Bride On The Run (Historical Romance) (17 page)

“A secret recipe!” Miss Lucy sipped tea made
from the small stash she had brought along in her portmanteau. “Well, I never!”

“And what was it you did before your marriage, Mrs. Stone?” Sophronia Hull impaled Anna with a bespectacled gaze that took in her too new calico dress and hastily pinned-up hair.

“I was…a seamstress,” Anna sputtered, fumbling for an acceptable answer that wasn’t an all-out falsehood.

“She made all our clothes!” Carrie added brightly. “All except Papa’s of course. And she made the curtains, too!”

“And how, might I ask, did you come to meet Mr. Stone?”

“Through…a relative of his. A cousin. He, uh, thought we would get on well and put us in touch.” Anna felt a tarry weight in the pit of her stomach. Things were not going well at all. And Malachi just sat there scowling, blast him, as if he’d already given up and refused to compromise his pride. Only gristly old Ephraim Snow, who’d driven the buckboard, seemed at ease. He sat at the foot of the table, making little slurping sounds as he shoveled stew and bread into his mouth.

“The Reverend—the children’s grandfather—was quite concerned about their education.” Miss Lucy fingered a mole on her powder-white chin. “It’s quite obvious they can’t attend school here—”

“We have our own school!” Josh piped up. “Carrie’s read ’most every book on those shelves, and I practice my sums and take-aways every night. Anna helps me.” He glanced at his father, as if seeking support. “Papa says I have to study hard enough to
go to college and be a doctor or an engineer or some such thing. And Carrie—maybe she’ll be a teacher, or something even better!”

“Well and good, young man.” Sophronia Hull smiled coldly, showing her big, horsey teeth. “But, Mr. and Mrs. Stone, it’s the children’s
spiritual
education we’re equally concerned about here. Are they getting regular bible study?”

“There’s a bible on the shelf.” Malachi spoke up for the first time. “They can read it whenever they choose.”

“But do you
instruct
them, Mr. Stone? Do you teach them to fear the Lord? Do you discipline them for spiritual sins, such as vanity, pride and careless speech?”

“Discipline?” Malachi’s left eyebrow twitched.

“Spare the rod and spoil the child!” Lucy Bigler chirped piously.

“Pa spanked me good and hard when I lit a fire in the barn once,” Josh volunteered. “Dang near blistered my rear end.”

Carrie groaned out loud. From the foot of the table the elderly driver chuckled between slurps. Neither Miss Sophronia nor Miss Lucy looked amused.

“I discipline my children as I see fit,” Malachi said in a chilly voice. “And I can’t see that it’s the business of anyone outside the family.”

“Well,” said Sophronia, drawing herself up in her chair. “Well.”

“Who’s ready for custard?” Anna broke in desperately. “It was made fresh this morning and chilled in the spring.”

“Me!” Ephraim Snow declared. “Bring it on!”

“I’m much more interested in hearing Mr. Stone’s opinions on child rearing,” Sophronia said, folding her arms across her bony chest. “And, despite his protests, I fear that his views are indeed our business. That’s precisely why we’re here.”

Malachi frowned. Anna could sense the desperation seething behind that stoic mask. She had never known a better father than Malachi Stone, but he was a man of action, not of words. And there were no words for what Josh and Carrie meant to him.

“Well, Mr. Stone?” Sophronia’s gaze impaled him like a Kiowa lance. “We’re waiting.”

“I…believe in giving children the freedom to grow and learn for themselves,” he said, struggling with every word. “When they make mistakes, I usually stand back and let them take the natural consequences….” His jaw tightened as he fought to keep his emotions in check. “But I sure as blazes don’t beat them for so-called spiritual sins! And as for anybody who’d so much as lay a hand on either of them—” He choked on his own words, unable to go on.

“Carrie managed the house on her own before I came,” Anna interjected. “And Josh is responsible and obedient. He always does what he’s told.”

“Please don’t take us away!” Josh burst out. “I don’t want to live with Grandma and Grandpa! I want to stay here with Pa—and with Anna!”

Sophronia froze him with a stern glare. “Young man,” she said, “didn’t anyone teach you that it’s not polite to interrupt grown-ups while they’re talking?”

Josh’s lower lip quivered. In the silence that hung
over the table, he glanced at his father, seeking reassurance. Malachi strained forward, his own temper perilously close to the snapping point.

“Hell’s bells, stop yammerin’ and bring on that cold custard!” Ephraim Snow shouted from the foot of the table. “Then let a man eat in peace. Supper table’s for eatin’ not for arguin’!”

The old man scraped the last of the stew into his bowl and, in the shocked silence that followed, began sopping it up with the bread and stuffing the soaked pieces into his mouth. Sophronia dabbed at her pursed lips with her napkin. Lucy concealed a ladylike belch behind her hand. Malachi had frozen in place like a rough-hewn granite statue.

Anna slid back her chair and stood up to fetch the bowl of custard from the spring. As she turned to go, her glance fell on Carrie. The girl was sitting rigidly in her chair, her hands in her lap. Tears trickled freely down her beautiful, young face.

The disastrous evening ended in retreat—on everyone’s part. Malachi, with Josh clinging to him like a shadow, went out to look after the animals, a chore Anna knew he would stretch out for as long as possible. Anna and Carrie cleaned up the kitchen while their two female guests planted themselves in straight-backed chairs next to the fireplace, Lucinda knitting a long wool sock and Sophronia inspecting the books on the shelves—probably looking for something dirty, Anna groused, keeping her silence. What would these so-called ladies say if they knew how she’d really earned her living?

Maybe she ought to tell them. Their shock might
at least provide some entertainment. Oh, Malachi had been right! Why had they bothered to stage a show for these two straitlaced, judgmental women? There was only one way this tragic farce could end!

Yes, maybe she ought to give them a piece of her mind! Why not? What did she have to lose? What did Malachi and the children have to lose that wasn’t already lost?

The moon was just rising over the canyon when the two visitors excused themselves to prepare for bed. The sleeping arrangements had been decided on earlier. Lucy and Sophronia would take the double bed in Anna’s room. Anna would bunk with Carrie. Josh would spend the night with Malachi in the tack room, freeing his bed for Ephraim Snow—and, if the worst happened, allowing Malachi a few last precious hours with his little son.

Carrie, red-eyed and silent, had gone to bed. Lucy was standing on the porch, waiting for her turn at the privy, when Anna decided to speak her piece. Wiping her hands on her apron she stepped out onto the porch. Lucy turned to look at her, one eyebrow arching suspiciously.

“The nights are quite refreshing here, compared to the days, wouldn’t you say so, Mrs. Stone?”

“Yes, I suppose I would.” Anna nodded in polite agreement. Then, forcing all pretense aside, she turned her full desperation on the short, plump woman. “You can’t take those children away! Malachi is a wonderful father! Those two youngsters are his whole life—and they love him! Can’t you see that?”

“Indeed we can.” Sophronia came around the
house adjusting her ample skirts. “And frankly, Mrs. Stone, it’s not your husband’s suitability as a parent that concerns us. It’s your own!”

Anna stared at the two women, too stunned to reply.

“We’re not the cruel monsters you seem to think we are,” Lucy said. “Sophronia and I truly have the welfare of those two children at heart. The judge ordered us to determine whether this place was a proper home for them, and we are duty-bound to do just that.”

“It’s perfectly understandable that Mr. Stone doesn’t like us,” Sophronia added. “The fact that he doesn’t try to hide that dislike speaks well for his honesty. He appears to be a good man and a loving, if rather lenient, father. Now, you, on the other hand—”

“We contacted Mr. Wilkinson in Salt Lake City.” Lucy snatched up the thread of the explanation. “He told us about the circumstances of your marriage to Mr. Stone—that the two of you were wed by proxy just a few weeks ago, without ever having set eyes on each other. Is that true?”

“Yes.” Anna felt as if she had stepped into quicksand and, like the cow, was sinking out of sight. “Malachi needed a mother for his children, and he had no other way of finding one. It wasn’t his fault that Stuart Wilkinson didn’t come up with someone more…suitable.”

“Indeed.” Sophronia swatted at a mosquito that was buzzing around her long face. “We also investigated your history, Mrs. Stone.”

Anna felt herself sinking deeper, felt the quicksand closing around her throat, strangling her with fear.

“We found…nothing.” Sophronia crushed the insect smartly against her cheek. “No birth certificate, no parents, no past marriages. Nothing of public record. It’s as if you didn’t exist before you contacted Mr. Wilkinson in Salt Lake City.”

“Which led us to suspect that you were hiding something,” Lucy interjected.

“Quite.” Sophronia snatched back the conversation like a cat pouncing on a string. “When we met you, we knew our suspicious were well-founded. No woman with your looks would be desperate enough to wed a total stranger. Not without a very good reason.”

“Again, it’s the children we’re concerned about,” Lucy said. “Take Carrie…a lovely child, but so impressionable. Exposure to the wrong kind of influence—especially from a woman—could wreak havoc on her character. As for young Joshua, that child is so love-hungry he’ll follow anyone who’ll give him a pat on the head. He needs—”

“Wait!” Anna reeled amid the wreckage of her fragile world, struggling to understand what she’d just heard. “Are you saying that if I weren’t here, Malachi would have a better chance of keeping his children?”

Lucy stared at her, blinking, while Sophronia seemed to be plucking at an imaginary lint speck on her skirt.

“You said
I
was the problem!” Anna persisted, talking fast, afraid of stopping long enough to think. “What if I were to leave—now, with you, first thing tomorrow? Malachi could get a divorce—maybe even
an annulment—on grounds of desertion. He could find another wife, a proper mother for his children….”

Anna choked on the throbbing lump that rose in her throat. She’d been happy here, so happy that she’d almost let herself believe this brief heaven could last forever. Why hadn’t she thought ahead—and held back her heart?

“Let us make sure we understand you,” Sophronia said. “You would leave with us and never return? You would allow Mr. Stone to divorce you?”

Anna twisted the thin gold band on her finger, her heart pounding. “I would, but only in exchange for your promise—your
written
promise to Mr. Stone—that the children would be allowed to stay here with their father.”

The two women glanced cautiously at each other.

“Please!” Anna begged, tears springing to her eyes. “I’ll do anything, sign anything! Just don’t take those children! Please, it would break their father’s heart!”

Again the two women exchanged glances, as if communicating by some secret, silent code. Anna waited in slow agony, telling herself this was the only way—for Malachi, for the children and for her. The chance to clear herself had been no more than a will o’ the wisp. It was time to cut and run.

An eternity seemed to pass before Lucy cleared her throat and spoke. “This is where we stand, Mrs. Stone. The judge has given us two options. If we see fit, we have the authority to take the children back to Sante Fe with us—or we can recommend a year’s
probation, after which the judge will review the case and make a final ruling.”

“As we’ve already made clear, our first and only concern is the children’s welfare,” Sophronia added. “If you’ll sign a paper consenting to the divorce and agree to leave the canyon with us tomorrow, we will let Carrie and Joshua remain here with their father. The probationary year should give Mr. Stone enough time to, let us say, get his life in order.”

Get his life in order
.

Anna nodded, knowing what the well-couched phrase meant. Malachi would have time to find a suitable wife, a good woman who would share his days, mother his children and, perhaps in time, come to know his love. Yes, a year would be enough.

“Very well,” she said, forcing herself to sound uncaring and hard. “I’ll want both your signatures on a paper for Malachi, in case anyone challenges his right to keep those children. Just get me out of here first thing tomorrow morning. My time here is finished, and I don’t believe in milking a dry cow!”

“I have some writing materials in my valise.” Sophronia’s bombazine skirts rustled as she mounted the steps and swept over the threshold. “Let’s get this matter taken care of so we can get some rest, shall we? I daresay it’s been a very long day.”

Anna tiptoed into Carrie’s room, closed the door softly behind her and, at long last, allowed herself to collapse against the wall. Every nerve in her body was quivering, and her stomach felt as if she had swallowed a cup of lye. It was done. The papers were drawn and signed and folded into her apron pocket—
her own agreement to a swift legal divorce and the two women’s promise to Malachi that they would prevail upon the judge to delay his decision for one year.

The time for make-believe was over. She would be leaving this place tomorrow morning with no money, no tickets and no resources except her own wits. She had no idea what she would do when the buckboard reached Kanab, especially if the bounty hunters were waiting. But somehow she would survive. She was good at surviving.

Her trembling fingers touched the thin gold ring that adorned her left hand. Slipping it off over her knuckle, she squeezed it tightly in her hand. Men had given her jewelry before, glittering baubles, most of which she’d sold to tide her over the lean times. But this small, plain band meant more to her than anything she had ever owned—and now she had given up the right to wear it.