The Unexpected Bride (The Brides Book 1) Page 4

  He was so different from Jack. Where he was dark, Jack was fair.

  Jack was lean, blond, and handsome. For years, he’d taught her everything a proper young girl shouldn’t know: from riding bareback through the orchard to shooting a rifle. He’d showered her with attention. Her first and only kiss had been with Jack Duncan. She’d dreamed of having a family with him, a house full of children and laughter. How she’d loved him. She remembered the night she’d found out he was back from the war and pressed her face deeper into the pillow, mortified afresh.

  When she’d heard the news, despite the cold, she’d hiked her skirts to her knees and run from Sullivan’s Grocers all the way to the Duncans’ family orchard. She banged on their door and pushed it open, so embarrassingly eager, not even waiting for so much as a hello. She’d seen Jack first. He was standing just inside the doorway, looking somehow different—older, more a man than a boy. She’d told herself that was why he hadn’t grabbed her up immediately and swung her around. He’d become a man, and a gentleman at that.

  “Jack!” She launched herself into his arms, wanting to show him how much she’d missed him with the strength of her embrace.

  “Becky, it’s good to see you,” he said, sounding oddly subdued.

  He should have been as excited as she was.

  Why wasn’t he?

  Was he hurt? Wouldn’t someone have told her? She didn’t see any signs of injury. No scars, no bandaged anything.

  “Jack?” Becky searched his face as he gently set her aside, wondering why he looked so much like a discomfited suitor.

  “Jack?” A young woman with a soft drawl had claimed Jack’s sleeve. Her white dress had a hooped skirt that had filled the hall, and her shining black locks had been caught up with perfect white bows. She was the loveliest lady Becky had ever seen.

  Becky had also never seen a dress quite like that before. It had made her feel somehow inferior. Unsophisticated. And confused, because nothing made sense. Who was she? What was she doing here?

  A relative maybe. But Becky didn’t know of any relatives they had in the South. A distant cousin?

  Why was she holding onto Jack’s sleeve as if she had the right to?

  “Miss Rebecca Sullivan, may I present Mrs. Melody Duncan...my wife.”

  Jack’s strained words slowly penetrated Becky’s fog. Her heart had been breaking, but she’d somehow forced her cold limbs to obey her command. She’d offered Jack her congratulations, given a welcoming smile to his lovely wife.

  How her face had hurt.

  She thought her cheeks might break.

  She couldn’t get out of that house fast enough, but Jack’s mother had begged her to stay for dinner. It had been the longest night of Becky’s life.

  And letting herself wallow in memories like that wasn’t going to help her sleep tonight.

  Becky burrowed deeper into her pillow, trying to clear her mind. But her thoughts continued to spin.

  Was Papa glad to have her gone?

  She’d never been able to please him, no matter how hard she tried. Even her efforts to help him with the books got turned around on her. She never knew what to do whenever she found out he’d made a mistake. If she pointed it out, it only made him mad. If she left him to find it himself, he thought she’d done it. She’d seen the flicker of interest in his eyes when she’d brought up the notion of leaving with Mr. Preston. He’d wanted her to go, and she’d wanted to be gone more than anything. Thinking about Papa was only turning her inside out, so she pushed those thoughts aside as well and tried to sleep.

  A half-dream finally claimed her: She was in the water, floundering in a roiling sea. Lightning flashed and lit up the night sky. A shadowy figure beckoned to her. The figure became Isaac, but as he reached his hand to rescue her, Jack called her name from another shore. She turned to him, but a woman dressed all in white was pulling him away. Becky tossed about throughout the night, her bedclothes wrapping around her like seaweed.

  EIGHT

  Isaac picked at the cords of his loose-fitting leather vest to avoid looking at his father, whose jaw was stuck out in that obstinate way Isaac found so annoying.

  Backing toward the door of the cabin, Isaac bumped into the crate of hooks and chains his father kept just inside the door. He glared at it. How did Pop expect him to bring a woman to this old ramshackle hut?

  “You know, if you don’t want her, there’s a slew of men around here who’d appreciate having a wife.”

  Isaac realized the truth in his father’s words, but the thought of Rebecca going to another man made his brow buckle.

  “No, I’ve committed to a date. I won’t go back on my word now—and I wouldn’t want to put the Pearsons out.” He glanced at his father.

  “Put the Pearsons out? Right, Son.” Pop chuckled.

  Isaac gave a frustrated tug at the knotted cords and ducked his head to avoid Pop’s too-observant eyes. He’d resigned himself to marrying the woman to please his father, but part of him wanted to see Pop wriggle a bit.

  Problem was, he was the one doing the wriggling.

  “Go on, boy. Go see the little gal. We can handle the work here—don’t you worry about that.” His father pushed him out the cabin door, tossing his coat out after him.

  “All right.” Isaac sighed in defeat and headed to the lean-to to saddle his horse.

  Rebecca. He toyed with her name in his mind, imagining her reddish-gold hair, her delicate face, and huge green eyes. As he rode toward the Pearsons’ place, he kept thinking he was making the biggest mistake of his life.

  He continued on his two-hour journey down the mountain into town, lost in his thoughts.

  ***

  From the second story of the Pearsons’ house, Becky pressed her forehead against the window in her room, her gaze skimming the horizon. The peaks of the Olympic Mountains towered around like sentinels, protecting this place, protecting her. It was a fanciful thought perhaps—the stuff of fairy tales. When she’d finally left the ship and stood on land, she thought the sea would never bring her pleasure again, but now, as she looked down on the choppy waters of Puget Sound, the sight was simply beautiful. She sighed.

  A spattering of wagons and carriages rumbled by on the deeply-rutted dirt road below. This was the most populated area of Seattle, but it was by no means a big city. She scanned the horizon where the mountains rose up. There was a lone figure on a horse—barely more than a dot. It had to be Isaac. She’d watched him disappear over that same rise yesterday. Gripping the curtains, she watched him now as he rode up to the front of the Pearsons’ house.

  Who was this man who was to be her husband?

  She studied Isaac’s back as he tethered his horse under her window. He turned, and she saw his black greatcoat was hanging open in front, revealing a black leather vest underneath. He paused to tuck in the back of his white shirt, running his hands around the waistband of his dark brown trousers. He didn’t exactly look like a mountain man today. He’d polished himself up a bit, like these were his Sunday, going-to-church clothes. She thought he looked a bit nervous, which was just as well. She was too. She dropped the curtain before he could look up and catch her. She dashed to the mirror to check her face. She smoothed down her dark green dress, hoping it was suitably proper. She’d worn petticoats today. Should she have chosen the crinoline instead?

  Becky hurried downstairs toward the foyer and almost ran straight into Mrs. Pearson on her way up. Her hostess gave her an irritated wave, indicating she should continue down and entertain Isaac.

  Isaac was below them, pacing the foyer floor.

  Why hadn’t Mrs. Pearson shown him into the parlor to wait? Becky simply didn’t understand the woman. It was as if she were going out of her way to be impolite. Maybe she was. She’d made it clear from the start that she didn’t want Becky here.

  Becky gripped the banister tightly, realizing with a tiny burst of panic that she’d left her gloves in her room. Some lady. She continued down the stairs at a more sed
ate pace and greeted him brightly, “Mr. Jessup—” That sounded ridiculous, seeing as they were going to be married, so she added faintly, “Isaac.”

  He spun toward her and snatched off his hat.

  “Miss.” His frown revealed he too felt strange. “A pleasure, Rebecca.”

  They exchanged uncomfortable smiles.

  She led him into the Pearsons’ parlor, where they maneuvered themselves onto the long, ornate settee. Mrs. Pearson eventually brought in a tray of tea, served it into dainty china cups, and left them to help themselves to the apple tarts she’d baked. As they ate, an uneasy silence hung in the room, broken only by the mantel clock.

  Two days, it taunted Becky with each persistent tick.

  Theirs would have to be a swift courtship.

  Isaac cleared his throat a little and said, “You’re from Massachusetts.” It was more a statement than a question. More awkwardness. It sat uneasily between them like a third person, someone who refused to leave.

  Becky tried not to think it would be a permanent problem. How could they possibly get along if they couldn’t even talk to each other?

  “Yes. Pepperell. My father owns a store there.”

  “Ah.” There was a wealth of meaning in that one syllable, and he seemed self-conscious as he studied his boots. He gave her a quick, sidelong glance and said, “My father and I own a logging operation.”

  His tone was slightly challenging, as if he expected her to run the other way. Becky stared at him, puzzled. He’d been upfront about his business in his letter, so why now was he acting like he expected her to be put off by his occupation?

  “Yes, of course,” she said. “I remember that from your letter.”

  “My letter?” His eyes widened slightly, then he nodded quickly. “Right. That’s right. My letter. Then you probably also know we’ve been in Seattle about eight years.”

  It was all so odd. Had he forgotten what he’d written? Maybe so. It had been many months since he’d sent it off.

  “And your mother?” she asked, curious that he hadn’t mentioned her.

  “She died when I was ten.” He paused, his gaze fixed on the view of the mountains outside the window. His memories obviously pained him, and Becky regretted bringing up the subject.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. ”You must miss her terribly.”

  At her words, he looked steadily into her eyes. “I do.” He seemed surprised at the admission, like he hadn’t allowed himself to think about it for years. “She was quite a woman—a real lady.” His voice trailed off, but admiration shone in his eyes. He smiled slightly.

  “I think I miss Mama most,” Becky said quietly. “My father, well, there’s always been a wall between us. I never really understood why.” Until right before I left home, she added silently, frowning. She was tempted to sink into memories, but lifted her chin. “My sister, Rachel, will likely keep them busy—she’ll be fifteen this winter.”

  Becky suddenly realized she would probably never see her little sister again. She’d never see her become a woman, never see her nieces and nephews.

  Isaac seemed interested in learning more about her family and Pepperell, so she told him what she could, how she’d worked in the grocery store. Things like that. She wished she could explain Jack. It seemed like he deserved to know something about him. But putting it into words was impossible. There was nothing she could say that would sound right, so she looked out at the mountain view through the window. “It’s so beautiful here. What’s your home like?”

  ***

  At Rebecca’s question, Isaac tried in vain to picture the young woman next to him in his cabin. It wasn’t much to speak of. In fact, the breeze cut right through it in the winter. She didn’t belong in a place like that, even if they were adding on another room. The image just didn’t fit. She belonged back East in some big, fancy house—not in some old mountain cabin barely holding together.

  She was tiny, seemed like such a delicate creature. Seattle Territory would swallow her whole. Like the frontier had taken his mother from him. It was a disturbing thought, one he didn’t wish to dwell on.

  He cleared his throat. “The land is magnificent. The mountains are spectacular, as you can see. There’s glory all around, but...our cabin is small. It’s nothing fancy. My dad has a crew of our men building an addition right now. They’re doing quite a job—should be done right soon.” He faltered and felt heat rising up his neck, realizing the men were building the room he was supposed to share with her.

  “I look forward to meeting your father,” Rebecca said, and she seemed sincere enough.

  “I’d like to bring you up to meet him tomorrow.” Isaac looked into her eyes. They were definitely green today. Cat eyes. He thought of the way she moved, refined but fluid, with sort of a feline grace. “You could stay the night in the new room, and the next day we can have the wedding there.” He swallowed on the last words, forcing them out. “Pop will serve as chaperone.”

  “That sounds fine. You know, this may sound funny, but when I met Mr. Preston, and he showed me your letter requesting a ‘God-fearing woman,’ I felt as though God had a hand in it.”

  “Is that right?” Isaac said. More like Pop had a hand in it.

  Some of that dry humor must have come out in his voice or in his expression, because she looked at him a little oddly, as if she were trying to decide if he were laughing at her. He quickly wiped the humor from his face.

  He remembered Pop saying he’d prayed for the right woman. But why would God choose to bring him this tiny female?

  Isaac looked thoughtfully at their hands, lying side by side on the seat.

  His own hands were big, with broad, square knuckles, and sun-darkened skin. Hers looked small and pale in comparison. His palms perspired, and he clenched at the fabric of the settee to dry them. Every instinct within him told him to take her hand in his, such a small thing. And as they fell into another one of their long, awkward silences, he knew he had to.

  She was going to be his wife.

  He closed his fingers over hers, and his mouth dried to ashes. Her skin was so cool and silky smooth against his work-roughened fingers. A jolt of awareness skittered across his skin. It scared the tar out of him.

  Isaac traced her face with his eyes. He caught the fresh scent of her soap—something lemony. Nothing flowery or exotic. The simplicity of it eased some of his anxiety. Maybe she wasn’t as starched-up and fancy as she looked.

  Who was he kidding?

  She had a Dresden-doll face, tiny porcelain hands, tiny everything. She’d need constant protection. He’d have to watch out for her on the mountain or she’d get eaten alive. A hearty, frontier woman would have been more suited to share his kind of life, not someone who’d likely faint at the sight of a bear.

  ***

  Becky enjoyed the feel of Isaac’s warm fingers around hers, but it brought up the strangest feeling, as if she was being disloyal to Jack, which was completely and utterly absurd. Jack was married to another woman.

  But he was still her first and only love...

  Becky moistened her lips. She hadn’t expected Isaac’s touch, not at all, and didn’t know what to say or do now. All she could think about was how different he was than her first impression of him. Standing in the Pearsons’ foyer yesterday, he’d looked like he could take down just about any man in a fight. But the way he held her hand was so gentle. Tentative, even. Maybe he was afraid of scaring her. That must be it. Beneath that rough exterior of his hid a man of warmth and sensitivity. Respectful. She couldn’t say how she knew it, but she did. She also knew he worked hard. His hands bore all the signs of countless hours of manual labor. And his eyes were sincere.

  She smiled at him self-consciously.

  “Will you marry me, Rebecca Sullivan?” Isaac asked and gripped her fingers. The searching look he gave her left her strangely rattled.

  Had he really just asked her to marry him, even after she’d traveled so far to be his bride?

  “
Yes, I’ll marry you, Isaac Jessup,” she answered quietly. It wasn’t like theirs was a love match. Even so, it was nice to be asked.

  NINE

  The. next day, Isaac rode with Rebecca up the trail leading to his cabin. Whenever he looked back at her, he was concerned with the way she was perched on the sidesaddle. She looked unhappy, as if she feared she might slide off any moment.

  He turned back and closed his eyes briefly.

  Evidently, she didn’t ride much. It was a skill she’d need on the mountain. There were no carriages here, no brick-paved roads—just rocks, packed dirt, and exposed roots. He focused on the trail ahead, stuffing his misgivings down, determined to make the best of it. He’d given her his word—given Pop his word—and he wouldn’t back out now. Even so, he checked every now and then to make sure she hadn’t fallen off.

  ***

  Becky followed Isaac up the mountain on a spirited, chestnut mare with a dark mane. She regretted telling Isaac she rode sidesaddle back at the livery. She hated sidesaddles, but hadn’t wanted to spoil his impression of her as a proper young lady. Her skirts and voluminous petticoats formed a lump under her, making it worse. It felt like she’d never ridden before. And the mare knew it. She was a feisty little thing who’d reached back to nip at Becky’s skirts several times.

  Her mount whinnied and tossed her head.

  Oh no you don’t. Becky scowled and took a firmer grip on the reins. If she’d learned anything from riding China, it was to never let a horse think it was the boss.

  She wished she could ride astride like she did back home, bareback, with the wind whipping through her hair. Thoughts of home made her glad she’d had a chance to post a letter to her mother before they’d left town. With Isaac living so far from town, she couldn’t help wondering when her next opportunity to send another letter would be.