LONG WAY HOME
By Caroline Clemmons
Smashwords edition 2011
formerly published in the anthology
GOING TO THE CHAPEL
by Kensington Books 2004
Cover design and photo by Lilburn Smith
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, businesses, events, or locales is purely coincidental.
Dedication
Thanks to Sandy Tucker Crowley, Jeanmarie Hamilton, and the Rosebuds from Yellow Rose RWA—especially
Geri Foster and Bea Smith.
Thanks to everyone who shared wedding horror stories—truth is always stranger than fiction.
HAPPY IS THE BRIDE
One
Texas Hill Country June 8, 1885
Beth Pendleton stared at her cousin Rachel. "I'm not an old maid."
"Beth, face the truth. You're pretty"—Rachel wrinkled her nose—"if a man likes the tall, skinny, blond sort, but for heaven's sake, you're twenty-eight years old and not married. Besides, everyone in town thinks you're jinxed."
Her cousin's smug arrogance gave Beth an almost irresistible urge to choke Rachel. Why had Beth given in to her mother's insistence that she pay a call on her cousin? Guilt, of course. It had been weeks since she'd visited Rachel. That and Beth's desire to please her mother, an increasingly difficult task.
To appear calm when her emotions churned inside her, Beth smoothed a knife pleat in her new navy and gray faille skirt. Her mother had ordered the spring walking suit for her, copied from a Paris original by her mother's favorite couturier, Mr. Henri of Galveston. It was a bit warm for early June in central Texas, but Beth knew how much the latest fashions meant to her mother, so she wore it.
Beth took a deep breath. "It's true I've had bad luck with the men Daddy chose, but I'll find the right man on my own some day and we'll marry."
He'd certainly be a nicer man than Rachel's doltish husband, Ben Bigelow. And the Bigelow children! Heaven help her, certainly any children Beth and her husband had would be better behaved than Rachel's screaming horde.
Rachel shook her head, but the bun on the top remained firm, coiled tight as a wagon spring. "Who in Ransom Crossing is going to propose to you? The men who aren't afraid of Uncle Howard are afraid of the bad luck that falls on any fiancé of yours. Look at the disasters that happen when you plan a wedding."
Beth shuddered at the memory of her past fiascoes. "Those troubles were beyond my control. No one could possibly blame me." Though it scorched her ears, Beth had heard the gossip about her bringing bad luck to any prospective groom. It hurt beyond words, but she'd die before she'd let any of the gossips know.
Rachel displayed the smug smile married women reserved for the single women they pitied. Beth hated that smile.
Rachel held up three sausage-like fingers. "Three engagements, three failed weddings. Sorry, Cousin Beth, you'll never get another chance. You may have the latest Paris fashions, but you'll never have what I have."
"I could marry if I really wanted to." Beth inwardly recoiled at her hasty statement. Why had she said such an absurd thing? She didn't have a single prospect. Besides, to hear her cousin, if the town were
full of unwed men, then her father or her bad luck would scare them away.
Rachel adjusted her considerable bosom that threatened to burst out of the bright green poplin dress and then smoothed her hands down her girth. "Ben says I'm all woman and that's why we have six kids."
She giggled. "No one wants to marry an old maid who's jinxed. It doesn't mean spit that you're the only child of the wealthiest man in town. Men want a real woman with some meat on her bones. Besides, everyone around here calls you the Ice Queen."
Ice Queen? Beth had heard this before, and the crude label made her want to stamp her foot or throw something in childish temper. As usual, she forced her emotions under strict control, lifted her chin and gave Rachel an icy glare. The fact that her actions lived up to the accusation only angered her more.
But she wasn't an Ice Queen. She was warm, loving, and sought to be kind. Except, no one had taken the time to notice that. They were too busy whispering behind her back and making fun of her.
"I told you I'm not an old maid yet and I'm not jinxed. And the fact that I don't flirt with every man I meet doesn't mean I'm cold. I'll marry soon, you'll see." Beth appraised her rotund cousin's figure. "When I do, will you be able to wear your attendant's dress? That dress was made three years ago, and you've had two more children since then."
"Of course I can still wear that dress. My Ben says I'm a perfect size, exactly right for cuddling." Rachel's narrow-set brown eyes glinted with malice. "But I'll bet you that new bolt of cream silk your mama ordered from New York that come the end of June, you'll still be unwed.
Up to her ears in insults and injustice, Beth couldn't stand this any longer. The past years of embarrassment and ridicule exploded inside her like a Fourth of July firecracker. "I'll take that bet. When I win, you have to give me ... that new quilt you won at the church picnic."
Mercy sakes, what had she said? Anger must have melted her brain. She wanted to call back the words, but it was too late. The gauntlet had been thrown and accepted.
Needing to get away before Rachel noticed her shaking hands, Beth straightened her bonnet, then gathered her reticule and parasol. "Now, I must be on my way. Do come see me when you can get away."
Never would be soon enough, even if Rachel was her only cousin. In fact, other than her parents, Rachel was her only living relative.
Beth wanted to slam the door and run to the buggy, drive away, and hide somewhere. But she couldn't. Instead, Beth pushed down her emotions and glided as she had learned in Boston at the Meriweather School for Young Ladies of Good Families. She climbed onto the seat and cracked the whip in the air over the backs of the horses.
The perfectly matched bays took off with a jerk, and she set the whip back in its holder to concentrate on the reins. Ben Bigelow's large apple orchard whizzed by her view. The buggy bounced over the rutted road. Determined to stop the ridicule she'd tolerated for years, Beth tightened her grip and clenched her jaw. She'd show Rachel. She'd show everyone in Ransom Crossing.
Darned if she'd let her fat cousin Rachel win that insulting bet.
Darned if she wanted to remain the laughingstock of the whole county.
Darned if she knew why she shouldn't have her heart's desire—a family with children. Lots of children, with a kind man who'd be both a loving husband and a good father.