Second Chance Bride (19 page)

When he lifted his head, she whispered, “That was the first time.” The first time she’d enjoyed a kiss and wanted another. The first time a man hadn’t frightened her with his touch.

They left the party soon after. She fell asleep with her head on John’s shoulder and laughed when he woke her by carrying her to the door.

“Matilda, I have something more I would like to ask you,” he said, his voice sounding rough and uncertain. He cleared his throat as they stood in the doorway.

Reaching up to touch his face, she could feel tension in his jaw.

“Would you marry me?” He held his hand up. “I know I should ask a male relative for permission first, but I don’t believe you have any. Is that correct?”

She nodded, not that she’d have wanted John to meet her father even if he had still been alive.

Marry him? Being close to him filled her with breathless joy and made her feel sparkly inside, as if she’d swallowed a star. She opened her mouth to answer but had no idea what to say. She wanted to say yes. Didn’t she have a right to be happy? Didn’t John? She’d make him happy—she’d do everything in her power to make him happy. He was her rock, her strength. The answer seemed very simple.

“Yes, I’ll marry you.” She beamed at him.

He leaned down and kissed her again, which made her shiver with pleasure. There could be no happier person in the entire world than Annie.

“I have something for you.” He reached in his pocket and took out something small. “It’s a claddagh ring that’s been in my family for a hundred years.”

She rubbed her finger along the gold and felt a heart and a crown.

“My great-great grandfather gave it to his intended.” He slipped it on her finger. “The message of the ring is, ‘Let love reign.’”

“Thank you, John,” she whispered. “It’s lovely.”

“I have one more request.” He paused. “I haven’t talked to Elizabeth about this yet. If you don’t mind, would you wait until Monday to wear the ring? I know she’ll be happy, but I need to…well, let her know.”

“Of course.” What did one more day matter? She and John would be together forever.

On Monday morning, Annie gazed at her ring, studying the symbol John had slipped on her finger and smiling at the promise they’d made. The engraving was so worn she could barely make out the heart after years and years of wear. With this ring, she joined the line of women who’d become part of the Sullivan family.

As soon as Annie entered the classroom, she saw Elizabeth waiting at her desk. The child hurried to Annie and reached up to hug her.

“Are you going to be my new mother?” she asked.

Annie took her hand and led her to a bench where they both settled. “I’m going to marry your father, Elizabeth. Do you want me to be your mother?”

Without a pause, Elizabeth said, “Oh, yes, Miss Cunningham, I’d really like you to be my mother.” She hugged Annie again. “What should I call you?”

“You could call me Matilda or Mother. What do you think?”

“Mother.” Elizabeth nodded. “That’s what I want to call you, but not at school when other children are around. Here in school, you’re still Miss Cunningham, at least until you marry my father, when you’ll be Mrs. Sullivan.” She nodded confidently after she reasoned this out.

When they heard more children crossing the lawn, Elizabeth stood. “I’m very happy.” She paused before she smiled and added, “Mother.”

The spring term passed quickly. Annie learned geometry but that forbidding calculus would take more time than she had to master.

She and John had set the date for their wedding for June sixth, when the preacher came through. This gave her time to complete the spring term in mid-April and prepare for the ceremony.

Easter had come and gone, but she was still filled with the joy of what she’d learned: in the midst of darkness, resurrection lies ahead.

Annie had never felt so loved, so cared for, so pampered. Wherever they went, John introduced her proudly as his bride-to-be. They’d taken Elizabeth to shop in Austin and gone to Fredericksburg for dinner. She’d never believed she would have a fiancé—certainly not a fiancé like John Sullivan.

Only the continuation of the drought dampened their happiness. As the weather warmed, and February and March passed, every morning Annie looked out the window for clouds or signs of moisture. There were none. The usually glorious wildflowers bloomed in tattered patches and dried up quickly in the blazing sun.

Even the rain in areas north of Trail’s End had ended and the creeks and streams had narrowed to trickles of water and barren arroyos. The Bryan boys came to school more often because there was nothing to do on the rain-starved farm. No cattle had died yet, but if this drought went on longer, they would—herds of them that none of the ranchers could afford to lose. Annie noticed Wilber’s troubled expression. Of the three boys, he knew best what was at stake.

John worried, too. The level in the stock ponds had become so low the cattle crowded to share the small amount of water remaining. Duffy had taken crews out to dig for underground water but whenever they found a well, it lasted only a few days.

Prayers were lifted in church, but still the sun shone in the cloudless sky and temperatures soared. No rain came. A hot wind blew unrelentingly across the parched, baked land.

They heard reports of dry lightning starting fires in neighboring towns and watched the sky, praying that would not happen here, not in Trail’s End.

Late one afternoon, Annie headed out across the meadows surrounding the Sullivan ranch for a walk. The grass was pale tan and high, scorched by the sun and scoured by the wind. On the broad, open plain, the meadow looked like a field of dry wheat waving in the strong gusts. For a moment, she stood watching the sunset while dust billowed around her. Then she settled under a tree to watch the orange and yellow and scarlet rays of the setting sun play across the rustling grass.

She gasped—for a moment, the colors of the sky and the rays of the sun shimmered on the grass as if the prairie had caught fire. Flames of gold and crimson seem to surround her while the wind blew flickering waves of heat over her.

Remembering the stories about fires destroying neighboring towns, the illusion terrified her. She leaped to her feet and dashed toward the schoolhouse. After running forty yards, she turned around. Her imagination was acting up—all she saw now was tall, dry grass and the last glow of the sunset.

Her vision of the fire was the scariest thing to happen to Annie that spring—at least until she saw Willie Preston in town again on a warm, clear morning in early May.

R
ocking back and forth on scuffed boots, Willie Preston stood in the middle of the road and watched Annie with a smile that showed a missing front tooth. An ugly, scruffy man with a patchy beard and mean eyes, he was her past personified.

He took a step toward her. “Well, if it ain’t Annie MacAllister, and lookin’ real pretty.” He shook his head. “Me and the boys missed you when you left Weaver City.”

Afraid of what he might say or do, she longed to turn toward the schoolhouse and run, but what good would come of that? He’d catch her easily. She lifted her head and continued to walk. With calm determination, she strode around him toward town, which was only around the next bend in the road. Certainly he wouldn’t hurt her with people around.

“Don’t act so high and mighty, Annie,” he shouted as he swaggered next to her. “You ain’t nothing but a common prostitute. Your father was a drunk and murderer.”

“I’m not like that anymore. I’m respectable.”

He grabbed her arm and stopped her. “Don’t care.” He snorted. “More like you changed names. Didn’t know you was a schoolteacher, Matilda,” he said, spitting out her new name with disgust.

She felt as if icy water was trickling down her neck. How could he know? Forcing herself not to shake, she turned toward him. “What do you mean?”

He laughed. “I saw you the other time I was through. Didn’t think I did, did you? I come back and asked about you. They told me there wasn’t no Annie MacAllister around, but the woman I described sure sounded like the new schoolteacher.”

She took a deep breath and held it, forcing herself to remain on her feet, but she couldn’t say a word.

“Yeah, you look pretty. Nice clothes.” He grinned. “Hear you’re getting married. To a rich man.”

She nodded. Foolish to deny what anyone in town could tell him, what he already knew.

“Well, well. Seems like you wouldn’t want that man, Mr. John Matthew Sullivan—” he drew the syllables of the name out “—to know who you really are.” He nodded his head, as if he were thinking. “Seems like you’d do anything to make sure he didn’t find out who his sweet little bride really was.”

What did he want? She looked around and considered running again, but she wouldn’t get far, only a few feet before he’d catch up and knock her into the dust covering the hard, dry road.

“Money, that’s what I want.”

He dropped her arm and took a step closer to her. She forced herself to stay in place, to look straight into his eyes.

“I don’t have money. I’m a schoolteacher.”

“Let me see your hands.”

When she reluctantly held them out, he said, “That ring ain’t worth a thing, but I know Sullivan has money.” She could feel his spittle on her face and smell his putrid breath. “If you don’t want him to know, you’ll give me five hundred dollars.”

She gasped. “I don’t have that much.”

“Bet your fancy fiancé has more than that just lying around his house. Get it for me tomorrow or I tell him everything.” He stepped back. “Meet me in the meadow behind the schoolhouse at nine in the morning. Bring the money.” He swaggered past her and toward town.

How much money did she have? She’d worked for six months for thirty-two dollars a month. Even if she hadn’t spent a penny, that made only one hundred ninety-two dollars. A grand sum for her, but nowhere near what Preston wanted. Subtract the cost of her expenses and purchases, and she probably had one hundred fifty left, at the most. Would he settle for that amount?

John had thousands of dollars. She knew exactly where he kept the money and how to get to it. He wouldn’t miss five hundred dollars—not right away. She could go to the house, slip into the study and borrow what she needed. Somehow she’d pay it back, little by little, after they were married.

She’d gone into town this morning to buy some ribbons, happy in the thought that her wedding was less than three weeks away. Now dread filled her and uncertainty about where she’d be in three weeks. As she considered this, she found herself walking in the direction of the schoolhouse. But she knew one thing. She wouldn’t steal the money from John. No matter what, she couldn’t rob him. He loved and trusted her.

So how could she get so much money? She suddenly stopped and stood absolutely still with the dust billowing around her and filling her shoes. What was she thinking? She’d known—always known—that she had to tell John about her past. She’d made excuses not to: the time wasn’t right, she was tired from a day of teaching, there were people around, she didn’t have enough time and on and on.

The real reason? She didn’t want to. As much as John said he loved her, he hated liars. He was moral and upright. No matter how much she’d changed, she knew John. Her former life would shock and disgust him. He would not be able to accept her if he knew she was a soiled dove. And he’d never forgive the fact that she’d deceived him.

Tears slid down her face. When she took her handkerchief out and wiped her cheeks, the white cloth came away filthy. But still the tears came and streaked her face with grime.

Not wanting anyone to see her, Annie hurried down the road and turned toward the schoolhouse, taking a shorter way through brambles, which tore at her dress. She didn’t care. She had to be alone to think, to reason this out, to decide.

Loving Savior, please give me strength and guidance.

Once at the schoolhouse, she ran up the steps, tore the door open and slammed it behind her. She dashed into the bedroom and threw herself on the bed and sobbed. Worried, Minnie rubbed against her and patted Annie’s cheek with her paw.

When the initial storm had passed, Annie lay there hurting so much inside she could hardly breathe. She prayed again but heard no answer.

Because, she realized as she sat up, the answer lay within her. She’d always known that. She should have told John long ago, before she’d fallen so deeply in love with him, back when she’d thought and hoped no one would ever find out about her past.

But if she had confessed, not only would she have lost the man she loved and the daughter she’d found, she’d never be able to teach again. With Minnie behind her, Annie stood and entered the schoolroom. She ran her hand along the desktops and thought of the sounds of the children learning and playing. She loved this place and this life and these people. These had been the most wonderful months of her entire existence.

She forced her thoughts back to the past, back to the day she’d assumed the identity of Miss Matilda Cunningham. At that time, she’d prayed for a few days, then for a week and finally for a month of warmth and food. She’d been given over six months filled with joy and love. That should be enough to last her forever, but she was greedy, so greedy she wanted more. She wanted a life like everyone else’s, happiness like Amanda’s. She didn’t care about the money or the big house, she only wanted what she could no longer have: John, Elizabeth, her students and her friend.

She’d built her new life on a lie. She had to face that and accept the consequences. She had to tell John. Turning back to the bedroom, she picked up Matilda’s valise and packed it so she could collect it and leave after she told John. She had no idea what she’d do or where she’d go, but she knew she had to leave.

On the bed, she left what didn’t fit inside the suitcase: the clothes she’d worn when she first became Matilda. She no longer was Matilda, but neither was she suddenly Annie MacAllister again. In fact, she had no idea who she was.

But she knew who she wasn’t. She could no longer pretend to be Matilda. She sat down and wrote a letter to Miss Palfrey, to tell her what had happened to Matilda and beg forgiveness for her lies. Finished, she folded it, slipped it inside an envelope she’d addressed and left it on the desk.

Now, she had to go tell John. She couldn’t put it off any longer.

She pushed herself to her feet and stood, drawing herself as straight as possible. After a deep breath, she left the building and headed toward the ranch with steps as reluctant as a woman making her way to the guillotine during the French Revolution.

John studied numbers on the balance sheet in front of him and made a few corrections. From the front hall, he heard Lucia’s voice, followed by a knock on the door.

“Come in,” he called.

When Matilda entered, he stood. “What a nice surprise.”

Then he saw that her beautiful eyes were red and swollen. Her hands clenched her purse so tightly that her knuckles were white.

“What is it?” He started around the desk, but she held up a hand.

“Please sit down.”

He wanted to hold her as she swayed in front of the desk, but the clear determination on her face convinced him to obey her request. What was the matter? Why did she look so ill?

“Lucia,” he shouted, “bring—”

“No,” she said, shaking her head.

“Sit down, my love.”

She squeezed her eyes shut and continued to shake her head. “I need to stand.” She placed her purse on the desk and said what sounded like, “I’m not Matilda Susan Cunningham.”

She couldn’t have said that.

“I am not Matilda Susan Cunningham,” she repeated, each word clearly enunciated.

He frowned. “What? Of course you are.”

“No.” She fell onto a chair as if her legs would no longer hold her. “You have to listen to me. Be patient. This is hard to tell and hard to understand.” She took a deep breath. “My name is Annie MacAllister. Matilda Cunningham died in the accident. I assumed her identity.”

“What?” John leaned back in his chair and shook his head, attempting to make sense of her words. “Why?”

She took a deep breath and swallowed hard. “Because I’m not a person you’d want to know.”

He shook his head. “Matilda—”

“My name is Annie MacAllister. I’m not a schoolteacher. I’ve never even been to school.” She swallowed hard and closed her eyes before speaking. “I wasn’t a moral woman.”

“What are you saying?”

“John.” She looked at him, her face pale. “I used to be a prostitute in Weaver City. I got on the stagecoach that day in October to escape that life.”

It took a few seconds for her words to sink in. When he finally understood what she’d said, he felt as if he were being squeezed by a giant fist. His head hurt and his stomach clenched. Before he realized what he was doing, he stood and asked in tones of shock and bewilderment, “You’re a prostitute?”

She continued to look at him. “I was.”

He walked around the desk and glared down at her. “I brought a prostitute here to teach the children?” Then he whispered, “I fell in love with a prostitute?”

He crossed to the fireplace and leaned against the mantel, his head on his hand. He couldn’t think, couldn’t take in what she’d told him. After almost a minute, he heard her stand.

He turned around and studied her, not sure if he was angry or wounded, or which hurt more, the deception or the facts. Her lovely face suddenly appeared mottled to him, and her lips curved down in what looked like a death mask. Pity stabbed at him, but he forced it away, thinking of her past and her lies. She stood.

She put the ring on his desk, then turned and ran from the room. When he heard the front door slam after her, he lurched heavily into the desk chair. He put his face in his hands and felt tears, except that John Matthew Sullivan would never cry over a woman like…

He didn’t even remember what she called herself—Annie something—but he knew he’d never cry over whoever she said she was. He couldn’t allow himself to grieve for a prostitute.

When she ran out of the house, Duffy waited for her outside the front door. “Miss Cunningham,” he said as he took off his hat. “Let me take you home.”

“I don’t have a home,” she whispered, stunned to realize that truth.

He took a step toward her and reached to support her but she pulled away.

“I’ll have the wagon hitched up in a few minutes. Come down to the stable and wait. I’ll give you a ride back to the schoolhouse.”

“Did you hear what happened? What he said?” she asked.

He nodded. “I was workin’ next to the window. I’m real sorry. You’ve had a rough time. Now you come down here and sit down while I get the wagon ready,” he said, attempting to take her arm again. “Mr. Sullivan doesn’t mean those things. He’s upset now.”

She pushed his hand away. “Thank you, Duffy, but you know he does. And you’ll get in trouble if you help me.”

“You think I care about that?”

“But I do, Duffy. I don’t want anyone to get in trouble because of me.” She attempted to smile at him but couldn’t. “I have to…” She stopped. She really had no idea what she had to do because a tiny part of her had hoped John would forgive her, accept her. What now?

“Thank you,” she said, and started to walk back toward the schoolhouse.

Halfway there, Annie heard a vehicle coming up the road. She looked around, ready to run toward the trees and hide. She didn’t want to see anyone. But before she could move, Amanda called out to her. Oh, she didn’t want to see Amanda. Annie could only guess how she would recoil when she heard the story.

“Matilda, where are you going? Do you want to go to town with me?” The phaeton stopped. After a pause, Amanda said, “What’s wrong?” She jumped from the carriage and took her friend’s shoulders. “What happened? Are you hurt?” Amanda took out her handkerchief and wiped Annie’s face.