Page 5 of Val (Wild Rose Ridge #1)

Chapter Four

Val tugged her coat tighter about her shoulders as she pushed forward to the front of the church.

The wool had seen better days, same as the rest of her wardrobe, but it was warm enough if she didn’t mind the wind cutting straight through the seams. Her shoes squelched against the warped planks of the entry, and she stamped them once before stepping inside.

It had been a cold, wet trek from the hotel, and she wouldn’t be surprised if half her little group caught their death.

Why couldn’t today’s weather have been like yesterday’s?

Yes, it was cold, but at least they didn’t have to try to make it from the Merry Jo to the hotel in such a deluge.

Inside the church, the room smelled of wet wool, mud, and too many men who’d skipped the nicety of soap.

Val wrinkled her nose. No surprise there.

She’d never seen so many unwashed bodies in her life.

At least attendance at the church was good.

Or were more than a few men occupying the pews only here to watch the weddings taking place afterward?

The damp cold clung to her clothes as she moved up the aisle, and she shivered.

Val glanced over her shoulder. The other brides trickled in behind her like bedraggled hens.

Their hems were stained with mud, and for some of them, their curls were plastered to their cheeks.

They looked half frozen, half drowned, and wholly put on display for a town full of strangers.

Men stared at them with mixed expressions as they made their way up the aisle.

Some of the men’s eyes were wide, others full of acute longing.

And there were those that whistled or whooped at the sight of them.

She had to get the two married today, then iron a few things out before she worked on the next four.

She caught Preacher Sutton’s gaze at the front.

His gray eyes softened when they found her, though the set of his jaw suggested he was just as unimpressed with the congregation as she was.

As Val made her way toward the front, she shivered again.

He leaned toward her, his voice pitched low. “Brace yourself.” Then, softer: “Are you all right?”

Val’s brows flicked up. “That’s a fine welcome,” she muttered, settling into the nearest pew. “What am I bracing for?”

His glance shifted past her shoulder. She followed it. The organist was Helen Dawes, her gloved fingers punishing the keys as though they’d committed a great offense. Across the aisle, her sister Minerva cleared her throat with the theatricality of a diva and prepared to sing.

Ah. That explained it. Preacher Sutton wasn’t immune to Beatrice Schulte’s gaggle of friends.

Aside from the Dawes sisters, who were married to lumber barons, Val had also met Ima Paine, the town doctor’s wife, and Adelaide Beck.

They were quite the group, and she could only imagine how they tried to run everything.

Including the matches routed through The Sisters’ Mail-Order Bride Company.

She gave her attention back to Preacher Sutton, who looked like he was cringing. And for good reason. The first notes warbled out of Minerva Dawes like a goose being strangled. Val jerked upright. “Mercy,” she hissed.

Preacher Sutton’s lips twitched before he gave her a slight smile that said, told you.

The congregation endured the hymn with saintly fortitude. Val wished for cotton to stuff in her ears. By the time the song limped to its end, she would have welcomed a plague of locusts if it meant silence.

Preacher Sutton winked at her, congratulating her on surviving, then took to the pulpit.

Everyone made it through more singing before he began droning on about purity, marriage, and the importance of men rising to their responsibilities.

Val’s belly rumbled, reminding her she hadn’t had more than a crust since dawn.

If he went on much longer, she’d be ready to gnaw the pew in front of her.

A shriek split the air. Val jumped to her feet, half-expecting one of her brides had been accosted. But no. Beatrice Schulte shot up as something small and gray landed in the aisle with a tidy plop. “Merciful heavens!” she cried.

Mae Hanford gasped. “In God’s house?”

The commotion spread like wildfire. Wives clutched at husbands. Children squealed. A matron swayed dangerously.

Val craned her neck and blinked. “Well,” she whispered. “That’ll wake a body up faster than coffee.”

Deputy Garrison bent to snatch the offending object by the tail and held it aloft. A limp mouse dangled, decidedly dead. His daughter Luisa reached for it with gleeful determination.

“Give it back, Pa!”

An argument broke out between the two. Preacher Sutton pressed a hand over his mouth, not quite hiding the shake of his shoulders. Val smothered a laugh and whispered, “Could’ve been worse. Could’ve been a rat.” She didn’t care who heard.

He shot her a look, part reproach, part amusement, before the matrons descended in righteous fury.

Poor Ima Paine swooned on the spot and had to be revived with smelling salts.

The sermon stalled, which of course meant the weddings would be delayed, if Mrs. Schulte didn’t derail them altogether.

At the moment, she was loudly declaring that James Garrison find himself a wife to manage his unruly household.

Val shook her head. “If this is the Lord’s way of blessing a marriage, He’s got a peculiar sense of humor.

” Deputy Garrison’s child had shown up at the tea yesterday and caused a ruckus then, too.

On top of that, Marianne had sought her out, wondering if she should get married at all.

It had cost Val some sleep, but things were working themselves out.

She pushed the thought aside and realized Augusta, Margaret, and Josie’s voices weren’t sounding off in her head.

Good. That was the last thing she needed right now.

Her nerves must be settling, or maybe Beatrice Schulte and her Busy Bee friends were keeping her mind more occupied than she thought.

She started wondering last night how their husbands put up with them.

Then again, the Bees’ men were probably too busy with their lumber and mining empires to care.

Not all of them had wealthy husbands though, but the loudest ones certainly did.

At length, the ruckus settled, and Preacher Sutton regained control. Soon it was time for Marianne and Elinore to take their vows. The two brides and their betrothed lined up at the front, Marianne in rose silk embroidered with gold, Elinore in a froth of lace, and the service lurched forward.

Val eyed them both. “Fine porcelain dolls,” she whispered. “I hope nothing happens that makes them crack.”

Speaking of crack, the Dawes sisters struck up their wedding hymn. Val winced. Preacher Sutton leaned her way from the pulpit with raised brows, as if to say, here we go again.

She stifled a laugh behind her gloved hand. Together they bore it: the screeching organ, the off-key warble, the vows spoken in trembling voices. Val’s stomach growled again, loud enough to earn her a sidelong glance from the woman beside her. She folded her arms and pretended it hadn’t happened.

When Preacher Sutton finally declared the couples man and wife, whoops and whistles erupted from the back rows. The smelly contingent made more racket than a saloon on payday. Val rolled her eyes. “Good grief, what a noise.”

She did notice Jeremy Stafford take Marianne’s hand and kiss her palm instead of her lips. The tenderness of it flickered something unexpected in Val’s chest. She shoved it aside before it could settle.

With the ceremony finished, the crowd spilled into the cold. Val hunched into her coat, teeth chattering at the thought of stepping out again. The sleet hadn’t let up, and her frozen feet ached as she started for the door.

Preacher Sutton caught up to her. “May I have a word?”

Val stepped to the side. “Certainly.”

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” He gave her a pleasant smile.

Val shot him a look. “You must’ve been at a different service.”

He laughed. “That was pretty normal for around here. I was pleased to see so many in the church today.”

“Onlookers,” Val said. “Men hoping a groom might drop dead so they could take his place.”

“Did someone say dead?”

Val spun. A tall man with slicked-back dark hair stared at her with eager eyes and a quirky smile.

“Sylvester…” Preacher Sutton sighed. “No one has died.”

“More’s the pity,” Sylvester said with a hint of disappointment. He turned to the preacher. “Aren’t you going to introduce us?”

Preacher Sutton gave Val an apologetic look. “Miss O’Malley, may I introduce you to Sylvester Sneed. Our undertaker.”

Val’s eyes widened. His dark suit, pale skin, and sharp eyes made him look like he couldn’t wait for someone to kick off. She swallowed hard. “Pleased to meet you.”

“The pleasure is all mine.” Mr. Sneed took her hand, raised it to his lips, and kissed it.

A shudder went through Val. She pulled her hand free and resisted the urge to wipe it on her coat.

Now would’ve been a good time for Augusta, Margaret, and Josie’s voices to fill her head.

But they were silent. Great. Right when she wouldn’t have minded listening to them. Two weddings down, four to go.

“Will you be in town long?” Mr. Sneed asked.

“I’ll see my brides wed, then take the Merry Jo back to Portland, and from there head home to Chicago.

” She’d back away if she could, but a wall was behind her, a pew in front, Preacher Sutton on one side, and Mr. Sneed on the other.

Boxed in. And then her stomach announced, loud and clear, how hungry she was.

“May I escort you to the hotel?” Mr. Sneed asked.

“I’m afraid I’ve already procured Miss O’Malley, Sylvester,” Preacher Sutton said smoothly. “But I’m sure we’ll catch up to you there.”

Mr. Sneed smiled, tipped his hat, and slipped out the door.

Val’s shoulders slumped. “Goodness.” She eyed the preacher. “What was that about procuring?”

He smiled. “Well, I was about to ask if I could escort you back to the hotel. To do that, I had to procure you first, which I’d already done. We were about to have a discussion when Sylvester showed up. So you see, I wasn’t lying to the man.”

She blinked, then laughed. “You’re a strange one, Preacher Sutton. But I rather like strange.” Her eyes flicked toward the door. “Just not overly strange.”

He gave her a knowing smile. “Sylvester is… different. But harmless for the most part.” He plastered on another smile, as though he wasn’t sure he believed it.

Val blew out a breath as her stomach growled again. “Oh mercy…”

He offered his arm. “I’d better get you back to the hotel before you faint from hunger.”

She eyed his arm, then took it. At least she might be warmer this way.

He gave her a gentle smile and led her out into the sleet. Despite the weather, the off-key music, and the dead mouse, Val felt steadier than she had in days. With any luck, she wouldn’t hear a peep out of the absent sisters for the rest of this trip.