The Reluctant Bridegroom Read online

  © 1990 by Gilbert Morris

  Published by Bethany House Publishers

  11400 Hampshire Avenue South

  Bloomington, Minnesota 55438

  www.bethanyhouse.com

  Bethany House Publishers is a division of

  Baker Publishing Group, Grand Rapids, Michigan

  www.bakerpublishinggroup.com

  Ebook edition created 2011

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.

  ISBN 978-1-4412-7033-7

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file at the Library of Congress, Washington, D.C.

  Cover illustration by Dan Thornberg

  Cover design by Danielle White

  To Daren and Teresa Reymeyer

  God graciously gives us companions to help us bear our burdens and to encourage our hearts as we walk the narrow way toward the Celestial City.

  None of my fellow pilgrims have refreshed my spirit more than you two—and your gift of friendship has made a place in my heart that will always be there.

  CONTENTS

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  PART ONE

  NEW YORK

  1. Cinderella at the Ball

  2. A Marriage in New York

  3. Discovery

  4. A New Friend

  5. The Anxious Seat

  6. Specter in the City

  * * *

  PART TWO

  OREGON TRAIL

  7. Pick of the Litter

  8. The Applicants

  9. The Last Two Passengers

  10. The Number One Rule

  11. Incident at Fort Kearney

  12. Rita Takes a Try

  13. Ambush at the South Pass

  14. “You Were Born for It!”

  15. The Last Frolic

  16. Welcome to Oregon

  * * *

  PART THREE

  OREGON CITY

  17. Sky Makes Up His Mind

  18. “As Long As We Both Shall Live”

  19. A Warning for Winslow

  20. Christmas Gift

  21. Joe’s Ma

  22. A Dead Woman’s Hand

  23. Shootout at the Silver Moon

  24. Pillar of Fire

  About the Author

  CHAPTER ONE

  CINDERELLA AT THE BALL

  Heavy brass lanterns cast a pale yellow light over the carriages that moved slowly down the long driveway leading to the governor’s mansion. The Governor’s Spring Ball, traditionally held on April first of each year, generally enjoyed mild weather; but the winter of 1838 had been unusually severe. A late blast of northern air had swept down the month before, paralyzing the whole countryside. The snow had melted a week before the ball, but a raw, cold wind lingered on.

  A rush of frigid air probed inside the ornate carriage standing second in line. Rebekah Jackson shivered at its icy touch. Across from her in the carriage sat her cousin Nora Bayless, watching Rebekah’s nervousness with amusement and a hint of disdain in her greenish eyes. Nora’s father, a wealthy factory owner and member of the House of Representatives, had spoiled his daughter all her life, which only encouraged the aggressive spirit she had inherited from him. Nora smiled at her cousin’s obvious agitation.

  “Are you cold, Rebekah—or just excited?”

  “I—I think I should have worn my own dress, Nora.” A thread of uncertainty ran through the young woman’s voice as she looked down at her low-cut gown. “This is beautiful, but it’s too—”

  “Too daring?”

  “Perhaps not for you, Nora. But I feel . . . almost . . . undressed!”

  “Oh, Rebekah, don’t be silly! It’s not immodest at all! You’ll see women wearing dresses far more dashing than that.” Nora laughed at her cousin’s flustered face; and as their carriage rolled up to the front door, she added, “I’m the one who ought to be worried! All the men will be so busy trying to meet you that I won’t have a chance. Now—let’s go. You just forget your staid puritan ways and be the belle of the ball, you hear?”

  There was no time to argue. As soon as a black servant dressed in livery opened the door and helped them out of the carriage, Nora led the way inside where another servant took their cloaks. The foyer was ablaze with lights, and the enchanting music filtering from the large ballroom that lay beyond the double doors beckoned them toward its source. As they entered the room, filled with laughter and the steady hum of voices, Rebekah remained near the doorway, looking miserable and uncertain. Nora, however, was immediately swept into conversation with a group of her friends. Then noticing her cousin’s reluctance, she broke away from them and came to stand beside Rebekah.

  “Now, let me look at you one more time,” Nora commanded. Standing back to admire her handiwork, she thought how strange it was that this simple girl should be here. She certainly didn’t fit in with all the wealthy and important people there under the glittering lights!

  Rebekah Jackson was the daughter of Nora’s mother’s brother, but the two had met only once, at a family reunion when they both were children. Nora had been angry when her mother had told her that she would have to take the girl to the ball. “But—Mother! I can’t take that blue-nosed Puritan!” This opinion had been formed in her by her father, who invariably called his brother-in-law by that epithet.

  Spoiled as she was, this was one time Nora did not get her way. “Your father doesn’t want to offend my brother,” her mother had shrugged. “It’s a political thing, Nora. Rebekah’s father is becoming quite powerful in his part of the state, and your father needs his help with the next election. Rebekah will only stay for a week, and it won’t kill you to entertain her for that long—nor to take her to the ball with you.”

  “She’s probably ugly as a toad!” Nora had grumbled, and had prepared herself to be as distant as possible to the girl. When her cousin arrived for her visit, however, Nora had been pleasantly surprised. Rebekah was quiet, but had a keen wit that lay just beneath the surface. In the two days before the ball, Nora had grown very fond of her, especially once she discovered that Rebekah had led a life more restricted than Nora could ever imagine. Nora knew that her uncle was a strict man, but when she found out that Rebekah had never been to a ball, did not know how to dance, used no cosmetics, and had never been left alone with a young man, Nora stared as if her cousin were an alien creature.

  “That’s medieval, Rebekah!” she exclaimed. “Why, you’re not much better off than a slave!”

  Rebekah said quietly, “Well, Nora, my sister—” She hesitated, then began again. “My sister Louise was wild. She ran away with a man, and it was terrible for my parents. Father is protective—maybe too much so. He just doesn’t want anything to happen to the rest of us.”

  Nora was indignant, but held her tongue, determined to say no more—until she saw the plain brown dress that Rebekah had brought to wear to the ball. In an instant a scheme leaped into Nora’s mind, and she vowed to make Rebekah’s first ball one the girl would never forget. Plunging into the task with her usual enthusiasm, she insisted that Rebekah wear one of her own dresses and some of her jewelry. Rebekah had protested at first, but was soon caught up by Nora’s eagerness—until now. Now she stood uncertainly, confused by the lights and the music, and wishing she’d never come!

  Nora’s critical eye surveyed the young woman of twenty—slender but well-formed, wearing a bright emerald dress that set off her abu
ndant auburn hair. Rebekah’s eyes were large and of an unusual hazel hue, which exactly matched the stone that hung on a golden chain around her neck. She had an oval face with a wide, provocative mouth, and her bare arms were smooth and creamy under the lights. Beautiful! Nora breathed, well aware that it was not the young woman’s shapely figure nor her attractive face that made her so attractive, but the air of vulnerability that enveloped her.

  “Come on, Cinderella,” Nora laughed. “It’s time for you to find the prince and set him on his ear!”

  As they moved into the ballroom, Rebekah giggled. “If my father saw me wearing this dress, I wouldn’t have to wait until midnight to become a poor, ragged girl! He’d take care of that!”

  Nora led her around the room toward the large tables covered with food and drinks, her eyes scanning the room as they went. Nora soon found what she was looking for. “There’s Robert,” she said, and moved toward two men who were standing beside the tables, talking. Rebekah looked at them with interest, for Nora had talked of little else than the charm of Robert St. Cloud. “He’s going to marry me—but he doesn’t know it yet,” Nora had confided to Rebekah. Now she whispered, “I’ll have Robert introduce you to that handsome man he’s talking to.”

  “Oh no! Please!” Rebekah gasped, but it was no use. Nora pulled her up to the pair and introduced her to St. Cloud, who bowed and murmured, “A pleasure, Miss Jackson.” He gestured toward his companion, saying, “Nora, you haven’t met my new associate—Tyler Marlowe. Marlowe, this is Miss Nora Bayless and her cousin, Miss Jackson.”

  “A pleasure.” Marlowe was a tall man of about thirty. He had a florid complexion and a pair of sharp black eyes. His lips were full and red under a trim mustache, and he smiled easily. “If I’d known the ladies of Virginia were so attractive, I’d have come here much sooner.”

  Nora responded easily, but the compliment had brought a glow to Rebekah’s cheeks. She avoided his gaze, uneasily hoping that she could retire to a secluded corner. Instead, she heard Marlowe say, “Miss Jackson, may I have this dance?”

  “Oh, I—I’m not a dancer,” Rebekah stammered.

  “I’m sure you’re just being modest. In any case, I’m a good teacher.” Somehow Rebekah found herself on the dance floor. Marlowe put one arm lightly around her, and she followed his lead as they moved among the dancers.

  Nora and St. Cloud watched the pair until St. Cloud glanced down and caught Nora’s expression. He laughed. “Nora, you’re looking at Tyler as if he is the wolf that’s taken your only chick.”

  “That’s not far wrong, Robert. You have no idea how green that girl is. Her father’s kept her locked up like a nun. If my father had done that to me, I’d have blown my brains out!”

  “More likely you’d have blown his brains out,” her friend chuckled. Then he glanced at the pair again and mused, “I don’t know much about Marlowe. He’s got some leases on land in Georgia that may turn out well.”

  “Well, I can tell you something about Mr. Tyler Marlowe,” Nora said. “He’s a man who chases women!”

  “You think so?”

  “Why, he almost drew a bead on Rebekah, didn’t you see? I could handle him, but poor girl—she’s never seen any like him.”

  Robert St. Cloud straightened up, nervously fingering his cravat. “Well, then, perhaps I’d better go give the poor girl some protection.”

  Nora smirked. “You! That’d be like letting the fox guard the hen house. No, I’ll take Mr. Marlowe’s attention from Rebekah.”

  “The devil you will!” said St. Cloud ferociously. “The fellow may be only the second best-looking chap in the room, but I’d still not trust him around my woman!”

  Nora liked his possessive air and, allowing him to pull her to the dance floor, she observed casually, “Well, I don’t suppose he can steal her, can he? We’ll keep an eye on them.” But despite her good intentions, as the evening wore on she lost herself in the gaiety of the party. From time to time she remembered Rebekah with a slight feeling of concern. She’s having a good time, she told herself, catching sight of the pair laughing over something at the tables. Let her shake off her chains for once!

  Marlowe’s easy familiarity would have warned most women, but Rebekah was not like most women. Her inexperience with men prevented her from sensing the danger; she only knew that it was easy to talk with him, and she was having the best time of her entire life. Now as she looked up at him, her hazel eyes wide, she told him of how she had come to visit Nora. For his part, Marlowe found himself strangely drawn to her innocence. He was a man who knew women well; ordinarily he preferred women who were as wise in the ways of the world as he. But this girl fascinated him—more than most women he had met before. He redoubled his efforts to charm her, to win her over. After all, it was a game to him, and he enjoyed the chase. If he lost, he lost with good grace—but he did not lose often.

  Deftly he extracted her history, marveling that a woman of twenty could be at the same time so innocent and so beautiful. But innocent she was, which was further evidenced by the fact that she had taken three drinks with no idea that they had brightened her eyes and relaxed the rigidity which had bound her at the couple’s first meeting. Probably thinks it’s lemonade, he thought wryly.

  Several times women in the room glanced at him with an expression he well knew to be an invitation. More than once he almost responded—but there was something about the girl that challenged him. Rebekah’s simple joy in the party and her trusting eyes appealed strongly to him.

  After many dances, he said, “It’s warm in here. Would you like to get a breath of air?”

  “Oh, I don’t know, Mr. Marlowe . . . !”

  “Tyler, not Mr. Marlowe,” he corrected. “Just for a few minutes. It’ll clear our heads.”

  He skillfully guided her through the French doors that led outside, to an extremely large room filled with many plants and a grape arbor—apparently a greenhouse. The music was muted as he closed the doors. Turning to her, he saw that she was shivering. “You’re cold, Rebekah,” he said, taking off his coat and putting it around her shoulders. It gave her an odd feeling to wear the coat as they slowly strolled along the wide walk.

  She said little, but he spoke with ease, telling her of his travels, which seemed marvelous to her. They came to a cast iron garden bench, and he suggested, “Let’s sit down for a while. You must be tired.” He was careful not to touch her, but as he talked, he allowed his arm to go around the back of the bench and brush her shoulder. “Have you traveled much, Rebekah?”

  “Oh no. I’ve never been anywhere!”

  “I’d like to show you a few things.” He smiled down at her. The moonlight reflected like silver in her eyes, and he had never seen anything more lovely than the line of her throat and her provocative lips. “You’d enjoy it, I think, in Venice. The streets are canals, and I’d like to take you down one of them. It’s so beautiful there! The boatmen usually sing—nothing quite like it anywhere else.”

  “It sounds so wonderful!”

  “You should see it—or rather you should let Venice see you!” With a single motion he reached out and pulled her around to face him. “I mean, Rebekah, a beautiful woman has no right to keep herself locked up. She needs to be seen—like a rare diamond!”

  She dropped her eyes, not knowing how to respond. First time a man ever told her she was beautiful, he thought, and then she looked up and for one moment she was open and vulnerable. The drinks had broken down her natural defenses, and now in the moonlight she was stirred by a longing she had never before allowed herself to feel. The thousand cords of the strict code her well-meaning parents had placed around her loosened—and now, for the first time, she caught a glimpse of freedom she had not known existed.

  Her lips opened slightly, and he saw her eyes filled with longing. Easily, he pulled her toward him and kissed her.

  The power of his arms around her and the sudden touch of his lips stirred her with a mixture of fear and excitement. The few fleetin
g kisses of her life had been nothing like this, and she felt herself trembling wildly. She knew she should pull away, but instead she clung to him, kissing him back.

  Finally she drew back, whispering, “Please—let me go!”

  He released her at once, and found himself shaken as he had not been for years. The dewy youth, the innocent trust, and the hint of an eager passion that lurked beneath that innocence took his breath away, robbing him of speech.

  She rose, saying nervously, “I must go inside . . .”

  Instinctively he knew he had gone too far. He stood up and took her hands, saying contritely, “Rebekah! Please forgive me—I can’t imagine what I was thinking of!” He went on speaking until she was calmer. “You must think I’m an ogre or something!”

  “No, Tyler,” she said with a hint of a smile. “Not an ogre. I just think that you’re too—experienced for me.”

  He saw that she was intelligent enough to read him in part. Laughing, he nodded ruefully. “Tried and found guilty! But you must give me a chance to redeem myself. Let me see you again. You’ll be here for a week?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “There’s a concert tomorrow. I insist on taking you.”

  “Oh, I couldn’t possibly do that.”

  “Why, certainly you can,” he answered. He began to persuade her, and by the time he put her into the coach with Nora, somehow she had agreed to accompany him the next evening.

  “I’ll pick you up at seven,” he said, then smiled and closed the door.

  Nora remarked dryly as they drove away, “You and Mr. Marlowe became friends very rapidly.”

  “He’s very nice.”

  Nora said no more until later that night. Entering Rebekah’s room, she was caught by an odd sense of apprehension at the sight of the girl looking so small in an old-fashioned gown. Nora put her arm around her cousin and said, “Rebekah, be careful. Tyler’s not your kind of man.”

  “You don’t think I should go to the concert?”