Happy Is The Bride

  LONG WAY HOME

  By Caroline Clemmons

  Kindle edition 2011

  formerly published in the anthology

  GOING TO THE CHAPEL

  by Kensington Books 2004

  Cover design and photo by Lilburn Smith

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, businesses, events, or locales is purely coincidental.

  Dedication

  Thanks to Sandy Tucker Crowley, Jeanmarie Hamilton, and the Rosebuds from Yellow Rose RWA—especially

  Geri Foster and Bea Smith.

  Thanks to everyone who shared wedding horror stories—truth is always stranger than fiction.

  HAPPY IS THE BRIDE

  One

  Texas Hill Country June 8, 1885

  Beth Pendleton stared at her cousin Rachel. "I'm not an old maid."

  "Beth, face the truth. You're pretty"—Rachel wrinkled her nose—"if a man likes the tall, skinny, blond sort, but for heaven's sake, you're twenty-eight years old and not married. Besides, everyone in town thinks you're jinxed."

  Her cousin's smug arrogance gave Beth an almost irresistible urge to choke Rachel. Why had Beth given in to her mother's insistence that she pay a call on her cousin? Guilt, of course. It had been weeks since she'd visited Rachel. That and Beth's desire to please her mother, an increasingly difficult task.

  To appear calm when her emotions churned inside her, Beth smoothed a knife pleat in her new navy and gray faille skirt. Her mother had ordered the spring walking suit for her, copied from a Paris original by her mother's favorite couturier, Mr. Henri of Galveston. It was a bit warm for early June in central Texas, but Beth knew how much the latest fashions meant to her mother, so she wore it.

  Beth took a deep breath. "It's true I've had bad luck with the men Daddy chose, but I'll find the right man on my own some day and we'll marry."

  He'd certainly be a nicer man than Rachel's doltish husband, Ben Bigelow. And the Bigelow children! Heaven help her, certainly any children Beth and her husband had would be better behaved than Rachel's screaming horde.

  Rachel shook her head, but the bun on the top remained firm, coiled tight as a wagon spring. "Who in Ransom Crossing is going to propose to you? The men who aren't afraid of Uncle Howard are afraid of the bad luck that falls on any fiancé of yours. Look at the disasters that happen when you plan a wedding."

  Beth shuddered at the memory of her past fiascoes. "Those troubles were beyond my control. No one could possibly blame me." Though it scorched her ears, Beth had heard the gossip about her bringing bad luck to any prospective groom. It hurt beyond words, but she'd die before she'd let any of the gossips know.

  Rachel displayed the smug smile married women reserved for the single women they pitied. Beth hated that smile.

  Rachel held up three sausage-like fingers. "Three engagements, three failed weddings. Sorry, Cousin Beth, you'll never get another chance. You may have the latest Paris fashions, but you'll never have what I have."

  "I could marry if I really wanted to." Beth inwardly recoiled at her hasty statement. Why had she said such an absurd thing? She didn't have a single prospect. Besides, to hear her cousin, if the town were

  full of unwed men, then her father or her bad luck would scare them away.

  Rachel adjusted her considerable bosom that threatened to burst out of the bright green poplin dress and then smoothed her hands down her girth. "Ben says I'm all woman and that's why we have six kids."

  She giggled. "No one wants to marry an old maid who's jinxed. It doesn't mean spit that you're the only child of the wealthiest man in town. Men want a real woman with some meat on her bones. Besides, everyone around here calls you the Ice Queen."

  Ice Queen? Beth had heard this before, and the crude label made her want to stamp her foot or throw something in childish temper. As usual, she forced her emotions under strict control, lifted her chin and gave Rachel an icy glare. The fact that her actions lived up to the accusation only angered her more.

  But she wasn't an Ice Queen. She was warm, loving, and sought to be kind. Except, no one had taken the time to notice that. They were too busy whispering behind her back and making fun of her.

  "I told you I'm not an old maid yet and I'm not jinxed. And the fact that I don't flirt with every man I meet doesn't mean I'm cold. I'll marry soon, you'll see." Beth appraised her rotund cousin's figure. "When I do, will you be able to wear your attendant's dress? That dress was made three years ago, and you've had two more children since then."

  "Of course I can still wear that dress. My Ben says I'm a perfect size, exactly right for cuddling." Rachel's narrow-set brown eyes glinted with malice. "But I'll bet you that new bolt of cream silk your mama ordered from New York that come the end of June, you'll still be unwed.

  Up to her ears in insults and injustice, Beth couldn't stand this any longer. The past years of embarrassment and ridicule exploded inside her like a Fourth of July firecracker. "I'll take that bet. When I win, you have to give me ... that new quilt you won at the church picnic."

  Mercy sakes, what had she said? Anger must have melted her brain. She wanted to call back the words, but it was too late. The gauntlet had been thrown and accepted.

  Needing to get away before Rachel noticed her shaking hands, Beth straightened her bonnet, then gathered her reticule and parasol. "Now, I must be on my way. Do come see me when you can get away."

  Never would be soon enough, even if Rachel was her only cousin. In fact, other than her parents, Rachel was her only living relative.

  Beth wanted to slam the door and run to the buggy, drive away, and hide somewhere. But she couldn't. Instead, Beth pushed down her emotions and glided as she had learned in Boston at the Meriweather School for Young Ladies of Good Families. She climbed onto the seat and cracked the whip in the air over the backs of the horses.

  The perfectly matched bays took off with a jerk, and she set the whip back in its holder to concentrate on the reins. Ben Bigelow's large apple orchard whizzed by her view. The buggy bounced over the rutted road. Determined to stop the ridicule she'd tolerated for years, Beth tightened her grip and clenched her jaw. She'd show Rachel. She'd show everyone in Ransom Crossing.

  Darned if she'd let her fat cousin Rachel win that insulting bet.

  Darned if she wanted to remain the laughingstock of the whole county.

  Darned if she knew why she shouldn't have her heart's desire—a family with children. Lots of children, with a kind man who'd be both a loving husband and a good father.

  To her surprise, a man's face appeared in her mind. Why not him? No reason at all. The answer had popped into her mind like a miracle, a heavenly sign. And if there was anything Beth needed right now, it was divine intervention.

  Instead of taking the road to town, Beth guided the rig west with hardly a thought to her actions. When she realized the course she'd chosen, she decided her instincts were on target. She'd go see Mason Whittaker, the friend she turned to in every crisis.

  He was the one person she relied on to offer her solace. Mason knew her innermost thoughts and the embarrassment she suffered. Of all the people she knew, he was her one true friend.

  Beth had never been to his new home before because he no longer lived with his parents and it wouldn't be pr
oper for her to visit him without a chaperone, but desperation emboldened her. Mason had told her about the house he was building on the acreage his father had deeded over to him. Hadn't he told her every boundary of his land and every turn of the road? She'd heard him give directions often enough that surely she could find the place. A large tree split by lightening caught her eye and she turned the horses in that direction. The trail narrowed and the ruts deepened. A frisson of fear skittered down her spine, and she pressed her lips together. Had she made the wrong turn? She'd been upset and might have missed the way.

  In her indecision, Beth slowed the team as she rounded a corner. Suddenly, Mason's ranch buildings appeared in view, laid out in an efficient group on a hill overlooking the river. Beth sighed with relief and guided the team up the dusty road to the front door. His new house sat fresh and neat, snuggled into a grove of ancient trees. A rock-lined walk led to the long front porch.

  Though not a large place, she thought it probably had five or six rooms. He'd painted it a soft green— her favorite color. White paint on the eaves, porch railing, and around the windows glistened in the sun, and dark green shutters at the windows added to the pleasing appearance.

  Beth stopped the team and climbed down from the buggy. What if Mason wasn't home? He could be on the range or at his parents' home a mile away, and she had no idea where to look. She sighed in relief when Mason appeared at the barn door, then hurried toward her as fast as his limp allowed.

  Beth pretended to stare at the house while she waited, knowing Mason hated anyone watching the labored gait due to his crushed limb.

  Did she dare do as she planned?

  From the corner of her eye she observed his progress. Tall and powerful except for the leg he'd smashed under a wagon wheel at thirteen, he cut a rough but handsome figure in denim work trousers and chambray shirt with rolled-up sleeves. He'd been her best friend since childhood; she could tell him anything without fear of censure, so she confided all her secrets to him.

  He frowned as he stopped in front of her. "Beth?" He looked at the buggy. "Are you all alone? Is something wrong?"

  Before she could change her mind, she took a deep breath. "Mason, will you marry me?"

  Three Weeks Later June 29, 1885

  "What a glorious morning." Beth threw back the covers and hurried to the window. Sunshine poured into her room. Thank goodness. Blue sky overhead promised perfect weather. "Nothing can spoil this wedding day."

  She pushed down the giddy laughter that tickled her stomach. Dare she hope the perfect wedding she'd always dreamed of would occur today? Heat traveled up her throat to her face when she thought of her life as Mason's wife. Slowly she pressed her hands down the front of her nightgown, and her nipples tightened in response.

  What would it feel like tonight when he made her his wife in fact as well as name? When they became one would it hurt or would her heart explode with love and joy? She trusted Mason and knew he'd never hurt her. That meant there would be joy.

  She touched her cheek where he'd kissed her last night right in front of her parents. They hadn't been alone a minute since he'd agreed to marry her, but she recognized the longing in his eyes. She hugged her arms, yearning for a real kiss from him, one where his lips settled over hers.

  Elated she'd soon know that pleasure, she washed quickly and put away her nightgown. To go with her mood and the sunny day she put on her yellow silk morning dress and perfectly matched slippers. She brushed her hair and wove a yellow ribbon into the braid she had rolled into a neat coronet.

  When she had completed her morning toilette, she added a few last things to the open trunk at the foot of her bed. Tomorrow, she'd awake no longer a maiden, but in her new home with her husband. She took one last look around the room. She had lived here a long time. She said goodbye to childhood and hello to her new life as woman and wife.

  Ignoring the butterflies fluttering in her belly, she turned and headed for the stairs.

  Her father's booming voice floated up to her and drew her to a halt. "Louise, I tell you Whittaker doesn't deserve our girl. We sent her to the best finishing school money could buy. I expected her to marry a wealthy businessman. Dammit, Whittaker's not only a hayseed cowpuncher, he's a cripple. Only time he's been out of the county is on cattle drives. What kind of match is that?"

  "Shhhhh, Howard. Bethany will hear." Her mother's voice sounded peevish, as usual. "You know very well this is probably her last chance. We'd better pray Mason actually shows up at the church."

  Beth sighed and ran lightly down the thickly carpeted stairs. Clearly even her mother doubted she'd be married today, or that she'd ever marry. Her mother held little hope for her only child.

  "With her training and upbringing she should marry a society leader, perhaps someone with a future in politics, not that cowboy. He's not good enough for our girl." Her father sat tall and regal with the newspaper at his elbow.

  Hiding the sting of her parents' words, Beth glided into the breakfast room and kissed her father's cheek beside the silver tingeing his dark sideburns. "Good morning. Mason's almost thirty, Daddy. He's hardly a boy."

  Crossing behind her father, she kissed the air near her mother's cheek, then slid into her chair and spread her napkin across her lap. "According to folks in town, I'm an old maid, a jinxed spinster, and not a girl at all. You'd best be grateful to Mason for taking me off your hands."

  Even from her own lips, the mean-spirited labels sliced through her heart Old maid. Spinster. Did no one realize the cruelty of those words or how utterly hopeless they sounded?

  Her father regarded her as if he'd not seen her when she kissed him. His brown eyes were not unkind, yet she stiffened under his gaze, bracing herself for the censure certain to come.

  He didn't disappoint her. "We didn't send you to that exclusive finishing school so you could marry a common cowpuncher." He already wore his suit, his dark hair brushed neatly, ready for his day at the bank he owned three blocks away in Ransom Crossing.

  "Mason owns the ranch, Daddy, and it's three thousand acres joining his parents' land of even more acres which he will inherit some day. Besides, the men you chose were city men, but they were hardly suitable."

  The humiliation of those engagements washed over her. She wondered how she had endured so much embarrassment in the past few years. Once more she wondered how her parents could have thought any of those men would make a good husband. And she wanted to kick herself for letting her parents push her into accepting their proposals.

  Her father had the grace to look uncomfortable. "Don't remind me of those bounders, even though each came with good recommendations. My usual judgment might have erred there—"

  Beth interrupted her father. "Yes, as it has with Mason. He's a kind man who would never let me down." She couldn't resist adding, "And he certainly won't run afoul of the law."

  Beulah, their housekeeper, brought in a plate of fluffy scrambled eggs and a rack of toast and set them in front of her. "You eat up, honey. This is gonna be a busy day." She poured Beth a cup of tea.

  Beth stabbed her fork into the eggs with determination. She refused to let her parents or anything else spoil her mood. "The sun is shining, and it's going to be a wonderful wedding."

  "Hmph." Beth's father scowled at his plate.

  Mrs. Pendleton appeared regal this morning in a pale blue gown the color of her eyes, and her strawberry blond hair swept into a neat chignon. She patted Beth's hand.

  "Now, dear, don't get your hopes up too high." The pity and unspoken criticism in her mother's voice sliced into Beth's heart.

  Didn't anyone but her believe she'd marry today? That tonight she'd lie in the arms of her new husband? That some day she'd have children and live happily ever after?

  Beth pulled her hand away from her mother's. "Mama, Mason will be at the church, and the wedding will happen."

  Her father peered over his spectacles. "Let's hope so. You'd better get married this time." He looked down at his paper and muttered
, "Probably is your last chance."

  Beulah put her hands on her hips. "Y’all leave Miss Beth alone so she can eat without getting the jitters. She's gonna be the prettiest bride this town ever seen."

  Finally, one other person who believed Beth would be wed today. Beth smiled her thanks, and Beulah went back to the kitchen.

  "Don't eat too much, dear, or your dress might be tight. After all, we've had it for several years."

  "Mama, I know precisely how long we've had the dress." As usual, Beth's sarcasm was wasted on her mother.

  "It's just like you to be thoughtless and agree to wed that boy with only three weeks' notice. There's been too much to do. As soon as you've eaten, we need to hurry to the chapel. The buckets of flowers and other supplies are already loaded on the buckboard."

  "I'll hurry." Beth dug into her food, thankful for the fact that Mason would never leave her at the altar. But after being jilted three times in as many years, a tiny seed of doubt swelled deep inside her. She prayed that nothing would keep Mason from meeting her at the chapel.