St. Louis, Missouri, 1872
Rebecca Wilson faced Reverend Fred McLain,
the man she called Uncle Fred when they weren’t at church. “I hoped you’d have
an answer,” she twisted her handkerchief in her hands, “as if you could pull up
a solution like a magician would pull a rabbit from his hat.”
From across his desk in the small
parsonage office, the kindly minister offered a smile. “You’d be a good wife
for any man, Rebecca. And, Arthur Downum might even make a good spouse for some
woman but it’s a sure thing he isn’t right for you.”
“Bradley controls so many people in town
that I can trust only a few people. I’ve tried and tried yet I can’t think of a
way out of this. He says as my guardian he can force me to wed Art and has
given me a week to, as he put it, ‘come to my senses’. If I refuse, he’ll have
me committed to an asylum.”
Light coming in the window created
patches of sunlight framed by strips of shadow. The scene reminded her of bars
on a window. A shiver raced up her spine.
The minister’s eyes help sympathy. “I
don’t doubt Bradley would carry out his threat. I’ve heard of that very thing
happening many times.” He tapped his fingers on his desk. “Let me think for a
couple of minutes, Rebecca.”
She’d twisted her handkerchief until the
fabric was hardly recognizable as this morning’s fresh linen. “I won’t marry
Bradley’s odious friend. My stepbrother thinks Arthur is attracted to me but
I’m sure he only wants my dowry. I wouldn’t want him anyway. Arthur hangs about
at Bradley’s saloon for too many hours every day.”
For a few more moments, Uncle Fred tugged
at his chin whiskers. “I may have a way out of your dilemma, that is, if you’re
willing to trust my judgment.”
She leaned forward to rest her hands on
the desk. “Of course I do—that’s why I’ve sought your advice. You were Papa’s
best friend and you were a friend to Mama even after she married Charles
Rhinehart. You’ve been like a trusted uncle to me. What’s your idea?”
“You’ve heard me mention my nephew,
Dalton Sterling, son of my only sister. He writes me frequently and has
mentioned how lonely he is. He’s asked me to come live with him. Frankly, I’d
hoped to entice him here so he could meet you, but he’s a rancher and has
trouble getting away.”
She wanted to urge him not to let his
thoughts wander, as he often did. “Yes, I know you’re quite fond of him but
what has that to do with my problem?”
“We could arrange a proxy marriage right
here so you’d already be married to Dalton before you leave St. Louis.”
She frowned and shook her head slowly. “I
don’t know what a proxy marriage is.”
“Someone would stand in for Dalton here,
and I’d perform the wedding. At the same time or as near as possible, someone
would stand in for you at a ceremony with Dalton in Montana.”
She probably gaped at him. She’d never
heard of a proxy marriage. Who could dream up with such an odd arrangement?
“My goodness, would Dalton agree? Could
that even be legal?”
Uncle Fred smiled at her as if the
problem was solved. “I’m sure he would agree and it’s a perfectly legal
arrangement. I couldn’t wish him a better partner in life than you.”
She mulled over the idea. Move to
Montana where she knew no one? At the same time, she’d have a fresh start away
from her stepbrother and his obnoxious friends. Bradley couldn’t stop her
because she’d already be married when he learned of the marriage.
Marry a stranger? That was the difficult
part of the plan to accept. She’d heard about Dalton so often from Uncle Fred
that she felt she almost knew the man. But, what would Dalton think?
“If your nephew would agree, this could
be the way out I need. How soon can we have this proxy marriage?”
“Right away. Gather the things you plan
to take with you. I don’t know how you’ll manage that part of the plan. You’re
a clever woman and I’m confident you’ll succeed there.”
“I’d like to leave tomorrow evening
while Bradley is at work. Do you have an idea how much the fare is? I doubt I
can claim my funds until Dalton can go to the bank with me. But, if I don’t
have enough now, I’ll sell something.”
Uncle Fred held up a staying hand. “I’ll
buy your ticket as my wedding gift to you and Dalton.”
“That’s too generous but I’ll accept and
repay you after I get to Montana and obtain the funds from my dowry trust. I’d
be too afraid to claim them here in case someone at the bank told my
stepbrother. I’d even be afraid to send a telegram from here. I’m sure the man
at the telegraph office reports to Bradley.”
“From what I’ve heard, I fear you’re
right.”
Uncle Fred stood. “Mrs. Hammond and Mrs.
Bowman are arranging flowers in the sanctuary. If you wish to set this plan in
motion, we can go now and they can witness your marriage. Hmm, I see Petey
Price working in the cemetery. He can stand in for Dalton.”
She considered herself beside
simple-minded Petey at the altar. In spite of her worry, she laughed as she
took Uncle Fred’s arm. “As long as I wouldn’t be married to Petey. Although, now
that I think about it, a simple man like Petey would be nicer than Arthur Downum.”
The minister patted her hand where it
rested on his arm. “I doubt he’ll realize what’s happened. Shall we set this plan
in motion?”
“Yes, please. Thank you, Uncle Fred.”
Both ladies were excited when they
learned of the ceremony. While Uncle Fred summoned Petey, Francis Bowman and
Doris Hammond took a few of the altar flowers and fashioned a small bouquet.
Francis handed it to her. “Every bride
needs a bouquet.”
Doris dabbed a handkerchief to her eyes.
“If only your mother were here to see what a lovely bride you are.”
Rebecca held the flowers to her nose and
inhaled the fragrances of roses, honeysuckle, and daisies. “I believe Mama is
looking down at us and knows what’s happening. She’ll love that her two best
friends are witnessing my marriage.”
***
Ten days later, Rebecca’s backside was
sore from the stagecoach’s jostling. A gust of dust blew in through the window
and added another coat of grime to her clothes and skin. She had given up
fighting the wind and sand.
At least the sky overhead was a brilliant
blue and the snow-capped mountains in the distance were picturesque. In spite
of the cheerful view, she was beyond tired of the stage. In fact, she didn’t
remember being this exhausted—ever.
She reread her proof of marriage once
more as the stage bounced along the rutted road. The paper was becoming wrinkled
from her frequent handling. Mrs. Dalton Sterling.
She mentally repeated the name once more as she carefully rolled the
certificate and returned it to her valise.
Uncle Fred had shown her photos of
Dalton, who was a handsome man. The minister had also shared a couple of
Dalton’s letters about life on the ranch. She was relieved there would be
chickens for eggs and cows for milk. They would make cooking much easier.
The stage slowed and the driver called,
“Coming into Sweet Springs.”
Rebecca brushed her gloved hands down the
skirt of her tan traveling suit then adjusted her hat. Inside her gloves, her
hands were clammy. She wondered if she appeared as disheveled as she felt.
She hadn’t cinched her corset tight yet
she could hardly breathe. Her mouth was as dry as the dust blowing in the
window. The flock of butterflies circling in her stomach created nausea.
Would Dalton Sterling be on hand to meet
her? Uncle Fred had said this was a busy time for ranchers. As she emerged from
the stage, she scanned the town to find it resembled many the stage had
traveled through.
Some buildings were painted while others
were bare boards. Many stores had overhangs to protect shoppers from rain and
sun. A wooden walk traversed the business area.
Streets were unpaved and would be a
morass in wet weather. This morning was dry and the breeze carried whirls of
dust down the road that passed for a main street. People of all descriptions
went about their business.
Standing in front of the Sweet Springs Mercantile,
she surveyed the people in view. None was a tall, handsome man who resembled
Dalton’s photos. While her trunks were being unloaded, she spotted a man with a
badge.
“Excuse me, Sheriff. I’m Mrs. Dalton Sterling
and I wonder if you know if he’s in town today?” Her voice came out in a higher
pitch than usual.
Surprised showed on the man’s face and
he reared back to stare at her. “Kevin Scott’s the name. Didn’t realize Sterling
had married. None of my business, of course.”
He shifted from one foot to the other. “I
haven’t seen him in a couple of weeks. Busy time for ranchers rounding up and
branding spring calves.”
She cleared her throat. “So I’d been
told by his uncle. How would I go about hiring someone to drive me and my
luggage to his ranch?”
Sheriff Scott put his fingers to his
mouth and emitted a loud whistle. He gestured to a couple of young men who stood
by a wagon. “James, John? This lady needs you to drive her to Dalton Sterling’s
ranch. You available?”
The lad who looked the oldest jogged
over. “Yes, sir, Sheriff.”
The lawman nodded to Rebecca. “Mrs.
Dalton Sterling, this is James Heflin and that’s his brother John by the wagon.
They’re dependable.”
“I appreciate your help, Sheriff.” She
turned to the younger man. “Mr. Heflin, what will you charge and how long will
the drive take?”
He named a reasonable amount. “In a
wagon, the drive’s a little over an hour. Dalton don’t come into town very
often, so if there’s somethin’ you need, you’d better get it from the
Mercantile ’fore we leave.”
“That’s a good suggestion. I imagine
I’ll need more staples but I won’t take long. You can load my trunks and valises
in your wagon while I shop.”
James scratched his jaw. “Are all those
trunks yours? All three of them?”
“And the two valises. I was fortunate
enough to bring some of the things my mother and grandmothers left me.” She
imagined her stepbrother was angry about that, but the pieces were left to her,
not him. Leaving the Heflin men to load the wagon, she hurried into the
Mercantile.
The man behind the counter had a face
that showed laugh lines. His brown hair was thinning and he wore spectacles.
“Good morning, ma’am.”
After she returned his greeting, she
gathered coffee, tea, sugar, salt, oatmeal, lard, raisins, canned peaches, and
items she thought a bachelor might not keep on hand, such as spices. When she
laid her things on the counter, she nodded to the flour sacks.
“I’ll need a sack of flour. The one with
the blue flowers on it, please.”
“A popular design. Does this go on your
account, Mrs…”
“Mrs. Dalton Sterling, but I’ll pay for
these today.”
The man’s smile widened. “Well, I’ll be
doggone, I didn’t realize he was married. I’m Vern Jordan. Real pleased to meet
you, Mrs. Sterling.” He stacked all but the flour into two boxes and totaled up
the charge.
Rebecca paid and had enough left to cover
the Heflin brothers’ fee. After that, she’d be down to small change until she
could take the marriage certificate to the bank. Once the bank transferred her
inheritance she’d have enough to purchase whatever she needed.
Should she have had her purchases added
to Dalton’s account? Since he hadn’t met her yet, she would have believed that
was taking advantage. Besides, paying gave her a sense she was in control. She
gave thanks Uncle Fred had insisted she take extra cash from him.
Money had disappeared faster than she
had dreamed. She hadn’t even eaten much on the train. Food on the stage stops
from Cheyenne had been pitiful. Thankfully, a kind woman on the train had
warned her to stock up before she boarded the stage. The last apple and chunk
of cheese had served as supper last night.
John Heflin came into the store. “You
can go on to the wagon, ma’am. James and I’ll get your things for you.”
The storekeeper called, “Oh, Mrs. Sterling?
There’s a telegram here waiting for your husband to come in for his mail. I
reckon you could take both to him.”
Her breath hitched in her chest. “A-A
telegram? Aren’t those delivered when they arrive?”
“Well, ma’am, in town they are but not
to the ranches. Places are so spread out it takes a man too long. This one came
right after Mr. Sterling had been here for supplies.”
Oh, no, that must be the one from Uncle
Fred. Her legs barely supported her from sinking to the floor. Her throat
closed and she thought she might be sick.
That meant Dalton couldn’t meet her
because he didn’t know she was arriving. He hadn’t completed the proxy
marriage. Where did that leave her?
Like a sleepwalker she returned to the counter
and accepted the wire and Dalton’s mail. She managed a weak smile and mumbled,
“Thank you, Mr. Jordan.”
James Heflin carried the heaviest box
and held open the Mercantile’s door.
John hefted the sack of flour on one
shoulder and carried the smaller box with his other arm. “After you, ma’am.”
She stumbled out toward the wagon. “I’d
better put the mail in one of my valises so I won’t lose anything.” Like the
telegram that didn’t get delivered. Who would have dreamed the wire never
reached Dalton?
There was nothing for her to do but plow
ahead as if the plan was working. If Dalton was as nice as his uncle claimed,
he would be honorable and marry her right away. She prayed he would be and
wouldn’t send her back to St. Louis—or leave her stranded in town.