A Bride in the Bargain Part 7

"And my reputation? What will people think with just the two of us living there and no one else?"

He frowned. "They'll not think a thing. Why would they?"

She tugged on her cuffs. "Why would they, indeed."

He cupped her elbow. "Perhaps we could discuss this on the way?"

She hesitated. "We're going to the church?"

"Yes. It's a few streets over. Normally I'd walk, but the wagon will allow us to talk without being interrupted or overheard."

She toyed with her watch pin. The fact that he wanted to visit the House of the Lord before he left town boded well. And it would also give her an opportunity to seek the preacher's counsel.

She placed a foot on the foothold. He took a step closer, his enormous frame blocking out the sun. Suppressing the urge to jerk away from him, she prayed for G.o.d's protection, then held her breath while he a.s.sisted her into the wagon.

CHAPTER SIX.

Anna hadn't been in a wagon since she'd left New York. The rocking of the vehicle combined with the rumbling of hooves, the jiggling of harnesses, and the creaking of wheels all blended together in a soothing lullaby.

An Indian woman swaddled in what looked like a blanket of woven bark moved down the boardwalk. Looking up, she waved at Mr. Denton, the bra.s.s rings on her fingers catching the sunlight, while the ones in her ears swayed.

Tugging on his hat, Mr. Denton smiled, his entire face transformed with the gesture. His eyes turned sky blue while a double set of deep grooves dimpled each cheek. Anna knew she stared, but never had she seen such straight, white teeth.

Quelling the impulse to crane around for another look at the woman who evoked such a response from him, she instead scanned the streets. There wasn't a single beggar. Or pauper. Or tramp. In New York, they'd lined every major thoroughfare. She wondered, briefly, how long it would have been before she'd have become one of them had she stayed at home.

Mr. Denton clicked his tongue, gently tugging on the right rein and turning them north toward Mr. Mercer's grand university at the top of the hill. They pa.s.sed cottage-style homes sitting in the middle of treeless lots a block wide, white picket fences marking their spa.r.s.e perimeters. For all the trees that grew in this land, the residences had nothing but flat, dirt-filled lots with few shade trees or ornamental shrubs.

Two tiny birds with rich vocal repertoires flickered by tee-tee-teeing in an impossibly high register, then suddenly dropped their voices to turr-turr-turr in a lower tone. This time she did twist around in the wagon seat.

And completely forgot about the birds as she again faced Mount Rainier. Huge, majestic, awe-inspiring. And it would be hers to look at for the rest of her days.

The wagon dipped into a sag, b.u.mping her backside clear up off the bench. Squealing, she flailed her arms.

An iron grip clasped her leg through her skirts and hauled her back down. "Careful."

She sucked in a breath, then steadied herself. "Forgive me. I was . . ."

But he'd already removed his hand and turned his focus to something up ahead.

She smoothed her skirts and looked to see what held his attention. A little white church crowned with a pretty steeple and large wooden cross had come into view.

Her pulse began to hammer. They'd be there in a few minutes and she'd yet to raise her concerns with Mr. Denton.

Tapping the V between each gloved finger, she took a surrept.i.tious glance at him. As anxious as he'd been to have the privacy of the wagon, he'd not initiated any conversation.

She bit her lip. Perhaps she should just wait and speak with the preacher. She'd heard things in the West were done differently, but she couldn't imagine the preacher allowing her to live alone with a single man. Surely things weren't that different.

On the other hand, in a territory that held a dearth of chaperones, there might not be any alternatives. She simply didn't know.

But the preacher would. So she'd wait and see.

A sweet, delicate fragrance filled the air.

"What's that smell?" she asked.

"Twinflower. It's that white wild flower creeping up the fence right there."

She scanned the fence and caught a flash of white hugging one of the posts. "Smells like honeysuckle, only more vanilla-like."

"Looks like them, too. You'll see them all over for the rest of the summer and on into the fall."

She studied the tiny blooms bedded in a patch of green until they'd completely pa.s.sed them by.

A few blocks later, Mr. Denton slowed the wagon and pulled it off the road next to a burying ground with a smattering of markers. After securing the horse, he came round to her side and offered a.s.sistance.

As soon as her feet touched the ground, she turned her attention to the church. It held a number of holes in the woodwork and windows, all the size of bullets.

"You ready?" Mr. Denton asked, extending his elbow.

Shaking off her thoughts, she took his arm and headed up the steps. "What's the name of your church?"

"The White Church."

She blinked. "The White Church?"

"Yes. As opposed to the Brown Church over on Madison and Second."

"The Indians here have their own church?"

A ghost of a smile touched his face. "No. This one is painted white; that one is painted brown."

Before she had time to digest his explanation, they entered the sanctuary. A tall ceiling with exposed joists sheltered two walls of windows and several rows of oak pews split down the middle by an aisle. A hint of lemon oil tickled her nose.

"Wait here," he said. "I'll be right back."

The heels of his boots echoed off the walls as he skirted the pews and headed toward a door to the right of the pulpit.

"David?" he asked, tapping a knuckle against the wood.

A m.u.f.fled sound issued forth and Mr. Denton entered the room, closing the door behind him.

Silence enveloped Anna.

h.e.l.lo, G.o.d.

Removing her gloves, she glided down the aisle, absorbing the quiet, the draped cross at the front of the room, the feeling of peace.

I think I'm going to love it here.

She reached out a hand, touching the back of each pew as she pa.s.sed, its smooth, varnished surface caressing her fingers.

I'd heard it rained a lot. But the last two days have been beautiful. And everything is so pretty. So green. And the mountains. Oh, Lord, they're- The door to the preacher's office opened. Mr. Denton stood on its threshold, the light from behind him making it impossible to see his features.

"They're ready," he said, his voice loud within the quiet of the church. "If you are, that is."

She tilted her head. They? Ready for what? But she moved toward him, anxious now to meet her new preacher and to ask him for his counsel.

As she approached, Mr. Denton stepped toward her, pulling the door behind him but not quite closing it. "Anna?"

She stopped.

"I left the ring at home."

A picture of the Indian woman and her bra.s.s rings flashed through her mind. Was he supposed to trade with the Indians? And why was he telling her?

Then she realized, he'd used her Christian name. She pulled down the corners of her mouth. She'd speak to the preacher about that, too.

"I'm sorry," he said.

She nodded. "Well, you mustn't let it happen again."

He hesitated, then opened the door.

A man of medium build with kind brown eyes and a receding hairline stepped from behind a desk. He'd shaved his beard so that it ran from one ear, down under his chin, and back up the other side like a bonnet strap. "Miss Ivey? I'm Reverend Blaine and this is my wife, Rebecca."

A lovely woman with mountains of black hair and a dress that looked more suited to New York City than the Was.h.i.+ngton Territory stepped forward.

She took Anna in her embrace. "Klahawya." She pulled back and smiled. "That's how the natives say h.e.l.lo."

Anna returned her smile. "I'm afraid you'll have to settle for a simple 'How do you do' from me, Mrs. Blaine. I don't know any Indian words."

"Oh, you must call me Rebecca."

"Thank you. And, please, call me Anna."

Rebecca swept Anna with her gaze but gave no indication of her thoughts. Yet Anna felt warmth crawl into her cheeks. This past year she'd had to wash out one dress while wearing the other. Over and over and over. They weren't exactly rags yet but were perilously close to becoming so.

Fingering her skirt, she hid her hand within its folds, then lifted her chin. There was no shame in being poor. Only in doing nothing about it. But she'd answered an ad and come clear around the Horn to start a new life. A new life as a cook. Once she'd worked off her debt to Mr. Denton, fabric for a new gown would be her very first purchase.

She swallowed, hoping the bachelor status of her employer didn't jeopardize that ambition.

"She's lovely, Joe," Rebecca said, glancing at Mr. Denton.

He immediately cast his gaze to the floor, refusing to meet her eye.

Discomfited, Anna didn't know what to say. She turned to Reverend Blaine, trying to decide how best to broach the dilemma she found herself in.

Judging him to be in his forties, she noted he had the marks of a man whose wife fed him well. Before she could gather her wits, he slipped a jacket over his vest, picked up a Bible, and tucked it to his chest.

"I cannot tell you how long we have antic.i.p.ated the arrival of Mercer's girls," he said.

"It's certainly been an adventure," she responded.

"I can imagine." He cleared his throat. "How, um, old are you, my dear?"

She blinked. "Nineteen."

"Perfect." Smiling, he looked at Mr. Denton. "Well, Joe. You ready?"

Mr. Denton stepped up beside her, taking her elbow.

The reverend looked at Anna. "Rebecca will act as witness."

Witness?

He opened his Bible. "Dearly beloved, we are gathered here together in the sight of G.o.d, and in the presence of this witness . . ."

Anna looked in confusion around the room. She glanced up at Mr. Denton. He was completely focused on the words being said, his expression serious.

"Wait!" She jerked her arm from his hold.

He tensed. The preacher stopped.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

Reverend Blaine looked first at Mr. Denton and then at her. "I'm performing the wedding ceremony."

"Whose wedding ceremony?"

He frowned. "Your wedding ceremony."

She took a step back. "What song in a million Sundays gave you the idea I wanted to marry Mr. Denton?"

The reverend opened, then closed his mouth. "Well, it was, it was in the contract."

"What contract?"

He looked at Mr. Denton. "Joe? Did you not discuss this with her?"

"Of course I did," he said, his face flaming.