Leora: Bride of California (American Mail-Order Bride 31) (3 page)

Theron’s hands balled into fists and he had to force himself to sit. “Now, Mrs. Rutherford, what’s this so-called
matter
that needs to be discussed?”

* * *

“Good grief!” Leora said as Mrs. Pleet unlocked the door to her room. “What was all that about?”

“
That
was about one Mrs. J. B. Rutherford, that’s what. The woman thinks she owns this town and tries to run everyone in it. Most folks are too afraid to say anything because
Mr.
J. B. Rutherford owns the bank.”

“What about the two women with her?”

“Mrs. Farber and Mrs. Stevens? They only follow Mrs. Rutherford because their husbands owe the bank money. It’s their way of staying in the bank’s good graces. I would think paying their loans would do as well.”

“I hate to admit this,” Leora said, “but she was rather frightening.”

“ ‘Rather’? Go ahead and say it, dear – the woman scares the wadding out of most folks! I’ve learned to deal with her over the years, but she’s a pistol to handle, especially if you’re new in town.”

“A pistol, eh? Has anyone pulled her trigger?”

Mrs. Pleet laughed at her joke. “No, but I’m sure a few wanted to pull the triggers of their own guns.” She started to fluff a pillow. “Pointed at her, of course.”

Leora did her best not to laugh. But a snort escaped any way. “Mrs. Pleet, what was all that talk about the Reverend Drake having to marry?”

Mrs. Pleet ceased her fluffing and turned to her. “Oh, that. Well, you see, Mrs. Rutherford runs the church board and several important committees. She prides herself on being
oh so proper,
” she said with a flick of her wrist. “Anyway, some of the women on these committees and the church board decided our pastor wasn’t respectable enough, him being a single man and all, so they started to petition that he get a wife.”

“What? Are you serious?” Leora asked as she stood on the other side of the bed. “So am I to understand that I’m here because of a … a committee?”

“Well, that’s what started it, but I think Pastor Drake’s been thinking about getting himself a wife for quite a while. Maybe it just helped give him a little push.”

Leora sat on the bed. “A committee …”

“Now don’t go worrying yourself over it, it’s nothing. You’ll be good for Pastor Drake and you’re certainly not hard to look at. Tell me, dear, how do you do with public speaking?”

“Public speaking?! Why do you want to know that?”

“Because as soon as you’re married, Mrs. Rutherford and her friends downstairs are going to have you up in front of every committee in town.”

“Oh for Heaven’s sake,” Leora said as she rubbed one temple. “I never knew being a pastor’s wife was so … social.”

“Maybe not in other towns, but in this one … well, this town has a few quirks and we’d best leave it at that.”

“Mrs. Rutherford being one of them?”

Mrs. Pleet puckered her brow. “No, her type can be found in any town. But your future husband, on the other hand, is another matter.”

Three

Leora stood before a mirror and stared at her reflection. The pale-colored dress she wore had once been a beautiful pink, though now it was worn to a slightly rosy gray. One of her neighbors in Lawrence had given it to her several years before, and she used it for her Sunday frock. Today it would be her wedding dress.

Theron hadn’t asked if she had a wedding dress, possibly because she hadn’t seen him since lunch. After Mrs. Pleet left, she’d laid down for a while and before she knew it, was fast asleep. The kindly proprietress had brought her supper tray, along with the promised slice of cherry pie, then left her to her rest.

In the morning she brought Leora coffee and toast, explaining that a bride shouldn’t eat too much before her wedding, then offered to help her dress. But Leora didn’t need any help. This wasn’t some fancy gown she was wearing, far from it. She wondered what Theron would think. Would he like it? Probably not – she didn’t.

And neither did Mrs. Pleet, viewing it from the doorway. “Is
that
what you’re wearing for your wedding?”

“Come in, and yes, I’m afraid so. It’s all I have.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, dear. Maybe Pastor Drake will make up for it and buy you a pretty new dress as a wedding present.”

“If he can afford it. I’d be happy if he bought me the fabric to make one. Of course it wouldn’t look as nice as some of the ready-made dresses, or one from a dressmaker shop. I’m not the most handy with a needle and thread.”

“There’s a sewing machine in the parsonage,” Mrs. Pleet informed her. “I’m sure you could learn to use it. The pastor we had before Pastor Drake, well, he didn’t have a wife either. And the one before that, she passed away, poor thing. It belonged to her, and her husband left it when he moved on.”

“Are you sure Mrs. Rutherford didn’t run him off?” Leora asked. She tried to keep the sarcasm out of her voice, but it was hard to do.

Mrs. Pleet ignored her remark and held up a comb and brush. “I thought I might help you with your hair. You don’t mind, do you?”

“No – when it comes to my hair, I can use all the help I can get.” She glanced at her dress again. “I could probably use some help learning how to sew too.”

“Don’t you worry none, dear. I’ll help you with cooking too if you’d like. Folks come from all over and stay at my place just for my cooking, they say. After my poor Matthias passed on … good heavens, it’ll be six years come Tuesday. Anyway, I started cooking up a storm and haven’t stopped since. The old codger didn’t leave me much, so I rented out a few rooms, and with that and the cooking, I get by. Cooking, sewing, cleaning – all good skills to have. I’ll teach you everything I know.”

Leora turned to her. “Thank you, Mrs. Pleet, that’s very kind if you. I’ll take you up on that offer.”

“Fine,” she said with a smile. “Now let’s get you over to the church. I’m sure the others are there by now.”

“What others? I thought it was just going to be the three of us.”

“Three?”

“Yes, Theron told me you wanted to go, and I thought it would be a good idea, in case we need another witness.”

“Well, I assume Reverend Wingate’s wife Lydia would act as witness. No, I’m talking about the others.”

Leora felt the first prick of panic. “Who exactly are these others?”

“You’re not going to like this,” Mrs. Pleet said. “But Mrs. Rutherford invited folks from some of the different committees to attend your wedding.”

“What? Committees again? Which committees?”

“Let’s see … there’s the church board, such as it is. Then the Garden Committee, the Education Committee, the Ladies’ Society for Godly Living …”

“Godly living?” Leora asked in shock. “Since when does a town need a Ladies’ Society for Godly Living?”

“If you ask me, it’s the only decent committee in Nevada City. Some lady started it up years ago and it almost stopped as quick as it started. It was a miracle it didn’t and suddenly thrived the way it did.”

“What exactly does a Ladies’ Society for Godly Living do?” Leora asked, still getting over the shock that her wedding was going to be invaded by Mrs. Rutherford and Lord only knew who else.

“Pray, mostly. And let me tell you, when the gambling house came to town during the Gold Rush, they prayed and prayed for that place to be shut down.”

“What happened?” Leora asked.

“Their prayers were answered. That den of iniquity burned to the ground, and the ladies whose husbands frequented it were finally home at night. It was glorious!”

“You were there?”

“Of course, dear – I was head of the committee back then! Now sit yourself down and we’ll see to your hair.”

* * *

Mrs. Rutherford and company (and a large company it was) sat in the first several pews on both sides of the church. Leora thought she’d die when she first saw them, but then noticed they weren’t even paying attention to her. No, their eyes were fixed on something else entirely – the Rev. Mark Wingate’s wife.

She’d met her in Theron’s office not ten minutes ago, and yes, she herself stared at Lydia Wingate for a moment before she collected her senses and moved on to other matters, like her wedding. She supposed if she wasn’t getting married that day she might have asked Theron a question or two.

But as it was, the Rev. Wingate filled in the details himself. “Lydia was
my
mail-order bride. We married back in 1870, and I’ve never regretted it a moment back. If it hadn’t been for Brother Bedford, God rest his soul, sending away for her, we’d never have met.”

But the late Reverend Obadiah Bedford hadn’t been the only one calling for then-Pastor Wingate to marry. Leaders of the California Annual Conference of the Methodist Episcopal Church had decided he should take a wife; Bedford was only acting on their bidding. Of course, none of them had expected that the woman they’d sent away for would be a Negress, a former house slave from Mississippi!

But to the surprise of all involved – including Mark and Lydia – they’d fallen in love, and Mark had convinced his superiors to let them wed. Just in time, as it turned out; the state of California had passed an “anti-miscegenation” law shortly after, which would have prevented it from happening. And it had cost Mark his pastoral circuit – the Conference had transferred him to teaching at their preparatory school in Napa.

But they both insisted it was worth the small sacrifice. Now they’d been together for twenty years, with a son (Mark’s stepson, actually – a distinction they simply referred to as “a long, sad story”) studying theology back East, and two teenage daughters at home in Napa. And they didn’t give two shakes what anyone else thought of it – they had God’s approval and the Conference’s, and nothing else mattered.

No wonder Mrs. Rutherford and her group stared.

“Ahem … Miss Mitchell?”

Leora turned to the Rev. Wingate. “Yes?”

“Are you ready?”

“Er … yes.”

“Then we’ll begin.” He turned to Theron and motioned for him to take his place at her side. There was no organ music, no wedding march. This was as simple as it got, except for the thirty or so people sitting in the pews behind them – none of which (except for Mrs. Pleet) had offered to help Leora prepare for this moment in any way. One would think they were there to watch a hanging, not a wedding.

Mrs. Pleet, however, had fetched some dried flowers from her attic and fashioned a small bouquet out of them. Leora had to be careful not to move the tiny bundle too much for fear the petals might disintegrate. But they’d held together so far, and she hoped they’d last until after the ceremony.

“Dearly beloved,” the Reverend Wingate began, “we are gathered together here in the sight of God and in the presence of these witnesses, to join together Leora Mitchell and Reverend Theron Drake in holy marriage; which is an honorable estate …”

Leora glanced at Lydia, who stood, a bemused look on her face as she eyed those in the pews. She tried to pay attention to what the Reverend Wingate was saying, but also wanted to turn around to see whom, or what, Mrs. Rutherford and her ensemble were looking at: Lydia Wingate, or Leora’s horrid dress?

“I require and charge you both, as you stand here in the presence of God, before whom the secrets of all hearts are disclosed …”

So this must have been what it was like for Lottie when she married Sam! How awful! Yet here she was, trying to keep from fidgeting and thinking of an excuse to turn and sneak a peek at the guests—no, that wasn’t what they were. Spectators? Yes, that was a better word. Guests, spectators, passers-by – it didn’t matter.

And as luck would have it, she soon didn’t need an excuse to look. “Ohhhh, the tragedy!” came a loud whisper. “Why is he marrying
that
girl?”

Taking that as her cue, Leora, then Theron, turned. The pews went silent, but every eye was now riveted on Leora’s dress. A few women put a hand to their mouth to stifle a gasp while others let their eyes drift back to Mrs. Wingate.

“Ahem,” the Rev. Wingate said to pull their attention back. “Theron Alexander Drake, will you have Leora Ann Mitchell to be your wife, to live together in the holy estate of matrimony? Do you promise to love her, comfort her, honor and keep her, in sickness and in health; and forsaking all others keep yourself only to her so long as you both shall live? If so, say ‘I do’.”

Someone behind them sneezed, then another began to cough and another, for whatever reason, said. “Ouch!”

Theron’s eyes narrowed. “I do!”

The Rev. Wingate looked just as perturbed, but continued. Now it was Leora’s turn and the pastor’s words hit her in a rush. She only caught part of what he’d said, as the noises behind them, though subtle, were still a distraction. She did manage to catch
husband-live together-holy state of matrimony
… good grief, no wonder Lottie had such a hard time during her vows. And she had much more important things on her mind at the time.

But was this any different? Who brings this many people to a wedding of two people no one knows? At least she didn’t know them. It bordered on ridiculous and she wondered what was going on. Did this Mrs. Rutherford
really
think she ran the church as well as the rest of the town? Or was Mrs. Pleet exaggerating?

“If so, say ‘I do’.”

Leora shook herself. “What?”

The Rev. Wingate stared at her with a tight smile. “If so, say ‘I do’,” he repeated with forced patience.

“Oh, yes,” she said and swallowed. “I do.”

“Well, that’s it then,” someone behind them muttered.

Leora stiffened and sensed Theron do the same. She heard the Rev. Wingate, after glaring at the latest naysayer, say a few more words, then before she knew it, “I now pronounce you husband and wife.” He said it with a happy smile, as if to challenge the throng behind them. “Brother Drake … you may kiss your bride.”

She sucked in a small breath. Kiss? She’d never been kissed. Theron was gazing at her with those piercing blue eyes, and for the first time she noticed the thick lock of dark hair that fell across his forehead. Her eyes fixed on his mouth as it quickly descended toward hers.

Then it happened – her first kiss! And though it was only a gentle brush of his lips on hers, she felt her knees grow a little weak and the tingly sensation from the day before encompass her whole body. Enough so, that when he lifted his lips from hers, she did the unthinkable.

She moaned.

Naturally, Mrs. Rutherford was the first to gasp, followed by a quick succession of whispers and assorted noises from the rest. At this point Leora didn’t care. What could they do? She and Theron were married.

“It is now my pleasure to present to you, Rev. and Mrs. Theron Drake,” Rev. Wingate said.

Theron and Leora turned to face Mrs. Rutherford and her followers. The church went silent. Some had sour expressions on their faces, Mrs. Rutherford’s the sourest. Others looked quite happy, while a few were checking their watches. One even had the audacity to stand up and clap, followed by Mrs. Pleet who did the same.

Mrs. Rutherford turned, glared at the traitor and the man quickly sat down. Mrs. Pleet didn’t.

So this is how it’s going to be,
Leora thought. Mrs. Rutherford and her cabal of followers didn’t approve of her. Well, they were just going to have to get over it. She was here, she was married and she wasn’t going anywhere.

She glanced at her new husband. Theron had locked eyes with Mrs. Rutherford, and she had a sudden image of two bulls locking horns. What was between them? What was their history? She knew so little about this man. Did he owe money to the bank? Mrs. Pleet did say that the ones that did, followed the woman around like dogs. But Theron didn’t seem the type, at least not from what she knew of him so far.

She glanced at Mrs. Wingate, who wore a satisfied smile on her face. Did she know something the others didn’t?

Theron squeezed her hand, then led her down the aisle and straight out the door. No one in the pews said a word and no one stood. Leora felt tears prick the back of her eyes. She shouldn’t let it bother her but it did.

Theron pulled her to the left and led her along a path that wound its way around the church. “Where are we going?” she asked.