How the West Was Wed Read online

  Movement made her freeze in her tracks. A man emerged from the shadows and mounted a horse. It appeared that the bank clerk, Mr. Gilbert, had been working late again. She waited until he rode away before continuing across the street. Two steps led up to the wooden walkway in front of the Lone Star Press.

  Like her, Mr. Wade left a stack of newspapers in front of his office. Customers could help themselves and leave a nickel in the honor can. It said much about the town that in the year she’d owned the newspaper only once had someone taken a paper without paying.

  She pulled a coin from her pocket and froze. The rack was empty except for a sign. She stepped closer. Light spilling from the gas streetlight illuminated the bold handwriting.

  My apologies, Mrs. Johnson, but I’m plain out of newspapers.

  I’d be happy to deliver a paper to you tomorrow after going back to press.

  Sincerely, Brandon Wade

  “Ohh . . . The nerve of that man!” She stepped back as if confronted by a coiled snake. He’s set a trap, and she’d fallen for it, lock, stock, and barrel. “Of all the underhanded tricks!”

  Was he watching? She wouldn’t put it past him. The sound of a horse’s hooves sent her ducking behind a post.

  She waited until the horseman had ridden out of sight, but even then an uneasy feeling washed over her. Suddenly, it seemed as if every shadow hid a knowing pair of eyes directed at her. Clamping her mouth shut, she hurried away as fast as her feet could carry her.

  ***

  The following morning, Josie knew something was wrong the moment she set foot in the general store. The buzz of customer voices stopped, and all eyes turned to her.

  Storeowner Mr. Cranston was the first to recover. An older man with white hair and mustache, his two missing teeth caused him to speak with a lisp.

  “Howdy, Jo-thie,” he said. Was it only her imagination that he avoided meeting her gaze? “What can I do for you today?”

  Josie eyed the pile of last week’s Gazettes still stacked on the counter, and her heart sank. She didn’t get paid for unsold papers.

  She forced a smile. “I came to pick up the copy for next week’s ad.”

  Mr. Cranston cleared his throat, and his face turned beet red. “Well, here’th the thing, Jo-thie . . .” The lisp grew more pronounced. He rubbed his whiskered chin. “I dethided to run next week’th ad in the Lone Thar- Thar- The other newthpaper.”

  She stared at him, momentarily speechless. Not Mr. Cranston too. He was her most loyal advertiser and had been placing weekly ads in the Gazette since long before she took over the paper.

  Somehow, she managed to keep her dismay hidden behind a businesslike demeanor. “If you agree to advertise in the Gazette, I’ll double the size of your ad for the same price.”

  “That’th mighty generouth of you, but . . .” He glanced at the unsold copies of her newspaper. “Thought I’d give the new fella in town a t-try. Couldn’t hurt, right?”

  “Guess not,” she managed to squeak out. Under the circumstances, she couldn’t blame him. In his shoes, she might have done the same thing. “If you change your mind, my offer still stands.”

  She turned to leave, only to find her way blocked by Mrs. Mooney. Wrapped in a Mother Hubbard dress, the bank president’s wife looked like a large balloon about to take flight. The dress was all skirt and no waist, causing some critics to dub it a calico rag bag. No craze had caused as much flack since the dreadful Dolly Varden rage of the seventies, which made women look like upholstered chairs.

  “I just wanted to tell you that my sister is traveling from South Carolina for a visit,” Mrs. Mooney said, clutching her purse with both ring-laden hands. “Thought your readers might like to know.”

  Josie reached in her pocket for her ever-present notebook and scribbled down Mrs. Mooney’s news. “I’m sure they would love reading about your sister’s visit.”

  “That insipid piece . . .”

  The memory of Mr. Wade’s mocking words was so vivid she almost imagined him right there in the store.

  Mrs. Mooney leaned forward until the feathers on her enormous boat-shaped hat were practically in Josie’s face. “Don’t worry, dearie. As the bank president’s wife, I don’t think you’re too much of a lady, no matter what Mr. Wade says.”

  A toss of her head indicated that her social position gave her the final word on the matter. Waving, she toddled off to join her friend, her ample hips swaying from side to side.

  Josie stared after her. “Too much of a lady.” Is that what Wade had written? Hmm. Maybe it was time to show Mr. Wade just how much of a lady she was not!

  Josie left the general store, the heels of her high button shoes hammering the wooden sidewalk like two angry woodpeckers. Her black skirt swished against her legs.

  “Just you wait, Mr. Wade,” she muttered beneath her breath.

  The general store owner was only the latest in a long list of clients to pull his advertisement. T-Bone, the butcher, had canceled his two weeks earlier, followed by the blacksmith, the cobbler, and the bakery owner. But the worse blow of all had been the county refusing to renew its contract. Legal notices would now run exclusively in the Lone Star Press.

  Just thinking how that scalawag Wade had stolen advertisers right from under her nose made her blood boil. If he wanted a fight, she would give it to him. Oh, yes, indeed she would!

  Catching a glimpse of herself reflected from a shop window, she sucked in her breath. She hardly recognized herself. Shoulders back, head held high, she looked like a force to be reckoned with, even dressed head to toe in black.

  The oldest of the three Lockwood girls, Josie had always been the “sensible” one. The quiet one. The one who never did anything wrong or uttered a misspoken word. Not like her younger sister Amanda, whose advocacy work had constantly landed her in hot water.

  Whenever Papa had one of his tirades, it was Josie’s calming influence that settled him down. Hers was the shoulder everyone cried on, the voice of reason during every imaginable crisis.

  But that was before. Even she didn’t recognize this fiery new side of her. Never could she imagine herself raising a fist to the heavens, but she had done a lot of that these past couple of years.

  It had all started with her move to Arizona—the worst mistake of her life. The hot dry climate had failed to live up to its promise, and the condition of her husband’s lungs had continued to deteriorate. He’d died less than a year after they’d moved to Tucson, leaving her alone in what seemed like a foreign country away from family and friends. Although she’d tried to make it on her own, in the end, moving back to Two-Time had seemed like the sensible thing to do.

  Now she wasn’t so certain. Mama and Papa were glad to have her back, of course. So were her two sisters, though both were busy with growing families and had little time to spare. The same was true of her old friends.

  The worst part was the way Two-Time had changed in her absence. Ralph’s leather-goods store was currently owned by someone else. The house that she and Ralph had lived in following their marriage now belonged to her sister Meg and her husband.

  The town where she and Ralph had met and fallen in love was but a distant memory. In the two short years she’d been gone, the population had nearly doubled. And that wasn’t the only change. It now had a courthouse and secondary school, and a new lending library was in the works. There was even talk about building an opera house and another church.

  When she’d heard the Gazette’s publisher was retiring because of ill health, she jumped at the chance at making him an offer. It cost her every penny she had and she still had to take out a mortgage, but it seemed like a wise investment of time and money. It also allowed her to return to her love of writing—something she’d neglected while caring for her ailing husband.

  She hadn’t known at the time she moved back that it wasn’t only the town that had changed; she had changed, too, in ways she couldn’t imagine. She’d once accepted withou
t complaint whatever life dealt her. But those days were long gone. Even her family didn’t seem to know what to make of her.

  What had brought on the change she couldn’t rightly say. Maybe it was the night she drove like a mad woman to the doctor in torrential rains only to have Ralph die in the wagon by her side. Or maybe the change occurred the day she singlehandedly held off a party of marauding Apaches trying to steal her horse and wagon. Her transformation might have even occurred the night she and her neighbors fought that awful Arizona brush fire and were almost trampled to death by stampeding cattle. Whatever it was, the Josie Lockwood Johnson who’d left town was not the same woman who returned. Not by a long shot.

  At one time, she would have gone to any lengths to avoid conflict. Now she was ready to do battle to save her newspaper, even if that meant fighting Mr. Wade tooth and nail. If only she could figure out how to do so without damaging her reputation.

  Such were her thoughts that it took a moment for the angry male voice to register. Thinking the voice was directed at her, she whirled about. Mr. Gardner, owner of the produce shop, stood in the doorway of his establishment yelling at a little girl who couldn’t be more than seven or eight. Nine at the most.

  Holding the child by the arm, he gave her a good shake. “If I ever see you again, I’ll tan your hide good and hard.”

  Alarmed, Josie stepped up to him. “Unhand her at once.”

  Mr. Gardner’s horseshoe mustache failed to hide his quivering jaw. “This is none of your dang business.”

  “I’m making it my business. Now take your hands off her.”

  Angry steel-gray eyes lit into hers, but he nonetheless released the child. With a huff, he pointed a stubby finger in the little girl’s face. “Don’t ever step foot in my shop again. You hear?” Without waiting for an answer, he turned and stomped inside, slamming the door shut behind him.

  Josie studied the child and tried to think if she’d seen her before. Time was when she had known practically everyone in town. But those days were long gone.

  She was a pretty girl with a round face and long blond hair. Most children would be in tears after facing such adult wrath, but not this one. Her brown eyes were clear and bright. Only the quiver of her lips suggested she was more upset than she let on.

  At first her torn dress and scuffed shoes had Josie thinking she was an orphan or belonged to one of the poorer farm families out of town. But a closer inspection revealed otherwise. The fabric of the dress was of good quality, and the blond hair shone, indicating it had been recently washed and brushed.

  Much to Josie’s surprise, she realized the girl was shaking from indignation rather than fear.

  “What’s your name?” she asked.

  “My name is Haley, and I’m nine years old.”

  “Nine, hmm? Do you mind telling me what you did to make Mr. Gardner so upset?”

  Huffing like an old woman, the girl’s eyes blazed, and her hands flew to her waist. “I let that man’s chickens out of their cages.”

  Josie frowned. “Why would you do such a thing?”

  “They could hardly move and had nothing to eat.” Haley wrinkled her nose. “And the cages smelled awful.”

  Josie burst out laughing.

  Haley frowned, and her hands dropped to her sides. “It’s not nice to laugh at people.”

  “I wasn’t laughing at you. Honest. It’s just that you remind me of someone I know. My sister Amanda. Letting chickens out of dirty cages is something she would do.”

  Haley’s expression turned hopeful. “You won’t tell my pa, will you? I’m not supposed to be here.”

  “Let me guess. You’re supposed to be in school, right?”

  Haley kicked an apple core someone had dropped on the boardwalk. “I hate school.”

  Josie thought of a dozen arguments she could present in favor of school and education but suspected they would only fall on deaf ears. But it did give her an idea for a future editorial. Many people, especially farming families who needed all the hands they could get, put too little stock in formal education.

  “I’ll make a deal with you. I won’t say a word to your pa, but you have to do something in return: you have to go back to school.”

  Haley didn’t look happy about it, but she gave a solemn nod. “All right, it’s a deal.”

  The bell in front of the Lockwood Watch and Clockwork shop announced the noon hour with carefully spaced chimes. Out of habit Josie reached for her pocket watch to check the time. Papa never failed to ring the bell on the precise hour.

  “Good. You have a full half hour before afternoon classes begin.”

  “Today?” Haley’s eyes widened. “You want me to go back today?”

  Josie stuffed her watch back into her pocket. “Yes. That is, if you don’t want your pa to know what you did.” It was a bluff, of course. She didn’t even know who the child’s father was.

  Haley looked about to argue, but then gasped and backed away, a look of panic on her face. “I gotta go.” Turning, she jumped off the boardwalk and ran into the street without looking.

  Josie held her breath until the girl had safely crossed to the other side. Hand on her chest to still her pounding heart, she shook her head. What kind of father did the poor child have that the mere mention of him would create that kind of reaction?

  Loud voices caught her ear, and she turned. The dogcatcher had blocked the road with his wagon, and traffic had come to a standstill. Tempers flared, and curses rent the air.

  The commotion hadn’t stopped Mr. Wade. Looking more commanding than ever, he rode his fine black horse around the ruckus like a general riding through a battlefield. Glaring at him with reproachful eyes, Josie continued on her way. With a quick glance over her shoulder, she stomped into her office, slamming the door good and hard behind her.

  Chapter 3

  Sheriff Stevens of Kerr County has no use for handcuffs. During an arrest, he simply cuts the buttons off the fellow’s pants. While the prisoner is kept busy holding up his breeches, the sheriff then calmly escorts him to jail. —Two-Time Gazette

  Brandon Wade stared at his daughter’s teacher. “I’m sorry. Did you say truant?”

  Miss Langley had recently been hired to take over the class after the last teacher broke school rules by getting married. Scowling over the wire frame of her spectacles, her gray eyes pierced him like a scientist studying a newly discovered species. She stood rigid as a lamppost, her gray skirt and shirtwaist as plain as her tightly wound hair. Though she was probably still in her thirties, she looked and acted much older.

  She remained standing during their conversation and seemed to expect him to do likewise. Not that Brandon thought the child-sized desks could accommodate his six-feet-two height, but he was curious to know if the straight-laced women in front of him could bend.

  “That’s exactly what I said. Your daughter has hardly been to class this whole week. And when she’s here, her mind is on everything but her schoolwork.”

  Brandon’s breath caught. It wasn’t the first time Haley had been in trouble at school, but never before had she been truant. At least not that he knew of.

  “I’ll see that it doesn’t happen again,” he said and meant business. No daughter of his would run wild and grow up an ignoramus.

  He’d promised his wife on her deathbed to raise Haley right, but never had he imagined that a promise so easily made would be so hard to keep. He’d hoped moving away from San Antonio and its bad influences would solve some of the problems of raising her without benefit of a mother. Haley wasn’t a bad kid. She was smart as a whip. But she was also wild as the wind and would rather run than sit at a desk all day. In that regard, she took after him.

  “As for her schoolwork,” Miss Langley continued, and Brandon clamped his jaw. There was more?

  Rustling through a stack of papers, Miss Langley pulled out a sheet and laid it on her desk.

  Brandon gazed down at the drawing with a star
t. He couldn’t believe his eyes. He’d always known his daughter had a talent for art; she took after her mother in that regard. But this far exceeded anything Haley had previously attempted.

  Haley had drawn an amazing likeness of the owner of the Two-Time Gazette, Mrs. Johnson. Or at least it sure did look like her, down to the heart-shaped face and soft, curving mouth. Haley had captured the shape of the widow’s eyes, but not their lively depths. He doubted that even a professional artist could do the lady’s sparklers justice.

  The sketch was done in pencil, but he mentally filled in the exact shade of Mrs. Johnson’s turquoise eyes from memory, could easily visualize the color of her hair that reminded him of polished mahogany. And was it only his imagination that the faint scent of lilacs rose from the penciled sketch?

  It took him a full minute to pull himself together enough to focus on what Miss Langley was saying. Her critical tone told him it wasn’t good. Irritated that she seemed oblivious to his daughter’s artistic talent, he listened with narrowed eyes.

  “My instructions were quite specific,” Miss Langley said. “But instead of doing what I asked, your daughter drew a picture of her mother.”

  Brandon felt his back stiffen. “That’s not her mother,” he said, gruffly. “Her mother is dead.”

  Miss Langley’s mouth rounded. “Oh. I apologize. I just assumed . . .” She cleared her throat. When he offered no hint as to the identity of the woman in the drawing, she reached for a pile of papers stacked neatly on her desk.

  “My pupils were supposed to draw a picture of the human body.” She held up a drawing to illustrate.

  Brandon stared at the sketch with raised eyebrows. “Excuse me, ma’am, but that appears to be a house.”

  “Of course it’s a house. That’s what the human body is. The stomach is the kitchen, the dining room the small intestine. The laundry represents the lungs, and—”