Walker's Wedding (6 page)

L
ate that afternoon, Walker watched S.H. from the corner of his eye. They had been stringing fence for hours, and he could tell that the old man was dying to ask what Walker thought of his new bride-to-be.

What did he think of her? She was pleasing to the eye, no doubt about that, but that concession hadn't softened his feelings regarding women. Walker refused to say anything about Sarah or the wedding. S.H. should know he was too much like his pa and not about to talk about things he didn't find necessary to discuss.

S.H. took off his hat and wiped sweat off his forehead.

Bearing down on the posthole digger, Walker twisted the rusty iron through the topsoil and into the hard-packed ground below. The muscles in his arms quivered with the strain. He grimaced when he knew S.H. wasn't watching, his still-tender ribs screaming for relief. He wasn't going to let up on his duties, get soft, and lie around the house like an invalid. He'd rather mend the fence now than spend hours this winter slogging through drifts of snow searching for lost cattle.

He let up on the digger, drawing a deep breath. S.H. was staring at him again. The two men's eyes met—one pair brown, older, more experienced; the other, sky blue, clear, and stubbornly unrelenting.

Walker leaned on the tool, buying a few moments of rest. “You're staring at me. Is there something on your mind?”

S.H. threw the hat back on his head and bent over to pick up the post. “Just wondering about the weddin' an' all. You ain't said a thing about Sarah since she got here.”

“She'll do.” Walker lifted his hat and ran a hand through his sweat-soaked hair.

“What about the weddin'? Her'n Flo have been working hard puttin' it t'gether. Ain't you gonna help?”

“I plan on doing my part.”

“Sarah's a fine woman, looks to me like—”

“Never had a neighbor refuse to show up for a barbecue yet.”

S.H. glanced up, looking confused. “You mean for a weddin'?”

“I said for a barbecue.” The digger met its mark and Walker pulled it up, depositing the last of the dirt in a pile to the side of the new hole.

“What are you talkin' about? You don't mean you—”

“I mean I'm telling everyone I'm having a barbecue. It's early in the year but the weather's holding good. I'm not making a fool of myself in front of the whole town again.” Walker motioned for S.H. to bring the post over, and the two men centered it and drove it into the hole, packing the soil back in on it. “If the bride shows up, I'm in fine shape. If she doesn't, the town will never be the wiser. They'll have a good meal and go home.”

“If that don't beat all, Walker! Sarah's a sweet little gal. She's not gonna disappoint you. You gotta give her a chance.”

“I gave the last one a chance, S.H., and look where it left me.”

S.H. took his hands off the post and turned to face Walker. “Does Flo know about this?”

“She does, and she doesn't like it either. Don't see where she has much say in the matter, though. I refuse to be humiliated again.”

S.H. straightened and frowned at Walker.

“When are you going to get Trudy out o' yer head? And what makes you think that Sarah's gonna let you turn her weddin' day into some kind of country hoedown? I've been on this good earth long enough to know that no woman wants her weddin' turned into a barbecue.”

Walker shrugged. His mind was made up. S.H. stared at him in
disbelief. “Son, yer askin' for a heap of trouble. You know that, don't you?”

Walker refused to reply as he tightened the line around the post. He simply moved himself and the equipment down the line.

T
wo days later Sarah ran her hand across the large four-poster with its dark, masculine-looking spread. In a few hours she would be sharing it with Walker McKay. Her heart thrummed against her rib cage as Flo stuck the last few hairpins in place. Finally, it had come. Today was her wedding day. The day she'd dreamed about from the moment she was old enough to whisper the words “I do.” Sadness momentarily washed over her. She'd always thought Papa would walk her down the aisle, that Wadsy would look on, beaming. Will would cook for days, and… No matter. She would write tomorrow and inform Papa of the wedding. No doubt he would bring Wadsy and Abe to visit. And soon, she hoped, he would adore his grandchildren. Dote on them. She was doing the right thing.

After sliding another pin into place, Flo loosened a few strands of hair. “There. That softens your face.”

Sarah caught a glimpse of herself in the long mirror. Her eyes shone with barely contained impatience as she prepared to take vows that would forever bind her to a man she hardly knew. She was marrying a complete stranger, yet she felt as if she'd known him forever. He barely glanced at her each morning, despite her efforts to converse. That didn't prevent her from loving the way one lock of unruly hair fell across his forehead at the oddest times.

Stepping back to inspect her handiwork, Flo beamed. “You're about the prettiest thing I ever laid eyes on.”

“Thank you, Flo. Will Walker think so?” Sarah hadn't seen her husband-to-be all day, and only briefly the day before. Flo said Walker and S.H. were busy mending fence. Sarah had awakened this morning to the sound of shouting voices outside her window as the last of the sawhorse tables were erected in the yard and tablecloths and decorations were arranged. The day was mild. Five hours later, here she was, preparing for the nuptials while S.H. was busy a few doors away getting Walker ready for the big event.

Bending closer to the mirror, she asked, “Are you sure I look all right?” Lucy's gown was simple, yet it fit as if it had been made for her.

“You'll be the prettiest bride this county's ever seen. Any man would be proud to have you as his wife. You're so much prettier than—” Flo broke off, color dotting her cheeks.

Sarah turned to look at her. “Than who?”

“Than Ettie Mae Simpson's daughter. That's a plain girl. Even a fancy weddin' dress couldn't help her.”

Sarah had hoped the answer would be “prettier than Trudy.” Outside the help continued setting up for the reception following the ceremony. Walker insisted that he would take care of that part, and Sarah hadn't argued. She hadn't argued when he said he wanted to take care of the invitations. This was his town and his people. She took hope he was thoughtful enough to want to arrange the festivities of their wedding. “It's going to be a beautiful ceremony,” she said softly.

“Hold still,” Flo complained around a mouthful of pins.

Sarah spun around. “Do you think his friends will like me?” Other than the ranch hands, and S.H. and Flo, she hadn't met anyone in his life.

Walker's extensive guest list proved that he was popular among the families who lived in the area. Until today he had been one of the state's most eligible bachelors. The flurry of arriving guests downstairs caught her attention. She glanced at the clock, surprised that people would be
arriving nearly an hour before the wedding was scheduled to begin. She finished dressing to the sound of friendly voices as men, women, and children entered the house and were greeted by ranch hands and servants.

A bubble of panic erupted in Sarah's stomach. She really was about to marry a complete stranger. Had she lost her mind? Flo brought the wedding dress, and then both women lifted it high over Sarah's head, careful not to disturb her hair. Sarah's uncertainty faded as Flo fastened the long line of buttons up the back of the dress. Hooking the last fastener, the housekeeper paused for a moment and both women admired Sarah's reflection.

“Simply beautiful.”

“Every bride is beautiful on her wedding day.”

Flo snorted. “Ettie Mae's daughter won't be.”

Downstairs, the voices grew louder as guests continued to arrive. Above the din, Sarah heard a door open down the hall where S.H. was helping Walker into his wedding attire.

“Flo?” S.H.'s loud voice cut through the noise. Flo rolled her eyes and stepped over to open the door.

“What?” she yelled back.

Sarah grinned at the exchange.

“She still here? Walker says he's not puttin' this blame coat on till he's sure she's—” Flo slammed the door shut before S.H. finished his inquiry.

Sarah stared at Flo questioningly.

“It may not be Walker, honey. It could be S.H.'s misplaced sense of humor. You know how he likes to tease. Don't fret your pretty head none.” Flo rearranged a stray hairpin, securing it more tightly. A moment later Sarah got up. She wasn't sure what that exchange had been about, but she wouldn't let it ruin the day. Putting on a pair of slippers, she sighed. What was she worried about? In less than an hour she would be Mrs. Walker McKay and her worries would be over.

Flo took her by the shoulders when she straightened. “Be patient with him, young'un. Walker is a good man, but you've got to bear in mind that he
is
a man, and sometimes he's going to be stubborn and
occasionally he'll seem blind.” Her knowing eyes filled with wisdom. “Things might not always be the way you want at first. There'll be days when you wonder how you ever got into this mess, but you'll have to remember that Walker's been a bachelor a long time and been real hurt by a woman, and that's still stuck in his craw. Things'll work out, but you're gonna need the patience of Job.”

“I'm used to hardheaded men. Papa is as stubborn as ragweed,” Sarah said.
Oh, Papa, I wish you were here to see me marry. I love you. Please forgive what I'm about to do. And dear Lord, I'm going to need your understanding too.

She didn't expect the marriage to go smoothly at first. There would be awkward moments, especially when she told Walker the truth—but that moment would come later. Sarah couldn't think of a single thing that could spoil this day, short of the wedding not happening at all. Walker could relax. She wasn't going anywhere but down those stairs at the appointed time.

The two women turned when they heard the door down the hall open again. Sarah held her breath until two pairs of booted footsteps echoed toward the stairs. She glanced at Flo.

“Just remember, honey, it's your wedding day no matter how unusual it appears. The good Lord is watchin' after you.”

Sarah frowned. What an odd statement. Unusual? The housekeeper clucked as the clock in the hall chimed, signaling the appointed hour. Sarah straightened, holding still as Flo adjusted the crown of flowers around her forehead. “You go out there and take away their breaths, young'un.”

Midafternoon sunshine streamed through the stained-glass window at the end of the hallway when Sarah stepped out of the bedroom with Flo carrying her train. The musicians struck up a tune and Sarah paused, cocking an ear to identify the song. It wasn't the wedding march. She crept down the hallway, Flo close behind. Her petticoats rustled as she halted at the top of the stairs, drawing a deep breath. Laughing voices floated up the staircase, and boots scraped back and forth across the floor. Music swelled as she stepped down onto the top stair.

“Remember,” Flo whispered, “don't let nothin' bother you today. It'll get better, given enough time.”

Sarah glanced over her shoulder with a hesitant smile. Was that “Turkey in the Straw” the musicians were playing? Gathering her skirts around her, she continued her descent.

Halfway down, Sarah paused again, shocked at what she saw below. People dressed in everyday muslins and calicos were milling about with cups of punch in their hands. Others danced, unaware that the ceremony had begun. There must be a mistake. The reception was never before the wedding.

She spotted a group of men talking and laughing with a man wearing a black collar. The clergy—but his Bible was nowhere in sight. He seemed to be in the middle of a funny story. Shouldn't Walker tell him the service was starting? Shouldn't he know? Where
was
Walker, anyway?

She stepped down another two steps, assessing the crowd. Walker was coming toward her, hurrying to meet her at the bottom of the stairs. Now whispers made their way around the room, and people paused midsentence to stare.

The lead fiddler spotted Sarah, his bow dropping to his side while he looked on. Walker reached her at the steps as the music died away.

The silence became deafening. Sarah's eyes met bewildered gazes, all equally speechless. The musicians lowered their instruments to their laps.

“Keep movin', darlin',” Flo said, nudging her forward. Sarah started, forgetting for a moment that she was the bride—the center of attention. Her feet seemed to be frozen in place.

Walker attempted a smile but failed. Instead, he extended his arm with a hopeful look.

Navigating the final two steps, she slipped her arm through his, murmuring under her breath, “Why are they looking at me like that?”

“Keep walking. I'll explain later.”

“Hey, Walker, who's the bride?” a voice called from across the room.

“Is this a wedding? You should have warned us this was gonna be
a dress-up occasion. I'da worn my Sunday suit,” a second male voice chimed in.

Sarah heard her own soft intake of air. Her heart raced as Walker maneuvered her through the crowded room.

“They don't know, do they.”
Don't panic. You know it will take time for him to warm to you
—
but he hadn't told his neighbors? How did they know to come?

“They're starting to suspect.”

Obviously he wanted to make certain the bride showed up this time. She stiffened and willed her feet to keep moving. It didn't matter. The bride was here and more than able to overlook the slight. So what if folks didn't know they had come to a wedding? They knew now. The handsome couple drew closer to the stone fireplace, and faces gradually melted away until there was no one in the world for Sarah but Walker McKay.

She couldn't ask for a better man than he. Young, brash, wildly handsome, strong, smart, and ambitious. The road to matrimony had been long and at times seemingly endless. But now she knew what Wadsy had meant when she had said, “When that one man show up, baby girl, you gonna feel it clean down to your toes.”

Well, Wadsy, what I feel at this moment goes clean down to China.

Smiling, she tightened her hold on Walker's arm and whispered, “Coward.” She caught his boyish grin from the corner of her eye.

“Invited the preacher, didn't I?”

“Does he know he's about to officiate at a wedding?”

“He will soon enough.”

Walker and Sarah stopped before the clergyman. Though smiling, the older man looked a bit confused.

“Got your Bible with you, John?”

“Er…why, it's in the buggy. Do I need it?”

“Yes, sir. We're about to have a wedding.”

Cheers broke out as the startled preacher quickly made his way out of the room. Well-wishers gathered around Sarah, vying for introductions. Walker accepted good-natured backslaps and ribbing, his tanned face flushed by all the excitement.

“Didn't think you had it in ya, son!”

Women voiced mock complaints about how they weren't able to show off their newest dresses. Sarah promised there would be many more McKay parties in the future.

“There will be?” Walker asked as she passed him on her way to greet a group of women her age.

“That's all right, isn't it?” She hadn't thought to ask him, but the McKay house was big and roomy, ideal for community socials, and she loved to entertain. The Livingstons' Christmas parties had always been the talk of Boston.

Reverend John Baird returned with his Bible prominently tucked beneath his arm, and the rather unconventional festivities began.