The Bride Wore Spurs. Janet Dean
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“Sounds good.”
She sighed. “Papa insists on inviting half the town and hosting a barbecue afterward.”
“He doesn’t want his illness to cheat you out of a pretty wedding. Most women want that.”
Hannah had been thirteen when she and Papa attended Matt and Amy’s wedding, a grand affair. Hannah recalled the glow on their faces as they’d recited their vows. After such a love match, Hannah found Matt’s acceptance of a marriage of convenience baffling. Perhaps he’d understood that no one could take Amy’s place in his affection and wanted companionship.
She plucked at her skirts. “What he doesn’t realize, and I can’t tell him, is I can’t abide the thought of putting on a charade. We aren’t an ordinary couple.”
“True, but a private wedding might set tongues a-waggin’.”
“I suppose you’re right, but a party seems...deceptive.”
“People marry for many reasons, Hannah.” His gaze locked with hers. “If we’re committed to one another, then our wedding won’t be a charade. I believe we’ll be as happy as we choose to be. That’s what I want. Do you?”
As she looked into those dark orbs that penetrated her soul, she vowed to do everything in her power to make the marriage work. “Yes,” she said softly.
A smile curved the corners of his mouth. “God will bless us, help us find our way.”
He took her hand in his. At that moment, the sense of connection between them felt as meaningful as the vows they’d speak on Thursday.
Matt released her hand. “I told my family our decision to wed.”
“What did they say?” Hannah asked, her heart in her throat.
“They were...surprised, at first.” He shot her an impish grin. “But then, no more than I was.”
“Did you tell them I did the proposing?”
“Nope, that’s our little secret.”
“What did they say?”
“They think you’re a lovely young woman and wish us happiness.”
Had Matt omitted much of his family’s reaction? What had they really said? Perhaps she was better off not knowing. She’d have to get accustomed to the startled reactions of others, those who’d question their sudden nuptials.
On Main Street, Matt pulled up in front of Miss Carmichael’s shop, rounded the buggy, then placed his hands around her waist. As she rested her palms on his shoulders and he lifted her down, she stared into warm cocoa eyes, gentle, kind, appealing. Too appealing. She gathered her package, keeping her eyes anywhere except on him.
“I’ll stop at the church and ask Pastor Cummings to perform the ceremony. After that I’ve got business at the bank. What do you say we meet at the Calico Café at noon?”
“That should give me time to visit Leah.”
“We won’t leave town until you’re ready,” he said, then loped up the street to set the wedding plans in motion.
An urge to call him back, to renege on the proposal lurched through her. Foolishness. If she’d had another choice, she’d have taken it.
She threw back her shoulders and stepped inside the shop, in actuality, Miss Carmichael’s parlor. Overhead a tiny bell jingled. Cases and tables held gloves, hats, bolts of fabric, and baskets of feathers, silk flowers and papier-mâché fruit, the tools of her trade.
Belinda Carmichael bustled through a curtain separating the shop from her private quarters. Behind wire-rim glasses, the spinster’s hazel eyes missed nothing. Nor, for that matter, did her ears. Tall, thin, as prim and proper as a starched collar, Belinda gloried in her role as town gossip. No doubt she would gossip about the suddenness of her and Matt’s marriage. Still, Hannah wouldn’t trust Mama’s dress to anyone else.
“Good morning, Miss Parrish. I heard you were back from Charleston.” She glanced at the package in Hannah’s hands. “What can I do for you?”
Hannah untied the string and wrapping, revealing her mother’s wedding dress, an off-white silk confection with a row of pleats edged with lace at the hem, at the flared sleeves and on the draped overskirt.
“I’d like you to alter this dress to fit me.”
Miss Carmichael’s fingers skimmed over the bodice that tapered to a point below the waist. “The stitching is impeccable. Let’s see what needs to be done.”
She guided Hannah behind a screen and helped her change, then turned Hannah around, studying the fit. “I’ll need to add length. If I trim the sleeves and hem with the matching lace on this overskirt, no one would suspect the additions aren’t part of the original dress.”
Hannah agreed the solution would be perfect. She skimmed her palms over the overskirt, proud to wear this lovely dress. If only she were marrying a man she loved. She tamped down the thought. Love didn’t matter. The Lazy P did.
The bell over the door danced a cheery tune. A second customer entered the shop. “Be right with you,” Miss Carmichael called.
“No hurry.” The newcomer removed her hatpins, then her hat, obviously eager to try on one of Miss Carmichael’s creations.
Miss Carmichael leaned in. “I’m curious, Miss Parrish. Why are you having this dress altered? Surely your relations in Charleston didn’t give you their hand-me-downs.” Miss Carmichael’s tone oozed sympathy. “You might want to consider having something new made. I have several beautiful fabrics that would compliment your coloring.”
“Thank you, but I came back with a trunk full of dresses, more than I’ll ever wear.”
The seamstress’s expression soured. “Then why alter this one?” Her eyes widened. “Unless you intend to wear it for sentimental reasons, like at your wedding.” She smirked. “How silly of me. You have no beau.” She raised a brow. “Unless you met someone in Charleston.”
No point in avoiding the truth. Papa said to spread the word about the wedding, no better way than to tell the seamstress. Hannah steeled herself for Miss Carmichael’s reaction. “This is my mother’s wedding dress,” she said. “I want to wear it at my wedding Thursday. You won’t have any difficulty getting the alterations finished by then, will you?”
Hazel eyes gleaming, Miss Carmichael clapped her hands. “For a wedding, it’ll be my priority! Who are you marrying?”
“Matt Walker.”
“Matt Walker! From what I hear, he’s a most elusive catch.” Her shrewd beady eyes resembled a predator moving in for the kill. “You’ve only been home a few days,” she said. “Isn’t this wedding rather sudden?”
Sudden hardly described it.
“To marry that quickly, why, you must’ve fallen in love at first sight.” She tittered. “Not really first sight, of course, but first sight since your return.” Her hands fluttered like tiny birds in flight. “How romantic!”
Heat flooded Hannah’s cheeks. Love at first sight had not been the reason for the marriage. More like, at first sight of her ailing father. At first sight of her foreman’s refusal to follow orders. At first sight of Papa’s worry about her future.
Harsh realities had led her to propose, not romance, not affection for the man. Still, she’d play the role of blissful bride. She owed Matt that much. “Isn’t it exciting? Matt’s a very persuasive man.”
Miss Carmichael’s gaze sharpened. Perhaps the waver of Hannah’s smile or the wobble in her voice had raised the seamstress’s suspicions. Thankfully, the older woman didn’t pursue the topic, no doubt unwilling to risk a paying customer’s ire. After all, the seamstress had to make her own way.
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