A Bride in the Bargain Read online

  Still, he didn’t want her to feel unwelcome. So he’d scrubbed his bachelor quarters from top to bottom, repaired the shingles, fixed the drafts, and piped spring water into the milk room to act as a natural cooling system. The merchant’s wife at Fort Nisqually had ordered wallpaper, rugs, furniture, and even lace curtains for him.

  He hadn’t adjusted very well to the resulting transformation. All the niceties made him feel big and clumsy. He liked it better when things were simple. But nothing would be simple after tomorrow.

  His gaze moved to the cup of wild flowers on the table. He’d placed them all over the house. It was the only welcoming gesture he could think of. If the boys ever discovered he’d succumbed to such sentimentality, he’d never hear the end of it.

  But he had to do something. His bride would most likely feel frightened and out of place. He’d been here for eleven years. He knew all the folks in town. He was accustomed to the rain. He was used to the quiet.

  Not so her. The move out west would be difficult. So he’d fixed up the house and stuck a few wild flowers here and there. He was only doing what he’d do for anybody.

  He couldn’t help but think it should have been Lorraine, though. If he had to have a bride, it could have at least been the one of his choosing.

  Settling his hat on his head, he shook off the thought. They’d married only weeks after meeting, and he’d come to Seattle shortly after. He’d not really known her all that long, and because he’d felt so betrayed, he hadn’t spent a great deal of time mourning her death. No need to dredge it up now.

  Turning, he let himself out and headed to the barn. If he was bringing a woman home, he’d need to hitch up the wagon.

  CHAPTER

  FOUR

  Seattle, Washington Territory

  July 9, 1866

  Situated in a small clearing a quarter of a mile wide and a mile long, Seattle beckoned to Anna’s travel-weary soul. She, Mrs. Wrenne, and two other women from the Continental caught their first view of the quaint little hamlet from the side of a plunger, christened Maria.

  Anna swallowed, anticipation and trepidation warring within her. The thick pine forests she’d dreamed of had been in evidence all along the banks of the Puget Sound and now sheltered the perimeter of her new home.

  What she hadn’t expected, though, was to be able to see the Cascade Mountains far in the distance, accentuated by Mount Rainier reigning tall and proud to the south. She had read about the grand mountain in Mercer’s pamphlet, and briefly wondered if snow frosted its majestic peak all year round.

  Glancing at the sun that warmed her back, she judged the time to be about five in the evening. Townsfolk began to emerge from clapboard buildings and cottage-style homes, making their way down the hill and toward the wharf.

  Did they know Mr. Mercer had arrived in San Francisco with only three dollars in his pocket and no funds to pay for the women’s passages to Seattle?

  Did they know a vast majority of women had defected in San Francisco, deciding to make California their place of residence?

  Did they know that of all the women they started with, only twenty-five remained? And those had been split up and shipped north in lumber vessels, barks, and plungers?

  She scanned the crowd at the dock. A great many men stood still and solemn, watching Maria’s approach. Some were as rough-looking as the Californians, some wore the costumes of lumberjacks, and yet others looked as dignified as those from home.

  Which one was her employer? Anna removed a slip of paper from her pocket, opening it again to read the name Mr. Mercer had scrawled across it.

  Mr. Joseph Denton.

  She lifted her gaze. On the dock, a woman with a child at her skirts smiled and waved. Would she become a friend? Anna waved back and received an enthusiastic response from the men as they whistled and shouted.

  Mrs. Wrenne slid her hand into Anna’s. Anna glanced at her and then back at the cheering crowd. Was there really a farmer out there who’d asked Mr. Mercer to bring him a bride? And if there was, what would be his reaction to this sweet elderly woman the girls on the boat had dubbed “Toothless”?

  And what would be the reaction of Anna’s employer when he was told he owed Mr. Mercer fifty dollars on her behalf? Because after spending the last seven months in the company of Asa Mercer, she feared he hadn’t consulted Mr. Denton about paying for her passage.

  She gripped the railing, her legs suddenly weak.

  I want to go back, she thought. What had she been thinking to leave the only home she’d ever known?

  But the Maria continued to chug forward, and all too quickly they arrived. The crew cast ropes to the men on the docks. A large, callused hand helped her from the boat, separating her from Mrs. Wrenne.

  Trunks and valises were shouldered. Her own bag disappeared into the hands of a portly man walking away with a group of locals who escorted another shipmate, Miss Ida Barlow.

  A man with a mouthful of rotted teeth took Anna’s elbow, guiding her along a road filled with packed dirt and sawdust. Men crowded around them, pushing them toward some unknown destination. At least she was going in the same direction as her bag.

  “Howdy, miss,” the man escorting her said.

  Stiffening, she missed a step.

  He squeezed her elbow. “Easy there, darlin’,” he drawled. “You all ri-ight?”

  A rebel. What was a rebel doing clear up here?

  She gave a gentle tug, trying to pull away, but he held tight. He was dressed a bit more flamboyantly than the other men—a red shirt with a yellow scarf holding up his denim britches and an eye-popping purple jacket resting on his shoulders. A mixture of peacock and lumberjack.

  She hadn’t realized southerners knew how to lumberjack. Her lips parted. What if Joseph Denton was from the South? What if the man she’d blindly agreed to work off her debt for was a rebel?

  The blood from her head plunged to her feet. Not once in all this time had the thought occurred to her. The man at her side drawled on, completely unaware of her distress. She placed her free hand against her chest, her gaze darting from one man to the other.

  “Here, Whiskey Jim, you’re scaring her to death,” said a clean-shaven man in a black suit. “Quit your blathering and give her a little room.”

  “I ain’t frightenin’ her,” Whiskey Jim growled, pulling her closer to his side. “Am I, darlin’?”

  She looked into his unkempt face, seeing only a rebel and not a man. “I . . . I . . .”

  “For the love of Peter.” The gentleman who’d come to her rescue tried to shoo Whiskey Jim back, but he kept hold of her arm.

  “Now lookee here!” the rebel shouted.

  “Please,” she breathed. “I just need a moment.”

  Whiskey Jim released her, and when he did, the entire entourage stopped, forming a circle around her. Staring—no, gawking.

  But they backed up and gave her some room. Too much room. Like the sun encircled by all the stars and planets in the universe.

  Where was Mrs. Wrenne, she wondered. And the rest of their party?

  But she couldn’t see anything beyond the shoulders of all these men.

  “Pretty little thing, ain’t she?”

  Murmurs of agreement flitted throughout the group.

  Removing a handkerchief from her pocket, she dabbed her hairline and neck. Fifty pairs of eyes tracked every pat. She tucked the handkerchief into her sleeve.

  “Who’s yer man?” Whiskey Jim asked. Turning his chin to the side, he spit on the ground.

  Frowning, she forced herself to take slow, deep breaths. “I’m sorry?”

  “Yer man? Did Mercer give ya a feller’s name?”

  “Oh.” She nodded. “Yes.” She pulled the piece of paper from her pocket and opened it. “A Mr. Denton. Mr. Joseph Denton.”

  Groans of disappointment tumbled through the throng like falling dominoes.

  “Joe?” someone shouted.

  “Anybody seen Denton?”

  “Here he
is.”

  “This one’s yourns, you lucky old tar.”

  Men turned. Shoulders jostled. And like a ball shot from a cannon, a man was shoved from the pack and into the hub of the circle with her.

  With his flannel shirt and denim trousers, there was no mistaking him for anything other than what he was. A lumberjack. A tall, hulking giant of a lumberjack.

  Golden curls brushed his collar. A face colored by many hours in the sun possessed the requisite eyes, nose, and mouth—but there was nothing ordinary about them. Every feature had been put together by a master craftsman.

  Thick blond eyebrows framed clear hazel eyes that changed from blue to green and back to blue as readily as the ocean. High, sculpted cheekbones peaked above smooth valleys and a mouth with deep smile lines on either side of it.

  His Adam’s apple bobbed, drawing her attention to a neck as thick as a tree trunk.

  Her heart constricted. He was beautiful. Even more beautiful than Hoke. The thought terrified her.

  “Where are you from?” she asked.

  His chin came up a fraction. “America.”

  She wasn’t able to catch whether he had an accent or not. And his answer confused her. There was no America. Only the North, the South, and the West. And everybody in the West came from either the North or the South.

  “He’s from Georgia,” someone to her right said, loosening the tongues of those surrounding them.

  “No, he’s from Maine.”

  “He’s from both.”

  “Lived in the South as a kid, then moved north.”

  The crowd was so dense and the men’s commentary so fast she hadn’t time to identify one speaker before the next one interrupted.

  “His family’s still in Maine,” yet another person said.

  “He’s got brothers, sisters. Supposedly even had a—”

  Mr. Denton lifted his gaze from her face to a man just behind her shoulder, cutting him off midsentence with a single glare and dousing the plethora of information.

  So long as he didn’t have rebel sympathies, they’d get along fine. But those formative years in Georgia were a concern. “I’m from the North, Mr. Denton. From Granby, Massachusetts.”

  He offered no visible reaction. “And your name?”

  “Miss Anna Ivey.”

  He removed his hat and gave a formal bow. “The pleasure is mine, Miss Ivey.”

  Joe thought she looked ready to jump out of her skin and, like any cornered animal, snarled at those who came too close. And no wonder, with everyone staring at her like she was a miracle straight from heaven instead of Massachusetts.

  She’d certainly not wasted any time in clarifying her loyalties. Not all that surprising, though, for an orphan of the war.

  “There’s a welcome reception at the Occidental Hotel, where you’ll be staying the night.” Joe extended his arm. “It’s just up the hill in the center of town.”

  She nodded, settling her hand against his sleeve like the whisper of a falling leaf.

  Thank the Good Lord she’d made it. He’d wired Mercer some money for his bride’s passage once he found out Asa didn’t have the means to get her here. But rumors had been rampant when Joe arrived in town yesterday.

  From what he’d heard, Mercer was being held in San Francisco by a man who’d paid him eight thousand dollars to bring over wedding suits for the grooms-to-be.

  Yet Mercer arrived without a single wedding suit. Nor did he have anywhere near the number of brides contracted for. Some newspapers reported Mercer was bringing seven hundred ladies. Others three hundred. But never had anyone expected only two dozen.

  Thank you for letting me have one of them, Lord.

  He glanced surreptitiously at the girl beside him. She wasn’t short, but he still dwarfed her. Her large brown eyes took in the avenue they traversed—a maze of logs and drift from Yesler’s Mill.

  Her excursion up the Sound had loosened her hair. The tendrils that escaped were not quite blond, but a very light brown.

  He’d not been close enough to see much more than the top of her head until the boys had thrust him out in front of her. And it had taken every bit of control he had not to gape like the rest of them.

  The woman had curves. Up top. Down below. And a tiny little waist in between. He’d prepared himself for the worst. Never did he imagine she’d be so comely.

  What made a girl like her, who could have any man she wanted, come way out west for a husband? A husband she’d never so much as corresponded with?

  He couldn’t think of one good reason. Even poor, she’d have no trouble finding a man.

  He wondered how old she was. To get married in the Territory, you had to be eighteen.

  Please, Lord. Let her be eighteen.

  He looked again at her smooth cheeks and wide eyes. He’d have to teach her how to cook. She was way too young and innocent to be able to handle herself around his crew. But he wasn’t about to complain. By this time tomorrow, he’d be a married man and have his land sealed up tight.

  Thank you, Lord.

  Mrs. Wrenne’s farmer rebuffed her. A Mr. D. Boynton, the name Mercer had written on her piece of paper, had shown up, then begged off.

  Mrs. Wrenne was crushed. Anna was furious. She watched helplessly while Mrs. Wrenne withdrew to her hotel room and refused to come out until she could acquire some teeth. Anna tried to change her mind, but the woman was too humiliated.

  Not knowing what else to do, Anna helped her into bed, then joined the reception in the parlor. The women of Seattle were thrilled at the prospect of shoring up their numbers and eager for news of the East.

  Miss Lawrence, a full-bodied woman who had traveled up on the Maria with Anna, Mrs. Wrenne, and Miss Barlow, held the townsfolk’s attention.

  “I’ll never forget where I was when news of our beloved President Lincoln reached me.” Holding a handkerchief to her mouth, she shook her head.

  “Is it true there were commemorative pieces made to memorialize him?” asked a woman who had a little boy leaning on her knee and a baby against her shoulder.

  “Oh my, yes,” Miss Barlow interjected. “I have in my bag colored prints of his assassination, death, and funeral.”

  “Oh, we should love to see them.”

  The longer they talked, the more caught up the ladies became. Folding her hands in her lap, Anna left the talking to them. The war had changed everything, and on her first night in town, the last thing she wanted to do was dwell on the very thing she’d come here to escape.

  After a while, she excused herself and slipped out onto the veranda of the large, modern hotel. Seattle had been a surprise. A pleasant surprise.

  She’d expected a wilderness. Not a village of two-story buildings complete with boardwalks. On the short trek from the dock, she’d noted a sawmill, a drugstore, a livery, and two residences. And that was just on one street.

  On a hill above the city stood the town’s university—a white cupolaed building with great round pillars. She’d read about it, of course, in Mercer’s booklet. After having met him, though, she’d begun to doubt everything he said.

  Yet not only was there a university, but apparently, he was indeed its president.

  Shaking her head in wonder, she rubbed her arms against the evening’s chill.

  “A penny for your thoughts.”

  She whirled around. “Mr. Denton.”

  “Did I startle you?”

  “Just a little. It’s so quiet here, compared to San Francisco.”

  “Disappointed?”

  “Relieved.”

  He shrugged off his jacket, offering it to her. She slipped it over her shoulders, the scent of cedar enveloping her.

  “Are you all right?” he asked.

  She hesitated. “Actually, I’m a bit concerned for my friend, Mrs. Wrenne.”

  “Is she ill?”

  “No, not exactly, it’s just that, well,” she moistened her lips, “Mr. Mercer promised her a husband, of all things, but the man welshed on
his deal.”

  He lifted his brows. “Why would he do that?”

  The anger she’d managed to curb earlier surged to the surface. “Because she doesn’t have any teeth.”

  Surprise flashed across his face. “What happened to her teeth?”

  Anna felt her cheeks grow warm. “She lost them.”

  He studied her, then dragged a hand over his mouth. “We have a fine dentist here. I’m sure he can, um, see to her malady.”

  “I’m sure he can, for a handsome fee.”

  “He’ll give her a fair price.”

  “Mrs. Wrenne doesn’t have the funds it would require, Mr. Denton. She’s destitute, just like the rest of us.”

  He slipped his hands into his pockets. “I see.”

  Anna spun around and faced the street. The lantern by the door threw a pool of light onto the porch, but beyond its arc, her view was limited. “The worst thing about it, though, is that now that I’ve had a chance to see for myself how many men there are here, I feel certain that if she had her teeth, she’d have no shortage of marriage proposals.”

  “This Mrs. Wrenne, she’s a friend of yours, you say?”

  Anna lowered her chin. “Yes. We became very close on the voyage over.”

  “Where is she now?”

  “Trying to sleep.”

  He stepped beside her, then leaned a hip on the railing. “Well, you tell Mrs. Wrenne to go see Dr. Barnard on Main and not to worry about any of the incidentals. I’ll be glad to see to them.”

  Anna lifted her gaze. The size of him made her want to take a step back, but his words stayed her.

  “In exchange for what?”

  He blinked. “For a set of teeth, I believe.”

  “That’s it?” It was a brash question, but she’d been poor long enough to learn that nothing was free.

  “Do you have some objection?”

  “Only if strings are attached.”

  He frowned. “There are no strings, Miss Ivey. Mrs. Wrenne is new to town. She’s alone. We take care of our own here in Seattle.”