Page 4 of Val (Wild Rose Ridge #1)

Chapter Three

Mrs. Schulte adjusted her lace cuffs, settling herself at the head of the table as though she owned both hotel and gathering alike. “Now then,” she began, her voice carrying with the authority of a church bell. “I’m here to acquaint you with the gentlemen of our town, as it falls to me to do so.”

Val folded her hands in her lap, lips pressed thin.

Of course it did. Her eyes flicked to the door leading to the kitchen.

The smell of one of the brides’ baking still lingered in the air.

Val was hungry, and she hoped her belly didn’t let out a loud rumble.

Clara had gone through a lot of trouble to bake cookies for their tea, and Val wanted one. Or ten…

“First,” Mrs. Schulte announced, “Deputy Sheriff James Garrison. A most upstanding young man. A widower, steady position, fine home on the edge of town. Why, he is precisely the sort of match a community may depend upon. His daughter will surely benefit from the stabilizing influence of a good wife.”

Stabilizing influence? Val’s brows arched. Or someone to do the washing up while the deputy kept the law? Hmmm. It was a good thing Augusta, Margaret, and Josie weren’t here.

She could almost hear Augusta’s firm tone: A home needs order, Valentine, and that child will need it most of all.

Margaret would sigh, dreamy as ever. A widower! How tragic… and romantic!

And Josie would scoff. Romantic? Hah. Sounds more like he needs a governess than a bride.

Val frowned. Had Deputy Garrison mentioned the child to Bernadette in a later letter? Josie was handling that particular contract. Knowing Josie, she’d probably forgotten to tell Val or Bernadette.

Val pinched the bridge of her nose as Mrs. Schulte prattled on.

A moment later, her gaze drifted across the room.

There stood Preacher Sutton, shoulders squared, gray eyes calm as ever.

He hadn’t spoken, so she had no idea how long he’d been there.

Val was sure his very presence could hush a room more than Mrs. Schulte’s voice ever could.

Heat prickled her cheeks, and she dragged her attention back to the list of grooms on the table.

“Next, Mr. Jasper Rutledge,” Mrs. Schulte declared with a flourish.

“Of the Rutledge family, as you no doubt have heard. Solid miners, longstanding citizens. A match with such a name brings both stability and respect. And, as you may know, he ministers to the logging camps as a preacher. A most worthy calling.”

Val nodded dutifully, though her thoughts ran elsewhere. After all, respect didn’t cook supper or keep a wife warm when winter blew through. She could almost hear the sisters chiming in from across the miles.

Augusta’s prim reminder: But the Rutledges are very fine people.

Margaret’s dreamy sigh: I can already see the happy couple walking arm in arm.

And Josie’s inevitable quip: Arm in a sling, more like, once she finds out what coal dust does to laundry.

Val squeezed her eyes shut. Good grief. Chicago was halfway across the country, yet the sisters would not leave her alone! Maybe she was more worried about the trouble they could stir up in her absence than she realized. But could she help it if she was the backbone of the company?

A low, strained chuckle slipped from Val before she could stop it, drawing Mrs. Schulte’s sharp gaze. Val smoothed her skirt, murmuring something about a tickle in her throat.

“Mr. Robert Cameron,” Mrs. Schulte pressed on, clearly unwilling to lose her rhythm. “A gentleman farmer and investor, with acres of prime land. An excellent provider, and a man of refinement besides.”

Val’s mind strayed again. Refined, perhaps, but not half so arresting as the quiet preacher across the room. He caught her glance, just for a heartbeat, and the corner of his mouth tipped as though he guessed her thoughts. Val snapped her gaze back to Mrs. Schulte, ears hot.

“Mr. Tucker Montgomery,” Mrs. Schulte continued. “A supervisor in the logging camps. Sturdy, hardworking, and,” she sniffed delicately. “Well able to provide for a family.”

Sturdy? Val bit back a smile. She’d seen a photograph of the man. He looked as broad as one of his own pine logs. And tall, too.

Augusta’s voice chimed, You mustn’t make faces, Valentine.

Egad, was she making a face? “Will the lot of you shut up!” she hissed under her breath.

Mrs. Schulte stared at her, wide-eyed. “I beg your pardon?”

Preacher Sutton joined them. “Are you not well, Miss O’Malley?”

“Hmm?” she chimed as she took in Mrs. Schulte’s look of indignation, then the preacher’s warm concern.

“Um, er… yes. Oh yes. I’m fit as a fiddle.

Just a slip of the tongue, as I was thinking of something else.

” She smiled at Mrs. Schulte. “Please forgive me. And to let you know, I’m well aware of the grooms. I’ve read some of their letters to the brides after all. ”

“That may be true,” Mrs. Schulte said, her smile as thin as paper. “But you don’t know them the way we do. Now, Sheriff Amos Goodwin. A man of high station. His bride will find herself in a most respectable household, looked upon with admiration.”

Val fought back a huff. Admiration didn’t always keep bread on the table, but she’d spent enough time with these brides to know respectability could matter as much as affection.

“And finally, Mr. Jeremy Stafford,” Mrs. Schulte concluded. “A carpenter. Solid, industrious, dependable.”

There was a beat of silence. Val realized she was staring again at the preacher. She pondered if his hands, calm and folded now, looked as capable with tools as Mr. Stafford’s did with wood. She shook herself, scolding inwardly.

Mrs. Schulte gave a satisfied nod, as though she’d arranged each match herself. Maybe she did. “There, Miss O’Malley. You are now better acquainted with our fine gentlemen. I trust you will remember them all.”

Val inclined her head, lips curving despite herself. “Oh, I’ll remember,” she murmured. Her gaze slid once more to the man at the edge of the room. Goodness gracious, did the woman not hear her earlier? It’s not as though she’d stepped off the Merry Jo bereft of any information on the grooms.

Val smiled. “My turn.”

Mrs. Schulte arched an eyebrow. “Whatever do you mean?”

“As you’ve pointed out, you and your friends are acquainted with these gentlemen. Well, I’m acquainted with their brides.”

“Oh, well, I should hope so,” Mrs. Schulte huffed. “Seeing as how you brought them here.”

“Then you’ll do me the honor of allowing me to give you a little information on each one?” Val heard the challenge in her voice and chanced a look at Preacher Sutton. Was he smiling?

“Yes, I suppose you’re right,” Mrs. Schulte said, her tone indulgent and just a shade wary. “Very well, what can you tell me about the young ladies that I don’t already know?”

Val folded her hands in her lap and smiled sweetly.

“First off, there’s Bernadette,” she began.

“You’ll recall she’s matched to Deputy Garrison.

She’s clever, practical, and always well dressed.

The sort of woman who keeps a tidy home and carries herself with dignity.

His household will certainly gain polish with her at its head.

She’s travelled here with her friend and companion, Ella Weaver.

Miss Weaver hopes to open a dressmaker’s shop in town. ”

Val smoothed her skirts. She’d used Ella as an aside and was surprised none of them said anything about the pretty blonde seamstress. Perhaps they were more concerned about Bernadette stepping into motherhood. She would shine as a wife, no doubt, but Val wasn’t so sure she’d shine as a mother.

“Elizabeth Ann,” she continued. “Is a devout and thoughtful young woman. Her match, Mr. Jasper Rutledge, may bring her stability, but she’ll bring him something just as valuable.

Encouragement in his preaching and a warm heart for others.

She’s the kind to lift a man’s spirit as well as his supper table. ”

Val’s mouth twitched, but she pressed on. Part of her wanted to run back to the Merry Jo and hop aboard, but she had to see these weddings through.

“Cornelia is a schoolteacher. A sensible, educated woman, steady as they come. Mr. Montgomery will find she’s as sturdy in her convictions as he is in the forests. She’ll manage his household just fine.”

Val’s lips quivered into a smile she quickly hid. None of the three sisters’ voices popped into her head that time. Land sakes, she had to stop thinking about what might be happening in Chicago and concentrate on her job.

“Elinore Cantrell,” she went on. “Has carried more responsibility than most. She’s cared for her siblings for years, and there’s a resilience in her that money can’t buy. Mr. Cameron may boast land and investments, but Elinore brings a wealth of her own. The kind measured in character, not coin.”

Mrs. Schulte sniffed but did not argue.

“Clara Miller is a baker,” Val said, her tone warming. “She fills a room with the scent of fresh bread and cinnamon rolls, and she fills a heart with the comfort of home. Sheriff Goodwin may have the admiration of the town, but Clara will give him something better: contentment at his own table.”

“And Marianne Foster,” Val ground out. Good grief, what was wrong with her?

Her imaginary dialogue from her employers had stopped.

So why did she feel… hmm, frustrated? Was it the fact she’d have to spend extra time here until she could leave?

She should have her charges married off within the next two weeks at most. But it would be another two weeks before the Merry Jo showed up again and she could leave.

She took in Mrs. Schulte’s frown, smiled and continued. “Um, Marianne is a milliner. Her hats are neat as her habits, and she has an eye for detail. Mr. Stafford will find her dependable and resourceful, every bit as steady as the beams he shapes from wood. She’ll make him a fine partner.”

Val folded her hands again, her chin tilting with pride. “So you see, Mrs. Schulte, you may know the men, but I know the women. And together, they might just make a life.”

Silence descended over them a moment before Mrs. Schulte harrumphed softly. “Well. We shall see. So long as everyone follows the rules, I’m sure there will be six happy unions in no time. Starting with the two tomorrow.”

Val hid her smile and, against her will, glanced once more toward the preacher. He was watching her with that steady, unreadable gaze. The corner of his mouth lifted just enough to make her heart give a little skip, and she looked away again.

Mrs. Schulte harrumphed once more, catching Val’s attention. Did she spy her ogling the preacher? Oh dear.

Thankfully, before Mrs. Schulte could gather another pronouncement, the sound of footsteps on the stairs drifted into the dining room. The brides were coming down at last, voices hushed, their skirts whispering against the banister as they descended one by one.

Val rose, smoothing her skirt. Micah stood at her side, tall and steady, the very picture of calm in the storm about to descend. Women entered the dining room and began setting food on tables, and a few fiddlers tuned their instruments in the corner.

Preacher Sutton leaned just close enough that only she would hear. “Are you ready for this, Miss O’Malley?”

Val tilted her chin, parasol clutched like a saber. “Of course,” she said, though her pulse quickened. “The question is, Preacher Sutton, are you?”

The flicker of amusement in his gray eyes nearly undid her composure. “Ready as I’ll ever be, Miss O’Malley.”