Mail Order Bride: Fall (Bride For All Seasons 3)

The sky held a mixture of pure golden sunlight and a few lowering dark clouds that might mean rain, later on. Somewhere in the distance, a blackbird whistled, and a lift of wind suddenly rustled the crisping multicolored leaves of a nearby maple. As a backdrop to the graveyard, thankfully sparsely populated, thus far, a few ancient cedars had been left to guard the dead; and the knoll holdi

ng wooden crosses, carefully marked, looked out over Juniper Creek.

Most ceremonies—whether nuptial or baptismal or burial, or anything else in between—in a small town bring out its residents in droves. This afternoon’s service was no exception.

A simple pine casket holding the earthly remains of one Colt Forrester had just been consigned to its final resting place, after brief churchly rites. His executioner, one Pennyroyal Justice, who had trailed him for the last several years, had hastily departed once the death was confirmed, and was, according to rumor, sworn under oath never to return to these parts again.

“Listen, Elvira,” Mrs. McKnight said now, after giving the matter some thought, “are you positive this Colt person wasn’t Ben’s brother?”

“I’m positive.” Confidence rang out in her voice and shone across the face shadowed by her black hat. “Forrester is a common name, Flo; and coincidences do happen. And Ben assured me the dead man is no kin of his.”

“Welllll... maybe some long-lost relative. You think?”

Elvira, who had guessed at far more in this astounding tale than she would ever reveal, tightened hold of her reticule. “I suppose anything is possible, Grace Ellen. I’m just relieved that the matter is over and resolved, and I have no doubt Ben and Camellia feel the same. It must be so worrisome to have such possible trouble hanging over your head, through no fault of your own.”

“Oh, certainly, certainly... Yes, you’re right. We’ll just put the whole thing behind us and go on.”

Several other knots of attendees were making their slow way back to the Church of Placid Waters, talking over some of the same details, only to eventually quash questions once and for all. Then the topic turned to weather (weren’t they lucky not having to deal with storms today?) and the harvest (later than usual, but looking good).

After a while, the grave site was emptied of mourners but for a designated few.

“I don’t think it’s necessary that you actually cry, darlin’,” said Ben tenderly, pulling his wife tightly against his side.

“But I always cry at funerals. It’s such a sad time.”

“Well, Cam,” Ben risked a glance around to ensure that no curious onlookers remained, “it would be a sad time, if that was any more than an empty box we just put in the ground.”

“It would be a lot sadder time,” burst out Gabriel, irrepressible even in this solemn moment, “if that was Reese down there, like it mighta been!”

Another breeze blew through, tickling the women’s loosened hair, flirting with their long skirts, tugging at every man’s tie to wave like flags . A turtledove called from a flock of doves; definitely rain would be falling, at some point.

“I suppose,” Ben, looking across the little clearing at his friend, said thoughtfully, “we broke some laws, doin’ what we did.”

“Oh, a whole host of ’em,” agreed the sheriff, unperturbed. “Especially since this whole escapade was my idea. All you did was foot the bill.”

“That’s all right. I got me an indentured servant for the rest of his days. Reckon he owes me putineer his first born child, wouldn’t you say, Cam?” Eyes twinkling, his glance swerved from his wife to his brother, standing silently off to the side with Letitia beside him.

Reese, staring down at the clods of damp earth and pieces of green sod at his feet, took comfort in the supportive nearness of his dearest companion and love. “It’s a strange thing to attend your own funeral. To see the name you were born with markin’ your grave.”

“It was the best we could do for you, son. Fakin’ Cole Forrester’s death, at the hands of a bounty hunter, keeps Reese Barclay from gettin’ killed for real.”

Neither Molly nor Letitia had had much to say; they, like Camellia, felt a strange sense of loss that meant tears and sorrow. Hannah, practical, wise Hannah, was another story entirely.

“I still don’t see how you managed everything,” she said with admiration for a plan so quickly conceived and so efficiently carried out. “One would almost think you’d done this sort of thing before.”

In this new part of the cemetery, where so few markers stood, a couple of cast-iron benches had been installed under a small grove of oaks, almost as some park-like setting. Perhaps to encourage visitors to pray over the graves of their dearly departed. Perhaps to encourage a donation for upkeep.

Ben was already concerned about the stress under which his wife had been laboring for the past week or so. Three months pregnant, with the joyous occasion of a wedding to help prepare, and then the apparent sorrow of an apparent kinsman’s funeral, she had borne up magnificently thus far. But even the strongest among us need succoring now and then, whether they admit to it or not. Ben seated her gently on the bench and nodded at Molly to join her sister.

It seemed that, at this moment of closure, they needed to gather, clear up any details, and finish off this ugly sequence of events once and for all.

Paul laughed softly. “No, how to employ chicanery ain’t somethin’ spelled out in the lawman’s handbook. But it worked pretty well, didn’t it?“

He was leaning against a tree in a deceptively casual pose: arms folded over his chest, one ankle crossed over the other, but still very close to the bride he had finally, delightfully, been able to bed.

“Once good ole Ben assured me he could come up with the cash, we went on from there. It was just the four of us in that room, along with Justice; if you remember, I’d already sent my deputies back to the reception.”

“So he slipped out the back way, up in the hills b’hind Main Street, and fired off some shots with the bounty hunter’s gun,” Ben picked up the thread of the story. “Got Doc, here, to pronounce an invisible body dead. Handed the bounty money over to Pennyroyal, so’s we could get rid of him. Man. He lit out like a blue streak.”