Happy Is The Bride

Thanks to Sandy Tucker Crowley, Jeanmarie Hamilton, and the Rosebuds from Yellow Rose RWA—especially

Geri Foster and Bea Smith.

Thanks to everyone who shared wedding horror
stories—truth is always stranger than fiction.

HAPPY IS THE BRIDE

One

Texas Hill Country
June 8, 1885

Beth Pendleton stared at her cousin Rachel. "I'm
not an
old maid
."

"Beth, face the truth. You're pretty"—Rachel wrin
kled her nose—"if a man likes the tall, skinny, blond
sort, but for heaven's sake, you're twenty-eight years
old and not married. Besides, everyone in town thinks
you're jinxed."

Her cousin's smug arrogance gave Beth an almost
irresistible urge to choke Rachel. Why had Beth given
in to her mother's insistence that she pay a call on her
cousin? Guilt, of course. It had been weeks since she'd
visited Rachel. That and Beth's desire to please her
mother, an increasingly difficult task.

To appear calm when her emotions churned inside
her, Beth smoothed a knife pleat in her new navy and
gray faille skirt. Her mother had ordered the spring
walking suit for her, copied from a Paris original by her mother's favorite couturier, Mr. Henri of Galve
ston. It was a bit warm for early June in central Texas,
but Beth knew how much the latest fashions meant to
her mother, so she wore it.

Beth took a deep breath. "It's true I've had bad
luck wit
h
the men Daddy chose, but I'll find the right man on my own some day and we'll marry."

He'd certainly be a nicer man than Rachel's doltish
husband, Ben Bigelow. And the Bigelow children!
Heaven help her, certainly any children Beth and her husband
had would be better behaved than Rachel's
screaming horde.

Rachel shook her head, but the bun on the top re
mained firm, coiled tight as a wagon spring. "Who in
Ransom Crossing is going to propose to you? The
men who aren't afraid of Uncle Howard are afraid of
the bad luck that falls on any fiancé of yours. Look at
the disasters that happen when you plan a wedding."

Rachel displayed the smug smile married women
reserved for the single women they pitied. Beth hated
that smile.

full of unwed men, then her father or her bad luck
would scare them away.

Rachel adjusted her considerable bosom that threat
ened to burst out of the bright green poplin dress and
then smoothed her hands down her girth. "Ben says
I'm all woman and that's why we have six kids."

She giggled. "No one wants to marry an old maid
who's jinxed. It doesn't mean spit that you're the only child of the wealthiest man in town. Men want a real
woman with some meat on her bones. Besides, every
one around here calls you the Ice Queen."

Ice Queen? Beth had heard this before, and the
crude label made her want to stamp her foot or throw
something in childish temper. As usual, she forced
her emotions under strict control, lifted her chin and
gave Rachel an icy glare. The fact that her actions
lived up to the accusation only angered her more.

But she wasn't an Ice Queen. She was warm, loving,
and sought to be kind. Except, no one had taken the
time to notice that. They were too busy whispering be
hind her back and making fun of her.

"Of course I can still wear that dress. My Ben says
I'm a perfect size, exactly right for cuddling." Rachel's
narrow-set brown eyes glinted with malice. "But I'll
bet you that new bolt of cream silk your mama or
dered from New York that come the end of June,
you'll still be unwed.

Up to her ears in insults and injustice, Beth
couldn't stand this any longer. The past years of em
barrassment and ridicule exploded inside her like a
Fourth of July firecracker. "I'll take that bet. When I
win, you have to give me ... that new quilt you won at
the church picnic."

Mercy sakes, what had she said? Anger must have
melted her brain. She wanted to call back the words,
but it was too late. The gauntlet had been thrown and
accepted.

Needing to get away before Rachel noticed her shaking hands, Beth straightened her bonnet, then
gathered her reticule and parasol. "Now, I must be on
my way. Do come see me when you can get away."

Never would be soon enough, even if Rachel was
her only cousin. In fact, other than her parents,
Rachel was her only living relative.

Beth wanted to slam the door and run to the buggy,
drive away, and hide somewhere. But she couldn't. In
stead, Beth pushed down her emotions and glided as
she had learned in Boston at the Meriweather School
for Young Ladies of Good Families. She climbed onto the seat and cracked the whip in the air over the backs
of the horses.

The perfectly matched bays took off with a jerk,
and she set the whip back in its holder to concentrate
on the reins. Ben Bigelow's large apple orchard
whizzed by her view. The buggy bounced over the rut
ted road. Determined to stop the ridicule she'd
tolerated for years, Beth tightened her grip and
clenched her jaw. She'd show Rachel. She'd show
everyone in Ransom Crossing.

Darned if she'd let her fat cousin Rachel win that
insulting bet.

Darned if she wanted to remain the laughingstock
of the whole county.

Darned if she knew why she shouldn't have her
heart's desire—a family with children. Lots of chil
dren, with a kind man who'd be both a loving
husband and a good father.

To her surprise, a man's face appeared in her
mind. Why not him? No reason at all. The answer had
popped into her mind like a miracle, a heavenly sign.
And if there was anything Beth needed right now, it
was divine intervention.

Instead of taking the road to town, Beth guided the
rig west with hardly a thought to her actions. When
she realized the course she'd chosen, she decided her
instincts were on target. She'd go see Mason Whit
taker, the friend she turned to in every crisis.

He was the one person she relied on to offer her so
lace. Mason knew her innermost thoughts and the
embarrassment she suffered. Of all the people she
knew, he was her one true friend.

Though not a large place, she thought it probably
had five or six rooms. He'd painted it a soft green—
her favorite color. White paint on the eaves, porch
railing, and around the windows glistened in the sun,
and dark green shutters at the windows added to the pleasing appearance.