The Bride's Prerogative (100 page)

Vashti laughed. “The way folks in this town are playing musical houses, I wouldn’t be surprised to see your furniture show up at the Chapmans’, or Mrs. Benton’s Scripture sampler hanging in Isabel’s parlor.”

Goldie elbowed her sharply, and Vashti clapped a hand over her mouth. She’d forgotten Apphia Benton was stitching a sampler for Libby and Hiram as a wedding gift. She’d shown it to some of the ladies at shooting practice the week before, after Libby had left.

Goldie had walked about with a dreamy expression ever since Libby had asked her and Florence, her other clerk, to be her bridesmaids. Libby was even paying for fancy gowns for them and Trudy Chapman, who was to serve as her matron of honor. Goldie had sworn Vashti to secrecy and told her that the gowns were rose-colored silk, finer than anything Goldie had ever seen. Finer even than Bitsy’s purple silk that came from Paris.

Rumor had it that Libby’s wedding gown would dazzle the entire population of Fergus, but she and Annie were close-lipped about it. During the last few days before the wedding, Libby scurried about town—from the Chapmans’ ranch, where she was staying her last few days as a single woman, to Annie’s for dress fittings, to the Spur & Saddle to discuss the wedding cake with Augie, to the Bentons’ to speak to the pastor about the vows. Hiram went about his odd jobs—building a chicken coop for the Bentons and fixing a rifle for Oscar—with a smile on his lips.

“What are you wearing to the wedding?” Goldie asked Vashti on Tuesday afternoon.

“I haven’t had time to think about it.” She’d just returned from the Nampa run and was preparing to bathe and help Bitsy serve the supper crowd.

“Well, come on! It’s only four days away.”

“Do you think my green wool would work?”

“No! That would be too hot. It’s June, Vashti! You need something lighter.” Goldie shook her head. “This is what comes of you wearing boys’ clothes half the time. You’ve lost your sense of fashion.”

Vashti shrugged. “I don’t care so much about fashion. But you don’t have to worry—I won’t wear trousers to the wedding. I guess I can wear the same dress I wore to Bitsy and Augie’s wedding last year.”

“Don’t do that. Everyone will remember that you were a bridesmaid. And you’re not a bridesmaid for Miz Adams.”

“So?”

“So you want to look nice, but not as nice as the bridesmaids.” Vashti laughed. “All right, so I have to look nice but not nicer than you.”

“I didn’t mean it that way.”

“I know you didn’t. Right now I’m more worried about whether Griffin’s going to get the mail contract or not. He should have heard a couple of weeks ago.”

“Well, you’ve got plenty of pay now. Why don’t you come over to the Paragon tomorrow morning and look at the ready-mades? One of the last things Miz Adams did was order in some new summer dresses, and they’re very attractive.”

Vashti decided not to tell her that she’d told Griffin not to pay her last Friday. She did have quite a stash from her previous paydays, even though she’d paid Bitsy board every week and bought a few things. Griffin was finding it hard to meet his payrolls.

He’d put on an extra run each week to Silver City. Since the mining men had come through and dropped hints that a couple of the big mines up there might be reopened, traffic between Boise and Silver City had tripled. It was the one stage run that more than paid for itself with passenger fares these days.

Vashti looked on it with mixed feelings. If the mines got up to full production again, her job as a driver would be secure. But the output of the gold mines would also draw more bandits.

They wouldn’t go after the wagons hauling ore down to the railroad head. It was too bulky and too hard to process. But bullion or gold dust from the stamp mills, now that was a different story. The stagecoaches usually had passengers carrying pouches of gold dust and sometimes payrolls for the mines and other businesses. Robberies were so common that the territorial government wouldn’t reimburse lost equipment unless someone was killed. Vashti wasn’t sure she wanted to drive in those circumstances.

She set off on her Nampa trip Wednesday, still uncertain of her attire for the wedding. Rose Caplinger rode the stage as a passenger, going to Boise to purchase supplies for her millinery business, and Myra Harper and Ellie Nash were scheduled to go as extra messengers if seats were available.

As it turned out, Rose was the only paying customer that day. They reached Nampa in safety, and Rose got out to eat a hasty dinner before boarding again for the leg to Boise.

“Do you have a hat for the wedding?” she asked Vashti as they ate the stew and cornpone Mrs. Gayle provided.

“Oh no, I—”

“I can make you a fetching chapeau for three dollars and a half.” Rose squinted at her then nodded. “That blue dress you wear to church sometimes—it’s too short, but you could add some tatted lace edging, and I can dye feathers to match the fabric.”

Vashti felt her face warm. A man sitting down the table on the other side stared at her, neglecting his bowl of stew. She realized he was listening to their conversation and trying to reconcile it with her appearance. Her cheeks burned hotter, and she lowered her voice.

“Rose, people aren’t supposed to know I’m not a man. Could we talk about this when we’re back in Fergus, please?”

“Oh. Of course. But you won’t have time to get up a new outfit.” Rose eyed her clothing and curled her lip. “How do you stand it?”

Vashti didn’t deign to answer. “Have a pleasant ride to Boise, Mrs. Caplinger. I’ll see you tomorrow on your return trip.” She took her empty tin plate to the side table where Mrs. Gayle liked diners to leave their dirty dishes and went to her small room at the back of the house. Mrs. Gayle had made up a pallet on the floor so that Myra and Ellie could spend the night in her room. Myra had insisted that she be the one to sleep on the floor, and Vashti had given the bottom bunk over to Ellie. Both women came in a few minutes later.

“The stage just left, and Rose with it,” Myra reported.

Vashti had taken down her hair and was brushing the dust out of it. “I hope she has a good time in Boise.”

“Yes, and finds all sorts of notions to make hats from,” Ellie said with a smile.

“Wish I could have gone to visit the capital.” Myra sat down on her makeshift bed.

Vashti didn’t ask why she hadn’t gone on. She knew the nineteen-year-old had come along for the adventure and to earn a little pocket money. If she went on to Boise, she’d spend more than she earned for her ticket, lodging, and meals in town.

“Maybe someday, Myra.” Ellie sat on her bunk and opened her small traveling bag. “We’re trying to economize. Peter didn’t want me to come at all. He thinks it’s too dangerous. But his salary as postmaster isn’t covering all the expenses we’ve had lately, what with the two boys growing like weeds and prices going up.”

“We’ll have fun here.” Vashti nodded firmly. “There’s a grocery store up the road and a new hotel.”

Ellie raised her eyebrows. “Nampa’s getting to be quite a town.”

“Yes. They’re thinking of digging a canal to irrigate the farmland here, and there’s a doctor who’s opened up a drugstore.”

“That’s something,” Myra said. “The Paragon always carries basic health needs, but a drugstore! Wouldn’t Doc Kincaid love to have one in Fergus?”

“I’ll bet he would,” Vashti said. “Several houses are being built, too. If we get overly bored, we can walk around and see how the construction is coming.”

Myra crinkled up her face. “No, thanks. But I wouldn’t mind seeing the drugstore.”

Vashti almost mentioned that the drugstore sold ice cream and phosphates, but recalling the ladies’ pinched budgets, she kept quiet. If they got to the store before it closed and the right moment presented itself, she’d offer to buy them both a dish of ice cream. She smiled at the thought. Having enough honestly earned money in her pocket to consider treating her friends gave her a new sense of what she could be. She could support herself without serving drinks or worse. In Fergus, she was accepted as respectable. She’d never be as refined as Libby or as wealthy as Isabel Fennel, but she called nearly every woman in town her friend and could sit anywhere she liked in church without getting snubbed.

“I could use a walk, too,” Ellie said. “Is it far?”

“Not at all. Just let me change into my skirt.” For the past two weeks, Vashti had carried the black skirt and a plain blouse with her when she drove. This was the third time since Trudy’s trip that other ladies had ridden with her, but usually they wanted to go on to Boise. Vashti was glad for the chance to get to know Myra and Mrs. Nash better.

The only troubling aspect was that she found the more time she spent with wives and mothers—and young women from proper homes like Myra’s—the more she longed for a home of her own. As grateful as she felt for what Bitsy and Augie had given her, she yearned for a true family. But that would mean a husband, and she wasn’t sure she could ever trust a man enough to commit to him for the rest of her life.

She ran through a cold mist, uphill toward Fergus, but the lights of the Spur & Saddle kept sliding farther away. Behind her, footsteps pounded, and a man’s labored breathing came closer and closer. She snatched a glance over her shoulder. Luke chased her through the chilly, wet darkness, carrying an impossibly huge umbrella. “Georgia! I love you, Georgia!”

“You’re lying!” she screamed back. She slammed into someone. Ike Bell. He laughed and grabbed her by her arms. “Let me go,” she cried, twisting and pulling against his grip. “If you lose another harness, you’re fired,” he said. She jerked her head back and stared up at him. Ike had turned into Griffin. Raindrops dripped off his beard and splashed on her face. “I love you, Georgie.”

“Honey? Wake up. You’re dreaming.”

Someone shook her, and Vashti climbed slowly through the mist and confusion toward candlelight and Ellie’s soft voice. She hauled in a deep breath.

“Are you all right?” Myra asked, climbing up with her feet on the bottom bunk so she could get closer to Vashti. “You groaned.”

“I was trying to scream, I think.”

“Oh, honey, I’m so sorry. It’s only a dream.” Ellie patted her hand.

“Yes. A nightmare.” Vashti tried to calm her heart’s hammering. “I’m sorry I woke you both up.”

“It’s all right,” Ellie said. “I’m glad we were here.”

Myra got down and blew out the candle. Vashti rolled over.

She lay staring into the darkness. How long until sunup? She didn’t want to sink back into slumber. Luke might not be in her life anymore, but he’d ruined her haven of sleep. And what was that craziness with Griffin at the end? Insanity, that’s what it was. She pulled the quilt up to her chin and prayed for peace.

CHAPTER 27

T
he new church was jammed with the citizens of Fergus. Folks drove into town from outlying ranches. Hardened cowpokes and old sourdoughs rode down out of the hills to see the beautiful Mrs. Adams married. Most of them wondered how Hiram Dooley had snagged her.

As he waited for the hour to strike and the parson to start the doings, Griffin monitored his pocket watch. The stage was due in from Silver City at two. After the one o’clock ceremony, the nuptial celebration would move over to the Spur & Saddle. In case they weren’t done at the church by then—though Griffin couldn’t in his wildest imaginings see how a wedding could last more than an hour—he’d bribed Josiah Runnels to meet the stage for him.

He wouldn’t have been in this situation, but it seemed Libby had to have three bridesmaids. That in itself wasn’t a problem—Trudy Chapman, Florence Nash, and Goldie Keller were tickled to serve. But someone somewhere had made a harebrained rule that said there had to be a groomsman for every bridesmaid. And Hiram had called on him.

Sheriff Chapman was his number one choice, of course. Hiram and Ethan were best friends. Ethan looked fine, wearing the suit he’d bought for his own wedding last year. Now, that wedding had been simple. One bridesmaid—Libby—and one best man—Hiram. No fuss. Where was this “got to have three bridesmaids and three groomsmen” coming from? Libby must have seen it in
Godey’s Lady’s
Book
or some such Eastern convention.

Anyway, here he was. He didn’t have a true suit, but Libby had allowed he could wear the black jacket he wore for funerals and a pair of black pants. He’d bought a new white shirt, and Hiram had brought him a tie just like his own and Ethan’s and Augie’s. Augie was the other groomsman. Griffin looked over at him and almost laughed aloud. Augie was completely bald. He stood about five feet, nine inches, and he had more muscle than anyone Griffin knew—with the possible exception of himself. But that was understandable. He pounded iron. Augie, on the other hand, pounded biscuit dough. How did he keep those muscles?

Griffin scanned the crowd, looking for Justin. Finally he spotted him near the back, squished in on a bench with the Nash boys. That might spell trouble. Peter and Ellie sat farther toward the front, so they could get a good look at Florence when she came down the aisle. Griffin guessed he’d be the one to walk out of the church with Florence. That didn’t bother him any. He just hoped those boys would sit still during the wedding and not cause a disturbance. A memory of his cousin Amelia’s wedding twenty years ago made him squirm. Was there any way Justin could have gotten his hands on fireworks?

Music started, and Goldie came up the aisle. She was a pretty little thing, all pink and gold in her fancy dress. Her blond hair cascaded down in back, below her white straw hat. She carried pink and white flowers and smiled all the way down the aisle. Behind her came Florence Nash. With her orange-red hair up on her head underneath her hat, she didn’t clash too badly with her pink dress. It was just like Goldie’s, but Florence looked ganglier and less graceful than Goldie.

Trudy Chapman had come a long way from the homely tomboy who test-fired guns for her brother. She looked good in the pink dress, too. Ethan stood watching her and grinning from ear to ear. You’d have thought he was at a horse auction and they’d led in a leggy, thoroughbred filly.

But none of the bridesmaids looked as nice as Vashti, sitting in the second row on the groom’s side with Bitsy. She wore a shimmery blue dress Griffin thought he might have seen before. Maybe at church—or not. But it was far too proper to be one of her made-over barmaid dresses. She looked fine, and it was a chore to take his eyes off her.

The music changed, and all of a sudden the congregation stood, startling Griffin back to the moment. In the church doorway, Libby stood, resplendent in ivory silk, clinging to Charles Walker’s arm. That was fitting. Charles had been a close friend of Libby’s departed first husband.

Griffin had to admit Libby eclipsed all her bridesmaids. Not many women in Idaho would get married in a dress she could never wear anyplace else. The pale silk glimmered with tiny little beads and embroidery. Way too fancy for any other kind of outing. But he guessed Libby could afford it.

As Charles walked her down the aisle, trying hard to conceal his limp, Libby smiled at the folks on both sides, then focused on the front. Griffin turned his head and saw Hiram’s face. Now there was a man in love. Griffin almost wished he knew what it felt like to be that happy.

Vashti couldn’t help it. Tears gushed from her eyes as the parson pronounced Libby and Hiram man and wife. Hiram stooped to kiss his magnificent bride, and Libby raised her hands to his shoulders and kissed him back. It was the most romantic thing Vashti had ever seen. The gold band glinted on Libby’s finger. Did she know Trudy had transported it from Boise tied to her corset lacings?

And Griffin! Who would have thought he could look so handsome? Augie had trimmed both his and Justin’s hair in the kitchen last night. Griffin had trimmed his beard, too. He looked almost like a gentleman in his church clothes. Even Augie looked solemn and presentable.

She leaned over and poked Bitsy. “Your man looks mighty fine.”

“Yes, and isn’t Goldie gorgeous?”

Bitsy’s eyes were full of tears, too. Vashti dabbed at her face with a new lawn handkerchief.

Pastor Benton beamed at them all. “I now present to you Mr. and Mrs. Hiram Dooley.”

Everyone clapped and cheered as Hiram and Libby swooped down the aisle and out the door. Trudy took Ethan’s arm and walked more sedately. Behind them came Griffin with Florence. Vashti felt the tiniest twinge of envy for the girl on Griffin’s arm, but Griffin didn’t seem to care much which lady he escorted. Last came Goldie, in step with Augie, grinning and swishing her rose satin skirts.

“Well, I guess we’d better scoot, or the guests will all be over to the Spur before we get there.” Bitsy stood and picked up her mesh reticule. “Nice wedding.”

“Yes. Very nice.” Vashti followed her into the aisle.

“Hey, there.”

She looked up into Johnny Conway’s face. “What are you doing here?”

“No stage on my run today,” Johnny said. “Griff asked me to come take over from Bill when the Silver City stage comes in. I’ll take it on all the way to Boise.”

“They should be coming in soon.”

“I figure I’ve got just time for a piece of wedding cake. Say, Georgie …”

She frowned up at him. “What?”

“You look real good today.”

“Thank you.”

He nodded and pressed on through the crowd.

At the Spur & Saddle, Augie had already unlocked the door, and folks crowded into the dining room. The gifts were piled on a table to one side, where the town councilors used to have their weekly poker game. Libby had requested wedding cake, lemonade, coffee, and tea, which Bitsy had set up on the bar, with baskets of candy and dainty cookies on the tables. Since folks had eaten dinner an hour before the wedding, it was plenty.

Vashti ducked into the kitchen and found an apron. She took charge of the lemonade bowl, ladling cup after cup of the stuff. Libby and Hiram sat at the central table, receiving congratulations, and the bridesmaids and groomsmen sat with them. Myra Harper and her younger sister, Phyllis, had agreed to help serve, since Augie and Goldie were occupied. Bitsy gave them instructions and circled the room with a coffeepot in her hand.

After ten minutes or so, Augie got up and made the rounds of the tables, talking to the men. Vashti had figured he wouldn’t sit still long. Griffin was the next to defect. He came over and held out his empty cup.

“More lemonade, Mr. Bane?” she asked.

“Don’t mind if I do, thanks.”

She could feel him watching her as she poured.

“You look fine in that dress.”

She felt her cheeks heat up. “Thank you.” She held out the cup but couldn’t quite meet his gaze. He took the lemonade but didn’t walk away. Finally she glanced up at him. “Can I get you something else?”

“I was wondering …”

His voice sounded odd, not at all like his usual confident self. She raised her chin and looked up into his eyes. Big, chocolate brown eyes. The haircut and clothes certainly suited him. And the expression deep in those eyes … Not the shameful one men used to rake her with in saloons. A wistful, yearning look. It touched her heart, and her knees shook. Griffin was one of the decent men in this town. Could he ever think of her as a decent woman?

“Yes?” It came out a whisper.

The door flew open. The wedding guests stopped in mid-chatter. Josiah Runnels looked wildly around the room and homed in on the big blacksmith.

“Griff! The stage just pulled in, and Bill’s been shot.”