The Courtship Of Izzy Mccree. Ruth Langan
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she climbed down, the stranger, in a courtly gesture, doffed his hat and made a slight bow. “Miss McCree, I understand you’ve come to marry this fine gentleman. This is indeed an honor. I am the Reverend Jonathon Carstairs. At your service.”
She took a step back, evading the stench of his breath. The reverend was as drunk as a skunk. And as aromatic.
She glanced at Matt. “I think…”
“You’re right. Come along, children.” He caught her hand and dragged her along, all the while holding up the preacher, while the rest of the children scrambled out of the wagon and trailed behind. “The lady thinks we should get this over quickly.”
“My thoughts exactly,” Carstairs said as he coughed, hacked, then spat in the dirt. “The night looms ahead and I still have a great many…” He glanced at Izzy and the children before finishing lamely, “Hymns to sing.”
He climbed the steps and pushed open the door to the meeting hall. After fumbling through a drawer, he came up with a dog-eared book. Then a thought occurred. “You’ll need a witness.”
“What about the children?” Izzy asked.
“How old are you, boy?” the preacher asked Aaron.
“Almost fifteen,” he replied.
“To make it legal, we need an adult,” Reverend Carstairs announced.
Matt headed for the door. “I’ll be right back.”
Within minutes he returned with the man Izzy had seen in the general store. “Miss McCree, this is Webster Sutton. Web, this is Isabella McCree, my…intended.”
Now Izzy understood why Sutton had kept his hands hidden beneath his apron. His left hand was missing, and his shirtsleeve hung limply over a bony wrist.
Webster offered his right hand to Izzy, looking her up and down as he did. “Ma’am. Like I said, Matt, I can’t spare much time. The wife’s ailing. How do, Aaron, Benjamin, Clement, Del.”
Before the children could acknowledge his greeting, the preacher said abruptly, “Time’s a-wasting. Let’s get started.” He was leaning heavily on a wooden stand that held a hymnal, and he probably would have toppled forward without its support. “Did you two come here of your own free will?”
Izzy and Matt avoided each other’s eyes as they nodded.
“Will you, Matt…” He squinted. “What’s your given name?”
“Matthew Jamison Prescott.”
“Will you, Matthew Jamison Prescott, take this woman for better or worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, forsaking all others, until death do you part?”
Matt’s tone was hoarse. “I will.”
“And will you, Isabella McCree, take this man for better or worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, forsaking all others, until death do you part?”
Izzy chewed her lip. “I will.”
The preacher glanced at Matt. “Did you bring a ring?”
Izzy felt the heat of embarrassment color her cheeks. But to her amazement, Matt reached into his pocket and withdrew a small gold band.
“You may place the ring on her finger, Matt.”
Matt did as he was told.
“Now repeat after me. With this ring I thee wed.”
Matt’s voice was low and deep, more nearly resembling a growl as he repeated the words.
“I pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss your bride.”
At the same moment that Matt bent forward, Izzy stepped back. The thought of kissing him for the first time in front of his wide-eyed children, a drunken preacher and an impatient shopkeeper had her face flaming.
To cover the awkward moment, Matt shook hands with Webster Sutton and Jonathon Carstairs, slipping the preacher a dollar as he accepted a signed document. Then he caught Izzy’s hand and led her and the children outside.
“Well.” He shoved his hands into his pockets to keep from touching her. “I thought I’d pick up some supplies before we leave. Do you need anything?”
She shook her head and walked along, struggling to keep up with his impatient strides. “I’ll go inside with you, though.”
“We can’t spare much time.” He waited for her to precede him through the open doorway.
Inside he gave Webster Sutton a list of supplies, then he and the children helped load them into the back of the wagon. There were sacks of flour and sugar, a pouch of bullets, another pouch of tobacco and a packet of coffee beans.
Matt came up behind Izzy, who was standing at the counter staring at the jar of candy sticks. “Would you like one?”
“Oh, no.” She glanced away. “I was just thinking about the children.”
“Wouldn’t want to spoil them,” he muttered.
“No. Of course not.” She swallowed her disappointment and turned away, heading toward the wagon, where the children had already settled.
A few minutes later Matt shook Webster’s hand before walking out. He climbed up to the wagon seat and flicked the reins. The team started up with a jolt. And within minutes, the town of Sutton’s Station was left in their dust.
When they were once again climbing toward their mountain cabin, Matt reached casually into his pocket and withdrew a handful of candy sticks.
The children’s eyes went wide with surprise and pleasure.
“Miss Mc—” He cleared his throat and started over. “Isabella wanted you to have something to celebrate our wedding,” he said as he passed the candy around.
Izzy experienced a jolt of pleasure so unexpected she had to stare hard at her hands to keep from clapping them together in delight. She had wanted so desperately to erase the jeers and insults the children had endured. And now, at least for a few minutes, they would know only sheer joy.
“Ooh.” There were long sighs and exclamations as the children accepted the special treats and popped them into their mouths.
Matt handed one to Izzy. “I thought you might like one, too.”
“Thank you.” She took a long, slow taste. “Peppermint. It’s my favorite. How did you know?”
He seemed suddenly pleased with himself. “I didn’t know. I had to guess. I just liked the color.”
“Did you get one for yourself?”
He shook his head. “But if you don’t mind, I’ll have a smoke.”
He lifted the cigar from his pocket, studying it a moment. Back at the store, he had debated the expense of such luxuries. Now, when he saw the happiness in his children’s eyes, not to mention his new bride’s, it seemed the perfect touch.
He scratched the end of a match, holding the flame to the tip. Breathing deeply, he emitted a stream of smoke that curled around his head before dissipating into the air.
“Miss McCree, now that you’re married to Pa, what should we call you?” Del asked from the back of the wagon.
“How about my given name, Isabella?”
“Isabella.” Del managed the word around the sticky candy, since she couldn’t bear to take it out even for a moment. “It sounds…musical.”
“If you’d rather not…”
“Oh, no. It’s pretty. I like it,” the little girl assured her. “It’s just so fancy. But it sure does suit a fancy lady like you.”
As the team ate up the miles, Izzy was left to ponder what she had