fighting a smile. She lost the battle and giggled. “We can’t have that, can we? Here, let’s look at my paper.”

Leah nodded, still wrestling inside. How could she marry a stranger? She’d only loved one man, but she’d lost him. She’d heard of people marrying who didn’t know one another, but could love grow from such a union? Yet anyone would be better than Mr. Abernathy. Scooting over, Sue Anne patted the settee, and Leah slid beside her. They leaned forward, looking at the paper spread out on the coffee table.

“Do you want to marry a rancher? Lots of them need wives.”

Leah considered that and shook her head. “No, I think I’d rather live in a town and preferably someplace that’s not cold.”

“Hmm...” Sue Anne tapped her chin. “How about this one.
‘Bank clerk from Kansas City, Missouri, seeks wife. Has small house and regular income, 35, 5'6", brown hair and green eyes.’”
Looking hopeful, she glanced over at Leah.

“I don’t know. He’s rather old, though certainly younger than Mr. Abernathy, but Kansas City isn’t too far by train. I’d hate for Pa to come find me and make me come back home. He’s so stubborn, he just might do that.”

“That’s true.” Sue Anne turned back to the paper. “‘
Well-to-do saloon owner needs wife. Prefers a shapely woman who sings like a songbird.’
”

Leah gasped and swatted her friend’s arm. “No, thank you. Some friend you are.”

Chuckling, they searched the ads again. Suddenly, Sue Anne sat up straighter. “Here’s a good one.
‘Town marshal, 6'2", with dark brown hair and eyes, wants pretty wife who can cook. Must be willing to move to Texas. Travel money provided.’”

Leah’s heart leaped. She hadn’t considered the cost of traveling.

“The address is Lookout, Texas. I don’t know where that is, but Texas is such a big state that surely the town is far away. Clear across Indian Territory. Your father would never travel that far—and oh my, six foot two inches—how wonderful.”

Leah leaned back, staring at the ad. She’d read a lot about Texas and its wild beginnings, but now it was a state, and things had settled down there. At least she hoped they had. The more she thought about it, the more she liked the idea.

Sue Anne nudged her arm. “I don’t think you’re going to find one better than a town marshal. Surely the man is honorable and trustworthy if he’s a lawman. I wonder why he wants you to write him through a solicitor.”

“Maybe he doesn’t want the whole town knowing he’s wife shopping.” Leah leaned back, took a cookie off the plate, and nibbled it. Could she do this? Would he even want her?

Bouncing on the seat, Sue Anne squealed. “Say something, Leah. He sounds perfectly wonderful.”

Leah looked at her friend. “Can I borrow some paper so I can write to him?”

CHAPTER 11

Shreveport, Louisiana Late May 1886

Shannon O’Neil pulled open the tall double windows in the gentlemen’s parlor and stared out at the dreary countryside. A cool breeze blew in, clearing the room’s air of the stench of cigar smoke that had lingered overnight after the men’s poker game. The damp weather and cloudy sky reminded her of her homeland. Ireland. Would she ever see the brilliant green grass and rolling hills again?

No, and ’twas best she put it from her mind. She would live the rest of her days in America, and though life here wasn’t easy, ’twas far better than how her family fared as poor tenant farmers. If only her parents hadn’t died so soon upon their arrival in New Orleans. Perhaps things would have turned out different.

“Miss O’Neil!”

Shannon jumped and spun around. Her hand clutched the paper in her pocket as if Mrs. Melrose could see the letter and knew her thoughts. A shiver ran down her spine.

The plump woman lifted up her chin and glared at Shannon. “Mr. Wakefield does not employ you so you can spend the day lollygagging. Have you finished cleaning and dusting this room? And why is that window open?”

Shannon’s gaze ran swiftly around the gentlemen’s parlor where each piece of furniture gleamed. “Aye, mum, the polishing is done, and I only opened the window to clear the air in here. ’Twas heavy with smoke from last eve’s socializing.”

“Fine, then see to it that the chamber pots are emptied while the family is at breakfast.”

Stomach curdling at the nasty chore, Shannon dipped her head. “Aye, mum.”

“Make haste now, and when you’ve finished that task, come find me downstairs in the kitchen or laundry.” The head maid turned and strode out of the room, murmuring loud enough for Shannon to hear, “I declare, if I didn’t keep a watch on each and every one of these girls, nothing would get done around here.”

Gathering up the crate of empty liquor and wine bottles, Shannon made her way down to the kitchen. She set the crate on the rear porch and returned upstairs to close the window and retrieve the wine glasses. Back in the kitchen, she placed the dirty goblets in the sink to be washed. She hurried to the south wing of the huge mansion, dreading the duty before her. Though she’d worked at the Wakefield Estate for nearly a year, she was the newest servant, so the worst jobs fell to her. “But not for long.”

She fingered the letter burning a hole in her pocket. Had she made the right decision to respond to that advertisement in the newspaper? He’d written twice and now sent her the money to come to Texas to be his wife. But could she actually marry a man she’d never met before? A town marshal, no less.

She’d dreamed of the six-feet-two-inch man last night. Dark brown hair and eyes. A marshal would be a man used to protecting people, but would she feel safe with him? Would he treat her kindly?

She emptied and washed out the pots for the master and mistress’s room and their two daughters, but she dreaded entering their son’s bed chamber. He was known for sleeping late and for forcing the female servants to please his every whim; but as bad as he was, he didn’t have the cruel streak that his visiting friend and college roommate, Justin Moreland, had.

Shannon knocked hard on the door, waited, then knocked again. She wiped her sweaty hands on her apron. When there was no response, she pushed open the heavy door and peered inside. Morgan Wakefield’s nightshirt lay in a heap on the floor, much to Shannon’s relief. She hurried inside, fetched the pot, took it downstairs to be emptied and washed, and quickly returned it to the room, lest the younger Mr. Wakefield return and find her in his chamber. In the hall, she leaned against the wall and heaved a heavy breath. Just one more, and then the horrid deed would be done for the day.

She ventured out of the family wing of the home and into the north end where the guests resided. If the younger Mr. Wakefield was awake and at breakfast, he most likely had dragged his friend out of bed and downstairs with him. Shannon shook her head. How could anyone eat breakfast when it was nearly the noon hour?

She knocked loudly then shoved the door open, greatly relieved that Mr. Moreland was not present. Fifteen minutes later, the deed was done. She pulled the door shut as she was leaving.

“Well, well, what do we have here?” Justin Moreland leaned casually against the hall wall staring at her with lecherous eyes and a cocky smile. “Trying to sneak into my room, were you?”

Shannon jumped, her hand to her chest, and stepped back. “I was only tendin’ to your—your room, sir.” She curtseyed and stepped around him.

The tall, lean man leaped in front of her. “I’ve had breakfast, but alas, there was no dessert.”

Shannon scowled, thinking of the delicious pastries with creamy filling that the cooks made for the family. Often the remaining ones were thrown away or fed to the swine rather than given to the lowly servants. She forced a smile and held her hands behind her back so that he wouldn’t see them trembling. Though comely with his curly brown hair and blue eyes, something about the rogue scared her more than riding in the dark, smelly steerage on the ship that had brought her to America. “I’d be happy to fetch you a pastry, sir.”

He stepped closer, grabbing her upper arms. “You’re the only dessert I need. Give me fifteen minutes of your time, and I’ll sweeten your pocket with a coin.”

Gasping, Shannon struggled to pull free. Her virtue was not for sale at any price. “Nay, I cannot. I’ve duties to tend to.”

“Come now, those other servants won’t miss you for such a short while.” Taller than she by a good nine inches, young and strong, he jerked her toward the bedroom door.

Praying hard, Shannon dug her feet into the carpet runner but slid forward as he turned and pulled her against him.
Father, help me.

She shoved at the man’s solid chest. “Nay, leave me be.”

“Hey, Justin. What are you doing?”

At the sound of Morgan Wakefield’s voice, Mr. Moreland halted. He scowled, then grinned and looked over his shoulder. “I’m just about to have some fun with this wench of yours. She’s a comely thing, with all that dark red hair, don’t you think?”

Morgan’s gaze ran down Shannon’s length. “She’s a servant, for heaven’s sake, Justin. Leave her alone. Did you forget that we’re supposed to go hunting?”

Justin turned but held tightly to her with one hand. A leering grin twisted his features, and he waggled his brows. “I’m on the hunt for something else.”

Morgan’s lips curled. “I know of far better women to please your fancy than that one. Older and more experienced.”

Justin’s grip loosened. “Where, pray tell, would these lovely ladies be?”

Grinning, Morgan leaned one shoulder against the wall and crossed his ankles. “Stick with me, and you’ll find out. But right now, the horses are saddled, and my father is awaiting us. Come.”

Justin stared down at Shannon. Suddenly, he smiled and kissed her nose. “Tonight, my sweet tart. And next time, I’ll not be dissuaded.”

He released her arm so quickly that she nearly stumbled. Shannon swerved around him and ran past Mr. Wakefield, flashing him what she hoped was a grateful look. He scowled at her as if she were nothing but refuse to be scraped off the bottom of his boots. No matter, she would always be thankful that he had arrived when he had.