Short-Straw Bride (3 page)

B
y the time Meredith finished her slice of chocolate cake, she'd given up on finding common ground with Roy Mitchell. After the soup, she'd asked him what he enjoyed doing in his free time, and he'd answered that he was fond of traveling. This perked her up initially, until his description of a recent trip to Houston turned into a quarter hour of rambling about the area's booming lumber industry.

Then, when the waiter arrived with their entrées, blessedly interrupting the
Ode to the Big Thicket's Virgin Pine
, Meredith slipped in a question about what he liked to read. Roy smiled and confidently assured her that he much preferred to experience things firsthand rather than read someone else's view on the subject.

“For example,” he said as he leaned across the table in obvious enthusiasm, “I've made careful study of the lands here on the edge of the Piney Woods. Acres of forest stand virtually untouched, just waiting for the right man with the right vision to capitalize on the opportunity. Reading books only teaches a person about the past. I'm a man who looks to the future.”

He went on to describe how his forward thinking led him to line up a handful of investors to supply capital for the manpower and equipment he'd need to expand his small logging operation. All he lacked were a few parcels of land that would allow him direct access to the railroad. And those he would soon have in his possession.

Desperate by the dessert course, Meredith broke all the etiquette rules her mother had taught her and asked about religion, questioning Roy about the role he expected God to play in his expansion plans. The man chuckled and offered some sort of platitude about God helping those who helped themselves before he tucked into his apple pie.

The meal could not have left her more disheartened. She supposed Roy was simply attempting to convince her of his ability to provide for a wife, but what he'd succeeded in doing instead was paint a dreary picture of the two of them sitting on a porch, staring at a field of tree stumps with no fodder for conversation because all the virgin pines were gone.

“Are you ready to go, my dear?”

Meredith blinked. “Oh . . . yes.” She dabbed her lips with her napkin and smiled up at Roy as he hurried around the table to assist her with her chair. “Thank you for a lovely meal. I don't often get to eat in such elegant surroundings.”

“That will change once we're married. As my wife, you'll dine in the finest establishments in the state. Houston, San Antonio, even the capital.”

“Mmmm.” Meredith couldn't seem to vocalize anything more committal as Roy helped her on with her shawl and escorted her from the hotel dining room.

The two strolled down the boardwalk in front of the International Hotel in silence, and for the first time since leaving her uncle's house, Meredith relaxed. Maybe being with Roy wasn't so bad after all. His firm grip steadied her uneven gait, and the people they passed didn't look through her as they usually did. Men tipped their hats and women gazed at her with new respect. Being on Roy Mitchell's arm apparently made her a person worth noticing.

But did it make her the person she wanted to be?

A hat in the milliner's window caught Meredith's eye, and she slowed. Ever the gentleman, Roy steered her closer to the shop, but she found it nearly impossible to concentrate on the bonnet, for she could feel him scrutinizing her face.

“Have you given much thought to my proposal, Miss Hayes?”

Meredith's stomach lurched.
Not yet.
She wasn't ready.

He released her arm and placed his palm in the small of her back. “I confess, I have thought of little else,” he murmured.

The warmth of his hand penetrated her clothing, but the intimate touch left her chilled.

Lord, I need a sign here. A hint. Anything.

“Mr. Mitchell?”

Roy's hand fell away from her back as he turned to face the burly man approaching him from the street. “Now's not a good time, Barkley.”

“I'm sorry to interrupt, sir, but it's important.”

Roy held his hand out to Meredith, and she took it, letting him drag her to his side. “Nothing could be more important than what I'm doing right now.”

What he was doing right now was pressing her for an answer she was unprepared to give. Mr. Barkley's interruption could not have pleased her more.

“I don't mind, Roy,” she said. “Truly.”

Roy patted her hand. “Nonsense. I'm sure whatever Barkley has to say can wait until after I see you home.”

“But he says it's important,” she insisted, praying he'd do the unchivalrous thing for once. “I'd hate to be the cause of a delay that ended up hurting your business ventures.”

Roy hesitated. He glanced back to where Mr. Barkley stood shifting his weight from foot to foot. “Can it wait an hour?”

“You . . . ah . . . you said you wanted to be informed the minute Wheeler returned with an answer, boss.” The man finally looked Roy directly in the eye, and a silent message seemed to pass between them. “He's back.”

Meredith held her breath as Roy battled with himself over which course to choose. Then he squeezed her hand, and she knew she'd been granted a reprieve.

“I'm sorry, my dear, but this really is an urgent matter. I promise not to be long.”

“Take as much time as you need.” Meredith slipped her hand from his loose hold and wandered back toward the shop window. “I wanted to examine the new bonnets more closely anyway.”

Roy favored her with an appreciative grin and gestured for Mr. Barkley to meet him at the end of the boardwalk. The two met at the edge of the milliner's shop and ducked into the alley that stretched alongside.

Meredith had just set her mind to figuring out a way to postpone responding to Roy's proposal when the man's voice echoed back to her from around the corner.

“He's back from the Archer spread already? That doesn't bode well.”

The Archer spread? As in
Travis
Archer? Meredith strained to hear more, but Roy's voice faded as he walked deeper into the alley.

Meredith ambled down to the far end of the display window, careful to keep her eyes on the hats while diverting all her focus to her ears. A wagon rolled past, harness jangling and horse hooves clomping, making her want to scream in frustration as the men's words got lost in the din. Giving up on the hats, Meredith moved to the building's corner and pressed her shoulder against the brick, getting as close as she dared without being seen. Thankfully, the noisy wagon turned down an adjacent street, and she could finally catch pieces of the conversation again.

“. . . can't be convinced to sell?”

“Wheeler offered him twice what the property's worth . . . man threatened to shoot . . . ain't selling, boss.”

“. . . connects the northern properties to the railroad. . . . my investors will pull out. I have to . . . one way or another.”

“I thought . . . Hayes spread, too.”

“That's in the bag. You . . . that crippled gal was hanging on to me. I'll have my . . . deed before the month is out. No, Archer . . . only serious obstacle.”

Meredith sucked in an outraged breath.
Crippled gal?
Of all the nerve. If he thought he was going to get his greedy hands on her father's legacy that easily, he couldn't be more wrong. Why, she had half a mind to—

“. . . issue my threat?”

Threat? What threat?
Meredith shoved aside her indignation and fixed her attention back on the men in the alley.

“Yep. Wheeler warned . . . didn't sell there'd be consequences.”

“Good. Burn . . . . tonight. Target the barn. Then . . . offer half the previous price to take . . . off their hands.”

Meredith gasped. Roy had just ordered an act of arson with the same nonchalance as he'd ordered their beefsteak at the hotel.

God had given her a sign, all right, and it clearly read
Stay Out!

But what about Travis? Fires could be deadly. She had to do something to help him.

One set of footsteps echoed in retreat while a second grew louder. Meredith lunged awkwardly back to the window, her pulse throbbing.

“Have you decided which you like best?” Roy came up beside her, once again the solicitous gentleman. Revulsion crept over her, but Meredith forced herself not to shy away.

She wanted to spit on him or slap him or shove him off the boardwalk and into the mud where he belonged, but she couldn't do any of those things without tipping him off that she had overheard his plans. So she smiled instead, vowing to beat him at his own game.

“I'm leaning toward the blue one with the flowers. What do you think of it?”

“I think it would look lovely on you. But then, you have a way of making everything lovely.” He smiled and lifted a finger to stroke her cheek.

Meredith's stomach roiled.

“Oh dear.” She quickly covered her mouth with one hand and her stomach with the other, thanking God for the excuse to cut their time together short. “I think something from lunch may not be agreeing with me.” That something being Roy Mitchell.

An impatient frown darkened Roy's face before he quickly replaced it with a look of concern. “Would you like to sit and rest for a moment? There's a bench outside the drugstore across the street.”

“No. I think I should lie down.” She hunched herself over and added a quiet moan for good measure. “Can you take me home, please?”

“Are you sure?”

Meredith nodded vigorously, keeping her hand over her mouth.

“Very well.”

Roy took her arm and helped her navigate the three blocks back to her uncle's house. When they reached the front gate, however, he used his grip to slow her to a halt.

“I'm so sorry to have ruined our afternoon,” she blurted, not wanting to give him the chance to ask her anything. Besides, the longer she thought about what he planned for Travis, the more ill she truly became. She looked up at the brick house, longing for the escape it promised.

“Meredith, darling,” Roy said, turning her to face him, “please, just tell me that I can move ahead with our wedding plans.”

The idea was so nauseating, Meredith didn't have to prevaricate. Her stomach began to heave all on its own. Roy must have seen the truth in her face as she bent forward, for his eyes widened and he quickly stepped back. Meredith covered her mouth and ran for the house.

“I'll come by later this evening,” Roy called after her, but Meredith didn't slow until she was safely inside.

The kitchen stood empty, so Meredith made her way to the sink pump, hoping that a glass of cool water would help settle her stomach. She needed to calm her body so her mind could focus on how to help Travis. If Roy's henchmen planned to strike tonight, that left her precious little time to strategize. The Archer ranch was a good two and a half hours' ride to the north. A well-conditioned horse could possibly shave thirty minutes off that time, but that still left her less than an hour to implement a course of action.

“Mercy me, Miss Meri. You look like someone done wrung you out and hung you up to dry. You all right?” Eliza, the cook Meredith's aunt employed, strode into the room cradling a selection of carrots, onions, and potatoes in her upturned apron.

Meredith managed a wan smile. “I'm not feeling well, I'm afraid. Is Uncle Everett back from Neches yet? I need to speak with him.”

Not for the first time, Meredith longed for her own father's counsel instead of her uncle's. She missed the days of occasionally riding beside him in the buggy out to the freedmen's school he continued to run even after the Freedmen's Bureau shut down—missed the talks they had, the dreams they shared.

Papa would've known what to do about Roy and Travis. But Papa was gone.

Eliza dropped the vegetables into a wash pan with a cascade of thumps, then shook her apron out over the dry sink. “Master Hayes told me not to expect him till suppertime.”

Meredith's shoulders sagged. Suppertime would be too late.

“Miss Meri, you better go up to bed and rest some. You're looking right peak-ed.”

“I don't need—” Meredith stopped herself as she recalled Roy's promise to return. “Well, maybe I will.” She'd not want to face her aunt, either. “In fact, with my stomach as unsettled as it is, I'll probably forgo dinner tonight. Would you mind asking Aunt Noreen not to wake me?”

“Of course, child. You go rest.”

Why was it when Aunt Noreen called her a child she felt degraded, but when Eliza did it, she felt nurtured? Meredith set her half-empty glass on the table, the churning in her abdomen finally beginning to subside.

“And in case ya get hungry later,” Eliza said, pointing to the cookstove, “I'll leave some of my stew broth on the warmer. You just sneak on down here and help yourself. Ya hear?”

Meredith smiled and, on impulse, hugged the older woman. Eliza flapped her hands and shooed her away, embarrassed by the display of affection. “Go on with ya, now.”

Meredith climbed the stairs and closed herself in her room. At least Aunt Noreen would not be home to pester her. She and Cassandra always paid their social calls on Tuesday afternoons. Usually Meredith accompanied them, but Roy's luncheon invitation had taken precedence over the weekly torture of censorious glances and nose sniffing that Aunt Noreen and her friends enjoyed while expounding their ponderous opinions. Unfortunately, that meant Meredith wouldn't be able to confide in Cassandra, either. That left only one person she could think of who might be willing and able to help her.

Changing out of her fancy polonaise, Meredith pulled a more practical dress out of her wardrobe and buttoned herself up into her favorite dark green calico. Just in case anyone should look in on her, she lumped an extra quilt under her covers to make it appear she was sleeping, then tiptoed down the stairs and slipped quietly out the back door.