Tempting Prudence: The Bride Train Page 8

  “I’ll keep your secret safe…” Water sloshed. “Would you bring me my clothes?”

  “Sure will.” He headed inside, smiling and more confident than ever. One bath, and Pru had already softened toward him. A few more favors, and he would gain her agreement to be his wife, and everything would work out fine.

  At some point, he had to break the news about the family business. She might not like the idea of being called a bootlegger’s wife, but it was more respectable than the alternative.

  Chapter 6

  Prudence finished dressing behind the screen then drifted inside the house to look for a brush so she could work out the damp tangles. She went behind the curtain and searched around the washstand and on the bed. “Do you know where the brush went?” she called.

  “Out here.”

  Arch stood at the table where he’d pulled out a chair. He held up the boar-bristle brush and smiled suggestively. Unbelievable. He’d already pampered her by preparing a warm bath. Now he wished to perform another service.

  “You…you want to brush my hair?” Why, the very idea of allowing the intimacy made her insides quiver. She couldn’t call it fear, more like anticipation.

  Before she could talk herself out of it, she went to the chair and sat down. A faint, strident voice exhorted, the privilege belonged to a husband. Her conscience spoke up too late. She’d already given Arch permission.

  “I’ll warn you, when it’s tangled like this, it isn’t fun to brush.”

  “Not fun for you…” He let her draw the obvious implication as he lifted the heavy tresses over the chair back.

  She straightened her spine, her heart thudding.

  “Don’t be nervous, sweet pea.”

  At the endearment, Prudence blushed like a schoolgirl with her first beau. In many ways, Arch was her first. No other man had kissed her or introduced her to passion or stirred emotions buried deep in her heart. Of course, she wouldn’t be his first in any sense of the word. He must’ve left behind a long string of broken hearts, being temptation personified. She had a strong moral backbone and couldn’t resist him.

  That he appeared to be attracted to her was harder to understand. While she wasn’t ugly, she knew full well she wasn’t pretty, either. Plain Prudence. That’s what even her friends had called her. She acknowledged it as a fact rather than an insult. But Arch saw a different woman when he looked at her. He saw a woman who was lovely and alluring. He saw the woman she longed to be.

  He lifted a length of hair and began to work his fingers through it. The gentle tugs pulled at her scalp without hurting. “Got to work out these tangles with my fingers before I use the brush, or it’ll tear your hair.”

  “How do you know so much about brushing women’s hair?” She tried not to sound jealous.

  “When I was four, maybe five, I used to brush out my ma’s hair. Hers was long and thick, like yours. Pa wasn’t around much to help and I was always underfoot. She must’ve reckoned a brush would give me something to do.”

  “My mother used to brush my hair. She didn’t worry too much about hurting me, said I needed a tougher hide…like a buffalo.”

  Arch huffed a laugh. “You can’t be related to buffalo. Your hair’s too silky.”

  He dragged the brush through the thick strands. She couldn’t call the aching his touch inspired painful. Nothing in her experience had prepared her for this…this craving. While it was too early to name whatever grew between them something more than attraction, they were headed toward a relationship she hadn’t thought possible two days ago.

  “Where are your parents now?” he asked.

  “They’re both gone, two years ago this summer, after several years of being bedridden.

  “You took care of them.”

  “As their daughter, yes, it was my responsibility to see to their comfort…” That made it sound like a chore and implied resentment. Even if both were true to some extent, she’d loved her parents and wouldn’t have let anyone else care for them. “I did so gladly.”

  “Taking care of sick folks is hard work.”

  His reminder humbled her.

  “I imagine it wasn’t easy taking care of me when I was ill.”

  “Wasn’t as much of a chore as I made out. You aren’t old…or frail.” His voice dropped lower, the rough tone and his brushing acting like a fine abrasive on her sensitive skin. “I was talking about how hard my ma worked when she had to tend to my grandparents. They were…incorrigible.”

  She smiled at his clever use of the insult she’d flung at him. “Is that where you get it from?”

  “If it means what I think it means, we’d call it ornery. My whole family is like that. What about your family?

  “I have one brother, Enoch. He’s five years older, and he can be ornery. Mostly, he thinks he’s right about everything. He took his wife and children to California, and he offered to take me along. But…I didn’t want to be a burden. I had two younger brothers. Twins. They died when I was eight. I hardly remember them.”

  “I’d offer to give you two of mine, but you wouldn’t want them.”

  “True,” she murmured. “They make you look like a saint. How is it that you turned out so different?”

  “My mother let me brush her hair. Kept me out of trouble…”

  The gentle, rhythmic brushing lured Prudence into a sensual trance.

  Arch smoothed his hand over her head. “How does it feel?”

  “Like clay.”

  “Clay?”

  “As in, I’ll soon be clay in your hands.”

  He exhaled a soft laugh. “Oh, I hope so.”

  His response elicited the thrill inspired when facing danger. Warnings sounded in her head that she dared not let this go too far. “I think you’ve brushed out all the tangles. There’s no need to continue.”

  “What’s wrong? You don’t like it?” The brush dug deeper, sliding through her hair, every stroke a caress.

  Prudence shivered at a light scrape of bristles against her scalp. Like it? If she liked it any more, she would be writhing with delight. A soft sigh escaped from between her lips. “I like it too much.”

  “Then we’ll have to do it every night.” His suggestive tone implied more than brushing would be involved.

  Her body grew heavy, her limbs refused to move, although fatigue wasn’t the problem. Desire made her languid. “Letting you brush my hair every night wouldn’t be proper.”

  “It would be if we—”

  Rebel broke into frenzied barking. The dog brushed her skirts as he scrambled from beneath the table and raced outside.

  Startled, Prudence jerked up straight. Rebel’s barks broke into long calls. He hadn’t barked like that at the Indians. Some danger, or disaster, had arrived. She tamped down a dire premonition. If those were soldiers looking for her, what should she say? “I wonder who’s out there.”

  Arch placed the brush on the table, grumbling. “Whoever it is, I’ll send him away.” He leaned down and pressed a fierce kiss on her open mouth. “You stay here. We ain’t finished.”

  He’d been about to propose marriage again when the dog went wild. That’s what he meant. He never suggested he could love her. She didn’t expect to fall in love, either. That didn’t mean it couldn’t sneak up on her.

  Maybe the interruption was a sign that she ought to reconsider leaping from the frying pan into the fire, as her mother would’ve said.

  Becoming jittery, she drew her hair over her shoulder and separated it into sections for plaiting. Whoever it was, she couldn’t greet them with her hair unbound, looking like a fallen woman—even if that wasn’t far from the truth.

  A woman’s voice called out Arch’s name.

  Who could that be? A neighbor? He hadn’t mentioned any. Perhaps one of her friends had come looking for her. The possibility inspired mixed feelings.

  Prudence made quick work of the braid and secured it with the leather tie. Trying to wrap her plaited hair into a bun would be hopeless without hai
rpins. If the visitor turned out to be no one she knew, she would remain hidden.

  She crept to the door and peeked out.

  Golden rays slanted across the clearing, illuminating a black buggy hitched to a tired-looking mule. Arch held a woman’s hand and supported her arm as she stepped to the ground.

  On her spare frame hung a shapeless brown dress and a crocheted black shawl. Her face wasn’t visible, being turned to the side and hidden behind a wide-brimmed sunbonnet. At first glance, she didn’t resemble any of the women Prudence knew. Tall, but not as tall as Rose; and that plain homespun gown wasn’t something Mr. Valentine would allow his Rose to wear, even if she could make it.

  Rebel ran in circles around the woman’s feet, barking and whining. He darted close, his whole body wriggling with joy. He wasn’t upset. He was excited to see her.

  The woman spoke to Arch in a voice too low to be overheard. He gave her a hug. The way he put his arms around her bespoke fondness and familiarity.

  Jealousy raked Prudence’s heart. She exited the open door, raising her hand to shield her eyes from the late afternoon sun. Why, she’d snatch the stranger by her big sunbonnet and tell her to take her hands off…

  The woman turned her head. A glimpse of her face revealed too many wrinkles for her to be young. Come to think of it, her shoulders were slightly stooped. Arch had tucked the older woman’s hand into the crook of his arm, assisting her in a respectful manner.

  Could it be? His mother?

  Prudence came to a halt, took a step backwards, tempted to turn tail and run. Her face burned, and not from the sun. The tub remained outside, so it was obvious she was staying here and not visiting. His mother must wonder why he had a woman in his house, and what they’d been doing. As if that wasn’t apparent. Covering the braid with her hand didn’t hide anything.

  “Pru, this is my ma, Bessie Childers.” With that, Arch confirmed Prudence’s fears. “Ma, this is Prudence Walker.” He introduced her without explanation. Nothing he added would help matters anyway.

  Prudence dipped in an awkward curtsy. “Pleasure to meet you, ma’am.”

  “Prudence. What a pretty name…”

  Was it? No one had ever said so before.

  Arch’s mother hooked her arm. “Let’s go inside and get to know each other while Arch sees to the mule.”

  Prudence allowed herself to be led along, seeing no polite way to refuse and having lost her chance to sneak out the window and flee into the trees. “May I offer you coffee?”

  “I’d be mighty grateful for a cup of tea.” Mrs. Childers removed her sunbonnet and smoothed her hand over gray hair braided into a coronet. She hung the yellow bonnet on a peg by the door, indicating she planned to stay awhile. “Sure do hope you don’t mind that I came to meet you.”

  “To meet me?” Prudence echoed what she heard, even though it didn’t make sense. She searched through the cupboard and took down a tin labeled Tea.

  “Arch didn’t see fit to bring his new wife home. I had to hear the good news from his brother.”

  * * *

  Prudence’s hand shook as she measured a spoonful of tealeaves into the pot. Good thing she’d turned her back so his mother couldn’t see her surprise. Lying wouldn’t make things better, but she couldn’t come up with a good way to explain the situation either. Not without embarrassing herself and possibly alienating her future mother-in-law by contradicting the tale she’d been told. “Let me put the kettle on to boil while you sit down and rest.”

  “Thank ye, kindly, Prudence.” A creak sounded as Arch’s mother sat in one of the rocking chairs by the fireplace. She ran a gnarled hand over the grapevine armrest. “Robert made me a pair of rocking chairs like these when we first got married.”

  Prudence set the kettle over the hot coals. She had kissed Arch and let him brush her hair, had all but said yes to his proposal. Why mention anything, if they would soon be married? Instead, she would use this opportunity to learn more about him. Arch hadn’t shared much about his father or his family, other than to say they’d lived over the border in Missouri.

  “Arch’s father taught him how to make furniture?”

  “Oh my, yes. He taught Arch and the boys lots of things, God rest his soul.”

  “My condolences. How long has Mr. Childers been gone?”

  “Eight years this month.” His mother’s voice grew sad. “Arch was seventeen. The Unionists would’ve killed him, too, if he’d stayed home. Those days, there weren’t a man, young or old, left in McDonald County. They all got killed or run off, or joined an army and fought. Wasn’t no middle ground.”

  The war had ruined so many lives. Which side Arch had chosen as a boy mattered less than what kind of man he’d become. Besides being charming enough to talk a bird off its nest, Arch had proved to be hardworking, generous and honest, when pressed for the truth. He was also surprisingly tenderhearted. His manners weren’t polished, and in some cases, his behavior veered into unacceptable, but was a gentleman in the truest sense of the word.

  “Those were terrible times,” Prudence agreed. “I’m glad we’ve put them behind us.”

  She took the teapot to the table and filled two cups. “There’s no fresh milk, I’m sorry…” because she’d used it to make the bread and butter—both of which were inedible. Never again would she waste good food. After she admitted her sin to Arch, she would ask his forgiveness. He had been honest with her, and it was time she was honest with him.

  Mrs. Childers lifted the cup and took a sip. “This is fine, honey. Why don’t you sit down? You’re flitting around worse than a chickadee.”

  Prudence sank into the other rocking chair, balancing her teacup. “Pardon me, I don’t mean to be rude.”

  “You’re not being rude. You’re being a good hostess.” Mrs. Childers gave her an encouraging smile. “Arch probably told you, he’s the youngest of my six boys…four living. When he was a baby, I feared he wouldn’t live, either. He was so sickly. Wouldn’t think that to look at him now.” She chuckled. “He’s growed up strong as an oak. Smart, too. I was pleased to hear he found a good woman and settled down.”

  Prudence drank her tea to avoid responding. Mrs. Childers’ assumption wasn’t that far from the truth. Best to keep silent.

  “There is another reason I stopped by. Arch’s brothers went into town three days ago, said they was taking care of the deliveries because Arch was busy with his new wife. Nobody’s seen ’em since.”

  “What were they delivering?” Prudence asked before she realized she ought to know.

  Mrs. Childers stopped rocking. “Corn whiskey.”

  “Whiskey?” Prudence fumbled with her cup. Tea sloshed over the edge and onto the napkin in her lap. “Wh-why were they delivering whiskey?”

  His mother looked at her like she might be slow. “They were taking it to the customers.”

  Prudence forced herself to remain seated. She wanted to jump up and run outside to find Arch and demand he explain why he hadn’t told her that his brothers were bootleggers. Now the empty coffin made sense. What better way to transport illegal goods without being suspected?

  The rocking chair creaked as his mother put it into motion, expertly cradling the teacup so as not to spill a drop. “Childers make the best whiskey in these parts. Arch’s pa learned the secret from his granddaddy, and he taught the boys the trade.”

  Dear Lord…moonshiners, the whole family…including Arch.

  “I’m surprised Arch didn’t tell you.”

  He’d told her he wanted to have his own farm and raise horses. That was his dream. More like a convenient cover. “No, he didn’t tell me he makes whiskey.”

  “Oh, he don’t do the distilling. He delivers the whiskey and takes care of the customers. Handles the finances. He’s rounded up a good business out here in Kansas.” Mrs. Childers spoke with pride, as if bootlegging were an honored profession rather than a scourge on mankind.

  Marry a child of the devil and you’re going to have problems wit
h your father-in-law.

  The old Puritan saying pretty well summed it up. That Arch made moonshine, or sold it, was bad enough. He tempted her to give in to sinful urges. He’d hidden the truth about his livelihood, even after she’d shared her sentiments concerning whiskey. He believed he was above the laws of God and man.

  Prudence stared into her cup. Tiny specks swirled in the dark liquid. She didn’t have to read tealeaves to know their future. They didn’t have one…not together.

  The sound of footsteps at the open door drew her attention.

  “Sorry it took so long.” Arch set a pail along with a slab of bacon on the work surface next to the dry sink. “Thought we might need fresh milk, and we can fry up some bacon…” Their eyes met, and he frowned. “Everything all right?”

  No. Things will never be all right.

  Prudence balled her fists in her lap, tempted to spew her grief and anger. Lashing out would be pointless, and it wouldn’t change anything. She would subdue her emotions, rather than letting them blind her. “We’re having a chat, your mother and I.”

  Mrs. Childers sipped her tea and kept up the slow rocking. That she said nothing could mean she had nothing to say. Or, she’d noticed the thick tension in the room and decided she didn’t wish to take a knife to it.

  Arch continued to wear a troubled frown as he wiped sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand. After hanging his hat on a wall peg, he stopped by a bucket at the sink, dipped the ladle and took a long drink of water.

  He hadn’t drilled a well, had to haul in water every day from the spring, and he’d just gotten around to plowing. She had enough knowledge about farming to know corn should’ve gone in earlier in the month. Maybe he was late because he’d been so busy peddling whiskey.

  Why? Why did he have to be a deceitful bootlegger?

  Pain pierced her heart. The agony worse than what she’d felt when Peter hadn’t shown up the day they were to be wed. She’d waited in the parlor, with all her relations and neighbors casting pitying looks her direction, while he had been curled up in a barn, sleeping off drunkenness. Her brother had tried to comfort her by telling her that his childhood friend wasn’t worth her tears. Peter had only wanted her because she was a good cook and housekeeper. Little comfort that brought.