A Bride in the Bargain Part 8

She whirled toward him. "I beg your pardon? You most certainly did not. Exactly when did you ask me to marry you?"

"I didn't expect to have to say the actual words, Anna. It was understood in the terms of the contract."

"You do not, sir, have permission to use my Christian name. Furthermore, I have no idea what contract you are referring to."

His exasperation was clear. "Mercer's contract. What do you think we've been talking about all morning? All last night? What do you think we're doing at the church?"

"I thought you had an appointment with the preacher!"

"I did. I had an appointment to get married. To you."

She closed her eyes, prayed for patience, then opened them again. "I am aware, sir, that most wives cook for their husbands. But to a.s.sume I would agree to be your spouse simply because I said I'd cook for you goes beyond-"

"I a.s.sumed nothing," he barked, his eyes dark.

She took an involuntary step back. He really was a very large man.

"You signed a contract with Mercer, right?"

She nodded.

"Well, so did I." He removed a worn piece of parchment from his jacket, unfolded it, and handed it to her.

She began to skim it, then slowed down to read it more thoroughly.

I, A.S. Mercer, of Seattle, W.T., hereby agree to bring a suitable wife of good moral character and reputation, from the East to Seattle, on or before October, 1865, for Joseph Denton, whose signature is hereunto attached, he first paying me the sum of three hundred dollars- She gasped.

-with which to pay the pa.s.sage of said lady from the East and to compensate me for my trouble. If she is a proficient cook, a bonus of fifty dollars will be awarded to A.S. Mercer.

It was signed by both Mercer and Mr. Denton in April of 1865.

She slowly raised her eyes to his. "You paid that scoundrel three hundred dollars?"

He shook his head. "Four hundred. I had to wire him fifty because you're a cook and fifty more to get you from San Francisco to here."

A tightness seized her chest. "My contract reads much differently."

"Where is it?" he asked, his features taut.

"In my carpetbag."

He nodded. "I'll go get it."

The preacher and his wife said nothing while Mr. Denton went to fetch her bag and she carefully avoided their gazes. An old rug covered the wooden floor and had a worn path from the reverend's chair to the window and back again.

Instead of a secretary against the wall, a large gateleg table as old as time served as his desk. Pilgrim's Progress and The Imitation of Christ lay stacked in one corner. Numerous papers were strewn across its scarred, well-used surface. His quill lay carelessly atop a half-written doc.u.ment as if he'd been using it just prior to their arrival.

Mr. Denton returned, handing her the bag. No one said a word.

She rummaged through it, dug out a folded piece of paper, then slowly handed it to him.

One pa.s.sage on the good steamship Continental bound for Seattle in the Washington Territory is awarded to Miss Anna Ivey of Granby, Ma.s.sachusetts.

On the completion of the voyage, it is hereby agreed that Mr. Joseph Denton will pay the sum of fifty dollars to Mr. A.S. Mercer in consideration that Miss Ivey shall act as a cook for his lumber company until said monies have been earned back in labor.

Signed and sealed by me this twentieth day of December one thousand eight hundred and sixty-five in the presence of Miss Anna Ivey.

Mr. Denton gave the preacher a pointed look, then pa.s.sed the doc.u.ment to him.

"Mercer never said anything to you about being a bride?" Denton asked.

"Once. In the middle of the voyage, he tried to extract more money from all us girls. When it was my turn to be called into his stateroom, he said he was confident I'd find a husband who'd be willing to pay whatever I agreed to."

Mr. Denton rubbed his forehead. "Please don't tell me you agreed to more."

"I did not. I also made it clear I had no intention of marrying."

He ceased his rubbing and looked at her over his hand. "What did he say to that?"

"He was rather troubled, now that I think on it. But I credited it to the fact that I wouldn't commit to more money. Not that I wouldn't commit to marriage."

"I need a wife, Miss Ivey. I paid for a wife."

She swallowed. "Well, I'm afraid I can't help you."

"Why not?"

"Why not?" She looked to the preacher and his wife for a show of support, but their stern visages clearly indicated they sided with Mr. Denton.

"Well," she said, "for one thing, I don't know you. Secondly, I . . . I want to make my own way."

"Make your own way? You're a suffragist?" He curled his lip. "Mercer brought me a suffragist?"

She narrowed her eyes. "Mr. Mercer brought you a cook. Nothing more, nothing less."

"Well, I paid for a bride."

"And I'm truly sorry about that, but as you can see, there is no mention of that in my contract."

He glanced at the preacher. "We'll be right back."

Grabbing her elbow, he pulled her out the door of the office. The slamming of it echoed in the quiet of the church. She all but ran beside him as he propelled her to the front pew. Before she could protest, he forced her to sit.

"Listen," he said, joining her. "I'm going to lose my land if I don't get married."

"Lose your land?"

"That's right. I partic.i.p.ated in the Land Grant Act and was awarded six hundred forty acres, but my wife died before she could join me. That demoted me to bachelor status, making me eligible for only three hundred twenty acres. So if I want to keep the full six hundred forty I've already developed, I have to have a wife and I have to have her today."

She blinked, trying to follow the thread of conversation. "Today? Why today?"

"Because I was given a year to secure a bride, but it took Mercer fifteen months to get you here. So I'm out of time. If you refuse me, the judge will certainly rule in favor of the man suing me for half my land."

"Did you tell the judge your wife died?"

"I did, but the courthouse that held her death certificate burned down, destroying all its records."

"Surely the judge would take your word."

"One would think, but he did not. Most likely because the man suing me is a relation of his." Dropping to his knee, he clasped her hand. "It will be a marriage in name only. I won't press you for, for . . ." Pink touched his cheeks. "I won't press you for conjugal rights. I have a large home. You'll have your own room. I'm well off and can afford to clothe you and keep you in warmth and comfort. So," he took a deep breath, "would you please do me the honor of becoming my wife, Miss Anna Ivey?" He squeezed her hand, his eyes turning from blue to green and back to blue. "Please?"

Her heart softened at his plea, but she caught herself. This was no injured dog who needed nursing back to health. This was a huge, strapping man who wanted her to enter into a lifetime commitment with him.

Beyond his kind treatment of Mrs. Wrenne, she didn't know anything about him or his character. Nor did he know anything about her. He didn't know about her father. Her brother. Her mother. He didn't know she'd been responsible for them. He didn't know that because of her they were now all dead.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Denton," she said, gently withdrawing her hand from his. "I'm afraid I can't help you."

CHAPTER SEVEN.

"But you have to marry me." Joe made a conscious effort to slow his breathing. "I have a contract. Money has changed hands." He paused. "A great deal of money, Miss Ivey."

"And I'm afraid you've been taken, sir." Her eyes showed sympathy, but no indecision.

He curled his hands into fists. He was going to kill Mercer. Tear him apart limb by limb. Unless somebody else beat him to it.

He ran his gaze over the empty church. Were the rest of the men in town discovering their brides weren't brides, or had Mercer swindled only him?

"What about the other women?" he asked. "Had they signed on as brides?"

"Not that I'm aware of, other than Mrs. Wrenne, of course."

He nodded. "The one who needs a dentist?"

"Yes."

He set his jaw. Demanding a refund from Mercer probably wouldn't do any good, but he'd insist on one anyway. Until then, he'd be jiggered if he let Miss Ivey loose. He might have been expecting a bride, but his crew was expecting a cook. He'd not disappoint them.

"Well, our papers may read differently as far as matrimony is concerned," he said, "but it doesn't change the fact that I paid your fare and you are contractually obligated to cook for my lumber company."

"I'm perfectly willing to work off my debt to you, Mr. Denton."

"All right, then. First, we'll telegraph Mercer. Then we'll visit the judge and show him our contracts."

To A S Mercer STOP Ivey refuses to marry STOP You owe me a bride or 400 dollars STOP Payable immediately or else STOP J Denton STOP Anna shifted on a delicate chair in the judge's parlor. A thick wooden side door m.u.f.fled the voices of Mr. Denton and the judge, though Joe's swelled several times and had a definite edge to it.

The molded ceiling, huge chandelier, and marble fireplace reminded Anna of the rooms her father had once made wallpaper for-though this one had painted walls, not papered. A rosewood sofa upholstered in maroon and gold damask had its back to a large bay window and would have easily sat four men. Its spiral ends and lion's-paw feet were intricately carved.

She studied the huge oval portraits of Judge Rountree and his young wife. Would this woman with somber eyes and serious expression become a friend?

She sighed. Probably not. The parlor exuded wealth and status. Her threadbare gown and frayed cape were completely out of place. She picked a piece of lint from her skirt, then folded her hands in her lap.

A door slammed somewhere in the house, followed by the rapid descent of footsteps on the stairs.

"Hurry it up, Two. I wanna catch him before he leaves."

A slower clump-clump-clump followed. "I'm comin'. I'm comin'."

"Here. Hold on to my hand."

The owner of the voice ran back up and the clump-clump-clump increased in pace. She kept her eyes on the entrance to the parlor and didn't have long to wait.

A brown-haired boy in short pants, hickory shirt, and bright yellow bandana rounded the corner, towing a younger, female version of himself in a cropped-off tent dress. Anna judged them to be perhaps six and four.

The boy pulled up short. "Who're you?"

"I'm Miss Ivey of Granby, Ma.s.sachusetts."

He released his sister's hand and executed a formal bow. "I'm Sprout Rountree of Seattle. This here is Two."

Anna frowned. "Excuse me? I didn't quite catch your sister's name."

"Two," he repeated. "We call her Two."

The girl thrust her thumb into her mouth.

"Two? As in the number two?"

"Yep." He sauntered forward, causing a slingshot in his pocket to peek out with each step.

"I see." She paused. "And what's her real name?"

"She hasn't decided yet."

Anna blinked. "I'm sorry?"

"She hasn't decided."

"What do you mean?"

"We get to pick our own names when we're old enough. So I'm One, she's Two, my brother's Three, and the baby's Four."