Mock Wedding (Grass Valley Mail Order Brides Book 1) Read online

  Her hand slipped easily into the pocket, but she could feel nothing. Her fingers searched the whole of the gap, but the pocket was empty. How had anyone known that it was there?

  “It can’t have been taken,” she said, whispering to herself. She searched desperately, but it was clear that the ring had gone. Had they been watching her, intending to rob her before? There was something more than chance in the taking of that ring, so precious to her.

  She took her hand out of her pocket, and sank to the ground against the wall. She was crying for some reason, and yet she couldn’t even put her hand to her face. Instead, she just sank onto her knees, hands pressed against the door. Her arms were practically touching Silas’s legs, but he had remained silent throughout her searching, and now did not move as she burst into loud sobs. She finally put her hand to her face, casting him a curious look as she did so. He was not even paying any attention to her.

  He was looking around the room, at the many letters scattered everywhere. He was looking particularly closely at her unfinished letter, trying to read it upside down without being too obvious, although Mary could tell that he was scanning the page, even while she sobbed. She gave a slight cough, hoping to distract him, but he remained fixed on her letter. He still said nothing, made no move to comfort her, and she was crying partly with disappointment that he was so close and yet so cold. He clearly didn’t care a bean for her, she was nothing to him once he had dropped her out of his life.

  She felt angry with herself for rushing to his aid, and for trying to save his skin. She should have allowed him to be beaten up; he clearly accepted it as part of his life. She knew to herself that she could not have ignored the fight, even if he had shoved her away as soon as possible once he was safe. She had done it to protect him, not for a reward, and now she was getting a payment of sorts for her kindness. It was almost freedom, to realize that no matter what she did, he would not care less for her.

  He coughed suddenly, and took a step backwards, his legs holding him up without the need of support.

  “I’ll be getting back now,” he said, “The track will be too dark to walk soon.”

  She didn’t reply. He was feeling better, he wanted to go. She shrugged her shoulders, tears falling freely down her face, and he turned and left without another word to her. He simply was gone, leaving her alone with her door wide open, and her most precious items gone, because she had rushed to protect him. He had called her crazy and maybe she was, because she had put his safety over her own valuables, and even her own safety. She could not expect an ungrateful man to go against himself and show gratitude. She was even ashamed of the tears she was crying now, since they had shown him a weakness which he was no doubt holding against her.

  Mary knelt on the floor for a long time after he had left, sometimes crying, sometimes raging that she had risked her own skin to save his, and he could not even offer her a word of consolation in return. Sometimes, she just fell into dry-eyed sobbing which did not have any purpose other than to let her mind remember more injustices which then increased her tears. After a long while, her tears dried completely, and she had reverted to scolding herself about her heart, which had given itself too freely despite her best intentions.

  “I can’t keep away from uncaring men,” she told herself, “and Silas is clearly another one of those who can only care for themselves.”

  Eventually, her legs started to ache, and she got up and threw herself onto the bed. She had had enough for one day, and now only wanted rest. The townspeople were clearly wrong in their attempts to bring her back to Silas. Whether she was good for Silas or not, he was clearly not good for her. Each time she had to see him recently, he had caused her more pain, without even trying it seemed. She wouldn’t be offering him another rescue, that was certain. If he talked himself into more trouble with the men, then he would have to rescue himself, she would no longer be there.

  Chapter 11

  The day after the street brawl, Mary went out into the town. Today was a special day for the residents, and while she didn’t feel like celebrating on her own, she wanted to be there when the townspeople held their party. Grass Valley had few reasons to celebrate, particularly not when winter was coming on hard, but for one day, the whole of the town was coming together to acknowledge the Scotts. They had been here since the beginning, and were the oldest remaining residents from those first, hard days. Even the early gold miners had turned into go-backs, returning to the East, but the Scotts had stayed, and they were now celebrating their own marriage anniversary.

  Mrs. Scott would never be a good friend, Mary knew, but she was clever in her way, and could offer sensible advice. She was always there, a fixture of the town, almost its mascot, and Mary wanted to applaud her, and hope to take that happy marriage as a good luck charm for her own future. She was heading into one of the stores to buy some fittings, lace and ribbon, to turn one of her everyday dresses into a Sunday dress. It would take a lot of rescuing, but she didn’t have the money now to buy a decent costume, or even the cloth to make one herself.

  The main road had been covered with straw, and a space marked out in the center, tied with flags and string. It looked jolly, Mary thought, perhaps the day would not be so bad after all. If she could enjoy herself one last time in Grass Valley, then not all of her memories would be negative, and she could leave the town without any regretful backward glance.

  She saw Silas from a distance, driving Henry along one of the back streets. He did not look at her, and she decided not to call his name. She was done with him; he was clearly done with her. It was best if they never spoke to each other again.

  In her room, Mary pulled out her old dresses, setting one side and putting the other back into her case. With no Sunday best, Mary had to add ribbon to one of her older dresses. She ran her fingers along each of the flaws in the old dress. Ribbon there would hide a small ladder in the cloth, a ribbon there would conceal a stain that washing couldn’t get out. She held the dress up to the window, letting the light shine on the flaws. It wasn’t great, she thought, but it would have to do. She couldn’t make a new dress with the available time, and her everyday dress was beyond even reasonable repair. She stitched for the rest of the morning, fixing up the dress so that it looked reasonable. When she put it on and stood in front of her mirror, she was pleased to see that it fitted her well, and the ribbons suited her. She looked good in this dress, so perhaps everything was not lost, after all.

  Stepping out into the street, Mary was glad to see that the celebrations had already started. She didn’t particularly want to talk to anyone there, she just wanted to be at the party and then go home. She was glad to see Mrs. Scott, and surprised at the loud, restless little man who seemed to be her husband. Mr. Scott grasped her hand warmly, but seemed to be looking for someone else in the crowd. She withdrew as soon as could be polite, and walked off to examine the other celebrations.

  The center of the street was hosting a small play, with a little group standing to one side of the roped-off square. Most of the watchers were gathering here, the main event before the toast to the Scotts. At first, Mary thought that it was a comedy made by the children of the town, but then she saw that it was played by adults. There was Mrs. Stamp, wearing a grooms’ outfit, and stood beside Daniel Hellyar, dressed in a white gown that looked as though it had once been a tablecloth, pressed into more stressful service. Mrs. Stamp was short, Daniel was tall, and together they looked absurd. She stepped forward to hear what they were saying, and found that they were reading from books. There was another man there, dressed in the outfit of a Catholic priest, and Mary realized that they were holding some kind of mock wedding ceremony. Just as she had taken this in, she saw that there were a group of performers, all clad in outrageous costumes, including one teenage girl in curls and a hat that was twice her size. She started to back away from the roped-off area, but the crowd pressed behind her and she was fixed in position.

  Just as she stepped away from the scene, the
saloon owner started to play a wedding march, and the little group walked around the edge of the string, Daniel and Mrs. Stamp arm-in-arm like a traditional couple, and their fellow actors followed behind as though they were a bridal procession. Mary compared it to her own New York procession, and thought that perhaps this was the better of the two. At least the groom was there, walking with his bride rather than running off when the appointed day came. She shivered, and reminded herself that she had had a lucky escape, and could make another one if she left Grass Valley soon.

  The wedding march ended when the group reached the center of the square, and the man dressed in priests’ clothes strode to the front of the party, opening a book and shouting, at the top of his lungs “Dearly beloved…” There was a bellow of laughter from the watching crowd, many of them sporting bruises and cuts from the fight. The miners were there, and as Silas had said, very drunk and loud. They drowned out the rest of the speech, and Mary was glad to hear it.

  As the ‘minister’ started to read the marriage lines, there was a noise at the back of the stage, and a woman burst through, carrying a doll. “I object,” she yelled “stop this marriage”, and then started to chase Mrs. Stamp around the room, eventually hitting her with the doll several times. That done, she left, and the ‘groom’ then went back to his ‘bride’. The couple then started to fight, with Mrs. Stamp swinging her hand across Daniel’s cheek as though they were having a quarrel. There was a shout from the back, and all of the performers piled into the bride and groom, with dresses and hats being torn off. From the middle of this melee, Mrs. Stamp suddenly appeared, and dashed off to one side, while the bride gave a great wail, and the performers parted to reveal Daniel, standing alone in the center with a bouquet of wilting flowers clutched to his chest.

  Mary felt hot tears fall down her face, and put her hand across her eyes. It was her own wedding day, played out as a comedy. She should be laughing with everyone else. Was she turning soft out here, that she had to cry at every single thing?

  Desperate to keep her dignity, she turned away from the play, and started to run back to her lodgings. The crowd stepped aside from her, more intent on watching the play than caring whether she was crying or not. She had almost reached the edge of the crowd when she ran straight into one of the crowd. His hands caught her, and held her up, preventing them both from falling to the ground.

  “I’m so sorry,” she said, and tried to move around him.

  “Just a minute, Mary,” Silas said.

  She gasped and jumped backwards, out of his arms. Her eyes flicked upwards to his face, seeing its dark expression, then looked away.

  He was reaching into his shirt pocket - did he plan to give her money for rescuing him? She decided to refuse, and throw it back at him if necessary. How dare he offer her money? She could feel her jaw tightening as she summoned the courage to refuse.

  “It’s alright,” he said, speaking as he had done on that first day. “Don’t worry, I only want to give you this.”

  She was about to refuse, when she saw it was a note. “This must be the other flyleaf from the Bible then,” she said, but took the paper anyway. His bride would have to lead a quiet life after all.

  “Please, Mary. Just give me a chance,” he said, “Would you read it, at least?”

  She thrust the paper into her bodice, and then stepped around him. Without another word, she ran down the road, and into her lodging house, with the letter still untouched. She stopped in the threshold, both hands clutching the edge of the door frame.

  Chapter 12

  When she was finally able to step into the lodging house, the owner stopped her at the door, pointing towards the communal rooms. She must have been watching Mary from her own door, waiting for her to come in. Mary followed her down the hall towards the small communal space at the back of the house. It was not much bigger than a linen closet, but it held one or two armchairs and a fireplace, and it served its purpose as a place to meet lovers and friends.

  Mary could hear a number of voices coming from the area, and then one of the women appeared at the door. It was Mrs. Bice, sister-in-law to Jack and wife of one of the miners. When she saw Mary, she broke out into greetings, and several other women appeared in the doorway.

  They were the miner’s wives who Mary had met several times when she was working for Silas, and they now came forward, taking her by the hands and pulling her into the communal area.

  “What has happened?” she asked, remembering the warnings of the miners last night. “Has something happened to the mine?” She saw the women look at each other, and then one of the women was pushed to the front.

  “Something dreadful has happened,” Rebecca Bice said, “but it’s not in the mines,” she paused. “It’s in our homes.” She nodded to her friends, showing off her dramatic timing to them.

  “What?” Mary frowned. What did they mean, and what could she do? If they wanted any help with their menfolk, they would have to speak to Silas, or one of the mine bosses.

  “She means,” Dotty Lacy said, “that we are having trouble with our men, and it's all because of you.” She planted herself right in front of Mary, as though about to fight her. Mary took a step backwards. The idea of a fight reminded her that she had interfered with the miners’ aims yesterday evening.

  “Last night? I only wanted to stop them…” The women all started talking at once, until Rebecca raised a hand. She had clearly appointed herself as leader of the women, and was determined to speak the most.

  “It is about last night, but we know it’s not your fault. It’s Silas’s fault.”

  “Silas?” Mary found herself thinking of the little note tucked into her bodice. “I don’t think he started the fight.” Would the women ever come to the point about their visit? She would ask them to leave if they couldn’t speak their purpose.

  “Not about the fight, Mary. We mean about how his manners have been since you left.” Rebecca Bice put her hands on her hips, giving another clue without making it any clearer. Did the woman only speak in hints?

  “Terrible, she means,” said Dotty. “Frightful. He’s like a bear with a sore head that’s sat on a pine cone. He’s been savage as a meat axe since you’ve gone. There’s hardly one of the men that he hasn’t come almost to blows with, and he can’t barely say a good word to any of us, either.”

  “He’s always been short with the men.” Mary didn’t like to add that he was rude with almost everyone.

  Rebecca shook her head. “Not like now. He’s gone from curt and quiet to downright ornery, and he was getting better with you. You were a gentling influence on him, you know. Made him seem almost civil sometimes after he’d talked to you.”

  Mary laughed at that, and the other women joined in, but Rebecca scowled and told her friends to stop laughing.

  “Tell me he hasn’t been a devil since this whole thing happened.” She leaned forward. “We can hardly sit with him in the cart on Sunday, he just scowls at us all, and gets in a pucker about every little thing. He made my Selina cry yesterday, and she’s nearly fifteen years old. He’s staring and growling at the children like all possessed, even grinding his teeth at them, and they daren’t move towards him. My littlest said that he was afraid Old Warner would bite him.” The other women agreed, interrupting with similar stories of child-scaring and animal-spooking.

  “He has even upset Henry, the poor hoss is getting more and more skittish. He nearly bolted when we were driving to church last Sunday, and you know yourself how docile he is. Silas is driving him full chisel down the mountain, even when he isn’t yelling and throwing the reins. Henry can’t afford to go at such a pace.”

  “Have you tried speaking to Silas yourselves? He’s not a devil, you know. He can he spoken to, the same as other men.” She remembered her own pleasant days by the fireside, when Silas had seemed almost friendly.

  “Not by us. We’ve tried to point out that he’s a little short these days, and he told me to shut my pan, and then he used the reins
on Henry and hurt him.”

  Mary looked down at the floor. “That doesn’t sound like Silas,” she said, “He is fond of that little pony.”

  “It is him since you’ve been gone,” Rebecca said, and put a hand on Mary’s arm.

  “You’ve put the devil in him, Mary, and you have to pull it out again.” Dotty uncrossed her arms, and pointed out of the window, her finger indicating the path to Wolf Creek. Did they really think that a visit from her could sort out their problem with the supervisor?

  Mary shook her head. “I’m sorry, ladies, really I am. Silas is just in a bad mood, it will pass. But I’m afraid that I can’t help you with this. Silas and I are done.”

  Rebecca Bice settled herself into one of the chairs. “Do you really mean that, child?” she said. “I’m much older than you, and I know when a man and a woman are meant for each other. But you have to manage it between you, sometimes.” She nodded towards Mary’s dress. “All creation knows that you went out to rescue him last night, and what you’ve lost in return. Don’t say that you’re done when you can work it out with him.”

  “There’s nothing to work out, Rebecca,” Mary said, “I’m afraid that I won’t be staying in Grass Valley. Perhaps when I’m gone Silas will be happier. I know that I will.”

  Dotty went towards the door, placing her hand firmly on the frame. “Just talk to him, Mary. That’s all that you have to do. He misses you and would be glad of your company, even if you never go back to making house with him. At least try and comfort him a little.”

  “I’ve tried to talk to him, he told me himself that he has little to say.” She coughed to disguise the slight catch in her throat. “He doesn’t want to hear anything I have to say.”

  The women looked at her in silence, as though surprised. Rebecca rose, and started to pull her shawl around her shoulders. There were some whispers of disbelief. Mary nodded her head, and then felt forced to make explanation for their separation.