Happy Is The Bride Read online

  “That's the idea." Mason snapped the lid shut.

  His father stroked his chin. "Wish I'd thought of that when I married your mama. Reckon I could have something else engraved for her birthday. Maybe a locket."

  "Good thought." Mason handed the ring to Beau. "See you remember to bring this to the wedding."

  Beau stuffed it into his vest pocket. "I will."

  Mason met his father's gaze, and his father winked. “I'll help him remember."

  Grandpa cut another slice of ham. Instead of digging into it, he leaned back and rubbed his shoulder. "Gonna rain."

  Mason nodded. "I already spread some straw on the chapel grounds. Figure I should have set a washtub of water at the door so folks could clean off the mud."

  Grandpa looked up at him. "Not a bad idea. Send one of the hands over there. You got that buggy to pick up and your groom clothes to get into."

  Beau didn't move out of his chair, but he stared at the kitchen window. "Looks sunny to me."

  Mr. Whittaker walked to peer at the barometer near the back door. "Pressure's falling. Rain's on the way."

  ****

  Beth cut the thread and admired her work. She had folded the handkerchief into a neat waterfall of lace-edged linen without cutting the fabric. Grandmother Ransom's initials showed at the top of the fold, and Beth thought that worked out as a nice touch. Though the color matched well enough, the difference in the fabrics and style stood out. She sighed. It was the best she could come up with at the last minute without shortening the train.

  "It looks odd." Mrs. Pendleton appeared near tears again. "Everyone will know it doesn't belong there."

  "I had planned to carry the handkerchief in Grandmother's memory. If anyone comments on it, you can say it was my way of involving my dear departed grandmother in the ceremony."

  Mrs. Pendleton sniffed. "What will people think?"

  "Perhaps that it's a sweet gesture which leaves my hands free for a bouquet and Mason's arm."

  But Beth knew people would speculate, gossip, whisper. She'd heard their vicious comments turn the most innocent of incidents into scandal. What story would they invent for this?

  Thunder rumbled in the distance,

  "No, that can't be thunder. It can't rain." Beth rushed to the window. Overhead the sun shone, but clouds boiled in the southwest. Dark gray thunderheads. She should have known Mason would foretell the rain or he wouldn't have bothered with the straw. His leg ached worse with a weather change on the way.

  Mrs. Pendleton peered out and gasped. "My dress. Rain will ruin my dress. Every drop that hits the silk will leave a horrendous spot." She rushed out, presumably to make arrangements to cover herself from head to toe for this evening's trip to the chapel.

  From her second-floor vantage point, Beth watched the progress of a buggy as it raced down the street and turned into the Pendleton's carriage drive. Rachel drove, and from the grim set of her she had bad news. What now?

  Six

  Mason called after his father's cowpuncher. "It's likely gonna be hot and stuffy inside this evening. You'd best take a big bucket of fresh water and a couple of dippers so folks can at least quench their thirst."

  As he and his grandfather had discussed, Mason had delegated one of his father's ranch hands to the chapel to set up a couple of washtubs of clean water by the door. His parents did this for parties in rainy weather so folks who'd traipsed through mud could wash their feet. On those occasions, many guests carried their party shoes and stockings to don after they arrived. In really bad weather, many ladies even changed dresses after they reached the hosts' home, then changed back for the trip home.

  Mason had gathered his dress clothes and bundled them into a carpetbag earlier, and now he tied the satchel on the back of a horse in the event he ran late and didn't have a chance to come back by his parents' home.

  Mr. Whittaker followed him out of the barn. "What if the rig's not ready? Reckon we should borrow one?"

  For a wedding gift, Mason had bought Beth her own buggy and a striking roan mare so she could drive into town whenever she wished. He hoped that wouldn't be too often, but he didn't want her feeling trapped on the ranch. Ransom Crossing didn't have a buggy works, so Mason had ordered the vehicle from Watson's Buggy Works in Medina.

  He'd ridden to get the buggy three days ago, only to find the maker had run into difficulty. "Grandpa said I could use his, and he's taking it to the chapel himself as a precaution. But Watson promised to have the new one ready and shined up by noon today."

  "Take care, son. We'll see you at the church if you're too late to meet us here."

  "Papa, will you see Beau is sober enough to stand up with me? He's broke up 'cause that girl from Bandera took up with someone new. If you don't watch him, he's like as not to drink himself under the table."

  Mr. Whittaker stood with his hands in his pockets. He frowned. "I'll try, but I'm not his mama."

  Thunderheads gathered and the horizon darkened. Judging the clouds' progress since morning, rain couldn't be more than two hours away. Mason decided he'd best hurry or he'd be caught on the wrong side of the river.

  Instead of the road, he followed a shorter trail along the water's edge and made good progress. With only about two miles left, his mount stumbled, walked a bit, and stopped. Mason dismounted and examined the horse. The animal had a stone bruise on the frog of his right front hoof. Mason dug out the stone, but there'd be no riding until the bruise healed.

  Loosing a string of curses sure to singe the ears of anyone who heard, Mason set out leading-the horse toward town. Like most western men, he hated walking anywhere. His limp slowed him, and a rancher's boots favored stirrups, not the ground. By the time he reached town over an hour later, his uneven gait had jarred him so his hip and back near killed him and his feet begged for mercy.

  "Whittaker, you hurt?" Watson polished the tufted leather buggy seat.

  "Horse's injured. Had to walk a ways. Soon as I get him to the livery and seen about, I'll be back for my buggy."

  Watson took the reins from Mason. "I'll do that for you. Know this is your wedding day." He looked at the clouds headed their way. "You'd better settle up for the buggy and be on your way."

  The mare was already hitched and ready to leave. Careful examination of the vehicle met with Mason's approval. "You've done a fine job, Watson. Appreciate it."

  Watson pointed out all the special features. "Too bad it don't have side curtains, 'cause you're in for a soaking."

  "Reckon you're right. Water's already risen from rain upstream." The buggy required a carriage roadway rather than the narrow trail he'd used getting to Medina, and he'd be longer on the return trip. Mason had stopped at his prospective father-in-law's bank in Ransom Crossing and withdrawn the cash due. He paid Watson, transferred his bag to the buggy, and climbed in.

  "Best to you and your bride. She's sure to be proud of your gift." Watson waved as Mason drove away.

  The rain started a few minutes later, a drenching downpour so hard Mason could hardly see the road. At the first water crossing, the horse balked. If this were the only place they had to cross a river or creek, Mason would have urged the horse into the water. There were at least four more, and the water in this one had risen almost too high for the buggy to navigate.

  Mason turned the horse and headed back to Medina.

  ****

  "Rachel, only three weeks ago you assured me you could wear the dress or we could have made a new one." Beth looked at the soft pink satin. The rip down the front spanned from neck to the carmago waist, and the fabric on each side frayed.

  Rachel sobbed. "I thought I could. I t-t-tried."

  "So I see." The jagged tear looked irreparable.

  "C-can you fix it? 1-1 love that dress. It's the prettiest one I've ever owned."

  Maybe the ruffles could be utilized. Beth turned the dress around. The buttons had popped off— maybe exploded better fit the appearance—and three had left torn fabric. Front and back, the top of the
dress was ruined.

  Mrs. Pendleton regarded her niece. "How on earth did you get it fastened?"

  "It was hard, but I held my breath and Ben did up the buttons. Then, he said something funny, and I tried not to laugh. It-it sort of burst out in a huge cough." Rachel sobbed again. "That's when it happened."

  "Maybe you could wear something else. Let's think what other dresses you have?" Beth looked at the green poplin Rachel wore now and remembered a bombazine her cousin saved for Sundays. "What about the lavender moire you wore last summer?"

  "Jamie was sick on it all down the front. I can't get the stains out. I-I loved the dress, but it's ruined."

  Beth remembered when Rachel's second oldest had been ill. Rachel had come home from the Pendletons' party to find the little boy burning with fever. She couldn't be blamed for picking up her sick son before changing clothes. His fever had lasted for days, and they'd all feared he'd die. "What else do you have?"

  "None except the black Sunday dress. The others are pretty worn and not suitable for a wedding. A married woman on an apple farm needs different clothes than a single woman who lives in town."

  Beth sighed. Even in distress, her cousin couldn't resist an opportunity to flaunt her marriage. Beth folded the torn dress. "Let me put this in my room and get my reticule. We'll go to the Mercantile and see if they have anything we can use for repairs."

  Mrs. Pendleton sniffed. "Surely you have no intention of wasting time traipsing in public on your wedding day?"

  "It won't take long, Mother." She hurried to her room, then back to the drawing room.

  Her mother had apparently spent Beth's absence scolding Rachel, who stood in tears with her head hung. Beth's cousin had never been kind to her, but she sympathized with the woman. Mrs. Pendleton's tongue was rapier sharp, and she sliced into people relentlessly.

  Beth slid her arm through her cousin's. "Come on, Rachel. We'll find something, don't worry."

  The cousins walked the two blocks to the town's main street. They waved at passersby and spoke to those who called out greetings. On the way, Beth heard Rachel sniff and knew she suffered from Mrs. Pendleton's scolding.

  "She's just nervous, you know." Beth patted her cousin's arm.

  "Your mother?" Rachel seemed surprised that Mrs. Pendleton might be uneasy about anything.

  "Yes. She's afraid Mason will leave me at the altar and she'll be embarrassed again."

  Rachel sniffled. "But what about you? She never thinks about your feelings and you'd be hurt."

  Beth handed her cousin a handkerchief. "Unfortunately, Mother views all of life as to how it affects her specifically." In an effort to divert Rachel's attention from Mrs. Pendleton's harsh words, Beth asked about the Bigelow children.

  For the rest of the walk into town, Rachel related anecdotes about her children. Each pointed out a major flaw in the children's characters or Rachel's parenting, but Rachel saw all the incidents as funny. Beth tried to smile pleasantly and nod as if she, too, thought the Bigelow brats were enchanting.

  In the Mercantile, Beth searched the piece goods while Rachel sorted through the ready-made dresses. Beth had bent to sort through the bolts on the bottom shelf when she overheard the loud whispers of two women on the next aisle.

  The first gossip spoke loudly. "You know she's jinxed herself this time, don't you?"

  Beth froze, and a second voice carried to her. "No, you don't mean this is worse than the man who ran off with another man?"

  No matter how she tried to be a good person, rumors like this hurt Beth. How could she fight them? She took food and clothes to the sick, helped the church minister to the poor, attended civic functions, did everything in her power to live a good life serving her community. Nothing stopped the tittle-tattle of malicious people. Absolutely nothing.

  Gossip one sounded smug. "Now there's this hurry-up wedding, not even three weeks since they announced the engagement. You know what that means, of course."

  The second voice, sounding shocked but amused, replied, "No, you don't mean she's in a family way?"

  Beth gasped. Did it never end?

  Gossip one said, "What else could it be?"

  Rachel stormed over. "It could mean that they suddenly realized they belong together and don't have to prolong their engagement to satisfy a bunch of gossiping old biddies. That's what, so there."

  Beth stood, grateful her cousin had stood up for her. She might have known—the two biggest scandal mongers in the state. Beth smiled sweetly. "Good morning, Mrs. Weldon, Mrs. Humphreys." She turned to her cousin. "Did you find a dress you liked?"

  Rachel looked at the dress Mrs. Weldon wore. "No, all they had was an awful gray thing with cheap lace." She put her hand on her cheek and pretended surprise. "Oh, I'm sorry, Mrs. Weldon, I didn't realize you'd bought that same dress."

  Mrs. Weldon bristled, and her face turned red. "Of all the nerve. Rachel Bigelow, you've lived out on that farm so long you've forgotten your manners."

  Rachel shook her head. "Believe me, Mrs. Weldon, I haven't forgotten a thing."

  Beth had moved bolt after bolt of fabric, so she dusted off her hands. "Excuse us, there don't seem to be any goods here we want."

  Rachel and Beth left the Mercantile, and both burst into giggles.

  Rachel wiped tears of laughter. "Did you see Mrs. Weldon's eyes bug out? She turned so red I feared she might have a stroke."

  Beth looked at her cousin. "Thank you for sticking up for me."

  "I hate those two biddies. They have nothing good to say about anyone. What they don't know, they make up and pass along as fact." Apparently Rachel's humor fled and anger replaced it. She almost stomped down the walk.

  Beth sighed. "We didn't solve your dress problem."

  They crossed the street and turned toward Beth's home.

  Beth pointed at the dark clouds almost overhead. "Oh, no. I hope we reach home before the cloudburst."

  Both women fell silent and hurried until they reached the Pendletons' massive Greek revival home.

  Mrs. Pendleton waited in the drawing room. "Well?"

  Rachel shook her head. "Nothing, Aunt Louise."

  Mrs. Pendleton tapped her finger against her cheek. "Who do we know who's your size?"

  "Widow Braswell, but she only wears black." Rachel shrugged. "The only other person I can think of is that harlot, Sally, at the saloon."

  "Hmmm. Perhaps we could send a note to Sally and see if she has anything suitable." Beth didn't realize she'd spoken her thoughts aloud until the other two women displayed open-mouthed stares.

  Mrs. Pendleton shuddered. "Bethany, you can't be serious. A harlot's dress in your wedding? What would people say?"

  Rachel shook her head. "I couldn't. Ben wouldn't like me dressing in Sally's clothes."

  Beth recalled hearing that before Ben courted Rachel, he'd been very well acquainted with Sally. With six kids and an apple farm, Beth doubted he had the time, energy, or inclination to visit Sally now.

  Beth grabbed the ruined dress. "Perhaps there's some other way, but we're running out of time. Come up to my room, Rachel. We'll see if there's a dress with fabric we might use to redo the bodice."

  In one of the armoires in her bedroom, Beth pulled out a dark pink China crepe. When it was made, she had loved the dress, but hadn't worn it since the ball at which her brief engagement to Fred Mahoney was dissolved by the arrival of the U.S. Marshal. She held the ruined dress next to the China crepe. The combination might not be ideal, but it beat green poplin, stained moiré, black bombazine— or anything Sally might offer.

  Beth tossed both dresses across her bed. "Can you stay and help me?"

  Rachel nodded. "I told Ben I'd meet him at the chapel. His mother will see the kids are clean and decent."

  Beth turned to Rachel. "We'll have to hurry." She reached under her night table and retrieved a stack of Harper's Bazaar magazines. "Let's look through these. I think I saw a style we can use."

  "You've been sewing—I see your things are
out."

  Beth sighed and told Rachel about her wedding dress and the hasty repairs while each leafed through one of the magazines.

  "A mouse in your home? I wouldn't think Aunt Louise would allow it."

  Beth smiled. "Likely she'll be making war on the rodent world. Now that I know it's repaired, it seems humorous. It'll be something to tell my children and grandchildren, won't it?"

  "You've always been a wonderful seamstress. My stitches are never neat." Rachel turned a page.

  "Oh, see this one?" Beth pointed to an illustration of a riding habit. "It says it's made in red habit cloth, so that's what I used in the one I made for the ranch. Mason's teaching me to ride."

  "I can't picture you on a ranch. Are you sure you can adjust?"