A Wanton Woman (Mail Order Bride of Slate Springs 1)

“Definitely.”

***

Celia

We did have callers, just as the men had expected. First, Mr. Bernard from next door, who was in his sixties as Walker had said. While quite fit, his hands were gnarled from rheumatism and I imagined it was difficult for him to complete some tasks. I was glad to hear Walker had stopped to offer him some help. He’d been kind, yet curious about me, but had not stayed long. Then came the Johnsons, the Rands and then a small group from church. While no one said anything to me outright besides town news—the pass was indeed closed—I had no doubt when they walked back down the street, hats low on their heads against the cold weather, they whispered about me.

It was nothing I wasn’t used to. The last few weeks I was in Texas, the whispers and looks had been unbearable. I’d had no one to shelter me as I did now. Both Luke and Walker remained with me the entire time, not leaving me alone once.

It was another couple who came up the walk that made Luke curse beneath his breath. I didn’t know why he dreaded opening the door; I just sensed that he did.

Luke let them in, but with much less warmth than with the others. He was a small, rotund man of similar age to Luke and Walker. What hair he did have on his head—he was mostly bald—was fair. The way he stared at me with beady little eyes, suspiciously and with dislike, made me wary. While the others who had come to call had been curious, they’d also been kind. This man didn’t seem to be kind at all. His wife was even smaller than he, her eyes downcast and her shoulders curled in.

“Thomkins, may we introduce you to our wife, Celia?”

“How do you do?” he replied. “My wife, Agnes.”

Agnes offered me a peek at her eyes and a faint smile before she looked at the floor again. I thought her shy until her husband spoke. “Agnes has been curious how your marriage would be consummated.”

The woman sucked in her breath and glanced at her husband, but remained silent. No, she wasn’t shy. She was cowed, trained not to speak back to her husband, even if he spouted lies. I had no doubt it wasn’t the meek woman who wanted to know about how Luke, Walker and I fucked. Looking at the very unappealing Mr. Thomkins, I had to wonder if they’d actually consummated their marriage.

“Thomkins,” Luke warned.

“You know I didn’t vote for the law,” he began.

Walker sighed, b

ut remained quiet.

“To see it now in effect will change the moral fiber of our town.”

“Yes, we’re aware that not everyone wanted the law,” Luke replied. “But we are a democratic town, even though we are small. Everyone had a chance to speak and the council voted.”

“You’re aware of all this,” Walker said. “You were at all the meetings.”

“Yes, but what about church? The children?”

“We don’t have any children. Yet,” Luke added. “Give us longer than a week to get on that.”

I blushed.

“I didn’t mean your children. I meant the ones in town. What are they going to think?”

Walker came to stand behind me, one hand on my shoulder, the other on my hip. “That we love our wife, that we honor her, respect her and certainly don’t shame her.”

The last wasn’t directed at me, but a barb for Mr. Thomkins. I didn’t like him, not one bit. He’d made it very easy to feel that way. I felt sorry for Agnes. The poor woman had to live with the man.

“We won’t stay and take up any of your time. We are having dinner with Reverend Carnes and his wife.”

I didn’t know the religious couple, but I doubted they would be overly welcoming either. I could imagine the four of them sitting there and gossiping about us over boiled potatoes and stewed meat.

“Then don’t let us keep you.” Luke went to the door and opened it, making it clear he was eager to have them go.

Thomkins stormed out and left his wife to follow. She offered me a small smile before stepping out onto the porch. Without anything to hold onto, she slipped and fell, landing on her bottom, but with her hand out to stop herself. She cried out in pain at the jarring drop.

Luke was crouched beside her as Mr. Thomkins returned up the snowy walkway with care.

“Agnes,” he said, but it was more with frustration than upset.