Walker's Wedding (3 page)

“Papa, no!” A tear coursed down her flushed cheek and hung on the tip of her quivering chin.

Slamming his fist down on the table, Lowell glared at her. “Daughter, yes! I can't watch you every waking moment, and you have proved to be too much for Wadsy and Abe to handle. Wadsy will pack your bags and Abe will take you to the train Saturday morning. A year in Savannah will help to refine you and make you see the error of your ways before you drive us all into an early grave.”

“A whole year? Papa!” Her thoughts turned from self-pity to anger. “I won't go!”

She'd run away. She'd run so far this time that Papa would never find her. The times she'd been forced to endure living under Brice Livingston's roof were intolerable. He was ill-tempered and would keep her confined if she did the least little thing to rile him. Brice wouldn't let a man near her for the whole year. Why, last summer he'd locked her in her room every night! Papa couldn't just ship her down South and consider the problem solved.

Brice had survived three loveless marriages, all ending in bitterness, and he had nothing but contempt for the bond she held so dear. He would strip her of her spirit and do everything within his power to color her outlook on life, love, and, most certainly, marriage.

Staring at her empty plate, she vowed softly, “I won't go to Uncle Brice.”

“You have no choice.” Picking up his fork, Lowell speared a piece of beef, fixing her with a hard look. “End of discussion.”

A
h don't like it. Ah don't like it one little bit.” Old Abe set the brake Friday morning, and then he climbed down from the buggy and turned to help Sarah. Boston still slept beneath a heavy blanket of darkness. A dog barked in the distance, the only sound in the predawn stillness.

“I'll name my first son after you,” Sarah promised. If it weren't for Abe's help, she couldn't have slipped out of the house unnoticed or reached the train station in time to escape town before anyone awoke.

“The only reason I agreed to bring you here is 'cause I can't bear to see you shipped off to your Uncle Brice. That man's the devil if I ever seen one. He don't believe in the good Lord, and I don't want baby girl subjected to Lucifer hisself. No, sir. Ain't none of my doings, but I can't bear to see you go to that man one more time.”

“Oh, Abe. You understand. I'm sorry I was so ugly to you before supper last night.”

“That's all right, Miss Livingston. I knows what you was facin', I wouldn't let a cur live with Brice Livingston—don't know why your Papa can't see the mean in dat man. The good Lord knows you got no business traipsin' round the country by yourself, but I reckon if you're not old enough by now to look after your needs, Wadsy's done a poor job of raisin' you.”

Leaning forward on her tiptoes, Sarah kissed the servant's shaving
soap-scented cheek. “Wadsy would hang us both out to dry if anyone suggested that she'd failed in her duties.”

Abe chuckled. “That she would, young'un. She'll not hear it from me.” He lifted a bag from the buggy and set it down on the ground, his eyes assessing the empty terminal. “I'd carry this inside, but if anyone was to notice—”

“You've done enough, Abe. I won't jeopardize your place with Papa by asking you to see me inside.” Giving him a brief hug, she whispered, “I'll write and let you know where I am.”

“Yes'm, you do that. We're going to be powerful worried until we hear that you're safe.”

“Take good care of my papa.”

“I will. You take care of yourself, young'un.”

Sarah watched him return to the buggy. He drove away without looking back.

Picking up the valise, she entered the station. A mellow light bathed the deserted waiting room. Ordinarily she wouldn't have to purchase a ticket. Papa owned the railroad and the Livingston family traveled free, but the sleepy-eyed man behind the ticket counter wouldn't recognize her today. She'd carefully dressed in Abe's grandson's clothing, pulling a hat low over her face. Other travelers would assume she was a teenage boy traveling alone, exactly as she intended.

“One way to New York,” she said, trying to make her voice gruff and manly. The ticket agent didn't look up. She laid the bills on the counter, smiling. Moments later, ticket in hand, she sat down to await the arrival of the five forty southbound. Julie Steinberg had a small apartment above her father's Jewish delicatessen. She and Julie had been roommates in boarding school and still corresponded regularly. Sarah was sure Julie would let her stay with her until she could get her bearings. Papa would look for her there first, no doubt, but Julie would divert his efforts and lead the Pinkerton detectives on a merry chase.

Sarah knew that her educational skills were above most other young women's; finding suitable employment shouldn't be a problem. As soon as she had a job, she would bury herself so deep in New York City that
it would take Papa's men months to find her. By then she hoped to be married and settled.

The door opened and a young woman, followed by an older couple, caught her attention. The girl was crying, trying to sop up the stream of tears coursing down her cheeks with a soaked hankie. The older man set his jaw, ignoring the waterworks.

“You'll be thanking us in a few years. Love ain't got a thing to do with happiness, girl.”

The young woman shook her head, murmuring a rebuke and then crying harder.

Realizing she was witnessing a private matter, Sarah looked away and concentrated on the double wooden doors that led to the train platform. In a matter of hours she would be independent—free from Papa's tyranny. The older couple shuffled past her, practically dragging the girl behind them.

“Dry your eyes, Lucy. Your father is right. You'll come to understand that we only have your best interests at heart.”

The girl shrugged off her mother's hand. “How can you and Pa be so mean? I love Rodney!”

Sarah watched the struggle from the corner of her eye, reminding herself that she shouldn't be so nosy. She had enough trouble with her own papa.

The coarse-looking man took off his hat and ran his hands through his graying hair. “You'll do what we say, girl. You're not too big to take a switch to yet.”

“It's my life! And you ain't fair!”

The sound of a train whistle interrupted the heated discussion. The five forty was arriving. Retrieving her bag, Sarah made her way out the doors and watched as the big black locomotive pulled into the station, steam bellowing from its coal stacks.

The young girl followed, sobbing as she continued to argue against her parents' intention to get her on the train. Their angry voices followed Sarah as she climbed aboard and took a seat in coach. She closed
her eyes and breathed deeply. The voices of the girl and her parents were only murmurs that faded as the train pulled out of the station.

Once daylight had broken across the horizon, Sarah watched the passing scenery, her heart thumping with the rhythm of the tracks. When her watch hands reached close to seven, her stomach reminded her that she hadn't eaten since breakfast the day before. Getting out of her seat, she walked to the dining car, struggling to keep her balance as the train moved over rough tracks.

Her eyes searched the confined space, lighting on the young woman who still sobbed into her hankie. Her red nose and swollen eyes assured Sarah that the crisis—whatever it was—still bloomed. Her heart dropped when she saw there was only one empty seat, and it was across from Lucy. Sighing, she walked over to Lucy's table and said, “Mind if I sit with you?”

The girl refused to meet Sarah's eyes. “I ain't very good company.”

Sarah slid into the seat and unfolded a napkin. “That's all right. I'm too hungry to be much company either.” The girl finally glanced up, frowning at Sarah's appearance.

Of course. She would think a boy was sitting opposite her. Sarah was still wearing Blue Boy's clothes.

Removing her cap, she released the pins from her hair and a cloud of brushed red spilled over her shoulders. “It's too complicated to explain why I'm dressed this way, but I am a woman. You don't have to worry.”

The girl didn't reply but instead focused her gaze on the passing scenery. When breakfast was served, she pushed the plate away. Sarah ate with gusto, feeling like a bird finally free of its cage.

Sniffing, the young woman turned without warning. “My name is Lucy Mallory. Actually, it's Sarah Lucille Mallory, but ain't no one called me that ever.”

Sarah reached for a hot roll. “Small world. My name is Sarah Elaine Livingston, and unless someone's angry with me they just call me Sarah. I noticed you've been crying. Is there anything I can do to help?”

“You can marry Walker McKay.”

Sarah blinked, dropping the roll she was about to butter. “Pardon?”

“Marry Walker McKay. I'm being shipped off to be a mail-order bride. My father is
making
me marry some old dirty rancher so I can produce an heir.” Her head hit the table with a dull thud as she resumed weeping. The force of the vibration tipped the butter from the knife to the tablecloth.

Sarah's mind churned. Marry? She leaned closer to the sobbing girl. “Have you seen this Walker McKay? Is he…beastly looking?” She could tolerate unattractiveness as long as a man was clean about his personage. She could even tolerate an older man as long as he was kind. But beastly—ugly and having mean tendencies? It would be like marrying Uncle Brice.

“I haven't seen the man. All I know is what Pa told me. He was hurt real bad by a bull or something, and now he's decided he needs an heir to his fortune.” Lucy bawled harder.

A desperate man looking for matrimony. Gravely injured—he'd have health issues, but at least he was alive. “Why doesn't he marry someone he already knows?”

Shaking her head, the girl wiped her nose. “I don't know nothin' about him, and I ain't got no say in the matter. Pa set this up. Answered some ol' ad in a newspaper. I just know I don't want to marry Mr. McKay so Ma and Pa can save the farm—” She paused, her face flushing a bright crimson. “I jest cain't marry him,” she corrected.

Sarah absently bit into the unbuttered roll. “Awful circumstances, indeed. What are you going to do?”

“I don't know. I ain't got a choice, I tell you.”

“Maybe you do.” Sarah chewed, mulling the situation. “You really love this Rodney?”

The girl wilted with grief. “Like a pork chop at dinner! He was gettin' ready to ask Pa for my hand in marriage. We were both bumfoozled when Pa told me he'd offered me to this Mr. McKay to be a mail-order bride.”

Mr. McKay is expecting a bride. I need a husband.
Sarah calmly bit into her roll and swallowed. “I'll do it.”

Wadsy's voice echoed through her mind.
Baby girl! Marriage is a sacred act!

And Sarah agreed. She would marry this Walker McKay and spend the rest of her life devoted to this man. Many marriages were arranged and turned out just fine. She paused. “Did your father say how old this McKay man is?”

“Pa ain't said, but I don't think he's ancient.”

“Do you think he could still sire a child?”

Lucy shrugged. “I suppose. All he wants is an heir.”

“Okay, then I'll do it.”

The girl sat up straighter. “But how—”

“This is what we'll do. You'll get off at the next stop, hire someone to take you to Rodney, and then it will be up to you and him to go far away for a while to give me sufficient time to marry Mr. McKay. Then you can tell your ma and pa what you've done.”

The girls eyes rounded.

“It won't be easy. Are you sure you love Rodney enough to do this?”

“I love him, all right. I'd save the farm for Ma and Pa ifn' I could but—”

“How much do they owe?”

“Five hunnert dollars.”

Sarah smiled. “I'll give you the money to pay off your parents' farm.”
Granted, it is sort of like buying a husband, but...

“You have that kind of money?”

Sarah nodded. “I do. Do we have a deal?”

“You'd also have to lend me enough to hire someone to take me to Rodney. I only have fifty cents.” Lucy slid to the front of her chair, her desperate brown eyes searching Sarah's. “I have a wedding dress. It's small but you can have it if you kin wear it.” She looked Sarah up and down. “It's nothing fancy, but it would look bad if you didn't show up with one.”

“I'll wear it.”

Lucy stared at Sarah as if sizing up her seriousness. “McKay paid Pa a hunnert dollars for me to come.”

Sarah smiled, ignoring the strange lurch in her stomach. “He'll have his bride.”

Breaking into a grin, Lucy nodded. “Done.”

Leaning across the table, Sarah shook hands and sealed the bargain. “I'll go to my seat, get the money, and be back in a few minutes.”

“I'll be here.”