Chapter Text
"So, let me see if I understand this," Max said, fluffing up his moustache, which was his habit when he was most perplexed. "You want Martha and me, to take in this strange girl for a week, and she comes from goodness knows where, while you see if you want to marry her? You do realise how crazy that sounds."
Joseph smiled lazily. "That’s it, that’s the whole thing. She stays here, I court her for a few days, and if I still want to marry her, and she’s agreeable, we’ll be wed on saturday morning. I already spoke to the Reverend, and he has us booked for 11 in the morning."
When Martha went out for the evening, and Joseph had called round for a glass of something and a gossip, Max had been completely unaware of his friend’s plans. They sat in the comfortable armchairs in front of the fire. With Martha and the pack out of the house, none of the lamps had been lit and the house was shrouded, inside and out, with shadows. Rain lashed against the mullioned windows but the room was cosy in the firelight.
Max stared at his friend. They had known each other since Joseph had been a small cub, running alone from the bigger packs. As an orphan child, without a pack of his own, Joseph was vulnerable, scared and lonely, but hiding it so successfully that most had him down as a cocky, arrogant individual. Young Max, starting out on the path of matrimony and creating his own pack, had taken Joseph in to live with him for a few years. Max’s young mate, Martha, took a while to warm up to the growlin’, fightin’ cub, but eventually she quietened him and tamed a piece of his wolfish heart.
"So you got yourself a mail order bride," Max said, tapping his pipe out on the hearth. "Just like the folks over in Tamblin’s mines."
"Not the same thing at all," Joseph said, refusing to rise to the bait. "Those men put their own advert in the newspaper, I answered one. Not the same thing."
Max propped his booted feet up on the mantelpiece, taking advantage of Martha being out, to do it. "Tell me how it works then," he said.
Despite his rough start, Joseph had grown up to be a good-looking young man, tall and slender, and wealthy enough, with his own horse ranch, that most of the young woman in the town would have beaten a path to his door to wed him. But then, when he got to that point in his thoughts, Max would always remember Susannah, and the contemptible way she had betrayed Joseph, just a day shy of their wedding. Perhaps it was not so strange that he would chose an out-of-towner to share his life with.
"I wrote to a place in New York, a marriage bureau and don’t chuckle like that Max. This isn’t a joke." Joseph grinned in sympathy with his friend. "I told her the kind of girl I wanted to marry, and she sent me letters and photographs from eight girls. I looked through the pictures, read the letters, and I picked one."
He took a photograph from his inside jacket pocket; close to his heart, Max thought, in a rare moment of sentimentality; and passed it over. Max saw a young woman in a dark dress with her plaited hair in a bun, not beautiful, but not too plain either. "She looks scared to death, poor thing," he said.
"Not scared," Joseph said, "anxious perhaps. She’s a widow, though she’s so young."
"A widow? Joseph, what made you think this was the one?"
Joseph took a moment to answer, chewing his lower lip. Now who’s anxious? Max thought.
"The wolf wanted her," Joseph said quietly.
Ah, not "my" wolf, always "the" wolf. Which could be misconstrued as arrogance in a town mainly made up of shapeshifters, and most of them being wolves. Max knew he wouldn’t get any more of an explanation from his friend than that. He sighed.
"All right, Romeo," he said, smiling broadly, "we’ll do it. This girl of yours can stay here, but you can square it with Martha. And while I think of it, let me tell Pamela." Max spoke of his oldest daughter. Sweet 14, going on 25, with a crush on her father’s friend that threatened to become embarrassing to everyone.
"I wonder if this girl and I will have a pack of young uns like you and Martha," Joseph said.
Max laughed. "She’s a human, poor soul, not like the rest of us. She’s not going to have her babies in litters. You’ll have to wait out years to have a pack." He went on laughing until he was fit to burst the buttons on his waistcoat. "Speaking of which," he added, more soberly, "I hope you told this girl of yours about this town."
Joseph went quiet. He got up and paced around the room. "To be honest, no I did not," he said. "It’s not something you can just drop into a letter to someone you don’t know and have never met. How do you think she would have reacted if I told her we’re mostly all shifters in St. Ailbhe’s Drift?"
"You have a point, but you will have to tell her at some time. If you don’t, someone else will and then she’ll think you lied to her. And that’s certain death for any marriage."
Joseph sighed. "I know, and I will tell her. But in my own time and in my own way. I promise".
"Then that’s good enough for me," Max said, taking his feet back down as he heard the front door open. "Here’s Martha coming back. Will you tell her, or shall I?"
* * * * * *
Jessica Clements hailed the conductor as he made his weaving way through the carriage.
"Excuse me," she said, her gentle voice almost swallowed up by the chatter and noise of the train on the tracks. The conductor turned to her with a smile.
"What can I do for you missy?" he said affably.
"What time do we arrive at, what was that strange name, St. Ailbhe’s Drift?" She pronounced it as it looked, "ail-be".
The conductor stared at her in consternation. "St. Alva’s Drift," he said, with the correct pronunciation. "You going there? Goodness sakes miss, what do you want to go there for, nobody gos to that place?"
To his surprise, the girl blushed, her face suffused with red blotches.
"I am meeting a, friend," she said, and if she hesitated before saying the word "friend", the conductor was old enough and wise enough not to question her further. A foursome of older women were sitting opposite, with their long, sharp noses quivering with curiosity, and he was not minded to provide them with food for gossip.
"Just ten minutes more, miss," he said kindly.
The girl nodded, and the conductor went on his way. Though he looked back at her now and then. To his way of thinking, the girl should have been travelling with her mother, at the very least, Not sitting alone, at the mercy of nosy parkers and worse.
Jessica ignored the twittering from the women who had been eavesdropping on her conversation and took out a letter from her new leather reticule. She was reading it for the twentieth time at least. All the instructions she needed were in the letter. Where do get a train from in New York, where to stay halfway through the journey, and where the train would put her down. And then…… But thinking of the moment when she would get off the train made her feel small and terribly afraid.
It had seemed like such a good idea, when she passed by a sign over an ordinary-looking terraced house, that proclaimed it to be a marriage bureau. New York was far too big and crowded for a girl who had lived all her life on a small farm in rural England. Too confusing, too sure of itself. She had crossed the Atlantic to make a new life, after all, and the overcrowded city was intimidating. The marriage broker lady had introduced her to several men, by letter and photograph, but she had enjoyed the letters from Joseph Conall, describing his ranch and his way of life. She had written back to him several times, telling him about her parents and their sheep farm, and about her late husband, Hwyl. He had an interesting way of expressing himself that made her want to meet him. And yet, letters were safe and comforting, being at one remove from the real man.
His photograph was not in her reticule, but hidden in her suitcase in her handkerchief sachet. She liked his picture. His face was kindly, handsome, and gentle. At least, as much as a grainy and slightly out-of-focus picture could show. He must have moved a little just as the photograph was being taken as he seemed to have a shadow beside him, all along the length of him. A shadow which, if she squinted and stared at it for long enough, seemed to conceal the shape of an animal. A wolf, or a dog of some kind, standing on its hind legs? Twittering from the women woke her from her daydream. The conductor had come back along the carriage.
"We’re just pulling into St. Alva’s miss," he said.
Jessica gathered together her shawl, reticule, and nerves as the train slowed and screeched to a sliding halt. As she got up, she realised that she was the only person who was going to alight onto the platform. She looked back as the conductor and a porter manhandled her steamer trunk and two bags onto the platform. Everything she owned. Wasn’t that, all her worldly goods, as in the marriage service? No, that was something he, this strange man, was supposed to promise to her. And now her mind was whirling around like a butterfly caught in an eddy.
The train pulled away from the station in a rush of steam and squealing brakes, having deposited Jessica towards the end of the down train platform. A thin wind blew down the deserted wooden platform, rushing along a small ball of tumbleweed and pieces of paper. Four young children raced past her skirts with two puppies behind them. She bent to pet the puppies, who snapped at her fingers and ran after the children. She turned, and saw a large grey wolf, or some kind of wolfish dog, lying on the wooden slats near her luggage. He was looking at her with deep, dark eyes. A wolf, a wild animal, to be sure, and yet she had the sense that he meant no harm. She walked towards the animal, with no fear at all, drawing off her gloves. Perhaps that was why the pups had snapped at her. Scent was important to such animals.
The wolf did not move, merely looked at her as she drew near. She reached out and daring herself, she patted the animal’s head.
"Hello wolfie," she said. "You’re a long way from the forest. What are you doing here?" As the wolf seemed disposed to sit quietly, she crouched down and rubbed his ears. "Do you belong to anyone? I do hope you’re not lost. You’re a handsome fellow." She looked around for someone to ask about the wolf. A noise on the other side of the tracks startled her and made her stand up. When she turned round again, the wolf had gone. Instead, there was a young man, leaning against the wall, hands in his pockets, with an amused smile on his face. He wore a belt slung low across his slender hips, with a gun in a holster fastened to the belt. Even after two months in America, she could not get used to seeing men wearing guns in public. Joseph saw a young woman, with the same anxious expression on her face as in her photograph, wearing a plain pale blue dress. She was prettier than the sepia picture showed, with chestnut red hair. Smaller too, she barely came up to his shoulders. He straightened up and walked to her.
"Mrs Clements?" the gentleman said, with a tip of his Stetson. Jessica smiled.
"Yes, please do call me Jessica," she said. No need to ask him his name. He was exactly like his photograph. He smiled, took her hand, and placed it on his arm. Jessica was startled, but controlled her first instinct to pull away. Don’t be silly, she told herself, you’re going to be his wife.
A Chinese man scurried onto the platform and took hold of Jessica’s luggage. He had a trolley that he fastened the trunk onto and piled her bags on top.
"That’s Charlie," Mr Conall, no, Joseph, said. "He works for me. You know you’re going to stay with my friends, Max and Martha, for a few days?"
"That is kind of them," Jessica said.
Joseph patted her hand. "It may seem old-fashioned," he said, "but I want to court you a while. Get to know the lady I’m to marry. And so you can get to know me."
Joseph almost laughed at the sudden relief in Jessica’s face. Did she think he was going to march her over to the church and marry her on the spot? In the next moment he chided himself for being so insensitive. It must have taken a great deal of courage to leave her own country and everyone she knew, sail across the Atlantic and still be willing to endure a long train journey, just to marry a complete stranger. He was not so sure he could have done it. In a moment of compassion and mute apology, he patted her hand that rested on his arm. As he did so, he heard the wolf’s huff of approval.
As soon as they left the station, Jessica was struck by the quiet street. There were people, to be sure, walking on the wooden sidewalks, going in and out of the shops, and a cart trundled by pulled by two dusty horses. She had expected to see one or two saloons, with music blaring and people falling out of them, stone drunk. Such as she had seen when she rested for the night in a town that looked much like this one, Joseph noticed her interest.
"This is a peaceful town," he said. "Never any trouble, not like other places you may have heard about." A group of children ran past, the same ones from the station platform; their laughter was the only rowdy note in the street. Two more young pups ran behind the children.
"What kind of dogs are those" Jessica said. "Are they Alsatians?"
Joseph smiled. "Something like," he said.
"My father had collies of course," Jessica said, "but he had one Alsatian named Bran. He was very good at protecting the sheep. The collies rounded them up, and Bran watched over them at night."
Joseph smiled again. "Yes, something like," he repeated, but with less certainty.
They crossed over the road and walked up to a house set back from the boardwalk. Joseph didn’t stop to knock, but opened the door and ushered Jessica inside. A tall, sonsy woman swooped down the stairs and wrapped her arms around Jessica in a big hug.
"My dear, you’re here at last," the woman said, her voice full of laughter, and kindly too as Jessica noticed when her jangled nerves calmed. "Now my dear, I am Martha and that reprobate husband of mine is out, of course." She turned to Joseph. "Will you go and drag Max out from wherever he’s got to?"
Joseph smiled and tipped his hat. "I will ma’am, I think I know just where he’ll be."
As he left the house, Martha laughed. "That man of mine is never where he should be, and never when he’s wanted." But her smile took the sting out of her words. "Now come along in. I’ve made you some tea, I know you British do love tea. And dinner will ready very soon."
Jessica laughed. "Thank you so much. I am willing to learn to like coffee though."
Martha gave her another, smaller hug. "Bless you dear. You keep thinking like that and you’ll get along fine."
Jessica liked the cosy living room, with the fire blazing and the lamps all lit.
Martha looked at Jessica, up and down. "Do you have a pretty dress you can wear for your wedding?"
"Mo-om," wailed a young girl as she came down the stairs. She would have been a very pretty girl if her sulky expression had not robbed her face of half its beauty. "Do we have to talk about Joseph’ wedding? I’ve heard nothing else, morning, noon and night for weeks."
"That’s Mr Conall to you Pamela," Martha said. "And I’ll have none of your cheek. Now come and say hello to Mrs Clements."
Jessica stretched out a hand, and Pamela merely touched the tips of her fingers. As the girl stamped into the kitchen, Martha sighed.
"I am so sorry dear," she said, "she’s having a pouty day." She lowered her voice so no one else could hear her, except Jessica. "Truth be told, madam there has a crush on Joseph. And it will not do of course. It was bound to happen, he is such a kind man and would never hurt her feelings for the world. Ah well, there we are. Perhaps when you two are married Miss Pamela will find someone else to spend her feelings on."
She edged Jessica towards a small table, set with a pot of tea, cups and milk. "Sit down my dear, that’s right. I think I’ll have a cup with you." She poured the tea into the cups and Jessica drank thirstily, thankful of something to do to cover how deeply she had blushed at the mention of her forthcoming wedding.
"Now tell me about yourself," Martha said. The tea was obviously not to her taste, so it was especially kind of her to make some for her new guest. "Joseph told us you were married before, and your husband died?"
"Yes, nearly a year ago ago, and my parents died a few months before," Jessica said, surprised at herself, at how muted her grief for them had become. It felt as though that had happened a long time ago and far away.
"So, your mother did not know you are going to be married again?"
Jessica nodded, glad that Martha had swiftly skirted the subject.
"I may not be old enough to be your mother," Martha said gently, "but I hope you’ll look on me as such. Every girl needs her mother when she’s to be married." She took a handkerchief from a pocket in her skirt and patted her eyes. "Now then," she went on, "the boys will be back soon. If you’d like to wash up, I’ll get Pamela to show you to your room. Have to make her useful somehow," she added in a whisper.
Pamela sailed into the room, eating a handful of cookies.
"Oh Pammie, how could you?" Martha scolded, "and right before dinner too. Well, no matter," she said as the girl looked ready to argue. "I want you to show Mrs Clements to her room."
Pamela stalked upstairs, glancing back just once to see that Jessica was following. The girl led her to a pleasant room at the back of the house, with a bed that looked so comfortable and inviting that Jessica wished she could lie down and go to sleep. She felt so utterly weary suddenly. But there was a ewer of water and a large bowl on a stand, and cold water would be reviving. She unbuttoned the cuffs and most of the buttons of her blouse to her waist, to wash her face and neck with a wash cloth that Martha had thoughtfully placed beside the jug. Pamela was frankly staring, as her open blouse revealed the top of her corset and chemise.
"Joseph’ll like you," she said vulgarly, but Jessica took no notice. She began to unwind the long plait that she had looped into a bun. Her hair fell to her hips as she shook it out. Her two leather bags had been brought upstairs, so fishing around in one for her wash bag, she brushed the dark red waves until the whole mass gleamed.
She heard Pamela leave the room, and carried on brushing her hair. The house became silent and the air itself seemed to change, making her shiver a little, and there was a faint buzzing in her ears. She was suddenly aware that she was being watched. She looked up into the mirror, and Joseph was standing in the doorway, watching her with dark, hungry eyes. It was strange, but Jessica felt completely unable to move. So a deer must feel knowing that a wolf had fixed her in his sights. Slowly, she forced herself to button up her cuffs. Joseph crossed the room and stood behind her, still staring at her face in the mirror.
He lifted a long strand of her hair and drew it through his fingers.
"Almost the colour of blood," he said quietly. He pulled the high collar of her dress a little way off her skin, bent down, and gently kissed the nape of her neck.
Jessica held her breath. She had not expected such an affectionate gesture. The touch of his lips was followed by his finger tips. Brazenly, she lowered her head to allow him to touch more of the back of her neck. It had been so long since anyone had touched her.
Pans were clattered downstairs, voices were sounding where there had been silence. Jessica buttoned up the front of her dress as Joseph stepped back. She stood up and still he was watching her. He took one of her hands and turned it palm upwards.
"So small," he whispered, and planted a kiss on her palm. She leaned towards him, she knew this feeling and what it meant. Her marriage to Hwyl may have been short, but it was a happy and passionate one. Her body was eager to go on its own way, dragging her heart along with it, and ignoring her head.
"Jessica dear, dinner is ready," Martha shouted up the stairs. They walked out of the bedroom and down the stairs, and Joseph let go of her hand a moment before they walked into the living room.
Max was sitting at one end of the table with Martha at the other end. Jessica was surprised to see five small boys ranged around the table, being of the same age and height. Pamela sat in the middle, opposite Jessica and glared at her parents’ guest all through the meal. If Jessica noticed, she gave no sign, being acutely aware of sitting next to Joseph. Every time he passed her the salt or refilled her water glass, he touched her hand. Every time she looked up from her plate, he was watching her. It was unnerving, and yet, in a strange way, oddly comforting. She had taken the train in New York, expecting to find a taciturn man with a few civilised manners. That she would have to negotiate a certain distance and reticence before he warmed to her. Instead, he was willing to be friendly, even ardent, and she was not sure how to respond. She was a stranger here. Making a mistake now could have repercussions. She had to live the rest of her years in this town.
When she had got to the end of her thoughts, the meal was over. Thankfully Martha had taken Jessica’s quietness for fatigue and had steered Max away when he would have bombarded the young British girl with questions. Martha stood up and began to gather up the dishes. Jessica got up to help.
"No dear," Martha said, "Pammie can help me. Joseph, why don’t you take Jessica out for a little walk. It’s still light outside. Pammie, don’t argue," she added as her daughter opened her mouth to protest. The five little boys scampered outside, into the back yard and began an energetic game of kicking a battered ball around.
"It’s wisest not to argue with Martha," Joseph said quietly, as he draped one of Martha’s tartan wool shawls around Jessica’s shoulders.
As they left the house, Jessica clearly heard Martha talking to Max. "She’s a shy little thing….." and then the door closed.
Joseph took Jessica’s hand in his. "Nothing wrong in being shy," he said with a smile.
"I was just tired, and I had a lot to think about," Jessica said. She looked around. The street was quiet, a few lights glowed in the houses and the shops were closed.
"There really isn’t much to see," Joseph said. "Houses, a few stores, the church. Folks around here don’t like to go far out of the town. We all know each other well, and we know what we’re all getting up to. You’ll get some curious looks for a while. Don’t let it worry you. Folks aren’t unfriendly, we just take our time to get to know you before we decide." Jessica looked up at him. He had not seemed to take much time in deciding, if the kiss on the back of her neck meant anything.
An older man was walking along the sidewalk towards them. He was not very much taller than Jessica, with slightly bowed legs, and he wore a silver star on his jacket. As he drew level with them, he tipped his hat.
"Evening Mrs. Clements," he said, "evening Conall."
"Evening Edards," Joseph said. "Jessica, this is our sheriff, Jake Edards." Jessica smiled and nodded, not wondering how the sheriff knew her name already. He probably knew why she was in this town as well, which was rather disconcerting.
"Max in?" Sheriff Edards said.
"He is, and Martha too," Joseph said, with a smile. Edards chuckled.
"Fair warning," he said, and passed on, after tipping his hat again to Jessica.
"Did you just warn him about Martha?" Jessica said, grinning.
Joseph laughed. "He probably wanted to get all the gossip about you, but Martha’s loyal. She likes you, and she keeps her own mind about people she likes. You see what I mean about this being a small town?"
Jessica sighed. "Believe me, after New York, I could do with being in a quiet, small town."
"I’ve heard it gets rough there," Joseph said.
"It’s just...too big. I told you in my letters that I come from a small village where everyone knows everyone. Just like here." She smiled up at Joseph. "But in New York, no one knows anyone. You could faint, or even die, in the middle of a street, and people would walk around you. No one cares. Is that silly of me?"
"Not at all. And for what it’s worth, I would always care."
"Yes, I believe you would."
By now they had reached the end of the street. A dust road went on, through grass and trees on either side, as far as anyone could see. Standing on the boardwalk and looking out at the road, was like standing on the edge of the world. There was a bench that some benevolent citizen had placed where a weary person could sit, and look at the sea of green stretching ahead. Joseph and Jessica sat down, and she leaned a little against him. He put his arm around her shoulders. Again, a rather brazen gesture from someone she had only met just a few hours ago, but Jessica felt comfortable and safe. In somewhere like New York, it would have been an egregious piece of presumption. But here, at the end of the quiet street, watching the sky darkening and the stars beginning to appear, it was companionable.
"Jessica," Joseph said quietly. "I don’t believe I need a week to get to know you. So, will you marry me? You don’t have to decide now if you need more time to think."
Jessica looked up at him. "Yes, I would like to marry you," she said.
Joseph smiled. He pulled her closer to him and kissed her, a long kiss full of longing and passion that made her heart beat so loud, she was sure he could hear it.
She smiled to herself. Such a contrast from her first experience of courting. Hwyl had taken near to a year to work up the courage to ask the same question of her, after walking out together for an hour every sunday, after church. Such a decorous courting, with seemingly no warmth. Until the marriage service was over and all the guests had gone, and the ring was safely and firmly on her finger. Then he took her breath away with the depth of his ardour. If she had not seen through his early reticence, she would never have married him. And if she had never spent a happy year of being Hwyl’s wife, she would not have understood her own heart. As she sat beside Joseph in the cooling evening air, she felt something brush past her legs. Something like a large dog, or a wolf, it’s hot breath faintly visible. But nothing was there, no animal had passed by.
When they walked into Max and Martha’s home, there was no need to say anything. Martha hugged Jessica.
"Are you sure?" she said, holding Jessica by the shoulders and searching her face. Jessica nodded, unable to trust herself to speak without breaking into tears. Max was shaking Joseph’ hand vigorously, and then clapped his hat on his head.
"And where are you going?" Martha said.
"The lad and I are going to see Reverend Dodds." Max said. "I think we’ll be needing to bring this wedding forward a few days."
As they left the house, Martha clapped her hands to her head. "We’re going to have to get busy my girl," she said, "if we’re going to plan a wedding in less than a day. If I know my Max he’ll be trying to get the Reverend to come over this evening and marry you two on the spot."
Jessica laughed. Perhaps it would not be a good move to confess that she would not mind that at all.
"And you haven’t even seen the ranch," Martha continued. "I had planned that Joseph would take us there tomorrow and show you around. Men have no idea!" She took hold of Jessica’s hand. "Now, do you have a pretty dress you can wear for a wedding? I asked you that before, but Pamela got in the way. Oh dear, Pamela. What am I going to do with her? The boys can go off to school as usual, but Pamela is getting a mite too tall and bad tempered to be told to go to school like a child."
"Does Pamela have a pretty dress?" Jessica said. "Perhaps she could be my bridesmaid. I didn’t have any at all when I married Hwyl as neither of us had any family."
"Well, that’s a kind thought," Martha said, smiling. "Just the thing. She has a lovely dress which would do well." She sighed. "I couldn’t say that Joseph has no family, but the one brother that he has wouldn’t be wanted at his wedding. Oh, don’t ask me about it," she added as Jessica looked puzzled. "If he wants to tell you, he will. Otherwise, take my advice dear and don’t ask him about it at all."
Martha linked arms with Jessica. "Let’s go upstairs and see what we can find. Charlie brought your steam trunk back, after he’d taken it to the ranch when I specifically told him to bring it here. Ah well, he’ll be your headache soon."
Jessica knelt on the floor to unpack her trunk. Her first wedding dress had not been brought on the journey. Not that she would have worn it to marry Joseph. She had a superstitious feeling that it would have brought bad luck, even though her first marriage had been happy. She had left her funeral dress behind as well, worn just twice. When she had made it for the funeral of her parents, who had died within a day of each other, she never thought she would need it for the funeral of her young husband. Through eyes full of tears, she remembered the day he died, his broken body carried home by his friends. Hit by a coach, driven by a man who had drunk too much ale, and horses who were too tired and longing for their stable to notice Hwyl crossing the road in front. Four days before their first wedding anniversary.
There it was again; that feeling of long, soft fur, brushing past. She felt its breath on her face. She closed her deceptive eyes, stretched out her arms, and hugged the there-but-not-there form of a wolf. It was comforting, her tears dried, as she leaned against the big animal, burying her hands and her face in its soft fur. Slowly, as the sadness faded from her heart, the wolf vanished from the room, and Jessica was left to hunt through her trunk for the prefect dress for her wedding to Joseph.
Joseph and Jessica were married the next day, made possible as Joseph had already sent for a licence the week before. If the wife of Reverend Dobbs thought they were "marrying in haste" and would "repent at leisure", she kept it to herself. A few people stood outside the church, in knots of two or three, chattering in low, critical voices. Jessica didn’t notice, all her attention was focused on Joseph. The entire contingent of wedding guests numbered two; Martha and Max. Pamela had reluctantly agreed to be the only bridesmaid after having been bribed with the promise of a new dress as soon as her mother could buy the material. The boys were packed off to school, and promised slices of wedding cake if they behaved all day. Martha and Jessica had stayed up most of the night making the huge cake. Its lack of fashionable decoration was compensated by petals of edible flowers strewn over the white icing. Martha had had worries about that cake, as there was not enough time to let it cool completely before icing it. But it was perfect, the weather was perfect, and Pamela behaved perfectly. Joseph whispered in Jessica’s ear when she joined him at the alter, that she was "perfect", which made her blush becomingly. And all through the short service, Jessica was aware that there was one more guest, unseen yet definitely present, watching from the back of the church, and she was sure that he was smiling on her and Joseph.
The wedding breakfast was hilarious, as Max attempted to top each of his jokes with one even sillier. The cake was delicious, and there was so much of it left that Joseph and Jessica were given slices to take with them as evening fell, and they started out on the journey to the ranch. Charlie drove, grumbling a little under his breath at having to put the steamer trunk back onto the cart. He drove with one hand on the reins, and one hand holding a large slice of wedding cake.
Joseph picked Jessica up and carried her over the threshold of the ranch house. On Joseph’ instructions, Charlie and two women from the town had cleaned and polished the house, and filled it with vases of flowers. She barely saw them as Joseph carried her up the stairs and didn’t put her on her feet until they reached their bedroom. And so Jessica’s life as the wife of a rancher began.