Mail Order Bride: Summer (Bride For All Seasons 2)

Somehow, with that being one of the more interesting points, they made it through the week. Camellia’s “talk” left the bride-to-be wide-eyed, shocked, and disbelieving. Things went somewhat downhill from there, and the wedding preparations seemed not as filled with joy as they should have been.

And so events proceeded, with everyone concerned putting on a brave face.

“Dearly beloved,” said Rev. Beecham, smiling now at the small congregation of guests staring back at him, “we are gathered here today...”

Camellia, as matron of honor at the front of the church, could hardly break down in tears, although the waterworks were threatening. Her baby sister—married. Imagine it. She could only wish the very best for Molly, with all happiness. The girl deserved every bit of goodness and kindness—blessings rained down from above, if you will—that should come to her.

With such an intimate group of people involved, everyone could troop on over to the Drinkwater Café Rouge (the most upscale and luxurious restaurant in town) for a celebration dinner after the ceremony. Ben had generously—and absolutely of his own volition—offered to serve as host. Which meant paying the bill for some exuberant dining and drinking.

Hugs and kisses and congratulations all around, and a radiant bride and her placid groom could take center stage at the main table as glasses were raised and dishes passed.

“And what are your plans from here on, dear?” Elvira Gotham, dressed in the light and airy best that Forrester’s had to offer, asked with interest.

After a quick glance down at the gold band on her finger, as if to ascertain that this marriage had actually taken place, Molly beamed up at her new husband. “After this nice reception, Quinn and I are returning to Camellia’s so that I can change. And then—” A soft blush stained her cheekbones with color, “it’s off for a wedding trip.”

“Indeed? Traveling very far, are you?”

“Not far at all,” interceded Quinn. “I’m afraid some unexpected expenses will prevent our journeying anywhere at the present time. But have no fear, dearest Molly. We’ll make plans for some sightseeing soon.”

Elvira, who had paused at the table to chat, raised her brows. “Then where are you going?”

“I have rented a small cottage for us a couple miles out of town,” said Quinn proudly. “On a patch of land where a garden can be grown, and possibly some farm animals raised. A homestead just close enough, but not too close, if you take my meaning.”

The lady did, but wasn’t sure how that might be important. However, hers was not to question. Instead, she considered a moment, then, curious, repeated: “Some small cottage a couple miles out of town? You’re surely not thinking of the old Rutledge place, are you? Why, my goodness, that’s nothing more than a rundown shack.”

Molly’s beautiful blue eyes widened. “A rundown shack? But, surely—”

“I haven’t heard the name, I must confess. But it didn’t seem too rundown to me. A bit more primitive than Molly is used to, possibly, and without the—”

“Quinn. Is it livable?”

He essayed a small burst of laughter. “Of course it’s livable, don’t be such a goose. I wouldn’t subject you to a hovel, Mrs. Hennessey.”

“Well, then,” Elvira, quizzically watching this byplay, asserted. Time to mind her own business. She had no right to expose such an innocent child, at this juncture, to the more sordid facts of life. More explicitly, that the old Rutledge place, long abandoned in its distance from Turnabout restrictions, had been occasionally used as a convenience bordello. “Once again, my felicitations to both of you, and I hope all goes well in your future.”

Left alone for a few minutes, in their own small private circle that temporarily excluded outsiders, Molly turned a puzzled face to her groom. “You’ve rented a house? Without my seeing it first? But why, Quinn? And this is the first I’ve heard anything about our not being able to go away. Everyone goes away for a bit, you know, when they’ve just gotten married. What happened, that we can’t afford to do—”

“Hush, Molly.” Quinn’s smile, a baring of teeth through his Mephistophelean beard, came in concert with his squeezing of her hand. The squeeze was not as gentle as he thought, however, and she winced. “I’ll explain more later, sweet girl, all right?”

Amazing, how many aimless residents, cowpokes and businessmen alike, hearing about the wedding and the festivities, had wandered into the dining room to join in. Amazing, how quickly the lighthearted pleasure of a family gathering began to de

teriorate as the liquor flowed freely and the action started getting a bit rowdy.

About the fourth time Ben stepped in to break up an incipient fight between two wranglers far along in their cups, he decided the Hennessey wedding party should call it quits and vacate the premises, before a few heads got broken. In a voice loud enough to carry to the next block, he informed everyone—guests invited and those present but not invited—that he appreciated the turnout; in a lower tone, he thanked the management and told those who were interested to c’mon over to the house where he could keep a lid on things.

Somehow, in the midst of all the hullabaloo, Molly managed to escape to the Forresters’ upstairs bedroom, along with Camellia, to change from the beautiful satin gown into a traveling outfit she had earlier chosen. Even though, she confided a trifle shakily to her sister, there would be no traveling.

“But, then, where are you going?” Camellia, surprised, asked blankly.

Words muffled by the heavy skirt being pulled over her head, the bride breathlessly explained.

“The Rutledge place? Molly, dear, that building is a hovel—not even a decent roof over your head. You can’t possibly go there. What must Quinn be thinking? Surely he can do better than that; surely he can’t mean for you to settle in such a—a pigsty?”

Molly, stripped down to lacy camisole and petticoats, reached for the pretty sugar-pink frock with its buttons and soft pink bows. “Do you suppose he was joking with me?”

“I sincerely hope so.” Camellia’s eyes were blazing bright blue with annoyance. Not a good way to foster any sort of relationship with one’s new brother-in-law. “What about the Drinkwater, in a nice hotel room, at least for your wedding night?”

“I—don’t know.” Her voice suddenly sounded quivering and uneasy. “He said—Quinn said something about—expenses...”