The Bride Price (3 page)

Nona disappeared, returning a moment later
followed by a large, dark-skinned woman wearing a gray dress and
crisp, white apron. “Here are the blankets.”

As the doctor’s wife moved to her side,
Sophie took in her appearance. Nona had removed her bonnet, and
strawberry blonde hair, streaked with light strands of gray,
reminded Sophie of many of the women’s hairstyles in her collection
of nineteenth-century photographs: parted in the middle and secured
at the nape of her neck. Tiny in stature, no more than five feet
tall, and in constant motion, Nona flitted around the room.

Sophie’s gaze drifted over the deep blue of
the woman’s intricate, velvet dress. She had discarded her plain
gray coat, revealing pearl buttons and frilly lace at the neck of
the gown. It looked like something out of
Gone With the
Wind
. “What a beautiful dress.”

“Thank you. We have a wonderful seamstress in
town.” Nona fingered one dainty button proudly. “Madame Desmarais
is a wonder with a needle and thread.”

“Oh, I thought perhaps you’d made it.”

Nona chuckled quietly. “I have several that I
have sewn. However, this one is a favorite, and today is a special
occasion.”

Sophie wondered what the special occasion
could be.

Perhaps a costume party?

“Richard, thank you so much for carrying her
in.” Nona turned away from Sophie.

“No harm. She doesn’t weigh anymore than a
bag of cottonseed.” Richard’s southern accent came out thick and
heavy.

Sophie darted a glance in his direction.

A bag of cotton seed? How much does that weigh?

She assumed it must be some kind of southern
expression and shook herself from her fog. “So, if I’m not dead, is
this an hallucination?” She rubbed her forehead with her fingers.
“I must be dreaming.”

“Excuse me, dear?” Nona asked.

Sophie sat up further and caught a reflection
of herself in the gilded mirror hanging low on the wall. Standing
slowly, her legs shaky from months of bed rest, she was surprised
to find that in every other way, she felt fine. Her heart beat
normally and her breathing was no longer labored. Despite her
weakness, she felt as though she could run a mile.

She glanced into the mirror and let out a
rather inelegant snort. Still dressed in her pajama bottoms and one
of Jamie’s old sweatshirts, she ran her hands over her waist. She
stared at her appearance, not recognizing the young woman staring
back at her. Her heart disease had caused more weight loss than
even she had been aware of. The pants, once a bit tight over her
full figure, now slipped low on her hips.

I look sixteen.

Lifting the pant legs so she could see her
feet, she heard a gasp from Nona. Sophie pressed her frozen toes
into the lushness of the Oriental rug on the floor and looked
around at the strangers. “Where are my shoes?”

“Ma’am, you should sit down,” Richard said.

“And cover your ankles,” Nona whispered.

Suddenly embarrassed, Sophie nodded and sat back onto
the sofa.

“Michael, is she all right?” Concern marred
the woman’s otherwise flawless features.

Doctor Wade turned to Sophie. “Young lady,
what’s your name?”

“My name is Sophie—Sophie Ford. Where am
I?”

“My wife found you lying out by the stables.
I’m Dr. Wade, and of course, Nona, whom you’ve met, and the
gentleman there is Richard Madden, our neighbor.” His eyes grew
serious. “Where is your family, and why are you unattended? A young
lady should not be unattended.”

“I don’t know. I think I…died.” Even as the
words left her mouth, she realized how crazy she sounded. “At
least, I was supposed to be dying, but then I had this strange
vision...”

Oh, yeah,
vision
makes you sound so
much saner.

The tall man in the corner raised his
eyebrows at the doctor, and Sophie felt Michael’s fingers squeeze
her wrist slightly as he took her pulse. He raised his eyes in
concern and then repeated what he’d previously said, enunciating
each word a little more forcefully. “My wife found you out by the
stables. I am Dr. Michael Wade, this is my wife Norine, whom we all
call Nona, and the gentleman over there is Richard Madden.”

“Yes, you said that, I just don’t understand
why…” Her words fell away as she stopped a sob with the back of her
palm. Sophie tried to breathe in an effort not to
hyperventilate.

Where is Jamie?

“Where is your family?”

“My family?” She narrowed her gaze. “I
…uh…well, see, I was at home, and then everything got sort of
fuzzy, right after Jamie fell asleep. I know he gave me a dose
of….where is Jamie? Did I die? This just can’t be real. Jamie would
never let me go. He promised me forever.”

“No, ma’am, you are alive, I assure you.” He
patted her hand kindly and then checked for broken bones. “Where
are you from? Is there somewhere we can take you? You have family
in these parts?”

Nona frowned. “Michael, does it look like she
hit her head? She seems very confused.”

When the doctor probed Sophie’s head at his
wife’s urgency, she swatted his hand away. She’d had enough
invasive examinations during her life, and no way would she accept
probing in her afterlife. Sophie screamed on the inside.

“No bumps. No physical injuries.”

Sophie shivered, unsure if it was from the
cold or the confusion, as she began to recognize this wasn’t
heaven. Where was Jamie?

“Look at the poor dear, she’s shaking,” Nona
murmured. “Michael, the blankets.”

The doctor gently laid blankets over Sophie,
and she fingered the delicate fabric of the top cover.

“Do you live nearby? Is there somewhere we
can take you?” Michael asked.

“I live in Portland, but I don’t know how I
got here.” Frustrated, Sophie sat up. Nausea hit her with force.
She remembered she hadn’t eaten more than the oranges Jamie had
insisted on earlier.

Earlier…or a lifetime ago…or in my subconscious.
What the heck is going on?

Nona bustled over, sat down next to Sophie,
and laid a gentle hand on her arm. “Don’t worry about anything. You
must have lost your memory. Just lie back and relax. You’re safe
here with us. You couldn’t have shown up at a better, safer place.
You are welcome to stay as long as you have need. With a little
rest, perhaps your memories will return.”

Sophie rolled her eyes. “I haven’t lost my
memory. I’m Sophie Ford. I’m married to James Ford, and I’m
supposed to be dead.” Then under her breath, “Or, not,
apparently.”

She had to admit, she felt relieved that she
wasn’t dead. But still—
where is Jamie?

“You’re married? Where is your husband? Is he
one of the soldiers working with Richard?” Nona frowned. “Michael,
why would her husband leave her in the snow?”

“My husband isn’t a soldier, he’s an artist
and musician, and he would never leave me in the snow. Wait a
minute.” Her hand flew to her forehead. “Snow? Where am I? There
wasn’t any snow in Portland yesterday. Just rain.”

Richard frowned and Sophie didn’t miss his
patronizing tone as he drawled, “You couldn’t possibly have been in
Maine yesterday, ma’am.”

“Maine?”

“Yes, ma’am. It would have taken you several
days to travel here to Harrisburg, especially in this weather. Not
to mention it wouldn’t be safe,” Richard said.

“Harrisburg?” Sophie’s stomach roiled. “As in
Pennsylvania?”

“Yes ma’am.”

Pennsylvania? What is going on?

“What’s the date?” Sophie asked.

“January 31.”

Okay, same date. Why are these people in
costume?

“It’s been a mild winter this year, although
not mild enough for you to be in what you’re wearing.” Nona sounded
a bit like her old pastor’s wife, who insisted on dresses and hair
pulled away from the face.

“I was sleeping.” Sophie didn’t know why she
should feel defensive about her pajamas.

“We are in the middle of a war, and one of
the soldiers could have seen you in your state of undress.” Nona
shuddered. “Who knows what could have happened.”

Sophie’s panic raised its ugly head again.
She laid her hand over her stomach, in an effort not to puke.
“War?”

“Excuse me?”

“You said, ‘war.’ What war?”

Nona whipped her head toward her husband.
“What a strange question. Michael, she
must
have hit her
head. Are you certain you checked her thoroughly?”

Sophie pushed herself up with limited breath.
“What war?”

Nona tsked and said slowly, “The War between
the States.”

Unable to stop the screech that escaped her
lips, Sophie squeezed her eyes shut and whispered, “The 1860s War
between the States?”

“Well, it’s 1863. Of course it’s the 1860s
War between the States.” Nona turned back to Michael. “You must
check her again.”

“If I’m not dead…am I dreaming? I must be
dreaming. How long have I been here?”

Nona’s eyebrows knitted together. “We just
found you...in the snow.”

Sophie’s throat closed and her eyes filled with
tears. Taking a deep breath, choosing to limit her words, lest men
in white coats suddenly arrive to take her away, she decided to
work out her confusion later. “I think I’m all right, Mrs. Wade.
Perhaps I do just need to rest.”

“Please, dear, call me Nona.”

Sophie took a moment to appraise her
surroundings. The parlor appeared exactly as she had always
envisioned an authentic nineteenth-century room would look like.
Right down to the American Federal sofa she lay on. Sophie noticed
the man who carried her in standing in the corner. He seemed to be
brooding.

Wait. Brooding? I wouldn’t have a dream with
the quintessential brooding male. Okay, Sophie, think. In my world,
what would the large man be doing right now? Smiling? Joking?
Dancing? This is my dream...or my heaven, and I refuse to have
anyone brooding. Of course, the fact I’m concerned about someone
brooding, just goes to show how crazy I am. Maybe this is the
entrance point to a padded room.

If she closed her eyes, counted to ten, maybe
she’d wake up. Squeezing her eyes shut, Sophie slowly counted the
seconds off then looked again at the man in the corner.

Nope, still brooding.

“Betty, prepare the blue room for our guest,”
Nona instructed.

Sophie held her hand up. “I don’t think that
will be necessary. I’m sure my husband will be here any time now.
He must have just gotten lost, or detained. Yes, detained. That
must be it. He can’t be far away. He would never leave me. We’re
usually joined at the hip.”

“Joined at the hip?” Nona lowered her voice.
“Perhaps we shouldn’t speak of those things in mixed company.”

Sophie swung her legs around and settled them
on the carpet. “Oh, sorry. Um, it’s an expression...from home. Um,
we spend a lot of time together.”

The doctor laid his hand on her shoulder.
“Why don’t we just take you on upstairs? You can lie down for a
little while and Nona will find you something decent to wear. I’ll
have Richard make some inquiries about your husband. We’ll make
certain the two of you are reunited as soon as possible.”

“That’s very kind of you. Thank you, Nona.”
She stood and faced Richard. “Thank you, um, Mr. Madden, is
it?”

“Yes ma’am. There’s not much of a chance a
man can get lost in this town. If he’s here, someone will know
where he is. You said his name is Jamie?”

Sophie nodded. “His name is James—actually,
we call him Jamie. James William Ford is his full name.”

Richard raised an eyebrow. “What does he look
like? I’ll ask down at the field office and see if I can’t locate
him for you.”

“Tall, blue eyes, short dark hair, goat—”
Sophie stalled, he didn’t appear to be listening.

His eyes met hers. “He has a goat with
him?”

“No, sorry. He has a goatee—no, he had one,
but now he has a beard.”

When Richard nodded, Sophie turned to follow
Nona up the stairs, her hands grasping the tie at the waist of her
pants, now threatening to fall below her hips. Richard stepped
behind her and bent to lift her, but Sophie pushed him away. “No,
I’m fine. I can walk up the stairs.”

“Ma’am, you’ve had a nasty accident—”

“—
Don’t
touch me,”
she interrupted. She put more distance between them, and waited for
him to step back before following Nona. Sophie felt as though they
walked past more than a dozen doors before arriving at the one Nona
referred to as the ‘blue room.’

As she followed the doctor’s wife inside,
Sophie’s mouth dropped open. A large four-poster bed dominated the
room. A roaring fire in an elaborately carved fireplace made the
space feel warm and welcoming. Sophie crossed the hardwood floor to
admire a beautiful mahogany highboy and matching vanity that
flanked a large window. The furniture shone with a deep luster that
could only have come from elbow grease and copious amounts of
beeswax. She shook her head in wonder.

Her love affair with all things Civil War era
had not prepared her for the opulence she was encountering. Who
would have thought people could have such beauty and civility
amidst the destruction of war? The snow outside was a blinding
white and it sparkled like fairy dust, vibrant and alive. The
wooden floors gleamed like honey, and the room she stood in was
awash in vivid blue.

Blue floral wallpaper covered the walls, and
the china bowl and pitcher matched the design. A primrose blanket
and an embroidered quilt covered the bed. The items that didn’t
have some shade of blue in them seemed right at home, despite their
hue challenge. Everything about the room projected comfort and
welcome. It would be a perfect B&B and just the kind of place
she’d want to spend a cozy weekend snuggled in bed with Jamie.
Tears pricked her eyes as she thought of Jamie.

I need him here. Where is he? Does he know where I
am or does he think I’m dead?